Over Your Shoulder

by C J Carver

  When the sexy young woman in the white blouse appeared, I saw his gaze flick to the time. He did the same when the middle-aged woman arrived.

  ‘Nothing happens for ten minutes,’ I told him. I spun the laptop round so he couldn’t see the screen and pressed fast forward, letting it run past the middle-aged woman running away from Rob. I wasn’t going to let Gilder see what looked to be hugely incriminating evidence against my brother until I’d got the whole story.

  I turned the screen back to him and although I was sure he was doing his best not to react, I’d bet the last coin in my pocket he hadn’t seen the video before. When the police arrived, he recognised his father immediately. His mouth slackened. He looked shocked.

  Together we watched Barry’s dad make notes in his notebook, and photograph the reception book. When the Saint appeared forty minutes later, Gilder’s face became pinched, but it didn’t show any surprise.

  Eventually the video ended.

  I closed the laptop lid.

  Gilder sat there for a moment, then took a gulp of his beer. I did the same.

  ‘Did your father send you to ask me where my brother is?’ I asked.

  ‘Where did you get this video?’

  ‘I asked first.’ I made sure my tone was mild.

  The muscles in his cheeks bunched.

  ‘No,’ he gritted out. ‘It wasn’t him.’

  ‘Was it the Saint?’

  He wouldn’t meet my eye, which I took to mean yes. Did that mean Barry was on the Saint’s payroll? I’d have to tread carefully, if he was.

  ‘There’s a time discrepancy I’d like to talk to your father about,’ I went on. ‘As you saw, he arrived at the Mayfair Group at six thirty-seven, but he told a reporter that the police responded to a call about a gunman in the building around eight o’clock. I wonder what happened during that hour and twenty-three minutes?’

  His nostrils flared. ‘You may not believe this, but it’s the first time I’ve heard about any time discrepancy.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘It’s the truth.’ He picked up his beer and took three more gulps, then he put down his glass and stood up. I rose too.

  I said, ‘The caretaker had to sign a confidentiality agreement about what happened that night. Does your father know why?’

  He stared at me. ‘I don’t know. But you can rest assured I’m going to ask him.’

  He walked outside. His shoulders were stiff, his body language forceful. I decided to let him go.

  Chapter 27

  Susie was back in the Office. Her nerves were tingling, her body alert. Her mind buzzed with the papers Nick had shown her. Was he crazy walking into the Saint’s lair like that? Pride mingled with terror for him. How could she keep Nick protected in all this? She couldn’t be with him every minute of every day. Plus, she had a job to do. She was part of the team tracking down several men suspected of planning a large-scale attack in central London, suggesting multiple targets, and her team had just alerted her of a new development.

  As she strode down the corridor, she saw one of her team had emailed her, telling her that the Vauxhall car she’d seen near Clara’s the night the Saint had threatened Clara and Nick, belonged to a DI Barry Gilder. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? She looked at his photo. Something about him seemed familiar. Had they worked together perhaps? She undertook enough operations alongside the police for it to be possible.

  There was a report attached which she hastily read. Lots of guff on training and official assessments, but the bottom line was that Barry Gilder seemed to be a pretty solid cop, and clean. The same couldn’t be said for his father, however, who was rumoured to have been on the Saint’s payroll. No evidence. Just speculation. But deep down she knew David Gilder was dirty, having seen him on that CCTV video and exposed his lies about when he’d arrived at the Mayfair Group the night of Tony Abbott’s murder.

  How far does the apple fall from the tree? she wondered. She couldn’t work out whether Barry Gilder would help or hinder her and Nick’s search for Rob, and she wondered if she ought to meet him. Or should she let Nick continue his haphazard but surprisingly effective investigation undisturbed? But what if he got hurt? What if he died? It didn’t bear thinking about. Dear sweet Jesus. Nick was her rock, her island, her perfect companion, her lover, her defence, her guard and her protection against the world. Without him, she’d be back where she started; alone, unhappy, angry and confused. Never again. She would do just about anything to keep him safe because by doing so, she’d be kept safe too.

