Murphy's Heist Read online

  “Quick!” said Miller, “That’s a dog let out of the house. He’ll be on us before you know it.”

  While talking he was pulling McBride along with him until they reached the wall where they had got in. Miller boosted McBride on to the top of the wall, and then scrambled up too, cursing quietly and kicking. “Damn dog,” he muttered. He sat on the wall and flashed the torch downwards.

  McBride saw the jaws of an angry dog, red tongue, glistening fangs. It was a Doberman. Fortunately it didn’t bark, but snarled as it watched them until they were off the wall and back on the asphalt path.

  “It was lucky,” said Miller “That they didn’t let it out earlier.”

  ***

  Helen was in the hotel bar, reading a paperback, coffee on the table. She looked up when they came towards her, obvious relief showing on her face.

  “That didn’t take long,” she said. McBride looked at his watch, amazed that it was not even nine o’clock.

  “Hope you’ll excuse me John,” said Miller. “I’ll get an early night. What time will I see you for breakfast?”

  “Eight o’clock. Sure you don’t want to eat tonight?”

  “I’ll order something from room service.” He raised his arm in a farewell gesture, and headed over to the stairs.

  “Room service sound good,” said Helen, “Let me treat you to dinner in my room.” “You haven’t eaten yet?”

  “I was really worried, John, I don’t mind admitting it.”

  “Okay, room service dinner sounds good. Let me get you a drink here first, Gin and tonic?”

  “That would be nice.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  McBride was surprised to find that Helen had a very nice suite, not just a bedroom. “Shops must be doing well,” he commented.

  “They’re very profitable. But we get an excellent deal with this hotel chain. I bet it is cheaper than your room.”

  “Don’t know, I’m not paying, Ian Smith is, or rather was. I suppose I ought to tell the management to start charging me direct. Can’t expect Ian to finance the investigation.” He added, “Where’s the room service menu?”

  “Here.” She handed him the menu. “And here’s a bottle of wine I was given by the management.” She pulled a bottle out of the fridge. “Chablis, my favourite.”

  They sat side by side on the sofa, sipping the wine, and studying the menu. Helen said “Shall we have lobster? Push the boat out?”

  McBride nodded, raised his eyebrows. “Wow!”

  By the time the meal was wheeled in and set up by the waiter on the table, the wine was drunk, and McBride asked the waiter to send up another bottle.

  After they had eaten, they returned to the sofa for coffee. He was heavy eyed from the night’s events

  “Don’t fall asleep on me,” said Helen, putting an arm round his neck and pulling him close.

  Automatically, he leaned forward to kiss her on the lips, and she passionately returned his moves.

  “Come on, the bedroom,” she gasped. And they ran, shedding clothes on the way to land laughing, on the king bed in the adjoining room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Well, last night proved that Murphy is still very bent. Burying people in his back garden, indeed,” said Miller. He and McBride were sitting in the morning sun on the hotel terrace.

  “He’s certainly up to no good – fancy having a fake bullion courier’s van in his barn, too. I checked out the registration number with a friend this morning. It belongs to Secure Express. So the job Murphy’s working on is a heist. Once he knows there is a valuable cargo to pick up. And who better to know that than the Inspector, who I bet, will get a percentage.”

  “Just about sums it up,” said Miller. “We’ve just got to keep an eye on them until it happens. The bug I attached to the van last night might help, but we can’t rely on it. They might spot it. And that will warn them. Then they leave the bug in the barn, and we think the van is still there.”

  “Except we’ll be watching, and see the van leave.”

  “Yeah, it’s going to be tedious. Still, there’s going to be some movement sooner rather than later. They’re taking a risk, with the fake van sitting in the barn. And it’s been there for, how long, already?”

  McBride said, “It’s about eight days since I did that painting, so for at least that long.”

  “It’s very dodgy, then. And last night’s burial, too. They must be ready to go.”

  To McBride, this excitement was a welcome break from painting, a breath of times as they were in the Army, actually acting out the stories in Boys’ Own. This was what made the blood sing in his veins. He was still in love with painting, but this was a different pleasure.

