Loose End.
As Doyle parked his car neatly in the yard at C.I.5 Headquarters, he registered, further along the line, a vehicle he recognised. So, Bodie was in before him. Good, he thought, he'll be up in the Duty Room, looking at the list to see what we are on today.
He hurried up the stairs and turned into the room. Bodie was there. Hearing his friend come in, his partner turned, and greeted him in jocular fashion.
"Don't take your coat off, mate," he said with a grin. "We're not stopping.!"
"What are you on about ?," exclaimed Doyle, not understanding.
Realising this Bodie answered, "Oh, you haven't heard then."
"Heard what ?," demanded Doyle, impatiently.
"Well, mate," said Bodie, "I'm afraid you've lost your favourite squash opponent."
"Peter ?." said Doyle. A serious look came over his face. "You don't mean..?"
"Oh, no," said Bodie hurriedly, "He's not dead ! Though he is in hospital, and will be for a while, I think."
"What happened ?," demanded Doyle.
"Well, Peter and his partner," Bodie started to explain.
"Yes, Joe Bulmer," interrupted Doyle, "A good man."
Bodie went on."They've been working recently on the track of some serious gun-runners. But it seems that last night they got a bit too close, and were ambushed. Peter was hurt, but his mate managed to get him away, and into hospital. He's in Vale."
"I'll go and see him as soon as I can," said Doyle.
"Hang on a minute," said Bodie, "You haven't heard it all. Apparently, they've picked up some good information. There's going to be a big shipment coming in tonight, via an old disused dock down the river. It's going into an empty warehouse nearby, and those behind it are holding a grand auction, to see who will give them the best price. There are going to be villains there that we've had our eye on for ages."
"And Cowley's planning something big ?," said Doyle, quickly catching on.
"Yes," replied Bodie. "A full scale raid, with all we've got !"
"Wow !," was Doyle's response , as he began to visualise the proposed action, and all it would involve.
"So," continued Bodie. "We're stood down for the day, and ordered to report back here at 5.30pm, when there will be a full briefing."
Doyle nodded, taking this all in.
"What are you going to do with your day, sunshine ?," queried Bodie cheerfully.
"I think I'll go and see Peter," said Doyle, "and if his wife's not there at the hospital, I'll pop round and see her."
"I don't think I've met her," remarked his mate, as they walked together towards the stairs.
"I met her years ago," replied Doyle. "She was in the police, as Peter was. She's a great girl, - she'll see him through this."
It was a formidable force that assembled at C.I.5 Headquarters that evening. Joe Bulmer was among them, eager to take part, to avenge the partner he'd so nearly lost.
Quietly and calmly, Cowley gave the details of the task ahead of them, and issued his orders. As darkness deepened, the men dispersed to various cars, and made their way swiftly down to the area of the long-abandoned dock.
Cowley was met by two previously-dispatched watchers, who reported that, keeping themselves well hidden, they had observed the unloading of dozens of crates from a rusty old tanker that had pulled into the dock. They had seen them carried into one of the large warehouses, so were able to identify the force's target precisely.
Following Cowley's orders, the C.I.5 men had not come too close. They had parked their cars sufficiently far away so they wouldn't raise an alarm if there were any 'look-out men' posted. They moved, swiftly but cautiously, on foot, towards the designated warehouse.
An advance party, sent on ahead by Cowley, found, and quickly and silently disposed of several men, well-positioned 'look-outs', just as they had suspected.
As they got closer, they spotted an extra large number of big cars parked in the side streets near the warehouse, an unusual sight in this run-down area. The number plates of these were noted and written down for future reference.
They reached the big doors of the warehouse, and massed for the attack. On Cowley's signal, they swept in, taking full advantage of the element of surprise, which showed on the startled faces turned towards them.
Thus confronted, the assembled villains had only two choices ! They had either to surrender meekly to superior force, or to resist and make a fight of it.
The resultant split was pretty even !
About half of them pulled out weapons, and began firing at the advancing C.I.5 men, who were quick to seize what little cover there was. The cowardly rest dropped to the floor or dived behind the stacked crates.
For a few moments, the large building echoed to the sound of shots, as bullets flew in all directions, and even ricocheted off the steel girders supporting the high walls.
But the battle, though furious for a few minutes, was soon over, for the C.I.5 men were all trained marksmen, while some of the villains opposing them had never even fired the guns which they mainly carried just for show.
As the noise abated and finally ceased, there was quiet for just a moment. Cowley's instructions had been not to kill unnecessarily, but several bodies lay in the dust of the warehouse floor.
A new sound was heard, the moans and groans of wounded men. Many other rogues emerged from the shelter of crates, their hands high in the air.
Cowley sought a quick check on his own men, and was relieved by the report that there had only been some minor injuries, and no fatalities.
Then began the much longer task of clearing up the mess !
The gun-runners and their customers, alive or dead, had all to be identified. Arrangements were made to remove the bodies; the injured were taken to hospital, most under armed guard. The rest were conveyed to the Interrogation Centre, where Cowley's best interrogators would get all the information they could out of them before they were passed on to the authorities who would deal with them.
