Dark Eyes of London

by Philip Cox

  ‘Give me your key,’ Tom whispered to Amy. She did so.

  Tom listened at her front door and slowly put the key in the lock and turned. He slowly opened the door to the flat. They both went in and looked around: it was just as they had left it that morning. Tom shut the door behind them.

  ‘Best not be too long,’ he said. ‘Just enough things for a couple of days.’

  Amy went into her bedroom and took a backpack from her wardrobe. As she was packing, Tom wandered round her living room. He picked up a CD case which was lying on the floor in the corner of the room. He must have missed that when he tidied up last night.

  Amy went from the bedroom into the bathroom and heard her pack some items from the cabinet there. She came into the living room holding her backpack.

  ‘All packed,’ she said quietly.

  Tom was peering out of the window, up and down the street; he turned and smiled at her. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s get off.’ He looked out of the window one more time. ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘What is it?’ Amy asked, joining him at the window.

  Through the net curtains, they could see a large black car parked five or six houses up the street. Both front doors opened, and two men stepped out. They both wore a white shirt under a dark suit and matching tie. The man climbing out of the passenger seat was short, bald and had a thick moustache. The driver was the albino.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Amy gasped and put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, no,’ she cried. ‘They’ve found me.’

  ‘Not yet they haven’t,’ Tom replied grimly.

  ‘Are they coming in?’ Amy asked. She didn’t want to look.

  ‘Don’t seem to be,’ Tom said. ‘Seem to be just waiting outside.’

  ‘For what?’ she asked.

  ‘Good question.’

  The two men, Vine the albino and Carter the fat balding one, were standing on the pavement, at the end of the garden path. A woman with three young children walked by, the woman shouting at one of the children as he was hitting the parked cars with a long roll of cardboard. Vine was talking to someone on a mobile phone.

  Tom saw Vine say something to Carter. The little man walked down the street, out of Tom’s line of sight. Vine stood waiting.

  ‘There must be a back entrance to this place,’ said Tom, his eyes still fixed on Vine. ‘Fire escape or something.’

  ‘There is, yes. A metal staircase.’

  ‘Where does it come out?’

  ‘All the houses have the same. The staircases lead to the back gardens, which open onto a sort of alleyway behind.’

  ‘Where does the alley come out? Onto the main street, I mean?’

  ‘There’s a sort of driveway a few houses up.’

  ‘Up that way?’ Tom pointed to his right, in the direction away from the High Road.

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘I bet that’s where the other one’s gone. Not the albino. They must have guessed we’re here. He’s gone to head us off. Shit.’ Tom looked up and down the road. He scratched his head as he ran his hand through his hair. ‘What’s the house number?’ he asked.

  ‘One five six. Why?’

  Still watching Vine, Tom took out his mobile phone and keyed 999.

  ‘What are you -?’

  Tom put up his hand to shush her as the operator answered.

  ‘Hello, I need the police, please.’

  ‘..........’

  ‘Hello. Yes, I’m at home, and I can hear a lot of shouting and screaming coming from the house next door.’

  ‘..........’

  ‘Yes, I think it might be. Can you send someone?’

  ‘..........’

  ‘My name is Thomas. I am at 156 Old Devonshire Road.’

  ‘..........’

  ‘Next door, number 158.’

  ‘..........’

  ‘Oh, right. Thank you very much. Goodbye.’

  He hung up and put the phone away. Looked out of the window again.

  ‘Did you just do what I think you did?’ Amy asked.

  Tom nodded and grinned at her. ‘She said a squad car should be here within five minutes.’ He looked back out of the window. ‘Let’s just hope our friends down there can wait.’

  ‘But why did you send them next door?’

  ‘Amy, do you think those two are going to try anything with a police car outside? This’ll give us a chance to get away.’

  ‘It’s going to be a long five minutes,’ she said, resting on the arm of her sofa.

  ‘Very long,’ muttered Tom, looking down at the albino.

