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The line went dead.
“When can we get the car?” Oliver asked.
“We can’t,” Sam said. “The Ghost is in police lockup near London. It’s evidence in a murder case.”
Oliver’s face paled. “I just promised it to him. If he finds out it’s not—”
Bill stood, walked over to the watercooler and filled a cup, bringing it over to Oliver. “It’s
not like we can just walk in and they’ll release the car. It could be tied up for weeks. Months, even.”
Chad sat up, clapping his hand on the table. “What about the Faux Ghost? Do what we did with my mum?”
Sam shook his head. “Doubtful we could pull that off a second time. You heard what he said.”
“Quite right,” Oliver said. “Angering Dex isn’t a good idea. He’s prone to violence. I don’t know what he’ll do if he discovers we can’t get him the Ghost.”
“Actually,” Remi said, “if we can get a document that sounds legal, we won’t need the Ghost at all.” She looked at Sam and smiled. “Remember that time in Belize . . . ?”
79
What happened in Belize?” Bill asked Sam, after requesting the transfer of ownership document from his secretary.
“Remi went in the front door, distracted our target, while I went in the back and helped our friends escape.” Of course, that was an oversimplified version that ignored some of the more dangerous aspects of the event—something they didn’t need to go into right now.
Not that an investigator like Bill needed further explanation. He knew the inherent dangers and looked aghast as Sam’s words sank in. “You’re actually considering sending your wife into that house? You realize Dex is armed.”
“It worked before. And, to be fair, Remi’s armed, too.”
Bill turned to Oliver, perhaps hoping to find an ally. “You can’t be okay with this?”
“I’d rather no one had to go in,” Oliver said. “But after everything we’ve been through the last couple of weeks, I pity the poor man who gets in Remi’s way.”
When Bill looked at Chad, he immediately raised his hands. “Sorry, mate. I don’t think my vote counts.”
“Mine, either,” Bill said. “I’ll get the files.” He returned several minutes later with photographs of Allegra’s house and the neighborhood, as well as printed copies of a satellite map. As they were looking them over, his secretary returned, handed him a folder. “The amendment. In triplicate, as requested.”
“That was fast.”
“We had a copy of the Viscount’s will, due to the investigation. I scanned it, changed the names, then added a signature page. Easy-peasy.”
“Thank you, Chelsea,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He slid the file across the table toward Remi. “Your prop.”
Remi opened the folder, looking over the papers, while Sam studied a photo of Allegra’s neighborhood. Victorian, brick-faced terraced houses lined both sides of the street, each three-story unit sharing a common wall with the next, while the high-peaked slate roof on each was decorated with wrought iron crests running the length. “Which unit is hers?” he asked Bill.
“Second house from the far end.”
“No access from the backyard?”
“No,” Bill said. “Unless you hop a fence from a neighboring unit. Which sort of makes your Belize plan a moot point.”
“You’re assuming we were talking about the back door. I see a lot of windows here. What’s in this room?” Sam asked Oliver, pointing to the uppermost window located beneath the front-facing gable.
“Mostly, trunks and boxes. As far as I know, the room facing the back is still empty. Allegra had thought about turning it into a guest bedroom but never got around to it. The stairs are frightfully narrow. Her bedroom and Trevor’s are on the first level, with the loo.”
“What’s on the ground level?”
“Front parlor, kitchen, a dining area, and a windowless room, at the back of the stairs, she uses for an office—not much bigger than a closet, I’m afraid.”