Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3) (25 page)

The soup arrived and he spooned it up greedily as he read. Vitriol’s prose was not to his liking. I
t seemed clunky and constipated and then flowery and verbose – uneven. The subject matter had not grabbed him either. A shadow fell over his table and he was aware of small dishes being distributed and his soup bowl being removed. He didn’t look up, but muttered a thank you.

‘You are welcome,’ said a woman’s voice that he instantly recognised.

Romney jerked his head up and smiled at the familiar face of the Greek woman. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise it was you. I thought that it was the boy.’

‘I
t is good to see you back at our restaurant,’ she said. ‘You must like Greek food.’

‘I do now. It’s very nice to see you again, too,
’ slimed Romney. He wanted to say something witty, or erudite, something that perhaps a woman of Greek descent might appreciate, but nothing sprang to mind and he inwardly cursed himself for not having had the foresight to have looked up something on the Internet earlier that would make him look clever.

She looked down at the book he had let fall
shut. He saw her reading the title and she raised her eyebrows at him before she was hailed by a colleague and trotted away. She did move very nicely, Romney reminded himself, but he was less pleased and a little more concerned at what she would think of him for sitting in her restaurant reading a book with such a provocative and misogynistic title.

S
he didn’t bring his main course, but he noticed her flitting between tables elsewhere. In fact he found his attention wandering more and more from the unengaging text that was in front of him to search out any sign of her presence. He felt a little foolish for it but took some comfort in being the only one who would know it.

He tried again with the book, dipping into random chapters managing half a page here and there. To himself he was able to admit that it wasn’t the content that defeated him but the writing. Opinions and arguments were not well expressed. The language and style did not flow for him. It was heavily descriptive where Romney had a preference for tight, economical dialogue, sparingly written. But as a man who had suffered at the hands, whims and lawyers of the female of the species
, he would have to agree with much of what he read. Naturally, this would not be something that he would be able to share with anyone.

‘H
ow is your book?’ she said, once again catching him by surprise.

‘Not really my sort of thing,’ he answered
, meeting her stare and holding it. ‘Actually, it’s a bit of homework and like most homework I remember from my school days I’m not particularly enjoying it.’ For something to say, he said, ‘Do you know it?’

‘I heard the author talking about it on the radio. I thought that the woman was very good.’

‘The woman who works at the radio station who was asking the questions?’

‘Yes. You heard it too?’

‘Yes.’

‘I liked her. She put him in his place. Maybe someone should put him in his place a bit more permanently for what he’s written.’

‘Have you read it?’ said Romney.

‘I wouldn’t want to. I trust the woman from the radio station though.’

‘Someone has put him in his place, actually,’ said Romney.

‘Oh good. Where’s that?’

‘The mortuary. He’s dead.’

She looked like she thought he might be having fun with her. When she could see he wasn’t
, she bit her lip and said, ‘Oh. Because of the book?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

‘You’re a policeman?’ Romney nodded. She straightened and her clear forehead wrinkled a little. ‘I’m sorry that he’s dead,’ she said, awkwardly. ‘It’s not what I meant when I said that I hoped someone would put him in his place. Will you be having dessert?’

He shook his head. ‘Full-up
, but if you have filter coffee, I’d like one, please.’

She hesitated a second before saying, ‘He was wrong?’

‘Who was?’ said Romney, wondering if he’d missed something.

‘The man that wrote your book. We’re not all prostitutes.’

She turned away before he could lie that he’d never suspected it for a moment. He reflected on their little exchange. In his experience female waitresses didn’t often stop to chew the fat with male clientele that they didn’t know. She had been very friendly with it. Was she trying to give him the idea that she could be interested? Why would she do that? She didn’t know him from Adam. Did she think that maybe he had money? It was his third visit inside a month and it wasn’t exactly a cheap evening. She couldn’t earn much, waitressing. Did she view him as possibly someone to cultivate? Maybe she was looking for a ticket out of her long hours and low paid job. Maybe he’d just read too much of Edy Vitriol for one night.

He hadn’t seen her again. Trade had slowed and the young man was doing all the waiting. Romney could see it didn’t need two. He wondered if he’d frightened her off. Not everyone
saw the police in the same way. Some respected them, some were in awe of them, others were simply afraid. And some were downright unpleasant. He tipped the ten percent, thanked the young man for an excellent meal and left.

T
he recent change in the weather had brought a more seasonally appropriate drop in night temperatures. He fastened his coat against the chill and made his way across the small square. He looked in an estate agent’s window for something to do and then continued along the pedestrianised and largely deserted central street of the main shopping thoroughfare in search of a night-cap. At the sound of a woman’s heels click-clacking quickly over the brick-pavers behind him he turned to see who was in such a hurry and was surprised for the third time that evening by the waitress from the Greek restaurant. She came straight for him and stopped, breathing quickly.

‘Could I speak with you about something?’ she said.

‘Of course. What is it?’ Romney remained guarded and professional. It was one thing to flirt a little on a common safe ground, but being accosted in the dark on an empty street was something different.

‘It’s complicated
. It might take a few minutes. I need some advice.’

‘Why don’t we go in here for a minute?’ said Romney, indicating the pub that they were standing outside.

‘Thank you,’ she said, as though this had been her intention, and they went in.

