“No Dannel?” Chris met Osian outside Westminster Cathedral. They’d arrived early for the funeral. “Dankworth decided showing up might cause a scene, considering everything. So it’s just you and me.”
“Dannel decided he didn’t have the energy to deal with strangers today. Ready for a bit of sleuthing?” Osian fidgeted with his tie. “Rubbing noses with the toffs who’d probably have sneered at us at university?”
“First, you didn’t go to university with any of these people.” Chris paused to allow a well-dressed couple to pass by them. He dropped his voice lower, leaning into Osian. “Second, what makes you think I wasn’t one of the toffs?”
“Sodding James Bond,” Osian grumbled. “One day, you’ll give us the whole back story and not drips and drabs of it.”
He smirked in response.
Chris Kirwin had been in the military. Osian had the distinct feeling he’d been some sort of special operative. They’d probably never know the whole story.
Then again, it wasn’t theirs to know.
Rolling his eyes at his friend, Osian figured he could still poke at him. Their personal man of mystery. Maybe I do play too many video games.
“A lot of important people in here,” Osian muttered. They grabbed spots on the benches closest to the exit. “Judges, see a couple of MPs, high-ranking members of all the emergency services, might even be a minor royal. How connected are the Sharrows?”
“More than I am.”
“You sure? You could be the illegitimate child of some old duke,” Osian teased.
“Not that I’m aware of. My—”
Osian gently nudged Chris’s arm to shut him up. “Am I hallucinating?”
Chris followed his gaze across the nave toward the couple strolling down the aisle. “No, no, you’re not. Judge Allsop does indeed appear to be playing escort to the grieving widow.”
“To her husband’s funeral? Isn’t he married? Where’s his wife?” Osian peered around the cathedral. He noticed several other heads had turned, watching the progression. “Gossip will be flying around the Crown Court water cooler tomorrow.”
“There’s the wife.” Chris nodded his head. “On the arm of one of their private security team.”
“Seriously?” Osian couldn’t keep his eyes off the public spectacle. “Can you imagine how uncomfortable the ride in their Rolls-Royce was?”
“People like them spend their entire lives ignoring uncomfortable conversations and awkward moments.” Chris sounded so painfully familiar that Osian decided not to ask questions.
The funeral was as dull as Osian anticipated, aside from the initial drama. They didn’t learn anything useful from the speeches aside from people being terrible liars about their grief. Crying without tears, singing Barnaby’s praises without mentioning a single actual memory or moment. And it was long.
Long and boring.
He had flashbacks to lectures at school without the side of sleuthing. As the service wrapped up, a quiet scuffle caught their attention. Security appeared to be strong-arming a man out of the church.
Osian hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of his face. Security did a masterful job of getting the intruder outside before anyone other than those at the back noticed. They were obviously professionals.
The three men had come with Judge Allsop. He seemed intent on everyone being aware of his general importance. A flashy car, private security, striding through a funeral with the dead man’s wife.
“Chris.” Osian itched to get up and catch a look at the man’s face.
“We can’t sneak out now. It’ll be way too obvious.” Chris put a hand out to stop him from getting up. “I recognised one of the security detail. I’ll text him. He might tell us what happened.”
“Might?”
“Depends on how he feels about Allsop.” Chris shrugged.
“How would you feel? Working for the handsy hamster?” Osian had no doubts those who worked in security gossiped amongst each other like paramedics did after rough days on the job. “Would your friend share with you? After a security detail?”
“We talk with each other when we can’t go to anyone else.” Chris continued typing out a message on his phone. “We’ll see if the fish takes the bait. Maybe we can meet at one of the nearby pubs.”
Thankfully for his burning curiosity, the speeches finally wrapped up. Osian didn’t know if he could sit through much more. They waited for the church to empty.
The slow procession of guests took forever. Everyone wanted a moment with the widow and the grieving family. Both equally. Making nice to make an impression. Osian had seen it before.
“He’s taking a quick break and will meet us in twenty.” Chris pocketed his phone and nudged Osian with his elbow. “He wasn’t supposed to be working today, apparently. So job’s done when the client’s gone.”
“Enough time to eavesdrop on a few conversations. Pay our respects.” Osian got to his feet with a groan. He stretched a little, trying to relax his muscles. “Is this why they call it penance? Sitting on benches meant to numb your bum?”
Stepping out of the church, they saw no signs of the funeral crasher or the security who’d hustled him out of sight. How very efficient of them. Osian followed Chris through the motions of blending in with the crowd of mourners, making all the appropriate remarks to the grieving family.
They didn’t learn anything earth-shattering.
Osian joined Chris on the pavement down from the church, out of hearing of the crowd of mourners. “Okay, James Bond of the toffs. What do we do next?”
“Why don’t we head to the pub?” Chris tugged at his tie, loosening it a little. “I’m parched.”
