Debut for a Spy (3 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Charing
Cross
,
London
,
England
–
a
few
minutes
later

Whistles were blowing as London Transport personnel and 'Bobbies' arrived, converging on me because of the pointing fingers – after all, I had been chasing her. I was only vaguely aware when a man in a clerical collar handed me my wallet, my bewildered mind hearing a mumbled statement about his seeing it in the street and something about a statement to the police.

Trembling from shock I was led to a bench in the concourse of the underground station which the police had cleared in order to take statements from any witnesses. A constable fetched some water which I drank while waiting for the detectives to arrive. I seemed to be in a vacuum, my mind trying to blot out the horror I had caused. It seemed ages before they got to me. The others had been questioned out of my hearing. Finally, my turn. The senior officer was a large man with a florid face and a shock of sandy hair.

“Now then, sir, sorry to keep you waiting. Might I see some identification?”

I handed him the wallet. Immediately he picked up on an old calling card identifying me as a captain in the army.

“You're a military man, then, sir?”

I explained.

“Ah, yes, I see, sir. Well, this is a very unpleasant thing for you, I'm sure, Mr. Baird. Now, I'm Detective-Inspector Barrow, sir, and I'd like you to tell me in your own words what happened.”

I told him as precisely as I could.

“Very good, sir. Did you ever set eyes on this lady before?”

“
Not to my knowledge, Inspector. But I didn't really see her face, and under the circumstances I'd prefer not to.”

“
Not to worry, Mr. Baird. We've recovered a satchel she was carrying, and there was a photo in it. Have a look, please, sir.”

He handed me a 5x7 print which took me aback at first glance. It was of a blonde young lady with a pretty but slightly coarse face. She was naked.

“No, Inspector, I don't recognize her. Who was she?”

“
Her name was Daphne Boggs, but she worked under the name of Jackie London.”

“
What kind of work?”

He smiled.

“Rather hard to pin down. She stripped now and then in some of the Soho clubs, posed for men's magazines, and she's even appeared in a couple of pornographic films. She has some unsavory types as friends, and several run-ins with the law. Not exactly your average garden party guest, you might say.”

“
What happens now, Inspector?”

“
Probably nothing, Mr. Baird. The usual coroner's inquest, but the evidence we've taken today will probably be accepted at face value. Two of the people standing close by actually saw her take your wallet, and one man, a vicar, retrieved it from the street where it had fallen out of her hand.”

He paused.
“Are you a runner, Mr. Baird?”

“
In college.”

“
That's it, then. She picked the wrong bloke this time. If we need anything further we'll contact you, sir. I'll have one of my men run you home to St. John's Wood.”

We shook hands, and a uniformed constable led me from the concourse to the street and the police Rover. The double-decker hadn't moved. I shuddered as we drove past.

*

I asked the constable to drop me at the corner of Wellington Road and St. John's Wood Road so that I might walk a bit and clear my head. The events of the afternoon had shaken me badly. As I sloshed along I wondered at the odd coincidence of the two things happening in the same day. Then I had a chilling thought. Was it coincidence? It had all begun after I had met Hammond. I knew it didn't make sense – after all, I was a nobody. So why me? I made a conscious effort to push it out of my mind. I couldn't deal with it any more.

I passed Lords' Cricket Ground, that bastion of all the British hold sacred, eventually arriving at my building. The uniformed doorman was quick to usher me in to the warmth.

“
Evenin' sir,” he greeted, “nawsty out there, init?”

“
Yes, Wicks, it is,” I replied, “almost bad enough to make me wish I'd stayed in Canada. Is there any post for me?”

“
Blimey, sir, I near forgot.” He reached for some letters behind his desk. “Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Baird.”

“
No problem, Wicks. Thank you.”

He rang for the lift, opening the cage for me on arrival.

“ 'Ave a good evenin' sir,” said Wicks as I departed upward.

I had been extremely lucky in finding this flat. The building was not new, but when it had been constructed in 1935 they considered the apartments to be luxury flats for that period, and they had most of the amenities of North American standards. There was a small dining room, a good-sized living room and bedroom, and a modern kitchen and bath. There were even built-in closets and kitchen cupboards – most unusual for Britain at that time.

What made the flat most attractive was the self-contained bed-sitter which was attached. While there was a communicating door off the living-room, this little flat had its own tiny bathroom and kitchenette as well as a separate entrance to the hall. Originally intended as a servant's quarters, most of them were now used as an additional bedroom, an apartment for an elderly family member, or, as in my case, a rental accommodation which helped pay the bills.

I had been able to take over the lease from an American diplomat who was being transferred to the Middle East, and he and his wife were more than willing to sell some of their furniture and appliances for a modest price.

I also inherited their 20-year old daughter Katherine, a student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.

Kate was one of those people you couldn't take your eyes off. She had that combination of attractiveness and animation which illuminated her personality. What made her more intriguing was that she was not conscious of her appearance or what effect it had on others – especially males. Well, not conscious of it except for the dimples which appeared when she smiled.

“They make me look like Shirley Temple,” she would storm. “How will anyone take me seriously as an actress with those horrid depressions on my face?”

Kate was both intelligent and an extremely natural actress. I knew she could make it to the top with a few lucky breaks, and, Lord knows, in the arts everyone needed those strokes of good fortune and timing regardless of talent and ability.

