Consequence (25 page)

Richards nodded, “But still. Why all this money?”

“Like I said. Drugs, rich businessmen like their drugs. Drugs and hookers, it helps de-stress them I guess.”

“That doesn’t fit though,” Richards said with thoughtful contemplation. “He’s a respected man. He has a big company, a beautiful wife and a young daughter, he doesn’t seem the sort.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Maybe…but, why so much money for a single drug trade? Surely only top end dealers would be using all of this cash to buy drugs.”

“Maybe he does a little bit of dealing on the side,” Phillips suggested placidly. “Who cares, we have the money. That’s what matters,” he smiled and wrapped his arm around his friend. “We’re fucking rich buddy,” he said loudly.

Richards smiled and nodded but his smile soon faded, “What if it’s laundered,” he asked. “A big company like that -- crime syndicates would be all over him to filter their dirty dealings. The last thing we need is a group of gun toting thugs after us.”

“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” Phillips paused. “Well, it’s nothing
I
can’t handle,” he added with a grin.

They continued in silence. Phillips’s mind was on the money, how much there was and how much would be left over after buying their dream business. He acknowledged that there could be enough for them to scrap the business idea and retire; Richards’s mind was in less of a dream world, he was plagued with the origins of the stolen cash.

In the flat they both felt a rush of exhilaration. As Richards deactivated the explosives, Phillips hot-footed it behind him like a child in desperate hunt for a toilet.

They stumbled eagerly towards a cupboard under the sink where they stored an electronic money counter. They sat it down on the floor in the living room and carefully stacked all the money into one end of the device.

Richards’s hand hovered over the start button, “Are you ready?” he asked.

Phillips was sweating at an incredible pace; his heart kicked a speedy rhythm in his chest. “Go for it,” he said softly.

Richards pressed the button and instantly the money began flipping through the system, their eyes were fixed on the LCD screen. When it stopped, they each took a sharp intake of breath, stunned into silence by the seven digit figure displayed on the screen.

83

Two hours had passed since Howard Price had been robbed of one million pounds. He had been hopeful that he would see his daughter again; he should be with her, embracing her, telling her everything was going to be okay and making sure nothing like this ever happened to her again -- now he was in a worse position than when it started.

Two hours without contact from the kidnappers who ran away with his money. Two hours of mind destroying deliberation; questioning his daughter’s safety, desiring revenge and responding to an onslaught of police questions.

The officers were still in his house, they were waiting on another call, another ransom demand. People had been brought in to analyse the conversation which had been recorded by Howard’s hidden microphone, but nothing had come of it. Experts had been brought in to try to draw descriptions of the kidnappers based on Howard’s memory, but he had been too nervous, angry and worried to concentrate on what they looked like.

He had been informed that the police were searching the areas for clues and asking locals for any information about the attack, but he hadn’t received any word back on that either. He was in limbo, as the detective had lightly described it, he just had to wait. Nothing was sure.

Elizabeth had retired to her bedroom half an hour after Howard had returned home unsuccessful. She had taken a further dose of sedatives and that, along with the addition of her favourite movie on DVD, would take her mind off the situation. He hadn’t checked on her but he guessed she would be asleep, lost in a sedated slumber. He only hoped he would have good news for her when she woke.

In the corner of the room Detective Brown’s mobile phone aired the soundtrack from Knight Rider and glowed neon blue in his pocket. Reacting immediately he stopped his conversation with a fellow officer, walked a few steps back, pulled out his phone and pressed the call button.

Price could only hear snippets from where he sat. He wasn’t particularly interested in the officer’s phone conversations, but then the detective shot a worried glance and a nod his way and he gained an interest.

The detective felt the businessman’s eyes upon him and turned away to admire a portrait on the dining room wall. Howard tried to hear what he had to say to the unknown caller but his headache, his state of mind and the space between him and the detective -- filled with chattering police officers -- didn’t allow much to get through. He heard the detective mumble and saw him nod several times before he hung up the phone.

