I stood, gloved hands in my pockets, stamping my feet on the damp concrete pavement in an effort to keep moving and keep the chill out.
Fifteen minutes passed, I was beginning to think he must have gone somewhere else when I noticed headlights coming up the service lane where I had walked. The car pulled in under the tree where I had been standing. Sure enough, it was the Aston. The tall figure I had seen at Liverpool Street got out of the car, locked it and crossed the road towards Grimsby Mansions. You really did have a very easy working day Richard, an hour or so chatting to your manager and that's it. Very nice. I saw Richard enter the building and watched for the top floor lights to come on. A minute later they did. One by one as Richard moved around his flat. I saw a blue tinge change the light in what I imagined would be the lounge, he had just turned on a large television screen. So, no girlfriend waiting indoors for you Richard? Single at the moment maybe? I decided I would give it an hour. If he didn't move or no one arrived, I would call it a day. I had to keep moving or I would become an ice sculpture, so I decided to walk up and down the main road close to the traffic for a hundred metres either side of Grimsby Mansions. That way I wouldn't seem suspicious to any residents on the service lane, and I could keep an eye on the top floor flat and the car.
The traffic was constant on both sides. There were only a few pedestrians and most of them were heading to the bus stop. They were all far too cold and in a hurry to worry about me. Forty minutes passed. I thought I would take a walk up to Richard's car and have a look at it. It was parked in a dark area under a tree, I didn’t want to hang around too long in case someone thought I was a thief. As I walked up the service lane I removed a pencil light torch from my bag. I made my way in the space between the parked cars and the ridge going down to the main road until I came up to the Aston. The lights were still on in the upstairs flat. I glanced around to check I was alone as I flicked the switch on the torch. I scanned the interior. There was nothing in the back seat, no papers, no personal belongings at all. I moved to the front passenger window and took a look inside. Still nothing. I took another step forward to have a quick look through the windscreen at the dash board. As I looked, I noticed what looked like a white dinner plate under the passenger seat. At that moment one of the front doors on the next door building opened and two young girls stepped out, both in excited conversation. They made off in the opposite direction giggling. This was my cue. I flicked the switch on the torch and jumped over the rail over the wet grass down to the main road and the bus shelter. There was no way I was going to take the Tube back to my area so I waited on the side of the busy road for a cab. £1000 a day plus expenses and that includes taxis. Lewer–Allen could certainly afford it. After a few minutes a black cab came along, I hailed it and gratefully jumped into the warm interior. The driver was a pleasant Rastafarian.
“Where you wanna go mate?” he said over the reggae music.
“I need to get half way between Finsbury Park and Highbury Islington station.”
“No problem.”
“Do you mind if I smoke in your cab?” I asked.
“No problem!” came the reply again.
There was the residual sweet smell of weed in the cab.
“I didn’t think there would be.” I said with a half smile and I caught his uncertain bloodshot eyes looking at me in the mirror.
As the cab made its way through the traffic and the yellow glow of the street lights I thought about the day. Interesting. This was going to be a welcome change, something different for once, thank fuck. I wondered about how I would tackle the next day, I needed to get into this Richard's life, into his email account, into his plans. He seemed pretty normal to me so far. A spoiled kid with a flash car and a surf shop. But there was something niggling in the back of my mind. Why the fuck would someone keep a dinner plate under the passenger seat of an Aston Martin? I tried to put it all out of my mind as the lyrics of a Bob Marley song came over the speakers.
“Don’t worry, about a thing, coz every little thing, is gonna be alright.”
After half an hour, the cab pulled in to a parking spot near my local pub. I collected a receipt from the cab driver and headed to the same take away I had visited the previous evening. Love your diet Green. Health food all the way. It had been like this a lot of the time since the divorce. I decided I would try to eat a bit better. Tomorrow. I devoured the takeaway and crossed the road into the pub. The evening continued till 11pm when the barman shouted his usual warning,
“Time at the bar please, time at the bar.”
