Out Of The Red

by David Bradwell

  “Yes, it’s me. Who’s that?”

  “It’s Mitch.”

  Mitch.

  “Oh hi, sorry, I was fast asleep,” I said.

  “It’s all right for some. I’m sorry. Is it a bad time?”

  “No, it’s fine. It was just a long night.”

  “I daren’t ask.”

  “Haha. No, it’s okay. I was just up late with Danny. Super-long story though.”

  “And again, I daren’t ask. I look forward to hearing all about it though. Are you still on for this evening?”

  “This evening?” I wasn’t even completely sure what day of the week it was.

  “Don’t say you’ve dumped me already.”

  “No, not at all. Sorry, just a lot going on. This evening, yes. Well, hopefully.” I desperately tried to bring my mind into focus. On the one hand, the only place I wanted to be was at the hospital with Danny. But if he was going to be fast asleep that wouldn’t serve much purpose, and a night out might help take my mind off things - especially as I didn’t fancy cooking dinner and staying home on my own. I was just so undecided, and therefore shocked when I heard myself saying “yes, actually, of course” before I’d realised fully what I was doing.

  “Excellent. You had me worried there for a moment,” he said. “Would you like me to pick you up? Or just meet somewhere?”

  I took a quick glance around my bedroom. It was in no fit state to invite someone back for “coffee” and I wasn’t going to have time to tidy.

  “Let’s meet,” I said. “I’m off out this afternoon and I don’t know what time I’ll be getting back.”

  “Sounds intriguing.”

  “Honestly, you wouldn’t believe. Name a time and place and I’ll see you there.”

  He suggested 7pm at an Indian restaurant just off Camden High Street, north of the station. I knew it well. It sounded perfect.

  “Any problems let me know but otherwise I look forward to seeing you there,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  I ended the call and headed to the shower. I felt a whole world better after that. Then it was the final croissant before collecting the notebook and charger, plus a notepad and various pens and setting off back to the hospital, to see how Danny was doing.

  Once I arrived, I approached the door to his room, but was stopped by a new policeman who’d seemingly taken over guard duties since I left. He asked me for ID and the reason for my visit. Through the window in the door I could see Danny already had a visitor. At first I thought it must be his colleague from the Echo, somebody older, maybe a senior reporter or something. But then, when he turned, and I saw his face, I realised just how wrong I was. Short of Graham March himself, this was the very last person I expected to see.

  32

  ANNA, meet Samuel Elmhirst-Banks,” said Danny when I finally gained admittance.

  The politician rose from his seat and shook my hand, with just the right degree of firmness to assert his manliness without causing lasting damage.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, “but please, call me Seb.”

  As he returned to his seat I tried to catch Danny’s eye. What was he doing here? Danny raised his eyebrows in response.

  “Everything all right at home?” he asked.

  “Yes, all good. I fell asleep, though. Sorry I’m late back.” I took a seat on the opposite side of the bed and started doing hand gestures that Seb couldn’t see, pointing at him and frowning at Danny.

  “That’s okay. Seb’s just popped in to introduce himself,” said Danny. It didn’t look like he had much idea what was going on, either.

  “Yes, I was at the hospital and I heard what happened from a mutual friend. DS Cranston? I thought I’d pop by and say hello. I’ll leave you to it now, though. Nice to meet you Danny. Think about what I said, okay?”

  Danny nodded. Seb got up, shook both of our hands again. Slightly firmer this time. He exuded professional schmooze and insincerity. I hadn’t met many politicians but this was how I imagined all of them. He said his farewells, and then turned on his well-polished heel and left us alone.

  “What was all that about?” I asked once the door closed. “And what does he mean, ‘think about what I said’?”

  “He was offering me a job.”

  “What?”

  “In Whitehall. I don’t know really. I wasn’t really listening.”

  “Sorry, he just turned up unannounced and offered you a job? On what basis?”

  “He said he’d heard about me. Amy speaks very highly, apparently.”

  “Okay. But...”

  “Ah yes. Well, he seemed to think I may be spooked after being shot at. Possibly thinking about a career change. And apparently they could do with ‘a man of my talents’ in Government. Something like that. Complete bollocks, obviously.”

  “Obviously. You don’t have any talents.” That made him smile. “Doing what?”

  “I don’t know. I told you, I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy trying to work out what he was up to.”

  “What was he up to?”

  “The first thing I learned... The first thing Clare taught me, if I can mention her name now you’re friends again, without you going all off on one...”

  I gave him a look.

  “ I do not go off on one.”

  “You clearly do. But anyway, the point is, the first thing she told me was never to assume anything. That said, I assume the job doesn’t exist and he’s just trying to get me onside so he can try to exert some influence if I look like writing anything about March.”

  “He didn’t actually say that?”

  “No, of course not. But I presume it’s the first stage of a long campaign.”

  I thought for a moment.

  “Are you allowed to presume things? Or does Clare say not to do that either? And thinking about it, what’s the difference between assuming and presuming anyway?”

