Authors: Peter Lovesey
Getting back to our usual topic of men and are they necessary, Anita is still on about city break man. ‘All blokes can talk about football, in my experience,’ she says. ‘They all have a theory why England will never win the World Cup again. I’ve heard it so often that I’m an expert myself. But I had the feeling city break man would have got suspicious if I’d started cold on do you favour a four four two formation.’
Vicky went, ‘He might have thought you were proposing group sex.’
‘On a Monday morning?’
‘You never know your luck.’ Then Vicky gave me a sly nudge under the table. She was quite skittish for once. ‘Maybe that’s the way we should be handling this, instead of trying to follow him home.’
‘Group sex?’
‘No, you daft ha’porth. One of us chatting him up.’
‘I’m not his type,’ Anita goes. ‘I’d get nowhere. Ishy might appeal to him.’
‘Hold on,’ I put a stop to this before it could take flight. ‘No way am I offering my hidden treasures to a perfect stranger who sounds like a weirdo. It’s your suggestion, Vicky. You’re the one with the looks. How about you making the first move?’
She turned beetroot red. ‘I couldn’t possibly. My situation is different.’
I’d forgotten about her guy Tim. Most of the time he’s best forgotten.
‘Summing up,’ she added swiftly, trying to cover her embarrassment, ‘we’re none of us willing to sacrifice ourselves for the cause.’
‘Come on, girls,’ Anita went. ‘One of you talks about sacrificing herself and the other’s on about her hidden treasures. This doesn’t have to end in bed. Surely we can charm a few truths out of a guy without lying back and thinking of England?’
Vicky turned pink again. ‘Don’t look at me.’
But that’s exactly what Anita continued to do. ‘Vicky, my petal, I don’t see what stops you being part of this. It’s only jaw-jaw and not paw-paw. We know you’re in a relationship, but your man can’t object to a bit of harmless chat.’
‘To be honest, I don’t do harmless chat.’
‘Really? Do you always end up in the sack?’
‘Per-lease.’
Anita gave a sigh like a punctured tyre. ‘I’m starting to have second thoughts about this adventure. Are we, or are we not, the three sleuths? Seems to me we’re turning out to be the three stooges. Are you two fully committed to finding the truth about city break man?’
‘It’s easy to say yes when we’re all in it together,’ Vicky goes. ‘Safety in numbers. The fun goes out of it when we think about being alone with him.’
I chipped in here with: ‘Let’s face it, Anita, you haven’t done a very good job of selling him to us.’
‘He’s not nice. That’s the whole point of finding out what grubby little game he’s playing. We know he’s a benefits cheat. What else is he up to? If we can find out where he lives, it’s a start.’
Trying to be positive, I’m like, ‘All right, let’s give it another try. Next time he’s in your shop give me a call and I’ll do my very best to get there.’
Vicky goes, ‘What did he want this morning? Did he book another city break?’
‘To Amsterdam.’
‘Then it’s got to be drugs or girls.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘He’s not going to Amsterdam to buy tulips. He can get them from Ishy’s shop.’
‘My guess is it’s boring old football,’ I threw in. ‘All these European cities have big teams. Instead of going to Chelsea or Arsenal
every week he saves up some cash and goes to watch Real Madrid or some such. What’s the Dutch team called?’
‘Ajax.’
‘Are they playing this time of year?’
‘Football is all the year round, isn’t it? The back pages are always full of it.’
Anita pulled a long face. ‘Football. If that’s all it is I’m through with spying. I’m going to bake cupcakes instead.’ Then without warning she put both hands over her face and in a strangled voice announced, ‘There he is, there he is, there he is.’
‘Who?’
‘City break man. Don’t look. Stay normal. He just walked in. He mustn’t see us together.’
There’s a counter quite close to our favourite table where they have the cakes and things on display as well as wine to go with the lunches. Actually I think they call it a bar, but it’s neither one thing nor the other. I glanced across to where this guy was standing with his back to us talking to the waiter. He was in a grey top with the hood pulled down and scruffy black jeans (city break man, I mean, not the waiter). From what I’d heard, this was the downmarket look he favoured for his job centre visits.
‘Are you certain it’s him?’
