Codename Files Nos.1, 2 & 3
Page 30
Meriwether was right, but I didn’t say so.
‘How would you like to go to a Christmas ball?’ he asked.
Charlotte didn’t seem to want to take me as her guest. I held the phone to my ear and listened without interrupting.
‘I always go with my grandfather, and Bartholomew knows that.’
I realised it was sensible to remain silent.
‘Why can’t you go with someone else? Why do I have to take you?’
Again, I chose the side of caution.
‘Why do you even have to come?’ Charlotte paused and I could almost hear the cogs of her brain engage and race the needle deep into the red. ‘What’s going on? This is work isn’t it?’
I still held my tongue.
‘Tell me!’
Her voice had risen beyond the safety level. I knew silence was no longer an option.
‘Is it a black tie do?’ I asked.
‘What’s happened; what’s Meriwether got you working on? He wants you at that ball for a reason. Tell me.’
‘I’ll wear my dinner jacket then.’
‘You don’t own a dinner jacket.’
‘I’ll buy one.’
‘Use the credit card; it is work after all.’
For a moment, I returned to plan A.
‘I understand that you don’t want to tell me. It’s hard being in your position. I’m sure Bartholomew has asked you not to tell me; but unfortunately, that’s the reason why I have to know and why you will have to tell me. Think of it as a test of your loyalty.’
Loyalty—I wasn’t sure what part that played in my new job.
I finished the telephone conversation with Charlotte and then I called Meriwether. He was at his club. I could tell by the sounds in the background. The clink of crystal cut glass at the bar and the low murmur of other members talking secretively in small groups.
‘She’s guessed something’s going on.’
‘Ah, I was afraid of that. She’s very clever you know; I can never pull the wool...’
On the phone, I found it difficult to tell whether Meriwether was kidding or being serious. His expansive voice contained a theatrical pitch that was never easy to read.
‘...oh, well, never mind.’ His voice deepened and he asked, ‘Did you tell her?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘No, of course not, forgive me for asking.’
I couldn’t tell if he believed me.
‘We will have to tell her, of course, but not just yet. I want you to attend the ball first and find out what you can before she knows.’
‘What exactly am I trying to find out?’
‘Just look and listen, dear boy. It would be nice to know if C’s grandfather has any knowledge of Casanova’s predicament. Perhaps observing them together and meeting them both will give you some insight. I have every faith in your skills as a detective.’ Meriwether’s voice lightened. ‘After all, you are a member of Interpol.’
I dressed in a new dinner suit purchased from an expensively priced gentleman’s outfitters on Bond Street. I paid for it using the credit card just as Charlotte had suggested; she was right, it was work. Although it wasn’t a tailored suit, it fitted me well and I wouldn’t look out of place among the other expensively dressed guests. However, my hair and movement might lead some of them to suppose it was more likely that I was a bodyguard, but with luck, none of them would ask me to take their coats.
I took a cab to Mayfair through the busy West End traffic. At Charlotte’s apartment building, the doorman provided entry and I went up in the lift. She opened the door dressed in an evening gown and expensive perfume. She complimented me on my new dinner suit while sipping elegantly from a champagne flute.
‘Can I get you anything?’
I shook my head. ‘No thanks.’
‘Did you pay for it using the credit card?’
I smiled but didn’t answer.
Charlotte didn’t smile back.
‘My grandfather’s car will be here shortly,’ she said.
Charlotte’s grandfather was a knight of the realm. His name was Sir Sebastian Farthinghoe and he went everywhere in a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce. Meriwether had sent me a brief profile on him which contained, as he’d put it, nothing of any great significance. I read it and the only thing to catch my eye was that Sir Sebastian had been an intelligence officer in the British army before he joined the bank at the age of twenty-five. We had one thing in common; we’d both been in the military.
