Free Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc by Gene

sowed a few seeds surely he'd reap a reward in due course.
    When he told Pippa why he wanted to get on her computer she said, `That sounds like hard work. Why don't you try calling that gym of his brother's?'
    Jamie wondered why that hadn't occurred to him. It was probably the thought of the gun that had put him off. And Dave had sworn he was not going anywhere near his brother when he got out. But it made sense.
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    Half an hour on the net and a few phone calls yielded a list of gyms and health facilities in south-east London. Some he could obviously discount, like the big health chains, full no doubt of gently perspiring yuppies.
    Dave's brother's place would be some kind of macho-man sweat tank where no one bothered to mop up the blood. A bit like Garstone.
    He rang round, asking first for Dave's brother who he remembered was called Christopher. He got a reaction on his fifth call.
    `Yeah, who wants him?' The voice - male, Cockney - was not friendly.
    So he'd found the right place at least. Ìt's really his brother Dave I'm after.
    I'm a friend.'
    `Didn't know the bleeder had any left,' muttered the voice and acknowledged the contact details Jamie gave him with a grunt. `What's your connection with Dave then?’
    'We met last year. When we were both, er. . .'Jamie's voice suddenly trailed off. `Tell him it's about a job,' he added, suddenly aware of how dodgy that sounded.
    `You've got a nerve,' the voice snarled and the phone was slammed down.
    So now, as he stood on Ros Bradey's doorstep, he had no idea whether his message would be passed on or not.
    The old farmhouse in front of him had recently been smartened up. The white paint on the door looked fresh and the brass knocker gleamed. Boots of varying sizes and functions were lined up neatly in the porch and the front garden behind him was obviously lovingly tended. From a window to his right came the sound of piano music, something stirring and classical, though not to his taste. Not that he knew what his taste was these days, after days and nights suffering the cacophony of the Garstone ghetto-blasters.
    He was about to knock when the music faltered, stopped, then started again, replaying a complex phrase. Jamie realised he wasn't listening to a recording but to a person playing a real instrument. He was amazed.
    He couldn't claim he liked the torrent of notes that surrounded him but it was bloody impressive. He didn't dare knock on the door until it stopped.
    Jamie had never met Ros Bradey before, since she'd arrived in the area after his imprisonment, but if she was being pursued by Toby Priest he had an idea what she would be like. For a start, he'd bet she'd be young enough 50

    to be Toby's daughter. In his mid-fifties, having seen off three wives, the Colonel's taste was for youth. The word around Ridgemoor was that there was always a vacancy for a stable lass if she was pretty enough-and prepared to accept some duties that lay outside the usual job description.
    Whatever the reason, there was always a high turnover of female help in the yard.
    The woman who opened the door to Jamie, however, was no nubile stable lass. He couldn't guess her age. Petite and fine-boned, with wide-spaced brown eyes and a mass of treacle-coloured hair pulled off her face and fastened with a clasp. She wore no make-up and there were lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. But her jaw was firm and the skin of her neck was as delicate as a schoolgirl's. She was a woman of some presence.
    Even though she was a newcomer, Ros must have heard something about him but she gave no inkling as she offered a brisk handshake. She did not smile but scrutinised him dispassionately with a penetrating gaze.
    `Let's see what you're made of then,' she said, pulling a padded winter jacket off a coat hook and pointing back down the garden path. Jamie didn't dare mention the music. As she shut the door behind them with some force he had the impression that she was closing it on a part of her life