Fade to Black (33 page)

Miraculously, a couple got up from a little round wooden table as they approached. Grasping the back of the chair, she cocked an enquiring eyebrow at Michael.

“Nothing to do with me, just luck!” he laughed.

They chose their meals from the little laminated table menu, with Michael insisting there be hot chips involved. Allie pointed to the bar. “You order over there,” she shouted over the band that had launched into their distorted version of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rhiannon.'

He looked over at the four-deep crowd and winced. “Don’t they come to you?” he asked, his voice carrying to her easily despite the noise.

She just shook her head. “This isn’t Chez Nous, Michael.” He scowled and turned back to the bar. She wondered why they had been shouting; he could read her thoughts anyway. She studied the crowd to her left, with half an eye out for Ray Riley’s crew. She had to eat so it might as well be where she could possibly help Jacinta, she reassured herself.

“Well, well. DCI St. Clair!”

Allie turned to see Rachel Strauss swaying slightly against a young curly-headed guy, whom she immediately recognized as the one from Shepherd’s Bush. She groaned.
Oh, Rachel
.

“Chief…
Allie
, do you remember Jeremy Watts?" Rachel asked, defiance radiating from her.

“Yes, of course.” Allie smiled as warmly as she could under the circumstances. She looked at Rachel. Despite the cold weather and the driving rain, she had on a very low cut, lightweight, sleeveless, black top and tight, white stretchy jeans. She was out to get laid. Allie was in no doubt about that, nor, she suspected, were the two hundred other patrons of the Black Crow.

“Can I get you a drink?” Jeremy offered, seeing that Allie was sitting alone at the table.

“She’s ok on that score,” Michael boomed as he came up behind them. Rachel and Jeremy openly gawped at him.

Rachel flushed bright red and said, “Holy crap,” a little too loudly, as she took in the size and looks of the huge arrival. She looked open-mouthed at Allie.

“Where did you find
him?”

Allie was surprised at how annoyed she was at Rachel’s appalling manners, but that was countered by the tingle of pleasure she felt at Rachel’s public acknowledgement of Michael’s good looks. Rachel stuck out her hand toward Michael. “Rachel Strauss. And you are?” Michael indicated the drinks he was carrying and apologized for not shaking hands. He nodded at Jeremy. Allie noticed Michael didn’t introduce himself. This was awkward and just the type of thing she’d hoped to avoid. Mercifully, there were only two chairs.

“I had no idea that this was the pub you were in when I phoned earlier, Rachel.”

Rachel flapped a hand at her. “No problem. I thought it looked ok when we…”

Allie was pleased Rachel had enough brain cells intact not to mention that she had been here on official business. Plus, she figured, she had probably seen the look on her face. “Yes, it has a nice feel to it,” she lied. She still felt there was a darkness about it.

Rachel looked from Allie to Michael, then back again, obviously still waiting for an introduction.

“Sorry to bring up business, Rachel, but just quickly, who told you Jacinta was safe—”

The sound from the band drowned her out. Rachel held up her hands in a helpless gesture and smiled ruefully. It was no use; the volume had doubled. Rachel waved a full-on bye-bye at Michael and waved backhandedly at Allie as she and Jeremy turned for the dance floor. Apparently, the old standard Nutbush City Limits was too hard to resist. Jeremy smiled and looked again at Michael before following the hip-swinging Rachel to the dance floor.

“God,” Allie said to Michael, “she’ll be all over him like maggots on a carcass later on.”

“Nice analogy,” he acknowledged. “But she’ll be wasting her time.”

Allie frowned. “Why do you say that?”

Michael took a swig of his lemon, lime and bitters. “Gay as a Mardi Gras, that boy.”

Allie guffawed. “You reckon?”

Michael nodded. “Definitely.”

Allie shook her head in wonder, a small smile twitching her mouth. So Rachel had been wrong about young Jeremy after all. She was in for a disappointing evening. Allie looked around as the meals arrived. The waitress was Sarah Blascombe.

“Oh, hello,” Sarah said hesitantly, also looking at Michael. “Out for a good time?”

“Hi, Sarah. No, not really, but one has to eat.”

Sarah smiled, lighting up her pleasant face. “I guess one does.”

Allie said awkwardly, “So how are you coping, staff-wise, I mean?” She cursed inwardly at posing such a lame question.

