“I expect so,” I said, and she sounded so forlorn I felt suddenly sorry for her. “I’ll call them for you, if you like, explain that your interior designer has gone into a fit of hysterics about your terrible taste.”
That won me a tired smile. “I always thought that having a lot of money would make things easier, somehow.”
“It doesn’t,” I said. “It just makes the problems different. And some of them it just seems to make worse.”
She nodded, sober. After a few minutes she said, “And they were pretty awful, weren’t they?”
“The vases?” I said, smiling. “Yes, they were.”
L
ater, we ate in a small, Italian family diner in the historic North End. The restaurant—serving pizza and pasta, as you would expect— was recommended by Charlie the limo driver, who took us there and collected us again afterwards. It was small and cozy and both Simone and Ella looked a lot more at home there than in the grander surroundings of the hotel.
It was still fairly early when we finished eating, but our stomachs were still working on UK time, running five hours ahead, which made a normal evening meal far too late for any of us to manage, least of all a four-year-old. As it was, Ella had fallen asleep again on the short ride from the restaurant back to the hotel, and Simone had to carry her.
It bugged Simone, I could tell, that I didn’t offer to help cart Ella inside. Even after I’d explained that it would completely hamper my ability to do my job, I’m sure Simone suspected I was merely shirking.
I did a casual sweep of the marble-clad lobby as we went through and noticed a woman hovering by the entrance to the gift shop. She was wearing a dark blue blazer over a polo-necked sweater and jeans, and it only took me a moment to recognize her as Frances Neagley.
My stride faltered and I got as far as opening my mouth to call back Simone, who was hurrying towards the bank of elevators ahead of us, but the private investigator shook her head quickly and pointed just at me, then made the universal gesture for drinking. I raised my eyebrows in question and she nodded. I held my hand up, fingers spread, to indicate I’d be back down to meet her in the bar in five minutes, and kept walking.
In fact, by the time I’d settled mother and daughter in for the night it was more like half an hour before I could get back down to the lobby. Neagley had gone from her loitering position by that time, but I soon found her in the long, narrow bar, nursing a glass of scotch and intently people watching. When she noticed my approach she stood and indicated the empty seat opposite. She still hadn’t quite lost that wary air as she regarded me.
“You wanted to see me?” I said, neutral, returning the favor.
“Yeah,” she said shortly “Sit down, Charlie. Drink?”
“Coffee would be good,” I said carefully. A waiter came, took my order and departed again. Silence fell, lying heavy.
The bar was moderately busy, mainly with hotel guests having drinks before going out for their more conventionally timed dinners. I let my gaze trail over them while I waited for my drink to arrive. There was one big guy in a green sports jacket sitting alone at the bar who caught my eye. He had a watchful air about him, like he might be hotel security. Nobody else rang any alarm bells.
“So,” I said at last, turning back to Neagley, who had yet to speak, “are you going to tell me what the secrecy was all about? Have you found any trace of where your partner went? Who he might have spoken to?”
“What do you know about this missing father of Simone’s?” she asked abruptly instead.
I paused, considering. “Not much,” I admitted. “Simone claims she doesn’t remember him, so she hasn’t said much, and my job is just to … keep her company,” I finished, suddenly not sure how much I wanted to reveal.
Neagley
made a small gesture of impatience. “Don’t mess with me, Charlie. You’re a bodyguard, not some kind of nanny.”
The waiter returned at that moment with my cup of coffee. I didn’t speak until he’d gone again.
“You’ve been doing some digging,” I said then.
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of in my job description,” she agreed, sitting back and crossing her legs. She regarded me with slightly narrowed eyes, head tilted to one side. “As is finding out that Greg Lucas spent years in the SAS and had a rep as a real hard man.”
I stilled, trying to work out if I’d known that information.
Army chap,
Harrington had said, implying some chinless wonder in the Guards. Nea-gley’s information changed things, but I still didn’t see what real significance it had. “So?”
“So he’s the kind of guy who would know when someone was asking questions about him—and possibly have the abilities to get rid of that someone, if he did not want to be found.”
