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  ‘I would lose so much more than that,’ said Lynn, squeezing his hand.

  Grove smiled as the maid opened the door for him. ‘Goodbye, honey,’ he whispered.

  ‘Goodbye, Dr Grove,’ Lynn said, for the last time.

  She ran back up the stairs and into the bedroom to find Arthur, cigar in one hand and an empty glass in the other, watching The Johnny Carson Show. Once she’d poured him a second whisky, Lynn sat down by his side. Arthur had almost fallen asleep when Carson bade goodnight to his thirty million viewers with the familiar words, ‘See you all at the same time tomorrow.’ Lynn turned off the TV, deftly removed the half-smoked cigar from Arthur’s fingers and placed it in an ashtray on the side table, then switched off the light by his bed.

  ‘I’m still awake,’ said Arthur.

  ‘I know you are,’ said Lynn. She bent down and kissed him on the forehead before slipping an arm under the sheet. She didn’t comment when a stray hand moved slowly up the inside of her leg. She stopped when she heard the familiar sigh, that moments later was followed by steady breathing. She removed her hand from under the sheet and strolled into the bathroom, wondering how many more times she would have to . . .

  Sadly, the children arrived home just a few hours after Arthur passed away peacefully in his sleep.

  Mr Haskins removed the half-moon spectacles from the end of his nose, put down the will and looked across his desk at his two clients.

  ‘So all I get,’ said Chester Sommerfield, not attempting to hide his anger, ‘is a silver-handled cane, while Joni ends up with just a picture of Dad taken when he was a freshman at Princeton?’

  ‘While all his other worldly goods,’ confirmed Mr Haskins, ‘are bequeathed to a Miss Lynn Beattie.’

  ‘And what the hell has she done to deserve that?’ demanded Joni.

  ‘To quote the will,’ said Haskins, looking back down at it, ‘she has acted as “my devoted nurse and close companion”.’

  ‘Are there no loopholes for us to exploit?’ asked Chester.

  ‘That’s most unlikely,’ said Haskins, ‘because, with the exception of one paragraph, I drew up the will myself.’

  ‘But that one paragraph changes the whole outcome of the will,’ said Joni. ‘Surely we should take this woman to court. Any jury will see that she is nothing more than a fraudster who tricked my father into signing a new will only days after you had amended the old one for him.’

  ‘You may well be right,’ said Haskins, ‘but, given the circumstances, I couldn’t advise you to contest the validity of the will.’

  ‘But your firm’s investigators have come up with irrefutable evidence that Ms Beattie was nothing more than a common prostitute,’ said Chester, ‘and her nursing qualifications were almost certainly exaggerated. Once the court learns the truth, surely our claim will be upheld.’

  ‘In normal circumstances I would agree with you, Chester, but these are not normal circumstances. As I have said, I could not advise you to take her on.’

  ‘But why not?’ came back Joni. ‘At the very least we could show that my father wasn’t in his right mind when he signed the will.’

  ‘I’m afraid we’d be laughed out of court,’ said Haskins, ‘when the other side points out that the will was witnessed by a highly respected doctor who was at your father’s bedside right up until the day he died.’

  ‘I’d still be willing to risk it,’ said Chester. ‘Just look at it from her perspective. She’s a penniless whore who has recently been dismissed from her job without a reference, and she sure won’t want her past activities aired in court and then reported on the early evening news followed by the front page of every morning paper.’

  ‘You may well be right,’ said Haskins. ‘But it’s still my duty as a lawyer to inform my clients when I believe their case cannot be won.’

  ‘But you can’t be worried about taking on Kullick in court,’ said Chester. ‘After all, you didn’t even think he was good enough to be a partner in your firm.’

  Haskins raised an eyebrow. ‘That may well be the case, but it wouldn’t be Mr Kullick I would be up against.’ He replaced his half-moon spectacles on the end of his nose and once again picked up the will, then turned over several pages before identifying the relevant clause. He looked solemnly at his clients before he began to read.

  ‘“I also bequeath ten million dollars to my alma mater, Princeton University; five million dollars to the Veterans Association of America; five million dollars to the Conference of Presidents, to assist their work in Israel; five million dollars to the Republican Party, which I have supported all my life; and finally five million dollars to the National Rifle Association, the aims of which I approve, and which I have always supported.”’

  The old lawyer looked up. ‘I should point out to you both that none of these bequests was in your father’s original will,’ he said, before adding, ‘and although I am in no doubt that we could beat Mr Kullick if he was our only opponent, I can assure you that we would have little chance of defeating five of the largest and most prestigious law firms in the land. Between them they would have bled you dry long before the case came to court. I fear I can only recommend that you settle for a cane with a silver handle and a photograph of your father at Princeton.’

  ‘While she walks away with a cool seventy million dollars,’ said Joni.

  ‘Having sacrificed thirty million to ensure she would never have to appear in court,’ said Haskins as he placed the will back on his desk. ‘Clever woman, Ms Lynn Beattie, and that wasn’t even her real name.’

  DOUBLE-CROSS*

  6

  THE JUDGE LOOKED DOWN at the defendant and frowned.

  ‘Kevin Bryant, you have been found guilty of armed robbery. A crime you clearly planned with considerable skill and ingenuity. During your trial it has become clear that you knew exactly when to carry out the attack upon your chosen victim, Mr Neville Abbott, a respected diamond merchant from Hatton Garden. You held up the security guard at his workshop with a shotgun, and forced him to open the strongroom where Mr Abbott was showing a dealer from Holland a consignment of uncut diamonds he had recently purchased from South Africa for just over ten million pounds.

  ‘Thanks to outstanding police work, you were arrested within days, although the diamonds have never been found. During the seven months you have spent in custody you have been given every opportunity to reveal the whereabouts of the diamonds, but you have chosen not to do so.

  ‘Taking that fact, as well as your past record, into consideration, I am left with no choice but to sentence you to twelve years in prison. However, Mr Bryant, I would consider a reduction to your sentence if at any time you should change your mind and decide to inform the police where the diamonds are. Take the prisoner down.’

  Detective Inspector Matthews frowned as he watched Bryant being led down to the cells before being shipped off to Belmarsh prison. As a policeman, you’re meant to feel a certain professional pride, almost pleasure, when you’ve been responsible for banging up a career criminal, but this time Matthews felt no such pride, and wouldn’t until he got his hands on those diamonds. He was convinced Bryant hadn’t had enough time to sell them on and must have hidden them somewhere.

  Detective Inspector Matthews had attempted to make a deal with Bryant on more than one occasion. He even offered to downgrade his charge to aggravated burglary, which carries a far shorter sentence, but only if he pleaded guilty and told him where the diamonds were. But Bryant always gave the same reply: ‘I’ll do my bird, guv.’

  If Bryant wasn’t willing to make a deal with him, Matthews knew someone doing time in the same prison who was.

  Benny Friedman, known to his fellow inmates as Benny the Fence, was serving a six-year sentence for handling stolen goods. A burglar would bring him the gear and Benny would pay him 20 per cent of its value in cash, then sell it on to a middle man for about 50 per cent, walking away with a handsome profit.

  From time to time Benny got caught and had to spe