Enigma

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  15:20 hours

  The sun was shining, it was mild out. The birds were singing.

  You could hear them over the traffic and noise of the City. Love could have simply been out for a drive or going about on a task. It wasn’t the obvious atmosphere in which to catch a killer and possibly be killed in the process.

  He drove straight home. Twenty-two minutes later, he was parking the car in leafy Gaisford Street in between his local pub on the corner and his flat. A few people were out enjoying the sudden change in the weather. Happy faces. Meeting friends for coffee, shopping or going for a late lunch. A drink.

  He was glad he no longer partook. Alcohol kills your senses, makes you less aware and more of a target. It eats your brain cells. He didn’t need that.

  In New York he went through a period in his life when he was hitting the whisky. Hard. It wasn’t a good time. Work was getting to him, crime, corruption, it was like a sieve. As fast as he was getting crime off the streets it was being replaced. He felt useless, his life was going nowhere. He got his wake-up call when he saw a reflection of what he was fast becoming. He saw what others were seeing only too clearly. And he didn’t like it. He knew he had to stop or else he’d die, and so he quit.

  Just like that.

  From one day to the next and he’s never looked back.

  He was in great shape apart from the sporadic and not so sporadic smoking. His head was where he wanted it to be. He had a great dog, a decent place to live and a job he could really get his teeth into. And one that he was good at, very good, along with a partner for whom he would gladly stop a bullet.

  But no permanent woman. Not now, not for years. And that was okay too. He kept his emotions in check. He wouldn’t get too involved. It wasn’t him. Take it or leave it. And it wasn’t that he was shallow, he wasn’t shallow at all.

  He was the opposite.

  He cared too deeply not that anyone would ever see that side of him.

  Love put his key in the lock, opened the door and smiled at the surprise on Julie’s face. Can dogs look surprised, he pondered, well, checking out the expression on Julie’s face right now, they sure can!

  ‘Hi, pregnant one,’ he said.

  He strolled over to her basket where she was enjoying the sun streaming in through the French window. As Love bent down to stroke the dog a handful of tiny dust particles danced in the stream of light.

  She was happy to see Love.

  He would take her out before going on to Stuart’s. It made sense whilst he was here. He stood up and glanced round the flat. Nice place, comfortable, warm. The sun playing with the faded colours on the Indian rug giving hints of the brilliance they once exuded. It brought to life the aged honey tones of the surrounding wooden floorboards.

  But Love had a job to do. ‘Come on, Julie, let’s go outside quickly,’ he said.

  He’d take her down the stairs and out to the front of the property to where a small courtyard made up of grass and concrete was situated. Love took Julie there on the odd occasion when time was short. He’d promptly clean up after her if necessary before settling her down. He’d go back upstairs into his bedroom, walk over to his wardrobe, slide open the door and reach to the back of the shelf. He’d open his portable safe and remove its contents. He’d strap on his holster. It would feel strange. He didn’t get to wear it that often. And for that he was thankful. He’d put his jacket back on, weapon concealed, additional bullets in his pocket, and he would leave.

  Thinking only of the job in hand.

  No room for distractions.

  Love took the scenic route to Stuart’s house via the Serpentine. It meant he’d spend three to four minutes longer in the car but this was no problem for the detective. The route, which he often took when driving to Stuart’s, was more aesthetically pleasing, his blood pressure stayed at a reasonable level, but not only that, it meant he would be facing in the right direction enabling him to park exactly where he’d planned which wouldn’t have been possible going via Notting Hill Gate with all the one-way systems.

  Twenty-four minutes later, Love was directing his Volvo down Palace Gardens Terrace.

  He cruised down the tree-lined road. It was full of parked cars which presented no problem for Love. He drove to the end, pulled over to the right and came to a stop outside the church and in front of a line of parking spaces for hired cycles. He pushed the gear into neutral pulled on his handbrake, turned the key, released his seat belt and reached across to his glove compartment. The gun pressed sharply into the side of his chest.

  He pulled out a small printed card stamped with an authorisation which read “Official Police Business” and shoved it into the front of his windscreen.

