by Bill Ward
After waiting an hour, Ashdown emerged from the shop, pulled down some metal shutters, locked them and walked a few yards down the road to where his car was parked. As he drove away, Connor was pleased the girl simply pulled out behind him and Connor in turn followed a couple of cars further back. The procession drove ten minutes out of town, climbing a particularly steep road that emerged next to the racecourse. They turned left onto what seemed quite a major road and after half a mile, a sign indicated they were entering the village of Woodingdean. Shortly after passing a large cemetery on the right, Ashdown turned left into a cul-de-sac. The Murphy girl followed but Connor was worried a third car might be too noticeable and drove a few yards past the entrance to the road and parked on the side of the main road. He was out of his car quickly and walked back in time to see, Ashdown had turned into the driveway of a detached chalet bungalow, about halfway up the cul-de-sac, which Connor assumed was Ashdown’s home.
The girl seemed content she had established where he lived because she had turned around at the end of the road and was now driving back down past where Ashdown had stopped. Connor returned to his car, noticing the great views down to the sea in the distance and eased back out into the traffic as she drove past. He was glad she hadn’t tried to run Ashdown down or anything so stupid. But the very fact she had been in Ashdown’s shop and followed him home, meant she was planning something, as the Chief had suspected. She had the potential to be a very loose cannon. Connor amused himself by imagining how he might spend a couple of hours with her, as he followed her out of town towards the motorway.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tom awoke in his own bed. He had set the first alarm by his bed for 7.00am. He instinctively hit the snooze button and almost simultaneously heard the alarm in the bathroom ring. Damn his efficiency, he thought. He dragged himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. While he showered, he contemplated a day without seeing Melanie. Absurd as the thought was, he knew his feelings for her were growing every day. His rational side said he should enjoy her company while he can but not expect more. Some other part of him though wanted to find a reason to call her today, just so he could hear her voice.
He emerged from the shower a confused man. He had to think of his feelings in terms of an infatuation that wouldn’t last. After all, the odds of him ever having a real relationship with Melanie Adams, were at least a thousand to one against. The negatives were easy to identify. He sought some positives. He liked Americans. Always had done. Las Vegas was the holy grail of the poker player and he had twice managed to qualify for the greatest poker show on earth, the world series of poker championships. Okay their sense of geography was poor and they could distort history rather in their blockbuster movies but they were outgoing and generally fun. If at times it came across as superficial so what? Better an attempt at friendliness, even if a contrived “have a nice day,” rather than the cold and unwelcoming nature of the English. Was he being a bit harsh on his fellow countrymen? Probably, especially as they weren’t responsible for the inclement weather that drove them all indoors but nonetheless he did find their propensity to stand in queues and say nothing to those next to them, a quite alarming trait.
Anyway, what was important was that Melanie had already said she liked the English. Although slightly strangely it seemed the accent more than anything else that was the attraction. One point scored in his favour. Next positive, Melanie said she didn’t like relationships with film stars. That made two points scored. He was never going to be a film star. Okay not exactly an exclusive club so far but thirdly and perhaps most importantly they had discovered they both shared a passion for Monty Python. Perhaps not the soundest basis for a relationship but it did signify she had a quirky sense of humour, which he had already grown to like. Melanie hadn’t heard of Fawlty Towers and he made a mental note to get her the complete box set of episodes of his favourite comedy series, as a going away present.
Tom dried and moving to his bedside table checked the time. It was ten past seven and he had to be at the television studio in Southampton for nine o’clock. As the drive was at least ninety minutes, he needed to pull his finger out and get going. Still he wasn’t being actually interviewed until after ten, so that left some room for manoeuvre. The phone call late the previous afternoon had come as something of a surprise. He had just finished chatting to that very attractive Irish girl, when the call came through asking him to appear on the regional magazine show, which followed on from the news. He was informed he was a major local celebrity and they wanted to interview him about how he saved Melanie Adams life. He recognized that the use of words like hero in the same sentence as his name massaged his ego as never before.
He wasn’t averse to the thought of appearing on television. As Clifford Maxwell had said, “the more publicity the better. Make the most of your fifteen minutes of fame.” Clifford had even suggested that the next step would be to appear on some reality celebrity show. Although the idea of being a celebrity was slightly absurd, Tom was more than happy with the idea of being paid to spend time in the jungle or on a tropical desert island, with some of the beauties he knew generally took part in such shows. He had however made it clear to Clifford that he had no wish to be locked up in a house with anyone.
Breakfast was some orange juice and toast, his staple morning diet during the week. He turned on the radio and listened to the morning show on Heart FM while he ate. He liked their mixture of music and humorous chat. He was feeling quite pleased with himself as he sat glancing at the Racing Post, which was delivered to his door early every morning.
