The New Eastgate Swing by Chris Nickson Read Free Book Online Page B

well, well.’ He started to eat and the office smelt of potted meat. ‘Sounds like they don’t know yet.’
    ‘Your friend George rang. No record of anyone named Dieter de Vries entering the country. But everyone’s satisfied that it’s suicide by drowning.’
    ‘You didn’t tell him …?’
    Markham shook his head.
    ‘This is just for us. For now, anyway. He worked at Cokely’s.’
    Baker snorted, his mouth full.
    ‘Yeadon.’
    Now it clicked into place. The factory where Clever Trevor Peel worked.
    ‘Two of the others work there, too. Fancy a run out when you’ve finished?’ Markham asked.
    ‘As long as we stop for a cuppa first. I’m parched.’
    ***
    The road was empty on a Monday afternoon. Through Headingley and Cookridge. Past the newly built semis that lined Otley Road. Then the houses abruptly thinned out, replaced by farms with drystone walls, like skimming back through time.
    ‘Turn left up here,’ Baker said. He’d been quiet since they left, his face looking thoughtful and heavy. Markham signalled and headed towards Pool on a quiet country lane. The only traffic was a slow-moving tractor, easily passed.
    He didn’t know the area well. He’d been to Yeadon Airport a couple of times, but that was all.

CHAPTER FIVE
    ‘That’s it.’ Baker pointed off down a road.
    ‘Cokely’s?’
    ‘That Avro factory I was telling you about earlier. The secret one. Pull off on the verge.’
    Markham found a stretch of level ground and came to a halt. He followed the other man’s gaze. It was difficult to make out a building. Grass seemed to rise in a short, steep hill to a plateau.
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Of course I am.’ The older man turned his face and gave a withering look. ‘I might be knocking on but I’m not bloody doddering yet. That grass slope is how they disguised it. It’s all covered on the top, too. See it from the air and you’d think it was flat.’
    Markham was still looking, trying to take in just how vast it was. It seemed to run on forever. About the length of fifteen football pitches, he thought, but that was no more than a guess.
    ‘God,’ he said finally, amazed by it all. It seemed impossible that people could build anything so huge. And then to hide it …
    ‘Remarkable, isn’t it?’ Baker was all business again. ‘Best as I see it, Cokely’s should be down on the right. About a hundred yards.’
    The car park was half empty. Plenty of bicycles and motorbikes, though. Idly he wondered which one belonged to Trevor Peel.
    The receptionist handed them off to the personnel department. A fussy little manager in a cheap Burton’s suit listened as Baker talked. It made sense for him to take the lead. He had the age, the copper’s manner that made people help. But this time it didn’t seem to work. The manager gave a firm shake of his head.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s terrible news about Mr de Vries, of course. We’ll miss him. He was well liked in his department.’ The words sounded empty, as if he’d read them from a card. Probably he barely knew who the man was. Then he continued, ‘But I can’t just go giving out details to every Tom, Dick and Harry. I’m sure you see that.’
    ‘We’re working for his landlady,’ Baker explained. ‘She’s the closest person to him in this country.’
    ‘Yes, yes. But she’s not family , is she? Even then I could only give details to a relative or someone with written authorisation. There are policies to follow.’ He smiled, enjoying the chance to exercise a little power. ‘I’m sure you understand.’ His eyes glittered triumphantly. He wasn’t going to give an inch; he had his authority and he was determined to stand on it.
    Outside, hands deep in the pockets of his mackintosh, Baker turned and looked at the factory.
    ‘Bloody little Hitler. Wouldn’t have been any skin off his nose to let us see de Vries’ file.’
    ‘We never had much chance, really.’ It had been worth a try. Something to note when