Line of Sight Read online

  Thomas took the family-sized hint. “More tea?” He clattered the mugs together and stood up. “I wish there was something I could do, Karl.”

  “There isn’t. She can’t be moved and I’m running out of time. I’m looking into other options though.” The way he said it, it didn’t sound promising. Karl cricked his shoulder as if shrugging off the weight of his thoughts. “Listen, Tommo, I’d better be going. Don’t bother with the tea — I must have talked your ears off.”

  “We should do this again sometime — make it a Chinese next time?”

  “Aye, right enough. Now, I’m away to business. Jess’s flat won’t burgle itself you know! See you here tomorrow, eight o’clock — and thanks.”

  * * *

  The flat still reverberated with Karl’s revelations as Thomas stared at the empty chair. He felt lucky, so lucky, when he thought back to his own collection of crossroads. Those points in time where his life might have derailed. If the kid who’d picked on Ajit at school — the one Thomas had accidentally put in hospital — had recognised him. Or if he’d never had that drunken row with his father and upped sticks to Leeds, never met Miranda there and smacked that sleazy photographer. And if all those dramas hadn’t played out — his and Karl’s — they’d never have met and he’d surely have been the worse for it.

  He made tea for one and fired up his personal laptop, seeking out the anonymising server. He typed in the required URL, retrieved the serial number for the second phone bug from a locked drawer and input the password: SHERL0CK. A list of the major’s calls on phone number two cascaded on-screen, augmented with times, durations, destinations and a sound file for each call. There was only one file for an incoming call and he went to it first.

  ‘Cecil, I’ve been ringing your mobile, why won’t you answer? We need to talk; I have to see you again.’

  ‘You know what I want from you.’

  ‘Let’s not fight, not when there’s so much to discuss.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing more to say to you until I receive those letters.’

  Thomas replayed the recording and his ears tingled. Letters sounded a bit more interesting — and specific — than papers. He parked the other calls and began a web-search for two businessmen in Belfast, with the forenames Martin and Francis-Andrew.

  * * *

  An hour later, he had a scrappy page of notes for his efforts and he was all done in. Tiredness, though, brought its own inspiration; maybe he’d see just how much support Ann Crossley was willing to give him. He put it to the test, left a message on her work number and climbed into bed. The sheets caressed him with remembrances of Miranda. Every time he shifted the covers, her scent and that indefinable sense of her body engulfed him. He drew it in greedily and reached for the phone.

  “Mr Bladen, what a nice surprise.” She sounded playful. This could have been the perfect occasion for phone sex, if he’d had the energy.

  “I was hoping you’d have called earlier, but I gather Karl turned me into an exclusion zone.”

  “Only temporarily. As of now, our borders are wide open.” She laughed huskily.

  “Can you ask your mum and dad if I can pop over this week?” More laughter: the scathing kind.

  “Since when did you need an invitation?”

  “This is about business.”

  “Oh. And does this business concern me?”

  There was an argument on the horizon, moving full steam into view. He suppressed a yawn, in case it was taken out of context.

  “I’d like it to. It’s about Karl.”

  “Okay,” she softened. “Tell me what I need to know.”

  * * *

  Karl was as good as his word, tap-tapping on the door just before eight. Thomas had been ready since seven. He brought him in and put the coffee on for the third time that morning.

  “Good man!” Karl plonked the suitcase and dress bag down beside him on the sofa; he looked like a runaway cross-dresser.

  “I don’t suppose you found any letters lying around?”

  “Letters? No, was I meant to?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Thomas tried not to show his disappointment. “The major was adamant about getting some letters back,” he pointed to his laptop, “when Jess rang him on his private landline yesterday.”

  “My, my, she does like to live dangerously.”

  “Doesn’t she just. I don’t get it, Karl. She wants to see him but she doesn’t tell him where she’s staying. Makes no sense.”

  “I guess that’s modern relationships for you.”

