Once a Crooked Man (11 page)

With his good looks, a strong voice and a natural sense of the dramatic, Harry soon worked regularly on and off Broadway. He acquired an agent and made the move into television and film. While he was acting in a regional production of
Amadeus
the O'Herlihy family moved out and contact with Colleen was lost forever. Two years later Harry's father retired from the police force. Mike and Bridget Murphy relocated to the sunshine of South Florida. Brooklyn was home to Harry no more. But he never forgot the image of those lacy white panties.

Sipping a Sambuca, he imagined how he and Colleen would have shared the evening. To get himself another glass of the sweet liquor he moved over to the bar where he spent a considerable time talking with a vivacious young girl from Birmingham. He flirted with the idea of inviting her to his hotel but she gave him the distinct impression she wasn't the type. More relevant was the fact that he had a life-saving job to do the next day.

Leaving the bar, he went over to Covent Garden, picked up the papers from an all-night newsstand and then walked briskly back through the deserted streets to his hotel.

 

22

Carter Allinson experienced a vivid dream that made him sit up in a sweat. The images were fleeting but powerful. His body was being carried along naked in the swirling water of a tsunami and he struggled to get to the surface for a breath. In the milliseconds before he consciously awoke, the water swiftly receded and he found himself lying spread-eagled on the wet sand.

He sighed audibly. His subconscious mind apparently knew more about what was happening than he did. Perhaps it was trying to warn him. Like animals that run or fly away when an earthquake or other natural disaster is close, a sixth sense of impending doom. But he shrugged off these thoughts as crazy and told himself to stop being paranoid.

Nevertheless, after a quick breakfast of coffee and toast he went to work and spent the entire day cloistered in his office making absolutely sure that the early Bruschetti records and accounts were sufficiently abstract and complex. When he was satisfied, he packed everything back into boxes and locked them away. He disliked keeping such damning evidence around but there was no other choice. The Feds would have a hard time following the trail, but if they succeeded Carter had to know exactly what to say if he was ever called to testify.

After being cooped up all day he needed some fresh air so he walked home. In his absence, the apartment had been transformed for the hospital benefit.

A maid was laying out plates of food on the dining room table and a tall man was setting up the usual bar in the far corner of the living room.

“Good evening, Mr. Allinson,” he said.

“Good evening, Peter,” replied Carter. “Everything okay?”

“I think we have everything under control. Can I get you something?”

“Yes, please. A scotch. Just a little ice.”

In the corridor to the bedrooms Carter was assailed by Amanda.

“We need to talk,” his daughter said imperiously, sounding exactly like her mother. Carter often couldn't tell their voices apart.

“You do surprise me,” he said.

“I need to get away tonight by eight.”

“What for?”

“Marcie's got tickets for the new group playing at the Bowery Ballroom. I said I'd go with her. A bunch of us made plans to meet at her place.”

“What time does it start?”

“Nine.”

“Nothing ever starts on time at those places. The party will be over by nine. You can leave then.”

As Amanda dashed out of the room he called after her. “And not a minute sooner, you hear?”

“Be sure to tell Mom?” she shouted back. Her bedroom door slammed.

Carter smiled. Their daughter had a new boyfriend. Unknown to Amanda, her mother had already checked out the young man and reported that he came from a very acceptable family.

He was picking a tie from the rack when Fiona came flying in.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “Thank goodness! I'm going to need a few more minutes. Dear Mitsuko took forever to dry my hair. And then it was impossible to find a free cab. I finally took one of those extortionate limo people. Be a pet and welcome everyone for me.”

“Take your time, darling,” he replied. “Leave it to me.”

A quick check in each of the rooms assured him that all was as it should be. Using a mini iPad in the living room he programmed Sonos for light classical music. Haydn's Symphony no. 94 began to play softly from invisible speakers. Carter enjoyed being the host on these occasions. It made him feel accepted and part of the New York social scene. Among the guests would be several faces and names whom most people only read about in the newspapers and magazines.