Sarah straightened from delivering the meals and smoothed her skirt. “Not too bad; a couple of my friends have rocked up to help.” She pointed to the kitchen. “They’re in there frying chips like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Michael will be glad to hear that.” Allie smiled. Sarah looked directly at Michael and tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Allie decided to go for it. “May I ask you a question?”

Sarah looked quickly about the room. “I guess so, umm, we’ll need to be quick.”

“Of course, “Allie said, taken slightly by surprise and looking at Michael. “Let’s find a quiet corner.”

“No need,” Michael volunteered. “I’ll just duck to the Tube.”

“The loo,” Allie corrected.

“Yes,
the loo
. Must have had one too many soda waters.” He laughed and quickly pivoted out of his chair and headed for the corner of the room.

“He’s nice,” Sarah said, watching him leave. “He’s big, too.”

Allie didn’t quite know how to answer that. “Have a seat, Sarah. Tell me, have you seen anything more of Ray Riley and his lot in the last day or so?”

Sarah rolled her eyes theatrically. “I think they’ve seen more of
me
, actually.”

“How do you mean?”

Sarah pointed at her uniform. “These bloody things we have to wear are so tight and short—his men nearly have an org… err… a
convulsion
when I bring them their food.”

Allie nodded. “I’ll bet. Your
dad
makes you wear it?”

“Yep, says if I want to work here, I have to. He hates it of course, but it’s good for business, apparently.”

“Hmmm, depends what type of business you’re after. I think maybe you’re getting it, though, don’t you?” Allie said with a wry smile.

Sarah looked embarrassed. “Georgie looked better in this gear than me, though, and Jane, who works on Saturday nights, has her own band of followers—special T-shirts and all. It’s amazing really.”

“Riley’s men are real creeps then, are they?” Allie redirected.

“You said it. Mr. Riley’s actually not that bad. But all the rest of them…” She shivered.

“It goes with the territory,” Allie said, taking a sizeable bite out of the Shepherd’s Pie.

“Funny thing, though,” Sarah said. “One of them isn’t like that, but then I didn’t know he was actually
one of them
until yesterday.”

“Come again?” Allie said, a jolt of electricity running through her.

“Old Arthur comes in every Wednesday night by himself at exactly the same time and has exactly the same meal and a pint of Young’s, then toddles off to catch a bus, I think. He’s been coming in for years.”

Allie cast a thoughtful look at Sarah. “But you said he’s one of Riley’s men?”

“Well, he must be. I saw him talking to the group and writing on the whiteboard. But funny, though, he looked
different
.”

Michael arrived right on cue, standing by Sarah’s chair. Irrationally, Allie thought he could probably see down Sarah’s blouse. She shot him a look.

“How was he different, exactly, Sarah?”

“Well, you’ll think I’m crackers, but he seemed younger and
taller
than he was even the day before! He even had more hair, but I’m sure it was him!”

Allie sat back in her chair. “He was here Wednesday night?”

“Oh yes, as usual.”

“But you’re saying you saw him here last night—Thursday, as well, yes?”

Sarah shifted uncomfortably on the chair. “Yes, upstairs. It was about seven o’clock, I think. I’ve never seen him with that lot upstairs before.”

Allie glanced quickly at Michael. He was staring intently at Sarah.

“Sarah,” Allie said, leveling her hand at her, “think hard now; what was he writing on the whiteboard?”

“Numbers, just numbers, like dollar amounts in columns. I think he was saying something about ‘returns.’”

“Returns?” Allie echoed. “Like investment returns?”

“I don’t know.” Sarah shrugged. “Sorry. I’d better go,” she said, looking anxiously towards the bar.

“What’s this Arthur character’s last name?”

“Gosh!” Sarah said. “You know, I’ve never asked him!”

“Do you think you could quickly ask your dad if he knows?”

“Of course, I’ll just be a moment.” Allie thanked her and Michael nodded as Sarah gave him her broadest grin and sashayed away; at least that was how Allie saw it.

Allie and Michael looked at each other, but neither spoke. Sarah flounced back to their table a minute later. “Wendell,” she announced proudly. “Dad says it’s Arthur Wendell. He’s an accountant or something.”

