Behind Dead Eyes (DC Ian Bradshaw #2) - Howard Linskey Page 0,7
she was holding her breath.
And then he was gone. The moment he reached her table he passed it without a word, going straight to the councillor and the businessman. For a brief second she pictured him pulling out a gun and shooting them both, as if she was suddenly part of some American gangster film, but instead he nodded a greeting, then pulled out a chair and sat down between them. For some reason neither man seemed to find the presence of a known criminal at their table disturbing.
Jimmy McCree had his back to the wall, which looked like an instinctive move to avoid presenting it to the street, but this meant he was also facing Helen’s camera. Only when they were deep in conversation did she slowly reach out an unsteady hand until it slipped beneath her scarf. With the little finger of her left hand she lifted the material slightly to uncover the lens then used her index finger to depress the shutter. She repeated the process twice more to ensure she had a perfect shot.
As Helen was taking the third picture she risked a sidelong glance towards their table and realised Jimmy McCree was staring straight back at her. The expression on his face told her everything she needed to know. He knew exactly what she was doing.
McCree said something to the other men and they turned to gaze at Helen. She started to rise from her seat. This was McCree’s cue to get up, too. She knew he would reach her before she could escape. He was starting to come round the back of the table and she frantically scooped up her belongings to shovel them into her bag, but it was hopeless. He would be across that room in seconds.
Then Helen got a lucky break. Before she could leave her seat the maître d’ swept past her with another man, who was carrying a large silver ice bucket on a stand with a bottle of champagne leaning lopsidedly in it. The waiters made a show of delivering it to the men at the table but, as they fussed and fretted about the positioning of the ice bucket and started the elaborate process of uncorking the champagne they inadvertently blocked McCree. There was frustration and anger in McCree’s eyes and there was no doubt in Helen’s mind that if they had been anywhere but a very fancy restaurant, the wine waiter would have simply been pushed to one side so he could get at her.
As Helen swept her belongings into her bag, Alan Camfield calmly spoke to the maître d’ and indicated Helen. In her haste she dropped the borrowed phone and had to quickly bend to retrieve it. ‘Miss,’ called the maître d’, as she rose with the phone. ‘Miss,’ he called again, louder this time, somehow managing to make the word sound sinister in these genteel surroundings. She banged her head on the table as she stood and threw the phone and camera into the handbag, while grabbing her purse. ‘Miss, could you please …’ He was heading towards her now, twisting his hips to get through a narrow gap between tables, the restaurant’s greed at packing the place with as many covers as possible working in her favour. She grabbed notes from her purse that more than covered the cost of her meal and dropped them onto the table then headed for the door, still with a head start on the maître d’.
She had almost made it when another waiter stepped out in front of her, instantly blocking her escape, saying, ‘Excuse me, Miss,’ as he held up his hands.
‘It’s okay,’ she said quickly, ‘my money’s on the table but I have to go now.’ But the waiter must have taken his cue from the maître d’ and he refused to step out of her way. ‘Excuse me,’ she said firmly but he reached out a hand until it touched her arm, lightly at first, then his grip started to tighten. Helen was trapped.
‘Don’t touch me!’ she shouted instinctively at the waiter and all heads instantly turned towards them. ‘How dare you touch me like that!’ The waiter flushed, backing away quickly as if he’d just been slapped across the face. Seizing her opportunity, Helen marched for the door, but not without calling the single word ‘Disgusting!’ back over her shoulder.
She pushed the door open and bolted through it. As soon as Helen was out of the door, she ran. She moved quickly