Читать книгу The Silent Pool - Phil Kurthausen - Страница 17

CHAPTER 8

Pete was sitting at his usual table at the back, facing the door and large windows that fronted onto Lark Lane, a leafy bohemian street populated by galleries, restaurants and bistros that occupied the decayed grand old buildings in this part of town. He was pretending to read the wine list as Erasmus walked into the bar. Erasmus knew he knew it off by heart. Pete was dressed as usual: immaculate in his Mod uniform of two button suit, wingtip collars and Italian loafers.

He waved Erasmus over.

‘Good night last night?’ asked Erasmus. Pete turned his head slightly to the left so his better ear could hear Erasmus more clearly.

‘It hasn't ended yet. Lock in at the Grapes, back to my laptop, and then lunch here,’ said Pete with a smile.

Erasmus never ceased to be surprised by Pete's ability to look and sound perfectly healthy despite his almost superhuman appetites.

‘You are a functioning alcoholic, you do realise that, don't you?’

‘I work better after a few looseners, clears the old synaptic pathways. That's why I've taken the liberty of ordering a good bottle for lunch.’

As if on cue an attractive waitress arrived with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She placed them on the table before them. Pete smiled at her and watched her depart with a lingering look.

‘I can see why you like it here,’ said Erasmus.

‘The wine list, it's all about the wine list.’

‘You eating?’ asked Erasmus.

Pete shook his head.

Apart from the first time they had met, when Erasmus had caught Pete filling his pockets with vol-au-vents and samosas, Erasmus had never seen him eat anything in public.

‘I had a pie at the Grapes,’ he explained to Erasmus.

‘Ah, a pie, of course. Breakfast of champions,’ said Erasmus. Pete didn't seem to hear him although Erasmus suspected that this might be selective deafness on this occasion.

‘Where was I? Oh yeah, synaptic pathways. Take your man, Stephen Francis. I checked the National Criminal Database: no convictions save for a speeding offence ten years back, no county court judgements so no debt problem or so I think. So I check Equifax, nothing save for the Francis’ credit card with £500 outstanding, and Mrs Francis’ charge cards, nothing special. And then I spill a glass of red, look.’

Pete pulled out a sheath of papers from the canvas bag and waved them in front of Erasmus. He could see that half of them were covered in a dark red stain.

‘So, I spill my wine and as I'm separating the papers and I see an old Equifax report showing that twelve months ago old Mr Francis was £50,000 in debt and had been growing that debt for some time – credit cards and loans – and then bang, twelve months ago all paid off: problem solved.’

Erasmus saw where Pete was going.

‘Where did he get the money?’ asked Erasmus.

‘Well, either he got lucky and one of his bets came in big time or he did what everyone does when the wolves are at the door.’

‘He borrowed it? A bank loan?’

‘Yeah right, you know how hard it is to get credit at those levels these days and on his income, not a chance. No, think more traditional methods of finance.’

‘Loan sharks,’ said Erasmus.

Pete beamed triumphantly and put his finger to his nose. ‘Right on the money. And the biggest loan shark in this city is Purple Ahmed. I took the liberty of calling him – got through to one of his minions – he didn't put the phone down when I asked if they knew Stephen Francis, he asked who was speaking. A definite giveaway.’

‘Of course, that's the only conclusion, is that some sort of Scouse Jedi thing?’

‘Yes, you wouldn't understand being a southerner,’ said a deadpan Pete.

Erasmus wasn't one-hundred percent sure whether Pete was joking or not.

‘And Purple Ahmed?’

‘You'll see.’

Pete wrote down an address on a napkin and handed it to Erasmus.

‘Is Ahmed the type of man to use violence if someone hasn't paid their debts?’ said Erasmus.

At this Pete laughed and nodded. ‘It's rumoured the Mersey is full of people who fit that description. What are you going to do?’

‘Pay him a visit and there's no time like the present.’

Erasmus pulled five twenties from his wallet and pushed them across the table to Pete. ‘Thanks for your help.’

‘Are you sure you won't stay and help me drink this fine Nobile?’

Erasmus shook his head.

Pete took the money and took a sip of his wine.

‘Shame you're missing out. And Erasmus?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Be careful.’