by G I Tulloch
The figure on the couch stirred. "Don't tell Bel what?"
"That you were sleeping with your mouth open Trent, and you were snoring," retorted Adam.
"Lennox, I don't snore and I didn't have my mouth open," came Bel's swift denial.
Gerry turned to Adam with his serious face on. "You seem to be taking this rather more lightly than you were earlier."
Adam looked briefly surprised before comprehension hit him. "I called Mitch."
"Ah. Now I understand. " Gerry nodded sagely. "So if I appear to step on my shadow it's just Mitch getting too close?"
"Correct."
At this point Gerry, having finished his drink, excused himself, and set off for home to try and convince his wife that he had been delayed on legitimate business and not 'stuck in the pub'.
Adam suddenly realised that seven o'clock had come and gone, and elected to eat out. As they stepped out into the street and headed for the river Bel hesitated.
Adam stopped. "Problem?"
"Let me get this right," said Bel. "We are currently being threatened with a fate worse than death."
"Correct," confirmed Adam. Call him fey but he thought he knew what was coming.
"And yet we're walking across London on our own, a sitting target."
"Right," grinned Adam. "You've got to bait the hook with something tasty after all."
Bel looked at him strangely and they walked on.
The 'Floating Duck' was a smart floating restaurant moored alongside the Thames Embankment. It may have been a barge at one time but successive alterations to the superstructure left it looking like a cross between the Mary Rose and Captain Nemo's submarine. It specialised in fish and game, and removing cash from your pocket, but at least the view was nice and the waiters didn't spit on the plates before they polished them.
As they approached, Adam wondered whether the 'Friday night crowd' might have left them a bit short of tables and as they crossed the gangplank and ducked through the low entranceway his fears were substantiated. A queue of four couples ahead of them did not bode well. He was about to consider plan B when the Head Honcho approached. He looked suspiciously at Adam, as if assessing him as worthy clientele, or not as the case may be, before noticing Bel standing slightly behind. His eyes lit up.
"Miss Trent."
Bel smiled. "Good evening Edward, how are you?"
"Very well, very well indeed. You will have Mr Bartlett's usual table?"
"Thank you Edward," replied Bel with a half grin that Adam was meant to see.
Edward pushed past Adam as if he wasn't there and solicitously escorted Bel to a window table over in a quiet corner. Adam was left to find his own way.
Once seated they were handed menus that would have caused an eclipse over most of the Southern Hemisphere.
"Mademoiselle will have her usual Martini?" inquired Edward.
"Thank you that would be lovely."
"And the gentleman?" started Edward. Adam was convinced there was an inflexion in the word that was meant to convey the impression of lower life form.
"The gentleman will have a ginger beer and lime," replied Adam.
There was a marginal lifting of the eyebrows but Edward left them without further comment.
A moment's silence was broken by Bel who was having distinct trouble controlling her facial expression. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you. John entertains here regularly."
"Of course Miss Trent," mimicked Adam. "I should have known Miss Trent. Will that be all Miss Trent."
"Shut up you idiot," she laughed. "Or I won't bring you out in public again."
Adam displayed his maturity by sticking his tongue out briefly.
The drinks arrived and food was ordered. Adam was suspecting the onset of paranoia but he was sure that Edward fractionally shook his head pityingly when Adam made his choice.
He checked the strength of the drink. Hand it to them. They knew how to mix a ginger beer and lime. He caught Bel's eye.
"About yesterday, in your office. I'm sorry. I was out of order. I still lose it far too easily when I start talking about Fran, and everything."
Bel shook her head. "My fault, I shouldn't have pushed it." She paused, looking out over the river. "Do you think we'll ever get over the past?"
"I hope so, but every time I think about it I feel guilty, because I feel it's wrapped up in Fran becoming a distant memory."
They waited in silence for food to arrive and break the awkwardness.
Bel forked some prawns and miscellaneous salad-stuff into her mouth. She had a way of making it a delicate movement, whilst making Adam feel he was using a shovel. "You think that this business is tied up with Fran's death?" she asked.
Adam paused, fork in mid air, salad-stuff going everywhere. "I don't know. It's got to be tied in with Bartletts but I don't know if the reference to Fran's death was just designed to get at me."
"But you're assuming it's connected."
"I suppose I am," replied Adam. He retrieved the forkful before continuing, "Is there anyone at Bartletts that you would trust implicitly?"
After a noticeable hesitation she finally put her fork down. "There's a guy who works in the IT side of Accounts. Derek Travis. We've worked on fraud security before. I'd have to check where he thinks his loyalties lie but I think he might help."
"Sound him out. I want to know if there was anything irregular going on at Bartletts."
Bel bristled. "If there was anything going on I think I would have known about it. Like I say, I worked on fraud before."
Adam looked somewhat disbelievingly but recognised that he was dealing with hot coals and decided to tread carefully.
"If they knew you were on the side of the angels they would have carefully hidden it from you."
"Who's they?" demanded Bel, the indignation losing its impact as she dropped a forkful of prawn onto her lap.
Adam waited, as a gentleman would, for the lady to recover.
"If I knew that, we'd be laughing," he explained.