Bodie and Doyle, unscathed, joined Cowley.
"A very successful evening," said their boss. "We've taken a lot of evil out of London's streets tonight."
He departed, well satisfied, leaving Bodie and Doyle to make sure that all of the afore-mentioned arrangements were carried out correctly.
Doyle called together a group of the junior men, and gave them orders for a special task. The number-plates of all the parked cars had been checked and their owners identified. The cars couldn't just be left where they were, a target for thieves and vandals. The keys had been collected from all the owners, dead or alive, so that the vehicles could be returned to where they were currently registered. The younger men were quite pleased with this task, as it meant, if only for a short while, that they got to drive the most expensive cars, vehicles they would never aspire to own themselves.
Then the pair strolled over to supervise the removal of the dead. Doyle stopped for a second look at one of them.
"I know him," he said, "His name's Rempton. I ran across him when I was in the police. Then, he was just a minor 'pimp' running a couple of girls. I had heard that he'd come on since then, and now has quite a big stable of more up-beat girls and clients, and also that he'd been branching out into other things."
"Evidently into gun-running too," commented Bodie. "Well, he won't be missed."
He didn't know then how wrong those last words were.
As far as C.I.5 were concerned, the case was closed, or would be when all the loose ends were tied up. And there were plenty of other tasks awaiting them. So they had no idea of the minor repercussion caused by one of these loose ends, especially as it was none of their business. And very soon, considering the gun-running case closed, they were busy as usual with new investigations.
The trouble began when a tall, dark girl entered a bar/cum/dancehall, which was a regular rendezvous for many 'ladies of the night'.
As she was unknown to them, she was regarded at first in a far from friendly way. Striking-looking as she was, if she was a new entrant into their world, she would be serious competition. So they were inclined to treat her suspiciously, with some feelings of jealousy and resentment.
But she explained to them that she already had a good job, and had only come seeking information. She introduced herself as Alicia Castille.
Alicia Castille was an unusual girl, one of three very spoilt daughters of a wealthy Brazilian business man. He had lost his adored wife while the girls were still young, and now doted on his children. Because of this, and her fiery Latin temperament, Alicia was used to getting her own way. So woe betide anyone who tried to thwart her.
Her sister, one year younger, had been equally high-spirited. She had gone to London, some three years ago, and had sent back glowing reports on how well she was faring. This had fired Alicia up to follow her example.
In spite of her father's objections, she had insisted on going to Britain, to pursue her ambitions in the field of singing and dancing.
So far, she had only achieved a good quality chorus-line job in a prestigious West End musical, but she had high hopes of being noticed there, and becoming a star.
Because she had been so busy securing a position, and settling herself in, she had not had time to contact her sister straight away. Slightly jealous of the younger one's tales of success, she was aiming to outdo her. So it was several months before she attempted to find her sister.
But what she found shook her badly. Her sister was doing well, but it was as a prostitute.!
She herself would never have considered doing this, and she couldn't understand how the difficulties of making one's way alone in a big city had caused her sister to drift into it.
But one thing she did know ! If her father knew of it, he would be so angry. He would instantly order them home, and her hopes of a glittering career would be over. And he was such a powerful business man in his own world, that he could have them fetched home by force if necessary. He had the contacts !
She didn't know what to do. In spite of her sister's protests that she was perfectly happy with what she was doing, and apparently comfortable with her own flat and a nice little car, Alicia was appalled at what she had found out. She spent many fruitless hours trying to figure out a way to change things without alerting her father, and bringing his wrath down upon them.
But then Fate intervened !
Though, of course, she knew nothing about it, the C.I.5 raid on the warehouse happened, and started off a new chain of events.
Two weeks later, Alicia received a call from a policeman, who had found her name and contact number in her sister's address book. He informed her that her sister was in hospital, suspected of having taken an overdose. Alicia had at once rushed to her bedside, but in vain. She had only been in time to watch helplessly, as the girl slipped away without regaining consciousness.
Alicia was at first deeply upset, but then her feelings turned to anger. Why had this happened ? Who was to blame ? She resolved to find out. Which is why, as soon as she had a free moment, she went to one of the places her sister had told her about.
She addressed the girls in front of her. "I'm looking for anyone who might have known a girl calling herself Suki de Casa," she began.
"Yes, we know her," replied one of the girls, "But she's in hospital, - took an overdose, silly bitch !"
"I know that," said Alicia, "I'm her sister. I've just had to identify her body, - they couldn't save her."
This revelation immediately changed their attitude towards her. Hard as most of them were, they were touched by the obvious distress of their visitor.
But suddenly her manner changed. The girls were startled by the fire in her eyes, and the hardness of her voice.
"I'm here to find out who is to blame. What made her do it ? Who drove her to it ? ," she declared fiercely.
The passion of her Latin temperament flared in her voice and manner. The watching girls were taken aback, and some felt suddenly afraid of her.
