‘And I bodyguard you?’ Tozier seemed bewildered.
Warren grinned. ‘Perhaps there’d be a bit of fetching and carrying in a fierce sort of way.’
‘Middle East and not political – maybe,’ mused Tozier. He shook his head. ‘I usually like to know more about what I’m getting into.’ He shot Warren a piercing glance. ‘But you I trust. If you want me – just shout.’
‘It may never happen,’ warned Warren. ‘There’s no firm commitment.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Tozier. ‘Let’s just say you have a free option on my services.’ He finished his drink with a flourish and bumped down the glass, looking at Warren expectantly. ‘Your round. Anyone who can afford my rates can afford to buy me drinks.’
Warren went home and spent a long time just sitting in a chair and gazing into space. In an indefinable way he somehow felt committed, despite what he had said to Andy Tozier. The mere act of meeting the man had put ideas into his head, ideas that were crazy mad but becoming more real and solid with every tick of the clock. At one point he got up restlessly and paced the room.
‘Damn Hellier!’ he said aloud.
He went to his desk, drew out a sheet of paper, and began writing busily. At the end of half an hour he had, perhaps, twenty names scribbled down. Thoughtfully he scanned his list and began to eliminate and in another fifteen minutes the list was reduced to five names,
ANDREW TOZIER
JOHN FOLLET
DAN PARKER
BEN BRYAN
MICHAEL ABBOT
III
Number 23, Acacia Road, was a neat, semi-detached house, indistinguishable from the hundreds around it. Warren pushed open the wooden gate, walked the few steps necessary to get to the front door and past the postage-stamp-sized front garden, and rang the bell. The door was opened by a trim, middle-aged woman who greeted him with pleasure.
‘Why, Dr Warren; we haven’t seen you for a long time.’ Alarm chased across her face. ‘It’s not Jimmy again, is it? He hasn’t been getting into any more trouble?’
Warren smiled reassuringly. ‘Not that I know of, Mrs Parker.’
He almost felt her relief. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Well, that’s all right, then. Do you want to see Jimmy? He’s not in now – he went down to the youth club.’
‘I came to see Dan,’ said Warren. ‘Just for a friendly chat.’
‘What am I thinking of,’ said Mrs Parker. ‘Keeping you on the doorstep like this. Come in, Doctor. Dan just got home – he’s upstairs washing.’
Warren was quite aware that Dan Parker had just reached home. He had not wanted to see Parker at the garage where he worked so he had waited in his car and followed him home. Mrs Parker ushered him into the front room. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here,’ she said.
Warren looked about the small room; at the three pottery ducks on the wall, at the photographs of the children on the sideboard and the other photograph of a much younger Dan Parker in uniform. He did not have to wait long. Parker came into the room and held out his hand. ‘This is a pleasure we didn’t expect, Doctor.’ Warren, grasping the hand, felt the hardness of callouses. ‘I was only sayin’ to Sally the other day that it’s a pity we don’t see more of you.’
‘Perhaps it’s just as well,’ said Warren ruefully. ‘I’m afraid I put the breeze up Mrs Parker just now.’
‘Aye,’ said Parker soberly. ‘I know what you mean. But we’d still like to see you, sociable like.’ The warm tones of the Lancastrian were still heard, although Parker had lived in London for many years. ‘Sit down, Doctor; Sally’ll be bringing in tea any minute.’
‘I’ve come to see you on … a matter of business.’
‘Oh, aye,’ said Parker comfortably. ‘We’ll get down to it after tea, then, shall we? Sally has to go out, anyway; her younger sister’s a bit under the weather, so Sally’s doin’ a bit o’ baby-sitting.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Warren. ‘How’s Jimmy these days?’
‘He’s all right now,’ said Parker. ‘You straightened him out, Doctor. You put the fear o’ God into him – an’ I keep it there.’
‘I wouldn’t be too hard on him.’
‘Just hard enough,’ said Parker uncompromisingly. ‘He’ll not get on that lark again.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know what kids are comin’ to these days. It weren’t like that when I were a lad. If I’d a’ done what young Jimmy did, me father would a’ laid into me that hard with his strap. He had a heavy hand, had me dad.’ He shook his head. ‘But it wouldn’t a’ entered our heads.’
Warren listened to this age-old plaint of the parents without a trace of a smile. ‘Yes,’ he agreed gravely. ‘Things have changed.’
Sally Parker brought in the tea – a cut down, southern version of the traditional northern high tea. She pressed homemade cakes and scones on Warren, and insisted on refilling his cup. Warren studied Parker unobtrusively and tried to figure out how to broach the delicate subject in such a way as to ensure the greatest co-operation.
Daniel Parker was a man of forty. He had joined the Navy during the last few months of the war and had elected to make a career of it. In the peacetime Navy he had forged ahead in his stubborn way despite the inevitably slow rate of promotion. He had fought in Korean waters during that war and had come out of it a petty officer with the heady prospect of getting commissioned rank. But in 1962 a torpedo got loose and rolled on his leg, and that was the end of his naval career.
He had come out of the Navy with one leg permanently shortened, a disability pension and no job. The last did not worry him because he knew he was good with his hands. Since 1963 he had been working as a mechanic in a garage, and Warren thought his employer was damned lucky.
Mrs Parker looked at her watch and made an exclamation. ‘Oh, I’ll be late. You’ll have to excuse me, Doctor.’
‘That’s all right, Mrs Parker,’ said Warren, rising.
‘You get off, lass,’ said Parker. ‘I’ll see to the dishes, an’ the doctor an’ me will have a quiet chat.’ Mrs Parker left, and Parker produced a stubby pipe which he proceeded to fill. ‘You said you wanted to see me on business, Doctor.’ He looked up in a puzzled way, and then smiled. ‘Maybe you’ll be wantin’ a new car.’
‘No,’ said Warren. ‘How are things at the garage, Dan?’
Parker shrugged. ‘Same as ever. Gets a bit monotonous at times – but I’m doin’ an interestin’ job now on a Mini-Cooper.’ He smiled slowly. ‘Most o’ the time I’m dealin’ wi’ the troubles o’ maiden ladies. I had one come in the other day – said the car was usin’ too much petrol. I tested it an’ there was nothin’ wrong, so I gave
