Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

4

It was rush-hour when Frank’s taxi got caught up in the chaos of Cheltenham’s traffic, and gazing away across the rooftops, he thought of the sprawling complex of GCHQ and it reminded him that Tonabie was waiting.

He shrugged, and driving past Montpellier, saw gardeners tidying the flowers beds.

‘Driver, look out for a florists, would you.’

The taxi swung towards the theatre, ‘Hang on, I know just the place,’ and coming to a halt, nodded to an old shop of red brick and green arched windows, ‘That’s a good one.’

Walking over, Frank pushed open the door, and as he gazed at the riot of colour, the girl behind the counter looked up and saw tangled brown hair, a craggy face, broad shoulders, a muscular body, flat stomach, a tight bottom and long athletic legs.

Glancing into the mirror, she flicked at her hair and walked over, ‘Can I help?’

‘Oh yes please … You see, I’m looking for something special.’

‘For a young lady?’

He nodded.

Choosing twelve red roses, she wrapped them in white paper, but Frank seemed unsure.

‘It doesn’t look very much.’

She smiled into his soft, deep brown Labrador eyes, ‘She’ll love them. Trust me.’

He smiled back, ‘Okay, I will.’

‘But if by some miracle, she doesn’t. I finish at six.’

Out on the Cirencester road the driver stopped at a large old house, ‘Is this the one?’

‘Yeah, that’s it.’

Paying the fare, he got out, but watched until the taxi had driven away, and turning, walked back down the road.

The taxi drove on but straight into a gridlock, so swinging the car round he drove back and saw the big man with his pack over his shoulder and still gently carrying the flowers, but he was walking quickly and turning into an avenue of trees and old majestic houses.

So what game was he playing?

Finally arriving back at the garage, Ted glanced to the huge old clock over the forecourt and saw it was well past six o’clock, and walking up through the silent workshop, smiled and rubbed his hands together.

He’d knocked £500 off the price of the breakdown truck and she was a beauty, an old, ex-army Scammell, built to last, and if asked, could easily pull a house down.

Whistling happily, he switched off the compressor, machinery and the lights, and through the window saw Len cashing up the days takings, and smiling, breezed into the office.

‘Hi Len. Everything okay?’

Len smiled. Since retiring, working with Ted meant everything to him.

‘Just fine, I took £420 on the pumps today, and how did you get on?’

‘Brilliant. I bought the Scammell and she’s bloody marvellous.’

Len grinned. Ted seemed to love machinery almost as much as people.

‘Oh, and by the way, did that bloke catch up with your friend?’

Ted looked puzzled, ‘What bloke?’

‘A tall, blond young fella with a posh voice, and to be honest, I didn’t really like him, but as he had an urgent message for your friend, I said you’d taken him to Sherston.’

As Ted listened, hairs began to stand up on the back of his neck.

‘Len, are you saying this bloke just walked in off the street and started asking questions?’

Len saw the worried, cold expression on Ted’s face, and suddenly felt unsure.

‘Well yes, but you weren’t here, so I thought I’d better tell him. I was right, wasn’t I?’

Ted patted him on the shoulder, but his thoughts were racing and going into overdrive.

‘Of course you were. Now get yourself off home, it’s late.’

Locking the garage he walked down to the pub.

He’d intended having a pint to celebrate buying the Scammell, but all thoughts of that were gone now, because thanks to an innocent old man, and an unknown blond asking questions, he now needed a pint for a far more serious reason.

The pub was already busy with the early evening crowd, the traders and shopkeepers jostling and mingling together to swap stories of the day, and though he made the effort of waving back to the good natured jibes and greetings, their idle chatter on this occasion meant very little to him.

Pushing through to the bar, the landlord tried small talk as he served his pint, but Ted was in a void, the raucous bedlam around him now silent in his ears, because of all the Section operatives he’d worked with, Frank Lewis was probably the most professional, diligent and careful of all, but now, for some unknown reason it was beginning to look as if he had a shadow, and that was seriously bad news.

His thoughts drifted back to when he’d taken early retirement from the Section, and not wanting to let go completely, decided to keep in contact with the men by running a safe house for them, and it seemed just like another game then, a laugh, a perfect way of staying in contact, and he’d never really expected a cold hand to come knocking, but now it seemed the safe house was blown, but how?

Rapping his fingers thoughtfully on the bar, he tried to ignore the conversations around him, but suddenly came wide awake when he realised the crowd were talking about a blond, a posh young man who’d been asking questions all over town.

Everyone seemed to have their own idea of who the blond might be, a plain clothes police officer was favourite, but no-one had seen the big man he’d been looking for, until, in a moment of quiet, the landlord seized his opportunity and proudly announced to the crowd that the big man had been in his pub today, at lunchtime.

As the crowd fell into a curious, questioning silence, Stanley Teach looked up from his crossword puzzle and glowered down the bar to the landlord.

He’d been sitting quietly at the far end of the bar and only half listening to the chattering, but the landlord’s pompous announcement boiled up his anger, and roughly pushing his way through the crowd, stood at Ted’s side.

‘Ted. Dave shopped the big fella for money, I saw him do it, and that blond ponce had
copper
written all over him, but he still shopped him and sent that blond bastard straight up to your garage.’

Ted froze as the old man’s words settled in his mind, and when the realisation came, his eyes burnt into sharp focus as it all fitted together.

He stood up, the barstool scraping back, his barrel chest heaving, and placing his huge hands down onto the bar, leant forward and glowered into the landlord’s eyes.

‘Dave, you’ve got a fucking big mouth, and I’m not sure if you’re a friend of mine.’

The landlord’s brow glistened with the cold sweat of fear, the look in Ted’s angry eyes sending a shiver running down his spine.

