by Mark Timlin
9
Monday morning
We left the house at about nine on Monday morning for the appointment with McAllister. I was wearing a navy blue suit, pale blue shirt, black tie, black shoes and socks. Judith was wearing a short black skirt, black tights, a black polo-neck sweater and a black leather jacket. But, then, she often did. It was her style. Her hair had been brushed until it shone and she looked gorgeous, although there were faint dark circles under her eyes, which still glistened from time to time.
Jane had phoned again the previous night, late. When Judith was already in bed, asleep. There was not a lot more they could do in Chicago. The bodies would have to stay until formal identification had been made. But, as she told me quietly, from what she could gather, the crash and subsequent fire had been so devastating that it was pick and mix. And the remains that came back could quite easily not be the people they were supposed to be. ‘I don’t want to fly again after hearing some of the stories,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to this once, but never again for me if I can help it. It scares me, Nick. There’s always the chance you’ll end up like the people on that plane.’
I didn’t pass on any of the news or Jane’s sentiments to Judith. Just told her that she was coming home.
We drove up to Holborn and I found a meter near Lincoln’s Inn. ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked Judith.
‘Can I come in with you?’
‘’Course.’
We walked a quarter-mile or so to the street where McAllister had his office and found it with no trouble; it was a three-storeyed Georgian house in a leafy side street. ‘Must be doing well,’ I said as we buzzed for entry.
We were met by a good-looking young blonde and taken straight through to his office at the back of the building, overlooking a small, winter-bare garden.
McAllister was in his thirties, smartly suited in something from Bond Street, complete with waistcoat and gold watch-chain and black shoes.
He stood to greet us and gave Judith a puzzled look. ‘My associate,’ I explained. ‘My daughter, Judith.’
‘This is a rather delicate matter, Mr Sharman,’ said McAllister when we were all seated and coffee had been ordered.
‘One day, everything I have will be hers,’ I replied. ‘She can stay.’
‘If you insist, although it’s all rather unorthodox.’
‘That’s how I run my life.’
‘So I’ve heard.’
He sat back and made a steeple with his fingers.
‘I have a client,’ he explained. ‘An American. Until you have agreed to take the job I’m offering he will remain anonymous. He is over here on a business trip. There have been some threats. He needs… how can I put it…?’
‘A minder,’ I said.
‘Exactly. A minder. Your name keeps coming up as the only man in London who could do the job properly.’
‘Why’s that?’
He looked at Judith. ‘My client has some powerful enemies. Violent men. You seem to have the qualifications to deal with such men. From your history, I mean.’
‘I don’t want to get into a fight,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll pass.’
Judith looked at me.
‘The remuneration is commensurate with the work,’ said McAllister. ‘Five thousand pounds per day for the minimum of a week. Ten thousand a day after that.’
‘Very nice,’ I said. ‘Santa’s coming just a teeny bit early this year.’
McAllister smiled to show gleaming white teeth. ‘Isn’t he just.’
‘I still think that I must refuse,’ I said. ‘There has been a tragedy in the family.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said McAllister. ‘I guessed something as much. But I would ask you to take the time to meet my client. He’s staying at the Intercontinental. He is desirous of meeting you there tomorrow for breakfast.’
Desirous. I liked that. Real solicitor-speak.
‘I don’t think so…’ I said.
‘Daddy?’ interrupted Judith. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to go.’
I gave her a stern look.
‘You can always say no then.’
I looked at McAllister and shrugged. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘My associate has given it the thumbs-up.’
‘I think you should go alone,’ he said. ‘My client expressly stated he wants to speak only to you.’
I shrugged again. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘My associate can wait in the coffee shop.’
10
McAllister gave me his client’s name then. It was Jefferson Parker of New York City. It meant nothing to me. He had taken a penthouse suite at the Intercontinental. That did. It meant he had money or access to it.
After we left the office, we walked back through the cold morning air to the car and I said, ‘Fancy a drink?’
‘Coffee?’ said Judith.
I looked at my watch. It was almost eleven. ‘I fancy something stronger,’ I said, feeding more coins into the slot. ‘Pubs’ll be open in a minute.’
‘I thought you might,’ she said, and we walked deeper into Holborn and found a boozer where a barman was just opening up, and I got a pint and an orange juice for Judith, and we perched on a couple of seats close to a fake open fire.
‘I don’t know about all this,’ I said.
‘Daddy. You need the money. It’s a fortune.’
‘But not the aggro. It sounds like it might be dangerous. And you need looking after. I haven’t got time to take on any work.’
‘It’s only for a few days.’
‘But it’s Christmas.’
‘We’ll survive.’
‘Will we? I’ve got to get you sorted out.’
She lost it then for a moment and tears squeezed out from between her eyelids. ‘I love you,’ she said.
‘And I love you.’
After we’d finished our drinks we went back to the car and headed home. The answerphone tape was full of messages again. But only one seemed worth answering. It was from someone called John Condie. He’d left an Aberdeen phone number and stressed that it was urgent that he spoke to me.
I called him straight back. The telephonist answered with the words ‘Condie and Company’, and she put me through.