"No-one made her," protested one girl nervously.
"Then what drove her to do it ?," demanded Alicia.
"It was to do with Rempton, her pimp," said one girl. "He was good to her, and she was mad about him."
"That's right," added another, "He took great care of her, - got her easy jobs with well-heeled customers. So when she was left on her own, she couldn't cope."
"Did Rempton ditch her then," demanded Alicia angrily.
"Oh, no, it wasn't that," replied the girl. "He was killed."
"Killed !," exclaimed the angry girl facing them. "Who did it ?"
"Rempton was a 'wrong un'," said one of the listening girls, "into all sorts of dirty business."
"I heard it was a C.I.5 bust," put in another. "A big raid,- somewhere down by the docks."
"C.I 5 ?," queried Alicia. "What is C.I.5 ? Police ?."
"Not exactly," the girl attempted to explain.
"Oh, secret police," exclaimed Alicia. "We have them in our country too."
"I think it's a bit different over here," protested one of her listeners. "They're the 'good guys', really."
"But they killed Rempton, didn't they ?," persisted the angry girl. "Where can I find them ?."
The listening girls were beginning to be a bit uncomfortable now.
This strange foreign girl seemed to have a one-track mind, and she was starting to worry them with her passionate attitude.
"Oh, I don't think you can find them that easy," suggested one of the girls. "They don't advertise."
"I only know one of them," volunteered another girl rather foolishly, "used to be a 'copper', - that's Ray Doyle. But he's all right."
"Where do I find him ?," demanded Alicia fiercely.
"No idea," replied the girl.
Alicia turned to the other girls, but they all shook their heads. They didn't know, and also, alarmed by her fierceness, they wouldn't have told her if they did. She was frightening them now, as she seemed almost manic in her desire for some sort of revenge for her sister's death.
Alicia left the area in a very unsettled frame of mind. She had not found all the answers she wanted. All she felt she knew, was that Rempton's death had been the reason for her sister's suicide, and somehow that this lot, C.I.5 were to blame for that.
Because of her background, and the state of things in her own country, she totally believed that secret police were evil and corrupt, ready to do anything for the one who paid highest. Having been in this country only a short while, she had not learned that things were different here, and that C.I.5, although endeavouring to be as secret as possible, was a force for good.
The anger, resentment, and the desire for revenge festered in her mind !
But there were more immediate things to deal with. Her father would have to be told of his daughter's death. But cleverly, she waited till the obligatory inquest was over, and her sister's body released. She then told her father that Suki had been killed in a road accident. She persuaded him that there was no point in him coming all the way to London, but that he could use his contacts to make the necessary arrangements to ship the body back home.
Stricken with grief, he eventually gave in to her coaxing. An officious gentleman from the Brazilian Embassy contacted Alicia. He didn't know anything of the suicide verdict, and she gratefully handed over to him to make all the necessary arrangements.
Her father was surprised and disappointed when she refused to return home for the funeral, but she persuaded him that she was on the brink of a starring role in a new production, and would lose the chance if she left now.
So she concentrated on furthering her career. She trained and practised hard, kept her eye out for any advertised auditions, and gave the best performance she could every night.
But in the back of her mind, something still rankled. She desperately wanted someone to blame for causing her sister to take her own life, which, because of her strict Catholic upbringing, she considered a dreadful sin.
But she had nothing to go on, except the one name she had heard, and which she could not dismiss from her thoughts.
If she could find him, she would be able to vent her anger. But how ?
It was a constant niggling thought, fast becoming an obsession.
The police had handed over her sister's effects, which included her keys. So on her next free morning, Alicia set out for her sister's flat. Her primary intention was merely to collect personal things, like letters and family photographs. But as she stood in the pleasant little flat and gazed round, her ideas began to change.
No doubt Rempton had paid for the flat and the car, as she could find no papers relating to either of them. Who would be coming to claim them now, she neither knew nor cared.
But her sister had worked hard for the luxuries she now saw around her. Alicia was her nearest kin, so why shouldn't she have anything that might be of use to her, before strangers came in.
She began looking round with different eyes. She flung open the wardrobe in the bedroom. Regretfully, the clothes, chic and expensive, were of no use to her, as she was a couple of sizes bigger than her sister had been, but why shouldn't she make use of the wraps, handbags and jewellery, all better than she could afford.
And then another thought came to her. She couldn't wear the clothes, but they would fit some of her fellow dancers ! Perhaps she could sell some to them.
Excited by this idea, she reached down a couple of suitcases from the top of the wardrobe, and began to pack articles into them. They were soon full, and she added a couple of black bags from the kitchen for good measure.
As she eyed the accumulated baggage, she thought 'I'll have to hire a taxi to take this round to my little bed-sit.'
Then another idea struck her, - the car ! She had noticed as she came in that the tax disc still had several months to run. If Rempton was paying the bills for it, it might be a while before it was realised that he was dead, and something was done about it.
She could not afford the cost of running a car, and indeed, in London, it wasn't feasible, as public transport was so convenient and suited the hours she kept.