Allie physically jumped. It fit what they knew about Paula Armstrong’s new boyfriend. Some sort of advisor, someone had said. An accountant could be it.

Sarah departed for the kitchen after bestowing another blinding smile on Michael. “I suppose you get that all the time?” Allie said in mock exasperation.

“Pretty much.” He wolfed into his rapidly cooling chips, but not before smothering them in salt.

“Let’s get out of here and go somewhere where I can hear myself think,” Allie said, pushing her chair from the table and standing. Michael poked another wad of chips into his mouth and followed. Outside the Black Crow, there was the usual band of intrepid smokers and silly young girls milling around. At least in Chelsea, the girls wore expensive shoes and talked complete rubbish in cultured tones. The rain had stopped, but the gutters were swollen and the streets were a shiny black.

“Where’s your car?” Michael asked.

“I didn’t bother with a pool car,” Allie said a little defensively. “I grabbed a taxi.”

Fishing her phone out of her bag, she told Michael she was Googling Wendell.

“I’d like one of those,” Michael said. "My old Motorola is a bit limited.”

But Allie wasn’t listening. The first Wendell that came up on her search was a used car dealer in Kent. She specified Chelsea. Nothing came up. She tried Earl’s Court. No result.

“Some big-time accountant," she mumbled. “Not even bloody listed. I’ll have to ring headquarters.”

She dialed the first three digits, but stopped herself. Something Jasmine the androgynous hairdresser had said about Paula Armstrong niggled at her. Whomever Paula met with, it was important that she do so
at this time,
Jasmine had said
.

Allie turned to Michael. “What could be so important to Paula that she had to see an accountant
at this time?”

“You’re asking me?” Michael asked.

“Aaargh,” Allie grumbled. “I forget you are not of this world. How nice it must be not to have to worry about doing the laundry, buying food and doing your…”

She grabbed him by the arms.
“Doing your tax return!
Michael, its April—that’s tax time in the UK!
That’s
what Paula had to do
at this time!
Wendell is a sodding tax consultant!”

She punched at her phone again. This time Arthur Wendell came up as a tax consultant under the name of BizTax, Inc. Allie staggered back a pace. “Michael, BizTax is the name I saw on Paula Armstrong’s files when Connors and I went there today! I remember it because Connors was super-impressed by how much she earned!”

She studied the phone again. “His office is listed as being in Earl’s Court, but I’d say that’s not far at all from here or from King’s Lane, where Georgie was murdered. Michael, we’re right on top of him!”

Michael nodded coolly and looked about. Allie saw him search the rooftops across the street.

“What?”

“Don’t leave my side now, Allie, whatever you do.”

“Why now?” she asked, already suspecting she knew the answer.

“He’ll come for you now.”

“Well good!" she shouted. “Let’s have him then! So long as he comes to the party with Jacinta in tow, that’s fine by me!”

He surprised her by smiling. “Them’s fightin’ words, Ms. St. Clair, but it ain’t that simple.” He put his arm around her shoulders and walked her down the narrow lane beside the Black Crow. She felt the strength of his grip and the brick-hardness of his huge upper body.

“He’ll come for you only when he’s ready and it will be in his own peculiar way. It might be in twenty seconds or two days, but he’s not going to give up your colleague in the meantime. To save her, you’ll have to find her.”

She broke free of his grip and spun around to face him. “It’s been bugging me that you seem to know how he thinks, Michael. Why is that exactly?”

“We have time to debate this?" he asked, raising his voice. “I would have thought your Jacinta’s safety was paramount. Time is awastin’ girl!”

Allie planted her hands on her hips. “Michael, I’d better not be part of some damn game.”

Michael threw his hands in the air opening them to the heavens. “We’re all part of The Game, Allie—
that’s all there is!”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s all there is’?”

Michael shook his head slowly and sighed. “Look, it’s not for you to worry about now. You’re going to have to trust me. The Game is not what you probably think, but I’ll tell you this, seeing as you’re slow to catch on…”

She stared defiantly at him. A big saloon car came slowly by, a concerned look on the face of the blond woman who stared at them from the passenger’s seat. Michael took her by the shoulders. “I cannot rid the place of Belhor without you and you cannot even think about saving Jacinta or bringing this Arthur Wendell to justice without my protection.”

“I know that.”

“The rest, as the man said, will just have to wait.” He released her shoulders.