Mary Dear - Redux Page 8

  Elliott rolled out of bed and sat on the edge cradling his head and then it hit him—he’d managed to lose twenty grand. How the fuck had he managed to do that? And as the enormity of his plight began to sink in, he crawled back into the safety of his warm bed.

  When Elliott reawakened it was midday. His head had stopped thumping but his mouth was dry and tasted like shit. He got up slowly and was delighted to find that the room had stopped moving. He went to the bathroom and undressed, turned the shower full-on and stood under the warm spray letting it soothe his body and wash away what remained of the previous night’s excesses. Finally he came out and towelled himself dry. Elliott opened the door to the bathroom and waited for the steam to clear before attempting to shave. He got a glass and filled it with a cupful of Listerine and topped it up with cold water. Swilled and gargled until he could hardly taste the curry.

  He was starving and decided to go across the road to one of his favourite Italian restaurants for lunch; Elliott called reception and got them to book him a table. A good lunch was the answer; things always look better on a full stomach. He remembered that the last time he’d had a bit of pasta at Caraffini had been a month ago when he’d come to London for a bit of R&R—my how time flies he thought; then coming back to the present Elliott decided that when he was fully restored he would come up with a plan as to how he would deal with his huge gambling debt.

  Elliott came out of The Sloane Club, turned right and walked to the corner opposite the pub. He was looking for a gap in the traffic before crossing the road to the restaurant opposite. A car came up to the turning; the passenger wound down the window and called him over.

  ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for Eton Square, do you know where it is?’

  Elliott stopped to think for a second and didn’t notice the big man that had appeared from nowhere, opened the back door, shoved him inside the car, sliding in beside him. Before Elliott knew what was happening the car was moving.

  ‘Hey, what’s going on?’

  ‘Shut up and I won’t have to shut you up. Mr Briggs wants to see you.’

  No more explanations were offered and none were needed. Elliott knew he was in trouble. The man beside him was massive. His large hands rested on his legs and Elliott noticed that the fingers on his right hand were tattooed with the word ‘Noko’. He wondered if that was his name but wasn’t about to ask. He started searching his mind for what he knew of Briggs. Elliott had never met him personally and had only seen him a few times at the club. Briggs usually kept himself away from the tables, and spent most of his day in his office upstairs. Elliott had heard Briggs was tough, that he’d been tied in with Ronnie and Reggie Kray.

  The car was now in Hyde Park Corner, and there was no mistaking where they were headed. They were outside the club and then he was pulled out of the car and marched inside by Noko. They went in through a side door and up a set of stairs to the first floor.

  There was a bouncer outside the only door on the landing. Noko asked:

  ‘Is he in?’

  ‘He’s in, snake, go right in.’

  Snake. This guy has more names than a telephone book, thought Elliott, but he said nothing.

  Snake opened the door, pushed Elliott inside and followed him in.

  ‘Hello Billy, who’s your friend,’ Briggs said, looking at Elliott like he didn’t know who he was.

  ‘It’s Mr Shepherd, Uncle Johnny. You asked to see him’

  ‘So I did.’ Briggs was sitting behind a large wooden desk, some sort of reproduction. Elliott thought he looked like a cheap hoodlum in an expensive suit.

  ‘Come and sit down Mr Shepherd,’ he said pointing to a chair in front of the desk.

  Elliott sat down and Billy—stood behind his chair, towering above him. It made him feel nervous as hell.

  ‘Now Mr Shepherd, I’ve been told you visited my casino yesterday. Seems you had a bit of a bad night, lost a lot of money,’ he was studying Elliott with a humourless face that was making him feel even more anxious than he already was.

  ‘Mr Briggs...yes I’m afraid your boys took me to the cleaners,’ Elliot began, trying to inject some humour into the situation but Briggs obviously wasn’t into comedy.

  ‘That’s as may be Mr Shepherd but we don’t appear to have been paid and you haven’t called to explain...anyway, you’re here now so perhaps we can settle this hamicably.’

