A typical London day: hissing down with rain, and a stiff enough breeze to blow it in your face as you walk along; the ever-present daytime background hubbub; a taxi blaring its horn as someone too intent on a phone conversation steps into its path.
The old man smiled nostalgically. It really was rather good to be back in this city that he had called home for so many years. Indeed, he looked upon it as his adopted city, although it was doubtful that it would want to adopt him. In fact, it would be more likely to throw him out on his ear if it knew he had returned.
Turning to his left, he began to walk slowly towards the large square that opened out between the surrounding buildings, showing the familiar art gallery off to full advantage. He paused to appreciate just how unassailable a target it should have been.
"So what are you saying, Ash? We should just call the whole thing off?"
It had nearly not happened, at so many different stages. The initial idea of a robbery had been preposterous, and it had taken a little while for the crew to come round to it. The security had proved almost unbreakable until Ash had spotted the Achilles' heel. And then the police had been breathing down their necks the whole time. It could have crashed and burned at any point. But fortune had smiled on them, and the only fly in the ointment had been after the con.
He felt, and looked, very proud of it all. To have been a part of that team, to have achieved what they had finally achieved and not to have become the thieves they at all costs could not become – it was still an amazing feeling.
"They'll say the diamond has been found, and the perpetrators caught."
He pulled himself from his reverie and began walking around the perimeter of the square. The tiny camera in his lapel pin took everything in.
"It's looking good, Albert," said the familiar gravelly voice in his ear. "Just pan a little to the right for me, will you?" As the panorama unfolded, "Bit more…that's it. Got him."
The short, dapper, bald man walked briskly round the side of the church and across the road. His consciousness didn't even register the elderly gentleman in the long overcoat standing a few hundred yards away.
"OK, Albert, that's all I need. It's definitely the right guy. You can stand down now."
Instinctively, Albert tipped his hat to his unseen helper, and walked to the nearest underground station. There, rather than be seen on the street, he took the tube one stop, went up the escalator, and hailed a cab at, appropriately enough, Chancery Lane.
******
Danny ground his teeth in frustration. "But what's the point of it? We've got this place now. We don't have to worry about staff coming in to clean, police turning up on our doorstep, or having to pay the bill…"
"…with bent credit cards," interjected Stacie.
"Yes, thank you, Miss Perfect, I did say sorry at the time. Didn't think I'd have it thrown in me face at every possible opportunity."
The others laughed at Danny's discomfiture and he carried on with his rant. "I mean, it was three bloomin' years ago. What is the point of going after this bloke when he probably doesn't remember us, or even care if we exist?"
Albert rested his fingertips together and said, "Remember the dish that's best served cold, Danny."
"What, sushi?"
Ash guffawed, Mickey buried his head in his hands and Stacie just shook her head despairingly.
"Revenge," corrected Albert. "We were seriously put out because of the actions of that one individual. We were, if you remember, even homeless at one stage."
"We need a new gaff, cos I can smell cats."
"Believe me, Albert, I've tried very hard to erase that memory from my mind." Danny shuddered. "Gives me the willies just thinking about it."
"Well, hold on to that feeling! Let it be your motivation, and we can make sure this man doesn't have the opportunity to abuse his authority again."
"Fine, if you're sure, then," Danny conceded.
"We are," replied Mickey, firmly.
Stacie spoke up. "I've been talking to some of the girls who used to work for him. Seems as if over-zealousness is one of his better points. He's had some of them sacked after they rejected his 'advances'."
"Eugh." Danny looked as if he might throw up. "Fancy havin' that comin' on to you."
"Ash?" prompted Mickey.
Ash pointed the remote control at the projector, and the team turned to see a picture of the man Albert had been filming.
"I've got his routine down to a T. Depending on which shift he's covering, he leaves his flat in the Barbican at either 6.30am or 3.30pm." Here Ash changed the slide to show the mark crossing a busy London thoroughfare. "He walks to work in less than thirty minutes, and stays for ten hours, not a second longer. Does the return trip via the same route, sometimes varying it to stop in at one of the watering holes on the way home." The slideshow advanced again, this time showing their man sitting drinking outside a pub.
"Family and friends?"
"As far as I can make out, he doesn't have any friends that he sees regularly."
"Why am I not surprised?" asked Stacie.
"His parents live in Wales and are getting on a bit, so they can't visit. His married sister apparently ended up taking them into her family home so she could look after them."
