Authors: Peter Lovesey
Tall, fortyish, black leather jacket and jeans. And bearded.
She knew him.
“You’re Marcus, from the TV crew.”
“And you’re the writer doing the piece on Lee Li. She’s not coming. She asked me to meet you.”
Her spirits plunged. Nothing is certain but the unforeseen, as Lee would surely have said.
“Why?”
“She has to be ultra-careful. She dumped Nathan—her boyfriend—and he’s bound to be looking for her.”
“And how do you come into it?”
“I gave her some help. She stayed with me last night. But she’s still dead keen to see you. I’m here to take you to her.”
Better.
Last night’s events made more sense. Lee had spent several nights with the crew shooting the video, ample time for a friendship to develop. She must have poured out her troubles to Marcus and he’d aided her escape, using the rope ladder and transported her away from the
Great Britain
.
All very sweet—except that it created a problem. This changed scenario would surprise the watchers at the borders of the square. What would Nathan make of it if she wandered off with Marcus? Would he even recognise Marcus? He should do. Would he have the sense to guess Marcus was leading her to Lee?
It was a chance she had to take.
“Lead on, then.”
They crossed the lawn and approached the row of houses on the west side, walking as briskly as if they were doing it
for their health. She couldn’t see Nathan’s car, but she was in no doubt he was watching, revising the plan, plotting his next move. She hoped he didn’t suspect she had prearranged this. When push came to shove—another thing Lee would say—she was still in Nathan’s camp.
“Where are we heading?” she asked Marcus.
“Not far.”
Actually she could see they were making a beeline for Middle Avenue, one of the main exits from the square. Queen Square is built on former marshland surrounded on three sides by water. Ahead of them was an area she knew well, Bordeaux Quay, a trendy haunt for the young where old warehousing had been inventively converted into centres for the arts. The Arnolfini Gallery was to the left and the Watershed media centre across the bridge and to the right. It was well possible Lee had chosen one place or the other for the meeting.
“Good call,” she said to Marcus. “This is less obvious than the square.”
“Her idea, not mine.”
At the end of Middle Avenue they turned left towards the giant arches of the Arnolfini. Ingeborg was thinking Nathan’s stalking ability would be tested in this more confined area. His presence still wasn’t obvious.
But the Arnolfini wasn’t the meeting place. Halfway along, Marcus turned right, towards the quayside. Ahead of them was the footbridge known to most locals as the horned bridge, but officially called Pero’s Bridge, after an Afro-Caribbean slave who had worked in Bristol in the eighteenth century when it was said that “there is not a brick in the city but what is cemented with the blood of a slave.”
The horns were huge sculptures at either side of the section that sometimes lifted to allow river traffic to pass. They acted as counterweights and looked like the monstrous loudspeakers of antique gramophones. Suiting the slave theme, they were said to be symbolic of the Caribbean flair for music.
At this moment Ingeborg wasn’t interested in symbolism.
Every sinew of her body tensed at the sight of one of Nathan’s musclemen standing with arms folded at the far side of the bridge.
“Keep going,” Marcus said, and she felt his hand against the small of her back. She started forward. There was just a chance she could let the man know with a look that he should allow them to pass. No one else was on the footbridge at this time.
She hadn’t taken more than three steps when a voice from behind called out, “Got you, Marcus. Let the woman go.”
She swung around. Nathan had blocked off their retreat.
Marcus reacted fast—and mistakenly. He said, “You crafty bitch”—and grabbed a fistful of Ingeborg’s long hair close to her scalp. “Come any closer,” he shouted at Nathan, “and she goes over.”
She was trained in martial combat, but when your head is forced back to the point where your spine feels ready to snap there is little you can do except kick aimlessly. She tried and didn’t connect. She was his hostage now.
She heard Nathan shout, “Where’s Lily?”
To hell with Lily, Inge borg was thinking. I’m the victim here.
“Let me pass,” Marcus said. He was desperate and outnumbered.
“Sod off. What have you done with her?”
She was trying to go limp as her training taught, ready for a surprise counter-attack, but as long as her head was held back at this agonizing angle, she could do nothing.
