48 Hours - A City of London Thriller (37 page)

Rik let go of Lavender with a gasp. He collapsed and slid on
his back down the stairs, landing in a heap on the concrete floor.
He lay still, mouth and eyes wide open as blood pooled under his
body, the effects of gravity draining the blood from his body in
the absence of a working heart.

Lavender rushed up the stairs to cradle Dee in her
arms.

“
I thought you were dead!” the younger girl sobbed. “Oh, Dee,
please don’t die! I can’t lose you!”

Two voices shouted “Clear!” and a paramedic raced up the
stairs to attend to Dee.

“
There’s a man in there who needs you more than I do.” Dee
pointed to Dave.

The paramedic was back inside a minute. “I’m afraid he has
passed, Miss. Nothing can be done for him now. Well, you’ve
certainly been in the wars, haven’t you?” he remarked, somewhat
undiplomatically.

Lavender stood up and looked around at the carnage below her.
She had seen two men killed in front of her and another two lay
dead on the concrete floor. The armed policemen were gathering
around a colleague who was just getting to his feet looking
disoriented. His black chest protection had two holes in it and
white material showed through. She watched as his colleagues
removed his jacket and chest pad to show a pristine white tee shirt
beneath. There were grins all around. The relief was palpable and
the policeman’s colleagues were slapping his back and saying,
‘You’ll have a lovely bruise there tomorrow.’

Suddenly there was a disturbance of some kind downstairs as
policemen shouted, “You can’t come in here! It’s a crime
scene.”

Chapter 77

Tottenham Press, Commercial Road, London. Sunday,
2pm.

When we heard the words “all clear, hostages have been
secured,” Don and I forgot about the promise we’d made to Inspector
Boniface and leapt out of the van. We ran towards the building,
ignoring the howled protests behind us.

For a man of his age, Don Fisher could cover a hundred yards
surprisingly quickly. He was close behind me all the way. We ran
into the unit, and two armed policemen blocked the way. I wasn’t
about to let them stop me, and I body swerved between a Lexus and a
black 4x4 before coming to a halt at the bottom of a set of steel
stairs.

Lavender Fisher, barefoot and wearing a stereotypical little
black dress, came down the stairs. She looked drawn and dusty but
she still looked beautiful to me, and probably more so to her
father.

Don Fisher swept her up in his arms. “You, young lady, will
not leave my sight until you are at least thirty.” He hugged her as
tightly as a man could without physically damaging her.

I looked to the top of the stairs, searching anxiously for any
sign of Dee. When I eventually caught sight of her I was shocked.
Dee was still wearing the leather catsuit she’d been wearing the
last time I’d seen her, but the left sleeve and right leg were
missing. Around both limbs were copious amounts of bandages. A
Paramedic was half carrying her down the stairs, whilst another
walked carefully down backwards in front of her, in case she
stumbled. They reached the bottom safely, and headed towards the
door.

At that moment another two intruders broke through police
lines. This time it was Geordie and Tom Vastrick. Geordie handed
the paramedic a card and said, “Take her to the Highbury Clinic,
please. They’re expecting her.”

Tom turned to Dee, and placed his palm on her
cheek.

“
I’m very pleased to see you, Dee. Don’t expect any time off,
by the way. You got kidnapped in your free time, after all,” he
said.

I took her in my arms, taking her weight and hugging her
tightly.

“
Will you marry me?” I asked.

“
If I don’t die,” she quipped, managing a weak smile. There
was a round of applause from the same policemen who had objected to
my presence in their crime scene.

“
I have been shot, you know. Twice!” she giggled.

The paramedic winked at me, and explained in a single
word.

“
Morphine”.

Chapter 7
8

Highbury Clinic, Blackstock Rd, North London. Sunday,
2:40pm.

The journey to the hospital had taken only a few minutes, and
I sat with Dee in the ambulance, holding her hand whilst the
paramedic attached her to a drip and a variety of
machines.

The hospital was a modern brick building of two storeys,
sporting a colourful blue sign depicting the name of a well-known
provider of private medicine. The sign below read ‘No A&E
facilities’. I wondered why we had come here, until Dee was wheeled
in and was in the operating theatre within two minutes.

I waited in the lobby with Don Fisher and Lavender, who had
followed the ambulance in the paramedics’ sitting ambulance,
basically a Volvo Estate car. A Doctor approached us and explained
that Dee would be treated and back in her room within the
hour.

“
Now, if you will come with me, young lady, I need to examine
you,” the doctor said. Lavender stood up to accompany the doctor,
as did Don Fisher. Lavender frowned and said “Dad!” and Don Fisher
sat back down.

As they disappeared into a room, a police car drew up outside.
A young policewoman came into the lobby and addressed us
both.

“
Mr Hammond, Mr Fisher, my name is Andrea Farrell and I am the
police constable assigned to guard your two rooms for the night.
The hospital has kindly assigned Ms Conrad and Ms Fisher companion
rooms next to each other on the first floor. We can go on up and
wait for them there, if you’d like.”

It didn’t sound like a question, and so we both followed her
to the lift. Once we emerged from the lift we entered a corridor
that was more like a hotel than a hospital. It didn’t have that
hospital smell which is prevalent in all NHS premises, but smelled
like a newly built hotel. WPC Farrell checked the piece of paper in
her hand and led us to rooms 35 and 33. The doors were close
together.

Andrea opened number 35 and said, “This room has been assigned
to Miss Conrad.” We followed the WPC inside, and looked around. The
room was spacious and beautifully decorated, and could easily have
passed as an upmarket hotel. The cream painted walls were adorned
with tasteful, bright watercolours. The bed looked as though it
contained enough technology for space travel, and against the wall
stood a sofa and a matching armchair with a high back. On the wall
opposite the bed hung a flat screen TV which was operated from the
bed via a remote control.

