Royal Heist Part 45

Christina's hands were clenched. "One of them. It was in the toe of one of his boots." She described how she had found the stone and said she was now sure that it was the Koh-i-noor. She told of how she had confronted her husband, how he had said it was a fake, and how she had then used the stone to cut the dressing table mirror, proving that it was real.

"What did he do then?"

"I asked him point-blank if he was involved in the robbery."

Rodgers and the other officers leaned forward. "And what did he say?"

Christina paused. "He said he was."

The silence in the room was deafening. This was the confirmation they had all been waiting for. She continued, "When he told me . . . I didn't know what to say. It was like I was in shock. He made me some tea and . . ." Tearfully she explained how he had laced it with sleeping tablets and how she'd awoken to discover he had left during the night in the helicopter. Then she broke down, and Rodgers called for a break.

Once they resumed, she was questioned again about Sylvia Hewitt and was able to recall the night of the woman's death.

"Are you aware that Sylvia Hewitt died from a mix of morphine and ketamine?" Rodgers asked quietly.

"I didn't know how she died. I believed it was suicide. I told you this when you came to the house."

"Ketamine is a strong horse tranquilizer, and vets also use it for putting smaller animals to sleep."

"I didn't know that," she said, with a dull-eyed stare.

"Would your husband have had access to this drug?"

"I suppose so . . . he did run a racing stable. You should ask Mr. Fleming. I don't know."

"You say he fed you sleeping tablets the night before he left?"

She looked up, shocked at what he was suggesting.

"Did you suspect that he may have been trying to silence you? You have told us he left the same night."

"Yes, that is correct, but there were pills left in the bottle, and if he had wanted to kill me he would have used them all." Her voice rose.

"So, you do not think your husband meant to harm you?"

"No!"

Rodgers remained silent, then leaned close to her. "When we came to the house, you said nothing of this to me, Mrs. de Jersey. Not a word about finding the diamond, not a word about confronting your husband, not a word about his admission of guilt. And that makes me suspicious."

For the next hour, Christina was forced to repeat many times the moment she confronted her husband. When she was accused of aiding his escape, she stood up. "I didn't know! I didn't know! I didn't know!" she yelled and broke down sobbing. "I didn't think he would leave me," she cried, and it was Trudy Grainger who took Rodgers aside and said that Christina should be allowed to rest.

Rodgers was fully aware that the woman was in shock, but he felt only excitement at the advances they'd made. The old adage that h.e.l.l hath no fury like a woman scorned was giving them their biggest break to date.

They stopped for lunch, and the team a.s.sessed the information. They were worried that they might have lost the big fish as they had received no word from Interpol. As for the other stolen gems, Christina had no clue where they could be. Unknown to her, a search warrant had been issued. To the consternation of the new owner, an army of police officers had arrived to search the house and stables. The same scrutiny was also directed at Tony Driscoll's property and James Wilc.o.x's house.

That evening the police gave a statement to the press saying they were now able to name Britain's most wanted man as Edward de Jersey, also known as Philip Simmons. Additional warrants had been issued for the arrest of James Wilc.o.x and Anthony Driscoll. The police said that both men were possibly residing in Spain.

On the following day, accompanied now by her solicitor, Christina began another lengthy session with the police. They asked detailed questions about her husband's trips abroad. When they learned of the trip to Monaco, they looked again at the inquiry into the Hortensia Princess owned by Paul Dulay, who had been under surveillance for weeks. Until now they had had only his confirmation that he owned the Hortensia Princess and his explanation of the "drop" witnessed by the boys.

Dulay was arrested by the French police. At first he was adamant that he had had an innocent reason for being anch.o.r.ed off Brighton. However, they were now armed with the fact that de Jersey had been at the Brighton racecourse on the afternoon of the heist and that he had arrived there shortly after the eyewitnesses said they had seen the drop. Under pressure Dulay refused to answer questions without a solicitor.

Dulay's shop and home were searched again, and under further questioning he began to break. His lawyers agreed to a deal if he gave information and admitted his part in the robbery. He took the police to the small cove and pointed out the bobbing lobster pot. The cove was jammed with sightseers and reporters as the launches set out to make the collection.

