Hider/Seeker (7 page)

It was four in the afternoon and the hall light of the garden flat was burning brightly as Harry rang the doorbell. He stood patiently next to a four-by-four Nissan that occupied the entire front garden. Around the edges of the paved drive were plastic wheelie bins, daubed with the flat numbers of the Victorian house.

Stroud Green was not a favourite neighbourhood of Harry's on account of the young City professionals that were moving in, though most of them seemed to have given Nelson's road a wide berth.

The door finally opened after a succession of turning locks, and a black cat darted out.

‘Tinker,' shouted Nelson, holding the door open. He was a lanky man in his late forties with sunken cheeks. ‘I'd promise my sister I'd look after him for a few days. Serves him right if the silly bugger gets run over.'

Harry stepped into the flat and unbuttoned his coat. He passed through Nelson's hall of fame, giving a cursory glance at the rows of black and white stills of a teenage Nelson in period costume on various TV dramas, along with a few theatrical posters and framed newspaper clippings.

The furniture in Nelson's living room was from Ikea. It was mostly untreated pine, apart from two green Stockholm sofas facing a fifty-two inch flat screen TV. Along the walls were shelves stacked high with books and magazines on films, theatre and music. There were no other personal possessions in the room apart from a giant photograph of him and his sister playing tennis together when they were kids. Harry plonked himself on one of the Stockholms while Nelson poured him a glass of red wine from an opened bottle on the sideboard. He handed Harry the glass and said, ‘Cheers.'

‘A bit early?' said Harry.

‘I know, but I have to dash off soon. We're having a few electrical hitches and I need to go early to check up on the cabling before the show. I got a nasty shock in the control booth last night. Nearly started a fire.' He shook his head and said, ‘It's criminal the state of the wiring in that theatre.'

Nelson put down his glass and went into another room. He returned with a brown envelope and dropped it on to Harry's lap.

Harry pulled out two passports and looked at the names on the inside pages. ‘Kelly Hubbard and Simon Jennings,' he read aloud. ‘Where did you find them?'

‘The usual NHS database place,' replied Nelson, sitting down on an armchair. ‘Neither will be needing a passport.'

Harry looked at Nelson, wanting more information.

‘The thirty-two-year-old woman is suffering from motor neurone disease and the eleven-year-old boy has a high-grade glioma. Satisfied?'

Harry nodded. He continued to look through the woman's passport and flipped back to the page with Angela Linehan's photo. He couldn't take his eyes off her face. She had that look of knowing herself to be attractive. That unchallenged beauty that could drive men crazy sometimes. Maybe even him.

He was happy with the passports and put them back into the envelope, before stuffing it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He turned to Nelson and said, ‘I didn't think you'd pull this off so quickly.'

‘Nor did I. But from now on, no more rush jobs. My chap at the passport office in Victoria came close to breaking point getting this ready.'

Harry agreed. ‘The sooner this is over, the better. I need to get away for a bit. Nick Linehan made an unexpected appearance last week.'

‘He knows about his wife?' asked Nelson.

‘No. I don't have time to explain now, but I'm pretty sure he killed Eddie. I'll find out for certain tonight.'

A bitter cold wind was blowing as Harry headed on foot towards Finsbury Park. He kept mulling over why Ed had dragged him into this mess, but found no answers. Then another thought came to him. Was Ed planning to skip the country with Angela Linehan and her kid? He always kept one of Nelson's bogus passports close at hand in case of the unexpected and maybe he was planning on leaving Bethany.

Harry caught a bus that dropped him outside
La Casa
, a noisy pub near the Angel, and went straight upstairs to the salsa club. He paid the woman at the door and hung up his coat. The music was deafening, he could feel the walls and floor vibrating Latin American.

He'd arranged to meet Angela Linehan there because he knew it would be crowded and hard for anyone to follow her, once inside. With a bottle of beer in his hand and an eye on the entrance, Harry stood alone at the bar. People were pouring in so fast that it was making it difficult to keep a look out for her. He figured she would find him as he had what she wanted.