The first guests arrived a few minutes after seven fifteen. By eight o'clock the apartment was full. The hors d'oeuvres were passed and as the alcohol flowed the decibel level rose.

At the epicenter of this gathering was Charles Walker. Fiona had deliberately weighted the guest list with his cronies and business friends and every one of them made it a point to go up and reminisce with him.

At a quarter past eight, his wife made her way to the fireplace. Carter tapped on a glass to get everyone to stop talking.

“It gives me very great pleasure to welcome you here this evening,” Fiona said, speaking clearly so that everyone heard every word, “and to be able to tell you that as a result of all your generous efforts, the wonderful new wing of our hospital will be completed as planned and, what is truly amazing, on time!”

There was a smattering of applause, but Fiona raised a hand and continued. “I have asked Doctor Richards to give you an idea of what this will mean for our little patients.”

Doctor Richards stepped forward. Young, handsome, immaculately dressed and with a Marine Corps pin in the lapel of his jacket.

“Well,” he began, “I wish to thank the Walkers for their generous hospitality this evening. My particular thanks go to Mrs. Allinson for her extraordinary tenacity and charm, which has culminated in our celebration tonight. The other day I witnessed one of our staff perform delicate MIS surgery on a baby boy's heart. I am happy to tell you the repair was successful. That operation is truly miraculous. And what you have done here is also a miracle. On behalf of the hospital staff, my sincerest thanks to you all.”

The room broke into loud applause. A tall woman in sensible shoes, gray suit and pearl choker stepped forward.

“I have one small but happy announcement to make,” she said. “In recognition of the many years the Walker family has dedicated to our hospital, the new facility will be formally recognized as the Walker Pediatric Suite.”

At the other end of the room, Carter felt proud of his beautiful and talented wife as she gave her father and mother warm hugs. The three then stood together as the guests thronged around to congratulate them. At the same time a little voice inside Carter reminded him that pride goes before a fall and the next few days and weeks could prove critical.

If he wanted to avoid disaster, it was vital he keep a close watch on the Bruschettis.

 

23

A little after dawn the next morning Harry was back at the entrance to Kensington Mews where he waited on the steps of a block of flats on the far side of the road. An awning over his head sheltered him from the rain and made him less conspicuous. The Mews was empty apart from the Telecom truck that was still parked at the far end.

At 8:25, a dark green Jaguar approached from the left. Harry only had a brief glimpse of the driver, but from his appearance there was little doubt that it was Colonel Villiers. Harry ran across the street to number 4, leaned down and rapped hard on the passenger side window. The glass slid down.

The photographs on the piano didn't do the Colonel justice. The man was dashing as well as handsome and his military bearing was clearly evident. He wore a smart double-breasted sports jacket, regimental tie, cloth cap and neatly pressed gabardine trousers.

“Colonel Villiers,” Harry said, panting. “I have something to tell you.”

“Oh, do you now?” came the barked reply. “And who the hell are you?”

“Murphy. Harry Murphy from New York.”

Villiers's whole demeanor changed. “Ah yes, Murphy, from New York. Rhonda told me you were here. Where the hell is Rocco? Gone AWOL has he?”

Harry shook his head. “Never mind that. There's something you should know.”

“And what pray is that?”

Before he could answer Harry noticed a black motorcycle turn under the archway into the Mews, the helmeted rider cruising slowly towards them.

“Get on with it man,” said the Colonel.

“It's a long story but I have reason to believe there's going to be an attempt on your life.”

“Oh? Do you now?” He laughed. “And when might that be?”

The man on the bike stopped, reached into his bag and pulled out something metallic and black.

Harry screamed, “Oh shit! Oh shit! I think it's now!”

Villiers looked in his rearview mirror and saw the rider aiming his weapon.

“Get in!” he shouted.

