Finders Keepers

by Kris Lillyman

  They sat for a while, long enough for Lizzie to compose herself, then left the house, locking the door behind them.

  As they got back into the Maserati, Lizzie said, “It seems so unlike Ronny.”

  “What do you mean?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know, it just seems so unlikely that he would only have one back-up.”

  “You mean the laptop, that was smashed?”

  “Yeah. Ronny was so careful, so security conscious that it seems kind of odd that the laptop and his set up here were the only back-ups he had.”

  “What are you saying, Lizzie, that you think there is another copy out there somewhere?”

  “I dunno. I guess. Maybe.” She said, looking at the bunch of keys in her lap and at the bloody fingerprint on the key fob.

  “But where?” Jake said.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have any–” Lizzie suddenly stopped in mid sentence as she noticed something she had not previously seen on the key fob. There was a thin line, a join, she thought, that separated the toes of the foot-shape from the instep and the heel. “You say Ronny forced these keys into your hand as he was dying?”

  “Yeah, you know he did, why?”

  “Tell me exactly. Exactly, Jake. What was it that he did.”

  Jake was confused. “Er, okay. Well, he pushed the keys into my hand, tapped them with his finger and then said ‘Elizabeth’.”

  “Did he tap the keys or the key fob? Try to remember, Jake, please, I think it’s important.

  “I suppose it was more the fob - see, look, you can see the fingerprint right there. Why, Lizzie? What are you thinking?”

  “What I’m thinking is that Aaron Sumpter was a very clever man indeed.”

  Suddenly, she grabbed up the key fob, held the heel end with one hand and the toe end with the other, and pulled. The two sections snapped apart to reveal a USB data stick attached to the toe end. It was a novelty. A cheap souvenir bought, Lizzie assumed, from a computer store in Nassau.

  “My God, Lizzie - you’re brilliant!” Jake exclaimed.

  “Not me,” she replied. “Ronny, he was the brilliant one. I knew he wouldn’t leave things to chance.”

  “You mean, you hope not. Let’s get back to the hotel and plug it into my laptop to see exactly what it is that Aaron has left us.”

  Jake started the car and pulled away from the curb, heading back to the The Dorchester to check their discovery.

  They were so rapt up in their find that neither of them noticed the black Range Rover that pulled out after them.

  The man driving it was Fabian Król and the man in the passenger seat was Arthur Khan.

  Chapter 41

  It was when Jake called in for petrol that he first noticed the Range Rover, double parked across the road with its hazard lights on. Jake thought nothing much of it until he caught a glimpse of the shaven-headed driver. The man was wearing sunglasses and was attempting to hide his face with his hand, but Jake would have known him anywhere. It was the Polish man he had left in Nassau.

  Jake turned away quickly, pretending not to have noticed as he re-fueled the Maserati. When back in the car he said to Lizzie, “Whatever you do, don’t look, but we’ve got company.”

  “Company? What you mean?” Lizzie said, immediately looking wildly about her.

  “Don’t look, I said!” Jake insisted and she immediately stopped. “The guy who killed Aaron,” he continued, “who took you to that farm house–”

  “What about him?” Lizzie said with alarm, “Is he here?”

  “He’s across the road in a Range Rover– don’t look!” Jake had to remind her again as she went to look round.

  “Sorry.” She said.”Oh my God. You mean he’s followed us?”

  “Seems that way. My guess is that he’s the one who cleared out Aaron’s place and that he’s been waiting there for us to show up.”

  “But how would he know when to expect us? How would he know that we would even go there?”

  “I don’t know. But they both seem like very good questions for our friend DCI Coyle.”

  “You think he’s betrayed us?” Lizzie said, suddenly shocked.

  “I really don’t know. But he’s the only one, other than you and me, that knows what we’re planning.”

  “I can’t believe it, Jake. Ronny was sure that Coyle was an honest cop and his instincts were usually pretty good.”

  “Like I said, I don’t know, Lizzie. But that Polish guy is across the road and we’ve just come from the very place where all the evidence was supposed to be.”