The crate was returned to the sh.o.r.e and taken to the local police station, where it was opened. In it they discovered all the stolen jewels, except for the fabulous Koh-i-noor Diamond.

Dulay was questioned round the clock and at last gave details about the sale of the diamond, and the j.a.panese buyer was traced. At first he refused to be interviewed, but then, on condition that there would be no repercussions, he admitted to having given a large down payment to Dulay for the diamond but said he had not yet received the stone. Dulay was questioned again, with the British police present, and admitted to paying Edward de Jersey half a million dollars in Paris; the rest he had kept for himself.

Now the police feared that the stone had already been broken up. They persisted in their interrogation until Dulay cracked. They could hardly believe it. The stone was hidden among pebbles by a waterfall in his garden.

When British officers reached the waterfall, they found a mermaid spouting a trickle of water from her outstretched hand. Beneath her tail fin, gleaming among the rockery stones, was the Koh-i-noor. As the water bounced off it, refracted rainbows danced in the sunlight.

In England the excitement of the jewels' return was dying down, but reporters had given heroic stature to the men they believed were behind the theft. Edward de Jersey's name was on most people's lips. The police were sent on one wild-goose chase after another. Two weeks later there were no arrests except for that of Paul Dulay. He had spilled his guts, but it became clear that he had known only so much. He had never met Driscoll or Wilc.o.x or any of the others involved in the heist, he maintained, but when he was shown the photograph of Edward de Jersey, he identified him as Philip Simmons. He remained in a French prison until he could be brought to England to stand trial.

After naming de Jersey as the main operator, Dulay was returned to his cell. He had not disclosed that he had met Anthony Driscoll many years before. The police still had no notion that Dulay, along with de Jersey and his team, had been behind the bullion robbery. Dulay asked for notepaper and a pen. Then he tore up his shirt and hanged himself in his cell. The note he left for Vibekka and the children asked them to forgive him. His death was a severe blow to the police. It was four weeks from the day of the robbery.

Chief Superintendent Rodgers insisted that he would not give up searching for the robbery suspects. He stated that he would arrest the culprits within the next few months. However, de Jersey's trail had gone cold. A man on the run with nothing was easy to pick up. But de Jersey had more than enough money to buy a new ident.i.ty, a new face if he so desired. Even with the efforts of the FBI and Interpol, they had no leads. He, like Wilc.o.x and Driscoll, had disappeared.

The team of detectives decided to focus their search in Spain and try to pick up Wilc.o.x and Driscoll. Armed with photographs of their suspects, plus a substantial reward for information, they headed off.

After days of interrogation Christina collapsed. She spent two days in a private clinic, and her father came to England to care for his granddaughters. At last she was given permission to return to Sweden with the girls. The Swedish authorities agreed to put surveillance on them all in case de Jersey made contact.

Christina had been in Sweden almost a week before she went to the bank. She had her own account there, with money left to her by her mother and some small items of jewelry in a deposit box. She wished to sell the jewelry as she had decided to remain in Sweden. She spoke briefly to the manager, who took her to the vault. She unlocked the box in private. In it she found a letter addressed to her. She knew from the writing on the envelope that it was from her husband. With shaking fingers she ripped it open and read the single sheet.

My Beloved, By the time you read this, either I will be a man you despise intensely or you may have found it in your heart to forgive me. I had no option but to sell fast and make no indication to you of my intentions. I did not ever want to implicate or harm you and our children in any way. I love you as much now as I did when we were first married, and I love my daughters wholeheartedly too. I also respect you and know you will bring them up to be as beautiful and admirable as yourself.

I know you would never betray me, but to safeguard your life and ensure your future happiness, the best possible scenario is for me to disappear. I have made provision for you all. The keys enclosed belong to a lovely house I chose with you all in mind, as I knew you would return to Sweden. I will love you until the day I die, and I thank you for the most beautiful and perfect twenty years. G.o.d bless you.

She held the letter loosely, reading and rereading it as the tears welled in her eyes and dropped onto the page. The keys were attached to a small card with an address on it, and beneath that was a thick envelope with bank cards and accounts in the name of Christina Olefson, her maiden name. They contained one and a half million pounds. The house was valued at three quarters of a million.

