SIX

       Clerkenwell, London

       18th April – 8.59 p.m.

      Tom was finishing a call when Archie let himself in, the chatter of the refrigeration unit on a passing lorry gushing through the open door before draining away the instant it was shut behind him. Removing his coat, Archie tossed it over the back of one of the Georgian dining chairs arranged in the shop’s two large arched windows.

      Tom had bought this building just over a year ago now, transferring the stock from his father’s antique business in Geneva after he’d died. As well as the dimly lit showroom area they were in now, the ground floor consisted of a large warehouse to the rear and an office that Tom and Archie shared as a base for their art recovery work. Tom himself lived on the top floor.

      He killed the call and threw the phone down on the green baize card table he was sitting at, his right hand deftly manipulating a small mother-of-pearl casino chip through his slender fingers. Behind him, a grandfather clock lazily boomed the hour, triggering a sympathetic chorus of subtle chiming and gently pinging bells from the other clocks positioned around the room.

      ‘All right?’ Archie asked, leaning against the back of one of a pair of matching Chesterfield armchairs.

      Tom caught a flash of cerise pink lining as Archie’s jacket fell open and smiled. Subtlety had never been Archie’s strongest point and even in a suit, a uniform Tom had rarely seen him out of, his forceful character seemed to find a way to flaunt itself. He had at least recently shed one of the two phones that he used to juggle from ear to ear like a commodities trader, although from the occasional involuntary twitch of his fingers, like a gunfighter stripped of his .45, Tom knew that he still missed the buzz of his old life.

      ‘Good. You?’

      ‘Not bad, not bad,’ Archie sniffed.

      Tom nodded, struck by how, the better you knew someone, the less you often needed to say.

      ‘Dominique in?’ Archie glanced hopefully towards the rear.

      ‘Not seen her.’ Tom shrugged. ‘Why, are you going to ask her out?’

      ‘What are you talking about?’ Archie laughed the question away.

      ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. What are you waiting for?’

      ‘Leave it out, will you?’ Archie snorted.

      ‘If you don’t make your move, someone else will.’

      ‘If I wanted to make a move, I would have done,’ Archie insisted.

      ‘Well, it’s probably just as well,’ Tom sniffed, his eyes twinkling at Archie’s discomfort. ‘She’d only have said no. Better to avoid the rejection.’

      ‘Very funny.’ Archie smiled tightly. Tom decided to change the subject before he completely lost his sense of humour.

      ‘That was Dorling, by the way.’ Tom nodded towards the phone.

      ‘What the hell did he want?’ Archie bristled. While Tom had understood the need to forgive his one-time pursuers if he was to move on, Archie was less sanguine. His scars ran deep, and he was suspicious of Dorling’s Machiavellian pragmatism, sensing the seeds of a further about-turn should the circumstances require it.

      ‘He just got the initial results of the forensic tests back.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘And basically they’ve got nothing. No prints at the scene. The getaway car torched. Zip.’ In truth, he’d have been more surprised if they had found something. From what he’d seen, this crew weren’t the sort to make mistakes.

      ‘Any idea who pulled it?’

      Tom flicked the chip down on to the card table, enjoying the expression registering on Archie’s face as he stepped forward for a closer look.

      ‘Milo?’ he exclaimed. ‘Pull the other one! He was down for a ten-year stretch, minimum.’

      ‘According to Dorling, he got out six months ago. They found one of these at the scene.’ He nodded towards the chip. ‘This is one he gave me after a job we pulled together in Macau. Back when we were still talking.’

      ‘Well then, all we have to do is wait. He’ll just follow his usual MO and ransom it back.’

      ‘I think he’s picked up some new moves while he’s been away. This time he left a message.’

      ‘What sort of a message?’

      ‘A black cat. Dead. Nailed to the wall. The chip was in its mouth.’ He shook his head, as if to shake the grotesque image from his mind, but found that every time he blinked its ghostly outline reappeared in front of him, as if it had somehow been seared on to the back of his eyelids.

      Archie sat down slowly on the opposite other side of the card table. He picked the chip up and considered it for a few seconds, then locked eyes with Tom.

      ‘And you think it was meant for you, don’t you?’

      ‘I think it was meant for Felix, yes.’ Tom was surprised at the instinctive anger in his voice. That name sat uncomfortably with him now, reminding him of a past life and a past self that he was trying to forget, to leave behind. Only Milo was trying to drag him back.

      ‘It’s a bit bloody crude, isn’t it, even for him?’

      ‘He’s a showman. He likes to shock people.’

      ‘What do you think he wants?’

      ‘To let me know he’s back?’ Tom speculated irritably. ‘To show me that he’s not lost his touch? That he’s still number one? Take your pick.’

      ‘You don’t think it’s a threat?’

      ‘No.’ Tom gave a confident shake of his head. ‘We have an understanding. More of a debt, really. Milo operates by this old-fashioned code of honour, a hangover from his days in the Legion. According to his code he owes me a life, because I helped save his once. Until he repays it, he won’t touch me.’

      ‘But now you’ve swapped sides,’ Archie reminded him. ‘Whatever debt you two had don’t count for nothing no more.’

      ‘You mean we’ve swapped sides,’ Tom corrected him, with a nudge.

      Archie mumbled something under his breath and fumbled for his cigarettes.

      ‘Do you have to?’ Tom frowned as he lit up.

      ‘I’ve been gagging for one all afternoon.’ He took a deep drag and sighed contentedly.

      ‘Why, where have you been?’

      ‘Over at Apsley House, remember?’

      ‘Oh, yeah.’

      ‘You should have seen the bird that runs the place.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Fit as a butcher’s dog.’

      ‘So you’re glad you went?’ Tom laughed.

      ‘I was till she gave me this,’ Archie sighed, handing over the CCTV still.