The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin (24 page)

As there were too many of them and their luggage to fit in one taxi, at Geoff's suggestion the four lads went in one vehicle, while Peer Merkel with his luggage followed behind in another, all meeting at the main railway station in Florence. While Peer Merkel went to book the train tickets for the group, the lads remained in a corner of one of the station cafes sharing a table with two young New Zealand backpackers, who were very friendly and struck up a conversation with the lads.

‘We are travelling around Europe; we landed in Rome several days ago and stopped there touring the city while we recovered from jet lag. We caught a train to Florence then we intend going on to Venice, using youth hostels for our accommodation. It's our intention to make London our final stop before we fly back to Auckland in several months' time. Will you guys keep your eye on our packs while we shoot off to the little boys' room?'

The question was directed at the Bolton brothers.

‘Sure no problem,' replied the brothers in unison.

Geoff looked at the Bolton brothers and nodded his head as the two young men left their packs unattended on the chairs while they walked off, chattering to one another, on their way to the toilets.

‘Within a week they will be ringing home, asking for more money to replace all their stolen equipment,' Geoff said to the trio, shaking his head as he slipped both the New Zealanders' passports, taken from a zipped pocket on the outside of their backpack, into his inside coat pocket.

‘It seems expensive, this accommodation, Geoff,' said the youngest of the Bolton brothers, directing his question across the table to his friend as he sipped a cup of the tepid cappuccino coffee.

‘Well, it gives us a breathing space. It's in Peer Merkel's name and not in ours, just in case the Italian coppers are looking for us,' he explained with a false sense of confidence. He assumed that, by now, the Italian police would be following their trail, at least up to the costly five star hotel then, hopefully, it would come to a full stop, but he was concerned about their costs; Peer Merkel obviously had very expensive tastes, especially, if someone else was picking up the tab.

Geoff quickly reckoned that, at a rough guess and at this rate, he had enough to last them about three months or, possibly four, but only if they were very careful, then they would be broke, in a foreign country, wanted by the police and possibly by the heavy mob. He weighed up and evaluated the alternatives.

He could do a runner with the bulk of the money leaving the rest of the group to be, eventually, arrested, by the Italian police to be then passed on to the English coppers but, at least they would be safe and, hopefully, out of reach of the heavy mob that were hunting them.

After all, what could they be charged with? At the most it would be with stealing some guy's briefcase. Big deal! It was the heavy mob he was frightened of. Even in jail they could be targeted and they would be in danger from anyone who wanted to earn a few hundred quid. What would happen to him though? He would have sufficient funds, all be it in English pound notes, in a foreign country where he could not speak or understand the language and was unable to book into a hotel without handing over his passport and in grave danger of being picked up at any time by the Italian police or, worse still, by the heavy mob who, by now, would also be searching for them. No! He had to stick it out, enjoy it while it lasted and look around for a long-term solution. After all, he had always been an optimist. Where they were at the moment they were reasonably safe, they had money to spend, the food was excellent and the sun was shining. He recalled two of the sayings used by his old friend, Sir Reginald,
‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush'
. And,
‘The grass on the other side of the fence always looks greener'
. Yes they were really a very lucky group.

When Peer Merkel returned with the tickets, the two New Zealand backpackers had left the table, rushing off to catch their train. He sat down heavily in one of the vacant seats.

‘Train Italia leaves come our destination in venty minutes. Coffee again you have time for?' Geoff took the hint, Derek Bolton volunteering to go and get the coffee taking the twenty euro note that Geoff offered him.

Peer Merkel coughed to attract the younger Bolton brother's attention, indicating with a smile, a bent thumb and a finger. Derek looked at Geoff, who just nodded and shrugged his shoulders.
This old guy certainly likes his drink,
he thought as he watched Derek make his way to the counter to order the five coffees and an Italian brandy.

They had missed the express that stopped at their destination by several minutes, a combination of Peer Merkel being in the toilets when the late announcement of the change of platform was made over the speaker system, and the slow walking pace of the old man.

The local train they did catch stopped at every station en route and consequently, it was late afternoon when they eventually arrived at Arezzo railway station.

They passed several taxis parked outside the station but they were too small to accommodate all five of them and their luggage.

