Dark Eyes of London

by Philip Cox

  Today was no exception: Merchant walked in and sat down on the one of the two chairs the other side of Fleming’s desk. As she sat she adjusted her tweed jacket and smoothed down her tweed skirt. She was holding a plastic folder, which she placed on Fleming’s desk. He tried to suppress a shudder: ghastly old lesbian, he thought.

  ‘The Khan situation is resolved,’ she said.

  ‘Oh? How has it been resolved?’

  Merchant took a sheet of paper out of the folder and passed it over the desk to Fleming. She said nothing.

  Fleming put on his glasses and read the paper. Then he looked up at Merchant over the top of the paper. ‘I’ll say one thing for Vine: he’s thorough.’

  Merchant said nothing.

  Fleming passed the report back to Merchant. ‘Very thorough.’

  She put the paper back in the folder. ‘As I said, the issue is resolved.’

  ‘Are we covered?’

  ‘Of course. There will at some stage be a report in the newspapers, maybe on television, but things are taken care of.’

  ‘Good. Good.’ He took of his glasses and laid them down on the desk.

  Neither of them said anything for a moment.

  Fleming wanted this woman to leave his office as soon as possible, so he hoped the answer to his next question was no.

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘Just one matter,’ she said, taking another sheet of paper out and passing it to Fleming.

  Fleming put his glasses back on and stared at the paper. It was an Excel spreadsheet. He glanced up and down the columns.

  It was apparent to Merchant that he did not understand what he was looking at. She said, ‘It’s a breakdown of which personnel have access to the Restricted Files.’

  ‘I see,’ he said, looking down the columns again. ‘And I assume they were all authorized to do so. Had the right passwords?’

  ‘That’s the point,’ Merchant said. ‘Third column along, bottom line.’

  Fleming looked down the column, and then looked up at Merchant. ‘But this means...’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘But how did it happen?’

  ‘That’s what one thing I’m investigating now.’

  ‘This personnel number: who does it relate to?’

  ‘Look at the next column.’

  He looked over to the next column and made a peculiar hissing noise, which even Merchant found unsettling.

  ‘What do you want me to do about it?’ she asked.

  Fleming studied the spreadsheet for a moment, and then looked up at her again.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said.

  Chapter Ten

  The inquest was over in ninety minutes. The coroner heard statements from Sergeant Green, who reported on the statements given to the police by the witnesses who were also on the platform at the time. All of them said they had not even noticed Lisa until they heard a scream, a loud bang and a flash coming from the tracks. When they turned to look, the train had already passed. The platform and carriages had been cleared before the train could be moved and the body viewed.

  The police had viewed the CCTV images, which were replayed for the coroner. Only one camera showed that part of the platform. The images showed a crowded platform, the headlights of a train as it left the tunnel and made its way along the platform. A figure in a dark coat appeared to move quickly from the crowd at a forty-five degree angle into the front of the train. Tom and Jane were present at the inquest: Tom winced and squeezed Jane’s hand as the replay showed the flash from the tracks.

  Four of these witnesses also gave evidence at the inquest, repeating the same information they had given to the police.

  The police surgeon testified that the cause of death was electrocution, caused as Lisa touched the live rail as she fell.

  The most detailed evidence came from the driver. A veteran driver with twenty-two years’ experience, he told the inquest he had been off sick with stress since the accident. As he sat in the witness box, he was clearly distressed as he gave his evidence. He told the coroner he was decelerating as the train pulled into Green Park station. As he was almost two thirds of the way along the platform, he saw a figure fall from the platform, which was crowded, on to the tracks. He applied the emergency brakes, but was unable to stop the train until it has passed the spot.

  Once all of the evidence had been heard, there was a brief adjournment. When the coroner returned he gave the verdict: death by accident or misadventure. The coroner confirmed that Lisa’s body could now be released for the funeral and gave her next of kin his deepest condolences.

  As they stood while the coroner left, Tom and Jane turned to each other and hugged.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Tom whispered. ‘It’s all over now.’

  ‘This part is,’ Jane replied, pulling away and dabbing her eye with a tissue. ‘Now we have the funeral to organize.’

  ‘Do you want me to help with anything?’ Tom asked, as they walked out to the street.

  ‘No, it’s all right, thanks -’

  Jane was interrupted as Sergeant Green joined them.

  ‘I’d just like to say,’ Green said quietly, ‘how sorry I and my colleagues are for your loss. Both of you.’

  Tom and Jane nodded their thanks.

  ‘The verdict was as I expected, given the evidence and the witnesses.’

  Tom and Jane nodded again.

  ‘At least now you can move on and lay her to rest,’ Green continued. ‘Good-bye, and all the best for the future.’

  She shook hands with them both and returned to another police officer who was waiting at the top of the court steps.

  ‘Yeah, move on,’ Tom muttered. ‘Easy for her to say.’

  ‘She’s right, though,’ Jane said. ‘We have to move on.’

  They looked at each other silently for a moment.

  ‘I’ll let you know when the funeral is,’ Jane said. ‘And where.’

  ‘Will it be down here? Not up in Newcastle?’

  ‘No. It will be here. This was her home after all.’