Howard’s heart stopped and his mind hit gridlock when the detective made his way over. His eyes averted from Howard and his face filled with what appeared to be sorrow.

Bad news was coming.

“That was HQ on the phone,” the detective explained, trying to make eye contact but failing to do so for more than a few seconds. “There has been an incident in a derelict block of flats a few miles down the road,” he furthered with more unease. “Neighbours reported shots being fired and our men were rushed to the scene,” he paused.

“And?” Howard urged.

“Three bodies were found inside one of the unused flats. Two Caucasians, around thirty to forty-five were found dead in the living room. It appears they may have been executed, and--” another pause.

“Just fucking tell me!” Howard bellowed.

“I’m sorry Mr Price,” he sympathised; his head held low. “A young girl matching Lisa’s description was found dead in one of the bedrooms.”

He wanted to cry but it was too early for tears. He wanted to scream but his anger wouldn’t release. He wanted to die, but death was no option. He wanted to wake up, but he wasn’t dreaming. What he
did
do was deny that it was Lisa’s body that had been found, with faith came happiness; he needed her alive, and he had to force himself to believe she still was.

“So what?” he said calmly. “It could be anyone right?”

The detective nodded but his agreement was unsettling. “It’s possible; although the men on the scene seem sure it was--”

“This is nonsense,” Howard declared. “She isn’t dead, why would they kill her? Like you said, they want more money, I
have
more money. They
can’t
kill her; she means the world to me,” he voice became distant and soft. “I need her, they can’t do this to me.”

“There is still a possibility it wasn’t your daughter,” the detective said, a fabrication of his own conclusions to comfort the grief stricken man. “But...” another uncomfortable pause.

“But what?” Howard asked, his eyes growing heavy.

“The two men found dead in the apartment could have very well been the kidnappers. They had a lot of supplies with them, they had the door bolted and appeared to be sleeping there.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Maybe not,” he gave a sharp nod, held Howard’s glassy stare and then applied a gentle and instinctive shake of his head. “Although, they had a great deal of money on them, too much for people squatting in a rundown flat.”

Howard shook his head, “How can that be?” His mind drifted to a state of dissociation, it didn’t want to be in this reality anymore. “They’re dead already?”

“The reports of the shots were phoned in by an anonymous caller around the same time you were attacked,” the detective explained. “It’s possible,” he halted to suck air in tightly through his teeth. “
Highly
possible... that this was a hijack.”

“Hijack?” Howard wasn’t even sure why he was still speaking. He wanted to die; he wanted the world to swallow him up. He wanted to hold Lisa in his arms again.

“It looks like someone found out about the kidnapping, raided the flat, found all the information they could, including the meeting place, and then executed the real kidnappers, before stealing the ransom money.”

Howard couldn’t take any of it in. His eyes were beginning to fill with tears, his head throbbed worse than it did before and he felt like he was going to pass out.

“I need to know if my baby is OK,” he said softly.

“I understand,” the detective said sympathetically. “They have her,” he stopped and callously corrected himself. “
The body,
at the coroners waiting for you to identify it.”

Howard nodded. Despite the possibility that the dead youngster might not be his daughter, a part of him had already died.

84

“It’s been secure enough in the past,” Michael Richards looked at Johnny Phillips who had a worried edge to his expression.

“I know, but this is one million fucking quid,” Phillips replied. “In the past we’ve stored eighty-thousand here tops. The rest is split into bank accounts and what not -- we need to do that with the million.”

“We can’t open another account and deposit one million straight away,” Richards argued. “And we can’t stick it in the other accounts. If this
isn’t
drug money, and Price
does
report it missing we won’t last a day if we try to stick it in the bank. They’ll get word from the police to be on the lookout and they’ll snag us when we get there.”

Phillips deflated, “It’s just--”

“It’s just a lot of money I know,” Richards cut in. “An amount that we’ll probably never see again as long as we live. But we need to play it cool, otherwise we’ll be trading cigarettes for the rest of our lives.”