I didn’t think it was good politics to let Neagley know that questioning the accidental nature of that accident had been my first thought. So I allowed my eyebrows to come up and asked, neutral, “You think he might have arranged for your partner’s crash? Run him off the road? Why?”
Neagley shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know, but I’ve been in this business long enough to know that normal people—with nothing to hide—don’t go to the trouble to disappear that this guy did. He must have had a reason for not wanting to be found. And besides, Barry was a good driver,” she added, defensive now. “Me, I’m from California. I’d never seen ice until I moved east five years ago. If it had been me who went off that bridge—” she shrugged, “ — that woulda been understandable. But Barry lived here all his life. He was careful, knew what he was doing.”
“Have you talked to the police about this?”
Her face tightened. “Uh-huh. They’re not going to be swayed from ‘driver error’ unless I find them some real good evidence of sabotage or interference. And, like I say, your boy’s too good to have left anything obvious behind.”
I didn’t like the way she said “your boy” any more than I liked the way she seemed convinced Simone’s father had in some way caused O’Halloran’s accident, but I let it slide. She took a breath.
‘And I think I’m under surveillance.”
“You think, or you know?”
Her eyes flashed a warning. “It’s nothing obvious, just a feeling, but you get to trust your instincts in this job.”
“When did you first notice this tail?” I asked.
“Since just after Barry’s accident. It could be coincidence, but I’m not working on anything at the moment that would warrant it, so I can only conclude it’s because of Barry.” She stared at her drink, her face pinched. “I don’t mind admitting, it’s got me a little spooked.”
“Are you saying you want to quit?”
“No,” she said carefully, not rising to the challenge in my voice, “but we should have been told up front if this assignment was likely to be risky”
Hey, I’m just another employee, not management. D on’ t give me a hard time about it.
Not an attitude likely to win me Neagley’s cooperation, so I left the words unspoken.
“I don’t believe anyone thought it was,” I said instead, “or they would have done.”
“Yeah?” Her voice held a disbelieving note. “So why are you on the job, Charlie? You’re ex-SAS as well, aren’t you?”
I glanced at her sharply. She was almost right, but not quite. Special Forces in the UK covers a lot more than just 22nd Regiment, but that’s who everybody automatically thinks of. And anyway, I hadn’t made it past the training stage, but I wasn’t about to volunteer that little titbit.
“Well, well,” I murmured. “You
have
been doing some digging, haven’t you?”
“Like I said, it’s part of the job,” she threw back at me. “So, why would someone like you be assigned if this is just a simple hand-holding exercise?”
I knew explaining about Simone’s money would clarify my position, but I couldn’t do so without clearing it with Simone first. Neagley saw my hesitation and read all manner of things into it—most of which weren’t there. She got to her feet, leaving what remained of her drink on the table.
“No, I’m not a quitter,” she said with quiet vehemence, leaning in. “But if I’m going to continue I want someone watching my back. I’ve called in some people I know—an executive protection firm outta New York who owe me a favor. When I’ve used up their goodwill I’ll be putting their fee onto Miss Kerse’s account. If she doesn’t like it, she can fire me, OK?”
I nodded. She was within her rights to be angry and I knew my silence hadn’t helped.
Neagley pulled a business card out of her pocket. “When you decide to level with me, here’s my cell number,” she said, tossing the card onto the table as she straightened. “And a piece of advice for you, Charlie— watch your back.” And with that she turned and strode out of the bar.
I wasn’t overly surprised when the big guy in the green sports jacket abandoned his drink and strolled out after her. As he went past he inclined his head a fraction, the friendly nod of one professional to another.
Y
ou’re the one on the ground, Charlie,” Sean said. “If you feel you need more people, say the word.” “It’s not a question of that,” I said. “I talked it over with Simone again last night and she won’t
have
any more people. I spoke to the police here this morning—and getting anything out of them was a bit of a saga—but they’re still adamant that O’Halloran’s accident wasn’t suspicious. In fact, the guy in charge reckoned he’d had a drink or two, which doesn’t help convince them he was bumped off.”
“So you think Neagley’s overreacting?”
