The shop was small but beautifully furnished. It had the appearance of a consulting room as there were no gems on display, but each of the two magnificent carved walnut desks carried a brochure showing exquisite jewellery. Abasi Nour was a neat Egyptian man with a pencil moustache and a linen suit which was unsuited to the weather. He rose from his chair as Bob entered the shop, having been buzzed in through the security door.

“Mr Josh, how nice to see you again,” the shop owner said cheerily as he greeted the tall moustached man with the unconvincing toupee. His own hair was dyed jet black and carefully styled to cover his whole head.

The two men sat down and Bob handed over his business card. It read “Josh Hammond, Senior Loss Analyst.”

“Mr Nour, as you know this first transaction....”

Mr Nour held up his hand to stop Bob speaking. “Halima, could you leave us please?” The spectacularly attractive olive skinned girl at the other desk rose, smiled and exited through the door at the back of the shop.

“Sorry, Mr Josh, but we cannot be too careful. Now, you were saying.”

“Mr Nour, this is the first bonus payment of the year. There is another due later in the year, which will be a little larger, I hope. And I would like to do the same again if this transaction is beneficial.”

“Yes, indeed, London City bonuses are both legendary and generous to humble merchants like myself.”

“Shall we get on?” Bob prompted. “The money has been transferred.”

“Yes, sir, I will just confirm.” The Egyptian pressed a button on his phone and waited. After a moment he spoke a few sentences in Arabic before switching to English. “Asif, I am so distressed to disturb you on this special day but can you confirm that the funds are cleared to my account as agreed?” He listened to the reply for a moment and then bade his bank manager farewell in Arabic.

“My bank manager is sitting at home with his laptop and has confirmed payment, so we may now proceed.”

Abasi Noor opened a secret drawer in his desk by sliding back an intricately carved panel. He reached in a brought out a velvet pouch.

“As you requested, I have purchased only the very best round diamonds from Antwerp. These are all classified as colourless category D, or what we call best blue white. They are also internally flawless, they are extraordinarily rare. They have been cut for maximum brilliance, not for maximum carat size. But as you will see they are all large diamonds. You may not know that a diamond that is twice the size of another is usually almost three times more expensive. Please, take a look.”

Even under the harsh fluorescent lighting the diamonds looked magnificent. Bob had acquired them to sell on, but he was reconsidering now that he had been besotted by their beauty.

“I have the invoice from Antwerp. Losi Van Serck cut these diamonds personally as a favour to me and the certificate attached to the invoice shows the quality, cut and carat.”

Bob looked at the invoice made out to Mr Nour. The Egyptian had paid two hundred and twenty five thousand pounds for the jewels, making an easy mark up. Usually he would have to integrate the diamonds into a unique designer gold necklace to achieve a mark up like that. But Bob was happy. These diamonds could be transported anywhere in the world and were ready to be traded.

A few minutes later Bob was walking along Greville Street in the direction of the Farringdon Tube Station, sending the last text on the “Josh Phone” before discarding it. After a short tube journey to Kings Cross, where he removed the glasses, moustache, hairpiece and garish City boy’s tie in the gentlemen’s toilets, Bob hailed a taxi and headed back to his hotel for a celebratory lunch.

Chapter 17

City of London Police HQ, Wood St, London. Friday, Noon.

Dee was chatting and joking to try to distract me, but it wasn’t working. It had been over half an hour since the money was transmitted, and all we had seen or heard was Boniface taking an urgent call. He had yelled “How did that happen?” and stormed out of the office without another word.

I had a horrible feeling that my money was gone forever. My phone was still in the dock and it buzzed again. I read the message aloud.

“Thanks Josh,

That was easy. Perhaps I didn’t ask for enough. Next time I’ll be more realistic. You’ll be hearing from me again.

Bob”

I put my head in my hands. Dee put her hand on my back.

“He’s winding you up, Josh, now that he’s got what he wanted. In any case, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s apprehended over the weekend. This is a murder investigation now.”

What Dee said made sense, but I wasn’t convinced. I was still pondering her remark when Boniface appeared, his face like thunder. He spoke calmly despite his agitated appearance.

“Josh, first of all let me assure you that your money is safe. We are tracking it, but we have a problem. The account we sent your money to is held at the Sharia Islamic Bank of Arabia close to Regents Park. Unfortunately we can’t raise them on the telephone to find out the customer’s details because it’s Friday and the Bank is closed for the Muslim weekend. It’s also Ramadan, and so getting hold of people at home is going to be tricky, as the London Central Mosque has a variety of activities going on today.”

I wondered whether Bob had done this deliberately, or whether he was just a lucky son of a bitch.

The day meandered on at a snail’s pace. The police were as frustrated as I was. Bob was still their best suspect for a double murder, after all. Tracking my money seemed the best way to track the man. The IT guys had pinged his mobile phone several times without success. I had a sneaking feeling that we would find it in the hands of a homeless man sometime next week.

The good thing was that the money had not moved and so, theoretically, I still had my quarter of a million pounds. It was almost two o’clock when Inspector Boniface’s phone rang again. Before the caller was put through, Boniface put the call on conference and began recording it. He held his finger to his lips as an instruction to us to keep quiet.

“Inspector Boniface speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hello, my name is Asif Al Maheel. I am the manager of the Regents Park Branch of the Sharia Islamic Bank of Arabia. You have been leaving messages for me.”

“Thanks for calling back, Mr Al Maheel. First of all, let me apologise for interrupting your weekend. I wouldn’t have done so if this was not an urgent matter. If it is at all possible I need you to go to the bank and check whose account had two hundred and fifty thousand pounds paid into it at noon today.”

“Oh, I don’t need to go to the bank for that information; I was expecting a payment of that amount by noon today from a Mr Josh Hammond. It arrived on time and I called my customer to inform him so. But I am afraid I cannot disclose his details without a very good reason, or maybe a warrant. I would have to speak to our legal department on Sunday.”

“Mr Al Maheel, we don’t have time to wait until Sunday, I’m afraid. We are hot on the trail of a double murderer, and your customer may be in danger.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. “Inspector, please, I hope you are being honest with me. In good faith I will give you his name, but on the condition you do not involve the bank.”

“I can assure you, we just want to speak to your customer. We are happy that the bank is not involved.”

The speakerphone chirped again.

“My customer, and my friend, is the owner of Nour Jewellery Design of Hatton Garden.”

“Will he be at his premises today? I believe it is the Sabbath?”

“Oh, yes. Abasi is not the good Muslim that he might be. Please call me if you have any problems. I am at your service, Inspector. Goodbye.”