“
The sofa folds out into a bed, should you wish to stay the
night,” WPC Farrell informed us.

I saw the brightly lit en suite bathroom, with its sandy
coloured marble effect tiles and full sized bath, and I suddenly
felt grubby. I realised that we had all been wearing the same
clothes since Friday.

“
I’ll be next door, Josh,” Don Fisher said, his hand resting
on my shoulder.

“
OK,” I answered, noticing that his face was pale and drawn.
All the worries of fatherhood seemed to be resting on his
shoulders. Seeing him vulnerable and exposed as he was made me
realise that, no matter how rich you may be, you can’t keep your
kids entirely safe.

I decided I should have a bath, and rang downstairs for extra
towels. A nurse arrived in the room a few minutes later. She laid
the towels and some other linen on the bed.

“
I thought you might need these,” she said, holding up a pair
of plain white boxer shorts. “They look the right size.” She
grinned at my obvious embarrassment as she held them in front of my
groin.

“
Also, if you’re staying overnight, you might need
these.”

She laid out what looked like a lounge suit consisting of dark
blue track suit trousers and a matching zip up top. The colourful
hospital logo was embroidered on the left had side of the chest. To
my dismay it looked a lot like the Arsenal football club
badge.

“
If you need anything else, just let me know. Oh, by the way,
you can see the Emirates Stadium in the distance from this window.”
She left, closing the door behind her. I went to the window and
closed the curtains.

Chapter 7
9

Tottenham Press, Commercial Road, London. Sunday,
5pm.

Inspector Boniface and DCI Coombes left the Tottenham
Operations Room as soon as the operation was over, arriving just
after the paramedics had left. They had been here for almost three
hours and the scene was still buzzing with people.

The last of the bodies had just been taken away in the
coroner’s black van, and some of the crime scene investigators had
also gone, but the doctor was still in the building.

The armed response team had been quizzed by the Internal
Investigations Branch, standard procedure in a fatal shooting, and
their recollections matched the findings of the crime scene
investigators. Now they were all piling into cars and minibuses to
return to base.

The doctor, still wearing his white protective overalls and
plastic overshoes, strode over to the two senior
detectives.

“
What a bloodbath. Six suspects, five of whom are dead, and a
hostage shot twice. There is some good news, if you can call it
that. We only took one of them down. Preliminary analysis suggests
that Sonny Holloway was killed by a machine pistol, almost
certainly by the suspect who was killed by the firearms squad.
Then, it gets confusing. We know that one of the hostages shot the
last man but there were two more bodies upstairs. My best guess is
that the one on top killed the one underneath before our last man
killed him.

If you’re keeping score, we killed one, three were killed by
other suspects and the hostage shot one. With one still alive,
that’s all six accounted for, gentlemen.” The doctor removed his
latex gloves and unzipped his overalls.

“
You’ll have the full report tomorrow,” he volunteered as he
walked away.

***

DS Scott and DS Fellowes had joined the two senior detectives
and were reporting their findings. DS Scott offered to lead, and
Fellowes nodded.

“
All firearms used in the shootings today have been recovered
and bagged. Additionally we discovered a small armoury in a steel
lockbox concealed in the paint store. The contents have been logged
and removed. There were two blocks of RDX explosives in there, as
well. DS Fellowes also had a memorable find.”

DS Scott looked at Fellowes, who took up the story. “Hidden
with the spare wheel was a carefully wrapped painting. It has
Churchill’s signature on it and is probably the one De Montagu sold
to Hickstead. As we suspected, it had been kept in Hickstead’s
safety deposit box.

Also concealed in the body panels were necklaces, bracelets,
rings, cash in numerous currencies, and a collection of gold
Krugerrands in a coin collector’s album. There were at least a
hundred in there, and they usually sell for about five hundred
pounds each.

Best of all, there’s a holdall in the office packed with fifty
pound notes. The bag weighed just over twenty three kilos. A
million pounds in fifties weighs twenty two kilos. What’s the
betting that the numbers match those given to us by Fisher’s
bank?”

Suddenly the weariness lifted from all four men and they
smiled. Tomorrow Lord Hickstead would come looking for a deal,
fondly imagining he still had the bargaining chip of hostages. That
interview would now be much more enjoyable. The four men all shook
hands, and Boniface spoke.

“
You three go home and get some rest. I’ll call in at the
hospital and see if our victims want to see his Lordship squirm
tomorrow. I think they deserve that.”

Chapter 80

Highbury Clinic, Blackstock Rd, North London. Sunday,
5:30pm.

I sat on the edge of the bed talking to Dee when she was
awake. If we stopped talking, even for a few seconds, her eyelids
would flutter and she would be drifting away again. The doctor
explained that she would be ‘dopey’ until she had enjoyed a good
night’s sleep.

There was a tap on the door.

“
Come in,” I shouted, and Dee opened her eyes.

Don Fisher and Lavender came into the room. He was wearing a
blue lounge suit like mine, and Lavender was wearing the equivalent
in burgundy. Rather inappropriately I thought, if I took a picture
of them dressed like that I could blackmail them for a million
pounds and get it, no questions asked.

Lavender went to Dee and hugged her, kissing her on the cheek,
before running her fingers down the other cheek.

“
Oh Dee, your face is all bruised. Is it OK?” Sonny’s fist had
indeed left an ever developing bruise that ran from her jaw line to
her cheekbone. All hues of yellow, blue and purple were now
represented in the swelling.

“
It’ll heal quicker than the bullet wounds,” Dee joked
weakly.

Lavender came over to me and gave me a hug, too. She hung on
for quite a while before Dee reminder her that I was ‘her man’.
Lavender kissed me on the lips for devilment.