  A couple of minutes later they could hear a siren in the distance. They both listened carefully. The siren got louder and louder; eventually a police car pulled up outside the house next door. There were no spaces, so the driver double parked in the street. Tom saw Vine back away towards his own car and get out his mobile.

  ‘Come on, let’s go. Quick,’ he said, grabbing Amy’s hand and her backpack. She picked up her handbag. Slamming her door behind them, they ran down the two flights of stairs and outside. Once outside, they returned to a normal walking pace. As they got to the street, Tom looked back. He could see two police officers, each wearing yellow hi-vis jackets at the front of number 158. One was knocking at the front door; the other was trying to see in the ground floor bay window. Vine was hovering outside number 162. He saw Tom and Amy leaving, but seemed powerless. As they hurried down the street in the direction of the High Road, Tom looked back, and gave Vine a brief wave. He could not see Vine’s response.

  ‘Run,’ he said, as they turned the corner into the High Road. ‘Let’s not take any chances.’

  There are two rail stations in Balham. The tube station has two entrances either side of the High Road, while the mainline station is next to one of these entrances, in Balham Station Road. Amy headed towards the mainline station, the one they used earlier, but Tom stopped her.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘The tube. Easier for us to get lost there.’

  They ran down the escalator and were lucky enough to find a train waiting at the northbound platform. The doors slid shut just as they got into the carriage, and the train entered the tunnel. The carriage was relatively empty, with many vacant seats. Tom and Amy sat down on opposite sides of the aisle, both out of breath.

  ‘One change, and we’re home and dry. Almost,’ said Tom, trying not too successfully to be reassuring.

  The train they had caught was a West End branch train of the Northern Line. The first interchange with the Bakerloo was at Waterloo. Amy started to get up.

  ‘No, not here,’ said Tom. ‘I’d rather we changed further up. Say Charing Cross.’

  Amy sat down again.

  Onto the Bakerloo at Charing Cross, and the journey to Willesden Junction took them another half an hour. By the time they got off the train and climbed up the steps to street level, it was dark. They both shivered in the cold wind.

  ‘It’s about ten minutes’ walk,’ Tom said, taking Amy’s arm and leading her across the main A404 road.

  ‘I thought you said ten minutes,’ Amy said, as they arrived at Tom’s building twenty minutes later.

  ‘Maybe more like twenty, yes,’ he replied, as he led her up the stairs, hoping that Mrs da Costa would not be on the landing. She was not: he could hear her television set from the landing.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ said Tom as he let Amy in. ‘Sorry about the mess.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Seems tidy enough for me.’

  She put her backpack down on the sofa. ‘I’ll be okay to bed down here later,’ she said.

  ‘No way,’ said Tom. ‘You take the bed. The sheets are clean. I’ll take the sofa. No trouble.’

  ‘I don’t want to impose. You’ve gone to so much trouble for me already.’

  ‘It’s no imposition. Unless...’ He scratched the back of his head again.

  ‘Or we could do what we did last night,’ Amy finished for him. ‘But just what we did. Nothing else.’

&
nbsp; ‘If you’re happy with that, so am I,’ he answered, relieved. He knew from experience that his sofa was uncomfortable to sleep on.

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. Tom broke the silence. ‘Right. I’ll fix us something to eat. I know it’s early, but neither of us have eaten since lunchtime.’ He looked in the kitchen cupboard. ‘We’ve got - beans on toast, or spaghetti on toast. Or microwave prawn curry and rice.’

  Amy laughed. ‘Let’s go for beans on toast.’

  Tom rubbed his hands together. ‘Beans on toast it is then.’

  A while later, as they sat down to eat, Amy asked Tom what he planned to do next.

  ‘Not sure yet. It’s a pity that all the evidence, or at least all the paperwork that Lisa had, had all been taken.’

  ‘Hm. Would she have anything at her place?’

