Detective’s instincts: I didn’t find anything. I’d barely got out of sight of the gate-house when the estate’s walls sprang afresh out of the foliage in a pincer movement. The way ahead was blocked by ornate gates featuring more ironwork than the Titanic. A call panel was set up at a height appropriate for visiting SUVs, which made it way out of reach when you’re at the wheel of a Frogeye. I extracted myself and pressed the button. Nothing. I tried again with the same result. It looked like David Hanlon and his butler were both out.
You win some, you lose some. The diversion had been a whim, an off chance that I’d find the guy home. It would have been good to catch him cold, watch his reaction when I dropped a few names. I gave the bell one last try, held it for ten seconds. Maybe the butler was deaf. Maybe the sound didn’t carry to the pool.
Nowt.
One for tomorrow. I turned the Frogeye around and headed back out. I stopped at the gatehouse. The old man looked up and scrutinised the car with interest as I hopped out.
The guy nodded at the Frogeye. ‘Long time since I saw one of those,’ he declared.
The Frogeye is a great conversation piece if you meet anyone over sixty. The younger generation think I’m driving a kit car.
I spieled a few facts and figures, waxed lyrical on how sweet she ran. Didn’t tell him about the defective heater or the oil change every three thousand miles. I asked whether he knew when David Hanlon was expected back.
The old guy shook his head and apologised. ‘Considering I live right here you’d think I’d know whether they were in or out. But I don’t really notice, to tell the truth. I just see them coming and going from time to time.’
I clicked my tongue and looked at my watch like I was deciding whether to hang around for Hanlon to arrive. I dug a little further.
‘Any chance you’ll be speaking to the Hanlons today?’ I asked. ‘Maybe you could mention I was here.’
The guy shook his head again.
‘I don’t know them past nodding, to be honest,’ he said. ‘We’ve not been here long. I’ve met Faye a couple of times when she’s been out with the dogs but that’s about it. I’ve never spoken to David Hanlon.’
I thanked the guy, nodded farewell and went back around the car.
‘Obliged anyway,’ I told him. ‘I’ll call back.’
‘If I do see them I’d be happy to say you were here,’ he offered. ‘Mr…?’
‘Coffee.’ I smiled my gratitude. ‘Gerald Coffee.’
‘I’ll tell them you were here, Mr Coffee,’ he promised, and went back to his digging. If he did tell them he was going to get some funny looks.
I drove out through the gateposts and headed back to town. I’d pay another visit tomorrow. The Hanlons might turn out to be peripheral to whatever was happening with Rebecca Townsend but I was betting otherwise. David Hanlon’s involvement with Alpha Security and the Royal Trafalgar linked him squarely to Larry Slater, and right now I was interested in anyone with funny connections to Larry.
Brighton had been a fishing trip. I’d half expected nothing. Picked up a hefty bite instead. A few new names to check out and something much bigger. Along the way the line had taken a tug like a marlin wanted to play.
Time to start reeling in.
CHAPTER twenty-six
They followed the Tonka back towards Heathrow. The car slipped away from them a couple of times in the congealing traffic.
‘Stay on him,’ Roker growled. ‘I want to know everything this bird is doing.’
‘He’s headed back to town,’ Mitch enlightened him. He chewed gum, skipping lanes to keep the Tonka in range. Two minutes later another prediction bit the dust. The Tonka pulled into the Lodge Clacket services. Mitch cursed and followed it in, swung into a parking slot opposite the pumps as the quarry stopped in front of the unleaded. Mitch killed the engine and watched in his rear-view. Tonka-Man was out filling the car. No idea he was being watched.
‘How are we for diesel?’ Roker asked.
‘Half a tank,’ Mitch said. ‘We can stay on him.’
Roker looked unconvinced. ‘We can until the half tank is out,’ he said. ‘After that we lose him, unless you push.’
Mitch shook his head. ‘We’ve got the range,’ he said. ‘I can’t see the Tonka holding more than a couple of gallons.’
Roker looked at him. ‘You ever see how far a motorbike goes on a couple of gallons?’ he said.
