Close Range (13 page)

It wouldn’t be long.

Jake yanked the handlebars around. He saw the police officer walking swiftly across the square towards him. Abri’s grip tightened round his middle.

‘That way!’ she said, finding her voice again. She pointed to a road leading off the side of the square. Via Ugo Foscolo.

The police officer shouted, and his hat fell off his head as he broke into a run. Jake twisted the throttle, jinked around a street-sweeper and into traffic. A barrage of horns announced the drivers’ displeasure. Jake ignored them, cutting across two lanes of traffic and into the small side road. Shops selling postcards and tourist paraphernalia
lined the street and it was busy with people.

Jake mounted the pavement to avoid a black-clad old lady with a small dog, but clipped one of the postcard stands with his outstretched knee. It spun round, and cards cascaded across the street like confetti. Jake heard someone shouting,
‘Oh mio Dio!’

At the other end of the street, two more police appeared. Jake braked and put down his foot. They were trapped.

Or maybe not,
thought Jake. On the opposite side of the road, between an ice-cream parlour and a stall selling miniature models of the Duomo, the Leaning Tower of Pisa and the Colosseum, there was what looked like an alleyway. Jake lifted his foot and steered the bike towards it. Sure enough, a narrow passage threaded past dustbins to what looked like an exit about fifty metres down.

‘Hang on!’ he told Abri. ‘And keep your knees tucked in.’

‘You can’t go down there!’ she gasped. ‘It’s not wide enough.’

Jake tucked the front wheel into the alley. Abri was wrong: there were about two centimetres either side of the handlebars. Not much, but enough.

Jake moved the bike slowly, keeping it steady. Gradually he built up speed. They ripped over a discarded pizza box and other rubbish. At the far end, they hit a main road.
Jake waited for a moment, then he steered back into traffic. There were dozens of other scooters and, in a few seconds, he was confident that they’d be lost in the pack.

‘Are they still following us?’ he asked Abri, then felt her twist in the seat.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said, ‘but keep going.’

Jake took a couple more turns, driving away from the cathedral and into more residential areas. After a few hundred metres, he saw the turning to an underground car park and steered the bike down the ramp.

He didn’t realise how hard he was focusing until he killed the engine. Sweat was dripping down his back and his heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Abri climbed off and he did the same. She leant against a concrete column with one hand and bent over, dry-retching.

Jake’s mind was racing.

Fake diamonds? That’s what Monique had said, wasn’t it?
He shook his head to clear it.

‘We have to get you to the police – you need protection,’ he said to Abri.

‘This is crazy,’ she said, wiping her mouth. ‘This can’t be happening.’

‘It is,’ said Jake. ‘Someone killed Sienna and Monique, and you’re going to be next.’

‘But the diamonds …’ Abri began.

‘Forget the diamonds,’ said Jake. ‘We need to hand them over to the police. It’s the only way to stop the killing.’

‘But what about me?’ asked Abri. ‘I’ll be arrested.’

Jake didn’t say anything. Better that than strangled or bleeding out while tourists took their holiday snaps.

‘I can’t believe they’re both dead,’ said Abri, the tears welling in her eyes. ‘We were in this together, from the start …’

As the first tear trickled down her cheek, she fell against Jake’s shoulder. He put his arm round her and kept his eyes on the entrance to the car park. The police were on the lookout for a killer and Jake realised that they were the prime suspects. It would only take one trigger-happy policeman and they’d both be killed.

Abri sniffed and looked up. With her bloodshot eyes and messy hair, it was easy to forget that she was a supermodel.

‘I don’t want to go to prison,’ she said.

Jake tried to think through the options. They couldn’t stay on the run forever. Either Granble or the police would catch them. If they gave themselves up willingly, explained the situation with a lawyer present, then perhaps Abri would get off with a lighter sentence.

‘If Monique was right, you only stole fake diamonds from Granble,’ he said.

‘I don’t get it,’ said Abri. ‘She must have been wrong.’

‘Those were her last words,’ said Jake.

‘But why would Granble use fakes?’ asked Abri. ‘He’s all about the flawless quality of his stones. His guy had a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. That’s serious precautions for a bunch of phoney stones.’

