I noticed Eric O’Bryan was in attendance, sporting his habitual grey anorak, although as a concession to indoor wear, he had at least unzipped it. Even from a distance, I could see the perspiration glistening on the top of his shiny pate. He sat over to one side of the room, listening with an engrossed air that must have been very gratifying for the speaker.
Sitting at a small round table to one side of where the CPO was standing, were Garton-Jones and West. I began to wonder if those two were joined at the hip.
They were making no pretence of interest in the lecture on the prudence of asking for ID from visiting tradesmen. Their eyes moved slowly over the inhabitants of the room in a constant sift, as though mentally isolating the troublemakers, and committing everyone’s details to memory. As a lesson in delicate intimidation, it couldn’t have been bettered if they’d tried.
Still, if the information I’d got from Clare earlier that day had been right, they were experts at that sort of thing. She rang to say that her contact on the crime desk at the
Garton-Jones’s life had been following a more privileged course until he’d left his expensive boarding school and hit university. There his darker side had come to the fore. He’d started out working club doors and patrolling building sites, before starting out on his own. Streetwise had the reputation of being efficient, but brutally so. They left behind a gloss of satisfaction laid thinly over grumblings of heavy-handed tactics.
Watching them now, upstairs at the Black Lion, it wasn’t hard to understand why.
To my left, someone fidgeted in their seat, leaning forwards to reveal the person sitting behind them. In profile, I saw long straight dark hair surrounding a memorable long pale face.
I certainly wouldn’t forget her in a hurry. Not when she’d refused to leave me to have my head kicked in by Messrs Harlow and Drummond.
It was Madeleine.
For a moment the shock of the encounter felt almost tangible. I had taken only one step in her direction when I saw her finish polishing the lenses of a set of glasses and slide them back onto her face.
It was a small thing, but something about the action struck me as odd. It didn’t gel. She didn’t handle the glasses like someone who wore them regularly, and she certainly hadn’t been using them that night when she and Sean had rescued Roger.
No, the glasses didn’t fit. Things were missing, like the unfocused squint when she’d taken them off, and the little marks from the pads on the sides of her nose. The glasses, I realised quickly enough to still my feet from taking me any closer, were just a disguise.
Which brought an even more intriguing question. What was Sean’s accomplice doing sneaking in to the Residents’ Committee meeting, and from whom was she hiding?
I glanced back towards Garton-Jones, just as his gaze swept back over me, like the blaze of a searchlight. I forced my face into relaxed boredom, and stayed put. If I made any moves to contact Madeleine now, to speak to her, I stood the chance of exposing both of us to who knew what dangers. I’d just have to try and catch her as she left the meeting. In the meantime, I was minutely aware of her, like she was putting out heat.
The CPO wound up his talk and received a desultory round of applause for his pains. Someone from the Residents’ Committee thanked him on their behalf for coming. He packed up his case, made his excuses, and left.
Then it was Garton-Jones’s turn. The Residents’ Committee man introduced him without undue enthusiasm, and sat down hurriedly, looking nervous in case he was blamed for heralding the bearer of bad news.
I could understand his reasoning once Garton-Jones got under way. The big man started innocuously enough, pointing out that the crime rate on the estate was already dropping. He’d even conjured up some figures from somewhere, which West parroted out when called upon to do so. Percentages and statistics that could have been twisted to mean anything, and probably had been. It was all very slick. Very pro. But then, that’s exactly what they were.
The good times weren’t designed to last long, and they didn’t. Garton-Jones checked his notes, schooled his face into well-mannered contrition, and carried on.
“Unfortunately, these swift results have not been without their price,” he said. “Streetwise Securities’ original estimate did not take into account the particularly unruly behaviour we’ve had to deal with. Aware that you deserved a quick initial return to order, to public safety, we’ve had to allocate more manpower to the estate than we originally envisaged,” he reported. “Of course, the results speak for themselves, and therefore we feel sure that you won’t begrudge the slightly increased cost.”
For a truly modest fee, he told us, he and his firm would undertake to continue to patrol the streets and keep Lavender Gardens crime-free, round the clock, twenty-four seven. And then, per household, per day, he named his price.
I’m always much more suspicious when health clubs, insurance schemes and the like break down their annual fee into a daily amount. If the only way you can stomach a meal is to cut it into tiny pieces, you’re eating the wrong food.
It took a few moments for the more arithmetically agile among the group to work out the cost per year, and the gasps they gave spoke for themselves.
The man from the Residents’ Committee read the faces around him and didn’t need to put it to the vote. He stood up and told Garton-Jones stoutly that the people were already paying as much as they could afford. He mentioned the number of young families on the estate, who were living on a restricted budget.
Garton-Jones listened with an apparently sympathetic frown, nodding seriously. “Oh I quite understand,” he said soothingly when the man’s speech stumbled to a halt. “Unfortunately, much as we feel those families have a right to our protection, we also have a duty to the men who work for us, to pay them a reasonable living wage. We would very much regret having to withdraw from the estate at this stage, just when we feel we’re making such progress . . .”
He tailed off the sentence artfully and stacked his papers on the table in front of him, preparing to clear them into his briefcase. West took his cue and stood, also.
The Residents’ Committee man realised they were about to leave and started to panic. Surely, he said, his voice shaky, there must be some room for negotiation, some scope to talk about this?
“I’m so sorry, but myself and my colleague here have been over and over these figures to see if there was any way at all we could reduce them, but they’re pared to the bone, I’m afraid,” Garton-Jones shrugged regretfully, then put a forced brave face on. “Still, never mind, hey? I’m sure you people will manage without us somehow.”
The way he allowed just a fraction of doubt to cloud his voice at the end there was a masterful touch. All the passion he’d shown when he cornered me and made his threats to Friday might have never existed.
Without haste, the two Streetwise men finished packing away their papers, leaving the Residents’ Committee stuttering.
“Look, obviously you need to think things over and let us know one way or the other,” Garton-Jones said smoothly to the spokesman, as though the whole thing was of no real importance to him. “Why don’t you make your minds up and let us know – say before the end of the week? We’ll stay until then, anyhow.” He smiled, friendly for all the world. “Least we can do.”
And with that, they strolled out, leaving turmoil behind them.
The Residents’ Committee man, who’d looked so sure of his ground when he objected to the price hike, now looked doubtful and bewildered. His eyes darted quickly about him, checking to see if he was going to be generally blamed for this sudden turnaround in fortunes.
Somebody else spoke up, asking for suggestions.
I waited a few seconds to see if anyone was going to be brave. When it became obvious they weren’t I took a deep breath, and waved my hand.
“I know that strictly speaking I’m not really entitled to stick my oar in,” I said. “I’m only on the estate temporarily, but from what I’ve seen your problems are being caused by a small, but active minority, yes?”
I looked around me, and received one or two cautious nods. Madeleine was watching me with a sudden stillness. Mind you, so was everybody else. Perhaps calling attention to myself like this wasn’t such a hot idea. Ah well, too late now.
“All I’m saying is,” I went on, “that there’s nothing to stop you taking the responsibility for your own security