  “Maybe.” Thomas frowned. He’d never attempted a jigsaw puzzle without studying the picture very carefully beforehand. “Major Eldridge thinks you’ve got Jess and sees me as a way in.” He left Karl to think about it and nipped into the kitchen, returning with the coffees.

  Karl held his hand up as if he were receiving communion. “Thank you, God, for coffee. Amen.”

  Thomas rested a hand lightly on Karl's forehead. “Forgive him, Lord, for he knows not much of anything.”

  “Unless you can talk Jess out of going to the memorial service, in two days’ time, I don’t see how you can keep the lovebirds apart. More’s the pity. But we can do something about her disappearing again.”

  With some pliers, a screwdriver and very little finesse, Karl fitted the GPS inside the heel of Jess’s shoe. They were the only footwear in the case, aside from a pair of trainers — an unlikely choice of footwear for a funeral.

  Thomas watched as Karl worked; it felt a little like helping out his dad. “What can you tell me about Engamel?”

  Karl set the pliers down for a moment and scratched at his chin. “American and European consortium, looking to develop niche applications for the modern combatant about town.”

  “You mean weapons.”

  “Not only weapons. That Battlebuster we waited so patiently for had Engamel components in its defensive capability.”

  Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Engamel wasn’t mentioned in the brochure — I’d have remembered it.”

  Karl smiled enigmatically and finished with the shoe. “No, they weren’t.”

  “Karl,” Thomas said his name quietly, “is Engamel on your list of organisations of interest?”

  Karl nodded slowly. “If you really wanna know, they pretty much all are, Tommo. Anyways, I’d best leave you to get to work. Thanks for last night, it really helped to talk about it.” He dropped Jess’s keys into Thomas’s hand. “And listen, I think maybe I’ll go back to her flat and see about those letters — she may well have hidden them. I’ll only copy them, mind.”

  Thomas offered the keys up again.

  “No need. I’ve already made myself a fresh set.”

  Chapter 18

  It wasn’t exactly skiving. Major Eldridge had wanted him to spend time locating Jess; he’d just interpreted that to mean: locating Jess where he’d left her and then delivering her clothes. He telephoned the major and promised to update him later on.

  Miranda was waiting at Caliban’s. She made a big show of sniffing his neck to smell her own perfume. “Hmm, someone’s a lucky lady.”

  “Yeah, I like to think so.”

  They went inside. Jess was still in the shower. Miranda reclaimed her seat in the kitchen; Sheryl was buffing her nails furiously. “That girl sure talks. I feel like I’ve boned the army guy myself.”

  Sheryl and Miranda giggled like teenagers.

  “I can give you chapter and verse. How it started, how he calls her angel, how he’s going to leave his wife — when the time is right. I could sit an exam.”

  It really was none of his business but that didn’t stop him encouraging Sheryl. And it didn’t take a lot of encouragement. Chapter and verse, as promised — and no dirty stuff, thankfully. Sheryl had almost wet herself when he’d requested, ‘no physical details.’ Miranda had patted his head, poor lamb.

  Jess emerged in her own good time and gave Thomas a disproportionately welcoming hug, which he suffered without comment.

/>   “You’ve brought my clothes!” She sounded so self-absorbed. Even the way she held up her suit in front of her like some twisted Cinderella scene. Crass didn’t seem to cover it.

  He told her about the memorial service; doubted she’d really heard him, as she was busy rifling through her suitcase and checking blouses against the suit.

  “And you did all this for me,” she moved to hug him again but he stiffened.

  “It’s my job.”

  She shook her head back like a startled horse and it took her a moment to recover. “Can I go out today?”

  “You’re not a prisoner.” Miranda cut across. “Although it’s probably best to have someone with you.”

  “Thomas can accompany me! Just a little walk — and maybe a coffee outside. I’ll go and get ready.” She gathered up her things and skipped away.

  “Well,” Sheryl drawled in her native Brooklynese, “Sounds like you’ve got yourself an admirer.”

  He shook his head. “Nah, hopefully that seat’s already taken.”

