The Signal

by John Sneeden

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I may take a rest and then get out on foot later. I want to see where Higgs was killed before I meet with his daughter tonight.”

  “It won’t take you long to find the Shakespeare. I went by myself, and it seems they’ve taken the tape down now.”

  “Good. Would still like to look things over, perhaps even talk to a few people. I’m hoping our friendly pub workers have loose lips.”

  “I’d say a few pounds would probably loosen them up nicely,” replied Nigel with a wink. “By the way, if you need a lift, you know how to contact me.” The Brit lowered his head to look across the square. “Traffic is often a bit troublesome in London, but I’ll never be more than twenty minutes away.”

  When they exited the car, the wind whipped their coats and blew leaves across the square to their right. Nigel opened the hatch and retrieved a small black case from a utility compartment. He glanced around quickly before unzipping Zane’s luggage and slipping the case inside. He then zipped the bag back up and set it on the sidewalk before turning back to Zane. “Monsieur Bergeron, enjoy your stay in London.”

  Zane nodded, and they shook hands.

  After leaving the car, it took him about two minutes to cross the square and walk past the groups of tourists gathered on the sidewalk. An elderly woman looked in his direction and then did a double take. As Zane passed her, the woman nudged her companion and pointed in his direction. The operative smiled as he bounded up the steps and entered the hotel.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  OXFORD STREET WAS one of London’s premier shopping addresses, one and a half miles of fashion boutiques, jewelers, bookstores, luggage retailers, and hair stylists. The street was also known for the perpetual throng of people that lined the sidewalks, both tourists and locals alike.

  After napping for several hours in the hotel, Zane made his way toward the shopping mecca. Upon arriving at Oxford Street, he turned right and melted into the crowd. Pulling out a map he had picked up in the hotel lobby, he played the role of confused tourist, staring at it for a few seconds and then doubling back several times as if lost. Each time he turned around, he carefully checked the crowd for a subtle turn of the eye or a face that appeared more than once. On three occasions, he stood in front of men’s clothing stores, staring at the reflection of passing shoppers.

  Satisfied that he wasn’t being followed, Zane entered a coffee shop near the corner of Oxford and Regent. There was no line, so he immediately approached the pink-haired barista and ordered a latte with a double shot of espresso. He then sought out a window seat and waited for one of London’s famed black cabs to pull up to the intersection. Three minutes later one appeared, and with latte in hand, the operative rushed out and flagged it down.

  Shortly after Zane settled into his seat, the Scottish cabbie began to babble incessantly, something the operative was thankful for because it allowed him to continue to watch for tails. The older Scot pontificated about the deterioration of society, from the disobedient and poorly dressed youth, to the ever-growing state that encouraged laziness and coddled criminals. Every few minutes, he would glance up into the mirror and declare, “It’s a bloody shame, isn’t it?”

  Zane, still playing the role of French Canadian tourist Michel Bergeron, would nod in agreement and lament that the conditions were much the same in Quebec.

  Precisely eleven minutes later, the cabbie turned onto Queen Victoria Street and came to a stop in front of the Shakespeare. Zane handed the man his fare through the opening in the glass and stepped out of the stately black vehicle. As he closed the door, he could still hear the Scot opining on the increase of violence in London ghettos.

  Zane stood for a moment after disembarking, staring at the scene in front of him. The Shakespeare occupied the bottom floor of a narrow, four-story building. There was a small plaza with a few outdoor tables between the front entrance and New Bridge.

  He rubbed his chin lightly. Higgs would have exited the Shakespeare and walked directly past the cluster of tables on his way to hail a cab. It was possible that the assassin had been waiting for Higgs behind the tables, but that wasn’t likely. The killer was a professional, and professionals didn’t linger out in the open. No, it was likely Higgs was followed out of the Shakespeare.

  Zane looked at his watch. Still plenty of time before he had to meet Amanda Higgs. It was time to go inside and speak to another person who might be able to help him: waitress Vanessa Wells.

  *

  The Shakespeare was virtually empty when Zane entered. In a few hours it would be overrun with thirsty Brits, but for now it offered the perfect opportunity to poke around.

  Zane caught the attention of one of the barmen and told him that he was going to take a table in the rear. He also said that he traveled to London frequently and wanted his usual waitress. He clicked his fingers as if he couldn’t remember the name, saying he thought it started with a “V.” The bartender told him that would be Vanessa and that he was in luck, as she had just arrived for her shift.

  Zane took his seat in the back, and a few minutes later he looked up to see an attractive woman walking toward him. Her wavy blond hair was pulled up in a bun, and she was wearing dark-rimmed glasses, presumably there to give her an intellectual flair.

  “Well, hello love. It’s good to see you again.”

  Zane smiled to himself. “Good to see you dear. How are you?”

  “Fantastic,” she replied, blushing as she drew closer and took in his apearance.

  A foot in the door? Zane hoped so. “Are you on the clock?”

  “Technically no. But I’d be more than happy to help one of my regulars.”

  “Well, speaking of which… I have a confession to make.”