Marcus dragged her to the side of the bridge. It felt as if he’d pulled a hank of hair out by the roots. She caught him in the ribs with her elbow and he gave a grunt of discomfort, no more. He still had the advantage.
Now it appeared he meant to force her off the bridge into the river. He slammed her against the side rail. A little below shoulder height, the ironwork had an angled top to dissuade people from climbing over.
“I’m on your side,” Ingeborg tried to tell him.
“You suckered me into this,” he said.
“How could I? I didn’t even know where we were going.”
The logic seemed to penetrate his brain. Ingeborg felt his
grip relax a little. At the same time she got some purchase from the railing. With her shoulder hard against it she kicked with her left leg and felt the toe of her shoe sink into the soft flesh behind his knee. His leg jackknifed and he lost balance. Still gripping her hair, he toppled backwards, taking her with him. But he must have landed on his arm, because his fingers opened and her head was freed.
On the floor of the bridge, she wrestled him, sliding her right thigh across his hip and bringing her weight to bear on him. She grabbed his arm and forced it upwards in a half-nelson.
She was in charge now.
She heard the thud of footsteps.
“Okay,” Nathan rasped in her ear. “We’ll deal with him.”
“What was that about?” she said as she disentangled herself from Marcus. He made no attempt to rise.
“You did good,” Nathan said.
“You ruined everything. He was taking me to Lee.”
She got to her feet and brushed off her clothes. Her neck ached and her cheek was sore from the contact with Marcus’s coarse beard.
Four of Nathan’s henchmen were standing there.
“Thanks for coming to the rescue, guys,” she said with sarcasm.
“Stand back.” Nathan forced his foot under Marcus’s shoulder and tipped him face upwards. “Where’s Lily?”
“How would I know?” Marcus said, eyes stretched wide in alarm. “She’ll have run a mile by now.”
Nathan stooped and slapped his face and hit the other cheek with the back of his hand. “Have you been shagging her, you dickhead?”
“No,” Marcus said in a yelp of denial. “Absolutely not.” His lip was starting to bleed.
“Because if you have, you’re never shagging anything again.”
“I offered her a place to stay last night, that’s all. She appealed to me for help. She sounded desperate.”
“So desperate she still wants to do her bloody interview.”
“It was important to her, a career opportunity.”
“She was at your place? Where’s that?”
“Clifton. She isn’t there.”
“Where were you heading just now, then? What was the meeting place?”
“I honestly don’t know. She didn’t trust anyone. She said we were to cross the bridge to the other side and she’d meet us.”
“Right here?”
“Yes.”
Nathan straightened up and took a long look at the small, interested crowd that had started to gather on the Watershed side of Bordeaux Quay. Some of them took this as the cue to move on.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” he said to his team of heavies. “If she’s here, we’ll give her something to look at. We’ll tip this piece of shit over the side.”
Marcus yelped in protest, but they moved in fast, keen for some action after standing by for so long.
“Don’t,” Ingeborg said. “He could drown.”
But they already had him by the arms and legs and hoisted him off the floor ready to swing him high over the railing.
“On a count of three,” Nathan said.
“You’re mad,” Ingeborg said. “This won’t help us find Lee.” She knew the gravity of what was happening in full view of witnesses and she was implicated. She’d fought Marcus to the ground and disabled him. The cardinal rule of going undercover is that you don’t get involved in violence. Serving officers had got sent down for long terms for conniving at the commission of a crime.
Marcus was whimpering like a puppy. They swung him back at the count of one.
“Two.”
There was a scream of, “Don’t do it,” from the crowd and somebody sprinted to the bridge and towards them.
A woman. Dark hair, slim, East Asian.
Lee Li.
She must have been among the bystanders, uncertain
what to do until the brutality to Marcus got to this intolerable point.
Nathan dropped the leg he was holding and said, “Get her.”
Marcus hit the floor with a thud and the team dashed after their new quarry.
Lee turned to escape, but she only got a few yards. The quickest of the henchmen grabbed her by the shoulder and swung her about. With ease, he grasped her round the waist and carried her, struggling, back to his employer.
“Put her down.”
For a moment, Ingeborg thought Lee Li was going to get a face-slapping, but she did not.
