Read Online The Bee's Kiss by Barbara Cleverly - Free Book Online Page A

abuse at the street washer whose renewed efforts were persuading them to move on down Piccadilly. In the dark alcoves fronting a gents’ outfitters two or three pairs of legs protruded: down-and-outs who hadn’t quite made it all the way to the Green Park railings for the night. The sergeant was a cautious but confident man and he was puzzled. Who was out there? No street thief would take on a policeman even at night. Particularly not a swaggering six-footer like Armitage. He thought for a moment then smiled and walked more carefully on his way eastwards.
    In a spirit of mischief he stood for an annoyingly long time shining his torch on to the display of books in Hatchard’s window. He walked on for some yards down the well-lit middle of the road to allow his pursuer a clear look at him, then quickly nipped down Swallow Street, passing the Vine Street nick and coming out into the graceful curve of Regent Street, now deserted. He crossed at once and plunged into the narrow streets of Soho. Glasshouse Street. Brewer Street. The tail was still in place. Armitage grinned. He was enjoying this. Just what he needed. He used all his tricks to get a sight of his follower. He knew these alleyways like the back of his hand. So, apparently, did his shadow. He wondered for a moment whether he was imagining it. But the sensitive spot on his spine was still sending warnings. God! His leg was killing him! Couldn’t keep this up for much longer. It was time to face him out. He turned and looked over his shoulder then walked down the middle of the road towards Golden Square.
    He reached his goal – an all-night coffee stall which seemed to be doing good business. Three gents in silk top hats and opera cloaks were talking loudly, sipping fragrant coffee from china mugs. A taxi driver rolled in for a couple of saveloys and a pint mug of tea. A medical student asked for an Oxo and a ham sandwich. Two lean men whose faces he thought he recognized faded rapidly into the shadows at the sight of the police cape.
    Armitage approached the counter and looked up into the sweaty, beaming face of the proprietor.
    ‘Mug of your best java, Zeek, and a couple of those saveloys – they smell good. Keeping busy, I see.’
    ‘Musn’t grumble. It’ll get busier when the nightclubs turn out. There yer go, Sarge. Mustard with that?
    ‘No, ta. Do right well as it is. I’ll park me owd bum on that there bench to enjoy ’em.’
    He sat down at a rudimentary table thoughtfully and illegally provided on the pavement by the management for revellers too unsteady to hold their mugs after a night on the town. He waited, his back to the stall, a smile on his face.
    There it was, the upper-class baritone he’d been expecting.
    ‘I’ll have the same as the sergeant, thanks.’
    Joe put his mug down next to Armitage’s.
    ‘Shove over a bit! Cigarette first or are we straight into the sausages?’
    ‘Sausages first, I think, before they start to congeal.’ He noticed with satisfaction that Joe was breathing heavily. ‘Too many hours at the desk, is it, sir?’ he asked innocently.
    ‘Far too many! God! You’re a hard man to keep up with! Good practice, though! I haven’t done that since I was on the beat.’
    ‘You haven’t lost the knack, sir. I was well into Soho before I twigged.’
    ‘Really? Didn’t think I was
that
good! I must confess I lost you in Bridle Lane. I just guessed you’d fetch up here.’
    The two men grinned, open enjoyment outweighing the embarrassment of discovering each other indulging in an activity more suited to a recruit.
    ‘You’re more at home here than I am, I think,’ said Joe. ‘London man?’
    ‘Born and bred.’
    ‘And congratulations on making sergeant, by the way. You can’t have wasted any time?’
    ‘Five years. No, you’re right, sir. That’s as fast as it gets in the force. Unless . . .’ he added with a sly but obvious sideways look at Joe.
    ‘I’ll save you saying it,’ Joe interrupted,