  ‘Her sister Jane said no. She told me that she took all Lisa’s personal stuff in a box over to her place. I was thinking of asking her if I could go over - if we could go over - to have a look through it. Lisa’s landlord told her no rush to empty the place. He said in the circumstances he would be happy to leave things until the New Year. Jane’s got the keys, so it wouldn’t hurt to ask Jane if we could go to Lisa’s place too.’

  ‘Would she agree? You know her dead sister and all that.’

  ‘Don’t know. Tell you what: let’s call her now.’

  He took out his phone and dialled Jane. It went straight to voicemail.

  ‘Hello, Jane; it’s Tom. Hope you’re well. Look, you told me you had taken Lisa’s stuff. I wonder if I could pop round to have a look, if you don’t mind. There’s something I’m looking at. Tell you more later. Wait to hear from you. Bye.’

  ‘Just have to wait for her to ring back,’ he said, putting the phone down.

  Amy took a mouthful of toast. ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Any brothers or sisters? Family?’

  Tom took a deep breath and sat back. ‘Lisa and I didn’t have any children, for a start. I’m an only child. My parents - well, they moved to France years ago. Bought an old farmhouse in a place called Villefontaine. Near Lyon. Did it up. I only went there once.’

  ‘Only once?’

  ‘We’re not a very close family. A phone call at Christmas and my birthday, that’s all. What about you?’

  ‘Much the same.’

  ‘What’s your surname by the way? Mine’s Raymond. We didn’t even...’

  ‘Spicer. Anyway, my father - well, he pissed off when I was three or four. My mother got involved with some bloke five or six years back and moved out to Cyprus with him. He owns a bar out there.’

  ‘Brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No brothers. Got a sister, couple of years younger than me. She went to Cyprus with them. Like you, not a close family.’

  ‘Ever been out there?’

  ‘Nah. Like you again, I get a phone call twice a year. Mum kind of invites me, but I can tell she wants me to say no.’

  She shook her head, and sadly stared into her mug of tea.

  *****

  The silver Honda CR-Z was standing at a Shell petrol station while Ashley Merchant was filling the tank. She reattached the hose onto the self-service pump and climbed back into the car. As she sat down, her phone rang.

  ‘Speak to me, Vine.’

  ‘..........’

  ‘How the fuck could you let that happen? Jesus Christ, what do you think we’re paying you for?’

  ‘..........’

  ‘The police? How did the police get to know?’

  ‘..........’

  ‘For Christ’s sake - and you two just stood there?’

  ‘..........’

  ‘Do you know where they went?’

  ‘..........’

  ‘And of course we don’t know where that is.’

  ‘..........’

  She paused a moment to think, and then said, ‘You’ll just have to come back in. It’s pointless you two scouring London for them. I’ll talk to Fleming; let him decide what to do about them.’

  She hung up, and flung the phone down. Ignoring the man in the car behind who wanted to get to the pump she was occupying, she picked up the phone and dialled. It answered after three rings.

  ‘Sebastian? It’s me. They lost her.’

  ‘..........’

  ‘Don’t ask. But she’s not on her own. There was a man with her, helping her.’

  ‘..........’

  ‘Don’t know. But she’s probably staying with him. Wherever that is.’

  In his office, Fleming stood up and walked over to his window. ‘Tell them to come back in,’ he ordered.

  ‘I already have,’ Merchant replied.

  ‘You too,’ Fleming spat. ‘We all need to talk. It’s time to take things to the next level.’

  He ended the call and looked out of the window again. On the window ledge, there was a glass ornament. It was of a ballerina holding a purple flower. Fleming picked it up and held it for a moment, checking the detail on it.

  Then he flung it against his office wall, whereupon it smashed into a dozen pieces.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After their meal of beans on toast followed by some chocolate roll washed down with two mugs of tea, Tom and Amy spent the rest of the evening sitting in his lounge chatting. He spoke about his experiences growing up, school, university, and some of his relationships, including his marriage to Lisa. Amy then did the same, although her growing up experiences were clouded by her being raised by a single parent after her father abandoned the family, and her mother being more interested in her succession of boyfriends until she met her current partner, with whom she had now emigrated. Amy had reached the age of twenty-five having only had three boyfriends, only one of which was really serious and lasted longer than a few months. She declined Tom’s offer of a drink; Tom drank a can of lager while they were talking.

