Percy Crow | Next Chapter

Jul 22

Jul 22 Percy Crow

Next Chapter

Crime & Mystery

Buy Now

Read reviews in Goodreads

Book excerpt

Chapter One

Part One

Lord Clive Townsend

“Sorry, my Lord, but it’s your phone! I did shout across to you that it was ringing, but you were otherwise engaged with,” she hesitated, as if searching for a word that neither offended nor was discourteous, “your lady companion. The caller said his name was Townsend. Added that his boss needed to speak to you urgently. He emphasised both the boss and the urgency of the matter. He was a very assertive man, sir! I wouldn’t have answered it normally, but it was the third time!’’ It was Susie, the new stable manager, with my phone in her outstretched hand as though it would contaminate her if held any closer.

I stared at the number displayed on my ancient Nokia mobile in a state of both trepidation and relief. Lord Clive Townsend was a very old friend of my now depleted family and although his call was expected, the speed with which he had got back to me was a surprise. I could feel the noose being lowered over my head as I pressed redial.

“Good morning, Clive! Harry Paterson here.”

“Morning, Harry, I’m sorry to disturb you so early on a Sunday, but I guess you must know why I’m calling,” without a trace of emotion in his impassioned voice he stated.

“Percy Crow?” I softly replied.

“Precisely, Harry, you have it in one! I gave your report a thorough going over last week when I received it. Everything seems to stack up; unfortunately. I’ve sent a car for you. It should be pulling into your estate any time about now. Come as you are, old boy, it will be just the two of you. He’s cleared his appointments and has the house all to himself. Very informal chat, you understand, keep it short and concise without too much detail at this stage. That wouldn’t be helpful at all. I’ll fill those in after you’ve gone, old boy.”

“If you had said that you wanted to see me, I would have driven down myself, saving you the trouble of the car thing.” Bloody cheek in sending a car, I thought. Pompous oaf!

“No trouble on my part. In any case you weren’t home to tell. We have your Isle of Jura single malt, the forty-year-old version in the cellar. To my knowledge he has never tried it. You would make a grand drinking partner for its introduction.”

“I would be delighted to indulge you and him, Clive, but I haven’t showered yet. Got home yesterday afternoon and I’ve been out riding since six-thirty this morning clearing my head. Grooming my horse Finnegan when you rang. I’ll be a fair while until ready to see anyone, let alone your boss! Your driver can get some refreshments in the kitchen while he waits. Will you tell your man, or shall I get my butler, Joseph, to explain?”

“I’ll leave the fine details at your end, Harry, afraid I’m not that way domesticated. Surprised you are, though. Light lunch around one pm it is, then. Do hope it doesn’t upset your Sunday arrangements too much, old chap, but affairs of state and all that. Do remember one thing, Harry, and do put your mind to this. There’s still residue from the scandal that you unearthed a couple of years ago involving his mother’s equerry. You’re not exactly his favourite person at the moment, even though you managed to keep all that out of the newspapers. I’m hoping we can do the same with this lot!”

The line went dead before I had a chance to reply. It was a command not an invitation!

“Was that anyone important, Harry, only you look a bit off colour?” my companion enquired, as we led Finnegan, along with her own piebald stallion, across the sparkling, newly hosed down yard towards their stables away from the warm autumnal sun. Bawdily she added, “I think your young stable manager holds, what is it you English say; a torch for you? I think she also liked that word assertive; a lot! Was it she that frightened you, or the word, H?” Her laugh ripped through the air as if a horse had bolted and was galloping across the cobbles towards the paddock!

“I think that expression comes from the days when women did what men told them to do. Holding a lighted torch whilst the man of her life trimmed his beard, would have been such an order, my dear.”

“Well, then, it’s a good job I never lived in those prehistoric times, as the torch thing would have been repeatedly smashed on your large caddish head!”

* * *

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Harry Paterson, the latest to succeed to the titles of: Lord, Earl of Harrogate as well as Sheriff of the County of Yorkshire. HP to my friends, or, to more intimate acquaintances; simply H. The Patersons are directly related to royalty, albeit from the wrong side of the blanket, but that deviance from a purity of lineage has not stopped our progress through the upper levels of this sceptred isle, in fact, the opposite is true.

My own personal star is in the ascendency, particularly within the secret intelligence community of America, however, it must be said that our own secret services are not thought highly of at all over there, or here. Which brings me nicely to the start of this tale of subterfuge, murder and the betrayal of trust, oh yes, throw in a little abuse of position and downright wickedness as well.

If you would now allow me, I’ll begin to tell the story behind that Sunday morning telephone call.

