Vernon watched her leave.
He slumped back in his seat as she closed the door, his eyes falling to the report which lay before him. Long moments passed then he picked it up and dropped it into the black attache case which stood beside his desk.
Before replacing it, he locked the case.
Kelly nodded politely to Dr Vernon’s secretary as she walked out but she barely succeeded in masking her anger.
What the hell was Vernon playing at? she wondered. Since she’d returned he’d been like some kind of Grand Inquisitor, wanting to know every last detail of what happened in France. And why should he want to keep the report she’d made?
He’d already perused it half a dozen times while she’d sat before him. That, apparently, was not sufficient for him.
She walked briskly down the corridor towards the stairs, her heels clicking loudly on the polished tile floor. Down one flight of steps to the first floor then along another corridor she walked until she came to Frank Anderson’s office. Kelly tapped lightly on the door then walked in.
The room was empty.
She cursed silently and turned to leave but, before she did, she crossed to his desk and found a piece of paper and a pen. Kelly scrawled a quick note and left it where Anderson would see it.
A thought crossed her mind.
If Anderson could find it easily then so too could Vernon. The Institute Director had a habit of wandering, uninvited, into his investigators’ offices and this was one note which she did not want him to read. She stood still for a moment,
wondering what she should do.
‘Need any help?’
The voice startled her but she spun round to see Anderson in the doorway. A smile of relief creased her lips.
‘Frank. I was looking for you,’ she said, balling up the note and stuffing it into the pocket of her shirt.
‘I gathered that,’ he said, pulling at one frayed shirt cuff. ‘What can I do for you, Kelly?’
‘You were a friend of John Fraser’s weren’t you?’ she said, lowering her voice.
Anderson looked puzzled.
‘Yes.’
“I need to speak to him.’
‘I haven’t seen him since he left here. He hasn’t been in touch.’
Kelly frowned.
‘But you know where he lives?’ she asked.
Anderson nodded.
‘And where he spends most of his time,’ he said, smiling. ‘The first is his home address, the second one is the pub he uses most often.’
Kelly turned to leave, scanning the piece of paper.
is something wrong?’ Anderson called after her.
‘That’s what I want to find out,’ Kelly told him and left him alone.
Anderson heard her footsteps echoing away and frowned. What did she want with John Fraser?
The hands of the dashboard clock glowed green in the gloom.
9.36 p.m.
Kelly parked the Mini in the gravelled area beside the pub and sat behind the wheel for a moment. High above her, rain clouds spat erratic droplets on to the land. It was warm inside
the car — muggy and uncomfortable. Kelly felt her tee-shirt sticking to her back as she leant forward and she squirmed. It felt as if someone had wrapped
her upper body in a damp towel. She clambered out of the car, relieved to find that there was a slight breeze. Rain spots momentarily stained her jeans as she walked towards the building, ignoring the dirty water from puddles which splashed her ankle boots.
‘The Huntsman’ was a large pub about a mile outside Oxford. It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t quaint but it was functional. There was a cheap and, consequently, popular restaurant attached to it which did not, on this particular night, appear to be too busy, hence her ease of parking. Normally the area was jammed with vehicles. Not so tonight. Kelly tried to see Fraser’s car but, in the darkness, identification was almost impossible. She decided to try the lounge bar first. It was crowded with people. In groups; in couples, on their own. One corner was occupied by seven or eight men who were playing cards around a large oblong table. Kelly scanned their faces, accidentally catching the eye of a ginger-haired youth in his late teens. He winked at her then directed his companion’s attention to this slim newcomer. A chorus of subdued whistling and cheering rose from the men. Kelly turned away from them, searching the bustling bar for Fraser.
There was no sign of him. She decided to try the Public bar.
If the noise inside the Lounge bar had been loud then in the Public bar it bordered on seismic proportions. A jukebox which was obviously set at full volume spewed forth an endless stream of the latest chart hits as if trying to drown out the clack of pool balls or the thud of darts as they hit the board.
To add to the unholy cacophony, in one corner of the large room an electronic motor-racing game occasionally punctuated the din with the simulated explosion of a crashed car. Whilst, beside it, the ever hungry Pac-Man noisily devoured everything before it.
Kelly scanned the bar but could not see Fraser. She decided to sit and wait for him. There was a table near the door but it was occupied by a young couple who looked as though they were about to breach the Indecent Exposure act.
The youth had his hand buried beneath his girlfriend’s miniscule skirt while she was rubbing his crotch with a speed which looked likely to cause friction burns.
The bar seemed to be populated almost exclusively by youngsters, most of whom were teenagers. She drew several admiring glances as she perched on a bar stool. When she’d finally managed to attract the barman’s attention, she ordered a shandy and fumbled in her purse for some money. As he set her drink down she deliberately took her time counting out the change.
‘Do you know John Fraser?’ she asked him.
The barman nodded, wiping perspiration from his face.
‘Yeah, why?’
‘Has he been in here tonight?’
‘Not yet, but he will.’ The barman smiled.
‘You sound very sure,’ Kelly said.
‘He hasn’t missed a night since I’ve worked here and that’s two years.’ A call from the other end of the bar took the man away.
Kelly sipped at her drink and turned slightly on the stool so that she could see the door through which Fraser must enter.
‘Hello, stranger.’
She spun round again to see that the voice came from a tall, black-haired youth who was leaning on the bar beside her. He was dressed in a grey sweater and maroon slacks. His companion, like himself, was in his early twenties, his hair cut short and shaped so that it appeared as if his head was flat. Spots and blackheads dotted his face liberally. He smiled, his gaze drawn to Kelly’s breasts.
‘Do I know you?’ she said, trying to suppress a grin.
‘No,’ said the black-haired youth. ‘But we can soon put that right, can’t we?’
He introduced himself as Neville. His friend as Baz.
Kelly nodded politely, forced to sip at her drink again to prevent herself laughing. This was the last thing she needed.
‘I haven’t seen you in here before,’ said Neville. ‘I would have remembered if
I had.’
Kelly smiled, aware that Baz was still gazing at her breasts as if he’d never seen a woman at close-quarters before. She had little trouble convincing herself that might well be the case.