‘Mr Sharman,’ he said in a strong Scots accent when I’d introduced myself. ‘I’m devastated by what’s happened. I was a friend of Louis’s. Have been since school. We go back a long way. How is Judith?’
‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘Considering.’
‘She’s a lovely girl. You must be very proud of her.’
‘I am.’
‘I hate to raise this so soon, but we have business together, Mr Sharman. I’m a solicitor up here in Aberdeen. Louis’s solicitor, and Laura’s too. I prepared their wills for them and am executor. Of course, we didn’t expect a tragedy like this to happen. But they were prepared. Louis left everything to Laura, who in her turn divided her estate between David and Judith. Now, with all the other three in the family gone, everything goes to her on her majority. Until then, I presume you are her legal guardian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Excellent. We need to meet at some point, Mr Sharman. There’s no rush, but we must consider Judith’s future. The estate is quite extensive.’
‘How extensive?’
‘If the family house were to be sold… I doubt whether Judith could stay there on her own even if she would wish to… I’d say somewhere in the region of half a million pounds. Louis was a careful man. He made several wise investments. And there’s the insurances. Obviously the house mortgage was covered, and there were other policies. Plus, of course, travel insurance. And if the airline is found to be at fault, then the sky’s the limit… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be facetious. But American courts can be very generous. If it gets to court. The airline may wish to settle quietly.’
‘So she won’t star
ve.’
‘No, Mr Sharman. Under no circumstances. What about school, by the way?’
‘What about it?’
‘She’s fifteen. Next summer she sits her exams. It’s a vital time for her. Will you want her to transfer or stay at school up here?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it.’
‘Well. She’s going through a bad time. A change of school could be very disruptive. Of course, she’ll be a very rich young woman in a couple of years. But if she’s considering university, this coming year is very important.’
‘I’ll have to talk to her, Mr Condie.’
‘John, please. We have to work together now, for the good of your daughter. Let’s not be too formal.’
‘John,’ I said. ‘Let me discuss this with her. I’ll call you back later in the week.’
‘Fine. And please pass my condolences to her. We’ve become quite good friends since the family moved up here.’
‘I’ll do that,’ I said, and we made our farewells and both hung up.
In the region of half a million quid, I thought, as I looked at the phone. And a very nice region to be in. I looked round my flat and wondered what region I was in. Thirty bob to two quid. Maybe I was doing something wrong.
11
Monday afternoon/Tuesday morning
I didn’t tell Judith right away about the call I’d made to the solicitor in Scotland. I figured she had enough on her mind to keep her occupied.
That afternoon we got another call from Jane in Chicago. She was at the airport and would get in touch as soon as she arrived home. Judith and I spent the rest of the day inside the flat, ignoring the phone, watching TV and playing long games of cards for matchsticks.
The next morning, early, I got into my suit again and we drove up to Park Lane, where snow lightly dusted the park, and I left the car in the Intercontinental car park. I told the geezer there to charge it to Mr Parker’s bill.
I took Judith to the coffee shop, where she settled down with a pot of tea and a couple of magazines, and went upstairs to Jefferson Parker’s suite.
It was nine-thirty when I tapped gently on the door and a moment later it was opened by a big black guy in a big black suit, a black shirt, white tie with a Windsor knot and shiny black patent boots. He had ‘gangster’ written all over him and I almost laughed. ‘I’m looking for Mr Parker,’ I said. ‘Nick Sharman. I’m expected.’
He didn’t say a word, just gestured for me to come inside, all cosy like the spider to the fly, and I did just that. He stepped back and I crossed the threshold, brushing past him as I did so to confirm my suspicion that the bulge under his left arm was a weapon. It sure felt like it. Welcome to Rancho Notorious. As I pushed the door closed behind me, I found myself in the sitting room of the suite. The curtains were closed against the December weather and the view across London, and the room was dimly lit. There were two big settees, two armchairs, a dining table that was littered with papers, and a serving trolley close up to it between two upright chairs. A large-screen TV mumbled to itself in the corner. There were complimentary flowers and fruit everywhere, and to the left and right were a pair of doors that I assumed led into the bedrooms. Sweet as a nut and not much change out of a grand a night, I guessed. It was all right for some.
‘Is he here?’ I asked, after a moment that seemed to stretch like chewing-gum.
The big black geezer nodded and I walked over to one of the settees, pushed a copy of the International Herald Tribune on to the floor, sat down and lit a cigarette. ‘Got an ashtray?’ I said.
He fetched me one and plonked it down on the arm of the sofa. ‘Thanks,’ I said.
I sat and smoked for a minute and the big black bloke stood and looked at me and never as much as offered me a glass of sparkling mineral water. The whole deal was beginning to get on my tits and I said, ‘So where is he?’
‘I’m right here, Mr Sharman,’ said a voice with a throaty American accent from behind me, and I turned to see a tall black man in a white silk shirt, sans tie and open at the neck, grey suit trousers held up by thin red braces and black, shiny shoes, come through the door in the right-hand wall of the sitting room. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. I had some calls to attend to.’ He headed across the carpet with his mitten extended and I stood and shook it. ‘Jefferson Parker, New York City,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘Which is more than I can say about you,’ I said. ‘You’re a bit of a mystery man.’
