Peter Lovesey - Diamond Dust

No matter. He knew where the shoebox was that contained the gun wrapped in a cloth with two rounds of ammunition. At the top of the steps he put his head and shoulders through the hatch, reached and found what he wanted at once.

But there was no weight to the box. Nothing was inside. He took off the lid. Not even the cloth was in there.

Impossible.

He groped around the plasterboard where the box had been. Dust and cobwebs. Nothing else. No other box, no Smith & Wesson.38 wrapped in cloth.

Deeply worried, he collected a torch from downstairs and replaced the light bulb. Spent the next hour searching the whole of the loft, struggling with old suitcases, among unwanted rolls of wallpaper and discarded carpets. He tried to remember if anyone except himself had been up there. A plumber, to look at the cold storage tank? Electrician? TV aerial man?

Not to his knowledge.

What in Christ's name was going on?

The two men talking in a London taxi knew only as much as the media had told them about the shooting of Stephanie Diamond, but after the shock wave of a killing there are ripples washing up on some unlikely shores.

'It's beautiful, Harry.'

'It always is at the beginning,' the voice of experience spoke. 'I hate to disillusion you, old friend, but the beauty soon wears off. By the end it's revolungly ugly.'

'Not this time, I promise you.'

'Would you care to take a bet on that?' Harry Tattersall gazed out of the window at the traffic in Piccadilly. At forty-two, he'd seen many a pretty plan turn to dross. 'Who else is in?'

'That's the beauty,' Rhadi said. 'We are a small, talented team. Five only.'

'Who?'

'Wait and see.'

'I don't work with failures.'

'These are pros. \bu're going to be impressed.'

'Where's the meeting?'

'This is a top job, Harry. Top job needs a top meeting place.'

The cab wound its way around Trafalgar Square, under Admiralty Arch and up the Mall towards the Victoria Memorial. Tourists stood snapping the sentry at the gates of Buckingham Palace.

'Not there?' Harry said, only half joking. This was such a weird set-up, he was ready to believe anything.

'No, not there.'

They were driven up Constitution Hill to Hyde Park Corner and came to a halt outside one of the more exclusive hotels. A white-gloved hand opened the door.

'Didn't I tell you?' Rhadi said.

'It takes more than one flunkey to impress me,' Harry said. He had been to a good public school and liked everyone to know it.

A doorman ushered them in and a black-suited young man wished them good afternoon in a way that asked to know their business.

'We're expected,' Rhadi said with a princely air. 'The Napoleon Suite.'

'Very good, sir.'

In the lift, Rhadi said, 'What do you think? An improvement on the Scrubs?'

'So long as it isn't a short cut back to the Scrubs,' Harry said. He'd done one six-month stretch in an otherwise unblemished fifteen-year career of confidence trickery, and he hadn't cared for it one bit. 'I'd better warn you, I'm not going to be bounced into anything.'

'Lighten up, old friend.'

Rhadi knocked and the door was opened by a Middle Eastern man.

'What's this – Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves?' Harry said.

He'd known Rhadi so many years that he never thought of him as an immigrant. Wasn't even sure where he came from originally. Confronted now by two more Arabs in expensive suits, he felt outnumbered. Rhadi hadn't said a word about the nationality of the personnel involved.

'Is there a problem, Mr Tattersall?' one of them asked, a near-midget with a set of teeth that wouldn't have disgraced a camel.

'I didn't expect…' Harry started to say, and let his voice trail away when he saw the second Arab's hand slip inside his jacket.

'This is Ibrahim,' the teeth said, 'and I am Zahir. You were not expecting to be involved in an international enterprise, I dare say.'

'If it's terrorism, I'm leaving.'

Rhadi gave him a gende push in the back. 'Go in, Harry. Forget about terrorism. This is big-time.'

'It had better be,' he muttered. 'Where are you all from, anyway?'

Zahir ignored the question. '\bu want a drink? It's against our religion, but there's plenty here if you want something.'

'I think I will.' It wasn't a mini-bar, either. This was a drinks cabinet, courtesy of the hotel. He poured himself a large single malt while he pondered that remark about religion. He didn't think he'd been invited to a prayer meeting.

Ibrahim had closed the door. Harry took stock. Zahir, the spokesman with the teeth, had to be Mr Big, though not in stature. Ibrahim, silent, built like a water buffalo, was the muscle. The fifth man apparently hadn't turned up yet.

'You were at King's, Canterbury, I believe?' Zahir said out of nowhere.

'Is my old school important?'

'That's true, then? Straight up, as they say?'

'Anyone can check the register.'

'Did you row?'

'No. I was a cricketer. Opened the batting.' Harry refrained from revealing that he opened for the third eleven and ended the season with an average of nine.

'In that case,' Zahir said, 'we wouldn't have met. I coxed the first eight. Eton.'

With the pecking order established, Zahir invited Harry to take a seat. 'Rhadi tells us you're the smoothest con artist in London.'

'Rhadi isn't bad at it himself,' Harry commented.

'You once took one of the big merchant banks for a cool fifty thousand?'

'Three banks together,' Harry said. 'It was a matter of persuading them it was a notional adjustment.'

'And none of them understood what was going on?'

'They still don't'

'Rhadi also tells us you might not be averse to another payday.'

'That depends.'

'Naturally. Have you ever dealt in diamonds?'

'Diamonds?' He twitched and frowned. 'I'm not a diamond man.'

'Don't look so alarmed,' Zahir said. 'No one is asking you to do anything outside your experience.'

'So what's the scam?'

Zahir hesitated. 'This is more than a scam. We're not talking thousands, Mr Tattersall, but hundreds of thousands. We can all retire on the proceeds. But you'll understand that I need your total commitment before I unfold the plan.'

'Before? That's asking a lot. I don't know you. Rhadi is an old friend, but the rest of you…'

'Well, it's a good thing some of us aren't familiar to you. You wouldn't want to be getting into bed with a bunch of well-known criminals, would you?' He flashed the enormous teeth.

'You've got a point there.'

'Let's see if we can resolve this. What if you were guaranteed a hundred thousand pounds?'

'A hundred grand? What are you snatching – the Crown Jewels?'

'Better. These are uncut stones. Some of the finest gem-crystals in the world.'

Harry was silent for a while, still cautious. 'It sounds wonderful, but why have you come to me? What am I supposed to do?'

'What you're best at doing, Mr Tattersall. Conning people.'

'Ah, but I know damn all about the diamond industry. I need to understand what I'm talking about.'

'No you don't.'

'Sorry, my friend,' Harry insisted. 'That isn't the way I work. I absolutely refuse to wing it.'

'You're not listening, Mr Tattersall. Your part in this project doesn't involve the diamonds. You don't need to talk about them. In fact, you are expressly forbidden to mention them. You will be a go-between. We require someone who is English, not Arabian, a true-blue English gendeman.'

'That I can do.'

'So you're on the team?'

'Hold on,' Harry said. 'First I want to know the job – and who else you've signed up for this.'

'You know Rhadi, and you've just met Ibrahim and me.'

'I was told there are five.'

'Who told you?' Zahir's eyes flicked to Rhadi. 'The fifth man must remain anonymous for the time being.'