No Place to Hide

by Dan Latus

  ‘No bank statements,’ Jake said for openers. ‘In fact, nothing from a bank, or any other financial organization. That suggests Freddie’s departure from the flat was a planned strategic withdrawal rather than a panicked evacuation.’

  ‘He may not have used a bank,’ Magda pointed out. ‘For a man like him, using cash would be safer.’

  He thought about that for a moment. It was a good point. Was it possible? Paying for everything with cash? Well, maybe. Especially if the rent for the flat was being paid by the Witness Protection programme. He’d have to ask Bob about that.

  ‘He likes flowers,’ Magda pointed out, lifting a couple of invoices from a florist out of the pile.

  He nodded. ‘Odd, that. What would he want with them? Anyway, he must have been pretty relaxed about his situation to be ordering flowers. Anything else strike you?’

  She shook her head.

  So they hadn’t got much. Just confirmation that Freddie hadn’t fled in a blind panic, and a suggestion that he liked flowers.

  Magda said, ‘Being fat, maybe he has health problems and needs medication?’

  ‘What makes you think he’s fat?’ he asked with a smile. ‘Just because I call him Fat Freddie doesn’t mean he’s fat. It’s just a rude name I use for him.’

  ‘So is he fat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She laughed and shook her head. ‘You English!’

  ‘Besides,’ Jake pointed out, ‘lots of fat people – most fat people, in fact – don’t need medication.’

  Magda just shrugged.

  But she’d got him thinking. Freddie wasn’t just overweight. He was pretty damned obese. People with that condition often did develop other issues. And people with health problems, especially those with plenty of time on their hands, tended to visit their doctor and get prescriptions for things they hoped would help.

  Furthermore, people like that would be less likely to pick up their prescriptions from the far side of the city. They would be more inclined to stay local, mobility and breathing difficulties reining them in. Maybe that was Freddie? He pulled out his phone and started doing some Googling.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Magda asked.

  ‘I’m looking for local chemists – pharmacists. We can visit them, and see if they have a prescription for Freddie we can pick up for him.’

  Magda nodded and looked thoughtful. Then she made a suggestion of her own. ‘First,’ she said, ‘why not ask your friend Bob if Freddie had health problems?’

  He hadn’t thought of that. Magda again.

  He sent Bob a text, asking him to email a copy of anything he could find on Freddie’s health condition. There would be something. Any programme as bureaucratic as Witness Protection was bound to have a personnel file for each of its clients.

  Rather than just sit and wait for Bob’s response, he made a list of the pharmacies located within a mile of Freddie’s old flat. Then they set off to visit them.

  His thinking was that although Freddie might have a doctor on the other side of London – possibly in Essex, even – he would probably collect his repeat prescriptions, if there were any, from somewhere close to where he lived. Not necessarily, of course. But it was worth a shot.

  The young woman behind the counter of the first shop they visited was very helpful when he explained what they wanted.

  ‘He’s not very well,’ Jake said with a wry smile. ‘He can’t go far from a toilet. So he asked us to pick up his prescription for him.’

  ‘There’s a lot of it about at the moment, stomach upsets,’ the woman said sympathetically. ‘Let me just check. Mr Jenkinson, you said?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. He says it’s because we had a mild winter. Didn’t kill all the germs.’

  ‘I’ve heard that before,’ she assured him. ‘Address?’

  He gave her the address of Freddie’s old flat. She was very helpful and had a good look, but she couldn’t find anything for Freddie.

  ‘I’ll call the GP’s surgery,’ she decided. ‘And see what’s happened to it.’

  Jake shook his head. ‘Thanks, but don’t bother. It’s not urgent. We’ll call back again a bit later.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, looking concerned.

  He nodded. ‘I don’t know the name of his GP anyway.’

  ‘Well...’

  ‘We’ll call back,’ he said firmly.

  She nodded and turned to deal with another customer, an elderly woman who looked as if she should be in a hospital bed rather than a chemist’s shop. She looked far more deserving than Fat Freddie was anyway.

