Paul had seldom been to the Serpentine Gallery. Fortunately, it was near the route to his meeting with Richard and Ken. Paul considered phoning them about his last-minute stop on the way but decided he could share what he found when they met.
Chapter Eleven
Serpentine Gallery
Paul found the curved benches easily enough. They formed an open semi-circle backing onto a shoulder-high hedge. The promised note or package was not evident. He sat on the middle bench, searching beneath with his fingers. His hand touched a firmly attached object. He bent down to have a look.
Paul heard a loud ‘crack’. A woman screamed. He recognized the sound, a shot from a high-powered rifle.
He heard another ‘crack’, and more screams. The bench shuddered.
Paul saw a woman standing on the other side of a nearby tree rigid with terror. She was staring at an overturned pram, ten feet away. She kept screaming, “My baby! Oh my baby!”
Paul ran to the woman. He pulled both her and the pram behind the tree. A baby was wailing. It was tangled in a pile of pale blue blankets. Paul handed the infant to the woman, gesturing for her to sit with her back pressed to the tree. The young woman held the baby tightly to her chest, trying to muffle her own cries while soothing the child’s screams.
Paul noticed the handle of the pram was damaged. He assumed a bullet was responsible and most likely had been intended for him.
Looks like Ahmed was right about those syndicate bastards! he thought.
He shuddered at the baby’s brush with danger. He looked carefully at the clothes the baby and the woman were wearing. No sign of injury at first. He spotted blood... one of the woman’s hands was bleeding.
Paul stood protectively over the trembling woman and waved his worn briefcase out from behind the tree, testing whether the shooter would take another shot. Nothing. Satisfied the shooter probably was long gone he poked his body quickly out and back, just to be sure. Again, no response.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he said to the woman, wrapping her left hand with his clean white handkerchief. Blood had stained her white blouse and peach colored skirt. Paul guessed that a fragment from the bullet that hit the pram had creased the back of her hand.
“I... I don’t think so,” she said, wiping her eyes again. “What happened?”
Paul wrapped his topcoat around the woman and the baby.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” He dialed 999 on his cell phone, aware Scotland Yard’s station in Hyde Park would be preoccupied with the earlier shooting. “I think those shots were intended for me.”
Paul stepped carefully around the tree. He spotted a fresh, ragged injury to the bark and a large hole.
Looks almost like a 50 caliber bullet made that hole! he thought.
The hole was bigger than any he’d seen as a kid on his parents’ ranch back in Colorado. He’d heard snipers and assassins favored that larger caliber.
Paul scanned the benches. He spotted another bullet hole in the wood back just above the seat where he’d been sitting moments earlier.
Holy shit! Those were close, he thought, feeling his scalp tingle, certain now the bullets were meant for him.
***
Paul checked his watch. He was late for his meeting with Richard and Ken. After briefing the detective sergeant on the scene, the cop reluctantly allowed him to leave, thanks to a call Paul made to Chief Inspector Hagerman.
When he arrived at Hagerman’s office, Paul could see the chief inspector had briefed Richard.
“That lady in the park was pretty shaken up,” Paul said. “And her left hand was cut... perhaps a bullet fragment.”
“There’ll be CCTV cameras around that area,” Ken said. “Serpentine Gallery is a popular place with tourists and locals. I’ll have our folks see what we have.”
The three exchanged concerned looks, none wanting to say the unspeakable.
“Where’s the package?” Ken asked, glancing at Richard.
“I left it under the bench,” Paul said. “I couldn’t pull it loose... mentioned it to the DS. He called in the bomb squad. I can guess what you two are thinking.”
Ken and Richard again exchanged knowing looks.
“You think those shots were meant for me, right? And that package may be a bomb?”
“Yes and yes,” Ken said. “We’re certain that’s the case.”
Richard frowned and nodded.
“It’s one thing to help that young man, Ahmed Mousavi,” Ken said. “But gangs don’t take kindly when someone helps us to dismantle their operations. Thus the $50,000 US bounty.”
