Bleeding Hearts Part 12

'I can't make any promises, you understand.'

105.

'Absolutely. We're all just trying to do what we can.'

Drysdale nodded. 'Well, I'll see what I can do.'

'I really appreciate that, sir.' Hofler took Drysdale's hand.

'I'm sure I speak for us all.'

Drysdale smiled a little sheepishly. Then he said he'd get someone to escort the detective back to the gate.

'I'll be in touch,' said Hofler.

While he waited back in the reception area for his 'escort'

to appear, he spotted a drinking fountain and flew towards it, filling his mouth with water, gargling, spitting it back, and finally swallowing a few mouthfuls.

'How can they drink that stuff?' he asked himself as he wiped his mouth.

'It's only water,' his escort said from behind him.

'I meant the G.o.dd.a.m.ned tea,' said Hotter.

106.

10.I knocked again.

'Come on,' I said, 'let's get busy. We're not tourists any more.'

Not that Bel had seen many of the sights of London, unless 'sights' was broad enough to encompa.s.s Tottenham and a couple of low-cla.s.s restaurants. I listened at her door until I could hear her getting out of bed.

'I'll meet you downstairs,' she called.

I went back to my room and tried phoning again. This time I got through. I was calling someone at British Telecom. His name was Allan and he didn't come cheap.

'It's me,' I said. 'Have they started tapping your line yet?'

'No, just everybody else's. I can give you the latest royal dirt if you like.'

He didn't sound like he was joking. 'No thanks,' I said.

'I'm after a couple of numbers.'

'I take it you mean unlisted, or you'd be calling Directory Enquiries.'

'I've checked, they're unlisted. The first is a woman called Eleanor Ricks.'

'The one who got shot?'

'Could be.'

'You've got to be careful, man. Sometimes Scotland Yard or MIS stick keywords into the system. If you say the word and they catch it, they record your whole conversation.'

Allan was always trying to impress me - or scare me, I didn't know which - with this sort of comment.

'Her husband may be the subscriber,' I carried on. 'He's 107.

called Frederick Ricks. According to the tabloids, they live in Camden. I'll need their address, too.'

'Got it.' He paused. 'You said a couple of names?'

'Joe Draper, he heads a TV production company. He's got a house in Wilts.h.i.+re, the phone number there would be useful, plus any address for him in town, apart from his office. His office is in the book.'

I could hear Allan writing the information down. I gave silent blessing to the British media, who had provided me with the information I had.

'I see inflation's in the news again,' he said at last.

'Not another hike, Allan. You're pricing yourself out of the game.'

'As a special offer to regular subscribers, the increase has been held to ten percent for one month only.'

'Generous to a fault. Same address?'

'Who can afford to move?'

'Tens and twenties all right?'

'Sure.'

'Oh, one more name ...'

'Now who's pus.h.i.+ng it?'

'Call it my free gift. Scotty Shattuck.' I spelt it for him.

'Somewhere in London probably, always supposing he's got a phone.'

'Right, I'll do my best. Later today, okay?'

'I'll stick your fee in the post. If I'm not here, leave the details with reception. Here's the number.'

I gave it to him and terminated the call. Downstairs, Bel was already seated in the small dining room, pouring cereal from a one-portion pack.

'I see you're not one of these women who takes forever to dress.' I sat down beside her.

'Know a lot about that, do you?'

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, nothing.' She poured milk and started to eat. I knew what she meant. She meant she was good-looking and I 108.

hadn't made a pa.s.s at her, so what did that make me? She was wearing trousers and a blue blouse and jacket. They were the plainest items in her luggage. I tried to see her as a police officer. I couldn't. But then I'd be the one doing the talking; I'd be the one they'd be looking at. And examining myself in the mirror this morning, I'd seen a hard-nosed copper staring back at me. He looked like he wanted to take me outside.

'Aren't you eating?' Bel asked.

'I never eat much in the morning. I'll just have some coffee.'

'You will if anyone turns up to serve you. I haven't seen a soul since I came in. The stuff's all on that sideboard, but there's no coffee.'

I went to the sideboard to take a look. A thermos flask turned out to contain hot water, and there was a jar of instant coffee in one of the cupboards.

'Yum yum,' said Bel.

The coffee tasted the way thermos coffee always tastes. It reminded me of sports fields, of games watched with my father, the two of us sheltering beneath a tartan travelling- rug or umbrellas and hoods, depending on the weather.

There'd be coffee and sandwiches at half-time. Thermos coffee.

'So the schedule for today,' said Bel, sc.r.a.ping up the last of the cereal, 'is a visit to Testosterone City, yes?' I nodded.

