On the Run

Oliver's teeth chattered. "Hasn't this got any heating?"

"Yes," Emma replied and flicked a switch on the side of the fire in the front room and putting her backpack down on the floor. "Get us a beer, love," she called out. "I put some dinners and beer in the fridge." Oliver returned with two bottles of weak lager, a bottle opener and a pint of water in a dusty glass for himself.

She emptied out her backpack on the floor and then looked at Jamie who did the same. He cheered as he did so and downed his beer, shouting out, "fucking awesome," as he watched the bundles of money fall onto the floor.

Emma picked up his bag and emptied a few bundles that remained and gave him a piercing look only for Jamie to shrug. "How much?"

"They look like bundles of five grand," Emma said and started counting. They were mixed between parcels of ten, twenty and fifty pound notes but it was a big pile and Emma eventually looked up, interrupting a bickering conversation between Oliver and Jamie with a smile. "Seven hundred and ninety thousand pounds. Well probably eight hundred to be honest. But fuckin' loads"

Jamie whistled. "Well fuck the statues then. We got the jackpot."

Emma looked at him with a tortured look. "You stupid twat. What happened to that money from the Post Office job?"

"You 'ad it."

"Oh well done," Emma summarised and then crossed her arms. "Look, we had away seven grand. But it was all in twenties. And it stopped being legal two years ago. That money is only as good as how long it takes you to spend it."

"Right, so does any cash we get for the statues."

Emma rolled her eyes. "We can get anything we want for the statues. In whatever we want. We stuck with these pounds. So if we need to wash it, 'cause you can't stick it into ya Bradford and Bingley account and them not to ask where two fifty large ones have come from. If ya wash it, ya lose lots. So statues, at fifty or seventy grand a piece, they worth a lot."

Jamie scowled; he clearly didn't like being spoken down to, and he watched Emma dividing the money. She hid the jewellery out of view and slipped it into her bag as Jamie's eyes were on the giant pile of cash in the centre of the room. She glanced at Oliver who saw her and gave him a slight nod with a pout of her lips.

"I want a necklace," he told her. He held out his hand expectantly when Jamie went to the toilet and she gave him one of the necklaces and slipped it into his pocket; it weighed a bit and had a beautiful blue stone in the middle. "It looks lovely," he muttered and Emma just flicked a smile.

"Yes they do, don't they?" Emma replied.

"Look old."

Emma sniffed. "Yeah, they probably are."

* * * * *

Emma sat in the farmhouse-cum-cottage twiddling her thumbs. Oliver had spent most of the day crying and lurching from one emotion to the other. He threatened to consider turning them all in for a lighter sentence only for Jamie and Oliver to come to blows.

Or blow, to be more accurate: Jamie smacked Oliver and nearly knocked him out as the incessant whining got to him. Jamie's entertainment had been to flick between the rolling news channel on the television and a pornographic magazine he had found in the cottage. Emma had had them leave their mobile phones in her flat which caused a degree of annoyance from Oliver as he had "e-mails to check." Emma groaned.

"So what are we doing here?"

Emma wondered herself. The raid had been on the rolling news channel as a "breaking news" and was the primary news item all morning. It had shown little sign in being replaced as the headline news story. This was partly because Jaroslav Doszak was well known but also that the value of goods stolen was sizeable. However, Emma mostly put this down to a rampant lack of news being newsworthy and thus they were treated to repeat showings of the house with a reporter claiming all sorts of rumours.

She dismissed some of them immediately – there was no way there was over 50 officers working on the investigation, or that the statues were worth over two million pounds, but did quite happily believe that the Police were considering whether it was an inside job.

She was surprised that it had hit the news; she was sure Jaroslav would not want the Police anywhere near his property, especially given what he was rumoured to be up to but obviously the rumours were just that, untrue fabrications and he was clearly happy to get the Police involved to find them although she didn't doubt if the coppers did manage it, then Jarsolav would not just allow British justice to take its course with his own brand of retribution.

In essence, Emma wanted to wait for when they were no longer the number one news item; the cottage had been chosen because of its remote location and the fact that she could park the van out of sight, and that she had paid in cash with a false name added to its safety.

Of course, she had worn a disguise when she had rented the property but she still didn't like the idea that the Police had gained significant exposure on the local media and was certainly grateful that the rental offices had been in the next county and therefore on Midlands news networks.

