by SL Beaumont
“Grandma, look,” George called, lifting his dripping ice cream in her direction.
“Ooh, Georgie, you lucky boy. Hello, Sara dear,” she said, kissing Sara’s cheek.
“Hello, Mrs. Munro,” Don said.
“Hello, Donny,” she replied, patting his arm before her eyes came to rest on Adam.
“Maggie Munro,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand.
“Adam Jackson,” he replied.
“Mum, Adam is the police officer that I’m working with at the moment,” Kat replied.
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. “You’re the one leading my little girl into danger.”
“Mum,” Kat said with a sigh.
“Not intentionally, Mrs. Munro, I assure you,” Adam replied.
Maggie looked unconvinced but pulled her gaze away from Adam and addressed her daughter. “Oh, Kat, I meant to tell you that I was going to go to that exhibition that you went to at the Tate Modern,” her mother said. “But when I looked at the program again, I saw that one of the sponsors was William Huntly-Tait’s firm, so I couldn’t bring myself to go.”
“I know, I couldn’t believe it when I saw that too,” Kat agreed. “I’m certain that he’s rotten, but I think I’m the only one.”
“You’re not still obsessing over him, are you?” Carl asked.
“What’s this?” Don said.
“Nothing.” Kat glared at her brother.
“Anyway, Kat, I talked to Mrs. Peters; they want you to speak in about five minutes,” her mother said, looking Kat up and down. “Did you bring anything else to wear?”
“Like a pretty frock, Kat,” Carl teased.
Kat glared at her brother for a moment before looking down at her tank top and denim cutoffs. “No. And besides, no one told me that I had to address the picnic.”
“As the new co-chair of the fundraising committee, she thinks it appropriate if you say a few words,” Maggie said.
“Perhaps you two could swap outfits?” Carl suggested, his eyes dancing with mischief. The grin forming on his face disappeared as both women turned and glared at him. He held his hands up in defence. “Just a suggestion.”
Kat waited until her mother had turned her back and flipped him the finger. He threw his head back and laughed.
“You don’t half regress to a teenager when Mum’s around,” he said.
“Dad, save me from this lot,” Kat called to the tall thin man strolling towards them, a straw trilby covering his bald head.
“Aw, kitten, are they being mean to you?” he teased.
Kat threw her arms in the air. “I give up,” she said. “Why couldn’t Prince Harry have been here? He’d do a much better job than me.” She sighed. “Lead me to Mrs. Peters.”
Adam watched her stalk away ahead of her mother, amused by the conversation he’d just witnessed.
“Which fundraising committee is Kat co-chair of?” Adam asked Sara.
“The Valkyries,” she said. “They support the rehabilitation of women in the armed forces wounded in action. After losing their brother Joe and then her accident, she got involved. She realised how hard it is to keep going after something as devastating as losing a limb. You have to agree, she’s a great role model for not letting disability get in the way of living a full life, even if she’d never admit it.”
“I understand she lost her hand in a car accident,” Adam said. “How long ago?
“Did she tell you that?”
Adam shook his head.
Sara smiled. “It’s her story. She will tell you when she’s ready.”
Adam nodded as a voice came over the loudspeaker, asking for everyone’s attention. He turned and saw Kat step up to the microphone vacated by the singer of the jazz band. She didn’t appear nervous as she looked out over the crowd of people who had turned their attention towards her, but he noticed her left hand slide behind her back for a moment before she caught herself and lifted it to the stand, releasing the microphone, which she held in front of her mouth.
“I’d like to welcome you all here today to this wonderful venue for our annual picnic. This is a chance to get together with family and friends, to remember those no longer with us.” Her voice caught on the last couple of words, and Adam watched as Kat’s father slipped his arm around Maggie, and Carl stood a little straighter.
