by Mark Timlin
‘I’d like you to leave now,’ said Brother Julius.
‘I’m not surprised that you’re worried,’ I said, ignoring his request. ‘How much does this place take every week? How much do the faithful donate? It must add up. All the little bits of dough. How much? Go on, tell me. Fifty grand? A hundred? More? It’s a nice little racket, Jules. I don’t blame you wanting to protect it.’
Brother Julius stood up. He made quite an imposing figure I must admit. ‘Mr and Mrs Sharman,’ he said icily. ‘I am a man of God, and I will not have God mocked in his own house. Brother Anthony here is a fifth dan, black belt in tae kwon do. He is not a violent man, but if I ask him he will put you out of the building. The choice is yours. Either go in peace or be removed.’
I looked at Brother Anthony, who hadn’t moved in the whole time we’d been in the room. He looked capable of doing what Brother Julius said without mussing a perfectly placed hair on his head.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘We’ll go. But we’ll be back, don’t worry about that.’
And we left. Brother Anthony showed us back to the main door. He didn’t say a word as we went.
As we walked back to the car, Dawn said, ‘Why didn’t you show him the photograph?’
‘Because you often learn more by letting people lie, than letting them tell the truth.’
‘So what did you learn?’
‘That he was lying about not knowing Harrison. That he’s obviously bent. That the whole deal back there is crooked. That Brother Julius is no more a man of God than I am. And I’ve still got the photo to hit him with when we’re good and ready.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘Now we get the car and park it up opposite the church and sit in it. Let’s see what he does.’
I rescued the motor off the meter, drove up to Pembridge Square and stopped it on the yellow line opposite the front door where Brother Thomas was still standing. He gave us a long screw and I gave him a cheerful wave.
And that’s where we stayed. There was a boozer on the corner which was handy for refreshment breaks, and to use their toilets. And at three I went and found a burger joint and bought lunch. When I left Dawn alone in the car I made her sit behind the wheel and lock all the doors. I didn’t trust Brother Thomas as far as I could throw him. Brother Julius never showed his face, but as we were only watching the front it was conceivable that he toddled in and out of the back as and when he pleased.
At about five a police squad car showed up. The two cops inside got out, put on their hats and wandered over. I was in the driver’s seat and rolled down the window.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said the older policeman. But even he only looked about nineteen, with a sad attempt at a moustache under his nose and the remains of his acne still on his cheeks.
‘Good afternoon,’ I said back.
‘You know you shouldn’t park on a yellow line.’
‘I’m not exactly parked, officer,’ I said. ‘I’m just stationary.’
That didn’t go down particularly well.
‘According to our information you’ve been stationary here for about five hours.’
‘But ready to move at a moment’s notice if we’re causing an obstruction, just like good citizens.’ I gave him a big beamer when I said that, which wasn’t reciprocated.
‘We’ve had complaints,’ said the younger copper, a real bruiser, with a broken nose, who looked like he should play for the Met’s rugger first fifteen.
‘What kind of complaints?’
‘Complaints of harassment.’
‘We’re just sitting here.’
‘Would you like to get out of the car, sir?’ asked the older cop.
‘Not particularly.’
‘Just do it.’
So I did.
The Old Bill gave the motor the once over. They called the station with the index of the car for a PNC check, and once satisfied, checked the tax, the tyres, the exhaust and that the lights, indicators and horn worked. Then they gave me the once over too. I had my licence, the car’s MOT, and insurance with me, and when they saw Dawn’s name on the certificate, they asked for her licence too. The only thing they didn’t do was breathalyse me. It would have been a waste of time. For once I’d only drunk mineral water in the pub.
‘Very well,’ said the younger copper when they’d finished. ‘Now I’d like you to move the car out of the square.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I say so.’
‘This might also be construed as harassment,’ I said.
‘There is a complaints procedure,’ said the younger copper. ‘You should know all about that.’
