Chameleon - A City of London Thriller (18 page)

“
Frozen dead
bodies, you mean?” Gil said, cutting to the chase.

“
Indeed so.
Your talent for assembling a blunt précis has, once again, lanced
my sentient sentimentality with the sharp point of factual
observation.”

“
Now he is
taking the Mickey,” Gil thought, and Arthur’s lips quivered at the
corners as if fighting to lift in the semblance of a smile, but all
the while being hindered by the underuse of the necessary facial
muscles.

***

Twenty four
hours later, having checked the contents, Gil would leave the case
with Damian Basford, the forensic pathologist routinely used by the
service to examine the bodies of those who had died on assignments.
She had already written a brief note, which read:

Dear
Tim/Damian,

Here are
Mac’s remains. Not many, I’m afraid. I used a little more DHX than
I needed. Sorry. Attached is a certified DNA printout confirming
the remains are Doug’s.

G.

Chapter
27

Vastrick
Security, Nr 1 Poultry, London. Monday 17
^th
January 8:45am

The weather
had improved dramatically over the weekend and the daytime high was
predicted to be as high as ten degrees Celsius, or 50
degrees Fahrenheit, almost tropical compared to
the weather a week earlier.

Dee was
sitting at her desk awaiting the arrival of Sergeant Scott, who had
telephoned to say he would call in on his way to work. Geordie was
back in Newcastle, thanks to the East Coast line being open again
between Kings Cross and Edinburgh Waverley. It was better for him
to be away from the constant reminders of the Hokobus. Many of the
staff had been avoiding Conference Room 1, where the Hokobus
belongings were being stored now that the police had finished with
the apartment. It had been cleared by a furious property agent, who
complained that he was losing rental income by the day.

As Dee stared
out of the window, her laptop chimed a familiar buzzing tone; she
had an incoming Skype call. A thumbnail picture of her husband Josh
appeared above a green lozenge shaped screen button that read
‘accept call with video’. She steered the mouse over the button and
clicked, opening the video page. The image from her own webcam
appeared first. It was Monday morning and she already looked washed
out and tired. She quickly pushed her long auburn hair into shape
and smiled. An arrow that had been chasing its own tail around the
screen cleared, and a large video pane opened. A tanned and relaxed
Josh Hammond appeared in the window.

Dee had known
Josh for only a few months, but she felt like they had been
together for years. They say that love prospers in adversity, and
for this particular couple it had proven to be true. Dee had been
assigned to protect Josh from a serious death threat just a few
months ago, and had managed to get shot on two separate occasions
whilst fulfilling her obligations. They married in haste but had no
intention of repenting at leisure; the truth of the matter was that
they were still smitten with one another.

Josh grinned
at her. Unconventionally handsome with short dark hair, and
clean-shaven, his white cotton shirt was open at the collar, as it
usually was when he was calling from Dubai.

“
Hi, Dee. I
just wanted you to know that we’ve settled the claim and I’m
looking for a flight back, but the schedules have been thrown off
by the snow at your end and dust storms here.”

“
So, what
does that mean, lover boy? When will I have a man in my bed
again?”

“
Well, if you
insist on waiting for me to be that man, I guess Thursday or
Friday. The flights out are always packed on Thursday, but Friday
should be easier, given that it’s the first day of the
weekend.”

They had both
learned to come to terms with the weekend in the Middle East being
Friday and Saturday. Nonetheless, Josh continually confused Dee
when he called from the office on a Sunday proclaiming it to be
Monday, obviously confused because he was so familiar with the
working week starting on Monday.

“
Josh, I have
Sergeant Scott arriving shortly....”

“
Give him my
regards and tell him I’ll bring him back a stick of Dubai rock,”
Josh interrupted, unaware that the short time lapse meant that his
wife was still speaking. She managed a smile, which faded
quickly.

“
I will, but
I want you to know that this has been an appalling few days. I need
you home. I love you.”

“
Everybody
loves me, but you get first shout. I love you too. I promise I’ll
send someone else out here next time. But Dee...”

“
Yes?”

“
The Hokobus
couldn’t have had better friends or more dedicated protectors than
you and Geordie, and I think they would be praising you for
starting the process that has ended Benjamin Matista’s
presidency.”

“
What?” This
was a surprise to Dee.

“
Yes. I
forget we’re four hours ahead of you. I just heard on CNN that
President Matista was arrested by Congolese troops at the border.
He was dressed as a woman and was hiding in the back of a truck.
The trucks in the convoy were laden with Tanzanite, works of art,
furniture and millions of dollars in various currencies.

They think he
emptied the National Bank vaults before attempting to leave the
country.

Hold on.” Josh
turned his head towards a TV set and his face took on a gentle blue
hue.

“
Yes, there
we are. He’s been taken back to Katamimba to face trial. It seems
that he’s likely to be enjoying the cuisine of the Katamimba Prison
for a while to come.”

Dee punched
the air.

“
With any
luck they’ll hang the arrogant, thieving bastard.”

“
Whoa there!
Who has taken over my wife, and where did Dee go? You didn’t even
get this angry when you were shot, twice, last year.”

“
There was a
difference.” She smiled, a warmer and less forced affair than
before.

“
Oh yes, and
what was that?” Josh asked already suspecting the
answer.

“
Morphine,”
his wife replied breathlessly.

“
I think I
proposed to you when you were under the influence of
morphine.”

“
That would
explain a lot,” Dee joked.

There was a
tap on the door and Dee beckoned in Sergeant Scott.

***

After a brief
and humour laced chat between Scott and Josh, the various parties
said their goodbyes and ended the call. The Detective Sergeant sat
down and opened his backpack, retrieving a file.