“It’s also a day to celebrate diversity and resilience. There are many here today who have been injured or lost limbs in the service of our country. We need to ensure that we provide excellent rehabilitation facilities so that they can continue contributing to society and live full, meaningful lives. We must continue to fight discrimination and ignorance. Just because we may be missing a limb, does not mean that we’ve lost our intelligence or humanity or purpose. Our lives may be a little more difficult. Still, humans are resilient, and I have seen strong military women, time and again, rebuild their lives after devastating and debilitating injuries. So let us celebrate that strength and courage. Enjoy the day. Collectors will be moving around with buckets, so if you can, please donate to help us continue supporting these wonderful warriors on their next adventures in life. Thank you.”
Kat handed the microphone back to the jazz singer with a shaky hand.
“Jeez, I’d vote for her,” Don whispered to Adam.
“Yes, she’s very impressive,” Adam agreed.
“I heard you asking about her car accident,” Don said.
“When did it happen?”
“A couple of years ago, I don’t know all the details, just that her dropkick boyfriend at the time was driving drunk, but somehow got off,” Don said. Adam held his eye, waiting. “She’s pretty messed up about how it happened, if you ask me,” Don continued. “I know that she doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Kat rejoined their group, and her mother embraced her.
“Well done, dear,” she said. “I don’t think anyone noticed your outfit or lack thereof.” She tugged at the hem of Kat’s shorts.
“Mum.” Kat laughed.
“Now, where’s Adam?”
“Here, Mrs. Munro.”
“Are you free for dinner tonight? We’re heading back to ours when this finishes,” she said.
Adam glanced at Kat, who looked as though she’d happily kill her mother.
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but I have to get back to London shortly,” he said.
Kat let out a breath as Sara pulled Kat to one side.
“He’s cute,” she said in a quiet voice, looking towards Adam, who was saying his goodbyes to their group.
“If you say so,” Kat replied. “God, why does Mum insist on being my personal Tinder?”
“Kat, she means well. Besides, did I mention that he’s cute?”
“I work with him.”
“So? He’s perfect, ex-armed forces, handsome, funny, good job.”
“So nothing,” Kat replied, reaching down for George’s hand. “Come on, George. Would you like a go on the bouncy castle?”
George whooped, jumped up and slipped his hand in hers and began to pull her in the direction of the children’s playground. Kat glanced over her shoulder and watched Sara engage Adam in conversation. She groaned, wishing her family would stop trying to match-make. After the way her last relationship had ended, she had no interest in starting another.
Adam watched Kat and the little boy walk towards the bouncy castle on the far lawn, excused himself and made his way back to his group of mates.
Col. Wilson saw him walking over and manoeuvred his wheelchair beside an empty park bench. Adam lowered himself onto it, accepting another beer from Watto.
“So, how did your excursion go the other day?” Wilson asked in a low voice.
“Amanda Harding remembers Jake asking directions to South Hill Manor. I drove out to it, and it’s a big country house as you’d expect, surrounded by a tall brick wall with fairly hi-tech security.”
“Interesting.”
“What was Jake doing down in S
urrey?”
“He was following a lead that took him to Cobham. As you know, I received a garbled message from him the day before he disappeared, but it made no sense.”
Adam nodded. “Apparently he’d been out to a local aerodrome that day. I could go back down and check it out. I didn’t have time the other day. What do you think?”
Wilson looked thoughtful. “Aerodrome? That wasn’t in any of his reports. We were due to meet the following week, but there was nothing about an aerodrome in his notes. Perhaps he found the arrival point, although it seems unlikely, as those places have to log flight plans with the aviation authorities.”
“I also came across a disused airfield in the area. Well, perhaps not disused, there was a sign which said ‘private property’. It was on farmland, just a runway surrounded by sheep, a small hangar, and an agricultural-type aircraft. That could be worth further investigation.”
“Agreed.”
“What are you two so serious about?” Don asked, dropping down onto the bench beside Adam.
