Disorder (Sam Keddie thriller series Book 1) by Paddy Magrane Page B
Authors: Paddy Magrane
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being given.
‘Please,’ said Sam, ‘turn your lights out.’
‘Who is this man, Eleanor?’ muttered Donald. ‘Your father and I may have been old friends but this is quite intolerable.’
Eleanor still held the old man’s hand. ‘Please Donald,’ she pleaded, ‘I can’t explain now. But the police won’t help me.’
How long had this old man known Charles Scott, his wife and daughter, wondered Sam? What kind of friendship had existed between them? Sam saw the old man’s face melt, the hand reaching for the phone drop, another hand extend towards a light switch.
They stood motionless in the dark. Could Sam hear a man rising on the stairs outside, or was it just the sound of his pulse thudding in his ears? He couldn’t be sure. But then the narrow slit of light at the bottom of the door was interrupted by two shadows. Someone was standing inches from them.
The figure stayed there for what seemed like minutes, before moving away. In the gloom next to him, Sam could see Donald opening his mouth to speak before one of Eleanor’s hands darted out to clamp it shut.
Sam moved into the sitting room. Here, mercifully, the lights weren’t on to draw attention from the street below. Sam opened a curtain an inch, saw the car. The men – four, then five – re-grouped. There was a brief meeting, a leader directing his team with arm movements. Three of the men dispersed in opposite directions on foot, while the other two got back in the car, which moved off at a more sedate pace.
‘They’ve gone,’ said Sam. His throat was dry and he had to say the words again before Eleanor and the old man heard.
Chapter 28
London
The three of them sat round a circular dining table in the room overlooking the street. The lights were still out.
In between the old man’s questions, Eleanor managed to explain to Sam that Donald had been her father’s neighbour for over twenty years. He was a retired civil servant, and he and Scott had bonded over their shared understanding of the often frustrating ways of Government.
‘So who are these bloody people, Eleanor?’ asked Donald. ‘They don’t seem to give a damn about law and order. Russians?’
‘No, Donald. Possibly our own.’
There was a pause. ‘Well,’ he said, a trace of indignation in his voice, ‘I didn’t vote for this lot anyway.’
He leaned forward. ‘You must call the police.’
‘You’ve known me since I was a teenager, Donald,’ pleaded Eleanor. ‘Can you trust me to do the right thing? And can I ask you not to do anything? At least for now.’
Donald paused, lost in thought. ‘I’m not an idiot, Eleanor. I know we don’t always play fair in this country. It’s just I don’t feel comfortable ignoring the rules.’
‘Just for a short time. Please.’
Donald grunted his assent.
‘I hate to interrupt,’ said Sam, ‘but I think we need to move. If they can’t find us in the streets, they may well come back here.’
‘We need to find somewhere safe; somewhere we can look through this stuff,’ said Eleanor, patting the envelope she’d taken from her father’s flat.
‘Take my car,’ said Donald. ‘It’s parked in Warriner Gardens, the street running parallel to Prince of Wales Drive. It’s an old green Peugeot. Here, I’ll write the registration on the envelope. I hardly use it these days. Just drop it back some time and post the keys through the letterbox.’
Eleanor hugged the old man tight as they parted at the edge of the fire escape.
‘Now sod off, the pair of you,’ Donald said, with mock grumpiness, ‘before I change my mind.’
*
They drove the old Peugeot in an easterly direction for about ten minutes, changing course constantly, until they stopped in a small square in Kennington.
A streetlight illuminated the car’s interior. Eleanor opened the envelope and divided up the wad of bills
‘Please,’ said Sam, ‘turn your lights out.’
‘Who is this man, Eleanor?’ muttered Donald. ‘Your father and I may have been old friends but this is quite intolerable.’
Eleanor still held the old man’s hand. ‘Please Donald,’ she pleaded, ‘I can’t explain now. But the police won’t help me.’
How long had this old man known Charles Scott, his wife and daughter, wondered Sam? What kind of friendship had existed between them? Sam saw the old man’s face melt, the hand reaching for the phone drop, another hand extend towards a light switch.
They stood motionless in the dark. Could Sam hear a man rising on the stairs outside, or was it just the sound of his pulse thudding in his ears? He couldn’t be sure. But then the narrow slit of light at the bottom of the door was interrupted by two shadows. Someone was standing inches from them.
The figure stayed there for what seemed like minutes, before moving away. In the gloom next to him, Sam could see Donald opening his mouth to speak before one of Eleanor’s hands darted out to clamp it shut.
Sam moved into the sitting room. Here, mercifully, the lights weren’t on to draw attention from the street below. Sam opened a curtain an inch, saw the car. The men – four, then five – re-grouped. There was a brief meeting, a leader directing his team with arm movements. Three of the men dispersed in opposite directions on foot, while the other two got back in the car, which moved off at a more sedate pace.
‘They’ve gone,’ said Sam. His throat was dry and he had to say the words again before Eleanor and the old man heard.
Chapter 28
London
The three of them sat round a circular dining table in the room overlooking the street. The lights were still out.
In between the old man’s questions, Eleanor managed to explain to Sam that Donald had been her father’s neighbour for over twenty years. He was a retired civil servant, and he and Scott had bonded over their shared understanding of the often frustrating ways of Government.
‘So who are these bloody people, Eleanor?’ asked Donald. ‘They don’t seem to give a damn about law and order. Russians?’
‘No, Donald. Possibly our own.’
There was a pause. ‘Well,’ he said, a trace of indignation in his voice, ‘I didn’t vote for this lot anyway.’
He leaned forward. ‘You must call the police.’
‘You’ve known me since I was a teenager, Donald,’ pleaded Eleanor. ‘Can you trust me to do the right thing? And can I ask you not to do anything? At least for now.’
Donald paused, lost in thought. ‘I’m not an idiot, Eleanor. I know we don’t always play fair in this country. It’s just I don’t feel comfortable ignoring the rules.’
‘Just for a short time. Please.’
Donald grunted his assent.
‘I hate to interrupt,’ said Sam, ‘but I think we need to move. If they can’t find us in the streets, they may well come back here.’
‘We need to find somewhere safe; somewhere we can look through this stuff,’ said Eleanor, patting the envelope she’d taken from her father’s flat.
‘Take my car,’ said Donald. ‘It’s parked in Warriner Gardens, the street running parallel to Prince of Wales Drive. It’s an old green Peugeot. Here, I’ll write the registration on the envelope. I hardly use it these days. Just drop it back some time and post the keys through the letterbox.’
Eleanor hugged the old man tight as they parted at the edge of the fire escape.
‘Now sod off, the pair of you,’ Donald said, with mock grumpiness, ‘before I change my mind.’
*
They drove the old Peugeot in an easterly direction for about ten minutes, changing course constantly, until they stopped in a small square in Kennington.
A streetlight illuminated the car’s interior. Eleanor opened the envelope and divided up the wad of bills
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