‘Meaning?’ I asked.
He grinned. ‘Don’t piss on my head and tell me it’s raining, Mister Sharman. We know who you are. Now just get the fuck out of here and don’t let us see you parked around the square again.’
I thought about arguing, but didn’t bother. Dawn and I were just wasting time sitting outside the church anyway. So I shrugged, put the car’s papers away, got in and drove off. The squad car followed us back to Notting Hill, then peeled off with its blue light flashing on some other mission.
‘Cheeky bastards,’ said Dawn. ‘They had no right to do that.’
‘They’re the law,’ I said. ‘And it’s handy to know that Brother Julius has friends in high places. He must buy a job lot of tickets for the policeman’s ball.’
‘What now?’ asked Dawn.
‘What do you reckon?’
‘Let’s go and see Miss Simmons again. Hyde Park Mansions isn’t far. I want to see if her intercom’s been fixed.’
20
I parked the Chevy in the residents’-only parking space in front of the block, and Dawn and I went to the front door. The concierge was at his station behind his desk, the door was locked and all was right with his world until we rang the bell and he looked up and saw Dawn. I swear he went white as he buzzed us in. Dawn walked straight up to him and said, ‘Has Miss Simmons’s intercom been fixed yet?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied politely.
‘Very good. See how easy it was? We’re going up. Is that all right?’
‘Of course. She’s in,’ he replied.
‘Keep an eye on our car,’ Dawn said to him. ‘It’s the big American station wagon parked right outside. We wouldn’t want it towed away or clamped, would we?’ and she found a handful of change in her bag and gave it to him.
‘It’ll be fine, ma’am,’ said the concierge, and Dawn and I went to the lift which was standing open.
We went up to Miss Simmons’s floor and along to her flat. I used the knocker, and after a minute or two the door opened a crack.
‘Miss Simmons,’ said Dawn. ‘Remember us?’
‘The detectives,’ said Miss Simmons. ‘Nick and Dawn, isn’t it? How nice of you to remember an old woman. Do come in.’
She led us through to the sitting room and insisted that we stay to tea.
‘Can I help?’ asked Dawn.
‘You can warm the pot while I make some sandwiches. I’ve got a tin of salmon in the cupboard, and some cucumber.’
‘That sounds fine,’ said Dawn, and she followed Miss Simmons in the direction of the kitchen, and I sat on the sofa.
They’d been gone for about ten minutes before Dawn returned carrying the big silver tray containing a plate of neatly quartered sandwiches, some cake and biscuits, three cups and saucers and three side plates, which she put on the dining table. Miss Simmons followed with the teapot, which she put next to the tray. She took off the lid and gave the contents a stir with a teaspoon.
‘Shall I be mother?’ asked Dawn.
‘If you don’t mind, dear,’ said Miss Simmons. ‘I don’t very often get waited on.’
‘You should,’ said Dawn. ‘By the way, talking of that, did your
door buzzer get mended?’
‘Yes. Funny you should mention that. A very nice young man came only two days after you were here and fixed it.’
‘I hope you asked for his credentials before you let him in,’ said Dawn. ‘There’s some very funny people about these days.’
‘Of course I did. In fact the porter came up and told me he was coming. I must say that it’s rare to see him get off his backside.’
Dawn grinned to herself. ‘And it’s all right now?’ she asked.
‘Yes. The porter tested it for me himself.’
‘Good.’
By then Dawn had filled the three cups with a strong, hot brew of tea and passed one to Miss Simmons and one to me. The old lady asked us if we wanted sandwiches. We both did and she gave us the side plates and passed the large plate of food round. I took half a dozen. I was suddenly hungry, and they were only small.
‘I’m glad to see you’ve got a good appetite,’ said Miss Simmons. ‘I’ll make you some more if you want.’
‘He’s just greedy,’ said Dawn, giving me the kind of dirty look my mum used to give me if I hogged the grub at a birthday party when I was a kid.
