Casanova (3 page)

I sipped my coffee and watched the two bankers without making it obvious by moving my seating position so I faced the lady who I had briefly spoken to earlier when she had told me about her daughter running away with a Portuguese fisherman after a holiday on the Algarve. I wanted to ask her if she had ever fed her daughter sardines as a young girl but I resisted.

Clearly, the two men were not discussing the price of Christmas turkeys. It was obvious they had far more important matters on their minds. Finally, William Chester did look at Sir Sebastian and plainly, there was emotion on his face but it was difficult to read. He spoke briefly but strongly before rising from his seat and leaving the table. I watched him go but Sir Sebastian didn’t. Sir Sebastian stood up and returned to his seat beside Charlotte. I continued with my conversation and learnt that the woman also had a son who was living with a hairdresser in Kensington. I didn’t ask her if the hairdresser was male or female.

Charlotte finally got bored with the floppy hair and teeth, and interrupted the woman’s views regarding the falling standards in British public schools by apologising and saying, ‘I need some air, please escort me to the terrace.’

A waiter let us out through the tall, glass door and we stepped onto a romantically lit walled terrace. It was cold outside and our breath showed in the night air. At the far end, were a group of smokers exhaling enthusiastically and easily outdoing us. We moved to the other end, stood by the low balustrade, and looked out across the dark gardens. Charlotte held her wrap across her bare shoulders and without preamble said in a quiet voice almost as though she were whispering sweet nothings, ‘Why are you watching William Chester, what’s the interest in him?’

‘I like his suit. Do you think it was tailored in Saville Row?’

In the same voice Charlotte said, ‘What has Meriwether asked you to do?’

I wanted to say, get the name of his tailor, but I decided against it and judging from Charlotte’s expression, I made the right choice. Instead, I said, ‘That’s a question for Meriwether.’

I could tell Charlotte agreed. She said, ‘You can find your own way home tonight; I don’t want you coming in the car with my grandfather.’

That seemed a bit harsh but I didn’t really mind as nobody could call Charlotte’s grandfather
the great entertainer
.

‘Don’t you want me to see you home safely and tuck you in?’

Charlotte replied with a look from her eyes. I wanted to smile but resisted, and then she walked past me and went back inside.

I watched her go and then I smiled.

2

SATURDAY, 07:15—24:00

It was early the next morning when Meriwether called me.

‘How did it go?’

‘There’s something going on between Casanova and C’s grandfather.’

‘What makes you think so?’

‘They had a little heart to heart and it wasn’t about the Christmas bonus.’

‘I see; I was afraid that might be the case. This is damn awkward, but there, we can’t help it. Knowing C, I expect I’ll be seeing you quite soon.’

‘There’s one more thing.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Meriwether said.

‘For the past two years they’ve spent Christmas in the same Swiss ski resort.’

‘Yes, I know. Cosy I expect.’

Less than half an hour later, I received a text message from Charlotte suggesting we all meet for coffee at Meriwether’s club.

I wore a mid-grey suit under a dark overcoat and took a cab to St. James’s Square. The London weather had now turned bitterly cold and the low sky bore down with a heavy covering of dark cloud that, to me, looked like it was about to dump a foot of snow.

Inside the club, despite being on time, I found Charlotte had already arrived. I wondered how long she had been there and what her and Meriwether might have already discussed.

As if Meriwether could read my mind he said, ‘Don’t worry, C has only been here a few minutes and we haven’t started yet.’

The waiter brought a china pot of coffee and a selection of cakes on a wheeled trolley.

Meriwether thanked him and said, ‘We’ll help ourselves.’

‘Very good, sir,’ the man said, and then he left. We were in a small study-type room sitting in well-worn leather chairs, surrounded by wooden panelling and paintings of racehorses and men in old military uniforms. The waiter closed the door and the three of us were completely alone.

Charlotte didn’t speak but she looked at Meriwether expectantly.

Meriwether smiled at her and asked, ‘Coffee, my dear?’ He poured from the pot and she thanked him. I could see she was anxious to start but polite manners came first. After all, we were British.