  Sheryl faked a swoon. “Do mine ears deceive me?” She looked directly at Miranda. “Are you two screw-ups officially back on again?”

  He watched Miranda through a lens of longing. She milked the moment, then shrugged half-heartedly. He fell back on details.

  “I won’t be longer than an hour. Do me a favour, while we’re out, write down everything Jess has told you. Yeah, even the dirty stuff; I mean it.”

  Jess looked like she was about to go fishing, using herself as bait. She grabbed his arm and waited for him to lead. He turned to Miranda.

  “Won’t be long, babe.”

  Jess reeled him in so close that her breast squeezed against his arm. “I promise to bring him back in near perfect condition.”

  * * *

  They ended up at Whitechapel. He gave her his mini-tour, talking about the galleries and the waves of historical immigrants over the last century and a half. Quite the little guide. And all the while she gazed at him like he was offering the Eucharist. Which reminded him . . .

  “I, er, didn’t know if you were religious. There’s tons of churches round here if you wanted to say a prayer or light a candle?”

  “Whatever for?”

  Her laughter rattled him. “For Amy.” It was the first time that day that either of them had mentioned her by name

  “Oh, I see.” It was like a switch had flipped in her head. “I, er . . .” Her voice crackled, “I think I’d prefer to just sit and talk, if you don’t mind.” She took his arm again.

  He found a half-decent café, not a million miles from the Royal London Hospital. The café proprietor had somehow thought putting up a picture of the Elephant Man would be good for business.

  Jess talked — Sheryl had certainly got that right — but not about Amy. Jess’s main topic of conversation was Jess. And her specialist subject only covered the last two years. Apparently, joining Engamel and becoming the major’s little lady were the most interesting things to have happened to her. Ever.

  It was all going swimmingly until he put his size nines in it by asking about her family. She stopped, mid-sentence, and managed to weld a scowl to a smile.

  “Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Tell me about you.” She was all eyes and hands, her touch surprisingly cold. He drew his arm away and her fingernails scraped against the table.

  “I saw Major Eldridge yesterday. He seemed to think you had some papers in your possession.” He chose the word deliberately.

  It didn’t seem to faze her. If anything she seemed to relax. He sipped at an average hot chocolate and tried to lead the witness. “I take paperwork home too, sometimes. It’s easier when it’s quiet.”

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  “Did, er, Amy do that as well?” He half-expected another clam-up, but Jess was tripping over herself now to tell him how close they were, and how Amy was such a mouse at Engamel, before Jess showed her the ropes.

  “Confidentially,” she touched him again and he allowed it, “I think she was a little intimidated by me. The cachet of Oxford, I suppose — very different from Michigan State University!”

  He watched her spiteful laughter and play-acted silently with her, remembering his mother’s advice to never speak ill of the dead. “I’m not sure how it works at memorial services where . . .” he searched for a decent word, “. . . the departed is transferred abroad for burial.”

  “Do you want to do something after the service?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, afterwards — we could go on somewhere.”

  His drink had run out and so had his patience. He grabbed her arm. “Come on, we’re going back.”

  She pulled away from him and a smug smile lit up her face. “I’m not ready yet.”

  “Fine, stay here, then.”

  Outside, the blare of traffic shattered the cocoon. He breathed in the city greedily and started walking. He heard the café’s metal door crunching back. She was about twenty paces behind him, somewhere between strolling and rushing. He walked on for a bit and then stopped suddenly, tracking her growing reflection in a parked van.

  “You were very rude back there,” she waited behind him; she sounded genuinely hurt. And just when he was beginning to wonder if she had any genuine feelings at all.

  He didn’t turn round, less chance of losing it altogether and slapping her. “This isn’t a game, Jess. There’s a reason someone didn’t want you left on the base. Until I know why, I can’t resolve this.”

  She drew level, looking up at him like a puppy in need of a cuddle. “Surely everything can go back to normal after the service?” she stared past him. “Though I suppose they’ll need a new technician to work with me.”

