Dark Eyes of London (8 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Maybe it was where it happened that made it worse; Jane would never know.

It was just after eleven. It had been a slow day at the store.  Business was always uneven: customers didn’t come in at the same rate and purchase items at the same rate. The jerks at Head Office had calculated how many sales took place each month, each quarter, each year; then they divided that figure by the number of hours in a given period, and expected that the figure they got to represent the number of sales each hour, or day. Kelly, the store manager, had been in the job for several years, and had enough experience, and was intelligent enough to know that it didn’t work like that; the business was seasonal, and although there were trends, each day was different. Monday was busy, Tuesday steady, Wednesday quiet, Thursday busier than one would expect as it was market day, Friday and Saturday were busy too, and Sunday was quiet.

Today was Wednesday, and it was even quieter than normal. Kelly had said that she put it down to the weather: it was very cold; there had been a snowfall over the weekend, and although most of the snow had melted by now, the streets were still icy, and that put people off coming into town. A different story for the indoor mall ten miles away.  Jane reckoned Kelly was right: she had only served a dozen customers since the shop had opened.

At least if it was busy, time passed quickly.  When it was as quiet as this, it positively dragged.  Even when she felt okay she hated that. But when she didn’t....

When she came out of the ladies’, she met Kelly in the doorway.

‘You all right, Jane?’ Kelly asked, as she carried a folder down the corridor.

‘Yeah, I’m okay, thanks,’ Jane replied, smoothing down her skirt.

‘You don’t look okay. You look like death warmed up, and that’s the third time you’ve been in there today.  Not that I’m counting,’ she added disarmingly.

‘I’ll be all right.  Just bad stomach pains today.’

‘Is it...?’

‘Yeah.  Last couple of days. Pretty heavy today.’

‘Look,’ Kelly said. ‘It’s pretty dead out there today.  I don’t expect it to get much busier, even over the lunch hour.  Why don’t you get yourself home?’

‘No, I couldn’t -’

‘Yes, you could.
I
would if I was in your position. Get yourself home, take some ibuprofen or something, and chill out on the sofa.’

‘All right, I will.  Thanks.’

‘No problem.  See you in the morning.’

‘I’ll just go log off my till.’

‘No worries. Tell Jean if it gets too busy for her I’ll help out.  Go rest. And make sure that boyfriend of yours cooks dinner tonight.’

‘I will.  He’s working from home today, so cooking tonight will be a diversion for him.’

*****

Having left the shop around eleven thirty, Jane walked through the icy streets to the car park and, slowly pulled into the traffic. She moved awkwardly in the seat: the pains were getting worse. Her route home took her past the supermarket.  She would ideally liked to have gone straight home, but needed to stock up on things, and thought she had better get a couple of microwave dinners just in case he didn’t want to cook. Depended how much work he had to do. Just because he was working from home, it didn’t mean he could just drop everything.

She paid a quick visit to the supermarket, declined the cashier’s offer of buy one get one half price on the brand of sanitary towels she was buying, and walked back to the car.

As she got in the car, she speed dialled his number.  It rang three or four times, then went to voicemail.  He must be working.

She left a message: ‘Hello, it’s me.  Look, my pains are getting worse, so they’ve let me come home. Really don’t feel like cooking tonight, so I’ve brought something back.  Unless you feel like cooking yourself. Ha-ha. Anyway, I should be back in half an hour or so.  Assume as you haven’t answered as you are busy working. Anyway, see you later.  Love you.’

She hung up, started the car, and drove back onto the main road.

Twenty-five minutes later, she was parking in her normal space, and walked across the snow to their building. Up the stairs to their front door. As she put the key in the lock, she could hear music playing. Either he was playing his MP3 again, or he had the TV on.  She tutted: he was supposed to be working. His boss thinks he is.

Once inside, she put the plastic bag with the shopping in the kitchen, and went to see where he was.

The music was coming from their bedroom, but she could hear something else: moaning and deeper, shorter grunts.
Jesus Christ,
he’s supposed to be at home working, but he’s lying in bed watching porn.

Their bedroom door was ajar: as she stepped towards the room, she could make out movement from the other side of the door. Her heart beating faster, she peered through the gap between the door and the doorway.

He wasn’t watching porn.

She clasped her hand to her mouth, and took three paces backwards. Without saying a word, she walked out of the flat, down the stairs, and back to her car.

She leaned over, resting one hand on her car boot, and threw up.

Chapter Seventeen

Tom was due to finish work at five thirty.  The text from Amy came at five twenty.  He finished dealing with the customer he was speaking to, and then checked his phone.
dun hav2 mt
. He assumed she had been successful in finding something and wanted to meet him. It would have been much easier if they just spoke on the phone rather than trudging across London, but he guessed she would not want to do that.  He sent back a reply: 
Good, well done, where and when?

