by David Barry
It struck us both as odd that a person running a successful business - because if Alice had researched him, he must have had a reasonable reputation - would suddenly disappear, almost as if he feared for his life. But then, out there was a killer who had slaughtered Alice’s family, and more recently Ricky Bishop, just because he found out who this Eclipse was. And Brad Shapiro had confirmed Eclipse’s identity, who was a man named Alexei based in Krakow. So it seemed Chapmays was working for Eclipse in this country, stopping anyone from getting at the truth.
‘Alice’s old man must have been heavily involved with some really vicious bastards,’ Bill observed as he turned the computer on. ‘It has to be Mafia, or organised crime on a large scale.’
‘That’s why we need to find out who threatened this investigator. And whoever it was had enough of a reputation to scare him off.’
Bill stared at the computer screen, his eyes fierce and penetrating. ‘You don’t think we might be getting in too deep?’ He glanced across the desk in my direction. ‘This is more dangerous than anything we’ve ever done.’
I laughed the fear away. ‘What about our time in Angola? It’s how you ended up with pins holding your ankle together.’
‘A Jeep hitting an IED’s nothing compared to this... this weird and freaky hostility. It’s enough to send shivers down the old cliché.’
‘You’re not getting second thoughts about this, are you?’
Bill didn’t reply, concentrating on the screen. ‘Here we are. That’s useful. There are only two people named Dawe in Peterborough.’
‘There may be some who are ex-directory,’ I pointed out.
‘There may be one or two shut Dawes, but let’s walk through the open Dawes first.’
I groaned, but couldn’t resist adding, ‘And then you can see if there are any Jars in the area.’
‘I’m going to hate myself for asking - ’ Bill grinned.
‘When is a Dawe not a Dawe?’ I explained. ‘When it’s a Jar.’
‘Steed threatens steed, and fire answers fire,’ Bill quoted. ‘And groan answers groan.’
It had always been like that in the past. Whenever we got into a tight spot we’d go into terrible gags mode. It relieved the tension.
He picked up the desk phone. ‘Shall I be mother?’
‘Shame Nicky’s not here. She’s excellent at performing.’
‘Don’t you mean lying?’ He dialled the number and waited for about four rings. ‘Hello, Mr Dawe? My name is Bill Walters. This may seem a bit strange, but I’m trying to trace an old mate of mine from our army days - we were great buddies back in the nineties - and I just wondered if this might be your son or brother, because I know John - who we used to call Jack, comes from Peterborough.’ Bill paused as he listened carefully. ‘Ah, well, that does tend to alter things more than slightly. Sorry to have troubled you. Thank you for your time and good luck with your wedding.’
He hung up and explained, ‘Geezer in his early twenties, getting married next week, and no relation to our Dawe.’
‘Here,’ I said, stretching across the desk and grabbing the phone. ‘I can’t let you do all the work. You’ll only sulk.’ I read the other number from the monitor and dialled it. I waited for a long while, and was about to hang up when it was answered. I heard a television playing in the background.
‘Hello?’ Who is it?’ The voice was cracked with age, and the rising inflection made him sound startled, as if he never received phone calls.
‘You don’t know me, Mr Dawe...’ I began, but he cut in.
‘Is this one of those sales calls, because if it is...’
It was my turn to interrupt. ‘Not at all, Mr Dawe. I’m a friend of your son.’ I paused, hoping he had a son. ‘I know his name’s John, but in the army we always called him Jack. I’ve lost his address, and I promised I’d look him up. I live in London but I happen to be in Peterborough tomorrow, so I thought it was good opportunity to sink a few beers with him.’
A brief pause while he digested the information. Then: ‘Well, I’m not so sure about this. John asked me not to give out his address if anyone got in touch.’
Bingo! It looked like I’d hit on the right one. I gave Bill a thumbs up sign as I spoke to the father.
‘I quite understand. I’ve got his phone number, only he doesn’t seem to be answering.’
‘He don’t want anyone calling him.’