  At around ten, Amy looked at her watch. ‘I know it’s only ten, but it’s been a long day - for me at any rate. I’m shattered. Do you mind if I go to bed now?’

  Tom put down his can of lager. ‘No, of course not, he said, stretching. ‘You must be knackered. Tell the truth, I might call it a night soon. We were both up early this morning, too.’

  ‘Yes, we were. I might be asleep when you come in. Just exhausted.’

  Tom stood up, and brushed some imaginary dust off the sofa. ‘Are you sure you’re okay about - well, you know. I’ve no problem kipping down here.’

  Amy shook her head. ‘Stop worrying. It’s fine. As long as you promise not to...’

  ‘Promise. You can trust me. I think I’m too tired to do anything, in any case,’ he laughed.

  Amy yawned. ‘Good night, then, and thanks again.’

  ‘No worries. Night.’

  As she passed him on her way to the bedroom, she reached up and gently kissed Tom on the cheek. She smelt good. Tom smiled and let his hand brush down the side of her arm.

  After she had gone to bed, Tom switched on the television, quickly turned the volume down low, and surfed the channels. After a while, he settled on a re-run of an old seventies comedy. He watched for twenty minutes or so, then he had had enough. Rubbing his eyes, he switched the television off. Checked and double-checked the windows and door. He checked his phone to see if there had been any response from Jane, a missed call or text message, but there had been none. He switched off the living room light and walked back to the window. Slowly moved the curtains and looked down onto the street. The road was quiet: cars parked all along both sides of the road; no pedestrians. A couple of cars passed by and he could hear the sound of a train in the distance. After checking all the locks again, he went to the bathroom, and then to bed.

  Amy was fast asleep, lying on her front, her head and hands resting on her pillow. She looked as if she had fallen asleep as soon as she had got into bed. He got undressed and slipped under the covers as quietly as he could. He lay still in bed, listening. Listening to the faint rumble of traffic from the main road, a c
ar door slamming somewhere, Amy’s gentle breathing.

  What a day for her: no wonder she was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. As he was thinking about her, he could smell her perfume again, and realised he was getting aroused. Not unexpected: there was no denying she was physically attractive, and vulnerable. Last night, she turned over and they slept holding each other. Would she do the same tonight, he wondered. If so, would it go any further? He had no intention of abusing her trust, but if she started things, what then? Pondering all the possible scenarios, Tom drifted off to sleep himself.

  *****

  It was still dark when he woke. He would normally wake about seven, and at that time of year it was still dark then, but there was already a lot of traffic noise from outside. This time it was silent outside. He sat up and squinted at the clock radio he bizarrely kept on a dresser. The display read 02:55. He groaned, turned on his side, and patted the pillow before settling down to get back to sleep. The smell of Amy’s scent was on the bedclothes: half asleep, he realised that she was not there. He sat up quickly. He put his hand on where she had been sleeping: it was still warm. Hurriedly he got out of bed, various thoughts passed through his head: he dreamt that she came back with him; the albino had broken in and taken her; she had second thoughts about everything, got up in the middle of the night and gone home.

  As he wandered into the living room he saw that none of these was the case. She was sitting as she had done at her place the night before: on the floor, leaning back against the sofa, holding her raised knees. The living room light was off and she was bathed in the light coming from the kitchen.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ she said.

  ‘You didn’t,’ he said softly. ‘Back in a mo.’

  A quick bathroom visit later, he joined her on the floor.

  ‘This situation seems familiar,’ he said.

  ‘How so?’ she asked, looking at him puzzled.

  ‘I seem to recall us sitting in your living room just like this last night.’