“
OK, Paul,
just give me the bad news.”

“
How do you
know it’s bad news?”

“
An old
police edict - good news on the phone, bad news in
person.”

“
Am I that
predictable or what? Anyhow, the DCI was spot on when he said that
MI5 would protect the name of their officer. I have an email from
the Director who says that they are currently recalling the suspect
from a distant assignment, and that they will debrief the operative
in the next day or two. If the operative can possibly have been
involved they will consider handing her to us for questioning, with
the proviso their internal counsel is also present.”

“
Great. So,
she did it, and they’re going to make sure that she disappears one
way or another.” Dee threw her pencil onto the desk to display her
disgust.

“
Dee, I think
we both know DCI Coombes is cuter than that. He has an alternative
plan.”

Dee looked at
the DS and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“
Go on, DS
Scott. Do tell.”

“
Well, last
year we all helped MI5 out on an operation in Cyprus. You, of
course, still bear the scars of the bullet wound. The MI5 man who
was responsible for letting things spiral out of control that day
was Norrie Boyle, ex job.”

“
I know him
well,” Dee nodded. “We shared a hospital room. We both had bullet
holes in us, as you so sensitively reminded me. I haven’t heard
from him since he went down for surgery, except to say that I know
he fully recovered.”

“
Actually he
didn’t fully recover. There was some internal organ damage and he
is now desk bound at Thames House. DCI Coombes reckoned Boyle owed
you a favour and had a brief chat with him. I’m expecting to bump
into Norrie Boyle at the Wig and Pen at around noon today. Would
you be interested in a spot of lunch, by any chance?”

“
That’s a
lawyers’ bar, isn’t it? Just opposite the Royal Courts. I thought
it was members only?”

“
Don’t worry.
The smoke filled gentleman’s bar you remember is a nice Thai
Restaurant now.”

***

Gil was trying
to come to terms with her life as a woman of leisure. That morning
she had awoken to an alarm clock that had not sounded for the first
time in years. New owners and managers would be swarming around
Celebrato Cards and organising things their own way.

By Saturday at
noon she had her money, and the company she had built passed to the
new owners at midnight last night. She had already cancelled her
gym membership, as the Spitalfield gym was miles out of her way now
and the lease on her furnished flat ran out at the end of the
month.

Gil had few
personal possessions, and today they were going into storage
indefinitely whilst she set out on a journey she should have
completed many years ago.

Chapter
28

Wig and Pen,
229/230 The Strand, London. Monday 12:05pm

As Dee and DS
Paul Scott approached the Wig and Pen it looked just the same as it
always had, somewhat quaint and ancient. The place was steeped in
history and, being across the road from the Royal Courts of Justice
on the Strand, it had survived since the seventeenth century as a
favourite drinking house for judges, barristers and solicitors.
Anecdotes about the place abounded in legal circles, and rumour had
it that clerks had often been dispatched from chambers to rescue a
tipsy barrister from the Wig and Pen to remind him he was due in
court in an hour.

The ancient
premises were reputed to be the only building on the Strand to have
survived the Great Fire of London. Built in 1625, number 230 was
the home of the Gatekeeper of Temple Bar who, it is said,
unwittingly began the catering tradition at this site by offering
“a penn’orth of meat and bread” to the crowds who used to gather at
the Temple Gate. Even now, the Outer Temple Building is just a few
metres away along the Strand in the direction of Trafalgar
Square.

The last time
Dee had been in the disreputable old pub it had a roaring fire and
the snug feel of an old inn. It was the sort of place where you
wouldn’t have been surprised if someone came and sat down opposite
you wearing a frock coat and nodded a greeting with a head covered
by a powdered wig.

Today, whilst
some character had been retained, the Thai Square Restaurant which
now occupied the old building was bright, fresh and modern;
everything that the old Wig and Pen was not.

The pair sat
down and ordered from the menu. The food looked good, the service
was attentive and, for London, the prices were very reasonable.
Whilst Dee waited for her Dim Sum and sparkling water to arrive she
kept her eye on the door.

A waiter
appeared with her drink and her starter. He also brought out a
Tiger Beer and a Chicken Satay for her lunch companion. As they
were finishing their appetisers the door opened and in walked
Norris Boyle, the ex policeman who had taken a bullet last year
whilst trying to save Dee. He looked thinner and there was a pained
look on his face. After an apparently nonchalant perusal of the
clientele, he wandered over to their table.

Dee stood and
hugged the MI5 man, showing the kind of camaraderie that can only
be cemented by being shot by the same gun. Boyle was taken aback by
the show of affection, but nonetheless returned the hug
heartily.

“
Miss Conrad,
you look great. The last time we met neither of us were at our
best.” He smiled and then grimaced.

“
Sorry. The
bullet I took caused some intestinal damage and the cold weather
seems to set it off. They reckon it’ll heal eventually. I bloody
well hope so. I’m getting rather tired of bland food and
Complan.”

Dee moved
across the bench seat and Boyle slipped in beside her. He nodded to
the waiter and silently mouthed ‘the usual’ before leaning over the
table and taking DS Scott’s last stick of Satay Chicken. Dipping it
into the peanut sauce, he added unnecessarily, “You don’t mind, do
you Paul? It’s one of the few things I can eat these days.” DS
Scott clearly did mind, but he smiled anyway. His ex colleague had
earned a lot of brownie points with the DS when he was on the
job.

***

Dee was
eagerly tucking into a dish listed as ‘weeping tiger’, sirloin beef
with a rich North Eastern Thai sauce on steamed rice, when Norrie
interrupted his attack on the Lamb with black pepper on noodles, to
speak in hushed tones.