Shadow Box (28 page)

Afterwards, I drifted back to Central Park, walking, sitting, people-watching. In the back of my mind I kept thinking I might coincidentally bump into Sophie. Of course, I didn’t.

I had a late lunch at McDonald’s then went back to the hotel to wait for Sharp. My story was that I’d stayed here and kept my head down until his arrival, which, of course, I hadn’t. It was easier to be economical with the information I had gathered. Should I even tell him about Paul Dolan? Given that Dolan was Tony’s contact, probably not.

I went down to the bar at 6.30 p.m. and ordered a drink. Sharp turned up at 6.45 with his suitcase and checked in.

I got him a beer and he joined me at the table.

“Good flight?” I asked.

“Not bad. Got a bit of kip.” He looked fresh as a daisy. He glanced at his watch. “Not bad for time.”

I sat quietly. I wanted him to give. Sometimes a silence can force a gush of information to fill the gaps.

“So,” he said, breaking it. “Mulvaney, eh? Where did you see him?”

“He was in a hotel just across the square.”

“Big coincidence.” Sharp laughed dryly. “Of all the hotels in all the towns in all the world…”

“On the same
square
?” I said. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Why might he be here? On Tommy Kelly’s say-so?”

Knowing what I knew about Cheryl being in town, I decided to push a bit.

“I have some good news on that front,” Sharpie said. “Tommy Kelly’s appeal has fallen through. It’s almost general knowledge that he was behind the shooting of the Russian diplomat Komorov and Martin Connolly. He overplayed his hand. The Russian Embassy has kicked up one hell of a stink that’s going to keep Tommy behind bars for quite a bit longer.”

“He’ll be pleased.”

“He’s livid. He moved too fast, got cocky. A bit like you. That’s when people come unstuck.”

Sharp took a sip of his drink, looking at me over the rim of his glass. I took the criticism.

“We get on OK, don’t we?” he said.

“Sure,” I said. We did; it was only when I disobeyed his orders that we didn’t.

“There’s nothing we can do out here, but when you get back, there will be some kind of disciplinary proceedings. I wanted to let it go, but Napier said these things have to be observed. After the trouble he’s had over Tony, he’s doing everything by the book. I think we’re going to send you back home. With Tommy safely inside a bit longer, finding his daughter is not such a priority.”

The idea made me nervous. I didn’t love being in NY, but I felt I was on to something big. It had become more than a job for me, and finding Sophie was a personal mission but one that seemed to be frustrated at every turn.

“Don’t send me back now I’m here, Sharpie. You said you’ve got new leads.”

“Not to be discussed here,” Sharp said. “Let’s have something to eat and then I’m going to have an early night. I have to get busy tomorrow.”

We ate sushi in a Japanese in the village. After tempura and some warm sake, Sharp went into his more relaxed, chatty mode.

The one where he tries to pry a bit.

“So anything else you’ve noticed over here?”

“No,” I lied. I was sulky. “You told me to stay put, so I did. I’ve been bored shitless.”

“Maybe best you go back, then. There’s nothing I can’t handle here.”

“I don’t really know what you
are
doing here, Sharpie. I was just here to look for Sophie, with Tommy Kelly and Tony’s encouragement.”

“The less we say about Tony at the moment, the better. He’s given you some bum steers which have landed you in the shit and mucked up my operation. I can’t give you details, but there is a big arms deal going on between the Russians and the IRA.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“This is major: it’s not just arms, it’s drugs, prostitution, people-trafficking, the lot. And Tommy getting Connolly
and
Komorov shot has really upset the applecart. If I were him I wouldn’t want to be out of prison. Now the Russians and the Irish are blaming each other for security leaks, like how Tommy Kelly knew where Connolly and Komorov were meeting. They were on the brink of pulling it all together when the deal brokers got blown away. So now the big bosses are getting shirty, things will move fast.”

“Bashmakov?” I suggested.

“Probably,” he said. “Bashmakov may be involved; in fact it’s very likely. But we don’t even know where he is.”

I took a sip of my drink to cover the look on my face.

I imagined that Sharpie knew
exactly
where Bashmakov was.

“I’ve spoken to Sandy Napier,” Sharpie said. We were eating breakfast in the hotel the next morning: crispy bacon and maple syrup on waffles. “He’s agreed to send you home.”

“No!” I said.

“Afraid so. If Mulvaney’s sniffing about here, he
could
be looking for you. If we can slip you out tonight, you’ll be out of danger. I shouldn’t worry too much about the disciplinary stuff – your track record is pretty good.”

“Which is why I need to be here,” I said.

Sharp shook his head.

“Take today off. I have things to do uptown and then I’m out this evening. There’s a seat for you on the red-eye tonight.”

“So that’s it?” I asked.

“Yep,” Sharp said. “I’m sorry. It’s out of my hands now. It’s just business.”

“Sure,” I said submissively. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Well, maybe next time we can work together again. You listen to Tony Morris too much. He’s too old-school, acts before he knows the facts. And what he does know, he keeps to himself. A lot of our new intel comes from stuff Tony was sitting on, things we’ve found on his computer. Intel he should have shared.”

From what Dolan had told me, this rang true.

“OK,” I said, admitting defeat. “Maybe we could go for a drink before I leave this evening?”

“That would be good; quick one,” Sharp said. “Maybe I’ll come and see you off safely.” He waved away an offer of more coffee from a nice-looking waitress whose tight uniform passed him by. He flicked his suit with a napkin and picked up his briefcase. “Meet back here around six?”