  “I think the person they buried last night could have been the bald man. He was causing Murphy some embarrassment,” McBride said.

  Miller mused for a few moments. “You can’t know that, you’re only guessing. Must make them one short at least for the job, whoever it was. They’ll probably send for reinforcements. The sooner we begin surveillance, the better.

  Okay, this is how I see it. We can use the cars. Keep well away from the house driveway, but close enough to see comings and goings. Twenty-four hour watch, six on six off.

  We might vary the car watch by foot watch. Up in the field where you did the painting.”

  “Keep in touch by mobiles, you think?” said McBride. “It means we’ve both got to be ready to go at the drop of a hat.”

  “Sure,” said Miller, “and we’ll use both cars when the action starts, case we need to split up. I don’t think it will be more than three days to watch and wait.”

  Both men sat looking out over the gardens, both lost in their own thoughts, until McBride leaped to his feet. “Come on then, let’s start watching.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Inspector Nolan glanced both ways up and down the street before turning into the entrance to Murphy’s yard. Bit dangerous, to be seen visiting so often.

  Murphy answered the door. “Come in. You’ve got some news, then?”

  He led the way to the dining room, with its huge table, piles of papers littering the top, including newspapers, some local, and one or two nationals. The mess jarred with Nolan’s tidy ways.

  Murphy moved some items from one of dining chairs, putting the sheaf of papers and items of clothing on the table, adding to the general clutter. Nolan sat down primly.

  Murphy moved out a chair and sat down opposite, eyebrows raised, waiting for Inspector Nolan to speak.

  Nolan pulled a few papers out of his inside jacket pocket, placed them on the table in front of him.

  “This is a copy of a communication from Northern Bullion. They want the police in attendance when a consignment of platinum is collected by Secure Express, destination Manchester Airport for onward transmission to Chicago. This is fairly regular, as I told you at first. It goes to the electronics industry, the main users of platinum.”

  “What day and what time?” Murphy said.

  “Thursday, at ten thirty.”

  “How many police at the bullion place?”

  “Just me, I’ll make sure there’s a shortage of staff. It’s Northern Bullion who ask for a police presence, and they pay for it. Their insurance company insist on it. Don’t stipulate quantity of personnel.”

  “Three days… it will be tight.”

  “You’ve got the van, got uniforms made up, what else do you need?”

  “Two more guys. I told them they’d be needed. We’ll pay them £20 grand apiece and expenses – after the event. If it goes wrong, there’s no need to pay them.”

  “Goes wrong? You told me nothing can go wrong,” said Nolan. “There’s my full pension hanging by a thread.”

  “Did your old man never tell you: no pain, no gain? Life’s full of surprises.”

  “Where’s O’Connor?”

  “He’s around. He doesn’t need to have all these details. He does what I tell him. The new guys we need – one’s a replacement for
Ryan. And then one for the explosives.”

  Nolan moved in his seat. “What explosives? This is a simple switch, peacefully executed, and you go riding off into the sunset. No need for violence.”

  Murphy said, “James, what would happen if two vans turned up at Northern Bullion, both identical, even to the number plates? We can’t have that. Explosives are the answer for a little diversion. You won’t even know about it. No need for you to bother your head.”

  Nolan didn’t speak for a long time, looking down at the table. Eventually he reached again into his pocket, pulled out another envelope. “This is a copy of the transit documents that the Secure Express driver hands over to the reception. There are also a couple of identity badges, which should be worn round your necks. I won’t contact you again, but I’ll be in a police car at Northern Bullion. When you arrive, I accompany you into the office. When you’ve loaded, I go back to the police car, and follow you out down the road. When you turn off, I go the other way.”

  “All understood, James. Wish us luck.”

  Nolan stood up, turned and led the way outside without another word.

  Once he was out of the house, Murphy got on the phone to a mobile number in Northern Ireland.

