“One might do the strangest things whilst under the influence,” the commander pointed out. “Time will no doubt tell. There’s been a marked increase in the online material as a result of last night’s show though. Some of it very positive, some of it Outraged of Milton Keynes and some of it likely our man—or woman. We’ve had those comments removed but they’re on the system. There’s been an escalation in language, Joe, and clear threats.”
He picked up the tablet and tapped his way through a few screens before he held it out to Joe.
“This was on Twitter just after midnight, a newly created account with the same gibberish as a username. Our pal Leviticus again, of course. It’s one of fifty of so messages that appeared overnight on social media or comment sites, all proving so far untrackable.”
Whatever it wears, it’ll still bleed red when I cut it.
Bile rose in Joe’s throat. And, of course, the userpic was the out-of-the-box egg, because whoever was writing these things wasn’t brave enough to show their own face. Joe shook his head. “It? Whoever this is needs help. Dehumanising people like that. It’s revolting.”
“It’s not the most unique pseudonym either.” He took a sip of tea. “You’d be surprised how many innocent Levitici there are scattered around the internet. We have to tread carefully—we don’t want to give this one publicity and kick off copycats.”
“Do they get equally angry with people who wear mixed fibres and eat shellfish?” Joe sighed. “Yeah, we don’t want copycats. One is bad enough. And no closer to tracking them down.”
“The social media networks have been very responsive to catching the comments, but one or two are getting into the wild.” Patrick’s phone rang again and, with a tut of annoyance, he snatched up the receiver. As he listened his eyes grew wide and he looked to Joe. Something’s happened. “Send it over. His CPO’s here with me now.”
Joe’s heart leapt with a jolt of panic. Alejandro was safe in the palace at the moment, unless he was going to shimmy down a drainpipe and run off from there too. But Joe didn’t like this at all.
“Patrick?”
“Leviticus has sent a film of the firework incident to the BBC.” His tone was urgent and he took the familiar laptop from his desk. “So far the media have agreed to keep a lid on all this—safety first, you see—but it’s going to be too juicy for them to resist if all this keeps up. A bloody film, I ask you!”
His fingers moved swiftly over the keys and he turned the laptop so both men could see it. The film had been shot on a mobile and in the darkness, lit only by gentle Highgate streetlamps. The quality was poor, but good enough to see. Joe saw the gaggle of youths in the corner of the frame, saw the service car sitting at the kerb. Then he saw himself climb out. How had he managed to get his shoulders through the door? They looked enormous on the screen.
Concentrate, Sergeant Wenlock!
Then out came Paloma, elegant and lovely, and Joe leaned his elbow on the desk, cupping the bottom half of his face in his hand to hide any stray reactions. Paloma put her hand on Joe’s arm and he could see the pair of them talking as they went to the front door. He saw the moment when he peeled Paloma’s hand from his arm, but he kept his eyes on the screen, even though he wondered what Patrick would make of it.
It’s just Alejandro, he likes to tease.
They were talking by the door, and Joe wished they’d gone indoors at once. What had possessed him to stay outside for so long? Go in, go in, go in, you pair of fools, go in!
He saw a grin on his face, then seconds later, a flash of light that bleached out the whole screen for several seconds and the film ended. Joe remembered his dive to the floor with Paloma in his arms, his every thought for her safety.
Joe stroked his lapel, removing an imaginary speck of dust. “No different to the CCTV, then.”
“The difference is,” Patrick replayed the video as he spoke, “the firework was launched from very close to the phone that filmed this. This video was taken by Leviticus, Joe.”
“So it was Leviticus who fired the rocket.” Joe banged his fist down on the desk, making Patrick’s teacup rattle against its saucer. “He was so near to him. If I’d been doing my job properly, I would’ve seen him. I could’ve reached through his bloody car window and grabbed him by the throat and shaken the bastard!”
“I’ve been to the house enough times, that road’s always nose to tail,” Patrick soothed. “We can’t drag everyone we see sitting in a car out of the window and frisk them. I’ll increase security on the house itself and I don’t want you to let Peanut out of your sight. If this continues, Joe, we may need to arm you. I don’t like it, but there it is.”
