Ray sighed, and continued to pack his overnight bag. Sharon thought he was going up to Scotland when in truth he wasn’t going to leave the county of Essex. But she didn’t have to know that, did she? If she guessed the truth, she would be wishing it had all been as simple as another woman. The truth, he had found, did not necessarily set you free. The truth at times could make a prisoner of people.

He walked slowly down to the kitchen with his bag deliberately unzipped as if he had nothing to hide. Which, of course, he didn’t. Not where the bag was concerned, anyway.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Three

Jimmy Carter and Jason Palmer were two friends who were as close as they were dangerous. Ray had met them during his stint inside and they had immediately recognised a kindred spirit. Both large men, they were also quiet, close-mouthed and trustworthy. These were the main reasons that Ray had recruited them to work for him on his special jobs. Another was that he genuinely liked them. The Two Js, as they were known in the nick, wouldn’t give their names unless they had to. It was apt. They were so very tight with information, especially anything personal. Someone had once said that to Ray and he thought it summed them up perfectly. Though they were hard, they were not affiliated to anyone, and they took jobs on doors and did a bit of collecting as well.

Thanks to Ray, they now had a very lucrative sideline. It was well-paid work and it suited their personalities. They planned each job meticulously as no one could know they were involved. The Two Js loved the element of danger involved and thrived on it. Now, they sat in a white Transit van and waited patiently for their quarry to arrive.

George Thomas was a fool. He was what was known as a creature of habit, and that meant they could watch and wait and plan in peace. Every Monday night, while his wife was at her mother’s, he visited a little bird on the Thamesmead Estate. He arrived just before seven in the evening and he left just after midnight. He always parked his car well away from the little lady’s block of flats, and he walked back to his car sure in the knowledge he was George Thomas and as safe as houses.

The blow to the back of his head brought him to his knees and the injection in his neck knocked him flat out. He was in the back of the transit within seconds and, just minutes later, was trussed up like the proverbial kipper. All in all a good night’s work for the Two Js, who were sensible enough not to spark up a big fat joint until they were well out of London.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four