He’d spent a couple of hours the previous evening playing poker on the Internet. His newfound wealth enabled him to play with a sense of financial confidence rather than his normal desperation to win. As a result he actually found himself enjoying playing, a feeling he hadn’t experienced for a long time. Playing in a relaxed manner, he ended the evening three hundred pounds richer. Now if he could just achieve that every day he would have an annual tax free income of about one hundred thousand pounds. Maybe, he thought, but there had been too many new dawns over the years for him to get very quickly carried away with one evening’s success. He turned the pages of the paper quicker than usual, just stopping to read a couple of articles with predictions for the big Christmas races. He finished his breakfast and checked his watch. Time to be going.
Tom had dressed in a navy blazer and grey trousers that conveyed a smart but casual appearance. He had considered putting on his lucky suit but decided it was unnecessary as the interview should be straightforward. There was a bounce to his step as he headed for his car. As he sat behind the wheel of his ten year old BWM he realised he could buy a new one if he wanted. He would have to make some further plans for the money from the paper. A holiday somewhere exotic would be high on the agenda. Maybe Melanie would like to come away with him. Maybe he could visit her in the States and combine it with once again playing poker in Vegas. Now that would be interesting. Maybe she would introduce him to all her film star friends. He laughed out loud. Sure and maybe he would never gamble again! Too many maybes for one morning but life just keeps getting better, he thought to himself.
Sam had checked out of her hotel and retraced her steps to Brighton. She found a small and cheap hotel close to the seafront. It was more of a guest house actually than a hotel. She saw little point in being in London if Ashdown was in Brighton. She had seen her brother’s solicitor and he wanted his client to plead guilty to murder and attempted kidnapping in return for a life sentence with the chance of parole after twenty years. She knew there was no option, as pleading not guilty would be considered an expensive waste of the court’s time and he would spend far longer in prison. Even though he hadn’t pulled the trigger, he was equally as guilty in the law’s eyes. In Sam’s eyes though only one man was guilty.
She had made the call to Eduardo who had been very happy to hear from her. They had met probably a dozen times over the previous two years. Mostly she was taking mess
ages between home and Eduardo. He was a good looking man in a tanned South American kind of way. Sam thought he was originally Colombian but he lived in Spain and travelled on a Spanish passport. He was about ten or possibly fifteen years older than her but he looked after himself and sleeping with him would be no hardship. In fact the more she thought about the idea, the more it appealed. Eduardo was a wealthy and powerful man. He was used to getting what he wanted but had always treated her properly. They had enjoyed several dinners together in fine restaurants in Madrid and he had always behaved like a gentleman. He’d certainly been a lot less pushy than most of the men back home and he’d understood what No meant. Even so she’d always flirted a little and held out the promise that one day he might have a chance.
She had learned at a quite young age that boys and then men wanted her. She could use a smile to encourage and get what she wanted. She could deal with a man’s bad mood by offering him sex. She could celebrate with a man by having sex. She knew she could often attract a man just by saying No to him. Men always wanted what they couldn’t have. Once they had it, she had also learned that their interest could quickly diminish. She had used this knowledge to her advantage for several years and used it now with Eduardo.
She had spoken in riddles to avoid eavesdroppers but he understood what she needed was the name of someone in England, preferably London, who could supply her with a sufficient stash of cocaine for a very large party. She hadn’t mentioned to Eduardo the specifics relating to Ashdown and how she planned to use the drugs. He knew from previous meetings, she wasn’t much of a user but he didn’t pry. When she explained she had no current access to funds to pay for the drugs, he had been very obliging. Her explanation that it would be considered a personal favour and she would repay him, left him in no doubt he would get the shag he had been after for so long.
He was at home in Spain when she called and announced he needed to make a business trip to England anyway and would take the next day’s plane. He was obviously not planning to wait long for his repayment. She told him she was staying in Brighton but he decided to take a room at a central London hotel, as he would have a little business to attend to while in town. Sam assumed that meant getting his hands on the coke. Sam gave him her mobile number and told him to call her, as soon as he was settled into his hotel. She imagined they would then go together to collect the drugs. Sam thought it a more than reasonable trade.
After agreeing all the details to meet, Sam had an inspired thought and suggested that after her current business was finished she was thinking of spending a few days in Paris. It wasn’t particularly subtle but Eduardo had immediately mentioned how much he enjoyed the George V in Paris and would free his calendar for a whole week, if she would like his company. Sam knew the hotel well by reputation from her time as a student in Paris but had slept in cheap hostels and never been inside its doors. They’d walk pass on the Champs-Elysees and try to spot celebrities coming or going. She promised herself that one day she would return and stay there. The chance to see Paris with Eduardo, opened up all sorts of exciting opportunities. She had no doubt he would take her to expensive restaurants and nightclubs. It would also give her a chance to practice her rusty French. She used her Spanish regularly but had spoken very little French since university. So she told Eduardo she would love to spend time in Paris with him but it should remain their secret. He understood that she would not want her family to know of their plans. As she finished the call she suddenly remembered how she had changed her appearance. She hoped Eduardo liked a brunette as much as blondes.
