Framed (31 page)

"That'll hold him for now," Shrapnel said. "No sense making a lot of fuss unless we have to."

It happened again, two hours later. They changed the bed, dried Von Joel off and decided, one more time, to give the condition a chance to put itself right. It was a long shot, but it was preferable to telling the boss and getting embroiled in one of his rages. Both Shrapnel and Larry knew that if Von Joel's illness persisted, they would catch the blame.

At nine in the evening Larry came into the kitchen. Shrapnel was there in his dressing gown, standing by the cooker waiting for a pan of milk to boil.

"His bed linen's soaked again," Larry said. "I don't like the look of him. We should contact Mac."

"You call him," Shrapnel said.

"No. I'm not taking the responsibility. You call. That man should be taken to the hospital."

Von Joel was behind the bedroom door, listening. The talking in the kitchen stopped, then he heard footsteps coming along the passage. He turned in the darkness and made a run for the bed. His toe slid under a rip in the old rug and he went down, hitting his face on the bedside cabinet. Pain flared in his nose and the cabinet fell over with a crash.

"Shit!"

He threw himself into the damp bed and tried to pull the covers up over him. He touched his nose and felt warm blood.

"Oh, nice one . .

As the door was unlocked he flopped back on the pillow, half in and half out of the bed. The light came on and Shrapnel stood there, gaping at the sight of Von Joel, spread eagled on the bed, his eyes closed, blood streaming from his nose.

"Oh, Jesus, Larry . . ." Shrapnel was stunned. He turned and yelled. "Larry! Get in here!"

Larry came hurtling along the passage. He stopped in the doorway, holding the frame, staring. Shrapnel went forward and slapped Von Joel's face.

"Don't," Larry snapped. "Don't do that."

"He's bloody unconscious!" Shrapnel was panicking, flapping his arms. He glared at Larry. "He's soaking wet —look at the sheets." He glanced again at the deathly still face, at the blood channeling down from the nose across the mouth and neck. "I'll call an ambulance," he said. He ran off up the passage.

Ten minutes later an ambulance with Von Joel and Larry inside was blue-lighting westward across London. Shrapnel followed in a patrol car. In the back of the ambulance an attendant leaned across Von Joel, trying to stabilize him against the shocks and bumps of the racing vehicle.

They had been traveling a couple of minutes when Von Joel sat up. He grinned across at Larry, who had been panicking nearly as badly as Shrapnel

"I'm okay," Von Joel told the attendant, who stared, not seeming to comprehend. "Larry"—Von Joel looked around the man's bulk—"I need to talk. Get him to sit up front!"

The attendant was looking from one to the other. He narrowed his eyes at Von Joel and asked him what was going on.

"Shut it! Tell him, Larry."

It took Larry a moment to gather himself. He turned to the attendant and nodded curtly.

"Do it," he said.

The man edged reluctantly into the driving cab, his eyes darting from Larry to Von Joel.

"It's okay," Larry assured him, getting out his warrant card. 'This is my ID. I'm a police officer. Now shut the door. Do it!"

The attendant huffily slid the door shut. Larry put the ID back in his pocket and got out his handcuffs. He told Von Joel to hold up his hands and clasped the cuffs on him.

"I'm going to give you one last chance," Von Joel said.

Larry sat back.
"You're
giving
me?"

There was room to cultivate some drama in the situation. Larry had taped on the outdoor transmission gear before they left the safe house. He knew he would be picked up loud and clear.

"Eddie, when they hear about this, do you know what McKinnes will do to me? You bastard!" Larry let that part soak in, then he said, "You want to talk?"

"Half a million," Von Joel said calmly. "That's what I will be giving you, Larry. You could spend the next twenty years in the force and never make that much." His voice was warm and beguiling as he pushed himself up on the bunk, leaning closer to Larry. "I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime. You've only got one life, and already you 're halfway through it." He held Larry's eyes. You've got a map, it's a walkover. Listen to me, Larry----I'll arrange passports, tickets. If you want your wife and kids along, that's fine by me."

Von Joel gasped suddenly, his face twisting. "No violence," he said, panting softly. "No guns. We walk in and take it, Larry."

He gasped again, then dropped back, his eyes rolling upward and closing.

"Eddie?" Larry shook him carefully. "Eddie, are you messing me around?"

There was no way to know if this was more playacting, but Von Joel appeared to be unconscious. Larry went to the front and banged on the partition door. The attendant turned and glared at him.

"Get back in here. He's passed out."

