Passion Patrol Box Set 1

Combat-2-5

“Answer it!” ordered Judy with a bemused frown, “you know you’re gonna die if you don’t see him again. If he’s a crook you can still shag him and then lock him up. It’ll only cost you money if he rings off and you have to call him back!”

With that her friend went on into the building and Anna did what she had to do... she pressed the answer button.

“Madame Leyton. I am calling about the boat you have advertised for sale. Is it still available and could I come round to see if it floats?” came a delicious deep voice in a deliberately hammy accent.

Anna laughed with nervousness and at his offbeat humor

“Yes, of course,” she stumbled...

“Ok, I will come straight round. I have to leave London tomorrow and maybe I can be sailing back to France if the boat is good?”

“No... look, Freddie you can’t do that,” she replied with a grin in her voice.

“Ooh la la. So you remember me. You must be a top girl - but isn’t it usually the sales people who chase the client?”

Her mind raced with all the consequences of her next move. She knew that her plain l**t for him would pull her along as if she had no more will than a bottle bobbing in the Thames. Perhaps he had realized that there was something very odd about a sales type with no business cards and who didn’t try to close a sale. And come on woman - he just has to be a crook.

“The Nereus sells itself to the right quality of buyer.”

“So I must prove my quality eh? Well, we had better fix a date then.”

“I’m waiting for a call from my father. He’s down in Antibes right now,” she lied.

“Well, call him again and you can tell me the result tonight.”

The sexy sound of his voice was pressing on all her doors. Maybe she could peep out.

“Tonight?”

“Yes...it is that wonderful period in our lives that will happen between now and tomorrow.” he said with such obviousness it was like a wet lick from a Labrador.

And still she was being swept along. She was falling for it for Christ’s sake. If she was going to see him - and she knew that she was - she would need to get home, get herself made over, and find some kind of composure.

“It’s a kind offer... I have to work quite late - maybe I’ll be free at about 8.30.”

“I’ll pick you up... just give me the address.”

She faltered. She didn’t want this guy to know her address. She had known him for an hour and she knew nothing about him. She thought quickly. If she knew a date of birth she could check him out with French police. She hated the way her mind had come to work - with everyone under suspicion. If ever he wanted to know why she didn’t tell him she was a cop, this would be reason enough.

“I’ll be at Queen’s Park tube station,” she blurted out, knowing that she could walk there easily from her flat.

“Ok - it must be tough selling boats. Be hungry - I have something to show you.”

She imagined him holding the phone. His voice soothed and seduced her. She imagined the hard strong feel of his body, the brush of his lips. She brought her mind back to a police check.

“Freddie - what star sign are you?” she asked, hoping she sounded girly.

“What - do you do all this destiny stuff? If you must know - I’m a Gemini - 23rd May. Do I fit with your chart?”

She felt a little ashamed and kind of dirty. He had answered so innocently and openly. Here she was - using an old police trick to get a handle on his ID. When she had met him she had snatched the chance to be simply herself as a woman. She would have to tell him the truth before things went too far.

“Yeah - you fit my chart. Will you be standing at the station?”

“You won’t be able to miss me. À bientôt Chérie,” he said, and was gone.

God! She was already late. She had to check him out. He was rich - seemingly minted up to his eyes. Certainly he didn’t run a corner store or fix washing machines. Any woman would wonder, let alone a Scotland Yard Detective. When a woman wonders it’s curiosity, but when an Interpol detective wondered - it was suspicion. She knew that it was against police regulations to mix with anyone undesirable. She smiled at the word since Freddie was the most desirable man she had ever met. One thing she knew - this was no regular guy. And if he were a crook - what would she do or care?

Chapter 4It was mid afternoon when she got the chance to call Interpol headquarters in Lyon, France. Just as she was about to lift the handset, Judy walked into the office.

“You know that number you gave me to check, the call you received in the taxi last night? It was a payphone in the lobby of the Hilton, Park Lane.”

Anna leaned back in her chair. It must have been Freddie, checking out her number to see if she had been straight with him. He was no fool. He was patient and calculating. Would he expect her to lie? The question evoked her big lie that sat like a stone in her heart. When she saw him again she would tell him. She dialed the Interpol number and waited.

“Inspecteur Du Maurier - bonjour.”

“Raymond - bonjour,” she began, speaking automatically in flawless French, “un petit service s'il vous plaît. Can you run a check on a French National called Freddie La Salle born 23rd May... he’s about 34,” the line went silent.

“Raymond...?”

“You are serious? You do not need me Anna. Try Google or the Newspapers,” chuckled Du Maurier, “I guess you are too busy to read the sports pages?”

“Raymond. Tell me! Who is he?”

“Freddie La Salle, World Cruiserweight Champion - signed yesterday for the final defense of his title.”

“A boxer!”

“And some... de plus! Un legend. He’s still a pretty boy - but he was badly cut by a head butt in his last fight. I’m guessing you don’t follow the fight game Anna?”

“No - never, it’s not too kosher - I have to think of my personality profile with the human resources department. I could be denounced,” she half joked, knowing that an interest in boxing could mark her as politically incorrect.

“Freddie would tell you it’s an art form. He’s a bit of a puzzle. He reads philosophy and has written a book about the artist Gustave Courbet. He’s a noted art collector. His mother is a Yank and doubles as his manager. His father is the French poet Mathieu La Salle. Freddie has business interests all over the world.”

