by Jack Probyn
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Great. Thanks, Danika. You’re a good egg.’
| EPISODE 3 |
CHAPTER THREE
BIRTHPLACE
MONASTERY, O MONASTERY, WHERE FOR ART THOU, O MONASTERY? HIDING IN THE THREE PILLARS OF YOUR MIND.
Bridger lowered his hand and gazed at the police constable Pemberton had assigned to accompany him. It was a bullshit decision he didn’t agree with. He didn’t need someone to babysit him. He was an experienced detective. If anything, it was Bridger who was doing the babysitting. The officer’s name was Smithers. He was young, fresh out of school, with a youthful set of legs and keen eyes. He was full of life and excitement. Eager. Like Bridger had once been before the stresses and inane politics of the job had withered him down to nothing but the miserable bastard he was.
They were at Waverley Abbey, a few miles south of Candice Strachan’s mansion. After reading the clue, Bridger had deduced that it was the destination for the third key.
‘What do you reckon?’ he asked Smithers. ‘We in the right place?’
Smithers shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
Of course you don’t.
He reread the instruction, confirming in his own mind that he was right. It wasn’t the most eloquent thing he had ever read, or the most accurate, but it had been fairly obvious. It wasn’t as though there were a plethora of monasteries to choose from in Surrey. And if there was one thing he had learnt from the previous two clues, they weren’t designed to be impossible.
They reached the end of the slight incline leading to the abbey. Before them, three hundred feet in the distance, was the remains of the abbey. Knots of tourists and families ambled the grounds, marvelling at the magnificence of the site, shielding themselves from the sun by using umbrellas to cast shadows over their heads and backpacks. For a moment, Bridger contemplated evacuating the site entirely, but decided against it; it was unlikely that anyone would have found the key and taken it for themselves. It wasn’t in the nature of the type of people who visited these sorts of sites; he always found they were more a “look but don’t touch” type of community.
Bridger started off towards the structure directly ahead. It was a small building, constructed from stone, with a roof that cleared his head by a few inches. Arches split the building in two, and holes in the shape of windows interspersed the length of the structure. To the left of the building was another, with a tree beside it.
‘I want you to watch here, OK?’ Bridger said, holding his hand up to Smithers. ‘Make sure nobody disrupts us. I’m not expecting it to be heaving with people in the next thirty seconds, but if anyone gives you any lip, get them out of here. They start launching verbal assaults on you, come and let me know. I’ll take care of it.’
‘Of course, sir,’ the officer said. He sounded almost robotic, and Bridger remembered the early days when he used to sound like that himself. Subordinate. Inferior. And now look at him. He was the one barking the orders.
Bridger left the young man alone and headed towards the other historic remains. As he entered, he slowed to a halt and absorbed the surrounding atmosphere. It seemed as if the ghosts of everyone who had ever set foot in there were alongside him now, gazing at the wall with three window holes running down it in front of him. He carefully edged forward, looking down at the ground beneath his feet. The rocks and grass squashed under his weight. He wanted to savour every moment, but then he remembered what he was there to do. The key. The note. Candice.
He removed the instructions from his pocket and reread the final line.
Hiding in three pillars.
‘Gotcha!’ he whispered triumphantly to himself.
Bridger approached the wall and pulled on a new pair of latex gloves. He studied it for a moment. Observing. Uncovering the secrets before peeling back the layers. And then he moved a piece of rock he’d noticed nestled at the bottom of the window frame. He placed it delicately on the ground and returned his attention to the window. Hidden beneath the rock was the key, wrapped tightly in another strip of paper. Bridger let out a small celebratory fist pump.
Now all he needed to do was keep it safe.
Bridger pocketed the small piece of metal against his breast and unravelled the fourth note.
RUNAWAY, RUNWAY, RUNAWAY – YOU ARE NOT WANTED HERE. SEVENTEEN MILES OF TARMAC FROM TAKE-OFF SEPARATES YOU FROM TOUCHING DOWN SAFELY BACK ON EARTH.
| EPISODE 3 |
CHAPTER FOUR
CHANGE OF PLANS
‘I thought you were looking after the kids tonight?’ Pemberton snarled into the phone. She kept her voice low and shifted from one foot to another, struggling to find a comfortable standing position.
‘I know,’ her husband replied. ‘But something’s come up with work. They need me to come in.’
‘Can’t it wait?’ She nestled the phone in the crook of her neck and rolled back her sleeve to check the time. She had only been on the phone for a minute, but it was already beginning to feel like ten.
‘Leakages tend not to wait, love,’ he said, his voice deadpan. ‘Especially if they’re your biggest client.’
‘And no one else is available to do it?’
‘No. I’ve tried.’
Pemberton sighed in despair and ambled away from the crime scene to the conservatory at the end of the garden, lest she draw any unwanted attention to herself.
‘When will you be gone?’ she asked.
‘Soon. I’ll need to come back to pick up the boys from school, but then they’ll need someone to look after them afterwards.’
‘Well, I’m sure as anything not going to be able to leave on time. Nowhere near it. I could be here all day.’
