Page 101 of End Game
Having completed his task as a grave digger, Petrov stood back and watched as the two thugs raked over the grave. He retrieved the two heavy suitcases from behind the pillar and handed them over to Mr Longe. ‘I should have dealt with you in the first place,’ said Petrov, before making his way out of the stadium. When he reached the entrance and the night watchman opened the gate, he didn’t leave a tip.
•••
‘I’d quite forgotten about you, Mr Booth Watson,’ admitted Longe, once Petrov had departed, ‘but then, to be fair, you weren’t part of the Russian gentleman’s agreement. So, I’ll tell you what I expect you to do …’
‘Anything, anything,’ spluttered Booth Watson, as he fell on his knees, his hands cupped in prayer.
‘I’m going to bank this cheque for eight million first thing in the morning and, should it bounce, I think it only fair to warn you there’s a triple jump pit on the other side of the track and, although in your case it may require a lot more digging, I have a feeling my men are up to the task.’
Booth Watson swallowed hard. He didn’t doubt it.
‘So, Mr Booth Watson, should anyone ask after Mr Faulkner, you will simply say he’s abroad on business and not expected back in the near future. And while he’s away,’ continued Longe, looking down at the freshly raked sand, ‘you’ll draw up a contract to work exclusively for me. No doubt, you’ll charge an outrageous fee, while at the same time you’ll still be collecting a thousand pounds a day from your late client.’ Longe grinned, before once again glancing over his shoulder at the long jump pit. ‘So, I think you’ll agree, on balance you’ve come out of this deal rather well.’
Booth Watson nodded, before making an even more hasty retreat than Petrov. As he left the stadium, he spotted flashing lights in the distance and for the first time in years, he began to run.
•••
Longe looked up to see the nightwatchman charging down the steps towards him, screaming, ‘Police, police!’
A word that had Longe and his two henchmen running for the nearest exit, but when they reached the gate the night watchman was nowhere to be seen.
Longe knew he was trapped. He turned back and began to run towards the track, only to see half a dozen armed policeofficers heading towards him. He quickly swung around to face an even larger group of coppers coming from the opposite direction.
Moments later, the three of them were surrounded, handcuffed and led away.
Paul ran down the steps and out onto the track to find Ross frantically digging. He quickly joined him, grabbed the other spade and they both carried on digging until a body appeared. Ross had seen enough bodies to know this one was dead.
•••
William skidded to a halt just as Longe was about to be bundled into the back of a police van.
Many things had given William pleasure over his years with the Met, but few as much satisfaction as seeing Longe and his two cronies arrested for attempted murder.
As the police van drove away, William turned to see Ross and Paul coming out of the entrance to the stadium tugging two suitcases.
‘Going anywhere?’ asked William.
‘I wish,’ said Ross, as he stopped and unzipped one of the suitcases to reveal row upon row of neatly stacked fifty-pound notes filling every inch of available space.
One of the young constables couldn’t stop gawping.
‘So where’s the omnipresent Mr Booth Watson?’ demanded William.
‘Got clean away,’ admitted Ross, ‘but what he doesn’t realize is that we have him on camera starring in his own home movie.’
Ross looked across to see Rebecca jumping out of her car and running towards them.
‘Sorry you missed the main feature,’ said Ross, as Williamzipped up the suitcase and instructed Paul to take them both back to the Yard. But no one moved as two paramedics carrying a stretcher walked slowly towards them.
William stepped forward and pulled back the sheet, as if he needed to be certain Faulkner hadn’t escaped his clutches once again. He stared down at his old nemesis, well aware his final act had been one of courage and ultimately self-sacrifice.
He touched his forehead in respect, a gesture he wouldn’t have thought possible a week ago.
But then real life is so often stranger than fiction.
‘Change the charge to murder,’ said William, as he replaced the sheet over Faulkner’s head, allowing the stretcher bearers to continue on their way to a waiting ambulance.
CHAPTER 31