  “Except I’ll lay odds that they don’t know about the data stick.”

  “I think you’re right. But they do still want the diamonds.” Jake said.

  “And us.” Said Lizzie.

  “Yeah. And us.” He agreed as he drove off the forecourt and back out onto the road. When they were maybe thirty yards from the station, he saw the Range Rover, in his rear view mirror, pulling out into the flow of traffic. “He’s following,” Jake said. “There’s someone else in the car too. Can’t tell who it is though - they’re too far away.

  “If they catch us, God knows what they’ll do–”

  “Listen,” Jake interrupted. “They’ve got to catch us first. They’ve got a Range Rover, we’ve got a Maserati - I know where I’d put my money.”

  “You’re right,” Lizzie agreed with forced optimism, “I knew this car wasn’t a waste of money - let’s see what this sucker can do. Let’s lose those sons of bitches!”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Jake grinned as he pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

  The Gran Turismo responded instantly, the engine roaring to life as it rocketed from thirty to sixty miles an hour.

  Lizzie turned in her seat to check the Range Rover’s reaction and it had responded likewise. “They’re following.” She said, squinting to get a glimpse of who was sitting alongside Król, but unable to see as the Maserati manoeuvred aggressively through the traffic.

  Fortunately the road was reasonably uncongested as Jake sped fearlessly across Finchley Road, weaving in and out with reckless abandon and zigzagging madly through St John’s Wood as he raced onwards towards Regent’s Park. The Range Rover doing the same thing several cars behind him, although the big 4x4 was making slightly harder work of it than the high performance sports car.

  Jake overtook cars, two and three at a time then swerved dangerously in to avoid those that were heading straight for him, their horns blaring as he missed them by mere inches.

  “We’re losing them, Jake - we’re losing them!” Lizzie cried, as Jake gunned it passed the Central Mosque on his right with Regent’s

  Park just a blur on his left. The sleek white Maserati travelling now at nearly eighty miles an hour, bombing through traffic and speeding relentlessly passed pedestrians, buses and black cabs.

  But the Range Rover was still in pursuit. It had lost ground but it was still coming.

  The Gran Turismo skidded noisily onto Baker Street, somehow managing to miss a parked Mini and an elderly man who was trying to cross the street. Lizzie screamed and squeezed her eyes closed with fear as the back end of the car snaked wildly and Jake miraculously swung it around and out of the path of an oncoming taxi, only narrowly missing it. The cabbie shaking his fist and leaning on his horn. “Bloody idiot!” he shouted.

  Then, like Moses parting the Red Sea, the road up ahead was suddenly empty - a true miracle in Central London, and Jake pressed his foot to the floor. The Maserati shot like a guided missile up Baker Street, eighty, ninety, nearly a hundred miles an hour.

  “That’s it, Jake!” Lizzie yelled, “they can’t catch us - we’ve got them, they can’t keep up.”

  Jake smiled and briefly allowed himself a quick glance in the rear view mirror, seeing no sign of the Range Rover.

&n
bsp; However, he did not see the brewery truck either, pulling out of Allsop Place up ahead. Not until it was too late.

  Jake slammed on the brakes but he was going far too fast. “Hold on, Lizzie!” He shouted, as the car skidded for what seemed like an eternity, screeching loudly and leaving two long lines of black rubber in its wake. It slowed considerably but still ploughed into the side of the truck at a hell of a speed, the nose of the beautiful Gran Turismo crumpling like folded paper, instantly activating the driver and passenger airbags.

  Lizzie and Jake were thrust violently forward into the voluminous white pillows, their chests crushed against the safety belts with the force of impact as the Maserati buried itself under the truck. The windscreen shattered as it hit the steel side of the brewery vehicle, releasing the previously restrained cargo of barrels. Several bounced over the roof of the ruined car and rolled back down Baker Street from where Jake had come

  The car was now motionless. The engine no longer running. Smoke rose from the front end, which was now jammed tightly under the truck and there was a loud hiss, like steam escaping, accompanied by a steady drip of water.