“Screw them!” Paul said. He paused, grinning, “I suppose the good news is Anne and I and Doug are worth a handsome price dead, at least to them.”
“That’s not funny,” Richard replied. His eyes were heavy with concern.
Ken glanced at Richard then at Paul,
“We must insist that you and your family keep a low profile for a while... maybe for a few months... maybe longer,” Ken said.
Richard nodded again.
“I don’t think so,” Paul said. His upbringing in the American west rushed to the surface. “How about your people come up with a security plan for Anne and Doug? Meanwhile, I’m going to find out who those sons of bitches are before they try it again.”
“Just a minute, Paul!” Ken said. “That drug organization obviously means business. You’re not trained to deal with the likes of them. What’s more, there’ll be no vigilantism on my watch. That’s an order! At the very least, you need personal security too.”
Richard raised his hand: “A lot of damned good you’ll be to Anne and Doug and the baby if you’re dead, Paul!”
“Okay, okay,” Paul replied. “I’ll back off on one condition... that you keep the security for Anne and Doug as thorough and as unobtrusive as possible. Agreed? Anne’s under enough stress right now with the baby due soon.”
“All right,” Ken said. “For now.”
“How the hell did they get my cell number?” Paul asked. “Cell numbers aren’t published in directories like regular phones.”
“I’m not sure,” Ken replied. “We’re following some hunches.”
I wonder if Ken will have Agnes questioned about whether she’s given my number to anyone, like her apparent criminal boyfriend, Paul thought.
He sensed Ken was thinking the same thing.
They exchanged glances.
“Is there something I should know?” Richard challenged.
“I don’t think so Richard,” Ken countered. “Was there something on your mind?”
“Oh no,” Richard said. “Just curious.”
Chapter Twelve
Earnscliffe
“What’s become of that young man Ahmed who stormed into your office a few months ago?” Anne asked. “The one you’re mentoring?”
“Ahmed’s out on bail,” Paul said “The judge agreed to release him on my surety, provided he has a place to live. He’s using a flat in a building one of our companies owns.”
“He’s renting a flat?” Anne asked.
“No, he’s staying with a young psychologist,” Paul said. “She’s doing a post-doctoral fellowship at King’s College.”
“A woman?” Anne asked. “Will she be safe? Didn’t you tell me he was involved with a violent drug gang?”
“You needn’t worry, my love,” Paul said, chuckling. “She was in Afghanistan a few years ago with the British SAS, on an active combat posting. She has a double black belt in Muay Thai. If anyone ought to worry, it should be Ahmed.”
Both laughed.
“Secondly,” Paul added. “Young Ahmed is turning out to be exactly the bright and kindly soul my instincts were telling me he is.”
“That’s encouraging,” Anne said. “Looks like you were right about him.”
“Love, there’s something I need to tell you,” Paul said.
“That sounds ominous,” Anne said. She shifted her very pregnant body
to face him directly. She was into her ninth month now.
“Actually, there are a couple of things I need to tell you about,” Paul corrected himself. “You know that incident near Serpentine Gallery the other day?”
“Yes,” Anne said. “That was scary. Have the police found anything more about it?”
“Yes and no,” Paul replied. “No, they’ve not found the perpetrators.”
“And yes?”
“One of Ken Hagerman’s confidential informants has told him there’s a contract out on me... on us, actually. That’s what the shooting was all about.”
“Whatever for?” Anne said, sitting up sharply. Fear flashed into in her lovely hazel eyes. “How could that be?”
“The people responsible for the shooting may be connected to the gang and the syndicate we got Ahmed Mousavi away from.”
“What are you going to do?” Anne said.
“Chief Superintendent Hagerman and your dad insisted on providing some protection for all of us and I’ve agreed,” Paul said. “Hope you’re okay with that.”
“I dislike all that security at our public appearances.” Anne said. “But I guess we’ll have to put up with it until the police find those terrible people.”