A people carrier was unloading its passengers, possibly from a hotel in the town and as the last of the tourists collected their cases, Peer Merkel approached the driver. After a few words he waved to the lads to come over. ‘Driver take green stuff transport all, OK! Geoff nodded. Fortunately he had taken the opportunity to exchange some English money into euros at the railway station, to avoid confusion this bundle he was careful to keep separate from his English notes.

They all bundled into the people carrier and ten minutes later, they were outside what was obviously an estate agent's with lots of photographs of properties in the window. Many of the photographs had faded to dull yellow in the fierce sun they had been there that long.

Peer Merkel left the taxi and tried the door of the offices. It was locked.

On the door there was a note giving the opening times. Geoff looked at his watch; it was three fifty in the afternoon or 15.50 hours as everyone seemed to say nowadays.

Peer Merkel held up ten fingers; the agency would be open at four o'clock. He then moved several yards away and parked himself on a wooden bench in the shade of a large tree; it was cooler there than in the people carrier which was having problems with its air conditioning and all the lads were sweating profusely.

‘You boys Americanos?' said the taxi driver to the group in the back of his vehicle but to no one in particular.

‘Yes!' said Geoff before anyone else could answer and he then continued in a contrived American accent. ‘We come from the West coast of America.' The rest of the lads gave Geoff a puzzled look but they had learnt from past experience that if he did anything out of the ordinary there was usually a good reason behind it.

‘Aha!' exclaimed the taxi driver. ‘John Wayne country. He my hero! Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, all super dupa.'

The taxi driver continued to reel off a list of films that his hero, John Wayne, had appeared in.
Stage Coach, True Grit, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, El Dorado.
It was during a brief lull in the accolades of John Wayne that Geoff managed to obtain a business card from him.

If they had to move in a hurry they would need a big vehicle like this to accommodate all of them. Further conversation was cut short by the reappearance of Peer Merkel.

He was waving a set of keys obtained from the proprietor of the agency who had appeared and opened his shop while the taxi driver was reciting some of the famous sayings in the films in which his hero John Wayne had appeared.

It was only a short drive to the outskirts of the town. The scenery quickly changed from a built up area, to fields of olive trees and lines of trellising interwoven with grape vines surrounded by fields of sunflowers. All this was pointed out to the boys by Peer Merkel who could not understand why they had all suddenly started to use a poor imitation of the American accent.

The taxi came to a juddering stop just past the entrance to a large house prompting several loud blasts on the horn from a van travelling close behind them, and curses from the group of lads in the back of the vehicle as they untangled themselves from on top of one another after the unannounced emergency stop. After the van had passed, the people carrier reversed and swung into the steep tree-lined drive.

‘A bit late for that Sooty, we're nearly there by the looks of it,' Geoff said, smiling at his friend as he watched him struggling to fasten his seat belt.

The carrier pulled up on the loose gravel outside a huge pair of double wooden doors with a pair of highly polished brass lion head door knockers all set back in a porch which in turn was supported by two enormous, circular, marble pillars.

‘Wow! Is this it?' said Sooty forgetting his American accent. ‘It's as big as a hotel.'

‘Yes, these our is accommodation total six months,' said Peer Merkel as he was being helped out of the taxi by the Bolton brothers.

In no time at all the luggage was unloaded and Geoff gave Peer Merkel the money for the taxi fare using the last of their euros they had obtained at Pisa airport, plus a tip. As Peer Merkel said that it was the custom, Geoff gave more for the tip than was asked, thinking he would never know when he would require this guy in a hurry, he was still left with euros from his exchange at the railway station.

As Peer Merkel opened the front door to the villa the lads rushed in, leaving their cases outside in the porch in their excitement. Several moments later there was a great shout from Sooty that could be heard all over the house.

‘Geoff! Geoff! Fellas come here quick!'

Geoff rushed to where the shouting was coming from followed by the Bolton brothers and, bringing up the rear and much more slowly, Peer Merkel.

Sooty was standing at a pair of open French windows that overlooked a rear garden and several yards from the windows was the edge of a large swimming pool.

‘Is that with the house?' said Geoff, turning to Peer Merkel.

‘Yes!' gasped the old man who then collapsed breathless onto a nearby chair.

‘Whoopee!' shouted Derek Bolton, taking several large strides and jumping in the pool fully clothed.

‘Geronimo!' shouted John Bolton, following closely behind his brother. Geoff, along with Sooty, ran to the edge of the pool laughing at the antics of the other two boys but they stopped short of jumping in themselves as they were not the best of swimmers.