There was an astounded silence, which was finally broken by Mickey saying, "Ash, you never cease to amaze me. How in the world did you find out all this stuff?"
Ash grinned. "Courtesy of" – another picture flashed up – "Pauline Ritchie. She's our mark's sister, and I was lucky enough to catch her on a once-in-a-blue-moon visit."
"That was extremely lucky, if you don't mind me saying so," said Albert.
"A combination of luck and bin diving," admitted Ash. He displayed a piece of paper that was actually more sticky tape than paper and continued, "The luck was that Mrs. Ritchie wrote her brother the week before to say she was coming to London, and told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted to see him while she was here. And her letter went straight in the bin, along with a load of other personal stuff. Our friend doesn't seem to believe in shredders."
"She didn't travel here purely to see her dearly beloved brother, then?"
"No, she and her husband had taken a long-awaited break from caring for the aged parents (who were in respite care) and come on a sightseeing trip."
"And what was the purpose of this enforced family meeting?" enquired Albert.
"From what I could pick up on the long-distance mike, it was to get her brother more involved in looking after his mum and dad. Unfortunately, he had no intention of doing so and pretty much sent sis away with a flea in her ear."
"So it was a fairly short discussion, then?" Mickey stated more than asked.
"Very. When she realised that big brother wasn't going to give any kind of help, not even financial, to her or their parents, she left in a right old rage - but not before she'd verbally knocked seven bells out of him." Ash displayed a photograph of an angry-looking woman leaving the Barbican apartment.
"Good for her!" said Stacie. "What a selfish, tight-fisted creep."
"Don't feel too sorry for her," replied Ash. "I've gathered from their correspondence that she's just as keen to get out of being their carer as he is. Basically, she's had enough and is now trying to pass the buck."
"Lovely family," said Danny in disgust.
"Can you see an 'in' in any of this, Ash?" Mickey asked.
"Not the family stuff, no, although I reckon that if we take this guy for everything, he'll be so strapped for cash that he'll have no option but to go crawling to his sister and beg her to take him in. Now that would be poetic justice."
As the others pondered this in silence, Ash pressed the remote control. "He hasn't changed much. A bit less hair, and what's left is a little more grey, but basically he's just the same. And, of course, he still works here," he added, changing the slide again.
"We need to make sure that if we do this, we do it right," declared Mickey. "This guy mustn't know what hit him until it's too late."
"Do we want him to know that he's been stung, and that it was us?" asked Stacie.
"I think that would be much more satisfying," Albert replied, "but what we reveal depends on the con we ultimately settle for."
Mickey nodded in agreement. "It would be nice, though, for him to have at least a sneaking suspicion about who's done what to him. Let's sleep on it, then we'll get together tomorrow and see what we can come up with, OK?"
******
Lunchtime the next day saw the team sitting down in Eddie's. The barman had got used to them being back now, and the initial delight he had shown at their return had quickly disappeared, to be replaced by the native grumpiness and suspicion they had come to expect.
Stacie was collecting the drinks from the bar. Eddie had been trying his best to stand his ground and insist the crew paid for everything up front, but he had a soft spot for Stacie and found it well-nigh impossible to assert himself in the face of her beauty and sweetly flattering turn of phrase.
So it was that as she walked back to their table bearing a trayful of drinks, Eddie was left seething but unable to do anything about it. Their tab had begun again, and all his efforts to avoid it had been in vain.
At the grifters' booth, there were a few reluctant faces as Stacie stood with her hand out. The four men each handed over a twenty pound note, and Stacie pocketed these with a smug smile.
"I could've done that," insisted Danny petulantly.
"But you didn't," Stacie reminded him. "You had two shots and he didn't fall for it either time. As for you," she pointed an accusing finger at Albert who had begun to protest, "don't tell me you did it first. Conning him into buying a round for the entire bar doesn't count. The bet was to see who could get him to reinstate our tab."
"OK, fun and games over, everyone, let's get down to business." Mickey tinkled his empty coffee cup with a spoon to get their attention as the banter threatened to get out of control. "Ash has a couple of things he wants to fill us in on."
"Yeah, last night I was having another look at the paperwork I, er, relieved Mr. Ford of, and first of all I wanted to say that it will not be hard to clean this guy out. He's well enough paid for an average city worker, but he's by no means Richard Branson. His bank statements" – he passed copies round the table – "will attest to that. Secondly, and more important, I think, is that I went through the letters from his sister again in case I'd missed anything…and I had."
