The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (interesting books to read TXT) 📕

came over and placed a freshly printed photograph in front of him. It was an isolated still from a CCTV camera. A clear picture of Bethan and Gunnymede.

‘Send it to the policeman,’ Krilov said in Russian.

Krilov took another drink and accessed a number on his phone.

A man answered with a simple ‘Hi’.

‘I send you a picture of a man and a woman. I want their details – home, car, location, everything.’

Jedson sat on his black leather couch in his small, poncy-looking London flat talking to an iPad on his coffee table. ‘I’m just looking,’ he said as he opened Krilov’s message and Gunnymede and Bethan appeared.

‘You can do this now?’

‘That won’t be a problem. What do you want to do with them?’

‘Kill them.’

‘I want the woman.’

‘What for?’

‘I just do.’

‘There’s plenty woman where you’re going.’

‘I want this one.’

Krilov disconnected.

Jedson checked his watch, picked up a glass half filled with a dark liquor and took a long drink as he studied the picture.

Gunnymede pulled the bike to a stop outside a large Georgian house in a residential street in Holborn. The engine went silent and he climbed off stiffly, pretty sure he heard a creaking sound come from his bruised frame. He was all cleaned up and looking quite presentable, except for the grazes on his face and hands. He took a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates from a pannier and walked up a short flight of steps to the front door which was standing ajar and stepped inside the tasteful contemporary flats conversion. He climbed a staircase, faced the door of an apartment and, after a brief tidy up of his hair and clothes he knocked on it. A moment later it opened and a slender woman in her sixties stood there looking at him with a blank expression.

He smiled at her despite her air of indifference. She was on the frail side but the sparkle in her eyes left no doubt about the quality of her inner strength and cognisance. ‘How did you get in downstairs?’

‘The door was open.’

‘You didn’t break in?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘You took your time coming.’

‘I’ve been busy.’

‘Flowers and chocolates are a sign of guilt.’

‘They’re not for you.’

‘Who are they for?’

‘A sweet, kind, loving lady who I’m hoping to find somewhere in there, if I can ever get through the access control.’

She gave in, smiled and reached out to him. ‘I just needed to make sure it was my Devon. Give me a hug.’

Gunnymede held her while she patted his back. When he stepped back she took a look at him. ‘You’ve put on some muscle.’

‘I had a lot of recreation time.’

‘You probably didn’t get a decent cup of tea.’

‘It’s criminal what they serve as tea.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said as she headed down the hall into the kitchen. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘Tea would be great.’

‘Rubbish. You’ll have something to eat with it.’ She opened the fridge and pulled out a plate of sausages and bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms and a carton of eggs. She sniffed the meat. ‘I bought these expecting you a few days ago. They’ll do. A little bit of gangrene never hurt anyone.’

‘Do you need a hand?’

‘You never started asking me that until you left home. You didn’t mean it then either. You look like you’ve got a few aches and pains.’

‘I’ll be good to go in a few days.’

‘They got you in the wars already.’

‘Well, you take the Queen’s shilling, you take your chances with it.’

‘I’m betting on the Middle East.’

‘For what?’

‘That’s where you’ve been, isn’t it?’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Well, it’s too early for North Korea, too late for North Africa and everywhere else can manage without you for the time being.’ She paused. ‘Unless of course it’s those pesky Russians.’

‘Our favourite bad guys.’

‘They’ve always been jerks,’ she said, putting the sausages and bacon in the frying pan. ‘Putin’s still trying to finish off what Ivan the Terrible’s grandfather started. Borders and buffers. They respect nothing but severity. They’ll evolve one day, I’m sure, but not in our lifetime.’

She poured a cup of tea and put it in front of him as he sat at the table. ‘I heard about Megan,’ her face darkening.

He looked into her eyes and nodded, as if they were passing data between them. Nothing more was needed to be said and she went back to the cooker. ‘So tell me then.’

‘What subject are we on to now?’

‘How did you get back into the firm?’

‘They needed me.’

‘Not because they thought you were innocent.’

‘You know I wasn’t.’

‘I know you’re not a bad person. You weren’t a thief as a boy and that’s where the foundations are laid. You were up to something and it went wrong is my guess.’

He smiled at her, appreciating her.

‘So they need you for something that was going on when you left. Unfinished business.’

‘You know them as well as I do. Better I expect.’

‘They won’t have changed. Never trust any of them. Not that they’re wrong. They just don’t care about collateral damage. It’s what they’re taught in school. Or they used to be. I despair, wondering where our next generation of ruthless bastards will come from. This country produces such bleeding heart liberal pussies these days.’

‘Language.’

They chatted while she made breakfast, while he ate it and while he had his post breakfast cup of tea. After the meal, Gunnymede cleared up and sat by the window that looked down onto the street while she sat at the dining table.

She opened a wooden box, removed a packet of filtered cigarettes, an ashtray and lighter and lit one up. She inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out in a long stream,