chocolates in case of inspection, I suppose. What do you think, half of these are jewels? More? What would you get in this lot?”
“Who knows. There’s forty-eight chocolates. Thirty stones, perhaps? At this size, and depending on where you could sell them—I don’t know. Six or eight thousand pounds?”
“Per box?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s enough to leg it to the south of France and live in luxury,” Will said. “Not saying we should, of course.”
“Just that we could? Tempting.”
“Mrs. Appleby must be kicking herself she didn’t help herself to a chocolate before. I should never have promised we’d try and get her off. If you think it’s best to go to the police, or your Bureau, I’ll understand.”
Kim gave him a narrow look. “Is this some sort of coded message? Or have you got the real Will Darling stashed in a cupboard somewhere?”
“I’m serious. You were right: I oughtn’t have promised Beaumont. I was trying to play your game my way, and that was stupid. There’s a dead man and crimes to be accounted for here. I can’t ask you to cover up for her.”
“I don’t give a damn for Mrs. Appleby, who I hope has learned her lesson, and I don’t have to because I’m not in the police force. Cover-ups are what the Private Bureau does.”
“Maybe they shouldn’t.”
“If we’re to get at Zodiac, it won’t be through the courts,” Kim said. “This game is not played in front of an audience. Look, if you don’t want to do the next part, I understand. It’s tantamount to a declaration of war.”
“Who’ll be backing you up then? You can’t go in alone and you’re not telling the police. Will you bring in people from this Private Bureau?”
Kim hesitated. “I could, but I am taking it on myself to let Mrs. Appleby get away. I can’t swear that DS would do the same.”
Will stared at him. “You’re going it alone because of my promise. You are, aren’t you? Jesus, Kim. I—”
“Don’t. For Christ’s sake don’t say anything,” Kim said harshly. “It’s absurd, considering how much I’ve done to you. And don’t feel obliged to be involved. You really aren’t.”
Will still wanted to acknowledge this. He wanted to say You’re doing this for me because you care, and for it to be true, and then...
Then what? He didn’t know how to push beyond that, or where it might take them. He only knew that Kim was thinking of him in this damn fool dangerous business, and how much that mattered.
“Of course I’m coming,” he said in lieu of the words Kim didn’t want. “Wouldn’t miss it. Shall we go?”
Kim checked his wristwatch. “I think so. Got your knife?”
NOON ON A SUNDAY WAS a bloody stupid hour to have a confrontation with a criminal, in Will’s view. There was a reason that people did these things under cover of night.
He made a remark to that effect. Kim countered that Fuller would be asleep, the club didn’t open on Sunday evenings, Mrs. Skyrme was expecting the soggy Mrs. Appleby so would not be surrounded by support, and mainly, they would be best off not giving that lachrymose lady a chance to change her mind and betray them. Mrs. Appleby had choked out a description of how she met her nemesis to hand over the jewels in the empty surroundings of the High-Low. She’d also sobbed on the telephone while setting up the meeting, but hopefully Mrs. Skyrme would consider that normal behaviour.
Kim had given Beaumont forty pounds to cover the costs of vanishing with his lover. Will very much hoped they would be safe, and also that he wouldn’t see them again.
It was a cold grey day. Kim held the bag with the boxes of chocolates—that was something, carrying five figures’ worth of jewels around London—and made his way silently down the stairs to the club’s basement area, Will at his heels. Even from outside it stank of cigarettes and stale alcohol. At least they weren’t too exposed from the street, since they were below ground level, but Will still felt horrendously conspicuous.
Kim knocked on the door. They waited several moments, and then it opened.
“Good—” Mrs. Skyrme began, before her eyes caught up with her mouth.
“Good morning,” Kim said.
The door began to slam shut, although it didn’t get very far because Will had a grip on the handle. Kim said, urbanely, “I have your special delivery of chocolates.”
“What chocolates?” Mrs. Skyrme demanded. “I didn’t order any chocolates.”
“That’s odd, because I have a witness who’ll state the opposite. I