CHAPTER 42
Back at the hotel the landlady was hovering with a slightly affronted look.
“A Constable Robson wants you to call him,” she said.
He thanked her but offered no explanation while she loitered restraining herself from telling him that this was a respectable guest house, and that if he was going to bring it into disrepute he should pack his bags . . .
“Could I make a long-distance call first?” said Thomas.
She was a muscular woman, with bobbed, graying hair and bright dark eyes.
“Where to?” she said. She seemed to ask out of surprise. He couldn’t imagine his answer would make any difference, which actually took the pressure off.
“Japan,” he said.
She didn’t actually stagger, but something flitted through her eyes.
“I’m afraid we have no way of charging guests for overseas calls,” she said, polite.
“It’s important,” said Thomas. “You can time it and guess. Or charge me when you get the phone bill.”
“We’re just not set up for this kind of thing,” she said, as if he had suggested something improper.
“I’ll pay in advance,” he said, fishing pound coins from his pocket and spilling them onto the telephone table. “And you can bill me if you don’t think it’s enough. It doesn’t matter how much it is. I really don’t care.”
She considered the money, then him in the dim light of the hall, and he could tell that she was interested in people’s stories.
“You mind using this one?”
“That’s fine.”
She checked her watch. Thomas turned away and dialed. By the time Kumi answered, the landlady had retreated to the kitchen.
His wife sounded tired, but glad to hear from him.
“The surgery is tomorrow,” she said.
“Tomorrow!?”
“They didn’t want to wait, just in case. It has been a few days since they got the biopsy results . . .”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”
“It’s okay, Tom. Really. But yes, they’re going to operate tomorrow. I can’t eat tonight and have to be up at five so I’m going to bed now . . .”
“You want me to come?” he cut in. “I could come. I could go to the airport right now.”
“And I’ll be unconscious when you get here,” she said, and he thought he could hear her smile. “No, Tom. Not yet. Give me your phone number there and I’ll pass it on to Tasha Collins at the consulate here. One way or another they’ll get word to you the moment it’s over. You’ll probably know something before I do.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ll be sleeping.”
“Right.”
“And Tom?”
“Yes?”
“If it is bad news,” she said. “If they can’t get it out, or it’s bigger than they thought, or it’s obviously spread already . . .”
“Yes?” he said, quickly, to stop her from saying any more.
“Then I’d like you to come. Please.”
“Okay.”
Thomas warned the landlady that he had given her number to Kumi and, when the woman started to look indignant, told her why. She blinked, then nodded tightly.
“I’ll get you the portable,” she said. “You can keep it in your room. For privacy.”
“Right,” said Thomas. “Thanks.”
“You want something for lunch? I could do you a sandwich.”
“That would be great,” said Thomas, grateful as much for the consideration as for the food.
“Ham and cucumber, all right?”
“Perfect. Thank you, Mrs. . . .”
“Hughes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes.”
“I’ll have it out to you in a moment,” she said. “And you can call that policeman.”
He thanked her again, took a steadying breath, and then dialed the station, squinting at the landlady’s handwriting in the low light of the hallway.
“Ah, Mr. Knight,” said Robson. “I was hoping I might hear from you. I’ve been checking up on your marauders. On their fingerprints, specifically.”
“And?”
“And nothing, which is odd,” said the policeman. “You said they were in their thirties or more, right?”
“Right.”
“So for petty villains to have evaded the national fingerprint registry for that amount of time means one of two things. Either they are upstanding citizens who turned to crime because there was something about you that did not strike their fancy . . .”
“Or?”
“Or they are very good at staying out of trouble, which would suggest the opposite.”
“The opposite being . . . ?”
“That these are very serious men who know what they are doing. If they were paid to follow you, to attack you, then they may do so again. You see, Mr. Knight, I don’t know how it is where you are from, but over here we find that most criminals are petty and not very bright. Criminal master-minds are strictly the stuff of fiction.”
“Why do I sense a ‘however’ coming?”
“Well, I did say ‘most.’ There are a few who are both clever and dedicated. If what they do is harass people, threaten them, perhaps even kill them, then they will have a reputation to live up to.”
“You think these guys were hit men?”
“I think that, psychologically speaking, ordinary men of their years and grooming do not pursue someone arbitrarily through ancient monuments. Furthermore, I think that their ability to have eluded fingerprinting over years of nefarious activity suggests a certain professionalism. Such professionals do not like to leave tasks for which they were employed uncompleted. It looks bad to future employers.”
“So you’re saying I should watch my back?” said Thomas.
“Do you need to be in Kenilworth right now, Mr. Knight?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Then if I were you, I would give serious consideration to shaking the dust of our humble settlement from your feet on your way out.”
“You think I should leave town?”
“Stand not upon the order of your going,” said the policeman, sounding pleased with himself, “but go at once. That’s Shakespeare, that is.”