Later that day Christina sat on the stripped-pine floors of her new home, staring out at the gardens. He had thought of everything, as always through their marriage. He had loved her, and she had not trusted him. He must have known she would not, and guilt now replaced the pain she had carried for weeks. But there were no more tears: she had wept too many. She got up and pressed her face against the cold windowpane. She drew a heart in the condensation on the gla.s.s, wrote her name and his, then slashed an arrow through it. She walked out of the room as the heart dripped tears. She knew now that their life together was truly over. She had loved him so much, perhaps too much, and it had made her blind. Christina would not have cared if they had been penniless, but he would have, and that was why he had jeopardized the happiness of his family.

Christina intended to keep secret the money she had received. She did not ask the bank manager when or how her husband had accessed the deposit box. She preferred not to know. She asked her father to move in with her and the girls; then it might be thought that her father had bought the house or at least part of it. The police, she knew, were still monitoring her, perhaps hoping de Jersey would make contact. But now she was certain he would not.

She enrolled her daughters in the American school in Stockholm and began furnishing and decorating her new house.

It had been one of the coldest Mays on record, but Royal Flush was in peak condition, ready for the Derby on June eighth. The ma.s.sive stallion had lost his frantic, often dangerous edge. He had been groomed until his coat looked like black patent leather. He left the other top-cla.s.s horses a good furlong behind in training, and as the buildup to the flat-racing season started, Mickey Rowland became confident that, although the owner had changed, he would still have the ride of his life. It had been written into the deal de Jersey had struck, and for that Mickey could forgive his boss's sudden departure and the salary he was still owed.

Royal Flush's new owner kept his prowess under wraps. No spectators were allowed to watch his training sessions. Having won his two trial races with ease, he was the hot favorite for the Derby, even more so because he had been Edward de Jersey's horse. The most wanted man in Britain was about to see taken from him the prize he had coveted.

To Chief Superintendent Rodgers, the lack of sightings and of public information regarding Driscoll and Wilc.o.x, even with a large reward, was unfathomable. Clues to the whereabouts of Pamela Kenworthy-Wright had also borne no fruit until they received a call from Plymouth police. A woman had been badly burned in a fire at her flat in a run-down area known as the Fort. She had apparently fallen asleep while smoking and drinking. The neighbors had seen smoke coming from beneath her door and tried to break in. Unable to do so, they had called the fire brigade. Pamela was found in a sorry state on her bed, badly burned and suffering from smoke inhalation. When the paramedics had tried to take her to hospital she became hysterical, but by then she was sinking into a coma. Beneath her bed the police discovered a large tin box containing three thousand pounds in cash and a variety of articles that warranted suspicion. There was a shirt with Lord Westbrook's monogram and a gold signet ring with his family crest on it.

Chief Superintendent Rodgers and two officers caught the train to Plymouth, and a squad car picked them up at the station. Within fifteen minutes of their arrival at the hospital, Pamela died. It was a bitter blow that they had been unable to interview her, though her part in the robbery was later confirmed by Maureen Stanley, who identified her as the lady-in-waiting.

They spent a considerable time sifting through Pamela's belongings but came up with no further clues. She had been as diligent as de Jersey had instructed her to be, except for Westbrook's ring, which he had left her along with the cash.

Alone, and with little contact from anyone, Pamela had taken to drinking heavily as she read the exploits of the police in their hunt for the raiders. But even that began to mean little to her as she drank more and ate less. Poor Pamela. She had died a horrible death, but she made front-page headlines, and the papers showed a photograph of her taken years ago in a touring production of The School for Scandal. In the photographs from her old sc.r.a.pbook she looked beautiful, so at least she was saved the disgrace of anyone seeing her raddled, drink-blotched face and carrot red hair. She died as Lady Teazle, and even long-lost friends who had known her as an actress came forward to give eulogies about her talent and her wonderful nature and humor. She would at least have liked that part.

In Spain, Wilc.o.x was tanned and had grown his hair and beard. He was still working for Daniella's brothers. One positive outcome of his new modest lifestyle: he was getting his cocaine addiction under control. One lunch break, Daniella's brother held up a Spanish newspaper. "There's a horse here that was owned by the guy they say did the Crown Jewels robbery," he said, stabbing at the paper. "It's called Royal Flush."

