***

As we waited on the pavement for a car to pick us up, Dee took me to one side. Her hazel eyes were bright with intent. Her face was perfect. Dee was probably in her early thirties. Her hair always shone. She had a pert nose and a generous mouth beneath it. Her make-up was generally understated, but great cheekbones made cosmetics redundant. I had never really met a woman like her before. No more than five feet eight inches tall, she looked elegant and well proportioned, but I had been assured that in a fight she could take out men twice her size.

“Josh, theoretically my assignment is over but I want you to know that I’m going nowhere until I think you’re safe. Are you comfortable with that?” I nodded dumbly. I could have kissed her, but then again I had felt like kissing her since we’d met.

An unmarked car pulled up and Boniface slid in beside the driver, leaving Dee and I to take the back seat. As soon as the doors were closed we moved off at speed towards the Barbican. The driver could easily have been a cabbie; he knew all the shortcuts. We drove down Long Lane before cutting up onto Charterhouse, avoiding the one way system. A minute later we were skirting around St Etheldreda’s Church and onto Hatton Garden. About half way up on the right hand side we found ‘Nour Jewellery Design’.

We left the car and walked towards the shop. Unlike every other shop in Hatton Garden, which is famous throughout the world for its wall to wall jewellery stores, Nour had no jewellery on display, just large decals showing the most lavish pieces I have ever seen. The writing on the windows made it clear that Nour would procure the best diamonds and finest gold for you and then fashion them into unique works of art that you could wear.

Boniface pressed a button on the wall and held his warrant card against the glass. The door buzzed and he pushed it open. We followed him in. A stunning olive skinned girl sat at the desk facing us.

“Can I help you?” she asked. The accent was more East End than Middle East. Boniface asked for Mr Nour and the girl slipped her long perfectly manicured fingers under the edge of the desk, almost invisibly. A moment later Mr Nour opened the door at the back of the shop. He beamed in anticipation of doing business with wealthy customers.

“Welcome, gentlemen. How may I help you?” He stopped beaming when he saw the warrant card. In fact, I thought I saw fear in his eyes as he looked quickly from the Inspector to me. That was not unusual. Some of my Middle Eastern clients only ever saw their police when they were about to be taken into custody so that they could be given the opportunity to confess.

“You are Mr Abasi Nour, with a bank Account at the Sharia Islamic Bank of Arabia, Regents Park?” The nervous Egyptian nodded. “You have just had two hundred and fifty thousand pounds transferred into your account from a Mr Josh Hammond?” The man nodded again. “Then meet Mr Josh Hammond in person.” Mr Nour blanched, and collapsed into his chair.

***

Five minutes passed whilst Halima made her ashen boss some hot sweet tea. Mr Nour was normally a swarthy man with typical Middle Eastern colour, but now his complexion was pallid and yellow. He looked ill.

Inspector Boniface had explained earlier that there was no chance that Mr Nour was Bob. He simply didn’t fit the profile. He was sure that Bob had used Mr Nour to break the chain between me and my money. With any luck we would get our first description of Bob.

Under gentle questioning from the Inspector the whole story unfolded. Just over forty eight hours ago, Wednesday afternoon, Mr Noor had received a call from a man claiming to be Josh Hammond. He said he had been recommended by Sir Max Rochester, who was a respected customer.

This Josh had been paid a bonus of a quarter of a million pounds (I wish) and wanted to hide it from his ex wife’s lawyers. He wanted to convert it into something small and transportable that he could hide easily. Diamonds had seemed the perfect option. The trouble was that he needed to do it quickly, because next week the auditors would be looking to split the marital proceeds.

Mr Nour had agreed to purchase the finest diamonds available from Antwerp, apparently the world centre for the supply of fine, cut diamonds. He had even managed to procure diamonds cut personally by Losi Van Serck, the acclaimed artist in the field of diamond cutting. The diamonds had arrived this morning, and Josh Hammond had apparently collected them.

‘Mr Hammond’ had visited the shop twice and on each occasion he had stayed for only a few minutes. Mr Nour handed over a business card. It was my business card, or at least on first pass it looked like my business card. On closer inspection it had different phone numbers. The landline number was correct, but it had a red pen stroke through the middle. The fax number and the mobile number were not my numbers.

“He told me not to call him at work because calls could be recorded,” Mr Nour explained.

“Presumably you asked for some form of identification?” Mr Nour’s eyes brightened as if he had suddenly been redeemed. He opened a drawer and withdrew two sheets of A4 paper. On the first was a scan of a driving licence; on the second was a scan of a passport. In both cases the name was Josh Hammond but the details were all wrong. The photo was of a middle aged man who looked nothing at all like me, with a mane of unkempt hair and a big moustache. Neither photo was flattering.

“He emailed those to me when he made the order. It must have been a different Josh Hammond. This has all been a confusing error.”

“Mr Nour, do you have CCTV coverage of your meeting with Mr Hammond?”

The Egyptian disappeared into the back of the shop and returned a moment later with a shiny CD Rom.

“This is today’s CCTV coverage,” he explained, handing over the CD. Boniface laid it to one side and spoke quietly.

“Mr Nour, the money you received for your diamonds will be frozen in your account until we have resolved whether or not it is yours to keep.” Boniface saw the look on my face and shook his head almost imperceptibly, inviting me to remain silent. “If this man contacts you again you must call me immediately. Now I need three things - a police technician to examine your computer, a description of the man who claimed to be Josh Hammond, and a full description of the diamonds you handed over.”

“I have a photo of each of the diamonds and their certificates. Halima can email them to you. As for the man, he appeared very much like you see in these pictures. I would say he was almost six feet tall, a little overweight, he wore a badly fitting toupee and he was wearing a Breitling Navitimer Mecanique wristwatch. I have been selling Breitling watches for thirty years and the Mecanique, a French version, is very rare now, and very valuable.”

It was typical of a jeweller to be able to describe a watch with precision and yet only be able to give a vague description of the wearer.

“Thank you, Mr Nour. My understanding is that Breitling watches are individually numbered. Is that correct?”

“Yes, each one is registered to protect the brand against replicas and fakes. But obviously I did not see the number.”

I thought that was too much to hope for, but nonetheless Bob had slipped up. He was fallible after all, and I took heart from that.

“Thank you, Mr Nour,” Boniface said, shaking his hand. “A technician will be here within the hour. I can assure you that we will try our level best to find your gems and also the man who misled you.”

Chapter 18

City of London Police Station, Wood St, London. Friday, 5pm.

I was exhausted. It had been a long day.

The police had eventually managed to freeze the money in the Sharia Islamic Bank of Arabia but there was some doubt as to whether I would ever get it back. Mr Nour had sold the diamonds in good faith to a man who had two hundred and fifty thousand pounds delivered to Nour’s account. The Egyptian had even made sure that ‘Josh Hammond’s’ money was in his account before he let the diamonds go. Finally Nour had copies of a scanned passport and driving licence that probably would have fooled me. Either he lost a quarter of a million pounds’ worth of diamonds, or I lost the cash, and if I was being honest I had traded the money for my life, which was now hopefully safe from Bob, who was potentially a double murderer.