Wealth

Wealth-3

“Nissan 350Z.”

“I’ll spot you. You’ll be in time for lunch.”

“Is this important?”

“Do you think I’d be calling you to swap pizza recipes?”

Kaitlyn paused for a moment to think. She guessed she could just refuse but on the other hand she was a professional. And somehow a certain Randolph Quinn was in the mix.

“I’ll need to get myself together. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said.

“You’re a star. Big hug and see you soon.”

Kaitlyn took a quick shower. What kind of chief inspector on a flashy Scotland Yard crime squad called you at home and went in for big hugs? This Randolph Quinn must be some kind of big fish in a pretty big pond. For sure he had deep warm eyes and smiling lips that made you just want … and want.

An old Landrover was parked in front of the village shop. Kaitlyn could see a female at the wheel watching her pull up. The driver got out and came back to her window. She was a gorgeous woman, exotic looking, mixed race, with flawless café latte skin. She wore tight riding jodhpurs, Wellington boots and a tweed jacket. At a guess she was about thirty-five.

“I’m Shannon. Follow me.”

“You’re really a cop right?” asked Kaitlyn, studying her unlikely appearance.

The other woman chuckled, glancing back at Kaitlyn’s tattoo, bleached spiky hair and T-shirt design of a painter smashing his easel and canvas with karate blows. The slogan read “Beware. Martial Artist.”

“Try me. Ask me a cop question.”

“Where’s your warrant card?”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a Met Police ID badge. Kaitlyn flicked her eyes between the photo and the woman’s face.

“Do I pass?”

“Let’s go then,” said Kaitlyn.

The Landrover turned off the road through massive iron gates. A long gravel drive went through woodland until the view opened out into a mowed parkland with a lake. On the other side was a Georgian-style stone mansion which could easily be a royal palace. They stopped in the rear courtyard which housed stables with the heads of tall thoroughbred horses peering out. There was a smell of cooking. Kaitlyn’s stomach rumbled as she followed Shannon through a large oak door into a stone-floored kitchen hung with copper pots and strings of onions.

“Is this a police place?” asked Kaitlyn.

“Nah, it’s what I call home.”

Kaitlyn looked around, bemused by her surroundings. This was nothing like the damp rented house in Battersea she shared with her friend Lucy who worked shifts as a nurse. Even if she were a chief inspector she could never afford this place. She could see that Shannon was following her thoughts.

“I’ll explain and then we’ll forget this forever. I used to be PC Shannon Aguerri, born in North Peckham. I used to be the village cop here. I married the earl who owns this place. You call me Shannon.”

Kaitlyn smiled. She’d heard of this woman.

“You were on the TV. Countess of Crime and all that.”

“Yeah, it was a slow news day. No pop stars had died and no cute pandas had been born. They needed a feel-good story.”

“I was at Hendon police school then. You did a big crime bust. There was a dead foreign girl….”

Shannon waved her hand.

“That’s all old stuff. You’re only as good as your last job in this game and your job yesterday was pretty special.”

“I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption,” said Kaitlyn.

“And not in a shy way,” added Shannon.

“It’s my favorite karaoke song, but you’ve got to be there to catch the full impact.”

“Next gig I’ll be there, Kaitlyn, and that’s a promise. There’s fresh cooked bread and our own smoked ham.”

Kaitlyn stood up while Shannon fixed some lunch. The view from the window was of open fields and miles away in the distance the outline of the heaving urban mass of London.

“So, what do you want? I might not want to do it.” She was a very junior rank but she’d deal with this on the front foot.

Shannon looked up from carving generous slices of ham.

“I want you to be a guardian angel to our dear Mr Quinn. I say angel, because angels generally don’t end up in bed with their clients. He could charm the apple of temptation from the tree and peel it one handed. You may have noticed that. I can tell you that he sure noticed you.”

Kaitlyn’s heart pumped air for a second.

“He’d notice any girl.”

“Dunno about that. Girls would notice him but from what we can see of him, he’s alone.”

“Why does it matter?”

“That, my dear Watson, is the question indeed. Listen while you eat.”

Shannon sat down. “Randolph Quinn is not a false name. He changed it legally a few years ago. He was a streetwise very sharp guy who tried any way to make money. He even took out a patent on some laser radio system he invented. He had enough cheek to get a job with Sackman-Platinum Bank and has worked his way up to international vice president. That would pay him about one hundred and fifty thousand US dollars a year. There’s a big wedge of bonus but there’s no figure for that.”

“That wouldn’t buy his Maserati.”

“You’re detective material, Kaitlyn. The day job has given him something much more important than a bit of pocket change. It’s given him contacts and, believe me, I know just how that feels.”

Shannon swept her arm around all of her surroundings.

“It’s not what you know but who you know.”

“Yeah, and what you know about who you know and who knows what you know,” Shannon continued. “Randolph Quinn has the instincts of a stray street dog. He sniffs out dirt even when everything looks clean. He can offer to take care of it, maybe seal it up so the smell doesn’t get out. He’s a multi-billionaire with offshore accounts all round the world. Then one day, someone starts to fret that Randolph might be taking slightly too much commission. Randolph explains that his client is in no position to go to the police or to access accounts when only he knows where they are, the numbers, and the codes. Randolph Quinn is the devil’s banker with the key to gangster heaven.”

“And that one day was yesterday.”

“That was the day they sent him an opening message. No one wants to kill him while he’s the only one with the golden key.”

“Has he told you all this?”

Shannon laughed.

“If only he would. I can’t tell you how we know.”

Kaitlyn nodded, looking hard into Shannon’s face.