  Jake was dazed. Slowly he lifted his head from the air bag and put his hand to his temple. It was wet and when he looked, his fingertips were coated in blood, although he could feel no pain from the wound. His chest hurt like hell as he slowly sat back in his seat, his shoulders and arms ached too, but he did not think anything was broken.

  “Lizzie,” he groaned. “You okay?”

  There was a moan from the passenger seat as Lizzie sat gingerly upright. Her head was bleeding also and, like Jake, she was aware of a terrible aching in her chest. There was a red burn line across her neck where the seat belt had snagged her, but otherwise she seemed unscathed. “Great driving there, Limey,” she croaked.

  “Hey, I’m an artist - what can I say,” Jake replied with a pained grin.

  He saw Aaron Sumpter’s keys, with the bright yellow key fob, laying in the foot well and bent carefully to pick them up. “Come on, Yank, we better get out of here.”

  He forced open the dented door, which creaked metallically with the effort, and climbed out of the car. Lizzie slowly did the same.

  At that moment, there was another loud screech of tyres and Jake turned to see the Range Rover skidding to a halt just behind the wrecked Maserati.

  “Quick, Lizzie, run!” He yelled. “Run as fast as you can!”

  Lizzie glanced behind her and saw the danger. “Get out of here, Jake - don’t let them get you!” She cried as she began running in the opposite direction, away from Jake, passed the truck and down into Allsop Place, however, Arthur Khan was already out of the Range Rover and hot on her tail.

  There was no way for Jake to help her, the Maserati, the truck, the Range Rover and several aluminium beer barrels were all blocking his way, so he began running in the only direction he could, straight down Baker Street away from Fabian Król, who had just flung himself out of the Range Rover and started sprinting after him.

  Jake ran as fast as he could but the accident had disorientated him and his body was racked with pain. Król was only fifteen or twenty feet behind him and gaining ground with every pace.

  Up ahead Jake saw a black cab, which had just dropped off a passenger and suddenly inspired he put on a spurt of speed. Ten more paces and he was at the cab. He snatched open the rear door and threw himself inside. “Quick, go, please. Anywhere.”

  “Crikey, guv, you’re in a bit of an ‘urry ain’tcha?”

  “Yes, I am. Now please, just hurry.”

  “Okay, okay - keep your hair on,” said the cabbie. “I’m going - but you’ll have to give me an address sooner or later.”

  “I will, I promise. Now please, let’s just get going.”

  The cab pulled away from the curb and onto Baker Street.

  Jake turned to look out the rear window and saw Król less that three feet away from the bumper and still gaining.

  “Quick!” Jake pleaded. “Please hurry.”

  The cabbie looked in his rear view mirror, “Someone you’re trying to avoid?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, thinking quickly, “My girlfriend’s ex-husband.”

  “Say no more, guv,” said the cabbie. “Been there, done that. I’ll soon lose the bastard for you.” And with that he put his foot down and Jake watched with relief as the image of Król quickly got smaller.

  Jake kept watching as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the blood on his forehead but it was only light, the wound obviously not serious.

  When he could no longer see Król, Jake’s thoughts turned to Lizzie.

  He prayed that she had escaped too.

  Chapter 42

  Lizzie could hear the sound of Arthur Khan’s feet as the soles of his beautifully fashioned hand-tooled brogues slapped at the tarmac just a few paces behind her, relentlessly chasing her down and catching her fast.

  Lizzie was normally fast too but the accident had made her head woozy and she felt like she was drunk with the road ahead of her blurring wildly in and out of focus and her legs refusing to co-ordinate properly. She knew she was going to be caught at any moment yet she just could not make her legs work and was helplessly staggering down the road like a drunk desperately racing towards his last ever drink.

  Finally, inevitably, Lizzie tripped and went crashing to the ground, grazing her chin and ripping her tight jeans at the knee. The moment she hit the tarmac Khan was on her. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored, three-piece Prince of Wales cheque suit over a clean white shirt with a turquoise Windsor knotted tie. Every inch the successful business man but the look in his eye was evilly victorious as he grabbed tightly hold of Lizzie’s arm and said “Gotcha!”