Nathan opened his arms and embraced her. The man really was besotted.
Lee looked dazed and not at all happy.
This touching reunion came to a stop when a police siren sounded. One of the watchers must have used a phone.
“We’re leaving,” Nathan said.
In the black limousine, Ingeborg was allowed to sit beside the driver. Nathan was in the back seat with his arm around Lee, who was grim-faced and silent.
“Some hard things were said back there,” he said to Ingeborg. “Heat of the moment.”
She turned her head. “Is that an apology? I could have been badly hurt.”
“You looked after yourself pretty good. Where did you learn to fight?”
“I did a course,” she said. “Every woman needs to know the basics, journalists even more so.”
“You hear that, Lily?” he said. “If you’d learned self-defence, none of this would have happened.” Apparently he’d persuaded himself that she had been abducted by Marcus, who right now was probably giving his account of the affray to the police response team. And if Marcus had any care for his future well-being, he’d deny all knowledge of his attackers.
“Where are we going now?” Lee asked, staring ahead.
“Back to the house,” Nathan said. “You still want to do that piece for the
Sunday Times
, don’t you?”
“Not right away. I’m a mess. I need a shower and a change of clothes.”
“No pressure,” Ingeborg said, thinking ahead. “We could do this tomorrow and I’ll still make my deadline.”
Nathan said, “Stay another night and keep Lily company. I have some business back at the house.”
“What is your business?” Ingeborg was bold enough to ask. Nathan’s mood was distinctly friendlier now that he’d rescued his lover. If ever there was a time to get him to open up, it was now.
“I supply the hardware for various projects,” he said, embracing the chance to give an arch response. “I’m a middleman, really, specialising in goods not obtainable from the manufacturer.”
“Who are your clients?”
“That’s confidential. Household names, some of them.”
“Not the government?”
“No, my customers tend to operate independently.” He was basking in the interest and clearly enjoying giving these cryptic answers.
“You obviously made a terrific success of it,” Ingeborg said.
“I always thought the way to get ahead is to corner the market in something and I’ve proved it over and over. They all know me and my reputation—here in the southwest, for sure, and some of them come out from London to get the best service and no questions asked.”
“Are they a bit dodgy, then, some of your customers?”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that, if I was you, not to their faces, anyway. Lily’s met one or two ripe specimens passing through in recent months, haven’t you, my precious?”
“Too true,” she said.
“They wouldn’t get into a garden party at Buck House, if you know what I mean,” Nathan added. “In my line of business, you can’t be too choosy.”
“It sounds intriguing.”
“A job of work, that’s all.”
“Maybe you’d consider letting me do one of my photo features on you. A day in the life of a millionaire middleman.”
“No chance,” he said. “Publicity is the last thing I need.”
“Don’t you advertise?” She was starting to enjoy this game as much as he.
“It’s all done by word of mouth.”
Lee piped up, “And some of the words are unprintable.”
The car arrived at the security gate of Nathan’s house and a volley of angry barking reminded Ingeborg of the dangers of overplaying her hand. They passed inside and up the long drive.
“I may see you before you go, depending on my business arrangements,” Nathan told her. “I appreciate what you did today—more than you bargained for when you took on this project. You can have the guest room tonight, fresh towels and all that. Make yourself at home.”
“I’ll look after her,” Lee said. “It’s a treat for me to have a guest in my part of the house—a female one, that is.”
The last remark drew a sharp glance from Nathan. He got out and walked into the house.
Lee gave a girl-to-girl smirk at Ingeborg. “Let’s freshen up and then we can chill out together. I’m really sorry for all you had to put up with.”
“Not your fault.”
“I know. Nathan doesn’t have a clue about women. Later I’ll tell you how he really earns his money.”
18
Light rain was falling in Marlborough, persuading more of the demonstrators to lower their banners and quit. The diehards amounted to thirty or so and they kept themselves going by taunting the police on the inner side of the rope. Their numbers were now up to ten—excluding Diamond and Halliwell. As often happens in protests, the local bobbies were sympathetic to the cause and uncomfortable facing their own townspeople across a dividing line. Officially, they were protecting the helicopter from potential damage, but their presence gave the appearance of siding with the property developer from London.