"Til the heat dies down," she told him, answering his question.

"When will that be?" Oliver whimpered. "Cos Doszak is gonna kill me."

Emma nodded and glanced at the Jane Austen in front of her. "Only if he finds you. I was kind of working on not getting caught. I was thinking tonight after we had a good sleep.""

"Right. And how are we getting to Argentina?" Jamie asked, the escape plan clearly only becoming relevant to him once they actually completed the job.

"We get to Poole, I have a boat lined up to take us to Argentina," Emma promised. "An old friend of mine," she said with a smile and looked back to the book. "But I want to travel down tonight when the roads are empty and we've had a good night's sleep."

"But if we leave it they will know they need to look for the van?" Jamie suggested and Emma gave a grin.

"I was sort of going to nick a car from the village, or put some false plates on," she told him. "But I really, really do not want to be out while there is a picture of me on the front page and it is daylight. You remember the old Spicer Boys. Well Eric got nicked last year 'cos they went out while they were on the news and were spotted. It's not midday yet. So give it 'til nine or ten o' clock and I can ring Paolo on my new mobile, and we can travel down overnight. It'll be simple."

Jamie and Oliver scowled, and even Emma started to wonder, but she trusted her judgement; after all she had never been charged or convicted of a crime, ever. She trusted her gut instinct.

Chapter VI

"Size 10 feet," the officer proudly told his Inspector as they walked past the flowerbed and underneath the Police cordon. "We've measured them. There is no tread to talk of, but the perpetrator definitely had size 10 feet."

The Inspector smiled. "Correction, he or she was wearing size ten shoes. We have no idea of the size of his or her feet."

The officer scowled. "Maybe, but if he is wearing size ten shoes, then surely he has size ten feet," the officer asked, clearly irritated by the Inspector's pedantry. "And I don't think it's a girl with size ten feet. Not unless she comes from Chernobyl."

Inspector Richard Williamson gave a broad grin. "What happened?"

"The owner of the house, a local businessman called Jaroslav Doszak, I believe you've met but he is in Kiev at the moment."

Richard snorted. "I know who owns it. Let's just say we've met professionally," he replied as they walked into the main house. "But he had some bloody good lawyers."

"Well he was out of the house the guy reckons, he left first thing to fly to Kiev for a business trip according to the housekeeper. They must have been watching the house as apparently he went down to the vault before he left and everything was OK."

"What time?"

"About 10:30pm, they reckon."

The Inspector nodded and peered into the corridor leading to the vault, nodding to the forensic crime officer. "Anything?"

"Nothing," he replied, dressed in white protective suit. "Some cat hair and that's it."

"So, vault is fine, obviously Mr Doszak has been to collect his passport from the vault, and by morning his precious statues have gone."

"That's about the jist of it, yes. Although it was the housekeeper with the associate who found the vault open and phoned us. Mr Doszak left very late last night for his chartered flight, he is coming back as we speak. The auction house arrived early to collect the statues as they were going under hammer at the end of the week. And someone didn't want to pay the guide price."

DCI Williamson snorted and pointed to the wall. "CCTV. Can we see the tapes?"

The officer chuckled. "They seem to have avoided them. Three shadows in the distance from the one across the garden and that is about it really. The camera up there," the officer said, pointing to the wall, "is not working. Richard Williamson snorted. "Inside job?"

The Inspector looked behind him and then nodded. "Maybe. Do we know why it's not working?"

"Something sprayed over it, the forensic guy reckons. Some sort of hairspray like substance to mess with the lens."

"Probably a professional not an inside job then. Anyone working for Jaroslav Doszak would be mad to steal from him."

The sergeant smiled. "And one more thing, one of the temporary receptionists hasn't come to work today, he was due in and isn't answering his mobile. Name of Oliver Prutton. We are sending WPC Meadows 'round to have a word."

The Inspector took a deep breath and shook his head. "Oliver Prutton, we don't know him, do we?"

"You might know his brother, sir. Jamie Prutton. He came out last month."

"Ahhh," cried the Inspector. "Yes, we do know the Prutton family. Ahh well, that could be interesting. Yes, let me know what happens on that one."

