Her heart pounded as she ran, gasping great gulps of air to power her along. Adrian kept up with her, never taking his eyes off the man. After only a few moment’s pursuit they realised his pace was slowing and he was struggling to run, holding his side and staggering to a stop against the high theatre gardens wall where the trees blocked the light from the few streetlamps in this part of Stratford’s old town.
Adrian grabbed his collar, forcing him flat against the bricks. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘Nobody,’ the man gasped, keeping his head down. Adrian knocked the black baseball cap from his head and squinted at the pale, wheezing man.
‘Boz, it’s you!’ Adrian said, his tone disgusted. He looked to Mirren. ‘He’s the old photographer from the paper. I thought Ferdinand got rid of you?’
‘He rang out of the blue, an hour or two ago. A “sensitive job”, he called it. I didn’t ask questions. I need the money, Adrian.’
‘Do you know who you were photographing?’
‘Old Wagstaff and his lad, Jonathan something, Ferdinand said.’
‘What did he want with the pictures?’ Mirren asked, wrestling the camera from his hands.
‘Careful with that; that’s my livelihood there,’ he said, a note of terror in his voice.
Adrian forced him harder against the wall, gritting his teeth as he spoke. ‘What did he want with the pictures?’
‘He’s running a story on Friday about the pair of ’em.’
‘I’ve got it. Look.’ Mirren had the picture on the screen; Jonathan and Wagstaff face to face and Olivia weeping behind her son. ‘I’m deleting it.’
‘Please don’t. I need that money. Ferdinand got rid of me in September without a penny of my wages from the summer months, saying he had cash flow problems. But he promised me he has a bundle of cash in an envelope ready for me to collect at the office. I’m to get it tomorrow. I need it or I’ll be homeless by spring. Ferdinand’s no friend of mine, but I need that money. I’m desperate.’
‘Too late, it’s deleted,’ Mirren told him, and he winced.
‘But he still knows about Jonathan and his mum,’ Adrian said to her as though Boz was no longer there. ‘We can stop Ferdinand running the story, but how do we stop Boz’s mouth? He’ll go to the tabloids and break it before Ferdinand can.’
Mirren huffed a deep breath and eyed the photographer. He certainly looked down on his luck. She peered into his face. ‘He’s not bad; just desperate,’ she said. ‘I know what to do. Come with me.’
It took five minutes to march him to the cash machine where Mirren withdrew all of her money in spite of Adrian’s protesting.
‘Three hundred and seventy quid?’ Boz said, taking the bundle of notes, warm from the machine. ‘That won’t cover my mortgage for three weeks, let alone the three months I owe.’
Adrian rolled his eyes and punched his own card into the machine, clearing out his account. As he was about to hand Boz the money, he hesitated. ‘Give us your mobile first.’
Mirren caught Adrian’s drift and snatched the phone from Boz’s hand. She scrolled for Mr Ferdinand’s number and typed:
Job’s done. You’ll get your pictures first thing tomorrow.
‘That’ll buy us some time to search theExamineroffice,’ said Mirren, before leaning close to Boz’s face. ‘Now, if you don’t want us calling the police and telling them you robbed us both at knifepoint by the cash machine, you’d better disappear. You don’t want to add a criminal record to your misfortunes.’
Adrian’s eyes widened as Mirren spoke in the most threateningly Scottish accent she could muster.
‘You won’t hear any more from me, I promise,’ Boz whimpered. Adrian loosened his grip and Boz scuttled off into the dark shouting his apologies over his shoulder as he went. ‘I wouldn’t hurt a fly, but when a man’s desperate he takes what’s offered.’
They watched him retreat.
‘Do you think that’s enough to keep him quiet?’ Mirren asked.
‘Should be, that was nearly four grand he got away with.’
‘Four grand!Jesus!’
They started walking instinctively towards theExamineroffices.
‘I was saving up to take Gran to Spain on holiday to see Dad. Might have been their last chance to spend a summer together,’ he said, sadly.