“We were just discussing the fact that we can’t believe that you haven’t been court-martialed for insubordination yet,” Adam said, leaning back.
Wilson laughed as Don feigned shock.
Chapter 12
“Just two today, Kat?” asked the elderly man behind the counter at the second-hand bookstore.
“Yeah, I haven’t read all of the ones I bought last weekend,” she said with a laugh.
“You must have quite a collection by now,” he replied, pushing his glasses up his nose and smoothing a flyaway grey hair from his comb-over back into place.
She handed over a £10 note and slipped the books into her bag. “See you next time,” she said.
She wove her way among the tables overflowing with stacks of books and stepped out into the sunshine. Hampstead High Street was bustling. A steady stream of cars crawled both ways, and people wandered along the footpaths at a leisurely pace enjoying the late summer weather while they could. Autumn was most definitely just around the corner, and there had been several cooler mornings of late.
Kat pulled her sunglasses out of her hair and over her eyes as she pondered what to do next. The coffee shop across the street beckoned, so she turned to walk towards the pedestrian crossing and bumped straight into a man coming from the opposite direction. He grunted.
“Sorry,” she said, steadying him with her hands on his arms.
“My fault,” he said, smiling, but holding an arm to his ribs.
She looked up into his face, “Adam,” she said in surprise.
“Hi there,” he said.
“Are you still sore?” she asked.
He nodded. “A little, especially when someone bulldozes into me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “What are you doing in Hampstead? Do you live around here?”
“No. It’s such a lovely day that I thought I’d take a walk on the heath, clear my head. Did you enjoy the picnic yesterday?”
“Yeah, I did,” she said.
Adam nodded, and a moment of awkward silence passed between them.
“Well, enjoy your walk. I guess I’ll see you at work next week.” Kat’s voice trailed off as she made to leave.
“Would you like that drink that I keep trying to buy for you?” he asked, stopping her with a hand on her arm.
Kat bit her lip. “I was about to grab a coffee across the road.”
“I was thinking of something a little stronger. The King William has a lovely sunny garden,” he said, pointing to the pub on a corner further down the hill.
Kat’s mind immediately said no, but she overruled it for once. One drink couldn’t hurt, could it? “Sure, why not.”
The pub was busy, but they managed to find a single table with two chairs in the corner of the garden bar and carried their drinks over to it. Kat dropped her bag beside the table.
“What have you been buying?” Adam asked.
“Books; it’s kinda my Sunday thing, trawling through bookshops and markets. Having lunch somewhere new,” she said.
“That sounds like a great way to spend a Sunday, especially when the weather’s like this.”
“Yeah,” she smiled and picked at the label on her bottle.
“How’s your hand?” Adam asked.
“This is my spare one. I’m seeing the specialists tomorrow about getting the other one fixed. This one is not as good; it’s an earlier model.” She flexed the hand and held it out for him to see. “The big problem is that the nails are permanently painted red, so I have to keep the nails my right hand painted red too, which is hard to do myself. Fortunately, I was able to pop into a nail salon on Friday after work.”
Adam looked bemused.
“First world problem, I know,” she said, catching his expression.
“Actually, I was wondering if they charged you half price?” he said.
Kat stared at him for a moment before she burst out laughing. “You are the only person who has ever asked me that. In fact, you ask me about my hand more than anybody I know.” She took a swig of her beer. “Most people avoid the subject.”
“I used to be in the line of business that means I have more than my fair share of mates that have been… er… hurt,” he said, holding her gaze. “And, it’s part of you, and I find that I want to know more.”
Kat took another swig and glanced at her hand before looking up at him again. Her heart thudded in her chest.
“I don’t do relationships, Adam,” she said.
“I don’t recall offering,” he replied, his tone even and unemotional.
“Good, just needed to be clear on that,” she said. “Now tell me, how did you go from the army to the police?”
