by Zoe Sharp
Neagley shifted uncomfortably. ‘I don’t know, but I’ve been in this business long enough to know that normal people – with nothing to hide – don’t go to the trouble to disappear that this guy did. He must have had a reason for not wanting to be found. And besides, Barry was a good driver,’ she added, defensive now. ‘Me, I’m from California. I’d never seen ice until I moved east five years ago. If it had been me who went off that bridge—’ she shrugged, ‘that woulda been understandable. But Barry lived here all his life. He was careful, knew what he was doing.’
‘Have you talked to the police about this?’
Her face tightened. ‘Uh-huh. They’re not going to be swayed from driver error unless I find them some real good evidence of sabotage or interference. And, like I say, your boy’s too good to have left anything obvious behind.’
I didn’t like the way she said ‘your boy’ any more than I liked the way she seemed convinced Simone’s father had in some way caused O’Halloran’s accident, but I let it slide. She took a breath.
‘And I think I’m under surveillance.’
‘You think, or you know?’
Her eyes flashed a warning. ‘It’s nothing obvious, just a feeling, but you get to trust your instincts in this job.’
‘When did you first notice this tail?’ I asked.
‘Since just after Barry’s accident. It could be coincidence, but I’m not working on anything at the moment that would warrant it, so I can only conclude it’s because of Barry.’ She stared at her drink, her face pinched. ‘I don’t mind admitting, it’s got me a little spooked.’
‘Are you saying you want to quit?’
‘No,’ she said carefully, not rising to the challenge in my voice, ‘but we should have been told up front if this assignment was likely to be risky.’
Hey, I’m just another employee, not management. Don’t give me a hard time about it. Not an attitude likely to win me Neagley’s cooperation, so I left the words unspoken.
‘I don’t believe anyone thought it was,’ I said instead, ‘or they would have done.’
‘Yeah?’ Her voice held a disbelieving note. ‘So why are you on the job, Charlie? You’re ex-SAS as well, aren’t you?’
I glanced at her sharply. She was almost right, but not quite. Special Forces in the UK covers a lot more than just the 22nd Regiment, but that’s who everybody automatically thinks of. And anyway, I hadn’t made it past the training stage, but I wasn’t about to volunteer that little titbit.
‘Well, well,’ I murmured. ‘You have been doing some digging, haven’t you?’
‘Like I said, it’s part of the job,’ she threw back at me. ‘So, why would someone like you be assigned if this is just a simple handholding exercise?’
I knew explaining about Simone’s money would clarify my position, but I couldn’t do so without clearing it with Simone first. Neagley saw my hesitation and read all manner of things into it – most of which weren’t there. She got to her feet, leaving what remained of her drink on the table.
‘No, I’m not a quitter,’ she said with quiet vehemence, leaning in. ‘But if I’m going to continue I want someone watching my back. I’ve called in some people I know – an executive protection firm outta New York who owe me a favour. When I’ve used up their goodwill I’ll be putting their fee onto Miss Kerse’s account. If she doesn’t like it, she can fire me, OK?’
I nodded. She was within her rights to be angry and I knew my silence hadn’t helped.
Neagley pulled a business card out of her pocket. ‘When you decide to level with me, here’s my cell number,’ she said, tossing the card onto the table as she straightened. ‘And a piece of advice for you, Charlie – watch your back.’ And with that she turned and strode out of the bar.
I wasn’t overly surprised when the big guy in the green sports jacket abandoned his drink and strolled out after her. As he went past he inclined his head a fraction, the friendly nod of one professional to another.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘You’re the one on the ground, Charlie,’ Sean said. ‘If you feel you need more people, say the word.’
‘It’s not a question of that,’ I said. ‘I talked it over with Simone again last night and she won’t have any more people. I spoke to the police here this morning – and getting anything out of them was a bit of a saga – but they’re still adamant that O’Halloran’s accident wasn’t suspicious. In fact, the guy in charge reckoned he’d had a drink or two, which doesn’t help convince them he was bumped off.’