But she did know how to drive, so she could borrow it for a short while to move all this stuff and then put it back. Putting the thought into action, she loaded up the silver-grey Escort, and drove carefully round to her own place.
When it was emptied, and she was locking it up, another thought entered her mind. She wouldn't put it back straight away, she thought. I'll use it for a bit to help me try to track down this Ray Doyle. She had been trying to make enquiries, as she was still obsessed with the idea of finding him and calling him to account, but had had little success so far.
Then Fate, that capricious creature, threw an unexpected bit of luck her way !
The dancers, and there were quite a number of them, shared a large and very well-appointed dressing-room. As they prepared for their next performance, dealing with the dazzling costumes and the elaborate make-up, there was always a lot of idle chatter going on, mainly among the younger girls, and usually all about their current boy-friends.
Alicia tended to barely listen to their boasting words. At this stage of her career she had no interest in men. She could easily have attracted admirers, for she was a very striking-looking girl, but she made no effort to do so.
She was only vaguely aware of a girl called Celia enthusing about a date she'd been on.
"My sister's got a new boyfriend," Celia was telling them. "His name's Bodie, and he's gorgeous !"
"How do you know ?," demanded another girl, who was temporarily off men. "Have you seen him ?"
"I'm coming to that," snapped Celia, impatient at being interrupted. "It seems this Bodie wanted to arrange a double-date, to include his friend. Rosie, that's my sister, asked her pal Fiona, but she went down with 'flu' the day before, so she asked me, knowing I had one of my days off."
Several girls had gathered round now, interested, so she went on. "We went out last night to a place called Marco's, - it seems they often go there." she said. "And Bodie is just as she described him, tall, dark and handsome, and lots of fun. And his friend is dishy too, - slim, dark curly hair, and a smile to die for," she enthused. "His name's Ray, - Ray Doyle."
Alicia could hardly believe her ears !
The five-minute warning bell put an end to all the chatter. As Alicia put the finishing touches to her appearance, she tried desperately to remember all she had overheard. Bodie and Ray Doyle. The name of the meeting-place ? Ah, yes, Marco's, - she must find out where that was.
After the performance, the girls were again gathered in the dressing-room, changing out of their costumes, and removing their make-up.
Several girls were teasing Celia about her date, and demanding to hear more, and she was ready to tell them. "It was really most odd," she began, gathering her audience. "We went back to a flat for coffee, Bodie's place, I think."
"Where was that ?," queried one of the girls.
"I really didn't register exactly," replied Celia, "except that it was in the same road as that party that Marty invited us all too, after our first month's success, but further along, nearer the park end.
"Go on with your story," urged another girl, eager to hear the details.
"Well everything was going fine," said Celia. "Bodie put some music on, and we were dancing, nice smoochy stuff, you know. Then the phone rang. Bodie answered it, and was listening intently. Then, he said 'Yes, sir', and put the phone down. He beckoned to Doyle, whispered a few words in his ear, and then…..", she paused for dramatic effect.
"Then what ?," chorused the girls excitedly.
"Then they called a taxi, and sent us home !," declared Celia, pleased with the astounded looks on their faces.
Alicia smiled to herself. This fitted exactly with her ideas about secret police, called out at a moment's notice to do their boss's dirty work.
She was pleased too, that she clearly remembered the location of the party at Marty's place. She had a good memory for street names.
All the information she had gained churned round in her mind, and only increased her desire to take some sort of action.
So her next evening off found her parking the Escort in the street near to where she thought Bodie's flat must be. Her mind wasn't very clear on what she planned to do, except that Bodie was one of those she considered her enemies, all to blame for her sister's death. Perhaps he'd lead her to Doyle, or maybe he'd do instead. Her obsession had come close to unreasoning mania !
Then Fate, fickle jade, took a hand again.!
As she climbed out of the car, and turned to lock it, she glanced along the street, and saw a figure hurrying towards her, tall, slim, with dark curly hair.
Her heart leapt. Surely, this must be Doyle !
She had been given an opportunity, and filled with hatred, she seized it !
Bodie was cross ! He had elected to spend a quiet evening at home for once,
catching up on a sheaf of reports that Cowley had given him, to do with a nasty drugs case. Fortified with a mug of coffee and a plate of chocolate biscuits, he had just settled down in a comfortable chair, with the reports spread on a side table.
He was half expecting his partner, Doyle, to join him, as it was necessary that he should read the reports as well.
Rather foolishly, he had placed the coffee mug on the wide wooden arm of the chair. He reached out to pick up the marker-pen he intended to use, and was annoyed as the top of it fell off. Instinctively, he reached out to grab it, before it fell to the floor and rolled away. Of course, the inevitable happened – he knocked over the coffee mug !
Smothering a curse, he leapt to his feet, and dashed into the kitchen for some paper towels to mop up the mess. He came back with a handful, and was still dabbing at the stain caused by the spreading liquid, when his doorbell rang.
The noise was loud and insistent, and continuous, as if someone was keeping their thumb on the button.
