Private London (Private 4)

‘Shakespeare?’

‘John Milton. He was referring to his blindness. And even if it does feel like we are stumbling around in the dark, professor, we’re not. There is light ahead and we will guide Hannah home by it.’

‘You sound like something has happened.’

‘Just experience. Things happen for a reason. And when we understand why – then we can take steps to deal with them.’

‘And you are close to an understanding?’

‘I believe we are working towards that, yes.’

‘And you’ll let me know when you can?’

‘We will.’

‘Thanks, then.’

Annabelle Weston hung up, running her thumb and the first finger of her right hand around the wedding-ring finger of her left. There was still a faint white band from where her wedding ring had been removed some years earlier.

A slight smile tugged wistfully at the corners of her lips. I wonder what Dan Carter would be like in bed? she thought to herself.

Her smile faded as she picked the phone up for a third time and hit the speed-dial button.

‘Kht Mn Qlby …’ she said as the call was answered. ‘It’s me.’

Chapter 54

GARY WEBSTER HAD the word Mechanic written in the job section of his out-of-date passport.

He also had a medium-sized bodywork and repair shop in Marylebone not far from the thrust and bustle of the High Street that would stand testimony to the truth of it. Certainly as far as the taxman was concerned that was how he made his money. Crash repairs, bodywork, paint jobs, brake and wheel replacements.

In reality, though, he had a number of other profitable sidelines from which he derived his main income. None of them legal.

He was sitting in his local, The Prince Regent – what he called a proper Victorian boozer – on Marylebone High Street, drinking a pint of Abbot Ale when I walked in and went up to him. I sat on the stool next to his.

‘Dan,’ he said, gesturing to the barmaid, and holding out his hand for me to shake. I waved his hand away.

Gary Webster had a grip like a Russian arm-wrestler overloaded on steroids. He was a good three inches shorter than me and a good few inches off the chest too. I’m a forty-four long and he was about a thirty-eight, I reckoned. But his forearms were like legs of pork and I hadn’t shaken hands with him since he’d left the fifth form and gone to work with his dad. Not because I hadn’t seen him, but because I didn’t want my hand mangled.

I slapped him on the shoulder instead and took the bottle of Corona the barmaid had brought across for me. It wasn’t the first time I had been in that particular pub.

‘How’s business?’ he asked.

I waggled my hand in a banking-aeroplane movement. ‘I’ve had better days,’ I said.

‘Why you contacted your old pal, I guess?’

I nodded in agreement. ‘Why I got in touch.’ I took a long pull on the Corona.

‘So … this is calling for something outside the legitimate range of your normal operations?’ He took a pull of his pint.

‘Again, your guess would be correct,’ I concurred.

‘What do you need?’

‘Same as last time.’

He smiled sardonically. ‘Nothing for Tonto?’