‘So you think Neagley’s overreacting?’
I paused a moment before replying. I was in my room overlooking the harbour again, watching the commercial jets angle out of Logan. We’d just had an early breakfast and Simone was getting Ella wrapped up and ready for a trolley bus tour of the city. The concierge, no doubt trying to be helpful, had given Simone all the details. Ella was excited about it and I could hear her high-pitched voice giggling and asking questions through the open doorways to the next room. I shifted the phone to my other ear.
‘I don’t know,’ I said then. ‘She’s certainly taken it seriously enough to call in close protection of her own, and Neagley didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would panic over nothing. This has got her rattled, that’s for sure.’
‘Mm,’ Sean said. ‘Armstrong’s are a good firm – head office in New York and very switched on. I’ve worked with the boss, Parker Armstrong, a few times myself. And they’re fair. They wouldn’t take her money unless they thought she needed their services.’
‘Which brings us back to Greg Lucas,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t anybody warn me he might react badly to being confronted with his long-lost daughter?’
‘At this stage we don’t know how he’ll react. Nothing in the information we were given suggested he would go to those kinds of lengths to avoid being found.’
‘Well then,’ I said, ‘I suggest you dig a little deeper. Simone’s determined not to give up looking and, if he’s going to become a threat, I think it would be a good idea if I knew about it sooner rather than later, don’t you?’
* * *
After my conversation with Neagley in the bar the night before, I’d gone back up to our rooms to find Simone curled up watching TV on my side, Ella already in bed and dead to the world, poor kid.
Without much of a preamble, I’d given Simone the gist of Neagley’s grievances. For a few moments Simone had sat in silence, feet tucked up underneath her, apparently lost in her thoughts. It was only when she finally spoke that I heard the anger vibrating in her voice and realised she’d been bringing herself up to the boil.
‘OK, so my father was in the army – so were you,’ she threw at me. ‘Does that make you both killers?’
I stilled. Don’t go there, Simone…
When I didn’t answer immediately she took a deep breath and said, quietly but with more bitterness. ‘Why are you telling me this, Charlie? You want me to give up and go home, is that it?’
‘Of course not,’ I said, too patiently. It had only inflamed her.
‘Tell me something. When did you last see your father, huh?’
‘Six months ago,’ I said shortly.
She’d already opened her mouth to snap back at me before she registered what I’d said and closed it again. ‘OK, but that’s your choice, right?’ she said, slightly mollified. ‘You know who and where he is, right?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. But that didn’t mean I knew him – not really. My father was one of the top orthopaedic surgeons in the UK, and while he might be my biological parent, most of the time I found him a cold aloof stranger. So much so, in fact, that when my short-lived army career had ended in scandal and disgrace I’d shortened my name from Foxcroft to Fox in an attempt to distance myself from him still further. It had been only partially successful.
Sean had never met with my parents’ approval, either. One more thing we had in common. When I’d made the decision to take him up on his job offer and moved down from
my home in the north permanently, they’d made a somewhat disappointingly brief bid to talk me out of it, then retreated into a martyred silence that I had not yet felt inclined to break.
I hadn’t even told them I was going back to the States. Partly because I didn’t want to face another argument when I had enough reservations of my own about the trip. But mainly just in case they made no comment on the subject at all. I’m not sure which would have been worse.
Simone’s eyes slid back to the TV screen, but I knew she didn’t see the picture. ‘I only remember odd fragments of my father,’ she said abruptly. ‘A lullaby, a deep voice sitting by my bed reading Beatrix Potter stories. But I can’t see his face at all.’ She looked up, her face defiant, as though I would contradict her. ‘It’s one of the things that’s been bothering me, since we came out here. Will I recognise him when I finally meet him? My mother never kept any pictures. It’s all this huge blank.’