  “Anna?”

  “What?”

  “Stop trying to be funny. It’s painful.”

  “I’m not, just genuinely curious. It’s like the same word, but different.”

  “Presume is more like an assumption based on the balance of probability.”

  It still sounded like exactly the same thing to me.

  “Right. Anyway, carry on.”

  He tried to sit up a bit straighter but winced again and gave up.

  “Presumably he doesn’t know how close I am,” he continued. “Or that you took pictures of him, linking the two of them together. It’s curious timing though.”

  “Do you think he’s linked to what happened last night?”

  I could see him thinking.

  “I wouldn’t have thought so,” he said eventually. “I don’t see how he could be. Did you remember the computer, by the way?”

  I indicated the bag on the floor beside my chair. Danny asked me to plug it in for him so he could lie in bed, tapping away on the keyboard.

  “Which bit of having at least two weeks off work is this then?” I asked when he was all set up. He grinned back at me.

  “I’m just filling in parts of the jigsaw. Moving things around. Have you got any idea of the scale of the trafficking industry?”

  “I imagine it’s huge.”

  “The more I look into it, the more horrific it gets. It’s just evil, evil bastards preying on the vulnerable. When you read some of the stories it’s impossible to believe people would do that to another person. Prostitution’s the tip of the iceberg. Some of the stuff happening in Africa is just unbelievable.”

  “What like?”

  “You don’t even want to know. It’s children from refugee camps or just off the street. They make them shoot their own parents then turn them into soldiers, sex slaves, all sorts. They’re getting gang-raped, mutilated. It’s absolutely fucking unthinkable.”

  “Jesus.”

  “The eastern Europeans like Aurelia get offered jobs here, but they’re just sucked in. When they get here, they realise they’ve
been done, but by then it’s too late. Their passports have gone. They’re beaten, threatened, told their families will be murdered if they try to escape. And yet it seems like it’s massively lucrative. Governments are focused on drugs, so moving people is lower risk with enormous profits. There’s a whole network of gangs. It’s huge.”

  “And somewhere in among it all, there’s March.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh Danny, be careful.”

  I tried to change the subject but the mood was sombre. Danny booted up his notebook computer. I offered to go to find a vending machine for an awful cup of tea.

  When I came back, Danny was clearly engrossed. I was aware I was probably disturbing him.

  “How are you feeling, anyway?” I asked.

  “Sore but not too bad. I got up and went for a walk to the bathroom this morning. I think they’ll let me out tomorrow.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He stopped typing.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m going to speak to Amy again, and try to see if I can connect this thing to a phone line so I can send a message to Clare to see if she’s made any progress.”

  “Couldn’t you just phone her?”

  “What, Clare? No, it’s just email.”

  “Haven’t you got her number?”

  “No. She’s rung me but withheld the number.”

  “Oh,” I said. I could feel a smile forming and did my very best to suppress it. By the time Danny looked at me, I was failing miserably.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I lied.

  “Tell me.”

  “No, it’s just odd that you don’t have her number.”

  “She doesn’t want to be traced I expect.”

  “I imagine so. It’s just, you know, a bit weird.”

  “What’s weird?”

  “Nothing really. It’s just that she’s not even my girlfriend and yet she gave it to me.”

  “What?” Now it was Danny’s turn to sound incredulous.

  I reached into my purse for the tissue she’d given me the previous night. I dangled it in front of Danny, just out of his reach.

  “What’s it worth?” I said, laughing.

  “I can’t believe she did that.”

  “She’s my new best friend, according to you. Well, in the top two, anyway.”

  “Pass it here.”

  I moved it further away. I don’t know why I enjoy being so annoying.

  “Make me an offer. At the very least it’s got to be worth dinner. Although no, not dinner, that’s too bloody dangerous. A nice pair of shoes perhaps?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Maybe not shoes. Maybe being excused the kitchen rota for a week.”

  “You’re taking the piss.”

  “Ooh, two weeks. Going up.”

  “Pass it here and when this all gets sorted I’ll take you to dinner and buy you shoes and do the full kitchen rota for a week.”

  “Month.”

  “Christ. A month then.”

  “And breakfast in bed every morning for a month too.”

  “For God’s sake. Deal.”

  I passed him the tissue, grinning to myself. We both knew he’d never stick to it. He hated cleaning the kitchen but it was worth a try.

  “What’s your plan now?” he asked.

  I looked at my watch. It was coming up to twenty to three.

  “No plans, really. Do you want me to leave you to it?”

  “You could do. I’m sorry there’s nothing more exciting. Don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely having you here, and of course you can stay and chat if you want to, but I ought to try to work for a bit so if you’ve got something you’d rather be doing, I don’t mind.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  “Do you want to come back this evening? I feel a bit guilty dragging you out all the time.”

  “I was assuming, presuming, whichever, you’d be having an early night.”

  “I probably will. I’m knackered already.”