Joe’d had a Glock hidden inside his jacket before, but he was never comfortable about being armed. He didn’t want to be the one to shoot first, because he couldn’t bear the thought of initiating a bloodbath.
“Right. I’ll carry PAVA spray for now. You know how I feel about guns, though,” Joe said, worried that he would lose face in front of Patrick. “Or a Taser. To be honest, I’d enjoy using one on Leviticus.”
“None of us want to carry firearms, Joe, but we’ve all had to do it.” He closed the laptop. “Go on down to level two, pick up the PAVA and I’ll clear you for a Taser. Let’s leave the guns in the gun lockers for now, eh?”
“Definitely.” Joe looked at his watch as he pushed back his chair. “Lunch date with the wife now. It’s not easy keeping a marriage going and being away from home. And having fireworks blasted at you.”
“I envy you that. Hard-working wife, keeping the home fires burning.” Patrick smiled. “And clearly Peanut is fond of you too, if rather hands-on. Relationship building is the key to being a good CPO, Joe, and you’re just the sort of fellow who knows how to do it.”
Joe shook his head. “I just wish to God I’d got him through the front door quicker. But hindsight’s a wonderful thing, of course. I’ll see you, Patrick. Commander Holloway.” Formal now, Joe stood to attention.
“Leviticus’ days are numbered.” Patrick stood and held out his hand. “Count on it.”
Joe shook Patrick’s hand. “Certainly are if I’ve got anything to do with it.”
Chapter Nine
Even though Joe wasn’t in the Firehouse as Sergeant Wenlock, CPO, he couldn’t turn off his watchfulness. Peanut might be safe within Buckingham Palace, with soldiers marching back and forth all day outside the front door, but Joe was re-entering the venue where Paloma had performed. There was a strong chance that Leviticus might be drawn to the place, and Joe really didn’t relish having to dive to the floor twice in under twenty-four hours.
Joe went up to the maître d’ near the door. He stood at an angle, so he could keep an eye on the street behind him.
“I’m here to meet Wendy Clarke. I assume she’s booked a table?”
“Of course, sir, follow me.” The maître d’ turned away and led him across the restaurant, past elegant diners, under low lights and through hushed conversations. It was so different to last night. Boring, almost.
And Wendy wasn’t alone, Joe realised as he saw her blonde bob. She was sitting with her back to him, straight-backed in a grey suit, and opposite her was Barnaby.
Barnaby of the Tokyo merger.
So much for a lunch date with his wife.
Joe leaned over her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “Wendy, hi.” Then he sat down, stuck between Wendy and her colleague. “Barnaby. Didn’t realise you’d be joining us?”
“We have some good news.” Wendy looked first at Barnaby, then back at Joe. “It’s taken months of very delicate work and some rather careful greasing of palms, but Clarke, Jolliffe and Kumar are finally in a position to expand into Japan, and we have a client list straining at the leash already!”
“So I’m gatecrashing your celebratory lunch?” Joe said. For all that their marriage was a disaster, he was pleased for Wendy. “That’s brilliant. And, Barnaby, isn’t it your brainchild?”
“For my sins.” He nodd
ed, blushing.
“Which is why Clarke Kumar is now Clarke, Jolliffe and Kumar,” Wendy announced. “As of an hour or so ago. Barnaby has earned a celebratory drink but he won’t be staying. This is our romantic dinner, after all. Besides, we’ll be throwing a proper bash for the firm this weekend.”
“I’m… I don’t know what to say! I’m really impressed.” Joe took the menu. Before looking at it, he asked, “So you’ll have to go to Japan at some point?”
“We’ll talk about that over dinner.” Ominous. A waiter appeared at their table, saving anyone from making any further conversation as he opened a bottle of champagne and poured three glasses. Wendy took up her glass and raised it. “Here’s to conquering Japan!”
Joe raised his glass too, but he glanced from Wendy to Barnaby as he did so. “I didn’t get to see much of Japan when I went on that flying visit with you-know-who. But it’s an interesting place.”
“Well, you’re the talk of the internet,” Wendy laughed. He was clearly forgiven then, because how could a man as straight as Joe possibly find anything arousing about the presence of a drag queen in his lap? “The queen’s grandson is a drag queen? Honestly? I wonder what Philip makes of it!”
