Dark Eyes of London (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

Tom stared down at the sheet of paper.
What the hell?
  It must have been that girl Amy. She must have slipped it into his pocket when they were embracing after the funeral. She seemed very upset - more than the others; more than Jane - maybe this had something to do with it. And:
don’t believe them
; who exactly are
them
?

She had left her mobile number, so obviously wanted Tom to contact her.
Why me, why not Jane? She was Lisa’s sister, after all.
He considered when he would call her: no time like the present.  He keyed in the number, and was just about to press the dial button when he had a second thought.  Pressing the red button to stop the call, he tapped his chin with the phone while he thought.  Perhaps a text would be better; more discreet.

He sent a message:
Hello, Amy. It’s Tom.  Just read your note.

He waited for a reply.  None came.

Still nothing after five minutes.  Tom was getting hungry.  He went into his kitchen to find something to eat. Microwave chicken curry with rice. Two and a half minutes on 700W.

He stood in front of the microwave watching the dish rotate inside the oven. About a minute into the cycle his phone bleeped.  He had received a text. Maybe that was Amy. He returned to the living room and picked up the phone.  No, it wasn’t from Amy; it was from Jane.

Just to say thanks again for your support and for coming today.  Take care of yourself and please keep in touch. Jane x

He sent a quick reply:
Thanks.  You too. X

The microwave pinged.  He waited a minute, and then dished it out.  It smelled good. He took a cold beer from the fridge and sat down at his table to eat.  Today’s post arrived just as he was about to leave for the funeral, and he only had time to leave it on the table. Eating his curry, he began to open his post.

The phone bleeped again.  He picked it up: it was Amy this time.

ty hav 2 cu

Tom groaned. Clearly Amy used textese. He was normally easy-going and very little annoyed him, but this form of sub-language did. He could never see the point.  Most phones had predictive text input nowadays, so why use abbreviations? He had from time to time tried to use textese, but it took longer than it would normally have done. Perhaps he was just getting old; when he was a teenager, most adults didn’t understand what he was into. It took him a while to figure out what
lol
stood for: a few weeks back, he was on the tube when a group of teenagers were chatting, and he overheard one - a boy of about sixteen say, ‘He got the wrong bus! Laugh out loud!’ In my day, he remembered thinking, if we found something funny, we would just say haha.

Oh well, time to translate.  This one’s easy: Thank you. Have to see you.

He sent a reply:
Sure, it you want, but can’t I just call you?

A couple of minutes, then:
hv 2b f2f ok?
 

He sent a message back:
OK. Where and when?

Straight back this time:
hyde p w8 4u riv caf  11 2mro?

Tom confirmed:
OK.  Café by Serpentine. 11am tomorrow

gr8 cu

He put the phone down on the table and continued eating. After he finished, he pushed the empty plate to one side and sat back in his chair. So he was meeting Amy tomorrow morning.  He had some reservations about meeting someone who wanted to talk rather than just a telephone conversation, but again he had no choice.   There was some logic in meeting in the middle of Hyde Park, he reflected: they would be very much in public, if Amy felt in any danger.  And there was that phrase
hiding in plain sight
.

*****

The following day was Saturday, and Tom did not have to go to work. He got the tube to Hyde Park Corner station, took the tunnel under Knightsbridge, then walked along Rotten Row, past the Holocaust Memorial, and then left along Serpentine Road, until he came to the café.

It was a damp, chilly autumn morning.  The early morning mist had not really lifted and was still hovering around the tops of the trees.  The paths and the areas at the foot of the trees were covered with soggy fallen leaves, their summer green now having turned to a reddish brown.  The wet leaves made the path slightly slippery, so Tom walked slower than usual.

The vast open expanse of parkland was almost deserted that morning. Two men in shorts cycling, a couple walking their three dogs,   and a man walking on his own.  Quite a contrast to the last time Tom was here: one Sunday afternoon a few months back when the sky was blue and cloudless, and the park was teeming with people enjoying the sun.