  Lizzie turned to look at his triumphant moustached face but it was just a blur that quickly faded to black as the concussion from the accident overtook her and she passed out.

  * * *

  When Lizzie awoke, she could smell the scent of luxury leather in her nostrils and she slowly opened her eyes to find she was face down on the back seat of a car with her nose pressed against the soft, cream pigskin upholstery. She realised too, that her hands were tied and that the car was in motion. She could hear talking and quickly closed her eyes again, pretending to still be unconscious, whilst she listened intently to the conversation between the two men in the front seats.

  One of the men spoke in heavily accented English, the Polish thug from Nassau who had killed Aaron, whom the other man, Khan, was addressing as ‘Król’. They were discussing Jake and Król was being reprimanded for letting him get away. Upon hearing this, Lizzie felt a rush of joy, knowing that he was safe. But then, almost immediately afterwards a shiver of terror ran down her spine as Król, undaunted by Khan’s anger, said, “No matter. I kill them both when we make exchange. Sawyer has only put off what is—” he searched for the right word, then once satisfied he had the correct one said, “—inevitable.”

  “Good,” said Khan. “Make sure you do, Fabian. Now drop me off here, would you - Peter will pick me up shortly. And make sure no one sees you taking her into my house - Anya, Peter’s mistress, will meet you there and help you keep Miss Barnes quiet.”

  “I need no help.” Said Król firmly.

  “I know. But Peter feel’s it wise. Two sets of eyes better than one and all that. Besides, I’m sure I need not remind you about what happened in Nassau.”

  Król grunted a response, clearly unhappy that his abilities were being questioned but decided not to say anything more as he pulled the car to a sharp halt.

  “See you later - and keep your wits about you.” Khan said, as he opened the door and jumped out of the vehicle before it once more sped off.

  Lizzie briefly thought about jumping up, opening the car door and leaping out but decided against it. She was still concussed, her hands were tied behind her and the car
was moving at quite a pace - if she jumped out now, assuming the door was unlocked, then it could be into the path of an oncoming vehicle. So she decided her best chance would be when the car stopped. She would make her move then.

  * * *

  A short time later the big Range Rover pulled over and stopped again, but this time the engine was turned off. They had reached their destination. Lizzie was still playing possum on the back seat as Król got out and opened the door nearest her feet.

  As he leant in Lizzie sprang up and kicked him hard in the face. Then, as he reared backwards, she slammed her other foot heavily into his crotch.

  Król was stunned, taken completely unawares and as he bent double in blinding agony with blood pissing from his nose, Lizzie scotched forward in a bid for freedom. But as her head emerged into the daylight, a feminine fist struck her hard across the cheek and sent her tumbling to the ground at Król’s feet.

  Lizzie, dazed once more, looked up from where she lay to see a beautiful, leggy blonde standing over her, wearing a very short mini skirt and towering stilettos. “Not so fast, bitch,” the woman said in an accent not too dissimilar to Król’s.

  Then the woman turned to Król, himself, and added with disgust, “And as for you, I thought you were supposed to be professional.”

  * * *

  Arthur Khan’s mews house was situated in a quiet corner of Chelsea where the neighbours kept themselves very much to themselves. Indeed, most of the other houses were empty a good deal of the time and used primarily as expensive ‘crash pads’ for their wealthy owners or as stylish love-nests for rich businessmen to take their mistresses. So no one noticed as Król threw Lizzie roughly over his shoulder and carried her inside - although Anya stood guard anyway, just in case.

  In a moment’s weakness, after a bout of particularly violent, yet massively rewarding sex, Peter had told Anya about the diamonds and very generously said that she could have her pick of any five of them if she allowed him to video some of their little sessions. Anya had haggled the deal up to eight diamonds before agreeing to what she would have probably done for free had he just asked. However, she was now involved and was not going to let the chance of eight massive jewels slip through her fingers - especially not due to the clumsiness of a tattooed brute like Fabian Król.