This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance or act relating to any persons, living or dead, locations or events involving them, is entirely alleged or coincidental. Published by BSA Publishing 2021 who
assert the right that no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means without the prior permission of the publishers.
Copyright @ B.L.Faulkner 2021 who
asserts the moral right to be identified as
the author of this work
Proof read/editing by Zeldos
Cover art by Orphan Print, Hereford
Private eye BEN NEVIS and the GOLD DIGGER book 1.
TURKISH DELIGHT
***********************
26 years ago.
The Juvenile Court in the Southwark Crown Court building was in session. The judge read the papers of the case before him and looked up at the boy standing in the dock with a policeman for company.
‘How old are you, Ben?’ he asked, taking off his reading glasses.
‘Sixteen, sir.’ The boy’s lawyer had told him to always address the Judge as sir. No bravado, no cheek – just respect. Then, maybe...?
‘Sixteen.’ The judge took a deep breath. ‘Not doing very well for sixteen, are you Ben.’ It was a statement.
Did it require an answer? Ben wasn’t sure. ‘Sir?’
‘Two periods in a Young Offender Institution for car thefts, and a charge of assault remaining on your file.’ The judge paused for a moment or two. ‘Where is your father, Ben?’
‘Wormwood Scrubs, sir.’
‘And your elder brother?’
‘Brixton, sir.’
‘Ben, you worry me. I have read the reports from your school and from the psychiatrist and probation office. You are not a fool, Ben. Your academic achievements are very good. Your school praises you, as does the Army Cadet Force you belong to, and under normal circumstances you would undoubtedly make something of yourself and your life either in commerce or the military.’ Another pause. ‘But coming from the family that you do, the temptation to take another path – that of criminality – is a very strong one. So what do I do, Ben? Do I send you away into a six-foot square cell for a month or two in the hope you mend your ways?’
Ben didn’t answer, but the reality of the situation was beginning to break in his mind.
The judge beckoned the lawyer and the prosecutor to his bench and they spoke in hushed tones. Ben cast a sideways glance to the public gallery. The usual rubberneckers where there; some came every day, having nothing better to do – some even brought sandwiches. He locked eyes with his mother; she looked sad, and that made him feel bad. She had tried to steer him away from the family’s criminal trait, but it was difficult. It felt good to have things his mates didn’t have: the top of the range BMX, the latest games consoles and the latest games, an uncle with a box at the Arsenal, and most of all the attention of the local girls. It hadn’t struck him that none of that would be there in a six-foot cell.
The lawyer and prosecutor went back to their desks. Ben’s lawyer gave him a smile.
The judge thought for a while and then addressed Ben. ‘I am given to understand that your mother has asked for total parental control, and I am minded to give you one last chance, Ben. And I mean that – this is your last chance to knuckle down and make something of yourself. You will be required to accept a curfew – that means that you must be at home between the hours of six in the evening and seven in the morning. You will sign in at school on every school day and sign out when you leave, but these restrictions will be eased at weekends. But listen to me, Ben – your mother has underwritten these conditions. If you break them, she will be in very serious trouble. Do you understand?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Good. The current charge will stay on the file and if you break the conditions it will be pressed forward. You may go, Ben.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘One more thing, Ben.’
‘Sir?’
‘I never want to see you in this courtroom again, understand?’
‘Yes sir.’
Mum had already got plans for me. Three weeks later I was having a medical for the Army, got accepted, and was on my way into a career that would end up with me being a killer! Not sure that was what the judge had in mind.
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CHAPTER 1.
PRESENT DAY
I felt like I had wandered into the pages of an Ed McBain novel. The lady sitting in the chair the other side of my office desk was very attractive – very, very attractive. She knew she was very attractive too; she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs – good legs, long slim legs. Her smile was a wide smile that had no doubt launched a thousand flutters in male hearts. Mid-thirties, slim, poised, with dark hair in a forties-style bob, and her tight two-piece suit shouted money and power as much as the Gucci handbag hanging on her shoulder. The accent was Mediteranean and the slightly dark skin put her firmly in that area.
‘It’s not much of an office, Mr Nevis, pretty minimal,’ she noted as she cast her blue eyes around.
She was right too, but who needs an expensive office when you’re hardly ever there? I’ve got a top floor two-room office plus WC in a modern block in the Borough High Street, London Bridge end. I’d paid extra for a double parking space in the underground car park - one for me, and
