by Jodi Taylor
His voice was rising. I shifted in my chair and at once his colour reeled itself back in again.
‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just wanted you to share my vision.’
Nightmare was more like it. ‘And if I don’t?’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Share your vision.’
‘I am confident that being offered the opportunity to influence the world for good will sway you. Beginning, of course, with Michael Jones. Just think what you can do for him.’
‘Ensure he continues to live, for example.’
‘Oh, so much more than that. His name cleared. His security clearance restored. All the top jobs could be his for the asking. The two of you might even find yourselves working side by side.’
‘And the alternative?’
‘Oh, I don’t think we want to discuss that right at this moment, do we?’
‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind at all discussing that right at this moment. What’s the alternative, Sorensen?’
He shrugged. ‘As you wish. Well, there are a number of questions relating to Michael Jones and past events in his career. He was never completely exonerated over the Clare Woods business, you know. And should evidence come to light that he was guilty of more than ignorance, well …’
‘I believe one bullet to the head and another one to the heart is the accepted solution.’
He didn’t bother to deny it.
I was indignant. ‘And you know Michael Jones so badly that you think he would take back his job knowing what you’re forcing me to do?’
He smiled. ‘I don’t think we need trouble him with that, do you? No useful purpose would be achieved by apprising him of the exact conditions of his reinstatement. And I think it’s important for you to know that clearances can be rescinded at any time.’
‘So you wouldn’t want me to tell him why I’m working for you.’
‘I think the fewer people aware of that the better, don’t you?’
‘So it would be just you and me, then?’
‘Exactly.’
I looked around. ‘I’m not living here.’
His colour jumped. I’d taken a step towards acceptance. Or so he thought.
‘You wouldn’t have to. You can continue to live in Rushford where you seem to be happy. You could think of yourself as a consultant, called in only when necessary. There might even be long periods when we don’t need you at all. Just three or four small jobs a year and a very generous retainer.’
Under cover of pulling out a tissue from my bag, I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes. That had been the minimum, Jerry had said. Thirty minutes to be on the safe side.
I would give him his thirty minutes. I sighed and slumped in my chair.
‘Would you like some tea,’ he said, misreading the signs. I hoped.
‘Yes, please.’ Waiting for tea would kill a little time.
He pressed a button on his telephone and the door opened immediately. His secretary was actually wearing a suit very similar to mine, minus the stupid pussy-cat bow blouse and mid-calf hemline. Her shoes were much nicer than mine as well.
She took a while to pour the tea so that was another few minutes used up. And it was good tea – in that it wasn’t drugged, which was a bit of a first for him. I sat back and sipped. His office was very quiet. Everywhere was very quiet. No alarms. No gunfire.
I let the silence drag on, sipping my tea and saying nothing. Eventually, he said, ‘You’re very quiet, Mrs Cage.’
I told him I was thinking.
‘May I hope you are considering my proposition?’
I set down my cup and saucer. ‘Be very clear. I am not saying yes.’
‘But you’re not saying no, either.’
‘Because I am not saying no now does not mean I won’t be saying no later on.’
‘I accept that.’
I doubted that. Especially when he discovered Michael Jones had been spirited out from under his nose by an ancient cabbie and a woman wearing American Tan tights. Iblis was also out there somewhere, but I wasn’t sure of his exact role so I ignored him for the time being. I did take a moment to wonder what Sorensen’s reaction would be when he discovered I was deceiving him, but on the other hand, he was using Michael Jones as a pawn to get what he wanted.
And what of Jones? If – when – we got him out of this, what would his future hold? If Sorensen was feeling particularly vindictive he might never be able to live in the civilised world again.
Time had ticked by while I was musing. I’d finished my tea. And my thirty minutes was up. It was time for me to go. Staying too long ran the risk of them discovering he was missing before we’d left the premises.
I stood up. ‘Give me time.’
‘As much as you like,’ he said and held out his hand.