He reached the café. There were some tables on the terrace outside, overlooking the river.  Only one table was occupied.  A Japanese couple was enthusiastically taking pictures of the Serpentine.  He walked around to the café entrance and looked inside. Two tables were occupied here, neither of them by Amy. He looked around: no sign of her. He checked his watch: it was ten fifty. A bit early.  He bought a coffee and took it out to one of the outside tables.  Sitting down, he looked over the Serpentine. The ducks and swans were not in short supply today; it was only people. He could see some figures walking along the path around the lake.  A father and son were playing with a radio-controlled motor boat.

He drank some coffee and checked his phone, in case Amy had sent him a text saying she would be late, or cancelled. No sign of her.  He was not superstitious, but he was aware that not so long ago he had arranged to meet Lisa in similar conditions.

As one of the figures walking around the lake came closer, he recognised Amy. She saw him, and started walking across the grass to get to the terrace.  As she got closer, he stood up to greet her.  She was wearing her dark hair down, and had on a long black overcoat. Her hands were in her coat pockets.

‘Hello,’ Tom said. ‘Can I get you something?’

Amy looked around. ‘Could we go for a walk?’ she asked.

‘If you want,’ he replied, downing the last of his coffee.

He left the terrace and joined Amy on the path. They walked over to Serpentine Road and headed west.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ she said.  ‘In fact, I was gambling on you finding the note.’

‘You slipped it in here, he said, ‘when you hugged me, that right?’

‘A bit - I don’t know - melodramatic, I suppose, but I wanted to make sure you got it.  And that the others didn’t see.’

‘I’m sure they didn’t. 
I
didn’t.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No need to say sorry.  What’s this all about? And why give it to me? Not Lisa’s sister? I wasn’t related to Lisa. We were divorced.’

‘I know who you are.  I know you’re divorced.  Lisa used to talk about you.’

‘Really? After we split up, or before?’

‘I think you two had already split when she and I got friendly.  But she did talk about you.’

‘Much?’

‘Not a lot.  But now and again.’

‘Good or bad?  Not that it’s a good time to ask that, the day after her funeral.  Not that it matters now, anyway.’

‘She spoke about you positively.’

Tom nodded. ‘Okay. What about her sister Jane?’

‘What about her?

‘You obviously want to talk about how Lisa died.  Surely her sister would be the obvious choice?’

Amy paused a moment.  Paused walking and talking. ‘I just thought you’d be the best person.’

Tom said, ‘Did you know she was on her way to meet me when she died?’

Amy stopped again. ‘No, I didn’t.  I wondered what she was doing at Green Park.’

‘So did I. She was coming from Canary Wharf to meet me at Waterloo.’

Amy looked at him, puzzled. ‘So why was she -?’

‘At Green Park Piccadilly?  You tell me.’

‘I hadn’t realised that. Why were you two meeting?’ she asked.

Tom shrugged. ‘Lisa phoned me that afternoon.  Said she wanted to talk to me about something. Said it was important. Said it had to be face to face. I had no idea what it was about; even wondered if she wanted to talk about getting back together. We arranged to meet at Waterloo Station, or rather a coffee shop nearby. I waited and waited. She wasn’t answering her phone, so I went home after an hour or so. I tried her phone again just before I went to bed, and the police answered it. Told me what had happened.’

‘She said it had to be face to face, did she?’ Amy asked. ‘Just like I did?’

He ran his hand through his hair. ‘I didn’t want to say that.’

Amy looked around.

‘You okay?’ Tom asked.

She nodded. ‘Sure.  I’m okay.’

‘Do you know what Lisa wanted to talk about?’

Amy shook her head.  ‘No.  Not exactly.’

‘What does that mean? Either you do or you don’t.’

‘What I mean is: I know she wanted to talk about something, but I don’t know what.’

‘You’re still not making much sense. Was she in some sort of trouble?  Money trouble?  Was it a man? Was she pregnant?’

