by Kate Johnson
‘Soph, please don’t cry,’ he pleaded.
‘I can’t help it,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m stuck in the middle of Frogland because someone framed me for a murder I had no reason to commit but everyone thinks I did. The police are after me, Luke. I’m wanted by MI5. And I’m bloody miles and miles from you and I miss you. I really miss you,’ I cried.
‘I miss you, too. Do you have that passport yet?’
‘Yes, and I look hideous in it. I hate being Alice Maud. It’s a stupid sodding name.’
‘You chose it,’ Luke said with a touch of amusement. ‘Look, if you have the passport, can’t you leave the country?’
‘And go where?’
‘Here?’ Luke asked quietly.
I closed my eyes. ‘I’d be seen, Luke. You don’t think they’ll be watching your flat and mine, and my parents’ house and Maria and Angel and everyone?’
He sighed. ‘Yeah. I know. There’s been a car outside since Saturday morning. Jesus, this is a mess.’
By the time I hung up I’d managed to stop crying, although my nose was stuffy and my throat was raw. I got up to find some Sinutabs to clear out my sinuses, but as I passed the part-open bedroom door I saw Jack leaning against the wall outside.
Clearly, he’d heard every word.
‘Do you always listen in on people’s private conversations?’ I asked, wiping my eyes.
‘Only when they’re of use to me.’
‘And how was that of use to you?’ I sniffed, trying not to sound bitter and failing somewhat.
Jack didn’t answer me. He looked at me for a while, his face impassive, then he said, ‘Cécile’s made you a casserole. She told me to come and get you.’
I nodded and took in a deep breath to try and get my nose unblocked. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I said, but he didn’t move and watched me cross to my toiletry bag and rummage for the tablets. My toiletry bag is the size of some people’s suitcases, and carries roughly the same stock as a small pharmacy. I had a bit of a health scare last year. Well, not so much a health scare as septicaemia. And then I sort of nearly drowned just before Christmas.
I’m a little cautious with myself these days. At least, when I’m not on the run.
Jack watched, fascinated, as I popped various pills. ‘Hypochondriac much?’
I ignored him.
‘What made those scars on your chest?’
‘A gentleman wouldn’t have noticed,’ I said tartly, then relented. ‘Someone tried to stab me at Christmas.’
‘Whatever happened to peace and goodwill?’
‘It’s a terrible world,’ I agreed.
After dinner I declined Cécile’s offer of drinking until I passed out, and went back up to my room. Jack had shoved back his chair and walked away the minute he’d finished eating. I wondered if he was this miserable with everyone, or just people he suspected of framing him for murder.
It was when I closed the curtains that I heard a sudden bang. I might have dismissed it, had I not also seen a tiny flare of light that I recognised as muzzle flash from a pistol shot. For a second I wavered, then I grabbed my fleece, shoved my feet into trainers, and ran down the stairs. Cécile was snoring, her head on the kitchen table, pre-war music warbling from the scratchy gramophone in the corner. She didn’t see me grab a big, sharp knife and dash out into the night.
The house was surrounded by what had probably been a garden at some point, but what was now, through sheer neglect, no more than a lumpy meadow with bushes creeping in from the edges. I ran over it, tripping once and nearly cutting my own arm off, to the woods at the end. I hadn’t been down here before, but from my bedroom window I’d seen that the trees went back quite a way, then parted at a stream or small river. It was in this gap that I’d seen the light flash.
Panting, not used to such exercise and definitely not wearing the right bra, I crossed my arms over my chest and ran into the trees. It’s all right for girls in films to rush around all over the place without knocking themselves out, but I believe that if God had intended for me to be a runner, He wouldn’t have given me a double D.
Reaching the river, I scanned left and right and then saw, a hundred feet away on the far bank, two figures huddled by the edge of the water. One of them was holding the other one under and without thinking, I yelled, ‘Hey!’
The drowner looked up, saw me, and shoved the drownee under the water. In the darkness it was impossible to tell who it was – I couldn’t even see if it was male or female. Whoever it was pushed the body further into the water and ran off into the darkness.