  “And what’s that? I love a good confession.” She raised an eyebrow and grabbed his arm playfully.

  “I’ve actually never been here before. I just asked for you because I need your help.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m here for. How can I help you?”

  “I need to ask some questions about what happened the week before… the incident,” Zane said softly.

  Immediately, Vanessa's expression changed to one of discomfort. “I’m very sorry. I’m not supposed to talk about—”

  “I understand,” Zane replied, grabbing her arm reassuringly. “I work for the New York Daily Post back in the States, and we’re doing an article on the murder. I only have a few questions.” He counted out a hundred pounds and placed them in her hand, and she didn't hand them back. The foot was officially in the door. “And if you can help me, I’d be more than happy to double what I just gave you. We always protect our sources, so nothing to worry about there.”

  The money and Zane’s reassurance had their intended effect. Vanessa glanced toward the front to make sure no one was looking and then sat down next to him. Over the next five minutes, she recounted the events that took place the night of the murder. The two men were engaged in deep conversation and only looked up when she came by to check on drinks. At one point Higgs, who Vanessa referred to as the bearded man, put on his coat and left. By her reckoning, it was only about fifteen minutes later that a man came running into the pub, shouting that someone had been shot out on New Bridge Street. She said the place erupted in chaos, with patrons gathering at the front door to watch as the police arrived and secured the scene.

  “Did you know the man who found the body?” Zane asked.

  “No, never seen him before. He was just some random guy out with his mates.”

  “Going back to the two men and their conversation, did you overhear any of it?”

  “Nothing at all. It was so busy in here that night. I’ve been working here almost a year, and I’ve never seen it that crazy before. Everybody was using the snow as an excuse to go on a pub crawl.”

  “Makes sense,” Zane said. Vanessa Wells seemed like an honest girl and had probably given him all the information he was going to get. Unfortunately, it was pretty much the same informati
on that had been passed along by Scotland Yard. “Well, I guess that's all—”

  He was about to get up when Vanessa touched him on the arm. She leaned toward him and whispered softly, “There is one more thing you can put in your little article. The police spent a lot of time asking me about another one of the customers I waited on that night.”

  Zane sat up straight, his internal alarm system going off. “And who was that?”

  “He was sitting right over there,” she said, pointing toward the other end of the room. “All by his self he was. Never spoke and wouldn’t hardly look me in the eye. Not that I wanted him to.”

  “Surely you get people in here like that all the time. Why were the police focused on him?”

  “Well, as I said, things were crazy. But one thing I realized later, when they started asking questions, is that this creep had left about the same time as the man with the beard. Whether it was before or after I don’t know. What I do know is that I was cleaning his table when the man came in screaming about someone being shot.”

  “Did he pay by credit card?”

  Vanessa laughed. “You sound just like that detective I talked to. No, he just left his money on the table and disappeared.”

  “Did the police look at the glass he was drinking out of? He might have left some prints.”

  “They asked me which one it was, but I told them I put the glass down with a bunch of others at the end of the bar. I don’t guess it matters, though. The detective let it slip out that this was a professional killer and likely had gloves on.”

  “Probably so.” Zane sat back for a moment as if lost in thought, and then leaned forward and asked, “What did this man look like?”

  “Scared the devil out of me, he did. Was the meanest looking thing I’d seen in a long time. Never smiled and always looked annoyed when I asked him something.”

  “I mean, what was his appearance?”

  “Very tall, with short, blond hair. I told the cops he looked like he was from up in Norway or Sweden. And even though he had a coat on, he looked like one of those men that would have muscles popping out everywhere.” Vanessa reached over and grabbed Zane’s arm. “But that’s not really what made him stand out. What set him apart was this long scar that ran up the whole side of his face.” She traced her finger up the line of her right jaw and past her eye.

  “Interesting. And you’re sure the scar was on the right side of the face?”

  “Positive.”

  “And did you tell the police about that?”

  “I did,” said Vanessa.

  Zane felt a surge of adrenaline. His gut told him that the man with the scar was the killer. And if he could find him, he might find out who was behind the murder of Ian Higgs.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE WHITEHORSE TAVERN was one of the few central London pubs situated directly on the bank of the Thames. Nestled on the south side of the river near the Millennium Bridge, the building itself was nondescript and contemporary, with large glass windows running the entire length of the exterior.

  Upon arriving, Zane noted that the interior was completely full. One of the servers invited him to take advantage of the outside seating, so he selected a table at the corner of the building, just a few feet away from the river. A large heat lamp stood next to the table and would provide more than enough warmth in the falling temperatures.

  After sitting down, Zane realized the outside location was actually preferable, as it gave him a full view of the interior through the glass windows. Had he been seated inside, there would’ve been too many blind spots for his taste. The outside table also afforded him the opportunity to watch both approaches along the boardwalk.

