THE WHITE SWAN TAVERN
20 FARRINGDON STREET,
LONDON EC4A 4AB
1145 HOURS
In the bustling pub brimming with court officers and members of the legal profession, the two men followed the host to a booth in a corner of the boisterous public room.
"I only have forty minutes for lunch. I'll have the Greek salad and water," Sir William grumbled as he returned the menu to the waiter. "Do I know you, young man?" He peered at the teenager and his multiple facial piercings. "Have you ever been arrested?"
"No, s-s-sir." The waiter scrambled away into the semi-darkness.
"I'm sure I know that little bugger." He leaned forward over the ancient plank table. "Don't keep me in surprise. Tell me what you've found, Ronan!"
"We ran a trace on your victim last week in order to validate her personal information and the prosecution's claims. My team just reported that we had a problem before the adjournment. We had to bypass several trapdoors in her files..."
Sir William leaned forward and whispered. "Trapdoors? Like security trapdoors? Like the things we use to catch unauthorized people accessing classified files?"
The conversation halted as the waiter approached with their plates.
"Good God, that was fast! I hope this is fresh, young man." He grinned as the terrified waiter retreated. "I'm sure I know him." He inspected the salad with his fork. "It's horrible! Getting old, I mean. My doctor says I have to eat this at least three times a week!" He bayoneted the meagre salad with his fork. "Who built these trapdoors, Ronan? I don't understand how the regular police didn't know that she was on the terror list. They should have picked that up immediately!"
Ronan caught an olive as it skidded away across the table. "The police would not have known since there is no Miriam Hussein on the watch list."
"What do you mean she's not on the watch list? You just said she was! Give me that," Sir William snatched the errant olive from his friend's palm. "I need every bloody calorie I can get and your lads should have finished their pathetic investigation before this trial started..."
Ronan held his hand up in protest. "...William, my officers are not your personal investigative unit. You should have requested the regular police to make these inquiries and I would be in Barbados enjoying myself." He picked at his steak and kidney pie as another olive skidded across the table.
The distracted barrister sniffed as he savored the scents of the varied dinners from nearby tables before responding, "Christ! The regular police, as you call them, claim that they're short of people. I would have had to wait a year for a qualified person to be assigned to the case. To them, it's just a cut-and-dried case of murder. I'd much prefer Beef Wellington or a chicken curry ..." He gestured at his plate. "Why did you let me order this?"
"Your doctor says your cholesterol is too high." Ronan murmured as he peered at the bar. "Ahh, here she is! Now, do you want to learn about Miriam Hussein or not? Try to be on your best behavior please, William." Without waiting for a response, Ronan stood up and waved to the bar area.
"As my temporary roommate, I have not granted you the privilege to nag me. That's why Henrietta and I are no longer an item." Sir William seized the passing waiter. "Bring me a roast beef sandwich and a glass of red wine. Ronan, sit down! What are you doing?"
**
"Inspector Russell, this curmudgeon is Sir William McTavish, eminent barrister and former mandarin within the Ministry of Defence." Ronan guided the tall, dusky-complexioned brunette into the booth. "William, this is Inspector Alexandra Russell who you will not attempt to intimidate or otherwise upset."
YOU ARE READING
The Shaddad Conspiracy
Adventure“Your murder victim was not an innocent, naive woman. She was on our terrorist watch list. The fact that she escaped from Basra and lived a normal life in London buggers belief, but she was planted here by a foreign government to wreck the Taliban p...