She shook her head and for a moment I thought she was going to cry, but she swallowed the tears back down again. ‘And now,’ she continued in a low voice, ‘you tell me he might have somehow caused the death of this investigator? What kind of monster would that make him?’
‘That’s Neagley’s theory, not mine,’ I said quickly. ‘She’s worried enough to have hired some additional security. I think perhaps it might be a good idea if you considered doing the same.’
‘No,’ Simone said without pause for thought.
I took a breath. ‘I’m not armed, Simone,’ I said quietly. ‘I can’t legally carry a gun over here. Maybe, if Neagley’s right, you should think about bringing in someone who can.’
‘No. I won’t have guns around Ella.’ Simone met my eyes, determined, stubborn. ‘Looks like you’ll have to do the best you can, Charlie.’
We picked up the trolley bus for our tour of Boston at the stop just outside the Aquarium, retracing our steps along the harbour front to get there. No more snow had fallen since our arrival, but despite the pale sunshine, what was on the ground was showing no signs of melting. Ella still seemed enthralled by it, dragging her mother on a meandering course to inspect the larger piles of the stuff.
As usual, I walked a pace or so behind Simone and to the side, keeping my eyes open. After her confession of the night before, she didn’t seem much inclined to talk to me, in any case.
There were around twenty stops on the tour and – with buses running every twenty-five minutes – you could get off and get back on again more or less at will. Simone sat next to Ella in the seats directly in front of mine. It was below freezing outside and the little girl was dressed up warmly against the bitter chill in the air, with fake-fur ear warmers and some new sheepskin mittens that were actually on strings from her coat sleeves. Just because Simone was rolling in it didn’t mean she was going to be happy if her daughter lost a brand-new glove.
The trolley took us on a set route, the driver giving an informal and joke-laden commentary that mainly seemed to centre on how badly the British army had got its arse whipped during the War of Independence. I tried not to take it personally. We passed the house where Paul Revere lived with his fourteen children and the obelisk-like memorial to the battle of Bunker Hill.
Stop number six on the tour was Boston Common, an open area that presented a startlingly white blanket. The sun had put in an appearance and the reflection off the crystallised surface was almost too bright to look at directly.
Ella jiggled in her seat at the sight of it, tugging on her mother’s sleeve, and when Simone bent towards her, whispered in her ear.
‘I promised, didn’t I, sweetie?’ Simone said as the bus came to a stop. She twisted in her seat as the bus slowed, and said casually over her shoulder, ‘We’ll get off here, Charlie. Ella wants a walk in the park.’ And before I had a chance to object, they were on their feet and moving towards the doorway.
I hurried after them, trying to clamp down on my irritation. I had time briefly to wonder what part of the possibility of the increased danger Simone and I had discussed the night before she was having difficulty taking on board.
Boston Common was surprisingly quiet. Apart from the skaters on the frozen Frog Pond, who were all progressing in a slow clockwise crawl, I think the squirrels outnumbered the people. Ella quickly wore the novelty out of the huge white carpet that covered the grass, and it wasn’t until her mother suggested building a snowman that she perked up.
Ella was an enthusiastic but not very scientific snowman builder. Simone ended up being the one who scooped together enough snow to make a rounded body, while Ella ran round chucking wild fistfuls of the stuff at both of us and shrieking whenever she thought we were going to retaliate.
Simone just grinned at her and flicked me a reproachful little sideways look, as if to say, How could you want to deprive her of this?
I picked up a handful of snow myself and moulded it absently into a ball, but apart from dodging Ella’s less inaccurate throws, I didn’t join in the fun and games. Boston Common was open enough for nobody to be able to creep up on us without my being aware of it, but we seemed a long way from the surrounding streets and any passers-by who might help to deter any attempt as well. Neagley’s warning went round and round in my head. Why hadn’t anyone asked more questions right from the start about Simone’s mystery father?
