Samson was pleased to see Frost in the coffee shop, knowing that their meeting would come with four fifty-pound notes being slipped across the table.
‘Mr Frost, what do you want?’ Samson asked. He had ordered a café latte, the man opposite to pay. ‘I told you what I saw at Gilbert Lawrence’s house.’
‘You were looking for Ralph Lawrence, but he was in Spain.’
‘That’s right. You never paid me.’
‘How much?’
‘Another five hundred. In cash and now.’
Any other time, Samson would have been hanging upside down from a beam for his impertinence, but now the man who saw all, said nothing unless paid, was in control. Frost reached into his wallet and withdrew ten fifty-pound notes. He passed them across the table, the little man hurriedly putting them into a pocket.
‘You’re a little bastard,’ Frost said.
‘Little, I’ll agree with, but not a bastard. You’re in trouble, and the police are looking for you. The word is that Caxton’s pleaded guilty, put the blame on you. The police have your photo on a list of the most wanted. You’ll be lucky to stay free for more than a few hours.’
‘How much?’
‘Another ten of what you just gave me. A disguise, is that it?’
‘I need to get out of the country. Can you arrange it?’
‘A good passport costs money. I can’t help you there.’
‘Okay, a disguise. What do you have that you haven’t told me?’
‘I kept a watch on Gilbert Lawrence’s house. I saw people going in, people going out.’
‘Which people?’
‘The housekeeper, the postman, the old recluse.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Another five hundred.’
Frost was running short of cash, but he managed to give the man what he wanted.
On a piece of paper, Samson wrote down the name of one more person. ‘That’s who’ll get you a passport.’ He also handed over a timed and dated photo from his iPhone.
‘I could have bled this person for a fortune,’ Frost said.
‘You still can. I’ve no need of a fortune,’ Samson said. ‘Just a quiet life, enough for my needs, a couple of pints of an evening.’ And with that, he left. Fifteen minutes later he returned and placed a bag on the table. ‘That’ll cost you two hundred,’ before he disappeared once again, this time not to return. For the first time that day, Gary Frost smiled.
***
Jill Dundas sat in her office, the door was closed. At the reception, a man stood. ‘Tell Jill I’m here about an unpaid debt. Tell her it’s personal.’
The lady on reception made the phone call. Jill Dundas came out of her office. ‘Yes, what do you want?’ she asked as she looked across at a man with a mop of black hair.
‘Look at this,’ Gary Frost said, as he opened his wallet to reveal a time-stamped photo.’
‘Come into my office, please.’ The woman maintained her cool.
Inside the office, Frost removed his wig. It had itched, and it had made him look stupid. It had, however, allowed him to walk past two police cars. ‘My name’s Gary Frost. I’m about to be charged with murder, and you, Miss Dundas, are going to get me out of the country.’
‘Why, how?’
‘You saw the photo. It is you, isn’t it?’
‘But what does it mean?’
‘Let me tell you a little story,’ Frost said. ‘I had lent a lot of money to Ralph Lawrence. I did not know of his family connection. And why should I? But then Ralph’s a naughty boy, and he’s not answering his phone.’
‘Get to the point.’
‘I don’t know what to do. I need time to consider, and I get one of my men to watch out for him, but he keeps the information to himself, bleeds me for more money.’
‘Is there a point to this?’
‘My man finds the father’s house, realises it probably the one place that Ralph will come to. He sees the housekeeper, the postman, old man Lawrence. He’s a devious man that I employ. He’s like a ferret, here and there, scurrying around, taking me for money, taking it from whoever else. Maybe he took some from you, but it’s not important now. Anyway, my life’s taken a turn for the worse, and I met with the ferret. He tells me that he knows something, something that I’ve not paid for. He may be right, or maybe he’s been paid off. He gave me a photo, the one I just showed you. I’ve taken a copy, emailed it to the police, a twenty-four-hour delay before it’s sent. I could cancel it, but that’s up to you.’
‘I’ll deny it all, the best lawyers.’
‘If he’s as good as mine, you’ll be arrested for murder.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Not money. I want to get out of this country, a false passport.’
‘That can be arranged, but it takes time.’
‘How long?’
‘Eight hours.’
‘Where?’
‘To the north of London.’
‘You’ve done this before,’ Frost said. He had to admit he admired the woman: cool as a cucumber, a heart of pure ice.
‘I’ve not admitted to anything.’
‘Nor should you. Get me out of the country, a false identity, and your secret is safe with me.’
‘Can I trust you?’ Jill said.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think that you will honour the agreement. You will have your passport.’
Frost could see no reaction in the woman: no sweating, no nervous twitches, no sign of panic.
Outside, in the reception area, the noise of people entering. Frost stood up. ‘You’ve called the police.’
‘I haven’t. They must have followed you. Our agreement stands. Get yourself out on bail, and I’ll get you out of the country.’
‘It’s a deal.’
***
Gary Frost sat in the interview room at Greenwich Police Station. On his right-hand side, Edward Sharman. Across from them, Emily Matson and Larry Hill.
‘We received a
