“Good Lord, is he?” Patrick glanced towards the ceiling and lowered his voice. “Go on.”
Joe sat down next to Patrick with his tea. He took a steadying mouthful before replying. “Zak turned up the worse for wear. I wanted to turn him away, but Peanut was too scared of Zak to let me send him packing. So I went back to bed. I heard a cry from Peanut’s bedroom, and when I went in, Peanut had been injured.” Joe pointed to his shoulder. “He’s got a cut from where he fell against something when Zak slapped him across the face. I could see a red mark on Peanut’s cheek. It was at that point that I told Zak to leave.”
“The poor devil.” He shook his head, his face darkening. “And will he make a complaint?”
Joe shook his head. “Not yet. You know how it is. Sometimes people are too scared to report it. But the aggression I saw in Zak—drug-fuelled, I might add—shocked me. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if those comments online, and the firework, and the hanged head—I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re driven by the exact same aggression as I saw last night. He’s a bully. He enjoys terrifying Peanut.”
“And how go things from the other side? I’m well aware you weren’t particularly enthused about remaining with Peanut.” Patrick took a sip of tea. “Has life become any easier or does he continue to be a challenge?”
Joe thought of Alejandro’s toes, rippling in delight as he stroked his foot. “Oh, yeah, we have a kind of…entente. Peanut’s accepted that he’s not safe from Leviticus, so he’s grudging but glad that I’m here now.”
“While we’re alone…” Patrick’s voice dropped to a hush. “What do you make of his lifestyle? He’s a risk-taker, yes? Bit of a loose cannon? Just how out of control is our young Peanut?”
“He’s not that out of control at all. He’s creative, a free spirit, but I wouldn’t say he’s wild or anything like that,” Joe said. “Even his drag alter ego, Paloma Picante, which we somehow missed, isn’t cause for concern at all. Peanut’s an accomplished performer, and I suppose you’ll have heard that Dreadnought’s asked him to perform at some charity do? In drag!”
“It’s all very brave new royal.” Patrick laughed gently, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “The Diana effect, though you’re too youthful to recall all that. What a business. Not often one finds oneself so affected but that was a tough one. I was on her team, you know, before all that bother. I wasn’t old as Methuselah then, of course.”
A sprightly young Patrick, who walked unaided. Joe’s glance fell to the stick, and he felt a pang of guilt. Patrick had been covering for Joe that day. It could’ve been Joe who was blown up into the air by the bomb. As it was, Joe had had his close encounter with a mad fan of Spanish film. It was almost evened out, even if Joe had no visible scars. And no stick.
“I think Peanut’s struggled a bit to fit in, you know, but when I was at Pineapple’s party the other night, they all loved him.” Joe took a sip of his tea. “I’m glad they’re not a stuffy old lot these days. Imagine if we’d had to babysit Queen Victoria!”
“Even I’m not quite that old!” The commander laughed, his attention going to the doorway a moment before Alejandro appeared, now without a wig to comb. “Here’s our young gentleman, all in one piece thanks to the sergeant.”
“All one gorgeous piece,” Alejandro agreed. He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of orange juice. “Have you told the boss all about last night?”
“Yes, I have,” Joe said. “I’ve told him you don’t want to report it just yet. But now you know, Commander, is there enough for Mr Smythe-Unwin to be put under surveillance?”
“We have to tread very carefully in these enlightened times,” Patrick replied. “Mr Fuente, would you join us?”
Alejandro did so without complaint, bringing the bottle with him as he settled into the seat beside Joe.
“If you’re able, I’d like to talk to you a little more about your friend. Some details might seem a little invasive but I can assure you that they’re necessary.” As he spoke, Patrick glanced to Joe as though seeking his confirmation for Alejandro. “We need to build up a picture of Mr Smythe-Unwin. Is that all right?”
For long, silent seconds Alejandro said nothing. Then, finally, he nodded.
Joe gave Alejandro an encouraging smile. Under the table, he rested his foot against his, unable to make any show of affection that Patrick might spot. He felt Alejandro’s toes move, stroking gently.