  ‘The next shop?’ Magda asked when they got outside.

  He nodded.

  They visited five pharmacies without success. None of them had a prescription waiting for Freddie to collect. But none of them challenged their right to collect a prescription for him, if they’d had one. So the plan might have worked.

  ‘Coffee?’ Jake suggested after they left the fifth shop.

  ‘Strong coffee,’ Magda said. ‘With sugar. I need more energy.’

  ‘Oh, my! Start taking sugar, and you’ll need a prescription yourself.’

  ‘Only if I become Fat Magda – or Big Bertha.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s going to happen,’ he assured her.

  She grinned. Then his phone vibrated, as the reply from Bob came in.

  Chapter 35

  ‘This is interesting,’ Jake said, as he scanned the pages of text Bob had sent, and ignored Bob’s query as to why he wanted them.

  Magda sat still and waited patiently.

  ‘Freddie’s health report. He wasn’t in terribly good shape.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Heart trouble, arthritis, Type 2 diabetes, and he was waiting for a hip replacement. So he certainly will be on prescription medication – painkillers, and everything else. We’ve been thinking along the right lines. I wonder who his doctor is, or was – if he was ever registered with one.’

  He passed the phone over to Magda to look at and took a sip of coffee while he mulled the information over. Would the programme have fixed Freddie up with a GP registration, or would they have left it for him to do himself? He’d better ask Bob. Either way, there had to be doctor involved.

  Where would the practice be located? The problem was that once Freddie had decided to go off the radar, he might well have abandoned all his commitments and registrations, including the medical. Not to have done so would have been pretty stupid.

  That would have meant losing his place in the queue for a hip operation, presumably, but so what? His life was more valuable than his hip. Anyway, if he did have any of the money from the heist that was still floating around, he wouldn’t need the NHS. He could go straight to Harley Street.

  ‘So,’ Magda said thoughtfully, ‘a very fat, middle-aged man with heart problems and arthritis pain who needs a new hip.’

  ‘That just about sums Freddie up,’ Jake admitted with a wry smile.

  Wearing what he was coming to think of as her inquisitorial look, Magda said, ‘So how did he move about the city? We know he didn’t have a car. That woman said so.’

  Jake frowned, wondering what she was getting at.

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t have done much walking, that’s for sure. Public transport, presumably – buses and the tube.’

  ‘Perhaps not, if he has the money.’

  He stared at her. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I am thinking taxis.’

  Taxis? Regular taxis? Shit! He hadn’t thought of that.

  ‘Let’s look for local taxi companies,’ he said, reaching out a hand to reclaim his phone.

  They found three within a couple of miles of Freddie’s old flat. Two were quite close, one some distance away.

  ‘I’ll take the one furthest away,’ he said. ‘Can you visit the other two?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Magda pushed her chair back, ready to get going.

  ‘Hang on!’ he protested. ‘I can see you’re ke
en, but I haven’t finished my coffee yet.’

  She grinned and waited patiently. He shook his head.

  The company Jake visited, Alpha Plus Cabs, looked the part. He nodded with satisfaction as he rounded the corner and the office came into view. He could imagine Freddie using this one. Sandwiched between a kebab shop and a dog grooming parlour, it wasn’t any bigger than a newspaper kiosk. But five black cabs were stood on the street outside waiting for business, their drivers in a group, chatting beneath a haze of cigarette smoke.

  The young guy running the office was on the phone when Jake went inside. His spare hand was poised to pick up another phone as soon as he was finished with the current call.

  ‘How can I help?’ he asked when he was done.

  ‘I’ve just taken over a flat from a guy who was one of your regular clients.’

  ‘One of our regular clients?’ the man repeated with a smile.

  ‘I need to contact him, but I don’t have his new address. I assume you always invoice him for your services?’

  The man was shaking his head already. ‘We don’t do that – not for anybody. Either you pay cash or you don’t ride.’