The two men walked out into the garden and saw a dozen faces pressed up against the office windows watching them. "Quite the attraction, aren't we?" The Inspector muttered and then looked up and down the garden. "If they came out there, then they could have got out over there." The Inspector pointed to the large gate at the end of the garden, scarcely in view and strode towards it.

The officer strode to keep up, almost running as the Inspector walked at a fast pace down the manicured garden. The gate was unlocked and the Inspector raised his eyebrows, looking at the large tyre print on the side of the road. "Get a cast of these," the Inspector ordered. "It might be nothing, but it might not be. And if they came out here, then they might have hit the traffic cameras on the main road."

"Yes sir," the officer parroted and felt his phone vibrate, answering it with a quick bark of his surname. He smiled as he had a brief conversation and turned to face the Inspector. "Sir. There was a card used last night at 23:02. A door access card, to gain access out of the vault."

"Belong to Oliver Prutton?"

"Yes sir."

"I wonder if our friend has been helping his brother get up to his old tricks again," the Inspector wondered out loud. "Right let's go and see him. Bring him in. After we have a cast of that."

He walked back and stopped at the gate, looking at the floor and stopped. "Get me an evidence bag," he called and turned his head. "There is a cigarette butt here and some matches."

"Oh," came the response and the Inspector scowled.

"They don't look too wet so they've not been here too long. Either our friends are very stupid, or we were meant to find this," he said with a smile. "But let me know what's on this."

"Sir," a voice called and the Inspector walked over to the officer holding out a handbag. "This must be the housekeepers," he told him and the Inspector smiled.

"Get me that cast ASAP and get Oliver and Jamie picked up. They came out through here, I want forensics down here too. Now I need to see DI Hargreaves, make sure we don't tread on any toes," he said, rubbing his chin, and nodding towards the junior officer.

* * * * *

"And we go live to our reporter on the scene, Jenny Phillips, what can you tell us?"

The reporter stood under the obligatory umbrella as the rain bounced off the pavement around her and looked sternly at the camera. "Well full details of the raid have been emerging in the last few minutes. Last night three burglars broke into this mansion house behind me, went into the safe, and stole three valuable statues made of solid gold that are due to be auctioned later this week. The Police have been here since this morning, we have had forensics and sniffer dogs all around here, and the owner of the statues, a local businessman, is said to be quite distressed and cutting short his business trip to the Ukraine."

"Quite, right," Jamie said, mimicking her voice and Emma scowled into the cold baked beans she was eating for lunch; Oliver couldn't work out how to turn the gas on to the cooker and Emma couldn't be bothered to check to heat through the beans so they all had cold tinned food for lunch.

"Any news on the gang who did this?"

"I am joined by Inspector Richard Williamson from the Merseyside Constabulary, any news on the likely perpetrators?"

A tall, smart man looked directly at the camera and gave a nod, his steely eyes bearing into Oliver who shuddered. "There are many leads and at the moment we are focusing on who had access to the vault, but it is early days and we are scouring the local area. There is a couple of people we are anxious to speak to and there will be arrests soon."

There was a shriek from the corner of the room and Oliver put his head in his hands, but Emma just turned up the volume on the television to listen to the reports. "Right, we got to get out of here," Jamie said and Emma shouted at him to sit back down. "They will see he's missing," Jamie panted.

Emma hummed. "I didn't expect them to know so quickly but I told you, I rented this farmhouse. I did it in cash, and I said I was staying alone. They haven't mentioned the Transit and they haven't said they are looking for me or even you. So just sit tight and think."

"I think I should have nothing to do with him," Jamie mumbled and Oliver threw his arms down.

"You have nothing to do with me? You were the one that roped me into this. You were the one that said it was easy."

"You said it was easy," Jamie looked accusingly at Emma. "You said it would be a piece of cake."

Emma shrugged. "It has been. It was easy. The job always is. It's getting away with it that so many people fuck up on. You of all people know that."

Jamie glared at her. "I don't want to go back to jail. I want to get out of here. You said you had a way out of Britain, let's do it."

"And I don't want Doszak and his heavies coming after me. 'Cos I am a dead man if they do," Oliver panicked.

Emma groaned and nodded. "OK. Well let's leave now. But if we get picked up on the motorway as we get spotted I'll kill ya." The two brothers looked at each other and Emma picked up the new pay-as-you-go phone and turned it on, before dialling a number on a piece of paper, looking at Jamie out of the corner of her eye.