  “Lefty, Eamonn Murphy here. The job’s for Thursday morning. Need you to start work Wednesday night; you’ll be done by Thursday about ten thirty. Piece of cake. Bring that pal of yours, Ned, is it? You’ll need him to help. If you’ve got fluorescent jackets, bring them or we’ll buy them this side. You come by plane to Manchester Airport. Tomorrow morning, I can put you up. From the airport, take a taxi.” After he’d given the address, he said “Payment will be made later over on your side of the water, okay? That’s forty for the two, I don’t mind how you split it. And I’ll pay expenses afterwards as well.” Murphy added as an afterthought, “Keep receipts”

  Murphy pulled out a pocket book, looked up another number, called it.

  “Jim? Would you be able to do a small job on Thursday morning? I’ll be paying a thousand for only one hour’s work. Would you be able to fit it in? The time element is critical, and the cash is up front, in twenties.”

  Jim said, “Yes, I’ll fit it in, tell me more.”

  “Not on the phone. I could meet you tonight in a pub of your choosing. I’ll buy you a drink, too, and bring the cash”.

  Jim named a pub, and said he would be there at seven o’clock.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Bobby’s accountant phoned him early one morning. “Trevor here, Bobby, have you heard the news?”

  “What news?” Trevor was a good accountant, but being a financial wizard didn’t mean that he had an ability to impart information verbally.

  “New manager at Anglo-Irish. Don’t expect he’s brought any money with him, though.” Trevor chuckled at his own joke.

  “Cut to the chase, Trevor. Tell me in plain English.”

  “Well,” said Trevor, now gathering together the parts of his brain that worked his mouth. “He’s new here, and firstly, you should meet him. And secondly, we should show him the development, get him enthusiastic about it if we can, so that he shells out the meagre amount, speaking in context, that we need to ride happily, all of us, including the bank, into the sunset. Put this to bed, you know.”

  Bobby thought that providing he could ensure that Trevor didn’t speak a lot at the meeting, except to explain the finances, then it was indeed something they must do, immediately.

  “Give me his name, Trevor, and tell me where he’s been posted from. Is he from Dublin originally?”

  “Neville Smith. English. Previously in charge at the London branch.”

  Bobby sighed. He imagined the worst, that Mr Smith would act like a colonial superior, sent to quell the natives. Still, they had to make the best of it. He couldn’t be any worse than the guy he was replacing.

  “Okay, Trevor, I’ll phone him, suggest we set up a meeting, first a visit to the site, and perhaps straight to your offices for a discussion, that okay with you? You’d better suggest some dates that suit you.”

  Bobby scribbled on his calendar, as Trevor read out dates and times. “I suggest that we fix a date, and we turn up at his office, for introductions and we take him to the site, and then, as I said, we go from there to your offices, hopefully we can use your boardroom, and tell him what we need.” Trevor agreed, and Bobby ended the call.

  He phoned Mr Smith’s secretary at the bank, and fixed a date

  Trevor picked up Bobby in his BMW series 7, and they both arrived at the bank. They were ushered into Neville Smith’s office, by his secretary. Bobby held out his hand, and said “I’m Bobby Bell and this is my accountant Trevor Caber.” Neville Smith was a small man about five feet seven, portly, with a plump face and double chin. Bobby thought to himself, this guy is going to have Napoleon tendencies.

  Smith went over to the hat-stand, pulled his black overcoat on, and said, “Right, gentlemen shall we go?”

  They got into Trevor’s car, Smith in the front passenger seat with Trevor driving, Bobby sitting in the back.

  “I’ve arranged for my architect to be on site, Mr Smith, in case there are any queries he can answer. You will appreciate that I have had to suspend work, until we can get the cash flow going again.”

  Neville skewed round in his seat, so that he could address Bobby. “When a bank changes personnel, the outgoing person leaves comprehensive reports. I was looking at your history yesterday, to bring myself up to speed before this meeting. The report says that it was recommended to withdraw your facility, and apply for repayment. Four million euros, is it not?”

  Trevor swerved slightly, and brought the car under control. Smith clutched the seat back to keep himself upright.

