Out Of The Red

by David Bradwell

  “Did you get my messages?” Danny asked Amy. “I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”

  “I was in a briefing. By the time I picked up the voicemail, you’d already gone.”

  “So how did you track us down?”

  “An anonymous tip-off. Let’s just say you seem to have a guardian angel.”

  I looked at Danny. I imagined he was thinking the same as me.

  “Although it seems that by the time we got here, you had the situation pretty much under control,” she continued.

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so kept quiet. For his part, Danny just shrugged.

  “I suspect it must have been a rival gang,” Amy continued. “Somebody they’d pissed off somewhere along the line. It’s a shame we arrived just too late but they’re probably miles away by now. I doubt we’ll ever catch them.”

  I wasn’t quite sure if my ears were working properly. Amy was far from stupid and equally incorruptible and yet I got the impression a deal had been done.

  “Something like that,” said Danny. “They were big blokes, whoever they were.”

  Maybe he was in on it too.

  “I had my eyes shut so didn’t really see anything,” I added. In for a penny. It seemed a shame not to be part of it, whatever “it” was.

  50

  Monday, April 11th, 1994

  DANNY worked through the night, finally filing his copy just after 5am. He hardly noticed the fatigue and pain from the ordeals of the past few days. It was a huge story, and he was sure Mike would be delighted - perhaps almost enough to minimise the inevitable lecture about the importance of deadlines. He’d be the toast of the newspaper for a day or so, or at least until the next big story came along. There’d be just as many pages to fill tomorrow. Just as much pressure to come up with the next big thing.

  Of course, March was still free, and likely to be reinstated once the evidence of his freelance investigation was put in front of the review board. He’d still need watching. He was bound to be back to his old tricks, but that was another investigation for another day. For now, Danny was content with a front page exclusive exposing a sex trafficking ring, with the added scandal of revealing a Government minister as a predatory paedophile. And the real scoop was his own eyewitness report of the final stand-off. It made for compelling reading. There would be follow-up stories in the days ahead, and the other papers would have angles of their own, but his reputation as a fearless investigator was growing.

  Jacqui Glover had been stopped on the way to the warehouse, along with her sidekick Finn Convey. She’d been arrested on suspicion of being part of the trafficking ring and for living off immoral earnings. Finn had been arrested on suspicion of being the hospital intruder who had killed Leah. The Albermarle Casino and Gentleman’s Club had been raided and was now closed for business and likely to stay that way. The Central Sauna massage parlour had been raided too, with multiple further arrests.

  Graham March and Aurelia had both been rushed to hospital. Both were expected to make a full recovery in time, although Aurelia’s psychological scars would possibly never fully heal.

  Danny would have scars too, but he didn’t care about those for now. As he arrived home, daylight was beginning to emerge through the omnipresent clouds. There was something beautiful about a city in the early hours, the birds announcing the clean start of a new day full of hope and possibility. But first of all, he just wanted to check that Anna was safe, and thereafter head to his own bed for the first time in far too long.

  * * *

  Danny left me a note, propped up next to the kettle, safe in the knowledge that would be the first thing I’d reach for once I’d opened my eyes long enough to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I must work on being less predictable. All was good, the story was done, and he was going to bed, albeit at the time most normal people were waking up.

  It was going to take me a few days before I’d be able to return to any semblance of a normal life, without the nightmares or the sense that I was never far away from panic. For today, though, I had a plan. I wanted to do something special for Danny, but didn’t dare suggest a restaurant after the last time. The memories of that were still too fresh.

  I took my tea to the computer and connected to CompuServe, and then began my search. I was going to demonstrate my cookery skills, where the phrase “skills” is particularly loosely defined. A home-made Indian would definitely go down well if it was even vaguely successful, so I concentrated on finding a recipe that looked both tasty and suitable for a relative novice.

  While Danny slept on, I went to the supermarket and stocked up on all of the ingredients, together with a couple of bottles of sparkling wine and a pair of frozen pizzas as a fall-back, in case of disaster. I returned to CompuServe to find out exactly how to make a marinade, and was surprised to see I had a new email. I don’t get too many of those. I clicked on it and the words filled the screen.

  Subject: I’m going to miss you

  Hi Anna,

  I know I haven’t always been your favourite person but it’s been good to get to know you a bit better over the last few days. Hopefully you’ve seen a different side of me, although it’s a shame it took such adversity to bring us together. I’m sorry I had to leave in a rush, but it wouldn’t have been wise for me to hang around. Too many questions. :-)

  You asked me if I was happy, and I know I avoided the question. I’m just not very good at talking about myself. In truth, I don’t really know who I am any more. Let’s just say that I’ve got all that I wanted, but the grass isn’t always greener. Sometimes it doesn’t grow at all. I made decisions that I have to live with for the rest of my life, however long that may be, so there’s no point dwelling on them now.