Bother, thought Bodie, that must be Ray. I swear he does that just to wind me up.
He moved towards the door. A quick glance through the safety spy-hole showed him the familiar dark curly head, and confirmed that his visitor was Doyle.
"Quit murdering my bell," he snapped as he pulled open the door, and turned away, in a hurry to dispose of his handful of wet paper.
He'd only taken a few strides, when some instinct made him turn back. He was just in time to see his partner collapse limply on his hall floor.
He dashed back, pushed the door closed, and knelt quickly beside his mate. Very gently, he rolled him over onto his back, and was shocked to see the swiftly spreading stain, ruining Doyle's favourite yellow T-shirt.
As his eyes thankfully took in the regular steady breathing, his hand felt cautiously for a pulse, and he was re-assured to find a normal, strong beat.
He sped back to his kitchen, deposited his handful of soggy towels, and whipped off a length of clean dry ones. Folding them neatly into a solid wad, he hurried back, and, lifting the hem of the T-shirt applied them to the still-bleeding wound, using firm pressure in an effort to stem the flow of blood.
Lifting Ray's limp hand he put it into position to hold the temporary dressing in place. Then he dashed to his phone to make some urgent calls.
Things moved swiftly after that. The ambulance arrived very quickly, and carted the still unconscious patient off to St Richard's Hospital, where he was soon under the care of Dr. Fenton, who had become a personal friend to both of them.
Bodie followed anxiously in his own car. He spent quite a long time sitting in the small waiting room, his fidgeting about only relieved by a call from Cowley, telling him to remain there till there was anything to report, and to try to find out just what had happened.
At last Dr. Fenton put in an appearance. Bodie protested vigorously at their friend's first words.
"What have you got him into this time, Bodie ?," Fenton demanded in accusatory tones. But his cheerfulness re-assured the listening man.
"Nothing to do with me," declared Bodie. "I don't know how it happened. I'm waiting to talk to him to find out."
"Not tonight, you're not," retorted the doctor. "It's a nasty injury. I had to do quite a bit of repair work, and he needs his rest."
"But," protested Bodie, "if someone tried to kill him, I want to know so that I can get after them."
"Tomorrow," insisted the doctor, "and not too early either."
Bodie had to be content with that and went off to report to Cowley.
So it was well into the next morning, when he was admitted into the small side-room where his friend lay.
"Don't tire him," admonished a fierce Sister. Bodie nodded meekly, as he gazed rather anxiously at his pale-faced friend, propped up slightly on several pillows. He pulled up a chair and sat down at the bedside.
"Right, Ray," he said briskly, "Down to business. Who attacked you ?"
"I don't know," replied his friend. His voice was quiet and weak, and he looked as if he might be in pain.
But Bodie was relentless. "Come on, mate," he said, "You can do better than that."
"I mean I don't know who it was," said Doyle, "I've never seen her before."
"Her !," exclaimed Bodie. "It was a woman ?"
Ray nodded, a slight smile showing at his friend's astonishment.
"Tell me exactly what happened," said Bodie in a milder tone.
"Well," his mate began, "I was coming to your place – to read those reports, but I was running a bit later than I intended. Then I couldn't find a parking place anywhere near, so I was hurrying. I vaguely registered a figure bending down beside a car, either locking or un-locking it, but I didn't take much notice, as I was so late. Then just as I came alongside, she straightened up and lunged at me with a knife. She meant to kill me, I'm sure. But I managed to deflect her arm a little, and the knife went lower, into my side."
"Thank goodness for that," commented Bodie.
"She yanked it out, - it hurt like hell," continued his mate. "She was going to have another go, but I kicked out at her, and she dropped the knife and ran. I hadn't the strength to go after her, but I made it to your door, and you know the rest."
"Can you describe her ?, asked Bodie, eager for any details that might help him. "Did she say anything ?."
"Maybe," replied Doyle rather weakly. "Sounded foreign…"
But he was interrupted by the little Sister as she came back into the room. She glared at Bodie. "You've been here long enough," she declared fiercely. "He needs to rest."
Bodie glanced at his mate. He did look rather weary.
"All right," he said placatingly, trying to charm her. Then he turned back to Doyle.
"Look mate," he said, "I'll send in an identikit man and someone into languages. You can give them anything you remember."
Doyle was feeling considerably better when the two specialists turned up the next morning. He was able to give them quite a bit of information that might help them find his assailant.
As Maxton set up his equipment, he began to describe the girl.
"Latin type," he began, "Lots of dark hair, dark eyes, bold jewellery, - as tall as me, but she probably wore heels."
The expert worked swiftly, changing and altering details, and soon produced a composite picture.
"Yes," said Doyle, when it was shown to him, "That's pretty good, Maxton, considering how little I really saw, - it was dark and it all happened so fast."
Then the other man took over.
"What did she say ?, he asked.
Doyle closed his eyes, and tried to remember. "Only a few words, and it wasn't English," he began. "Sounded like - what's the name of that shawl thing women wear, - begins with a 'p' ?"