  ‘Right.’ Tom stuffed his hands in his coat pocket for protection against the cold.

  ‘I’ll see you then,’ Jane said, and left Tom outside the coroner’s court.

  ****

  The inquest took place on a Friday; the funeral was arranged for the second Friday afterwards. Lisa was not especially religious, so Jane and Sully organized a brief ceremony at the crematorium in Camberwell, South London, near where Lisa once lived.

  As expected, their mother was unable to attend. Tom’s parents lived overseas: they were unable to travel either, but sent flowers. That left Tom himself, Jane and Sully, and a small group of people Lisa worked with.

  After the ceremony, they all congregated outside the crematorium, Tom, Jane and Sully in the doorway, and Lisa’s workmates the other side of the car park.

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ Jane said and walked over to her sister’s colleagues. Tom and Sully watched her walk over.

  ‘Thanks for helping to organize everything,’ Tom said to Sully.

  ‘No problem,’ Sully replied. ‘She is - was - family, after all. We couldn’t expect you to. You and Lisa were divorced; you had no obligations to her.’

  ‘No - but thanks anyway,’ said Tom, biting his tongue.

  They saw Jane waving to them, as if to say come over here, so Tom and Sully walked over. Lisa’s workmates introduced themselves to both of them. Just a brief handshake. Except one.

  ‘Hello, I’m Amy,’ a young woman, early twenties Tom guessed, said. She looked pale and her eyes were very red, the result of a lot of crying. Tom had heard her sobbing during the ceremony.

  ‘Lisa and I were very close,’ she said, then stepped over and put her arms around Tom. ‘I am so very sorry,’ she cried. ‘God bless you.’

  ‘Thank you. I am sorry too,’ he said when she finally pulled away.

  One of the work party, a grey haired man, clearly the senior person present, started to
make his way back to their cars. The others began to follow. Amy was the last to go. She turned round and looked at Tom before she left, and did the same before she climbed into one of the cars.

  ‘Wow, she was upset,’ said Sully. ‘Who was she?’

  Jane looked at the cars as they pulled into the street. ‘Don’t know. Just a friend of Lisa’s from work. Did seem more upset than the rest, I agree.’

  Tom ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’ll be off now, then,’ he said, starting to walk away.

  ‘You want to have a bite to eat - a drink with us, maybe?’ Jane asked.

  ‘No. No thanks, all the same. Rather be on my own for a while. Sorry, hope you understand.’

  Jane smiled. ‘Of course I do. We’ll keep in touch though, won’t we?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely.’

  Tom shook hands with Sully and hugged Jane goodbye.

  ‘Can we give you a lift somewhere?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I need the walk. Got my Oyster anyway,’ Tom said, then turned and walked into the street.

  *****

  Tom found his way to the nearest tube station. Changed onto the Circle Line at Victoria and decide to take the whole circle. Needed something to do; this was always on his must-do list. It took an hour and twenty-minutes.

  He finally made it indoors as it was getting dark. Even though it was to an empty flat, he was glad to be home: it was cold, wet, and it had been a very emotional day. He locked his front door and leaned back against it. That was it: the inquest and the funeral over.

  Time to move on, as Sergeant Green had said.

  He took off his overcoat and threw it over the back of an armchair. A quick bathroom stop and he made himself a coffee. Coffee mug in both hands, he flopped onto the sofa, then leaned over and switched on a lamp.

  In the light from the lamp he noticed something white on the floor by the sofa, by where he had thrown his coat. Reaching down, he picked it up. It was paper, small and square. Like a sheet of A5 folded up.

  Tom put the mug on the coffee table and opened the paper. He was puzzled: where had it come from? It must have fallen out of his coat pocket. But how did it get there?

  More puzzling though, was what was on the paper. Handwritten at the bottom of the sheet was a mobile phone number. Above the number was written: don’t believe them - she didn’t jump.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tom stared down at the sheet of paper. What the hell? It must have been that girl Amy. She must have slipped it into his pocket when they were embracing after the funeral. She seemed very upset - more than the others; more than Jane - maybe this had something to do with it. And: don’t believe them; who exactly are them?

  She had left her mobile number, so obviously wanted Tom to contact her. Why me, why not Jane? She was Lisa’s sister, after all. He considered when he would call her: no time like the present. He keyed in the number, and was just about to press the dial button when he had a second thought. Pressing the red button to stop the call, he tapped his chin with the phone while he thought. Perhaps a text would be better; more discreet.

  He sent a message: Hello, Amy. It’s Tom. Just read your note.

  He waited for a reply. None came.

  Still nothing after five minutes. Tom was getting hungry. He went into his kitchen to find something to eat. Microwave chicken curry with rice. Two and a half minutes on 700W.

  He stood in front of the microwave watching the dish rotate inside the oven. About a minute into the cycle his phone bleeped. He had received a text. Maybe that was Amy. He returned to the living room and picked up the phone. No, it wasn’t from Amy; it was from Jane.