Patrick had been in this world longer than Joe could imagine, but watching him tease the facts of the sorry relationship from Alejandro was a masterclass in gentle persuasion. The pace was slow, the questions sometimes deceptively anodyne but bit by bit Alejandro extended his confidence to the commander. Some of it at least, for of the blackmail video there was no mention. Violence, it seemed, was simply part of the relationship between Zak and his lover but still Joe got the impression that there were occasional details that he was editing out of the narrative. Chief among them was the coercion he had hinted at the previous evening.
‘Zak wanted a blow job.’ The thought of him demanding that from Alejandro threatened to reawaken Joe’s anger, but instead he composed himself, a picture of professionalism in the face of the commander.
Eventually it seemed as though the revelations were done and Patrick nodded, as fatherly now as he had been on those hospital visits. Strange to think only a dozen years or so separated him from Joe.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully. “I can’t tell you how to conduct your personal affairs, Mr Fuente, but I can tell you that Mr Smythe-Unwin certainly merits further consideration from my side. If you were my boy, I’d hope you might reconsider the relationship. In fact, I’d hope you’d reconsider any further involvement with him at all, but in the meantime, let me put your mind at ease. The house is impregnable. We have our finest people on this case and in Sergeant Wenlock, you’ve my finest man. I’d trust him with my own life.”
“Thanks, Commander. That means a lot.” Joe’s smile disappeared almost at once, as The Flight of the Bumblebee played from his phone.
Chapter Thirteen
Joe declined the call, but it rang again. Wendy was in a persistent mood, as usual, it seemed.
“Sorry, I should take this. Won’t be long.” Joe went into the lounge, closing the door behind him. “Wendy? Sorry, I’ve got to be quick.”
“Someone’s been in the house.” Her voice was filled with panic. “I don’t know—overnight, I was away.”
Joe was used to other people being the victim of crime, and he was the one who swung in to save the day. What sort of person broke into a copper’s house? “Burgled? Shit, have they taken anything? You’re at home now?”
Leviticus. Leviticus did this.
“That’s the thing”—she took a ragged breath—“I don’t think they’ve done anything, but they’ve been in!”
Joe slid easily into his training. “Okay, Wendy, nice and calm, can you tell me why you think someone’s been in? Did they break the lock?”
“The alarm was going off for starters and nobody bothered to actually call it in,” Wendy told him. “God knows what time. They’ve smashed through the French windows into the orangery.”
“Have you called the police? Other than me, that is?” Joe ran upstairs to his room and grabbed his overcoat. “And don’t touch anything! Don’t get the Hoover out or anything.”
“I’m not a bloody idiot,” she snapped. “Of course I’ve called the police. I went straight— I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“As soon as I can get cover, I’ll come over.” Joe was back downstairs again, heading into the kitchen. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
His commander and his principal were still at the table, chatting surprisingly amiably. Both looked up as he entered, each as intrigued as the other.
“There’s been a break-in. At home. Commander, can we get someone to cover me for a few hours? I don’t want Wendy to have to deal with this alone.” Joe glanced at Alejandro. He didn’t want to leave his side
, but what choice did he have?
Alejandro’s eyes grew saucer-like and he started from his seat. Patrick stood too, already telling him, “I’ll stay here, Joe. Do you need anything? Take my car, of course.”
“Thank you, sir. I think I’ll only need your car. Are you sure you can—” Joe forced himself not to look at Patrick’s stick. “I can wait until another officer’s able to come.”
“Not out to pasture just yet, Sergeant.” He patted Joe’s shoulder. “Give Wendy my best. Now get along home.”
“Goodbye, Commander. Mr Fuente.” Joe couldn’t say anything more to Alejandro with Patrick there. So he turned and left.
* * * *
Two police cars were parked in the driveway when Joe arrived home. He showed his warrant card to the uniformed officers and went inside.
“Wendy?” he called. “You okay?”
She emerged from their gleaming kitchen, Barnaby close behind. “Fine. Nothing’s been taken, the alarm must’ve frightened them off.”
Joe nodded to Barnaby. Konichiwa, Barnaby-san. But Joe wasn’t going to say that out loud.