Jake remembered Granble’s terrier preventing his mum taking close-ups. It made sense – fake diamonds would not have stood up to the close scrutiny of a camera lens.

‘Maybe for appearance’s sake,’ said Jake. ‘I mean, the crown jewels in the Tower of London are all replicas. Granble clearly
wants
people to believe the stones are the real deal.’

‘But the shoot was top secret – there was so much security. Why go to such lengths? If the protection’s there, he could just use the real stones.’

Jake shrugged. ‘Well, your little stunt proved that wasn’t the case, right?’

Abri nodded. ‘We need to get to the bottom of this. For Sienna and Monique.’

A new plan was forming in the back of Jake’s mind. The police couldn’t be trusted to bring the models’ killers to justice, and Jake would bet his last euro that Granble would distance himself from any connection to the scandal. If the diamonds
were
fake, then his dad needed to know. It could be crucial in his mission to bring down Granble.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We need to get away from here.’

‘You’re not going to turn me in?’ Abri said.

‘That depends,’ Jake replied.

‘On what?’

‘On whether you can trust me.’

S
ilence descended over the car park.

‘Tell me where the diamonds are,’ Jake said.

Abri shook her head. ‘Me, the girls – we had a pact. I can’t.’

‘The girls are dead,’ said Jake, more harshly than he needed to. ‘The pact is void.’

Abri walked towards a far wall of the car park. Her body language said it all – she wanted to be away from this.

‘I can help you,’ Jake pressed.

‘You’ll be in danger too, if I tell you.’

‘I’m in danger already,’ said Jake.

Abri put her hands on her hips and looked towards the ceiling. Her lips moved silently. Jake could see she was coming round, running out of options.

She pursed her lips, and gave him a long stare. ‘They’re at the church,’ she said.

It took Jake a second to process. ‘The church where you did the photo shoot?’

‘Yeah.’

Jake shook his head in wonder. ‘The last place Granble would think to look.’

He made a mental calculation. Half an hour to get to the church, then another twenty minutes to deliver the fake diamonds to his dad.

He sat back on the bike. ‘Where are they exactly?’ he asked Abri, kicking away the stand.

‘Hey!’ she said. She advanced towards him. ‘You’re not going without me!’

‘You should stay out of the way,’ said Jake. ‘I can handle this myself.’

‘No way,’ said Abri. She planted her feet in front of the bike, and gripped the handlebars. Her hands over his. ‘You won’t be able to find the diamonds without me.’

Jake thought about the church. It wasn’t that big. He could find them on his own.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ said Jake. ‘I’m trying to look after you.’

Abri moved away and swung her leg over the saddle behind him. She put her lips close to his ear.

‘Then trust
me,’
she said.

Jake twisted the throttle and sent the scooter up the ramp.

They drove back to the church, taking the back roads as often as possible. Abri gave him a nudge when she spotted a police car in the distance, and Jake pulled over beside a monument to Vittorio Emanuele, until it had cruised past. By now he was sure the authorities across the city would have a half-decent description of a young man and beautiful woman whizzing around the city on a blue Vespa. The only thing going in their favour was that in Milan, Vespas were everywhere. And hot women were hardly an endangered species in Italy’s fashion capital.

Jake wondered if he should call his dad now. Once Monique’s identity hit the airwaves and TV stations, the link with Abri would be made quickly. Jake could see it clearly in his mind’s eye. His mum would be on the phone to his dad, or vice versa. There would be shouting.
He was supposed to be with you … No, you were looking after him.

But if Jake called him now he knew exactly what his dad would say.
Forget the diamonds. Come to me.
And hell was going to freeze over before Jake took a step back from this. Abri needed him.

There was no time to lose.

They stopped at some lights, and Jake checked his mirrors. Two cars back was a silver Fiat that he was sure he’d seen pass them at the monument. But they’d made several turns since then. He couldn’t make out the driver’s face past his sunshade, but there was no one else in the car. He twisted to speak to Abri.

‘Just going to take a little detour,’ he said. ‘Make sure we’re not being tailed.’

He indicated right, and saw the Fiat do the same.

Jake’s skin prickled.

As soon as the lights went orange, he skidded away with a stink of burnt rubber and gave the bike throttle. He put another fifty yards between them and the Fiat, then took another right, then a left into a courtyard surrounded by office buildings. He turned the bike round and stalled. Abri’s grip round his waist tightened.