Ash paused briefly and looked at the others, who had been digesting the financial information before them. He picked up another reconstituted document and read aloud, " 'You obviously think more of your pathetic pastime than you do of your own flesh and blood. I suppose if we lived in St. Andrews you'd be here in a flash.' "
"Now, call me stupid, but I hadn't picked up on that before." He waited for the penny to drop.
"Golf!" exclaimed Stacie.
Ash nodded. "With that in mind, I went through every letter that had passed between them – I think he must have thrown out the last ten years' worth in a fit of temper – and it turns out he's an avid golfer. He mentions his club, golfing partners, trips abroad – the whole nine yards. What I'd really like is to get a look at his e-mails, cos I reckon that's how he keeps in touch with his golfing mates. He certainly hasn't played a round since I've been watching him." Ash sat back, satisfied that he had provided the best background information he could.
Mickey had been deep in thought, but now he said, "That's our way in. Definitely. Ash, get access to his computer – at home or at the office – both, if possible. I realise that may be difficult because he knows our faces, but the high turnover of staff at his place of work may be in our favour: few, if any, of them are likely to recognise us."
"I'll start with his flat, that'll be easier than his office. I'll be the meter man or the carpet cleaner," said Ash.
"Once we have all this golfy information, what are we going to do with it?" asked Danny sceptically.
Albert patted the younger man's hand in a fatherly gesture. "One step at a time, Daniel."
******
Mickey sat down in their living room across from Ash, who was turning a small object over and over in his hands. He looked up, and Mickey was stunned to see the stricken expression on his face.
"Ash, what's wrong?"
"This." He held out a memory stick. Mickey leaned forward for a closer look.
"What's on it?"
"Only part of the contents of the hard drive from Nigel Ford's home computer. I couldn't fit the rest on." He hesitated. "Mick, I feel filthy. I've never seen anything like that in my life, and I never want to again."
Suited and booted in orange overalls and carrying a steam cleaner, Ash checked to make sure he wasn't being watched, then deftly picked the lock and got in.
He took a good look round the flat to make sure nobody was at home, and, finding the place clear, sat down on the computer chair and switched on the power. While he was waiting for the machine to boot up, he examined the rack of CDs that sat close by on the desk. Some music, some DVDs, even a few talking books – crime thrillers, mostly.
The desktop screen came up, and Ash sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. He was heartily relieved to see that Ford didn't have the computer password protected. That would save a lot of time and grief. He quickly navigated to the directory and then produced a small black memory stick which he inserted into the nearest port. A few mouse clicks, and he was copying files to it from the hard drive.
Almost ten minutes later, a message popped up on the screen: "Your disk is full. Please insert another one or try again." Ash frowned. The memory stick could hold five gigs. What on earth was taking up so much space? He clicked on a file in the directory – the filenames were made up of seemingly random numbers and letters – and immediately regretted it.
He instinctively pushed away from the computer desk and bolted for the bathroom. Several minutes of retching later, he leaned back against the wall and sank to the floor, hands to his face, as if to try and erase the image. After a while, he managed to steel himself to go back to the computer and close the file. Gingerly, he chose another, opened it, and quickly shut it down again. He decided to look at the filenames more closely – was there any pattern to them?
He spotted a folder named "$$$". Surely that would be safe. With his fingers literally crossed, he clicked on the dollar signs, and found dozens of spreadsheets. A brief survey of these showed names, dates, amounts, and descriptions of items that had changed hands. He noticed that each item had a number, and he recognised some of these as the kind of filenames the photographs had. So Ford was selling these files to others, and not cheaply, either.
This gave Ash an idea. He opened the e-mail program and found messages from the individuals named in the spreadsheets. The contacts in the address book ran into the hundreds. He swiftly inspected the contents of the memory stick, deleted half of it, especially the images, then replaced them with the spreadsheets and address book from Ford's PC.
That done, he closed down the computer, replaced the chair precisely as he had found it, and examined the room to ensure he had left no trace that he had been there.
The last thing he had to do was clean up in the bathroom. He was pretty sure Ford wouldn't dare call the police, even if the flat got trashed, but who knew? He couldn't run the risk of leaving any evidence behind. He scrubbed the toilet and floor, collected his equipment, and left. He badly wanted to get home and take a long, hot shower, preferably using carbolic soap.