  A traffic warden had already spied Love and was making her way to his Volvo. He got out, beeped his car, walked over to her and flashed his badge. She looked momentarily surprised before continuing on her way. There was a car a few yards down the road whose time had expired on the meter. It would be her next stop.

  Love waited for a bus to pass before sprinting across the road and turning left into West Mall taking the slightly longer way round to Stuart’s house. He wanted to take a look at the businesses in Stuart’s road. He looked around him as he walked past a row of parked cars on his right belonging to employees and visitors associated with the offices beyond. Moments later, he turned the corner into Rabbit Row. He glanced inside the garage as he walked by, knocked on the glossy black double glass-fronted door, careful not to step in the path of a passing vehicle. He turned his head to watch it drive by. It was a dark blue Volkswagen.

  A moment later, the door opened.

  Stuart smiled and stepped back. ‘Come in, partner.’

  Love nodded and walked into the cosy entrance hall. ‘Hi, mate,’ he said.

  ‘Did you see them?’ Stuart closed the door and locked it behind him. He gestured for Love to go upstairs.

  Love spoke as he bounded up the wooden half-spiral staircase that led to the reception room above. ‘I did. You wouldn’t know they were there if you didn’t know they were there.’ He smiled. His footsteps echoed on the oak floorboards silencing suddenly as he stepped on to a large, pale yellow linen rug.

  ‘They’re good,’ Stuart said coming up behind Love.

  The two undercover DCs on duty could easily pass as a resident simply out doing some shopping or going about their business.

  Love turned to look at his partner.

  He’d changed out of his Hugo Boss suit. He was wearing a white and blue baseball shirt that moulded to his lean torso, an old pair of Lee jeans, faded and frayed a little in places, and on his feet, acting like slippers, a pair of thick white socks.

  Stuart ran his hand through his hair. ‘You should have seen who they replaced.’ He smiled. ‘Two blokes who were acting as telephone repair men. Brilliant!’

  Love shrugged off his Donegal. The gun visible in stark contrast to the white of his shirt. He hadn’t thought to change. He loosened his tie, removed it and undid the first two top buttons. His Burberry skinny fit black chinos perfectly highlighting his long and shapely, muscular legs.

  He glanced round the room. The only view on this floor to the front of the property and the road beneath was accessed via the kitchen from the window above the sink. It was the only visible point apart from the balcony area which was out of the question for obvious reasons.

  It had to look like Emma was home and home alone.

  It explained why Stuart had opened the garage doors to allow anyone, someone in particular, a good view of her car and hopefully to arrive at the conclusion, albeit incorrect, she was indeed at home.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ Stuart asked, and started to walk silently through into the kitchen.

  Love followed. He stepped on to the rust-coloured coir runner that ran the length of the kitchen. He smiled at the sight of the chrome and red leather bar stool pulled up against the sink. And to one side s
itting on top of the Indian walnut worktop a mug and a plate of half-eaten sandwiches. Stuart’s vigil.

  ‘Something from the fridge or would you prefer a hot drink?’

  ‘To tell you the truth I could eat something,’ Love said. He strolled over to the sink and peered down at the street below. As he stretched forward he spied one of the DCs strolling past followed by a white car and a small white van. He turned back and perched on the stool.

  Stuart opened the door to the bright yellow fridge. ‘Sandwich do you?’

  ‘Sandwich would be fine, mate, whatever you’ve got.’

  A moment later, Stuart pulled out a tub of margarine, a loaf of organic granary bread, some fresh organic lettuce in a Tupperware box, organic spring onions, fresh parsley and a bowl of succulent fresh prawns. He balanced the lot in front of his chest as he turned round and placed them on the smooth, dark, solid wood counter. ‘Will this do?’

  Love smiled. ‘A sandwich at your house is always a feast, mate,’ he said. ‘That’ll do very nicely.’

  Stuart reached to the shelf above and pulled down a plate from its rack. ‘Mayonnaise?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ That’s what I keep forgetting, Love thought. Next time he passed by his local shop he would drop in for mayonnaise, milk, cigarettes and the latest Playboy… he pondered for a moment, he was sure there was something else.