  His East End accent, replete with dropped h’s, and h’s which kept appearing in places they didn’t belong. Briggs was making an attempt at being civil. Elliott wondered how long that would last.

  ‘I ’ope you brought your cheque book with you.’

  ‘Mr Briggs, I’ve got a bit of a problem with making an immediate payment. It’s just temporary. A couple of things I’ve got to sort out and then I’ll pay you of course.’

  ‘Mr Shepherd, you’re an educated man, I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you the difference between a casino and a bank. Banks give credit. We’re in the casino business.’

  Briggs’s eyes were burning into Elliott and he could feel Billy’s presence weighing on him. When Briggs spoke again his tone had changed and his expression with it. Elliott had not had time to look at the room he was in, and now noticed a fish tank along one wall next to a coffee table, sofa and a couple of armchairs, obviously where Briggs sat for informal chats with his friends. There were framed black and white photos of Diana Dors, Sinatra, Judy Garland and one that he recognized of Ronnie and Reggie Kray taken by David Bailey; he’d seen it on a Channel 4 documentary. And there was something that had struck him as odd. A second look at the fish tank and he saw what it was. It had no water and it had a lid.

  ‘Do you like pets, Mr Shepherd?’

  The question took Elliott completely by surprise.

  ‘Pets?’

  ‘Yes, you know, animals and such like. My nephew ‘ere, he loves pets. One in particular he’s very fond of.’

  Elliott didn’t like the way the conversation was going but could not think what pets had to do with anything. Briggs’s nephew looked massive and evil, he couldn’t imagine what kind of pet he’d like but he was about to find out.

  ‘Billy, why don’t you bring Noko over here? I think Mr Shepherd would like to meet him.’

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Billy move away and head to the fish tank. It was sitting on a heavy table that had two deep drawers. He saw Billy open one and pull out what looked like a big canvas glove with a long sleeve. Billy slid his right hand into the glove and pulled the sleeve up until it reached almost up to his shoulder. Elliott was following the proceedings with increased misgivings and what he saw next nearly made him choke. Billy opened the lid back on its hinges and rested it on the wall. He then put his gloved hand inside and scrabbled at something Elliott could not see in a dark corner of the tank. A few moments later and Billy had a colourful snake coiled around his hand and part of his forearm. Elliott felt a rush of adrenaline hit him as if a thousand small daggers had been stuck into him simultaneously.

  ‘Noko is a very special pet, it’s a coral snake that comes from Central America, very rare and very deadly, but my nephew seems to like it, don’t you Billy?’

  ‘Yes Uncle Johnny, he’s very friendly is Noko.’

  Elliott stood and was making for the door.

  ‘I am so sorry Mr Shepherd, I didn’t know you don’t like pets,’ he nodded to Billy to stay put.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down again and let’s discuss this cash flow problem of yours.’

  Elliott was relieved to see that Billy didn’t look like coming over to introduce him to his pet.

  ‘Mr Briggs, you’re right. I owe you the money. Why should you have to wait for it? It’s just that, this cash flow problem I have is real. You’re a businessman,’ he said hoping that what he was about to tell him would not get him killed, ‘I have a proposition to make to you if you are interested,’ Billy had not moved and Briggs appeared to be waiting to hear what he had to say, so Elliott told him the whol
e story leaving out just enough to give himself a slight edge.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Briggs said, you’re prepared to pay me the money you owe me plus 200 grand, that is 10 times your debt plus my stake back. In exchange for what...time?’

  ‘Yes. Ninety days. That’s all I need.’

  ‘And you don’t want anything from me?’

  ‘Nothing more.’

  Briggs nodded in Billy’s direction. Billy looked almost disappointed as he headed back to the fish tank to return Noko to his home.

  ‘I’m sorry Mr Shepherd, looks like you’re going to have to meet Noko another time, its way past his bedtime.’

  Elliott could not believe his luck. Now all he had to do was make sure his project was a success. He had to pay Briggs. It was a small price to have his life back but Briggs appeared to be considering the deal and Elliott prayed he wasn’t having second thoughts.

  ‘You are sure about this?’

  ‘Completely sure.’ Elliott had visions of Noko returning.

