Lies And Consequences Collection

Chapter 4

Leonard Miller

We left the wine bar with its dark mysteries undisturbed after finishing a rather good bottle of Beaujolais, then doubled back on ourselves towards Old Compton Street.

“Let"s eat, Pat! By the time we finish a good slap-up meal, Alhambra"s club will have opened and you can start on that journey of yours.” Without another a word we suddenly turned abruptly left into a dead-end alleyway, and stopped.

“You thinking that we"re being followed, Jack?” I asked, “I haven"t noticed anyone.”

“You wouldn"t if they were good, Pat. And if they were super good they"d know that this place leads nowhere, so they wouldn"t turn in here. But I don"t warrant the super good anymore.”

The regret in that admission was covered by a contrived smile that now lined his forehead and creased his mouth. Almost a minute passed before he spoke again.

“Simple precautions can save lives, young Patrick. Your man will be at our next port of call. We need to be cautious. If it"s true that Alhambra does indeed run the p**n industry then Miller has his hands deep inside his pockets. He sits alone every night at the same table just inside the doorway of the restaurant we"re going to use. I use the place regularly. Sometimes he will just nod his head at me, but occasionally he will speak. Tonight, if he does, you will say nothing nor look at him. Just stand silently on my left side looking straight in front. I will say that you"re a person I met a few days ago and leave it at that. If he invites us to sit, which I very much doubt, you will excuse yourself, saying you need the Gents as you have an upset stomach. Stay in there for at least ten minutes. He"s normally gone by a quarter to nine on the dot for his journey home to his wife and three children in Blackheath. He has a very grand looking place there. He"s a fool, Pat, but not a stark raving i***t. He"ll smell you out as plod if you get too close. His name is Leonard Miller; Detective Chief Superintendent at West End Central nick. High cheese as you said and a tough target to hit, but if you are as passionate about all this as I believe you are, then you will find a way. Ready?” he asked as we departed from our lonely alleyway.

“No one following us then, Jack?” I asked.

“Seems not, Pat,” phlegmatically he replied.

* * *

He was a big man, but it was not until he left that I saw his overall build. The first, and the only thing I saw, as I stood where Jack had told me, were his feet. They were enormous!

“You"re looking very smart tonight, Jack. Out on the town, are we?” asked a gruff, guttural, cockney voice as we entered.

“Something like that, Leonard. We will be at the Guitar later. Will you be in there tonight?”

“Nah! I"ll be home with the trouble and strife soon. She misses me rotten if I"m away for too long. Have a nice evening with your friend, and say hello to the maestro for me if you get a chance, Jack.” He was too busy with his meal to glance at me.

We sat a table at the far end of the half empty restaurant with my back turned to where the detective chief superintendent was seated. I caught sight of him as a reflection in the emblazoned Restaurant "Da Fiono" windows. Wide shouldered, much taller than average with a head of hair that betrayed his age. From his rank, I had deduced that he must have passed fifty, but the thickness of his grey hair, swept back behind his ears, was that of a much younger man. He stood as an athlete would, straight with no slouch of any kind and looked light on his feet. He was dressed immaculately, but seemingly with no pockets of his own unless he had paid before our arrival, as he offered no money to the waiter who obsequiously brushed the front of his suit jacket. He made no sign to us as he left, right on the time that Jack said he would.

“You are a very observant man and one for precise details, Jack. Did that come from over here or the time you spent abroad on HM business?”

“Never gave that much thought. Both would be right in their own way,” he replied as a waiter hovered to take our order. I took a menu but had not finished with Jack at that point.

“What would you like to do first, Jack? Tell me how you started that work you did over on foreign soil, or about Alhambra and that man who"s just left?”

“As I told you, the man who just left is a fool, but he"ll take some catching. I"ll give you his full address in Blackheath Park later. He has the first floor as his family home, but look at the deeds lodged with Land Registry. The Millers own the whole building and the one at the back of the plot that"s being built. The construction company is not in his name but it"s his all the same. Take a drive out there one day if the urge grabs you, and see if you could buy that place and maintain his lifestyle on the salary he draws. He would probably say that his wife is on the game as his way of explaining it. He"s not your worry, though. Alhambra is another kettle of fish all told.

He fought on the Nazi side in Spain during the Civil War, taking that name from the palace in Grenada. He was born to English parents in India. Very good breeding with better-placed connections than most. He was one of the first Nazi sympathisers I came across when I started work for those inside the SIS whilst still at school. Again, you must control that enthusiasm of yours. Order some grub first. We might have a long night in front of us. We"ll talk as we eat, but first some more vino to smooth my throat. Un chianti per favore, Alfonso. Il tuo migliore, come il mio amico sta pagando.”

Un chianti per favore, Alfonso. Il tuo migliore, come il mio amico sta pagando“Learn Italian in Italy, Jack?” naively I asked.

“Somewhere colder than that, Pat! Learned it when I was in Austria. I had a teacher who had a huge wood-burning stove going all day and every day. Sometimes I sat on it until my arse was cooked. Outside it was cold enough to freeze the balls off brass monkeys. I even heard them fall sometimes!” I was getting used to his humour and that smile of his.

The bottle was served, uncorked, sniffed and tasted, then when approved poured into the appropriate glasses. He excused himself from the table to wash his hands, leaving me alone with my thoughts. His return coincided with the arrival of the first offerings of food.

“Was it simply my persuasive powers that led you to agree to helping so much, Jack, or something more than that? After all, I only asked you to change a few written words. We didn"t have to do all this tonight.”

“Why not tonight? I was hungry anyway and you"re paying, I"ve already told the waiter that.” It was my turn to laugh which I did gladly.

“I think I can see a bit of me in you, Patrick. I was eager to help my country at your age, do the best I could in flying the flag. Patriotism, idealisms of freedom from oppression and all that s**t drove me on. For me, at that time, the establishment stood in the way and shut me out. Ever seen and read the inscription on Edith Cavell"s statue opposite the Portrait Gallery? She was a spy, you know. Ran a small but significant group from a Belgium hospital in the First World War where she worked. We made a great p********a thing out of the firing squad death. Used photographs of her on recruiting posters. That is something we"re good at; turning the truth our way at pressing times. Barrington"s name is enough of an incentive to wind me up and start the motor running again. Enjoy the ride while you can, but learn where the brake pedal is, and check that it works every so often, Pat.”

Not having heard him elaborate on any statement so much as that before, I wondered why now there was a necessity.