  Stuart turned round to the fridge and retrieved a jar of mayonnaise. He turned back to the counter opened a drawer and took out a knife.

  ‘How’s Julie?’

  Love lifted one leg to rest on the bottom rung of the stool. ‘She’s fine. Fat. Any day now.’

  ‘Decided what you’re going to do with the puppies once they are born?’

  Love turned to look out the window. He’d heard a vehicle going by. It was a van, probably to do with the cluster of offices and what looked like a small industrial place on the corner. He turned back just as Stuart placed a plate to the side of him on which was presented a delicious-looking sandwich.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said, and picked up one half. ‘Yeah, I have actually.’ He looked at the sandwich in his hand and took a bite. Razors! That was the other thing.

  Stuart skidded over to the kitchen roll dispenser, pulled off a sheet and handed it to Love.

  Love took it wiped his hand and mouth, and said, ‘I reckon I know exactly what I’m going to do with them.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Stuart said. He reached past Love and grabbed his mug. He knocked back the contents and grimaced. ‘God, that was disgusting. Cold tea.’

  Love chuckled as he tucked into his sandwich. It was good. It hit the spot.

  Stuart grabbed the blue handle of his stainless steel Oisillon kettle by Alessi, rattled it, switched on the gas on the cooker, placed the kettle on the flame. As he stood waiting for it to boil he glanced down at the hem of his baseball shirt that fell just past his crotch.

  ‘I’m almost afraid to ask,’ Love said. He gazed at Stuart’s profile with a furrow in his brow his sandwich halfway to his mouth. ‘But what are you doing?’

  Stuart turned to face Love just as he pulled free with a final jerk of his hand a single piece of thread. ‘Loose cotton hanging down,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks, mate.’

  Stuart opened a cupboard pulled out a pottery mug decorated in bright splashes of colour and placed it down on the counter. He fished in his back pocket and pulled out his mobile. He glanced at it before pressing a key.

  ‘Anything?’ he said a moment later. He paused as he listened to the reply. His head on one side, hair hanging over one eye, mobile in between his chin and shoulder as he poured the boiling water into a teapot. A bright and wonderfully garish Unikko teapot by Marimekko with huge red and orange flowers on a white background with a natural wooden handle. He replaced the lid and turned round to lean against the counter. ‘How many times?’ He paused. ‘No, I don’t think so but exercise caution, yeah, thanks, mate.’

  Love watched as Stuart replaced his phone in his back pocket. ‘Problems?’

  Stuart shook his head as he poured tea first into a yellow and lime mug then his blue one. Matching mugs. A garish flower pattern on both, Unikko by Marimekko. Same as the teapot. The collection of enamelled tableware was fun, stylish, bright, quality items, and reasonably expensive but not outrageously so. A single mug cost £12.40. There was far more expensive crockery available but in some cases you’d be paying for the name and not necessarily quality.

  Something Stuart refused to embrace.

  ‘Dave’s seen a black bike go round twice now in the past thirty minutes.’

  ‘Really? Where exactly?’

  ‘He comes from Palace Gardens Terrace turns left into Kensington Mall then right into Rabbit Row and West Mall.’ Stuart walked over to the window and peered outside. ‘A perfect circle.’

  ‘Could they get the make or plate number?’

  ‘No, it was going too fast. A flash and it was gone.’

  No activity was going on outside apart from the firm down the road to the right. A few men were outside talking, some were getting into their vehicles. As Stuart looked on he noticed a white van pull out and drive by. He watched it for as long as he was able then turned back to making the tea.

  A moment later, he handed Love the bright yellow mug.

  Love reached out and took it gratefully. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Good sandwich by the way.’

  Stuart smiled. ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘Anytime.’ He leant back on the wooden counter.

  ‘Do you want your seat back?’

  ‘No, I’m all right for the moment besides I can always bring in the other one.’

  ‘Then we can both sit up here like a pair of old women putting the world to right over their cups of tea.’

