BLOOD DRAGON by Freddie Peters (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📕

Her father had been an artist and an activist. He had always been proud about his search for truth, whatever that might reveal. He had been a fierce supporter of Mao Zedong until he became a fierce critic, causing him and his family to escape the Cultural Revolution reprisals.

A car horn startled Nancy. She had started crossing the road that led to her apartment, ignoring the traffic. The woman driver at the wheel looked shaken. She pulled her window down, asking Nancy whether she was alright.

She was, thank you.

“Idiot.” Nancy muttered and the insult was not directed at the driver. She pushed open the heavy doors of the entrance to her building. The glass doors that came after opened automatically.

“Good evening.” Nancy waved to the new security guard. The property had recently been equipped with enhanced security so that someone monitored the entrance and the gardens 24/7. Nancy did not like it much, but it had proved useful after the Henry Crowne affair had reached the papers.

George waved back a friendly good evening.

The lift took her directly to the top floor. She entered and dumped her coat onto the sofa. She stood in the middle of the room torn between sadness and helplessness, and an overwhelming feeling of anger.

She had been a fierce lawyer, the youngest QC ever to take silk at the age of 35. She had defended war criminals and international fraudsters as well as victims of international crimes.

But the review of her illustrious career did not help her. Her link to China was of a different quality, personal, intimate … scary.

Nancy pushed her coat away and sank onto the couch. She lowered her head into her hands and sat there for a while.

A text pinged on her iPhone. Pole was letting her know he was on his way …

A très vite. She replied and dropped the phone into her lap. The room was in almost complete darkness. She had not turned on the light when she’d arrived and had barely noticed the twilight gloom deepen.

Nancy stood up heavily, walked to the wall and switched on a few lamps scattered around the room. … she moved slowly back to her seat.

She had absentmindedly dropped the morning mail onto a coffee table. She started opening a large envelope and a document slid out of it.

The title page read:

Contemporary Art in China under Deng Xiao Ping. Amy’s covering note simply said:

Amazing.

* * *

“He has, Sir.” The voice of DS Branning sounded muffled.

“Are you free to speak?” Pole stopped his bike to listen to what his officer had to say.

Branning described the hospital visit. He had tried to prise a few words out of Cora, but her answers to all his questions had been monosyllabic at best.

Pole toyed with the idea of patching in Nancy, but if she became involved it would have tobe official. The consultancy contract she had with the Met made provision for her to be called upon by a number of DCIs.

Pole would have to notify Marsh. There was little doubt Marsh would not object. If anything, he would be enthusiastic … even ecstatic.

Pole frowned. He would wait until tomorrow to make a decision on Nancy’s involvement, torn between the desire to avail himself of her exceptional skills and the annoyance of having The Super trying to woo his girlfriend.

Branning had finished his report and was waiting on the other end of the phone.

“Who is on night shift?”

“Helen McAdam, Sir.”

“Fine … brief her about what you know. She may get something out of Cora.”

Branning grumbled an answer. Did he have to be a girly to get Cora to speak? “I’m not unsubtle, Sir.”

“I never said that, Mike.” Pole smiled. “Since the SOCO team incident at Cora’s flat, you’re the arty gang’s hero anyway.”

“Maybe …” Branning grumbled back.

Pole finished his journey back to Nancy’s. He slowed down in front of the drive entrance, flashed his fob at the electronic eye and parked his bike in the garage for the night. All was quiet down there. The parking slots were all occupied apart from one.

Pole secured his bike and walked slowly towards the lift. He stopped for a moment in front of the empty parking space. Henry Crowne’s car was no longer there and his apartment on Nancy’s floor had been left unoccupied since he had left to serve his prison sentence at HMP Belmarsh.

He had been condemned for financial terrorism as an IRA member, having worked in some of the largest financial institutions in the City of London. He had spent barely three years at the high security unit in Belmarsh before achieving a feat no one had ever managed before … escape. Pole knew why and how that had happened, knowledge which made him vulnerable.

Pole shook his head to chase away the memory. Nancy knew little of this and he intended to keep it that way.

Pole let himself into Nancy’s flat with his key. The lights were low and she was huddled on her sofa, a document resting on the seat next to her. Something was wrong and he wondered whether Cora had called with some bad news.

“Comment vas-tu?” French had always been the language of choice that brought them closer.

“Une autre mauvaise nouvelle …” Nancy raised her head and stretched a hand towards Pole.

“Is it Ollie?”

“No … Although I really should catch up with Cora.” Nancy wanted Pole to put down his bike jacket and helmet and come to sit next to her. “It’s Amy … I’m not sure you remember her?”

“You mean Philippe’s assistant?”

Nancy nodded. She squeezed his hand, hard. “She is missing …” Nancy gave a short exhale. “No … I should say it as it is. She is almost certainly dead. Her bag and mobile phone have been found on Victoria Wharf in Hong Kong, near one of the ferry lines