  Just to say thanks again for your support and for coming today. Take care of yourself and please keep in touch. Jane x

  He sent a quick reply: Thanks. You too. X

  The microwave pinged. He waited a minute, and then dished it out. It smelled good. He took a cold beer from the fridge and sat down at his table to eat. Today’s post arrived just as he was about to leave for the funeral, and he only had time to leave it on the table. Eating his curry, he began to open his post.

  The phone bleeped again. He picked it up: it was Amy this time.

  ty hav 2 cu

  Tom groaned. Clearly Amy used textese. He was normally easy-going and very little annoyed him, but this form of sub-language did. He could never see the point. Most phones had predictive text input nowadays, so why use abbreviations? He had from time to time tried to use textese, but it took longer than it would normally have done. Perhaps he was just getting old; when he was a teenager, most adults didn’t understand what he was into. It took him a while to figure out what lol stood for: a few weeks back, he was on the tube when a group of teenagers were chatting, and he overheard one - a boy of about sixteen say, ‘He got the wrong bus! Laugh out loud!’ In my day, he remembered thinking, if we found something funny, we would just say haha.

  Oh well, time to translate. This one’s easy: Thank you. Have to see you.

  He sent a reply: Sure, it you want, but can’t I just call you?

  A couple of minutes, then: hv 2b f2f ok?

  He sent a message back: OK. Where and when?

  Straight back this time: hyde p w8 4u riv caf 11 2mro?

  Tom confirmed: OK. Café by Serpentine. 11am tomorrow

  gr8 cu

  He put the phone down on the table and continued eating. After he finished, he pushed the empty plate to one side and sat back in his chair. So he was meeting Amy tomorrow morning. He had some reservations about meeting someone who wanted to talk rather than just a telephone conversation, but again he had no choice. There was some logic in meeting in the middle of Hyde Park, he reflected: they would be very much in public, if Amy felt in any danger. And there was that phrase hiding in plain sight.

  *****

  The following day was Saturday, and Tom did not have to go to work. He got the tube to Hyde Park Corner station, took the tunnel under Knightsbridge, then walked along Rotten Row, past the Holocaust Memorial, and then left along Serpentine Road, until he came to the café.

  It was a damp, chilly autumn morning. The early morning mist had not really lifted and was still hovering around the tops of the trees. The paths and the areas at the foot of the trees were covered with soggy fallen leaves, their summer green now having turned to a reddish brown. The wet leaves made the path slightly slippery, so Tom walked slower than usual.

  The vast open expanse of parkland was almost deserted that morning. Two men in shorts cycling, a couple walking their three dogs, and a man walking on his own. Quite a contrast to the last time Tom was here: one Sunday afternoon a few months back when the sky was blue and cloudless, and the park was teeming with people enjoying the sun.

  He reached the café. There were some tables on the terrace outside, overlooking the river. Only one table was occupied. A Japanese couple was enthusiastically taking pictures of the Serpentine. He walked around to the café entrance and looked inside. Two tables were occupied here, neither of them by Amy. He looked around: no sign of her. He checked his watch: it was ten fifty. A bit early. He bought a coffee and took it out to one of the outside tables. Sitting down, he looked over the Serpentine. The ducks and swans were not in short supply today; it was only people. He could see some figures walking along the path around the lake. A father and son were playing with a radio-controlled motor boat.

  He drank some coffee and checked his phone, in case Amy had sent him a text saying she would be late, or cancelled. No sign of her. He was not superstitious, but he was aware that not so long ago he had arranged to meet Lisa in similar conditions.

  As one of the figures walking around the lake came closer, he recognised Amy. She saw him, and started walking across the grass to get to the terrace. As she got closer, he stood up to greet her. She was wearing her dark hair down, and had on a long black overcoat. Her hands were in her coat pockets.

  ‘Hello,’ Tom said. ‘Can I get you something?’

  Amy looked around. ‘Could we go
for a walk?’ she asked.

  ‘If you want,’ he replied, downing the last of his coffee.

  He left the terrace and joined Amy on the path. They walked over to Serpentine Road and headed west.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ she said. ‘In fact, I was gambling on you finding the note.’

  ‘You slipped it in here, he said, ‘when you hugged me, that right?’

  ‘A bit - I don’t know - melodramatic, I suppose, but I wanted to make sure you got it. And that the others didn’t see.’

  ‘I’m sure they didn’t. I didn’t.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No need to say sorry. What’s this all about? And why give it to me? Not Lisa’s sister? I wasn’t related to Lisa. We were divorced.’

  ‘I know who you are. I know you’re divorced. Lisa used to talk about you.’

  ‘Really? After we split up, or before?’

  ‘I think you two had already split when she and I got friendly. But she did talk about you.’

  ‘Much?’

  ‘Not a lot. But now and again.’

  ‘Good or bad? Not that it’s a good time to ask that, the day after her funeral. Not that it matters now, anyway.’

  ‘She spoke about you positively.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Okay. What about her sister Jane?’

  ‘What about her?

  ‘You obviously want to talk about how Lisa died. Surely her sister would be the obvious choice?’

  Amy paused a moment. Paused walking and talking. ‘I just thought you’d be the best person.’

  Tom said, ‘Did you know she was on her way to meet me when she died?’

  Amy stopped again. ‘No, I didn’t. I wondered what she was doing at Green Park.’