The Road.

The Road 20

The Road 20

“Well, George, we’re a long way from Naples now, old fella.” Delacy looked almost saddened by the thought.

“Long way, long time, different world.” George Gently sat back and studied his glass of old Everett brandy.

“You really think so? I see the same evil, just few new faces now.”

“You always were a mournful bastard.”

The two men grinned at each other. Memories they shared, unspoken of, but not forgotten.

“How’s the world of secrets treatin’ you, Phillip?”

Delacy pulled a dismissive face. “Too much rivalry between departments.” He sighed and swished the dark gold liquid in his glass. “The Yanks are so scared of the Commies taking over in West Germany, they’re putting bloody ex Nazi’s back in charge!” He swigged his drink. “The PM is paranoid. He thinks we’re all plotting against him. And the bloody Foreign Office seems to be run exclusively by chaps I was at Cambridge with.” Delacy sighed. “And I didn’t ‘em trust then.”

Gently’s grin widened. “Basically, no different then?”

“The war was a damn sight less complicated.”

Both men nodded sadly, as old men do when looking at change in an unchanging world.

The inspector leant forward in the old battered armchair and held up the dusty, antiquated brandy bottle, raising an eyebrow in a silent offer.

“God, yes, a large one this time.” Delacy settled back with his glass full, trying to get comfortable in the scruffy chair. “I’m pretty sure they pay you enough to buy some decent furniture George?”

“Ah, well our…my stuff, it’s all in storage in Wapping. I sold the house.” He paused, and frowned. “I couldn’t bring meself to fetch it up here. So I rent this place, complete with its ugly, uncomfortable furniture.” George’s smile was sad, reflective. “Isabella would-have-hated it.”

“She had taste. Her only blind spot was you!” Delacy said chuckling.

Georges smile widened into a laconic grin. “Very true. She’d never of countenanced any of this junk in our home.” He brushed at the scuffed and worn arm of a chair that had seen much better days.

Both men fell into a thoughtful silence till George pulled himself back from a yawning black chasm, the one that always opened before him when his thoughts went to Isabella.

“So, there’s an East German connection in my drugs case?” he said briskly.

“East German, Polish, Czech, Hungarian. You name it. People seem to think the only crimes in Warsaw pact countries are political. Don’t you believe it. Drugs are manufactured and sold there, shipped here. Just like everywhere else. Only difference is they are cheaper to produce there, and there’s a serious amount of money to be made selling here, up north.”

“Funny that, someone else told me more or less the same thing a while ago.” George tucked his chin down and thought of Webster’s prophetic words.

“Well, you’re getting the drugs through a refugee escape route. The stuff goes through the eastern bloc, up to the Baltic, across the North Sea to the east coast. Everyone feels sorry for the poor blighters escaping, so a lot of blind eyes have been turned. Clever bastards, relied on us backing the underdog. Not all the refugees are mules of course, but just enough to turn a handsome profit for those back home.” Delacy’s voice was earnest, intent.

“You sound like you know who, how and when, what do you want from me?”

“A man named Arnold Carteret, late of Her Majesty’s Northumbrian Rifles. Ex captain, officer and a gentleman.” The sneer in his voice showed his distaste for the man. “Military Cross for bravery, saved the life of one of his men…sapper Richard Deeming.”

“Both names ring more than a few bells. But I’d be surprised if Deeming’s involved in the drug thing. He once told me it wasn’t his scene. Don’t have any evidence that’s changed” He thought of Ricky’s reaction to their conversation about Hari Colbert.

“No, it’s my belief that the Deemings, that’s his aunt Phillipa, as well. She takes in waifs and strays from the escape line.” Delacy drew a deep breath. “They’re just a coincidence. I knew the other sister, Amilia from way back.” Phillip Delacy paused and slipped at his brandy, pensively. His history with Amilia would not cloud his judgement. He was not that sort of man. He cleared his throat. “No, it’s Carteret, he’s the kingpin. He’s got all the right connections and form. Nasty little blighter, was involved in a rather unsavoury ring of specialist brothels a few years back. Slippery sort, out before we could pin him down. But his card was marked, and now he’s surfaced again, right on your doorstep. I want him George. He’s got all the information we need to put a whole swathe of drug runners out of business.

George steepled his fingers under his chin and sucked in air over his teeth. “Then, my friend…I think we should go get ‘im.”