‘I meant no harm, Ted, honest to god. He was a bloody stranger and they ought to pay, they just walk in with their clever jokes and money, take a man’s wife and he’s left all alone with everything to do. It just ain’t right.’

Staring at the bad mouthed, selfish landlord, he wanted to punch his lights out.

‘But you pointed the finger straight at me, you useless, lousy bastard.’

The landlord cringed, ‘I didn’t know he was a copper, honest.’

Stanley Teach lent forward, an ugly sneer on his lips, ‘Bollocks, you just wanted his money, ‘cos you don’t care about anyone except yourself, you never have.’

‘But it wasn’t like that, really it wasn’t. I thought it was alright because the blond said he had an urgent message from the big fella’s mother.’

The throbbing in his head told Ted it was time to leave before he broke the landlord’s neck, and anyway, it was done now and nothing could turn the clock back, so leaving his pint on the bar, walked out into the cool evening air.

With angry hands he shakily lit a cigarette, and drawing deeply on the smoke, thought back through the events of the day.

So, the blond had a message from Frank’s mother, did he?

Well that would be a neat trick, considering she’d died giving birth to him.

Wandering down to his cottage, he thought through the sequence of events since Frank had arrived so unexpectedly, but he knew very little except he was about to start a game, and from some of the names mentioned, Montague, Daniels and Coogan it sounded as if the rules of the game might not apply, and Frank had checked his box, another bad sign, and now this shadow had arrived and was snapping at his heels.

So maybe the game had started and the blond was a player, but he remembered Frank saying,
'the office was organising a party'
, so maybe Frank thought the game was in the outline stage, but if he believed that, and the blond was a player, it meant the opposition were well ahead of the game, and Frank Lewis, quite obviously didn’t know it had started.

It was a nightmare because Frank could get slotted without even knowing the game had started, and he couldn’t do anything to help as he didn’t know where Frank intended to go after Sheverill’s Farm, and that blond creep was getting closer all the time.

Sighing at the bad luck, he pushed the garden gate open and listened to the eerie screech of the rusty hinges, and although he knew he ought to oil them, he never would.

Standing for a moment, he looked up the winding path to the lifeless windows of the empty cottage.

It was four long years since he’d lost his Maggie to a heart attack, but time meant little, and how could it when he could still see her even now with that quiet smile of hers, gently mocking him.

‘Ted, when are you going to oil that gate?’

Frank walked along the leafy avenue and stepped onto the gravel driveway leading to Sally’s door.

‘Oh. Hello. My word, I haven’t seen you for a while.’

The voice jolted Frank out of his thoughts, and turning to look across the garden, saw Sally’s downstairs neighbour, Rosemary Trent, emerging from the bushes with secateurs in her hand and twigs and leaves in her hair.

‘Hello Rosemary. You’re still gardening then.’

‘Oh yes, my dear, you won’t find me in the flat when there’s gardening to be done.’

Frank smiled as he remembered seeing her gardening by the light of a torch, and it had been almost ten o’clock.

Walking over, she adjusted her scarf and casually tossed it over her shoulder.

‘It isn’t much like summer, is it. I simply don’t know what’s happening this year.’

She cast her hand around the flower beds, ‘Look, everything’s fading too early.’

He edged away. Rosemary was a nice old lady, but boy, did she ever talk.

She flicked her gaze to the red roses, ‘Oh what beautiful flowers, are they for Sally? Oh, silly me, of course they are, and she will simply adore those.’

‘I hope so. Well, I’ll see you later.’

Rosemary watched as he walked to the door and rang the bell to the upstairs flat, and as he waited, couldn’t help thinking Sally was such a naughty girl, but times were hard and maybe there were worse things than to be a company prostitute, and she didn’t have to take just any man, all of her regulars were nice young men.

Hearing the buzzer release the main door, she watched and thought he seemed eager when he stepped inside.

Shrugging her thin shoulders, she slowly walked back to the bushes and felt a tinge of jealousy when she thought of her lonely single bed.

Climbing the stairs, Frank stepped onto the landing and saw Sally waiting at her door.

‘Hello Frank. It’s been a long time.’

Gazing at her, she seemed even more beautiful than his memories had told him.

Her eyes sparkling with light, her auburn hair glistening as it tumbled down around her gorgeous face that always made him think of a china doll, and as usual, was dressed in a creamy jogging suit, so warm and sensuous, just like the lady herself.

In her confident way, she smiled to him, ‘Well? Do I get a hug?’

Slipping the Bergen from his shoulders, he self consciously offered the flowers.

‘Oh Frank, they’re lovely. But you shouldn’t have …’

Taking the flowers, she reached up and softly kissed him on the cheek, and looking into his eyes, saw a man who was physically and mentally drained.

‘Frank? When did you last have a full nights sleep?’

He shrugged and gave a weak smile, ‘I can’t remember.’

‘Right. Well come on then. Let’s get you into bed.’

Locking the door, she went through to her bedroom, but when she began to undress he just stood there in quiet embarrassment.

‘Sally, no offence, but all I need is a good sleep, and later, maybe we could talk.’

She frowned, ‘Alright, but wouldn’t you like to make love first?’

‘No, honestly. I’m fine.’

She pursed her lips, ‘Well if you’re tired, I don’t mind going on top.’

‘Thanks, but really, I didn’t want to see you for that.’

‘Okay, if you’re sure, but if you change your mind, just call.’

Sally walked out smiling, but frowned as she pulled the door closed, remembering that just a few days ago, Tonabie had asked for an update of Frank’s psychological profile, and she hadn’t found it easy as it was quite a while since Frank had last come to see her.