‘These are fine,’ I choked round a mouthful of bread, butter, tinned salmon and cucumber. ‘Just fine.’
Miss Simmons asked if we’d had any luck with the case. I told her we had. At least partly thanks to her. After all, if she hadn’t kept Kim Major’s belongings safe for all those years we would never have known about Julius Rose.
‘It’s so exciting,’ she said when I’d finished.
‘But still not conclusive,’ I observed.
‘And that cemetery,’ she said. ‘It sounds terribly spooky.’
‘It was,’ said Dawn.
After we’d finished the tea, sandwiches, biscuits and cake, Dawn and I made our farewells and left. I don’t think Miss Simmons wanted us to go. Dawn sussed that out too. ‘Can we come again?’ she asked.
‘Any time at all, dear,’ said the old lady. ‘I’d love to hear what happens in the end.’
‘You will, I promise,’ said Dawn, and kissed her on the cheek. I did the same and Miss Simmons saw us to the door and we went back downstairs.
‘Your car’s fine,’ said the concierge when we exited from the lift.
‘I didn’t expect anything else,’ said Dawn, as we walked across the foyer and out of the main doors.
21
We drove home, lay about the flat all evening, had a pizza delivered for dinner, and went to bed to eat it in front of the late film.
The next morning we stayed in the sack until eleven doing what ladies and gentlemen do together. I couldn’t think of a finer way of earning a grand a day than being screwed by Dawn twice in quick succession, even if I had to make the breakfast after.
I’d just soaked up the last of my egg yolk and tinned tomato juice with the remains of a slice of toast when the telephone rang.
It was Chris Kennedy-Sloane again. ‘Well?’ he said.
‘Not bad,’ I replied, giving Dawn a wink as she chewed on her last mouthful of grilled bacon. ‘How’s yourself?’
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it,’ said Kennedy-Sloane tetchily. He’d probably been up since seven dealing with matters in the financial world, and I guessed his ulcers were biting.
‘Kaolin and morphine,’ I said. ‘Does them the world of good.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, as usual. What I want to know is, have you got any news for me?’
I could have made some even more facetious remark in reply, but I could tell his patience was wearing thin. ‘What about?’ I asked sweetly.
‘The case of course. Jay Harrison. You do remember, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘I’ve had Lamar Quinn on the phone again. He’s getting impatient. He wants some results.’
‘I’m not a bloody magician. I can’t conjure results out of thin air.’
‘You said you might have something today.’
‘I might.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t like giving out information in bits and pieces. I’d rather wait until I’m sure of all my facts.’
‘He’s threatening not to pay you any more.’
‘I’ve got your cheque.’
‘Have you paid it in yet?’
I hesitated. The damn thing was still on the top of the TV set. ‘Might’ve,’ I said.
I could almost see him shaking his head. ‘I can still stop it even if you have, which I know you haven’t. And I will unless you tell me how far you’ve progressed.’
I knew he wouldn’t. We went too far back for that, especially as part of the cheque was what he owed me personally, but if he was making even empty threats, then he was obviously getting heavy stick from his principal in the matter, and it was time to stop kidding around. ‘OK, Chris,’ I said, ‘I give in.’ And I told him.
I told him how helpful the Tafflers had been. I gave him the full SP on the photographs I’d found in the case that Miss Simmons had kept in her attic. And finally I told him about the Tabernacle of the Sepulchre of the Virgin Mary and Little Baby Jesus, and Brother Julius aka Julius Rose, ex-dope dealer to the stars.
‘Doesn’t sound like much,’ he said sniffily when I’d finished. ‘Not for a thousand quid a day.’
‘It was your fucking idea to charge that much. What do you want? Commission?’ I said.
There was silence at the other end of the line. ‘OK, Chris,’ I said, ‘don’t answer that.’
‘So what are you going to do now?’ he asked.
