The Final Lesson
by Jardyn39
AN: Two Chapters posted at once due to short length. Did you miss the previous Chapter "A Park View?"
Chapter 20 - Personal Services
Bateman put the two tall mugs of coffee down on the small table and then squeezed with some difficulty into the moulded plastic chair opposite Mary.
She smiled with amusement and said, "Thanks."
"Make the most of that drink," he muttered. "I spent half of Harry's cash on them."
Mary nodded and said, "Yes, well you pay for the surroundings in these sorts of places."
Bateman rolled his eyes and tried again to get comfortable. This wasn't easy as unfortunately their table for two, wedged between the side wall and a vending machine, had been the only one available in the busy coffee shop.
"Why don't you have something to eat?" suggested Mary. "The pastries look rather nice."
"No time," Bateman replied with a glance at his watch.
"Why did you buy us coffee then?"
"I needed an excuse to collect our message."
"Oh. I wondered why we didn't go into the café next door." Then she mouthed, "So what was the message?"
Bateman moved the pot of sugar sachets and discretely handed Mary a tiny slip of paper. After a moment or two, she opened it inside the palm of her hand.
Mary frowned slightly, trying to understand the message. There were just three numbers that had been typed onto one side of the flimsy cigarette paper.
"29 396 14"
Mary knew better than to speculate out loud, but before she had a chance, Bateman was struggling to free himself from his seat again. Mary took a last sip of coffee and then got up herself.
Outside the entrance, Mary could not keep the smile off her face as she said, "This way, I think."
She handed two pound coins to a tramp standing next to a waste bin on the other side of the pavement before setting off ahead of Bateman.
"You shouldn't encourage them," warned Bateman quietly. "Judging from the smell of alcohol, I'd say your handout will just go on booze."
"Come on, or we'll be late."
"How do you know what time we're meeting?"
"Well, it is almost twenty-five minutes past two now. Do we have to cross the road to get to the even numbers?"
Bateman dug both hands deep into his overcoat pockets in annoyance.
"I thought it was quite a good code, actually," he said as Mary stopped outside a plain door between two shops.
"So who lives at number 396?" she asked with a grin.
Bateman didn't answer, but at exactly twenty-nine minutes past the hour, he knocked lightly on the door. Almost at once the door opened a crack and a small piece of paper was trust into his hands. The door shut with a click.
"Come on," he said, going back along the pavement where they had just come from.
"So, is it another code?" she asked hopefully.
Bateman groaned quietly and discretely handed her the second piece of paper.
This time, Mary was actually rather mystified. The square shaped paper was completely blank on both sides.
"Did you fold it like this?" she asked, hurrying to keep pace with Bateman.
"I folded it once," he replied with a smile, feeling some satisfaction that at least the second message was taking her a little longer to understand.
They reached a traffic junction, but Bateman did not cross immediately. Instead he walked slowly over to a pedestrian barrier and looked around. He was looking for anyone that might have been following them.
"I think we go down there," said Mary without pointing. "The road where that green sign is."
Bateman frowned.
"How did you know? I folded the paper to hide the indicator."
Mary smiled and said, "You folded it too hard. I realised that the folds indicated a junction, although I didn't know it was this one, obviously. Anyway, once I knew which one wasn't your fold, the direction had to be the diagonal fold in the corner. Simple," she added just to rub it in.
Bateman didn't say anything, but walked casually over to the pedestrian entrance and pressed the crossing request button. Mary stood at his side, smiling broadly and looking forward to the next clue while they waited for the traffic lights to change.
She knew it as silly, but she did enjoy these kinds of puzzles and games. As a child her mother had often sent her and her friends off on mystery tours around their small village, following a trail of clues that always lead them right back where they started. Often villagers would be roped in to give clues in exchange for hidden objects.
The pedestrian crossing indicator changed to the green walking man but it took the beeping and Bateman's tug on her arm to bring her back from her childhood reverie.