Bel retreated. "What kind of thing are we looking for?"
"Anything. There has to be a reason why John travelled on the freighter and why one of the crew died."
The main course arrived and Adam was getting the impression that Edward was warming to him at last, or alternatively he could be completely deluded, it was a close call.
Bel started to bone her rainbow trout with a precision reminiscent of medical soaps. "I have a confession to make."
Adam over-acted aghast and put both knife and fork down with dramatic flair.
Bel was forced to laugh. "I'm serious." She paused. "Someone tried to attack me this afternoon, before you phoned me."
She outlined what had happened. Adam went very still.
She tried to catch his eye.
"You're mad at me aren't you?"
Adam was confused. In situations like this it was so much easier if you were on your own. Decisions were simpler. Actions less critical. When people you cared about got involved it all became a lot more complicated. Like Iraq...
He took one of her hands in his. She seemed slightly disconcerted by the move.
"I need you to be honest with me if we're to get out of this mess," he said.
"Sure," she said brightly. Adam didn't believe a word.
They finished the main course and Adam indulged in light banter with Edward over the choice of dessert. Either Adam was winning him over or Edward was going for the big tip.
Half way through her profiteroles Bel picked up the gauntlet.
"So what are we going to do?" she asked.
Adam frowned briefly. "I've told you. I'm going to find out the connection with Granger Bartlett's death and then I'll take it from there."
It was Bel's turn to frown. "I said 'what are we going to do'. If Fran is involved somehow then I need to find out why as much as you do." There was defiance in her expression that Adam wasn't going to argue with. Not yet at any rate.
"Ah." It was Adam's turn to
think. "Then for safety's sake I think perhaps you should stay in the flat until things become clearer. You can use either of the spare rooms."
Bel's frown returned with a vengeance and she toyed with a profiterole she was studying intently. "You know, I'd prefer not to."
It was a statement that could be easily interpreted a number of ways. Adam took the safe course.
"I know you don't want to stay around but it can't be helped."
Whether that was what Bel was actually asking or not she didn't push the point.
Conversation returned to the safe ground of the common place. Edward appeared to look down his nose at the tip but Adam didn't take it personally. They made it back to the flat without mishap and Bel excused herself to turn in for the night. Adam sat in silence, staring into the still glowing embers of the fire, listening to the sounds of her padding around, in and out of the bathroom until she finally settled into the bedroom.
He transferred his attention to the portrait of Fran that sat on a large oak bookcase to one side of the fireplace.
What happened, Fran? What was going on that's coming back to bite us?
His own portrait, taken at the same time, didn't seem to offer any answers, but he asked the questions anyway.
So, what are you going to do Adam? How do you get out of this one? Where do you go from here? You haven't got a bloody clue have you?
Above all he kept coming back to the same question that had been plaguing him all day.
He looked at his watch and decided it was time for a walk.
Chapter 13
Much of the East End of London had been tarted up but there were still many places where the homeless congregated under an open sky. Drive around and if you were careful you could spot them by the glow of a brazier under a railway arch. The local coppers kept an eye out but generally it was 'you leave me alone and I'll leave you alone'.
Adam didn't have far to walk and although the night was cold a brisk pace kept the chill off. Still, he was pleased to see the fire burning brightly as he approached a group of four or five shadows sitting around the red hot brazier under the railway bridge on the waste ground behind the Red Lion. The smell of stale beer mixed with curry assaulted his nose as he turned off the road and picked his way past piles of rubble, old sofas, broken beds, sodden mattresses and old milk crates. The light of the fire threw magnified shadows up into the arches like some old 'Tom and Jerry' cartoon.
At the age of sixteen, Adam did what all teenagers do best and rebelled against his parents' values and expectations. Dropping out of public school he took to the streets and soon became a well-known figure amongst the homeless of London. He still remembered with fondness the camaraderie he had found there amongst those who had chosen to drop the burdens of society, live without responsibilities and breathe the free air.
He had found it bizarre at the time that whilst he rejected what his parents stood for, his relationship with them hadn't suffered. Looking back now he realised how mixed up he had been and admired the fact that his parents hadn't abandoned their wayward son but continued to love him at a distance, giving him time and space.
More embarrassing were the food parcels, which became legendary. The speed of the homeless bush telegraph was no more evident than when a 'Lennox Box' had arrived at some homeless shelter with Adam's name on it. Frequently he never saw any of it as his generous nature (or was it his rebellious nature?) distributed it in a blur reminiscent of UN humanitarian food drops. Ma Lennox became the toast of many a gathering in those days.
But the free life had been a dangerous one. He had had to learn how to survive here, how to protect himself. He had learnt unarmed combat from an ex-para and several times it had saved his life. He had made friends here, not the superficial acquaintances that can be collected and dropped at will but binding friendships that could be relied on. Friends who would sacrifice for each other, the vulnerable protecting the vulnerable. He had learnt who he was in their company. Searched himself and understood who he was. He still felt at home here.
A head turned as he approached. A diminutive elderly man stood up to greet Adam, looking strangely dapper in the circumstances, in a bow tie and ragged dinner jacket. The shoulder length grey hair and unkempt beard added to the incongruity.