"Pashmina ?," suggested the man.
"That's like it," said Doyle, "only not 's' ,but 'r'. Parmina ! That's what it sounded like, then a girl's name – Emma ? No. Irma ! That's it . Parmina irma. That's as near as I'll get, I think."
The man, listening carefully, had been making quite a few notes. "I'll work on it," he said.
The two men left, one to arrange for multiple copies of the picture he had produced, and the other to use his phonetic equipment to make sense of what he had heard.
The latter came back the following afternoon. Doyle was very pleased to see him, for he was feeling considerably better, but was still under doctor's orders to rest, and was getting bored with the inactivity.
"Hi, Gerry," he greeted him cheerfully. "Got anywhere ?"
The man grinned back at him, and looked at his notes. "Well," he began, "Using phonetics, I've found out that the words seem to be Portuguese."
Doyle looked surprised, but the man went on to explain.
"However," he continued, "Portuguese is the language of Brazil, and that fits better with your description of the girl."
"A Brazilian girl !," exclaimed Doyle. "But I don't know anyone like that."
"Are you sure ?," asked Gerry, teasingly, "For what she said was 'for my sister'."
Doyle looked taken aback.
"I've no idea who she is, or her sister," he said.
"Well, Bodie's on the case," replied Gerry. "Maybe he'll find out something."
But when his mate came in later to visit him, it was to report that he was at a loss, too. He'd found nothing to connect Doyle with anything or anyone Brazilian.
Alicia was pleased with herself. True, she thought, she hadn't quite achieved the result she wanted, for her victim had fought her off, and she didn't think she'd totally succeeded in her aim, 'a life for a life', but she had made the effort, and to her mind, honour was satisfied.
Now she could get on with her own life. She had no further use for the car, so she put it back outside her sister's old flat, and posted the keys for both through the letter-box. As far as she was concerned the whole episode was over.
But it wasn't so for C.I.5 ! One of their men had been attacked. As the assailant hadn't managed to kill her victim this time, she might try again, and so she had to be found, and soon, for Doyle was almost fit again, and would be discharged in the next day or so. But so far enquiries were not going well.
Bodie was in Doyle's room, visiting his friend, who was now well on the way to recovery. He'd come mainly to collect Doyle's keys to his flat, and to ask which clothes he wanted fetched in.
"The yellow T-shirt's a write-off, I'm afraid," he said. "You'll have to buy another, since you like the colour."
"Bring the green one, then," replied Doyle, "and the black jeans. They're in the wardrobe."
Paula, the little nurse who had been looking after Doyle, came bustling in. She had got to know them both quite well, for both had tried chatting her up in a mild way, and she had enjoyed and parried their easy banter.
What do you fancy for dinner, Ray ?," she asked, and reached out to move the bed-table into a closer position.
Bodie had put his folder of papers down on it. He'd been showing Doyle all the fruitless enquiries that had been tried. The folder was rather near the edge, and as Paula swung the table into place, it slipped off, and emptied its contents onto the bed and the floor.
She apologised profusely, and hurried to help Bodie collect them up. One of the papers she rescued from the floor, was a copy of the identikit picture.
"Who's this ?, she asked, as she handed it back to him. "One of your many lady-friends ?," she added cheekily.
"That's the girl who tried to kill me," replied Doyle.
"Really ?," she said, startled. Then she turned to Bodie.
"Could I have another look at it, please ?," she said.
Bodie handed it back to her.
"Do you know her ?," he asked eagerly.
"No," replied Paula, thoughtfully, "but I have seen her somewhere."
"Where ?," demanded Bodie, "Try to remember, please. It's important."
"I realise that," she said seriously, "but I can't quite put my finger on it, it was some weeks ago."
For the moment, she couldn't do any better, but promised to really think about it. She hurried off to her duties, leaving the pair rather disappointed.
Paula had the next day off, and as she pleased herself with some leisurely shopping, she tried hard to remember where she had seen that girl. But try as she would, it didn't come to her.
The next morning when she reported back on duty, she found she had been shifted to the women's surgical ward, which was suddenly short-staffed because there had been an out-break of 'flu among the nurses.
She was kept busy all morning, but just before lunchtime, the answer suddenly came to her !
As soon as she was free, she hurried to the male ward, to Doyle's room. To her dismay, she found it was empty. The bed had been stripped and everything cleaned ready for the next patient. On enquiring, she was told that Doyle had been discharged the previous afternoon, collected by his friend Bodie.
Now, what was she to do ?
Then she remembered that Dr. Fenton was a friend of both of them. Perhaps he would know how to contact them.
It took her a few minutes to find him, as he was busy on his rounds. He wasn't happy at being interrupted.
"Is it important ?," he asked briskly, as she requested a word with him.
"Yes, sir, I think it is," she persisted. So he drew her into the Sister's room, which he had found vacant.
"It's about the girl who attacked Mr. Doyle, sir," she began, and immediately had his attention. "I had seen her before, but couldn't remember where. Now I have, and I need to tell them."