Paul breathed a sigh of relief.
They were in the drawing room, relaxing after having tucked Doug into bed. Paul watched with concern and affection as Anne struggled without success to find a more comfortable position on the loveseat she’d commandeered for the duration of her pregnancy.
“There’s something else?” Anne asked.
“Yes,” Paul said. “This came right out of the blue, recently. Someone I met years ago in America phoned me a few days ago... well blind dated, sort of. She’s in London. Wanted to meet.”
“Why don’t you invite her out to Earnscliffe, Paul?” Anne said. “She could come for supper. Wouldn’t that be nice... someone from your hometown? I’d love to meet some of your old friends! Did you know her well?”
“No, and certainly not as well as she thinks, Anne,” Paul said. “I don’t think an invitation is in order.”
“What do you mean, Paul?”
“Her name is Pamela. Pamela Milliken,” Paul said. “It’s a long story. Here’s a short version. During a break while I was doing my MBA at Harvard, I went back home for a couple of days to visit family and friends. Ben Rodriguez arranged a party. You remember Ben.”
Anne nodded.
“The party was at their ranch. I didn’t have a date nor did I want one, frankly. He and some others arranged for a blind date regardless. The date turned out to be Pamela.”
Paul described for Anne his exchange with Pamela on the phone, as well as the allegations and threats she’d made.
“What a bitch!” Anne said, despite her abhorrence of swearing. “Excuse my language, Paul. But this is outrageous. I know you. What are you planning to do?”
“It’s just a cheap shakedown attempt,” Paul said. “I’ll ask our lawyer, Walter Stewart, in Colorado Springs to look into this.”
“Is there something else?” Anne asked.
“Isn’t that quite enough for one evening?” Paul replied evasively.
He’d decided to wait until after the baby was born to tell Anne about her mother’s apparent extracurricular activities, if cleared to do so, unless Agnes somehow forced the issue. He hated the thought of upsetting Anne, and Richard, but disliked even more not being fully honest with her.
***
The Next Day
Earnscliffe
“So that’s our latest bit of excitement,” Anne said chuckling on the phone to her mother, after sharing what Paul had told her the night before. “What do you think of that?”
“I shouldn’t be making light of this, Anne, if I were you,” Agnes replied. “That’s absolutely disgusting! This Pamela Milliken person… is she some kind of hussy? How could he do such a thing to you? He should be ashamed of himself! What was he thinking, Anne?”
“Mother!” Anne replied. “Didn’t you understand a word I said? This dreadful woman is trying to extort money from Paul with this outrageous accusation. He hardly knew her.”
“It would seem he knew her well enough!” Agnes replied. “I knew it! I just knew it. You must leave that gigolo this instant and move back home right now! You and Douglas can move into your old suite this afternoon. I’ll have it ready for you.”
“That’s absurd, Mother,” Anne said. “I’ll do no such thing!”
“We’ll finish this conversation when you get here,” Agnes said and hung up.
***
Two Hours Later
The Meriwether Estate
Anne arrived at the elegant home where she’d grown up with a deep sense of foreboding, and a fierce resolve to set her mother straight. She was annoyed at her for assuming Paul guilty of wrongdoing, knowing nothing more than the limited secondhand information she had provided.
As Anne walked through the lavish front entry to the richly furnished dining room, an unwelcome surprise was waiting.
“I want you to meet my friend Josephine Wilde,” Agnes said to a startled and uncomfortably pregnant Anne. “Josephine’s husband is Jeffery Wilde, the senior partner of that very prominent London law firm, Clement, Wilde, and Cox.”
“I’m honored to meet you, Lady Anne,” Josephine said.
What’s this all about? Anne thought, noticing a second unfamiliar woman seated at her mother’s Victorian-era dining room table.
“And this is my good friend, Mable,” Agnes said. “Mable Archibald. Her husband is a deputy governor at the Bank of England, you know.”