When the young man had gone, Wilc.o.x read the story about Royal Flush. He turned the page to see a picture of Edward de Jersey, still at large, and yet another lengthy article about the jewel heist. He stared at de Jersey's impa.s.sive face. It would be just like him, Wilc.o.x thought, to turn up at the Derby, bold as bra.s.s, and watch his horse run. He wondered whether the police had thought the same thing. He could not resist touching the image of de Jersey's face and sending up a silent prayer that he did not.

Driscoll was flicking through the U.K. satellite channels. Eventually he settled on one where they were discussing the forthcoming Derby. At first he paid little attention as he had never been a gambling man. When he had worked in Ronnie Jersey's betting shops, the old boy had warned him to keep his money in his pocket and let the punters lose theirs. Driscoll had religiously followed his advice. Then the program focused on a horse called Royal Flush, once owned by Edward de Jersey, and he gave the TV his full attention. Driscoll had not allowed himself to think about de Jersey, but hearing his name brought it all back. He rarely left his apartment for fear of being recognized and had grown a full beard. He had lost a considerable amount of weight, partly as a result of living on his nerves and partly thanks to the fresh salads and vegetables he bought at the market. The stomach pains and indigestion he'd lived with for years had abated, and he was much fitter thanks to the nightly jogs he took to pick up newspapers left on the beaches by the tourists. Over the past couple of days he had been in a panic: his own face was plastered over the papers along with Wilc.o.x's. He sent up a silent prayer that for his sake, for Jimmy's, for the old Three Musketeers, de Jersey would stay hidden.

By late May, Christina knew that the hype for the Derby would soon pick up, and this Derby would have special implications for her. She would not place a bet-she never had-but for de Jersey's sake, she hoped Royal Flush would win. Like Wilc.o.x, she wondered if he would risk watching his horse race. This was the race her husband had wanted so badly to win, with its connection to his long-dead father, though exactly what the connection was she did not know. All she hoped was that he would not surface.

CHAPTER 28.

The police were still maintaining a large team on the hunt for de Jersey and were armed with recent photographs of Wilc.o.x and Driscoll. Liz Driscoll had no idea where her husband had been on the day of the robbery, and Rika said she was certain Wilc.o.x had been at home because it had been his sons' birthday party. Up to this point no physical evidence had connected either of the pair to the heist, but they had set themselves up for suspicion with their absence. The hunt for them was stepped up.

After nearly a month of wild-goose chases around Spain, the police came up with nothing. Chief Superintendent Rodgers was now looking into leadingleisurewear and Alex Moreno. But Moreno had disappeared off the face of the earth. Rodgers was feeling depressed when he called a meeting to update his top officers. He knew he had to remind the public that de Jersey was still at large-he needed their help-but even the press were no longer eager for bulletins. At his last weekly session with the big chiefs, they had hinted about bringing in a fresh team to review the situation.

He stood up, pushed back his chair, and went to the meeting room where the twenty male and two female officers on the inquiry sat waiting for him. He entered with a scowl on his face and stood in front of the rows of photographs a.s.sembled on one wall. "Well, I'm going to have the rug pulled out from under my feet if we don't make some b.l.o.o.d.y arrests," he snapped. "They're still at large, and anyone with any bright ideas, now's the time to spill them out."

Sara Redmond, a small, pretty, blond detective, raised her hand. "It strikes me, gov, that the one lead we do have is this name, Philip Simmons. Why did he use that name? Maybe there's some historical reason, some link to his past. Or perhaps he's used it in other crimes. It's worth a-"

The phone rang. Rodgers picked it up and listened, his face changing from drawn gray to deep red. As he hung up, he hit the table with the flat of his hand. "We've got a guy held in Newcastle, brought in after a burglary went belly-up. He's asking for a deal." They looked on in antic.i.p.ation. "He's admitted to being in the heist."

The room erupted with a cheer, and they scrambled to their feet. Sara Redmond's comment was forgotten.