“So you’ve got an informant or a guy undercover or both, inside the bad guys.”

Shannon raised an eyebrow.

“And a humble traffic cop from the trenches is going to put her head in some kind of homicidal lion’s mouth?”

“That’s my plan, hope, request.”

“Why me?”

“Number one, he wants you. Number two you’re not a detective with possible links to who knows what….”

“Hey, hold it there,” said Kaitlyn. “You’re saying you don’t trust some of your own team and I’m an innocent clean skin. If you just want a bullet stopper I know some real fat cops who’d soak up a whole magazine.”

“When it comes to these guys you can’t trust anyone. The fact is we’ve got nothing on him. We’ve offered him the full witness protection deal if he comes across. It’s just a matter of time before we get enough to lock him up, or the boys get to grab his golden key. We all know that means t*****e followed by termination.”

“Why the hell does he want me? What do you or anyone expect me to do?”

“He wants you, he’s a man. You’ve got the stuff he likes. He thinks you’re courageous, daring, and kind.”

“Kind?”

“You got him a cup of tea. You didn’t have to.”

“I liked him, I’ve got to say that.”

“He’s been on our radar for a couple of years and I talked to him half the night. I like him too but that won’t stop me locking him up for twenty years.”

Kaitlyn rested her chin in her hands and stared into space. She liked being a traffic cop, the blue lights and sirens drama, the motorcycle outrider duties when they came along. Did she want to help get Randolph Quinn twenty years in jail?

“You can’t make me do this, can you?”

“Nope. And I can’t overlook that I’ve already told you too much,” said Shannon with a colder tone.

“Fuckin’ hell. f**k, f**k, f**k. OK, tell me what you want me to do.”

Shannon reached out and squeezed her hand. I’ll be out of sight, but with you all the way. He’s still locked up but we’ve moved him to Paddington Green in a catering van. We can’t charge him but we’re dragging our feet checking out all his cards. He knows it’s a bluff. He hasn’t given any statement against the hoods on the bike.”

“What’s happened to them?”

“One of them had some cocaine the other one was wanted for some petty stuff. We just don’t know what happened to the g*n. At a guess there was a backup team who mopped up the mess. They’re contract boys and in a few days they’ll be back on the street. I’m hoping we’ll have the resources to keep on top of them.”

“When will Quinn get out?”

“When you can get there. We’re letting him go on bail on condition he accepts police supervision. The law doesn’t give us that power but he knows we’ll find some way to bust him if he doesn’t play ball. Your job will be to keep close to him. There’ll be a team around the periphery and you’ll be tooled up. Your firearms scores are top ten percent. The rest—”

Shannon stopped and sighed, giving Kaitlyn’s hand another squeeze. “The rest is freestyle for you. We want this guy to come over to the good side, make a deal, and live happily ever after. He doesn’t trust cops but he does trust a sparky London girl fallen from the same tree on the same hard ground. If he’ll talk to anyone ever, he’ll talk to you.”

Kaitlyn returned Shannon’s squeeze.

“Am I allowed to feel afraid?”

“Who wouldn’t? You’ll need clothes and your passport just in case. If you can’t find it we’ll fix it.”

“Are we going abroad?”

“He’s a top international banker.”

“b****y hell! And who’s the enemy Shannon? You owe me an answer to that.”

Shannon took a deep breath.

“You’re at the point of no return anyway. Yesterday’s little crash was organized by a clan of the Albanian Mafia led by a moron called Valmir Rudovic. We’re working with the Italian Caribinieri di Milano, the French Gendarmerie in Paris and the FBI Washington DC bureau. This is big. Our estimate is that Randolph Quinn has control of wealth to the value of one hundred and sixty billion US dollars. That’s without the legit profits from the investments he makes using his clients’ deposits but doesn’t want to share.”

Kaitlyn sat back in her chair. She was a South London girl; she’d boarded an express train going somewhere so she might as well enjoy it.

“He’s a b****y sexy guy,” she said with a broad smile.

“Nothing in the police instruction book says you can’t enjoy your work,” said Shannon.

Chapter 5Kaitlyn filled her hand luggage suitcase, grabbed her passport, left a quick note about her mother’s health for her housemate and called an Uber cab. She had an address in Kensington and a door key. She’d heard of safe houses but never dreamed she’d need one. Everything about this job was bizarre within her own small experience. She’d done two years plodding the beat and then applied to be a traffic cop because she liked fast cars, motorbikes, trucks, trailers and the smell of oil. Her work and life had been on the level. Now she was avoiding police networks and systems, using her own cellphone, anonymous taxis, and telling stories about her mother. It was late September so she wore her hoodie, sweatshirt, jeans, and trainers. As the Uber driver followed his GPS into Courtfield Gardens, London SW5, a choking swirl of smoke made the driver slow. Perhaps some i***t was burning autumn leaves in the park opposite the curve of beautiful Regency-style houses. She smiled to herself. Normally this would be a job for a traffic cop.

The rear passenger door of the car opened just as a tongue of flame flashed across the street in front of them. The cab stopped.

“Just drive mate. Put your foot down and there’s fifty quid in your pocket.”

Kaitlyn was looking at the breathless form of Randolph Quinn at her side.

“What—?” she began.

“Money solves everything,” he said to her with a smile. “Driver, get out onto the Cromwell Road and head back into town.”

The guy did as he was told. They sped through the smoke, as flames roared from the basement of a house. Randolph glanced back as he pulled a fifty-pound note from his wallet and pushed it into the driver’s shirt pocket.

“I’m as good as my word, mate. Stay calm, keep your mouth shut and you’ll get another one.”