‘Then it’s our unlucky day,’ Mitch said. What would be unlucky was if they were still following this joker by the time they ran dry. Mitch’s stomach had been on residuals for hours.
‘How about I grab a sandwich?’ he suggested.
‘Make it quick,’ Roker said.
Mitch skipped out and hurried across to the shop. He was in ahead of the guy but he needed to take a leak and that lost him time. As he queued for the sandwiches Tonka-Man was nowhere in sight. Outside, Roker was gesturing frantically. Mitch spotted the Tonka tailing out through the far side of the pumps, heading back to the motorway. He cursed and fired up the engine.
He worked the Warrior as hard as the traffic would allow, bullying his way across lanes until they got back within shouting distance. After that he stayed close. Ready in case the target did something sudden.
At the next junction the Frogeye did something sudden. It swerved across the lanes and took the filter for the A22. Mitch’s hopes lifted. The guy was finally headed back into town.
Inbound traffic was moving freely. Mitch drove one-handed, savaging his sandwiches as they followed the Tonka up through Croydon and Streatham. They got clear of the Common and headed towards the river. Then the Tonka cut off and turned towards Battersea Park. It pulled into a residential street lined with parked cars, then turned again, looking for a place. Mitch let the Warrior coast past the turn and they watched the Tonka backing into a parking spot. The guy was through. Hallelujah!
‘Pull over,’ Roker said. He leapt out and jogged back to the corner. So fast that he nearly bumped into Flynn coming back round it. It was one of those moments, but Flynn went right past without noticing. Roker turned and watched him disappear into one of the houses.
The guy’s pad, Roker guessed. Home for the night. He waited fifteen minutes but nothing happened. Then he made a call and walked back to the Warrior.
He got Mitch to stop off at the office as they passed. The place was empty except for Vicky who was finishing up ready to go. She had nothing for him so he went back out and had Mitch take him up the road to the Algarve Club which was located just off Fulham Palace Road. He told Mitch to wait and went in. It took a minute to adjust to the dim lighting before he spotted his man leaning at the bar. It was early. Just a half-dozen in for what the club jokingly termed happy hour. At most places happy hour meant half price. At the Algarve you got a normal-price drink and a discount token for your next. Happy hour finished at six on the dot when the floor show started and your tokens were good for nothing.
The man didn’t offer a drink.
‘What’s happening,’ he said.
Roker was uneasy around the guy. He’d learned to play it straight. Say his stuff and get out. The Algarve’s dim lighting did nothing for the man’s appearance, which was grim in any light, something the guy seemed happy about. When you’ve been through the mangler it’s good for people to see it. Saved misunderstandings.
Roker signalled the bar and ordered a scotch. When he turned back the man was still waiting.
‘He’s on to something,’ Roker said.
‘What’s he onto?’
‘Brighton.’
‘How come?’
‘I don’t know.’
Roker gave him details of Flynn’s head-to-head with the Royal Trafalgar’s reception clerk.
‘Why would reception tell him anything?’
‘Cash,’ said Roker. ‘Stuff was going back and fo
rth. There had to be readies.’
‘So he’s on to us.’
Roker’s drink arrived. He slid a tenner across the bar and lifted the glass.
‘He’s on to something,’ he said. ‘I figure he knows that Slater was there. Maybe he picked up some other names.’ He thought of something. ‘How did you know this guy was chasing Slater?’
The man studied the display behind the bar. ‘Little bird,’ he said.
‘Sure,’ said Roker. He sipped the scotch, let it slide down his throat and picked up the change from his tenner. The change was bugger all, plastic token to boot. Happy hour! There were more important things on his mind, though.
‘This looks like a bit of a problem,’ Roker said.
‘Yes,’ the man agreed. ‘It’s definitely a problem.’
They stayed silent while Roker drained his glass in a couple of sips. The fastest tenner he’d lost since he put his money on Frenchman’s Creek in the National.
‘Who’s Flynn working for?’ Roker asked.
‘Haven’t a clue,’ the man said.
