Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) (13 page)

He carefully retraced his steps and doubled back up the side of the Euston Road. He was running out of time, but he needed to come out behind the guys in the car out front if possible. With the rain increasing, he figured the car parked up by the back door was far enough away that they wouldn’t see him. They should be watching the back door anyway, not the road out front. If he was lucky.

Breaking cover, Nick jogged over Euston Road, the splash of his footfalls muffled by the pressure of the rain on the tarmac. He could hear the drops drumming on his hat and feel the wet seeping through his coat as he danced through the shadows, swerving the illumined pools of light, for all the world appearing like a furtive drunk, which was the idea – or maybe even part of the reality. He made the hotel side of the road and sneaked a look at his watch. He was cutting it fine. He didn’t pause as he crossed the junction of the side road, just darted over. As he hit the other side, though, Nick threw himself into the red-stone corner of the grand hotel building and squinted back down. There was no movement. A car trundled by on the main road and he started, but it carried on. The gothic spires of the hotel towered above him in the darkness and he worked his way along the wall to where the junction of the hotel’s own access road was. It was a raised ramp off the main road. Just before the junction was a zebra crossing and yellow crossing beacon. It was a quirk of this particular hotel, and a quirk Nick had used before. Convenient for the pedestrian guest or those heading to the station. Also convenient for Nick, or at least he hoped so. This was why he’d chosen it. Now it was down to luck and patience, but mainly a good dose of luck.

The rain intensified and Nick had to concentrate to peer up the road into the oncoming traffic. A bus rumbled past, devoid of life save for the driver and one slumped form on the back seat, a towering haven of watery light rolling past in the darkness. Nick watched the approaching pale headlights carefully. The cars had slowed in the gloom of the rain and night, slow-moving wipers were struggling to match the weather as Nick was himself, the water streamed from his hat and every so often, an intense, almost tropical shower would spray across the road cutting the visibility. He felt a hard knot of anticipation as he stood coiled at the wall, watching every car, waiting, hoping for that tell-tale orange winking in the rain that would show its intention to turn right into the hotel. Trouble was he couldn’t rely on that, so every car that slowed as it passed he braced to run for, peering intently into the interior. He had two or three false starts, then the worst. A dark saloon, driving slowly towards him, began to indicate as it approached his position. Nick sprinted forward and had one foot on the crossing, casing the car to squeal to a halt. There was muffled cursing and Nick stepped hastily back with an apologetic wave, letting the taxi and its shocked occupants continue on and up into the hotel.

Nick looked at his watch. It was just past three. Maybe Carruthers wouldn’t show? Maybe his men were just instructed to garb Nick. Maybe Carruthers was already inside. A hundred possibilities ran through Nick’s head in the next few minutes as there was a hiatus in the already infrequent traffic. Then he spied a pair of wan lights coming through the murk toward him and he knew. He knew even before the indicator blinked. That feeling at the pit of his stomach – hunch, instinct. He knew. Nick lurched forward as the car slowed to negotiate the bend and the car screeched to a halt as he ran onto the crossing. Carruthers, pale-faced and surprised, peering out through the rain-driven windscreen in alarm, Nick with his hand already on the passenger’s door, and he was in. The door slammed behind him.

“Go straight!” yelled Nick. “Not the hotel!” As he shouted, he rammed the end of his blackjack into Carruthers’ ribs, concealed inside his greatcoat pocket. Flustered, Carruthers obeyed, screeching away down the road. “Kill the indicator!” Nick commanded and gave another prod of the implement into Carruthers’ side. Nick was pleased to see the man shaking, though whether with rage or fear he didn’t know, or care.

“Go right. Grays Inn Road,” Nick snapped and he was gratified to see the man do as he said. He was scared and that was good.

They rounded the corner and Nick directed him round so they were effectively going back on themselves. Nick turned him this away and that as they headed back west, towards Fitzrovia, hugging the deserted back streets.

“You won’t get away with this!” Carruthers suddenly snarled. He half turned towards Nick, but Nick prodded him hard again.

“Don’t get any ideas or you’ll be bleeding in the road with a gunshot,” Nick barked.

Carruthers turned back to the wheel, his jaw set, knuckles white as he gripped tight. Nick drove him around a few more streets then finally stopped him around the back of the big old university building. “Turn the engine off and keep both your hands on the wheel where I can see them.”

