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Authors: Jeffrey Archer
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told me he’d
only been there once in his life, to watch a test match. No, that man has never
heard of Rosemary Cooper or Jeremy Alexander – I’d bet my pension on it. So,
now it’s the turn of the professor. Let’s head back towards Cambridge, Jenny.
And drive slowly. I don’t want to catch up with the wing commander, or we’ll
all end up having to join him for lunch.” Jenny swung the car across the road
and into the far lane, then headed back towards the
city. After a couple of miles Donald told her to pull into the side of the road
just past a sign announcing the Shelford Rugby Club.
“The professor
and his wife live behind that hedge,” Donald said, pointing across the road.
“Settle back, Mr. Cooper. This might take some time.” At 22.30 Jenny went off
to get some fish and chips from the village. I devoured them hungrily. By three I was bored stiff again, and was beginning to wonder
just how long Donald would hang around before we were allowed to return to the
hotel. I remembered “Happy Days’ would be on at 6.30.
“We’ll sit here
all night, if necessary,” Donald said, as if he were reading my thoughts. “Forty-nine
hours is my record without sleep. What’s yours, Jenny?” he asked, never taking
his eyes off the house.
“Thirty-one,
sir,” she replied.
“Then this may
be your chance to break that record,” he said.
A moment later,
a woman in a white BMW nosed out of the driveway leading to the house and
stopped at the edge of the pavement. She paused, looked both ways, then turned
across the road and swung right, in the direction of Cambridge. As she passed
us, I caught a glimpse of a blonde with a pretty face.
“I’ve seen her
before,” I blurted out.
“Follow her,
Jenny,” Donald said sharply. “But keep your distance.” He turned round to face
me.
“Where have you
seen her?” he asked, passing over the binoculars.
“I can’t
remember,” I said, trying to focus on the back of a mop of fair, curly hair.
“Think,
man. Think. It’s our best chance yet,” said Donald, trying not to sound as if he was
cross-examining an old lag.
I knew I had
come across that face somewhere, though I felt certain we had never met. I had
to rack my brains, because it was at least five years since I had seen any
woman I recognised, let alone one that striking. But my mind remained blank.
“Keep on
thinking,” said the Don, ‘while I try to find out something a little more
simple. And Jenny – don’t get too close to her. Never forget she’s got a
rear-view mirror. Mr. Cooper may not remember her, but she may remember him.”
Donald picked up the carphone and jabbed in ten numbers.
“Let’s pray he
doesn’t realise I’ve retired,” he mumbled.
“DVLC
Swansea. How can I help you?”
“Sergeant Crann,
please,’ said Donald.
“I’ll put you
through.”
“Dave Crann.”
“Donald
Hackett.”
“Good afternoon,
Chief Superintendent. How can I help you?”
“White BMW K273
SCE,” said Donald, staring at the car in front of him.
“Hold on please,
sir, I won’t be a moment.” Donald kept his eye fixed on the BMW while he
waited. It was about thirty yards ahead of us, and heading towards a green
light.
Jenny
accelerated to make sure she wouldn’t get trapped if the lights changed, and as
she shot through an amber light, Sergeant Crann came back on the line, “We’ve
identified the car, sir,” he said.
“Registered
owner Mrs. Susan Balcescu, The Kendalls, High Street, Great Shelfor& Cambridge. One endorsement for speeding in a
built-up area, 99, a thirty-pound fine. Otherwise
nothing known.”
“Thank you,
sergeant. That’s most helpful.”
“My
pleasure, sir.”
“Why should
Rosemary want to contact the Balcescus ?” Donald said
as he clipped the phone back into place. “And is she contacting just one of
them, or both?” Neither of us attempted to answer.
“I think it’s
time to let her go,” he said a moment later. “I need to check out several
only been there once in his life, to watch a test match. No, that man has never
heard of Rosemary Cooper or Jeremy Alexander – I’d bet my pension on it. So,
now it’s the turn of the professor. Let’s head back towards Cambridge, Jenny.
And drive slowly. I don’t want to catch up with the wing commander, or we’ll
all end up having to join him for lunch.” Jenny swung the car across the road
and into the far lane, then headed back towards the
city. After a couple of miles Donald told her to pull into the side of the road
just past a sign announcing the Shelford Rugby Club.
“The professor
and his wife live behind that hedge,” Donald said, pointing across the road.
“Settle back, Mr. Cooper. This might take some time.” At 22.30 Jenny went off
to get some fish and chips from the village. I devoured them hungrily. By three I was bored stiff again, and was beginning to wonder
just how long Donald would hang around before we were allowed to return to the
hotel. I remembered “Happy Days’ would be on at 6.30.
“We’ll sit here
all night, if necessary,” Donald said, as if he were reading my thoughts. “Forty-nine
hours is my record without sleep. What’s yours, Jenny?” he asked, never taking
his eyes off the house.
“Thirty-one,
sir,” she replied.
“Then this may
be your chance to break that record,” he said.
A moment later,
a woman in a white BMW nosed out of the driveway leading to the house and
stopped at the edge of the pavement. She paused, looked both ways, then turned
across the road and swung right, in the direction of Cambridge. As she passed
us, I caught a glimpse of a blonde with a pretty face.
“I’ve seen her
before,” I blurted out.
“Follow her,
Jenny,” Donald said sharply. “But keep your distance.” He turned round to face
me.
“Where have you
seen her?” he asked, passing over the binoculars.
“I can’t
remember,” I said, trying to focus on the back of a mop of fair, curly hair.
“Think,
man. Think. It’s our best chance yet,” said Donald, trying not to sound as if he was
cross-examining an old lag.
I knew I had
come across that face somewhere, though I felt certain we had never met. I had
to rack my brains, because it was at least five years since I had seen any
woman I recognised, let alone one that striking. But my mind remained blank.
“Keep on
thinking,” said the Don, ‘while I try to find out something a little more
simple. And Jenny – don’t get too close to her. Never forget she’s got a
rear-view mirror. Mr. Cooper may not remember her, but she may remember him.”
Donald picked up the carphone and jabbed in ten numbers.
“Let’s pray he
doesn’t realise I’ve retired,” he mumbled.
“DVLC
Swansea. How can I help you?”
“Sergeant Crann,
please,’ said Donald.
“I’ll put you
through.”
“Dave Crann.”
“Donald
Hackett.”
“Good afternoon,
Chief Superintendent. How can I help you?”
“White BMW K273
SCE,” said Donald, staring at the car in front of him.
“Hold on please,
sir, I won’t be a moment.” Donald kept his eye fixed on the BMW while he
waited. It was about thirty yards ahead of us, and heading towards a green
light.
Jenny
accelerated to make sure she wouldn’t get trapped if the lights changed, and as
she shot through an amber light, Sergeant Crann came back on the line, “We’ve
identified the car, sir,” he said.
“Registered
owner Mrs. Susan Balcescu, The Kendalls, High Street, Great Shelfor& Cambridge. One endorsement for speeding in a
built-up area, 99, a thirty-pound fine. Otherwise
nothing known.”
“Thank you,
sergeant. That’s most helpful.”
“My
pleasure, sir.”
“Why should
Rosemary want to contact the Balcescus ?” Donald said
as he clipped the phone back into place. “And is she contacting just one of
them, or both?” Neither of us attempted to answer.
“I think it’s
time to let her go,” he said a moment later. “I need to check out several
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