Twenty minutes later, a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned to find her in a black flowing dress and holding a small clutch bag. He lowered his head close to her ear to ask her what she would like to drink. That scent of a lemon grove came back to him from the night at the restaurant.

Something happened in that one moment – something that connected them. She wanted a dance, not a drink, and they took to the floor. They danced in decreasing circles until they were holding each other tight. Her hair touched his cheek as her face came closer to his, her hand squeezing his shoulder. He hadn't figured on dancing with her and its possible consequences. Her body felt good and he knew he would soon be in trouble if he didn't act smart. He'd seen it before with female clients. They're at their most vulnerable when they realise they're close to quitting their old life forever. Making that leap into the unknown was a frightening prospect. He knew the feeling of isolation was making Angela Linehan hold on to him for dear life because he was the one carrying her across the river to the other side.

The music stopped and she looked up to him with soulful eyes. But to his surprise he didn't kiss her red lips and led her away from the dance floor. He helped her put on her coat and then donned his, before pulling her by the hand out into the freezing night.

Harry and Angela Linehan sat opposite each other in a noisy Upper Street café like two strangers. She was looking down at her empty coffee cup, stirring the dregs with a spoon.

Harry asked her what was wrong.

She stopped making a hole in the cup and placed the spoon on the side of the saucer. ‘Why didn't you kiss me?' she asked, her eyes looking straight into his.

‘You're my client. It's best I act professionally.'

‘Really?'

‘It's in your own interest that nothing connects us after you leave.'

She rested her hand on his and smiled. ‘You could always run away with me.'

Harry didn't answer and ordered two more coffees. The waitress took away the old cups and he looked across to Angela Linehan again.

‘You know this can't go anywhere,' he said. ‘Soon you'll disappear for good from London, and you can't let anyone know where you're going – not even me.'

‘I've got plenty of money for both of us.'

‘Forget the idea,' he said. ‘You can't let it happen, for your son's sake and yours.'

She thought it over, and then nodded.

Harry remained serious.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?' she asked.

‘Were you sleeping with Eddie?'

She pulled her hand away. He knew he'd pitched the question too early and a curtain came down between them.

‘What a strange thing to ask, now? Maybe, I should go.'

‘Not until you tell me.'

‘There was nothing between us. As I told you before, he was someone who offered me advice – that's all.'

‘I wish I could believe you.'

‘I don't care what you think. It's true.'

The waitress returned with the coffees, placing a new bill on the table before marching off to deal with a queue of customers at the entrance door.

Harry resumed his questioning. ‘Your husband found out you and Eddie were messing around, didn't he?'

Her face was blank.

‘He shot Eddie, didn't he?'

She stared at him, hesitant what to say next. Then she spoke, her voice becoming much softer. ‘You're right. Nick found out.'

‘What did he do when he discovered you were having an affair?'

‘To my surprise he acted as if nothing had happened. I suppose his anger was aimed at Ed as he still needs to keep me for his own selfish motives. What do you think?'

Harry ignored her question, and asked another of his own. ‘I suppose the baby is Ed's?'

She didn't reply.

‘You're still keeping your appointment at the clinic?'

Again, no answer.

‘How did you meet Eddie?' he asked. ‘And don't say in the tea salon at Fortnum and Mason.'

For the first time since meeting her, she'd lost her self-assurance and looked genuinely confused. The cogs were turning in her head while she formulated an answer that would satisfy him. And when it came, it did.

‘Eddie and Nick worked together,' she said, her voice barely audible in the hubbub of the café and the steam hissing from the espresso machine.

He wanted to know more and asked her about their connection.

Property, she replied and then began to explain how her husband built luxury villas, holiday apartments, and marinas overseas. Eddie found rich clients willing to loan money for construction.

‘It was a perfect business partnership when you think about it,' she said.

‘Until they fell out over you.'

‘Now you know everything.'

