Hot Pursuit (24 page)

Lesley tilted her head on one side in what she hoped was a good listening position, as the head of the
Gotcha
production company continued enthusiastically. ‘The plan is that we’ll all be pulling together, working on the newly revamped show headed up by Lesley Jarman.’ She tilted her head in Lesley’s direction as if introducing her to an unseen audience. ‘The team have been working the idea up for quite a while now, we just needed the right face, the right look to drive it. And now we’ve found it. You.’

‘Me?’ Lesley stared at her in astonishment as the penny finally dropped. Surely she couldn’t mean what Lesley thought she meant. ‘Are you serious?’

Meanwhile her boss was saying, ‘Oh, and keep the glasses, I rather like the whole idea – it’s got a kind of retro feel, a sophisticated female Joe 90; Michael Caine, Sophia Loren – Oh yes, very nice. And I’ve arranged for you to see the stylist about the rest of the look.’ And so that was it. A week later Lesley had her own PA, a corner office on the first floor and use of the company gym and sauna.

As Lesley was about to get to her feet, trembling
with a mixture of disbelief and excitement, aware that her audience with God was almost over, she said, ‘Excuse me, but what about Robbie?’

The older woman arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow and pulled a face that implied she had no idea who or what Lesley was talking about, and then, it seemed that she remembered. ‘Robbie?
Oh, Robbie
– Robbie
Hughes
. You’re very loyal, aren’t you? I like that in an employee. The thing is, Lesley – and I’m trusting you to keep our conversation under wraps for the next couple of days, until I’ve sorted out the fine detail with our legal department – I’m not totally sure what we’re going to do with Robbie. His contract is up for renewal at end of the year and the company’s feeling is that he actually needs a new challenge. A new direction. We’ve been considering a sideways move into our satellite and cable division – growing market –’ She paused to lick blood-red lips. ‘We’ve been thinking lifestyle or possibly religious affairs. We’ve been working up a super little God-slot first thing on a Sunday morning that might suit Robbie down to the ground.’

‘The one with glove puppets?’ said Lesley, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

‘Oh, you’ve seen it?’ said the boss with quite genuine delight. ‘Clever girl – I like a woman who is au fait with the whole company image and keeps
her eyes open. With that kind of attitude you’ll go far –’

In a subterranean office on Colmore Road, Coleman was sitting at his desk looking at the CCTV screen. He was tracking the arrival and processing of one of the latest clients for Stiltskin’s particular brand of magic, a small, pale, nervous-looking man with bottle-bottom glasses and a very bad hair cut.

Captured on the small screen the man pulled at his collar and coughed uneasily. ‘I’m still not sure about this, Ms Heart…’ he began. ‘I know that you said that it would all be fine, but I –’

Before he could spill his fears and anxieties out all over the nice grey institutional carpet, Ms Heart nailed him with her icy blue stare. ‘I’m sorry? Did you say something?’ she growled.

The man swallowed hard. ‘I’m worried about this – I mean will I be safe? With this Stiltskin thing, will I be all right?’

Her face rearranged itself back into what passed for a smile. ‘We’ve been through all this before, our witness relocation plan is extremely secure. We operate one of the premier services in the world. Our record speaks for itself. A complete new identity at the press of a button.’ She pressed a button on the keyboard to emphasise her point.

Coleman took this as his cue and stepped
through into the outer office. ‘Just don’t audition for
Blind Date
, and I’d steer clear of
Big Brother
if I were you,’ he said jovially. ‘I’m Coleman, Danny Coleman. Senior liaison officer on the Stiltskin team. You’re high priority, trust me, you’ll be just fine. Ms Heart here is my assistant.’ He extended a hand. ‘But from now on whatever you want, whatever you need, I’m your man.’

The smile on Coleman’s face only warmed his mouth; his marble grey eyes remained resolutely cool.

The man swallowed hard. ‘I’m still really not sure about all this.’

Ms Heart got up from the keyboard and Coleman took her place.

‘So who am I now?’ he tried with forced good humour.

Coleman looked up from the screen. ‘Just hang on a mo’, we’ll have to wait for this to finish the run.’ He glanced up at his assistant who was hovering by the door. ‘Ms Heart, if you’d like to go into the other office and get someone to transfer all this stuff onto the new documents, please?’

