‘The whole gizmo’s my baby,’ said Singh.
Shepherd closed the case and clicked the locks shut. ‘Nice piece of kit,’ he said.
Singh beamed.
‘Anything on her?’ Shepherd asked Hargrove.
‘Not enough,’ said Hargrove. ‘We contacted the health club first thing this morning but the admin staff are away until Monday. I decided against calling the centre manager at home because there’s an outside chance that he might be a friend and I didn’t want to start raising red flags. We did a check on the electoral register for Angie and Angela, but without a surname or address it threw up hundreds of possibilities within twenty miles of the fitness centre.’
‘So I go in blind? I hate that.’ Usually when Shepherd went undercover he was fully briefed on his target. He had time to memorise photographs and background details and knew exactly who he was dealing with. But this time all he had was a name. Angie. And a brief description that Hendrickson had given him. Blonde, pretty, late twenties. A bit tarty, a bit flash. ‘No bra when she exercises, you know the sort,’ Hendrickson had said. Shepherd didn’t. He looked at his watch. ‘I said I’d be there at five and wait ten minutes.’
‘Did she sound serious?’ asked Hargrove. ‘I’d hate to think we’re on a wild goose chase.’
‘She sounded worried,’ said Shepherd. ‘Easily spooked.’
‘All we need is the offer,’ said Hargrove. ‘We can’t give it the full monty, like we did with Hendrickson. Sewell’s been on ice long enough. Just get the offer and tell her you need the money by Monday. The offer and the down-payment are all we’ll need. I’ll get her to roll over.’
Shepherd let himself out of the rear door. Singh reached over and pulled it shut.
Shepherd ran down the stairs to the ground floor and pushed open the double doors that led out of the building and on to a side-street. It was a warm afternoon but he’d told her he’d be wearing his leather jacket so he couldn’t take it off. The attache case was in his right hand, the
The narrow street opened into Piccadilly Gardens. The flowerbeds were full of yellow and purple blooms. There was a hi-tech fountain to the left, small jets of water that leaped and curved through the air, then splashed into metal-lined holes in the ground. Half a dozen small children rushed around, trying to avoid the water but shrieking with pleasure each time they got drenched.
Shepherd walked round the edge of the square towards the fountain. He looked at his watch. Five o’clock exactly. There was an empty wooden bench a dozen paces from the fountain and he sat down, swung the case on to his knees, and placed the newspaper on top. There was no point in scanning the crowds so he read through the paper’s headlines. Not that he cared a jot for the fate of the nation’s businesses. He had no shares, and only a few thousand pounds in his one and only bank account. When he had been in the SAS his salary had been the same as a regular paratrooper drew, and a police officer’s wasn’t much better. No one joined the military or the police to get rich.
‘Tony? Tony Nelson?’
Shepherd looked up and squinted in the bright sunlight. He shaded his eyes with the flat of his hand. Slim. Blonde. Pretty. Cute upturned nose. Pale blue eyes. Naturally blonde hair, loose around her face. Lips that curved easily into a smile. ‘Angie?’
The smile widened, but Shepherd could see nervousness in her eyes and the furrowing of her brow. ‘Shall we walk and talk?’ she suggested.
‘I’m okay here,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m a bit restless, truth be told,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I can sit still at the moment.’ She was wearing a loose-cut white linen jacket and Versace denim jeans, with high-heeled open-toe shoes and a Louis Vuitton shoulder-bag. There was a gold Rolex on her left wrist.
‘Okay.’ Shepherd opened the case, put the newspaper inside, and clicked the locks shut. He flicked the combinations to nine-nine-nine, then transferred the case to his left hand as he stood up. ‘We could go for a coffee, or something stronger.’ He wanted her inside, away from the noise of the traffic.
‘I’m driving,’ she said, ‘and caffeine’s the last thing I want.’ She held out her left hand, palm downwards. It was trembling. Shepherd noted the large diamond engagement ring and the thick gold band on her wedding finger. ‘See?’
‘Nervous?’
‘Shouldn’t I be?’ she said. She glanced around, as if she feared that someone might be watching them. ‘Come on, let’s walk.’
They moved away from the fountain. Shepherd kept the attache case between them, but there was a lot of noise: children squealing, engines rumbling, couples arguing, two black teenagers break-dancing next to a boom box. Shepherd doubted that the hidden microphones would pick up much more than background sounds.
‘You’re not from Manchester, are you?’ she asked.
‘I move around a lot,’ said Shepherd. ‘It doesn’t pay to stay too long in one place, doing what I do.’
‘How much do you charge?’ she whispered.
‘Didn’t Hendrickson tell you?’
‘He just said you weren’t cheap. And you did what you were paid for.’
‘I’m not cheap,’ said Shepherd, ‘but for what you want, you don’t want cheap. You want it done right, without repercussions.’
‘He said you were professional.’
‘I am. Thirty thousand pounds. Half when you decide you want to go ahead. Half on completion.’
She took a packet of Marlboro menthol out of her bag, put one between her lips and lit it with a gold Dunhill lighter, then offered one to Shepherd. He shook his head.
‘How do I know you won’t just take the fifteen thousand and disappear?’ she asked.
‘Because I’m a professional.’
‘So I have to trust you?’
Shepherd stopped. ‘I didn’t come here to be insulted,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who you are or where you’re from. I’m the one taking things on trust here. For all I know you could be a cop.’
‘Do I look like the filth?’ She flicked ash on the ground.
‘Cops come in all shapes and sizes,’ said Shepherd. ‘Just because you’ve got a double-D cleavage and fuck- me high heels doesn’t mean you haven’t walked a beat.’
‘They’re Cs,’ she said, ‘and they’re real.’
‘I didn’t doubt it for a second,’ said Shepherd. ‘And so am I. Do you have thirty thousand pounds?’
She smiled sarcastically. ‘Not on me, no, but I can get it.’ She started walking again. Shepherd caught her up.
‘When?’
‘When do you want it?’
‘The sooner you pay me, the sooner I can do the job.’
‘Just like that?’
‘You give me the down-payment. We fix up a time and a place. You establish an alibi. I do the job. You pay me the rest of the money. We go our separate ways.’
‘No guilt? No recriminations?’
‘For me? Or for you?’
Angie smiled tightly. ‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ she said. ‘I won’t lose a minute’s sleep, believe me.’
‘Hendrickson said he beats you.’
She blew smoke at the sky. ‘And the rest.’
‘Why don’t you just go to the cops?’ said Shepherd. ‘They don’t look kindly on wife-beaters. When he’s locked away, you can get a divorce.’
‘You don’t know my husband,’ she said.
‘I’m going to have to, though. To get the job done I’ll need to know everything about him.’
She blew more smoke at the sky, then stopped and looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘This is where the whole trust thing comes into play,’ she said. ‘Suppose I tell you, and suppose you decide you’ll make more money by talking to him?’
‘I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I have if I’d gone around double-crossing clients,’ said Shepherd. ‘Word
