[b]Earlsfield 2:52 PM[/b] Lucy’s slight shoulders rocked back and forward rhythmically as she sobbed. She had broken in seconds. Coach could tell from the moment he saw her that she wasn’t part of his world – and she certainly wasn’t the type to aid and abet a rat like Freddy Reams. Once Lucy got to talking the details came pouring out of her one after another for the best part of twenty minutes. Freddy’s girl Debbie had borrowed her car the night before the job. It was sloppy, completely unlike Reams, which meant that it was either a last minute job on Reams’ part or the girl was cutting corners. Coach would put his money on the second option. The sobbing continued. Then came explanation after explanation. Anderson had lent Debbie the car on a half dozen or so occasions but had no idea what she’d been doing. For what it was worth Coach believed her – and even went so much as to offer Lucy a conciliatory hug to stop the worst of the crying. “There there,” Coach said as he patted Anderson on the back comfortingly. “You weren’t to know what was going on.” Anderson drew back and looked at “Fenwick” with teary eyes. “You’re not going to arrest me, are you?” It occured to Coach suddenly that the poor girl had presumed he was police. He’d get a laugh out of that for a couple of weeks. It had to be the moustache, he thought, with a self-deprecating smile. “No, Lucy, I’m not going to arrest you.” The door from the kitchen opened and Lucy’s grandmother Nancy returned with a plate of sandwiches. Coach accepted them gratefully and the old woman returned to the kitchen to make some tea. Crowder looked through the stack of sandwiches, selecting a ham and cheese one from among them. He scoffed at it greedily. “Next time your grandmother tells you something you listen to her, alright? That club’s no place for a girl like you. It’ll eat you up eventually just like it did your mate Debbie – and then there’ll be no coming back for you.” Lucy nodded guilty as she wiped her red eyes. “I understand.” Coach swallowed the last of the sandwich and then produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He plucked a pencil from the table next to him and pushed both in Lucy’s direction. “Now I need you to write down the name of the place Debbie’s been taking her punters.” Lucy stared down at the paper with the pencil in her hand. There was a worried look on her face, as if she feared what fate would befall her friend Debbie if she divulged the address, but Coach gave her a reassuring pat on the knee. She steeled herself and wrote down the address and handed the sheet of paper back. Coach looked down at the address and then smiled approvingly at Anderson. “That’s a good girl.” The door to the kitchen again opened and this time Coach shot to his feet. He apologised to Nancy for not being able to stay longer and plucked some notes from his wallet. He thrust them into Lucy’s hands and laid a supportive hand on her shoulder as he left them there. He felt lousy about the rouse – lousier still that it would take all of thirty seconds before it fell through once he’d gone – but it had got him what he needed. He had Freddy in his sights. The thought of getting his hands on Freddy got him to Chiswick in record time despite Yorkie’s struggling motor almost giving out on him halfway there. Finucci’s was the best Italian restaurant in West London. It was almost always deserted. They had met there to plan to the Loomis job three years ago. Bobby was puffing on a cigarette in a corner booth. “Sorry I’m late, Bobby, but I think you’ll agree it was worth the wait.” Coach reached into his pocket and produced the address that Lucy had written down for him. He offered it towards Bobby who unfolded it and squinted at the writing. A frown appeared on the Pole’s face. “What’s this?” “I tracked down Freddy’s motor – turns out it belonged to a colleague of the blonde bird in the driver’s seat. You’ll never guess where she worked?” Bobby shrugged. “The Playboy Club,” Coach said with a grin. Bobby looked at him without a glimmer of recognition. “Come off it,” Coach protested. “You must have heard of the Playboy Club? It only opened up this time last year, for christ’s sake. It’s the one with the girls in the bunny costumes. You know the one.” Still nothing from Lewandowski. “Well fuck me then,” Coach said with a disappointed shake of the head. “The blonde’s name is Debbie. Turns out she uses her job at the club to moonlight as a prozzie. When she’s almost skint she borrows her poor old mate Lucy’s burgundy coupe to take clients to a flat in Putney.” The young Pole’s eyes widened with shock. “Freddy knows about this business?” “Fuck if I know,” Coach shrugged. “But it’s the closest thing we’ve got to a lead on either one of them at the moment.” Bobby nodded in agreement. “Charlie is after the diamonds, looking for buyers. We’ll see where this address of yours takes us.” With that Lewandowski rose from his seat and brushed past Coach. The taxi driver let out a heavy sigh, as if the strain of the past thirty-six hours had began to wear on him, and then reached over and grabbed a couple of breadsticks from a jar on the table. He followed after the Pole, nodding in old man Finucci’s direction as they left the restaurant and climbed in Yorkie’s car. Next stop: Putney.