And Thereby Hangs a Tale (24 page)

'I don't like the sound of that,' said
Arnold.

'Any idea where he comes from, or what he does
for a living?'

'Not a clue,' said Dennis. 'But he certainly
didn't get that tan holidaying in the South of France.'

'That's for sure,' said Arnold, laughing. 'Don't
misunderstand me, Dennis, I'm not preju-diced. I've always liked Mr Zebari from
the other end of my corridor. Keeps himself to himself, always respectful.'

'That's true,' said Dennis. 'But then you
must remember that Mr Zebari is a radiologist.'

Not that he was altogether sure what a
radiologist was.

'Well, I must get a move on,' said Arnold.

'Can't afford to be late for work. Now that I'm
going to be manager, I have to set an example to the junior staff. Keep your
ear to the ground, Dennis,' he added, touching the side of his nose with a
forefinger. 'Although our masters have decided it's not politically correct, I
have to tell you I don't like the look of him.'

The porter gave a slight nod as Arnold pushed
through the swing doors and headed off in the direction of the bank.

The next time Arnold came across the new resident
was a few days later; he was returning from work when he saw him chatting to a young
man dressed from head to toe in leather and sitting astride a motorbike. The moment
the two of them spotted Arnold, the young man pulled down his visor, revved up and
shot away. Arnold hurried into the building, relieved to find Dennis sitting
behind the reception desk.

'Those two look a bit dodgy to me,' said Arnold.

'Not half as dodgy as some of the other young
men who've been visiting him at all hours of the night and day. There are times
when I can't be sure if this is Albert Embank-ment or the Khyber Pass.'

'I know what you mean,' said Arnold as the lift
door opened and Mr Zebari stepped out.

'Good evening, Mr Zebari,' said Dennis with a
smile. 'On night duty again?'

'Afraid so, Dennis. No rest for the wicked when
you work for the NHS,' he added as he left the building.

'A real gentleman, that Mr Zebari,' said
Dennis. 'Sent my wife a bunch of flowers on her birthday.'

It was a couple of weeks later, after
arriving home late from work, that Arnold spotted the motorbike again. It was
parked up against the railing but there was no sign of its owner. Arnold walked
into the building, to find a couple of young men chatting loudly in a tongue he
didn't recognize. They headed towards the lift, so he held back, as he had no
desire to join them.

Dennis waited until the lift door had closed
before saying, 'No prizes for guessing who they're visiting. God knows what
they get up to behind closed doors.'

'I have my suspicions,' said Arnold, 'but I'm
not going to say anything until I've got proof.'

When he got out of the lift at the fourth
floor, Arnold could hear raised voices coming from the apartment opposite his.
Noticing that the door was slightly ajar, he slowed down and casually glanced
inside.

A man was lying flat on his back on the
floor, his arms and legs pinned down by the two men he'd seen getting into the
lift, while the youth he'd spotted on the motorbike was holding a kitchen knife
above the man's head. All around the room were large blownup photographs of the
devastation caused by the 7/7 bus and tube bombings that had recently appeared
on the front pages of every national newspaper. The moment the youth spotted
Arnold staring at him, he walked quickly across the room and closed the door.

For a moment, Arnold just stood there
shaking, unsure what to do next. Should he run downstairs and tell Dennis what
he'd witnessed, or make a dash for the relative safety of his apartment and
call the police?

Hearing what sounded like a roar of laughter
coming from inside the apartment, Arnold ran across to his front door, fumbled
for his keys and attempted to push his office Yale into the lock, while
continually looking over his shoulder. When he eventually found the right key,
he was so nervous he tried to force it in upside down and ended up dropping it on
the floor. He picked it up and managed to open the door with his third attempt.

Once Arnold was inside he quickly
doublebolted the door and put the safety chain in place, although he still didn't
feel safe. When he'd caught his breath, he dragged the largest chair in the
room across the floor and rammed it up against the door, then collapsed into
it, trembling, as he tried to think what he should do next.

He thought again about phoning the police, but
then became fearful that the man would discover who had reported him and the
kitchen knife would end up hovering above his head. And when the police raided
the building, a fight might break out in the corridor.

How many innocent people would become involved?
Mr Zebari would surely open his door to find out what was going on and come face
to face with the terrorists. It was a risk Arnold wasn't willing to take.

Several minutes passed, and as he could hear
nothing happening outside, Arnold nipped across to the sideboard and shakily poured
himself a large whisky. He drank it down in two gulps, then poured himself
another before slumping back into the chair, clinging on to the bottle. He took
another gulp of whisky, more than y in, mhisky qin, mhiskhe usually drank in a
week, but his heart was still pounding. He sat there, his shirt saturated with
sweat, terrified to move, until the sun had disappeared behind the highest building.
He took another swig, and then another, until he finally passed out.

Arnold couldn't be sure how many hours he'd
slept, but he woke with a start when the clickety-clack of the first tube could
be heard rumbling below him. He saw the empty bottle of whisky lying on
the floor by his feet and tried to sober up. In the cold, clear light of
morning, he knew exactly what his mother would expect him to do.

When the time came for him to leave for work,
he tentatively pulled the heavy chair back a few inches, then placed an ear
against the door. Were the men standing outside in the corridor waiting for him
to come out? He unlocked the door without making the slightest sound and slowly
removed the safety chain. He waited for some time before gingerly opening the
door an inch, and then another inch, before peeping into the corridor. He was
greeted by silence and no sign of anyone.