“He doesn’t look beaten up... but you’re right, there is a mean scar over his right brow,” she answered numbly, trying to take in all the information.

“The champion is the guy who hurts the other guy. That cut was his only injury in the ring. A lot of questions were asked.”

“Questions?” Anna echoed.

“Certainement... questions of murder and money. I’ll e mail you the whole file and note your interest. That way any input or news will get flashed straight to you.”

She thanked her colleague and rang off, immediately typing La Salle into the Google window. Dozens of files popped up. She clicked on a fan site. There he was, gloved with hands raised looking out from the ring, blood pouring from a terrible gash over his eye. A headline ran “Le French Professor gets a lesson in pain”. Anna winced at the corny pun. She flicked through other web sites, making notes. Freddie La Salle - known as “le Professeur” on account of his careful boxing technique and intellectual tastes. His trip to London was widely examined under the title “A Fight Too Far”. He had signed to fight Billy 'The Boulder' Brennan, an up and coming hard man out of New York City. She read on in horror that Freddie was rumored not to have trained for the fight and just wanted a final pay day. The article described Brennan as 'the most dangerous street fighting brawler that he would ever face.'

She hated the thought of him cut and even maimed in a terrible contest. Beneath his humorous and thoughtful manner there must be a brute. She flicked on through pages of him in his champion’s belts, flexing his biceps, triceps, quadriceps and pecs. Sure it was tacky, but God! He was gorgeous. There was Freddie with blondes in bikinis, Freddie with babes in grass skirts, Freddie with French film stars - none of whom she knew. How could she never have heard of him? She hadn’t seen a movie for years, never read the sports pages and always put her work in front of everything else in her life. Whatever happened - she had to get out more!

The office door opened and she pulled her eyes away from the screen.

“The Commander wants to see you,” Judy informed her, adding a flat derision to the word Commander, “he’s just so up himself.”

“Tell me about it,” Anna agreed, her heart sinking at the thought of him. Judy came round and looked over her shoulder at the screen.

“Wah!!!” she exclaimed, “is that him? Are you gonna sort him out? Wow - I would! Is he a s*x God or what?”

“That’s Freddie, but please keep it to yourself - I just didn’t know.”

“I knew I’d seen the name. It was on the back of Brian’s paper - the one he holds up to his face so I can’t talk to him.”

Anna saw an icon flash blink the computer monitor. The file from Inspecteur Du Maurier had come in from Interpol France. She clicked the download.

“There’s a file on Freddie. Can you open and print for me while I go and see Mister Big?”

“That’s not what I heard,” laughed Judy suggestively.

Anna smiled, raising her pinkie with a mocking wiggle.

“Don’t forget to salute,” called Judy as she stepped out.

“Ah - Inspector Leyton,” began Beaumont Locke in his most pompous voice, sweeping his hand languidly back through his graying hair and pushing back his leather executive chair. “We need to touch base and set a few targets and parameters. I believe in a consensual approach to individual empowerment. I want to see a developed profile of key performance indicators so that we can roll out a joint action plan.”

Without permission Anna sat down and stifled a laugh.

“Obviously you’ve been on another senior command and control management jargon course,” she sneered with an unwavering stare.

He moved his chair forward, “Anna - Darling... it doesn’t have to be like this,” he sighed gazing up at the ceiling with a patronizing weariness.

“What!” she exploded, “we are over Beaumont. Somehow you have abused your power to get me on this squad. I’ll let that ride... just so long as you let me get on with my job and don’t use the situation to exercise personal control over me. The squad wanted a European language speaking detective. Well, you got yourself one and that’s all you’ve got Commander Locke. You didn’t want to be near me when you thought some s**t could stick to you.”

He moved back and nodded with narrowed eyes. She knew that he would not risk any politics with her. He was on the way up and needed to stay clean. She had no malice or resentment towards him now. He had shown himself and he knew she knew what he was.

“Let’s stick to business Inspector. Everything comes through me first OK,” he said stiffly.

“You’re the boss - I guess you wouldn’t want anyone else to get any glory.”

“Don’t be impertinent!” he boomed, “no swanning about with half-baked continentals. No unofficial liaisons with foreign agencies. I know you have all kinds of pavement café tendencies. This is a Scotland Yard job - and you are a Metropolitan police officer merely on attachment to Interpol - whatever all these internationals want to think.”

“Why don’t you just stand over me?” she snapped.

“Sir!” he ordered.

“Sir!” she echoed as she stormed from the room.

She could not believe his arrogance. How could she ever have thought that there was something enduring between them? It had been a mistake, but mistakes were sails not anchors. A wind had got up and she was sailing on-

It was six o’ clock and she had to get going. Reaching her office she found Judy still there, intently reading the file from Interpol France.

“You’ve got to read this,” she bubbled excitedly, “your man could unlock the whole enquiry.”

Anna thought quickly, pushing aside her anger at her ex lover’s presence in her life.

“Can you give me the story as we head for the tube?” she breezed, realizing that Judy had two kids at home and was working late out of friendship. All she had on her mind was some kind of fantasy evening with a world boxing champion who was into philosophy, collected art and turned her insides to a warm flow of breathing life. And who had lifted the focus of her life from her past to a continuously evolving present.