Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) (5 page)

              Nick let his surprise show while his mind raced. “And I thought you were the light-fingered lady,” he said to Lucia.

She ignored him.

“What did she take?”

              “You ask a lot of questions for a man with a gun pointed at him.”

              “It might be my last chance,” smiled Nick. He held out his hand. “May I?” He nodded at the bottle. Lucia passed it to him with a despairing shake of the head.

              “Why did you scare the Brigadier away like that?” the German asked.

              “I figure he didn’t kill her and I didn’t want him mixed up in it. Like I said, I’ve just been asked to find out what happened.”

              “And have you found out?”

              “No, but I’m getting a good idea. She was playing the Brigadier, she stole something from you.” He shrugged. “Maybe she had form and she stole something from someone that didn’t like it who got to her before you did. Either way, I know enough to know that I’m out of this. I like my life and I don’t want to end up as the next body.” He took a swig from the bottle, subtly sliding his thighs closer to the end of the bed as he did so.

              The man looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You didn’t find anything here?”

              “Like what?”

              “Anything!” barked the man.

              “No, no I didn’t.”

              “Stand up!”

              Nick wearily got to his feet.

              “Search him.”

Lucia looked surprised at the man’s command and with a resigned sigh, moved to Nick and started rummaging through his pockets and patting him down. The scent from her hair was driving him crazy, the proximity of her body, those hands on him.

              “I kind of like this,” he quipped.

She stepped back and gave him a slap hard across the face.

              “Nothing.” She petulantly folded her arms and glared at him. “Are you going to kill him?”

Nick held his breath.

              “No, murders are too inconvenient.”

              Nick silently thanked God for German efficiency.

              “He is unimportant.” The man lowered the gun. “You can leave, only on the understanding that you leave this case now and that I do not see you again. Do we have an understanding?”

Nick slowly shuffled round the man and was about to answer but saw the man’s gaze flick past him to the bureau, and to the wireless and gramophone, the only undamaged items on the room. Lucia was just off to his right side. In the blink of an eye, he whipped the bottle up and smashed it against the German man’s head, sending him crashing to the floor. The gun flew out the man’s hand and onto the bed, with Lucia diving in quick pursuit. As her fingers closed around it, Nick lunged forward and delivered a crashing punch to the back of her head with his now-empty right hand and she was out like a light. He stood back. The German lay motionless on the floor in a growing pool of blood, Lucia was sprawled across the bed, both of them out cold. Nick retrieved the Luger from her fingers and pocketed it. He patted down the man and found a wallet; the man’s name was Jurgen Platt, as Nick had suspected. Inside Lucia’s clutch bag was some more dough and a small knife. No gun. He smiled to himself and threw the bag onto the bed beside her.

              “No deal,” he said out loud. Crossing quickly to the gramophone, he retrieved the papers and set it back how it had been. They’d suspect, but they wouldn’t be sure. On a whim, he retrieved the flat keys from Lucia’s bag, turned off the light and left. Jurgen would be all right, but he’d have a headache; they both would.

Nick stepped carefully back out into the fog of the night. He wondered where the Italian was. As silently as he could, he paced away from the flat, across the square, then doubled back along the next street up and stopped. There were no sounds of pursuit. He carried on home as quickly as he could, stopping frequently in alley mouths to check for any sign he was being followed. There were none. He was about to enter his flat, when on a whim he decided to take a detour. It wouldn’t take them long to find him and when they did, his flat would be the first place they searched.

              Nick only had one friend, one person he truly trusted. It was time to pay Stephen a visit.

CHAPTER 5

“You look terrible. When’s the last time you slept? And do you know what time it is?”

“Nice to see you, too, Stephen.” Nick leaned on the doorpost and looked at the grizzled old man in front of him. A thick, bushy, grey beard merged into a shock of unruly grey hair, and a small pair of glasses balanced precariously on the end of the man’s nose. His visible skin was lined like ancient parchment and he stood stooped like a gnarled tree that had weathered countless storms. He shuffled aside.

“I suppose you’d better come in.”

Nick stepped in and minutes later they were sat in Stephen’s small front room. The old man removed the fireguard and stoked up the fire, throwing some more coal on.

“There’s brandy on the side there. I suppose you’ll be wanting a drink.” Stephen motioned at a decanter on the sideboard and Nick poured them both a drink. They sat in silence for some moments then Nick fished in his pocket.

“I need you to have a look at this.” He handed the papers from the gramophone to Stephen and waited patiently as the old man adjusted his glasses and peered over them. There were four pieces of paper, two of them folded, the other two photographic prints, all carefully rolled up.

“Where did you get these?” Stephen asked after a time, looking back up at Nick over the top of his glasses.

“From the flat of a woman who was murdered.”

Stephen nodded as if this was to be expected. “You know what they are?”

