A Last Act of Charity (Killing Sisters Book 1) (30 page)

‘Talk about anything. Tell me again what a great fuck she nearly was. I need to do a thing with the phone.’

Stoner texted. Reve stared, tried to speak. Mumbled. There was a ripple of small applause from near the stage. A distraction.

‘Amanda with the saxophone and the wondrous lip technique,’ Stoner replaced his cell phone into his pocket.

‘What? I’m losing this.’ Reve reached for a drink. Stoner poured a clear spirit into a clear glass for him. Water for his own.

‘Shard’s here. Outside. You know Shard? Harding? Do you pay him?’

‘I’ve seen the name, but I only pay to account numbers. But we’re all big buddies tonight, right? You and me, you and Harding? Do you work together, then?’

Stoner nodded; ‘We do today, I think. I’m going to invite the blonde bombshell over to our table.’ He stood.

‘You’re what?’

‘You heard me. Turn and look at her.’

Reve did as instructed.

‘Fuck,’ under his breath. ‘It really is her. Fucking madness.’

‘Then why doesn’t she recognise you? Why is she smiling at me like I’m Mr Wonderful and ignoring your handsome, manly features? It can’t be easy for a lady who’s clamped those same manly features into her innermost self to forget them in just a few days. Really. I think you’ve got it wrong. I don’t think it’s her at all. I think it’s time to find out who she is, though. Stay there, I’ll go get her. Do you know Amanda, by the way?’

That expert player was moving importantly through the audience in their direction.

‘You don’t pay her, do you?’

‘Surname? Real surname? Account numbers?’

‘Not a clue.’

‘Then I’ve no idea. Idiot. Who is she?’

‘Saxophonist. Strange girl. Saxophonists are often strange, but she’s stranger than most. A clue for you. If the blonde bombshell leaves, let her go. Shard will tail her. Have you ever done fieldwork?’

‘Yes and no. What do I talk about?’

‘Improvise. It’s the stuff of dreams in a jazz club like this one. Just make it up as you go along. Beats learning anything. Follow my lead if you feel the need.’ Stoner walked towards the bar, intercepting Amanda as she headed tablewards.

‘Hey. I got the sax, the alto.’

‘Cool as cool. Go sit down and introduce yourself; he’s called Dave. He’s a good guy. But nervous. He’s never been in a place like this before and it’s doing things to his sanity. He needs calm. Can you do calm?’

‘Ask nicely.’

‘I never met her. I’m asking you, Ms Notnicely.’

‘Can we go out afterwards? Can we go and, y’know, talk, take a time? I want to hear how you like the way I play. And to, y’know, talk more.’

‘Yeah. Fine. Might be very late. OK?’

‘I go do calm, o master. Tranquilo is my middle name.’

‘Liar.’ Stoner approached the blonde.

‘Hey. Care to join us? We keep nearly meeting, but somehow not. You here for the music? You a follower of the blues or something?’ Stoner was sounding almost human. He flicked a hand for another bottle.

‘This suit you?’

The familiar Stolichnaya bottle stood between them.

‘And thank you for the other little Russian soldier. Come help sink its brother with us, hey?’

She smiled. She truly was a looker, Stoner mused as he led her towards their table. And she was over-dressed for the club, so carrying, concealed. Life was packed with visual delights. None of them could be what they seemed. Life was also packed with sadnesses.

Stoner did introductions. ‘Amanda,’ that lady bowed. ‘Dave,’ that man smiled with strain and looked away. ‘I’m Stoner, as you know, and you are?’ His voice trailed invitingly.

‘Charity,’ she smiled. ‘Charity. I believe it’s a virtue. In some. A burden for others. It’s very good to meet you all, but I actually know nothing at all about jazz music and I don’t have a lot of free time this evening. I wanted to talk with Mr Stoner here about a personal matter.’

She smiled.

‘But it’ll keep. No rush. Another day.’ She turned to Amanda. ‘I saw you carrying a saxophone. Do you, y’know, play it here? Isn’t it . . . heavy? Loud?’

Reve interrupted.

‘Charity? That’s one rare name. But don’t I know you? Haven’t we met before?’

She returned a gaze and a pause.

‘I don’t believe so. Where? I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, but I have seen Amanda and Stoner. Are you another musician?’

‘Hardly.’ Reve’s stare was intense. ‘No. But I do know a lot of songs, I suppose. Didn’t we meet before? At . . .’ he paused. ‘A hotel? Near Oxford?’