Carruthers obliged. Keeping the cosh pressed into the man’s side, Nick leaned over him and patted him down with his spare hand. Nick smiled as he pulled out Carruthers’ small revolver. Pulling his other hand from his pocket, he sat back and transferred the weapon over.

“Well, what do you know? Now I really do have a gun,” he smiled.

“Why you…” Carruthers lunged forward but Nick was faster and gave a softish whop around the head with the butt that sent the man reeling back with a howl of pain. He looked at Nick with something like incredulity and Nick guessed it was a long time since anyone had hit Carruthers. That was satisfying in itself.

“What part of alone didn’t you understand?” Nick asked calmly.

“What? We’re alone aren’t we? More to the point, why are you kidnapping me like some common footpad?”

“I saw the men round the hotel and inside. I thought I’d meet you outside. It would make for a more constructive chat.”

Carruthers looked like he was about to protest but thought better of it. “Now, you going to level with me on this, or are we going to run in metaphorical circles again?” Carruthers gave a snort, raised a hand slowly to his head and rubbed it where his hat had fallen off. His hair was askew and Nick knew his head would be sore. He ran a trembling hand over his hair, pausing in the spot where Nick had hit him. “That was a bit unnecessary don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think. Now start talking or I can dish out some more.”

“We’ve been over this. Ramona was–”

“Let’s not waste time. Neither of us has much left. I know Ramona was pulling info from Johnson and passing it to the fascist. I think she was holding out for more dough or something else and giving them the run around. Maybe that was why she got dropped. Maybe. Either way, Jurgen has those photos now, so I just need to know how important they are.”

“They’re of national importance. We have to get them back, but I told you, he’s not the key man. There’s someone else pulling the strings. We need to find them.”

“You’d risking losing those negatives for that?”

“They’re important, but not that important,” sniffed Carruthers.

“Okay, so I’ve got Ramona being a difficult agent for the fascist mob while running a honey trap for the Brigadier. What I couldn’t figure out was why you wanted me working this. Then I saw the photos of you and Ramona.”

Carruthers stopped rubbing his head and looked at Nick, puzzled. “Photos? I don’t know what you mean.”

Nick brought the butt down hard on Carruthers’ knee with an audible crack and the man screamed in pain. “I’ve got the rest of the night, but you’ve only got two knees. Like I said, I’ve seen photos, so spill it.”

Carruthers was actually crying, Nick was amazed to see. He could make out the tears even in the darkness. The man rubbed a sleeve across his face and tried to disguise the sobs as deep breathing.

“Okay, okay. I knew about Johnson and her, and her affiliations, so I made contact, to put a bit of pressure on her. Jesus, Nick, I’ve got a family…” He faltered and fell silent. Nick hadn’t thought that he’d crack so easily. Carruthers had less balls than he thought. Nick was kind of disappointed; he’d wanted to hit him again.

“Go on.”

“I… She was attractive. I’d never met anyone like her,” the man whimpered. “We met a few times. I, we…”

Nick could fill in the rest.

“She flipped you like she flipped the Brigadier.” He shook his head. Why were men such suckers for a beautiful woman, even when they knew it was going to get them into trouble?

“It wasn’t like that!” Carruthers protested.

“Sure, you and her were special. How long had it been going on? The physical stuff?”

Carruthers flushed. “Just three weeks before, before…”

Nick nodded. “She ask you for anything? Money? Information?”

“How dare you! She wasn’t that type of girl!”

“Get a grip, man. You know exactly what type of girl she was. Sure, I can see the attraction. She was pretty, she mixed it up in nightclubs, you knew she was a spy – what’s not to like? But she was also sleeping with people for information. Were you one of them?”

“No!” spat Carruthers, momentarily angry, then he deflated. “God, I’ve been a fool. This can’t get out, Nick, it can’t. I’m going places. I’ve got a family. I–”

“Save it. That’s why you got me involved, right? Keep it away from your men with this talk of using my contacts?”

“Partly, but also partly because we did need you. Look what you’ve found out already.” He smiled weakly. “Not quite panned out as I thought.”

“I’ll take that as compliment. Anyone else make contact with you about Ramona, try and blackmail you?”

“No, but you said there are photos? Who? I mean–”

“Jurgen’s got them; obviously had her under tabs and picked you up along with it. I bet he couldn’t believe his luck when he figured out who you were. Not only an officer in the government defence committee but a counterintelligence office to boot. All his Christmases came at once. Then Ramona got difficult and wound up dead.”

