Exhilaration soared. She suddenly felt free, as free as if she had escaped from prison. I’ll never have to go back into that crummy office again. She looked up at the sky. It was a cloudless blue. In rhythm to her steps she started singing the Cream song, I feel free, boom boom boom baboom boom, I feel free boom boom boom baboom boom. Light sparkled on the water below. New and old beckoned on the other side. Southwark Cathedral's spire nestled beside glass towers. Cardinal’s Wharf waited in her path – Shakespeare's globe beside it.
A woman passed with a baby in a sling. Runners jogged, by wearing shorts of every colour – pink, orange and violet. She smiled to herself. How she loved this ridiculous young city, full of zest and energy. She envied their fixed path, settled destination.
Where to go, what to do now? With no deadlines looming, she felt lost, adrift. On impulse, she slipped down a stone stairway onto the muddy foreshore below, a private world, secluded alone. She could see mudlarks scouring the bank opposite for trinkets and treasures.
I need time and space to think. She propped her back against the sea wall, stretched out her legs dead straight and closed her eyes. Instantaneously, a vision of the repugnant Hopkins floated into her mind. She didn't banish him immediately, but concentrated on her intense loathing, then breathed long and deep.
So he’s gone, she clicked her fingers.
The warmth of the sun revived her, as she reran the scene with Ludgate. It was true she didn't need the Square Mile, she could find work elsewhere. But the media was full of charlatans and dictators. She would be foolish to burn her bridges with Andrew. He was straight and he was fair – a good friend to her on numerous occasions.
We’ll patch it up, we always have, she thought. He’ll be under pressure to produce the best coverage. I probably pushed him too far.
She took out the pictures Cody gave her. No doubt at all. The broad sneering face was He Len. What was he up to? She replaced the photographs in the envelope.
Leaning back against the wall, her thoughts drifted to Cody and his discoveries about the Trust. This could be the story to win back Ludgate's confidence. It was the sort he liked. So far they had it to themselves, but it would need tricky handling. The authorities should be informed. Julia needed to think carefully about who to report their discoveries to. Ultimately the Charities Commission, but if it was straightforward theft, it was a police matter. Or should she and Cody continue their own digging until they had the whole story complete?
She would call Pitcher. Annoying though he could be, she would trust him any day over the Charities Commission. She could speak to one of her tame lawyers, but they were all so straight, they would insist on reporting it immediately.
That’ll blow the whole thing, she thought. In a strange way, she and Pitcher saw eye to eye. He respected the fact she had a job to do, a living to earn. He was often only too happy to let her do the spade work, when it came to white collar crime.
Suddenly, the air chilled and she shivered. She opened one eye gingerly to see why the sun had gone in. It hadn't. A dark silhouette was standing blocking its fiery beams.
“Thought you looked lonely down here,” said a voice she vaguely recognised but couldn't quite place. “And in need of refreshment.”
As both eyes focused she realised it was Ziggy, the Ambassador's nephew, holding two ice-creams.
“PEACEFUL DOWN there?” he said, handing her a cornet. “One of my favourite places to escape. Can I join you?”
She licked the melting ice cream. She liked Ziggy, but as the Ambassador's nephew, he couldn't be taken at face value.
“Did you enjoy the entertainment the other evening?” he sat beside her on the sand.
“The music and dancing were wonderful.”
“I meant the finale. The students storming the barricades, priceless.”
Julia gave him a sideward’s glance. Can he be for real, she wondered.
“To be brutally honest, I couldn't see what was going on. The whole thing was over in a minute.” There was something about him she didn't quite trust. “Was the muscle the Embassy's security? They seemed pretty efficient.”
“What can I say?” he evaded her question. “China's hierarchy is multifarious and its practices complex.”
“So I’m learning – the inscrutability of the East.”
“All societies have their secrets and...” he hesitated, “discombobulations.”
“I'm not sure what that means.”
“I thought you were the journalist.”
