Find My Way Home Page 5

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘On my life.’

  ‘Well, fuck me,’ I said. ‘No wonder David Sutton got his knickers in a twist when I mentioned it.’

  Robber looked puzzled and I told him what had happened when I’d visited 4F Security’s offices the previous day.

  ‘Thanks for telling me,’ he said. ‘Every little bit of information helps.’

  ‘Seems like you’re doing all right on your own,’ I said. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘I reckon there’s twenty million quid out there waiting for someone to claim it. What do you reckon, Sharman? Fancy a slice?’

  ‘I reckon it’s getting too bloody heavy for me. Twenty million quid. You get killed for that.’

  ‘Tell Harry Stonehouse.’

  ‘Shit. So where was he?’

  ‘Ever heard of witness protection? It was just after he vanished that we started to pick up faces.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I was in the job then.’

  ‘So Harry got picked up, leant on, he grassed and vanished out of everyone’s lives?’

  ‘Looks like it to me.’

  ‘And got a new identity? Hence leaving all his papers behind.’

  ‘Top of the class.’

  ‘But he got sussed.’

  Robber nodded. ‘It makes sense.’

  ‘And his old mates topped him.’

  Another nod.

  ‘Didn’t do a very good job, did they? The Old Bill who got him away.’

  ‘That’s the breaks.’

  Something occurred to me. ‘So just as a matter of interest, who was targeting him? Specific officers, I mean.’

  ‘I wondered when you’d ask that. Who do you think, round Putney way?’

  ‘Not DI Bell by any chance?’

  ‘In one.’

  ‘Cosy.’

  ‘I’ll say.’

  ‘I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall when Harry turned up dead.’

  ‘I’ll bet you do.’

  ‘Not a good advert for Bell’s office’s security.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Beautiful. But hold on. If Harry was part of the robbery, and we don’t even know for sure that he was, and all you’re surmising is true, which ain’t necessarily so, he could still’ve had some bird stashed away in a quiet corner, and maybe someone took exception. But even if what you say is true, and Harry gave up the whole gang in exchange for a new life. Why didn’t he tell where the money was? He must’ve known.’

  ‘Just what I was thinking, Sharman. Maybe it’s time we put on our detective hats and found out.’

  We sat in the restaurant for a bit longer, drinking more Irish coffees and discussing what might’ve been regarding Harry Stonehouse and the whereabouts of the missing millions.

  ‘Did you have anything to do with the investigation at the time?’ I asked Robber.

  He shook his head. ‘No. Not a thing. Well out of my manor, and I never heard a whisper concerning it.’

  ‘Not even that Harry was in the frame?’

  ‘Not a dicky bird.’

  ‘Did you ever talk to him about it?’

  ‘No. We weren’t that great mates. Especially after he left the job.’

  I looked at him through the smoke that wreathed our table. ‘So this has been about the money all along. Not about your poor dead pal.’

  Robber grinned nastily. ‘You’ve got a suspicious mind, Sharman.’

  ‘I need one with people like you about.’

  ‘All right, I give in. When I spoke to Hague, he let it slip that there might be a connection.’

  ‘So why all the old bollocks?’

  ‘I didn’t know how keen you’d be.’

  ‘Not keen at all as it goes.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But Harry was always straight. I’d’ve staked my life on it.’

  ‘Twenty million quid can be very persuasive.’

  ‘It was going to be split about twenty ways the way I heard it.’

  ‘And the geezers it was going to be split by could be very persuasive too.’

  ‘Old-fashioned heavies, you mean?’

  ‘Their last fling before it got too hot here and they split for Spain.’

  ‘But Harry had mates still. On the force, I mean. He didn’t have to cave in.’

  ‘Your mates change when you leave the job. Old loyalties don’t last too long out in the real world.’

  ‘You make it sound depressing.’

  ‘I forgot. You didn’t have any mates, did you?’

  ‘A few.’

  ‘But they’re all gone now, aren’t they?’

  ‘Except for you.’