“What if some yob breaks in here.”

“The place is wired.”

“Exactly. Which means our money will blow up along with the intruder.”

“We have a certain amount of respect around here,” Richards noted. “Everyone who lives here has an informal immunity to crime, even though they’re all criminals. They won’t touch us.”

“I’m just worried that’s all.”

Richards laughed and sat down on the sofa, “You’re normally the calm one.”

Phillips smiled and settled back into his own chair, “I guess we can cancel our night out then?” he said with a smile.

Richards pondered this for a moment, “Not really,” he said eventually. “We don’t need to
babysit
the money do we? And we did just pull off a big score, so I think a celebration is in order.”

Phillips seemed to wise up to the idea in the silence that unfolded, “Shoddy Simon,” he blurted.

“What?” Richards asked, bewildered.

“When I was down there he had a tonne of suitcases, he tried to flog one of them to me. He had all sorts.” Phillips was in a dream world -- smiles and wide-eyed glints.

“And your point is?”

“You know what he’s like. Even if he knows he aint got a chance of selling you something he still shows it off to you.”

“Yes,” Richards agreed. “I still remember the three dozen faulty toasters.”

“Well, he showed me a collection. Special ones they were, he only had a few. He said they were practically bomb proof.”

“He said that?”

“Well, not in so many words, but that’s what we need. We stick the cash in a couple of ‘em and hide them in the flat. If some fucker walks in here and blows the place up, we wipe the blood from the cases and move on.”

“So let me get this straight,” Richards said to his smiling friend. “If someone breaks in here, they trigger the wires and the explosives...”

“Yes.”

“The explosion that follows not only obliterates the intruder, but also the entire flat and our neighbours. Leaving about six flats under ash and rubble, but, underneath that rubble, will be two cases with our cash in it.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you fucking mad?”

“Look, I know it isn’t the best plan, but it’ll help put my mind at ease.”

“Fine,” Richards agreed belatedly.

“Excellent. Simon should be at home getting ready for his evening soap operas by now; I’ll head over there and fetch the cases.”

85

Phillips dropped two thick, silver cases on the floor; there was still glorious although they had clearly been used.

“Not bad,” Richards nodded appreciatively.

“Two hundred notes,” Phillips said.

“Is that all? These things fetch a fucking fortune.”

“I know and he was selling them for a fortune too,” Phillips informed his friend. “But that was when he was sober, or as sober as Simon can get. He’s so whacked out of his head right now I could have swapped him his house for a packet of
Skittles
and a J
olly Rancher
.”

“He’ll remember when he’s sober,” Richards warned with a smile on his face.

“More than likely, but this isn’t
Marks & Spencers
. No receipts no refunds, a deal is a deal, and this my friend,” Phillips flicked the locks on the cases and opened them up to expose a heavy steel interior which had been lined with fine leather. “Is one hell of a fucking deal.”

Richards nodded in agreement, “Okay, let’s get the cash out of the bags and into the cases then.”

They both grabbed bundles of cash and lined it neatly into the cases.

“I was thinking, when you were out... about this money.”

“Don’t start your shit again Mickey, the only thing that matters is that we have it.”

“I know but we still have to move with caution, just in case. Just in case what we took was real money due for a legitimate transaction right?”

Phillips agreed.

“So, it would be nice to know don’t you think?” Richards queried.

“To me it wouldn’t make a difference, but if it would shut you up I guess so.”

“Exactly. So, like I said, I was thinking about where the money came from, what it was for, and why he was there. I don’t think it’s for drugs, he doesn’t look the sort. And I don’t think he would buy to sell, why risk losing a business worth millions for an illegal sideline that’ll get you banged up for the rest of your days?”

“Good point,” Phillips agreed. “So what are you getting at?”

“I’m not sure. There are many options. He could have been blackmailed for a start.”