Sam knew it would be unwise to return to Ashdown’s betting shop and it was too cold to be wandering the streets, so settled down to an evening in front of the television in her hotel room. When the local news followed the main evening news she was shocked to see Ashdown being interviewed. A few minutes later she heard a knock on her door and got up to answer, expecting it to be the landlady who had been overly chatty when she arrived. She didn’t recognise the man standing in front of her but immediately didn’t like the look of him.
“Hello Samantha,” Connor said with a glint in his eye. “How you doing?” He brushed past her as he entered the room without waiting for an invitation.
“Who the fuck are you?” Sam challenged. His accent had already told her he was bad news.
“I’m a friend of your father’s. I’m here to see you come to no harm”
Sam was still standing by the door of her room. She had no intention of closing the door with this bastard now inside the room.
“I don’t need babysitting, so why don’t you piss off back where you came from.”
“Now, now. That’s no way to talk to a friend. Especially as I’m here to help.”
“I don’t need your help. And if you don’t get out my room, I’m going to start screaming.”
“Look, you aint going to get anywhere with Ashdown by yourself. If you wanna hurt him I’ll help you. But you have to do as I say. Your Dad and the Chief are worried about you.”
The reference to the Chief decided her to shut the door. That and the thought she recognized the intruder in her room but wasn’t certain. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Connor. Brendan Connor.” He smiled a knowing smile.
She knew him all right. Or at least knew of him. She’d seen him around a couple of times but never properly met him. Everyone back home though knew his reputation for violence. He was a man you didn’t want to cross.
She sat in the only chair and he perched opposite on the edge of the bed. She didn’t need or want his help. Especially not now Eduardo was on his way. She had to tread carefully though. She couldn’t let on about Eduardo and neither did she want to wind Connor up.
“If you really want to help, then kill Ashdown for me,” she said matter of factly.
“If I do will you promise to go straight back home?”
Sam was shocked Connor sounded serious. She hadn’t really meant what she said. She was just testing him.
“Tonight,” she added, knowing Eduardo was arriving tomorrow and wanting to get well away from Connor before then.
“You don’t waste time,” Connor replied. He was warming to the idea of disposing of Ashdown. He certainly had no problem in principle with getting rid of a bloody Brit. The Chief had said it was okay. And the sooner he did it the quicker the Murphy girl could go home. Not too quickly though. Face to face he liked what he saw. He wasn’t going to be able to do anything about her brother for a while and once he did, she wouldn’t come within a mile of him so best act now.
“Okay,” he agreed. “If you promise me you go home to your father tomorrow, I’ll take care of Ashdown tonight.”
“I promise,” she lied.
Miller was struggling to establish whom Maguire had met with prior to attacking Melanie Adams. He believed Murphy when he said he didn’t know who it was. He wasn’t the brightest guy and it was obvious Maguire was the leader. Miller was thinking that possibly Maguire had a mission being coordinated by the unidentified stranger but had impulsively decided that Melanie Adams was too easy and potentially rewarding a target to miss. Or maybe there was no other mission. Perhaps they were a new republican group that wanted funds to kick start a new campaign of violence.
There were no real firm clues and even Simpson’s insights had been less useful than usual. What he had confirmed was that there was currently a lot of infighting between different factions of the IRA. Some of the diehards still saw disarming as a form of betrayal and were joining the likes of the Real IRA. Others seemed willing to go along with the idea at least for the time being. The likes of Maguire were more and more branching off into crime, which was hardly surprising, as they didn’t possess the skills for anything else.
Simpson had promised to check his sources to try and establish whether Maguire and Murphy were part of any entirely new breakaway organization. Simpson’s boss had agreed to him acting as liaison and described him as the obvious choice, given his experience. Wh
ile Miller agreed that was the case, he was sure that the man thought he would be getting one way feedback of information. Miller was happy to be working with Simpson again. He liked and trusted him. He expected him to play fair in his liaison role, whatever his boss thought.
Forensic reports had provided nothing of use, so for the time being the focus was on extracting everything possible from Murphy. Miller didn’t believe it was likely any new break off group from the IRA was loose in London, intent on causing further trouble but it was his job to be vigilant. Murphy naively seemed to believe he was still a member of the IRA and just following orders passed down through Maguire.
They believed they had dragged as much as possible out of Murphy regarding the kidnap attempt and now he was being debriefed from the very beginning of his first steps in the IRA. Miller was interested in some specific information but the proper way to do this was to start at the beginning and not rush it. They also had to be sure that what they learned was reliable. They didn’t want Murphy using this as an opportunity to resolve any personal grudges. There had been no amazing revelations yet but Miller was expecting better to come, the further forward they came in time.
The interviewing was mainly being carried out by Bob Thomas and Miller trusted Bob one hundred per cent. He had thirty years’ experience, including time in Northern Ireland, in the early nineties, when times were really difficult. If there was something to be learned Bob, would get to the bottom of it. He was a blunt man brought up on a rough estate in South East London. Miller found him intimidating and was sure anyone he interviewed felt the same. Miller always remembered one time, when he had described a very rough estate in Belfast, riddled with violence, as very similar to where he was brought up. Miller wondered what that childhood had been like. Very different he suspected to his own middle class upbringing.
