Hider/Seeker

by Hider-Seeker (epub)

  A passing couple skipped across the street to avoid the fight. They averted their eyes and disappeared quickly into the night.

  Gold Sovereign rings flashed before his eyes. Harry ducked and dived as Tucker jabbed at him without connecting. Each punch, came with a snort. There was a lot of weight behind his fists and Harry was glad to skip around the heavy man. Tucker looked like he’d plenty of practice in the ring, his body swinging behind each fist. Harry had no idea whether Tucker was punching air for his benefit or was just warming up to deck him. Either way, they’d danced around long enough, and it was time to end the show. Harry waited for Tucker to take his next step forward; landing a kick, hard below the big man’s knee cap. Tucker went down in agony.

  Harry was about to walk away when Linehan charged him, slamming him against the wall. The old man pummelled his kidneys, both fists firing like pistons. Harry felt his legs giving way.

  Linehan grunted out words with each punch. ‘No one screws around with me, do you hear? And, if I find you’ve been up to your old tricks, you better pray that I don’t get hold of you. Because if I do, I’ll fasten both your eyes to the back of your skull with a nail gun.’

  Harry couldn’t breathe and clung to the top of the wall to prevent him from sinking to the ground, where he was sure Linehan would kick him to death.

  Linehan had no breath left and stopped punching.

  Harry was close to passing out when he felt Linehan pulling his legs away from under him, pushing him over the wall and into the black canal.

  A mouthful of muddy water went down Harry’s throat as he struggled to swim. He twisted and turned in the freezing water, keeping his head high, his coat weighing him down like lead as he kicked furiously to prevent himself from being dragged under. He kicked off his shoes and swam away from the embankment just in case Linehan was waiting for him.

  Harry hid on the far side of the canal behind a moored rowing boat that belonged to one of the houses that backed onto the waterway. He had a good view of the steel stairway that led down from the bridge to the embankment opposite, but there was no sign of any movement. Twenty minutes passed and only three joggers had run by. Convinced he was, safe, he swam across to the embankment and pulled himself out of the canal.

  Harry walked all the way home barefoot. He found Mr Charalambous’s wife, Eudoxia, in the hallway when he came through the front door. She was a plump woman in her mid-fifties with bouffant hair like a grenadier’s bearskin. Her dark eyes sank into him like fish hooks as soon as she saw him as she knew Harry was to blame for her husband’s drunken stupor. She didn’t register immediately his dishevelled state. He couldn’t stand up straight, his face was bloodied, and his feet were cut. Then the reek of the canal from his clothes hit her.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘You’re completely soaked.’

  ‘I fell into the canal.’

  ‘Because you were drunk like my husband,’ she said, nodding. ‘I’ll get you antiseptic for your cuts.’ Eudoxia went into the backroom and returned with a Savlon spray and cotton wool. She made a few squirts onto one of the pads she brought and handed it over to him to clean up his nose first. Under her direction, he dabbed away the blood and she supplied him with more pads until his face looked decent again. She told him to wash his feet in his bathroom, before handing over the Savlon and cotton wool to take with him.

  ‘You’ve been fighting. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘I told you I stumbled into the canal. It could happen to anyone.’

  ‘And I suppose a bottle of whisky accidentally fell into my husband’s mouth this afternoon. He’s not used to drinking like you.’

  Harry couldn’t understand the point she was trying to make and swayed in front of her.

  ‘We’ve never had any trouble from our tenants. Never. But when you arrived, always problems. First your women, then your drinking, and now the police tearing up my house.’

  He’d forgotten all about the Met’s search. ‘Mrs Charalambous, I’m sorry about –’

  But she didn’t let him finish. She stepped up closer to him and pointed her short stubby finger with its brightly painted red nail at his chest. ‘I want you out of my house by the end of the week.’

  ‘Please, Mrs Charalambous –’

  ‘Stop,’ she said raising her hand. ‘I’m not listening to any more of your lies. Don’t think, I don’t know you were somehow responsible for smashing up our car last summer?’

  ‘Don’t blame me. That was just kids pranking around.’

  ‘The police said they’d been hired to do it, and you know who paid them.’

  He did, and he also knew why. Polecat wanted back the money he lent Harry to pay off a bookie. The kids Polecat sent around smashed up the wrong Volvo, and although he did feel bad for Charlie he could hardly admit he was the intended target.

  As soon as Harry got back to his flat upstairs, he switched on the laptop and began to take off his wet clothes. He rubbed himself down with a towel from the bathroom while he waited for the laptop to boot up. Harry then Googled Pertwood Developments to see what he could find on Nick Linehan. A home page came up with a logo of rolling hills covered with snow and the name of the company. It said it was an international property developer, specialising in residential property, timeshare apartments, and urban regeneration work. He clicked first on “Residential developments” and there was a picture of newly built holiday homes in the Mediterranean. Clicking on “Timeshare apartments” revealed a barefoot brunette sitting with her laptop on a settee in front of a large sunny balcony. He pointed the cursor on “Urban regeneration” and suddenly he felt a knot in his stomach. Pictures of dockland developments in Ireland, the UK and Europe. Gleaming yachts moored in marinas, close-ups of stainless steel capstans and white ropes coiled up neatly on varnished wooden decks, just like the posters Bethany had described earlier that evening.

