Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) (24 page)

CHAPTER 24

The phone only rang twice before one of Richardson’s goons answered.

              “Let me speak to Richardson,” Nick said curtly.

              “He’s not–”

              “It’s Nick Valentine.”

              “Nick? What the hell is going on? You’ve left a bloody slaughterhouse out there. There are Bobbies all over the streets. My boys are all having to lie low. That is not what I call taking care of things!”

              “It wasn’t all me. In fact, it mostly wasn’t me.”

              “Nick, do me a favour, get out of town and stay the hell away from me. Death follows you like a hungry dog trails after a butcher’s boy.”

              Nick gave a snort. “No problem. I’ll be lying low for a while.”

              “Lying low? I should bleeding well think so. You’ll be on the way to the gallows if the law catches up with you.”

              “Perhaps.”

              “Perhaps? Don’t be a mug, Nick.”

              “I think the police will be more than busy trying to tidy up all the loose ends of all the dead foreign spies, and trying to cover up the embarrassing loss of important documents to further complicate things by bringing me into the equation. There are enough bodies and enough shooters for them to find an angle that works.”

              “I hope so, for your sake. Still, stay out of town.”

              “That an order or advice?”

              There was a long pause at the other end. Nick could almost see Richardson reviewing Nick’s war story in his head.

“Advice,” he growled in a barely audible whisper.

              “Actually, there’s one more thing.”

              “Forget it, Nick.”

              “You wanted a name.” Nick waited.

              “Are you serious? All these stiffs and my mark’s still out there?”

              “’Fraid so.”

There was a long silence.

              “Forget it. There’s too much heat.”

              “I told you not to worry. I’ll take care of it. It’s personal. I just need a favour.”

              “Well, now I am bleeding worried. I’m sorry, Nick. Forget it.”

              “I’m afraid I can’t. After all, you did say you were a patriot. There are larger things at stake.”

              There was a long sigh. “Okay, what is it?”

              On the other end of the line, Nick smiled.

CHAPTER 25

He waited until Monday to call Carruthers. He figured that would be enough time for them to search his flat and realise the documents weren’t there. It would also give them the chance to get all worked up about the carnage that had swept through Fitzrovia, and lament the fact that Nick had got clean away. He had no doubt that the police would be looking for him and no doubt that Carruthers would be searching for him with renewed vigour. By Monday the man would be sweating and that was exactly what Nick wanted.

              The phone only gave three rings before the receiver was snatched up.

“Hello,” Carruthers’ voice crackled down the other end.

              “Hello, Carruthers,” Nick replied.

              “Nick! Where the devil are you?”

              “Closer than you think.”

              “Come in now and we can sort all this out. You’ve left a most terrible mess.”

              “I’ve left a mess?” Nick’s tone was flat.

              “Look, we can smooth it over. I can sort it out. The police are after you for our agent you shot in Clara’s place, and they want to speak to you about Lucia. She was found in your flat after all. What the devil was she doing there?”

              “More to the point, why was one of your agents waiting at Clara’s flat with orders to kill?” Nick asked coldly.

              There was a slight pause. “Nick. I don’t know how to break this to you, but she was one of them, German Intelligence. We’d been watching her for a while then we realised how senior she was and how mixed up she was in the current mess. We had to get her. I’m so sorry.”

              “You could have told me.”

              “I didn’t know whether you knew, Nick. I had to be sure. Now tell me where you are so we can come in and pick you up.”

              “Nice try.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “I mean I’m not playing it like that. Once you get me in you can bury me. We make a deal then I come in.”

              “I don’t think you’re in a position…” Carruthers began in an arrogant tone.

              “I’ve got the bank statements,” Nick interrupted.

Silence.

“And the list the Germans were after.”

              “I see,” Carruthers said slowly after a pause.

              “So, we’re going to make a deal.”

              “It won’t be easy. I–”

              “What won’t be easy is explaining to your boss why the Russian security service are paying money into a Swiss account for you, or why you’re aiding them in setting up a Balkan spy network. Nor explaining to your wife about Ramona and–”

              “All right!” Carruthers shouted – his temper getting the better of him again. His tone softened and he dropped his voice. “What do you want?”