  ‘Now you’re depressing me.’

  ‘Cheers. So listen. Let’s say we do look into this a little closer and Harry was involved, and by some miracle we come up with the money. What happens then?’

  ‘I’ve always fancied seeing Trinidad and Tobago.’

  ‘We keep it, you mean?’

  ‘Top of the class, Sharman.’

  ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘What? Are you getting honest in your old age?’

  ‘I’ve always been honest, underneath it all.’

  ‘Sure. But it’s a long way down.’

  ‘Thanks. I thought we were partners.’

  ‘We are, but it doesn’t hurt to know exactly who your partners are.’

  I lit a final cigarette and signalled for the bill. ‘Right. Where do we start?’

  ‘I’ll go back to my contacts. You go back to Nancy. That won’t be any hardship for you, will it?’

  ‘OK, Jack, but I’m sure I’m going to live to regret this.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. But if we have a result at least your lifestyle will improve.’

  ‘Or I’ll die in the attempt.’

  ‘We’ve all got to die, Sharman. That’s the only certainty.’

  And on that happy note we left.

  I drove Robber back to his widow’s house in Knight’s Hill, then headed home alone and arrived around midnight. I parked the old BMW I was driving on the space outside the house, locked it up and went inside.

  I climbed the stairs to the top and put my key in the flat door and opened it. There was a light on inside. I hadn’t left one on and I stiffened, then a voice with a slight lisp said from behind me, ‘Go on in, Mr Sharman. We’re all waiting.’

  I turned slightly, heard the whistle of displaced air, my head seemed to explode into a thousand pieces and I was suddenly falling through the door and the pattern on the living room carpet got bigger and bigger.

  I came to when someone washed my clock with the contents of a pint glass of cold water. I was sitting in my favourite chair which had been turned round from the TV set to face the centre of the room. Three men were standing looking at me.

  They were perfect. The one on the right was a good-looking young Asian with thick black hair swept back in a quiff. He was wearing a silver suit probably from Armani with a black shirt buttoned to the neck, sans tie. On his feet he wore black leather casual shoes and his eyes were disguised by sunglasses. The one in the middle was short and built like a little steamroller who just couldn’t wait to roll right over you. Or me probably in this case. He had receding dark hair cut very short, which made his round face look even rounder, and was wearing a single-breasted black overcoat, black jeans, black polo neck and black Doc Martens. He was holding the empty glass. The one on the left was Greek or Turkish with a thick mass of black curly hair going grey, and a moustache that made him resemble Groucho Marx. He wore a dark overcoat too. Double-breasted, and almost down to his ankles.

  ‘Where did you lot come from?’ I asked, wiping the water off my face. ‘Central casting?’

  ‘Very amusing,’ said the steamroller. He didn’t have a lisp, therefore he hadn’t been the one who’d hit me on the head.

  I suspected the Asian.

  He spoke next. ‘I hope you had a good evening, Mr Sharman.’

  Lisp
in place. I’d been right.

  ‘Not bad,’ I replied. ‘The chicken was good, but I think the chef put too much chilli in the niramish. Relative of yours, by any chance?’ I asked him. ‘What is this, a customer survey?’

  ‘What the fuck’s he talking about?’ said Groucho. I knew then and there we were going to get on.

  ‘He’s a funny fucker,’ said Steamroller. ‘I told you that already.’

  ‘Do I know you?’ I said to him.

  ‘No. But I know you, son. You’ve got a big nose. Like your mate Robber.’

  ‘Put you away, did he?’ I said, then turned to the Asian, who although he was the youngest I took to be the leader. ‘Mind if I smoke?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to make this harder than we have to.’

  ‘As the actress said to the bishop,’ I said as I took out my cigarettes.

  Steamroller moved forward faster than seemed possible for someone carrying his bulk and knocked the packet out of my hand. ‘Don’t take the piss,’ he said.

  The Asian rescued the box and gave me a cigarette. ‘Now, now, my friend,’ he said to Steamroller. ‘Let’s not be unpleasant.’