‘So, you’ve already had to cancel with the girls anyway, no?’
‘I’m definitely going to need a drink after the day I’m having,’ she said, folding her free arm across her chest and planting her hand under her armpit, ‘regardless of what time it is. They’ll wait for me. Even if I only get to see them for five minutes.’
‘Then what do you suggest we do?’
‘You need me to tell you?’
‘I—’
‘Book a sitter.’
‘No.’
‘Come on. Someone we trust.’
‘No.’
‘William – stop being ridiculous. How many times do I have to say it? Not everyone we hire to look after our kids is going to turn out to be a predator. That was one time—’
‘Which was your fault. You convinced me to let him into our home.’
‘We were desperate. I’m not getting into this with you again – I haven’t got time right now. I’m stressed to the max, and the last thing I need is to get into an argument with you over something so trivial and something we’ve both discussed a thousand times already.’
Pemberton paused. There was silence in her ear, save for the sound of her husband’s wheezy breathing. She had won… at long last. But it was bittersweet.
‘Like I’ve told you before, if anything happens to our children under the watchful eye of a babysitter, I will not stop until I find them and hurt them. Just like last time. Surely there’s someone we know who we can ask?’
‘I’ll find out,’ he said and hung up on her.
Before the call disconnected, she was already scrolling through her address book, searching for another number to call. This was a call she wasn’t looking forward to. She was going to have to cancel the plans she’d been looking forward to for weeks; it was a nightmare trying to organise anything anyway, let alone an evening for them both to be together without the risk of children and husbands interrupting.
Pemberton found the mobile number in her address book and dialled. The phone rang and rang. Rang and rang. Until it clicked through to voicemail. She sighed and tried again. This time, the person on the other line answered within the first ring.
‘Ma’am?’ he said tentatively, as if he were uncertain it was her on the other end.
‘Mark – where are
those files I requested? It’s been a couple of hours now,’ she said, cupping the microphone on the device with her hand.
There was a brief pause as DI Murphy registered what she’d said. ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I’ve been swamped. I’ll have them over to you by the end of play today.’
Pemberton sidled further away from Candice and the explosives officer and moved towards the patio doors of the conservatory. She peered in, trying to focus on the inside of the building and not the reflection of the garden behind her. From what she could see, there were four chairs positioned around the edge of the structure, facing the centre. In the middle was a small fireplace, with its chimney protruding from the top of the conservatory.
‘Ma’am?’ Mark insisted. ‘I said I’ve been swamped. I’ll have them back to you as soon as.’
Pemberton snapped to reality. She shook her head and focused. ‘Something’s come up.’
‘What?’
‘I have to cancel tonight. William’s been called into work and I might have to look after the kids.’
‘You’re shitting me?’
‘I wish I was. I tried to argue against it, but he doesn’t want to consider getting a babysitter.’
‘Idiot. The guy’s a tool. You need to break it off with him.’
‘It’s not that easy. You know I’m trying. Slowly.’
‘He’s such a flannel.’
Pemberton shuffled her feet from side to side. She hated letting Mark down like this. It had happened on too many occasions, and she was beginning to think that she might have to fake her death to even get a chance to speak with him in a non-professional capacity. They had even tried romancing their time together at work after hours, but even that had been interrupted by late-night staff and the cleaning crew. And there were only so many training weekends she could fabricate as an excuse to get away from her husband and kids.
‘What have I said before, Mark?’ she continued. ‘William’s a good guy. And I have my reasons for doing what I’m doing, but you don’t need to make sarcastic comments like that, OK?’
‘Sorry, Nic. I was just really looking forward to seeing you.’
‘And so was I. I know we’ve had tonight organised for weeks.’
‘It is what it is,’ Mark said, his voice rigid.
‘Don’t be like that,’ Pemberton replied, casting a glance over her shoulder. ‘It’s going to be tough, but I’ll make it worth your while when I do eventually get to see you. Maybe we’ll just have to find a nice quiet place in the toilets tomorrow night after work – after everyone’s gone home. Not the most luxurious place. And we’ll have to make sure we don’t have a repeat of last time.’
‘Depends on whether your arsehole husband decides to throw a fit again.’
‘It’ll be all we can afford to risk at the moment. Listen – I’ll speak to him tonight whenever he gets back from work, and we’ll reorganise something soon, OK?’
‘I won’t hold my breath.’
Pemberton sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. ‘Don’t be like this – please. I do want to see you. I really do.’
‘You sure? Because so far, it doesn’t seem that way to me. I’m always second best.’
‘I have a family – a husband and kids to think about.’
‘A husband you no longer care for and kids you hardly see? Yeah,’ Mark said. ‘That’s what I thought. Sounds like a real happy family to me.’
He rang off, leaving Nicki to stand there blankly, staring into her reflection in the window. She closed her eyes, swallowed and exhaled.