‘But I only spoke to him at his office in London about six weeks ago. And he definitely wanted me to look him up. He gave me his address, I scribbled it on a bit of paper but I’m afraid I’ve lost it. He’ll be really annoyed if he knows I was in Peterborough and didn’t call to see him.’
He dropped his voice, speaking conspiratorially, a losing battle to compete with the blaring television.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I can’t hear you, Mr Dawe.’
‘Hang on a minute.’
I waited while he went and turned the volume down. When he came back, he said, ‘That’s better. Now where were we?’
‘You were about to let me have John’s address.’
‘You got a pen and paper?’
‘Fire away.’
‘But I think there’s something I’ve got to tell you. John’s been suffering from depression lately. He hardly goes out.’
‘I think as one of his closest mates when we were in the army... if I can’t cheer him up no one can.’
Reluctantly, as if he was still unsure of whether he was doing the right thing, Dawe’s father said, ‘Well, if you’re sure it’s all right.’
‘Positive,’ I assured him. ‘Now where is it he lives?’ He gave me the address and I scribbled it on a notepad. ‘Oh, I think it would be nice if you didn’t warn him I was turning up tomorrow.’
Suspicion crept into his voice. ‘Why’s that then?’
‘It’ll be a nice surprise. I can picture his face when he opens the door.’ I clocked Bill’s sardonic expression, and gave him a cocky grin as I ended the conversation. ‘I wouldn’t want you to spoil the surprise. He’ll be over the moon when he sees me. I’ll really cheer him up. So thanks for your help, Mr Dawe.’
‘Your welcome, son. But I didn’t catch your name.’
I hung up.
‘Nice one, Freddie. So it’s off to Peterborough first thing tomorrow.’
I sighed. ‘As long as it’s not a wasted journey. Even if and when we confront Mr Jack Dawe, he might be so shit-scared we might not get anything out of him.’
‘There are ways and means.’
‘You mean, we might have to lean on him a little? Poor bastard. If there was any justice in the world, we should leave him alone. Let him sink into obscurity.’
I saw Bill’s lips tighten in that determined expression I knew from old.
‘No way. If he has any information to stop this cold-blooded killer from murdering any more people, he ought to share it with us.’
Chapter 18
Bill smiled across the table at Michelle. ‘I always said Freddie would make someone a lovely wife.’
‘Don’t tell him what a good cook he is. It’ll only go to his head.’
I had made grilled sirloin steaks, with Gratin Daupinoise potatoes and walnut and chicory salad with goat’s cheese ‘Just something I rustled up on the spur of the moment,’ I said with pretend modesty.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’ Bill laughed. ‘Don’t give me that bo... rubbish.’
Olivia sniggered. ‘Were you about to say “bollocks”, Bill?’
‘Olivia!’ I rebuked her, half-jokingly. ‘It’s OK for the grown-ups to say bollocks, but not school kids.’
‘Oh, that’s mild, Dad, compared to half the things you hear at school.’
‘OK, sweetheart. Let’s not go there.’
I grinned conten
tedly, looking around our kitchen-cum-dining room, an area in which I love to spend time with family and friends. I love cooking, which has become a passion of mine. It was a shame Jackie, who was now eighteen, was out on a date with her boyfriend, because then the family would have been complete.
Just before leaving the office, I suggested to Bill that it would be better if he came and spent the night at our place, because Wanstead’s not far from the M11, so if we made an early start, we could be in Peterborough by ten. He agreed, and on our way to my place we called at his flat in Shepherd’s Bush so that he could pick up a few things and an overnight bag.
‘So what’s this case you’re working on?’ Michelle asked Bill, the question I’d been dreading, but one which I knew was inevitable.
Playing for time, Bill chewed his steak slowly, then said, ‘I expect Freddie’s told you about our rich female client.’
‘Freddie tells me nothing. That’s why I’m asking you, Bill.’
I could see Bill struggling to provide an answer, wondering what I’d already told Michelle and how much of our investigation he ought to mention, seeing as how dangerous it had become. I think Michelle must have noticed his discomfort, because she leant forward and began to interrogate him.