  “It is indeed, Mr Smith. The scheme is funded at the moment to a total of E50 million, so you can see that you haven’t got much exposure, considering the size of the investment. You will know that I personally have E10 million invested, with the balance from individual backers, mostly friends of mine. Ah, here we are. I think you will be impressed, even though the scheme is not quite complete.”

  Trevor drove through a wire fence gate, which had been opened by the architect, and into a temporary car park for building workers, pulling up beside the architect’s car.

  The architect, who had been waiting, got out of his own car and was introduced to the bank manager. Bobby said, “I would recommend a very quick tour, before we repair to my accountant’s office. As it is a building site, I have to request you all wear these fluorescent jackets, and hard hats.”

  The architect handed round the equipment, and indicated for them all to follow him. They started with the underground car parks, then moved up to the first floor. Bobby was delighted to see that Smith’s shoes, which looked like Barkers or Loakes, were covered in white cement dust, and the occasional scuff which had cut into the leather.

  “This area here,” the architect waved his hands to encompass a vast area of flooring, “is for the anchor store, which will have the same area on all three floors.”

  “Have you got any tenants yet?” asked Smith, talking to Bobby.

  “At the moment we have the anchor, who will be Tesco Extra. They will have one floor as a normal supermarket, the next floor, clothing and shoes, the third floor appliances and electronics. We have a legal document agreeing to take a lease, subject to the building being completed in a year. There is nine months left to run. As well as that we have another five retailers that have signed similarly. That’s big name ones. We haven’t promoted the mall until we have completed, and then we will advertise, issue floor plans, give rental rates.”

  “And the payback in terms of rental?”

  “When we are fully let, 18% net of costs, as a percentage of total investment.”

  “With Tesco being most of the rent,” said the banker.

  “Actually no, not on a square footage rate. They will be given discount rate of about 46% of the rack rate. This is quite usual to attract the anchor, and t
hat has all been factored in. Also, all tenants will have an upward only percentage increase dependant on turnover. So when the mall is doing well, the landlord shares the extra income.”

  Bobby could have happily spent longer there than the bank manager wanted, but then, it was Bobby’s baby, something that had filled his life for the last three and a half years to the exclusion of anything else, and for the last two years, he had been holding it together on a shoestring. However when the bank manager said, “Shall we go to your accountant’s office now?” he quickly shepherded everyone to Trevor’s car.

  The architect asked, doubtfully, “Will you need me at the meeting?”

  The bank manager said, “No” No please, no thank you.

  Bobby thought: you pompous prat.

  Trevor’s boardroom did indeed seem to impress Neville Smith, however. Bobby knew it would. It was magnificent beyond anything the bank had. Trevor sat at the head of the table, with Bobby on one side, Smith on the other. Trevor phoned for refreshments, and a young lady entered almost immediately with a tray of coffee and tea pots, with a plate of biscuits.

  “Is it normal to have a supermarket as anchor?” asked Smith, wading straight in. He had withdrawn an A4 size hardback notebook from his briefcase, and was scribbling in it, already, “Rather than something posher?”

  “The history of shopping malls is really American. Until the seventies, we didn’t have malls here,” said Bobby. “Oddly enough, originally American Malls in the fifties used supermarkets as the anchor, and then followed up using upmarket department stores, so the first British malls were anchored with department stores, but with the decline of that sort of business, the modern malls are anchored with supermarkets again. In fact almost hypermarkets, since they don’t only sell food anymore. The original use of supermarkets in America was to get regular return visits of shoppers – they needed to go food shopping, so they also shopped at the mall, making it a better day out.”

  Smith seemed almost disappointed to learn that the anchor here had been a carefully thought out decision.

  “You are, at the moment, paying the interest on the loan. I am considering a proposal, but it would have to be approved by my board, that would allow the loan to remain in place until the potential tenants’ agreements lapse, or the mall is completed.”

  Bobby crossed his fingers under the table and plunged in. “All we need is a further two million to get the building finished, and for some working capital until the rent starts flowing.