‘Not at all, Mr Sharman. My life is an open book.’ A real charmer. So why didn’t I trust him? Maybe it was the big, silent black geezer with what I was sure was a gun under one arm. ‘Breakfast, Mr Sharman?’ he said. ‘It’s all keeping warm. Eggs, bacon, hot rolls. You name it.’
‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ve already eaten.’ I had, too. Judith had made me a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea before we’d left.
‘I think I’ll just have a mouthful,’ he said. ‘Isaac.’
The big black geezer went to the serving trolley, took off the top and started putting delicate portions of food on to a plate. He was a real Little Lord Fauntleroy underneath it all.
‘Coffee, then?’ said Parker, like the maître d’ from hell.
‘Stick it,’ I said, stubbing out my cigarette. ‘I understand you need some security.’ I looked over at the big geezer. ‘But it seems to me you have all the security you need.’
‘Not at all. Isaac here has to return to New York tomorrow or the next day latest to take care of some business for me.’
Business, I thought. Fucking hell. What kind of business would the dude be taking care of? Not making an after-lunch speech to the Daughters of the American Revolution, that was for sure.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to make it clear to you that I don’t do this sort of thing any more. I’ve got my own problems to deal with right now, anyway. So why not find someone else? Someone who wants the job.’
‘I want you, Mr Sharman.’
‘Christ. How many more times? The answer’s no. Get me?’
I turned to go, and fucking Isaac decided to get in on the act by putting down the plate he was holding and pulling out some fat automatic pistol from just where I guessed he had one and aiming it at my head. ‘Listen to Mr Parker,’ he said, in a voice that sounded like a crowbar being dragged over rusty razor blades, and was more Kingston, Jamaica, than Manhattan Island.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ I said, looking down the barrel of the gun which had to be at least a .45 calibre, judging by the size of the black hole at the end. ‘Do me a favour. You’re not going to shoot that thing in the suite of a five-star hotel. Not without a silencer at least. So put the fucking thing away and let me get out of here.’
I saw Parker nod, out of the corner of my eye, and Isaac lowered the gun.
Fractionally. That was when I got really pissed off and did what he least expected: I reached over and wrenched the thing out of his hand and hit him between the eyes with the butt. A dangerous thing to do for several reasons. Then, spades having hard heads, I hit him again and he dropped to the floor. Before Parker could move, I reversed the gun and pointed it at him. ‘Now me, on the other hand,’ I said, ‘I don’t give a fuck. I’d shoot the fucking thing anywhere. So sit down, Mr Parker, and tell me what’s really going on.’
Parker did as he was told, crossed his legs neatly and looked up at me. ‘Mind if I smoke?’ he asked.
‘Go ahead. It’s your room.’
He lit up a Marlboro and breathed out smoke in a grey cloud. ‘I’m here for a reason, Mr Sharman,’ he said. ‘Not a reason of my own choosing, but a good reason nevertheless. I have to attend to certain business in this country and I need someone with me who can guide me in the right direction. You are that man.’
‘With sodding guns all over the place. I don’t think so,’ I replied. ‘In fact, I think I’ll be going now.
’ And I ejected the magazine from the gun and dropped it into the coffee pot, cleared the bullet that was in the chamber and tossed the gun itself into the corner of the room. ‘See you later,’ I said, as I opened the door to the hall, only to be confronted by two men in dark suits who were flanking Judith. One was tall and fat, the other was short and thin.
They both took warrant cards out of their pockets and flashed them at me. The tall guy’s one was regular Met. The other’s contained a gold badge. The taller of the two said in a cockney accent, ‘Stay where you are, Mr Sharman. We’re the law.’
12
‘If this is a bust, I’m innocent,’ I said. ‘I just got here. Ask her.’
‘This isn’t a bust,’ said the taller one and came into the room, pushing Judith gently in front of him. He shut the door and introduced himself: ‘Detective Superintendent Latimer from West End Central. This is Harry Shapiro, Lieutenant Harry Shapiro, NYPD.’
‘Cool,’ I said. ‘This is just like TV. Is Jimmy Smits outside getting his make-up on?’
Shapiro laughed through his nose. ‘A wise guy,’ he said. ‘Just what I fuckin’ need.’
‘Not in front of my daughter,’ I said. ‘You’re not in New York City now.’
Shapiro wrinkled his brow then turned to Judith. ‘Sorry, miss,’ he said. ‘I’m out of practice in dealing with young ladies.’
Judith took it totally in her stride. She was growing up before my very eyes. ‘That’s OK, Mr Shapiro. Daddy says that all the time.’
‘Can we cut the happy-family stuff?’ said Latimer. ‘Let’s get this over and done with. Everybody sit down.’
I did as I was told, perching on the arm of the settee opposite Parker as Judith sat demurely next to me.
Latimer went to the coffee pot and Shapiro stood over Isaac, who was moaning gently.
‘You do this?’ he said to me.
I nodded.
‘You must be good,’ said Shapiro. ‘But don’t get downwind of him in a hurry. He’s killed for less than a smack on the noggin.’ His accent was becoming more New York Irish as he spoke.