Julia laughed. “Secret societies eh? Does that mean Triads? Are they discombobulating in London?”
“These are interesting questions,” Ziggy licked his fingers, ice cream melting down the cone.
“Are they of interest to the Embassy?” Julia persisted. “Were those security men connected to a Triad?”
“Do you expect me to answer that question, even if I could?”
She shrugged, her mouth full of wafer.
“It takes a lifetime for a European to understand the Chinese perspective.”
“Try me,” she said, wiping her sticky fingers on her trousers.
“China is a very ancient civilization, and our history flows with rivers of blood. Dynasties which survived endless civil wars and rebellions did so by force. Order, civilisation if you like, could only be maintained through violence. Crime was brutally punished. The smallest crime attracted barbaric retribution, not just against the perpetrator, but his family and even his whole village or town. This is our way. Our people know this.”
“Poor excuse. We were monsters in the middle ages. This is the 21st century.”
“And now you are all heavenly choirs of angels.”
“Hardly. You haven’t answered my question about the Triads. I thought they’d been stamped out.”
He laughed, eyes dancing. “This is heavy stuff before lunch. All I wanted was a peaceful break from the class room in the sun, not an interrogation about the crimes of my predecessors.”
“The Triads. You must know,” she pressed.
“As do you or you wouldn't be asking.”
“They’re alive and well in London?”
“If you say so.”
“Any guests at the embassy Triad members?”
“What do you think?”
“What about that chap I was sitting next too...He Len wasn't it?”
His playful expression vanished, and his eyes darkened. “Let me give you a friendly warning. I’d stay well away from him if I were you. Not a man to menace with. I think we should change the subject.”
“You can trust me. I’ve never disclosed a confidence or let a contact down.”
“Silence of the confessional eh?”
“Something like that.”
Ziggy hesitated, then lowered his voice. “You can find speculation in some press, that the Chinese Government uses friendly Triads to do its dirty work.”
“I thought the People's Republic hated the Triads.”
“Times are changing. China's breakneck economic growth has brought forgiveness to some hearts. Criminals have malleable loyalties – allegiances are shifting.”
“Hong Kong?”
“There’s a feeling – since the British left – Triads have not been as toughly controlled.”
“Maybe the People's Republic of China wants a private army on the ground?”
Ziggy stretched his lips into a thin smile.
“And you, Ziggy, what brought you to London?”
“I thought you knew. I came as a child. My family traces its history through the diplomatic corp.”
“You went to school in the UK?”
“In Marylebone, yes.”
“So you’re very pro British.”
Ziggy climbed to his feet.
“I wouldn't jump to too many conclusions if I were you.”
Julia also stood and they both walked towards the steps.
“Thing I can't work out is, where you sit with all this?”
Ziggy
laughed that warm, infectious laugh.
“Why, I’m the Ambassador's nephew and China is my home.”
CHAPTER 28
AT THE TOP of the river steps, they said goodbye, exchanging a vague promise to meet for lunch when a gap appeared in the diary. Another empty promise, Julia thought, as she walked along the South Bank back to the office, puzzling over Ziggy’s surprise appearance. Was it really a coincidence?
Cody's face lit up when she entered the office. “Didn't think you’d be back so soon.”
“I got the sack,” she pulled a face, sitting behind her desk. “Could murder a coffee.”
To his credit he stood ready for the coffee run. “Black as usual?” he asked, heading down to Mr Bardetti’s.
“Yes please.”
“Anything to eat?”
“Maybe a wrap.” At the thought of food, she realised the ice-cream was all she had eaten that day.
She watched him go, then sat with her head in her hands.
What a mess, she thought. Total financial fiasco, a charity scandal, and now Triads in London involving brutes like He Len.
“Better get cracking,” she tapped the desk with her index finger.
She reached for her phone to call Pitcher, when it began to ring. She answered.
“Julia, it’s Alek Yazov here,” said a voice at the other end. “We’ve met a couple of times. Do you remember me?”