Charity’s smile was steady, unflinching.

‘Rings no bells here. Was it a concert, a gig or something? I’m
no great fan of popular music. I only came here to catch Mr Stoner.’

She smiled at Amanda. ‘You have talent. Think I’ve heard you play before. Another club, another place. But I thought that was a trumpet, not a saxophone. I’m no real judge of guitars, but understand that Mr Stoner here has something of a reputation.’

Reve persisted. ‘The hotel had a great indoor pool.’

Charity looked blank. Shook her blonde head.

‘Do you swim?’ Reve could not drop it.

She ignored him and turned to Stoner.

‘Can we meet soon? Just the two of us? I have a business concern which I’d like to share, but it’s a private thing, as they usually are.’

She turned back to Dave Reve. ‘I do swim, but mainly in rivers and the sea, almost always outdoors. I’ve not swum indoors for a long time now, and I don’t think I’ve ever swum in a hotel. Ever. So whoever you think I am, it’s not me. I would remember you. I’ve a great memory for faces.’ She looked at Stoner as she rose to her feet. ‘I’ve a great memory for names, too, Mr Stoner. And places. May I call you?’

‘You leaving?’ Stoner stood. Reve also started to stand, but Stoner’s hand lowered him back to his seat. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

They headed towards the exit.

Stoner spoke close to her ear, fighting the noise of the club. ‘I’m sorry. What did you want to talk about?’

‘We have a mutual concern. It’s quite serious, and it is not, I’m afraid, going to go away on its own.’

‘You’ve lost me now. Something to do with the club?’

‘Don’t play silly with me, Mr Stoner. My concern is your current problem. We have a conflict of interest, although it can be resolved. Most things can, given a little effort.’

She stopped, turned, looked hard at him. ‘We can resolve the problem. And we should.’

Stoner’s expression drained of any pretence at humour. He looked levelly back.

‘Am I looking for you, then? Should I be knocking you on the head and calling the cavalry?’ No twinkle of humour. None was returned.

‘That would be a bad thing for us both, Mr Stoner. We have much in common, many shared interests at the moment, but we are not on the same side. It’s important that we keep our heads clear and our tempers cool. Can we meet again soon? I keep coming here and I keep missing you. And I don’t wish to cause a conflict by calling on you at home or accosting you in the street.’

‘Give me a number and I’ll call you. Tell me a time and I’ll call then.’

‘I have your numbers, several of them. What time do you breakfast tomorrow?’

Stoner shrugged. ‘Nine? I don’t mind, really. I’ll clear the day for you. Would that be a wise thing to do?’

They were at the door.

She smiled. Offered her hand, which he took.

‘It would be a lot better if we could work together on this. Better for us both, and a whole lot better for those close to us. I’ll call.’

‘I look forward to that. Text or leave a voice message if I can’t pick up. One thing?’

She stood by the door. The door manager stared fixedly away from them.

‘One thing?’

‘Dave, back at the table. Dave Reve. He really does think he knows you, doesn’t he? He’s a copper, doesn’t really do mistaken identities. You do know him?’

There was no trace of a smile in reply. None. Charity looked through him, eyes far away for a moment. A cold stare towards a cold place unknown to Stoner.

‘I’ve not met him before. I do know the name. You sure that’s his real name?’

‘What? Of course it is, why?’

‘You known him long?’ Wherever she’d been to in her mind, she was back now. Returned and focused.

Stoner shook his head. ‘No. But I have no doubt who he is. And he does tell quite a tale.’

‘I honestly never saw him before, not in the flesh, although I believe I have seen his likeness. And I do know who he thinks he’s met. He spells his name Reve, not Reeve. French. Dream, it means.’

Stoner remained silent.

‘Dream,’ she repeated. ‘As in bad dream, wet dream, if you like.’

‘Nightmares? That sort of dream?’

‘All dreams are nightmares, Mr Stoner. If they’re bad, violent and aggressive dreams, then they’re bad dreams for the dreamer. If they’re dreams of success, fulfilment, winning and accomplishment, they’re bad for the losers, the lost. Someone always plays the loser in every dream. His dream is no different. It’s not possible to make happy endings for all.’

Stoner reached for her. Failed to make any contact. She was unreachable, untouchable and almost out the door somehow, as though the door had moved to meet her. The door manager looked over. Stoner shook his head. Called across the noise to her.

‘Tell me.’

‘Later.’

No room for negotiation there, Stoner could see that.

‘OK. Later it is. Look forward to it.’