  He didn’t speak to her again till they got back to Caliban’s. She didn’t seem to notice. Sheryl handed him a folded sheet of A4 as he arrived.

  “Paperwork,” he said to Jess.

  She breezed past and headed upstairs, smiling to herself.

  Miranda let her get near the top. “Thomas and I are off for a while — business.”

  Jess galloped back down excitedly. “Can I come?”

  “Sorry,” she faced her down, “Family only.”

  * * *

  Miranda drove, allowing Thomas to read Sheryl’s handiwork. It was mainly what Jess had told him on the daytrip from hell. In fact, a lot of it was verbatim. He tapped the sheet against his forehead: angel.

  “We’ve never had nicknames, have we?” He wasn’t sure whether to speak about the two of them in the present or the past tense. Present was safer.

  Miranda looked up to one corner of the car, found whatever she was searching for in her brain and beckoned him closer. As he heard her words, he fumbled his pages to the floor and she grinned for the rest of the drive.

  “Anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?” Miranda had a talent for the obvious — that, and nicknames.

  “I am, sort of.”

  She mussed his hair as if to say, I believe you. He checked the mirror — he looked guilty as fuck.

  Chapter 19

  John and Diane Wright welcomed them with open arms, which made it all easier.

  “What’s the bother then, Thomas?” John wasn’t big on small talk. Not where business was concerned.

  “I was wondering . . . if you ever had any dealings in Northern Ireland?”

  It was the Internet search that did it. When the two Northern Irish guys both came up positive for interests in casinos — building them, as well as liking a flutter. Tie that in with their import-export activities, and it was a fair gamble that the Wrights might have come across them at some point. He gave John their full names.

  John Wright sipped at his tea then dunked a biscuit, sucking at it with relish. “Heard of them, yeah; never done business directly though.”

  Thomas pressed his hands together as if they were cold. “And, er, what have you heard?”

  Diane, Miranda’s mum, folded her arms and sighed. John stopped
speaking.

  “They’re serious people, Thomas. Not the sort you’d want to antagonise.”

  Miranda scooted along the sofa a little. Thomas could feel her warmth pressing against his leg. “They’re stopping Karl going home to visit his mum — she’s dying. It’s like a contract or something and he can’t go back without their say-so.”

  John and Diane looked at each other and drank their tea. Thomas waited for a ray of sunlight, but the forecast was definitely stormy. He cleared his throat. “I think we owe Karl, for what he did for Miranda.”

  Diane narrowed her eyes. “Hold on a minute, Thomas. You owe Karl — it was your mess. If you want to get caught up with these geezers,” she paused again, tightening her shoulders, “you’d better tread very carefully.”

  There were only so many ways of taking this forward and he didn’t feel like a row. He flexed his thigh, hoped it would prompt Miranda to pitch in with something.

  “Thing is, Dad, Karl’s alright, isn’t he — we all know that now.” Something about the way she said it caught Thomas’s attention. It was as if she was having a separate conversation with her dad that he wasn’t supposed to understand. John Wright took an unfeasibly long sip of tea and closed his eyes.

  Thomas filled the void. “Remember when we first met, when Miranda and me came down from Leeds? You didn’t know me from Adam, but you gave me a chance.”

  Miranda cleared her throat. “Well, sort of. I did speak to Mum and Dad now and then, from Leeds. I just didn’t tell you about it.”

  He was starting to feel ganged up on. “All I want to do is broker some sort of deal with these people. His mum is dying for Christ’s sake. Even an hour — just a poxy hour over there with his mum. Surely they must want something?” He surprised himself, hearing the conviction in his voice.

  John nodded. “Leave it with us. But why do you wanna get involved?”

  Thomas smiled. “Truth? Maybe I’ve spent enough time with you lot to see how important family is.”

  “Steady on, Thomas,” Diane cut in, “you’ll ’ave me weeping.” She laughed playfully.

  “I’m serious, Diane.”