‘Yeah, but you can find out. That’s why I called you. I’m uncontactable at the moment, but I’ll call you back at ten a.m. tomorrow. If you can get me the gen by then, I’d appreciate it.’
‘This’d better be a good story, Dennis.’
‘It is. I promise you. And something else too.’
‘What?’
‘Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone I called. And don’t make any attempt to get hold of me either. I can’t explain why at the moment, but all will be revealed very shortly.’
‘Christ Almighty, you’re sounding like a fucking Robert Ludlum book. At least give me a sniff of what’s going on.’
‘Roy, if I could, I would. But I can’t. Not for a day or two anyway. Just be patient. It’ll be worth it.’
He started to ask another question, but I said my goodbyes and hung up.
After that, I made another phone call, but the person I was after wasn’t in. No matter. It could wait.
I stepped out of the phone box and hailed a passing black cab. I got him to drop me off halfway up Upper Street, paid him his money, and went to pick up my car, which was parked on an adjoining street a couple of hundred yards up from my flat. I knew they’d be looking out for me on the off chance that I was stupid enough to return home, but they’d only have a couple of people watching the place, and my car was parked far enough away to avoid getting spotted. I was relieved to see that it was exactly where I’d left it more than a week earlier, which for London isn’t too bad. It started first time, too. Maybe my luck was changing.
My first port of call was Camden Town. After hunting around for what seemed like a long time, I found a free meter on a residential street and then made my way over to Camden High Street to get my bearings before heading in the direction of Coleman House. I passed the pub where I’d first had a drink with Carla only a week earlier and, after hesitating for a moment, went inside. At this time in the afternoon it was still quite quiet, with only a sprinkling of students, old codgers, and the unemployable dotted about the place. That would all change in half an hour when the after-work crowd started to pour in.
I ordered a pint of Pride from the bar and asked the barman where the payphone was. He told me it was in the corridor leading to the toilets. There was no-one around when I walked in, so I dialled Coleman House reception.
‘Carla Graham, please,’ I asked in as official a voice as I could muster.
‘She’s not here at the moment,’ said the voice at the other end, a woman whose tones I didn’t recognize. ‘Can I ask who’s calling, please?’
‘Frank Black. Black’s Office Supplies. I’m actually returning her call. She was interested in some prices.’
‘Can I put you through to her assistant, Sara?’
‘Well, it’s actually Miss Graham I need to speak to. Do you know when she’s back?’
‘I’m afraid she won’t be in until tomorrow now. She’s at a seminar this afternoon.’
I said I’d phone back, and hung up. After that, I tried Len Runnion’s number again, but there was still no answer.
I went back into the bar, took a stool facing the wall near the door, and drank my drink. A mirror stretched right around the wall at head height, and my reflection stared back at me mournfully. I looked a mess, mainly because I hadn’t shaved that day, which was deliberate. I was growing a beard now, in keeping with my passport photo. I was also going to have to fatten up a bit. I’d been at least half a stone heavier in the photo, and to be on the safe side I wanted to add another half stone on top of that. I’d had a McDonald’s for lunch, which had been a good start, but I was going to have to have a similarly fatty supper for it to have any effect. From now on I was on a diet of greasy, bad food in large quantities until further notice. And I’d probably be one of the first people in the world to actually benefit from it.
I felt like I needed Dutch courage for what I was about to do, so I ordered another pint and drank that with a couple of cigarettes and a bag of cheese and onion crisps I didn’t want but felt sure I ought to have. By the time I’d finished it, the predicted after-work crowd had materialized and the bar was three deep with loud, suited individuals and young secretaries out for a good time. The clock above the bar told me it was twenty past five.
Outside, darkness had long since fallen and the streets were crowded with commuters and early Christmas shoppers. The day after tomorrow would be the first of December. The year had gone fast, as they always seem to do. This time, however, I’d be glad when it had been and gone. Memorable it might turn out to be, but for all the wrong reasons.
By the time I got back to the car it had started raining. I jumped in and fought my way through the crawling rush-hour traffic, hoping that I got to Carla’s flat before she did. My plan was to wait outside until she arrived, then apprehend her at the door. I’d try to get inside through charm alone – I didn’t want to cause a scene – but if she didn’t want to play ball, I’d pull the gun I’d taken ownership of the previous night. I didn’t think she’d argue with that. After that, I’d play it by ear.
But the traffic was a lot worse than I’d expected and I wasn’t totally sure of my bearings, so it was well gone six when I pulled into Carla’s cul-de-sac. I managed