Harry wrenched the passenger door open and dove onto the seat. The powerful engine was still running. Villiers floored the gas pedal. Harry and the man on the motorbike were both taken by surprise. The Colonel had put the Jaguar in reverse. The heavy car hurtled backwards.

“Head down!” commanded the Colonel.

Bullets tore into the metal and shattered the back window. Glass pellets showered down on both of them. Fear crawled through Harry's whole body. The adrenaline in his system soared.

Harry had done a lot of scenes with guns but these bullets produced a totally different sound from blanks. Less of a bang and more of a crack.

Villiers yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. The Jaguar smashed into the would-be assassin and pinned him and his bike against the wall. Harry crashed against the dashboard as the attacker let out an agonized scream. The black helmet was jerked off revealing a young man with red hair. His weapon flew in a high arc before hitting the ground. The impact set it off. Bullets shattered the pot of geraniums on the nearby window ledge and they clattered down on the roof of the car.

Villiers was amazing. Now that he had dealt with the immediate threat, he slammed in the gears and drove the Jaguar down to the end of the Mews, sliding past the Telecom truck. With a twist of the wheel and a light touch to the brakes, he spun the car around until it faced the opposite direction and then accelerated smoothly.

As they flashed past him, the would-be assassin was trying to lift himself up on one elbow. A pool of blood had already formed on the wet cobblestones beneath his legs.

Moments later the Colonel drove the Jaguar up the ramp to the Motorway and adjusted the rearview mirror.

“I'd do up your seat belt if I were you, old boy,” he said calmly. “I'm afraid we've got company. We appear to have upset British Telecom.”

 

24

Confident that he had arranged everything to perfection, Rocco sat in his rented car at the end of Kensington Mews and watched his plan as it was carried out. Villiers drove up close to eight thirty. One minute later Eddie followed him into the Mews on his big BMW motorcycle. What Rocco didn't expect was the man in a flapping raincoat who ran across the street to warn the Colonel. Seconds later, Eddie was pinned against the wall as the Jaguar roared past him followed by a big yellow truck.

Starting his engine, Rocco drove around until he spotted a phone booth. Inside, he entered the prearranged number and code. When he heard the beep on the other end he punched in the number in front of him. He stood with the receiver held to his ear and the cradle held down with one finger. When the phone rang he let it go.

Max listened to him as he briefly reported what had happened.

“Have you any idea who the man was who warned Villiers?”

“No,” replied Rocco. “Never seen him before.”

“The guy you used. How bad is he?”

“Eddie? I don't know. An ambulance just went to pick him up. He was lying on the ground when I left.”

“Then he's still alive?”

“Yes. His legs were smashed pretty badly. He could die from loss of blood.”

“Find out where they take him and call me back.”

Max gave him a new number to call and hung up.

 

25

Villiers was barking orders again: “Knock out all those damn bits of glass will you? We don't want to draw attention to ourselves, now do we?”

Harry climbed over into the backseat and pushed out the rest of the shattered rear window. Rain dripped in through the gaping hole. About two hundred yards behind them, the big truck was weaving from lane to lane and slowly gaining on them.

Villiers muttered, “I wonder who those buggers really are. Got any ideas?”

“No. Who do you guess?” asked Harry.

“No idea. But whoever is driving is definitely not an employee of the telephone company.”

He double-declutched into second gear and gunned the car forward. Harry pitched backwards and sideways as Villiers drove off the Motorway and down to the Marylebone Road. Making two quick lefts and a right he plunged down a ramp into a garage of a large block of flats. The alleys of parked cars pulsed past on either side.

Behind them, the truck was forced to stop at the top of the ramp. It was too high for the garage entrance. Framed in a rectangle of bright daylight, the driver and his passenger climbed out and ran down after them.

The Colonel was not one to be caught with his back to the wall. The garage had ways in and out at either end and he bounced up a second ramp. As soon as they emerged into the light he turned hard right and was zigzagging through traffic half a mile away before his pursuers could determine which way he and Harry had gone.