Chapter 9

 

Dylan Rider checked his watch. He needed to make a move to get to the restaurant on time to meet Victor. They had a lot to discuss, and he preferred to do that while dining on fine food. Walls had ears, so the conversation they needed to have was better done under the guise of a family meal.

They needed to move the Portillo. Jit Monks and the gang wanted paying. They’d agreed in the beginning there would be a period of time when they couldn’t move the painting, but they would need to shift it in the next couple of months. The last thing anyone wanted was to be caught in possession of it.

He’d spoken to his contact in France, and suggested a couple more months before they needed to think about moving it. He’d share that with Victor over dinner tonight.

They’d managed to pay off the small fry initially involved in the robbery, but Jit wanted his money. The plan was to move the painting across the channel where they had a buyer for it.

Things had certainly died down in the media, the robbery was hardly mentioned now. When they’d first stolen it, the cops were everywhere, not to mention the insurance company.

Fortunately, no-one suspected him and Victor; there was nothing to link them to it. That’s how he and Vic operated. They’d masterminded heists, with virtually nothing that could tie them to each one. They were seen as legitimate buyers in the art world. Victor was in gem merchandise, while he managed the art side of the business.

 

He reached for his sports jacket and looked out of the office window which overlooked the back of the gallery. A male and a female stood at the back entrance. The door was heavily secured and only ever opened by the security man, Joey Jacobs. He liked Joey. Although he hadn’t been at the gallery that long, he was a hard worker, polite, and Dylan felt he was loyal. Loyalty was important to him.

He checked his Rolex. It was almost six, his usual time for leaving. He liked to be around when the cleaners arrived to start their work at five. Ingrid stayed to supervise them until they finished at eight. Although he had a secretary to support him, he paid Ingrid to oversee the staff, which included the caretakers, reception staff, the security staff and the cleaners.

The gallery had to have security personnel at all times, even overnight. The burglar alarms were part funded by a generous contribution from the insurers. And even though they were as sophisticated as money could buy, there had to be in-house security as well. Joey did the late afternoon and evening shift, and his other security bloke, Robert did the morning shift. He also employed night security men.

You couldn’t be too careful.

He knew only too well the intricacies of security.

He made it his business to.

 

He watched the two people waiting to be let into the gallery, a middle-aged bloke and a young woman. Ingrid had told him earlier a new cleaner would be starting that evening at six, so he deduced this must be her. She wasn’t very old, he knew that from the information had had on her. Twenty-nine, which made her younger than the last girl, but this one was beautiful if her photograph was anything to go by. She had to be easy on the eye; any future plans would only succeed if she was attractive. He’d approved her probation because of her looks, and of course the criminal background.

That was essential.

 

Almost as if she knew she was being watched, the young woman’s eyes drifted up towards his window. As quickly as she saw him, she looked away. No doubt distracted by the door being opened in front of her.

She wouldn’t last long. These prison ones never did. They started out with this positive attitude of not returning to prison . . . they were never going to get on the wrong side of the law again, yet invariably they did. Lawlessness was innate in them, which is precisely why he provided them with an opportunity to at least try and go straight. But if they wished to continue down the deviant path, then they were in the right place.

She disappeared from his view.

It didn’t matter for now. He’d find out from Ingrid what she was like in a week or two.

It was far too early to speculate if she might be useful.