Adam looked across the table at her, sunglasses covering her eyes, the red highlights in her hair glinting in the sun as she sipped her drink. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought how relaxed and at ease she was, when in fact he was beginning to realise that the opposite was true. She was always on alert.
“You are a master of redirection, Kat Munro. Why don’t you ever talk about yourself?” Adam said.
Kat thought for a moment. “I recall reading somewhere that when Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor went out drinking, the last thing they wanted to talk about, with the people they encountered, was themselves. Instead, they were far more interested in learning about the people they met. Perhaps I’m a little like that.”
“Jackson?” A man stopped at their table, swaying.
“O’Connor, how are you?” Adam jumped up and shook hands with the man.
“Kat, this is Frank O’Connor. We served together.”
“Hello.” Kat nodded to him, taking in Frank’s dishevelled appearance and noticing the beer on his breath.
“How are you doing, man?” O’Connor asked. “Still having them nightmares?”
“Sometimes,” Adam replied. “What are you doing now?”
“Bit of this, bit of that,” O’Connor replied.
“Are you working?”
O’Connor’s lip curled. “’tween jobs, mate.” He caught someone’s eye across the garden. “Gotta go.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Kat said.
“A very long and tortuous one,” Adam said.
“Nightmares?”
“If you’ve seen some of the things that we have, it’s impossible not to have them.”
“Afghanistan?”
Adam nodded.
Kat swallowed. “We lost my eldest brother over there,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, and she took a hasty sip of her drink. She wasn’t sure what it was about Adam. Despite his assertion that she never talked about herself, she couldn’t seem to stop sharing things with him that she didn’t tell other people.
“God, I’m sorry,” Adam said. “I didn’t know.”
“Landmine,” she said. “Blew his Foxhound to pieces.”
“How long ago?”
“Three years.”
“Before your
accident, then?” Adam asked.
Kat nodded. “A few months. I was heading off the rails, unsure how to cope with his death when the accident happened.” She let out a long breath.
“Sounds like there’s a story there?” Adam echoed her earlier remark.
Kat gave a half-smile. “Oh yeah.”
They were silent for a few moments, each deep in their own thoughts and memories. Kat drained her bottle.
“Would you like another?” Adam said, standing.
Kat nodded.
“There’s something that I haven’t told you,” she said when he returned with two bottles in his hand.
Adam quirked an eyebrow as he slid into his seat. “And there’s something I haven’t told you,” he said.
“You first.”
“One of the CIP partners has form,” Adam said.
“Which one?”
“It seems that Eddie Doors has several arrests for drunk and disorderly, threatening behaviour and domestic violence,” Adam said.
“Another tough boy with short man syndrome who can’t hold his drink,” Kat said, shaking her head. “I can’t stand men who hit their partners, whatever the reason.”
“Agreed, but Henry Smyth’s death wasn’t violent as such; I mean, it wasn’t like he’d been in a fight.”
“No, he didn’t have a chance to be violent, ’cos someone drugged him,” Kat replied.
“Or he drugged himself.”
“I don’t think we really believe that, do we?”
Adam took a swig from his bottle. “Trying to keep an open mind. Now, what did you have to tell me?”
“You met my father yesterday?”
“Briefly,” Adam said.
“He’s been investing with CIP for the past two years. Making spectacular returns,” Kat said.
“Good for him.”
“No, not good for him.” Kat shook her head and leaned forward. “He’s made an annual return of 12.5% on a diversified international equity portfolio when the market has been tanking. No one, and I mean no equity fund, has made double figures in the last two years.”
Adam frowned. Kat rested her elbows on the table.
“And that’s not all. Nate found a deleted file on Smyth’s laptop, which purported to be the firm’s client list, from about a month ago. However, Dad’s name is not on it. We’re waiting to get the official client list from DI Greenwood tomorrow to compare it with Smyth’s. Still, the total number of clients, as noted in their recent annual report, is in the ballpark, so there’s no reason that Dad’s name wouldn’t be there.”