Part Two

A Calling Card

Two months previously I was in my local pub on the Yorkshire moors, The Spy Glass and Kettle, having returned there from York racecourse where a friend of mine had a filly in a June selling stakes race. We numbered about twenty or so, and being a pleasantly hot Saturday afternoon the pub was packed to the rafters and beyond, with the equivalent associated noise which we added to in jubilant abundance.

“Excuse me, but I think this must have fallen from your pocket.”

I felt a slight nudge in the base of my back as a shorter man than myself, with short blond hair and eyes scrunched tight as if anticipating something bad, stood before me holding an innocuous white business card. I looked at it, then him, and was about to say that I didn’t believe it to be mine, when he thrust it closer, turning it over quickly then back again with a strained smile across his narrow, pointed, face briefly changing into a grimace resembling severe pain. At first I thought he had something wrong with his wrist, but as I looked once more at the card I could clearly see an image of a bald-headed eagle embossed across the Stars and Stripes of America. It was the official American Embassy calling card, one I had seen many times before. I had also noticed some lettering on the reverse side that made no immediate sense but he had clearly wanted me to see it hence the anguished look.

“Yes, I must be mistaken. I have indeed dropped it. Thank you so much. I would have been lost without it,” I said to his departing back, adding fruitlessly, “Have you a name, old sport? I’d like to buy you a drink if I could!” I was too late. He had hastily disappeared through the dense milling throng, out of the side door and vanished.

“Even for an American that was a brusque man! How strange he should adopt such a rude attitude after his kind and thoughtful action, Harry! The world is a curious place to say the least.” My partner, who had not taken her eyes off his face, was on tiptoes shouting into my ear.

“Perhaps he was just in a hurry, or just didn’t like crowded places, Serena. There are quite a few people who don’t like being hemmed in. I’m one that hates it. Much prefer my own space. Best to give him the benefit of the doubt. In any case, I have that card back and no time has been wasted speaking of trivial things. He might have stayed around chatting for hours and then what? I would have been drooling all down my face until I had you back to myself.” I laughed as a way of recapturing the attention of my alluring partner.

Serena, or to give her full Portuguese name, Serena, Sabato, Dos Reis Abenazo, was of Jewish descent and the only child of Nicolás Abenazo, one of the most wealthiest men in the world. We had first met many years ago, but more recently about a month back, at the start of the season’s polo match held at The Guards Polo Club in Windsor Great Park. My family had connections with the Abenazos down through many generations, partially through ties with horses but predominantly through a common interest in the accumulation of money. Serena and I had been living together at Harrogate Hall for the last six weeks. I had no wish at all to be distracted away from her ravishing appeal.

* * *

It wasn’t so long back that I’d had cause to examine how I felt about women and why it was that I’d never stayed close to one of them for any length of time, preferring to have many as friends and lovers other than merely one in an enduring relationship. A previous episode, too close to be completely forgotten, had ended on a sad, bitter note, leaving me heartbroken and for a good while reticent about becoming attached to any female ever again. It was not an experience I wished repeated. However, life rarely turns out as one would wish and Serena was, in so many ways, vastly different from any other woman I had previously met. In some respects she was too good to be true, but as I’m a modest man I shall not go into the details of why that might be.

The relationship I had with her had started slowly, now I wasn’t sorry that it had been so. I am, by nature, a straight to the point type of man and on our first meeting I was tempted to go for the jugular, as it were, right from the off. That old hackneyed, varying opening line of mine; ‘you look so utterly delicious in those clothes that it’s impossible to imagine anyone so divine. But I’d bet my title that your naked body would look a million times better without them,’ was millimetres away from my lips when her father interrupted me, clasping hold of my arm drawing himself closer in a protective, paternal manner.

“In his younger days, my good friend Lord Harry Paterson had a, how should I say, Harry; interesting reputation with women, Serena. You are now more circumspect around friends I hope, Harry.” He added a sniggering laugh, but I perfectly understood his admonishment. As to whether Nicolás had accepted me as his daughter’s lover I know not, but his veiled criticism of my inbred behaviour caused me to take stock and reassess my life. It was going nowhere subjectively. I had all the material things that the wealthy could wish for, but emotionally I was a long way away from any state of complete happiness.

* * *

“That’s not some flirty woman’s calling card is it, Harry? You would say if it were, wouldn’t you?” She was seventeen years my junior, but at the age of twenty-seven far from naive, nor was she gullible. Being silly and girlish was another matter entirely.

“I would not. I would keep it a secret and make you green with envy. Mind you, that would clash badly with this week’s hair colouring, I fancy. Not visually pleasant at all! Blue hair above a green face, with your green eyes pointed and angry, will just not do. Isn’t there a rhyme; ‘blue and green should never be seen?’ I doubt you’d have those colours on display in any of your fashion shops, my dear.”

