Clean Break (13 page)

Like I said, heart of gold. “Don't worry, Debbie, I'm fine. I've got something I need to show Dennis, that's all. Just ask him to come round soon as.”

We chatted for a bit about the kids, then I rang off. I knew I should go into the office and pick up Trevor Kerr's list of former employees, but I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on it. I switched on the computer and loaded up Epic Pinball. I thrashed the ball round the bumpers and ramps a few times, but I couldn't get into it. My scores would have shamed an arthritic octogenarian. I decided I needed something more violent, so I started playing Doom, the ultimate shoot-'em-up, at maximum danger level. After I got killed for the tenth time, I gave up and switched the machine off. I know it's as bad as it can get when I can't lose myself in a computer game.

I ended up cleaning the house. The trouble with modern bungalows is that it doesn't take nearly long enough to bottom them when you want a really good angst-letting. By the time the doorbell rang, I'd moved on to purging my wardrobe of all those garments I hadn't worn for two years but had cost too much for me to dump in my normal frame of mind. A disastrous pair of leggings that looked like stretch chintz curtains were saved by the bell.

Dennis stood on the doorstep, grinning cheerily. I wanted to smack him, but good sense prevailed over desire. It seemed to have been doing that a lot lately. “Hiya. Debbie says you've got something for me,” he greeted me, leaning forward to kiss my cheek.

I backed off, letting him teeter. “Something to show you,” I corrected him, marching through into my living room. Without waiting for him to sit down, I smacked the tape into the video, turned on the TV and pressed play. I kept my back to him while the robbery replayed itself before our eyes. As the two burglars disappeared from sight, I switched off the TV and turned to face him.

Dennis's expression revealed nothing. I might as well have shown him a blank screen for all the reaction I was getting. “Nice one, Dennis,” I said bitterly. “Thanks for marking my card.”

He thrust his hands into the trouser pockets of his immaculate, pearl gray, double-breasted suit. “What did you expect me to do? Put my hands up when you told me what you was looking into?” he said quietly.

“Never mind what I expected,” I said. “What you did do has dropped me right in it.”

Dennis frowned. “What is this?” he demanded angrily. “You know the kind of thing I do for a living. I'm not some snow-white straight man. I'm a thief, Kate, a fucking criminal. I steal things, I have people over, I pull scams. How else do you think I put food in my kids' mouths and clothes on their backs? It's not like I've been keeping it a big fucking secret, is it?”

“No, but …”

“What's wrong? You're quick enough to come to me for help because I can go places and get people to talk that you can't. You think I could do that if I wasn't as bent as the bastards you chase? What is it, Kate? You can't handle the fact that one of your mates is a crook now you're faced with the evidence?”

I found myself subsiding on to a sofa. He was right, of course. I've always known in the abstract that Dennis was a villain, but I'd never had to confront it directly. “I thought you weren't doing this kind of thing any more,” I said weakly. “You always said you wouldn't do stuff that would get you a long stretch again.”

Dennis threw himself on to the sofa opposite me. A grim smile flashed across his face. “That was the plan. Then everything came on top, like I told you. Kate, I could get five for that. My kids shouldn't have to suffer because I'm a villain, should they? I don't want my kids not being able to go to university because their old man's inside and there's no money. I don't want my family living in some bed-and-breakfast dosshouse because the mortgage hasn't been paid and the house has been repo'ed. Now, the only way I know to make sure that doesn't happen is to salt away some insurance money. And the only way I know to get money is robbing.”

“So you've been doing these art robberies,” I said.

“That's right. Listen, if I'd known that you'd done the security on Birchfield Place, I wouldn't have gone near the gaff. You're my mate, I don't want to embarrass you.”

I shook my head. “If I recognized you, Dennis, chances are someone else might, especially if they put the tape on the box.”

He sighed. “So do what you have to do, Kate.” He met my eyes, not in a challenge, but in a kind of agreement.

