'The name's Andrew Ja.Jansen. I'm with the police.' He told himself to get a grip. Giving his real name would have been seriously dumb.
Doris Carlton-Jones had put up an umbrella. She beckoned him under it. 'You're with the police?'
He nodded. 'Undercover major crime unit. We've been carrying out surveillance on a gang of diamond thieves.'
She stared at him. 'But what. Why was he here?'
Andy looked at her. 'I was hoping you could tell me that. First of all, you say the rider was a 'he.' Are you sure of that?'
'I need to go inside,' the elderly woman said, moving to the front door. 'No,' she said as they got there. 'No, I'm not sure about that. He, I mean the rider, raised the visor, but all I saw was the eyes. Now I'm thinking about it, I couldn't say if it was a man or a woman.' She stared at him. 'You say you've been following the motorbike. Don't you know who was on it?'
Andy realized that he had to be careful-Mrs. Carlton- Jones was obviously not senile. 'I'm afraid not,' he said, in his best South London accent. 'I saw the rider make a pickup from another suspect, helmet on the whole time.'
Doris Carlton-Jones put her key in the lock. She opened the door and then stopped. 'I'm sorry, I can't let you in,' she said, then moved swiftly forward and closed the door after her. There was a rattle as the chain came on.
Andy swore under his breath. 'Please, madam, I need to ask you some questions.'
'And I need to see your warrant card,' came the surprisingly level voice behind the door.
'I'm working undercover,' he said. 'We don't carry identification, for obvious reasons.' He'd taken out his cell phone and was texting Matt at speed-the other guys laughed at how quickly he could work the keys, saying he was a teenager in disguise. After he'd sent the message, he put the phone back in his pocket. 'If you like, I can give you the number of the officer in charge of the investigation.'
The door opened a few inches, the chain visible.
'Very well,' the elderly woman said, her tone businesslike.
Andy gave her Matt's cell phone number, hoping he'd had time to read the message. The woman left the door open on the chain and went to the telephone in the hall.
'Oh, hello,' Andy heard her say. 'My name's Doris Carlton-Jones. One of your officers has just been shot at outside my house.' She paused and listened. 'Yes, his name is Andrew Jansen. Oh, he is.' She looked at Andy, her gaze still unwavering. 'I see. Very well, hold on.' She brought the cordless phone over to the door and passed it through the gap. 'He wants to talk to you.'
Andy took the phone. 'Yes, guv,' he said. He'd seen enough British cop shows to have picked up the jargon.
'Jesus Christ, Slash!' Matt said. 'What the fuck are you up to?'
'I know, guv,' Andy replied, his eyes on Doris Carlton- Jones. She was watching intently. 'I tailed the motorbike from Beckenham. The rider seemed to be following the lady's car. When I approached, four shots were fired from a silenced pistol. I'm afraid I couldn't pursue. I wanted to make sure the lady was unharmed.'
'Was it Sara?' Matt asked breathlessly.
'Unclear, guv. The witness isn't sure about gender, let alone identity. Em, please advise course of action.'
'Shit, I don't know. I can't come down there. She knows what I look like. I doorstepped her when I was researching The Death List, not that she would speak to me. Is the van mobile?'
'Yes, guv.'
'All right, get out of there. Tell her that because it's an undercover operation, we won't be making it a scene of crime. Did anyone else hear the shots?'
'Doubt it. No one's come out.'
'You are a tosser, calling me DCI Oates.'
'Right, guv. See you later.' Andy handed the phone back.
'Thank you, Sergeant,' Doris Carlton-Jones said. Then she closed the door, took off the chain and opened up again. 'Why don't you come inside now?You're getting soaked.'
Andy looked back at the van. Its rear was sticking out into the road, but not too excessively. He decided it was worth cultivating Sara's birth mother.
'Thank you, madam, just for a minute.'
'I'll make some tea,' the woman said. 'Go into the sitting room.'
Andy did as he was told. The house was spotlessly clean. The long sitting room was filled with what seemed to him to be good-quality antique furniture, and the sofas had tasteful burgundy covers. He looked around for family photographs, wondering if there might be any sign of Sara and her brother as babies. But there was only a series of shots of Mrs. Carlton-Jones with a man who had less and less hair as he got older.
'Your husband?' he asked as she bustled in with a tray.
'Yes, that's Neville. He passed on four years ago.'
'I'm sorry.'
Mrs. Carlton-Jones seemed momentarily to have lost the tight grip she kept on herself. 'It was cancer,' she said, shaking her head. 'He only lasted three months after the diagnosis.'
Andy sensed that nothing he could say would comfort her.
'Anyway, how do you take your tea?' the elderly woman said, twitching her head.
'Em, two sugars, please.' Andy never drank tea, but he didn't want to spoil the mood. Who had ever heard of an English policeman who didn't like tea?
After they were both settled with cups and saucers, Mrs. Carlton-Jones turned to him. 'So, Sergeant Jansen, what happens now?'
'Well,' he said, gathering his thoughts, 'because this is an undercover investigation, there won't be the usual fuss with the street being closed off and everyone in the vicinity being questioned.' Doris Carlton-Jones raised an eyebrow. 'Won't you even be taking a statement from me?' 'Later,' Andy said. 'When the investigation has run its course. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?' She shook her head. 'No. The first thing I was aware of was your van careering toward us, after I asked the rider what he wanted.' 'And he-or she-didn't speak to you at all?' 'No. At least not that I could hear above the sound of your engine.' 'I thought you were in danger. What was it that the rider was holding out?' 'I don't know. A small package. I think it was wrapped, like a birthday present.' Andy scratched his head. 'And is it your birthday?' 'No, it isn't.' She looked at him calmly, waiting for the next question. The American took a surreptitious deep breath. 'What about children?' he asked. Mrs. Carlton-Jones's eyes opened wide. 'Children? What do they have to do with what happened outside?' Good question, Andy thought. 'No, I mean, is there anyone you'd like to come over? Do you have children?' 'Oh, I see.' She looked him straight in the eye. 'No, I don't.' Andy held her gaze. Now he knew she was a liar. The man in the mask and cowl walked away from the smoking altar. He heard the footsteps of the naked supplicant behind, as well as the cackling of Beelzebub.
'Where is Faustus tonight?' the supplicant asked.
'Busy,' Mephistopheles said, his tone brooking no further questions.
He slid open the door to the outer chamber. 'Your offerings are always welcome, Asmodeus. But this one was somewhat lightweight.'
The supplicant started to dress, and then looked around at the leader of the order. 'I am sowing the seeds of destruction, my lord. Soon, great riches will fall into my hands.'
'Into our hands,' Mephistopheles corrected. 'We are all depending on you.' He took off his mask. 'I am depending on you.'
Asmodeus took in the flawed face. 'I will not let you down.'
'Good,' the leader said, shrugging off his cowl and robes. 'I wouldn't like to think that you were only killing for pleasure.'
The supplicant remained silent.
'All that we do is toward the greater glory of our master Satan,' Mephistopheles said. 'Do not forget that.' He took the head of a cockerel from his pocket and tossed it to the mandrill.
The two humans watched as the creature's jaws crunched together, then they smiled. Fourteen Andy' s