***

15

Despite her offer, the gentleman in Romney couldn’t allow her to buy him the first drink. In any case, he realised he shouldn’t risk another alcoholic beverage. He ordered a coffee. She wanted a sparkling mineral water. The barman looked at Romney with disappointment written all over his face. It was a pub after all. Romney was equally dismayed to see him turn on a kettle and reach for the jar of instant coffee on the shelf behind him. He’d be able to buy a whole pot of that crap – not that he ever would – for what they were about to charge him for a spoonful and some hot water. Still, waiting for the kettle to boil gave him time to consider the change in his fortunes and wonder what she could possibly want with him.

He was able to steal glances at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Fiddling with a beer mat, she looked nervous and her eyes constantly flitted towards the entrance. It wasn’t quite how he had imagined things.

She thanked him for the drink. He settled himself on the chair opposite her.

‘My name’s Tom, by the way,’ he said.

‘Alexis,’ she offered, with a small uncomfortable smile. ‘Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I realise that my behaviour must seem strange, but I’m desperate.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ said Romney, selfishly hoping that a beautiful, desperate woman could lead to something. ‘It happens all the time,’ he added stupidly. Thankfully, she
seemed not to have heard the remark.

‘It is because you are a policeman that I wish to talk to you,’ she said. He tried to look as though this was what he had expected. ‘My husband does not know that I am here.’
Oh, a husband.
‘He thinks that I have gone to the market for something. When I learned that you are a policeman I made the decision on my own to speak with you about our problem.’
Our problem.
‘You seem a nice person. You have a kind face. I hope that you can help us.’
Help us.
Romney was aware that his hearing had become selective and determined to do better.

Despite the fact that she was married and her reason for being there, he felt himself being further attracted to her with every sound that she uttered. Her voice with its rich continental intonation resonated perfectly with her other physical attributes: the shape and depth of her eyes, the thick black wavy hair that framed her perfectly sculpted face; the fullness of her exquisite mouth. Even her nose, which was perhaps just a little too big, could not detract from her overall loveliness. Her neck had a quality that made Romney notice a neck like he’d never noticed a neck before. Too many necks just supported heads and channelled essential plumbing and fluids. This woman’s neck took necks to a new plane of difference. And yet, perhaps her most appealing quality was that she appeared unaware of all of it. Or perhaps she was just pre-occupied with her problem.

She was talking again and Romney forced himself to focus on her words. ‘Our restaurant is new. We have invested everything we have into it. If it fails, we will be ruined. We will probably have to return to Greece and live with our families. A week after we opened some men came. They told us that if we wanted to keep our business in Dover then we would need protection. They did not say who from. They said that we could pay them money every month and they would protect us. They said that if we did not pay them then they could not protect us and that others would ruin our business. They did not say how.’ She stopped.

‘How much are they asking?’ said Romney.

‘One thousand pounds.’

‘Have you paid them anything yet?’

‘No, they have not returned. It has not yet been a month. My husband says that he won’t pay them. I support him, but I am afraid of the men. They seemed sincere and experienced.’

‘You haven’t spoken to the police?’

‘My husband will not.’

‘Why?’

‘The men said that if we involve the police they will not be able to protect us. My husband says that he will deal with it.’

‘What does he mean by that?’

She avoided his eyes and said, ‘I don’t know.’

Romney inhaled and exhaled loudly. It was the sound of depressed thought. Was she more
afraid of the threat of the men or what she believed her husband might be moved to do to protect his livelihood? ‘If your husband won’t make a complaint to the police, why are you talking to me now?’

‘Because I am scared. They must come soon and it cannot go well for us. My husband is the only man there. There were three men who came to the restaurant before.’

‘You need to talk some sense into your husband. You must get him to make an official complaint immediately. If you can convince him to do this, I can help you.’

‘Can you protect us and our business?’

‘I can arrest people who are threatening violence and extortion.’

‘My husband will not ask the police for help.’

‘Then, Alexis, your husband is a fool. If he pays them they’ll never stop coming back for more. If he tries to deal with them on his own he will likely get hurt and your business will probably suffer in some way. Is he the chef?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you asked him how he expects to prepare food from a hospital bed? What will happen to your business if he can’t cook? They don’t have to smash up your premises to ruin you. Smashing up the chef will work just as well. So will releasing cockroaches into the kitchen and it’s easy to do. You can’t beat this type on your own. They are usually determined and nasty. The police are there to help you. It’s part of why you pay your taxes.’ He sipped his coffee for something to do and wished he hadn’t. Her water remained untouched.

‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘You are right. I see that, but it doesn’t alter things. My husband is a proud and stubborn man.’ He’s an idiot, thought Romney. She rose to leave. She hadn’t even taken off her coat. ‘Thank you for speaking to me and speaking plainly. I appreciate that. I hope that you will still visit us.’

‘Wait,’ said Romney. ‘I will ask some questions; I’ll try to find out who in Dover might be behind this kind of thing. If I get some names and their pictures are on file I can bring them to show you. If you can identify any of them, I can speak to them without mentioning your involvement.’

‘And what would that achieve?’

‘It’s the best that I can do if your husband won’t make an official complaint.’

‘I will think about it. Thank you.’ And she was gone.

Romney felt as though someone had snuffed out something very important. He felt suddenly very tired, unexplainably cold and horribly alone.

*

Whatever it was that had torpedoed Romney’s equilibrium the previous evening, the light of a new day and the noise of his alarm clock were enough to break the spell. He woke feeling the need to expend some energy. He pulled out some sweats from the laundry basket and headed off for a rare early morning run.