I made my way home in a cab as I had done the previous evening.The driver complained about black ice on the roads. He told me he had been listening to the radio and had heard the UK was expecting an arctic front to come in with gale force winds. Sweet.
I made my way up to my flat carefully avoiding the lift buttons. The windows in the lounge were shuddering as the wind howled outside. I quickly switched on the central heating, jumped in the shower and headed for bed. As I drifted off to sleep, my mind was rolling images of the day gone by. In my last semi dream-like thoughts I saw an image of Richard Lewer-Allen approaching me, smiling, holding a white dinner plate with a pile of cash on it. He was offering it to me. Then there was darkness.
Chapter Five - A nervous exchange
I woke to the sound of the wind roaring like a giant white ghost trying to smash into my flat. The windows were shuddering violently. The taxi driver from the previous evening had been right. There was a gale blowing outside. I went through my usual morning routine with a bit more enthusiasm than usual. The thought of the job as something new and a bit more interesting than the norm had put a spring in my step. That, and the money of course. I decided to eat breakfast at the cafe nearby instead of cooking for myself. I would plan the day from there and move straight after. I didn’t even bother opening the lounge curtains. There was no point. I decided at some point during the day I would plant a tracking device in the Aston Martin. I packed one of the tiny Japanese devices with fresh batteries into my bag. I grabbed all my warmest kit, braced myself and opened the front door.
It was a white out. I had never seen so much snow in London in February. It actually was quite a pretty sight for once, but I knew this would be short lived. Soon it would all become brown, dirty, icy and slippery. I smoked as I took the lift down and made the short walk to the cafe. I had to wrap my scarf tightly and tuck it in to my jacket. There was hardly anyone on the street today. I guessed the preschool was closed for the day because of the weather. The windows of the cafe were steamed up from the inside. The place was full of the good smells of bacon, eggs and black pudding. I ordered a full English with tea. There was a local morning newspaper on my usual table. I started reading the front page as the tea was delivered. The front page carried a sad story. A young nurse had been killed by a falling shop sign just up the road at Wood Green. She had been on her way home after the night shift at a nearby hospital the previous evening. The arctic front had claimed its first victim.
I ate the hearty breakfast and started planning the day ahead. I needed to hire a car. I would follow Richard Lewer-Allen’s movements today. My old Mercedes wouldn’t look out of place in Sloane Square but it would be better to have a totally nondescript vehicle for the task. I called the local minicab company and ordered a cab to Wood Green. There was a branch of Budget Rent-a-car that I had used many times in the past. I would hire something small and quick for a week or so.
The cab arrived as I finished my second cup of tea. I paid the waiter, thanked him and made my way out to the car. The snow on the pavement and the road was starting to turn into a filthy brown mess.
“Wood Green please mate,” I said to the driver.
He grunted in acknowledgement as he drove off down the main road looking for somewhere to turn off and make a U turn. Miserable fucker. It took ten minutes to get to Wood Green and to the car hire place. I paid for the cab and headed in to the shop. A bubbly blonde woman was there to greet me.
She was in her late twenties and wore the company uniform well. We made small talk as she processed my rental on her computer. Inevitably the conversation was about the British people’s favourite subject: the weather. I swiped a card and after ten minutes we made our way through the back door and into the yard. I had chosen a Ford Fiesta for the job.
“Are you sure the heater’s working?” I asked suspiciously as we walked towards the car.
“Yes sir, Mr Green, I'm sure it is. Any problems, call me.” She handed me the keys and gave me a huge sunny smile.
“Thanks very much” I replied.
