"Listen, Ma'am." McGill tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette. His broad hands spread across the length of the table and he glanced around the chip's shop. "If you and your children are in danger you need to go to the police. I know some constables that are very good at their-"
Already the terrified, pale, brunette woman across the table was shaking her head. She'd been clutching a tattered purse since she sat down. Her children, two waifs who looked rail thin and just as ragged, were crushed between her and the wall against which the booth sat. Both were silent as death, staring with dark brown eyes at the gray-haired American their mother had brought them to see.
"I can't. I can't. The man who is after us is too powerful. He knows too many people."
"I gave you my price, Mrs. Wallace. From the looks of you, you can't afford me for a few hours, let alone days. How long are you gonna run from this guy?"
"I just need a week." The woman moaned, the agony and desperation pitching the statement into a request. "In a week I can raise the money for you, and for tickets out of the country."
"A week?" McGill emphasized. He focused intently on the watery, bloodshot eyes in front of him. "That's 2100 pounds plus expenses, Mrs. Wallace. How are you going to get that money?"
The lined face in front of him went rigid. She was trembling, hadn't touched the cup of tea in front of her, and had immediately given the order of chips and fish balls to her children. They'd gobbled it like it was their first meal in days, silent and compliant. Like adorable gargoyles.
"Let me get you and your kids to a safe place. I've got a friend in London. She can look after the kids while you and I go to the police station."
Again her head was shaking, she was crying full on, and the little girl beside her was pressing hard into her mother's sweaty side.
McGill wanted to leave. He wanted nothing to do with this woman. Certainly not if paying him meant she was going to do something illegal or unsavory. He wanted her safely in the hands of the police, with the kids cleaned up and tucked into a warm bed. Nothing on his conscience, and the mess of what was likely a domestic situation far from the peaceful three weeks he'd been enjoying of June in Great Britain. Whoever had pointed this woman his way was no longer a friend of his.
"Well we can't stay here indefinitely, and unless you give me more information about this guy, and some kind of…" He felt cheap saying it, but his price was what it was for a reason. To avoid risking his life and dying, penniless. "-retainer…"
Mrs. Anne Wallace's shoulders straightened and she yanked a kerchief from her bag. She wiped her face, confident that she wouldn't smear any makeup because she wasn't wearing any. "Bobby." She said softly, "Doris." Both children responded immediately, following their mother out of the booth.
McGill groaned, both at the resolution she came to, and the drama of it. He dumped some folded bills on the table and followed the small family out of the shop. It was early enough that only half the booths were full, but the day was already hot and he regretted the suit jacket he'd pulled on for what he'd hoped would be a professional meeting.
He held the door for mother and children then followed them to the edge of the sidewalk. His car was parked on the street a few feet down.
"Let me drive you home at least." He offered, figuring it was the only salve he'd get for a guilty conscience. Anne Wallace gave him a sharp, angry look and he threw his hands in the air, his cigarette perched in his lips. "Free of charge. Let me see you home. It's too hot to walk."
Anne studied him, sweating thin hands clinging to the pudgy wrists of her children. Finally she nodded and McGill swept his hand to his left indicating the small white Cortina sitting in the shade of the building. Anne and the kids got into the back. McGill would have liked having the woman in the front with him, to facilitate a conversation, but he understood some of her paranoia.
He tossed what was left of his cigarette out the window, checked his mirrors, and pulled the car into the light traffic. "Where do you live?"
"162 Dalmagarry." She said softly, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror.
McGill groaned again inwardly. His fingers were itching to reach for his cigarettes but he'd smoked three already just in the conversation with the mother. He smoked too much when he was idle, and it was time to impose some self-discipline. The street she'd mentioned sounded familiar. He figured if he went too far off course the woman would tell him.
Inside the car, with the windows rolled down the air cooled off a bit. McGill glanced back at Mrs. Wallace while they were stopped for cross traffic and saw that she was crying again, softly, her face turned toward the window. Both of the children were leaned against their mother, sleepily dozing.
Maybe he could take a look at her living arrangements. Give her some suggestions on how to make it safer. Maybe he'd give the address to his buddy in Scotland Yard and ask him to keep an eye on it. Maybe he could convince Anne to give him the name of the guy after them. Spend a few hours on the streets. Rough him up a little. A woman as ragged as Anne couldn't possibly be the focus of anyone so high up.
McGill glanced into the back seat again and watched the woman dig into her purse. Could she be paranoid AND delusional? Would the true mercy be having the woman committed? Was it a mercy to orphan two children from a mother who appeared to be loving and gentle, even if she was a bit off?
McGill navigated the car into a round-about and heard the back seat squeak against sweaty skin. The faint perfume worn by the woman came into range for him to smell, and he heard her say, "Turn off there, the second turn off."
McGill checked the mirrors and turned the wheel, noting that the woman remained close to him. He felt the weight of her wrist on his shoulder, then jolted at the press of cold steel to his neck. His eyes jumped to the mirror. Was she seriously…!?
He sighed and slowed the car, aiming for the side of the road. The gun pressed tighter to his skin and the woman raised her voice.
"No. Keep driving."
McGill ignored the order. "Anne, you've got two choices. Pull the trigger, get blood all over this car and kill me in front of your children, then steal the car and my money. That'll get you protection in a jail cell and make orphans of your children."
McGill put on the emergency brake once the car was stopped, his eyes focused on hers in the mirror. "Or put the gun away. Let me get you home. I'll see what I can do today…and today only, but you have to put away the gun, and I need you to trust me."
Anne spared a glance out the windows, clearly frightened that someone would see her with the weapon. "Just drive!" She insisted, her hand shaking, her body vibrating with fear and desperation.