‘You think someone’s behind us?’ she said.

A couple of seconds later, the silver car cruised slowly past. The driver was looking the other way and didn’t see Jake.

‘Not any more,’ he said.

Twenty minutes later, Jake parked the bike across the square from the church to make sure all was quiet. They waited five minutes, but he only saw an elderly lady carrying a netted bag of tomatoes and courgettes.

They jogged together across the square as the late afternoon sun dipped away behind the buildings opposite. The front gates were bolted from the inside, so they went to the side door where the security guards had been standing. That, too, wouldn’t budge.

Jake took a step back, ready to kick, but Abri put an arm across his chest.

‘Let me try.’

‘Sure,’ said Jake.
What? She’s going to kick it down?
No way could she kick through a door.

Abri took one of the pins from her hair and dug around in her bag. She fished out a nail file. Crouching by the lock, she inserted both. Her tongue played along her top lip as she concentrated, fiddling the file and pin up and down. The lock gave a soft click.

She didn’t learn that on the catwalk,
thought Jake, impressed.

Inside, the church was gloomy and cold, and no light streamed through the stained glass. All of the lighting equipment and photo-shoot set-up had gone. The only signs that anyone had been here were a few cigarette butts, some discarded wiring and Granble Diamond Company business cards left stranded on the floor.

Jake wondered if whoever was in that suspicious silver
Fiat might have guessed their destination.

‘Let’s be quick,’ he said.

‘Follow me.’ Abri paced quickly up the central aisle towards the front of the church. When she got to the altar, she stopped and threw off the black cloth that covered it. This was the very scene of the crime.
What’s she doing?

He saw there was a double-door compartment in the back of the altar, which Abri pulled open. She reached inside to a shelf and brought out two velvet bags.

‘Monique already took hers,’ she said sadly.

She closed the doors and laid out the cloth on top of the altar again, then loosened the drawstrings on the bags and carefully tipped the contents on to the altar.

Jake gasped as the stones seemed to sparkle from a thousand surfaces at once.

‘If those are fakes,’ he said, ‘they’re awesome ones.’

‘You’re telling me,’ said Abri, lifting a necklace and placing it against her tanned neck. ‘I saw drawings of all the Granble pieces before the shoot, and these are identical to the real thing.’

‘Then someone on the inside must have made them.’

A shuffle of footsteps filled the silence of the nave, and Abri’s head snapped up.

Jake scanned the shadows. Abri’s breathing was heavy
beside him. He pulled her away, behind the lectern.

‘Who is it?’ she hissed.

Jake put a finger to his lips. Whoever it was, they were in trouble.

He heard the slow click of shoe-heels on the flagged floor of the church, and peered round the edge of the lectern. No one appeared.

Shit. The diamonds were still on top of the altar. Apart from the necklace. He looked at it, dangling from Abri’s hand. She seemed to understand, gave a small nod, then dipped it down her top.

Clever, thought Jake. If we get out of this, that might be the only evidence we have.

It was a very big ‘if'.

‘Y
ou shouldn’t have taken what wasn’t yours,’ said the voice. South African.

Jake peered out again, between the panels of the lectern. At the back of the church was the stocky figure of Granble’s right-hand man, Jaap, and he was carrying what looked like a submachine gun, strapped over his shoulder and aimed at the floor.

‘The good thing about this place is that it’s out of the way,’ he said. ‘Just a pity that two more kids with such
promising
futures will have to die.’

He hardly sounded sorry.

‘No one needs to get hurt,’ said Jake. ‘Just take the diamonds, and go.’

The footsteps stopped. ‘That’s not how it works,’ Jaap said. ‘Mr Granble doesn’t want any loose ends.’

‘We won’t tell anyone,’ promised Abri. ‘Why would we?
We’d end up in prison for theft.’

Jaap gave a low chuckle. ‘Nice try, sweetheart.’

Jake guessed that the South African was still six metres away. Their best chance was to split up, divert his attention. He tapped Abri on the shoulder and pointed back towards the choir stalls. He mouthed ‘Go!’ Her face creased with uncertainty for a second, so he jabbed his finger back again. This time she listened, and began to back away in a low crouch.