  And then she was talking with fellow officers Ryan and Theo and her mind did its little shiver, and her husband and DI Gilder were no longer at the forefront of her mind, they were tucked neatly into a box right at the back while another box opened before her and she became absorbed in planning her next mission, executing it perfectly, a hazardous operation that might end her life – but it was at these times when she never felt more invigorated, more animated or more alive.

  Chapter 28

  The bus dropped me off on the Kings Road, just before Lots Road. It was raining, and I pulled up my jacket collar in a vain attempt to stop the water trickling down my neck. I increased my pace, looking forward to pouring myself a drink in Susie’s flat and turning on the oven, heating up the takeaway I’d bought on the way home: prawn masala and garlic naan for me, beef rendang and rice for Susie and some samosas, a couple of onion bhajis with accompanying sauces.

  Lots Road was full of auction houses, interior design stores and high-end wine shops for the wealthy. Broad shop windows showed antiques, hand-tufted rugs, glass tables, crystal lamps, French fabrics and wallpapers. Everything the average millionaire needed to furnish their home.

  Apparently Susie had employed an interior designer to furnish her flat from top to bottom, including bed sheets, pictures on the walls, kitchen crockery and utensils – even the little knick-knacks like the Sri Lankan fan made out of papyrus on the mantelpiece and the cheerfully rude sculpture of Sheelanagig in her bathroom. I’d obviously shown my surprise – or was it disappointment that she hadn’t collected these intriguing items herself? – she’d turned defensive.

  ‘I didn’t have the time,’ she told me. ‘It would have taken hours, days, to make it look even half as good as it does. You know I’m not into that stuff anyway, prettifying things. I’d rather spend the time down the range, shooting targets.’ Out of nowhere, she suddenly switched from being self-protective to anxious. ‘Would you like me to?’

  ‘Like you to, what?’

  ‘Be that woman who prettifies a home. You know, buying flowers and making little padded hearts to hang in the kitchen, stitched with Home Sweet Home or something equally…’ She struggled for words and settled for, ‘homey,’ but I knew deep down she really meant nauseating.

  I couldn’t help it. I gave a snort of laughter.

  ‘It’s not funny.’ She looked indignant. ‘I want to know.’

  ‘Considering you can’t sew,’ I told her, ‘I can’t begin to imagine what shape the heart would be.’

  She looked glum.

  I reached over and took her hand. Her insecurity always brought out the tenderness in me. ‘Seriously, my love,’ I told her. ‘I wouldn’t want you any other way. You should know that by now.’

  ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘But sometimes I wonder if I’m a bit OTT for you. You will tell me if something bugs you. If I get too bossy or short-tempered.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘as long as you do the same for me.’

  However, when I did mention a particularly foul mood of hers where she snarled and snapped at anyone and everyone during a family weekend, she vanished to London for three days and refused to take my calls, so I was careful how I approached that particular aspect of our relationship. We all have our dark sides and at least Susie’s wasn’t tucked away festering but open for everyone to see.

  Not for the first time, I wondered what she was like at work, and I was picturing her sneering at some
poor sap at the bottom of the food chain when two men appeared from behind the florist’s booth outside Chelsea Harbour, and walked towards me.

  ‘Nick?’ one said.

  ‘It is Nick, isn’t it,’ said the other.

  I slowed down. ‘What?’ I didn’t recognise either of them. Young, mid-twenties, jeans and hoodies. Fit-looking.

  They were smiling, hands wide, their appearance unthreatening, but instinct told me to back away.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry,’ the first one said.

  ‘We don’t mean any harm.’

  Yeah right.

  I glanced quickly around to see who else was on the street. A taxi stood in the bay opposite the flower shop, a woman was walking towards the harbour ahead, a man on a scooter driving past. Not exactly busy but not deserted either.

  I kept backing away.

  ‘We just want your satchel.’

  One of them extended his hand. At first I thought he was wearing a knuckleduster but then I realised it was a knife. A knuckle knife, with a steel blade.

