Dangerous Davies and Lonely Heart by Leslie Thomas

Author:Leslie Thomas [Thomas, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Davies; Dangerous (Fictitious Character), Large Type Books
ISBN: 9780434004416
Publisher: Heinemann
Published: 1998-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

“First,” said Davies, “I want you to take that hot tool away from my face.”

The youth said: “I got it under control ’aven’t I.” But he removed it. “What you want?” he enquired again.

“Pearly,” said Davies.

“You got somefing for ’im? He ain’t ’ere.”

“Where is he? I’m a friend.”

“Ah, yeah. I ’member you now. You was a copper.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s got took poorly, ’e’s at ’ome.”

Davies remembered that Gates lived in the same street. “Where’s ’ome?”

Cautiously, as if he still suspected a trap, the youth emerged fully from the gate and, pointing with the burner, said: “Straight down. Number forty. Knock twice, wait, then knock two more.”

Davies grunted his thanks and the youth went back into the yard closing the tin door noisily. Soon the sizzling noise began again and the halo flickered and grew above the palings. Davies pulled his collar up and went further down the street. At the bottom was the railway and he could see the giant washing sheds where they laundered the Eurostar trains for the following day’s journeys to Paris and Brussels, Willesden’s link with the Continent.

Pearly’s house was surprisingly neat. The front garden was tight but well trimmed and there were some rain-sodden roses and a clump of Michaelmas daisies tied up with string. He knocked on the door, the special knock.

Another halo appeared in the fanlight above the door and it was opened by a young but weary woman. “Is Mr Gates in, please?” said Davies.

“He is. But you can’t see him.”

“Why not?”

“He’s dying.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that …”

A rough voice sounded from within. “Who is it, Annie?”

“Who is it?” she asked.

“My name’s Davies. I’m a friend.”

She turned and called up the stairs. “Mr Davies. Says he’s a friend.”

“Ah … Is that Dangerous?”

She studied Davies. “Are you Dangerous?”

“I’m not, but I am … if you understand me.”

“He says he is, but he isn’t,” she called.

“That’s Dangerous. Send him up.”

Annie stepped aside and allowed Davies into the narrow passage. There was a huge gilt-framed mirror displayed like a memento. She went back to the door and glanced outside. “I wasn’t followed,” Davies said. “I made sure.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” she said. She was not far off having been attractive. “It’s my flowers. The sods around here keep pinching them. Birthdays, anni-bloody-versaries, anything. They just whip them. After Mother’s Day I haven’t got a flower left.”

“There’s a lot of petty crime,” said Davies.

“Tell the police and they laugh at you.” She glanced quickly upstairs. “Not that I want the coppers around here. Not with him. Being poorly, that is.”

She motioned Davies to go up the stairs calling: “Mr Davies is coming up. Do you want anything?”

Pearly’s coughs echoed down the stairs. “He’s dying,” repeated the young woman.

He did not look too well. “Pneumonia, bronchitis, I got the lot,” he moaned. “Pass me that bum roll, will you, Dangerous.”

Davies handed him a toilet roll standing on the bedside chair and was relieved to see he only blew his nose on it. The roll was handed back and he put it on a dressing-table against the window.

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