Peer Merkel rose from his chair and made his way to the French windows. From there he could see Geoff and Sooty watching the Boltons splashing about in the pool. He turned back into the room shaking his head,
the things that young men get up to.

At the same time, however, it reminded him of himself and his comrades who, at that time, would be a similar age to these lads, in this the very same part of the country but so many, many long years ago.

There were six bedrooms with the villa, all with their own bathrooms and sufficient for a bedroom each for the young men who, never before in their short lives, had experienced such luxury.

When he had unpacked his case, Geoff studied the papers that he had collected from Jock. The fence had not skimped on the documents and there were two sets of driving licences. One was in the name that John Bolton had taken and that was fine but the other was in the name of the person Geoff was impersonating. Geoff thought that this could cause problems, as he was a novice driver and a poor novice at that. It was obvious to Geoff that where they were situated they would need transport, and something substantial to accommodate them all. Hanging around waiting for public transport in this rural setting could attract unwanted attention, which was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

It was Geoff who took over the role of cook that night under the guidance of Peer Merkel who sat in the kitchen with a bottle of red wine giving detailed instructions on the preparation of the meals, Italian style. Geoff enjoyed the preparation and the cooking of the food. It gave him a great deal of inward satisfaction and it was obvious, by the way the other lads devoured what he had prepared, that Peer Merkel was indeed an experienced and first class chef.

On their arrival they had stopped in the village of which the villa was on the outskirts, taking the opportunity to load up all spare space in the taxi with food. Feeding four hungry lads, the food brought to the villa by the taxi, diminished after just two days.

They needed to restock. The first expedition involved walking into the village to purchase supplies but this turned out to be a disaster. It was too far for Peer Merkel to walk so it was left to Geoff and John Bolton to make their way to the local stores.

They badly misjudged the time and arrived in the middle of siesta, having to wait an hour and a half in the hottest part of the day, until the shop opened again at four o'clock.

Heavily laden with two bags apiece, they left the village, slowly making their way back to the villa.

‘I've never felt so knackered,' said Geoff, stopping on the lane for a breather, putting down his bags and stretching his back.

‘It's the heat,' said John Bolton. ‘At this time of the day it must be well over thirty degrees, that's why all the locals go for a kip for a couple of hours until it cools down.'

‘We definitely need wheels, John,' said Geoff, picking up the two bags again and continuing to make his way slowly along the lane in the direction of the villa, followed by his friend.

It was a long, hot walk along the sizzling tarmac of the road which was exposed to the full heat of the afternoon sun; the lads' shirts were soaked and sticky with sweat when they eventually struggled up the drive to the villa.

Unfortunately, when they arrived in the villa's kitchen and emptied their bags, their pride was dented further when Peer Merkel inspected what they had purchased.

Previously he had bought tins with pull off lids but the lads had purchased tins that required a tin opener. They searched high and low in every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen but to no avail, no tin opener could be found.

‘This bread bring hard. Tomorrow be like rock from garden, break teeth. You bring good pasta, no pesto, no peppers, no porcini. You bring ham. This no bacon, you need machine to slice, you need aqua melone.'

Peer Merkel was getting very frustrated. He resorted to several sentences of his native German, before taking a bottle of red wine from the pile of food on the kitchen table and leaving, going in the direction of the lounge, muttering to himself as he went.

A very red, sunburnt-faced John Bolton summed up both their feelings as he looked across the table at Geoff's also very sunburnt red face.

‘I feel very hot, very inadequate and bloody pissed off!' he said, watching the back of the old man walking slowly away with the bottle of red wine in one hand and leaning on his walking stick on the other.

‘You won't be as pissed off as Peer Merkel when he finds that wine he's walked off with is just a bottle of cheap local plonk,' replied Geoff. Both young men were aware of Peer Merkel's expensive tastes and they were both laughing about the situation when Harry Sutton and Derek Bolton came into the kitchen from the pool, dripping water on the terracotta tiled kitchen floor.

‘What's for tea?' enquired Sooty, looking at the pile of food on the kitchen table.

Hs remark caused both Geoff and John Bolton to burst into further peals of laughter, causing a pained expression on the face of the bemused Sooty.

*

It was after a makeshift meal of bread and several tins of self-opening sardines washed down with a number of glasses of the local red wine that Geoff brought up the subject of a set of wheels. He'd racked his brain for several hours and could not come up with a solution so he had decided to put it to the group, in the hope that something would materialise out of their discussion.

