The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14) by Phillip Strang (classic books for 10 year olds TXT) 📕

‘Have you told him?’

‘None of his business. We all make mistakes, do things we shouldn’t. I made mine when I was younger; Kate’s still making hers. Even when Mike was whole, she was with Skinner. Not often, and who knows what Mike got up to when he was overseas.’

‘Good for one, good for the other?’

‘Something like that, not that I’d accept it with Jock, but then, he’s not the type, not the type for much other than making me happy.’

‘He’ll not be much of a provider if what you say about him is true.’

‘Money’s not an issue, never has been. I’ve got enough for the two of us. It’s the same with Mike, able to afford the best medical treatment there is. It’s not as if he’s totally incapacitated.’

‘Isn’t he? Wendy said. ‘It’s the first we’ve heard of it.’

‘There’s still some movement in his legs, not that he exercises, and it would take a lot to get him out of the chair. I’m not saying he’ll climb again, but he might be able to get around with a frame, maybe a couple of walking sticks. But that takes determination and a positive attitude, something he’s sadly lacking. Maybe with Kate, but then, she’s unreliable.’

‘Even before Mike had his accident?’

‘It wasn’t as bad, only when he was away, which was a lot of the time. He’s not cut out for marriage, not really. An obsessive man, capable of great things, not a great conversationalist, tends to get focussed on something, and then that’s all he can talk about. I can understand Kate being bored, seeing that she’s an extrovert, full of life. A lot of men in her life, more than me, I daresay.’

Wendy looked around Homicide, waved for Bridget to come over.

Her phone on mute, Wendy spoke. ‘Check out Mike Hampton, his medical records, any treatment he had – physiotherapy, traction, medicine – and his prognosis. Find an expert to advise us if you can.’

‘Sorry about that,’ Wendy said when she resumed the call. ‘Another phone ringing. I needed to answer it.’

‘That’s fine,’ Deb said.

Chapter 20

It wasn’t Ashley Otway’s first visit to the Savoy Hotel. Built by D’Oyly Carte in 1889 with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it was the first luxury hotel in Britain, replete with electric lights, electric lifts, and bathrooms in most of the lavishly-furnished rooms, and constant hot and cold running water.

To her, that first time, a birthday treat from a boyfriend, it was a magical place, frequented by movie stars, musicians and royalty. The second time, in the company of Jerome Jaden, the lustre had tarnished. She was more world-weary, her idealism tainted by her trade and the people she had met, and now, those who checked in to the hotel.

Chas Longley had stayed there, as the newspaper’s new entertainments reporter had attested to. It was on the third floor that he had seduced Chloe, given her a scoop that he was coming back in six months, a brand-new show, more dancers, guest artists, the works.

As Ashley sat down, a waiter pulled the chair back for her, telling her that Winston Churchill had sat in the chair. It seemed that he had sat in many chairs as she distinctly remembered that first time that another waiter had mentioned the same thing.

Jaden had chosen the D’Oyly Carte room with its 1920 features; her first visit had been to the other end of the Savoy Grill, more modern, more accommodating to those walking in off the street.

‘Tom Taylor treated me to a pub meal and a bottle of wine,’ Ashley said. ‘You’re spoiling me.’

‘He had youth on his side; all I’ve got is money,’ Jaden said.

The mood was upbeat, the restaurant’s ambience sublime, the sort of place where a person could succumb to drinking more than they should. Ashley was aware, determined not to lose control. This man was not Taylor, nor was he a McAlister; he was altogether more dangerous.

‘Lobster Thermidor, or do you prefer something else?’ Jaden said.

It was the first time she had been close to the man, and she realised that the shrivelled old prune comment had been extreme. In his sixties and shorter than most men, shorter than her, he was wrinkled but not shrivelled and certainly not a prune. Jerome Jaden had the look of money. His nails manicured, his greying hair, balding on the top. He was dressed in a suit and, on his wrist, a Breitling watch. She had to admit that the man was someone she could respect, but someone she would take down if he was behind Simmons’s climb, behind his fall.

‘Lobster would be fine.’

‘A Chardonnay, or would you prefer champagne?’

‘I didn’t know we were here to celebrate.’

‘A truce before the battle.’

‘A Chardonnay. I don’t think we’ll be celebrating, not today,’ Ashley said.

Jaden waved over to the waiter. ‘My usual for the two of us, and your best Chardonnay.’

‘Aren’t you going to check the price?’

‘Why? We are not here to worry about money, only what you intend to do.’

‘To expose Simmons’s murderer.’

‘Yes, I understand, but McAlister is hardly the most credible source.’

‘He has been so far.’

‘Ashley, I don’t want to sound patronising, but at what cost to you?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘We’ve not met before, not like this, but let me be frank. You’re still young, ambitious, all credit to you for that, but McAlister’s not your type.’

‘Are you suggesting?’

‘You know enough of me to know I’m a tough bastard, but that’s business. I have little sympathy for my competitors or for those who don’t pull their weight. But you, Ashley, don’t do this, not with McAlister.’

‘Do what?’

‘Don’t cheapen yourself. He’s not worth it, and if he does give you something, will it be