“He was in the Navy. I’m sure he’s used to the sight of a man in a dress,” Joe quipped. He of course couldn’t reveal that at this very moment, Alejandro was visiting his step-grandparents. The subject of his drag career was probably high on the agenda.
“How does he…” Barnaby pointed downwards. “Where does it go?”
“His…?” Joe looked down the menu. Suddenly the sausage didn’t seem very appealing. “You don’t mean… I haven’t asked him, to be honest! None of my business.”
“He looked cosy on your knee last night!” Wendy laughed then screwed up her face. “I don’t know, it seems a bit— He’s royal. I bet you hated him perching on you, Joe!”
Joe laid the menu aside. “It’s just a bit of fun! He’s such a good performer. You’d love it if you saw him. The audience loved it, men and women! He did all these Bond theme songs. Such a diva—like his mum!”
“I just can’t get past the whole…” Barnaby lowered his voice, “penis thing. We’ve all thrown on a dress for rag week but it seems odd. To look so feminine, I mean. And to put it somewhere.”
Joe, in the middle of sipping his champagne, nearly swallowed it the wrong way. He raised an eyebrow at Barnaby. Discussing his principal’s genitalia over lunch didn’t sit well with Joe. “Well, I suppose he has some way of…dealing with that side of thing. He wears a corset and padding too. I’m just amazed by his makeup. I barely recognise him as Paloma. The transformation is just… Wow!”
And that was an understatement.
And might just possibly have sounded a bit camp.
“Wow!” Wendy mimicked, dropping her wrist limply. “I shouldn’t do that, you know I’m only teasing. We had the longest morning waiting to hear what Tokyo thought though so… Well, we couldn’t stand doing nothing.”
“Don’t ever Google tucking,” Barnaby warned. “Or do, but not over morning bagels.”
Joe had heard of the term, but what drag queens chose to do with their bodies was really none of his business. “Why were you Googling tucking over breakfast, Barnaby?”
“Because you had a drag queen on your knee!” Wendy hooted, her wrist still limp. “And I’m not quite sure I agree with men dressing up as women for a tawdry laugh. It doesn’t sit well with me.”
That limp wrist.
One of the reasons he’d grown up scared to come out was down to stupid stereotypes like that. Joe had some more champagne. He wasn’t meant to be drinking, but it’d been a while, and he wasn’t on duty at the moment. He’d be sober by the time he picked up Alejandro. “It’s not a tawdry laugh, though. Paloma Picante is fantastic. Such a great voice. And in a way, the whole drag thing takes the pee of gender roles anyway. Of men and women.”
“It’s a bit Widow Twankey,” she informed him. “Does he really think he can be a better woman than an actual woman? Are we failing at being women so much that we need a man to step in and tell us how to do it? Odd though, because while that fake woman’s sitting on your knee trilling love songs, I’m opening a new law office in Tokyo.”
“Bang on,” said Barnaby. “And without a single sequin.”
“But it’s an art form, practised by a man who grew up on film sets, with a famous movie star mum. He’s grown up seeing people around him transform themselves with costumes and make-up.” Joe began to regret the champagne, but he wasn’t going to sit there listening to Wendy and Barnaby insult Alejandro. “We’re all dressing up all the time. Look at me in this suit. It’s like a CPO costume. Wendy in your grey suit and your hair that looks like a helmet. You deliberately look like that so that everyone knows you’re a hard-edged solicitor. And Barnaby in his tailor-made togs, he’s saying, I’m a solicitor and an English gent. Drag’s just sort of…exaggerating it. It doesn’t take away from what any of us do. I mean, everyone expects me to go about looking macho, and there’s drag kings who do a much better job of it than me. And with more convincing facial hair too!”
But her face was stone. “A helmet?”
Whoops.
Joe reached out and gingerly patted Wendy’s hair. It was crisp with product. He could hear Alejandro tutting in horror. “Yeah. You know. Like armour. Don’t mess with Wendy Clarke!”
“Right.” She looked at Barnaby. “We’ll celebrate later, Barnaby, I think Joe and I need to be alone.”