  Stuart grinned. ‘Sorry, did you want to go into the lounge…’

  ‘No, mate, I’m fine here.’ He nodded to the deep red Brabantia bin in the corner. It was like the one Fitch had in his lab. ‘Am I right in saying Fitch’s Union Jack trash can has something to do with you?’

  Stuart grinned. ‘Guilty.’

  ‘Well it certainly brightens up his lab and that’s not a bad thing.’

  ‘A little light-heartedness never hurts.’ Stuart picked up his mug took a sip of tea and replaced it on the counter. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Steel, round, silently ticking. It read ten past four.

  Love gazed at his partner, and said, ‘Where is it?’

  Stuart looked over with a question in his green eyes. A second later, he said. ‘It’s next door.’ He gestured with his head. ‘Fully loaded, safety on and ready for action.’

  Love stretched his back and flexed his shoulders. He might no longer be used to wearing a holster but it certainly gave him a feeling of security. A necessary evil. ‘You think he’ll show?’

  ‘Maybe he already has.’

  ‘The black bike?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Stuart said. He crossed his arms as a chill ran through his entire body. The house was well heated, it was warm, but Stuart was cold. ‘I’m just going upstairs to get a jumper.’

  He walked from the kitchen into the lounge and over to the staircase that led to the two bedrooms and bathroom above. He bounded up the stairs two at a time.

  On the upper level he paused to look out of the window but he was too high up to see the road below. He continued up the stairs into the small hallway and entered his bedroom. He walked over to the rattan chest of drawers standing next to the mahogany free-standing double wardrobe and pulled open the third drawer down.

  Inside was a supply of neatly folded jumpers. Cashmere. Pure wool. A couple of nylon and wool mix. He pulled out a dark beige-coloured fisherman’s rib shawl neck jumper, advertised as Irish coffee and cream fleck. Unlike Love’s Donegal, this jumper was one hundred per cent Donegal tweed wool sent directly from Donegal itself.

  Pure quality at a very reasonable price, extremely warm,
and Stuart didn’t mind the Irish connection either.

  He grasped it, pulled it on and was about to go back downstairs when he hesitated, padded over next to the wardrobe and pulled on a pair of old tan cowboy boots he’d had for about fifteen years.

  He stood up and looked round the room. A moment later, he left.

  By the time Stuart returned downstairs, Love had wandered into the lounge or reception area as it was sometimes known by, and was sitting on the edge of the large cream and brown linen-covered couch.

  His yellow mug on a coaster on the bamboo and glass coffee table in front of him. He looked up as Stuart walked into the room. His boots making a clacking sound on the wooden floorboards.

  ‘Looks like you’re planning on going out,’ he said.

  Stuart smiled. He walked over to a side table and switched on a lamp. Its soft glow spread over the room. ‘Just on alert,’ he said. ‘And talking of which.’ He walked over to an antique cabinet opened a drawer and pulled out his handgun.

  A Walther PPS by Fabryka developed by the German company Carl Walther GmbH Sportwaffen specifically for plain clothes law enforcement personnel and standard issue for DCA personnel.

  ‘I normally keep it upstairs in a hidden and locked compartment in the bathroom but brought it down just before you got here.’ He placed it carefully down on the table lifted his arms and with one swift movement removed his jumper. He reached over to the armchair where he’d dropped his leather holster he’d pulled from his wardrobe just before coming back downstairs. He slid it on, added the gun, his jumper on top. He flicked back his hair with his hand. ‘Ready and waiting.’

  Love smiled. He glanced at his Timex. ‘It’s getting close to twenty-five past four.’ He picked up his mug saw it was empty and replaced it on the table. ‘It’ll be getting dark soon. What do you reckon - advantage or disadvantage?’

  Stuart shoved his hands into his jean pockets. ‘Can go either way… shit! This thing is uncomfortable.’ He shrugged his shoulders back in an effort to make the holster less restrictive. It didn’t work.

  Love laughed. ‘You realise we’re a pair of wussies, mate! I’m telling you, the guys back in New York wouldn’t believe it.’

  Stuart chuckled. ‘Bring it on, Love, I’ll go to sleep in this thing if I have to.’