'And I provide the decoration while you ask your questions?'

I nodded again. 'Are you quite sure you need my expensive skills, Michael? I mean, performing monkeys come cheap these days.' Then she touched the back of my hand. 'Only teasing. Drink your coffee and let's get out of here. This dining room's like something out of a horror film. I keep thinking all the other guests and staff have been murdered in their beds.' She started to laugh, but stopped abruptly, and her look was somewhere between embarra.s.sment and 109.

fear. I knew exactly what had struck her: that there was only one murderer around here.

I didn't know where to find Scotty Shattuck, but wasn't prepared to sit around the hotel waiting for Allan to get back to me. So we got a taxi on Marylebone Road and headed for Oxford Street, where, above a shop selling what can be best described as 'tat', there was a gym and health centre called Chuck's.

Max had been able to offer a good physical description of Shattuck, and it pointed to a man who did more than jog around the park to keep himself in shape.

'He's like a cross between a Welsh pit-pony and a brick s.h.i.+thouse,' Max had said.

There were a lot of gyms in London, a lot of places where sweaty males pushed weights, goaded by other musclebound lifters. Some of them no doubt took a few drugs to aid muscle development and performance. They were the sorts who have gaps between their upper arms and their torsos when they walk, and can't do anything to close those gaps.

A lot of gyms, but only one or two like Chuck's. Chuck's was more than a gym, it was a place to hang out, a haven for those who need to keep fit between a.s.signments. You didn't get the grossly over-muscled at Chuck's. You got authentic hard men, men who'd been in the armed forces, or who had come out but still kept fit. Men sometimes recruited for work overseas, work they talked about in Chuck's, but seldom outside. I'd been introduced to Chuck's by an ex-Royal Marine who'd been my contact on an earlier job. He wasn't there when we walked in, but Chuck himself was.

He was about fifty, hair like steel wool, and he wore a green combat-style T-s.h.i.+rt, straining across his chest. The men on the machines behind him whistled appreciatively at Bel as Chuck came towards us. .Bel's face reddened with anger.

no 'What can I do for you?'

'Are you the owner of this establishment, sir?'

He got a bored look on his face. One question had established in his mind who he was dealing with. I knew he wouldn't recognise me; I'd changed a lot since Brent Storey had brought me here.

'That's right,' he said warily.

'I'm looking for someone called Scotty.' Chuck's face stayed blank.

'As in "Beam me up?"' he hazarded. I didn't smile.

'Scotty Shattuck,' I went on. I had one hand in my pocket.

I was wearing tight black leather gloves, as was Bel. We'd bought them on the way here. Her idea. They shouldn't have worked, but in fact they did make us look more like police officers. 'He works weights,' I went on. 'Little guy, but well-built. He's ex-Army.'

'Sorry,' said Chuck, ignoring all this, 'I didn't catch your name.'

'West, Detective Inspector West.'

'And this is ... ?' He meant Bel.

'DC Harris,' she said, stony-faced. Chuck gave her a good long examination, not caring if I noticed or not. The two customers using the apparatus had stopped and were sauntering this way, rubbing their necks with towels.

Another three men were squatting by the window. The noise of traffic was a low persistent growl, with vibrations from the buses shaking the mirrors on the walls.

'Well,' Chuck said at last, turning back to me, 'can't help, I'm afraid.'

'Look, we don't want any trouble. It's just that I need to talk to Mr Shattuck.'

'I don't think so.' Chuck was shaking his head, hands on his hips.

'He's not in trouble or anything, Mr ...'

'People just call me Chuck. Know why? Because if I don't in like someone, I'm liable to chuck them out of that window over there.'

'Ever tried a policeman?'

Tunny you should say that. Just tell me what you want to talk to Scotty Shattuck about.'

'You know him then?'

'Maybe I'm just curious.' He was checking the floor between us.

'Come on,' said Bel, 'let's go.'

Chuck looked up. 'All I want to know is why you want him.'

The last time I'd been here with Brent, the atmosphere had been very different. But then I'd been with a member, with someone everyone knew. I hadn't been a policeman then either. I'd misjudged this place. It looked like Chuck had a score to settle with law and order.

'Afraid not,' I said, shaking my head. 'But I can a.s.sure you it's nothing serious.'

'No?'

The two hard men were flanking Chuck now. They knew they didn't need to say anything. Their voices would only have spoiled the picture they made.

Suddenly Bel flipped open her ID the way she must have seen actors do on the television. 'If you don't tell us where to find Mr Shattuck, you'll be hindering our inquiries. That could be construed as obstruction, sir.'

Maybe she'd been watching too much daytime TV.