  For a moment I was immobilised. I couldn’t even open my mouth to yell.

  The other man held out his hand.

  ‘Hand it over like a good boy and we won’t hurt you.’

  Dial 999, my mind screamed, and at the thought of the police, adrenaline flooded into my veins.

  I dropped the takeaway and ran.

  I heard one of them say, ‘Shit,’ and felt a second’s gratification I’d surprised them.

  I raced back the way I’d come. Head down, I charged along the street, heading for the pub. It was past eight in the evening. Loads of people inside to call the police. Loads of help.

  I could hear the men’s footsteps pounding behind me as I pelted along, my eyes fixed on bright lights of the pub across the mini roundabout and praying they wouldn’t catch me before I got there.

  When I reached the junction I was totally unprepared for another man to run full tilt from my right, straight at me.

  I went down like a sack of sand.

  One of the men behind me landed on my legs, pinning me down. The other punched me hard on the jaw. It was a stunning blow and for a moment I went limp. I felt my satchel tugged away, hands rummaging through my pockets and I raised my hands to ward them off but I got punched again. Lights flashed behind my eyes.

  I heard an engine revving hard. The slick skid of tyres through the rain as someone jammed on the brakes. Doors opened and were slammed shut.

  I struggled to my knees to see a grey sedan rocket back up Lots Road.

  ‘Jesus, mate.’ A man came galloping out of the pub. ‘Are you all right?’ Several people joined him, shocked and indignant.

  The man hefted me upright and I stood there, swaying slightly, trying to get my head around what had happened.

  ‘You need a witness, call me.’ A woman gave me her business card. Two more people did the same.

  ‘Heavens,’ said another woman. ‘I can’t believe they mugged you so close to the pub. Almost in broad daylight.'

  The taxi that had been standing outside the florist’s arrived, the driver asking if I needed a hospital. I shook my head.

  ‘Barman’s called the cops,’ someone said.

  I remained silent, rubbing my jaw, my aching cheekbone, and staring up Lots Road.

  Chapter 29

  The police thought it a routine mugging until they discovered I’d been attacked and tied up by unknown assailants in my sister-in-law’s house two days earlier.

  ‘You’re not having a very lucky week, are you?’ Detective Constable Wendy Doherty asked me.

  ‘No,’ I agreed.

  I hadn’t wanted to go to the police, but when I’d made moves for Chelsea Harbour after my attack – and a much-needed double whisky – the do-gooders wouldn’t let me.

  ‘But you’ve got to make a statement,’ said a woman, looking shocked. ‘You can’t let them get away with it.’

  Murmurs of agreement and nodding heads all round.

  ‘Look, pal,’ the taxi driver said. ‘I’ll give you a lift. On the house. Police station’s only around the corner.’

  I already knew a police interview was going to be tricky without having spoken to Susie. I’d tried her several times, thanking the heavens that although the thugs had snatched my satchel, they hadn’t taken my mobile phone which had been tucked in the breast pocket of my jacket. I left another message for her, but I knew if I didn’t report the assault, people might wonder why.

  So here I was, sitting in a small windowless room with two chairs and a metal desk bolted to the floor, fluorescent lighting and the smell of peppermint air freshener.

  ‘Do you think there’s any connection between the assaults?’ The DC’s eyes were sharp.

  So far, I told myself, I hadn’t lied.

  And even though I knew I couldn’t tell the police what was going on without putting Rob in the frame for murder, I still felt as though I was hovering on the edge of what felt like a bottomless chasm.

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Just unlucky.’ Doherty’s eyes continued to bore into me like drills.

  ‘Unlucky,’ I murmured. My face was sore and I suddenly felt exhausted, as though I could sleep for a week. The reaction to all that adrenaline leaving my body, I supposed.

