Hands of the Traitor (2 page)

Perhaps it was a trick of the
light but the side door appeared to be partly open again. The main
alarm should have gone off if someone had broken in. No way was he
getting out in this rain. He reversed between two rubbish skips and
the engine died with a rattle. The side door was
definitely
open. It was no
illusion.

Then he realized what had been
bothering him. He shouldn't have been able to get into the service
yard. The main gates from the road should be closed and locked. He
reached for his mobile phone. This job needed backup.

He tried to imagine what
it would be like to have the French woman here in the car, sharing
this moment, showing her the sort of thing he did for a
living.

A torch flashed briefly in the warehouse
doorway. Time for a phone call. But first a couple of snaps. He
grabbed the camera from the glove box. Never travel without a
camera. It was part of his training. He needed evidence and this
was the safest way to get it. Slowly he lowered the passenger
window, raised the reflex camera to his eye and zoomed in on the
face. A man stood under the security light, his head and shoulders
framed in the viewfinder. Matt focused on the face. The combination
of auto focus and high speed film would allow him to freeze the
face.

He could still sense the
woman's sexy aroma that he'd somehow taken away with
him.

As he pressed the shutter a brick
smashed the driver's window. A gloved hand reached in and snatched
his mobile phone. Matt turned the ignition. The engine sprang into
life, the revs rose in a scream, the clutch bit. The figure, still
holding the phone, fell away from the shattered glass.

With the front tires spinning on the
wet tarmac he aimed his car for the gateway. A white Transit van
appeared from nowhere and blocked the exit. Its wheels locked, Matt
sat helpless as his car slid into the side of the van.

He selected reverse and accelerated
backwards, made a handbrake turn and circled the yard. The broken
headlights made it impossible to see into the shadows. Wind and
rain streamed into his face through the shattered window as three
men in the yard snatched bricks from a pile of rubble and threw
them at his car.

Would she have agreed to
meet him in the White Lion for a drink tomorrow if she wasn't even
a bit interested?

The wall emerged without warning out
of the darkness. He caught sight of a gap closed off with a steel
gate. It was a narrow opening, perhaps no wider than his car. He
hit the gate and slid between the brick pillars with less than an
inch to spare. The remains of the gate clung to the bonnet for a
moment, then fell away as he swung the steering wheel towards the
glow of lights at the far end of the service road. He had to find a
phone as soon as possible. He'd taken just one exposure on the
film, but with luck it would be enough for a conviction.

He glanced at the passenger seat, at the
book of advanced French grammar he'd bought after she'd gone, the
cover now soaking wet. What was he, some kid with a crush on a girl
in the fifth form, buying the book so he could brush up his French
which was pretty good anyway? Could a man in his thirties get any
more ridiculous than that? Louise would be furious if she found
out.

As the rain continued to pour through
the broken window he smiled as he thought of Louise's reaction. Zoé
Champanelle. A nurse who'd touched his hand in a bookshop. He felt
better already.

The police told him they'd be there within
ten minutes. He was to wait by the phone box and not go near the
warehouse -- for his own safety. It was a bit late for advice like
that. Anyway, as an ex-policeman he should have known better than
to handle this one on his own. Perhaps it was because he had
someone on his mind. Someone stunning. Someone French.

Chapter
2

Saturday

"I THOUGHT
you'd be pleased with last
night." Matt Rider stood in front of his boss at Habgood Securities
and smiled confidently. "And I'm not even asking for
overtime."

"But it wasn't only your old car that got
damaged." Ken Habgood swiveled anxiously in the red captain's chair
behind his desk. "I suppose you know I'm a member of Tom Grieves'
club. I've been worrying about this ever since you phoned me at
home last night. We could have done well out of Tom's firm -- if
you'd been a little more careful with his property."

"You'll be glad to know I didn't get
hurt."

"Don't try wriggling out of
this. Tom rang to say there were bricks and pieces of glass all
over the yard when he went to clear up. In his words, a right old
mess. And the Transit you hit belonged to his company. I know the
villains were getting ready to load it, but Tom Grieves is
not
impressed with our
surveillance methods. You should have phoned the police straight
away."

"I wasn't expecting
problems."

"You know what your trouble is, kiddo?
You're always thinking on the hoof. You to need to plan
ahead."

"I've always worked like this. It's
called initiative. The police didn't like it."

"I don't like it either. Planning,
planning, planning. It's the only way to come out on
top."

Matt looked at the immaculately clear
desk of the boss of Habgood Securities. A clear desk never
impressed him. "The photo came out well," he said with a forced
cheerfulness. "I got a positive ID."

"You were one lucky PI."

Matt shrugged. "It's what comes of
thinking quickly. One of Grieves' own employees starred in the
picture. No prize for guessing who opened the main gate and why the
alarm stayed off."

Ken Habgood sounded grouchy. Perhaps
it was coming to work on a Saturday. "But you didn't need to drive
your car into the side of his van. And that's what I told
Tom."

"Did you tell him it was raining a
monsoon and there were three madmen in the yard with a handful of
bricks?" Matt started to resent the way he was being treated. He'd
come to work on his day off feeling proud. "Those three heard we
were starting surveillance next week. That's why they brought the
raid forward. Your Mr. Grieves has too big a mouth."

"You may be right." Ken sounded more
relaxed. "I gather you've been down with your old mates at the
Trinity Green cop shop, giving them the full SP."

"They're not all mates, Ken. You know
I left the police in a bit of a rush. Some of them think I blew the
whistle when that MP's case went wrong."

"Trinity Green didn't put themselves
out too much for Tom Grieves."