I held the door open for Charlotte and then followed her in. The backseat of Farthinghoe’s chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce was easily big enough for all three of us. The quiet, warm interior was dark except for the light reflecting in from the London streets. He was an old man, but even in the gloom, I could see his pale eyes were sharp. He spoke in a slow, considered voice as though always formulating the answer to a difficult question. He sat low in his overcoat with his gloved hands resting in his lap.
His eyes caught me observing him and he asked, ‘Have you known my granddaughter long?’
‘This isn’t a date.’
The old man chortled. ‘Pity,’ he said. He didn’t elaborate.
‘Grandfather,’ Charlotte said, ‘you both have something in common.’ The old boy raised his eyebrows. ‘You were both in the army.’
‘Oh, really,’ he said, ‘what regiment were you in?’
‘Twenty-two,’ I said.
‘Oh.’
He didn’t ask anymore. We rode the rest of the way in silence.
Bright, outside lighting illuminated the exclusive Park Lane hotel and contrasted starkly with the dark, unwelcoming park opposite.
Charlotte took her grandfather’s arm and the doorman did the rest. I followed in behind trying not to look too much like a bodyguard.
The banqueting room was ornate and lavish with heavy furniture and thick drapes like a Henry VIII scene for the modern day.
The guests stood talking in small circles, sipping cocktails and eating canapés while in the corner a string quartet played Joy to the World.
I’d noticed William Chester straight away—he was easy to spot—his big frame stood out beside that of his small wife. She was a pretty woman with fair, wavy hair, and she wore a tasteful diamond necklace that caught the light from the chandelier. Her smiles and animated face were in contrast to her husband’s demeanour, whose enthusiasm for the social event seemed less than eager. Although his big, round head did occasionally nod with agreement at the conversation around him, the red cheeks of his rustic face never managed to puff into a smile.
People were circulating quickly and soon Mr. and Mrs. Chester joined our circle. It seemed Charlotte was pleased to see them as her mood lightened considerably; for a moment, I thought I might get a smile, but I didn’t.
Farthinghoe introduced me as a friend of Charlotte’s. I shook hands with William Chester and felt his big, strong grip. I wondered if the same grip had recently been around the neck of a young woman in Soho.
There followed the usual polite exchanges containing two compliments for the women, a witticism between the two bankers regarding bonuses and an enquiry by Mrs. Chester, whose first name was Alice, as to whether Christmas was going to be taken in the usual place. It seemed for the past two years, the Chester family had spent Christmas in the same Swiss ski resort as Charlotte and her grandfather. Interesting—I wondered if Meriwether knew that.
We dined opulently. The courses just kept coming; brought by seemingly tireless waiters with the balancing skills of a long practised circus troop. I had to admire their stamina and coordinated patterns.
Unfortunately, our seats weren’t close enough to William and Alice Chester to make conversation possible. I kept an eye on them instead, and other than their moods remaining consistent, I didn’t notice anything of any interest.
It wasn’t until the waiters were serving the coffee that something happened. Alice Chester left her seat to go and chat with another woman of a similar age and ha
ir colour. Within a minute or two Sir Sebastian Farthinghoe was sitting in it. His old frame leant forward with his arms on the table and his eyes never left Casanova’s face. Sir Sebastian was doing all the talking and William didn’t look at him once. I checked to see if Charlotte had noticed this event, but she was in conversation with the man sitting next to her who smiled too much and constantly ran his hand through his wavy hair to push it off his forehead.
I sipped my coffee and watched the two bankers without making it obvious by moving my seating position so I faced the lady who I had briefly spoken to earlier when she had told me about her daughter running away with a Portuguese fisherman after a holiday on the Algarve. I wanted to ask her if she had ever fed her daughter sardines as a young girl, but I resisted.
