11
'I don't understand. He's in the same place as before but it's in the middle of nowhere. It's just a road. No buildings. Nothing.'
Danny and Elena had skipped breakfast and had logged on to the phone search company again. It clearly showed that Fergus – and Danny was convinced that it was Fergus – was in the same spot as on the previous day with his phone switched on. But the onscreen map showed no houses or larger factory buildings, not even a roadside filling station. Just road.
Elena was sitting at her laptop, frowning at the screen. 'Maybe he parks his car in the same place every day and waits for his calls. But why?'
The question went unanswered. Danny leaned against the door frame in the open doorway of Elena's room. They were bending the Foxcroft rules again. He wasn't supposed to be in the room. And he wasn't, not actually in it.
Elena turned from the computer. 'So what next?'
Danny had already made up his mind. 'I'm going there. Today. I can get a train from Liverpool Street, and then a bus, and then walk or hitch if I have to.'
'To a bit of road? It might be a total waste of time.'
'I'm going, Elena, and I'll find him.'
'I'll come with you.'
Danny shook his head. 'No way. But I do need your help.'
Elena logged off from the website, shut down her computer and they went down to the quiet room. It wasn't very quiet. Lucy, the Jamaican woman who helped Jane with the cleaning, was doing her best Kylie Minogue impression as she danced round with the hoover.
She spotted them in the doorway and broke off from singing just long enough to shout, 'Five minutes, darlings, that's all I need. Then it's all yours.'
Without waiting for an answer, Lucy went back to her version of 'Can't Get You Out of My Head'. When Lucy liked a song, she liked it, it didn't matter how old it was, and the Kylie classic was an all-time favourite. Danny and Elena didn't hang around for the chorus – it wasn't easy listening. They went out into the garden and sat side by side on a bench.
Danny had made his plans. 'You stay here, check the site again during the day and let me know if he takes any more calls.'
'But what about that reporter bloke? You're meant to be meeting him.'
Danny smiled. 'That's what he thinks. But Mr Eddie Moyes is in for a long wait.'
Mr Eddie Moyes was used to waiting. He'd spent countless hours hanging around, drinking endless cups of coffee while he waited for the little titbits of information that sometimes led to a major exclusive. They'd been a lot harder to come by in the last few years.
He'd been made redundant. Eddie Moyes, the man who'd broken more exclusives than the last three governments had broken promises. He'd been The Man. Top Dog. Numero Uno. He'd worked for all the red-tops in his time and was known as one of Fleet Street's finest.
Until the last job. All right, he'd turned forty-five. All right, he liked a drink. But that was all part of the profession, and most of his best bits of information had been skilfully extracted over a friendly pint or three. And a few beers never affected the quality of his work.
His last news editor hadn't seen it that way. He was a whiz kid, one of the new breed who'd taken the cushy university route instead of doing their time on a local rag. He didn't like Eddie from the off and quickly started sending him on stories more suited to an office junior.
They clashed more than once, and when the management announced that redundancies were needed, the whiz kid struck. Eddie had been one of the last in, so he was one of the first out. They could have made him a special case, but they didn't. His record and reputation counted for nothing.
Since then he'd scraped a living as a freelance. But now that he had the chance to get back where he belonged, he was determined to take it. Fergus Watts had cemented his reputation once before and he could do it again. He just had to find him.
Eddie arrived very early at the café down the road from Foxcroft. He got himself a black coffee, ordered a bacon sandwich and found a seat at a vacant table by the window. He could see Foxcroft from where he was sitting.
He pulled out rolled-up copies of the Sun, Star and Mirror from his jacket pocket and, with one eye on Foxcroft, speed-read the news pages. Eddie was feeling good. Soon they would all be begging for his services.
His bacon sandwich arrived and Eddie lifted the top slice of soggy white bread and splashed on huge dollops of thick brown sauce. He replaced the bread and hungrily bit into the greasy sandwich. It was delicious, just the way he liked it. A thin stream of brown sauce ran down onto his podgy chin.
Forty minutes and a second coffee later, Eddie was still waiting. He wasn't surprised and it didn't matter. It was just one of those setbacks all reporters have to cope with. He knew he'd been a bit too eager when he met Danny Watts the previous day and had sensed him backing off. That was no problem. He'd found out where Danny lived.
The bacon for another sandwich was already sizzling in the frying pan. Eddie kept his eyes fixed on Foxcroft. A couple of kids had left the building during the past forty minutes, neither of them Danny.
'Bacon sandwich!' called the woman behind the counter.
As Eddie stood up he saw Danny walk out of Foxcroft and turn up the street in the opposite direction.
'Make that to go, will you, love?' said Eddie, slapping a two-pound coin onto the countertop. 'Quick as you can.'