Read Online The New Eastgate Swing by Chris Nickson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Nickson
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hand. ‘Dan Markham.’
The man smiled, showing white, even teeth.
‘Good to meet you finally. Have a seat. Can I get you something?’
‘My partner’s buying. He’ll be through in a second. He’s the one who’s been dealing with most of this.’
‘Very good.’ He picked up the glass. Manicured fingernails, Markham noticed. What man in Leeds ever had those?
Baker returned with a pint of bitter, the head thick and white, and a tall glass of ginger ale.
‘You two appear to have run into a few snags,’ Fox began. There was concern in his voice, but far too little worry.
‘Two dead, one very likely a spy,’ Baker answered flatly. ‘I’d call that more than a few snags.’
‘Maybe,’ Fox allowed with an easy smile. ‘The information’s been passed on to the appropriate people.’
Fox wasn’t local, Markham decided. He had the long vowels of a Southerner. That seemed curious. Why had he ended up in Leeds?
‘There are still two dead men,’ he pointed out.
‘I had a word with the police before I came out. In both cases there’s no hint of anything suspicious,’ Fox countered.
‘So it’s just an unfortunate coincidence?’
‘They happen.’ Fox shrugged. ‘I wanted to set your minds at rest.’
‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ Baker told him. ‘I spent a long time on the force. I don’t believe in coincidence.’
‘That’s your choice, of course.’ Fox looked at him, speaking slowly and calmly. ‘But whichever way you look at it, they’ve gone, and we’ll be keeping a closer eye on those who are still in the country.’
‘How many are there?’ Markham asked. ‘Just the names you’ve given us?’
‘You know I can’t tell you that,’ Fox answered. ‘You spent time in military intelligence. You know the score.’
‘Always worth asking.’
‘Of course. And I can assure you we’ll take the appropriate steps with Mr Blum. That was good work on your part.’ Quite elaborately he looked at his watch, showing a pair of gold cufflinks. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have too many things to do. I hope my answers have helped.’ He took an expensive overcoat with an astrakhan collar from the seat and shrugged himself into it with neat, economical movements. ‘I’m sure we’ll be sending more business your way.’
Then he was gone.
‘Ever feel you’ve been handed a load of flannel?’ Baker asked into the silence.
***
The days passed quietly. The police passed on another missing person case, a genuine one this time. That kept Baker busy and out of the office.
‘You’d do better if you bought a motor car,’ Markham told him.
‘It’s in hand,’ he answered cryptically. ‘By the weekend, all being well.’
It was sooner. On Friday morning Baker walked into the office jangling some keys.
‘Come on downstairs and take a look.’
It was parked outside, just behind the Anglia. A black Wolseley, two years old, neatly cleaned and waxed. The leather seats were cracked, the walnut of the dashboard a little scarred, but those were minor quibbles.
‘Ex-police?’ Markham guessed.
‘Got it for a good price,’ he nodded in triumph. ‘Mate of mine down at the police garage. The motor’s fine, he says. Souped up, too, do a ton in no time.’
It was a large vehicle. But Baker was a large man. Even at a glance it looked like a police vehicle – the colour and power. Still, Stephen Baker would always look like a copper.
‘It’ll get you around fast enough.’
‘The wife says we can use it for a run out into the Dales and the coast on the weekends. Maybe go and see the children and grandkids.’ He sighed.
‘How’s your case coming along? Found him yet?’
‘Got a lead over in York. I’m heading there this afternoon.’ He raised his glance to the grey sky. ‘Could have asked for better weather. But with a little luck I’ll have it wrapped up today, then spend the weekend putting the allotment to bed for the winter.’
‘I’ve got the adultery
The man smiled, showing white, even teeth.
‘Good to meet you finally. Have a seat. Can I get you something?’
‘My partner’s buying. He’ll be through in a second. He’s the one who’s been dealing with most of this.’
‘Very good.’ He picked up the glass. Manicured fingernails, Markham noticed. What man in Leeds ever had those?
Baker returned with a pint of bitter, the head thick and white, and a tall glass of ginger ale.
‘You two appear to have run into a few snags,’ Fox began. There was concern in his voice, but far too little worry.
‘Two dead, one very likely a spy,’ Baker answered flatly. ‘I’d call that more than a few snags.’
‘Maybe,’ Fox allowed with an easy smile. ‘The information’s been passed on to the appropriate people.’
Fox wasn’t local, Markham decided. He had the long vowels of a Southerner. That seemed curious. Why had he ended up in Leeds?
‘There are still two dead men,’ he pointed out.
‘I had a word with the police before I came out. In both cases there’s no hint of anything suspicious,’ Fox countered.
‘So it’s just an unfortunate coincidence?’
‘They happen.’ Fox shrugged. ‘I wanted to set your minds at rest.’
‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ Baker told him. ‘I spent a long time on the force. I don’t believe in coincidence.’
‘That’s your choice, of course.’ Fox looked at him, speaking slowly and calmly. ‘But whichever way you look at it, they’ve gone, and we’ll be keeping a closer eye on those who are still in the country.’
‘How many are there?’ Markham asked. ‘Just the names you’ve given us?’
‘You know I can’t tell you that,’ Fox answered. ‘You spent time in military intelligence. You know the score.’
‘Always worth asking.’
‘Of course. And I can assure you we’ll take the appropriate steps with Mr Blum. That was good work on your part.’ Quite elaborately he looked at his watch, showing a pair of gold cufflinks. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have too many things to do. I hope my answers have helped.’ He took an expensive overcoat with an astrakhan collar from the seat and shrugged himself into it with neat, economical movements. ‘I’m sure we’ll be sending more business your way.’
Then he was gone.
‘Ever feel you’ve been handed a load of flannel?’ Baker asked into the silence.
***
The days passed quietly. The police passed on another missing person case, a genuine one this time. That kept Baker busy and out of the office.
‘You’d do better if you bought a motor car,’ Markham told him.
‘It’s in hand,’ he answered cryptically. ‘By the weekend, all being well.’
It was sooner. On Friday morning Baker walked into the office jangling some keys.
‘Come on downstairs and take a look.’
It was parked outside, just behind the Anglia. A black Wolseley, two years old, neatly cleaned and waxed. The leather seats were cracked, the walnut of the dashboard a little scarred, but those were minor quibbles.
‘Ex-police?’ Markham guessed.
‘Got it for a good price,’ he nodded in triumph. ‘Mate of mine down at the police garage. The motor’s fine, he says. Souped up, too, do a ton in no time.’
It was a large vehicle. But Baker was a large man. Even at a glance it looked like a police vehicle – the colour and power. Still, Stephen Baker would always look like a copper.
‘It’ll get you around fast enough.’
‘The wife says we can use it for a run out into the Dales and the coast on the weekends. Maybe go and see the children and grandkids.’ He sighed.
‘How’s your case coming along? Found him yet?’
‘Got a lead over in York. I’m heading there this afternoon.’ He raised his glance to the grey sky. ‘Could have asked for better weather. But with a little luck I’ll have it wrapped up today, then spend the weekend putting the allotment to bed for the winter.’
‘I’ve got the adultery
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