Cocaine
Page 30
Chapter 29
Southampton, England, October 1999
Indian summer was gone and the cold rain came off the channel in relentless gusts. The churchyard was all muted greens and greys as though an artist had painted it and had deliberately washed out all the colours. Seen through the rain even the black clothes of the mourners seemed to be more of a dark grey. The crowd of uniformed men stood bare headed and at attention with the rain bouncing unheeded from their heads. The smaller group of civilians, including the four women, were using two large black umbrellas although the youngest woman had spurned them. It was Peter Romsey's daughter, Janet.
Ropell half listened to the service and thought that it was a fitting day to bury Peter Romsey. Sunshine would have been so very inappropriate when they were losing such a good man. Romsey had never recovered from the accident, slipping downhill steadily until in the end he had caught pneumonia and died. Ropell regretted not being able to have told him about the outcome of the Spanish affair, as he was coming to think of it. Worst still, he missed being able to ask his advice.
A chorus of amens told him he had not been following the service, which had now come to an end. The parson closed his book and they all headed back to the line of black cars waiting at the cemetery gates. He stood aside to let the family go first and then followed them out at a discreet distance. At the gate Romsey's daughter, Janet, was waiting for him.
"Thank you for coming, Jack. It was good of you. I think Dad always thought of you as a replacement for the son he lost."
He nodded. Some moments passed before he could trust himself to speak.
"I am surprised Anne is not here. I expected to see her."
He inclined his head in a wordless gesture that made no comment. Then he looked her in the eyes.
"What about you, Janet? Are you sure that you really want to keep working in the same office you shared with your father for eighteen months?"
It was her turn to make the gesture, and then she looked up at him.
"I have to. I have two teenage children who both want to go to university and a mortgage to find, and it does pay well." She gave a little smile. "Besides, my new boss seems all right even if he's not my father."
"OK then, Janet, I will be off. Let me know if I can do anything."
He had quite a bit of trouble finding the house. It was not numbered or on any main road. It was tucked away down at the end of a cul-de-sac and stood in its own grounds. He had only found it by repeatedly getting out of the car to knock on doors and ask directions. Even then he had thought he would never get here. He was surprised by the size of the place, but then remembered that both Anne and her late husband had held professional jobs and she would have received a fair death in service payment from her husbands job plus any private insurance he may have carried. Not real consolation for a broken marriage, but at least removing financial worries.
He looked at the large four bed roomed building with its half-timbered upper storey and full height bay windows. It was a solid and reassuring looking place. The sort of place he would have expected her to live. He could see the paddock at the side that led down to the river and what looked like a small stable and he wondered if her daughter April was at home. He was sure Anne should be home by this time of night.
He didn't want to park in the grounds in case she refused to talk to him. He didn't want the embarrassment of having to climb back in the car and reverse down the narrow strip of gravel that served as a drive, for there would be no room to turn as her car was not in the garage, but parked in the turning bay. He had wondered if she would be out, but he knew it was not often she went out in the evenings and was glad that the car confirmed her presence.
He was a different man to the one who had left her in the pub the last time he had seen her. Then he had been fairly innocent. Now he carried the blood of five men on his hands. Five men who had not died accidentally, but who had been deliberately shot, blown up or run down by Jack Ropell. Oh he could justify it to himself all right, except in the night when he tossed and turned before getting off to sleep. But he didn't know if he could justify it to Anne. He didn't even know if he would ever tell her about it. Might just be the thing that wrecked any small chance he had. No, he would probably have to carry this one on his own. Not even tell any one else in case they ever let it out accidentally or otherwise. He examined his conscience one more time and found it clear. The dreams would fade in time when other events pushed the Spanish trip into the background.
The daylight was just about gone and as he stood by his car, letting his courage build and getting the right way to say what he wanted to say clear in his mind, he saw a light go on in the front window. Time to go. He locked the driver’s door and putting the key in his pocket set off with a firm step through the now more gentle evening rain on the one hundred and fifty odd meters to the front door. As he approached he could see through the partly drawn curtains the cosy glow of the log burner in the hearth. He could also hear the music of Swan Lake and knew that this meant she would be in a reflective mood. She had said that she always played Swan Lake when she wanted to think.
He hesitated at the front door as he knew that the sound of the bell would be an intrusion into the ambience she had built with the fire and the music, but tapping on the window wouldn't be any better, so he steeled himself and pressed the button. He heard the music go down in volume after the bell's chime and then saw light through the small window in the front door as she left the lounge and came into the hallway. He heard her voice.
"Who is it?"
"Anne. It’s me. Jack Ropell."
The door opened.
"Jack? What on earth are you doing here at this time of night? Its gone seven o'clock. I really do not think this is a good idea."
Her face showed a mixture of sorrow and determination and she unconsciously closed the door a few inches. He instinctively put out his hand to stop her.
"You were not at the funeral Anne, I wondered if everything was all right here. I couldn't believe you would deliberately not go to Peter's funeral."
She opened the door more fully.
"I said my goodbyes to Peter when he slipped into his last come in the hospital. When he died my association with everything to do with the service died with him. He was a good man and I loved him and you have no right to come here questioning my decision not to attend his funeral. I do not need to explain myself to anybody."
The green eyes flashed at him. He realised he was making a right balls of this and came clean.
"Its not about you going to the funeral, Anne, that was just an excuse to come here. Its really about us."
This wasn't how he had planned it standing out here on the porch and he flushed. She looked at him with a carefully neutral face and waited. He took a deep breath.
"Look, the point is that they have offered me his job. It means no more fieldwork or running around in the dark with guns and I would be permanently based here, in Southampton. I will have to go abroad quite often, about a week every two months, but that is only to exchange information with other services and plan strategy, no rough stuff. In the main Its a desk job with no chance of being shot at or blown up."
He shrugged.
"Look, Anne. I feel, rightly or wrongly, that you still care for me. I certainly still care for you and I thought we might at least talk about that. To see if there really is anything between us. Its certainly what I want." He was on the verge of desperation now. "Please, Anne, can't we just talk about it."
He finally ran out of steam, aware that his carefully rehearsed speech had been ruined by his anxiety to get everything out before she cut him off. She stood there for some time without speaking, just looking at him with those green eyes and then she gave him a small smile.
"Well we can't talk about it out here." She said. "You had better come in."
He walked into a proper family home for the first time in nearly a decade.
Chapter 30
Germany, January 2000
&
nbsp; "Come in"
Gunther Hass looked up as Wilhelm Slesser entered the office. He crossed the threadbare carpet and sat in the metal chair in front of the battered desk. The office above the loading bay had not changed significantly.
"Well Willie? How are things going in Colombia?"
"Carlos Borrodo is not his brother, but it looks as if they will be ready to start some kind of production in about three months. It may take a couple of years to get the whole thing running as well as before."
Hass nodded.
"That is OK Willie. It will take us that long to get a new distribution network set up perfected."
He smiled.
"This time we will not make the mistake of having such volatile partners, so excitable and temperamental these Mediterranean types. I think our northern blood runs cooler, don't you? We make our decisions on a logical rather than emotional basis."
"Yes Herr Hass."
Hass picked up a cigar and waved it expansively.
"Call me, Gunther, Willie. After all, you will be my sole heir you know and one day our organisation will be all yours."
Willie smiled.
Copyright (c) Don Phillips
Authors spend a lot of time and effort on their books hoping to please as many readers as possible. If you liked this book the best thing you can do to help the author is to write a review at the site at which you bought it.