  ‘There were four of them,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Two who approached you.’ She checked her notes. ‘One who tackled you when you ran away, and another driving the car they got away in.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The silence hung in the air as Doherty continued gazing at me. Her disbelief was palpable. This is not a normal mugging, is it. I tried to return her look with some kind of equanimity, but it was difficult. I was a fraud and she knew it too but she couldn’t seem to do anything about it, because eventually she got me to sign my statement, and let me walk outside.

  The rain had stopped but a chill mist had descended, wrapping the streetlights in gauze and making them resemble glow-worms. Needing to clear my head, I walked back to Susie’s.

  It didn’t take long – fifteen minutes or so – but the walk down Lots Road felt much longer because I was so jumpy. But nobody came for me a second time, nobody showed me a knife. Amazingly my takeaway was still there, albeit hanging from one of the white posts next to the taxi rank. I plucked it free and had a look to see that everything seemed to have survived intact thanks to being stored in airtight plastic containers.

  Susie rang just after I’d put on the oven.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. She sounded breathless, as though she’d been running.

  ‘It can wait until you get home.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ I reached for the glass cabinet door, pulled out a whisky tumbler. ‘I got curry.’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll see you in forty.’

  Susie arrived home wired, almost rabidly energetic. ‘Sorry I couldn’t call you,’ she said as she zipped into the bedroom, stripping off as she went. ‘I was in the field. I desperately need a shower. I reek.’

  Which meant she’d probably been running up and down streets with a gun in her hand chasing bad guys, much as I’d been running along a street being chased by them.

  ‘Join me?’ she called.

  Although I’d had my whisky – a double, drunk on her balcony while cancelling all the credit cards that had been in my wallet, along with blocking my phone – I hadn’t yet had a shower to wash away the fear-steeped sweat crusted over my skin.

  ‘Coming,’ I called back.

  Susie’s bathroom was a lush sanctuary with a feature wall in lavish white gold mosaic, cleverly partitioning the bathing area from the double-entry walk-in shower zone. The overhead showers were enormous, big enough to wash a rugby team so I wasn’t worried about lack of space.

  I’d barely stepped beneath Niagara Falls, as I liked to call it, when Susie slipped her soapy body against mine. Her hands were everywhere, her breathing coming fast. Out of n
owhere, I felt a total and uncharacteristic loss of control. My mind abruptly emptied of everything but the need to be inside her. My heart roared, and there was a mute pounding in my skull. I couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak. I was only aware of how much I needed her. I was no longer terrified of my life, no longer fearful for Rob. I vanished into Susie like a dying man in the desert diving into an oasis of clear, cool water.

  And then it was over.

  Slowly, I came to.

  I brushed strands of wet hair from Susie’s face. Kissed her gently on the lips, on the forehead.

  ‘I didn’t hurt you?’ I asked.

  Somehow we’d ended up wedged against the marble-edged bath. Not the most comfortable environment.

  She giggled against my chest. ‘Trust me, if I get any bruises I won’t be complaining. I needed that.’

  Me too, I thought, and I had a flash of perspicacity that Susie had probably just used sex as I had, as a way of shutting off the turmoil in her head. A way of releasing tension after a dangerous mission.

  ‘What were your calls about?’ she asked. ‘You sounded really stressed.’

  I kissed her again. ‘I’ll tell you over the curry.’

  Chapter 30

  Susie was quietly sympathetic over my attack and went and fetched some arnica, and gently tended my bruises. She didn’t say much when I told her what had happened, but later, in bed, she curled into my arms and said, ‘I know you want to find your brother but please, Nick, be careful. I don’t want to lose you.’

  I stroked her spine, listening to her breathing deepen as she fell asleep. Where part of me was surprised she hadn’t demanded I stop looking for Rob, the other was glad she hadn’t. She’d let it be my choice. I couldn’t imagine many wives letting their husbands continue what others might call a reckless undertaking. Typical Susie, and why I loved her so much.

  I slept badly, worrying about my stolen laptop along with its incriminating video of Rob. What would happen if it fell into the wrong hands? The police hadn’t given me any reason to think they might retrieve it and it took me most of the night to realise I could do nothing except cross my fingers and hope that the CCTV footage never came to light.