Keep Calm (14 page)

“What are you talking about, Daddy? Don't be silly. London's the safest city in the world.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. We're safe. Grandpa's looking out for us anyway, him and the whole ‘company' or whatever.”

“I just need your help right now. I need you to stay close.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“Yes, you do, Trudy. You do. You are one incredibly bright young lady. You know what I mean.”

“Mom says you want to leave. Quit your job. Get out of that thing tomorrow. The thing you came here for. She says you hate Poppa. Is that all true?”

“No. I don't hate Poppa. That's ridiculous.”

“She thinks you're not all there sometimes. Because of what you did, what it did to us, she says you're paranoid or something.” He moved a little closer, put his arm around her. She leaned back and slid into his side, resting her head easily on her father's shoulder.

“I'm not mad at you, Daddy. I never really was. I just never understood it. I was sad for you, but I was never mad.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” They sat there quietly again, breathing in the gentle calm of the foggy night air.

“Why did you do it, Daddy? I know you didn't really want to hurt anyone. I know that, I do, but why did you get involved?”

In all the time, before, during, and since his troubles, he and Trudy had never had a private talk about them. He really didn't like to discuss them. He was tired of the whole subject, but she deserved an answer—he knew the weight she had had to bear for his transgressions.

“I had quit my job the year before, as you know. I had too much free time. I got involved with union politics, spent too much time at the protest rallies.”

“I remember. Mom said it was a phase, that it would pass.”

“When the governor wanted to pass a law that would basically weaken union power across the board, weaken the worker, the very group that made Michigan the great state it was, I was in shock. I really was.”

“I know all this. What I mean is, why? I know all about it. I even know you only were trying to scare the governor, who was a new guy in politics and someone who you and the other union guys thought would buckle under if you scared him. I know all about that. I read it all online and Mom has told me all of that. What I don't get is really why you did it. It's so not you. Why would you do something so dangerous? So illegal? Did someone want to give you money or something?”

“No. It wasn't about money.”

“Then what was it about?”

It was a good question. He had asked himself that one, too. He had answered it with so many lies. “Tales of stupidity,” “alcoholic consumption,” “false bravado,” “following the crowd,” but they were all lies. If he was going to tell anyone the truth, he was going to tell Trudy. Finally.

“I wanted to be special. I wanted to do something special.”

“You are special, Daddy.”

“Maybe I didn't feel special. I want to be more than just a dumb Ann Arbor detective, more than my father. I wanted to be part of history, someone who would and could live or die for the things that were important to him. I wanted to test myself, Trudy. Test my character.” He stroked her hair softly as he spoke; she nestled further into his side.

“I fooled myself, sweetie. Convinced myself that what we were doing would change the history of the workers, like the original strikers back in the old days at the Ford Highland Park plant. I fooled myself … thought I had found a shortcut to greatness. Does that make any sense?”

“Kind of, but not really.”

“All it got me was sent to the back of the line.” She looked over at her father and gave him the little half smile that reminded him of a grin her mother would always deliver.

“I'm just glad you got out of jail. I hope you never do anything like that again. I was really scared for you. I never want to be scared like that.”

“You don't have to worry. I promise.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

“Can you please not be so hard on Poppa? On London? On your boss? Okay, Daddy? Mom's happy here. Billy is having so much fun with Poppa. Mom really wants you to do well. She loves you. Go to that thing tomorrow. She doesn't want you to blow it all. Be nice to her. Okay?”

He sat there, ruminating on how much he loved being part of his family. That was something he once never thought he'd want to be: a family man. As a young guy he always figured there was no upside in having a family, in being nailed down, being a “dad.” It sure hadn't done anything for his father.

He had been wrong, though. It was all he cared about. Three months in prison brought that home to him. Sitting in that cell, all night, all day, waiting for a trial, all he wanted was to be with them and to somehow make Kate and the kids happy again.

“I'll think about it. How's that?”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, button.” They sat there in the square for a beat, listening to the wave of cars and buses in the distance, like the lull of a giant seashell, the gentle London night air blowing on their faces, the sweet jasmine scent wafting down from the trees lining the park. He so wanted it all to be over. Wanted his confidence back. Wanted to trust his intuition again, but he didn't. He hadn't in so long. Not since his arrest. Didn't even trust them now, with this whole obviously sorry deal with Heaton.

He finally got up and took her hand as she continued to lean into him while they walked back to the hotel.

“I think I'm in love with Étienne, Daddy. I think this is the one.” He kissed the top of her head and answered her with great certainty.

“I can pretty much assure you it isn't.”

“How can you say that? How could you possibly know?”

“I'm your father. It's my job to know.”

 

AFTER
■
6

Steel was through with taking the Tube. The task at hand had evolved now to a new degree of difficulty. It was time to act, and act fast. She showed up at the HGI complex on Farringdon Street in a Metropolitan Police squad car with two others behind her. She strode into the lobby with three uniformed officers, mostly for show. She wanted to know what had happened with the surviving members of the Tatum family, what Heaton knew about Adam Tatum's past, who recruited Adam Tatum, and what Heaton and the good people at Heaton Global had to do with the bombing at Number 10, now a full five days earlier.

Once again she was given a lot of dead air. A noncommittal receptionist told her to have a seat while she got a representative to discuss the matters with her.

“Do I look like I'm in the mood to wait very long?”

“No, ma'am. I'll be sure to let them know that you're not. Please have a seat.” She did wait. Almost five minutes. Too long for her. She wasn't anywhere close to the calm place she would need to be in to “have a seat.” She was even dressed differently this time, in black jeans, high black leather boots, and a Met Police parka, plus a Glock 17 on her belt, mostly for show.