‘No.  Nothing like that.’

‘Something to do with work?’

Amy said nothing.

‘To do with work?’ Tom repeated. ‘You must know if it was; you worked with her, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘So what was it? Was she whistle blowing or something?’

Amy looked down at the ground, then back up at Tom. ‘In a way, yes.’

‘In a way?  You work in market research, don’t you?  Surely to God if she was blowing the whistle on something, it wouldn’t get her pushed in front of a train.’

‘I don’t know.’

Tom sighed. ‘Look, we’re getting nowhere. You said something like don’t believe what they say - she didn’t jump.  So are you saying she was pushed?’

Her eyes welling up, Amy nodded her head vigorously. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, her voice quavering. ‘I’m saying she was pushed.’

‘But why?’ Tom asked. ‘She worked in market research: why would anybody do that to her?’

‘Because of what she knew,’ Amy replied. ‘She was murdered because of what she knew.’

Chapter Twelve

‘What?’ Tom asked, wondering if he had misheard Amy. ‘What do you mean she was killed?’

Amy said nothing, just nodded.  She grasped her shoulder bag closer, as if for reassurance or protection.

‘And because of what she knew? I just don’t get it.’  He looked around; he had not realised his voice had got louder. ‘I don’t get it,’ he said, quieter this time.

‘It’s true, I swear,’ she said. ‘It’s not the sort of thing I would make up.’

Tom gently put his hand on her arm and guided her to resume walking. Now they were on the West Carriage Drive, a bridge which separates the Serpentine from the Long Water.

‘I’m sorry’, he said. ‘Of course I’m not saying you’re making it up. But - but I just don’t understand. The firm the two of you work - worked - for is something to do with market research, isn’t that right?’

Amy nodded.

Tom paused a moment, and then continued, ‘Isn’t that just asking people what type of pet food their moggy likes, or their favourite brand of breakfast cereal?’

She laughed. ‘I suppose that’s basically what we do. Although it’s generally a lot more complex and sophisticated than that.  Big firms use our findings to plan marketing campaigns, maybe change their products.  So it can be very big business.  In some cases, we are talking millions of pounds, or Euros, or dollars, as we do quite a bit of overseas business.’

‘So you are saying Lisa got involved in some sort of industrial espionage, or something?’

They stopped on the bridge, looking out over the water.  Tom leaned over, resting his elbows on the railings.

‘I don’t know what I’m saying,’ she said, shaking her head.

He looked up at her. The cold wind was making her eyes glisten. ‘Are you saying,’ he asked, ‘that she came across something she shouldn’t have had, and that there’s so much money at stake that somebody pushed her under a train because of it?’

She said nothing, just looked out over the water.

‘Is that really likely? Really?’

She shrugged her shoulders and started walking. Tom stood up and ran to catch up with her.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I’m not saying you’re lying or mistaken.  It’s just that this sort of thing only happens in books or in the movies, doesn’t it?’

Amy carried on walking, saying nothing.

Tom tried to change tack. ‘She hadn’t worked for your firm for very long had she?’

‘No, not that long.  Why?’ she replied, looking over at him.

‘Well, she wouldn’t have been that senior, would she?’

‘No-oo,’ she said slowly.

‘Surely, then, she wouldn’t have been privy to anything that important? Unless by accident.’

‘Suppose not.’

‘Did the two of you actually work
together
? I don’t mean just in the same office, but seeing and doing the same stuff.’

‘No. She was involved in her client accounts, and I was in mine.’

‘So - she was the only person dealing with her client accounts?’

‘Oh, no - each account is looked after by a team of four or five.  An account manager, and three or four others.’

‘Have you got any suspicions? Any clients or other staff members who might not be what they seem?’

‘No, none at all.’

Tom thought for a moment. Their walk had taken them off the bridge, and along the south side of the Serpentine. He paused outside a WC.

‘You okay to hold on a minute?’ he asked.