“Let’s hope so.” Joe glanced around the pristine walls of their home. The paintings and mirrors on the walls weren’t even wonky. Joe wandered into the lounge. Their enormous flatscreen television was unscathed, although how a thief could nick it without a forklift truck, Joe didn’t know. So maybe it hadn’t been Leviticus at all. Just coincidence. A failed burglary.
But when Joe scanned the room, he finally saw it.
“Our wedding photo! What’s happened to it?” Joe headed across the room to the side table next to the fireplace. It wasn’t the thin layer of dust that Joe was concerned about, but the broken glass and the shoe.
Joe got as near as he could without touching it. Paloma’s shoe, the snapped heel smashed through the glass.
How had Wendy not noticed?
“What about the pho—” That was enough to silence even Wendy as she came to stand beside him. “What the hell is that? That’s not one of mine!”
“No, it’s not.” Joe couldn’t remember ever seeing Wendy wearing heels like that.
Standing side by side with Wendy as they stared at the smashed photo, they were a parody of the happy couple smiling back through the bullseye of smashed glass. Joe had been happy that day, determined to make a go of their marriage despite every reservation he had.
He looked over his shoulder at Barnaby. “Can you grab one of those officers, Barnaby? We need to get this bagged up.”
“Will do,” Barnaby called. Joe watched him go, thin as a whip, a mop of blond hair atop his head. He wouldn’t have thought he was Wendy’s type but then, he didn’t really know what Wendy’s type was. Ambitious, probably. As the thought entered his head she turned, fixing him with a shrewd look.
“Do you know what I think’s really odd?”
It was nasty and personal, and if he hadn’t already thought that Leviticus was Zak, then this would’ve suggested it. Revenge for Joe dangling him out of the window. But that much was confidential and Joe couldn’t tell her. So he shrugged. “No?”
“You haven’t asked me where I was last night.”
“I thought you were working. Or out with friends? Or let’s address the elephant in the room, Wendy. I’m not going to get angry, because if you’re set on going to Japan, our marriage, well, it’s not what it was.” Joe combed his hand through his hair, then held Wendy’s gaze, waiting for her reaction. “Were you with Barnaby?”
“Barnaby?” She was looking at him with utter incredulity. “Where did you get Barnaby from in all this? Bloody hell, Joe, really? He’s a good friend and a hell of a lawyer but… God, that’d be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.”
“My copper instincts tell me that he likes you, though!” Joe whispered. “Sorry. He was at lunch the other day, he gets here before I do, anyone might assume… Sorry.”
But there’s definitely someone.
“Anyone might assume that we’re professional colleagues going into partnership and we’re working closely to make that partnership a world-beater.” She nudged Joe as the police officers entered, nodding him through to the kitchen. “That shoe has a suspiciously drag queen look to it, Joe. Either that or you’ve pissed someone off from the Moulin Rouge. Any chance your little princess has been in here? Have you upset it?”
It.
“Mr Fuente wouldn’t come here. He wouldn’t do something like that. But I have my suspicions who it might have been.” Joe took out his phone. “I’ll have to ring Commander Holloway and let him know. Can I go upstairs? I need to do this in private.”
“It’s your house too, Joe, you don’t have to ask.” She turned as though to leave, then spun back on her own far more sensible heel. “Look, we need to get us sorted once and for all, I know. But…just so we’re on the same page, it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just what happened.”
Joe ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. “So… There’s someone else, isn’t there? Just so I know. I won’t be angry, I won’t dangle him, or her, even, out of a window. But please just tell me, Wendy.”
“There’s been a couple of people.” Her gaze fell away from his, settling somewhere on the carpet between them. “Long term—Japan—whatever isn’t over will have to be over then, won’t it?”
‘A couple of people.’ That stolen kiss with Paloma didn’t seem like such a betrayal after all.
“We never see much of each other. I’m not surprised you’ve… I’m sorry I’ve been a pretty crap husband to you.” Joe rested his hand on her shoulder. “I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.”