I nodded and strode to the door.
The first person I saw was old Jerry, leaning against the reception desk like a man with all the time in the world.
‘Sand,’ he was saying to the stunned receptionist whose colour was practically climbing the walls in an effort to get away. ‘You fill your bucket with sand and plant your seeds. Good drainage, of course, and they love it. Best carrots you’ll ever eat.’
The exquisite young man who had probably never given a thought to the origin of carrots in his entire life, was staring helplessly.
Jerry saw me and straightened up. ‘There you are missis. Fifty-eight quid on the clock, you know,’ thus giving me a perfect reason for leaving quickly.
I shifted my hand bag to my other arm. ‘I’m quite ready. Sorry to have kept you waiting.’
‘No problem,’ he said airily, gesturing around the hall. ‘And I got a good look at them nice pictchers, too.’ He turned to Sorensen, who must have known people like Jerry existed but never expected to find one of them on his premises. ‘You was robbed, mate. Don’t know who told you that was an Auerbach but they must have been drunk – or blind – but your Guthrie’s genuine. Nice piece.’
I think he would have gone on, but we were interrupted by the strains of Dancing Queen emanating from his pocket. ‘Hang on a mo,’ he said, fishing out his phone. ‘Jerry’s Taxis. Yeah. Hang on.’
He laid down his phone and fished in his other pocket, pulling out a small greasy notebook and a pencil. Leafing through the pages with great solemnity he said, ‘When?’ and found the correct date. ‘Your address? Where to? Yeah, all right, missis, but they’ve got the High Street up again, so make it ten minutes earlier just to be on the safe side. Don’t want to miss your train, do you?’
Licking his pencil, he slowly wrote Webber, 14 Dunster St, Train Stat. 0950. ‘Gotcha missis,’ and clicked his phone off.
Turning to me he said, ‘Ready?’
I nodded. You had to admire his eye for detail. I’d never seen anything look so greasily genuine as that awful old notebook. And the bonus was that they couldn’t wait to get him out of the building. They didn’t physically throw him out of the front door, but it was close.
Dr Sorensen said, ‘I’ll accompany you to your car, Mrs Cage,’ and whether this was a courtesy or to ensure Jerry was actually off the premises, I wasn’t sure.
We walked around the outside of the building – Jerry rendering Sorensen unable to speak privately to me by loudly casting doubts on the effectiveness of their greenfly treatment. I could see his taxi, parked at a seemingly careless angle near the side door.
As we approached, the security guard emerged from around the corner looking hot and breathless. ‘There you are.’ He saw Dr Sorensen. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m not sure how he got away from me.’
‘It’s not important. At this moment.’
The guard, correctly guessing it would become important the minute our backs were turned, pushed off while the going was good.
To my horror, Jerry whipped the boot open. Right in front of Sorensen. My heart turned over. What did he think he was doing? I made myself look inside. It was vastly and cavernously empty – a complet
ely Michael Jones free zone.
‘Suitcase, missis?’
I pulled myself together. ‘Um, I don’t have one.’
‘OK.’ He slammed the boot shut and opened the passenger door for me. The inside of the car was also vastly and cavernously empty. Something had gone wrong.
Dr Sorensen said, ‘I’ll call you, Mrs Cage.’
I didn’t want him ringing me every ten minutes. ‘No. I’ll take a couple of days to think about your offer and then I’ll call you.’
‘As you wish.’
Jerry was still holding the door for me. ‘Mind yer head, missis.’
I thanked him gravely.
The last I saw of Sorensen was him walking briskly back towards the front door. He didn’t wave but he was looking pretty pleased with himself. Michael Jones was not the only one who might have to go and live abroad.
As per instructions, I said nothing to Jerry as we cruised down the drive. You never knew who might be watching. Or listening. The guard had the barrier up ready for us. I waved as we passed. He waved back and then we turned left and accelerated away.
