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He parked his car in a residents’ bay across the road, mounted the three steps to his front door, and inserted his key in the lock. Quinn was at his elbow before it turned.
“Julian.”
Julian Hayman spun in alarm.
“Good God, Quinn, don’t do that. I could have flattened you.”
Hayman was still, years after leaving the regiment, a very fit man. But years of city living had blurred the old cutting edge, just a fraction. Quinn had spent those years toiling in vineyards beneath a blazing sun. He declined to suggest it might have been the other way around, if it ever came to it.
“I need to go back into your files, Julian.”
Hayman had quite recovered. He shook his head firmly.
“Sorry, old boy. Not again. No chance. Word is, you’re taboo. People have been muttering—on the circuit, you know—about the Cormack affair. Can’t risk it. That’s final.”
Quinn realized it was final. The trail had ended. He turned to go.
“By the way,” Hayman called from the top of the steps. “I had lunch yesterday with Barney Simkins. Remember old Barney?”
Quinn nodded. Barney Simkins, a director of Broderick-Jones, the Lloyd’s underwriters who had employed Quinn for ten years all over Europe.
“He says someone’s been ringing in, asking for you.”
“Who?”
“Dunno. Barney said the caller played it very close. Just said if you wanted to contact him, put a small ad in the International Herald Tribune, Paris edition, any day for the next ten, and sign it Q.”
“Didn’t he give any name at all?” asked Quinn.
“Only one, old boy. Odd name. Zack.”
Chapter 15
Quinn climbed into the car beside Sam, who had been waiting around the corner in Mulberry Walk. He looked pensive.
“Won’t he play?”
“Mmmm?”
“Hayman. Won’t he let you go back into his files?”
“No. That’s out. And it’s final. But it appears someone else does want to play. Zack has been phoning.”
She was stunned.
“Zack? What does he want?”
“A meeting.”
“How the hell did he find you?”
Quinn let in the clutch and pulled away from the curb.
“A long shot. Years ago there was an occasional mention of me when I worked for Broderick-Jones. All he had was my name and my job. Seems I’m not the only one who checks back through old newspaper clippings. By a fluke, Hayman was lunching with someone from my old company when the subject came up.”
He turned into Old Church Street and right again on the King’s Road.