‘Don’t tell me it’s something dangerous, Bill. Is it something dangerous?’
Time for me to get him off the hook.
I chuckled loudly, opting for the double-bluff. ‘Yeah, this trip to Peterborough tomorrow’s to see if we can expose a ruthless hitman who’ll stop at nothing to eliminate innocent people on behalf of the head of a mysterious criminal gang.’
It sounded like a joke but at least I hadn’t lied.
‘Freddie! Be serious.’
I winked at Olivia. ‘I am being serious.’
‘At least Dad’s sorted out that awful internet monster.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘So far so good. No more nasty messages from that evil bastard - who, this American discovered, works from an internet café in Krakow.’
I could have hugged Olivia for getting us off the subject of our investigation.
‘I wonder how this American was able to trace him?’ Michelle queried. ‘And to the exact spot. It seems a bit - well, a bit fantastic.’
I shrugged. ‘No more fantastic than the way this weirdo was able to pick on Olivia in the first place. Computer geeks! Jesus! They’re everywhere. At least now it’s Whitehat, one - Blackhat, nil.’
I could see by Michelle’s quizzical frown that she was about to ask me what the hell I was talking about, so I explained about the good and bad computer geeks. She shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
‘It all sounds like a stupid game.’
‘A sick, stupid game,’ I said. ‘But at least it’s over now.’ I tapped our old pine refectory table. ‘Touch wood.’
I was relieved at the way the discussion about Olivia’s nightmare having been resolved, moved the focus from our current investigation; although I was horribly conscious of the daunting fear that the internet persecutor was in some way connected to Alice’s father and the way he and his family were murdered. I knew that sooner or later I would have to take a trip to Krakow and try to put an end to this internet monster. I felt as if I was locked in some nightmarish computer game that was shockingly real and threatening, a game that could end with tragic consequences.
As if she could sense my troubled thoughts, Michelle asked me what was wrong.
I gave her a reassuring half-smile. ‘Just thinking about how awful it must have been for Olivia,’ I sighed. ‘And glad it’s been resolved.’
Bill came to the rescue. ‘Like we resolved that film director’s problem back in the eighties. Blowing up half the studio.’
I laughed. ‘At least he got the shot he wanted.’
Between us we told Michelle and Olivia the story of how we had done some part time work at a small film studio in Battersea, and how a special effects man couldn’t deliver anything but a damp squib. Then, because we were used to handling explosives in our army days, we improvised and blew the joint apart.
For the rest of the evening, we entertained Michelle and Olivia with funny stories from our good old days, some of which may not have been so funny at the time but I’ve rarely known an episode which didn’t look better in retrospect.
Bill looked relaxed and unstressed for the first time in days, and I guessed he enjoyed being in a family environment. His melancholic existence, living in a euphemistically named studio flat in Shepherd’s Bush at the age of fifty-five, with no family to turn to, he seemed to accept as his destiny. So it was a nice change for him to unwind in a family atmosphere. Three bottles of wine and several glasses of brandy later, I felt a brotherly warmth towards him, even though we were both starting to speak in tongues and knew it was time we hit the sack. The time had flown and suddenly it was half past midnight and I wanted to set off by sparrow fart.
I showed Bill to the spare room, then tiptoed quietly across the landing. Michelle had gone to bed at eleven, not long after Olivia, and I slid quietly into bed beside her. I listened for a while to her breathing, with the tiniest rumbling of a subtle snore, which was comforting in its normality.
Chapter 19
Thursday 26 September 2013
Disorientating voices coming from the radio alarm startled me awake at 6:30.
After I showered and dressed, I tapped quietly on Bill’s door, but his room was empty. I came downstairs and found him sitting at the kitchen table nursing a mug of instant.
‘Bloody hell!’ I said. ‘You too lazy to make a cafetiére of proper coffee?’
‘Do it yourself, you snobby git!’
I switched the kettle back on. ‘Catch me drinking that shit. You want some toast?’
‘Just one slice.’