  And I suppose a whack on the nut is just your way of saying hello, I thought, but wisely kept my mouth shut and fired up my Silk Cut.

  ‘We came to give you some advice, Mr Sharman,’ said the younger man leaning against the wall. ‘We don’t want to make any trouble for you and your friend. Just stay out of what doesn’t concern you and all will be well. Otherwise . . .’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘But you made trouble for Harry Stonehouse,’ I said. It had to be about Harry.

  ‘Harry broke the rules of the road,’ said the Asian. ‘Don’t you make the same mistake. Or next time . . .’ Once again he left the words unspoken.

  ‘And that’s not a threat, it’s a promise,’ said Groucho. ‘If it was up to me . . .’

  ‘If it was up to him you’d end up in the same place as Harry Stonehouse,’ said Steamroller. ‘And if it was up to me.’

  ‘The same places,’ said the Asian. ‘But let’s not dwell on such unpleasant subjects. We’ll be going now. Just remember – you don’t get a second warning.’

  And one by one they left the room, went downstairs and I heard the front door close behind them, then the sound of a powerful engine starting and a car moving away.

  I went to the window, but the street was deserted except for a ginger cat walking across the pavement in front of the house.

  I took the piece of paper Robber had given me with the number of his portable phone on it, and used my ordinary phone to dial it. I hate portable phones and always said I’d never use one. But I suppose they do have their advantages.

  He answered after two rings, sounding like I’d woken him.

  ‘All alone?’ I said.

  ‘What the fuck—?’

  ‘I’ve had visitors,’ I interrupted. ‘They left me a souvenir.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A lump on the head,’ I said, gently touching the back of my skull.

  ‘Who were they?’

  I described them. ‘They knew you,’ I said at the end. ‘At least one of them, intimately.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The steamroller bloke,’ I replied.

  ‘Geezers like him are ten a penny. I probably gave him a tug once.’

  ‘If he gives you a tug now, I reckon you’ll know all about it.’

  ‘Scum like that don’t scare me.’

  ‘They scare me plenty. It’s all about Harry Stonehouse.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘You reckon.’

  ‘’Course. It means we’re going down the right road. The right road to lots of dough.’

  ‘Or the cemetery. They told me what would happen if we didn’t butt out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The same as Harry. A ride to the nearest tip inside garbage bags.’

  ‘Nothing’s for nothing, Sharman. Now go rest your head and we’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll meet you for breakfast in that greasy you like about nine.’

  ‘Whose tab this time?’

  ‘I’ll treat you.’

  ‘I’ll make a note of it in my diary.’

  ‘Do that.’ And he hung up.

  I woke up around eight with a headache and a lump the size of a hen’s egg on my napper. I washed and shaved, got dressed and was at the café with a mug of tea, the Telegraph and a bacon sandwich on the way by the time Robber joined me.

  ‘How’s your head?’ he asked after he’d ordered tea and a full English for himself.

  ‘Sore,’ I said.

  ‘You should be more careful in your choice of friends.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  He made me go over everything the three geezers had said when they’d paid me a visit the previous night. ‘I was bloody right,’ he said when I’d finished. ‘I knew it. I knew that bastard was bent.’

  ‘Which doesn’t actually do a lot for us,’ I remarked.

  ‘It will. When we’ve finished here, you go and see the lady in question and I’m going to take a wander round some of my old haunts. The widow said I could borrow her car when I want it.’

  ‘Just be careful,’ I said as my bacon sandwich was plonked in front of me, and Robber’s plate got dropped in front of him. ‘Those fuckers last night meant business. And you can’t hide behind your warrant card any more. And your widow sounds like she means business too if she’s letting you drive her motor. She’ll have you in bed with her before you can say knife.’

  He sneered at me as he poured brown sauce on to his egg. ‘Don’t worry about me, son. Just make sure you’ve got on clean underwear for Nancy’s benefit.’