“Sometimes you can be quite poetic but on other occasions you’re just so foolish Harry, that you’re beyond description. Is that an old family saying, or one of those silly English things that are meaningless? Of course blue and green go together! Never seen a clear blue sky above a green field? Fashion shops, indeed. You can be somewhat condescending, H. Show me that card, I insist,” indignantly she retorted, having good reason. Serena owned the highly fashionable women’s clothing brand name of Zabreno, selling garments that were infinitely expensive in not only a string of her own worldwide boutiques, but in revered clothing establishments and departmental stores around the globe. She was a famous fashion designer for the social elite. That bracket did not include me.

“Maybe I got it wrong, and it’s two other colours that clash. I am, as you well know, a forgetful person.” I grinned like the proverbial Cheshire Cat about to lick the cream from the top of the milk.

Her one marriage had lasted just short of a year, leaving her tight-lipped about it, but not reticent in her anti-American feelings.

“Do you really think you should? It’s not something you’d want to see normally, Serena. It could remind you of some of those infused American memories that you’re trying hard to forget. Why give yourself a problem on such lovely day? There’s so much time left for us to enjoy it.” She had never spoke about the reasons for the breakup, and I had never asked. I accepted her on face value, a dangerous thing with women but I liked a little mystery in the ones I kept close.

“Oh do stop pissing about, Harry. Show me the bloody card or I’ll not be in your bed tonight. Nor any other night come to that!” I knew she meant it.

“Okay. Be it on your head. As blue as it is.” She took the card and for a brief moment simply stared at it, as a child would stare at a lion in a cage before accepting that it presents no danger behind bars.

“My apologies, H, you were being sweet as always. You are my chivalrous English knight and I, your mere slavish mare, sire.” She’d looked at the front of the card, then examined the back.

“You have friends there? At the embassy, I mean?” she asked, her agitated mind now settled it seemed.

“I do, an old one,” I said, as I quickly took the card from her grasp. “We go back many years. He recently arrived in England and it’s his. Suspicious of our telephone system, I expect, sent it to me a few days ago.” I lied, but was not aware of how close I was to the truth.

“Is that his name hidden as an anagram on the back of it? Or, are you both spies trying to get this year’s fashion designs of mine without little me knowing, Harry? If you are then they’re not worth it, as I haven’t any new spectacular ones yet, but I’m working on it! Plenty of time for my creative juices. If your friend invites you to the local American hangout, please exclude me. I’d ruin the evening for you.” Her dislike for all things American was obvious as she screwed her face up as if tasting something vile. I had decided not to delve too deeply into it but that did not stop me chipping away at the edges.

“They are not all one dimensional, you know. Some do realise that there’s a world beyond their own shoreline with people living there who matter. I’ve had the honour to meet a few. One broken marriage should not make an enemy of a whole country. Before you ask, I just made that up.” Pocketing the card as unobtrusively as I could, I moved the conversation away from it.

“Yes, sounded like it too, Harry. Your diplomatic side was a little short of content and feeling. A bit goody-goody and too pious for me! When I want a shortened sermon I’ll ask at the synagogue for a private one.” Serena’s slow deliberate movement of her lips to form that seductive smile of hers combined with her golden caramel-coloured skin was what had captured my heart, but my heart was a fickle organ that beat in tune to a solitary, selfish tenor of life.

* * *

Although I do not contribute anything of worth to industry nowadays, I am, by professional qualification, an analytical chemist, dealing predominantly with polymers and their application and derivatives in, and from, the petrochemical industry. I have my own laboratory at The Hall where I escape the wider world and the myriad affairs of the estate at home. By default of having a background and commission in the military intelligence community, I have done work for the intelligent service, or SIS, of Great Britain in which I have been employed for many years now.

During the course of the investigation that Townsend briefly referred to I discovered an asset of our own in a foreign country who was an embarrassing liability to the corresponding American secret service. Because of this the relationship between Great Britain and the United States was now at best strained and at worse; touching permanent desolation. None of that had ever been discussed with anyone outside those immediately concerned and involved. This decline in the often quoted special relationship that existed between our two countries was worrying, as told to me by an old family friend, one night when he unexpectedly visited my family home, on the periphery of Harrogate, Yorkshire.

I had just returned to The Hall from a boring civic meeting in Harrogate and was in the process of handing the keys of the Bentley to Joseph, when I saw a car emerge from the rhododendron-lined, concealed drive leading to the house. I was in a shocking temper, not receptive to uninvited guests until I recognised the waving back seat passenger. Then my frame of mind changed from one of irritation to intrigue.