“I’ve an idea, but I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

Stephen held one piece of paper aloft. “This one’s a page of a bank statement: Swiss numbered account, showing money in and out. A lot of money in. The other piece of paper, handwritten names, mostly foreign. Unusual. These two photos, well, I’d say these are photos taken of a British military briefing document. Looks like standing orders for troop deployments. This is pretty heavy stuff, Nick.”

Nick nodded his head.

“So who made these? Someone has photographed all of these then these prints have been produced from the film. That requires expertise and equipment. Your dead woman?”

“Maybe.”

“Or someone else. Nick, the film could still be out there. What about these names and this bank statement? What have you got yourself mixed up in?”

Nick reclined back into the armchair and twirled his brandy glass thoughtfully. “I wish I knew.” He briefly recounted the events so far and waited for Stephen to speak.

The old man took off his glasses and laid them down carefully. “Nick, I thought, after you left the service, you were done with this?”

“I was. I told you what happened.”

“Listen, you know better than anyone, not having the whole picture is dangerous. This Carruthers has steered you into incredible danger but not apprised you of the full facts.”

Nick nodded and waited for his friend to continue.

“Clearly he’s been alerted to some sort of espionage, but it seems likely from what you’ve told me that this Ramona was the key lead for him. She was either working for him or he suspected her of working for someone else – the latter I would think. I don’t think he knew much beyond that; that’s why he’s sent you over the top. You’re the bait to flush out the big fish.”

“Just like the old days; the ones with no clue are sent to their doom by those that know better.”

Stephen nodded and waved the paper angrily. “Just like the old days. We both saw plans for war that will leave men dying in their thousands…” He trailed off and seemed to gather himself. “Still that’s from another time. We have to move on.”

Nick nodded. “We do.”

“You haven’t, though, have you, Nick?” Stephen spoke softly but the words made Nick look up sharply.

“I’m fine.”

“Your face tells a different story. How are you sleeping?”

Nick snorted. “Upright, in a chair, if I’m lucky.”

“You still have the nightmares?”

“Yes. I don’t want to talk about it, Stephen,” Nick said firmly, knocking back his brandy.

The old man nodded. “No one does. All that sacrifice; it’s already a forgotten war. Were you and I so lucky to make it through I wonder?”

“Never say that. Every day I thank my stars that I did make it. We have to go on and live our lives for those that didn’t. You’re all that kept me going through the darkest times. You didn’t have to come. Why did you?”

“Your father asked me to keep an eye on you.”

Nick swallowed heavily, pushed the memories aside.

“When your parents were gone and you were alone but determined to avenge them with your romantic notions of war, I had to go with you.”

“You didn’t.”

Stephen smiled. “No, but I did. I wanted to go, too. I guess we both learned different quickly.”

“Day two on the line,” Nick said bitterly. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Do you still think about…?” Stephen paused. “…the incident?”

Nick’s jaw clenched and he nodded. No word would come. Think about it? How could he ever forget about it?

“You shouldn’t,” Stephen said softly. “It was war. Bad things happen. You had your reasons.”

“No reason is good enough for what I did. Look where it led me.” He spat the words, bitterness filling his tone. “Got me noticed, away from the front, ultimately promoted, for carrying out even darker deeds in cold blood on quiet city streets and unremarkable rooms. Maybe you shouldn’t have saved me on day two.” He gave a harsh snort.

“Never say that.”

“No. I’m sorry. I owe you.” Nick gave a wan smile.

“You don’t owe my anything. I served your family for years.” He waved around the flat. “They provided well for me, and so have you. I owe you.”

“God, we sound like two old women.” Nick got to his feet and collected Stephen’s glass to pour them both another drink. He placed the older man’s glass down. “Look, can you do me a favour?”

“Of course.”

“Look after those for me.” Nick nodded at the papers. “I don’t think my place’s going to be safe anytime soon.”

“Never mind your place, Nick. What about you?”

“I’ll be all right.”

Nick could see Stephen wanted to say something else but he let it go.

“Okay, I’ll put them with your other things. Any time you need them, or anything else, just call for them.”

“Thanks, Stephen.” He helped the old man up. “Now you’d better get to bed.”

“And so should you.” Stephen wagged a finger at him and Nick cracked a smile.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be around.” Nick slipped out the front door.

Stephen stood framed in the doorway, a frail old man in a woolly dressing gown. “Nick, take care.”

“I will.” Nick waved and watched the door shut then he set off for home.

The door to Nick’s apartment stood slightly ajar. More disconcertingly, he could hear the low crackling sound of a Fats Malone swing number playing on the gramophone. He wondered for a split second if it was the German and Lucia, sending him a message, but then dismissed it. Light streamed around the edge of the door. Surely they’ve had waited for him in darkness and silence? Taking no chances, he gingerly pushed the door open with his foot and held his breath. Perhaps it was Clara? It was too early really, but maybe the club had fizzled out. Nick edged his way into the living room, wishing he hadn’t given the Luger away quite so soon. Every muscle was taut, ready to spring as he paced with measured cat-like footsteps around the corner of the door. Relief surged through him and he felt his muscles relax, but his mind stayed alert.