“You don't think I'm going to shop you, do you?” I blurted out indignantly.

“It's your job,” he said simply.

I shook my head. “No, it's not. My job is to get my clients' property back. It's the police that arrest villains, not me.”

“You've turned people over to the dibble before,” Dennis pointed out. “You got principles, you should stick to them. It's OK, Kate, I won't hold it against you. It's an occupational hazard. You work with asbestos, sometimes you get lung cancer. You go robbing for a living, sometimes you get a nicking. There's nothing personal in it.”

“Will you get it into your thick head that I am not going to grass you up?” I said belligerently. “The only thing I'm interested in is getting Henry Naismith's Monet back. Anyway, you're only a small fish. If I want anybody, I want the whale.”

Dennis's lips tightened to a thin line. “OK, I hear you,” he said grimly. I didn't expect him to fall to his knees in gratitude. Nobody likes being placed under the kind of obligation I'd just laid on him.

“So cough,” I said.

He cleared his throat. “It's not that simple,” he said, taking his time over pulling out his cigarettes and lighting up. “I haven't got it any more.”

“That was quick,” I said, disappointed. From what Dennis had told me about his previous exploits in the field of executive burglary, it often takes some time to shift the proceeds, fences being notoriously twitchy about taking responsibility for stolen goods that are still so hot they risk meltdown.

Dennis leaned back in his seat, unbuttoning his jacket. “A ready market. That's one of the reasons I got into this in the first place. See, what happened was when I realized this court case wasn't
going to go away, I put the word out that I was looking for a nice little earner. A couple of weeks later, I get a call from this bloke I know in Leeds. I fenced a couple of choice antique items with him in the old days when I was pursuing my former career. Anyway, he says he's heard about my bit of bother, and he's got a contact for me. He gives me this mobile phone number, and tells me to ring this bloke.

“So I ring the number and mention my contact's name and this bloke says to me he's in the market for serious art. He says he has a client for top-flight gear, flat fee of ten grand a pop for pieces agreed in advance. I go, ‘How do I know I can trust you?' And he goes, ‘You don't part with the gear till you see the color of my money.' I go, ‘How does it work?' And he goes, ‘You decide on something you think you can get away with, and you ring me and ask me if I want it. I ring you back the next day with a yes or a no.' ”

“So you embark on your new career as an art robber,” I said. “Simple, really.”

“You wouldn't be so sarcastic if you knew what a nause it is shifting stuff like that on the open market,” Dennis said with feeling.

“How did you know what to go for? And where to go for it?” I demanded. I'd never had Dennis pegged as a paid-up member of the National Trust.

“My mate Frankie came out a while back,” he said. I didn't think he meant that Frankie had revealed he was a raging queen. “He's been doing an eight stretch for armed robbery, and he did an Open University degree while he was inside. He did a couple of courses in history of art. He reckoned it would come in useful on the outside,” he added drily.

“I don't think that's quite what the government had in mind when they set up the OU,” I said.

Dennis grinned. “Get an education, get on in life. Anyway, we spent a couple of months schlepping round these country houses, sussing out what was where, what was worth nicking and what the security was like. Pathetic, most of it.”

I had a sudden thought. “Dennis, these robberies have been
going on for nine months now. You only got nicked a few weeks ago. You didn't start doing this for insurance money, you started doing this out of sheer badness,” I accused him.

He shrugged, looking slightly shamefaced. “So I lied. I'm sorry, Kate, I can't change the habit of a lifetime. This was just too good to miss. And watertight. We don't touch places with security guards so nobody gets hurt or upset. We're in and out so fast there's no way we're going to get caught.”

“I caught you,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but you're a special case,” Dennis said. “Besides, the CCTV wasn't there when we cased the place. They must have only just put it in.”

“So who is this guy who's giving you peanuts for these masterpieces?”

Dennis smiled wryly. “It's not peanuts, Kate. It's good money and no hassle.”

