Read Online Stranded by Val McDermid - Free Book Online Page A

you in all them American self-help books in the prison library. You want to be successful, then hang out with successful people and do what they do. Only, of course, anybody who’s banged up is, by definition, not half as fucking successful as they should be.
    Anyway, I watched and listened and learned and I made some good mates that first time inside. And when I came out, I was ready for bigger and better things. Back then, banks and Post Offices were still a nice little earner. They hadn’t learned about shatterproof glass and grilles and all that bollocks. You just ran in, waved a shooter around, jumped the counter and cleaned the place out. You could be in and out in five minutes, with enough in your sports bag to see you clear for the next few months.
    I loved it.
    It was a clean way to earn a living. Well, mostly it was. OK, a couple of times we ran into one of them have-a-go heroes. You’d think it was their money, honest to God you would. Now, I’ve always believed you should be able to do a job, in and out, and nobody gets hurt. But if some dickhead is standing between me and the out, and it’s me or him, I’m not going to stand there and ask him politely to move aside, am I? No, fuck it, you’ve got to show him who’s in charge. One shot into the ceiling, and if he’s still standing there, well, it’s his own fault, isn’t it? You’ve got to be professional, haven’t you? You’ve got to show you mean business.
    And I must have been good at it, because I only ever got a tug the once, and they couldn’t pin a thing on me. Yeah, OK, I did end up doing a three stretch around about then, but that was for what you might call extra-curricular activities. When I found out Johnny the Hat was giving one to my brother’s wife, well, I had to make an example of him, didn’t I? I mean, family’s family. She might be a slag and a dog, but anybody that thinks they can fuck with my family is going to find out different. You’d think Johnny would have had the sense not to tell the Dibble who put him in the hospital, but some people haven’t got the brains they were born with. They had him in witness protection before the trial, but of course all that ended after I went down. And when I was getting through my three with visits from the family, I had the satisfaction of knowing that Johnny’s family were visiting his grave. Like I say, families have got to stick together.
    By the time I got out, things had changed. The banks and building societies had wised up and sharpened up their act and the only people trying to rob them were amateurs and fucking eejits.
    Luckily, I’d met Tommy inside. Honest to God, it was like it was written in the fucking stars. I knew all about robbing and burgling, and Tommy knew all there was to know about antiques. What he also knew was that half the museums and stately homes of England – not to mention our neighbours in Europe – had alarm systems that were an embarrassment.
    I put together a dream team, and Tommy set up the fencing operation, and we were in business. We raped so many private collections I lost count. The MO was simple. We’d spend the summer on research trips. We’d case each place once. Then we’d go back three weeks later to case it again, leaving enough time for the security vids to be wiped of our previous visit. We’d figure out the weak points and draw up the plans. Then we’d wait till the winter, when most of them were closed up for the season, with nothing more than a skeleton staff.
    We’d pick a cold, wet, miserable night, preferably with a bit of wind. That way, any noise we made got swallowed up in the weather. Then we’d go in, seven-pound sledges straight through the vulnerable door or window, straight to the cabinets that held the stuff we’d identified as worth nicking. Here’s a tip, by the way. Even if they’ve got toughened glass in