Clearly, the two men were not discussing the price of Christmas turkeys. It was obvious they had far more important matters on their minds. Finally, William Chester did look at Sir Sebastian and plainly, there was emotion on his face, but it was difficult to read. He spoke briefly, but strongly before rising from his seat and leaving the table. I watched him go, but Sir Sebastian didn’t. Sir Sebastian stood up and returned to his seat beside Charlotte. I continued with my conversation and learnt that the woman also had a son who was living with a hairdresser in Kensington. I didn’t ask her if the hairdresser was male or female.
Charlotte finally got bored with the floppy hair and teeth, and interrupted the woman’s views regarding the falling standards in British public schools by apologising and saying, ‘I need some air, please escort me to the terrace.’
A waiter let us out through the tall, glass door and we stepped onto a romantically lit walled terrace. It was cold outside and our breath showed in the night air. At the far end, were a group of smokers exhaling enthusiastically and easily outdoing us. We moved to the other end, stood by the low balustrade, and looked out across the dark gardens. Charlotte held her wrap across her bare shoulders and without preamble said in a quiet voice almost as though she were whispering sweet nothings, ‘Why are you watching William Chester, what’s the interest in him?’
‘I like his suit. Do you think it was tailored in Saville Row?’
In the same voice, Charlotte said, ‘What has Meriwether asked you to do?’
I wanted to say, get the name of his tailor, but I decided against it and judging from Charlotte’s expression, I made the right choice. Instead, I said, ‘That’s a question for Meriwether.’
I could tell Charlotte agreed. She said, ‘You can find your own way home tonight; I don’t want you coming in the car with my grandfather.’
That seemed a bit harsh, but I didn’t really mind as nobody could call Charlotte’s grandfather the great entertainer.
‘Don’t you want me to see you home safely and tuck you in?’
Charlotte replied with a look from her eyes. I wanted to smile, but resisted, and then she walked past me and went back inside.
I watched her go and then I smiled.
2
SATURDAY, 07:15—24:00
It was early the next morning when Meriwether called me.
‘How did it go?’
‘There’s something going on between Casanova and C’s grandfather.’
‘What makes you think so?’
‘They had a little heart to heart and it wasn’t about the Christmas bonus.’
‘I see; I was afraid that might be the case. This is damn awkward, but there, we can’t help it. Knowing C, I expect I’ll be seeing you quite soon.’
‘There’s one more thing.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Meriwether said.
‘For the past two years, they’ve spent Christmas in the same Swiss ski resort.’
‘Yes, I know. Cosy I expect.’
Less than half an hour later, I received a text message from Charlotte suggesting we all meet for coffee at Meriwether’s club.
I wore a mid-grey suit under a dark overcoat and took a cab to St. James’s Square. The London weather had now turned bitterly cold and the low sky bore down with a heavy covering of dark cloud that, to me, looked like it was about to dump a foot of snow.
Inside the club, despite being on time, I found Charlotte had already arrived. I wondered how long she had been there and what she and Meriwether might have already discussed.
As if Meriwether could read my mind he said, ‘Don’t worry, C has only been here a few minutes and we haven’t started yet.’
The waiter brought a china pot of coffee and a selection of cakes on a wheeled trolley.
Meriwether thanked him and said, ‘We’ll help ourselves.’
‘Very good, sir,’ the man said, and then he left. We were in a small study-type room sitting in well-worn leather chairs, surrounded by wooden panelling and paintings of racehorses and men in old military uniforms. The waiter closed the door and the three of us were completely alone.
Charlotte didn’t speak, but she looked at Meriwether expectantly.
Meriwether smiled at her and asked, ‘Coffee, my dear?’ He poured from the pot and she thanked him. I could see she was anxious to start, but polite manners came first. After all, we were British.
I eased the weight on the trolley by helping myself to a generous slice of cake and then took a sip from my coffee cup while I waited for the show to begin.
Once Meriwether had settled himself in his seat, holding his coffee cup and saucer in his lap, he smiled again at Charlotte and then said, ‘A few days ago I received a communication from VX asking me to look into a situation which has arisen on Threadneedle Street.’