"No Ma'am." McGill said, keeping his hands on the wheel at ten and two. Nothing to make her fear him. If she feared him, she couldn't trust him.
"Then…then give me your money."
"I've got 90 pounds on me. How far is that going to get you?"
She was rocking on the seat now, constantly darting looks out the windows, the aim of the gun drifting from his neck and toward the dash. McGill could have easily taken it from her but he stayed still, watching her.
"What are you afraid of? What are you running from?" McGill insisted. Finally Anne's eyes met his.
"He's going to take my children from me." She whispered, her voice choked by emotion. "My husband…my ex husband. He's remarried. He's going to take them." Her lip shook, tears burst from her eyes and she sobbed the next phrase. "Adopt them."
The gun dropped into her lap and out of his sight. McGill shifted in the seat and turned slowly so that he could face her. He put his hand out and after a moment, Anne put the gun into his palm. In her hand it had seemed heavy, and awkward. In his, it was tiny. A revolver, old enough that he could see rust at the joints. And empty.
"Where do you live?" McGill asked.
"We were living in a hotel. They evicted us yesterday afternoon. We spent the night with the Red Cross. A woman there…she told me about you."
'Get out, Mac. Drop her at a half-way house, give her a couple of quid and leave it be.' The voice in his head insisted angrily.
He wanted to reason with her. Give your children to their father, where they'll be loved and taken care of. Get them off your back, so that you can get a job. Get stable. Surely someone who cared enough about his children to adopt them, would want their mother in their life.
Meanwhile the car was growing hot again. The children were murmuring in their sleep and sweat was running down his back under the jacket. McGill turned and started the car.
"Where are you taking us?" Anne asked.
"Somewhere air conditioned." McGill responded.
He wove through traffic heading towards the river and an ice cream shop he knew. It was close to a park and a perfect place for a man, woman and children to blend in and feel at home. He figured they could all use a cool treat, and the kids could play for a bit.
He parked the car fifteen minutes later and yanked his jacket off, pulling the pack of cigarettes out and lighting one right away. He put the gun on the seat, laid his jacket over it, and locked the car once the kids and their mother were out. He guided her gently by the small of her back towards the shop. He offered her some money and suggested that she and the kids get into the queue while he made a phone call.
She gave him a wary look but he reassured her. "Phone's right there. You can see it through the picture window. Get the kids something cool. I'll be right back."
"What will you have?" She asked, still needing some reassurance.
"Coffee. Two scoops." He winked at her and she gave him the ghost of a smile. He reached for change as he stepped into the barely shaded shelter of the phone booth.
His phone call went to a woman he knew. She worked as a superintendent for one of the biggest primary schools in the city.
"MacGill! Surprised to hear from you? It's the summer, you know. No bullies for you to intimidate."
McGill smirked. "Helen, you know I'm a gentle soul. I have nothing but good intentions. High morals."
"And a very dirty mind." She added. In the background he could hear seagulls. She lived on the coast, and was a homebody when not at work. He remembered the house very well. Most of his memories were of warm winter evenings, and bright mornings at her breakfast table.
"I've got a bit of a wildcard on my hands. Wanted to know if you knew anything about a Mr. and Mrs. Wallace. Divorced. Two kids, Bobby and Doris."
"Ages?"
"Probably about 7, 8."
"Wallace is a common enough name. We've got a few families that frequent our schools. What about them?"
McGill groaned softly into the receiver watching the vague outline of Mrs. Wallace and her children as they stepped up to the counter to order. He explained the events of his morning coarsely.
"She's running from the devil with nothing and nobody on her side. The whole thing feels messy, and she refuses to give me details or go to the police."
"Oh, Mac…I'm on vacation." Helen's voice was full of caution, and the hint of a whine. He knew her to love her job and the children she served, but she had a healthy respect for boundaries.
"I'm not about to drop them on your doorstep, darling. Much as I'd love to see you again." McGill said, patting the edge of the bakelite phone. "I just need…someone…somewhere to put her. The right people who will look after her and the kids."
"To get them off your conscience?" Helen asked, astute as always.
McGill winced into a pull on his cigarette and admitted, "Yeah."
He heard a groan and sigh that sounded very much like a luxurious stretch. He could imagine Helen in her bed still, wrapped in satin and smelling sweetly of rose and lilac. It did something to his groin, and he wanted to chastise her for it. And then act on it. Dirty mind, indeed.
"You're in London?" Helen asked after a thoughtful silence.
"Yep. Down by the river at the moment."
"There's a home. About an hour south of me. For battered women and children. They tend to be quite full this time of the year, but I'll give them a call. They owe me a favor."
McGill loved the power in her voice. The confidence. And he was very aware of the caution.
"She should expect to be there no more than a month. Make that very clear to her. They can see about getting her employment in the town, but she MUST follow their rules. No men, no drugs, no stealing. And she'll have to attend the services with the children. It's run by the church."
"I get the feeling she'll convert if she has to. She's desperate, love."
"Desperation leads to cooperation in most cases, but not for long. Make it very clear, Mac. She's to be as cooperative as possible." Helen emphasized.
"I will. And about that hour."
"Hour?"
"From the home, to yours."
Helen moaned into the phone, and McGill could tell she was smiling when she did. "Suppose you plan to join me for dinner."
"Red or white?"
"White, and bring your trunks."
McGill laughed. "I don't wear trunks, honey."
"Dirty, dirty mind." She said, taking on a head mistress tone.
"See you tonight." McGill promised. Once Helen had confirmed, and given him directions to the home, McGill hung up.