Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries) by Rosie Claverton Read Free Book Online Page A

Lewis waved at him from his seat, Jason’s mirror in height, build and shaved head. They even shared the same tattoo, a fierce Welsh Dragon curled up on their right shoulders.
    ‘Jay Bird,’ Lewis said, clasping his arm before letting Jason take his seat. ‘How’s tricks?’
    ‘Still walking on the right side,’ Jason said, grinning. ‘Still rotten through and through?’
    ‘Chaplain tells me I’m a reformed sinner.’
    Lewis matched Jason’s broad smile, but he suddenly looked much older, as if a forgotten weight had fallen again on his shoulders. The loss of Lewis’ little brother Damage tormented them both. Jason dealt with it by thinking about it as little as possible, and drinking whisky when he couldn’t bury the pain anymore. Lewis had instead tried to make sense of it as best he could. He’d seen counsellors and men of God, tried meditation and hard work, and shunned anyone in Swansea Prison even remotely connected to drugs. Which didn’t leave him with a lot of friends.
    However, he had started hanging out with a better class of criminal and working towards his transfer to Cardiff Prison. That brought him into contact with exactly the kind of people that Bryn wanted to know about – the fraudsters and smugglers and gentlemen crooks.
    Jason got straight to the point of his visit, respecting Lewis too much to lie about his reasons. Lewis listened attentively but silently, giving nothing away. Jason knew that none of this information was new to him. The prison grapevine often had the details of a police investigation before the papers.
    ‘And the police want to know who might be into a thing like that.’
    Lewis sat back in his chair. ‘Obviously, the blokes I know have been banged up in here this whole time. And I’m not a grass.’
    Jason snorted. ‘I know. You didn’t speak to me for two weeks when I told my mam about what you were growing in the back garden. I’m not asking for names. More like … what kind of blokes are they? Local boys? Out-of-towners?’
    Lewis folded his arms. ‘What’s in it for me, Jay?’
    His mate had always been mercenary. That was how they’d ended up planning a gold exchange robbery and not knocking over the corner shop.
    ‘Bryn’s already writing you a letter for the transfer board. Because he’s a good bloke and I asked him. You know I’ve got nothing else for you.’
    Lewis’ face was impassive, stony. ‘My mam likes One Direction.’
    Jason blinked. ‘Right.’
    ‘There’s a concert coming up. She needs tickets and an escort.’
    Their eyes met. And they burst out laughing, startling everyone else in the room.
    ‘Oi, Jonesy!’ A guard called across the visiting room, a soft face that Jason recognised. ‘You too, Carr. No need to be rowdy now.’
    Jason threw him a sloppy salute before turning back to Lewis.
    ‘Deal. But I’m sending my mam. I love Auntie Elin, but not enough to sit through that shit.’
    Lewis leaned forward, eyes sparking with amusement but voice pitched much lower. ‘The word in here is that the crew can’t be locals – no one round here has the connections or the balls. Something similar went down in Oxford about fifteen years ago, but one of my boys knows the guys what did that and says it’s not them. They wouldn’t have killed the guard, no way. The gangs who are into moving art get into it because they don’t want the hassle of drugs, guns, and girls anymore. And they work big.’
    ‘How big are we talking?’
    ‘Jay, come on. We robbed the gold exchange and that was the crime of the year. These guys just made off with a painting worth millions. One fucking painting! But it’s high risk at both ends, y’know. What if the buyer don’t like it? What if you’re going international and his boys take against your boys? My friends who know about these things tell me it’s all Arabs and Chinamen. Who wants to get involved in that shit?’
    ‘So, they shove it in a suitcase and fly it out to Dubai?’
    Lewis