  After breakfast we parted outside the café and I walked back up to collect my car, and Robber headed home to borrow his landlady’s.

  I called Nancy when I got in and told her I needed to see her, and she asked me round for morning coffee.

  How civilised, I thought as I put down the phone and wondered if there’d be any fairy cakes.

  I got to her place round eleven and she had Richard and Judy on the TV as she let me in. ‘My secret vice,’ she said as she hit the remote and turned them into a white dot when we went into the living room. ‘They keep me company. But you’re much better.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  She was dolled up in a low-cut number in dark grey and I could smell her perfume clear across the room. She looked good. ‘So what’s happening?’ she asked.

  ‘Not a lot,’ I lied. I didn’t tell her about my nocturnal visitors or the fact that Robber was now working with me.

  She served us coffee and biscuits on a tray, but sadly there was no sign of cake.

  ‘Nancy,’ I said when the coffee was finished and I’d lit a cigarette. ‘Tell me about what happened before Harry disappeared.’

  ‘Like what?’ She looked puzzled.

  ‘Anything. Anything unusual.’

  ‘There wasn’t anything.’

  ‘There must’ve been. People don’t just run away for no reason. There’s always something. Debt. A love affair. Something at work, or something at home. Believe me, I know. There’s always a reason, no matter how large or small.’

  ‘Nick. I really don’t have a clue. Like I keep telling you, we didn’t talk much at the end.’

  ‘Normally I’d say that that was it. If it hadn’t gone on for so long and he hadn’t been found in the condition that he was.’

  ‘I told you I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re not being much help, Nancy.’

  ‘That’s why I’m paying you to find out for me.’

  And I wished that she wasn’t. ‘I know that,’ I said. ‘But it’s the same old story. I’m just one bloke. If Old Bill can’t come up with anything with all their resources, what chance do I have?’

  ‘You seem to have done all right with your other cases.’

  ‘Sometimes. But I need something to work with. People to talk t
o. So far I’ve come up with a big blank. What about these friends you talked about? Golfing buddies, whatever.’

  ‘I knew some of them personally from the parties we used to have.’ She came over all coy at that. ‘And others just by name. They’re all in his address book.’

  ‘I’d better have that, I think. I’ll talk to them. Maybe they’ll know something you don’t.’

  ‘All right, Nick. I’ll get it.’ And she rose from her chair and left the room wafting a cloud of her exotic perfume behind her.

  She came back a few moments later carrying a burgundy leather Filofax bulging with pages. ‘He used this as a diary, too,’ she said. ‘I’d appreciate having it back.’

  I riffled through a few of the address pages, which were packed with names and phone numbers in Harry’s neat printing. It was kind of spooky to think that the man who’d written them was now dead.

  ‘So, what now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll look through the book and call some people up. I expect I’ll get told to take a hike by most of them, but you never know. I’ll play the wide-eyed innocent and come up with some bullshit story or another.’

  ‘It’s been a long time since you’ve been a wide-eyed innocent.’

  ‘Too bloody true.’

  She shifted her legs and I knew what was coming next. ‘You don’t have time for lunch, do you?’

  ‘What do you mean by lunch, Nancy?’

  ‘You know. Maybe some cheese on toast and a beer and a fuck. Or possibly a fuck and then some cheese on toast and a beer.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a great idea.’

  She pouted. ‘I do.’

  ‘Nancy, this is business.’

  ‘That’s not what you said the other night.’

  ‘I don’t think I said much the other night. You kind of took me by surprise.’

  ‘Poor baby. Poor, wide-eyed innocent baby.’

  ‘OK, Nancy, you got me. But that was a one-off, wasn’t it?’

  Obviously it wasn’t. Maybe I was more of an innocent than anyone thought, including myself.

  ‘It didn’t have to be.’ She was getting playful then, a mood I knew well and always seemed to end up the same way, with me and her in bed together.

  ‘Listen, Nance,’ I said almost pleadingly. ‘You’re paying me to work for you.’