"It's ringing," she muttered and waited for the familiar voice of Paolo. "Hello," a meek voice answered and Emma cleared her throat; it was Paolo's wife.

"Is Paolo in please?" The woman burst into tears and sniffed.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

Emma hesitated before supplying her name. "He is expecting my call."

"Umm ... he died yesterday. He had an accident in his boat."

"Oh I am so sorry," Emma genuinely enthused; she had met Paolo when she had travelled to Sandbanks for a job through a mutual friend and had become enchanted by his mischievous demeanour and ever-smiling face. "I didn't know. You have my sincere condolences."

"His funeral will be in four days time."

Emma hummed. "I would love to, I might be tied up." The wife sniffed and Emma bade her well for the future. "Fuck," she said the moment she hung up.

"Oh shit," Oliver cried, looking at the expression on Emma's face. "What's happened?"

"He's kicked the fuckin' bucket, 'asn't he?" Jamie asked and Emma nodded, staring at the skirting-board.

"Yeah. Right we need a Plan B."

"Plan B? You said you had everything planned," Oliver snapped and Emma shook her head.

"I did," she snapped back and then sighed, looking at them. "OK. Lets split up, take a bundle of cash each and a statue. And meet in Buenos Aires in a months time."

"Split up?" Oliver said with a whimper.

"Yeah, make it harder to catch. We'll blend in more. And I don't want to be seen with you two if we have to work our way out of the country."

"Us two?" Jamie asked. "This was your gig."

"And you have in your hand a quarter of a million. How's that for payment for a poxy two grand. Now get this place cleared up, I'd rather the Police not know we were here if they come lookin'"

"But you said," Jamie murmured and Emma looked at him.

"Just do it. You were always shit at the getting away with it part. We leave in thirty minutes."

* * * * *

"Dimtri," Jaroslav said with a nod around a small table. Thick cigar smoke hung in the air of the back room of the brothel and the Russian brute nodded. "And Mikael. I want them found."

"The Police are looking Boss, it looks like an amateur job and they will find them."

"I don't vant dem in prison. I vant dem dead," he yelled in his Ukrainian accent and banging his fist on the table. "They took my statues and they took my necklaces and they took the money." There was some nodding around the table and Jaroslav looked at his two henchman. "Getcha men. And find me them." There was a brief nod and Jaroslav took a big puff from his cigar. "If they tell about the money in there, I have Police everywhere. If they tell about the necklaces, I go prison. I want them rubbed out."

Both of Jaroslav's henchmen got up and Jaroslav pointed his cigar at Mikael. "And the stupid cow 'oo phoned up Police. I want her out of 'ere."

Mikael smiled. "Yes boss." Dmitri fidgeted and Jaroslav glared at him.

"I told 'er. Stay there, not say anything," the Russian henchman said gruffly and sharply. "While I phone you. But she phone police with auction people. Her handbag gone." He waved his arms around animatedly as he spoke and Jarolsav snorted.

"I trust you," Jaroslav barked. "I trust you to watch things. While I gone to Ukraine. You imbecile."

"She's being thrown off now," Dmitri told him and Jarolsav snorted. "She not coming back."

The thick set Ukrainian smiled and puffed again on his cigar. "Good," he muttered. "But I want dem lot dead." The four suited men nodded at their boss and Jaroslav waved his cigar around. "If Police find dem before we do, we fucked. And I fuck you. I fuck you and you and you and you," he shouted, pointing his cigar at each one of them in turn. "I want their livers. I want their families fed their remains."

"Oliver Prutton boss. Eees pass was used. Eeee is working on windows."

Jaroslav snorted and turned to the bespectacled man sitting next to him. "Yuri, I want to know everyt'ing 'bout dis guy. Families, everyt'ing. And you lot, fuck 'im up."

He gave a grunt to indicate that the meeting was over and they got up to leave. Mikael strode out and the young Paul looked at him. "How are we going to find them?"

"They will 'ead for the airport or the sea," Dmitri suggested. "But they will need 'elp. So we go to his home."

* * * * *

"What are you going to do with the Transit?" Oliver asked as she pulled away from the little village train station Jamie had asked to be left at. Emma could hardly pronounce the name, but it was not far from the Welsh border, and she was glad to be able to drop him off somewhere where no-one was looking.