David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good (21 page)

       
“Really?” I said. “What
will they be serving? TV dinners?”

       
Gerard joined me and
immediately shook his head.

       
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s
not this one. It’s the one over there.”

       
“Does this place still revolve?”
Melissa said, turning to gaze out over the city once again.

       
“It does,” Gerard said.
“That’s always been its most famous feature.”

       
“Does it go fast?” she
said. “I mean, does anyone get sick from it?”

       
“No,” Gerard said. “It’s
not like a fairground ride. It turns so slowly you can hardly feel you’re
moving.”

       
“Are we moving now?” she
said.

       
“Not right now, no,”
Gerard said. “The motor isn’t switched on. But I could go and start it up.”

       
“Really?” she said.
“That would be amazing. Could you really do that?”

       
“Give me five minutes,”
Gerard said, turning and heading for the lift.

       
“Wait,” she said. “Are
you sure about this? You won’t get in any trouble?”

       
“I doubt it,” Gerard
said, over his shoulder. “And if anyone asks, I’ll just say a maniac from Royal
Navy Intelligence made me do it.”

Chapter Seventeen

Gerard returned at a minute before eleven and escorted us back to the
Cleveland Street exit. That got us out of the building, but it didn’t solve my
other problem. Ever since we’d left the pub I’d been hankering after a curry,
and when Melissa jumped into a cab on
Tottenham
Court
Road I didn’t suddenly stop being hungry. So I stood and watched her taillights
disappear around the corner, and then made my way to a little restaurant I knew
in Charlotte Street.

       
I was pretty sure what I
wanted to eat, but when I saw some of the things the other customers had chosen
I decided to have a quick look at the menu before I ordered. The selection was
fairly standard – the place was known more for quality than innovation
– but as my eyes scanned the page I picked up on a couple of things that
were new. They were tempting, but before I could catch the waiter’s eye to
confirm my usual choice - chicken
jalfrezi
- my phone
rang. It was my control. He was the second person I’d called from outside the
pub on
Albermarle
Street, before we left for the
Tower. And he had answers to both of the questions I’d asked him.

       
Melissa had received no
emails from GCHQ earlier in the day. And her mobile phone records showed she’d
been nowhere near Leytonstone.

       
I was still wondering
what to make of this news when my phone rang again. This time it was Melissa,
herself. She told me that Elvis had been caught, and was being held by the
police outside St Joseph’s Hospital.

       
“They took him back
there?” I said. “Why?”

       
“They didn’t take him
back,” she said. “They found him there.”

       
“He’d gone back to
work?”

       
“Not exactly. He was ‘on
the job’ when the
bobbies
grabbed him, though.”

       
“What do you mean?”

       
“Well, you’ve got to understand,
the people in the hospital are pretty paranoid by now. As far as they know
there’s been a fire, an explosion, a radiation leak, and a robbery. They’re
seeing ghosts in every shadow. Hospital Security’s been overwhelmed with calls,
day after day. But tonight, when their lines were jammed even worse than usual
people started dialing three nines, saying they could hear screaming coming
from the basement.”

       
“Which turned out to be
what? Elvis rehearsing?”

       
“Ha. No. It was a woman.
He had her in a tiny room at the end of one of the corridors. It was barely big
enough for a mattress. And the entrance was completely hidden. The police would
never have found it without the racket she was making.”

       
“Was he attacking her?”

       
“No. She was there
voluntarily. Or so she claims. I’m not sure I believe her, though, given that
Elvis was fully decked out in sequins and flares.”

       
“You saw that with your
own eyes?”

       
“No.
Fortunately
not.
His clothes had been taken away as evidence by the time I arrived.
But I did get a full description.”

       
“Poor bloke. Sounds like
his delusion’s getting worse.”

       
“On the contrary. It
seems he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s made it into a second job,
apparently. I’m told people pay him to sing at pubs and parties. Then, if he
plays his cards right, he brings one of the audience members back to his lair.
His underground love den.
And my
impression?
The place sees quite a lot of action.”

       
“And no one knew it was
there?”

       
“No. Not even the
caretaker. There are miles of passages down there - literally - and that end of
the corridor is a complete warren. And there aren’t even any plans or records,
any more. There were all destroyed in the war.”

       
“Didn’t they make new
ones?”

       
“Of the hospital itself?
Yes.
And the major parts of the basement.
But not the extremities.
I guess that’s why the staff have
such a free rein down there.”

       
I thought about the
maintenance guys I’d found smoking in the old equipment room, and could see how
what she’d heard could be true.

       
“So what’s happening
now?” I said.

       
“It’s make or break
time,” she said. “I’m about to talk to The King, himself, and I thought you’d
like to be in on that if you can get down here in time.”

