Page 24 of The Scene of the Crime (Jessica Russell #1)

Wheeler sighed. He’d avoided answering or texting a reply as he hadn’t worked out exactly what to say about the situation.

He had seen the lunchtime news and was surprised that there had been no mention of a murder in Victoria Park Road.

He could only assume that the man he believed to be Johan De Klerk was lying dead on the kitchen floor, and his body hadn’t been discovered, but he knew that at some point it would be, which would cause further complications.

Wheeler composed himself as he carefully picked up the phone and pressed the redial number on WhatsApp. It was quickly answered.

‘Why haven’t you been answering my calls?’

‘Because I’d been up all night. I put the phone on silent while I got some kip,’ Wheeler replied.

‘Everything went as planned then?’ the man asked.

Wheeler sighed. ‘No, it didn’t.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I couldn’t do the job.’

‘You sent me a fucking message saying the job was done!’

‘I was pissed, fell over and hurt my ribs. I had to get a mate to do it.’

‘You got someone else involved? Are you mad?’

‘Don’t worry, he’s trustworthy and didn’t let us down, though there were a couple of problems,’ Wheeler said calmly.

‘Like what?’

‘Someone was in the house!’

‘Jesus Christ, who?’

‘I don’t fucking know, and my mate didn’t bother to introduce himself and ask his name!’

‘De Klerk told me he was going away for the weekend with his wife, so it can’t have been him.’

‘Is he about six feet five, built like a brick shit house, with a tattoo of Rudolph the reindeer on his right arm?’ Wheeler asked sarcastically.

‘It’s a Springbok, but that’s him,’ the man replied, sounding worried.

‘Well, he caught my man in the living room and they had a fight.’

‘What’s your friend’s name?’

Wheeler laughed, but it hurt his chest and made him cough. ‘I’m not giving you his name. All that matters is that he’s done the job, and he’ll keep schtum.’

‘Did he get the lockbox?’

‘You gave me the wrong numbers to unlock the safe.’

‘I saw De Klerk put those numbers in . . .’

‘Then he must have changed them.’

‘You better not be lying to me, Wheeler?’

‘Fortunately for you, and anticipating you might get the numbers wrong, I told my mate to take my tool bag with him. He forced the safe open before De Klerk appeared and started using him as a punching bag.’

‘Stop fucking about, Wheeler. Did he get the lockbox or not?’

‘Yes. I’ve got it here in front of me.’

‘If he was that good, he wouldn’t have disturbed De Klerk.’

‘It’s your fuck-ups that caused the problems, not his.’

‘Was your friend wearing a balaclava?’

‘Yes, he’s not an idiot, but there was another big fuck-up.’

‘Christ! What?’

‘De Klerk’s dead.’

‘What! Jesus Christ, you telling me he fucking killed him? Why did he do that?’

‘It was an accident. De Klerk ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. They struggled and went over, and De Klerk landed on the knife. He thinks it went straight through his heart.’

‘Then he can’t be certain he’s dead.’

‘He’s certain because De Klerk wasn’t breathing. There’s been nothing on the news about it, so his body must still be lying in the house.’

‘Dear God, what a fucking mess. De Klerk’s wife will probably find him when she gets home, and then it will be all over the media. The police will tear that house apart . . .’

‘They won’t find anything, so stop shitting yourself.’

‘Are there any other fuck-ups I need to know about?’

‘He used De Klerk’s Range Rover to make a quick getaway.’

‘He stole his fucking car? This just gets worse and worse. CCTV cameras could have picked him up.’

‘He’s not that stupid. He told me he kept his hoodie up and head down when he was driving.’

‘Where’s the car now?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s hidden away, and I’ll sort getting rid of it.’

‘Why didn’t he use his own car to do the job?’

‘Like me, he never does, in case it’s seen or picked up on camera. We always get an Uber to and from a break-in, but not door-to-door obviously.’

‘An Uber. I thought you were fucking professionals!’

‘Uber drivers never ask questions. If the police see a lone person sitting in the back, they automatically assume it’s a cab. If they stop the car, the driver will produce his licence and the plod will happily wave him on his way.’

‘Why didn’t he use an Uber to get home then?’

‘Besides a quick getaway, he also had De Klerk’s blood on him. None of the fuck-ups would have happened if De Klerk hadn’t been in the house, so don’t blame us.’

‘All right, but you better get rid of the car and make sure nothing leads back to your friend or me.’

‘Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.’

‘One more thing. Was there any cash in the safe?’

‘My mate didn’t mention finding any,’ Wheeler replied, patting the money on the table.

‘Your mate could have taken it and not told you.’

‘I doubt it. He called me and came straight here after the job. Plus, I know he wouldn’t rip me off. He could have done a runner with the lockbox, but he didn’t.’

‘You better not be fucking with me. I know De Klerk had a lot of money in his safe!’

‘Then he must have put it somewhere else or spent it. My mate wasn’t going to hang around looking for it after what happened, was he? Listen, I need more money for the job as he wants more dosh than I offered after everything that’s happened.’

‘That’s your problem, not mine. The deal was five grand, and you’ve already had two up front.’

‘I know, but because of your cock-up, he could have been caught, and now I’m the one who’s got to sort out the mess,’ Wheeler said, knowing he was pushing his luck.

There was silence at first. ‘All right, I’ll give you another three grand for him. I’ll get one of my boys to drop the cash off and collect the box. What’s your address?’

Wheeler laughed. ‘No way. Do you think I was born yesterday? I’ll deliver it to you at the shop during working hours.’

‘I’m still out of town on business. I’ll be back on Wednesday.’

‘Making sure you’ve got an alibi, are you?’

‘What I do is not your concern.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not a grass. As a matter of interest, what’s in the lockbox?’ Wheeler asked. He had a couple of thoughts on what it might be.

‘That’s none of your business. And just remember, it belongs to me.’

‘Nicked your gear, did he?’ Wheeler said.

‘I suggest you get rid of that car tonight. Ensure you delete everything on the mobile phone I gave you and chuck it in the Thames. Don’t let me down, Wheeler. Sort this mess out, or you and your friend will regret it. I’ll see you Wednesday morning. The shop opens at nine.’ He ended the call.

Wheeler picked up the lockbox and shook it but couldn’t hear anything inside, making him wonder if it contained uncut cocaine or other high-value drugs.

He also realised it could contain nothing if De Klerk had removed the contents before the break-in.

He opened his tool bag, removed a battery-operated mini angle grinder, switched it on, and was about to cut into the metal lock box when he hesitated.

Surely whatever was in the box wasn’t worth the retribution that would be coming his way if he nicked it.

He already had two hundred and fifty grand after all.

He smiled, confident no one would ever find out about the money with De Klerk dead.

He turned the grinder off, put it on the table, picked up the Rolex watch and slipped it over his wrist.

‘I’d love to keep you, sweetheart, but you’re too hot to handle.

’ He kissed the watch with a smirk. As Wheeler stood up, the pain in his ribs flared again, making him feel faint.

He staggered towards the toilet but didn’t make it and was sick on the living room floor.

He didn’t have the energy to clean it up.

Using a credit card, he cut up two lines of cocaine, which he quickly snorted.

He lay down on the sofa, waiting for it to take effect.

He needed to rest before disposing of the car.

Pressing the dial on his Apple watch and seeing the red and blue Siri sign appear, he said, ‘Set alarm for one a.m.’