The Ninth Step - John Milton #8 (John Milton Thrillers) by Mark Dawson Page B

were keeping them safe.”
    The taxi picked up speed.
    “Where is he going?” Shepherd said.
    “How long’s it been going on?” Hicks asked, not finished with the subject yet.
    “The thing with Isaacs and the old man?” Shepherd took out his Browning and ejected the magazine. “Years. Once him and the others started paying, anyone who came along and threatened the arrangement had to be dealt with. Isaacs got into trouble on Hampstead Heath. You remember that? It was in the news.”
    “I read about it tonight.”
    “Higgins made the evidence go away. The case collapsed. And then, when it was safe, he offed the man who was making the threats. Made it look like it was suicide. Put yourself in Isaacs’s shoes. How’s he going to feel after that? It must feel like Higgins is his guardian angel.”
    “Even though it’s Higgins who’s threatening him the most.”
    Shepherd laughed bitterly. “I know. It’s Stockholm syndrome. Classic.”
    “How much are they getting?”
    Shepherd used the heel of his palm to drive the magazine back into its slot. “I don’t know. A lot. Isaacs is a millionaire. The other men are richer than he is. They’re golden geese. They have to be looked after.”
    The traffic thinned out now, and Fabian continued to head west.
    “Have you seen it?” Hicks asked. “The evidence?”
    “No.”
    “Where does he keep it?”
    “What is this? Twenty questions?”
    “I’m just curious.”
    “Same place he keeps everything else: he’s got a safe deposit box. God knows what else he has there.”
    Hicks thought back to the drive to Hatton Garden yesterday, the general disappearing into the anonymous building with the imposing security doors.
    He nodded toward the taillights of the black cab. “And this guy? Fabian? He was involved?”
    “You tell me,” Shepherd said. “You went to see Isaacs. What did he say?”
    “Just that Fabian accosted him. Said that he remembered him. Said he remembered being taken to his apartment and abused. Isaacs said that he threatened to go to the papers.”
    “Whatever he said, it wasn’t smart. The old man says he’s involved, he’s involved. The old man says he has to go, he has to go. You don’t ask questions; you just do it.”
    Hicks clenched his jaw.
    “What’s wrong with you now?” Shepherd asked.
    “Nothing.”
    “You know we’re not following him so we can have a little chat, right?”
    Hicks clasped the wheel a little tighter. “It doesn’t bother you?”
    “That he’s got to go?” Shepherd leaned all the way back in his seat and stared out the windscreen. “No, Hicks, it doesn’t bother me. Life can be a real bitch. It’s just tough luck.”
    Their radios crackled into life again. “Woodward to Shepherd.”
    “Shepherd here. Go ahead.”
    “We’re at Hanger Lane underground. We’ll pick him up here. You can drop back.”
    “Affirmative.”
    Hicks saw the circular station building, the illuminated London Underground roundel glowing red and blue. He saw the Maserati pull out of the parking lot of the Crowne Plaza. It accelerated, pulling into the outside lane, and quickly overtook them.
    “Drop back,” Shepherd said.
    “Jesus, Shep, I know.”
    He touched the brakes and reduced his speed to fifty, allowing the black cab to increase the distance between them until they lost sight of it as the road wound its way through Perivale.
    Hicks maintained a steady sixty, his eyes losing their focus as he stared ahead at the red lights of the cars ahead and the glare of the headlamps from those approaching on the other side of the road. He found his thoughts returning to the purpose of the night’s operation. The realisation that he knew John Milton had distracted him from it, but not any longer.
    He didn’t know where Eddie Fabian was going at so late an hour, but he knew that he wouldn’t be returning this way again.

Chapter Sixteen
     
    THEY FOLLOWED the cab west until they were on the outskirts of London. Woodward dropped