  ‘OK. I’ve got that wrong. But you do have regular clients?’

  ‘A few. What’s the name and address?’

  Jake told him.

  The man shook his head. ‘He’s not with us. Sorry. We don’t go there.’

  Already he was reaching for a ringing phone. Busy guy. Busy business. But he seemed in full control. He would certainly know if Freddie had been a regular client.

  Another dead end. Jake just hoped Magda had done better.

  On the way back to the hotel, he detoured to take another look at the block of flats where Freddie had rested for a while under Bob’s so-called protection. That place was still the only firm link they had to Freddie. Maybe seeing it again would spark another idea.

  He did more than look at the place. He ventured inside the building and managed to get into Freddie’s old flat as well. The woman, the tenant who had succeeded Freddie, had cleared out and gone now. That much was evident from the gaps where furniture had once stood, and from the empty wardrobe and chest of drawers that had been left behind.

  He poked around but found nothing of interest. Certainly no trace of Freddie.

  As he left the building, he noticed an elderly man in a boilersuit sweeping the entrance to the underground car park. He nodded at him. Then, on impulse, he paused to have a word with him.

  ‘Hi! You look after the place?’

  ‘Just the car park. Not the main building.’

  ‘Been here a while?’

  ‘A few years now. Five or six, I think. Why?’

  ‘You might be able to help me. Do you know a Mr Jenkinson?’

  ‘Freddie?’ The man chuckled. ‘Of course I do. Grand chap, Fat Freddie.’

  Jake smiled encouragingly. ‘I was wanting to talk to him but I don’t seem to be able to catch him in.’

  ‘No, you won’t. Not here, you won’t. He’s been gone a while.’

  ‘Left, you mean?’

  ‘That’s right. A few months ago now. Maybe longer.’

  ‘That’s a pity.’

  ‘You’re right there! It is. He was going to sell me his old car when he got his new one. Not that that would ever have really happened.’

  Jake was surprised. The woman in the flat had said she didn’t think Freddie had a car. Had that been wrong?

  ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘Why wouldn’t he have sold you it?’

  ‘A car like that? A classic Series 3 BMW? Freddie thought more of that car than any of the women he used to bring here. Spent hours polishing and tinkering with it down here. In fact, it hardly ever left the garage. Not worth it in London, he used to say. Either someone would nick it or they would bang into it deliberately, just out of spite. Besides, what with the congestion charge, and one thing and another…’

  The wheels inside Jake’s head were spinning. Possible answers to questions were popping up on all sides.

  ‘Ladies’ man, was he, Freddie?’

  ‘I’ll say!’ the caretaker said with a chuckle. ‘You might not think it, but he was.’

  Perhaps that explained the florist’s invoices, if not how Freddie had got around town.

  ‘How did he travel, if he didn’t use his car? Taxis?’

  The man shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t use them. A right rip-off, he used to say. No, I used to let him use my motor. It’s only an old Ford, but it’s a decent enough car. A Mondeo, you know?’

  Jake nodded, as if he did know. Anything to keep the confidences coming.

  ‘Freddie used to pay me for it. Anyway, I have my bus pass. So I don’t very often need it myself. It’s just that I’ve always had a car, and I wouldn’t like to be without one now. Out of interest, you know? That’s why I have this job, really. And it was why Freddie used to say he would sell me his BMW. He would want it to go to a good home!’

  The man chuckled and shook his head, visibly entertained still by thought of past conversations with Fat Freddie.

  ‘It was in good nick, obviously?’ Jake pressed.

  ‘I should say so.’

  The man went on to tell him, unasked, that it was black. He even knew its registration number. Freddie’s car had clearly made a big impression on him. Jake committed the information to memory and began to draw the conversation to a close.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where he moved to?’

  The man shook his head. ‘But I’ll ask him if he drops round to see me one of these days. I’ll tell him you were looking for him. What did you say your name was?’