  ‘What if you’re wrong?’

  ‘I’m not,’ Elliott said as convincingly as he could, ‘but if I don’t have it before the ninety days are up, I’ll sell my house and pay you out of that. You cannot lose. If I could borrow more from my bank I’d pay you right now but I can’t, I just need the ninety days,’ he repeated.

  Briggs looked uncertain. It was a risk, but he knew where he could find Shepherd anytime he wanted. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘we have a deal,’ and they shook hands on it.

  When Elliott left Briggs’s office he was soaked in sweat as if he’d been for a swim with his clothes on. He couldn’t wait to get back to The Sloane Club for a long shower.

  ‘Do you trust him Uncle Johnny?’

  ‘Maybe. He’s scared enough to say anything but he may be on the level. It’s worth a punt. I’m sure he doesn’t want to meet Noko,’ he said, ‘Now Billy, this is what I want you to do.’

  Elliott Shepherd was born in England in 1974, and missed Beatlemania by a good ten years. He was educated at Hill House and Oxford where he took an M.Phil. in Latin American studies and in 1997, at the age of 23, joined the Latin American Desk at the BBC.

  In November 1999, the BBC sent senior reporter Connor Henderson to do a tour of Latin America for a forthcoming radio broadcast. It was intended to usher in the new millennium, assessing how far human rights had come in that continent in the last 2000 years. Henderson took Elliott as his assistant and to help him gain first-hand experience. They visited all the major cities from Mexico to Panama and on through South America, stopping in Caracas, Buenos Aires and Lima.

  Elliott was fascinated by Peru and vowed to return. Five years later he got his chance when the BBC sent him to cover a human-interest story that had captured the imagination of the local community and was causing a bit of a furore. A priest had been praying in his church late in the evening and was completely alone when, he claimed, that the Virgin Mary had appeared to him. That alone, and the fact that it was from his church that a life-size solid gold, gem encrusted statue of the Virgin Mary and Child had been stolen in the year 1821, had been enough for the Vatican to send a representative to look into the matter. Elliott had had the good fortune to interview the priest, Padre Ignacio Mora, and the Pope’s emissary Cardinal Quadrelli. He sent his report to his boss at the Beeb and it was used as a curiosity story in one of the Corporation’s nine o’clock nightly news broadcasts.

  While covering the story Elliott had learned that the value of the statue, intrinsic and historical, was incalculable. There were the usual rumours that had grown over the centuries referring to pirate treasure taken in Lima, suggesting that the statue of the Virgin had probably been buried—along with the rest of the booty—in Cocos, an island belonging to Costa Rica. Elliott determined to investigate a little more. Who knows? he thought, It could prove an interesting follow up to his original story.

  The more Elliott looked into it the more his fascination grew.

  Back in England, he decided to learn as much as possible about Cocos Island and about the people who had visited its shores in search of the treasure.

  In May 2004, on his return from Peru, Elliott approached his boss and said that he wanted to work on a project that he thought the Corporation would be interested in. He suggested he could do it better working as a freelance reporter instead, as that would give him greater freedom of movement. His employer liked him and had no difficulty changing his contract to accommodate him.

  Elliott started his research and found out that Julian Keating, a respected English archaeologist, had led the last British expedition to Cocos. He learnt that Keating was the brother of a war hero and holder of the VC, and also that he had died during the Second World War. Elliott went to the BBC’s own archives to see what, if anything, he might uncover. As it turned out, Joseph Keating was something of a celebrity and a decorated war hero to boot, so the story of his death in Austria had been big news in its day and had been covered by Richard Dimbleby for the BBC. In the archives he found the research notes and learned that Keating’s best friend, Edward Hannah, had accompanied him on his last journey home. The notes also mentioned the names of close family and friends who were present at his funeral. He hoped he might be able to find Julian Keating that way but, unfortunately, his research told him that he had died in a shipwreck near Cocos Island.