Attempts to bring him around did not work. He still appeared to be unconscious when they arrived at the hospital. He was rushed directly to an X-ray suite; X rays and CAT scans were taken, then he was transferred to an observation room in Accident and Emergency, where monitors were set up.

When McKinnes arrived, his face congested with anger, he ignored Larry and DI Shrapnel and demanded that someone in authority tell him what kind of state his prisoner was in. After some administrative flurrying he was taken into an X-ray viewing room and introduced to a radiologist who tried to clarify the position.

"If you'll take a look at these . . ." The doctor pointed to a row of backlit X rays, showing Von Joel's skull from a number of angles. "There's no fracture, but you can still see the indentations from the crash."

McKinnes stared at the plates, discerning nothing.

"You don't think he's conning us, do you?"

"Does he have a reason to?"

McKinnes shrugged.

'This is from when he was first brought here." The doctor hooked a frontal skull plate on to the viewing screen." "he's very lucky his skull wasn't crushed. Lucky, too, that there was no cervical or brainstem damage.

Given the degree of impact his skull actually withstood, and taking tonight's episode into account, it would be reasonable to assume he'll continue having spasmodic blackouts and severe headaches for some time to come."

"But . . ." Panic sparkled behind McKinnes's eyes. "He'll be all right, will he? To stand trial, that is?"

"Unless he blacks out," the doctor said, half smiling. "It could happen again, as I said, but it's not really a debilitating factor, and he's a fit man, in very good shape . . ."

Later, McKinnes sat down with Larry in the corridor outside Von Joel's room. Behind them, through an opening in the curtains, Von Joel was clearly visible, lying on the bed with a blanket over him. His face was turned aside, his eyes closed.

Larry explained to McKinnes what had happened earlier in the day, immediately before Von Joel had been taken ill. He showed the boss the map.

"That's the bank. See, he's marked out the escape route. He used the Monopoly game for cover—have they got it on tape?"

"Yes, they have," McKinnes nodded. "Did he talk in the ambulance?"

"What?" Larry stared at him.

"Was he unconscious? We didn't hear a word, Jackson, just a lot of static. . . ."

"In the ambulance?" Larry blinked. "You said you got it on tape. I've got the mike taped to—" He touched the front of his shirt and shot to his feet. "Shit . . ."

McKinnes stared as Larry frantically patted his shirt and pulled it out of his trousers.

"Shit! Aw
shit\"
He looked helplessly at McKinnes. "It's got loose, I . . . Christ . . ." He threw up his hands. "I don't know where it is." He stood there with his shirttails hanging below his jacket, trying to think. "I put it on, I remember, Frank was there. Then we helped carry Von Joel out of the bedroom to the stretcher . . ." He looked at McKinnes, distraught. "It must have come loose around about then. I just don't know where it is."

Larry turned and stared at Von Joel, a thought occurring to him. Von Joel's eyes remained closed.

"He was unconscious when you took him out of the flat," McKinnes said, standing up and facing Larry. "So I take it he didn't say anything in the ambulance. Is that right?"

Larry bit back his panic, wondering which way to jump.

"I had the cuffs on him, Mac . .

McKinnes sniffed, dismissing that as irrelevant guff.

"Did he say anything in the ambulance? Or do I have to go and bloody ask the ambulance attendant? Did he or didn't he?" McKinnes's color began to rise. "Was he or wasn't he unconscious?"

"Yes," Larry blurted. He swallowed hard. "And no, he didn't say anything."

McKinnes nodded. He turned and walked away. Larry glanced into the room. The pale head turned slowly on the pillow until it was facing the door. The eyes opened, staring eerily. And then Von Joel smiled.

21

At lunch time the following day, a Saturday, Larry had another informal meeting, in a pub, with DCI McKinnes. The first chance he got, Larry made an admission of defeat. His statement was plain and unequivocal: this case was too much for him, he was not the man for the job. He waited for a response as the barmaid brought a I portion of leaden shepherd's pie and put it in front of McKinnes. No answer came. For the moment McKinnes seemed more interested in attacking his lunch.

"Myers twists my head around," Larry said, making the point a second time. "I keep on fouling up."

"That's an understatement, McKinnes told him. "Pass the HP sauce."

Larry handed over the sticky plastic container. "I'm being honest, Mac. I can't tell when he's lying."

"So." McKinnes forked shepherd's pie into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "You want off it? Yes?"

"Yes."

"And what about the court case?" McKinnes shook sauce liberally across his plate and thumped the dispenser down on the bar. "I'll tell you something—what with the bleeding marijuana, then screwing Myers's girlfriend, you're lucky to be still on the job."