They were almost at the pub when a sharp whistle drew them to the alley beside it. Chris went over for what Olivia would’ve called a chummy man-hug. They patted each other on the back and separated.
Ah, yes, we’ve stumbled upon the dark underworld of private security in the wild. Let’s observe their secret mating rituals.
Chris narrowed his eyes when Osian couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I’m sure I don’t want to know what you’re thinking. Robert, meet Osian. Osian, Robert.”
“Pleasure.”
Osian shook the hand held out to him. “Any particular reason we aren’t currently sitting in comfortable chairs waiting for our beers to arrive?”
“Questions about Crown Court judges don’t get asked in pubs.” Robert kept his voice low and his eyes on the end of the alley. “I’m not getting myself sacked while trying to repay a favour.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Chris leaned against the wall.
Robert scowled at Chris for a few seconds. “I’ve no idea who killed Barnaby Sharrow. I’ve said as much to the police. And I’ve no clue who the bloke crashing the funeral was. He claimed to be a client. Ed handled him.”
“Ed?” Osian asked.
“Edgar Smith. He’s in charge of Judge Allsop’s security detail.” Robert peered around Chris down the alley and lowered his voice further. “He also happens to be the son of the judge’s closest childhood friend. Sir something or another. They’re all ridiculously wealthy and connected. The kind of people who don’t think the rules apply to them.”
“But want to enforce the same rules onto others. I know the type. And I know Ed.” Chris completed the thought. “Anything you can tell us about the man at the funeral?”
“No. Ed seemed to be expecting him.” Robert shrugged. “Ask him at your own risk.”
“You worried about Eddie Smith? Really?”
Osian watched the two men bicker back and forth about Edgar Smith and whether they should be concerned about him for several minutes. “We’re trying to help a friend.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Judge Allsop isn’t my usual detail. I’m usually not even in London, so I can’t offer you anything concrete.” Robert checked his watch. “And I’m late.”
“Rob?” Chris grabbed his arm when he went by. “Let me know?”
“Sure.”
After Robert had disappeared, Chris motioned for Osian to follow him. They walked to a car park not far from the cathedral. It didn’t take long to reach Chris’s vehicle.
“So, what was the big favour he owed you?” Osian asked once they’d gotten into Chris’s Range Rover. “Big enough he’d risk his job?”
“I took a bullet for him.” Chris started the vehicle without another word. “And I’ve no interest in talking about it.”
“Sodding James Bond,” Osian grumbled. “What about this Edgar Smith? Could he tell us about how Barnaby died? Maybe about the mystery man at the funeral?”
“Why don’t we see if Wayne knows any of Barnaby’s clients? We might be able to identify him ourselves.” Chris hesitated when he went to start his vehicle.
“Problem?”
“Look.” Chris gestured across the way. “Someone isn’t happy with the judge.”
No widow in sight this time. Judge Allsop and his wife appeared to be having the calmest argument Osian had ever seen. No waving hands, no raised voices. If he couldn’t see the clearly angry faces, he’d have thought it was just a regular conversation.
One of their security detail rushed them into their Rolls-Royce. The vehicle drove off not long after. Osian would’ve given anything to be a fly on the wall for the conversation on their way home.
“I’m still parched.” Chris finally started his vehicle. “Why don’t we swing by somewhere to pick up a takeaway for you and Dannel?”
“What about Edgar Smith?”
“You reach out to Wayne about potential clients. I’ll see if I can find a way to leverage Ed into speaking with me.” Chris slowly backed out of the parking space. “Patience, Oz. You can’t run headlong at a crown court judge or his security detail.”
“What can you tell me about him, though?”
“Nothing.” Chris waved his hand sharply.
Forty-five minutes later, Osian trudged up the stairs to their flat. He had a bag of food from Nando’s. It had been on the way, and Dannel never tired of their chips.
Osian stepped into their flat, only to have Dannel snatch the food out of his hand and immediately search inside the bag. He came out holding a packet triumphantly. “You only love me for my chips.”
“Yep. All you’re good for is a bit of fried potato on the side.” Dannel shoved several in his mouth. “I’m half-starved.”
“Forget to eat again?”
“Got distracted working on the designs for this new armour set.” Dannel gestured to the sketchbook on the coffee table. “Remember the Nightingale set from Skyrim? Something along those lines. We can start fabrication later while you tell me about the funeral.”
“After chips?”
“After chips.” Dannel hadn’t relinquished the packet. “Did you learn anything?”
“I’m fairly certain Chris actually is James Bond.” Osian fished into the bag for the second packet of chips. “Or maybe Sam Fisher.”
“He’s American. And a video game character. And part of a fictional government organisation.” Dannel pointed a chip at him. “Chris is real.”
“Real dangerous.”