“I really do wish you the best, Joe, you know?” Wendy smiled. A little weakly perhaps, but a smile. “I suspect somewhere there’s just the right person for you, but she’s not me, is she?”
“And I’m not the right man for you, am I?” Joe dropped his hand. “Right, better ring the commander.”
“When you do…” She brushed her fingers against his sleeve. “Will you ask him if I’m all right? I want to be sure I’m safe, Joe, I don’t have any operatives looking out for me.”
“Of course I’ll ask. Don’t worry. Our marriage hasn’t worked out, but I won’t see you put in danger, Wends. I promise.”
She nodded and took a step backwards, towards the shoe and the police and a life without him in it. “Go and ring the boss.”
Joe headed upstairs, to the bedroom he hadn’t seen much of as he’d been so frequently sent to sleep on the sofa. But he still felt sad. Five years of trying and pretending, and she’d been seeing other men. If only she’d said. If only he’d known that she had been that unhappy, he would’ve suggested a divorce a while ago. Or would he have done?
No, because their marriage was a comfort blanket that he hadn’t wanted to lose because it disguised who he really was. And now that he wasn’t afraid anymore of accepting himself, divorce didn’t frighten him anymore.
Joe shut the bedroom door behind him and perched on the edge of the antique blanket box. He dialled Patrick’s number but it went straight through to voicemail.
“Patrick, it’s really important that I speak to you. I think this burglary was Leviticus’ work. I’m going to keep trying to get hold of you.”
Joe retrieved his large suitcase from the spare room and opened the wardrobe, deciding what to take with him as he called Patrick again.
He got the voicemail once more, so he sent a text. Then he heaved shoes and shirts, tops and jumpers, and a small bear who he’d had since he was a week old into his suitcase. And tried to ring Patrick for a third time.
When it went through to voicemail again, Joe grabbed all of his suits hanging in their bags in the wardrobe, and put them in a pile. His tux was among them somewhere. Divorce, or burglary, or whatever beset him next, Joe would need that tux for the party at Windsor.
Joe tried Alejandro’s number. He’d left the two men in the same room. If Patrick wouldn’t answer, then Alejandro surely would.
B
ut when Alejandro’s phone went straight to voicemail too, Joe began to panic.
Don’t overreact, Sergeant Wenlock!
Joe zipped up his suitcase and headed downstairs. He piled up his luggage and was about to ring Control when heard the sound of urgent knocking on the front door and the driver’s voice calling, “Sergeant Wenlock, sir!”
His heart pounding, Joe wrenched the door open. “What is it?”
“If you’ll come with me, sir.” The driver was already walking down their broad drive, past Wendy’s silver soft-top Mercedes, between the neatly trimmed lawns. He opened the boot of Patrick’s car for the luggage and urged, “Quickly, please.”
Joe grabbed everything he needed and darted out of the house after the driver. Without any effort, he lifted the luggage into the boot and sprinted for the passenger seat. Once he’d got his seatbelt on, he asked, “What’s happened?”
“There’s been an incident at your ops centre.” From somewhere the sounds of police sirens sounded and the car pulled out of the driveway, flanked by two police motorcycles that had seemingly appeared out of the ether.
“What sort of incident? I can’t get hold of Commander Holloway. Or my principal. What’s happened?”
Visions of Zak forcing himself into Alejandro’s house revisited Joe. What had he done, shoved a firework around the edge of the door?
No, you’re overreacting, calm down.
But that bastard, that shit, that red-faced coke-headed prick had broken into Joe’s house. He was going to—
“Are they okay? Are Holloway and Peanut okay?”
“Commander Holloway’s on the speaker, sir, I’ll connect you.” A screen of smoky glass hummed up to close the space between the rear seat and the front and Joe heard the faint click of a phone before Patrick’s voice could be heard.
“Joe, where are you?”
“In the car, on the way back to Highgate. What’s happened, sir?”
“You’re on your way to the Greenhouse.” He heard a burst of sirens behind Patrick too, travelling at great speed. Something serious had happened, he was sure of it. “Peanut’s fine. I’ll see you there.”
The Reluctant Royal Page 18