"I don't want to quit the force, Mac, I just—"

"You just want to get out from under your involvement in this case, right?" McKinnes reamed his teeth with his tongue and pushed his plate away. "You think you can pick and choose, do you? I want Myers, Larry. I've got two weeks to get him before I lose him to Reading. If I have to get him via you it's still okay, even if you make me sick to my stomach." He shook his head wearily. "You want out, yet half the lads in the Met would give their eyeteeth for this caper."

Larry swirled his beer, realizing he could have saved his breath.

'Take twenty-four hours and pull yourself together," McKinnes said. "I'll forget what you just bleated to me." He nodded at the door. "Go on. Hop it, before I change my mind."

Larry finished his drink and left. McKinnes caught the attention of the barmaid.

"Give us a Scotch, love. A double. It'll make up for your shepherd's pie. I think they left his crook in it."

Larry went home. The house was empty. He went upstairs, got undressed, and climbed into bed. Within five minutes he was asleep.

At ten-fifteen that night Susan went into the bedroom. She undressed, put on her nightdress and dressing gown, and watched Larry slowly wake up. She asked him if he would like a cup of tea. He said that would be nice. She came back ten minutes later, carrying a tray with two mugs of tea.

"Larry," she said, pushing the door shut behind her, "we really need to talk. I don't think I can take much more." She looked at the bed. He was flat out, facedown, the pillow over his head. "Larry?"

She put down the tray, sat on the edge of the bed, and lifted the pillow. He was fast asleep. She looked at him for a while, wondering if she would wake him. Finally she decided against it, and took the tray back downstairs.

Early on Sunday morning McKinnes was waiting on the pavement outside the safe house when a plain patrol car brought Von Joel back from the hospital. A covering car drew up sharply behind them as DI Falcon, handcuffed to Von Joel, pushed the prisoner out of the car ahead of him. DI Shrapnel climbed out of the front passenger seat. McKinnes smiled coldly as Von Joel paused beside him.

"Jefferson's been wittering on about you wanting exercise, Eddie. You're only just out of hospital. Fit for the morning jogs, are you? Is that what you want?"

"Anything for fresh air, Mac," Von Joel said, grinning. "Where's Jackson?" McKinnes nodded to Falcon. "Get him out of my sight." Shrapnel came forward as Von Joel was hustled away. He looked at the boss uneasily. "What about Jackson? Is he in or out?"

"I'm thinking about it," McKinnes said, getting into the patrol car.

"We just lost two days, Guv."

"You're telling me!" McKinnes yelled through the open window. "You think I don't know? Sod off!"

Shrapnel watched the car move away. He turned and walked toward the apartment block, looking to left and right as he went.

At approximately the moment Shrapnel shut the safe house door behind him, Larry Jackson was climbing out of the bath at home, feeling wide awake and more alert than he had for days. He stood on the mat, toweled himself, then wrapped the towel around his waist. At the basin he soaped his face and began shaving. He had done one side when the telephone rang. It rang several times before the front door opened and he heard Susan pick up the receiver.

"Larry . . ."

He carried on shaving, removing the lather from his cheek in tidy strips, rinsing the razor after each stroke.

"Larry! It's the phone for you! Larry!"

He was still shaving when Susan burst into the bathroom. She was still wearing her coat.

"Didn't you hear me? It's the phone for you. It's Mac."

"Yeah, I know."

"Then why the hell didn't you answer it?"

She flounced out again. Larry put down the razor and dabbed his face dry. He tightened the towel around his waist, followed Susan downstairs, and picked up the phone.

"Dad." Young Tony was standing at the open front door. "Will you come to football practice? Dad?"

"Mac?" Larry pressed the receiver to his ear. "You were right. I was just tired out. I want back on him. This time I won't—" He paused, listening. "What? Have I been jogging? What? Oh, I see. Yeah, sure, yeah, I'll pack em. Okay."

The two boys were now hurtling up and down the length of the hall, kicking a ball. Susan came stomping out of the kitchen.

"I told you not to kick that around in the house!" she screeched. "Take it outside! Not in the street—the garden! Go on!"

"Hey!" Larry yelled, as the boys continued to play with the ball. "Shut it! I want none of that when I'm on the phone! Get them out," he told Susan. "Go on."

Susan, glaring at him, pushed the boys toward the door.

"Sorry, Mac," Larry said, his mouth close to the receiver again. He listened, nodding. "Right. Fine. Will do. And Guv, thanks. I won't let you down."