I paused a moment before replying. I was in my room overlooking the harbor again, watching the commercial jets angle out of Logan. We’d just had an early breakfast and Simone was getting Ella wrapped up and ready for a trolleybus tour of the city. The concierge, no doubt trying to be helpful, had given Simone all the details. Ella was excited about it and I could hear her high-pitched voice giggling and asking questions through the open doorways to the next room. I shifted the phone to my other ear.
“I don’t know,” I said then. “She’s certainly taken it seriously enough to call in close protection of her own, and Neagley didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would panic over nothing. This has got her rattled, that’s for sure.”
“Mm,” Sean said. “Armstrong’s are a good firm—head office in New York and very switched on. I’ve worked with the boss, Parker Armstrong, a few times myself. And they’re fair. They wouldn’t take her money unless
they
thought she needed their services.”
“Which brings us back to Greg Lucas,” I said. “Why didn’t anybody warn me he might react badly to being confronted with his long-lost daughter?”
“At this stage we don’t know how he’ll react. Nothing in the information we were given suggested he would go to those kinds of lengths to avoid being found.”
“Well then,” I said, “I suggest you dig a little deeper. Simone’s determined not to give up looking and, if he’s going to become a threat, I think it would be a good idea if I knew about it sooner rather than later, don’t you?”
A
fter my conversation with Neagley in the bar the night before, I’d gone back up to our rooms to find Simone curled up watching TV on my side, Ella already in bed and dead to the world, poor kid.
Without much of a preamble, I’d given Simone the gist of Neagley’s grievances. For a few moments Simone had sat in silence, feet tucked up underneath her, apparently lost in her thoughts. It was only when she finally spoke that I heard the anger vibrating in her voice and realized she’d been bringing herself up to the boil.
“OK, so my father was in the army—so were you,” she threw at me. “Does that make you both killers?”
I stilled.
Don’t go there, Simone.
…
When I didn’t answer immediately she took a deep breath and said, quietly but with more bitterness, “Why are you telling me this, Charlie? You want me to give up and go home, is that it?”
“Of course not,” I said, too patiently. It had only inflamed her.
“Tell me something. When did you last see your father, huh?”
“Six months ago,” I said shortly.
She’d already opened her mouth to snap back at me before she registered what I’d said and closed it again. “OK, but that’s your choice, right?” she said, slightly mollified. “You know who and where he is, right?”
“Yes,” I agreed. But that didn’t mean I knew him—not really. My father was one of the top orthopedic surgeons in the UK, and while he might be my biological parent, most of the time I found him a cold aloof stranger. So much so, in fact, that when my short-lived army career had ended in scandal and disgrace I’d shortened my name from Foxcroft to Fox in an attempt to distance myself from him still further. It had been only partially successful.
Sean had never met with my parents’ approval, either. One more thing we had in common. When I’d made the decision to take him up on his job offer and moved down from my home in the north permanently, they’d made a somewhat disappointingly brief bid to talk me out of it, then retreated into a martyred silence that I had not yet felt inclined to break.
I hadn’t even told them I was going back to the States. Partly because I didn’t want to face another argument when I had enough reservations of my own about the trip. But mainly just in case they made no comment on the subject at all. I’m not sure which would have been worse.
Simone’s eyes slid back to the TV screen, but I knew she didn’t see the picture. “I only remember odd fragments of my father,” she said abruptly. “A lullaby, a deep voice sitting by my bed reading Beatrix Potter stories. But I can’t see his face at all.” She looked up, her face defiant, as though I would contradict her. “It’s one of the things that’s been bothering me, since we came out here. Will I recognize him when I finally meet him? My mother never kept any pictures. It’s all this huge blank.”
She shook her head and for a moment I thought she was going to cry, but she swallowed the tears back down again. ‘And now,” she continued in a low voice, “you tell me he might have somehow caused the death of this investigator? What kind of monster would that make him?”
“That’s Neagley’s theory, not mine,” I said quickly. “She’s worried enough to have hired in some additional security. I think perhaps it might be a good idea if you considered doing the same.”