I eased the weight on the trolley by helping myself to a generous slice of cake and then took a sip from my coffee cup while I waited for the show to begin.

Once Meriwether had settled himself in his seat, holding his coffee cup and saucer in his lap, he smiled again at Charlotte and then said, ‘A few days ago I received a communication from VX asking me to look in to a situation which has arisen on Threadneedle Street.’

It was going to be vague and cryptic as usual. I forced myself to concentrate and resisted taking another mouthful of cake. I could tell Charlotte too was concentrating.

‘They’ve found a large hole in one of their new institutions.’

‘How large is the hole?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Well, large enough, even in these strange times, for more than a few eyebrows to be raised. We don’t have the exact sum yet. It seems they can’t account for it in any of the usual ways and is therefore, deemed worthy of investigation. A preliminary internal inquiry has brought up the name of the person we are now interested in. For our own purposes we have named him Casanova.’ Meriwether looked at Charlotte and said, ‘The reason for which will shortly become obvious.’

I took a mouthful of cake and caught the crumbs with my plate. Meriwether sipped at his coffee cup and looked at me before he continued. Charlotte’s eyes never left Meriwether’s face.

‘VX began a standard surveillance and discovered Casanova was making regular visits to the flat of a prostitute in Soho. It was at this point they contacted me. This is when I activated our own surveillance...’ he paused for a moment and Charlotte looked at me, ‘...and began to make enquiries. VX reported unusual contact with an elderly, retired gentleman from the same line of work.’ Meriwether fixed Charlotte with his eyes. ‘You know who that was. At the ball they had, what was described to me by an eye witness as, a heart to heart.’

Charlotte’s head turned and I felt her eyes attempt to burn mine from my skull. I looked at her and smiled. She turned away and stared back at Meriwether. I thought this was going well so far.

Meriwether was sipping his coffee and waiting. He had obviously decided it was best to allow Charlotte to say something at this point. She didn’t need a second invitation.

‘This is all very thin. We all know about the recent problems in that particular line of work. It’s not unheard of for a man to visit a prostitute; and the two men know each other and have their work in common; why wouldn’t they meet? I don’t see this going anywhere.’

Meriwether sipped more coffee and let the silence hang. I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say next.

‘
I may have been inclined to agree with you until that is a
neighbour
found the prostitute murdered in her flat. Somebody with big strong hands had strangled her.
’

There was a silence before Charlotte said, ‘You don’t think it was Casanova—surely not.’

Meriwether shrugged and said, ‘No, probably not, but we do not know for sure.’

Charlotte drank some coffee for the first time. I thought her mouth had probably gone dry.

‘The police are now involved, of course, investigating the murder and we shall have to investigate the hole to see where it leads us. It could be politically sensitive especially with the financial markets the way they are.’

Charlotte interrupted and said, ‘The two incidents don’t have to be connected—prostitutes get strangled.’

Meriwether nodded and said, ‘Yes, they do, and you may be right but just in case you’re not, I think it would be best if we continued with our tradecraft, just in case, you understand.’

Charlotte wasn’t happy but I could see that she accepted the situation in which she found herself. She held Meriwether’s open expression with a strained cool and professional indifference and said, ‘I want to be kept fully informed, agreed?’

Meriwether nodded and said, ‘Of course, my dear, it goes without saying.’

Charlotte then turned to me and with a glare that made her striking face look like she was auditioning for the role of Medusa said, ‘And that goes for you too, understand?’

‘Of course, my dear, it goes without saying.’

Relieved that Charlotte’s Medusa impersonation hadn’t turned me to stone, I was happy when she called me with the intelligence on the London police officer in charge of the investigation into the prostitute’s murder, instead of delivering it in person. She used her
pay as you go
phone.