Chapter Twenty
We bowled back down green country lanes with Jerry humming tunelessly in the front while I fretted silently in the back. Was his saying nothing a good or a bad sign? There was no sign either of Jones or Iblis anywhere. I remembered the empty boot. Had we failed and he couldn’t bring himself to tell me?
I couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘Jerry?’
‘Just a minute, missis.’
He pulled over into a layby and fumbled in the glove compartment, pulling out a small device rather like a TV remote, but wider. Switching it on, he waved it around the inside of the car. And all over me. I wanted to ask what he was doing but he frowned and shook his head so I remained silent.
Eventually, he switched it off. ‘No, we’re fine.’
‘Are we? What are we fine about?’
‘My main worry was that someone would plant something when I had to go off and leave the old girl unattended.’
‘And did they?’
‘Dun’t look like it.
‘So we can talk?’
‘Yes, probly and …’
I interrupted him. ‘Jerry, what happened? Where is he? Where’s Jones?’
‘You’re sitting on him.’
I looked down at the back seat in horror. ‘What?’
‘He’s under the back seat.’
I tried to stand up and bumped my head on the roof. ‘Ow.’
‘Sit still, for Gawd’s sake. It’s only for a few more minutes away.’
‘What’s only a few minutes away?’
He started the engine. ‘My lock-up.’
I couldn’t wait that long. I hung over the front seat demanding, ‘What happened? How did it go? Where’s Iblis? Give me all the details.’
‘Well, the poncey young bugger showed me the bog. Quite smart – all done out in dark blue and white. Very nautical. Mirrors everywhere. Two cubicles, four urinals …’
‘Yes, yes … not that much detail. You can skip that bit.’
‘He wanted to come in with me, but obviously I wasn’t having any of that. Gave him my ‘Whoa mate, you a poofta?’ face and he backed right off.’
‘Well,’ I said, quite shocked, ‘that was rather rude of him but I’m not sure we’re allowed to say poofta these days.’
‘S’alright if you are one,’ he said straight faced.
‘Oh. OK then. What happened next? How did you get out of the … bog? Did you climb out of the window?’
‘Nah. Too obvious. I went up. False ceiling. Always is in these old places. There’s always a mass of pipes and working bits they don’t want the posh punters to see. Bit of a struggle ’cos I’m not as young as I was, but I don’t weigh a lot and I just crossed over the partition into the next room which was on the other side of the fire doors so he couldn’t see me when I nipped out and away down the stairs into the basement. Found the young master easily enough.’
I was astounded. He made it all sound so easy. ‘Did you? How?’
He sighed patiently. ‘The only locked door.’
I resolved to shut up.
‘Lock wasn’t a problem. Shifting him was. Whoever knocked him out knew how difficult it would be to lift him.’
‘He was knocked out?’
‘Drugged. To keep him quiet.’
‘So where was Iblis in all this? When did he arrive?’
‘Been there since last night. Hiding outside for when he was needed. Which he was. I tell you it was like trying to shift a bloody mountain. I’ve done me back in right good and proper.’
‘Iblis,’ I said, getting him back on track.
‘Well, I couldn’t shift our boy here, could I, so I trotted down the corridor to that side door you told me about.’
‘But the keypad?’ I said
He made a derisive noise. I gathered the keypad had not presented any sort of a challenge.
‘Anyway, that Iblis, he might be built like a long thin streak of wind and piss but he had our boy off the bed and over his shoulder in no time. I went first. Out the delivery door up the steps and round the car park. They really want to get rid of them rhododendrons, you know. Very pretty and the punters probly like them, but they bugger up their lines of sight right good and proper. Don’t think a soul saw us. We heaved the young master into the car. Couldn’t hang around meself, so I left young Iblis to make things tidy and pushed off back the way I’d come.’
‘Wasn’t your young man wondering what was taking you so long?’