Dr. Fenton held up an imperious hand. "Just a moment, nurse," he said quickly, "You're right, it is important. But I know who you should be speaking to. Follow me."
He led her at a fast pace to his own little office, and closed the door behind them.
"Now, nurse," he said, giving her a quick smile, for she looked scared to death, "I need you to look the other way for a moment, while I make this call, - the number is classified, you see."
Dr. Fenton knew exactly who Bodie and Doyle were, and the kind of work they did. The special number he rang had him put straight through to Cowley. As soon as he answered, the doctor spoke quickly and succinctly.
"Sir," he said, "I've got a nurse here who remembers seeing the girl you are after, the one who attacked Doyle."
He handed the phone to Paula. A firm calm voice, with a slight accent, came on the line.
Now, nurse," it said encouragingly. "Tell me where you've seen her."
Paula hurried to explain. "It was weeks ago," she began, "when I was working in Casualty. A girl was brought in with a suspected overdose. We tried hard, but couldn't save her. Her sister was there, and I'm sure that was the girl in the picture, - she was very striking-looking."
"Well done," said the voice. "Do you recall her name ?"
"No," admitted Paula, "but it will all be in Casualty's records. I'm sure it could be found."
"I'll get someone onto it right away," said the voice. "Thank you so much for your help." The call came to an end.
Dr. Fenton thanked Paula as well. "I think you've been a great help," he said, beaming at her. "I'll be sure to tell the lads next time I see them."
He ushered her out, and she hurried back to her duties. She had missed lunch, but she didn't mind. She'd liked Doyle and Bodie, though she had no idea what they did, but she hoped she'd helped them.
Doyle was making good progress. He'd had one quiet day at home, resting, and today Bodie was fetching him in for an appointment with their own medical man. He knew that he wouldn't be signed back on active duty for a day or two yet, but there was always plenty of paperwork to get on with, checking and up-dating records. His own car had been collected and taken into the yard at Headquarters while he was in hospital, but he was fit to drive, so he'd pick it up later, and he'd soon feel back to normal.
As the pair walked together into the duty-room, a message was passed to them that Cowley wanted to see them. So they moved along the passage and tapped on his door.
Their boss was looking pleased with a report he held in his hand, and waved them to a seat. "You'll be pleased to hear, gentlemen," he began, "that we've got a lead on the girl who attacked you, Doyle."
He had their full attention, and went on. "The nurse who saw the picture, finally remembered where she had seen her, and Dr. Fenton put her through to tell me."
"Good for Paula !," exclaimed Bodie, and got glared at for interrupting.
Their boss went on to explain the information he had received. "I sent Evans down to Casualty, and after a bit of searching, he eventually got a name and address for her."
He consulted the paper in his hand. "Her name's Alicia Castille, and she's a dancer," he continued. "Evans went to the address last evening, but she wasn't in. A neighbour told him she worked in one of the big West End shows, but she didn't know which."
"And you want us to check that out !," exclaimed Bodie. He jumped to his feet, quite excited by the prospect, but was instantly quelled by a fierce look from Cowley.
"No, I don't," he said firmly. "In fact, I don't want either of you near her."
Bodie subsided back on his seat, looking puzzled.
"Why not ?," he demanded ,rather rudely.
"Several reasons," replied Cowley. "First because you are both too personally involved, and secondly, because I have already made extensive enquiries about her, and this needs careful handling."
"Why, sir ?," asked Doyle, but his tone was much milder than his mate's.
"She's a Brazilian national," explained Cowley, "and they are very touchy about their people. Her father is a powerful business man in their own country, with a great many influential contacts over here."
He paused and looked steadily at them both. "I don't want to see newspapers with large blazoning headlines saying 'C.I.5 harasses Brazilian citizen."
"You can't mean to let her get away with it," protested Bodie. "She tried to kill Doyle !"
"I do intend to call her to task," said their boss, "But I'll do it my way. I have an appointment at the Brazilian Embassy this afternoon. That's all, gentlemen."
As the two men rose to go, he fixed them with a steady stare. "I meant what I said, you know. If either one of you takes one step towards her, it will mean instant dismissal, I warn you."
Bodie still looked a little mutinous, but Doyle put a calming hand on his arm.
"You will keep us informed, though - please, sir, ?," he asked gently and Cowley nodded.
There was plenty of other work to keep them busy, and several days passed without any word from their boss. Bodie was still grumbling, though only when alone with his mate.
"It could have been good," he said, "looking for a dancer in a West End show. They are usually real crackers ! Well, we met one, didn't we ? I know she wasn't the one who attacked you, - Celia was a platinum blonde, as I remember."
The pair had had no further contact with the girls they had taken on their double-date, as they had decided it would be too difficult to explain the way they had dumped them, so unceremoniously.
The following afternoon Doyle went to leave a completed report for Cowley. As he deposited it on the growing pile on his boss's desk, he accidentally overheard Cowley's secretary on the phone in the inner office.
