Countdown to Terror

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

 

 

Jenny was enjoying her stay at the Imperial Hotel, Russell Square. The previous afternoon they’d put off another visit to the British Museum, opting to visit Austin/Desmond Fine Art Events, in Pied Bull Yard, Bloomsbury, where figurative paintings by Aturo Bonfanti from the period 1961–1972 were being shown. This was a little highbrow for Jenny and for the Gent too. A little went a long way for them both.

In the evening they dined at Ciao Bella, also in Bloomsbury. Changing into more casual attire, they exited the hotel, turning left along Southampton Row and strolling in pale sunshine before turning left again into Great Ormond Street, location of the world-famous children’s hospital. A final left and they were in Lamb’s Conduit Street.

The next day over breakfast they decided to chill out for the morning, and at lunchtime Jenny would accompany him to Harrods, where she could shop for an hour or so while he met with Sulamain Khan, Samir’s uncle. They rode the Piccadilly Tube line to Knightsbridge, entering Harrods from Brompton Road. After passing security, which was serious – much more so than the British Museum had been – they agreed to text if he could not find her after two hours had passed. They parted company, with Jenny off to ladies’ fashions while he went in search of the Mezzah Lounge.

He explained to the maître d’ that he was meeting Sulamain. He accepted the offer of a coffee and was seated in a quiet spot. The waiter brought his coffee and a menu featuring traditional Middle Eastern fare, which he studied pending the arrival of his host. Bored with the menu after fifteen minutes, he moved on to the Times. Another quarter of an hour passed. His suspicion now aroused, he beckoned the maître d’ over, who was full of apology and strode over to the in-house phone, returning immediately to advise that there had been a problem and someone was on the way down to escort him to Sulamain’s office.

Two minutes passed before a small, dapper man appeared who introduced himself as Hopkins in a strong sing-song Welsh accent.

‘Follow me and keep close or you could be lost forever in the corridors upstairs.’

Routing back through a lift, they ascended several floors before alighting into a corridor that he assumed led to private offices. The doors had no numbers or descriptions, and he didn’t recall a floor number in the lift either. On entering the room, the dapper man asked him to sit while he went to fetch coffee. He returned shortly with coffee in the company of two large men. Neither was Sulamain: one was Chief Inspector Monroe, and the other was Detective Sergeant Patterson, both of the MET. The Gent took of a sip of coffee while trying to figure out what was going on. Deciding an innocent approach was probably best, he waited, hoping Sulamain would walk through the door any second. Silence was no longer an option as Monroe barked, ‘Why are you here?’

‘I came to meet Sulamain. Is there a problem?’

Monroe’s delivery was pure Hollywood: ‘You could say that. He was found dead in the car park last night with a knife between his shoulder blades.’

‘What, here? In Harrods’s own car park?’ he exclaimed.