allow.
“Sure,” she replied, snapping out of her trance. “What’s in Piccadilly?”
“Why the Ritz, my dear, the Ritz.”
*
Wilson prepared to contact Johnson from a toilet cubicle located in the bathroom close to the Pizzeria eating area. He’d always loved pizza, as had his wife, but the delicious aromas had done no more for him than the smell of disinfectant inside the bathroom, another pleasure that had departed with Julie. Hearing the girl’s bad luck story had reinforced his anger at not being able to spend her last remaining weeks together. At least Savannah had said her farewells. He took in a huge lungful of air and it was all he could do not to burst into tears.
Julie’s doctor had explained the chain of events to Wilson only eight days ago:
“It was cancer of the most voracious kind I’m afraid. When she came in two months ago she was already in tremendous pain. Why she didn’t come in sooner is a mystery. We tried everything but the damage had already been done and the cancer was everywhere. We made numerous attempts to contact you.”
“I was in hospital myself.”
“Your wife said, but she didn’t know where or why? We thought it might be the pain killers affecting her mind.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Your daughter said you were a killer and in prison.”
“That sounds like Kate.”
“Do you wish to use our chapel?”
“Isn’t it a bit late for that?”
“Some people find comfort there.”
Damn bloody Earthguard, keeping him in the dark. Dick Burns, another useless yank, had confirmed that his employment did not cover family healthcare and that the Earthguard private hospital was reserved for field agents only.
“I contacted the Ministry of Defence who control the UK budget for Earthguard and asked for a special dispensation to move your wife. I told them that you couldn’t leave your bed and that your wife was terminally ill. When I told your controller he visited Whitehall personally. It was the same response. Funds are tight and the money was needed elsewhere.”
“Why didn’t anybody tell me that my wife was sick,” he had said, close to wringing the pen pusher’s scrawny neck.
“You were in a coma for the first month and once you woke up, your surgeon said you were not to be put under undue stress. What could we do?”
Wilson pulled out six sheets of soft toilet tissue from the dispenser, wiped away his tears and blew his nose. Bloody politicians. He pressed the top side button on the Breitling Blackbird watch. This wasn’t the ordinary model. This was an improvement in timekeeping, complete with two way radio communication and a global positioning system.
“Johnson, come in.”
“Johnson. Anything to report?”
A short beep sounded to let Wilson know that Johnson had finished speaking.
“I’ve been listening in to their conversation. I’ve got nothing on Smith but he seems to be helping Jones sort out her problems, and by the sounds of it she’s been through the wringer and back.” Wilson sniffed before he let go of the button.
“Are you crying?” Beep.
The nerve of Johnson. Wilson ignored the remark.
“I heard nothing that links either one to Bradshaw’s murder or the missing item.”
“Yeah, I’ve got their files on the monitor now. She’s definitely clean and I’d have to agree that the chances of him being a killer are pretty slim. You reckon we could get them to help us?” Beep.
“Are you serious?”
“We’re alone in this and you’re currently a borderline retard. We could do with all the help we can get. If the girl’s in trouble then maybe we could do a deal?” Beep.
Wilson muted his watch while he blew his nose again. The thought of helping the girl out had its appeal. She had suffered at the hands of her father and her boyfriend and her mother had died of cancer. It might give him a purpose for a while.
“No risking the girl’s life,” he said into the watch.
“Sure thing. Where are they now?”
“Sure,” she replied, snapping out of her trance. “What’s in Piccadilly?”
“Why the Ritz, my dear, the Ritz.”
*
Wilson prepared to contact Johnson from a toilet cubicle located in the bathroom close to the Pizzeria eating area. He’d always loved pizza, as had his wife, but the delicious aromas had done no more for him than the smell of disinfectant inside the bathroom, another pleasure that had departed with Julie. Hearing the girl’s bad luck story had reinforced his anger at not being able to spend her last remaining weeks together. At least Savannah had said her farewells. He took in a huge lungful of air and it was all he could do not to burst into tears.
Julie’s doctor had explained the chain of events to Wilson only eight days ago:
“It was cancer of the most voracious kind I’m afraid. When she came in two months ago she was already in tremendous pain. Why she didn’t come in sooner is a mystery. We tried everything but the damage had already been done and the cancer was everywhere. We made numerous attempts to contact you.”
“I was in hospital myself.”
“Your wife said, but she didn’t know where or why? We thought it might be the pain killers affecting her mind.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Your daughter said you were a killer and in prison.”
“That sounds like Kate.”
“Do you wish to use our chapel?”
“Isn’t it a bit late for that?”
“Some people find comfort there.”
Damn bloody Earthguard, keeping him in the dark. Dick Burns, another useless yank, had confirmed that his employment did not cover family healthcare and that the Earthguard private hospital was reserved for field agents only.
“I contacted the Ministry of Defence who control the UK budget for Earthguard and asked for a special dispensation to move your wife. I told them that you couldn’t leave your bed and that your wife was terminally ill. When I told your controller he visited Whitehall personally. It was the same response. Funds are tight and the money was needed elsewhere.”
“Why didn’t anybody tell me that my wife was sick,” he had said, close to wringing the pen pusher’s scrawny neck.
“You were in a coma for the first month and once you woke up, your surgeon said you were not to be put under undue stress. What could we do?”
Wilson pulled out six sheets of soft toilet tissue from the dispenser, wiped away his tears and blew his nose. Bloody politicians. He pressed the top side button on the Breitling Blackbird watch. This wasn’t the ordinary model. This was an improvement in timekeeping, complete with two way radio communication and a global positioning system.
“Johnson, come in.”
“Johnson. Anything to report?”
A short beep sounded to let Wilson know that Johnson had finished speaking.
“I’ve been listening in to their conversation. I’ve got nothing on Smith but he seems to be helping Jones sort out her problems, and by the sounds of it she’s been through the wringer and back.” Wilson sniffed before he let go of the button.
“Are you crying?” Beep.
The nerve of Johnson. Wilson ignored the remark.
“I heard nothing that links either one to Bradshaw’s murder or the missing item.”
“Yeah, I’ve got their files on the monitor now. She’s definitely clean and I’d have to agree that the chances of him being a killer are pretty slim. You reckon we could get them to help us?” Beep.
“Are you serious?”
“We’re alone in this and you’re currently a borderline retard. We could do with all the help we can get. If the girl’s in trouble then maybe we could do a deal?” Beep.
Wilson muted his watch while he blew his nose again. The thought of helping the girl out had its appeal. She had suffered at the hands of her father and her boyfriend and her mother had died of cancer. It might give him a purpose for a while.
“No risking the girl’s life,” he said into the watch.
“Sure thing. Where are they now?”
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