In exchange for a reduced sentence, Kenneth Short had given a statement in which he admitted to being one of the bikers on the raid. At first he had denied knowing his partner, but eventually he gave the second name and the police picked up Brian Hall from the farm in Dorset where he had been hiding out. Short had been paid in cash by a man he knew only as Philip Simmons, twenty thousand up-front with a second twenty thousand to come after the stones had been sold. After reading in the press that the jewels had been recovered, he knew he would never see the second payment, but he had already got himself into debt on the strength of it. He had arranged to burgle a factory office, but he had been caught by a security guard with a dog.

Hall and Short described how they had used the boats as getaway vehicles, then set fire to the boathouse. Both motorbikes were recovered from where the men had left them. They also took the police to the barn, which still housed the second Daimler. In addition to providing the team with fresh evidence, the two men's arrest put the robbery back on the front pages, and the police hoped for further developments.

Neither of the men arrested could give details of the setup for the robbery, but they told the police that they had been brought in by Tony Driscoll. Hall had worked for Driscoll years back but had met him again when he was hired to work at his daughter's wedding. Both men identified Wilc.o.x as the driver. Now the hunt for Driscoll and Wilc.o.x intensified.

Wilc.o.x and Driscoll were forced to sweat it out. Spain was crowded with British holidaymakers, and photographs of the two were placed in every Spanish police station, in bus shelters and airports, with REWARD in red letters printed above their faces.

The next lucky break came from a prisoner who also wanted to make a deal. He said he had heard a rumor that a guy in Franklyn had had something to do with it, a Gregory Jones.

Jones was unforthcoming. He was in for life and knew he would not get a more lenient sentence, even if he cooperated. He agreed to talk only when they promised to put in a good word for his transfer to an open prison. From Jones the team learned how he had told Edward de Jersey, posing as a solicitor named Philip Simmons, about the Royal household's security procedures. Jones did not indicate that he had been paid.

Reviewing the outcome of the work, Rodgers was back on form, his energy renewed. And his officers were more confident now. They felt they knew both Wilc.o.x and Driscoll, having spent hours interviewing Liz Driscoll and Wilc.o.x's live-in girlfriend and his ex-wife. Trudy Grainger and Sara Redmond, the two women attached to the team, had both been very visible when they and Christina de Jersey had been interviewed.

"We may be getting to know Driscoll and Wilc.o.x, but Edward de Jersey remains an enigma," Trudy said as she checked over the recent statements.

"What do you mean?" Sara asked.

"Well, he doesn't fit into the same pattern as either Wilc.o.x or Driscoll. He's a different kind of man, and you can almost understand why the press make such a meal of him, of all three of them. I mean, they didn't use any violence during the robbery. n.o.body got hurt."

"You want to bet?" Sara said.

Trudy continued, "They didn't use violence. It's a fact. All right, they put the fear of G.o.d into the security guard at D'Ancona, ditto the staff, but in the long run it's benefited that Queen look-alike. She's getting a lot of mileage out of the kidnapping. She's in the News of the World every week, and her husband is acting as her manager! Last Sunday they gave her a full-page spread in the magazine section on how to wear twinsets or some such c.r.a.p. Like I said, n.o.body got hurt and they got the jewels back, so that's why the public doesn't give a toss."

"I don't agree about n.o.body getting hurt. Ask the wives-in particular Christina de Jersey-how they feel. They were lying b.a.s.t.a.r.ds all of them, especially Edward de Jersey. He didn't give a d.a.m.n for his wife or his two kids. How do you think they're coping?"

"Probably loving it," snapped Trudy, irritated because she knew Sara was right.

"Loving it?" Sara asked. "No way. He walked out on them, and got away with millions. He's not a hero to me. He's a lying, two-faced son of a b.i.t.c.h, and I hope we catch the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Okay, you made your point. But for all his faults we can't seem to get a single person to say anything bad about him."

Sara leaned against Trudy's desk. "No, that's not quite right. It's not that no one will say anything bad about him, it's that they don't want to say anything at all. Maybe because they're afraid. But someone's got to know him, got to be able to lead us to him."

Trudy smiled. "Well, maybe you'll find them now. I've got to take these in to the gov, so excuse me."

