Shepherd finished the last of his coffee. ‘Okay, let’s run through a few exercises in the mall. There’re a few more tricks I want to show you, then I’ll put you on the train back to London.’
Shepherd was half an hour from Hampstead in his Volvo when his mobile rang. He took a quick look at the screen. It was Hargrove. He took the call on hands-free.
‘I’ve had Fenby on the phone. Good news and maybe not so good news,’ said Hargrove. ‘Kettering and Thompson are okay to meet you in London. But they want to see you at a charity boxing night.’
‘What?’
‘They’re down tomorrow for a charity do at a hotel in Russell Square. The Royal National Hotel. They’ve got a table and they want you there.’
‘That’s not on, is it? What if I bump into someone I know? Is it a big event?’
‘Four hundred-odd people, mainly from south London. The event’s to raise money for a boxing club in Croydon. A couple of fighters that Kettering knows are coming down from Birmingham so Kettering has told Ray that he wants to kill two birds with one stone.’
‘We’re not going to be able to arrange an arms deal at a table full of boxing fans,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’re going to have to give this a body swerve.’
‘No can do,’ said Hargrove. ‘You’ve got to look at this from their point of view. They don’t know you — you’re Fenby’s contact. So they want to meet you in a social context first.’
‘So we’ll have a pint in a quiet pub somewhere off the beaten track. I’ve done God knows how many jobs south of the river and if anyone there recognises me I’ll be blown.’
‘We can run a check on the guest list for you,’ said Hargrove. ‘Look, Ray has already tried to put them off but Kettering is insisting and if we start to make a fuss he’s going to get suspicious. He just wants to sit down with you and get to know you.’
Shepherd sighed. ‘If that’s the way you want it I won’t argue, but don’t blame me if it goes tits up,’ he said.
‘Your reservations are noted,’ said Hargrove. He cut the connection.
Shepherd phoned Damien Plant and asked him how he was getting on with the Garry Edwards legend.
‘I put the finishing touches to it this morning,’ said Plant.
‘I need it for tomorrow evening,’ said Shepherd. ‘The clothes and bling, anyway.’
‘Where are you?’
‘On my way to Hampstead.’
‘I could drop it off on my way home,’ said Plant. ‘In an hour.’
‘Perfect,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’ll give me time for a shower.’
‘Don’t go to any trouble on my account,’ said Plant.
‘I’ll have coffee ready for you,’ said Shepherd. ‘How do you like it?’
‘Same as I like my men,’ said Plant. ‘Black, sweet and with bulging forearms.’
Shepherd laughed and ended the call.
The traffic was light heading into London and he had parked the car, showered and changed, and was stirring sugar into a mug of black coffee when his intercom buzzed. He pressed the button to open the downstairs door. Plant was wearing blue Armani jeans and a blue blazer over the sort of tight white T-shirt that he’d threatened to make Shepherd wear. He was carrying a blue nylon holdall in his left hand and three grey garment covers in his right.
Shepherd showed him through to the sitting room.
‘I’d forgotten how cosy this place was,’ said Plant, looking around. He had chosen everything in the flat, from the furniture and LCD television to the books on the shelves and the pictures on the walls.
‘Yeah, it’s not exactly a cat-swinging room, is it?’
‘Perfectly in keeping with a freelance journalist,’ said Plant. ‘Frankly we were lucky to get you into Hampstead the way rents are moving here.’
He sat down and sipped his coffee as Shepherd opened the garment covers. There was a dark-blue single-breasted suit, several shirts, a black linen jacket not dissimilar to the one that Plant had been wearing at Thames House, and a brown leather jacket that zipped up the front.
‘The leather jacket’s Armani,’ said Plant. ‘I’ve scuffed it a bit to give it some character. I wouldn’t mind it back when the job’s finished; it’s the sort of thing I can use again and again. The suit you can keep. The shirts too.’
Inside the holdall was a padded manila envelope. Shepherd opened it and slid out a driving licence. It had his photograph and the name of Garry Edwards, with the signature that he’d given Plant in Thames House. Shepherd didn’t recognise the address on the licence and he frowned at Plant.
Plant smiled. ‘I’ve used an office address for you. They’ll have the Edwards name on file so will field any enquiries.’
‘I doubt I’ll be flashing it around,’ said Shepherd. Also inside the envelope was a gold Cartier wristwatch, a gold money clip and a heavy gold bracelet.
Plant took a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it and a slim gold pen to Shepherd. ‘The jewellery you’ll have to sign for,’ he said. ‘It’s fully insured but please take care of it.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Shepherd, signing the form and giving it back to Plant.
‘I’ll love you and leave you,’ said Plant. He finished his coffee and stood up. ‘Thought I might swing by the Heath for old times’ sake.’
‘Bloody hell, Damien, be careful.’
Plant winked. ‘Not to worry, I’m loaded up with fake ID.’
‘I meant gay-bashers. It still goes on, you know.’
Plant grinned. ‘I’m just off the close-combat course and there’re a few new tricks that I’m dying to try out.’
Shepherd opened the door for him. ‘Why would they send a dresser on the close-combat course?’
‘Have you been to the Harrods January sales?’ said Plant. ‘Middle-aged women with fur coats and umbrellas are bloody lethal.’ He laughed and headed down the stairs.
The black cab turned into Russell Square and joined a queue of cars and coaches heading towards the Royal National Hotel, a massive nondescript concrete building that looked more like an office block than a hotel. ‘I’m not happy about this, Razor,’ said Shepherd.
‘What, because it’s got only three stars?’
‘No, because there’re going to be more than four hundred people here including a fair sprinkling of south London villains, any one of whom might know you or me.’
‘Hargrove has checked the guest list, right?’
‘Yeah, but most of the tables are in one name. I tell you, this could all turn to shit very quickly if someone recognises us.’
‘We could always grab a pair of gloves and sort it out in the ring,’ joked Sharpe.