He put down the phone and went back upstairs to get

dressed. A few minutes later Susan came and leaned on the door frame as he stood by the mirror combing his hair.

"You seem very happy," she said.

"I am."

"Well, I'm glad one of us is."

Larry picked up his small weekend bag and laid it open on the bed.

"Have I got any clean shirts? I need some socks, too, and my tracksuit, and my good trainers."

Barely containing herself, Susan yanked open the wardrobe and began tossing shirts out onto the bed.

"You treat this place like a hotel," she snapped. "I don't know when you'll be home, or when you're going—and one minute you're biting everyone's head off and the next it's all smiles." She came and stood close to Larry, forcing him to pay attention. "One of these days you're going to waltz back here and—"

"And?" Larry tried to embrace her but she pushed him away. "Oh come on, Sue—you know how important this case is to me."

He turned away and started packing the bag.

"And me and the kids?" Susan said. "How important
_;
are we? Don't try and tell me you're doing this for us. God!" She put her hands to her temples. "I'm beginning to sound like a tape recorder." She glared at Larry. "Do you think I like being this way? If it wasn't for Colin I wouldn't know what the hell is going on."

"Colin?" Larry stiffened. "You mean Frisby? What's he j been saying?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does!" Larry grabbed her by the shoulders. "What's he told you?"

"Larry!" Susan jerked herself free. "You see? Look at you!
'What's he been saying?'"
Again, as so often, she imagined she had performed an accurate impersonation. "This is me, your wife! You don't speak to me as if I'm under interrogation!"

"Sue, listen . . ." He had his hands up. "I'm under a , hell of a lot of pressure. I mean, last night I tried to quit. I did. But I can't, not even if I wanted to. . . ."

"Why not?"

Larry tried to stay calm. With two words Susan managed to convey her belief that packing in this case—perhaps even the job—would be a good move.

"Eddie Myers interacts with me, he refuses to talk to anyone else but me. I have to—"

"Larry! There's police hanging around the kids' school. They're parked outside the house. I've been told not to let the boys play in the street. I mean, how long is this going to go on for? Do you ever think what I'm going through? Does it occur to you that maybe I need you at home?"

Larry closed his bag and picked it up. He tried to put his arm around Susan and kiss her. She backed away.

"Just go, Larry." Her voice was cold—even colder, he thought, than her premenstrual snarl. "Go on, get out!"

He paused at the bedroom door.

"If it'll make you feel safer, I'll have a word with Frisby. Okay? It's just two more weeks, I swear. . . ."

He went downstairs. Susan heard him talking from the hall.

"John, Tony, come and say good-bye." The boys mumbled and she heard him kiss them. "Now, be good boys and look after your mum, okay?"

A great bubble swelled in Susan's chest. She ran out of the bedroom and hurried down the stairs.

"Larry. Larry, wait . .

The front door slammed shut.

f

As the week started and time began to tick down toward the zero point where McKinnes would have to part with Von Joel, the Superintendent began to see this stage of the operation as an all-or-nothing exercise in expectations that were not, by any sane measurement, justified. He told no one he thought this, of course, and in his heart hewished the best for the long shot, because success here could be good for him as well as McKinnes. It could be a formidable professional boost, the kind that would not be forgotten—the kind that could yield a lot of mileage.

In his imagination he saw himself and McKinnes in fanciful terms, as two astute seismologists waiting for a particular boulder to roll off a ledge and start a landslide against which every advance precaution had been taken; the problem, the hellish big
maybe
was that the boulder, poised on the edge as it undoubtedly was, might never budge. For all their expert knowledge and accumulated experience, they just couldn't be sure it ever would.

The cost of the operation was crippling. Men and vehicles were deployed on standby in numbers and on a scale which was unprecedented for a crime that no one could say was going to happen. McKinnes had Von Joel for another two weeks, but the Superintendent knew the manpower backup would not be available for anything approaching that length of time.

"Pray for a result at the earliest," he told McKinnes, "before the odds against success get steep enough to break your heart."

On Tuesday morning, at an open-air cafe in Regent's Park, Sydney Jefferson conducted business with Lola del » Moreno and Charlotte Lampton. It was a brief meeting, as always, and the real business was conducted with Charlotte alone, acting as a signatory on Von Joel's behalf. She signed several legal documents and initialed amendments to others; Jefferson checked everything carefully, then put the papers in his pocket. From another pocket he took something wrapped in a yellow cloth and passed it to Charlotte. She quickly pocketed it. Throughout the meeting Jefferson's eyes kept darting around the park. When the transactions were completed he seemed anxious to leave.