“Jurgen has photos?” stammered Carruthers.

“
Ha
d
. I don’t know where they are now,” Nick lied.

“Oh God. What am I going to do?”

Nick shrugged and tucked the pistol away. “I guess that’s up to you. I’d say we’re done. Word of warning, though: Jurgen wants you dead.”

“What?”

“He thinks you’re too close, that you might close him down. He asked me to kill you. I haven’t, so you can return the favour. He’s transferred some money to my accounts and you’ll find out that I gave him the negatives. Ignore it. He’s trying to blackmail me into bumping you off.”

“That could be pretty compelling evidence, Nick.”

“Killing you could be pretty compelling as well. I’m no fool. If I do that, he’s got that over me as well as everything else. You should have all you need. I’m out of this now. Tell Jurgen that when you catch up with him and sort all this out. Maybe you’ll even find out who killed Ramona, if any of you actually care,” Nick said with a note of disgust in his voice. He got out the car, slammed the door and started walking away through the rain.

“Nick, I’ll get back to you on that,” Carruthers yelled as he started the engine with a roar. Nick leapt backwards as the car started to roll off.

“What?”

“I need to think this over. I may still need you. Fitzroy, Friday as agreed. Keep out of sight till then and don’t go home. I’ve got a warrant out for your arrest.” Carruthers gave a wave and accelerated away into the rain.

CHAPTER 14

To his credit, Stephen didn’t look surprised to see Nick. The old man answered the door in his dressing gown and ushered Nick through into the front room, where he cooed and bustled on his knees getting a fire going as Nick hung up his coat, jacket and hat to dry. The bottom half of his trousers were soaked, too, and his shirt was damp. Without a word, Stephen put a tumbler of amber liquid in Nick’s hand and shuffled upstairs, returning with a rather fine, if a little dated, grey tweed suit and a fresh white shirt. The fit wasn’t perfect, the trousers gathered around the waist, but they were dry and warm. Nick propped his shoes by the fire to dry out after he pulled on the fresh, woollen socks Stephen had handed him. A few minutes later and he had bacon and eggs and a steaming mug of tea in front of him.

“Just like old times: drying kit and breakfast before first light,” Nick observed.

Stephen smiled. “Just like old times, only no one’s shooting at us or shelling us, thank God.”

“Amen to that.” Nick raised his mug and clinked it against the older man’s. They sat in silence as they ate. Nick was starving and devoured his plate of food in no time, mopping up the egg with extra hunks of bread. Stephen sat back and watched him until Nick at last broke the silence.

“I’m in a spot of bother again.”

Stephen nodded but said nothing.

“Should be over soon, though. I hope.”

“You don’t sound sure,” Stephen observed.

“I’m not. This whole thing’s been rotten since I got involved.” Nick briefly explained the events of the last few days, while Stephen said nothing, but nodded sympathetically. Nick finished and looked across at the older man.

“So what do you think?”

Stephen smiled and spoke slowly, picking his words. “What I hope is that this is over for you. Rationally that would seem like it might be the case. It’s between Carruthers and Jurgen’s lot now. They need to find an outcome, whatever that is.”

“And Ramona?”

Stephen’s brow furrowed and he put down his mug carefully. “No one knows who killed Ramona, which is the biggest mystery of all. Each side suspects the other.” The old man looked up at Nick. “Which is why I replied with what I hope. What I think is that there is more here than we already know. What I fear, and I fear most of all, is that you are not out of it yet. There are still too many loose ends; it’s just a matter of whether you can avoid getting caught up in them. That is assuming of course that you want to avoid becoming entangled in them.” He took a noisy slurp of tea, studying Nick over the rim of the cup.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nick, since I’ve known you as a boy, you’ve been the same; you hate to see injustice, you’re always quick to leap to the defence of others, fight their cause even to the detriment of your own.” He gave a dry laugh. “It’s a wonder you’re still alive after some of your antics in the war. What I mean is, are you ready to let this go?”

“Of course,” Nick replied, affronted. “I didn’t ask to get involved. It’s done nothing but cause me problems. Why would I want to stay tangled up in it now?”

“For the same reasons you always used to – adventure, excitement.”

“That was then,” Nick replied, his face dark. “I’ve had enough adventure and excitement for two lifetimes and enough pain and death for more.”

