Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(67)

‘Do you have a gun?’

‘No. Detectives don’t carry guns.’

‘Cuffs? Pepper spray?’ she asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

‘Sometimes. In my car.’

‘How did you get here?’ she asked, looking around.

‘I came on the tube; I travelled on the tube…’ McGorry suddenly felt flustered and stupid.

‘So you’re unarmed? Vulnerable? Sorry, I’m kidding.’

‘I need you to help me find this jeweller’s shop. It’s very important to our investigation. It’s not a big laugh.’

‘Sorry… I thought she was alright, Marissa. I’ve thought about jacking it all in and going to L.A or New York. I haven’t got the guts. She had guts.’

They started walking down the road, and then turned right onto Hatton Garden, where the first jeweller’s windows looked out over the street. They glowed brightly against the cold grey day, showing fabulous displays of gold and silver. The two of them walked for a few minutes. Ella kept stopping at intervals to peer into windows and look down the street.

‘We were talking loads, and we were coming from the other direction; I wasn’t paying attention,’ she said. ‘They all look quite similar after a while.’

They went a little further, and then she stopped at a red post box.

‘I think it was here,’ she said, pointing at a door opposite.

‘What makes you think it’s this one?’ asked McGorry.

‘The post box. It’s a really old one.’

McGorry looked up at the frontage. It said: ‘R.D. LITMAN & SONS FINE JEWELLERS EST. 1884.’

They went inside, where a comfortingly old-fashioned bell rang above the door. There was a hushed elegance to the interior, and a long glass counter, which gleamed. An elderly balding man with a slightly hunched back came out from a door at the rear of the shop. He sized them up with a practised glance, but waited for them to speak first.

McGorry showed his warrant card and explained why they were there. Ella didn’t seem to recognise the man, but he recognised her.

‘Yes. You came in with another young lady with dark hair. Diamond earrings, princess cut: 1.62 carats of exceptional purity, set in 24 karat gold.’

‘You can be sure of all that?’ asked McGorry.

‘It’s my job to remember,’ said the man, sniffily. ‘And of course, I always remember a pair of beautiful ladies. Did your friend reconsider selling? What was her name?’

‘Marissa? No. She died,’ said Ella.

‘I see. I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Do you wish to sell?’

‘No, we don’t want to sell,’ said McGorry. ‘I need to verify that they existed. Is there any chance you could be mistaken about their value?’

The look on the old man’s face told him in the negative.

‘I valued them at… The exact figure escapes me… Ten…’

‘Ten and a half thousand,’ finished Ella.

‘Yes.’

‘What’s your name?’ asked McGorry.

‘Peter Litman.’

‘Do you have much contact with the other jeweller’s shops around?’

‘Contact?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is a tight-knit community of traders which goes back a long way. Family businesses – but we remain businesses. With business relationships.’

‘Can I give you my card, in case you remember anything else?’ said McGorry.

‘Yes.’ He took the offered card. McGorry thanked him, and they left.



* * *



Peter Litman watched McGorry and Ella from the window, with his hands neatly behind his back. When they had receded from view, he went out back to an office, where there was a huge walk-in safe.

‘Charles, that was a police officer, Detective Inspector McGorry. He was asking about the princess-cut earrings belonging to the dead girl.’

Charles Fryatt looked up from where he was working at a computer and a desk piled high with paperwork.

‘I heard everything.’

‘You would have also heard that I told them the truth. I won’t lie to the police. I’ll ask you again. Are you involved with the death of that young woman?’

‘No,’ said Charles, shifting in the seat. ‘It’s to do with the earrings. Nothing more.’

‘They were your mother’s earrings?’

‘Yes.’ Charles kept working at the computer and didn’t look up.

‘Charles, as your father-in-law, you have my loyalty, but only to a point. If anything comes back to me that embarrasses me or my daughter…’

‘It’s nothing!’ said Charles, raising his voice. ‘And you didn’t lie, and it’s fine.’

Peter looked at his son-in-law for a long moment, and then went back out to the shop front to rearrange the displays, a deep feeling of unease rolling over him.





Forty-Eight





It was early afternoon when the man who called himself ‘T’ left work. The shop he worked in had been quiet all day, apart from a man and woman who had come in with some enquiries.

He felt lucky that he worked for a private family business; he was able to come and go as he pleased when business was quiet. He took the short train journey into central London.