She had had enough waiting. She left the uniformed officers at the front, stomped down the back lobby to the private elevators, and went straight up to Heaton's suite. When she stepped off the elevator she was once again greeted by the young woman with the perfect hair and the pretty nose.

“Ms. Steel, hello.”

“It's Inspector Steel. It's not often I require the title to be used. This just seems like the perfect time.” The good-looking blonde hid a chuckle and a smile. There was something about Steel that she liked, something cute about her. She was a company woman, though, this blonde, so she played her part.

“Yes, of course. Inspector Steel. One of my associates is coming to see you right now.”

“That's okay, I'm done waiting. I'm going in to see Sir David.”

The pretty young woman tried to talk her out of it, but Steel pushed past her, barging into Heaton's private den. He was in the middle of a meeting with three Asian men. They looked like accountants to Steel. There were number-filled papers strewn over the couches and the table in between the couches. Heaton stood up, once again acting more than happy to see Steel, eager to banter, more than fine with how she had barged into the den. The shampoo lady tried to apologize.

“I'm so sorry, Sir David. I've called security—”

Heaton cut her off, as Steel knew he would. “It's fine, Rebecca.”

He turned to the Asian men, spoke to them in Japanese. They bowed. Heaton bowed. They answered him in more Japanese. They picked up their papers, everyone bowed some more, and then they were gone.

Heaton waved a reluctant Rebecca out as well. It was now just he and Steel.

“Alone at last. Look at us. Should I order up some drinks?”

He had already gotten to Steel, two moves in. She didn't back down, though. She torqued her normally back-row Scottish accent up to the main stage, and gave it a bit of a Glasgow street lilt.

“Don't be smug. You know who I'm here representing and what I want to know. I'm not here to wait in your lobby or suffer your arrogant theatrics. Do you have a firm grip on that now? Do you, Sir David?”

He flashed his best “life's a big game grin” at her.

“I do. I get it. You're in a foul way. Don't want to banter. What can I help you with?”

“First off, I want to know how much you personally knew of Adam Tatum's past?”

“Very little. I'm learning more and more every day. In truth, the whole thing disgusts me. The fact that we—inadvertently—could have had something to do with all this. I had no idea of his prior criminal history until sometime yesterday. Neither myself nor anyone else at the company had any idea of what he did or, for that matter, what he was capable of doing.”

“And you have no knowledge of who killed him? No knowledge where the rest of his family is or what happened to them?”

“Of course, I do not. I didn't even know he had been killed until just now.”

“How is it that he came to be working here? Who here hired him?”

“I'm looking into that. As soon as I know, I'll get that name to you. As I've told you before, we have many thousands of employees.” He sat back down for the first time since she'd come into the den and motioned for her to take the couch opposite, to get comfortable.

“I'm not staying long enough. Not this time.”

“I am sorry to hear that he's dead. If he indeed was involved in the bombing, I'd have liked to see him stand trial.”

“I'm sure you would have. In the meantime, I need to know who his connection was here at the company. We want to find his family before any harm comes to them, find out how much his wife knows about his involvement.”

“Of course. I'll have that name to you by the time you reach the front lobby, Inspector.” Steel turned to leave. He wanted to play some more. He was almost snickering. He called to her with a cackle as Rebecca and her head of great hair led her back to the elevator. “Burst in anytime, Davina. I'm going to make myself always available to you. How's that?”

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned back, her eyes glaring at him with an intensity he hadn't seen from her yet.

“I'm here under the direct authority of the head of the DPG and the home secretary himself. I'm investigating the attempted assassination of the prime minister. Our lead suspect was a member of your staff. There should be nothing about this that you find funny. That's the last time I'm going to tell you this quite so nicely.” Heaton kept his grin in check as much as he could and nodded sincerely.

“I'll take that as a fair warning.”

As she left, she looked down the hall. She saw Harris and Peet on either side of her. She recognized Peet from his time following her. She wanted to laugh, to let him know how incompetent she found his work, but decided to let her unplanned outburst be her last words. She walked past Rebecca down to the private elevator and left.

At the front lobby desk she was given the name and phone number of a man named Gordon Thompson, an employee of HGI there in London. Thompson apparently had the day off, but Steel was told to call him at her earliest convenience regarding any information she needed on Mr. Tatum.

 

BEFORE
■
6

Barry Saffron was in Chicago in his office overlooking the river. It was five in the afternoon. Three plasma TV screens silently played ESPN, CNN, and CNBC. His cell phone rang. It was Tatum, calling from London. Saffron did the math: it must have been one in the morning there.

“What's up, Forrest Gump? You having any fun playing with the prime minister and that crowd yet?”

Adam was calling from a back hallway in the Millennium Hotel. He couldn't sleep, couldn't figure out who to talk to about the meeting at Number 10 in the morning. Saffron was the closest he could come to the name of someone he could trust.

“Barry, listen, I'm stuck here. I don't know what to do. I need some help. I'm out of my league.”

“No shit, you're out of your league, you fucking yud-yud you. I could've told you that before you left Chicago.” Adam could hear in his voice that Saffron was teasing, was in a good mood, that the sting of being passed over had passed over and now he was just having fun.

“Barry, I don't think this thing is on the up-and-up. I don't trust Heaton. I don't know how much you know about him, but I think he's dirty.”

“Dirty in what way?” Saffron stood up, shut off CNBC. Adam had his attention now as he paced the office.

“That's the problem. I don't know what way yet. I just know something's up. You know about my troubles, right? We've never talked about them, Barry, but I assume you know.”

“Everyone knows, Tatum. You're a legend. You're the nut job that went full idiot at the Michigan governor's mansion. What about it?”