sandwiches, the man’s words as she approached and the flash image of a man in a coat and hat entering the toilet from the lifts just as she left the foyer. She pulled out her phone and called Shadz on fast dial; it rang twice before she leapt to the stairs and tumbled down them into reception.
She dashed across to the toilet door, drew her Sig, off safety, and entered the toilet. Shadz lay in a pool of blood on the floor. Jaz nearly cried out and pulling herself together and holding his wrist felt a flood of relief feeling the weak, but regular pulse. Once more on the phone she called an ambulance and then the rest of the DIC team. Then she checked Shadz. He was unconscious, damaged, but clearly alive.
She waited with him and called DIC centre. The check on CCTV was stepped up. A trace on the taxi was begun too.
Chapter 75
Claridge’s Hotel Mayfair London
6 – 15 p.m.
April 18th
Claridge’s hotel in Mayfair was just what the doctor ordered for Cobb. The contact had dropped Cobb off at the grandiose entrance and had the porter pull a glossy set of luggage from the boot of the Honda. Cobb out of place in his rough looking clothes, carrying the lumpy black bag with weapons in it, drew disparaging looks from the severe receptionist until his reservation under a diplomatic booking, no less than first class and a suite at that, quickly changed her mind.
Cobb’s luggage was carried ahead of him into the lift and onward into the well designed and impressive one bedroom Claridge’s suite.
Cobb tipped the porter, though not too generously and waited for the man to leave. He took a turn around the rooms, found the mini bar and poured some Bourbon into a glass and dropped some ice in. He took a long drawn out swallow from the drink to feel the ice rest against his top lip before it dropped back into the glass.
He smiled almost manically.
The first class treatment suited him well. To the victor the spoils he now knew to be true. He unpacked the black leather cases to find full sets of clothes, which he unpacked and put away. There were two suits, one dinner suit and a black single breasted wool rich suit. He briefly checked the sizes and was impressed at the accuracy. There were clean cotton socks and boxer shorts in plain sober colours and the shirts were well made and comfortable looking. There was a stainless steel Rolex Oyster in its box, white gold cufflinks and Cobb’s favourite after shave, Calvin Klein Contradiction. There was a set of Gillette’s best disposables and every other type of bathroom self grooming product. There was also an envelope with five hundred pounds in notes and change, all used. Finally to his great joy there was a carton of Lucky Strike and a stainless steel Zippo, already primed and fuelled.
Cobb opened the carton slit open a new soft pack, flicked a cigarette out, did a neat trick lighting the Zippo with a finger click, drew in and pushed out the smoke in a heady sigh and went back to the mini bar. After having poured and drunk another glass of Bourbon he began to try and book a table in the restaurant only to find that it had already been done. Having also established that there was a Casino nearby he headed for the bathroom.
It was half an hour later that he emerged and dressed himself in the dinner suit. He checked his reflection. He’d made a few small changes to his appearance, not much, but enough to make the ‘search pictures’ vaguely inaccurate. He checked the time with the speaking clock and set the Rolex, slipping the expanding strap comfortably over his thick wrist.
He sat for a moment with the PSS pistol laying on a hand towel. He took it apart and cleaned it. He had only four rounds left, but he did have the black bag with the sub machine gun under the bed, there were three clips of ammunition too. Cobb put the silent PSS pistol into the waist band at the back of his trousers and turned his reflection in the full length mirror this way and that. Sure that he looked great and that the pistol didn’t show he picked up the cash and his key and walked to the lift.
The Gordon Ramsey restaurant was expensively low key and Cobb was amused that they’d booked him a reservation, that couldn’t have been easy. Cobb knew that the cost of the dinner would go with the room and someone else was picking up the bill. It was all gravy from there and he felt sure he’d make the hit and take the million. With the hardships of the last days in mind, like Mason, he set his heart on some rest and recreation. He settled down in the 1930’s style restaurant, plush red chairs and bright white linen creating a blood stain contrast, the irony of which was not lost on him. When the food was drifted in by waves of waiters it was exquisite, as was the well chosen wine.
Chapter 76
Kildonan
Isle of Arran
7 p.m.
April 18th
Kevan Dean was cold, shivering and shaking, and dripping water as he crawled onto the rain spattered ground at Kildonan. It was getting dark and there were lights on behind curtains in nearby houses. He plodded heavily over rocks and up to the road. A short, but heavily walked distance down the road he reached the nearest house and leg muscles giving out as he got there entered the garden got to the door and rang the bell.
There was a long pause after he heard the bell ring inside the house. Dean rehearsed what he was going to say to have most impact. A big man opened the door.
“What do you want?”
“My name is Kevan Dean, I’ve escaped from a boat where I witnessed a murder.”
“What?”
“Please help me. I’ve swum for miles. I’ve witnessed a murder and escaped with my life.”
“You’d better come in. I’m George Hudson. I’m a member of the Arran Police force. It’s good fortune you’ve come my way.”
Dean was welcomed into the house. He had a quick image of a dinner table, two children and a woman before he was bustled up the stairs, stripped and stood under the hot water of an electric shower over a bath. Given ten minutes under the hot pressured water stream he first felt pain in his muscles then warmth and relief spread through him. Being dressed in some thick dry pyjamas and a dressing gown helped Dean felt better. Better still sat in front of a fire and sipping whisky laced coffee he finally felt safer. George Hudson sent his two young children upstairs, in spite of their protests, and gave the man time to warm and recover. Whilst he waited he called the station; they were surprised to hear from him on his night off. A car was being sent down the A841 from Lamlash.
Hudson came and sat in his lounge opposite Dean.
“There’s a car on the way. What happened?”
Dean told his story and began shivering again, but not with cold. Tears ran down his face. Hudson looked at his wife in a meaningful way. She left the room and bustled in the kitchen.
“I need to contact my wife.”
“They’ll let you call from the station. This man on the boat he said he was one of the men from Perth?” Hudson probed.
“That’s right.” Dean took a sip from the coffee.
There was a knock at the door. Hudson left the room and returned with two men equally as large as him, made bulkier by their uniforms, knife vests and loaded belts. All three men filled the room.
“This is Kevan Dean. Says he escaped a boat hijacked by the escaped Perth killer. Apparently the hijacker killed a man who was keen on buying his boat.” Hudson explained.
The shorter and stockier of the two policemen squatted down by Dean.