  Jake gave him a name, somebody’s name. It wasn’t worth giving him his own. Freddie wouldn’t be back here. Nor would the BMW. Freddie wouldn’t be driving it much, either. He was pretty astute. It sounded like his cherished car was one to attract attention. He wouldn’t want that.

  Jake asked the man to give Freddie his name and phone number if he did show up, and gave him twenty quid for his trouble. Given that the name and phone number were both fictitious, the arrangement wasn’t going to do him much good. Even so, that twenty quid turned out to be a good investment.

  Jake’s phone went off just as he was taking his leave. He glanced at the screen. Magda. He pressed the button.

  ‘Get out, Jake – now! They’re coming down the street.’

  It was a shock but he didn’t question her. Automatic flight response. He turned, ready to sprint for the street. Several figures were running along the pavement.

  The car park attendant had seen them, too. He grabbed Jake’s sleeve. ‘That way!’ he snapped, pointing back into the car park. ‘It’ll be safer. Use the fire escape.’

  No time to consider, or ask why. Jake took the advice and headed into the darkened interior of the building’s basement below ground. Then he followed the chain of emergency lights that led to the emergency staircase and an emergency door. He burst through, back into daylight, just as his phone buzzed again.

  ‘Go left!’ Magda snapped. ‘I’ve got the car.’

  He raced down the back lane without looking back to see if he was being followed.

  Fifty yards in front of him, the car they had hired swung into view and screeched to a halt. He raced up to it. The passenger door flew open. He threw himself inside. The car took off with a screech of abused rubber. Jake pulled his legs and hands clear as the door slammed shut, powered by the speed of the turn.

  No gunshots had been fired.

  That was his overriding thought as they sped away.

  Chapter 36

  After a few minutes of some pretty crazy high-speed driving, and having been thrown all over the place, Jake began to relax. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  He’d had no idea Magda could drive like that. It was something else to make him think.

  Magda nodded, flashed him a quick smile and glanced once more in the rear-view mirror. ‘I think we are OK now,’ she said.

  ‘Thank God for
that! Who were they?’

  ‘I can’t be sure.’

  ‘A guess, then.’

  She shrugged. ‘Probably Kunda’s people. But they might be with Fogarty, I suppose.’

  So Magda didn’t know any more than he did who they were. So what? He knew they had two gangs after them now. It didn’t really matter which of them had been on his tail back there. But how had it happened? Accident, or what?

  ‘How did they get onto me, I wonder?’

  It was a rhetorical question but Magda took it seriously. ‘Probably someone told them you were visiting Freddie’s flat,’ she said. ‘Someone they paid to tell them if something like that ever happened.’

  He nodded. Possibly. He had nothing better to suggest.

  ‘I’m not going to ask how you spotted them,’ he said then. ‘I’m sure you would tell me if you wanted me to know.’

  Magda took her foot off the gas and gave him a wry smile. ‘I just wondered if anyone was following you. That’s all.’

  ‘And they were.’

  She nodded.

  ‘But you had the car? Did you take it when you went to visit the taxi companies?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘They were no good. I got nothing from them. I was soon finished. So I decided to look for you. It was easier by car.’

  Jake’s turn to nod. He could see that. But there was a lot he couldn’t see. The key, for example. Had he left it in the hotel room?

  No. He hadn’t. He could feel it in his pocket.

  But there was a key in the ignition.

  ‘You found a spare key?’

  She glanced at him and then at the ignition key, and shook her head. ‘It is one Phan made for me. He said it would work with most cars.’ She shrugged and added, ‘It does with this one.’

  ‘Jesus!’ he said, shaking his head, and wondering what she was going to tell him next.

  ‘You are angry?’ she asked, shooting him one of her puzzled looks.

  ‘Angry?’ He sighed. ‘Not angry, no. Just mystified. You saved my bacon back there.’

  ‘Your bacon?’

  She was puzzled again. He didn’t enlighten her.

  ‘So how many men were there, back there?’

  ‘Four men, in a group, moving fast.’