I jumped in the car and started it up. I let it idle for a minute and waited for the heater to start working properly. The car was a typical rental. Everything felt a bit loose and over used but it would do the job. The sun was just clearing the buildings as I drove out of the yard and into Wood Green. It was a pale and insignificant glow behind the clouds. The traffic was heavy in central London and I listened to the radio as I drove. It took almost an hour to get to Sloane Square and it was 10.30am by the time I turned into Southwall Road. I took the service lane on the right and was relieved to see the Aston Martin parked in the same position it had been the previous evening. A number of the cars that were parked nearby had moved, their drivers obviously off on their way to work.
I parked the small Ford four spaces back from the Aston with one car in-between us and waited. A late start for you today Richard? I needed access to his flat. I could place a bugging device in his living area and perhaps install some spyware on his computer at the same time. I decided to call an estate agent friend of mine. He would be able to tell me if Richard had bought his place or was renting. If he had bought the place it would certainly prove his father’s suspicions that he was on to something extremely lucrative. I decided I would follow him for today and if nothing major took place I would attempt to gain access to his flat the next day.
I removed my mobile phone and called my estate agent friend. I gave him the necessary information and he told me he could easily find out from the deeds office. The information was open to the public. It was a start. I sat listening to the radio as the traffic passed endlessly on the main road. The sun desperately trying to burn through the cloak of grey clouds. The DJ was obviously tying to cheer up his listeners by playing happy tunes. La Isla Bonita by Madonna, Proud Mary by Creedence Clearwater Revival, Our House by Madness. If the people driving down the main road to my left were listening to the same station, it clearly wasn’t working. They resembled a steady stream of grim faced auto zombies all staring blankly into the road ahead. Miserable fuckers. It occurred to me that I probably looked the same. An hour and a half passed.
A few people who lived in the same building came and went, but no Richard. A leisurely start to the day for him. I noticed there was a buzzer unit near the front door with six buttons. This would be easy to pass if I wanted to get inside. Another plus was Richard's flat was on the top floor so there would be no passing traffic if I needed to pick a lock. Good. I glanced at my watch. It was now 12.30pm. Suddenly the door opened and out stepped Richard Lewer-Allen. He wore black jeans, good quality leather boots, multiple layers of clothing and a brown suede jacket. He stood briefly at the door and wrapped a scarf around his neck. He then pulled out his mobile phone and started walking towards me on the opposite side of the road, obviously texting someone. He carried no luggage and seemed to be in no hurry at all. But he was on the move.
I waited till he had passed and walked at least twenty metres behind my car then got out and followed. He turned left at the main road towards the Underground station and made his way slowly up the street pausing occasionally to look into shop windows. He continued at his relaxed pace for a couple of hundred metres, then turned and went into a newsagent’s. Worried that he might come out of the shop and head back to the flat, I crossed the busy street and had a look into a shop that sold Bang and Olufsen stereo equipment. A few minutes later Richard came out of the newsagent’s carrying a plastic bag. It looked like he had bought a loaf of bread, milk and a newspaper. I had been right. He was heading back towards his flat.
He walked quicker now, the cold was obviously getting to him. He tightened his scarf and clothing as he walked. He turned into the service lane as I crossed the road following. I got into the small Ford as he unlocked the front door of Grimsby Mansions. He had been totally oblivious to me following him. I decided to plant the GPS tracking device on the Aston now.
I took the small unit out of my bag, tore open the plastic on the pack of new batteries and inserted one of them into the device. A tiny green light showed the device was now fully charged and active. Surveillance technology had improved no end in the past ten years. The Japanese had certainly cornered the market for discreet webcams, bugging devices, and tracking units. They were expensive but small and very reliable. Once planted in the car, I could track Richard Lewer-Allen on my laptop to within a metre anywhere in the world. The magnetic unit would be good for three weeks, was totally waterproof and pretty much indestructible. It would attach well into one of the wheel arches and would send signal from then on. He would never know it was there. I just hoped he hadn’t booked the car in for a service in the near future.