Kate looked after my flat in return for the modest rent which I charged her. She did my laundry once a week, and occasionally we would share a meal together – sometimes she cooked, sometimes I did, and once in a while we would prepare a meal together.

This arrangement was not without its problems, at least for me. When Kate and her parents had approached me with the proposal, I was understandably reluctant. In a sense I was being asked to be a sort-of foster-parent, and with all my male hormones in place I was afraid it could turn into a 'moth and the flame' scenario with several unpleasant ways of getting burned.

But we had become good friends, and while we were extremely aware of our biological differences we had managed to keep our private lives quite separate. The flat was an oasis for us both, quite apart from the real world. Kate and I would share our experiences – our triumphs and frustrations – and we would fantasize about our respective futures. I was part father-figure, part confidant; she was part daughter, part house-mother; and we were the best of friends.

*

From the moment I stepped inside I sensed something was wrong. I stood still, puzzled. I hadn't noticed anything obviously out of place, and yet I was sure someone had been in the flat.

Then I knew what it was. I have a keen sense of smell, and I recognized an odour which could only be sweat from a human body. It wasn't Kate – I knew her scent only too well – and it certainly wasn't mine. Someone in a hurry had been here, and they had been warmly dressed and nervous. I began to look for obvious signs.

From my days in university residences and in officers' quarters, I had learned to place little traps so that I knew if I had ever had an intruder. I was constantly kidded about being paranoid, and there was probably a grain of truth in the joshing. But in large cities like London you never knew when you might have a break-in. Accordingly, I had placed several strategic things in an apparent random order, but in truth with a careful pattern. I did this in my sock drawer, my desk drawer, and in the way the suitcases were placed in the closet.

All three places had been disturbed, but by an expert. Without the traps I never would have known.I searched carefully, but as far as I could see nothing had been taken. I had been checked out, but by whom and what for? I rang Wicks and asked if anyone had been around.

“No one for you, Mr. Baird. The only bloke 'ere today was the one from Post Office Telephones. 'E 'ad a work order to check the phones in three of the flats.”

“
Was mine one of them, Wicks?”

“
Yes, sir, it was. Is there a problem, Mr. Baird? I can call 'im back if your phone ain't workin' propaly.”

“
Was he in here on his own, Wicks, or were you with him?”

“
I'm not allowed to leave the desk, Mr. Baird, except for a few minutes at a time. I let 'im in to each flat when 'e rang down to tell me 'e was ready. 'E was only 'ere about an hour, so 'e couldn't 'ave been in any flat for more than twenty minutes.”

“
Let me guess, Wicks. All the flats he was in were on my floor, and he was in mine first.”

“
Blimey, sir, 'ow did you figure that out? That's just the way it 'appened!”

“
Just a guess, Wicks, and it really doesn't matter.”

I rang off, realizing that my visitor had used the other flats as a cover. Once my door was opened it was simple enough to leave it fixed to gain re-entry, and simply pretend to be in the other two flats. Wicks would not have known. Now I knew how it was done, but who was behind it and why was still a mystery.

My visit to Colonel Hammond made me wonder if I had been checked out by him, and yet, if what he had told me about Nalishkin was true, I might very well have been visited by the KGB, though Lord knows what for. I had a sinking feeling, like being sucked down in quicksand. Christ almighty, I thought, what more can happen today?

I heard the door of Kate's flat close. Instinctively I knew I would not tell her of the intrusion, and certainly nothing about my meeting with Hammond. These were my problems, and nothing to trouble her with. Perhaps later I'd tell her about the pickpocket, but not now. I tried to shake off my depression. If Kate had had a good day she would usually pop in to say hello as she breezed by. If it had been a bad day she would take her time, and when she had decided what to say she would come in to talk, usually over tea.

This had been a good day.

“
David,” she called, as she opened her door, “guess what!” Her dark eyes flashed.

“
I haven’t a clue,” I responded cheerily, “you won a million pounds on the football pools?”

She bounced in, pony tail keeping pace.

“No, even better than a million pounds. I got the lead in Antigone, and Olivier's going to direct it for us!”

She was bubbling, and I could hardly believe what I'd heard.
“What? You mean Sir Laurence Olivier? How come?”

Despite my traumatic day I became almost as excited as Kate. This was one of those breaks we all dream about – the door opens, all you have to do is step through.

“He and the principal had a bet on the Grand National, and Olivier lost. His forfeit was to direct a play at the Academy. He chose
Antigone
, by Jean Anouilh, and after working with us today in class I was given the lead!”

Her eyes were shining with delight and happiness.

“Kate,” I exclaimed, “do you know what this could mean?”

She grabbed my hands.

“Of course I do,” she beamed. “A chance to be directed by a legend in English theatre.”

“
Kate, you dope, it's so much more than that. With Olivier involved the critics will all be there, and so will producers and directors. In fact, most of the dramatic community of London will see it, to say nothing of the film people.”

I laughed at her startled expression.

“Kate, this could do it for you – It really could!”

A shadow of concern fell over her.

“Oh, God, David, I hadn't thought of all that.” She stopped in sudden dismay. “What if I'm not up to it?”

“
Dear, dear Kate,” I laughed, “if anyone could ever be up to it, it'll be Katherine Fletcher. There isn't a person in the world who can rise to an occasion better than you. You'll be fine – no, take that back – you'll be magnificent. I know you, remember?”

The exhilaration returned, along with an intensity.