‘The senior investigating officer on the case is called Hannah Foley and she’s only recently been promoted to Detective Superintendent. She’s the youngest one in the City of London Police Force and being a woman as well makes her rare. Before her promotion she worked in the metropolitan force in their vice unit, and that experience is the reason she’s been given this case. The report I have describes her as intelligent, hard working and tenacious. She’ll be excited to be leading her first murder enquiry but also apprehensive and worried about making a mistake. An officer from Interpol ought to be her dream date.’

I didn’t like this approach and I told Meriwether so.

‘It would be easier to get the intelligence from VX and they could get it through the chain of command within the police force.’

Meriwether didn’t agree with me.

‘We don’t want anybody to know we’re interested, in case there is a connection with Casanova. All you have to do is make contact with her and get her to keep you informed of progress. It should be straight forward enough I would have thought, especially for a man of your experience.’

A man of my experience—what experience? Perhaps Meriwether thought I’d once been a pimp, or a gigolo. I’d never been either of those two things and the prospect of deceiving Detective Superintendent Hannah Foley was not filling me with joy.

Charlotte completed her briefing by informing me of all the other facts and details she thought I would need in order for me to carry out a successful seduction, but before I could act on any of them, Meriwether called me with new intelligence from VX.

‘The murdered girl has been confirmed as the prostitute Casanova was visiting, just as we expected, although there seems to be some confusion over her identity. She doesn’t appear to have been a British citizen and immigration doesn’t have any record of her either. The autopsy confirms death by strangulation. In his report, the pathologist has given ethnicity as Far Eastern, Southeast Asia, most likely Macau or Hong Kong. Don’t ask me how he knows, I’ve got no idea.’

The mention of Hong Kong made me remember Xing. I forced the memory from my mind and asked, ‘How did she get from Southeast Asia to London?’

‘We don’t know.’

‘How old was she?’

‘The pathologist has estimated mid to late teens.’

‘That’s young to be here alone. She must have a story.’

‘Make a new friend and find out.’

I finished the call with Meriwether and decided on the direct approach. VX assured me my false identity as an officer with Interpol would hold up no matter what, so boldness wasn’t a problem.

A heavy snow shower of big, wet flakes blown almost diagonally by a determined wind had fallen, giving the city a sudden whitewash that seemed to soothe the heartbeat.

The police headquarters was on the corner. I could read the street sign on the wall despite the snow that peppered the top half: Love Lane; I smiled and pulled my collar higher against the bitter chill from the whistling northeasterly. At the door, I stamped my thick, rubber-soled boots making the deep treads give up their captured ice and dirt.

Inside it was instantly warmer and at the desk, I pulled off my black, woollen hat and dark overcoat, and asked to see Detective Superintendent Foley. In reply to the question of who I was, I showed my Interpol warrant card and got a different look back from the desk Sergeant.

‘Take a seat while I call up and tell her you’re here.’

I didn’t sit and Hannah Foley appeared in under two minutes. She asked to see my warrant card and I showed her. She looked at it as if it was the first one she’d ever seen. I hoped she was impressed.

She led me to a small, windowless interview room and we sat at a table on opposite sides. I wasn’t sure how police officers spoke to each other so I decided to let her start. She stared at me but didn’t speak. There was silence. I smiled at her and she half smiled back. Still there was silence. Finally she spoke.

‘Is it to do with the murder case?’

‘...the prostitute in Soho.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘What’s the interest from Interpol?’

That was a good question. Of course I’d prepared, I wouldn’t just go in there without a carefully thought out plan.

‘We’ve been contacted by the Home Office.’ That was a good start. ‘They’ve sent us a copy of the pathologist’s report.’ I was doing well.

‘Is it to do with the victim’s identity and citizenship?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Have you got some information for me?’

‘No, no I haven’t.’ There was a pause. Hannah Foley didn’t speak so I said, ‘The international element to this murder case, with the victim’s unconfirmed citizenship and identity, means Interpol should be kept informed of progress.’ That was good. I’d hit on the right approach. ‘It’s your investigation, of course, and we don’t want to get involved but if developments were to lead towards an international aspect then cooperation between us would become necessary. If I was already up-to-date with the investigation then it would make things much easier all round.’