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Date Posted: 19:56:11 09/21/02 Sat
The walk back to the shelter was a silent one, both men deep in their thoughts. As they rounded the last corner, the flashing police and ambulance lights ahead of him wrenched Graeme from his reverie.
Michael had seen the same thing and stopped immediately. Graeme took his arm, feeling the taut muscles beneath the shabby coat.
“My car, now,” Graeme hissed. It was only a few steps to the grimy Fiesta and both men slipped quickly inside. They sat silently, observing the movement of uniformed police and several dark-suited official-looking types around the exterior of the shelter.
“I need to check it out,” Graeme decided. “You,” he poked Michael in the arm, “need to stay here and not do a bloody disappearing act on me.”
Michael turned shrouded eyes on Graeme. For the second time that evening, Martin found himself confronting a total lack of expression.
“Michael, I mean it. Give me a minute to go find out what the hell is going on in there before you do your Houdini routine. I have a nasty suspicion those suits belong to MI6 and they’re the last people you want to be running into right now. Stay here; just give me a few minutes. I swear to you Michael,” he added when no response was forthcoming, “that if you go now I’ll dig so deeply and so loudly into L’Heure Sanguine that whomever you’re protecting will be sitting smack in the center of someone’s crosshairs.”
Michael eyed him. Graeme had the same feeling as before, the sensation of being evaluated, options weighed and considered. Finally he nodded. “I’ll wait.”
As he exited the car, Graeme tucked his badge into the outer breast pocket of his overcoat, the shield shimmering in the flickering red and blue lights. The perimeter bobby was a local man, the younger brother of a school classmate, and Graeme greeted him easily.
“Hey, Tommy, what’s all the fuss about?”
“Evening, Martin. Some transient got stuck with a knife. Quite the fuss. Weapons aren’t supposed to be taken into the shelter and no one’s really sure how it happened or even who did it.”
“Huh. Looks like more than just Surrey PD got called in here.”
“That’s the weirdest thing. Got suits, but they won’t say who they are. Top secret. Pretty bizarre, you ask me. Why would Her Majesty’s spooks be interested in some knifing at the local shelter?”
“Dunno. That is odd, though. The Major around?”
“From the shelter? Yeah, she’s over there, by the building somewhere.”
Graeme walked casually, glancing around from the corners of his eyes rather than taking the risk of appearing too interested by turning his head. The Major stood by the doorway where he had met her, arms crossed on her chest, hands tucked in tight, hugging herself close. The streetlights winked on her shoulder epaulets as he approached.
“Major? You remember meeting me earlier tonight?”
She nodded. “Martin. You came to take one of the men to dinner. Where is he? Is he all right?”
Graeme winced and barely stopped himself from scanning around for eavesdroppers. “He’s fine, ma’am, we finished dinner a good hour ago.” He stared meaningfully into the Major’s eyes. Don’t question the timeframe, Major, just let it go. She matched him stare for stare for several long seconds before nodding almost imperceptibly.
“You know I’m Surrey PD, Ma’am. Would you please tell me what happened here tonight?”
“A man was killed here tonight, Constable. I – we – that is,” her voice trembled as she paused and visibly brought herself back under control. “After dinner and before the prayer service, one of our gentlemen decided to lie down. When I went to rouse him for the service,” she displayed her hands, palms up. Graeme could see the scarlet smears of blood that had not yet been washed off. “When I went to get him, he was dead. Someone had stabbed him, right here, in the middle of my shelter. In the house of God.” She tucked her hands back in, shuddering.
“I’m very sorry for that, Ma’am. What can you tell me about the man that died?”
“He’s not been here often. Lenny, the other men called him. Quiet man, never any trouble to us.”
“Did he have friends, regulars, anyone he interacted with here at the shelter?”
“I… Constable, I don’t know. There are so many men that come to us in need, some that stay, some that go…” Her voice trailed off and even in the uncertainty of the streetlight and flashing strobes of the emergency vehicles he could see how pale she had become.
“Major, are you all right? Would you like to sit down?”
“No… yes. I think I’d like to sit down inside.” Graeme offered her an arm for support as they entered the shelter. To his surprise, her grip was firm as she tugged him closer to whisper. “I need to speak to you, alone.”
The dining tables had been folded up and cots laid out neatly for the men. Off to one side, the forensic team was huddled over the shrouded corpse. Graeme glanced around, both to find a chair for the Major and to determine their privacy. He led her toward the kitchen door where a lone folding chair still stood sentry.
“Are you all right, Ma’am? Can I get you a glass of water?” Martin spoke slightly louder than usual, assuring his voice would carry to the men at the other end of the room.
“No, thank you Constable. I just needed to sit down.” Following his lead, the Major had also raised her voice. At her gesture, Graeme crouched down. She lowered her head to a whisper to him. “You need to know, Constable, that Lenny had taken your gentleman’s bed.”
“Ma’am?”
She nodded toward the forensic team. “That’s where your gentleman had been sleeping the past few nights. I don’t know if it means anything, but I thought you should know. And perhaps it would be best if he doesn’t return here for a few more days?”
“Major, I think you missed your calling. You’d have made one hell of a cop.” Rising, Graeme brushed off his jeans and extended his hand, lifting his voice again. “Ma’am, thank you for your time. I’m sorry this happened in your shelter and I’ll be sure to get back to you as soon as possible with any progress we’ve made.”
Lifting his hand to acknowledge Tommy as he passed, Graeme thoughtfully headed back to his car. Obviously the Major thought there was more here than a simple murder. He’d have to tread carefully on this; it wasn’t his case and if the Major was right and the intended target was Michael, too much interest on Martin’s part might direct the Spooks’ attention in the wrong direction. His direction.
As if his thoughts had conjured him up, a Suit was hovering around his Fiesta as Martin approached. “Good evening, sir,” the Suit said in a precise Oxbridge accent, “may I see some identification please?”
Martin flicked a finger to the badge hanging on his breast pocket. “Graeme Martin, Surrey Police. And you are?”
The Suit ignored his question. “And what brought you here tonight, Constable Martin?”
“It’s a small town. Call like this gets every cop’s attention. You didn’t tell me who you’re with.”
The Suit smiled thinly. “No, I didn’t. Good night sir.”
“Bastard.” Martin opened the car door after the Suit had walked away, not wanting the dome light to illuminate Michael. An unnecessary precaution, as the car was completely empty.
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