Kill and Tell by Adam Creed Read Free Book Online Page B

inside the Polar Bear.’
    ‘Ahaa. My little Miss Marple.’
    ‘I’ve got my surgical stockings on.’
    ‘Stop it, you’re driving me wild!’
    Attilio Trapani comes to the door of Blum’s. He looks at the sky and says something to his companion in the yarmulke . They walk to the end of Sicilian Avenue and a car slows down, on Southampton Row. Attilio and his companion get in.
    Josie’s rider appears outside Veneto’s and she fumbles in her pocket for money, says to Conor, ‘I’ll call you.’
    ‘What? Is that it?’
    She puts a fiver on the counter and hurries out, clicking her phone off and hitching her skirt, getting a few looks as she hooks her leg over the motorbike’s seat, feeling the force as the rider speeds off, weaving traffic all the way back round to Holborn and right onto Oxford Street, heading west and spending most of the journey on the wrong side of the road, buses coming at them. The sound of horns is constant all the way to Oxford Circus, when they catch up with Attilio’s car, slowing right down and keeping two or three cars between them all the way into and out the other side of Mayfair, pulling up outside Les Ambassadeurs.
    Josie knows enough about Les Ambassadeurs to realise this is the end of the line. Herein lies a casino and one of the finest dining rooms in all of London town. For members only. Attilio could be here until two in the morning.
    A brace of overly pretty girls in short, shifting cocktail dresses loop arms and smile as they pass Attilio. His companion remains in the car, which moves off. As Attilio disappears into the club, Josie can see he is greeted by the dark-eyed and beautiful Arab who was at Ockingham Manor the other day.
    Josie calls Staffe, relates the events of the past two hours, telling him about Attilio’s companion in the yarmulke .
    ‘Martin Goldman?’
    ‘Who the hell is Martin Goldman?’
    ‘The Trapani family lawyer. Blum’s, you say. And now Les Ambass,’ says Staffe. ‘From one side of the West Bank to the other.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’m guessing he hooked up with Fahd Jahmood.’
    ‘There’s no way I’ll be able to get in there.’
    ‘That’s OK. There’s someone I know who’s a member.’
    It’s quiet on the line, and she can tell Staffe wants something.
    Eventually, she says, ‘You only have to ask, sir. Is it to do with Pulford?’
    ‘You know me too well. I was going to go up onto the Attlee, see if I could catch up with Shawne Haddaway. I need to see if our friend Haddaway has been visiting Google Earth recently.’
    ‘That sounds a bit random, sir.’
    ‘I saw a printout in Pulford’s papers and I know he’s not allowed access to the Internet inside prison. I’ve got a bad feeling about it.’
    ‘I’ll do it, but you know what Pennington said about staying away from the e.gang.’
    ‘It’s OK. Leave it to me.’
    ‘No! I want to do it, sir.’
    ‘Be careful, Josie.’
    She hangs up, calls Conor and from the sound of things, he is in company. ‘I’ve just finished,’ she tells him. ‘There’s something I have to do later, but I’ll come over now.’
    ‘Aaah, damn. We’re on our way up north – Belsize Park or something. I’ll call you.’
    She wants to say, ‘We? Who is we? And why aren’t you inviting me?’ But instead she says, ‘OK. Call me,’ and clicks off.
    The sun goes in again, like someone switching a light off.
    *
    Pulford presses his face against the cold steel window frame. Through the narrow slots of toughened glass, he looks up at the sky. There’s all kinds of madness going off today.
    A bang makes him jump and he catches his cheek on the rough junction of the metal window frame where somebody has had a go at dismantling it. The slightest thing seems to get him going lately.
    ‘Pulford!’ shouts a PO, through the door. ‘Feeding time.’
    ‘Not for me, Mister Crawshaw,’ he calls. But the door opens anyway and a large inmate fills the frame, holding Pulford’s tray.
    ‘I