He wandered off to the Gents holding his phone, expecting a reply immediately, but none came. He frowned: he hoped everything was all right with her.

There was still no word from Amy when he left work.  He walked down the main street and called in at the local mini-mart for something to eat that night.  As he was paying, the phone bleeped.  It was Amy.

The reply was short and concise:
costas
balham tube 7?

So that’s where she lives, he thought, and replied to confirm. He checked the time: ten to six. Should just have time to pop home, grab a quick bite - the pasta he had just bought would have to wait till another day - and get the tube down to Balham. Bakerloo to the Elephant, then a few stops on the Northern, he recalled.  Should take about half an hour or so.

As he climbed the stairs to his flat, he was met on his landing by Mrs da Costa peering out of her door. There was a wonderful smell of cooking wafting out of her flat. Tom groaned: a conversation with Mrs da Costa was never a short one, and he was in a hurry tonight.

‘Ah, Tom boy,’ she said. ‘I was hoping it would be you.’

‘You were?’ he replied.

‘I wonder, have you got a few seconds to drop in?’ Mrs da Costa asked. ‘I’ve dropped something behind a cupboard, and I can’t shift the damned thing myself.’

Tom looked at his watch. ‘Well, I’m in a –’

‘Should only take a few minutes; a big strong boy like yourself.’

He smiled. ‘No problem.’

He followed her along her hallway, past the kitchen, where the smell of cooking was even more overpowering, and into her lounge.

‘It’s here,’ she said, putting her hand on a large dark oak bureau. ‘I left my reading glasses up here, and knocked them behind the bureau.  I can see them, but just can’t reach them. If you can pull the bureau out an inch or so....’

‘Let me see,’ Tom said, kneeling down to look behind the desk.  Sure enough, he could see a pair of glasses on the floor behind it.

‘May not need to pull it out,’ he said, leaning back against the wall and stretching his arm behind the bureau.  His fingertips felt one of the glasses’ arms. He pushed his shoulder right up against the bureau, and stretched again.

‘Bingo,’ he said, as he caught them, and pulled them out.

‘Why, thank you so much,’ Mrs da Costa said, as he handed her the spectacles. ‘I am so grateful. You’re not in a hurry are you?  Let me get you something for your trouble.’

‘No, no, no - thanks,’ said Tom. He was not looking for any reward; in any case, he had less than an hour now to get down to Balham.

‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘I’m cooking a pan of spaghetti bolognaise. I always cook a large amount and freeze some.  Why don’t I freeze some for you, and drop it in later?’

‘Mrs da Costa, that would be brilliant.  But you don’t need to.’

‘Let’s hear no more about it.  I’ll freeze an extra bowl.’

She followed him out to the front door. ‘In any case,’ she said, as she held the front door open, ‘we’ve got cause to celebrate now.’ As she said this, she inclined her head up the stairs.

‘Have we?’ Tom asked, puzzled.

‘Haven’t you heard?  Those deadbeats upstairs.  They’ve gone.’

‘Gone?’

She nodded. ‘This morning.  I heard a lot of banging and activity up there and on the stairs.  I looked out and saw him - don’t even know his name - carrying boxes downstairs. Later on, I could hear a drill, and saw Mr Chin and another man working on the landing.’

Mr Chin was the owner of the building and their landlord.

‘I asked Mr Chin what was going on, and he said they had been evicted.  Hadn’t paid their rent in months.’

‘So he was changing the locks, presumably.’

‘That’s right. Mr Chin said now he has to advertise for a new tenant.’

‘Hm.  Interesting,’ Tom said. ‘Let’s hope he can find someone better than the two of them.  Quieter at least.’

‘You’re not joking, Tom boy.’

‘Anyway, that’s good news.  Sorry, Mrs da Costa, have to get off now.  Have to go out later.’

‘Oh, right.  Off to meet a girlfriend, are we?’

He smiled as he walked over to his door. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not exactly.’

As he shut the front door behind him, Tom checked the time.  Six ten.  Time to rush.  He sent Amy a quick text to say he may be ten minutes late or so.

*****

At the CitiMarket building, Sebastian Fleming was standing in his office, looking out of his large windows. The offices outside were quiet. Most of the staff left at five, or just after. Carol said goodbye just before six.  Very reliable and conscientious was Carol. An asset to the firm, and to him, personally.  If only...