The figure I saw slumped in the back seat of a police car outside the
hospital’s main entrance looked like a shrunken, deflated version of the guy
I’d fished out of the basement smoking room the previous day. The oversized
crime scene overalls he was wearing didn’t help, but when Melissa opened the
passenger door and let me in, I sensed the change in his demeanor was more
psychological than physical. Bearing in mind his reaction to the policeman he’d
seen coming out of my room, I guessed he was never going to feel at home in one
of their squad cars. And if he didn’t feel at home, he wasn’t going to be any
use to us.

       
“Can you scare up a coat
from one of the coppers, do you think?” I said to Melissa.

       
“Maybe,” she said.
“Why?”

       
“For Elvis to wear,” I
said. “I think the three of us need a cup of tea. There’s a twenty-four hour
cafe round the corner, but he’ll freeze walking there in that outfit.”

       
It took Melissa eight
minutes to return with a giant yellow high visibility jacket clutched in front
of her. It took us four minutes to reach the cafe. And less than twenty seconds
for the sight of us to clear the rest of the nocturnal customers out of the
place.

       
We took the table
furthest from the counter, our need for relative privacy trumping my desire to
avoid the worst of the cracked, food-encrusted
lino
-covered
benches. The crone who had the pleasure of working the nightshift stood and
scowled at us for a few moments, apparently weighing her annoyance at our
choice of location against a wish to not aggravate anyone connected to law
enforcement. Eventually a solution struck her, and she bellowed across the room
to us without moving an inch.

       
“What can I get you, my
darlings?” she said, in a surprisingly gruff voice.

       
“Three teas, please,”
Melissa said.

       
“Be right with you, my
lovely,” the crone said, batting her way through a dilapidated fly screen and
disappearing into their dingy excuse of a kitchen.

       
“I don’t like tea,”
Elvis said, when she’d gone.

       
“You want something
else?” Melissa said. “You tell her.”

       
Elvis stared at his
fingernails for a moment.

       
“
Tea’ll
be fine,” he said.

       
“Good,” Melissa said. “I
thought it would be. You can’t beat a nice cup of tea. Specially to get a bit
of a conversation going.”

       
Elvis dropped his stare
back to his nails and remained silent.

       
“You’re not big on
hints, then,” Melissa said.

       
“What?” Elvis said. “The
tea’s not here yet.”

       
Melissa let out a long,
slow breath, like she was a teacher dealing with a class of delinquents.

       
“You’re right,” she
said. “But let’s pretend it is. Let’s imagine it’s sitting right here in front
of us, right now, and that you’re going to show your gratitude by telling us
all about what you saw on the night of the fire alarm.”

       
“What fire alarm?” he
said.

       
“The one at the
hospital. Where you sometimes show up for work.”

       
“When was this?”

       
“Three days ago.”

       
“I don’t know anything
about it.”

       
“Yes, you do. You told
Commander
Trevellyan
all about it. Now I want you to
tell me.”

       
“Commander
Trevellyan
? He said he’s a lawyer. What’s this all about?”

       
“Well, he also does
legal things for the Navy. Sometimes. Anyway, that doesn’t matter right now.
What’s important is you telling me about the night of the fire alarm.”

       
“I can’t remember.”

       
“Yes you can.”

       
“I wasn’t even there. I
didn’t see anything. I just made up what I told him cause I thought that’s what
he wanted to hear.”

       
“Is that true?”

       
“Yes. I swear.”

       
“David?” Melissa said.

       
I stood up and started
to fasten my coat.

       
“Where are you going?”
she said.

       
“Back to the restaurant
I was at,” I said.

       
“Why?”

       
“I’m still hungry, and I
don’t fancy eating here. Would you?”

       
“Well, no. But what
about Elvis?”

       
“Yes, poor Elvis. When
you’ve got him situated, please let him know how sorry I am.”

       
“For what?”

       
“His injuries.”

       
“What injuries?”

       
“The ones he’s going to
sustain, trying to run away. Again. But then, those hard stone pavements can be
very slippery at this time of year. Accidents will happen. I mean, can
happen...”

       
“Wait,” Elvis said.
“What do you mean? I didn’t run anywhere. I didn’t get any injuries.”

       
“Not yet, maybe,” I
said. “But the night’s young. There’s plenty of time.”

Melissa called her contact at the Met to come and collect Elvis as
soon as he’d finished babbling. She showed no emotion when she walked with them
to the door of the cafe, but when she turned to make her way back to our table
I could see she was feeling the same way as me.

       
“We didn’t make any
progress at all, did we?” she said, as she slid onto the bench opposite me.

       
“None to speak of,” I
said. “But realistically, what were expecting?”

       
“What I wanted was an
ID. What we got was a vague description of two guys dressed as firefighters. He
didn’t even see the one hit the door to the vault. He just assumed it. Great
insight.”

       
“Did you believe what he
said?”

       
“Yes. I think so.”