Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “Some of those lights must belong to the Globe offices and printing works over there.”

  “I suppose so,” said Marnie. “This must be when they work, in the night. It’s strange to think they’re beavering away on the Sunday papers on that side of the river and we’re hunting them down from over here.”

  “They’re hunting us down, too, don’t forget.”

  “No. Not quite. They’re hunting Anthony. They probably don’t think we’re worth hunting ... with any luck.”

  “You don’t think so? Really?”

  “I don’t think they know we’re on to them. We’re safe for the moment. We’re certainly out of their reach up here. This place is like Fort Knox. It’s impregnable.”

  26

  There is something about the quiet of a Sunday morning in London that is like no other time. It was a thought that had only occurred to Marnie since she had been living in the country.

  She much preferred rural Sundays, especially in the morning. There was a sense of calm in the air. Church bells rang like wind chimes in a garden, and even though Marnie was an agnostic and never went to services, she liked to hear the peals as a backdrop to planting tubs of flowers in the courtyard or polishing brass on Sally Ann.

  In London she had always felt an unease, as if her neighbours were frantically devouring the newspapers behind their net curtains, trying to gen up on style in the colour supplements, competing for knowledge about what was in and what was cool, another part of the rat race that consumed them the rest of the week.

  Things had changed now. Marnie believed one day soon their current problem would be left behind them and everything would be rolling forward just as she had planned, even though there could still be a bumpy ride ahead.

  That Sunday morning, looking down on Docklands from Simon’s flat, she felt immune from the competitive pressures of London. She felt safe, if only for a while, from the battle with the Globe and its empire, cocooned up there in the fortress protected by state-of-the-art security systems. Fort Knox.

  She found instant coffee and powdered milk in the kitchen and heated water while Anne stowed the folding bed back in the glory hole.

  Marnie called out, “Can you make do with coffee and a couple of shortbread biscuits, Anne? That’s all I can find. We can get a croissant or something when we go out.”

  She found mugs in a cupboard and sniffed the coffee in the jar. It smelled fresh enough. Anne had obviously not heard her. She called out again.

  “Is that all right for you, Anne?”

  Still no reply. Odd. Marnie walked towards the arch leading into the living area and met Anne coming towards her across the room. There was something strange about her expression. She was clutching a slip of paper which she held out to Marnie without a word. It was a note, handwritten.

  Marnie Walker

  Change of plan.

  Meet me half past ten at the cafe.

  Fran

  Fran? Fran!

  “Where did you get this?” Marnie said. Her head was buzzing. Alarm bells were clanging.

  “It had been pushed under the door.”

  “It can’t have been. Are you sure? Show me where.”

  Anne led Marnie to the door and pointed at the ground. Marnie looked through the security peephole into the hallway. It was deserted. She pulled open the front door. Nothing and no-one. She closed the door.

  “So much for Fort Knox,” she muttered.

  *

  Their first stop was the porter’s lodge. They pushed open the glass door and found a young man sitting behind the counter writing on a notepad. He had fine features and a pale brown skin that glowed against his very white shirt.

  “Good morning, madam.”

  “Good morning. Can you tell me, is it possible for anyone to gain access to the flats from outside?”

  “Only with a security card.”

  “But what I mean is, could anyone be given a card to let them in if, for example, they said they wanted to put a note under someone’s door?”

  “No, madam. That is quite impossible. If you wish to pass on a message I can take it from you –”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m already staying here in a friend’s flat. But if someone wanted to give me a message, how could they do it?”

  “They could leave it with me and you could collect it from here.”

  “How would I know it was here?”

  “The porter on duty would phone you and tell you.”

  “The porter might bring it up and deliver it in person?”

  “I’m afraid not, madam. We never leave the lodge unmanned.”

  “Not in any circumstances?”

  “Not in any circumstances, no.”

  *

  The café was closed when they arrived a few minutes early, so they waited outside the newsagent’s across the street, mulling over how someone might be able to penetrate the outer defences of Simon’s flat.

  “I don’t get it,” said Anne. “Unless it was one of the neighbours.”

  “Too great a coincidence, surely.”

  “Not if Fran waited outside until someone came along. She could’ve asked them to drop it in at Simon’s flat.”

  “How could she know we were there? And which flat we were in?”

  “I don’t know, but she did. We got the message, didn’t we?”

  “But how did she know where to come at all?” Before Anne could speak, Marnie answered her own question. “She must’ve followed us. That’s the only way.”

  “Up to the flat?” said Anne. “I don’t get it.”

  Marnie shuddered. “It’s creepy. And I thought we were secure up there.”

  “Oh well, Fran will know the answer, so we’ll soon find out,” said Anne.

  Marnie checked her watch. Ten minutes to go. She looked up and down the street and realised how exposed they were, standing out on the pavement in full view of passing cars and pedestrians. The words drive-by shooting came into her mind.