  I must thank you, though. You were exceptionally brave in the hospital. We wouldn’t have been able to unravel everything without you. You have my eternal respect and admiration, for whatever that is worth. You don’t deserve the trauma you’ve had to put up with over the last few days.

  I don’t know if we’ll ever meet again, but I will always think of you. Take care of Danny for me. I won’t pry into your relationship, but I hope that you have a wonderful future together, in whatever form that takes.

  Take care and look after yourself too. You’re a very special person.

  Love,

  Cxx

  I felt a wave of emotion as I re-read the words. Tears came again. I knew she only had herself to blame, but still she’d made a lasting impression on me, and she was right, my opinion had changed completely. I hoped we would meet one day, although I suspected that if it ever happened it would be when I was least expecting it, at a time and place of her choosing. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too far in the future as I had so many more questions to ask. Not least, how on earth she’d managed to get hold of my email address.

  51

  I THINK I’ll stick to photography rather than opening an Indian restaurant, but the meal was at least edible. It was a kind of coconut chicken arrangement with all sorts of spices and fresh chillies and a spot of cream to hopefully mask any deficiencies in culinary expertise. I don’t know what surprised Danny the most: the fact that I’d cooked for him in the first place or just that as yet neither of us had been poorly. The night was still young.

  I’d set the kitchen table nicely, complete with four candles, and our finest plates and cutlery. There were even little paper napkins. The wine was proving a success too. I was standing by his side, refilling his glass from the second bottle, when I suddenly had a realisation.

  “Are you sure you should be drinking?” I asked. “I forgot about the painkillers.”

  He laughed.

  “I think it all helps,” he said. “And it was a lovely meal. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “All the evidence would seem to suggest that I can’t.”

  He put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze.

  �
��I could get used to this,” he said.

  “Don’t push your luck. And you’re loading the dishwasher.”

  “I’d love to but, you know, doctor’s orders.”

  “Well, you definitely shouldn’t be drinking any more then.” But I refilled his glass anyway.

  We took the glasses and the rest of the bottle through to the living room, together with a little box of After Eight mints. Then I went back and fetched the candles. They created a beautiful, warm ambience that was almost romantic. We curled up next to each other on the sofa.

  “I’d have missed this if you’d run off with Mitch,” he said.

  “Well, that was never going to happen.”

  “I don’t know. I think you were quite smitten.”

  “What? Me? No. He wasn’t my type.”

  Danny started to smirk.

  “That was a sexy outfit for someone who wasn’t your type.”

  “What? When?”

  “When you came to the hospital.”

  “Oh that. No, nothing special. I am, in case you’ve forgotten, a fashion leader.”

  “Right.”

  He was giggling at me.

  “You had quite the strop though.”

  “Entirely justified in the circumstances.”

  “I wonder what happened to him.”

  That raised alarm bells.

  “In what way?”

  “Clare said you’d blown his cover and traced him to the casino, but he wasn’t on the police report as being arrested.”

  “Ah.”

  “You say that as though you know.”

  “I just...” I wasn’t quite sure what to say.

  “What?”

  “I just think perhaps Clare scared him off.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “You know what she’s like. She doesn’t tend to do things in half measures. I don’t think you need to worry about him any more.”

  “That sounds even more ominous.”

  I cuddled in closer to him.

  “How’s the wound?” I asked.

  “Still sore. Actually, that’s a good point. Do you think Amy will give us back the uniform?”

  I gave him one of my looks.

  “Just because I’m pleased to have you home doesn’t mean that I won’t cause pain if you misbehave.”

  He laughed again.

  “Clare’s all right though, really, isn’t she?” he asked.

  I thought of her email. I hadn’t mentioned it to Danny. It was all for another day.

  “I still think you fancy her,” I said, avoiding the question. There were too many ways to answer it. “You’re allowed to mention her name now, though, if you want to.”

  “That’s good.”

  We descended into an easy silence. At some point the wine ran out. I couldn’t face another After Eight.

  “You know what,” I said at last. “I think I’m going to do the dishwasher tomorrow. We should get you to bed.”

  “That’s a very good idea.”

  “If you ask me nicely I may even tuck you in.”

  “That would be nice. Can you promise me one thing, though?”

  “What?”

  “Can we agree that we’re never going to fall out again?”

  I looked at him, lying there, in obvious discomfort, but with such sweet, honest eyes.

  “It’s a deal,” I said, extending my hand. He took it and we shook. I loved the feeling of his hand in mine. I didn’t want to ever let go.

  Epilogue

  Wednesday, August 3rd, 1994

  The five star Vitosha New Otani Hotel towers over the Bulgarian capital, Sofia, offering views of the city and the volcanic Vitosha mountain beyond. The hotel is famous for its Japanese garden and indeed is known locally as Yaponskiya - the Japanese Hotel.

