Illegal Action

25

“Let’s go through it one more time.”

It was evening on Hampstead Heath and a few dog walkers were taking advantage of the lengthening days. The sun was dipping below a ridge of trees to the west of them, casting long shadows over the bench where Jerry Simmons and Rykov sat.

Jerry sighed. He was tired after an early start that morning. He had taken Brunovsky’s girlfriend, Monica, to Heathrow at the crack of dawn—she was meeting a friend in Paris for a two-day shopping expedition. “I’ve told you. There’s his assistant, Tamara, there’s Mrs. Grimby, Mrs. Warburton—that’s the housekeeper—and a maid. And most nights, Monica. There was a temp as well, but she’s gone now. Lately his decorator’s been around—his name’s Tutti. Italian bloke. Poof too.”

“Poof?” asked the Russian. Jerry flapped his hand exaggeratedly and he nodded. “And that is all?”

“I told you about the American, Forbes. He comes around a couple of times a week.”

“Other visitors?”

“Lots of them. But nobody regular. Only some student interested in Brunovsky’s Russian paintings.”

“Student? You said nothing about a student.”

“I don’t think she’ll be there for long,” Jerry said.

“Who is this girl?”

“Jane somebody. And she’s not a girl—she must be at least thirty. I drove her home one night. She’s one of those mature students.” Seeing the puzzled look on the Russian’s face, he explained, “Somebody older who’s gone back to college.” He looked at Rykov sourly. “We do that sometimes, you know.”

Vladimir ignored him. “I want to know more about this Jane. Let’s begin with what she looks like. And then where she lives.”