  Another glance at the watch. She was growing nervous. They were dealing with hookers, and hookers were run by pimps and crooks. They were part of the underworld of organised crime. Marnie looked at Anne standing beside her, young and defenceless, and a decision formed in her mind. The odds were too great; they had to get away. Before she could move, she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a voice behind her.

  “Marnie Walker?”

  She spun round to find a girl standing there. It was not Fran. The same tarty style, but not Fran.

  “Yes.”

  “And who’s this?”

  “This is Anne, my friend.”

  “I’ve got a message from Fran.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Not your concern. She says be here tomorrow, same time. Got it?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know –”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  *

  That Sunday morning did not feel like a day of rest for Marnie and Anne. They converted Simon’s living area into their operations room. It felt like RAF Fighter Command, vintage 1940. Each of them had a list of phone calls to make to reorganise the start to the week.

  On the way back from the aborted rendez-vous with Fran, they had agreed to make one final effort in the Docklands campaign. If that came to nothing, they would give up. It would be disappointing after all they had done, but it would be no disgrace. They divided up the tasks. Marnie handled strategy, while Anne dealt with the tactical issues.

  On the phone Marnie outlined progress – the lack of it – to Ralph and told him of her decision to give it one more go. He agreed to stay at Knightly and man the office till they returned.

  After hanging up, Marnie said to Anne, “Poor Ralph! He’s really finding out what he’s taken on with me.”

  “He knows what he’s doing,” said Anne. “He wouldn’t want you any other way.”

  Marnie laughed lightly. “Well, at least he knows exactly what he’s getting, no illusions, no secrets. I think that’s important
.”

  “Huh!” said Anne.

  “Huh? What does Huh mean?”

  “You know what it means.” Anne gave her an indulgent look, complete with heavy eyelids.

  “No I don’t,” Marnie said indignantly, but sensing she was about to lose the argument.

  “If it’s important not to have any secrets, why didn’t you tell Ralph about the phantom message coming in under the door?”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “Quite. You didn’t want to worry him, I suppose.”

  “I didn’t want to worry him. No.”

  More heavy eyelids from Anne. “Okay, well, I’ve done all my calls.” She ticked them off her fingers. “I’ve left messages for the builders, the electrician and a reminder not to go ahead with the grey roof slates.”

  “Great. I was going to ring Randall to check up on Anthony, but it’s Sunday and he’ll be busy.”

  Anne went off to the kitchen while Marnie rang Simon on his mobile to check it was okay for them to stay on. He answered immediately. In the background Marnie could hear music playing softly and the sound of voices.

  “Am I phoning at a bad time?”

  “No, it’s fine. Everything okay?”

  “We’ve got to go back to meet the girl tomorrow, the one in the photos. Is it convenient for us to stay one more night?”

  There was the briefest hesitation. “Sure.”

  “When are you coming back, Simon?”

  “Soon.”

  “The truth.”

  A pause. “I am back. I was at the airport when you picked up my call yesterday, with some associates.”

  “So where did you go last night?”

  “I stayed at their hotel. It seemed the best thing to do in the circumstances.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s okay, not a problem.”

  “But if you’re here, you ought to have your flat back. You shouldn’t have to pay for a hotel room.”

  “It’s all covered by the contract I’m working on. Forget it.”

  “What about mail and things?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I dropped by and picked it up. I only had to come over from City Airport.”

  “When was this?”

  “Last night. I called in and collected it from the porter’s lodge. Did you see the message I left you, by the way?”

  “You left it?”

  “Yes. It was in my pigeonhole, so I nipped up and pushed it under the door. It seemed to be a note about a meeting, so I thought you ought to have it straight away.”

  “Oh my God,” Marnie sighed.

  “What?”

  “I am so relieved. I thought, well, I didn’t know what to think, actually. I couldn’t work out how it had got there.”

  “I suppose I should’ve written a message on it, but it was late and I didn’t have a pen.”

  “So it was you all the time. I didn’t know about the pigeonholes.”

  “It just goes to show,” said Simon. “There can be some advantage in having my surname, after all.”

  “Look, you must come back tomorrow. We’ll be gone in the morning. And thanks again.”

  “Okay. I’ll come over some time. But don’t rush off. I can’t be sure when my meetings will end. You know what it’s like.”

  When Marnie hung up she smiled at the simple explanation of how the message had penetrated Fort Knox. The smile lasted only long enough for her to realise that Fran and her associates knew exactly where she was staying and how to reach her.

  27

  Dark clouds were scudding over Docklands the next morning. The hills on the horizon had vanished when Marnie and Anne took their first look at the pouring rain from Simon’s flat. Armed with a golf umbrella in rainbow colours from the glory hole, the two set off for their meeting. They had their first surprise of the day. Fran was waiting for them in a car parked outside the newsagent’s.

  “Change of plan,” she said through the half-open driver’s window, blinking as raindrops splattered against her face.

  “Oh yes?” said Marnie.