“Sorry to barge in on you at this late hour, Harry, but I took for granted your renowned congeniality. Any chance that the intrinsic God’s own county of Yorkshire’s warm-heartedness would stretch to a chair at your fine dining table? A mere soupçon would suffice, old bean, but I’m utterly starving! Not eaten all day since I was told that I have news to mull over with you.” I alternated my stare of fascination between him and Joseph, my butler, who read my thoughts as he usually did. “I’ll get Mrs Franks to serve an extra plate, sir.” Adding my thanks to those of my guest I escorted him in from the hall.

“Trust went out the door, Harry, when you finished that last investigation of yours. When that’s gone it’s all over, don’t you agree?”

Sir Michael Riven had known my late father, Elliot, from their Cambridge days together. Elliot had taken his predestined route into the banking arm of the family at Annie’s, whilst Sir Michael had risen within the echelons of the civil service, becoming its overall head some ten years previously. He was now retired, far detached from any responsibility in the recent scandal I had uncovered.

“The not so funny thing is, Harry, is that the Americans want you on their side again in the fight for what they see as fair trade, and our lot at Legoland are wetting their pants in anticipation. There was even speculation of a ticker-tape welcoming parade at the White House for you. Ice cream on the front lawn, then lunch on a space mission around the moon and back. You are their bright-eyed boy, that’s for sure. As for us, they are throwing meagre scraps from what appears to be a delectable feast our way. Mere nibbles, dear boy but nevertheless, we’re thankful for what falls from their table. The intelligence pipeline must be unplugged, and you, young man, are to be the expert plumber we need on the job. I received word from voices not so far off, that their placement here has something that may be of interest to you.

Gobbledygook really, but the essence is that they have been holding a certain acquaintance of yours; a Katherine Friedal. Remember her, Harry, do you? Daughter of the mysterious Paulo? Of course you do, silly question really. Vancouver, the two of you met, was it not? I was briefed on the main essentials prior to coming, Harry. Only the relevant ones, you understand. I hope I’m not treading on your toes at all by quoting in-house speech? They could have changed all the dialogue by now. I’ve been away from the throne many a day.”

He sounded somewhat regretful in that last statement, and I felt a tang of sympathy for him. For some, the descent from the top of a tree is more difficult than the ascent had been. He had aged badly since I had last seen him. The excitement of control that had sustained his youthfulness had abandoned his perception, leaving his vision blurred by the mediocrity of ordinary life. I shook my head, adding. “Not at all, Michael, all old hat that sort of speech to me, as well. And yes, vaguely I recall that name,” I said, with a broad grin. A deep laugh proceeded another sip of wine, before he continued in the prearranged inducement.

“Apparently she mentioned something that her father, Paulo, had spoken of. Precisely what that was, I’m unaware. I’m just a go-between, you understand. Anyway, the long and short of it all is, they, the Americans, want to know if you would be receptive to an approach they want to make towards your possible inclusion into that part of their investigation. They made it clear, as only they can, that it’s a personal invitation, no threesomes in beds, as it were. They love you, and why not indeed? Unfortunately, we’re the pariahs having defaced God’s love, apparently. Incidentally, allow me to compliment your cook, splendid meal. The hospitality you have showered on me is outstanding and much appreciated. I hope you understand why I couldn’t risk telephoning before coming, which makes your welcome here all the more remarkable. An impromptu meal such as this one deserves proper recognition.” I wasn’t sure if the raised glass in my direction was a sign of respectful gratitude or another effusive compliment designed purely as a way of tempting me to accept the offer.

“I’m sure that you would help out in this matter but I know your circumstances are somewhat different now, what with Elliot and your brother Edward’s death to contend with. You must be busy here on your estate. Perhaps even your faith in the establishment has been shaken or destroyed. We didn’t exactly shower you with accolades, did we. We are in desperate need of your help, Harry. There’s a new administration in power, with ultra-modern ideas to face the new threats to security. All has changed at the Box for a start. Sir David Haig is now the omnipotent overlord of all the security services sheltered from any parliamentary committees. That increased authority is set in tablets of stone. Dangerous but justified I my opinion, given the extraordinary circumstances created by the depth of treachery you unearthed. GCHQ has been empowered with a specific irrevocable licence to deal with certain previously untouchable areas concerned with internet traffic, and Millbank has been double-staffed by personnel from its backstairs military branches. We tend to be dealing with quite a different adversary in defence of the realm today. All in all it’s a lot more stable and secure than my day, some of that you are obviously aware of, but the new regime’s intentions and goodwill are wasted without the Yanks’ full collaboration. As Churchill quite rightly said; we need ’em. You are the key to unlock that closed door, Harry. Are you in?”

“Has Haig still got that blonde goddess as his secretary, Michael? I never had a proper chance to invite her out to dinner,” beaming indecorously I answered.