She had hoped he wouldn’t say that. She loved her family – her husband, Damian, Jules – but things hadn’t been the same for a long time, especially with William. The arguments. The late nights. The black hole that her libido had fallen into. The revulsion she felt every time he tried to touch her. But there had been a light at the end of it. Mark. He made her feel things she’d forgotten existed. Made her feel things she wanted to feel every day. Her marriage had stagnated, and the only thing keeping her from being with Mark was the crippling guilt she felt every time she was with him. The situation itself was a minefield: she was his senior, and if word spread, she could lose her job, and everything she’d ever cared for.
A voice behind distracted her.
‘Ma’am.’ It was the explosives expert, carrying his helmet under his arm. His short black hair was damp, and thin beads of sweat bubbled on the pores of his nose.
‘Yes?’ she said, forcing the debilitating thoughts and images of the future from her mind. She needed to be present at the crime scene; she needed to save Candice Strachan. ‘What’s the latest?’
‘I need to have a word. I don’t think she’s going to make it.’
| EPISODE 3 |
CHAPTER FIVE
TIME FOR A CALL
One thought occupied Danny’s mind as he stared out of the window. The woman who was waiting for him at the port in – he checked his watch – two hours’ time. She had agreed to travel abroad with him, to another country with him, to another way of life with him. She was happy to do all that with him, and he couldn’t wait. They had been dreaming of this day for months, ever since they’d first met. Louise. Even the thought of her name sent shivers running up and down his spine. He was besotted with her, and she had a hold over him like no other woman had been able to maintain. He counted down the minutes until he would be with her.
In the front of the stolen Audi, Luke blasted the radio. He drummed along to the beat of the song, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Luke was driving conservatively. Perhaps a little too conservatively for Danny’s liking, but his brother was in control, and he was doing a good job of it, so he wasn’t going to interfere. There was still a long way to go.
‘You feeling all right, Lukey?’ Danny asked. He placed his palm on the back of Luke’s headrest.
‘I got this.’
‘That’s not what I asked,’ Danny said.
‘Have we crashed yet?’
‘Don’t tempt fate, mate.’ Danny returned his attention to the outside word – outside the confines of these four walls of glass – and considered his future life. ‘Any news on the boat?’
‘Last I checked it was fine. Still scheduled to leave on time,’ Michael said, unlocking his brand-new iPhone.
‘Assuming the police aren’t waiting for us down there.’ Luke glanced at Danny in the rear-view mirror.
‘Why you always got to put a downer on everything?’ Danny said. ‘They won’t. Trust me. Nobody saw our faces. Nobody left any DNA. Nobody knows who we are. Who said we needed Freddy, anyway?’
‘You fucking shot someone, Dan. There’ll be gunshot residue all over that place.’
‘I thought I told you boys there’s nothing to worry about. I’m in charge. Besides, if you’re really that worried about it, we’ve got our help, remember?’
‘Yeah. And you know how successful the last little piggy was,’ Michael said, tutting.
‘That was an anomaly. That fucking prick Tanner got in the way last time. It won’t be happening again.’
‘And what about the rest of the stuff?’ Michael asked, rotating in his seat and peering back at Danny. ‘Has that all been picked up?’
‘Yes, Micky. It’s all under control.’ Danny checked his watch again. ‘My contact should be picking it up right about now, in fact. Relax.’
Nobody said anything for a while, and the sound of tarmac passing beneath them filled the car. In the driver’s seat, Luke shuffled. His eyes flicked repeatedly to Danny in the rear-view mirror.
Eventually, Luke cleared his throat. ‘You sure this is going to work, Dan?’ It was evident to see he was sceptical. In fact, it was clear he’d been sceptical since the beginning, and it was Danny’s job to change that.
‘When have I ever let you down before?’
‘You really want him to answer that?’ Michael glanced back at Danny, facing him but not looking directly at him.
Danny hesitated a moment before continuing. He swirled his phone in his fingers like a toy and then dangled it between the two front seats so they could see it.
‘I think it’s time to give them a call,’ he said.
‘Who?’ Luke asked.
‘Luke Skywalker and the Rebellion… who fucking else, dickhead?’
The A3 widened into four lanes as it gradually turned into a motorway. They were just on the outskirts of Portsmouth, and Danny estimated they had less than twenty minutes until they arrived at their next destination.
‘I don’t approve of this,’ Luke said.
‘I don’t know why you think this is a good idea,’ Michael added. ‘You’re just shooting us in the foot.’
I don’t care, he thought. This was his job. He was in charge. This was going to be his biggest achievement yet. One that everyone would remember him for. They – his inferiors, those who had doubted him, and those chasing after him – would think about him every waking moment of their day. He would haunt them. The one that got away with one of the UK’s largest heists.
And now it was his time to speak with them directly.
He unlocked the phone and dialled 999.
‘Nine-nine-nine, what’s your emergency?’ came the operator’s voice moments later.
‘Yes. This is The Crimsons.’
| EPISODE 3 |
CHAPTER SIX
BETTER NEWS
Pemberton’s heart caught in her mouth, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure whether she’d vomited or not. She swallowed it down, and then, for a long while, stared blankly into the officer’s face.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.