  Amanda Higgs was not due to arrive for another fifteen minutes, so he ordered a pint of winter ale and used the opportunity to observe the crowd inside. There were probably two dozen people crushed around the bar, and then perhaps that same number sitting at tables. The crowd was mostly young and professional, with a few tourists sprinkled in. Despite the sheer number of revelers, the operative was able to log the faces of almost every patron present. If there were any subsequent arrivals, he would be able to spot them.

  About ten minutes later, just as he was finishing cataloging the people inside, Zane saw a person he believed to be Amanda Higgs approaching from the east along the boardwalk. As she drew closer, Zane realized that her pictures didn’t do her justice. She had long, straight blond hair and big, beautiful blue eyes. She was wearing a stylish black trench coat, skinny jeans, and flats.

  She paused at the entrance to the pub, the look on her face indicating she was a little intimidated by the large crowd inside. Zane stood up and was about to wave to get her attention when she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Immediately, a smile broke over her face as she recognized the operative from the description she had been given.

  “Hi, I’m Amanda Higgs,” she said, extending her hand as she approached. “And you must be—?”

  “Nice to meet you,” Zane interrupted, preventing her from using his name in public. They shook hands, and he gestured across the table. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” She set her purse on the table and scooted her chair closer to the large heat lamp.

  “I apologize for the Arctic seating,” he said. “The inside was a bit crowded.”

  “No, this is fine. There is no way in the world I’d be able to hear you in there anyway.”

  “Are you hard of hearing?”

  “Let’s just say I use my iPod a bit much.”

  Zane was about to speak again when the server appeared at the table and placed a menu in front of Amanda. “Hello there. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

  “Sure,” she said, glancing at the glass of beer in Zane’s hand. “I’ll have a house merlot, please.”

  “Merlot. Fantastic. Coming right up.”

  Zane waited until the server was out of earshot before continuing. “Thanks for coming here to meet with me, Amanda. First of all, I’m so very sorry about your father.”

  “Thanks. It’s tough, you know? Dad was not that old. And what was really tough was that our relationship had gotten so much better recently. We were closer than ever before.”

  “I can’t even imagine the pain you must be in right now.”

  “Well, to be honest I just feel like I’m in a fog right now. It’s been tough, but I haven’t really had time to grieve yet.”

  “Which is totally understandable,” said Zane.

  “Actually, I should thank you. Coming here to help find Dad’s killer is like therapy for me. I’ve never been a wallflower, Mr.—”

  “Call me Zane.”

  “I’m not like most girls… Zane,” she replied, blushing a bit. “I like to fix things. I have my emotional moments like all women do, but if there is a problem out there that needs to be solved, then that’s what I tend to focus on first. Some would say it’s a coping mechanism. I just think it’s a part of my personality.”

  The server arrived and set the glass of merlot on the table. “Will you be eating tonight?”

  “I’m good,” Amanda said. “Just the drink will do for now. Thank you, though.”

  As the server gathered the menus, Zane took another sip of his ale and looked across the river. St. Paul’s Cathedral towered majestically above the surrounding rooftops. Spotlights were trained on the venerable gray dome, making it glow against the backdrop of the night. Zane had forgotten how beautiful London was in the evening.

  After enjoying the view for a moment, he looked over at Amanda. She was staring at her wineglass, probably thinking of her father. He realized he might want to steer the conversation to the issue at hand before she became too stirred with emotion.

  “Amanda, about two years ago your father left his job with the US government to work here in Europe. What did he tell you about that?”

  “Well, unfortunately he didn’t tell me much of anything. And trust me, I tried.” She stopped
staring at her wineglass and looked up at him. “In the end, the only thing he really told me was that the job was going to pay very well and that it would secure both his future and mine.”

  Zane set both elbows on the table and crossed his fingers. “By the way, are you an only child?”

  “Yes, I am. And now my family is pretty much gone. My mother died when I was ten years old.”

  “So sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Cancer is a horrible thing. But you know, I think it made me who I am. Dad tells me I was a shy little girl with a big smile, and then when Mom died, I had to grow up quickly. Some would say too quickly. And then, as time went on, the little shy girl became assertive and independent. I had to.”

  A strange feeling came over Zane, which made him turn his head and look through the glass window of the pub. Almost immediately, his eyes fell on two men he hadn’t seen before. One was bald, and the other had wavy blond hair. Both wore black leather jackets. Zane could have sworn that the bald one glanced in his direction as they made their way through the crowd. He followed them with his eyes as they moved toward the bar.

  “You know?”

  Her voice brought him back to their conversation. He looked at her and nodded his head. “I think you’re right. That will always be a part of your mother’s legacy. Her death played a role in forming who you are today. Maybe this is a stretch, but you might not be one of the best in your field if you hadn’t been shaped by those circumstances.”

  “Exactly,” Amanda said. She smiled at him. “Hardly a day goes by that I don’t thank God for my mother. She planted the seed of my faith… and just like you said, her death seemed to help me mature more quickly than I might have otherwise.”

  Zane stole another quick glance back into the bar. He couldn’t see either of the two men anymore. Either they had moved or had left. He doubted it was the latter.

  “Unfortunately, my mom’s death shaped Dad as well.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Zane.