  Harry was about to call her to ask her why she’d never mentioned Nick Linehan’s name, but thought better of it. She was in no state to deal with this right now. But he had questions running through his head. Why did Nick Linehan want him to stay away from Bethany? How did he know so much about him, even the line of enquiry being taken by the police?

  Eddie hadn’t been straight with him from the start. He’d told him he didn’t know Nick Linehan, but yet they were clearly more than casual acquaintances. Harry had felt all along Ed was holding back on Angela Linehan. Why? Maybe they were having an affair? That would be a good enough motive for a jealous husband to make two holes in Ed.

  Nine

  It was four in the afternoon and the hall light of the garden flat was burning brightly as Harry rang the doorbell. He stood patiently next to a four-by-four Nissan that occupied the entire front garden. Around the edges of the paved drive were plastic wheelie bins, daubed with the flat numbers of the Victorian house.

  Stroud Green was not a favourite neighbourhood of Harry’s on account of the young City professionals that were moving in, though most of them seemed to have given Nelson’s road a wide berth.

  The door finally opened after a succession of turning locks, and a black cat darted out.

  ‘Tinker,’ shouted Nelson, holding the door open. He was a lanky man in his late forties with sunken cheeks. ‘I’d promise my sister I’d look after him for a few days. Serves him right if the silly bugger gets run over.’

  Harry stepped into the flat and unbuttoned his coat. He passed through Nelson’s hall of fame, giving a cursory glance at the rows of black and white stills of a teenage Nelson in period costume on various TV dramas, along with a few theatrical posters and framed newspaper clippings.

  The furniture in Nelson’s living room was from Ikea. It was mostly untreated pine, apart from two green Stockholm sofas facing a fifty-two inch flat screen TV. Along the walls were shelves stacked high with books and magazines on films, theatre and music. There were no other personal possessions in the room apart from a giant photograph of him and his sister playing tennis together whe
n they were kids. Harry plonked himself on one of the Stockholms while Nelson poured him a glass of red wine from an opened bottle on the sideboard. He handed Harry the glass and said, ‘Cheers.’

  ‘A bit early?’ said Harry.

  ‘I know, but I have to dash off soon. We’re having a few electrical hitches and I need to go early to check up on the cabling before the show. I got a nasty shock in the control booth last night. Nearly started a fire.’ He shook his head and said, ‘It’s criminal the state of the wiring in that theatre.’

  Nelson put down his glass and went into another room. He returned with a brown envelope and dropped it on to Harry’s lap.

  Harry pulled out two passports and looked at the names on the inside pages. ‘Kelly Hubbard and Simon Jennings,’ he read aloud. ‘Where did you find them?’

  ‘The usual NHS database place,’ replied Nelson, sitting down on an armchair. ‘Neither will be needing a passport.’

  Harry looked at Nelson, wanting more information.

  ‘The thirty-two-year-old woman is suffering from motor neurone disease and the eleven-year-old boy has a high-grade glioma. Satisfied?’

  Harry nodded. He continued to look through the woman’s passport and flipped back to the page with Angela Linehan’s photo. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. She had that look of knowing herself to be attractive. That unchallenged beauty that could drive men crazy sometimes. Maybe even him.

  He was happy with the passports and put them back into the envelope, before stuffing it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He turned to Nelson and said, ‘I didn’t think you’d pull this off so quickly.’

  ‘Nor did I. But from now on, no more rush jobs. My chap at the passport office in Victoria came close to breaking point getting this ready.’

  Harry agreed. ‘The sooner this is over, the better. I need to get away for a bit. Nick Linehan made an unexpected appearance last week.’

  ‘He knows about his wife?’ asked Nelson.

  ‘No. I don’t have time to explain now, but I’m pretty sure he killed Eddie. I’ll find out for certain tonight.’

  A bitter cold wind was blowing as Harry headed on foot towards Finsbury Park. He kept mulling over why Ed had dragged him into this mess, but found no answers. Then another thought came to him. Was Ed planning to skip the country with Angela Linehan and her kid? He always kept one of Nelson’s bogus passports close at hand in case of the unexpected and maybe he was planning on leaving Bethany.

  Harry caught a bus that dropped him outside La Casa, a noisy pub near the Angel, and went straight upstairs to the salsa club. He paid the woman at the door and hung up his coat. The music was deafening, he could feel the walls and floor vibrating Latin American.

  He’d arranged to meet Angela Linehan there because he knew it would be crowded and hard for anyone to follow her, once inside. With a bottle of beer in his hand and an eye on the entrance, Harry stood alone at the bar. People were pouring in so fast that it was making it difficult to keep a look out for her. He figured she would find him as he had what she wanted.

  Twenty minutes later, a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned to find her in a black flowing dress and holding a small clutch bag. He lowered his head close to her ear to ask her what she would like to drink. That scent of a lemon grove came back to him from the night at the restaurant.

