“Right, and hurry.”
The driver pulled away and turned up
“British Airways, first-class entrance.”
“Righto.”
Stone sat back and stared out the window, frequently glancing at his watch. Traffic wasn’t bad, and after the Chiswick Roundabout, it became even better.
“Excuse me, sir,” the driver said, “I don’t want you to think I’ve come over all paranoid, but I’m quite sure there’s a car following us.”
Stone spun around and looked at the traffic behind them. “Which one?”
“It’s a black Ford, the big one; at least two men in it, about four cars back.”
“Are they staying back, or are they trying to overtake us?” Stone asked.
“They were closer before; now they’re just lying back there, keeping us in sight.” What now? he thought. Have the two big “Greeks” been replaced in the lineup?
“Is there any way you can shake them?”
“Not on this road; they’re faster than I am. I could get off the motorway and try and lose them in Hammersmith.”
He had no time for that. “Never mind, just get me to Heathrow as fast as you can.”
“Righto.”
The driver stayed in the center of three lanes, driving fast; the black Ford held its position, and when the cab left the motorway at the Heathrow turnoff, Stone saw the Ford’s turn signal go on.
The driver followed the signs to the British Airways terminal, still driving fast. Stone reached into a pocket for money, and discovered he had none. He had nothing in his pockets.
The cab screeched to a halt. “Wait for me here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t know if . . .”
But Stone was gone at a run. He did not see the black Ford stop fifty yards back and two men get out. He dashed into the terminal and ran for the first-class ticket counter. There were three people in line; he ignored them and went to the desk. “Excuse me, this is an emergency; can you tell me if Mrs. Arrington Calder has checked in yet?”
“Yes,” the young woman said. “I checked her in no more than five minutes ago; she was headed for the security checkpoint when I last saw her.”
“Thank you,” Stone said, and hurried off, following signs to the checkpoint. The area was a zoo, with dozens of passengers lining up for the security check and X-ray machines. Stone jumped up and down, trying to see over their heads, and he saw Arrington pick up her hand luggage on the other side and start toward the gates. He didn’t want to start shouting at her, and there was no way to break into the line, so he went to an exit, where a uniformed policeman was on guard.
“Excuse me,” he said to the bobby, “I’m trying to catch up with a friend who has just gone through security; may I get in this way?”
“Do you have any luggage, sir?”
“No.”
“May I see your ticket?”
“I don’t have a ticket; I’m not flying today, she is.”
“May I see your passport?”
The police had his passport. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring it.”
“Some other identification?”
Stone dove into a pocket, then remembered it was empty. “Oh, God, I didn’t bring my wallet.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“This really is a sort of personal emergency.”
“I’m very sorry, sir, but I can’t let you through without a ticket or any identification.”
Then Stone heard a voice behind him. “It’s all right, mate, we’ll deal with this.”
Two men seized his arms and marched him back through the terminal. Stone looked at them and recognized the two detectives who had accompanied Evelyn Throckmorton the night before.
“Trying to catch a flight, were we, Mr. Barrington?” one of them said.
“No, I was trying to catch up with a friend who’s leaving on a noon flight.”
“Well, he’ll have plenty of time to make it,” the cop said.
“Do you think it might be possible for me to go after her? Can you vouch for me with the officer at the security gate? It’s very important that I speak to her.”
“I believe Detective Inspector Throckmorton told you last night that you were not to leave the country,” the cop said.
“But I wasn’t trying to leave.”
“You wouldn’t have made it without your passport, anyway.”
“Honestly, I was just trying to catch up with my friend.”
They were out the door, where Stone’s taxi was still waiting for him.
“That cab is waiting for me to go back to the Connaught,” he said.
“Never mind, we’ll give you a lift,” the cop replied.
“But I have to pay him.”
The cop stopped. “All right, pay him.”
“I don’t have any money with me; it’s back in my room at the Connaught.”
The cop sighed wearily. “I suppose you expect me to pay him.”
“Look, I’m not trying to leave the country; you can follow me back to the hotel.”
“Just a moment.” The cop produced a cellphone and stepped a few paces away. A moment later, he returned. “All right, Mr. Barrington, the detective inspector says you can return to the Connaught.”
“Thank you.”
“But don’t give us any more chases, all right?”
“Thank you again.” Stone got into the cab.
“Catch her, sir?”
“Not quite,” Stone replied. “Take me back to the Connaught.”
The black Ford followed them all the way back.
Chapter 40
STONE GOT BACK TO THE CONNAUGHT, went upstairs, got money, and paid the driver, tipping him extravagantly. As he passed the concierge’s desk, he heard his name called.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Barrington,” the concierge said, “but this message arrived for you last evening, and it was somehow misplaced.” He handed Stone a yellow envelope.
Stone opened it and extracted the message.
“I’m afraid that’s just how it came, sir; there was no name. We thought you’d know who it was from.”
“Man or woman?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I wasn’t on duty last evening, so I don’t know.”
Stone stuffed it into his pocket and went upstairs. He didn’t care who the fuck it was from, he was too pissed off. He let himself into the suite, hung up his jacket, and picked up the London papers. He went quickly through the