‘Nah,’ he said complacently. ‘I just wandered out, zipping meself up, told him to stop complaining – it would be his prostate one day – and went out to wind up that snooty sod on reception.’ He glanced sideways at me. ‘Gotta say, missis, security’s gone right downhill since your old man was there. I’d never have got twenty feet if he’d been around. Good bloke, your old man.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, genuinely touched.
‘Well no, actually he was a complete bar steward most of the time, but you know what I mean.’
‘I do, and I still thank you, Jerry. And if he was here, Ted would say thank you, too.’
He nodded. ‘You’re welcome.’
A minute later we were in a small industrial park located on the outskirts of town. We turned into a dilapidated garage block. Jerry’s was the big one at the far end. He bleeped the graffiti covered door which rose with a rattle. Inside, however, everything was pristine.
I recognised it immediately. I’d been here before. Jones and I had called in here on our last escape from Sorensen’s clinic. I remembered the concrete floor. And the old workbench piled high with what looked like junk. Pieces of cars still lay everywhere. His tools hung neatly from the walls. Four tyres were stacked in the corner. An SUV was parked in the other corner. I recognised it as the one they’d used to rescue me from Greyston. The other vehicle here was a small, anonymous black hatchback. The whole place smelled of oil and grease and the sound of our engine was hollow and echoey.
I was out of the car almost before it had stopped moving. ‘Quick. Before he suffocates.’
He sighed and shook his head and I gathered there was no danger of Jones suffocating. He flicked something and the entire back seat folded away and lifted out. I was amazed. ‘I didn’t know they did that.’
‘They don’t.’
‘Oh.’
‘Very useful on a booze cruise.’
‘What’s a booze cruise?
He just sighed and shook his head again.
He twitched aside a light cover and there was Michael Jones, scrunched up in the tiny space. His eyes were shut and he wasn’t moving.
‘Oh God, Jerry, is he dead?’
‘No. Drugged.’
I couldn’t help myself. I made a small sound of distress.
He patted my shoulder briefly. ‘Well it makes sense, don’t it? He’s a big bloke and he knows all the moves. If I wanted to stop someone escaping,
and him burning the place down on the way out, then I’d drug him too.’
He bent down to help him out. ‘Out you come, sunshine.’
Jones stiffly unfolded himself and gazed about him blearily.
‘Can he stand up?’
‘Dunno. Let’s see.’
We helped him up, got him out and leaned him against the car. His colour, usually a vigorous golden red, flopped around him, vague and insubstantial. He stared at me, then at Jerry, then down at himself and apparently finding it all too much to cope with, he gave up, closing his eyes and sliding slowly down the car. I grabbed him and pushed him upright again, saying loudly, ‘Open your eyes.’
To my surprise, he did.
‘Yeah, you might want to be a bit careful what you say,’ warned Jerry, disappearing around the car. ‘He’s a bit susceptible.’
‘What?’
‘It’s the drugs. He’s already agreed to lend me ten thousand quid.’
‘What?’
‘Just joking. But watch what you say to him.’ He began to rummage in a tool box in the corner.
I turned back to Jones, ‘Hey, it’s me. How are you feeling?’
He smiled sleepily down at me and I instructed my heart to behave itself.
‘Hey, you. I’m OK. How are you?’
‘Pleased to see you again.’
‘I’m pleased to see you too,’ he said. He gazed blearily around the lock-up. ‘I know this place.’
‘We’re in Jerry’s lock up.’
He looked around again. ‘Is Sorensen here?’
‘No. You’re quite safe.’ Honesty compelled me to add, ‘For the moment.’
He seemed to see me for the first time. ‘Cage? Hey, nice to see you. How’re you doing?’
‘Good, I said, struggling to keep up with someone possessing the memory span of a goldfish.
‘Good,’ he repeated vaguely, staring around him. There was a pause. I shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t a nice thing to do. I looked over my shoulder. Jerry was ostentatiously and very noisily rummaging for something on his workbench and not paying us the slightest attention.