  “Avril’s coming, but she won’t be here for half an hour.”

  “Are you wasting our time?”

  “Got anything better to do?”

  “Plenty.”

  Fran began winding up the window. Marnie put a restraining hand on it.

  ”Will you be bringing her?”

  “No. She’s coming separate.”

  “Half an hour, then,” Marnie said. “We’ll wait in the caff over the road.”

  Fran wound up the window and drove away.

  *

  They were still waiting for the cappuccino to cool, when Marnie’s mobile vibrated and warbled. She pressed the buttons and a text message came up on the tiny screen.

  Please move your car from car park – space needed.

  “Simon,” she muttered. “He must be back, needs to park his car. I hadn’t thought of that. He must’ve given my number to the porter.” She grabbed the umbrella and slipped on her jacket. “I’ll be five minutes, Anne. I hope. have to find somewhere else to park. Sit back and relax. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Anne looked anything but relaxed. Marnie winked at her and made for the door. She put up the umbrella, stepping round puddles, walking fast. At the approach to the car park entrance, she pulled out the security card and pressed it against the metal plate. She tapped three numbers on the keypad, and the shutter slid upwards. To reach Simon’s space she had to go down two levels and she found the Volvo in slot two-o-eight. She had half-expected to find Simon sitting there in his Mercedes, but the place was deserted.

  Driving into the street, she looked up and down to see if the distinctive silver car was visible. It was not. She uttered an apology to Simon under her breath at the thought of him having to walk a long way in the rain to retrieve his car and felt even more guilty when she quickly found a space along by Butlers Wharf at the end of a row. It offered two hours’ free parking. Perfect.

  Marnie’s estimate of five minutes’ absence proved to be accurate. She pushed the café door open with her back, pulled down the umbrella and turned to look triumphantly across at Anne. Her smile was returned, if rather quizzically, by a large man with a moustache and a bald head.

  *

  Anne watched Marnie pass the window and looked at the cappuccino. She realised that she had grown accustomed to the finer things of life and, hoping she was not becoming a snob, she raised the cup to her lips. Through the steam she spotted a familiar face at the door. Fran waved at her and disappeared outside into the rain.

  Anne pulled her bag over her shoulder and moved round the tables towards the entrance. Nobody spared her a glance as she edged her way to the door. At first she could not see where Fran had gone. A short beep from a horn attracted her attention to the car that she had seen earlier. Anne walked over as Fran pushed open the front passenger’s door. Anne shook her head, spraying raindrops.

  “I’m not getting in the car,” she said.

  “You’ll get soaked out there.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Fran stared at her for several seconds, sighed impatiently and pushed her own door open. She climbed out and got in the back, leaning over to open the window. “That better? Happy now?”

  Anne hesitated, feeling her shoulders getting cold and wet. She looked up the road, but Marnie was nowhere in sight. Hesitantly, she pulled the car door open and got in, so that the two of them were sitting in the rear seats.

  “Where’s Marlene ... Avril?”

  “She’s coming, I told you. She won’t be long.”

  “Why have you come, then?”

  “We just want to know why you want to see her, why you really want to see her.”

  “I told you.”

  “We want the truth this time. Avril doesn’t know anyone from Leighton Buzzard. She doesn’t even know where it is. And she’s never heard of you.”

  Before Anne could answer, the driver’s door swung open and a man jumped i
n behind the wheel. He had the engine running and was shifting into first gear when Anne seized the door handle and pulled hard. Nothing happened.

  The man called over his shoulder as the car moved off. “Childproof locks. Great safety feature. We wouldn’t want you to come to any harm.”

  *

  Marnie walked over to the table where she had left Anne. The man sitting in her place was still smiling, but his expression was changing to puzzlement. He studied the woman approaching him and reached two immediate conclusions: he did not know who she was; she did not look like a hooker. For both reasons, he could not understand why she had smiled or why she was now closing in.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you,” Marnie began, “But when you came in here, did you see a girl sitting at this table, or perhaps leaving it? My height, thin, very short blond hair, grey sweatshirt.”

  “No. It was empty. No-one was here.”

  Marnie thanked him and went to the counter. Asterios looked up from cutting sandwiches and smiled at her. She asked about Anne, and he looked over her shoulder towards their table.

  He shook his head. “I’m getting ready for the lunchtime rush, love. No way I can notice everyone who comes and goes.” He smiled again. “I remember you, though.”

  “It’s my friend I’m concerned about.”

  “Sorry.”

  *

  The car hit a hole in the road and bounced, water splashing the windscreen like spray over the bows of a boat. Anne lurched into Fran who hit her head against the window and pushed her away.

  “Get off, will you!”

  Anne steadied herself against the front seat. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t ask to be here.” She thought she sounded braver than she felt.

  The driver pulled round a corner into an alley and stopped the car. He turned to look back with an expression not designed to put his reluctant passenger at ease.