Newman straightened up from the safe, the metal box in his gloved hand. He could practically tell by the weight of it that the contents were untouched, but just to make absolutely certain he did a cool, professional appraisal of the stones in their padded velvet lining. Snapping the lid shut, he slid the box into his overcoat pocket. Colin was hovering by the door, cracking his knuckles.

'I want this place cleaned up – like now!' Newman said, his voice as lethal as cold steel. 'If it takes ten or twenty men, get 'em. This never happened, understand me?'

Colin glanced behind uneasily. The sprinklers had been turned off, but the warehouse was a total shambles, water inches deep in places. 'Barry, what about the lads, their cut? They won't go for this -'

'They'll go for anythin' I tell them,' Newman sneered, his thin, wide mouth twisting contemptuously. 'Fuckin' ex-soldiers are all alike, they're conditioned to take orders, why you think I use them?' He suddenly kicked out at the desk, livid with a furious spite and overwhelming rage. 'I made a point of helpin' the bastards, handin' out work to them. I did it for Billy, my Billy… well, not any more. An' that Dillon.' He spat the name. 'I tried! I'd have given that stupid bastard more money than he'd ever dreamed of, because he was good to my Billy – but no! Legit. He wanted to be legit. Well, we'll see how he gets himself out of this one!'

Breathing hard, Newman wiped spittle from his moustache. His voice sank to a murmur. 'He was never here, understand? And you get on the first plane…'

'I dunno.' Colin cracked his knuckles. 'What about my wife?'

'You don't know, son,' Newman sighed, managing to sound fatherly and patronising at one and the same time. 'I do. I survive, an' I got,' he patted his pocket, 'one-point-five million here. An' if you want your cut, you do as I tell you – you weren't here tonight. Nothin' went down here tonight.' He raised his eyebrows. 'Get over to Spain, call it a holiday!'

Colin nodded unhappily. It had the ring of a friendly invitation but he knew it was a command.

CHAPTER 39

Dillon bounced into the office, dumped the bag on the desk.

'Cliff, get the motor over to Fernie, see if he can fix it up by tomorrow afternoon. Harry, check over the jobs we got lined up.' He unzipped the bag. 'We get cleaned up, then first thing I go to the cops.'

Eyes all aglow, Dillon scooped up wage packets and held them high, tightly bunched in his fist. 'We got that bastard!'

Newman paced along the aisles, head swivelling left, then right, left, right again, noting every tiny detail, every slight discrepancy. He adjusted the position of a set of brass candlesticks, nudged a china figurine back into line with its fellows. The boys had done good. Just over the hour it had taken them, and you'd never have guessed that at six-thirty that morning the place looked as though a bull had rampaged through it and pissed all over the floor. Three blokes were finishing off the mopping up at the far end; once the floor dried it would be as if nothing had happened. Newman pursed his lips and smiled. Nothing had.

He strolled back to the office. Derek, the guy he'd put on Dillon's tail, came in the main door and hurried over.

'Dillon went straight to his gaff,' he reported.

'You see him carry the gear in?' asked Newman quietly.

Derek nodded. 'You want us to pick him up?'

'No, but I'll get him picked up, all right,' Newman smirked. He held open the office door. 'Come on, you got a call to make!'

Derek stared at him, mystified, and in he went, scratching his head. Newman and his smirk followed.

'Morning!' Harry was using his electric shaver when Susie breezed in with a bag of shopping and a cheery smile. 'As Frank didn't make it home, I reckoned you had a busy night, so…' She held up three paper bags, their contents seeping through '… breakfast! Bacon butties!'

There was the sound of running water from the washroom, where Dillon was engaged in his morning ablutions.

'How you feelin'?' Harry asked, unplugging the shaver. 'You okay now?'

'Yes, I'm fine.' Susie showed him her hand, now out of plaster, and waggled her fingers, almost as good as new. 'I'd have started back days ago but Frank wouldn't hear of it.' She opened a cupboard. 'No coffee? Any milk?'

Harry nipped out behind her back to forewarn Dillon. Susie switched on the overhead light and shook her head at the state of the place. Leave three fellas alone for a few days and they could turn a palace into a pig-sty.

Dillon appeared, drying his hands on a towel. 'Hello, love, you're early.' He gave her a peck. 'I was just havin' a wash. Kids get off to school okay, did they?'

'Yes.' Susie loaded a tray with dirty coffee mugs. 'Kettle's on. I'll get some milk. Looks as if I came just in time.'

'Cliff not back?' Dillon asked Harry as he came in.

Harry shook his head. His eyes flicked a sidelong look at Susie. 'How do you want to work it this morning?' he asked Dillon, making it casual.

Dillon gave a quick frown, gestured towards the passage. He said, 'Can I borrow your shaver? An' get me a clothes brush…'

Susie was standing with an armful of empty beer cans, about to drop them in the waste basket. 'Frank!'

Dillon whipped round in the doorway.

'Is something going on?'

He blinked at her, wide-eyed innocence. 'No…' and went out.

When Harry came through into the washroom with the electric shaver Dillon had done a lightning change into a clean white shirt, black tie and neatly pressed grey trousers. Dillon turned on the tap and started shaving. Under the sound of running water he whispered, 'I don't want Susie to know what went down last night.' He noticed his cuffs, slightly puckered, and fretted, 'Should have had it laundered!'

The phone rang and they heard Susie answer it. Harry rubbed his palms briskly. 'What we do? Go to the cops? If there's a reward, maybe we can do a deal -'

Dillon nixed that with a swift chop of the hand. He had other worries on his mind. 'We're bound to have repercussions from Newman…' He frowned towards the door. 'I don't want Susie left down here, that bastard could try to get my kids again. Soon as I'm cleaned up I go straight to the cops, no deals. Get that shooter they used, we'll need that.' He smoothed his hand over his chin. 'Gimme me jacket… tie okay, is it?'

Harry unhooked the chauffeur's grey jacket from behind the door and tore off the plastic cover. He helped Dillon into it, then climbed up on the lavatory seat, reaching inside the big old-fashioned wooden cistern. 'I stashed it up here.'

Dillon twitched as the phone went again. He fumbled with his jacket buttons, a bundle of nerves. 'We're doin' the right thing, Harry, trust me. I won't let you down. Cops'll want to question all of us.' Harry stepped down with the Sterling, wrapped in The Sporting Life. Dillon looked him in the face. Now it came, what was really troubling him. 'You and me made a terrible mistake.' he said in a hoarse whisper. 'One we have to live with, but, we're for it if so much as a word gets out about what we done, right?'

'Yeah.'

'So, that's finished, that never happened, we never discuss it, agreed?'

'Yeah.' Harry nodded. 'I hear you, gov'nor. I'll put this with the dough.' He grinned. 'You're lookin' good…'

Dillon turned to the door, whitewash all down the back of his jacket.

'Hang on!' Harry batted it off. 'Whitewash on the back… s'okay now!' He brushed Dillon's shoulders. 'You sure about this, Frank, maybe we can do a deal – not with Newman, the geezer from the laundry, he hadda be insured.'

'I said no deals.' Dillon ground it out so that it stuck. 'We play it straight. So far we been lucky! Don't push it, Harry. I'm going in, that's final.'