“Sure thing,” I said.

I watched Sharpie order a cab at reception, then leave the building a couple of minutes later. I gave a little wave.

I left the hotel seconds after him and watched him get into a limo. I took the next yellow cab and, like they do in the old films, asked the driver to follow the limo. It headed north, driving steadily through morning traffic. The sun was bright and the day was heating up.

“You a private dick?” the cabbie asked.

“No. My boss forgot his phone.”

“You English? From London?”

“Yep,” I said, eyes on the car ahead. The conversation ground to a halt. We drove past Central Park. Several blocks later the limo stopped in front of a huge, impenetrable-looking building.

“What is this building?” I asked, but the driver had ceased to be conversational after the first attempt.

“Businesses, some apartments, I guess.” I paid him, thanked him for the information and got out. Sharpie had disappeared inside, but the flow of people on the street concealed his entry. Brass plates advertised names of corporations and anonymous numbers.

I’d drawn a blank.

I cursed inwardly. I knew I would get into further shit if I was caught trying to spy on my case officer. Sharpie knew what he was doing and didn’t need me. He’d cut me out of the loop. I decided it was probably time to go, and started to walk through Central Park in the sunshine. I had yet another day to kill, so I headed to Madison Avenue and found Barneys, the department store where Sophie had been spotted weeks ago. Again, I wandered around in some foolish hope that I might bump into her.

But, like I said, I don’t believe in coincidences.

There were well-maintained girls everywhere: rich Madison Avenue princesses out with their girlfriends, admiring clothes in honking, nasal voices that sounded as if they had been brought up on
Sex and the City
.

I browsed around the men’s department. I hadn’t been in a shop for a long time, let alone considered what I would like to wear. I was still working from a small wardrobe of clothes given to me as Kieran Kelly. I caught sight of myself in a mirror and thought I looked a total mess. My hair had grown and the reddish colour was growing out, showing lighter at the roots. I was fed up with Kieran Kelly: he was a waste of time. Going under the Kelly name hadn’t done me many favours so far. I bought myself some narrow navy trousers and a pair of oxblood preppy brogues. I was pissed off and felt like I needed a treat. I picked up a white linen Brooks Brothers shirt and a sharp Ralph Lauren blazer. The bill came in just under $900 and I didn’t care. I had money. A pair of horn-rimmed sunglasses like Johnny Depp’s pushed it just over a grand.

I felt exhilarated as I continued down sunny Madison, my Barneys shopping bags swinging along, suddenly glad I was being sent home. I walked over to Astor Place and got a haircut. A finger-length crop that made me feel more like myself.

I did some more shopping, bits for my mum and stuff, then got back to Washington Square around four. I was hot, so I had a bath and tried out my new clobber. I looked better, sharper.

I looked like me.

At 6 p.m. I put on my regular clothes and went down to meet Sharpie in the bar.

“Good day?” I asked.

“Not bad,” he said. He looked agitated. “You look different.”

“Just had a bit of a trim, ready to go back home.”

We ordered drinks and Sharpie looked at his watch.

“Can’t be long,” he said. “I need a shower. It’s been a sticky one.”

“Off anywhere nice?” I asked.

“No, strictly business,” he said. He looked around; no one was listening. “I’m hooking up with a CIA contact,” he whispered, touching his nose almost subliminally. “We’ve been working a long time gaining their confidence, sharing our intel. This is turning into a big international deal. Some of our lines of enquiry are beginning to come together.”

He took a sip of vodka and tonic and smacked his lips shut; he’d said enough.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more involved,” I said. “I’ve come this far.”

“Believe me, you’re best out of it. Listen, I’m not going to have time to see you off. I’ve got to get ready. You’ll be OK?”

“I’m a big boy now,” I replied. I was pleased he wasn’t coming. I had no intention of going to the airport.

“Cool. Have a good trip and we’ll debrief when I’m back.”

“Cheers,” I said. We shook hands. “See you back in Blighty.”

I let Sharpie go upstairs, finished my drink and went up in the elevator to my room. I changed into my new clothes and came back down well before Sharpie would be ready. Out on the street I crossed the road, watching the front of the hotel. Twenty minutes later, the limo that had picked Sharpie up that morning cruised up and idled outside the front entrance. I walked up to the corner and flagged down a yellow cab and asked him to wait for me. Another five minutes and Sharpie came down the hotel steps. I ducked into my cab.

“Can you follow that limo up there?”

“Sure, man.” The driver turned and grinned at me. He was black, with a strong New York accent. “You some kind of spy, or you stalking a rich lady?”

“Bit of both,” I joked. “I’m a spy, following a man who’s about to broker a big arms deal between the Russians and the IRA and a rich lady.”

“Heavy stuff, man.” He laughed again. “You ain’t gonna get me into some kind of shoot-out? Don’t expect that this end of town.”

“No,” I said. “But keep your head down just in case.”

He laughed again, and pulled out as the limo drew away from the kerb.

Donnie had done as Dave had told him and had kept an eye on the front of the hotel since 6 p.m. He had smoked half a dozen cigarettes and was gasping for a drink by the time he saw his target come out of the hotel.

He looked different: smartly dressed, haircut, like he was going on a date. Donnie thought that was promising. When he saw the kid hail a cab, he stepped out of the shadows and flagged one down himself.

“Follow that cab, mate,” he said.

“Sure. You a private dick or something?”

“Yeah,” Donnie said. End of conversation.