I sat wondering how best to install the device. I decided I would pocket the device, head back towards the entrance to the service lane, cross the road and walk to the other side of the service lane and come back towards the Ford. I would pause to admire the Aston on my way back and slip it into a wheel arch then. The car was a real beauty and I felt it wouldn’t be unusual for someone to stop briefly to have a look at it. In any case there were not a lot of pedestrians on the service lane at this time of day. I made my way back down the lane, crossed the busy street and walked up the other side of Southwall Road. It was a wealthy suburb. The streets and buildings were immaculate. This was definitely a low crime area. If Richard had indeed bought the flat, the price surely would have been approaching six figures.
I crossed the road again and entered the top end of the service lane walking on the side closest to the parked cars. As I approached the Aston I grabbed the tracking device in my pocket and positioned it so the magnetic side faced up ready to go into a wheel arch. After a last brief look around and satisfied the coast was clear, I paused as if to admire the silver car. I stood in front of it then moved around to far side away from the building to my left. I lent over as if to look into the cab and with my left hand I slipped the device into the front left wheel arch. The magnet clunked loudly onto the metal. Satisfied it was secure I continued admiring the car from the side and then the back. Satisfied, I walked back to the Ford and got in. Success. It had gone smoothly and I hadn’t aroused anyone's suspicion. Good.
I opened my laptop, attached my modem and connected to the internet. I opened the GPS tracking programme and within a few seconds it had found the device. The car showed clearly on the map on the screen exactly where it was parked in front of me. The signal was showing full power. The day was going well. As I sat, I logged onto Gmail and attempted to crack Richard's email address once again.
I tried all sorts of combinations I thought he might have chosen as a password given what I had read in the red file. All to no avail. At 1.30pm my cellphone rang, it was my estate agent friend. He told me that Richard had indeed bought the flat a year previously. The sale had been outright with no mortgage. The price must have been enormous. My mind went back to Richard Lewer-Allen. He was certainly living the high life and his father had been right. What was he up to? I started to feel hunger pangs and noticed there was a deli on the other side of Southwall Road. I decided I would go across and try to eat something a little more healthy than I had eaten the previous days. There would be a view of Grimsby Mansions and the service lane from there. I put the laptop in my bag, locked the car and made my way down the service lane. I crossed the road and walked back up towards the deli. It was almost directly opposite Grimsby Mansions. The shop was warm and trendy-looking with pale p
ine floors and chrome fittings. There was a smell of freshly baked bread, coffee, and expensive cheeses. I approached the counter and ordered a chicken salad and a coffee. The friendly assistant offered me a seat at a table and said she would bring my order to me. As I sat I noticed I could just see the front of the Aston from behind the bus shelter I had stood at the previous evening. A good vantage point.
I opened my laptop while I waited for my order. I decided I would sit a while and try to crack Richard's email again. The window on the tracking system was still open and active, so I was in a good position for now. My order arrived as I opened the window for Gmail and entered Richard's email address once again. As I ate and drank the coffee I read from the red file once again. Gareth Lewer-Allen had prepared a list of places he knew Richard had visited in the past five years. Prague, New York, Moscow, Thailand, Laos, Cape Town, Paris, Nairobi, Dar Es Salaam. The list was endless. He certainly liked to travel a lot. I started trying the various cities and countries in the password box. All of them failed. ‘Password incorrect’. I wondered if there was a password search tool I could use to hack the email address. I googled it and found a few options. As I was logging into one of these hacking tools I saw the front door of Grimsby Mansions open. A tall figure locked the door behind him. Richard Lewer-Allen was carrying a black shoulder bag. He was on the move again. Hurriedly I packed the red file and the laptop in my bag, rushed to pay the assistant and made my way out of the deli and back down Southwall Road. Was he walking or was he driving? If he was walking, I needed to be close so I didn’t lose him. There was traffic on both sides of the street. I crossed regardless putting my hand up to warn the motorists I was in a hurry and not stopping. The traffic was moving slow enough for me to cross safely and I only got one hoot from some grumpy bastard.
The Jason Green series Box Set Page 4
