The Colours: A spy thriller packed with intrigue and deception by T.M. Parris

Author:T.M. Parris [Parris, T.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-22T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

It took a good deal of asking around Fairchild’s network to pinpoint Max’s elusive vessel-hawker. While Fairchild was at it, a few things struck him as odd. One, if the guy really wanted to get rid of this object, why didn’t he try anyone else in town besides Max? Fairchild approached the most likely market stallholders and cash loan shops but no one had heard of the man or the object. Maybe Max’s response had scared him off – but if he needed the money you’d have thought he’d try again somehow.

Then there was the fact that he wasn’t using his real name. Fairchild discovered this after learning of the quiet unassuming lodger of Mme Boucher, a landlady who didn’t require references, only cash, and didn’t ask too many questions. She didn’t mind answering them, though, when gently quizzed by an old friend of Fairchild, a retired family doctor who knew Nice and how it worked. Mme Boucher happily revealed to the former doctor some interesting detail about her lodger, how recently he’d come to Nice, how he called himself Pippin but that wasn’t the name on his ID card, how he was visited more than once by a loud Parisian whose face seemed familiar, that he owned some nice-looking paintings considering how little money he seemed to have. Also, how she hadn’t seen him for a couple of days although his things were still in the room, but he’d missed the rent this week.

Fairchild was fully intending to pass all this information on to Rose. But not before he’d had a look himself. It did no harm to stay ahead of the game. It was helpful, in fact, to investigate further and check that this guy was a legitimate lead before wasting Rose’s time on him. But he’d have to be discreet. Rose and her gang – which, at times, included him – would probably approach Mme Boucher, which meant that he had to find some other way in. And that was why he was, late one evening, staring out of the window of an empty holiday let in the middle of the old town, looking across the street directly at Pippin’s window.

The street was so narrow that if the window had been wide open, you could step across from one ledge to the other and drop straight inside. But it wasn’t open, though it was ajar. That made the manoeuvre a little more tricky. Fairchild looked down into the street three floors below. It was not too late for strolling couples and groups to pass by, exploring the restaurants and bars of Nice. He’d have to be quick. Choosing a quiet moment he bent, flexed, used the wall to push himself off and landed on the ledge opposite, grabbing a sturdy-looking drainpipe with both hands. The drainpipe thankfully supported his weight, along with a couple of indeterminate cables, some of which would never be the same again. He balanced himself and let go with one hand to feel for the flimsy window catch.

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