Stephen nodded. “Aye. That’s true. But what have you been doing with yourself? I’ve said nothing, but I’ve watched. You’ve got your pension and what was left from your parent’s estate, the flat that was left to you. You can get by comfortably, but what are you doing with your life?”

“I resent that…” Nick interrupted, but Stephen held a hand up.

“I know you more than you know yourself, laddy. I watched you grow up, remember? And what I see is a man who’s lost. You’ve got Clara, you’ve got a roof over your head, but you’re like a man taking a stab at living a normal life, not a man actually living one.”

“I have got a normal life,” Nick protested somewhat unconvincingly.

“Aye. A normal life plagued by nightmares, spending the days and the nights trying to blot them out, scared to speak to Clara about them.”

“I’ll get over that,” Nick said curtly, struggling to keep the note of annoyance from creeping into his voice.

Stephen raised his hands. “All I’m saying, as your friend, is that you’ve not been happy. When you came back you settled down. You thought this was what you wanted. You told me about the quiet life you were going to have, walking in the park, taking tea. How long was it before you took the first job you picked up in a bar tracking down someone, or advising on security, or whatever. You stopped coming round as much. You were always out. You became shifty. Nick, I just worry that you’re looking for something and maybe this thing, you think you’ve found it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“The jobs you were doing; come on, boy, you were at the front then behind the enemy lines in France, Berlin, Persia, after the war, Vienna. I don’t know where else.” He held up a warning hand to let him finish. “I don’t want to know where else, or what you were doing, but my point is this: does tracking down unfaithful wives, keeping tabs on girlfriends, recovering lost goods really stretch you, make the most of those talents?”

“I left those talents behind for a reason,” Nick said through gritted teeth. “And I don’t want to go into that.”

“No. I’m just making a point, my boy. I see it in your eyes.”

“What?”

“The spark. It’s been gone, but you had it last time you showed up here and you have it again, because you feel stretched, tested. You’re not in control. You have to fall back on your instincts, plan the next move. You weren’t ready for retirement then and you aren’t now, but you should be, because otherwise you’ll keep going until you wind up dead. That’s why I’m hoping you’ll leave this thing alone now.”

Nick’s ice tinkled in his glass as he swilled the Scotch around. He looked at Stephen thoughtfully and took a sip. “You worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough. You’re not invincible you know.”

“I know that. Look, this thing just has to play out. I just don’t have it figured yet, but it looks like the ends are coming together.”

Stephen nodded. “Perhaps. You’ve a lot more now than you did before, but maybe you were better off before. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, to use a very overused cliché.”

“I had a little knowledge before. I’ve got more now.”

“More isn’t always better. Sometimes it’s better to peek through the keyhole than walk away rather than opening the door for the full picture and exposing yourself in the process.”

“Where do you get these analogies from?” Nick laughed.

“Saucy postcards. Seriously, Nick, if you can get out of this now and move on. Nothing good can come of meddling further.”

Nick nodded. “Always the voice of reason,” he sighed. “So what’s my next move?”

“Bed, my boy, bed. You look exhausted.”

Nick awoke to Stephen’s gentle shaking and a mug of steaming tea on the ring-stained side table. He gave a yawn and burrowed his head back under the comfort of the heavy quilt, away from the brightness of the room, but Stephen prodded him again.

“Nick, sorry, but its time you got up.”

Nick gave a yawn and stuck his head out from under the covers. “Your spare bed is a bit on the small side, but full marks for comfort.” He stretched his arms out and slid himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the tower of soft pillows Stephen had provide him with.

“The secret’s all in the softness of the mattress. I’ve had it years. You just kind of sink into the trough in the middle.”

“I didn’t notice.” Nick blinked. “In fact, that’s the best I’ve slept, for months.” Amazement crept into his tone.

“I know,” Stephen said softly. “No nightmares?”

“No,” Nick replied with wonder. “Nothing, I mean, just deep, deep sleep.” He gave another yawn. “So that’s what I’ve been missing out on.” He gave a wan smile.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“What’s the time?”

“Four o’clock, that’s why I got you up. You’ve been asleep all day.”

“What?” Nick looked at his own watch in astonishment. “Stephen, I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours at a time for, for months.”

“You were very tired,” Stephen pointed out.

