Whisper For The Reaper, Jack Gatland [good books for high schoolers txt] 📗

DCI Ford there to make her life hell, but it wasn’t exactly the joyous homecoming you’d expect.

The Last Chance Saloon was, for all intents and purposes, ended.

There was a tap on her shoulder, removing her from this melancholy train of thought, and Anjli looked around to see a smiling Billy Fitzwarren, still wearing his trademark three piece Saville Row tweed suit. Although he was effectively disowned by his family, Billy still came from money, and you could see it simply by looking at him from the expensive and trendy haircut his blond head had, to the watch on his arm. Anjli, with her black hair pulled back and her off-the-shelf, store-bought grey suit, cheap and misshapen, felt very poor when standing beside him.

‘They let you in yet?’ he asked. Anjli shrugged.

‘Haven’t even tried, to be honest,’ she replied. ‘Feels a bit ghoulish, you know?’

Billy nodded, looking up at the construction workers, currently walking along the scaffold gantries. ‘Any hot ones up there?’ he enquired with a cheeky grin. Anjli sighed, linking arms with Billy and guiding him towards the exit. And a nearby wine bar they both knew.

‘Your libido will get you into trouble one day,’ she muttered as, looking back to the contractors, Billy protested feebly.

Neither of them saw the man across the courtyard, leaning on his cane, stroking his short, white beard as he watched them leave.

DCI Alexander Monroe knew that he should have gone to them, spoken to them, seen how they were doing, but it would just start more conversations on how he was, what he intended to do, whether there were proceedings about to occur, and how they could help him. And the fact of the matter was that Monroe didn’t know any of this. He didn’t even know if he wanted to stay in the force. There was a certain convenience in letting himself be invalided out to take an early retirement.

He’d never be attacked again.

He’d never be drugged or face death again.

Taking a deep breath to shake away the sudden memories that crashed into his thoughts, DCI Monroe turned and slowly limped back out of Temple Inn.

He could always speak to Billy and Anjli next time.

Yes.

Next time.

The drive back to Hurley was far comfier than the one there; this was because Marlowe’s usual car was a black BMW i8 Coupe, and he drove it with the skill of a man that not only knew how to drive a car well but also knew how to fit in with the surrounding cars; which meant that the drive was quick, yet safe.

‘How did you work for Wintergreen?’ Declan asked as they cruised along the middle lane of the M4. ‘Or is that, you know, classified and all that?’

‘It’s classified,’ Marlowe replied. ‘But, as she trusts you, I trust you. Ask what you want.’

Declan wondered which she Marlowe mentioned, whether it was Wintergreen or Trix that he spoke of, but he left that for the moment. ‘Same question then.’

‘I was a Royal Marine,’ Marlowe replied. ‘Went for SAS selection, but didn’t get in.’

‘I thought all spooks were ex-SAS trained and all that?’ Declan asked.

Marlowe grinned.

‘Oh, I’m SAS trained, I just never joined their ranks,’ he replied. ‘Did a few special ops with them, eventually moved into the Secret Service. Did a year in Vauxhall, utterly hated it. It was all James Bond wannabes and filing cabinets. Wintergreen turned up on one mission, we had mutual friends and after that she met me for a pint. Gave me the hard sell.’

Declan chuckled. ‘Monroe did the same thing when he recruited me.’ He changed subject. ‘Trix said that Wintergreen was running a similar thing to the Last Chance Saloon when she visited me,’ Declan looked out at the motorway. ‘Was it your last chance too?’

Marlowe nodded. ‘She saw it frustrated me, she knew I had strikes against me. Did Trix tell you what we’re called?’

Declan shook his head. ‘Just that you work for Charles Baker.’

‘Sometimes,’ Marlowe confirmed. ‘Usually it’s more the suits in Whitehall. We’re known as Section D.’

‘As in D-Notice?’

‘You know the term?’

‘I was in the Special Investigations Service. Military Police,’ Declan explained. ‘We had our share of targets who had D-Notices slapped on them, stopping the public from seeing the crimes.’

‘That’s an old term,’ Marlowe replied. ‘These days it’s a DSMA Notice. Stands for Defence and Security Media Advisory Notice.’

‘So it’s not that then?’

Marlowe grinned. ‘No. It’s for Disavowed.’ He indicated left, moving into the slow lane in preparation to turning off at the upcoming junction. ‘Wintergreen takes the misfit toys and makes her own little play set out of them.’

He glanced at Declan.

‘You know, she was going to come for you,’ he said. ‘After you punched that priest. She called your old man, asked if he’d be okay with you swapping badges.’

‘And he said?’

‘She never told me,’ Marlowe watched the road as he spoke. ‘Monroe recruited you and she lost interest. She does that. Hey, how did you deal with Trix?’

‘What do you mean?’ The question slightly threw Declan. Marlowe glanced over.

‘She does my head in,’ he admitted. ‘Bloody girl won’t shut up.’

‘Wasn’t my experience with her,’ Declan replied with a smile. ‘Maybe she’s got a crush on you.’

‘Well, she’s only human,’ Marlowe sighed mournfully. ‘It’s a curse.’

Declan laughed. He liked Marlowe and found him easy to talk to. But he wondered how much of this was the spook training, the ability to make anyone feel at home.

‘Will she really send me the contents of the USB when she opens it?’ He asked. Marlowe didn’t answer immediately.

‘If she doesn’t, I will,’ he eventually promised. ‘I don’t like it when people don’t keep their word.’

‘Is that a thing with her?’ Declan turned to face Marlowe, trying to garner anything from his micro expressions, but the driver stared expressionless.

‘Here we go,’ he said as they turned left, off the A404. Declan looked to the right, past Marlowe and out of the driver’s window. They were on the Henley Road now, the open driveway of the