White Fire by Adam Hamdy

Author:Adam Hamdy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

Chapter 49

Pearce wished he could go back to the phone booth, to the moments before Louis died, and do things differently. Regret gnawed at him, hollowing him out. He hadn’t liked the guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted him dead. Pearce couldn’t shake the memory of Louis being tossed in the air and hitting the road, tumbling until he came to a halt, broken and lifeless. Remorse sent waves of angry frustration surging through him, and his body seemed to almost burn with fury at himself for having been so careless. He raged against his inability to undo what had been done. Louis’ death wasn’t just a personal blow, it significantly complicated his investigation into White Fire. Louis had revealed Farida had been the one to put him under surveillance, but did Mary know? And had Farida been in contact with Louis during the tail, or had he been working alone? Had he called Farida before challenging Pearce at the phone box? Pearce puzzled over the possibilities as he walked to Bayswater. The questions added to his feeling a failure. Everything he’d worked so hard for was at risk, and he couldn’t help but be angry at himself.

He’d taken a circuitous route to Olympia and shed his boiler suit in a public toilet, before travelling across West London, through Hyde Park to an Internet cafe he knew on Queensway. Situated between an off licence and a Russian deli, the Queensway Computer Market was a mishmash bazaar of clothes, Brazilian food and computer supplies, and, located in the back of the shop were half a dozen old desktops that passed for an Internet cafe. Pearce paid cash and took a terminal that allowed him to watch the comings and goings in the shop. He researched Alexis Tippett-Jones and discovered she’d assumed her father’s roles as a patron of the arts, philanthropist and businesswoman. A recent Evening Standard profile revealed she prided herself on doing a full working day at Bayard Madison, the bank once owned by her father. Armed with a better picture of what Alexis had become, Pearce used the payphone at the back of the shop to call the bank.

‘Good morning,’ a voice said. ‘Bayard Madison.’

‘Alexis Tippett-Jones,’ Pearce replied.

‘May I ask who’s calling?’

‘Scott Pearce,’ he replied.

There was a long pause.

‘Scott.’

It had been months since he’d heard Alexis’s voice, but he still remembered it, and felt his anger rise as he recalled the sob stories she’d told about her life at the hands of her father and the men around him.

‘Ms Tippett-Jones,’ Pearce replied. ‘I’m in London and wondered if you might have—’

‘How about coffee?’ she cut in. ‘Eleven thirty any good?’

‘Only if it doesn’t put you out.’

‘I always have time for old friends,’ she replied. ‘Come by the bank.’

Pearce hung up, wondering what she knew. It was one of the most challenging aspects of the game, not knowing whether you were walking into a room with someone who had reason to kill you. If she was connected to Elroy Lang, it seemed likely she would know about the Red Wolves.

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