  Just off the opulent, marbled lobby is a wood-panelled cigar bar, offering well-heeled guests a choice of the finest whiskies from distilleries around the world. Never one to bow to convention, the woman in the corner, sitting on her own in a deep brown leather Chesterfield armchair, ordered a bottle of Chablis Grand Cru, together with two crystal glasses.

  While she waited for the wine to arrive, she scanned her English-language newspaper. She still thought of England as home, even though it was now over a year since she’d lived there. Of late, the homesickness had been growing in intensity, the lure of the motherland acute. For now, though, her base was Sofia with its yellow cobbled streets and unique architectural mix, from the Roman remains of the original city of Serdica to the stark mass of communist concrete.

  The waiter offered her a taste of the wine. She put the glass to her nose and inhaled the mineral scent, then swirled the glass and took a sip. She nodded her approval. He poured her a glass and then left the bottle in an ice bucket that he placed on the table. She sat back in her chair, put the newspaper to one side, and started idly toying with her Ceylon sapphire ring.

  The wine was good. She’d developed an appreciation of the finer things. She was not, however, planning on drinking the whole bottle alone. A special guest was due any moment, one she hadn’t seen in person since she’d saved his life in an east London warehouse, four months previously. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the familiar thoughts of simpler times, of the days when he’d been a regular part of her working life.

  The sound of voices brought her back to the present. She looked up and saw him raising a hand in greeting while walking slowly towards her. She’d been looking forward to this moment. He looked surprisingly well, considering what he’d been through and the injuries sustained. She smiled when she saw him, and indicated the opposite chair.

  “Good afternoon, Graham,” she said.

  “Clare. How delightful to see you. Have you missed me?”

  “I have, but I’ll take much better aim next time.”

  He laughed.

  “Still not lost your legendary sense of humour, despite the humble surroundings.”

  “Who said I was joking?”

  He lowered himself into the seat.

  “This for me?” he asked, indicating the second glass. She nodded. He poured himself a generous measure before topping up hers, almost as an afterthought.

  “How are you?” she asked. “Safely back in the land of chasing criminals?”

  “Nearly, my dear. Official start date’s Monday, although I’ve been reintroducing myself to what I like to call some of my old acquaintances.”

  “And the injuries are healing?”

  “I can’t complain. A bit of a limp as a lasting memento, but it could have been worse.”

  “It could.”

  There was no need to dwell on the details.

  He waved to attract the waiter’s attention and then, when he arrived, asked for a Cuban Montecristo cigar.

  “It would seem rude not to, given the surroundings,” he said, looking at Clare. “Care to join me?”

  “I’m not a cigar kind of girl, but you go ahead. I suppose a small celebration is appropriate.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  A moment later, the waiter returned with the cigar. Clare passed March her lighter.

  “I suppose I ought to thank you for coming to my rescue,” he said when they were back on their own.

  “There’s no need. I’m a woman of my word.”

  “You could, perhaps, have maybe come a little bit sooner, though?”

  “Or I could have just let them kill you. Made it easier for everyone.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  “Believe me, it was tempting.”

  Clare lit a cigarette, wafting the smoke away with her hand, then took a sip of her wine, admiring the pale-yellow liquid as it caught the light. March took the opportunity to change the subject.

  “Beautiful choice of hotel by the way,” he said. “Are you staying here long? Should we take this bottle back to your room?”

  “Ah, Graham, it’s good to see you never change.”

  “I just like
to think I offer a service. I can’t imagine it’s easy for you to find suitable company, given your itinerant lifestyle. Don’t think I’ll be offended if you want to take advantage.”

  “I don’t, despite the kind offer.”

  “I rather assumed that’s why you asked to see me.”

  “You know full well why I asked to see you.”

  “Well yes, there is that too.”

  Clare flicked ash, then adjusted the hem of her pin-striped skirt.

  “Have you spoken to your German friends?” she asked.

  “I have, of course.”

  “And?”

  “They’re very pleased with you.”

  “So they should be.”

  “And with the delightful Ms Cranston, obviously. It was quite the international clear-up.”

  She nodded.

  “Did they give you anything for me?”

  March reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a lightly padded envelope. He placed it on the table, resting his hand on top.

  “Obviously I had to deduct my travel expenses,” he said.

  “Goes without saying. I assume you flew economy?”

  “Oh dear. I knew I’d got something wrong.”

  Clare took the envelope and placed it into her bag, next to the voice recorder and its illuminated red LED. She paused for a moment, fully in control.

  “You know, Graham,” she said at last, “I’ve spent the last few months trying to repay debts. I felt I owed Danny and Anna because of what happened last year, and the trouble they went to, looking for me. I even felt, deep down, that I owed you. Your sheer incompetence, no offence, let me get away with disappearing.”

  “I’d hardly class it as incompetence.”

  “Oh, come on. We both know you’re only interested in your bank balance and your genitalia.”

  March laughed.

  “You say that as though it’s a bad thing.”

  “There’s more to life, Graham.”