‘I bet.’ She smiled, bleakly and without any warmth at all. And left. Stoner’s cell phone shook a minute later. Just once. No message. Shard.

‘What the fuck was that about?’ Dave Reve’s voice was raised, and not simply because the background sound was loud. He
looked confused more than angry. Amanda more bemused than anything. She looked up. ‘You’re not friends, then. You and Charity?’

Stoner stood by the table, suddenly too tired to sit.

‘No. Never spoken to her before. You’ve never seen her before, either, Dave, but she knows, she says she knows, who you’re confusing her with. She knows my cell numbers, too. She should not.’

Amanda appeared increasingly baffled, and bored.

‘Why not? Someone must have given them to her. Obviously. Come on.’

Stoner looked at her, no smiles.

‘Do you have a number for me?’

Amanda shook her head.

‘Neither should she. I hate that.’

‘What’s so important about a phone number? Christ, JJ, there are bigger things in life than phone numbers.’ She tried to smile. ‘The guys are on the stage. Are we playing? Is it OK if I play?’

Reve shook his head again, pouring a drink for himself. ‘I have so lost the thread of this. We need to talk, Stoner. I came to this madhouse so we could talk.’

‘You’re correct. This is a madhouse. The time for talking is later.’ Stoner leaned across the table until his face was close to the other man’s. ‘Tomorrow or the next day. Promise. Nothing strange will happen to me in the meantime. I cannot say the same for you. I feel . . . concern for you. You should go to a safe place. A hotel or the nearest nick. I think you should go there right now and I don’t think you should tell anyone – including me – where you’re staying. If your car is nearby, leave it and walk somewhere. Anywhere. If your car is parked a decent distance away, which would be better, then walk to it by a very roundabout route, and check to see if there’s a tail. There shouldn’t be if you leave quickly. Like right now. Go somewhere secure,
park your car as far as you can face walking away from it. Use some police safe house. Any one you have access to. And take the card out of your phone. Battery too. I’ll leave messages for you when it’s safe. Pick them up at six o’clock tomorrow evening. Make that the first time you put the battery and card back into your phone. After you’ve read my messages, take the card and battery out again and text back to my number on the brand-new pay as you go phone you’ll have bought before then. Do not use that phone before then. Go now. Go quickly to a place you know is safe. If you actually have any tradecraft, now is a great time to remember it and implement it. Truly. Don’t talk, just go. Out the fire door.’

‘I need to call my wife . . .’

‘No you don’t. Oh. OK.’

Stoner handed him a phone.

‘Call her now on that and explain that you’re on a secret mission of national security or something. Be very quick about it. Also convincing.’

‘This is a music club. She’ll just think I’m in a bloody club. Drinking and chasing women.’

‘Then don’t call her. You must
not
call her on your own phone and you must
not
tell her where you’re staying. What she doesn’t know, she can’t share. Ignorance is rarely bliss, but it does offer a little safety. It’s up to you.’

Reve punched in a number, spoke with some little agitation, passed the phone to Stoner. ‘Speak to her.’ Stoner shook his head, rolled his eyes, but accepted the phone. Spoke abruptly and without listening to the remote voice, the querulous voice.

‘Stoner. Reve will be working with me for the next seventy-two hours. He will be unable to contact you in that time. If anyone should contact you asking his whereabouts, tell them that he’s been called away. Which is the truth. This is urgent, and it cannot wait. Apologies.’ And he hung up. Reve stared at him, stunned.

‘How do you spell your name? Your surname?’ Reve spelled it out, slowly.

‘Go! Now, just go, for fuck’s sake!’ Stoner shouted. Reve left. Amanda stared, mouth hanging open, a caricature of bafflement.

‘Got that alto?’ Stoner was standing at her side. She nodded. ‘Come along then, little miss nice, let’s go play some blues. Play them loud. Drown some sorrows. Cover our confusion. Cloud all issues and shed some tears.’

‘Oh hello.’ Bili greeted Stoner with obviously and deliberately fake forced enthusiasm and friendliness. ‘Good of you to drop by. And you have little Miss Munch with you too, I observe. How fine indeed, how very fine.’

She was drunk, stoned maybe, rocking from foot to foot in time with the burst of boogie she squeezed from the big bass.

‘Is tonight the night we take requests?’ She mimed a caricature of a bow, swinging the bass guitar’s long, long neck in a wide and dangerous arc. The audience chuckled, companionably. The mikes were live and the regulars were familiar with the banter.