              “That’s better. Understand this. I’m not in this to blackmail you. I don’t want money. I don’t care what you’re up to. All I want is for you to make my current problems go away. Clear me of any involvement…”

              “Nick, be reasonable!”

              “I am being reasonable,” Nick said in a cold tone. “Maybe one of those Italians at Fitzroy Square killed your agent at the flat, maybe Jurgen. You can clear it up; you do it.”

              “Okay. That works. I could use you some more, Nick. You’ve got good contacts. You’ve evaded us and the police. I could continue to use someone like you unofficially. What about the documents?”

              “Meet me tonight. I want a signed statement from you, on your office’s headed paper, stating the limit of my involvement and clearing me of any wrongdoing. Then the documents are yours.”

              “Okay. Where?”

              “Ten o’clock this evening. You know Camden Basin in the canal?”

              “Yes.”

              “Go there then walk up the tow path towards St John’s Wood.”

              “You’ll be waiting there?” interrupted Carruthers.

              “I’ll find you. Don’t worry about that.” Nick put the phone down without waiting for a reply. He dialled Richardson to confirm the details. Now he just had to wait.

The stars sparkled in the clear, crisp, black velvet of the night, there was no moon and away from the dull glow of the city, here by the northern edge of Regent’s Park, the darkness of night had a firm hold. Shadow was indistinguishable from darkness. The canal surface was like a black mirror, still and eerily silent. The stagnant river reflected the night from its dark surface, a thin, dark strip of reflected night lying deep in the steep cut between road and parkland. Even if there had been a moon or any kind of light along the tow path, the shadows would have been dark and deep. Heavy foliage nestled on steep banks. Silent now, not even the animals and birds stirred.

              Carruthers walked nervously along the towpath. Against the starlight-punctuated backdrop of the sky he could make out the silhouetted relief of an iron bridge crossing above the canal. The towpath disappeared into even deeper darkness beneath it. He paused and looked uncertainly around, his breath fogging in the cold, night air. He stepped cautiously onwards, the leather soles of his handmade brogues crunching on the loose gravel of the towpath. Behind him in the wide basin where the canal turned its corner into Camden laid the welcoming glow of the moored narrow boats, the smoke from their stacks and organ lights indicated warmth and comfort. They seemed a long way behind, even if they weren’t in reality really that distant. The night did that. Without the moon to give perspective, the distance seemed to open up the safe haven of the boats, the path leading up to the road already far behind him. Swallowing nervously, he gripped the butt of the small revolver in his pocket more tightly and continued to creep forward, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. He stopped under the bridge, into total darkness. A shape peeled from the wall ahead of him and blocked the path and the last of the starlight.

              “That’s far enough,” Nick said, his tone devoid of emotion. “You brought it?”

              Carruthers fished nervously in his Macintosh pocket and pulled out an envelope. “The list and the bank statement?”

              Nick stepped forward, close enough that they could touch each other, but it was still near impossible in the blackness to even make out each other’s faces. He shoved the sheaf of papers at Carruthers who, surprised, let go of the gun in his pocket to receive them in his free hand. Nick took the letter and started to open it.

              “It’s the best I could do,” Carruthers said in a warning tone.

Nick stopped and looked at him.

Carruthers swallowed. “Nick, you left a hell of a mess, but I can do you a deal. You come and work for me and I can make this go away. The condition is you work for me. I can use a man like you, for unofficial work, the work we can’t put through the department. You could be a great asset. You sign that and it covers the last operation and words to the effect that you will never mention it, bound by the terms of the Official Secrets Act. In return we make all this disappear.”

              Nick shoved the envelope in his pocket without looking at it. “Pretty worthless then considering I wanted a full pardon letter from you. You’ve come out to do a deal that suits yourself. What if I refuse?”

              “Then you’d be an idiot, Nick. You’ll spend the rest of your short life of freedom on the run. I’ve got a man up along the bank. Insurance. You must know that.”

              Carruthers sensed rather than saw Nick smile in the darkness. “I know that. Let’s hope he doesn’t get distracted.”