She screwed up her face again and left.

The printer ground to a whining halt and Danny Coleman tore off a sheet of paper.

‘Here we are,’ he said, presenting the sheet to the man. ‘This is your life.’

Coleman looked back over his shoulder into
the other office. Ms Heart was hunched over the photocopier peeling sheets of paper out of the tray.

He sniffed. He missed Dorothy Crow dreadfully, more than he thought possible, although Danny would never have said that to anyone. Too risky, too controversial. He pulled out a nasal spray from his inside pocket and fiddled with the top. Until Dorothy he had always considered himself a good judge of character and it worried him a little that he hadn’t been able to see through to Ms Crow’s dark little heart.

They had picked her up on her way to the airport, her jet-black hair tucked up and away under a blonde bobbed wig. Coleman didn’t like to say how very sexy she looked. Dorothy must have guessed that she had been set up – after all, there were only a handful of people who knew exactly what was going on with Nick Lucas. What she hadn’t known was just how closely each of those people were being monitored. He sighed and took a pull on the nasal spray; sweet relief flooded through him.

All those years of impeccable service, her spotless record all wasted. They had traced her text messages to Nimrod and Cain. They had found her new persona on file, all arranged by Stiltskin, although even now Coleman found it hard to believe that Dorothy Crow had sold her soul for a few hundred thousand, a small income for life and a place in the sun. But then again
there was nowt so queer as folk, particularly folk who felt they had been overlooked at promotion and refused a department of their own just because they were a woman. Coleman had sent the hit men their final instructions by text message, his message rerouted via Dorothy’s number.

He sighed and looked down at the latest set of personal details in front of him, remembering only at the last minute to paste back the smile – and wondered if, given the same situation, he might have done the same thing as Ms Crow.

While Bernie Fielding planned a new life in Lanzarote and Coleman was fitting a new witness with his shiny new persona, and out at Elstree Lesley was busy poring over her midweek schedule, an aircraft was landing at Heathrow. Aboard the aircraft two tall, good-looking, suntanned men in mirrored shades and expensive charcoal-grey suits waited for the cabin doors to open. Cain Vale tucked a newspaper into his flight bag.

‘What d’ya think, then, Nimrod?’

Nimrod Brewster, sucking on a Minto grinned the cool even smile of a basking shark and glanced out of the window at the clear blue sky.

‘No problems, my son,’ he said in an undertone. ‘In. Out. We’ll be back in Marbella by tea time tomorra.’ He mimed a sharp-shooter’s draw
with his index finger and then blew away a phantom wisp of smoke so real that he could almost smell the cordite.

They had had a lot of interest shown in their services since the Nick Lucas hit, under the noses of the local feds, had leaked out onto the grapevine. Nimrod – while not claiming any glory – certainly hadn’t gone out of his way to disabuse anyone of the notion. He still had the press cutting tucked away at home somewhere. ‘Tragedy as freak fall kills lone walker.’

Out in the aisle Cain cheered visibly. ‘Right, so in that case can I have the window seat on the way back?’

Nimrod considered for a moment or two. ‘I’ll toss you for it. Afterwards.’

Cain stretched. As they got to the top of the plane steps ready to disembark, in amongst the noises and smell of the airport, was the hint of spring, all soft greens, the air ripe with all manner of possibilities. ‘Nice to be back. Looks like a lovely day out here –’

Nimrod nodded. Shame they had to work really. He pulled on his coat and made his way down to the arrivals area.

On a long golden stretch of beach called Yorkies Knob, way up on the tropical coast of Far North Queensland, just a short drive from Cairns and God alone knows how many thousands of miles
away from Minehead, West Norfolk and the rest of the crew, Mr and Mrs Nick Somerville were happily walking their dog, Bernie, along the water’s edge.

Ahead of them their two boys – Ben and Joe, children from Mrs Somerville’s previous marriage – ran around the weird circular patterns in the sand; intricately arranged traps baited by the little crabs that lived just below the surface. Laughing and playing the kids paddled in the water, picked up stray fronds of kelp and threw sticks for the dog, who barked enthusiastically, encouraging them on.