‘Hey,’ I yelled again, outraged that they were leaving without giving me their full name, address, daytime telephone number and date of birth. ‘Come back!’
But of course, ‘Come back!’ is probably the most completely pointless thing to say to someone running away. What did I expect to happen? The drowner would stop, put his or her hands up and say, ‘It’s a fair cop,’ when I eventually caught up?
No, the figure just disappeared into the dark woods, and was lost to me in seconds.
I looked for a way to cross the water and saw a rather precarious-looking bridge made of a few felled logs, not far from the body. Now, I’m not good with heights and my balance is less catlike than … lemming-like, but I nevertheless skidded and slipped my way over the slimy wood, losing my balance and falling painfully on my face as I reached the other side.
The body was floating gently, face down, anchored by some weeds that had wrapped around the ankle. From the size I could tell it was a man, and I knew without seeing any more of him that it was Jack.
I waded in, gasping at the utter coldness of the water, hoping desperately that the things slapping at my ankles were just more weeds, and grabbed at Jack’s body. I flipped him over and dragged him by the ankles out of the water, back onto the dark, muddy bank, and tried to remember what Luke had told me on my one, extremely brief, first aid training session with SO17. Unfortunately, since it was Luke training me, the mouth-to-mouth info got a bit … well, shall we say intimate, and leave it at that.
This left me desperately trying to remember back nearly twenty years to my frigging Brownies First Aid badge.
I checked his breathing. No breathing. Hell. I checked his pulse and felt nothing … nothing until I shifted grip, desperately, and felt something thud very gently under my fingers. Thank God for that. He might not be the world’s nicest guy, but he could help me clear my name, and I needed him alive.
Luke said when they pulled me from the water in December I wasn’t breathing, and I’d been in there a hell of a lot longer than Jack. He was still alive, I just needed to get him breathing again.
I stuck two fingers in his mouth and pulled out some river gunk, then I started breathing into his mouth, trying not to think about the gunk, pinching his nose and remembering how hard it had been in that Brownie class to get the dummy’s chest to inflate. Apparently real people were even harder, because I was huffing into Jack’s mouth for bloody ages and very nearly gave up when his chest suddenly rose, he spluttered and heaved and I sprang away just in time to avoid a mouthful of regurgitated river water.
I rolled him on his side and leaned back against the rough bark of a tree, cold and wet and exhausted, watching Jack sick up more water and lie still for a while, his chest rising and falling reassuringly.
Eventually he moved his head and looked up, and I gave a little finger wave.
‘What the hell –?’ he croaked.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Where’d she go?’
‘Who? The person who had your head under the water? Ran away.’ I made a running motion with my first two fingers. ‘I did think about pursuing but somebody confiscated my gun,’ I added pointedly.
He rolled onto his back and lay there with his arms wide. ‘She hit me,’ he said. ‘I lost balance and the next thing I knew I was underwater.’
I was impressed. It had taken me almost a week to remember how I’d ended up in the water. Also
, he’d said ‘she’.
‘Did you recognise her?’ I asked.
Jack shook his head. ‘Didn’t see her face. Definitely a woman, though.’ He coughed some more, then said suspiciously, ‘What are you doing here?’
I sighed. ‘Performing one of my trademark reversals. You know, drowning you then bringing you back to life?’
Jack scowled at me.
‘I was saving your ungrateful behind.’
‘How –?’
‘I heard a shot.’
‘Oh. That was me. Guess I missed.’
‘You guess?’
He rubbed his head. ‘I’m not thinking too clearly.’
I supposed I could cut him some slack. ‘Yeah, well, maybe you lost a bit of time. When I nearly drowned –’
‘Wait, you got stabbed, and nearly drowned?’
‘I had a busy winter.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Spying is a dangerous job.’
‘Yeah, but you’re like a lightning rod. I looked at your file. More people tried to kill you than Castro.’
‘S’not my fault.’
‘Wanna bet?’