She looked around anxiously, then nodded.

‘Only be a sec. You’re right out in the open here; nothing’s going to happen.  In any case, I’ll be less than a minute.  Promise.’

‘Okay.’ She put her hands in her coat pockets and shivered.

Tom ran into the gents.  He was as good as his word: less than a minute later he was on his way out.  In his haste to get back out to Amy, he collided in the doorway with a man who was on his way in.  He froze as he and the man came face to face. He was very tall, more than Tom’s five feet eleven, but his height was accentuated by his thin, wiry frame. He was wearing a dark grey overcoat over a dark suit, matching tie and white shirt. For a moment, Tom’s gaze was   fixed on the  man’s face.   He had longish hair, combed back to just below his collar. It was the colour of the hair which caught Tom’s eyes: it was a brilliant white. Not silver,  nor a bit grey, but white. His face was gaunt, and pale.  Another feature of his face caught Tom’s attention: his eyes.  Rather than blue, or hazel, or brown, or any other commonplace combinations, they were red. Bright red.

‘Sorry,’ Tom muttered, as he squeezed through the doorway, keen to get back to Amy, a little embarrassed at how he had momentarily stared at this man’s face, and surprised, if not unsettled, by the expression on the man’s face.  It was one of pure hate and malice, heightened by the two burning red eyes.

Tom hurried back to the pathway and to Amy. He quickly turned back to look at this man - albino, that’s what people like him are called, he recollected. Like the rabbit.  No sign of him, though; must have gone into the gents.

Amy was waiting.  She gave him a slight smile.

‘Sorry about that,’ Tom said, as they started walking again.

‘Where were we?’ he asked.

‘You were asking about any of her workmates.  If I was suspicious of any of them.’

‘Which you’re not.’

‘No.  Sorry.’

‘If you want to get to the bottom of what happened to Lisa; as I do...’

‘I’d like to, yes. If I can.’

‘How about putting our heads together?’

‘U-huh.’

‘You sure?’

She stopped walking and folded her arms, hugging herself. ‘Sure.’

‘You’re still working there, right?’

Amy nodded.

‘Is there any way you could get anything about the cases she was working on?’

‘I don’t know. The stuff she was dealing with might have been reallocated.’

‘Worth a try, though?’

‘Sure.  I’ll try.’

‘You’re back at work Monday, right?’

Amy nodded again.

‘Would you be able to try then?  Please?’

‘Okay.  I’ll try.’

‘Good girl.’ He reached out and squeezed her arm. She didn’t resist. ‘Don’t forget, you’re not in this on your own.’

She smiled.  ‘I know.’

‘Give me a call Monday night.  Talk about what you could dig up.’

‘No promises I’ll be able to...’

‘I understand. But call me Monday anyway. Yeah?’

‘Sure.’

‘Okay then. Nice to see you again. Talk Monday.’

‘Monday,’ she repeated, and started to walk away.

‘Are you getting the tube back home?’ Tom asked. ‘I was going to walk down to Knightsbridge station.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Haven’t been able to face the tube since - well, you know. I’ll get the bus. Only one change.  At Victoria.’

‘Okay,’ Tom said gently. ‘Good luck, then. Speak Monday.’

She smiled, turned away, and started walking in the direction of the bank of bus stops on Knightsbridge.

Tom stood and watched her for a minute, then made his way to Edinburgh Gate, then to the tube station. As he walked, he thought about the implications of what Amy had told him. He always had reservations about the idea that Lisa jumped in front of the train: maybe his reservations were justified.

Being deep in thought, he didn’t notice the man he had bumped into in the WC doorway. The albino paused at the spot where Tom and Amy parted. He looked over at the row of bus stops.  He could make out Amy’s figure arrive at the stops. One bus was already there, and a second was pulling up.  He looked over in the direction of the tube station: Tom was crossing South Carriage Drive.

He looked once more at the bus stops, then began to walk briskly towards the tube station.