The woman nodded.
'I should have taken her milk in,' she said. 'I usually do if she doesn't come home.'
Scott frowned.
'She's not here, then?' he exclaimed.
'She didn't come home last night,' the woman told him.
Scott gritted his teeth.
'Where is she?' he demanded.
The woman shrugged.
'I take her milk in, I don't ask her for reports,' she said as Scott started up the steps.
He brushed past her.
'Can I give her a message?' the woman asked. 'I'll probably see her later.'
Scott was already stalking off up the road.
'I'll see her later,' he called over his shoulder.
The woman shrugged and made her way into the house.
When he reached the end of the street, Scott turned and looked back towards the house.
Could something have happened to her on the way home last night?
Perhaps she never got home.
The ball the three youngsters were kicking about landed near Scott once more.
If she didn't go home, where the fuck did she go?
'Oi, our ball,' shouted one of the kids.
Scott looked at the lad, then at the ball close to his feet. He lashed out at it and sent it flying down the road, away from the trio of kids.
'You bastard,' one of them shouted as he raced after it.
Scott ignored his insult and continued walking, his face set in hard lines.
FIFTY-EIGHT
The shutters were still closed, the door firmly locked. It would be another two hours before Les Gourmets opened for business.
Inside the restaurant the tables were bare but for cloths, all immaculately clean. The staff wouldn't arrive to set them for a while yet. Out in the kitchen preparations were already taking place in readiness for the lunch- time trade. The restaurant always did well at lunch-times, situated as it was in Shepherd Market. It was one of five such establishments owned by Ray Plummer.
Now he sat at one of the tables, cradling a glass of white wine in one hand. With the other he gently stroked his hair.
There were five other men with him. They too had drinks. Plummer put down his glass and reached into his inside pocket for the monogrammed cigarette case. He took one and lit it, looking round at his companions.
'Same voice as the other night, Ray?' said John Hitch, flicking his long blond hair over his shoulders.
Plummer nodded.
'And I still couldn't pin the bastard down,' he complained.
'He says the shipment's coming in by boat?' Terry Morton said.
'The Sandhopper, it's called,' Plummer told him. He repeated the other details about the shipment of cocaine, as relayed to him by the mysterious informant the previous night. He sat back when he'd finished and sipped his wine.
'Could it be a set up?' Joe Perry wanted to know. Perry was a thick-set, bull-necked man who looked as if he'd been eased into his suit with a shoe-horn. The material stretched so tightly across his shoulder blades it threatened to rip. His face was smooth, almost feminine; it looked as if it had never felt the touch of a razor.
Plummer shrugged.
'It could be,' he said.
'It could also be bollocks, couldn't it?' Morton interjected. 'I mean, there might not even be a shipment of coke.'
'Then why bother phoning?' asked Adrian McCann, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped hair. Over his ears it was completely shaved. 'It's a bit fucking elaborate, isn't it?'
'That's what I said,' Plummer agreed. He turned to Hitch. 'You heard the geezer the other night, John; he didn't sound like he was joking, did he?'
Hitch shook his head.
'I agree with Joe,' he added. 'It could be a set-up.'
'But by who?' Plummer wanted to know, a note of exasperation in his voice. 'We know it's not another organisation in London, especially not Ralph Connelly's firm.'
'Could it be somebody working for Connelly with an axe to grind?' asked Martin Bates, running his finger around the rim of his glass. Bates was in his early twenties, one of Plummer's youngest employees.
Plummer shrugged.
'Who knows? The point is, do we go with it or not? Do we assume there is a shipment? And, if there is, do we knock it over?'
'Are you asking for votes, boss?' Hitch said, laughing.
The other men laughed too. Plummer didn't see the joke and glanced irritably at Hitch, waiting until they calmed down.
'Right, let's assume there is a shipment of coke,' he continued. 'Let's say that phone call was kosher. The day after next the shipment is meant to be arriving, if the information's right. If it is right then the coke is hidden among a load of coffee beans. Now the question is, if this is a set-up, we're going to get hit when we try to take the lorry they're transferring the shit to. How do we get round that?'
'Take out the lorry first?' offered Joe Perry.
'No,' Hitch said, smiling. 'We hit it before they even take it off the boat.'
Even Plummer smiled.
'Hijack the fucking boat,' Hitch continued. 'Unload it somewhere else down the river. We have our own lorry waiting. Unload it, pack it away and piss off.'
Plummer slapped him on the shoulder.
'That's what we'll do,' he said. 'Take the shipment while it's still on the river.'
'Like pirates,' chuckled Morton.
The other men laughed.
'Ray, there are some other things to consider,' offered McCann. 'Once we've hit Connelly's shipment, he ain't going to be too happy.'
'I wouldn't be if I'd just lost twenty million,' Plummer said humourlessly. 'What are you getting at? You reckon he might come looking for bother?'
'Wouldn't you?' McCann said.
'He's right, Ray,' Hitch interjected. 'A fucking gang war is the last thing we want.'
'What am I, stupid?' Plummer said. 'There's no need for Connelly to know who turned him over. If it's done properly, and I'm not talking about fucking balaclavas and funny accents, there's no reason why he should know who hit him.' He looked at Hitch. 'I'm leaving that side of it to you, John. Like I said, you got about thirty-six hours.'
Hitch nodded.
'If the worst comes to the worst and he does find out, what then?' Perry wanted to know.
'A gang war would be as damaging to Connelly as it would to us. He won't want it,' Plummer said with assurance. 'But if he does, he can't win. We're stronger and, for twenty million, I'm bloody sure we're going to be