‘We can't use these passports or driving licences to hire a car,' said Geoff.

‘I suppose the same would apply if we tried to buy a car,' volunteered Derek Bolton.

‘Well,' continued Geoff, ‘according to Peer Merkel that is out of the question. It's very difficult to buy a car if you're not a resident, plus it would make a massive hole in our finances, so that's a no go.'

‘Hanging around that bus stop in the village is too dodgy, too dodgy by far,' added John Bolton. ‘What if we just go to the nearest town, like Arezzo, and just lift a car? John can fix the wiring. Pronto, we have wheels!' added Sooty.

‘No, we have to do it legit if possible,' continued Geoff. ‘Peer Merkel has the contacts so we have to go through him. He would have got through that bottle of plonk by now so he should be quite talkative. Let's go and have a word with him.'

As Geoff had suggested, all four lads left the kitchen and made their way to the large lounge diner where Peer Merkel was just finishing the last of the wine.

‘I compliment you, gentlemen,' said a voice from a deep chair near the window as the boys entered the room. ‘Your choices wines same as choice provisions, crappy!' Peer Merkel continued laughing to himself at his witticism.

He was obviously in a jovial mood. The local wine may not have been the best quality but the alcoholic content was exceptionally high.

‘We have just been saying in the kitchen,' said Geoff, ‘what we really need is a vehicle.'

‘Ja that ees true-full, that ees very, very, true-full,' retorted Peer Merkel, nodding as he spoke to emphasise his statement.

‘The problem is,' said Geoff, ‘our licenses are not up to date so we wondered if your associates could come up with a solution.'

‘Ahhh, a solution,' repeated Peer Merkel, emptying his glass and wincing at the taste in the process. ‘Tomorrow make phone call, as you say a solution, now my bed go.'

It was Sooty who helped Herr Merkel out of the big easy chair supporting him as he made his way to the foot of the marble staircase that led to the bedrooms, turning to face the watching lads. ‘Gute Nacht Gentlemen.' Then with the help of Sooty, he slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom. After assisting the old man to his bedroom, Sooty rejoined the other lads who were now deep in conversation.

They stayed up for several hours discussing the options and possibilities of trying to acquire a vehicle but failed to come to a feasible conclusion.

The more of the local wine they drank the more absurd were their suggestions. When there were no more bottles of wine left, and with the faint light of dawn beginning to show outside, they all very unsteadily and supporting one another in the process, slowly made their way up the wide staircase on the way to their bedrooms.

Everyone overslept the following morning as all the lads had a hangover from the local wine from the night before. Even Herr Merkel was a little under the weather being very quiet at breakfast, which they all eventually settled down to at lunchtime, surprisingly Merke did not request anything but milk and sugar in his coffee.

‘I make call! Telefono Italia my friends,' said Peer Merkel breaking the subdued silence in the room. ‘I think machine during darkness. I think solution.' Peer Merkel slowly left the kitchen to make his call, leaving the group of lads around the kitchen table drinking coffee, all promising themselves that they would never drink that much red wine again.

Geoff watched from the kitchen as Peer Merkel rang several numbers from a little notebook, looking more dejected after each unsuccessful phone call holding his head in his hands during the process and mumbling to himself in German, until after the fourth call Geoff noticed a glimmer of a smile flit across his face.

With a deep sigh Merkel put away his mobile phone and relaxed in the deep, comfy chair with his head resting on the high back.

Geoff and John Bolton were washing the breakfast dishes while Derek and Sooty were having a soak in the pool when Peer Merkel re-entered the kitchen, sitting down at the table and hanging his walking stick on the back of a nearby chair, waiting while Geoff and John Bolton finished the washing up and he had their full attention.

‘My friends provide machine, not new motor, but good German auto, fit everybody.'

What emerged was that the car and documentation would be leased in Peer Merkel's name. If the Carabinari waved the car down for any reason, which they could well do, one of the lads would have to produce his driving licence and risk it, that's the best he could do.

Geoff was over the moon. They had wheels although he did not know what as yet. It would be delivered that afternoon and they would have documentation of a sort in English and Italian. They were just ignorant tourists and they would have to bluff their way through, if and when that situation ever arose and, if and when it ever became necessary.

All five were waiting at the front entrance of the villa at 4.30 that afternoon; the time stated when the vehicle was going to be delivered.

