Chameleon's Shadow

the day after the poor old sod was mugged and I haven’t heard a dicky bird out of you since.’ He nodded towards the man he’d been speaking to. ‘Old Pat did the same. He says he’s called twice and both times he’s been told the information’s been noted . . . then nothing happens.’

Jones frowned. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘The wife said you’re probably getting loads of calls. She reckoned I should go in person to the station.’ He placed the second glass on the mat and smiled at them. ‘I was planning to do it tomorrow, then you two show up. How’s that for timing?’ He took Jones’s note. ‘Four forty-eight, mate. Anything else?’

‘No thanks.’ He waited until the man returned with his change. ‘What’s so important that you’d come to the station in person?’

‘I don’t know if it’s important or not,’ Hardy confided, putting the coins into Jones’s hand, ‘but it’s a bloody odd coincidence.’ He folded his forearms on the counter. ‘A guy called Harry Peel was a regular here until he was beaten to death close on twelve months back. It was before my time – the wife and me took over as managers at the beginning of the year – but Walter talked about it once or twice . . . said you’ve never found the guy who did it.’

‘We haven’t.’

‘Well, after Walter got beaten up last Friday, Pat’s started worrying that he’s next on the list.’

‘What list?’

‘Whoever had it in for Harry and Walter. The three of them were good friends.’

Jones looked towards the elderly man at the other end of the bar. ‘Is that Pat?’

‘Yeah. Will you talk to him?’

‘Sure.’ He turned to Beale when Hardy was out of earshot.

‘Do you want to check the Gents? It’s probably a waste of time but there might be some cards in there.’

‘Now?’

‘Might as well. It’ll be a good five minutes before the old boy gets into his stride. He looks in worse shape than Walter.’

*

It wouldn’t have surprised Jackson to find Acland gone again when she returned to the car. He hadn’t been willing to explain what he meant by Jen showing more sense and showed no inclination at all to open up about the relationship. It was more of a surprise that he was there and that he reintroduced the subject of Jen of his own accord. ‘We never went anywhere in Bermondsey,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’m getting to know the area better with you than I ever did with Jen.’ ‘Was there a reason for that?’ ‘I booked a table at a restaurant in the high street shortly after we met – I was trying to persuade her that a soldier’s life’s fairly normal at weekends when he’s not on manoeuvres or fighting a war – but she made me cancel when I told her where we were going. She said she had enough trouble with blokes in the street trying to chat her up, without adding waiters to the queue. I was naive enough to believe her in those days.’ ‘And what do you believe now?’ ‘That she was afraid we’d run into a dealer or a client. She wouldn’t come out with me unless it was in my car or in a taxi. We never used the tube, never used buses, never walked anywhere from her flat together –’ he shook his head – ‘and it took me a long time to question how peculiar that was.’ ‘I’m not surprised if you were only there at weekends,’ Jackson pointed out. ‘It would have been obvious much sooner if you’d lived with her permanently. What was the plan for when you were married? Did you ever talk about that?’

‘She kept sizing up properties in Chelsea on the basis that my mother did a grande dame act the only time she met her. Jen thought it meant my parents were loaded and would give us a hand with the finances. I tried to tell her she’d got the wrong end of the stick, but she wouldn’t believe me.’

‘Does she have family of her own?’

He crunched his knuckles. ‘I don’t know. She said she was an only child and her folks had died, but I don’t think it’s true.’

‘Why not?’

‘She forgot which background she’d invented for them. Her father started out as a bank manager and ended up as a hot-shot lawyer.’

‘She was trying to impress you.’

‘Then she should have been honest,’ he said shortly. ‘It wouldn’t have worried me what her parents do.’

Jackson believed him. He certainly wasn’t the snob that his mother appeared to be. ‘So where were you going to live?’ she asked, returning to her previous question. ‘It doesn’t sound as if Jen wanted to stay in Bermondsey.’

‘She didn’t. She wanted a ticket out and I was the sucker who was supposed to provide it. That’s the only reason she latched on to me.’

His tone had an edge to it that sounded like pain and Jackson wondered how to respond. What kind of reassurance did he want? That he hadn’t been suckered as easily as he thought?

‘It wouldn’t have been so black and white,’ she said slowly. ‘You said you liked the person she was at the beginning, so her feelings for you must have been genuine. She may even have tried to kick her habit for you.’ She gave him time to answer, and went on when he didn’t. ‘She’s a user, Charles. Most of them are deeply sincere about their desire to give up – they don’t like how it impacts on the people they love – but only a tiny percentage succeed without professional help.’

He pressed the back of his thumb against his eyepatch. ‘Then go and do the business yourself. You know where she lives. You might even prefer her to Daisy. She’ll be all over you as long as the first rush hasn’t worn off.’

Jackson allowed a pulse of silence to pass. ‘I didn’t deserve that . . . and, just for the record, I don’t fancy addicts – they’re too damn twitchy for my liking. But,’ she continued over his muttered apology, ‘even if I did, I wouldn’t turn myself into a martyr over one of them. So Jen initiated sex during cocaine rushes. What’s the big deal?’