James Patterson - Private London

The door opened and I stood up.

It was Alison Chambers. Black suit, white silk blouse. Her make-up perfectly applied and the perfume as heady as that from a field of poppies.

‘What the fuck have you done now, Dan?’ she said, kind of spoiling the moment.

I shrugged as the thickset uniform shut the door on us. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t offer you tea,’ I said as I sat down on the pallet and patted the space beside me for her to join me.

She folded her arms and gave me the kind of look my beloved ex had given me earlier. You know the kind – the sort a judge might give you before slamming down the gavel and sending you off to the colonies for fifteen years’ hard labour.

‘Just tell me what’s going on,’ she said.

‘Alison,’ I said. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

And I honestly didn’t.

I took a sip of tea.

It was awful. Too much sugar, too much milk. I made a tutting sound and got a reproachful look from Alison Chambers.

She was now sitting next to me on the bed. A businesslike notebook open on her lap, on the pages of which she was writing businesslike notes, I assumed. The nib of her Mont Blanc fountain pen appeared to scratch into the paper a tad deeper than was probably necessary.

‘The tea not to your satisfaction?’ she asked coolly.

‘It’s not PG Tips, I can tell you that much,’ I said.

‘And this isn’t the Ritz either, if you hadn’t noticed. It’s the Paddington Green nick.’

‘Yeah, I did notice that. The last time Kirsty took my trouser belt off on our wedding anniversary she didn’t take the shoelaces as well!’

I looked down at my brogues. Without the laces the tongues of both shoes flopped out like those of overheated dogs.

‘You don’t seem to be taking this seriously, Dan. So I am not sure I can help you.’

‘Oh, I’m taking this deadly seriously, I can assure you.’

‘You bring a woman into this country under a false passport. You enter your so-called god-daughter into the same college as her, also under a false name, but at least that’s not a crime so far as I know.’

‘Nor me,’ I agreed.

‘But you had Chloe working for you, didn’t you?’ Alison pressed angrily.

I didn’t respond.

‘And now the girl you smuggled in illegally,’ she continued, ‘has been kidnapped and you refuse to tell the police a damn thing.’

‘I’m taking the Fifth.’

She sighed, exasperated. ‘This is Paddington Green, Carter! Not Prairie Fart, Idaho. You don’t have the option to take the Fifth. There is no Fifth!’

‘You know, your eyes really do go green when you’re angry.’

‘For God’s sake! Are you even listening to me?’

‘Like they said when I was arrested, Alison, I don’t have to say anything.’

‘Well, you bloody do to me! And stop with the flip bloody act, Dan. I know you’re beating yourself up about what happened to those girls. I know you’re angry and want to get out there and do something about it.’

Alison knew me pretty well. ‘I do.’

‘And I am trying to help you do that. So why don’t you throw me a bone here?’

I sighed and shook my head. ‘If you don’t know then you can’t be compromised.’

‘Then what am I supposed to do?’

‘Nothing. I’ll take care of it.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know.’

The door opened and Kirsty walked in. She looked at us both for a moment without speaking.

‘Isn’t this cosy?’ she said finally. ‘The Thin Man and his lawyer. All we need now is a little dog and it would be a perfect picture.’

Kirsty was a big fan of old black-and-white films.

‘Are you going to charge my client?’ asked Alison, a degree of frost creeping into her voice.

Kirsty smiled but there wasn’t a lot of warmth in it, either. ‘Client?’ she said, rolling the word around on her tongue as if trying it on for size and not finding it to her liking.

‘If you have something to say, how about we expedite matters and simply say it, Kirsty?’ said Alison.

Kirsty looked at me, ignoring her. ‘Just so you know. It was never my idea to arrest you in the first place.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘The second murder and now this abduction. My hands were tied. The big guns were wheeled in and my boss DSI Andrew Harrington ordered you brought in. There’s promotion written all over this case.’

‘I see.’

‘No way around it. You brought her here under a false passport, Dan. There’s stuff going on that you know and we don’t. And that’s not right.’

I nodded. Hard to argue with her. ‘Sorry.’ I said simply.

‘So… is there anything you want to tell us?’

I shook my head. The message had been very clear. If the police became involved then Hannah would be hurt. Hurt in ways that did not bear thinking about. There was no option.

‘Then you leave me no choice…’ said DI Webb.

‘Than to do what?’ asked Alison Chambers.

‘Than to let you go,’ said Kirsty. Surprising the pair of us.

It was just shy of one o’clock.

The union bar was starting to fill up. It was a Saturday. Lucy and Suzy had positioned themselves at the far left of the bar, perched on stools that gave them a good view of the room.

They had been chatting to Carol, a third-year history student who was working the shift with the older full-time manager called Sian.

Sian had told Lucy that Ryan would be coming on shift from one o’clock. It wasn’t the first time she had been asked that particular question over the couple of months that Ryan had been working for her and she very much doubted that it would be the last. Ryan, it seemed, was very popular with the female students.

Carol handed a soda-and-lime to Suzy.

‘Thanks. Terrible thing about what happened to those girls last night.’

‘It’s disgusting,’ agreed the barmaid. ‘A couple of No Means No leaflets and that’s all the protection they reckon we need.’

‘Too true,’ agreed Lucy.

‘I certainly won’t be working any more night shifts.’

‘Were you working last night, then?’ asked Suzy pretending ignorance.

‘No. And I’m bloody glad, too. It could have been any one of us.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Lucy. Although she had her doubts.

She sipped on her own soda-and-lime and wondered how much more of the stuff she could drink. She looked across to the doorway and nudged Suzy with her foot as Ryan the barman came in.

He waved at a group of three women who were sitting at a table with papers and books spread out before them. They waved back enthusiastically.

‘Popular lad,’ said Lucy quietly.

‘I wouldn’t waste your time,’ said Carol, amused. ‘That boy’s in lurve.’

‘Oh yeah?’ replied Suzy. ‘Who with? Himself?’

Carol laughed. ‘No, Ryan’s all right. But it seems it’s unrequited love, so who knows?’

‘Who’s the lucky lady, then?’

Carol nodded to a young woman who had come in while they were chatting. She was sitting alone at a table partly hidden from view by one of the carved stone pillars holding the roof in place.

She was strikingly attractive, with long blonde hair, baby-blue eyes set in a creamy complexion, Cupid’s-bow lips painted pillar-box red. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved rugby shirt. The only thing marring the perfect image was the bandage she wore on her lower right arm, although she made even that look like a fashion statement. But there was also a sadness in her big come-to-bed eyes.

Laura Skelton.

No wonder the barman had the hots for Laura, thought Suzy.

She liked the look of her herself. And when she did go for women she normally went for brunettes. Dan Carter and she had that much in common.