It was nearly 5.30 when the very bored group first heard then saw a small white Fiat Panda, with rusting wings and blue smoke puffing from its noisy exhaust, struggling up the drive to the villa.

‘That rust bucket won't carry all of us,' exclaimed John Bolton, the disappointment sounding in his voice.

‘Oh shit!' was all Geoff could find to say. Herr Peer Merkel just leaned on his walking stick and smiled, ignoring the glances directed towards him.

The driver of the Fiat struggled to turn the vehicle around before parking it at the far end of the drive, just sitting in the driver's seat with the engine running. All the boys were so busy watching the manoeuvres of the Fiat that they did not hear the large, black saloon pull up and park in front of the villa until the last moment.

‘Wow! Look at that,' shouted Sooty directing the attention of the lads to a large Mercedes that had silently and smoothly appeared.

‘We'll all fit in that, including Sooty, and have room to spare,' shouted John Bolton jokingly as he bounded down the marble steps to inspect the car.

He was closely followed by his brother, Derek, with Sooty and Geoff helping Peer Merkel down to the vehicle but at a much slower pace. Peer Merkel exchanged pleasantries with the driver, and then gave him the envelope, which Geoff had given him earlier.

The man then joined his friend in the old Fiat and with a cheerful wave both men drove off leaving a strong smell of burning oil behind them. Geoff was left holding an envelope full of documents and a set of car keys.

John Bolton drove the car down the drive onto the lane that led to the village. He was reminded by Peer Merkel not to drive on the left but to drive on the right. John did this, gingerly at first, but by the time they reached the village and had parked outside the local little Spar grocery store, John Bolton was driving the big Mercedes like he had owned it for years.

Geoff looked up and down the main street of the village. Even though it was at the end of the siesta it was practically deserted.

The temperature was in the low thirties and when you left the air conditioning of the car it was like stepping into an oven. Geoff thought the area where they were was really ideal, the road just served the village after that, it just faded out into narrow lanes and limestone tracks.

No one came past the village unless they had business at one of the small farms or they were visiting one of the few other large villas similar to the one where Geoff and his group were staying.

There was a sign over the family run general store which read, ‘Reggello Established 1936'.

‘I think this old chap could well have been the original proprietor,' joked John Bolton as they were served by a small, wizened, old guy who conversed fluently with Herr Merkel in Italian. Under his supervision, the boot of the car was quickly filled with bags of groceries, fresh fruit and vegetables.

Taking extra care, Peer Merkel chose the best of the store's wine, making sure it was carefully stacked on the rear seat of the Mercedes next to him. The lads looked at one another and smiled, it was certainly going to be party time for the lads at the villa tonight.

*

Back in Stockport UK, Acting Inspector Robinson was sitting in his office reading aloud to his assistant a report in English which had just been faxed from the Italian Carabinieri department in Florence.

‘They traced the four of them from Pisa airport to a hotel in the city where they stayed for one night; they then turned up the following day at a five star hotel in the centre of Florence.

They stayed here for one night too.'

‘What happened after that?' queried Constable Wilson as Robinson lapsed into silence.

‘That's it, that's the last that has been heard, or seen, of them since; there's been nothing for eight days.'

‘Well, for what it's worth, all the leads we've followed up at this end have also come to nothing. That silver plated spoon left in Larkin's flat, the crest on the handle belonged to a peer of the realm, a family called Lucan. Apparently, the sixth Earl of Lucan disappeared in 1974 and, according to the report; Larkin's prints were all over the spoon so we can assume it belonged to him. Where he came by it we don't know but, by all accounts, he was a small time thief and con man so he probably stole it.' There were a few more moments of silence before Constable Wilson added his thoughts.

‘Those friends of Dave Higgins and his cousin, Wilf Norton, were used by the mob to sniff out information. They don't know, or if they do, they are too frightened to say anything after what happened to Sidney Locket.'

‘Larkin and co. have either gone to ground or, looking on the black side, they have been found by the heavy mob working for the money laundering organisation who seem to be as well informed as we are. If that's the case, by now they've probably been disposed of, pushing up daisies or, in this case sunflowers, at the side of some Italian olive grove,' said Inspector Robinson thoughtfully.

This sobering statement by the acting inspector left both men quiet and deep in thought for a few minutes. The silence was eventually broken again by Inspector Robinson.

‘By the way, constable, how is Sidney Locket?'