‘Hey, someone just tried to kill you.’
He shrugged and sat up. ‘Occupational hazard.’
‘Oh, you think being a bounty hunter is more dangerous than being a spy?’
Jack gestured wordlessly at his sodden clothes. Guess he had a point.
‘Any idea as to who it might have been?’ I asked.
‘Possibly the person who killed Irene Shepherd?’
‘I thought I killed Irene Shepherd.’
Jack narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Don’t you start.’ He tried to get to his feet but swayed and fell like timber. I stayed where I was and said, ‘That’ll be the near drowning.’
‘Shut up.’
‘We have to get back across this river, you know.’
‘I can make it. Just … give me a minute.’
It took longer than a minute for him to get strong enough to walk back across the bridge, holding reluctantly onto me. All the time I was worrying more: who was this woman, why was she trying to kill Jack and how did she know where he was?
‘Jack?’ I asked as we walked across the meadow.
‘Yeah?’
‘How did she know where you were? Or was she just a random person trying to kill you?’
‘I think she is involved with this whole thing.’
‘You haven’t told anyone you’re here, have you? Used a mobile or anything?’
‘No. Just the village payphone.’
‘It could be bugged.’
‘Why would anyone bug it, unless they knew we were here?’ Jack asked suspiciously.
I raised my palms. The only person who knew I was here was Docherty, and he wouldn’t …
No, he wouldn’t.
Would he?
‘Anyway, it wasn’t. I checked.’
‘Did you bug my phone?’ I asked.
‘Shouldn’t a government officer like you be able to tell?’
Dammit. There was no way I could answer that without looking like a bigger idiot than I did already.
Jack smirked. It was a very loud smirk.
‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘How did this woman find you?’
‘Maybe she saw you,’ he said.
‘I hardly think so. I changed my hair and everything.’
Jack gave me a dead look.
‘We probably need to leave.’
He looked at me. ‘We?’
‘Yeah. If she knows I’m here, too … Jack, didn’t it occur to you that maybe this might involve the both of us? That we might have got framed by the same person?’
He said nothing.
‘We could work on it together …’
‘Work on it? This isn’t the bloody Famous Five, Sophie, it’s not a case for you to work on.’
‘So how do you propose we clear our names? Or is your solution just to hide out here forever? Because I for one would like to go home to my boyfriend and my parents at some point. I have a flat and friends and a life –’ okay, so that was pushing it a bit – ‘and I am not about to give them up because someone stole my gun!’
Jack was silent for a bit. He stumbled on a rough bit of earth and I caught him, his clothes sodden and cold, his skin like ice. He pulled away from me, angrily, and stalked off ahead.
Fine. Stupid men. See if I cared.
I went straight past the sleeping Cécile and up to my room, changed into clean clothes and packed all my things back into my case. I put my new passport in my pocket, along with my car keys and wallet, which was rapidly emptying. My stash of Euros wasn’t going to last me forever.
I lugged everything out to the car, then went back to the kitchen and started collecting food. The rest of the casserole, in the equivalent of a Tupperware box, bread, cheese, fruit, a bottle or two of wine … hey, it could get boring out on my own. I put that in the car and went back in to leave a note for Cécile.
Jack was standing in the kitchen, keys in hand, a bag over his shoulder. He glowered at me. His clothes were clean, but his hair was still wet, his skin pale.
‘My bike is faster,’ he said, ‘but your car can carry more.’
‘So it can,’ I said. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Away. With you.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Says who?’
‘Me.’ He sighed. ‘You said it yourself, we can do more together.’
‘Once more, with feeling.’
‘And someone knows we’re here.’
‘They could still be watching.’
‘They could have sabotaged your car.’
‘Or your bike.’
We met eyes.
‘It’s Cécile’s bike.’
‘It’s Luke’s car.’
We nodded at each other and I said, ‘Okay, but you have to do one thing for me.’ I held out my wrists, where those damn handcuff bracelets still jangled. ‘Unlock these?’