Nick picked up the tea and drank thirstily, suddenly aware of the dryness in his mouth. He finished the mug without pausing.

“I’ll get you another. There’s soup on downstairs and your clothes are dry and on that chair.” Stephen pointed to the neat pile in the corner of the sparse spare room. “Have a wash and I’ll see you downstairs. Oh, and I’ve got some good news. I went out while you were sleeping and made some enquiries. You see, I still have contacts myself,” he smiled as he wagged a finger. “You’re no longer a wanted man. Not officially anyway. The warrant’s been scrapped.”

Nick nodded. That was good news. Perhaps now he could see Clara and go home, maybe take her out for dinner. Stephen picked up the mug and headed out the room.

“Oh, and the stuff you left last time, it’s on the chair there under your clothes.”

The old man left and Nick looked again at the chair. He could just see the edges of the papers sticking out, and the butt of the Luger. He’d be better off getting rid of all of that. Carruthers could have the stinking lot. The bank statement was only of use to someone who could persuade a Swiss bank to reveal the account holder; something Nick didn’t think was likely. If there was another part of it with more information then Carruthers could look for it. It all seemed clearer in the morning, as if his brain had processed it overnight. Stephen was right; he should bow out now, while he had an advantage and could do so. Carruthers was bound to pick the Germans up and then his life would be back to normal.

He sighed and stretched again. Sunlight streamed in through the windows. Swinging his feet out of the bed, he gave another stretch and yawned. He felt like a weight had been lifted. He could hear the sizzle of the chops from downstairs along with the clink of cutlery and pans as Stephen shuffled around the kitchen. The smell of the frying meat drifted upstairs and he realised how hungry he was. He rubbed at his head as he suddenly remembered the pain he’d been in the night before, but even the throbbing had stopped. Everything was good.

“So what are you going to do?” Stephen asked with a mouthful of pork chop and potato. His cutlery grazed noisily along the plate as he piled it for his next mouthful.

              Nick stirred the soggy greens around the blue, patterned, china plate. It had only taken him a matter of minutes to get ready, but for the first time his head felt clear, and he felt positive. He’d had time to think.

              “It looked a bit bleaker this morning. We were both tired, but if the warrant on me has been lifted, that means that I’m probably out of this. Which means I can probably kiss my pay goodbye,” he said wistfully, eyeing up some limp cabbage dangling on his fork, “but that I get my life back. Plus I’ve got the money Lucia and Jurgen so kindly gave to me.”

              “There’s no such thing as a free lunch,” Stephen warned, his face creased in concern. “Carruthers might let you off the hook, but they’re still going to want something from you, or want you dead.”

              “Perhaps,” Nick said carelessly, “but I doubt it. They’ll be too busy dodging Carruthers. He’s got to get to them to get the plans and the photos of him and Ramona. I’ll hand over the photos we’ve got, plus the page of the bank statement and names and I’m done.”

              Stephen laid down his knife and fork and looked at Nick with obvious worry. “Nick, I hope so. It sounds logical, but so much of this isn’t. You know better than me how the espionage game works, how much is down to luck. I don’t know; I’ve got a bad feeling.”

              “You’ve always got a bad feeling, Stephen. It’s how you kept me alive in the war. And probably partly due to your terrible cooking,” Nick added as he pulled a piece of gristle from his mouth.

              “Maybe. We still don’t know who killed Ramona, though, and that concerns me.”

              Nick waved a hand. “She was a big girl playing big girls games, and was unfortunate. I’d put money on one of Jurgen’s lot, or someone from British Intelligence having done the deed, perhaps without telling their immediate bosses. She was a risk to both and running out of control. Believe me, I want to know who did it. It offends my sense of natural justice that someone should get away with it, but I think it will come out in the wash when Carruthers pulls Jurgen and co in.”

             
“
I
f
he pulls them in. You didn’t tell Carruthers about Lucia did you?” The words fell out innocently, but Nick realised the intent behind them as soon as they were out.

              “No. I need to hold a few cards.”

              “Is that all it is?”

Nick smiled at the old man, but the look was not returned. “If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, then no. I’m with Clara. Lucia’s a fine-looking woman, attractive, but it’s not that. I’m not an undergraduate running round with pangs of unrequited love or passion. I’m far too old. I like to hold an advantage and she may not be as involved as Jurgen. I’m content to keep her out the picture for now and see how it plays out. Besides, I owe her.”