Mable rose.
“What a delight to meet a real countess,” she said. An awkward pretense at a bow was all that the aging and overweight dowager could manage.
Anne felt her unease migrate into trepidation. The private one-on-one lunch with her mother she’d been looking forward to had morphed into much more.
Lunch talk centered on the baby’s pending birth and a discussion about currently vogue names for newborns. Paul and Anne had chosen not to learn the baby’s gender in advance, provoking stern protests from Agnes.
During a lull in the girl chatter, and much to Anne’s shock and consternation, Agnes shared with the visiting ladies what Anne had told her that morning about Pamela Milliken’s accusation against Paul.
“Don’t you think that’s just dreadful?” she said at last. “What that... that American has done to my daughter?”
Anne was unprepared for what came next.
“My good God, Lady Anne!” Mable said. “You poor child. Did you marry a philanderer, a gigolo? I’m not surprised. After all, he’s a foreigner, you know! And he’s been keeping all of this from you?”
“That’s not true,” Anne protested. “Paul is innocent...”
“How dare that man!” Josephine interrupted. “How dare he marry you after fathering a bastard child! And now he’s gone and got you pregnant! You poor thing!”
Mable and Agnes both tried to agree with Josephine at the same time.
“Hold on, all of you!” Anne said firmly and louder than intended. “You misunderstand. There’s no proof whatsoever that any of this is true. I told you, the allegations are false. I don’t believe one word of it and neither should any of you!”
“Well, I think it’s obvious,” Agnes said, choosing sides, not wanting to be alienated further from her society friends. “Look, he ran away... came here to escape... to hide from his obligations.”
“I think it would be best if we were to go now,” Josephine said, standing. Mable rose with her. “We can see ourselves out, Agnes.”
After both left, Agnes jumped to her feet, covering her mouth with both hands in dismay. Anne could see her mother had realized too late that while instinctively and self-righteously, and wrongly, seeking to impress her society friends she’d blurted out family secrets that were best left hidden. Anne also knew the mistake would lead to the fulfillment of her mother’s greatest fear—hu
miliation in front of the social elite from which she so desperately craved acceptance.
“They’re going to tell everyone,” Agnes shrieked. “What will my friends think? I’m ruined... absolutely mortified... humiliated. I won’t be able to show my face in public ever, ever again! How dare he!” Agnes raged on. “That man’s a disgrace! How could he? The nerve of him! This must be fixed immediately. We’ll start divorce proceedings right after we get you moved back home.”
“For heaven’s sake, Mother!” Anne shouted, her anger boiling over. “Control yourself! I’m not moving anywhere... I’m staying home with the man I love!”
The sharp tone of Anne’s voice surprised her mother, and even her. She’d never before raised her voice to her mother.
They exchanged heated looks and sat in silence for several minutes, glaring into their teacups, reluctant to look at each other.
Anne spoke first. Her tone was restrained and measured. “How dare you accuse the man I love of something you know absolutely nothing about, something he was honest enough to tell me about. I thought I could share this with you, daughter to mother, in confidence. I was wrong about you! Terribly, terribly wrong!”
Anne’s hazel eyes blazed with anger. She was struggling hard to control her temper. Her advanced stage of pregnancy didn’t help her temperament.
Sitting at her parents’ highly polished antique dining room table Anne took a deep breath.
“You know, Mother,” she said, settling into the sense of ease that heralds the onset of exhaustion. “You have no reliable information... absolutely nothing on which to base your outrageous allegations. Everything that you know is what I’ve told you. You should be ashamed of yourself, Mother,” she added. “Your concern is not for me or the baby but only for yourself... about what your hoity-toity so-called friends will think of you. I’m disappointed in you, Mother. I deeply disappointed.”
Her voice had a tone of heavy sadness.
“I believe Paul,” she added. “If you choose not to, then we have nothing further to discuss until you do too. Period!”
Secret Shepherd Page 5