‘Slater?’
‘Nah.’
‘One of the others?’
‘That’s what I’m thinking,’ the man said. ‘We’re going to have to find out. Did Flynn poke his nose anywhere else?’
‘Chevening,’ Roker said.
The man’s eyebrows lifted. ‘He went to Chevening?’
‘Yeah. Big place. Estate. High walls. He was in there ten minutes. Is there a connection to Brighton?’
The other man was still watching the bar.
‘That’s bad,’ he said to himself.
‘I thought it might be,’ Roker said.
The man slid his glass across the bar and the girl refilled it. A double. No tokens needed. One rule for some, etc.
‘You want me to stay on him?’ Roker asked.
‘I’ll let you know tomorrow,’ the man said.
‘And if he’s onto us?’ said Roker.
‘Then we’ll stop him,’ said the man.
‘What’s the man say?’ Mitch asked when Roker got back into the Warrior.
‘He’s not happy,’ Roker said.
Mitch grinned. ‘Is Tonka messing in one of Mac’s little schemes?’
Roker didn’t smile back. ‘The bastard has no idea,’ he said.
He got Mitch to drop him back at the office. The place was above a bookmaker’s on Fulham Road. A plate by the door gave the name Alpha Security. Roker walked up to shut up shop.
Upstairs the lights were still on. One of the crew must have come back in. But when he went in he saw it was Vicky, still behind her desk and looking like she’d lost a fiver. It had to be something serious to keep her in past five-thirty.
‘What’s up, darlin’?’ Roker said.
Then he saw that his office door was open. The lights were on in there too.
He looked at Vicky.
‘Jesus, Jimmy,’ she hissed. ‘There’s some guy waiting for you. Said you’d want to talk to him. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Some guy? In my frigging office?’
Vicky fluttered her hands. ‘What the hell could I do? Jesus, I’ve been peeing myself. Why don’t you keep your phone on?’
Roker did keep his phone on, but the battery had quit after he’d made his last call. He felt another stirring of unease. Alpha Security was the kind of business that got visits from time to time. Went with the territory. Nothing he couldn’t handle but this he really didn’t need right now.
‘Okay, Vicky,’ Roker said. ‘Go home.’
Vicky didn’t need telling twice. She grabbed her stuff and ran out of the door.
Roker strode into his office. He’d had a hard day. Whoever had barged in here had picked the wrong time.
When he got inside the day got worse. The visitor slid his feet off Roker’s desk and waved him through.
‘Glad you’re back, Jimmy,’ said Flynn. ‘How was Brighton?’
CHAPTER twenty-seven
Roker was uglier, close up. He had one of those faces that’s off-balance in a way you can’t quite pin down. Something about the nose. The nearest I’d got to him at the Royal Trafalgar was when I’d ordered my second coffee. He was three tables away reading a newspaper that he thought made him invisible. Maybe it would have but I was keen to see who’d been following me down the M23. I only got a peripheral glimpse but it was enough. A face like Roker’s doesn’t need a photographic memory.
‘When you tail someone,’ I said, ‘choose a smaller car. Wait for cover before you change lanes. Don’t rush to catch up when the target makes a move. And never use your indicator.’
I could have gone on. Blah-di-blah. I’m a fountain of advice. Just shop talk between me and Roker, of course. When I paused for breath Roker joined in.
‘You!’ He jabbed a finger. ‘Get the fuck out of my office.’
Moi? I gave him perplexed and looked around the place. As offices went it was unimpressive. Better than Eagle Eye’s, of course, but that didn’t say much. Roker had all the right computers and telephones and combination cabinets, but something was lacking. The place had a serious style deficiency. Style is what we did have at Eagle Eye. Style is what tells you about the outfit you’re hiring – or in this case about the outfit that has been hired to follow you. I turned my attention back to Roker.
‘I’ve got a few questions,’ I said. ‘Sit down, Jimmy.’
Jimmy didn’t sit. ‘I’ll say it again,’ he said. ‘Walk out while you can.’
‘Number one: who are you working for?’