  The Keatings’ children, Jane and Colin, had moved to Australia after their mother’s death to start a new life; but Edwina Hannah, sister of Keating’s best friend Edward, had stayed; she was still alive and a resident in sheltered accommodation in Pinner. Elliott lost no time contacting the private home and speaking to the supervisor. He explained that he was a reporter for the BBC researching an old story that the Corporation was interested in revisiting. He said that he needed to speak to one of the residents to get some background on an old friend of hers. The supervisor wasn’t sure she would want to speak to him but he would ask her.

  Elliott met Edwina Hannah in a corner of the small living room that was reserved for the residents and their visitors. It was a pleasant environment and quite homely in an old fashioned sort of way. Edwina had very little money but her place there was paid for entirely by Rebecca Keating’s estate, Joseph’s widow, an old and dear friend of hers and her brother Edward. Mrs Keating had passed away but she had made provision for her friend to see her through to the end of her life.

  ‘Mrs Hannah, it’s very kind of you to see me,’ he began.

  She was a slight frail-looking lady with white hair tied neatly in a bun. In her youth she had probably been very proper and a little plain. Elliott knew she was ninety-three, born at the start of the Great War, but despite her great age, she appeared to be well and looked quite presentable in her grey cotton skirt and white blouse.

  She had a small, quiet voice and Elliott had to strain to hear her. ‘Not at all,’ she said, ‘I get very few visitors nowadays, and it’s “Miss” you know, I never did marry, but please do call me Edwina.’

  ‘Thank you Miss Edwina,’ he said, ‘were you told what my being here is all about?’

  ‘No, young man,’ she said, ‘but I was rather hoping you would tell me.’

  She spoke slowly and deliberately as if every word needed to be uttered just so and her advanced years did not appear to have impaired her faculties.

  ‘I’m with the BBC, researching Mr Keating’s life and well...your brother, Edward, I understand that he was a good friend of Mr Keating’s.’

  At the mention of her brother’s name, Miss Edwina seemed to perk up.

  ‘Joseph and Edward were best friends. He was best man at his wedding to Becky, that was Joe’s wife you know, and they served in the same unit all through the war. Joseph thought of my Edward as a brother,’ she said and her face had become quite animated.

  Her new look did not go unnoticed by Elliott who observed that talk of her friends and her brother in particular had even brought some colour to her cheeks.

  ‘I
was hoping you might tell me a little about what happened, it’s all such a long time ago and my knowledge is sketchy to say the least.’

  ‘Well, you see, my Edward...he died in 1951...’ and she suddenly looked rather sad.

  ‘I’m so sorry; I did not mean to upset you.’

  ‘No, no, you’re not upsetting me...not now. Joseph, in a way, was the reason my Edward went away.’ The old lady wasn’t making much sense.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Went away, you say.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know if you know but dear Joseph died in a tragic road crash in Austria though my Edward had never believed it and suspected foul play all along. In the end he was proved right when the Americans caught and punished the culprit,’ and she went on, ‘as I was saying, during the war they were both stationed in Austria and, just before he died, Joseph gave a notebook to Edward for safe keeping. It changed his life and, for that matter, mine too.’

  A notebook that could change people’s lives, Elliott wondered what on earth she was talking about.

  ‘Could you tell me something about the notebook?’ he asked and Miss Edwina became quite animated and told Elliott what she knew of the history of Dieter’s book.

  ‘What happened to the notebook?’

  ‘The notebook, oh that, why...I’ve got it. I’ve had it since he left. Edward copied it out and left the original with me. He said it was safer that way.’ Elliott couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

  ‘You’ve got the book? I mean...here with you?’

  ‘Yes. Would you like to see it?’

  Elliott could not believe his luck.

  ‘Yes Miss Edwina...if I may I would very much like to see it.’

  She asked Elliott to call a nurse from the nurse’s station in the lobby. When the nurse came into the room Miss Edwina turned to her, ‘Ellie dear, there you are. Would you be kind and fetch me my papers box, you know, the one I keep on the dressing table?’

  The nurse left the room and Elliott was again alone with Miss Edwina. He hoped his impatience did not show but he couldn’t wait for nurse Ellie to return with the box.