He thought he would walk for a bit to clear his head.
Freddie hadn’t noticed Ali Patel hovering in the lobby and approach reception as he left the building. Nor did he notice the cab which was keeping behind him by virtue of a kind of stop-start manoeuvre in and out of the line of traffic.
However, neither did Parker, driving that cab, notice the broadly-built middle-aged man who was attempting to keep both the cab and Freddie Fairbrother in his eyeline.
After a while Freddie used his new pay-as-you-go phone to call the only number on it. He needed help. Fast.
The number rang, but there was no reply. And no message service. He tried again. Same result. Another two attempts also failed, as he had, by then, expected.
Freddie’s hands were trembling again, and the back of his neck felt clammy again. It seemed crazy that only a few minutes earlier he had been on something of a high.
What did this mean? Had he been abandoned? But that would surely serve no purpose. Surely he had been right to consider himself indispensable now. He must try to think. Which wasn’t something he was good at. But he knew he must keep calm and attempt to sort himself out, even if only temporarily. There was, of course, an argument for just giving up and going to the police. As his sister had told him that morning, was it really only that morning, his connection with all that had happened was fleeting. It was likely nothing could be proven against him, and possible that even Bella’s death hadn’t changed that.
For once in his life Freddie felt he had to make a decision. But, perhaps, not straightaway. He looked around him. There was a pub just across the road. What he needed, before he did anything, was a drink, he decided. And that was a decision he had often made before.
He ordered himself a pint of Fosters, his beer of choice, and a whisky chaser.
Outside in the street Parker pulled the surveillance cab to a halt, ignoring the hoots of impatient motorists. He contemplated abandoning the vehicle and following Fairbrother into the pub. But he was pretty sure there was no other entrance to the boozer, and considered he would be better off waiting for Freddie to emerge, ready to follow him to his next port of call. In any case, hopefully Ali Patel would not be too long making his inquiries at Fairbrother Fort, and he could go inside the pub.
The broad-shouldered man attempting solo surveillance faced no such dilemma. He knew exactly what he was going to do, and quickly, whilst Parker was still contemplating his next move, he marched straight into the pub and approached Freddie Fairbrother.
‘Evening, Freddie,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time.’
Freddie Fairbrother’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. It may have been a long time, but he recognised the other man at once. After all, he’d been a major part of his childhood.
‘You,’ he said. ‘You. What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve been sent to look after you.’
‘But... but, why would... I mean, they told me you’d been sacked...’ Freddie paused as a shocking revelation occurred to him. ‘You haven’t been sacked, have you?’ he said. ‘You’ve been doing his dirty work all the time. Did you kn—’
Jack Kivel put a firm hand on Freddie’s right arm and squeezed with hard sinewy fingers.
‘No, don’t say it,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t say anything we both might regret.’
Freddie stopped talking.
‘I’m going to take you to him,’ he said. ‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’
Freddie was no longer sure it was at all what he wanted. He was beginning to wish with all his heart that he hadn’t made that phone call in the morning, and that he’d boarded the first possible flight back to Australia, as he had told his sister he would. He’d treated his visit to Fairbrother Fort as a performance, and had almost enjoyed it. He knew he had shown talent as an actor once, long ago. Possibly the only talent he’d ever had for anything. Reality was now beginning to hit with a vengeance. His sister had been murdered. More than likely by the man standing before him, a man he thought he had once known well, but whom he clearly had never known at all. Again he wondered if he might also be in danger. He couldn’t be, though, could he? He was indispensable now, after all, wasn’t he? He just had to do what he was told. That was where Bella had gone wrong.
‘Of course,’ said Freddie.
‘Right,’ replied Jack Kivel. ‘Now, I don’t suppose for one moment you’ve noticed, but you are being followed.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Freddie.
‘So, before we go anywhere, we have to shake off your tail. Can you run?’ Kivel eyed Freddie up and down. ‘You look pretty fit considering your track record.’
Kivel grinned, as if trying to make himself appear likeable. It didn’t work.
‘I can run,’ said Freddie nervously.
‘Good. Now, there’s a cab outside that’s been tracking you, there’s a second man, too, but he was still in Fairbrother House when you came out. I’m hoping he hasn’t caught up yet—’
‘Hang on, I don’t understand why I have to run,’ interrupted Freddie. ‘Half an hour ago I was putting myself up to chair the board.’
‘Yes, and that will happen. We need things to settle a bit, one or two things need to be arranged first, and we can’t risk being followed to where I’m taking you now, can we? Look, I’ll cause a diversion, get in the cab’s way. You turn right out of the boozer, and walk normally for the first block or so, then leg it as fast as you can. St Paul’s is about three quarters of a mile away. Tuck yourself in a doorway or something. I’ll get in a taxi and come and pick you up. Just make absolutely sure you see it’s me before you get in, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘But first, give me your phone.’
Freddie did so.
Kivel slipped it down the side of the seat of his chair.
‘What are you doing now?’ asked Freddie.
‘You are being followed, Freddie, and it would seem almost certain that you were picked up at your hotel at Heathrow,’ Jack Kivel explained patiently. ‘Therefore, there would have been people on your tail when you bought your new phone. These are top cops, for certain. Professionals. Ten to a penny they have your new number, and they’ve already pinged it. Your trail will end here.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Freddie for the second time.
He then found himself watching in amazement as Kivel reached for Freddie’s virtually untouched whisky, took a quick mouthful, and tipped the rest casually down his chin and over the front of his jacket.
‘I will leave first, be right behind me, then take off, fast as you can, yes?’ commanded Kivel, as if nothing untoward had happened.
‘Yes,’ said Freddie.
DC Parker, at the wheel of his surveillance cab, had his eyes fixed on the pub door when it swung open. Out rolled a drunk, who staggered across the pavement and into the road directly in front of the cab. In almost the same instance Parker saw Freddie Fairbrother leave the pub and walk briskly west.
Parker started his engine and prepared to move forwards in gentle pursuit. But the drunk was blocking the way. Parker blew his horn. No response. He wound down the driver’s window and stuck his head out.
‘Get out of the fucking way,’ he yelled.
The drunk was either beyond understanding or didn’t care. He certainly didn’t move. Instead he stared at Parker in a puzzled sort of way, and asked, ‘Are you for hire, my good man?’
‘Move before I fucking make you!’ yelled Parker.
Light seemed to dawn. The drunk took a step back towards the pavement, then fell over. Unless he was prepared to drive over the man, Parker’s cab was going nowhere.