"No, Minister," she was saying, "He's not here this afternoon. He has gone to another appointment at the Brazilian Embassy.
Doyle left without her seeing him. He was smiling to himself. So the boss was still working on it !
He decided to say nothing to Bodie, for his friend was quite liable to blurt something out inadvertently. If Cowley heard him, he might well misconstrue it, and think they'd been asking questions. He wouldn't risk that.
He was glad he'd kept quiet, for the next morning they were summoned to Cowley's office. As he waited for them to find seats and settle, he thought again of the interview he had had the previous afternoon. He regarded their expectant faces.
"Gentlemen," he said at last, "The Brazilian Embassy staff have been making their own enquiries, and have talked to Miss Castille. It is confirmed that she was the one who attacked you, Doyle. She will be going home as soon as it can be arranged, with a note on her passport, saying 'Refuse Entry'. She will not come back to this country."
"Is that all ?," exclaimed Bodie in a disbelieving tone.
"Not quite," replied Cowley. He thought again of the man he had been speaking to the day before, a Senor Torrillo. He had been in quite a state, very agitated. He'd been having to tread so carefully because of the power and influence of Alicia's illustrious father. But he'd personally interviewed the girl, and had been very annoyed because he'd found her arrogant and un-repentant.
But his Government were most anxious to remain on good terms with the British authorities, and so he'd only been allowed to make one small concession towards meeting Cowley's demands. This their boss was now explaining.
"I am permitted to arrest Miss Castille, and bring her in for one interview session," he enlightened them, "Then she will be returned to the Embassy, to leave on the next available flight to Brazil."
"Can we sit in ?," asked Bodie eagerly.
"No, you cannot !," said Cowley firmly. Then, seeing the crest-fallen looks on both their faces, he relented and added, "But you can watch and listen."
He continued to outline what was going to happen. "I have to send for her at 2 o'clock." Noting the eager look on Bodie's face, he added, "But not you, Bodie. I'm sending Murphy, for he has tact, and Parrish, because he speaks Portuguese."
Bodie resented the implication that he couldn't be tactful, but wisely decided to say nothing. Doyle just smiled inwardly.
The pair left to get on with some work to pass the morning. The afternoon saw them ensconced behind the one-way window/mirror that gave them sound and vision access to the currently empty briefing-room. They watched and waited patiently, but with some excited anticipation.
The door opened and Murphy and Parrish entered escorting Alicia Castille. She was undoubtedly a striking-looking girl, but now her beauty was marred by the sullen look on her face. She had just been told by Embassy officials that she was to be ignominiously shipped home.
That meant the end of her aspirations of becoming a star. She was devastated by, as she saw it, this failure. It meant the end of all her dreams. In addition the Embassy had made extensive enquiries, and had discovered the truth about her sister's way of life, and her death. On her arrival home, Alicia would have to face the wrath of her father for the lies she had told him.
Murphy ushered her to a seat at the table, then he and Parrish retired to stand unobtrusively by the far wall. The door opened again to admit an older man, who took himself to a seat facing her across the table.
She eyed him cautiously, her face still scowling. He looked stern and implacable, and a tinge of fear entered her mind. But when he spoke, his voice was polite and courteous. Her innate courage returned and her gaze became defiant.
"Well, Miss Castille," he began, "I understand that you have admitted to attacking my man."
"Ray Doyle, - yes," replied Alicia belligerently, her eyes flashing.
Cowley's tone was still calm and mild. "May I ask why ?," he said gently.
"He killed Rempton !," she retorted fiercely.
Cowley looked a little surprised. "I doubt it," he said mildly. "My orders were to avoid killing, and Doyle is too accurate to slip up."
"Well, one of you did !," said Alicia sullenly.
"Rempton was a villain," said Cowley, "into all sorts of nasty business. He was going to come to a sticky end sometime."
"My sister loved him," declared Alicia vehemently, "and because you killed him, she killed herself."
"I see," said Cowley, "So your motive was revenge for your sister's death."
Alicia sat bolt upright in her chair, her eyes flashing and her head held high.
"A matter of honour !, she declared arrogantly.
Cowley regarded her steadily and thoughtfully. It really irked him that his hands were so tied in this matter. He would like to have seen this arrogant girl taken down a peg or two. She had nearly cost him one of his best men, and he was powerless to call her to account. At last he spoke.
"Miss Castille," he said. "That 'code of honour' may prevail in your country but it does not do so here. We stay within the law. You are very lucky that you did not succeed in your act of 'vengeance', and that my man has recovered. If you had committed murder you would have not escaped our laws so easily."
Reluctantly he nodded to the two men standing by. "Take her back," he ordered. The expression on both their faces expressed their disgust that nothing more was to be done, but they obeyed meekly.
In the other room, Bodie and Doyle were exchanging understanding glances.
"So that's what it was all about," exclaimed Bodie. "Revenge."
"I understand that bit," replied Doyle. "But why me ? She had my name, didn't she ? How did that happen ?."
That was something they would probably never know.