Oh yes, I remember you. “How can I help Alek?”
“I’ve got a cracking story for you.”
Pull the other one, she thought. “OK let’s hear it.”
She knew the Russian earned a crust from his Embassy touting stories damaging to the UK.
“Gold reserves in the Bank of England. Gone. Empty tomb. Government’s sold them to China to fund the banking bailout. Britain’s bankrupt,” he began.
“That’s 400,000 bars, worth £200 billion?”
“Brilliant, isn’t it?”
“How d’you know this?”
“Saw the army moving it out at 1am this morning. Tip from one of my deep contacts. Turned up to see what was going on.”
“Well, it’s very kind of you to think of me, but I’m not sure it’s one for us. Crime’s not really our thing. Thank you anyway. Feel free to try elsewhere.”
She replaced the receiver as Cody entered with two coffees and wraps. He raised questioning eyebrows.
“Russian nutter. Master of Soviet misinformation,” Julia shook her head. “Claims we’re bankrupt – all the gold in the vault at the Bank of England gone. We’ve sold it to the Chinese.”
“Wow, that’s a big story,” Cody leaned across to hand her a coffee.
“It would be if there was a shred of truth. Alek is always ringing with barking leads. Likes to hint he has contacts with the KGB – or whatever they’re called these days. Decent broker, until he was sacked for manipulating prices by Goldmans. Found guilty at Southwark Crown Court and served a couple of years. Now dabbles in Kremlin black arts.”
“Nice chap. So we’re not bankrupt?”
“Oh yes, we’re bust – or we will be when all this is over. They’ll shake the magic money tree, push our debts from one Government spreadsheet to another −but we’ll still have gold in the Bank.”
“Shouldn’t I call the Bank of England?”
“By all means check if you’re worried. Here, call Sue Evans. Mention my name.” She threw a card across the table. “I must call Pitcher.” She dialled his number.
“I need to see you,” she said.
“Ah, it’s Lois Lane. You seem to forget, my little noodle, I work for Our Majesty's Government. Not only is my time not my own, it sure as hell, ain't yours.”
“What if I ask nicely? Darling, handsome, clever, dapper, intelligent Inspector –”
“Better. Keep going.”
This was too much for Julia.
“Oh shut up,” she said. “You’re infuriating. When can we meet?”
“Tut-tut. We’re tetchy today. Pressure getting to you, Lights-out? Little birdy told me you've been having troubles with the boss. One problem I don't have.”
“I know. Being the boss. Lucky you. And stop teasing me about my name.”
His voice turned serious. “Truth is I’m incredibly busy. Ever heard of the River Ching?”
“Can't say I have. Where is it? China? Vietnam? Thailand?”
“No, but I’ve got a call to make this afternoon. Want to come? You can run whatever’s bothering you by me on the journey.”
“Can I bring Cody? It’s time you two met properly.”
“Sure. It’ll be great to have someone intelligent to talk to.”
Julia stuck her tongue out at the phone and replaced the receiver. Cody was also hanging up.
“Spoke to your pal – she nearly died laughing,” he grinned across at Julia.
“Nothing in it?”
“Nothing in it.”
“Good, but journalism rule...what are we up to now?”
“Honestly I’ve lost count. Maybe four.”
“OK Rule Number Four – check out every lead, no matter how bonkers. Fancy a ride with Chief Inspector Pitcher?”
Cody’s face lit up. “When?”
“About 20 minutes.”
THEY WERE WAITING outside the Deli when Pitcher pulled up in an unmarked car, driving himself. Julia got in beside him, Cody climbed in the back.
“Pleased to meet you Cody,” Chief Inspector Pitcher said, putting the car into gear. He pulled away smoothly, turning towards Rotherhithe tunnel.
“Bridge due up,” Pitcher said. Tower Bridge was raised half-a-dozen or so times a day to let tall ships through.
“What’s it like working for Lois Lane here?”