“Right-o!” He stood, beaming afresh. “See you this afternoon, partner! Enjoy lunch, Joe.”
Not much chance of that.
“I’m certain I will,” Joe said through gritted teeth. “Bye, Barnaby! And congrats again on the Japan thing.”
He passed the waiter as he left, but at least ordering lunch brought more time before the storm.
And Leviticus could be here with us.
Joe scanned the room. Was anyone paying him undue attention? Not really. Everyone was getting on with their lunch. Joe returned to the menu and made his choice. “There’s a teriyaki dish on the menu. I’ll have that, Wens, to celebrate your Japanese news.”
“I’ll have the same,” she decided. Only when the waiter had departed did she say, “Japan’s a long way from London.”
“Definitely is. I felt like I was on that plane for ages when I flew out there!” Joe rested his hand on Wendy’s. She smiled, looking down at their joined hands.
“I’ll need to spend a lot of time out there.”
“I bet you will!” So was this the chat that Wendy wanted to have? “That’s what FaceTime was invented for.”
“Our marriage hasn’t been working for a long time, Joe. I couldn’t go after—what happened. But I wanted to. A friend talked me out of it.” She lifted her gaze to him again. “Do you want us to work?”
“Do you?” Joe held her gaze. He wasn’t going to shoulder the entire blame for their marriage ending. He was married to a solicitor, after all. He might end up with less than nothing if she could prove their marriage’s failure was all down to him. Besides, being married to Wendy was a useful way to hide. But that didn’t wash, did it? Because what had he decided only the other day? That he was going to ask Alejandro if he knew Paloma. And as it turned out, he knew him only too well. “Do you, Wendy? If it took a friend to talk you out of leaving me, instead of…instead of you actually wanting us to stay together, then…I dunno. Is there an us?”
“Come to Japan, Joe. In Japan there could be.” She held his gaze, waiting. “We could at least try.”
The champagne in his stomach seemed to curdle. “You mean, move to Japan? I don’t know any Japanese, other than sumimasen and konichiwa.”
“Do you want to know if there’s someone else?”
Jesus. Do I?
Joe lowered his voice. “Is this really the place to talk about our marriage? You want me to give everything up, give up the job I’m actually pretty bloody good at, move
to the other side of the world with you after you said months ago that you wanted us to split up, then—then—you’re wondering if I’m sat here trying to decide if you’re having an affair? Isn’t that a bit late?”
Overwhelmed with bitterness, Joe watched the bubbles in his champagne rush to surface and vanish. “Why, are you having an affair, Wendy? With wonder boy Barnaby?”
“Your precious job nearly killed you.” She just looked at him, impassive, as though they were discussing carpets or curtains. “There’d be nobody else in Japan, Joe.”
Joe picked up his fork, poking at the weave of his napkin with the prongs without looking at Wendy. “But there is here, is that it?”
“Come with me, Joe.” She reached out and closed her hand over his. “This job isn’t for you anymore.”
Joe laid down the fork and stared at their hands. Wasn’t that more or less what he’d told Patrick? That he wasn’t well enough, shouldn’t be back at work yet. Were his shortcomings only down to him still finding his feet after months recuperating, or was Wendy right? Was it time for him to do something else?
But what?
And what the hell would he do in Japan?
“I can’t imagine myself doing anything else. I don’t want to go to Japan.”
“I make your salary in a few months.” She squeezed his hand. “And now I’m going to be a very wealthy woman with this new office. Joe, I’m going to Japan. Are you coming with me?”
‘There’d be nobody else in Japan.’
“So I’d be some sort of house-husband?” Joe snatched his hand away from under hers. “You’re my wife. I-I’m surprised. Don’t couples normally discuss this sort of thing, before signing up to it? Well, you’ve just sort of decided that you’re going there. I had no idea this was even on the cards.”
Joe thought of Alejandro in his bright-red tartan suit. He thought of Paloma sitting on his knee. He thought of the Greenhouse and his workmates. He thought of everything that he would lose if he said yes. It was too much. Far too much to give up for Wendy, who only a few months before had wanted to end their marriage. “I would never ask you to give up your career for me, or your friends, or anything else. Wendy, I don’t want to leave.”
The Reluctant Royal Page 12