Dead at First Sight - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Peter James (74 Wednesday 10 October) #75

74 Wednesday 10 October

Jules de Copeland stood by the south-facing window of his fifth-floor apartment, with its fine view over the road directly below and across to Brighton Marina and the English Channel beyond. It also gave him a commanding view along Marine Parade for a good mile, towards the Palace Pier to the west. What, he wondered, would Ogwang be telling the police? Would he squeal? Would the little fool attempt to do a deal by ratting him up?

He thanked the Good Lord for giving him the foresight to have rented this place without telling Ogwang. Because for sure he could not risk going back to Withdean Road. Too bad for everyone there if they got busted. No one knew where he was. So long as he kept cool he’d be fine. His current mark, Lynda Merrill, was gagging for him. He couldn’t let that go before splitting. And he was pretty sure he could get more out of her before doing that. Then he’d get back to Bavaria, scoop up his beloved wife and their baby son, and hightail out and back to Ghana, where they would be safe.

God, he missed them so much. He’d never in his life before known what love really was. The love he felt for Ama and his son. He closed his eyes.

Please, God, bring us back together quickly.

There was just one small fly in the ointment. And at this moment that fly was behaving very strangely. Down in the street below he could see the little Volkswagen Polo that he’d seen parked shortly after he’d arrived here last night. The car had driven off some while later, then had returned. A man had sat in it all night long. Now that man was out of the car, walking around unsteadily as if he was drunk. He leaned against the front of the car and lit a cigarette.

Copeland picked up his binoculars and, discreetly, through a crack in the blinds, studied the man. A shortarse, with brown hair and glasses. He was dressed in a jacket, slacks and an open-neck shirt.

Cop?

Possibly. But there was something about his demeanour that made him doubt that.

If not a cop, who was he?

A private dick? Could just be coincidence and he was watching someone else altogether in this block. Someone suspicious of their partner?

Perhaps.

But perhaps not. Was he here to watch him? Who and why?

And looking like he was drunk?

There was only one person he could think of who would have put a tail on him.

His former business partner, Steve Barrey.

And if that was the case, he needed to be very wary.

Watch on, baby, you ain’t gonna see nothing!

He went over to his desk, sat in front of his laptop, logged on and read again the email that Lynda Merrill had sent back to him at 11.15 p.m. last night, which he had still not replied to. Keeping her on tenterhooks.

My beautiful Richie, you asked if I could get one hundred thou of the four hundred and fifty thou in cash. I’ll have that together in a couple of days. Now, my naughty big boy, I have a real treat in store for you — and of course me! A very dear friend has gone away for a few days and she’s asked me to keep an eye on her beautiful little cottage in a forest about twenty miles from here. I think it would be a very special place for us to spend a whole, uninterrupted weekend together. We could meet there in our own, very private love nest where we wouldn’t be disturbed. And I could give you the cash! I desire you crazily! XXXXXXXX

He composed a reply.

My darling, It makes me so hard just reading this! Would have replied sooner but I’ve had some real heavy shit from the ex to deal with — will tell you all when we meet. This weekend? Am I able to really believe we will finally be together this weekend? Friday evening? I will bring the biggest bottle of champagne you’ve ever seen. Although I’ll be packing something even bigger than that:-) Look, I know I asked you for that loan of £100k, but the ex — the bitch — has been playing games with me. I don’t know whether to believe her or not but she says she knows someone who’s prepared to put down a deposit of £200k on the house. Somehow I have to trump that. I know that if I walk in with £250k in cash they won’t have anywhere to go. Or maybe even £300k to be safe. I hate to ask you, but any possibility you could go that distance? You’ll have it back, plus a minimum of 30 % profit, within months, just as soon as the house is sold, and this area of Munich, Schwabing, is the place everyone wants to be. No problem if you can’t, I have a wealthy friend who is desperate to give me the loan. But, my gorgeous, because I love you and know we are going to spend the rest of our lives together, I really want to ask you first.

I love you.

Less than five minutes later, a reply came in.

This Friday evening? Just two days away from my prince’s arms. I would hate you to lose the opportunity of your house. Bank interest rates are terrible, 30 % is very very attractive. I’ll find the money. Does it need to be in cash? I love you too! Can’t wait to be with you. I’m starting a countdown of the hours, minutes, seconds. XXXXXXX

He replied right away.

55 hours, maybe less!!! Yes, my sexy angel, my ex has poisoned the lawyers against me. She’s made up a pack of lies that I have no money to buy the house, and she is ready to close Monday. I’ve spoken to the lawyer myself and I asked him if he saw the colour of my money would that change his mind? He’s given me till midday Monday, otherwise he’s closing the deal with my ex’s buyer. So if we are to secure the property I need to walk in there with cash. That way the lawyers will know the money is real. I’m going to Munich Sunday evening, by when I know I’m going to be all loved-up, my baby, and I’ll be on his doorstep 9 am Monday morning. Ready to ram the cash where the sun don’t shine!

Love you.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lynda Merrill replied.

How will you get the cash to Germany? Isn’t £10,000 the maximum anyone can take out in cash? At least, without declaring it? Love you so much XXXXXXXXXX

He typed back.

I have it all worked out. Trust me. XXXXXXXX

Moments later he added:

PS what is the address? XXXXXXXX