Roker came around the desk. His ugly beak hovered over me like a constipated hawk’s. His fists were bunched.
‘Two: what’s your connection with Rebecca Townsend?’
Roker’s fist made a grab for my shirt collar. I snatched the wrist and his knuckles hit the top of his desk with a crack they must have heard down the street. Then I grabbed Roker’s own collar and pulled until his lopsided face hung in front of me, looking surprised in its birdie kind of way. I squeezed until I had his attention then eased him away.
‘Sit down, Jimmy,’ I repeated.
Roker backed off a little but didn’t sit. Too much nervous energy. And he was still close enough to me to make me nervous. For a couple of moments we stared at each other then Roker jabbed another finger.
‘Flynn, you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your private-dick life.’
This wasn’t true. The biggest mistake I made was when I’d helped un-hijack a truckload of Welsh sheep on the M4 and accidentally dropped the tailboard at Leigh Delamere. That’s when I found out that rounding up eighty-seven sheep is not as easy as those border collies make out. The Leigh Delamere thing was by far my worst screw-up. I guess Roker hadn’t heard about that one.
‘Three,’ I said. ‘What’s the connection between Alpha Security, Larry Slater and the Royal Trafalgar?’
‘Flynn,’ Roker said, ‘the two of us have nothing to talk about.’
‘For a man who’s been on my tail all day this is a come-down,’ I said. ‘I thought you’d be happy we’d finally got together.’
‘No,’ Roker said. ‘I’m not happy. And forget Brighton. You wasted your time chasing down there in that pedal-car.’
‘I disagree,’ I said. ‘Today hasn’t felt like a waste. Look at what I’ve got since I ate my cornflakes. I’ve confirmed that what’s happening to Rebecca Townsend is not just inside the family. I found out that Alpha Security is connected to it. And I’ve learned that the people Alpha Security are working for hang out at the Algarve Club right here in Fulham. Tell me, Jimmy: what else is going to pop out before I stir my cocoa?’
‘Whatever you heard, you heard wrong,’ Roker said. ‘Go bark up another tree, Sherlock.’
I shook my head. ‘I think I’ll give this tree a few more sh
akes,’ I said. ‘See what falls out.’
‘Shake this tree any more and you’re not going to like what you get,’ Roker growled.
‘Occupational hazard,’ I said. ‘So what’s going to come out, Jimmy?’
Roker stooped back into collar-grabbing territory. I sat back.
‘Your guts will come out, Flynn, if you poke your nose in any further.’
‘All this,’ I grinned, ‘from a guy who knows nothing. I think you’re stalling me, Jimmy.’
‘So sue me,’ Roker said.
I sighed. Lifted my feet back up onto his desk and opened my arms. ‘Why make it hard?’ I said. ‘You know that I know you’re involved with the Slaters. You therefore know that I know you’re in on Rebecca Townsend’s disappearance.’
‘Think again,’ Roker said. ‘You’re digging in piss, Flynn. I’ve never heard of any Rebecca Townsend.’
I looked at him.
‘Someone has heard of her,’ I said. ‘You say it’s not you so maybe I need to go chat with your chums at the Algarve Club.’
‘Go ahead,’ Roker said. ‘I look forward to the result.’
‘So what is the Royal Trafalgar thing?’ I asked. ‘At least you’re in on that. Those suite bookings must have cost Alpha Security a bob or two.’
‘Hospitality,’ Roker said. ‘Business clients.’
‘What sort of business?’
‘You’ve got to be shitting me!’
‘No, Jimmy,’ I said, ‘I really want to know what sort of business involves hiring a high-class hooker and the best suite at a five star hotel that sets you back three grand before you’ve even opened the minibar.’
‘Confidential sort of business,’ Roker said, ‘which means you’ve just hit a dead end.’
‘Detective one-oh-one,’ I said. ‘Dead ends are never dead. You look at what’s blocking the road and learn a lot.’
‘Not this time,’ Roker said, ‘because if you carry on with this you’re going to find yourself in a very dead end indeed.’
Behind Closed Doors Page 17