“Don’t answer that,” Julia said. Cody sniggered. Once through the tunnel, Pitcher steered onto the East India Dock Road. Before long they were cruising past Canary Wharf.
Rear view of our financial metropolis – considerably less impressive than the magnificent water approach, Julia thought.
“So you fancy a future in the media?” Pitcher asked Cody over his shoulder.
“It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Where are we going?” Julia asked.
“Magical mystery tour,” Pitcher turned to her, grinning.
“Spare me please. Not a tour of all your old Essex haunts, I hope?”
“My scenes of romantic conquests?”
“What conquests? Your love life is like a diary with all the pages torn out.”
“No dates, ha ha. Cody if you ever tire of working for this comedian, we’re always looking for bright young Londoners at the Met.”
Pitcher picked up speed as they raced down the dual carriageway for about 20 minutes. Julia fiddled with the radio to tune into the midday news. Nothing new, just a rehash of earlier bulletins. Pitcher switched it off, and took an exit. Soon they were driving through suburbia.
“We’re heading for Chigwell – a Girl Guide camp. I was called to a murder there a few nights ago. I should warn you, this is gruesome stuff. It’ll be a big story when it breaks though.”
He swung off the road, and steered down a lane, until they arrived at the campsite. He pulled into a long drive, careered a bit further, took the car out of gear, and silenced the engine.
“Everything you’ll see today is...”
“Off the record?” Julia nodded.
“Absolutely.”
They got out the car. Pitcher waved at a middle-aged woman in Guiding uniform walking in their direction.
“Hello Mrs Cadbury,” he greeted her. “Thanks for allowing me back to inspect the site. This is a colleague from the press and her assistant. Is it convenient for us to walk down to the woods again?”
“We’re not keen on publicity.” Mrs Cadbury’s forehead wrinkled into a worried brow. “Must think of the safety of the girls.”
Julia stretched her lips into what she hoped was a winning smile. “Good to meet you Mrs Cadbury. Please rest assured, we
’d never do anything to jeopardise their safety. In fact, this is way outside our remit. I write about economics. I needed to speak with the Chief Inspector about another matter, and he asked us to accompany him.”
“If the Chief Inspector is happy...” Mrs Cadbury relaxed her frown. “Come on then.”
They set off down the drive, shoes crunching the gravel. Mrs Cadbury asked Julia if she had ever been a Girl Guide. She responded in the negative.
“Shame,” said Pitcher, grinning. “She might’ve learnt something useful.”
Julia pulled a face.
“And she would’ve looked so cute in uniform.”
“Chief Inspector, I think that is quite enough.”
Julia was beginning to like Mrs Cadbury, even if the whole scene smacked of Enid Blyton.
“You’re right, and I apologise, Mrs Cadbury,” he straightened his face. “You’ve all suffered a terrible shock. Can you bear to go through it with me again?”
Mrs Cadbury took a deep breath and, as they emerged from the path into the huge camping field, she began. “It was the last night of camp, and the Panda Patrol, who largely come from Stratford, were celebrating with a midnight feast,” she raised her eyes to heaven. “Innocent enough. They got over-excited. One of them, Grace, felt sick. She left the tent with her friend Lily, for some fresh air.”
“They didn’t go far?” Pitcher asked.
“Not at first. Grace was very sick, and couldn’t face getting back into the tent. They should’ve called us, but they didn’t.”
“Mrs Cadbury, had you or any of the staff or campers noticed anything out of the ordinary during the day?”
“Nothing.”
“That night, did you hear anything?”
“Again nothing I’m afraid. Grace and Lily wandered down to the trees,” she pointed ahead of them. “Then on to a stream. The girls knew this was out of bounds. One of them could’ve fallen, then heaven knows what might have happened.”
“Full moon that night,” Pitcher reminded her. “Very bright, so the girls could see relatively clearly?”
“Yes. That’s correct, Chief Inspector. But it was dark in the copse. They decided to race back to the tent, and ended up on different paths.”
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