  ‘As long as we get a result, right?’

  ‘As long as we get our man,’ Stuart said. ‘We usually do.’

  Love sat back and crossed his leg at a right angle. ‘I can hear a question in that statement, listen, Stuart, if we…’ Love tailed-off as Stuart’s mobile began to ring.

  Stuart pulled his hands free and whipped his mobile from his back pocket before it could ring a second time. ‘Yes?’ He listened for a moment, then said, ‘Hold on I’m putting this on speaker.’ He walked over to the coffee table and placed the phone down on the glass top.

  ‘The bike came back a third time.’

  ‘Was it him?’

  ‘No,’ Dave’s voice came over the speaker. ‘We got a better look this time. It wasn’t even the right make of bike.’

  ‘Sure it wasn’t him?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At the entrance of Rabbit Row just walking past a hairdressers.’

  Stuart thought for a moment. ‘It’ll be getting dark soon perhaps he’s waiting for the cover of darkness.’

  ‘Could be.’

  Love unfolded his legs and leant forward. ‘What sort of traffic has there been since you’ve been on duty?’

  ‘I’d say the usual,’ Dave said. ‘Vehicles belonging to residents, employees down the road and round the corner, plus there have been quite a few visitors.’

  ‘It’s the visitors that interest me,’ Love said. ‘Any deliveries?’

  ‘Quite a few coming and going all the time.’ His voice broke off as he looked down the road. ‘I can see a van pulling up at the end of the road now.’

  ‘But no other motorbikes.’

  ‘A few but they’ve been the wrong type entirely.’

  ‘Okay, Dave, thanks a lot,’ Stuart said. ‘Talk to you soon.’ He leant over and disconnected the call. He left his phone where it was. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘He could be waiting for the cover of darkness,’ Love said. He stared ahead of him. His lips hardly moving as he spoke quietly almost to himself.

  ‘Go on,’ Stuart said. He knew that look. Love was going somewhere only he could go. To that creepy place in his head that took him into the assailant’s mind. No one else could do this and to be honest - not many wanted to.

  ‘He could be waiting for the cover of darkness,’ Love said again. ‘The cover of darkness, to disguise himself, it’s all about disguise… to blend in.’ He broke off, still staring ahead at nothing, at something. ‘The black bike, his bike, darkness, in the dark, blending in, one of a crowd, not standing out.’ He paused momentarily. ‘Unexpected, disguised and unexpected and the best disguise for that would be...’ He looked up at Stuart. ‘Shit!’

  ‘What! Love, what is it?’

  Love jumped up from the couch and grabbed his Donegal. ‘The bastard’s been here all along.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Stuart, he’s been here all along and he’s here right now.’ Love threw on his jacket pulled his gun and released the safety catch. He thrust it back under his jacket strode over to the staircase, and said, ‘He’s outside right now.’

  Stuart snatched his mobile from the table and thrust it into the front pocket of his jeans. ‘Tell me on our way out,’ he muttered as he sprinted over to join Love.

  They took the stairs two at a time, swiftly and silently, reached the front door and stopped. Stuart looked at Love, nodded, unlocked the catch and slowly pulled the door open.

  Love edged forward flattening himself against the side of the brick wall belonging to the garage. It protruded slightly to the front of the house. It gave him perfect cover. He was able to see both ways down the road and as far as the road to the right was concerned, without being spotted.

  Left was clear.

  He saw Dave and shook his head. He gestured with his hand for him to be on red alert. Dave nodded once, turned round, pulled his mobile and rapidly spoke into it.

  Stuart stepped forward. He lifted his jumper, pulled out his weapon, took off the safety catch and held the gun in his hand. Firmly but gently and in control. He edged his way along the wall. ‘Okay, partner, where is he?’ He spoke quietly.

  Love took a step forward turned his head right and looked down the road. Sure enough there it was. He couldn’t help but let a smile of satisfaction pass over his lips. He pulled back behind the brick wall.

  ‘I have confirmation,’ he said. ‘Pfeiffer is staking out the place from his vehicle.’ He looked at Stuart. ‘Mate, he’s in the white van.’