‘It might be a long day. One slice ain’t enough for a growing boy.’
He patted his stomach and growled, ‘Growing in the wrong direction.’
I slid two pieces of sliced wholemeal into the toaster. ‘I’ll join you in one slice. Let’s stop off on the journey and have a traditional English somewhere. It’ll break up the journey.’
‘Yeah, sounds like a winning plan.’ He stared at me for a moment. ‘You look like shit, Freddie. You did all the driving yesterday. I’m still on your insurance from that caper on the River Thames last year. Why not let me drive?’
‘It’s OK, mate.’
‘No, Freddie, I insist. At least let me do the journey up there. I’m one half of the partnership, remember.’
I gave him my car keys. ‘Go on then. You’ve talked me into it.
We had our toast and marmalade, washed down with fresh coffee. By now it was 7:15. I put our plates and mugs in the dishwasher, and we were just about to leave when Michelle appeared in her bathrobe.
‘I just came down to say cheerio to Bill. It was lovely seeing you again, darling. Don’t leave it so long next time. You know we love having you.’
‘I really enjoyed last night,’ Bill responded as they hugged and kissed. ‘Great evening.’
Michelle tightened her bathrobe as she walked to the kitchen door. ‘Right, I’d better go up and shower, then wake Olivia up in time for school.’
We followed her out, Bill carrying his overnight bag, and left by the front door. I hadn’t bothered to put the car in the garage the night before and left it parked in the street. As we stepped out into the east-facing front garden, we blinked at the brightness of the low sun rising over the rooftops into a clear sky.
‘Looks like it’s going to be a nice day,’ I said.
About to cross in front of the car to the driver’s side, Bill stopped and clicked his fingers. ‘I think you might have forgotten something, Freddie.’
‘What?’
‘Two old geezers like us, up
against a ruthless assassin at least twenty years younger... we may need that Glock of mine.’
‘Michelle should be in the shower by now,’ I said. ‘I’ll go back and get it.’
‘And I’ll get this old crock heated up.’
I turned the front door key quietly and let myself in. I couldn’t hear anything from upstairs, so I walked stealthily into the living room, over to the far corner by the drinks cabinet. I lifted a small occasional table and moved it to one side. Concealed under the floorboards in this area was the gun and the box of ammo. I started to kneel down to lift the carpet carefully -
Suddenly, an unholy blast and crashing sound as I lost my balance and was thrown sideways. At first I didn’t know what the terrifying noise was. The whole building shook, and the walls of our house shuddered as it bore the blast of the nearby explosion. Glass smashed and splintered in the living room windows and I covered my eyes. The numbness from the shock to my brain suddenly cleared and I knew exactly what had happened.
‘Bill!’ I screamed. I picked myself up and ran to the front door. As I opened it I had to cover my face with my arm to protect myself. The crackling of the flames, and the protesting sound of metal grinding was like a fierce pressure squeezing my body in a vice. Although the car must have been at least ten or more yards from the house, the intense heat from the burning vehicle seemed to scorch my arm, and I coughed and spluttered as I inhaled the acrid smoke and petrol fumes. I took my arm away, and forced myself to look at the wreck as my eyes smarted from the fumes and vapour.
I blinked the fog from my eyes and watched what remained of the burning vehicle, knowing Bill was certainly dead. There was no way anyone could have survived such a blast. My only comfort was in knowing it would have been instantaneous. He wouldn’t have felt a thing. No last minute prayers; no life flashing before him. Nothing. At the turn of the ignition he ceased to exist.
I stared dumbly at the wreck, guessing that the car bomb was meant for me. For us both, probably. And then my shoulders began to shake and tremors of shock vibrated in every nerve ending. I began to weep, heavy choking sobs, as I shuddered uncontrollably. Time slowed down and I can vaguely remember a woman’s cry. Was it Michelle? Or was it someone in the street? It seemed distant and unreal and I couldn’t seem to focus on anything but a bizarre thought that my lovely Jaguar had been destroyed, followed by a surge of guilt that my brain was capable of such selfishness.