Without any activity to keep my circulation going, it was bitterly cold. I was glad I had a hat pulled down over my ears, but my cheeks were going numb. I huddled down further inside my coat and tried not to shiver as I did yet another sweep of the area surrounding us, as I’d been doing every minute or so since we’d got off the trolley bus, without spotting anything that set any alarm bells ringing.
This time, though, there was a man walking along one of the pathways towards us. A big guy in a tweed flat hat and a three-quarter-length tweed coat, unbuttoned. It was too cold to be wearing a coat that way and I didn’t like the way his eyes never shifted away from Simone and Ella as he moved. Surely Tweed had seen a kid and her mother building a snowman before? I checked around me, looking for a second prong before I edged sideways so I was directly in his line of sight, blocking his view of my principals.
Not for the first time, I missed the weight of a nine-millimetre SIG Sauer P226 on my hip. There were a lot of countries around the world where accredited UK bodyguards were allowed to carry a concealed weapon while they were on the job. The US, sadly, wasn’t one of them.
Tweed flicked his gaze onto me. Our eyes held for a second, and it was only then that I realised where I’d seen him before. It was the man from the Aquarium who’d lured Simone away from her daughter and me by the sea lion enclosure. A nice, normal guy, huh? I wheeled away and scooped up Ella, ignoring her wail of protest.
‘We’re leaving,’ I said sharply to Simone. She had just finished rolling a snowball the size of a watermelon for the snowman’s head and was halfway through lifting it onto the larger sphere of his body. She gave me a startled look but must have caught enough of what was in my face to quell any arguments she’d been about to make. She dropped the snowman’s head, which broke in two on the frozen earth. I thrust Ella into her arms and hurried the pair of them back towards Beacon Hill, which ran along the north side of the Common.
‘What?’ Simone demanded, breathless, as I hustled her along. ‘What is it?’
‘Just keep moving,’ I muttered, resisting the urge to glance round until we reached the edge of the park and scrambled up the steps by the Shaw Memorial. Tweed – Aquarium man – was still fifty metres behind us but closing in a leisurely kind of way. Like he knew we didn’t have to hurry because he knew we had nowhere to go.
But luck was on our side for once. A lone cab was cruising towards us up the hill with its ‘for hire’ light on. I stepped off the kerb and stuck my arm out, abandoning my usual reluctance for transport I didn’t know. The driver swerved slightly towards me and pulled up right alongside, so all I had to do was lower my arm and my fingertips touched the rear handle. I yanked the
door open and piled a baffled Simone and Ella inside, climbing in after them and slamming the door behind me.
I gave the driver the address of the hotel and he set off with commendable haste, setting up a wallow in the suspension like an ocean liner.
I looked back through the rear window as we made the first corner by the golddomed State House building, to find Aquarium man standing by the kerb, staring after us. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but it wasn’t difficult to read his body language, even at that distance, and I know anger when I see it.
It took Simone just about until we were back at Rowe’s Wharf before she’d got Ella quietened down enough to turn her attention to me. I greeted Simone’s shocked questions with a meaningful nod towards the back of the cabdriver’s head. For a moment Simone seemed set to protest, but then she looked away, concentrating on distracting Ella instead, and we didn’t speak at all until we were back at the hotel.
But as soon as we’d paid off the cab and headed for the hotel entrance, she grabbed my arm.
‘What the hell was all that about, Charlie?’ she demanded, keeping her voice low. I don’t know why. She was holding Ella balanced on her hip. The little girl was watching the pair of us intently and looked like she was picking up on every nuance.
‘Remember the guy from the Aquarium?’ I said. ‘Well he turned up again at the park, heading right for us. I don’t know if you believe in coincidence, Simone, but I—’
‘The guy from the Aquarium,’ she repeated flatly, and I didn’t like the dull flush that crept up her cheeks any more than I liked the glitter in her eyes. ‘And that’s what you were panicking about, was it?’
‘I did not panic, Simone,’ I said, struggling against a rising temper. ‘I got the pair of you away from what I considered was a possible source of danger. That’s my job.’
