She took the paper and frowned. There must be some mistake. The bloke next doors called Simon. Simon Morley.
I sighed. I dont suppose hes the one taking people on, then? I mean, Ive not got the right address and the wrong name?
One of the twins detached itself from the womans jeans and lurched toward me. Without looking down, she stuck her leg out and stopped its progress. I shouldnt think so, love, she said. Simon got made redundant about six months ago. Hes only started working himself a couple of months back, and judging from the overalls he goes in and out in, hes not hiring and firing.
I did the disappointed look, but it was wasted on the hassled woman. The pitch of the twins dialogue had risen to a level she couldnt ignore. Sorry, she said, closing the door firmly in my face.
Dont be sorry, I said softly as I walked back to the Rover. Lady, you just made my day. Simon Morleys name had rung so many bells my head felt like the cathedral belfry.
By three oclock, everything was in place. Shelley and I had driven across the Pennines on the M62, to the Bradford exit, the first past Hartshead Services. Wed turned off on the Halifax road, where I remembered there was a lay-by just after the motorway roundabout. I left Shelley there in her Rover while I zoomed back down the motorway, doubling back so I ended up on the correct side of the sprawling service area. I parked away from the main body of cars and teetered up the car park on the white stilettos I keep in the bottom of the wardrobe for days like these.
I went to the ladies room to check that I still looked like a tarty blonde. I dont often go in for disguises that involve wigs, but a couple of years before, Id needed a radical appearance change, so Id spent a substantial chunk of Mortensen and Brannigans petty cash on a really good wig. It was a reddish blond, which meant it didnt look too odd against my skin, which is the typically yellow-based freckle-face that goes with auburn hair. Coupled with a much heavier makeup than Id normally be seen dead in, the image that peered out of the mirror at me was credible, if a bit on the doggy side. Id dressed to emphasize that impression, in a black Lycra miniskirt and a cream scoop-necked vest under my well-worn brown leather blouson. My own mother would have thrown me out of the house.
I touched up the scarlet lipstick and gave myself a toothy grin. Show time, Brannigan, I muttered as I walked back across the car park and leaned against the door of my coupe.
He was right on time. At precisely three thirty, a metallic green Mercedes appeared at the entrance to the car park. He cruised round slowly before purring to a halt next to my car. The driver was indeed fortyish, though calling him bald on top seemed to be a euphemistic description for someone well on the way to the billiard-ball look. I opened the passenger door and sank into the leather seat. Pleased to meet you, I said.
Dennis tells me you have something I might be interested in, he said without preamble. His voice was nasal, the kind that gets on my nerves after about five minutes. I dont normally deal with people on a freelance basis, he added, glancing at me for the first time.
I know. Dennis explained how you like to work. But I thought that if I showed you what I can do, you might put some work my way, I said, trying to sound hard-bitten.
Lets see what youve got, then. He turned in his seat toward me. His eyes were gray and cold, slightly narrowed. When he spoke, his mouth moved asymmetrically, as if he were gripping an imaginary cigarette in one corner.
What about the color of your money? I demanded.
He leaned across. For a wild moment, I thought his hand was heading for my legs, but he carried on to the glove box. It fell open to reveal bundles of notes. I could see they were fifties, banded into packs of a thousand. There were ten of them. He picked one up and riffled it in my face, so I could see it was fifties all the way through. Then he slammed the glove box shut again. Satisfied?
You will be, I said, reaching into my bag. I took out the buckle, wrapped in an ordinary yellow duster. I opened it up and displayed the buckle. Anglo-Saxon, I said. From High Hammerton Hall.
I know where its from, he said brusquely, taking a loupe out of his pocket and picking up the buckle. I hoped he couldnt hear the pounding of the blood in my ears as he examined it. I could feel a prickle of sweat under the foundation on my upper lip. Is this the real thing or is it a fake? he asked.
I pointed to the twenty-grand car sitting next to us. Is that a real Leo Gemini turbo super coupe or is it a fake? Behave. Its the business, I said aggressively.
Theres been nothing in the papers, he said.
I cant help that, can I? What do you want me to do, issue a press release?
A half-smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. You done much of this sort of thing? he asked.
What dyou want, a fucking CV? Listen, all you need to know is that I can deliver the goods, and I havent got a record, which makes me a damn sight better bet than Dennis and Frankie. Dyou want this or not? I held my hand out for the buckle.
Oh, I think my clients will be happy with this, he said, pocketing the buckle and the loupe. Help yourself. He gestured toward the glove box, at the same time taking a card out of his inside pocket. I grabbed the money and stuffed it in my bag.
