‘We had no reason not to. You were a useful lead. Sorry.’
‘What did he say?’
‘We told him your address, he told us to leave it, job done. We went back instead. The rest you know.’
She frowned, eyeing them both. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Go back? Why did you go back to the flat?’
The two men exchanged glances, before Harry said, ‘Instinct. It didn’t feel right, leaving it after all the chasing around. We wanted to see it through.’ He gave a cheesy smile. ‘We’re conscientious like that.’
Her scepticism showed in the tilt of her head. ‘Right. You departed from procedure because you felt like it.’
‘We don’t follow any “procedure”. We work our own way. It’s called having a free will.’
She nodded, accepting the logic. ‘Whatever. I owe you both. Thank you.’
‘So what does all this tell us?’ Harry asked of nobody in particular.
‘Someone’s been watching us all along.’ Rik’s reply was unequivocal.
Harry agreed. He’d felt something on the way to South Acres; something strong enough to make him stop. And he’d been right. The biker at South Acres must have already been on his way in even as he was about to call Jennings. Yet the killer couldn’t possibly have known about the place unless he was watching Harry.
‘Makes you wonder who gave him the order to go in,’ Rik mused. ‘And what would have happened if you’d still been there.’
Nobody answered. There was no need.
‘Come on,’ said Harry. ‘Time to go out and face the lions and tigers and bears.’ He went to the hallway and checked his gun, aware of Rik’s surprised look, then led them out of the flat and down the stairs.
The lobby was deserted. They left through the rear on to a small car park where Rik had acquired parking rights. He unlocked the Audi and they climbed aboard.
‘Should I stay down?’ said Joanne, settling into the back. Her manner was calm and focussed, as if having some kind of plan and following orders had restored her equilibrium.
Harry shook his head. ‘No point. If they’ve tracked us here, they’ll know you’re with us. It might push them into revealing themselves.’
Rik drove hard through the traffic, staying on the move and repeatedly changing direction. It was uncomfortable knowing they might be intercepted at any moment, but Harry was counting on the volume of traffic in broad daylight being cover enough to get where they were going. Even so, he checked the mirrors constantly, watching for signs of unusual interest or a repeat sighting of the same car on their tail.
‘Biker,’ he muttered at one point. A dark green Kawasaki was edging up on the outside, the rider enveloped in anonymous black. Since the killer had used a bike at South Acres, it wasn’t unreasonable to expect the same means might be used here in heavy traffic. It was fast, manoeuvrable and difficult to identify, and would be virtually impossible to follow in the aftermath of a shooting.
A metallic click sounded from the rear seat and he glanced back at Joanne. She had eased her handgun from her pocket and slid it under her thigh. He said nothing. For her, the response was as instinctive as breathing; it was what she’d been trained for.
The bike pitched up hard on their tail, held position for a moment, then blew past in a growl of exhaust, slipping through a gap which barely seemed to exist and streaking ahead before swinging down a side street. By the time they drew level, it was out of sight, leaving a trace of blue smoke hanging in its wake.
Thirty minutes later, Rik drew in to the kerb a hundred yards along from Jennings’ office. There were a few pedestrians about and plenty of vehicle traffic as drivers used the quieter back streets to avoid the usual jams along the Marylebone Road.
Rik climbed out and wandered along the street to check the front door, then strolled back and got behind the wheel. ‘Nobody in yet,’ he reported.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Joanne asked.
Harry unfolded a newspaper. ‘We wait and watch,’ he said. ‘If he’s not already here, he’ll be along shortly. Then we’ll have a chat.’
Time passed, during which Harry concentrated on a crossword and Rik handed Joanne a folder of papers to hold on her knee. If anyone took an interest, they were three people waiting for an appointment. In an area flush with consultants, doctors and all manner of advisers behind silver and brass nameplates, it was a common enough sight and would go unnoticed.
‘When this is all over,’ Rik ventured after a lengthy silence, ‘we could have a drink.’ He turned his head to look at Joanne.
She returned the look steadily, while Harry concentrated on his crossword. As chat-up lines went, he decided, it was less than slick.
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ Joanne replied neutrally. ‘Thanks.’
Harry frowned and tapped the newspaper with his pen. ‘Twenty down,’ he read carefully. ‘“Calm conversationalist”. What’s that? Ah — I know:
Rik scowled and said nothing, ignoring the sudden shaking of Harry’s shoulders.
‘Heads up.’ Harry put the paper to one side.
It was fifteen minutes into their watch and a taxi was pulling in to the kerb outside Jennings’ office. Two men got out. They crossed the pavement, the one leading the way tall and broad-shouldered, with heavy brows over a craggy face. He was dressed in a smart suit and dark coat and was lighting a cigarette. He pressed the buzzer on the entry-phone to the side of Jennings’ front door. There appeared to be no answer, so he banged on the door, disposing of the cigarette with an irritable flick of his wrist.
The second man was younger, stocky and wore a plain suit with no coat. He hung back slightly, surveying the street with a casual, almost uninterested glance before turning to scan the front of the building.
Harry recognized the second man’s function. He was a minder, checking out the scenery. ‘Jennings has got an official visitor.’
‘Did he see us?’ Joanne’s view of the men had been obscured by a lamp post.
‘I don’t think so. We’ll soon find out.’
There was a gasp from the back seat. The two men looked round. Joanne had moved to get a better view of the men, and was now staring through the windscreen, her body rigid and all colour draining from her cheeks.
‘What’s up?’ said Harry.
‘That man,’ she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. ‘The one in the dark coat. I’ve seen him before.’
They both turned back to study the man. ‘Where?’
‘In Baghdad.’
THIRTY-TWO
Harry leaned forward. The man was now in profile. He looked bullish and determined. His colleague had his eyes on an approaching car cruising for a parking space. ‘Are you sure?’
Joanne pulled her rucksack across the seat and took out the framed photograph she had been so keen to hang on to. Turning it over on her knee, she took out a small knife and slid the blade through the backing sheet. Ripping away a section of the dark paper, she revealed a small square of black plastic taped to the inside. It had one corner cut off and a golden oblong in the centre.
‘It’s a memory card from a camera.’ Harry looked at Joanne for confirmation, remembering what she had told them about taking photos in Baghdad. ‘Is this from where I think it’s from?’
‘Yes. Can you get me to a chemist? One with a digital photo printer? Then I’ll show you.’
‘What about those two?’ Rik queried, gesturing towards Jennings’ office. ‘And Jennings?’
Harry thought about it. ‘They can keep. I think Jennings has skipped, anyway. Let’s check this out first.’
Ten minutes later, the three of them were in a pharmacy just off Great Portland Street, huddled round the monitor of a customer-operated digital photo-lab. Joanne slid the memory card into a slot, then tapped the screen when the pop-up menu appeared. She waited until rows of photo thumbprints appeared, then selected one by