Arnold took off his shoes, stepped out into the
corridor, closed the door quietly behind him and tiptoed slowly towards the
lift, never once taking his eyes off the door on the other side of the
corridor. There was no sound coming from inside, and he wondered if they'd
panicked and made a run for it. He jabbed at the lift button several times, and
it seemed to take forever before the doors finally slid open. He jumped inside
and pressed G, but even when the doors had closed, he didn't feel safe. By the
time the lift reached the ground floor he'd put his shoes back on and tied the
laces. When the doors slid open he ran out of the building, not even looking in
Dennis's direction when he said, 'Good morning.' He didn't stop running until he
had reached the bank. Arnold opened the front door with the correct key and
quickly stepped inside, setting off the alarm. It was the first time he'd had
to turn it off.

Arnold went straight to the lavatory, and when
he looked at himself in the mirror two bleary red eyes in an unshaven face
stared back at him. He tidied himself up as best he could before creeping into
his office. He hoped that when the staff arrived, not too many of them would
notice that he hadn't shaved and was wearing the same clothes as he had worn
the day before.

He sat at his desk and began to write down everything
he'd witnessed during the past month, going into particular detail when it came
to what had taken place the night before. Once he'd finished, he sat staring
into space for some time before he picked up the phone on his desk and dialled
999.

'Emergency services, which service do you require?'
said a cool voice.

'Police please,' said Arnold, trying not to sound
nervous. He heard a click, then another voice came on the line and said, 'Police
service. What is the nature of your emergency?'

Arnold looked down at the pad in front of him,
and read out the statement he had just prepared. 'My name is Arnold
Pennyworthy.

I need to speak to a senior police officer,
as I have some important information concern-ing the possibility of a serious
crime having been committed, in which terrorists may be involved.'

Another click, another voice, this time with
a name. 'Control room. Inspector Newhouse.'

Arnold read his statement a second time, word
for word.

'Could you be a little more specific, sir?'
the inspector asked. Once Arnold had told him the details, the officer said, 'Hold
on, please, sir. I'm going to put you through to a colleague at Scotland Yard.'

Another line, another voice, another name.

'Sergeant Roberts speaking. How can I help?'

Arnold repeated his prepared statement a third
time.

'I think it may be wise, sir, if you didn't
say too much more over the phone,' suggested Roberts. 'I'd prefer to come and
see you so we can discuss it in person.'

Arnold didn't realize that this suggestion
was used to get rid of crank callers and those who simply wanted to waste
police time.

'That's fine by me,' he said, 'but I'd
prefer it if you visited me at the bank rather than my apartment.'

'I quite understand, sir. I'll be with you
as soon as I can.'

'But you don't know the address.'

'We know your address, sir,' said Sergeant Roberts
without explanation.

Arnold didn't leave his office that morning,
even to carry out his usual check on the tellers. Instead, he busied himself
opening the post and checking his emails. There were several phone messages he
should have responded to, but they could wait until the man from Scotland Yard
had come and gone.

Arnold was pacing up and down in his office when
there was a tap on the door.

'There's a Sergeant Roberts to see you,'
said his surprised-looking secretary. 'Says he has an appointment.'

'Show him in, Diane,' said Arnold, 'and make
sure that we're not disturbed.'

Arnold's secretary stood aside to allow a
tall, smartly dressed young man to enter the office. She closed the door behind
him.

The sergeant introduced himself and the two men
shook hands before he produced his warrant card.

'Would you like a tea or coffee, Sergeant Roberts?'
Arnold asked after he had carefully checked the card.

'No, thank you, sir,' the sergeant replied,
sitting down opposite Arnold and opening a notebook.

'Where shall I start?' said Arnold.

'Why don't you take me through exactly what you
saw taking place, Mr Pennyworthy.

Don't spare me any details, however
irrelevant you may consider they are.'

Arnold checked through his notes once again.
He began by describing in great detail everything he'd seen during the past
month, ending with a full account of what he'd witnessed in the flat opposite the
previous night. When he finally came to the end, he poured himself a glass of
water.

'What's your neighbour's name?' was the sergeant's
first question.

'Good heavens,' said Arnold, 'I have no
idea.

But I can tell you that he's recently moved into
the block, and has taken a short lease.'

'Which floor are you on, Mr Pennyworthy?'

'The fourth.'

'Thank you. That will be more than enough to
be going on with,' said the sergeant, closing his notebook.

'So what happens next?' asked Arnold.

'We'll put a surveillance team on the
building immediately, keep an eye on the suspect for a few days and try to find
out what he's up to.

It could all be completely innocent, of course,
but should we come up with anything, Mr Pennyworthy, be assured we'll keep you
informed.'

'I hope it won't turn out to be a waste of
your time,' said Arnold, suddenly feeling a little foolish.

'We'll find out soon enough,' said the young
detective with a smile. 'Let me assure you, Mr Pennyworthy, I only wish there
were more members of the public who were as vigilant. It would make my job much
easier.

Good luck with your new job,' he added as he
stood to leave.

As soon as the policeman had left, Arnold picked
up the phone on his desk and called his mother. 'Can I come and stay with you for
a few days, Mother, before I move to Bury St Edmunds?'

'Yes, of course, dear,' she replied. 'Nothing
wrong, I hope?'

'Nothing for you to worry about, Mother.'

Once Arnold had moved to Bury St Edmunds,
running the branch took up most of his time, and as the weeks passed and he heard
nothing from Sergeant Roberts, the incident at Arcadia Mansions began to fade
in his memory.

From time to time he read reports in the Daily
Telegraph about police raids on terrorist cells in Leeds, Birmingham and
Bradford.