‘And Bethany never found out?' he asked.

‘She wouldn't be the first wife. But if she did, Eddie never let on.'

Harry wasn't expecting it to be quite so straightforward. He decided to step up a gear and said, ‘Have you spoken to Tucker?'

She looked surprised by the question. ‘About what?'

‘I met your husband last week.'

Her face turned immediately pale and her eyes froze.

‘Relax, he knows nothing about what you're planning. Your husband has this funny idea I'm bothering Bethany. He was just warning me to stay away from her. Tucker and his friend helped him get his point across.'

‘My God, what did they do?'

‘I'm flattered by your concern. Let's just say, I've dealt with worse.'

‘So, what are you going to do?'

‘Nothing.'

That was the truth. He had to accept the fact that his old school friend had been shot by a jealous husband. Nothing more complicated than that. Nick Linehan only wanted Harry to go on the run so that he could divert the Met's attention away from himself.

All that thinking made Harry feel tired. He rubbed his face with both hands, hoping it would help revive him.

She asked to look at the passports. He gave her the envelope and she took them out to examine. She studied the cover of her passport and then opened it to see her picture.

‘I look terrible,' she said, before reading her new name aloud, ‘Kelly Hubbard.'

‘Don't worry, you'll get used to it pretty quick,' said Harry.

Then she turned to Peter's passport and raised her immaculate brows into two arcs. ‘Simon Jennings? Why doesn't he have the same surname as me?'

‘Two different names make it harder for the tracers to connect you both. You kept your maiden name, the boy his father's. Sounds plausible, doesn't it?'

She put the passports back in the envelope and passed it back to him, explaining that she needed more time to get the money.

He should have guessed as much when she turned up that evening with just a clutch bag in her hand. No way would it have held the thirty thousand she owed. Her perfume had addled his brain.

She explained to Harry that the bank was dragging its feet on cashing one of her bonds. He told her he was in desperate need of the money, but she replied that there was nothing she could do about the matter.

Harry mulled over what to do next. He could just hand over her passport, which she needed to send to Ernesto, and hold on to the other for her boy. It would speed up matters, and he couldn't imagine her running off without her son.

‘When do you think you'll have the money?' he asked.

That nettled her. ‘Soon.'

‘No need to get uppity. It's purely business.'

‘Don't worry you'll have your money, Harry.'

He placed her passport on the table and pushed it towards her. ‘You get Peter's when you pay me.'

She snatched it from the table and slipped it into her bag before getting to her feet and putting on her coat.

Harry looked around the busy café for the waitress to pay the bill, but when he turned back he saw Angela Linehan disappearing through the door and into the street. He found the waitress and paid the bill as quickly as possible, not bothering for the change. By the time he pushed his way out of the café, Angela Linehan was nowhere to be seen. He looked in both directions of Upper Street, but no sign of her.

There was no need to fret over her, he thought. Angela Linehan was one client he'd be glad to see the back of, and all he needed to do now was to wait patiently for her final payment. There was little point in loitering any longer outside the café, so he turned into the easterly wind and headed towards the Angel.

When he reached the corner of Liverpool Road, he spotted her standing alone in the entrance of a shoe shop, talking on her phone. She stepped out onto the pavement a moment to look at the name of the shop, and then returned to where she'd been standing. The conversation ended abruptly, and she slipped her mobile inside her coat pocket.

There were a few teenage drunks on the street making trouble, and Harry decided to stick around to be sure they didn't bother her. After all, she was still his client and he had to protect his asset. He leant against a lamp post, and kept an eye on her while she shifted from leg to leg to keep warm. The drunks had not spotted her standing in the shop's entrance and moved on to annoy the owner of a twenty-four seven convenience store.

It had just gone midnight when a Jaguar pulled up by the shoe shop. She sprang out of the brightly-lit entrance and jumped into the back of the car. The Jaguar moved slowly away and as it passed Harry, he recognised the driver immediately by the shape of his two big ears.