Cheers, I said.
He handed me the card. It was one of those ones you get made up on those instant print machines at railway stations and motorway services. Id passed one minutes before. All it had on it was his mobile number. Next time, phone me before you do the job and Ill tell you whether we want the piece or not.
No sweat, I said, opening the door. I like a man who knows what he wants. I closed the door with a soft click and got behind the wheel of the coupe. The fence showed no sign of moving, so I started the engine and drove off. As I joined the motorway, I clocked him a few cars behind me. I stayed in the inside lane, and he made no move to catch me up, never mind overtake me. I left the motorway at the next junction, going round the roundabout twice to make certain he wasnt following me, then I turned down the Halifax road. Shelley got out of the Rover as I pulled in behind her. I jumped out of the coupe and raced for the Rover, pulling off my jacket as I ran. Shelley had left the engine running, as Id asked her to.
Speak to you later, I shouted as I put the car in gear, did an illegal U-turn at the first opportunity and tore back to the motorway. The receiver for the bug beeped reassuringly at me. He was already five kilometers away from me, and climbing. I floored the accelerator as I rejoined the M62. The car seemed sluggish after the coupe, but it didnt take long to push it up to ninety. I pulled off the wig and ran a hand through my hair. Id left a packet of moist tissues on the passenger seat of the Rover, and I used a handful of them to scrub the makeup off my face.
According to the tracer screen, the fences direction had changed slightly. As Id expected, hed turned off on the M621 for Leeds. I followed, noting that Id narrowed the distance between us. He was only 2.7 kilometers ahead of me now. I really needed to be a lot closer before he turned off and lost me in a maze of city streets. Luckily, the M621 runs downhill, and he was sticking to a speed that wouldnt get him picked up by the speed cameras. By the time we came to the Wetherby and Harrogate slip road, I was close enough to glimpse his pale green roof leave the motorway. Fortunately, there was a fair bit of traffic, so I was able to keep a couple of cars between us. In the queue at the Armley roundabout, I pulled on my denim shirt over the vest, completing the transformation from the waist up. I had a momentary panic when he entered the tunnels of the inner-city ring road and the signal disappeared from the receiver. But as soon as we emerged into daylight, the beep came back. I kept him in sight as we approached the complex confluence of roads at Sheepscar, one car behind as he swung right into Roundhay Road. I reckoned he had no idea that he was being followed, since he wasnt doing any of the things you do when you think youve got a tail; no jumping red lights, no sudden turns off the main road, no lane switching.
He stayed on Roundhay Road, then, just by the park, he turned left and drove up Princes Avenue, through the manicured green of playing fields and enough grass to walk all the dogs of Leeds simultaneously. Where the avenue shaded into Street Lane, he turned right into a drive. I cruised past with a sidelong glance that revealed the Merc pulling into a double garage, then found a place to park round the corner. I kicked off the stilettos and pulled on the leggings Id left in the car. I wriggled out of the Lycra mini and got out of the car, stuffing my feet into my Reeboks. Then I strolled back along Princes Avenue. Clearly, being a fence was a lot more lucrative than being a private eye. Baldys house was set back from the road, a big detached job in stone blackened with a century and a half of industrial pollution. Not much change out of a quarter of a million for that one, by my reckoning. Probably the most popular man in the street too; they say good fences make good neighbors! I carried on down the road and bought an ice cream from one of the vans by the park gates. I sat on a wall and ate my cone, keeping an eye on Baldys house the while.
Five minutes later, an Audi convertible pulled in to the drive. A blond woman got out, followed by two girls in the kind of posh school uniform that has straw boaters in the summer term. From where I was sitting, the girls looked to be in their early teens. The woman left the car on the drive and followed the girls into the house. I finished my ice cream and walked back to the car. I drove round for a few minutes, trying to find a suitable place for a stakeout. Eventually, I parked just round the bend on the forecourt of a row of shops. I couldnt see the whole house from there, but I could see the door and the drive, but I hoped that by not parking outside anyone elses house, Id escape the worst excesses of the neighborhood watch. If I was going to have to come back tomorrow, Id ring the local police and tell them I was in the area on a surveillance to do with a noncriminal matter. Whats a few white lies between friends? I took out the phone and rang the local library and asked them to check the address on the electoral roll. They told me the residents listed at that address were Nicholas and Michelle Turner. At last, I had a name that hadnt come from the pages of lan Fleming.