The Strangers on the Trains ( Part 10)

Emily walked into the Canton Arms at ten past two. She could see Fat Tony in the corner at the same table where she and Pauline had sat just the day before. The table was a mess. Empty pint glasses, various crisp and peanut packets were strewn everywhere. It looked like Tony had been there for a while. She walked over and sat down beside him.

“Been here long?”

There was more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. It was completely wasted on Tony.

“Long enough to have two pints, a bag of salt and vinegar, cheese and onion and a packet of dry roast nuts. So yes, about twenty minutes. Drink?”

Emily shook her head. He really was the foulest man she’d ever met. Yet she couldn’t help but like him.

“Glass of red wine please.”

“My pleasure, oh wise one.”

Tony struggled to get out of the small wooden chair. For a moment Emily thought he would have to take it with him stuck to his behind. But somehow he managed to break free. A few minutes later he was back with two bottles of Merlot and two glasses.

“Jesus, Tony, a bottle each?”

Once again he squeezed himself into the small wooden chair.

“To be honest sweetheart, I thought you’d only have a glass and I’d finish the rest.”

He laughed out loud at his little joke. The posh, quiet, lunchtime regulars weren’t used to this kind of behaviour. A few of them looked at him with disgust. He poked his tongue out at them and then poured the wine. Emily couldn’t help but smile at his complete disregard of normal manners. She took a mouthful of the wine and wiped her mouth.

“Listen, when it comes to red wine, I can drink with the best of them.”

“I wondered why you had that big red nose, now I know. So, why the secrecy, why the meet in the pub and not the office?”

Emily finished her glass and poured herself another. Then reached into her bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. She handed it to Tony. He read it quietly, so just the two of them could hear.

“Stephen Palmer, worked in the service until 2006. Mid thirties. Committed suicide in Australia sometime in 2008. Find out everything about the circumstances surrounding his death”

He sat back in his chair. For the first time since she’d met him he no longer had that silly smirk on his face. He became deadly serious.

“You got clearance for this. From the boss?”

Emily hesitated.

“Err yes, he told me I could have anything I needed. I need this information because I have to know if Stephen Palmer found something. Something that would make him take his own life.”

Fat Tony had his hands over his ears.

“I only heard the word yes so that’s good enough for me. I told you before; I don’t want to know why!”

Emily took another large gulp of wine and refilled both glasses.

“Tony, I just need you to find out everything you can about what happened to Stephen Palmer. You have my word. It’s all authorised.”

“Okay. It’s just that in all my time doing work for Paul, I’ve never had to investigate anyone from the service. But if you say it’s okay and it’s authorised, that’s good enough for me. Cheers.”

He lifted his glass. Emily did the same; they touched glasses and drank their wine. Once again Tony struggled out of his chair and disappeared to the bar. Emily thought he’d gone to get himself some more snacks. But he returned with another bottle of Merlot.

“Bloody hell Tony, we’ve still got a full one left. I’ve got work to do and come to think about it. So have you!”

“Look, that full one will be gone in about fifteen minutes, then we’ll both be wondering whether we should get another one or not. Well, I thought I’m make that decision early.”

Emily couldn't disagree with his thought process.

“Okay with me, as I said, I can drink red wine all day. It’s the only drink that doesn’t seem to affect me. I drink white occasionally but after two glasses I’m wasted.”

Tony downed his glass in one go.

“Can’t remember the last time I got wasted. I can drink all day, all kinds of stuff, just doesn’t seem to affect me. Mind you there is twenty three stone of pure muscle to soak it up!”

Again he roared with laughter. This time no one looked over. Emily wanted to find out if he knew anything about her predecessors.

“Did you know Stephen Palmer or Nicola Hammond? The two people before me. Did you ever do anything for them?”

“No, nothing. Paul has many fingers in many pies. So the work is varied. I’ve dressed up as a Sheik, pretended to be a South African farmer, even a college professor, all in the line of duty you understand. But I always get my information. Everyone talks to the fatman.”

After two hours and numerous bottles of red wine, they parted company. Emily didn’t go back to work. There was no point, not now. She could do some work from home. Black coffee was needed to help her think straight. Tomorrow she had her meeting with Paul Dickson-Smith and she needed a good night’s sleep and a clear head.

Yorkie was waiting, as usual, at her front door.

She turned the key and walked into the hallway. She sensed something was wrong. She could hear voices. Through the glass door to the kitchen she could see shadows. She froze. She wanted to turn around and go back out the front door. But Yorkie ran up the hallway and started to scratch at the kitchen door. The shadows stopped moving and there was silence. Emily shouted out.

“I’ve called the Police, they’re on their way.”

She saw the shadows move once again. This time quickly. She could feel the draft from the back door. She hoped they had gone. She rang 999.