Eye of the storm Page 0,47
infinite slowness, booking Dillon in and gave him his key. Guests were obviously expected to carry their own cases.
The room was exactly what he’d expected. Twin beds, cheap coverings, a shower room, a television with a slot for coins and a kettle, a little basket beside it containing sachets of coffee, teabags and powdered milk. Still, it wouldn’t be for long and he opened his suitcase and unpacked.
Among Jack Harvey’s interests was a funeral business in Whitechapel. It was a sizeable establishment and did well, for, as he liked to joke, the dead were always with us. It was an imposing, three-storeyed Victorian building which he’d had renovated. Myra had the top floor as a penthouse and took an interest in the running of the place. Harvey had an office on the first floor.
Harvey told his driver to wait, went up the steps and rang the bell. The night porter answered.
“My niece in?” Harvey demanded.
“I believe so, Mr. Harvey.”
Harvey moved through the main shop with coffins on display and along the passage with the little Chapels of Rest on each side where relatives could view the bodies. He went up two flights of stairs and rang the bell on Myra’s door.
She was ready for him, alerted by a discreet call from the porter, let him wait for a moment, then opened the door. “Uncle Jack.”
He brushed past her. She was wearing a gold sequined minidress, black stockings and shoes. “You going out or something?” he demanded.
“A disco, actually.”
“Well, never mind that now. You saw the accountants? Is there any way I can get at Flood legally? Any problems with leases? Anything?”
“Not a chance,” Myra said. “We’ve gone through the lot with a fine-tooth comb. There’s nothing.”
“Right, then I’ll just have to get him the hard way.”
“That didn’t exactly work last night, did it?”
“I used rubbish, that’s why, a bunch of young jerks who didn’t deserve the time of day.”
“So what do you intend?”
“I’ll think of something.” As he turned to the door, he heard a movement in the bedroom. “Here, who’s in there.” He flung the door open and revealed Billy Watson standing there, looking hunted. “Jesus!” Harvey said to Myra. “Disgusting. All you can ever think of is a bit of the other.”
“At least we do it the right way,” she told him.
“Screw you!” he said.
“No, he’ll do that.”
Harvey stormed downstairs. Billy said, “You don’t give a monkey’s for anyone, do you?”
“Billy, love, this is the house of the dead,” she said and picked up her fur coat and handbag. “They’re lying in their coffins downstairs and we’re alive. Simple as that, so make the most of it. Now, let’s get going.”
Dillon was sitting in a small booth in the corner at Luigi’s drinking the only champagne available, a very reasonable Bollinger non-vintage, when Tania came in. Old Luigi greeted her personally and as a favored customer and she sat down.
“Champagne?” Dillon asked.
“Why not.” She looked up at Luigi. “We’ll order later.”
“One thing that hasn’t been mentioned is my operating money. Thirty thousand dollars. Aroun was to arrange that,” Dillon said.
“It’s taken care of. The man in question will be in touch with me tomorrow. Some accountant of Aroun’s in London.”
“Okay, so what have you got for me?” he asked.
“Nothing on Fahy yet. I’ve set the wheels in motion as regards the flying license.”
“And Number Ten?”
“I’ve had a look at the file. The public always had a right of way along Downing Street. The IRA coming so close to blowing up the whole cabinet at the Tory Party Conference in Brighton the other year made for a change in thinking about security. The bombing campaign in London and attacks on individuals accelerated things.”
“So?”
“Well, the public used to be able to stand at the opposite side of the road from Number Ten watching the great and the good arrive and depart, but no longer. In December eighty-nine, Mrs. Thatcher ordered new security measures. In effect the place is now a fortress. The steel railings are ten feet high. The gates, by the way, are neo-Victorian, a nice touch that, from the Iron Lady.”
“Yes, I saw them today.”
Luigi hovered anxiously and they broke off and ordered minestrone, veal chops, sauté potatoes and a green salad.
Tania carried on: “There were accusations in some quarters that she’d become the victim of paranoid delusions. Nonsense, of course. That lady has never been deluded about anything in her life. Anyway, on the other side of the gates there’s a steel screen designed to come up