Echo

pieces at your age. I reckon I've got more fucking stuff-sorry-and I ain't been knocking around half as long as you.'

Deacon produced his cigarettes and handed one to the boy. 'Then don't get married. This is what two divorces can do to you.'

'Billy always said women were dangerous.'

'Was he married?'

'Probably. He never talked about it, though.' He pulled open the kitchen cupboard doors. 'Is there anything to drink in this place?'

'There's some beer in the fridge and some wine in a rack by the far wall.'

'Can I have a beer?''

Deacon took two cans from the fridge and tossed one across. 'There are glasses in the cupboard to your right.'

Terry preferred to drink from the can. He said it was more American.

'Do you know much about America?' Deacon asked him.

'Only what Billy told me.'

Deacon pulled out a kitchen chair and straddled it. 'What did Billy say about it?'

'He didn't rate it much. Reckoned it'd been corrupted by money. He liked Europe better. He were always talking about Commies-said they took after Jesus.'

The phone rang but as neither of them answered it, the tape went into action. 'Michael, it's Hugh,' said his brother-in-law's tipsy voice over the amplifier.'I'll be in the Red Lion in Deanery Street tomorrow at lunchtime. I'm not going to apologize now because it's only fair you break my nose first. I'll apologize afterwards. Hope that's okay.'

Terry frowned. 'What was that about?''

'Revenge,' said Deacon. 'I told you, it's a dish best eaten cold.'

*10*

Three miles away in Fleet Street, Barry Grover skulked in the shadows, waiting for Glen Hopkins's shift to finish. Only when the replacement, Reg Linden, had been in situ for fifteen minutes did he scuttle across the road and let himself in. Reg, who as night watchman had very little contact with Street employees, had long since ceased to question Barry's nocturnal visits to the offices, even looked forward to them for the company they offered. He took as much interest in Barry's researches as Barry did himself, and his view-untarnished by female gossip-was that the little man's problem was a tendency to insomnia. In that peculiarly uncomplicated way reserved to men who don't seek to know too much about each other, he and Barry were friends.

He smiled affably. 'Still trying to identify your dead wino?' he asked.

Barry nodded. Had Reg been a little more perceptive, he might have wondered at the little man's agitation, he might even have questioned why Barry's fly was undone, but fate had ruled him an unobservant man.

'This might help,' he said, producing a paperback from under the desk. 'You want chapter five-'Missing Persons.' No pictures, I'm afraid, but some useful information on James Streeter. Mrs. Linden came across it in a bookshop and thought you might like it. She's always been interested in your projects.' He waved Barry's thanks aside, and promised to bring him a cup of tea when he made one for himself.

Deacon emptied another bag of washing into the machine. 'You said there was stuff in the warehouse that belonged to Billy,' he reminded Terry. 'Was that a ploy to get me down there or was it true?'

'True, but you'll have to pay if you want to see it.'

'Where is it?'

Terry jerked his head towards the sitting room, where the suitcases stood in a corner. 'In there.'

'What's to stop me going through the cases myself?'

'One of these.' The lad clenched his right hand into a fist. 'I'll lay you flat, and if you hit me back, I'll have proof of assault.' He smiled engagingly. 'Sexual or the other kind, depending on my mood.'

'How much do you want?'

'My mate got five hundred off of his old geezer.'

'Bog off, Terry. Billy can go hang for all I care. I'm bored with him.'

'Like hell you are. He's bugging you, same as he bugs me. Four hundred.'

'Twenty.'

'One hundred.'

'Fifty, and it'd better be good-' Deacon clenched his own hand into a fist-'or you'll be on the receiving end of one of these. And to hell with the consequences frankly.''

'It's a deal. Give us the fifty.' Terry uncurled his palm. 'Cash only, or all bets are off.'

Deacon nodded towards the kitchen cabinets. 'Third cupboard along, biscuit tin on the second shelf, take five tens and leave the rest.' He watched the boy locate the tin, remove the wad of notes inside it, and peel off fifty pounds.

'Jesus, but you're a weird bastard, Mike,' he said resuming his seat. 'There must be another two hundred in