It was late afternoon, the sun already dropping in the cloudless blue-gold sky. Another half an hour or so and they would have to head back to get ready for the evening shift at Nick’s new restaurant.

Evenings in the tropics weren’t like those back home, night fell without warning, extinguishing the last rays of a fierce sun and leaving behind a humid midnight-blue blanket scattered with the twinkling stars of the Southern Cross. Deep in thought, Maggie stared out across the sea.

Nick liked to get the restaurant opened up early on a Friday evening, catching the customers high on that end-of-the-week feeling. His house specialities were based on an imaginative fusion of ideas blending traditional Western food with Pacific-rim flavours, full of garden-fresh ingredients, herbs,
subtle flavours and wonderful crisp, clean colours. They were already getting to be known locally as a decent place to eat – and that was all Nick needed. Word of mouth was better than almost any other advertising.

Maggie knew that she and the boys had to go home soon, but for now there was just the four of them, walking and talking and laughing and playing along the sea strand, relishing the rays of a fading day as the sunlight tipped the waves with shades of gold and bronze.

Maggie shivered, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her fleece and then grinned. It showed she was finally acclimatising. Heading into Oz’s autumn she was feeling the first chill of the turning year, whereas the tourists on the beach were all stripped down to tee shirts and shorts and still too hot.

It felt like Australia had been a good choice so far. Cairns and the area around it was a great place to bring the kids to, a good place for Nick to open a restaurant, and far enough away for them to truly begin afresh. As far as Maggie’s family and friends were concerned she had gone over on a teaching exchange. Only after her imagined year’s contract ended would Maggie announce that she had found true love and would be staying on permanently.

Oddly enough, the one thing that hadn’t caused her a moment’s doubt was marrying Nick Lucas.
Coleman had arranged all the paperwork, a registrar, a special licence, and then shown up as one of their witnesses at a little family church on an estate, miles from anywhere that the guys at the relocation unit had hired for them, although Coleman had had to sign the register under an alias cooked up by Stiltskin.

So that was that.

Maggie had liked Australia from the moment she arrived, although maybe liked wasn’t quite the right word – been receptive was a better choice. She had been receptive to the possibilities it offered. It struck her as still open and free and wild with loads of sunshine, fresh air, great food and – with a few notable exceptions – a warm tolerance of differences that often seemed missing in Europe. Not locked in by the old ideas of the class system all things were possible. It felt like a perfect place for a new family to start over.

The two boys had grown taller since they’d arrived and were already filling out. Both of them had settled down well into their new schools and seemed okay about the move. Not that there hadn’t been teething problems for all of them, but they were the ordinary things associated with moving, rather than things specifically about emigrating to a new life with Nick.

It would take time for the dust to settle but Maggie knew instinctively that the four of them would do just fine.

She glanced ahead. Further along the beach Ben picked up a stick, chasing ahead with the dog while a balmy wind rolled in over the sea, calmed and subdued by the great protective arms of the Barrier Reef.

Nick slid his arm through Maggie’s and pulled her close. ‘Penny for them?’

Maggie sighed. ‘Not sure that they’re worth it – anyway, it’s nothing new, you’ve heard it all before.’

‘Ummm – you smell lovely, all sea and sunshine. You okay?’ he purred, snuzzling his lips into the curve of her neck.

She giggled at the delicacy of his touch, relishing the little flurry of kisses and the wonderful feel of his body encircling hers while all the while still looking out at the clear blue sky and the heavenly blue water.

‘More or less. Actually, and I know it sounds crazy, I was just thinking about the beach hut at St Elfreda’s Bay. The sea always makes me think of summers down in Somerset. I don’t suppose I’ll ever see it again now.’

‘Are you homesick?’ he said anxiously, searching her face for clues.

She smiled and stroked his cheek; what they had between them was too truthful, too special for her to try and reassure him with a lie. ‘Sometimes, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder where the hell I am and
what I’m doing here. And when that happens Cairns feels like a very long way away from home. I’m a Norfolk girl born and bred, palm trees and tree frogs and papaya for breakfast out on the veranda are way outside my frame of reference, Nick. And then sometimes – more of the time as the months go by – it’s all all right and I know that given time this will feel like my home – and then I can’t imagine being anywhere else on earth. I just need time to settle – let’s face it, we all do.’