"Adam me boy, it's been a while. Come on in and warm yourself."
Adam smiled and nodded. "Mick, how are you doing?"
His real name wasn't Mick but no one would have dreamed of calling him anything else. His reply was lost as Adam shook hands with each in an almost ritualistic welcome and then accepted a tin mug of hot tea.
He sat down on an upturned wooden crate next to a tall bearded individual with shoulder-length dreadlocks. He had a rugby player's physique and something in the way he held himself gave the distinct impression he was as fit as he had ever been. His eyes were a piercing grey and had disconcerted any number of protagonists who had thought him an easy target and then learnt otherwise. His wife Jan and three teenage daughters in Glasgow doted on him but weren't so keen on the dreadlocks.
Adam spoke quietly. "Mitch, how are you?"
Mitch showed a grin full of white teeth. "No so bad. No so bad. Keepin' better then you by the sound o' things."
Adam grimaced. "I'm still not sure what's going on but I'd value your shadow for me and Bel."
"That's a done deal. Do you want to know what you had for tea tonight?"
Adam's vision of Mitch carrying out covert surveillance in the 'Floating Duck' brought a wry smile. "No thanks. Is there someone watching the flat now?"
Mitch showed mock indignation. "Gimme a break. What do you take me for, a fair weather friend or what?" He took a swig of something that Adam presumed was tea based but he could never be sure. "Freddie's up there now. We'll go off shift once you're back. Leave you to your own devices as it were," he finished with a grin.
There was a snigger from a youth with close cropped hair sitting opposite him.
Adam half-heartedly threw an empty tea cup at him. "Behave yourself Frank." That got another grin.
Frank spoke up now, proving to be a local lad. "Word on the street is your name's mud, Adam, know what I mean?"
There was a silence as Adam looked carefully at Frank. "Oh. What kind of mud? And who's attaching it to my name?"
"Dunno. Mouths is clamming up all over. Some say there's a hit out for you. Others say there's a warrant."
Adam looked quickly at Mitch who gave a small nod. "It's true, but it could be no more than gossip in the bookies, and Chinese whispers. No one's putting any names to names or any real dirt to detail. All hearsay and no substance."
"What say you Frank?" asked Adam quietly.
"Word is out among the brothers to look after Lennox's interests. Ears to the ground. If we hear anything you'll know it."
Mitch watched for Adam's reaction but got very little return for his effort.
Conversation ebbed and flowed and at an appropriate moment Adam drew Mitch to one side and filled him in on the details....
"You think Fran was involved in some way?" asked Mitch.
"I don't know but I won't rest until I find out," replied Adam.
"And Granger Bartlett? You think he's significant?"
"The whole thing seems centred on the Bartletts and if it's history coming back to haunt them then Granger must have been involved."
"So what now?" queried Mitch, their voices now almost inaudible.
"I'm going to find out who's behind it and finish it", Adam replied softly. Mitch just nodded.
Adam spent another half-hour swapping tales and finally after another ritual handshaking he slipped into the shadows and started off across the wasteland to the roadway. He was no more than half way when undisguised footsteps behind him caused him to stop and turn.
The diminutive man in his tattered dinner jacket reached out and caught Adam by the sleeve of his jacket.
"Mick. What's the matter?" he asked.
Mick turned to check there was no one
within range. "I couldn't help but overhear you mentioning the name of Granger Bartlett."
Adam felt something crawl up his spine and his wariness alarm went off.
"I might have done. What of it?" he replied.
"Don't get mixed up with the likes of Granger Bartlett. He was a bad man, one of the worst." He paused and moved closer to Adam so that Adam could smell the whisky on his breath. "He had some very bad enemies Adam, but his friends, they were even worse. He killed so many people. He had it coming to him."
"Who were they Mick? His friends and enemies, who were they?" demanded Adam.
The old man shook his head and from behind his eyes a fear grew to terror. "Can't say any more. Forget I said it. They're still around." His eyes flitted from side to side examining the shadows. "Mind your back, Adam me boy, they make grown men wish they were dead."
And with that he stumbled away into the shadows. Adam debated whether to follow but elected not to. Whatever was causing the fear, Mick wasn't going to tell him any more tonight.
Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.
Chapter 14
DCI Ford was not a morning person. In particular, this morning he was definitely not a morning person. He ran his fingers through the little hair he had left and yawned, his moustache tickling his nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, long fingers and bitten nails. He smoothed out some creases in the cheap suit and checked his watch.
His wife (who was more ambitious than he was) had been pestering him to find out when he was due for promotion. She was ready for a house change, climb another rung on the ladder, put a bit more distance between her current circumstances and her modest past. He hadn't realised when he married her that she was quite so capable of focussing on his success. He hoped that's what was behind her being so eager to get him out in the morning and not because someone else was moving in.
He prodded his stomach to try and alleviate the sharp stabbing pain that had interrupted his thoughts. He was sure he was developing an ulcer. Canteen food, coffee out of paper cups and greasy food on the run were the structure of his life and sometimes he felt as if it would tumble down around him like a pack of cards.