"Right!" Matt tapped his finger on the
clear desktop. "So tell him to stop bitching. Tom's troubles are
over -- thanks to me."

Ken raised his hands. "Okay, you're a
good PI but you charge into things, that's all. One day you'll rush
into something big and be in trouble."

"I can cope with it."

Ken mellowed. "Perhaps I've not passed
on Tom's thanks properly. He's grateful, kiddo, so I owe you one.
Okay?"

"Good, I'm glad we've got that sorted out.
Someone's insurance owes me a mobile phone, a new set of
headlights, a side window -- oh, and a front bumper."

Ken drew his breath in sharply. "I can
get you another phone, but there's not much point in fixing the car
bodywork when the engine's falling apart. You were about to scrap
that old banger."

"Tom Grieves doesn't know that, and
I've only got third party."

"I'm not getting involved in an
insurance scam."

"Forget the insurance. If Tom Grieves
is that grateful, tell him to buy me a new car."

Ken ignored the suggestion. "Just
remember you were supposed to be doing the job next week, kiddo,
sitting in one of Tom's vehicles with a decent cell phone for
company. Your car would have been safe if you'd left it at
home."

"If I'd waited till Monday we'd have
missed them."

Ken looked flustered. "Okay, so Tom's
lucky you were there. How come you didn't have Louise with you?
Friday was always a special night for lovers when I was
young."

Matt kept silent. Louise would have been
with him on any other Friday night. Had she really meant their
relationship was over, or just that they should get a life apart
for a few weeks? He was meeting Zoé outside the White Lion in less
than an hour. Zoé Champanelle; and he knew nothing about her. She
could be married. Just flirting. An unmarried mother of three. She
might be fun for a week, but he'd been going with Louise for over
two years now. He had to be careful not to act on the
rebound.

Okay, so Louise had made it clear that
his prospects at work weren't good enough for her. But would she be
any happier with the man she kept talking about, a young manager
from her office? Just because the man wore a suit and drove a
silver BMW didn't mean he was Mr. Fantastic.

"It's over, Ken. I'll tell you about
it next week."

It was still tipping down as he ran to
his car. He opened the driver's door but paused, still holding the
handle. He'd better not risk taking this wreck into town. Some
jobsworth in uniform would probably be hanging around, wet and
miserable, with a pocketful of blank tickets. He'd get the bus to
the White Lion.

He took another look at the dented
bonnet, at the cracked bumper and broken lights. Even if it could
be mended, a heap like this wasn't going to impress anyone. The car
was a write-off, and no way could he afford a replacement. Louise
was right: his prospects at work were pathetic. Even before he'd
walked out of the police, before coming here to work for Ken,
Louise hadn't exactly been impressed with his potential. So it
should be no surprise that she'd decided to set her sights
higher.

He'd not take Louise back. Not like last
time. Absolutely not. He slammed the car door. The polythene over
the window tore free, and water from the folds cascaded onto the
driver's seat.

No Louise. No car. Life was a sod. He
looked at the dark clouds and set off to catch the bus. Maybe Zoé
Champanelle would brighten his afternoon.

*

ZOÉ HAD got to the White Lion first. The
bus hadn't come and he'd been obliged to run. He arrived wet and
out of breath. Instead of waiting outside, Zoé had chosen a seat
where she could be seen by most of the men in the crowded pub. He
wished he'd run faster.

She looked surprisingly self assured
in a navy and white floral print dress that clung to her body.
She'd draped her coat over a spare chair. This was not the hesitant
woman he remembered meeting yesterday by the medical books. He
fetched her a drink from the bar and guessed he wasn't the first
man to offer to buy her one that lunchtime.

He sat facing Zoé across the small
table in the low-ceilinged room. "Did you go back for the book?" It
made as good an opener as any.

She sipped her coke and lemon before
carefully placing her glass in the center of the beer mat. Whatever
lipstick she used, none had come off on the rim. Her smile lit up
the pub as she shook her head. "Some of the English words were too
technical for me."

"I can't believe that. You talk English
well." He picked up his beer. He was a teenager again, feeling
awkward just being with her. But he didn't want Zoé to think he
drank a lot. He replaced his half pint glass of beer on the table
without drinking anything. "What's my French like?"

She tapped him on the nose and
giggled. "You talk French like an old-fashioned book."

He blinked. "They told me at school I
was good at languages."

"Ah,
l'ecole
. At school I expect they had the old
books."

"An old teacher," said Matt, aware
again of the arousal he got from her perfume. Where had she been
all his life? "But you can understand me when I talk in
French?"

"Very well."

"Your English is excellent. What are
you doing here?"

She blushed. "I came to England
because ... to get ... to improve it."

He wondered why the hesitation. "Seems
fine to me. Are you nursing over here?"

"I am staying in a hostel for French
students."

"You're a
student?
"

"I have been a nurse for eight years
now. The hostel is not just for the students. Maybe I will find
work in an English hospital. And you, you have a family living
close?"

"Only my grandfather. He's not well."
Perhaps he shouldn't be mentioning him at all, especially not to a
nurse.

"He is in an old people's
house?"

"Home. Old people's home. He's ...
he's not there at the moment." He wasn't going to explain about the
incident with the fruit and the fact that his grandfather had just
been moved to a secure hospital.

"And your parents?"

"My dad couldn't cope. My parents are
separated."

"And you live alone?"

"I do now. I've been living with..."
The pause was too long and too obvious, but Zoé just smiled. He
decided to take the initiative. "You have a boyfriend,
Zoé?"