Dillon stepped back from the electric gates as the security lights came on, and the CCTV camera was re-positioned to point directly at where he was standing. But as nothing further happened, he pushed the intercom button again. A moment later, the irritated voice of a woman came through over the speaker.
“Yes, what do you want?” She spoke in an angry whisper.
“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I’d like to speak with Jack; it’s rather urgent.”
“Well, piss off and come back some other time. We were asleep, you inconsiderate sod.”
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid. It’s either now, or I come back at five with uniformed men and a warrant to turn the place over. Your choice.”
Dillon held his fake police ID card in front of the camera.
“Or perhaps you’d rather your nice neighbours witness a full squad of armed police marksmen storm your place?”
The gates slowly opened, and Dillon walked up the long driveway to the house. By the time he’d got to the front door a woman somewhere in her mid-to-late thirties was stood by the wide entrance, and proceeded to verbally hurl a string of expletives and abuse at him.
“I suppose there’s no point in telling you that swearing shows a lack of vocabulary?” said Dillon when she had finished. He added, “Ever considered buying a dictionary? Now, where’s Jack?”
“You’re staying right there wooden top, until I’ve taken a much closer look at that ID card of yours. And what do you want with Jack?”
Dillon ignored her, produced the card and was already considering his next move should Bob Norton already have phoned Jack to warn him. As she scrutinised it, he took a good look at her. She could easily have been any one of the many kept tarts that Dillon had seen during his career and, like so many of them, protective of the man who was keeping her in luxury.
“Are you Mrs. Fox?” he asked politely.
She completely ignored him, and said, “You’re making the doorstep look untidy; you’d better come in. Go to the end of the hall, it’s the last door on the left. You can wait in there.”
Dillon brushed past her, catching the faint scent of an expensive perfume as he went by and made his way to the end of the darkened hall.
The light was on in the room and he went in to find that it was a reasonably sized games room. There were paintings of well-known race horses on one wall, and blown-up photographs of Formula One drivers on another. A full size snooker table commanded centre stage, with various slot machines lined up Las Vegas style along the entire length of one wall. During the day, it would be a bright room, Dillon thought, with two sets of double French doors that opened up onto a large terrace outside.
He turned to face her as she entered the room. Her tough demeanour and hard face of a moment ago had softened. Dillon could see that she had once been beautiful and would still turn a few heads. He had an impression that she would put up a far better fight for her man than Elaine would for Bob Norton. He suddenly found himself feeling a little sorry for her because she looked really worried.
“I’m sorry if I woke you, but this really can’t wait. Do you think you could get him for me?”
“Well, that’s a turn up. A copper apologising for something. You’re certainly different from the rest of them. I’ll see if he’s awake.”
“As she turned for the door a thick-set man entered the room, cropped dark hair and his silk pyjama jacket gaping to show a muscular body. He had a disarmingly honest face, wide eyes and a natural smile. As he passed the woman, he slapped her backside playfully.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Our Cassey was a professional model in her day, you know.”
“I’m sure she was. Does she make coffee by any chance?” Fox looked at the woman and nodded towards the door.
Cassey left the room, closing the door behind her.
“So, what brings a policeman to my door at this unearthly time of the night?” As Fox came further into the room, Dillon drew in close and hit him hard just under the ribs. Fox let out a gasp and doubled up in agony. Dillon helped him into a club chair.
“Sorry to do that to you, Jack. But I haven’t really got the time for social niceties. Just relax, all you have to do is answer a few questions, and then I’ll leave you in peace. Jack, can you hear me?”
Jack Fox managed to nod.
“One of your men followed me around Bournemouth today. Don’t ask me how I know that he was one of yours, because I won’t tell you. What I want to know is who it was who hired you. Was it Charlie Hart?”
Before Fox could answer, Cassey came back in with the coffee, leaving Dillon thinking that she must have made instant. She immediately went to the suffering Jack.
“What have you done to him, you bastard?”
“It must have been something he ate. The moment you left, he seemed to go down with gut ache.”
Jack made a waving motion with his hand towards the door.
“It’s all right, Cas; nothing to worry about. Please, leave us. This won’t take long.”
Cassey shot Dillon a venomous look as she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
“So who hired you, Jack?”
Fox pulled himself into an upright sitting position.
“That was a bit harsh. It wasn’t Hart who hired me. Although I obviously know who he is, but it wasn’t him. Look, when I took the job on the details were sent to me by special courier half an hour later and the instruction was to get on with it.”
He rubbed his side, had a pained expression, but was every bit a professional as Dillon remembered he was.
“Hart may have nothing to do with it. Somebody knew you were visiting that house and we had to follow you from there.”
“Then who was it that hired you?”
“If I told you that I’d just as well top myself right here and now.”
Jack’s fear was genuine and it wasn’t because of Dillon.
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“So enlighten me. Because right now I’m the one that you should be very eager to please. If you don’t tell me, I’ll be the one to put you out of your miserable little existence.”
“You really think that bothers me?” Jack had almost recovered.
“It probably doesn’t. But all I want is a name. Your name will never be mentioned and you’ll never see or hear from me again.”
“You are the strangest copper I’ve ever met. Are you on drugs or something? Of course I’d be involved. I’m the only one who knows the name of the person who hired me. And because of that I’m not saying a bloody thing.”
“So it wasn’t Hart?”
“No, it wasn’t Hart who hired me.”
“Dillon leant against the edge of the snooker table and stared down at Fox. He handed him one of the cups of coffee.
“I think we’d better drink this, don’t you?”
“I’m not stupid, you know. And don’t even consider trying the ‘Mister Nice’ routine.”
Jack took the cup of coffee from Dillon.
“It’s very simple, really. Even for a copper like you to understand. I can’t tell you because if I do, he’ll track me down, cut out my tongue and then rip out my heart. But he’ll make sure I’m still alive whilst he’s doing it because he’ll want me to see what it looks like just before it stops beating. I wouldn’t even be safe if you locked me up, because he has people everywhere, even inside.”
“I haven’t thought for one moment that you’re stupid. And I do appreciate that if you grass him up, whoever ‘he’ is, that he’ll want to know why you did it.”
Dillon took a sip of the sour-tasting instant coffee and noticed that the door had a hefty-looking rim lock on it. The key was conveniently on the inside, so whoever used this room obviously wanted to keep people out when entertaining guests. Dillon went across to the door, pulled it open sharply, and called out loudly, “Cassey, can you come here, please?”