It was going to be vague and cryptic as usual. I forced myself to concentrate and resisted taking another mouthful of cake. I could tell Charlotte too was concentrating.
‘They’ve found a large hole in one of their new institutions.’
‘How large is the hole?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Well, large enough, even in these strange times, for more than a few eyebrows to be raised. We don’t have the exact sum yet. It seems they can’t account for it in any of the usual ways and is, therefore, deemed worthy of investigation. A preliminary internal inquiry has brought up the name of the person we are now interested in. For our own purposes, we have named him Casanova.’ Meriwether looked at Charlotte and said, ‘The reason for which will shortly become obvious.’
I took a mouthful of cake and caught the crumbs with my plate. Meriwether sipped at his coffee cup and looked at me before he continued. Charlotte’s eyes never left Meriwether’s face.
‘VX began a standard surveillance and discovered Casanova was making regular visits to the flat of a prostitute in Soho. It was at this point they contacted me. This is when I activated our own surveillance...’ he paused for a moment and Charlotte looked at me, ‘...and began to make enquiries. VX reported unusual contact with an elderly, retired gentleman from the same line of work.’ Meriwether fixed Charlotte with his eyes. ‘You know who that was. At the ball, they had, what was described to me by an eye witness as, a heart to heart.’
Charlotte’s head turned and I felt her eyes attempt to burn mine from my skull. I looked at her and smiled. She turned away and stared back at Meriwether. I thought this was going well, so far.
Meriwether was sipping his coffee and waiting. He had obviously decided it was best to allow Charlotte to say something at this point. She didn’t need a second invitation.
‘This is all very thin. We all know about the recent problems in that particular line of work. It’s not unheard of for a man to visit a prostitute, and the two men know each other and have their work in common; why wouldn’t they meet? I don’t see this going anywhere.’
Meriwether sipped more coffee and let the silence hang. I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say next.
‘I may have been inclined to agree with you until that is a neighbour found the prostitute murdered in her flat. Somebody with big strong hands had strangled her.’
There was a silence before Charlotte said, ‘You don’t think it was Casanova�
��surely not.’
Meriwether shrugged and said, ‘No, probably not, but we do not know for sure.’
Charlotte drank some coffee for the first time. I thought her mouth had probably gone dry.
‘The police are now involved, of course, investigating the murder and we shall have to investigate the hole to see where it leads us. It could be politically sensitive especially with the financial markets the way they are.’
Charlotte interrupted and said, ‘The two incidents don’t have to be connected—prostitutes get strangled.’
Meriwether nodded and said, ‘Yes, they do, and you may be right, but just in case you’re not, I think it would be best if we continued with our tradecraft, just in case, you understand.’
Charlotte wasn’t happy, but I could see that she accepted the situation in which she found herself. She held Meriwether’s open expression with a strained cool and professional indifference and said, ‘I want to be kept fully informed, agreed?’
Meriwether nodded and said, ‘Of course, my dear, it goes without saying.’
Charlotte then turned to me and with a glare that made her striking face look like she was auditioning for the role of Medusa said, ‘And that goes for you too, understand?’
‘Of course, my dear, it goes without saying.’
Relieved that Charlotte’s Medusa impersonation hadn’t turned me to stone, I was happy when she called me with the intelligence on the London police officer in charge of the investigation into the prostitute’s murder, instead of delivering it in person. She used her pay as you go phone.
‘The senior investigating officer on the case is called Hannah Foley and she’s only recently been promoted to Detective Superintendent. She’s the youngest one in the City of London Police Force and being a woman as well makes her rare. Before her promotion, she worked in the metropolitan force in their vice unit, and that experience is the reason she’s been given this case. The report I have describes her as intelligent, hardworking and tenacious. She’ll be excited to be leading her first murder enquiry, but also apprehensive and worried about making a mistake. An officer from Interpol ought to be her dream date.’