‘Hundred per cent. I’m about to make my escape,’ Anita went, rising from her seat, as if the word adventure had never crossed her lips. ‘It’s over to you, Ishy.’
‘Me? I don’t have my van,’ I went.
Then my one-time ally, Vicky, really landed me in it. She stood up and went, ‘I’m coming with you, Anita, to give you some cover. This’ll work better if Ishy follows him alone.’
Those two scaredy-cats then made a beeline for the exit, slim Vicky doing a poor job of shielding the more ample Anita. Fortunately city break man was too busy ordering his coffee to notice.
I was left high and dry. The place was empty of customers apart from him and me. How ghastly, I thought, if he brings his coffee to my table and wants to get friendly.
Who was I kidding? He chose a table across the room, about as far from mine as he could get and half hidden by a palm tree in a pot. Thinking he was unseen, he pushed back his hood. I noticed that his dark hair was cut fashionably, unless the hood had caused the bit on top to spring up.
Ten minutes passed, time for me to dwell on the hole I was in and consider my options. If I wanted to stay friends with Vicky and Anita I had to make a show of following this guy home – always assuming he would go home after finishing the coffee. I wasn’t used to cloak and dagger stuff. Tagging after him on foot was a different thing to doing it from the safety of my van. What if he spotted me?
Don’t be such a wimp, I told myself. This is supposed to be an adventure.
Then he got up from the table, looked around, returned to the counter and spoke to one of the staff. She pointed to the door across the room and I knew what was going on. He wanted the gents. The loos are on the top floor next to the hairdressing salon. He made straight for the stairs. It made me think I needed to go up there as well. Autosuggestion. No way could I take the risk. I had to be watching when he came down. I’d just have to think of other things and hope his journey home was quick.
I got up from the armchair and settled our bill (my two soul sisters had left without paying) stepped over to a better vantage point and stood refreshing my lipstick. From there I’d see him come downstairs – assuming he hadn’t made his escape through a toilet window.
Cool it, Ishy, I told myself. The poor guy hasn’t the faintest idea he’s being followed.
Out he came in a couple of minutes and the game was afoot. Through the restaurant he headed and into the electrical department, making for the escalator to the ground floor. I followed thirty yards behind, ready at any time to take a close interest in toasters and steam-irons if he looked round. Actually tailing him was easier here than in the restaurant, because there were a few other shoppers as distractions.
His movement was purposeful, as if he’d spent too long over the coffee and needed to make up time. He kept moving on the escalator and I realised I’d have to go some to keep up with him. So it was bad luck for me when a woman and child got on the moving stairs ahead of me and blocked my way. I couldn’t squeeze past without risking an accident. All I could do was watch which direction city break man was taking.
Straight past perfumery to the main exit and out of sight.
On ground level I zigzagged past the mother and daughter, declined the offer of a squirt of perfume and dashed for the swing doors.
In the street, I looked right and left.
Vanished.
I’d failed at the first fence.
How the heck did he do it? I asked myself. There were no buses in sight. Perhaps he’d hailed a taxi. He couldn’t have walked.
I believe I sighed heavily. Didn’t stamp my foot, but made my frustration clear, shaking my head.
Which was when a voice behind me went, ‘Something the matter?’
I swung around and found myself eye to eye with city break man. He must have been standing against the wall to the right of the exit. He had a mobile in his hand that he closed and put in his pocket.
‘No, no,’ I went, immediately on the defensive. ‘No problem.’
He shrugged. Hollow-cheeked and red-eyed, he fitted the druggie explanation better than the sex-tourist or the football fan, but at the time I was too confused to make such subtle distinctions. I’m only remembering later. The face had a faint echo of good looks, pitted smile lines that made it hard to dismiss.
He was like, ‘I’d say you were looking for someone.’
‘In a way, yes.’ I was at my wits’ end to concoct something. ‘I thought I recognized an old friend in the shop. She came out here and seems to have gone.’
‘What’s she wearing?’
What was she wearing? Put on the spot, all I could think to say was what Anita was dressed in. ‘Blue. A short blue jacket and black skirt.’
‘Can’t say I noticed her,’ he went. ‘Weren’t you up in the restaurant just now?’
‘The restaurant? Oh, yes.’