  Something happened in that one moment – something that connected them. She wanted a dance, not a drink, and they took to the floor. They danced in decreasing circles until they were holding each other tight. Her hair touched his cheek as her face came closer to his, her hand squeezing his shoulder. He hadn’t figured on dancing with her and its possible consequences. Her body felt good and he knew he would soon be in trouble if he didn’t act smart. He’d seen it before with female clients. They’re at their most vulnerable when they realise they’re close to quitting their old life forever. Making that leap into the unknown was a frightening prospect. He knew the feeling of isolation was making Angela Linehan hold on to him for dear life because he was the one carrying her across the river to the other side.

  The music stopped and she looked up to him with soulful eyes. But to his surprise he didn’t kiss her red lips and led her away from the dance floor. He helped her put on her coat and then donned his, before pulling her by the hand out into the freezing night.

  Ten

  Harry and Angela Linehan sat opposite each other in a noisy Upper Street café like two strangers. She was looking down at her empty coffee cup, stirring the dregs with a spoon.

  Harry asked her what was wrong.

  She stopped making a hole in the cup and placed the spoon on the side of the saucer. ‘Why didn’t you kiss me?’ she asked, her eyes looking straight into his.

  ‘You’re my client. It’s best I act professionally.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s in your own interest that nothing connects us after you leave.’

  She rested her hand on his and smiled. ‘You could always run away with me.’

  Harry didn’t answer and ordered two more coffees. The waitress took away the old cups and he looked across to Angela Linehan again.

  ‘You know this can’t go anywhere,’ he said. ‘Soon you’ll disappear for good from London, and you can’t let anyone know where you’re going – not even me.’

  ‘I’ve got plenty of money for both of us.’

  ‘Forget the idea,’ he said. ‘You can’t let it happen, for your son’s sake and yours.’

  She thought it over, and then nodded.

  Harry remained serious.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked.

  ‘Were you sleeping with Eddie?’

  She pulled her hand away. He knew he’d pitched the question too early and a curtain came down between them.

  ‘What a strange thing to ask, now? Maybe, I should go.’

  ‘Not until you tell me.’

  ‘There was nothing between us. As I told you before, he was someone who offered me advice – that’s all.’

  ‘I wish I could believe you.’

  ‘I don’t care what you think. It’s true.’

  The waitress returned with the coffees, placing a new bill on the table before marching off to deal with a queue of customers at the entrance door.

  Harry resumed his questioning. ‘Your husband found out you and Eddie were messing around, didn’t he?’

  Her face was blank.

  ‘He shot Eddie, didn’t he?’

  She stared at him, hesitant what to say next. Then she spoke, her voice becoming much softer. ‘You’re right. Nick found out.’

  ‘What did he do when he discovered you were having an affair?’

  ‘To my surprise he acted as if nothing had happened. I suppose his anger was aimed at Ed as he still needs to keep me for his own selfish motives. What do you think?’

  Harry ignored her question, and asked another of his own. ‘I suppose the baby is Ed’s?’

  She didn’t reply.

  ‘You’re still keeping your appointment at the clinic?’

  Again, no answer.

  ‘How did you meet Eddie?’ he asked. ‘And don’t say in the tea salon at Fortnum and Mason.’

  For the first time since meeting her, she’d lost her self-assurance and looked genuinely confused. The cogs were turning in her head while she formulated an answer that would satisfy him. And when it came, it did.

  ‘Eddie and Nick worked together,’ she said, her voice barely audible in the hubbub of the café and the steam hissing from the espresso machine.

  He wanted to know more and asked her about their connection.

  Property, she replied and then began to explain how her husband built luxury villas, holiday apartments, and marinas overseas. Eddie found rich clients willing to loan money for construction.

  ‘It was a perfect business partnership when you think about it,’ she said.

  ‘Until they fell out over you.’

  ‘Now you know everyth
ing.’

  ‘And Bethany never found out?’ he asked.

  ‘She wouldn’t be the first wife. But if she did, Eddie never let on.’

  Harry wasn’t expecting it to be quite so straightforward. He decided to step up a gear and said, ‘Have you spoken to Tucker?’

  She looked surprised by the question. ‘About what?’

  ‘I met your husband last week.’

  Her face turned immediately pale and her eyes froze.

  ‘Relax, he knows nothing about what you’re planning. Your husband has this funny idea I’m bothering Bethany. He was just warning me to stay away from her. Tucker and his friend helped him get his point across.’

  ‘My God, what did they do?’

  ‘I’m flattered by your concern. Let’s just say, I’ve dealt with worse.’

  ‘So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  That was the truth. He had to accept the fact that his old school friend had been shot by a jealous husband. Nothing more complicated than that. Nick Linehan only wanted Harry to go on the run so that he could divert the Met’s attention away from himself.

  All that thinking made Harry feel tired. He rubbed his face with both hands, hoping it would help revive him.

  She asked to look at the passports. He gave her the envelope and she took them out to examine. She studied the cover of her passport and then opened it to see her picture.

  ‘I look terrible,’ she said, before reading her new name aloud, ‘Kelly Hubbard.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it pretty quick,’ said Harry.

  Then she turned to Peter’s passport and raised her immaculate brows into two arcs. ‘Simon Jennings? Why doesn’t he have the same surname as me?’