  “Let’s say I won’t come back this evening then, although call me if you need me. I’ll phone the hospital to see how you are and see what time you’re getting released then pop back in the morning to collect you. Good plan?”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  I bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek and made sure he was comfortable before saying goodbye. There was no need to mention the date unless I had to. I didn’t see the need to cause any extra worry, although I wasn’t in any case planning on doing anything that he’d need to worry about.

  I was about to be reminded that things don’t always go according to plan.

  33

  THERE was an atmosphere of quiet industry at the Albermarle Casino and Gentleman’s Club. The venue was closed for the afternoon, but preparations were underway for a traditionally busy Friday evening. Bars were being restocked and a cleaner was vacuuming the carpets, while the air was thick with the pine-fragranced scent of the fresh polish on the gaming tables. Next door in the dance bar, the stage was being swept and the chrome pole wiped with a chamois leather. An electrician was making adjustments to the main stage lighting rig.

  Jacqueline Glover would be down in a few minutes to check that everything was on schedule, just as soon as her meeting had ended, but for now she had even more pressing concerns.

  “So, your man fucked up,” she said, looking at the person on the other side of the desk.

  Mikołaj held up his hands.

  “What can I say? He let me down. He’ll be dealt with.”

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like loose ends. Do I need to send Finn to get the job done properly?”

  “Jacqui, let me assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”

  “Nothing to worry about? March has been meeting some fucker of a journalist, discussing God knows what, and the next thing we know the weedy twat’s making a house call to your place for a rub down. And you don’t think that’s anything to worry about? And all you’ve succeeded in doing is drawing attention to him without actually eradicating the problem. Maybe I’m old-fashioned but I’d say that was grounds for concern.”

  “I can see that. But we have to hold our nerve. Two more days, Jacqui.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then the shipment arrives and we can go back to normal.”

  “I meant about March.”

  “Don’t worry about him. Graham March will cease to exist.”

  “Fucking glad to hear it.”

  Mikołaj smiled and took a sip of his whiskey. He had to trust she wasn’t recording this conversation, but he didn’t think she’d be that stupid. She was ruthless, but not suicidal.

  “How’s your guy Logan doing?” he asked.

  “You let me worry about him.”

  “Is he making progress?”

  “Are you listening to me? Let me worry about him. And he better fucking had be.”

  “Is he getting close?”

  Jacqui glared at the man opposite but relented.

  “Apparently. According to Finn. Says he’s getting everything he needs tonight. He’d better come here tomorrow with actual progress or he’s getting fired at the very fucking least.”

  She’d had enough of this. It was time to call a halt to the meeting.

  “Right, I’ve got to get on,” she said. “Call me as soon as you get word that they’re on the way. And if anything else goes tits up I want to hear about it from you. Personally. All right?”

  Mikołaj acquiesced. The last thing he needed now was any drama from within.

  * * *

  In a quiet corner of the World’s End pub, opposite Camden Town tube station, Graham March looked past the pint of Castlemaine XXXX he’d placed on the table, and focused instead on the woman taking the chair opposite. She was in her late twenties, with flowing auburn hair. Dressed casually in a denim jacket, short black skirt and opaque tights, she retained a certain air of seductiv
e sophistication that appealed to his baser instincts. She spoke with a cut-glass accent that smacked of home counties privilege, although he thought she looked tired beneath the make-up, presumably as the result of a tough few days. She was, unquestionably, very much his type, which was why he was delighted when she’d called to invite him for a drink.

  “Long time, no see, Graham,” she said.

  “Ah Holly my dear, indeed it is. Must be what, six days?”

  “Six exactly, give or take an hour. Not since the night Steve...”

  Her voice drifted off. She took a sip of her martini and lemonade.

  “A tragic outcome,” said March, keen not to dwell too much on the past. The night ahead was potentially much more exciting.

  “Have you heard any more on the grapevine about what they think might have happened?” she asked.

  “Me? No. I’d be the last to know, my dear, I’m afraid I am, what I like to call, persona non grata around those parts. For the time being, anyway, until they realise they cannot do without me.”

  “Surely that can’t be long, for a man of your obvious abilities.”

  He liked the way she smiled at him. If she was trying to turn on the charm he’d be happy to encourage her, despite the obvious danger. But hey, what a way to go.

  “Cigarette?” She offered him a packet of Silk Cut.

  “Not for me, my darling, thank you. I only smoke in the company of a certain journalist when I want to annoy him.”

  “Danny?”

  “Yes, young Danny.”

  She laughed.

  “And how is he? Have you seen him recently?”

  “I saw him on, ah, Tuesday, as it happens. We partook of a swift beverage. I’m trying to interest him in an article on my charitable work, but he doesn’t seem to see the benefits quite yet. And, of course, I wanted to stress that it would be unwise to delve too deeply into the demise of our good friend Steve.”

  “Quite.”

  “And yourself?”

  “Wednesday. They put me up for a night.”

  “I heard. Was it enlightening?”

  “Not as much as I’d have hoped. Strangely they seem to think I hardly know you. I can’t think what gave them that impression.”