              “Hello, Nick. Twice in one day.” Carruthers looked at his watch. “Well, not quite, but you see I haven’t been to bed yet, so I’m slightly out of kilter. I need my sleep, Nick, and you’re not helping.”

              “You’re in the wrong job,” Nick snorted.

Carruthers made no move to get up from the armchair next to the gramophone where he’d been sat reading a book. A nearly empty glass sat beside him. “I found your Scotch. Hope you don’t mind?”

              “Not at all. Another?” Nick asked, tossing his hat onto the sideboard and pouring himself a glass.

              “Better not, or sleep really will get the better of me. You’ve been keeping some late hours.”

              “You gave me a job to do.”

Carruthers’ presence was an annoyance Nick was trying not to let show, but he was doing a bad job of it.

              “So I did.” Carruthers leaned forward and fixed Nick with a baleful stare. “But I’m afraid I’ve got a new problem and yet again you’re sat in the middle of it.”

              “I must be lucky.”

              Carruthers narrowed his eyes in pique. “You’re very flippant, Mr Valentine. I would have expected more from a man of your experience and training, even given the circumstances of your dismissal.” The last words were added with particular and, Nick thought, wholly unnecessary emphasis.

              “The story of my life. I’ve been a constant disappointment to everyone. Most of all myself. Cheers.” Nick raised his glass and finished it in one long swallow. He felt a warm glow that had almost as much to do with the whisky as it did seeing Carruthers shake his head. “So, I trust this isn’t a social call? Do you want to come right to the point?”

              “The point? Where have you been tonight and who have you been with?”

              “If I told you, you probably wouldn’t believe me.”

              “Well, that would be unfortunate for you, because you really need me to believe you.”

              “And why is that?”

              “You really don’t know?” A frown crossed Carruthers’ face.

              “Enlighten me.” Nick hauled himself out the chair and crossed back to the sideboard with his glass. Carruthers was making him thirsty.

              “You went to The Blue Rose tonight.”

              “You have been attentive.”

              “What did you do in there?” demanded Carruthers.

              “My turn to say ‘you don’t know?’” Nick looked at Carruthers’ blank visage and let out a laugh. “My God, you don’t know do you? Your tail not get in?”

              Carruthers flushed and for an instant Nick thought he might rise from his chair in anger, but the moment passed and he settled back, composed, but yet again, Nick noted, there had been that barely controlled spark.

              “What I know is that you went in. A while later, a high-ranking officer left, pursued by individuals of interest. Our man followed them.”

              “So I might have stayed in there all night?”

              Carruthers gripped the arms of his chair. “You might, but I don’t think you did. Dammit, Nick, what happened in there? Why did Brigadier Johnson come tearing out? Why were those men following him? I want answers.”

              Nick regarded him coolly. “That makes two of us. I suggest you fill me in.” Nick put his glass down and paced the room. “You asked me to look into Ramona’s death, to see what I could find out, and gave me some vague information about persons of interest. I think you know a lot more and the reason I think that is that we’ve now got a senior army officer on a government advisory board involved, and I don’t think that was news to you. Just what is going on?” Nick stopped pacing and faced Carruthers.

              “Very well. I will share with you what we know. I told you Ramona was possibly working for a fascist. The truth is, we don’t know who she was working for, or what information she might have got her hands on nor, for that matter, who she might be passing it to. She’d only recently come to our attention.” Carruthers paused and gave a sigh. “The reason she came to our attention was that she started a relationship with Brigadier Johnson. He has access to highly classified information and it’s our jobs to keep tabs on people like that and those they associate with. We weren’t alarmed at first; we considered it a silly mid-life affair. You know, the old officer, finds an attractive dancer in a club. He started seeing her there, then dinner, hotels. It looked like it was getting serious, so we kept keeping an eye on her. That’s when we got really worried. He was seeing her more and more, and she was keeping undesirable company. We only joined the dots a week or so ago and now she’s dead. What I need to know is why she’s dead and what information she may have had; more to the point, who she might have passed it to.” He folded his hands in his lap as the gramophone quietly slurred to a stop behind him.

              “I notice you didn’t say you wanted to find out who killed her. Shouldn’t there be something in there about bringing the killer to justice?”

              “That’s the police’s concern,” Carruthers replied coldly. “Obviously we’re interested, but only from an intelligence point of view.”

              “Nice to know you care,” Nick said bitterly.

              “There are higher things at stake here. You should know that better than anyone. We may be heading for another war before long and we need all the intelligence we can get, but so does everyone else. That makes for dangerous times. Ramona was a victim of her time and her profession.”