Mickey stared aghast, first at his friend, then at the device which now lay on the low table between them. "Pornography?" he asked quietly.
"Of the worst sort. I don't usually feel like involving the law, but right now it's all I can do to stop myself getting down the local nick and handing this in. The only trouble would be explaining how I came by it and how I knew whose it was."
Still in shock, Mickey sat back and considered. "This isn't about us any more," he said.
"No. It's about stopping him before he does any more damage. There were…" – Ash could hardly bring himself to talk about it – "e-mails from his 'golfing buddies' that made it only too clear that golf is not his main hobby after all."
"He distributes this stuff as well?" asked Mickey in disbelief.
"I tell you, Mick, if I worked for the Vice Squad I'd be congratulating myself on hitting paydirt. That computer of Ford's has the lot: pictures, videos, contacts, messages, payments – everything the cops would need to convict him."
"Then we have to make sure that's what happens. And we need to let the others know."
******
Stacie's hand shot to her mouth in horror. All five of them stared at the data stick as if it were a ticking bomb. For several minutes after Mickey had broken the news, they sat in silence around the table.
Albert was the first to speak. "We must make sure this 'man' is brought to account," he said with grim determination.
"There's no two ways about it, Albert, I want them to lock him up and throw away the key," agreed Ash.
"Too good for him," said Danny. "I say publish these guys' details on the net and let their neighbours deal with them."
"While that might be a more gratifying method of dealing with the problem, they wouldn't have the resources to track down and convict all of his contacts," Albert replied.
"So, just to be clear on this," said Stacie, "whenever he said 'golfing', he really meant…" She trailed off, unable to say it.
"Yes," replied Mickey. "His sister was under the impression that all the time he spent away from home or with friends was because of his sporting obsession."
"That probably explains why he was so reluctant to move in with his family in Wales," suggested Albert. "He would be terrified that living in such close proximity to anyone, his secret would be discovered. And he wouldn't be quite so free to travel and meet his 'golfing partners'."
"That, and he's just a self-centred loser anyway," added Danny.
"When I think of all the trouble he took to make our lives a misery…bloody nerve," Ash finished, revulsion and anger in his voice.
"That doesn't matter now," Mickey declared, and the others murmured their assent. "Our focus has to be on how to expose him without implicating ourselves. Which is going to be quite tricky, given how the evidence was obtained. Any ideas?"
******
"Parcel for Mr. Ford."
"Oh, right. He's away on a golfing trip, but I'll leave it in his office for him."
"No problem, just sign here."
"There you go. Thanks, I'll stick it on his desk straight away. Is it urgent, do you know?"
"No idea, love. I'm just the messenger." The helmeted courier turned to leave.
"Hold on a minute!" Ash froze in his tracks, then did a 180 and walked cautiously back to girl at the reception desk.
"Where's Eric? Is he on holiday this week? He didn't mention it last time he was here. Only he usually delivers Mr. Ford's packages."
"Eric? Off sick, I think. Gotta dash now." Ash waved his gloved hand at the receptionist and almost jogged out into the street where he mounted his bike and took off.
******
From his vantage point in the office building opposite, Mickey could see all the comings and goings across the street. Chauffeur-driven cars depositing their well-heeled passengers, the commissionaire summoning taxis for his customers, and, oh…what was this? Why, the manager, returning from his holiday. Mickey pressed a button on his phone.
"He's arrived. I'll give him ten minutes to get settled back in and then I'll call them." He rang off.
A quarter of an hour later, Ash met him outside. "Just so long as he doesn't leg it through the fire exit like we did."
"Or come out and spot us first. But I suspect he has other things on his mind at the moment," smiled Mickey.
"Ah, here come the cavalry," observed Ash cheerfully, as three squad cars with accompanying lights and music sped up to the hotel, slid to a stop, and discharged a dozen officers who rushed en masse through the revolving doors.
Within five minutes they re-emerged, and Mickey and Ash were pleased to see that between the two burliest constables was Nigel Ford, duty manager of the Lexington Hotel.
"I can't quite hear what he's saying, Ash, can you? Perhaps we should go a little closer."
They moved up the street and stood opposite the police cars.