Jack gave the ghost of a smile and did as I asked.
I went to the chalkboard by the door, scrawled, ‘Merci et au revoir, Jacques & Alice,’ and we went out to the car.
‘Number plate,’ he said, frowning at it.
‘What about it? I altered it.’
‘No good. Cameras these days have auto-recognition for number plates. Won’t take five minutes for someone to connect this car with the one that got off the ferry in Calais. You’re lucky you got away with it so far. Wait here.’
He disappeared around the side of the house, and a few minutes later came back with a pair of French number plates. Minutes I spent mentally flagellating myself for not thinking about number-plate recognition. Hey, I had a lot on my plate.
‘Did you just nick those off Cécile’s 2CV?’ I said.
‘No. Jean-Paul’s.’ He had a screwdriver in his other hand and set about changing the plates.
‘Should we respray it, too?’ I asked sourly, annoyed that I hadn’t thought of doing this myself.
Jack ignored me.
‘It could use an Opal badge,’ I said. ‘French cars don’t have Vauxhall insignias.’
‘Well, it’ll have to do.’ He moved to the back of the car and fixed the plate there while I resigned myself to re-packing the car with both our luggage by myself.
When he was done with the number plates, Jack went to the driver’s side and I shook my head.
‘Oh, no. You do not get to drive.’
‘I could not be as bad a driver as you.’
‘When have you even seen me drive?’
‘When I shot at your bumper.’
We both looked at said bumper. There was indeed a dent in it.
I narrowed my eyes and gave Jack my scary look. It has floored lesser men. ‘Do you want to annoy me?’
Apparently Jack was one of these lesser men. He got in the passenger side, looking sulky. It was a look that suited him unfairly well.
‘Oh,’ I said as I started up the engine, ‘and I want my gun back.’
‘Which
one? The one you stole, or the one that’s unlicensed?’
‘Hey, I’m gonna renew it.’ Maybe. Sort of. Or get Luke to modify the file that says I’m not supposed to have my gun any more.
‘Yeah, sure, they’ll renew a licence for someone wanted for murder.’
‘I told you, we’ll figure that out.’ The car bounced down the drive on suspension that was not designed for French country lanes.
‘What are you, Miss Marple?’
‘Don’t you Miss Marple me.’
‘You know, this car could be prickling with explosives.’
‘Did I ever tell you about the time I got an Aston Martin blown up? Jack? Jack?’
Chapter Five
She stood on the doorstep in the morning sun, pink-cheeked and adorable in a knitted beret and baby-doll coat. Angel looked exactly like her namesake, which made it all the more confusing when she got her claws out. It was like being savaged by a fluffy toy.
‘You look terrible,’ she told Luke.
‘And you look wonderful. What’s your point?’
‘That you need to get out. Have you done anything since she disappeared apart from obsessively check up on her?’
‘Yes,’ he said, irritated. ‘I’ve been working. You know, my job.’
Angel cocked her head. ‘They’ve kept you on your current case?’
His face betrayed nothing. Luke was almost sure of that. ‘I’m between cases.’
Unfortunately, in addition to being sharper than she looked, Angel was also very, very good with people. ‘If you’re doing that reading-me-like-a-book thing,’ he said, ‘I don’t think it’s going to be one of those ones with the pink shiny covers you and Sophie love so much.’
‘No, I think we’re looking more at Kurt Wallander,’ Angel said. ‘Can I come in?’
‘People will talk,’ Luke said, but he stood back to allow her entry.
‘I won’t insult your intelligence by asking if you know about the spooks outside,’ she said, unfastening her coat. ‘Are they on your side?’
‘They’re MI5.’
‘Question still stands,’ Angel sighed.
‘I’m considering taking them a cup of coffee,’ Luke said. ‘Surveillance is boring as hell.’
She smiled. ‘And are they listening in as well?’
He smiled back at her, his first real smile since the news had broken. ‘They think they’re listening to me watching The Thick Of It. I’m enjoying thinking up new ripostes to Malcolm Tucker.’