Sara returned to her desk and sat doodling on a notepad. All the men arrested had spoken freely about Driscoll and Wilc.o.x but seemed reluctant or unable to divulge much about Edward de Jersey. They said he spoke little, was always polite yet acted like an army officer. They had never seen him angry: he had always been pleasant, well dressed, and courteous. Brian Hall had said Wilc.o.x and Driscoll hung out together, rarely talking to anyone but de Jersey; both men always referred to him as the Colonel. Sara drew a pin man with a big head and a curling mustache and printed under it THE COLONEL. Then she tore it into fragments and concentrated on looking over all the statements from Brian Hall.

Sara was not the only person who had picked up on Hall's reference to Edward de Jersey's nickname. When he was receiving all of the other information, Rodgers had not paid it much attention. But now it intrigued him, and he stepped out of his cubicle. "Sara, can you print up Brian Hall's statements for me?"

"Sure, just going over them myself, gov."

Rodgers sat down again in his swivel chair, his desk empty but for a telephone and a notepad. He detested clutter as much as he loathed computers. He was hemmed in by boxes and filing cabinets. It was as if the hunt for the jewel thieves had been going on for years instead of weeks.

Sara placed the statements on his desk and watched as he thumbed through them. "You looking for something specific?" she asked.

"Yep. It was something Hall said. It's lodged in my brain. Did he say that Driscoll and Wilc.o.x called de Jersey by a nickname, something like the Colonel?"

"Yes, gov. It's on page four, about five lines in."

Rodgers looked up, surprised. "Thanks. That's all for now."

She walked out, and he frowned, rereading the sentence in Hall's interview as a bell rang in his mind. He closed his eyes and thought back to his days as a rookie officer, days when stories abounded about a mythical, untouchable robber known only as the Colonel. Could de Jersey have been that mastermind? He was the right age. Suddenly Sara Redmond's suggestion that de Jersey had used the name Philip Simmons for a historical reason came flooding back to him. Could it be that if he looked again at the robberies attributed to the Colonel-the Gold Bullion Raid and the Great Train Robbery-the name Philip Simmons would crop up there too?

Rodgers walked into the main incident room. "I need a car. I want to go to Edward de Jersey's place. Is Trudy around?"

"No, sir. She's just left to check out Gregory Jones's bank statements. She's going to interview his mother and-"

"Never mind. You come with me. Right now."

Rodgers headed out to the estate again. This time he wanted to talk at greater length with those who worked there, those who had been in day-to-day contact with de Jersey. Up until now Rodgers had concentrated on the physical evidence and myriad leads, but now he knew he would have to understand the man. One thing everyone mentioned fascinated Rodgers: de Jersey was obsessed with Royal Flush. He had treated the stallion like a son, they said, had given him more attention than his own daughters.

At the estate, Rodgers was surprised to see so few people. But there were heavy cement trucks and building equipment: the new owner had begun renovations. In the stables Rodgers went from one empty stall to another, and Sara trailed after him. It was obvious that the staff, or most of them, had left. Rodgers came across Fleming talking to the vet.

"Afternoon," Rodgers said. "Could I just ask you a few questions?"

They returned to Fleming's old office, stripped now although the photograph of de Jersey with the Queen remained on the desk. The vet told Rodgers that de Jersey had been beside himself when Royal Flush was injured and ill. He said that de Jersey himself had tended the horse's injured leg. Fleming told Rodgers that de Jersey seemed able to communicate with the horse better than anyone else. He recalled de Jersey's outright refusal when it had been suggested they geld Royal Flush due to the vicious temperament that might destroy the horse's concentration on the racetrack. Fleming decided not to mention the "arrangement" he had had with de Jersey or his payment of ten thousand pounds. He was too ashamed of it and knew it would not help the inquiry. As much as de Jersey loved the horse, he had risked his performance in the Derby. But Fleming now understood why de Jersey had used the stallion illegally to cover his champion dam. He had known that he might lose him and wanted the chance to own another racehorse as great as Royal Flush.

The vet left, and Rodgers with Sara, who had not said a word, remained in the office. Fleming was uneasy.

"n.o.body wants this, then," Rodgers said, picking up the silver-framed photograph of de Jersey with the Queen.

"I do," Fleming said softly. He gave a glum smile. "The Derby was the race he always wanted to win. He had entered many of his horses over the years. It was something to do with his father."