It was dark, and he watched the endless trail of head and tail lights out in the darkness. The A1206 encircled the Isle of Dogs like a giant letter U, and in the darkness it surrounded his building like a red and white ribbon, twinkling in the night.  Over to the east - his left - he could see the illuminated dome of the O2 Centre.  In the dark, he could make out the lights from the numerous boats sailing to and fro along the river, alongside his giant U.  Up in the night sky, he could see lights from at least three aircraft.  He gave a satisfied sigh: this was why he loved this view.

He turned and walked back to his desk. Picked up the phone and speed dialled 1.

*****

Following the London Underground escalator convention, at one minute after seven, Tom ran up the left hand side of the up escalator.  Two schoolgirls were both occupying one step near the top, and Tom had to get past them.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, as he squeezed by. The one on the left reluctantly moved over.

Once out of the station, he looked round, and saw Costas a hundred yards or so to his left. He hurried across the A24 Balham High Road and up the road to the coffee shop. He looked in the shop front window, and saw her sitting alone at a table. Amy saw him arrive, and sat up. Tom got himself a latte and sat down with her.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘How are you?’ he answered.  ‘How did it go?’

‘Seemed to go okay,’ she said.

‘Seemed?  Go on.’

‘Well, I waited until the lunch hour when anybody who is anybody is out for a couple of hours,’ she said.

‘Wining and dining? Or just a liquid lunch?’

She paused. ‘Either. Anyhow, there were only three or four of us left in the office. A couple of them were on the phone.  As far as I could make out, Lisa’s desk hadn’t been touched since - well, you know.’

He nodded. ‘I know, go on.’

‘I went over to it on the pretext of looking for some paperwork, and...’

‘And?’

‘And it was empty.’

‘Empty of what? Of what she was working on?’

‘Of everything.  Except for pens, staples, that kind of thing.  Oh, and a birthday card for you.’

‘A birthday card?’

‘That’s right. When’s your birthday?’

‘Well, not until February. Why?’

‘She had a sort of perpetual diary thing - you know, one of those concertina binders you can get. Under T was an envelope addressed
Tom
and a card inside.  It wasn’t signed, though.’

Tom shrugged. ‘Weird.  I’m sure she didn’t send one since we split up.  Anything else?’

‘That was it.  Apart from two keys.’

‘Keys?’

‘Yeah.  One was a key to her work locker -’

‘Wouldn’t she have taken that with her?’

‘That’s what I thought.  Maybe she had a spare. I don’t, but....’

‘What was in the locker?’

‘Nothing really.  An old umbrella and a paperback book.’

‘And the other key?’

‘The other key! That was for a filing cabinet. As it was quiet, I was able to go round the offices checking the other cabinets.  Checking the serial numbers on the locks to see if they matched the one on the key.’

‘Did you find one?’

‘I did - eventually.  We’ve got a store room, an archive room, it’s called. It’s where we store all the paperwork for old campaigns.  Ones that never got off the ground, or which have finished.’

‘Was it in there?’

‘That’s the weirdest thing.  I found the cabinet. Just then I heard some noises outside - someone was getting out of the lift.  So I had to get out of the room and walked slap bang into Fleming.’

‘Fleming? Who’s he?’

‘Sebastian Fleming. He’s the - the CEO, I guess you’d call him. Older guy, the top man. Only spoken to him a couple of times since I started there.’

‘Shit. What happened?’

‘Well, he said something like, “You seem to be in a hurry. Are you looking for something?” I said, “I was, yes, Mr Fleming. I was doing some research for the toothpaste campaign.”’

‘Toothpaste campaign?’ asked Tom.

Amy waved the question aside. ‘Just one project I’m involved with.  You know, what flavour people like their toothpaste to be.’

‘Sorry to interrupt.  Go on.’

‘I said somebody had told me there was a similar campaign a few years back, and I thought it might be an idea to look over the details of that.’

‘Did he buy it?’

‘Seemed to.  He said old campaign details weren’t kept there, and to try the company intranet.  Suggested I had a word with Gerald Smythe; he could steer me in the right direction.’

‘Who’s Gerald Smythe?’

‘Oh, one of the supervisors there.  Wanker.’  She made a corresponding hand gesture.

Tom laughed; said, ‘And that was it?’

‘U-huh. I went back to my desk, and he shut the archive room door.’

‘So you didn’t get a chance to look in the cabinet.’

‘Well that was the other weird thing. It was locked, but all the drawers were empty.’

‘Like Lisa’s desk?’

‘Like her desk.  On the face of it, it looks as if all her things are still untouched. But in fact somebody had gone through all her stuff and taken everything away.’

She took a mouthful of her drink and looked up at Tom.

‘Everything’s gone. Like someone’s trying to hide something.’