“It's a tiny fraction of what they're worth,” I said.

“Define worth. What an insurance company pays out? What you could get at auction? Worth is what somebody's prepared to pay. I reckon ten grand for a night's work is not bad going.”

“A grand for every year if they catch you. You'd get a better rate of pay working in a sweatshop making schneid T-shirts. So who's the buyer? Some private collector or what?”

“I don't know,” Dennis said. “I don't even know who the fence is.”

I snorted incredulously. “Come on, Dennis, you've done more than a dozen deals with this guy, you must know who he is.”

“I've never met him before this run of jobs,” Dennis said. “All I've got is the number for his mobile.”

“You're kidding,” I said. “You've done over a hundred grand's worth of work for some punter whose name you don't even know?”

“ 'S right,” he said easily. “My business isn't like yours, Kate, I don't take out credit references on the people I do business with. Look, what happens is, every few weeks I ring the guy up with one of Frankie's suggestions. He gives me the nod, we go out and do the job, and I give him a bell. We meet on the motorway services,
we show him the goods, he counts the dosh in front of us, and we all go home happy boys.”

“What about the fakes?”

There was a deathly silence. He ground out his cigarette viciously in the ashtray. “How did you find out about them?” Dennis asked warily. “There's been nothing in the papers or anything about that.”

“What happens when it turns out you've nicked a copy?” I asked, ignoring him.

Dennis shifted in his seat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You setting me up, or what?” he asked. “You saying that Monet wasn't kosher?”

“It was kosher,” I said. “But they haven't all been, have they?”

Dennis lit his cigarette like an actor in a Pinter play filling one of the gaps with a complicated bit of business. “Three of them were bent as a nine-bob note,” he said. “First I knew about it was about a week after we'd done the handover when the geezer bells me and tells me. I said I never knew anything about it, and he goes, ‘I'm sure you were acting in good faith, but the problem is that so was my client. He reckons you owe him ten grand. And he has very efficient debt collectors. But he's a fair man. He'll cancel the debt if you provide another painting for free.' So we to and fro a bit, and eventually he agrees that he'll pay us a grand for expenses for the next kosher one we bring him, and we're all square. So we go and do another one, and bugger me if it isn't bent as well.” He shook his head in wonderment.

“Talk about a scam,” he said. “These bastards with their country houses really know how to pull a con job on the punters. Anyway, we end up having to do a third job, this time for fuck all, just to get ourselves square. I mean, he's obviously dealing with the kind of money that can buy a lot of very vicious muscle. You don't mess with that.”

“But everything's hunky-dory now, is it?”

He nodded, eating smoke. “Sweet.”

“Great,” I said. “Then you won't mind putting the two of us together, will you, Dennis?”

Once upon a time I had a fling with a Telecom engineer. It didn't end happily ever after, but he taught me more than I'll ever need to know about crossed lines. Along the way, before I accepted that great sex wasn't a long-term compensation for the conversational skills of Bonzo the chimpanzee, I met some very useful people. I met some bloody boring ones too, and unfortunately the crossover between the two groups was disturbingly large. Even more unfortunately, I was going to have to talk to one of them.

After I'd finally convinced Dennis that I wasn't going to back off and that the price of his liberty was putting me together with his fence, it hadn't taken me long to squeeze out of him the phone number of the contact. He'd left, grumbling that I was getting in over my head and I needn't come running to him when the roof fell in. Naturally, we both knew that in the event of such an architectural disaster, the combined emergency services of six counties wouldn't keep him away.

I watched his car drive away, not entirely certain I was doing the right thing. But I knew I couldn't turn Dennis over to the cops. It wasn't just about friendship, though that had been the key factor in my decision, no doubt about it. But I hadn't been lying when I said I wanted the people behind the whole shooting match. Without them, the robberies wouldn't end. They'd just find another Dennis to do the dirty work and carry the can. Besides, I wanted Henry's Monet back, and Dennis didn't have it any more.