I didn’t have a clue really. Pour myself another cup of coffee and chill out with the daily paper seemed favourite, but somehow I didn’t think that was the answer he was looking for. ‘I’m getting right on the case,’ I said. ‘Trust me.’
He sighed. ‘Looks like I’ve got no choice,’ he said, and hung up in my ear with rather more force than was really necessary.
‘Everything all right?’ asked Dawn.
‘Just perfect,’ I said. ‘That fucking septic Quinn wants to stop our wedge.’
‘Cheeky sod,’ she said. ‘It would serve him right if we went straight back to bed and had another fuck.’
Afterwards we showered and got dressed. I put on Levi’s, a checked cowboy-style shirt and dark blue leather bumper boots, and pulled on my battered old Schott. Dawn wore a leather biker’s jacket, with enough zips and studs to give a metal detector terminal indigestion, over a plain white T-shirt, faded Lee Riders and pink Converse All Star, Chuck Taylor, high-top canvas baseball boots. I think the rock and roll was going to our heads.
Around four we went down to my office to check the mail and any messages on the answer machine. Now don’t get me wrong. If there’d been something worthwhile to do we would have done it. But there wasn’t as far as I could see. We had our noses up a cold trail, and there was nothing to do but wait and see if anyone came to us.
Which is exactly what they did.
I went across to the pub and got four bottles of cold lager, and Dawn and I sat, me behind my desk, she in one of the client’s chairs, and drank them.
Happy families.
It was a warm afternoon, and I left the front door open so that we could check out the ragga that the cabbies next door were listening to on their radios.
The sun was over the pub roof and shining straight through the window in front of us, and I was checking out my wife’s thighs the way that newly married men are supposed to do, when a shadow fell across the floor, and my desk, and me. I squinted up, and saw a massive figure, made even bigger by the angle of the sun and my sitting down, standing in the doorway. I looked at Dawn again and she looked at me. That time I ignored her thighs.
‘Brother Anthony?’ I said. And it was. Last seen at the Tabernacle of the
Sepulchre of the Virgin Mary and Little Baby Jesus. They were really going to have to do something about that name. He stepped through the door and stood on the carpet in front of my desk. He was still huge, but not so big as he’d seemed to be standing in the doorway. Not manageable mind, but not as daunting as he had been.
‘What can I do for you?’ I said.
‘Brother Julius sent me, sir. He doesn’t want you to bother him any more.’ It was the first time I’d heard him speak, and he had a Texas drawl. Very big on Americans was our Brother Julius.
‘It’s my job, Brother Anthony. Bothering people. That’s how I find out what’s true and what’s not.’ That was the idea at least. Of course, like many ideas of mine, it didn’t always work out.
‘Brother Julius doesn’t care about your job, sir. He cares about the church, and he cares about the people who worship at the church.’
‘The people who donate their money to the church, you mean,’ I said.
Brother Anthony didn’t bother justifying that one with an answer.
‘Doesn’t Brother Julius care about the truth?’ I asked.
Brother Anthony shrugged this time.
‘I can’t stop. Sorry,’ I said.
‘Then I’ll have to stop you, sir.’
He was bloody polite, I’ll give him that.
‘How?’ I asked.
He shrugged. He knew that I knew how he’d stop me.
Interesting. As Brother Julius had insisted on telling me, Brother Anthony was a fifth dan, black belt in tae kwon do, which I knew was some kind of Korean karate. Now in stories and films, if our dauntless hero comes across some martial arts expert, one of two things happens. Either, our hero is even better at martial arts than the person he meets, or, if he’s not, he just hauls some huge gun from where he’s got it hidden and blows the martial artist away. Always good for a few yuks down at the local Odeon, that.
Unfortunately the time I tried to learn jujitsu I felt such a fool wandering around in my jammies and bowing to anything that moved that I only went once.
And that particular afternoon I wasn’t carrying.
This could turn out to be extremely embarrassing. And painful, I thought.
