Read Online Solo (Aka the Cretan Lover) (v5) by Jack Higgins - Free Book Online

simple reason that she'd packed her bags and moved out five years previously.
    Baker had grey hair and a badly broken nose, a relic of his rugby-playing days, giving him the air of an amiable prize fighter. Which was deceptive for it concealed one of the sharpest minds in Special Branch.
    His assistant, Detective-Inspector George Stewart, waited in the foyer, smoking a cigarette. He dropped it to the floor, put a foot on it and came forward.
    Baker said, 'All right - tell me.'
    'Girl of fourteen - Megan Helen Morgan.' He had his notebook open now. 'Mother, Mrs Helen Wood. Married to the Reverend Francis Wood, rector of Steeple Durham in Essex. I spoke to him on the phone half an hour ago. They're on their way now.'
    'Now wait a minute,' Baker said. 'I'm beginning to get a bit confused.'
    'The girl's landlady is in here, sir. A Mrs Carter.'
    He opened a door marked Waiting Room and Baker moved in. The woman who sat by the window was stout and middle-aged and wore a brown raincoat. Her face was blotched, swollen by weeping.
    'This is Chief Superintendent Baker. He's in charge of the case, Mrs Carter,' Stewart said. 'Would you tell him what you told me?'
    She said in a low voice, 'Megan lodges with me. Her mother lives in Essex, you see.'
    'Yes, we know that.'
    'She was at the Italia Conte school. You know? Singing, dancing, acting, things like that. She wanted to go on the stage. That's why she was here, lodging with me,' she explained again, patiently.
    'And tonight?'
    'They were rehearsing all afternoon for a musical they're doing. I told her to be careful.' She turned to gaze vacantly out of the window. 'I never did like her being out after dark on that bike.'
    There was a silence. Baker put a hand on her shoulder, then nodded to Stewart and they went out.
    'Is Doctor Evans here yet?'
    'On his way, sir. Would you like to see the body?'
    'No, I'll keep that unpleasantness for later. I've got two girls of my own, remember. In any case, Evans can't start cutting until the mother's made formal identification.'
    'Any news on Mr Cohen, sir?'
    'Still alive, that's all you can say, with a bullet in his brain. They're operating now.'
    'Are you going to wait here for Mrs Wood?'
    'Yes, I think so. The office know where I am. See if you can find us some tea.'
    Stewart went off and Baker lit a cigarette and turned and looked out through the glass doors. He was uneasy in a way he hadn't been for years. Amongst its other duties, the Special Branch was always given the task of acting as bodyguard to visiting heads of state and similar VIPs. The Department was justly proud of the fact that they'd never failed yet in that particular task.
    But this business tonight with Max Cohen - this was something else again. International terrorism of the most vicious kind, here in London.
    Stewart appeared with tea in two paper cups. 'Cheer up, sir. We'll get the bastard.'
    'Not if it's who I think it is,' Harry Baker told him.
    At that moment, John Mikali walked back on stage to take another standing ovation. He exited down the gangway known to the artists as the Bullrun. The stage manager was waiting there and handed him a towel. Mikali wiped sweat from his face.
    'That's it,' he said. 'If they want any more, they'll have to buy tickets for Tuesday.'
    His voice was attractive, full of its own character, what some people would call good Boston American, and matched the lazy charm he could switch on instantly when required.
    'Most of them already have, Mr Mikali.' The manager smiled. 'The champagne's waiting in your dressing room. Any visitors?'
    'Nothing under twenty-one, George.' Mikali smiled. 'I've had a very young week.'
    In the Green Room he stripped off his tailcoat and shirt and pulled on a towelling robe. Then he switched on the portable radio on the dressing table and reached for the champagne bottle, Krug, non-vintage. He put a little crushed ice in the bottom of the glass and filled it.
    As he savoured the first, delicious, ice-cold mouthful,