"I'm telling you, I have no idea where that thing came from! It's nothing to do with me! I have no responsibility for what people send me!" The desperation and panic in the man's voice would have told the greenest policeman that it wasn't just an unsolicited gemstone the suspect was worried about.
"Mind your head, sir."
Ford suddenly caught sight of Mickey and Ash and was struck dumb. But before he could say anything else he was helped into the back seat, handcuffed to an officer. His face, a mixture of bewilderment and anguish, could be seen pressed against the passenger window, staring at them as the car drove off, sirens blaring.
"That," said Ash, "was one of the most rewarding moments of my grifting career."
******
"You're just in time for the news," announced Albert, as Danny, Mickey and Ash entered the bar. Danny stepped back in amazement.
"Whoa, Eddie, that's some plasma screen. When did you get it?"
"Just had it fitted at the weekend," said the barman proudly.
"Ssssh," hissed Stacie as the newsreader handed over to the crime correspondent.
"…has been brought by prison van here to the Old Bailey. Nigel Ford, a 38-year-old hotel worker in the City, was initially arrested on suspicion of theft in connection with a three-year-old jewel robbery involving the legendary Star of Africa diamond. However, when forensic teams seized his home and office computing equipment, they discovered extensive evidence of child pornography activity, and he is now being charged with serious offences linked to this new find."
"Couldn't have happened to a nicer fella," declared Danny.
Eddie was staring at the screen, bemused. He turned to the five regulars sitting behind him. "Didn't you…?" he began, pointing at the TV, then halted at their quizzical expressions. He waved his hand dismissively at them. "Never mind." He returned to his post behind the bar and pulled a pint for another customer.
"I'm impressed you managed to get Doris to do another one at such short notice," remarked Danny.
"Well, it did cost, but we could afford it, and it was worth twice what she wanted," answered Stacie.
"Hear hear," Albert agreed.
"And it was worth getting our own back on the jewel robbery cops, too. I enjoyed rubbing their faces in it." Ash knocked back his drink. "My round, I think. Champagne, anyone?"
******
"Here, Eddie, how much did that monster set you back?" Ash nodded at the gigantic television set.
Eddie leaned confidentially towards Ash. "Between you and me, not a penny."
"No! How come?"
"You know, it was the weirdest thing. I was locking up one night about a week ago, and I came across a wedge of cash down the side of a seat over there." He indicated a booth at the opposite end of the bar from where the others were sitting. "Stuffed in an envelope, it was, five grand, just like that. So I said to meself, 'Eddie, this place needs something to brighten it up.' Went out and bought the telly the very next day, and booked a holiday to Gran Canaria while I was at it."
Ash whistled. "And nobody's been in to claim it?"
Eddie shook his head. "Not a soul." He shrugged. "Finders, keepers, eh? Yes, mate," to a man who had just come in, "what can I get you?"
Ash returned to the rest of the group with the champagne. "Mick," he began, "how much did Doris ask for the extra stone?"
"Five k. Like Stacie said, it was a bit steep, but the funds can take it at the moment."
Ash set the bottle and glasses down. "And how exactly did she take payment of it?"
Danny raised a finger. "I volunteered for that. Doris has a bit of a thing for me," he preened.
Mickey stared at him. "So what happened when she didn't show?"
Danny turned a peculiar shade of red. "Wh…what?"
Mickey leaned over the table and into Danny's face. "I said, what happened when Doris didn't show up?"
"Er…" Danny was at a loss for once. "How did you know she didn't turn up?" he finally managed to ask.
"She rang me yesterday to say she'd had to go abroad for a few weeks but would be back in touch when she returned. Something about a dealer in Bond Street being after her."
The rest of the gang were now glaring icily in Danny's direction.
"I've just been waiting for you to give me the money back – on the assumption that you still had it. Any chance of that happening sometime soon, Danny?"
"Or have we just funded Eddie's plasma screen and summer holiday?" Ash chipped in.
"I rather think it looks like the latter," sighed Albert, and poured himself a now-redundant glass of champagne. Ash lunged furiously at Danny, who was making a rather hasty bid for the exit. Stacie and Mickey were not far behind.
"'Ere, are you trying to get out of paying for that Cristal?" roared Eddie in their wake, sensing disorder. He gave up, turned, and stared menacingly across the room at Albert.
The grizzled conman raised a glass and bowed towards his irate host. "I think, Edward, that you have finally received settlement for our slate."