‘Saw you then.’ He didn’t say he’d seen my two companions, which was some relief. Almost everything he’d uttered up to now could have been construed as a chat-up line. He’d noticed me. He might even have fancied me. The others would say I was letting a major opportunity slip through my fingers.
I can’t plead inexperience. I knew what I ought to be saying. Normally I’m the equal of any smooth-talking bloke.
Instead I came out with a feeble ‘Thanks, anyway,’ that drew a line under the conversation. I wasn’t the alpha female I’d always promised myself I would be, given the chance. Instead of reeling him in, all I did was put space between us.
‘No sweat,’ he went, and walked off.
What now? I thought. I follow the guy and he turns round and thinks I’m attracted to him. Is that the impression I want to give? That’s certainly what my sister sleuths would want. My own instincts were all against it. When the chemistry is right I’ll happily start up with a guy, or so I tell myself.
Bollocks.
Let’s be truthful. I funked it.
I started rationalising like fury. The others hadn’t remotely expected me to get friendly with him. They’d be content if I followed him home and noted his address. That’s what I settled for. I’d go into Indian scout mode, taking cover at every opportunity. Shop doorways would be useful along the high street. The task would be harder in a residential road.
He’d already got some way ahead, marching up the hill at the brisk rate he’d started with. I was a good sixty yards in the rear. I crossed the street, thinking I’d be less obvious on the other side, and stepped out, keeping him in my sight. The grey hooded top didn’t show up too well at a distance. I simply had to get closer or I’d lose him. In the heels I was wearing it wasn’t easy. He was in trainers. He could step out, no problem.
Ours isn’t a huge city, and I’m reasonably well known to customers from the flower shop as well as lots of friends and neighbours. In the first two hundred yards I saw two people I would usually have stopped to speak to. They had to be content with a wave and, ‘In a hurry’ from me. There may have been others I didn’t even spot.
At the end of the street he turned right and was temporarily lost to view.
Panic. I broke into a run.
I was just in time to reach the corner and see him step into a pub whose name I’m not going to divulge. This was something I hadn’t bargained for. What now? Should I go in and risk being seen? I had no idea how crowded it was inside.
At this time of evening, I reasoned, there ought to be other drinkers. Presumably city break man would step up to the bar and order a drink. Going in immediately after him gave me the best chance of getting inside unnoticed.
Then what?
If I approached the bar he was sure to notice me. If I stood aimlessly or even found a seat I’d get some funny looks. A lone
woman in a pub who isn’t there to buy herself a drink is open to misinterpretation. It wasn’t as if I had a Salvation Army tin to rattle.
On the other hand, I didn’t fancy waiting outside.
In the end it wasn’t a decision out of Modesty Blaize. A basic need settled it. All pubs have loos. I’d been wanting one ever since missing my chance in the department store.
I pushed the door and stepped inside, rapidly noting that the place was reasonably busy and that city break man was at the bar with his back to me waiting to be served. The door for the ladies was to the left, discreetly recessed. I was in there like a homing pigeon.
When I emerged, I had a plan. As I anticipated, he had moved away from the bar. I sidled up to it and ordered a glass of house white and asked for the hot food menu. There was a long mirror behind the barman and I used it to check where my man had parked himself. He was at a table to the left of the entrance and facing across the room. In front of him was a pint glass of beer. I was out of his sight-line.
I took my wine to a table behind him. The folding menu came in useful to duck behind in case he turned round. I was feeling more comfortable about this caper now. It was just a matter of making the wine last and keeping up the observation, or ‘obbo,’ as we sleuths call it in the trade.
Ten minutes passed agreeably enough. I rather wished Anita and Vicky could have seen me now, much more calm, in control, shadowing my unsuspecting suspect. The wine wasn’t the worst I’d tasted, either.
Then he was joined by a woman.
She was dark-haired, elegantly dressed in a businesslike slate-grey pinstripe suit softened by a pale blue scarf worn over the shoulder. Thirtyish, I estimated.
He didn’t stand to greet her and there was no embrace, nor even a token kiss. She took the chair opposite. He didn’t have the grace to buy her a drink. There was a short exchange of words and then he produced what looked like an envelope and handed it to her. She opened it, checked the contents, tucked it in her bag, got up and walked to the exit.