              “If you’ll excuse me.” Carruthers fished in his pocket for a lighter and sparked it up. The orange flame flared briefly in the darkness and he quickly looked up only to see that Nick had retreated to the shadows. He scanned the papers Nick had given him in the flickering light of the flame. Satisfied, he snapped the lighter shut and dropped it back in his pocket.

“Very good. You’re reliable, Nick, and that’s good. It seems I underestimated you at first, but you’ve done better than I expected.”

              “Really?”

              “Yes, and now you can be an important asset for me, we can work together.”

              Nick stepped forward. “Why did you have Clara killed?”

              Carruthers snorted. “Nick, I told you, she was playing you. I’m sorry, but she was a spy, quite high up. We’d known for a while. With the operation folding up, we had to neutralise her. You know how it is.”

              “Do I?”

              “Yes, old boy. This is a rough game. Everyone’s expendable.”

              Nick stepped forward. “What about Ramona?”

              “What about her?”

              “You asked me to find out who killed her.”             

              “So I did. Look, Nick, forget that. She’s not important anymore. It doesn’t matter. She was a means to an end, a catalyst to blow this open. Her death brought you in and look how it’s ended up. Jolly well. We’ve recovered all the information, smashed the spy ring. You’re a hero, of sorts.”

              “Thanks. A hero on a wanted list.”             

              “Like I said, we can fix that. You can work with us now. A new start.”

              “You’re not interested in who killed Ramona even though that was what you asked me to find out?” Nick persisted.

              “Not really. She was expendable. She served her purpose.”

              “I see. And these documents you were so eager to get your hands on, they’re of national importance to British security are they?”

              Carruthers sighed. “Look, Nick, I know I didn’t keep you in the picture, but don’t believe whatever you were fed by whoever. God! Lucia? Is that it? A woman who worked for the highest bidder? This stuff is vital to British national security.”

Something about Carruthers’ tone didn’t ring true to Nick, but maybe it wouldn’t have even if the man was telling the truth. His mind was made up.

“Is that all? I have to be going. We can meet tomorrow and I can brief you, bring you into the fold.” He looked impatiently at his watch.

              “Sure. Tell me. You know about Vienna?” Something in Nick’s tone stilled Carruthers and he peered intently into the darkness, trying to make out Nick’s face, but he could see nothing. He shrugged.

              “I know what’s in the reports. You disobeyed orders, took down three high-ranking enemy operatives you were ordered not to and let your senior officer wander into a trap in which he was killed as a result of your recklessness. There were grave political repercussions, not to mention security concerns that still reverberate now.”

              “The report’s not quite right actually,” Nick replied. “I killed the enemy operatives then I killed my handler. You see he’d betrayed me, hung me out to dry. It was all covered up of course, terribly bad form. That’s why they let me go.”

              Carruthers swallowed nervously and started to back away. Something in Nick’s monotone delivery was spooking him. “I see.” His tone was uncertain. “Well, that’s in the past.”

              “Is it? History can teach you some important lessons. You see, I know who killed Ramona.” It hung in the air between them.

              “Nick,” Carruthers said in a warning tone tinged with panic. “This will do no good. I told you, this business. I have a man up there–”

              “So you said. I called in a favour. I think we’re alone.”

              “Nick, you know how this is...”

              “I do. Everyone’s expendable: Stephen, Clara, me…”

              “That’s right,” Carruthers began, nervously filling the pause.

              “You.”

              Carruthers didn’t feel anything at first. The movement had been faster than a blink of an eye; it took his brain a second to register the pain of his sliced throat, the warm gush of blood, squirting forth. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. His legs started to buckle.

              “Goodbye, Carruthers,” Nick said flatly.

He tipped Carruthers into the canal. The man splashed in, water filling his lungs from the gash across his throat, his blood pumping out all the while. Nick stood and watched dispassionately as he weakly flailed in the water for a few seconds. Quickly the movement became more feeble and he stopped. The body floated face-down on the water and the night was still and silent again, the perfect reflection of the canal broken only by the lifeless body suspended in the inky black.

              Nick turned, pulled up his collars and walked away. Somewhere there was a bar with a drink with his name on it and he could try to forget. All over again…

THE END