They crossed the junction and walked a few yards past the green sign. Then Bateman stopped outside a Newsagents and looked at the local cards that had been placed in the window.
Amongst the various Cleaner Wanted and Dog Walking Service advertisements, one card appeared to catch Bateman's attention. Mary knew only because he looked up and down the street again.
Mary quickly scanned the cards, desperately trying to select the right one and get the message.
Bateman gently took her elbow and turned her away.
"Come on," he said gently.
At the last moment, she saw it.
Bateman snorted seeing the look of indignant outrage on Mary's face.
"Let's go," he urged, but couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice.
"How could you?" she muttered angrily.
"Well," began Bateman, pulling her along. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, no-one else looking at those cards would know it was your phone number, would they?"
"Perhaps, but why couldn't I be providing a Piano Tuning Service or something?"
"I didn't know you could tune a piano," he teased.
"I can't, but at least it would be a little more respectable. I really dread to think what kind of messages will be on my answer machine."
Bateman chuckled and pulled her on before she could stop and get a good swipe at him. They continued along the road for a couple of hundred yards into a residential area.
Mary tugged at Bateman again.
"Come on," he urged. "This really isn't the time to have a go at me. I promise-"
"No, John," she said interrupting him. "I think we're being followed."
"Where?" he said seriously, not looking around.
"On the other side of the road," she explained quickly. "He was about twenty feet behind us but he's just gone behind that blue delivery van. Um, he's wearing a flat cap and trench coat, and carrying a small briefcase."
"There are traffic lights ahead. Let's go left and see if he follows."
They arrived at the crossroads and paused before turning left. They waited, but no-one appeared at all.
"I'm sure he was there," said Mary as Bateman scanned all around the junction.
Bateman considered for a moment and then said quietly, "Let's not take any chances. We'll go left and then right again when we can."
Mary nodded and they walked around the corner.
Mary gave an audible gasp when she saw the figure in front of them. Standing propped against a lamppost was the very same tramp she's given money to when they were leaving the coffee shop.
He straightened up and suddenly his appearance of being slightly intoxicated just vanished. A black London taxi cab screeched to a halt and the rear passenger door flew open.
"Get in!"
*
Mary clung onto the bright red strap handle with both hands as the taxi sped off. Sliding and bumping around in the rear bench seat, she gave Bateman a long, dark look.
She would have liked to tell him off for practically throwing her into the back of the cab, but he was at that moment in conversation with the tramp sitting on one of the pull down rear facing seats.
Bateman turned to her and asked, "You okay?" Then, seeing her expression, asked, "What?"
Just then the tramp pulled off his filthy soiled overcoat. Then he removed his hat, beard and finally his long, matted hairpiece.
This completely distracted Mary from her annoyance with Bateman.
"Hi," said the grinning young man.
"Hi," replied Mary weakly.
They didn't speak further until the cab dropped them off a few miles away. Mary saw that neither of the others were offering to pay the taxi driver, so she went up to his window and opened her purse.
"It's okay, love," said the driver in a broad Cockney accent. It was only when he winked at her that she recognised him as Hagland, from Bateman's original team.
Although impressed with the accent he was putting on, she was even more impressed that his cab driver imitation extended to cutting up two cars travelling in different directions. The sound of angry car horns heralded his departure even after he was out of view.
Mary turned back. Bateman was waiting for her in front of an open door. She hurried to enter.
*
"Thank you," Mary said as she accepted a cup of tea from Specialist Careem. "Your tramp disguise was very effective."
"Thanks. I try to avoid using it, to be honest," he replied smiling. "The smell can get unbelievably bad sometimes."
"Oh, we don't need to believe," agreed Bateman, wafting his hand under his nose.
Mary took a sip of tea and then placed her cup down again.
"Thank you for seeing us," she began. "I do hope you won't get into trouble for speaking to us. I don't know if you know, but both of us have become under suspicion since the raid on the Archive."
"We heard rumours," agreed Careem. "I was interrogated for a while, but they didn't seem to be taking the questioning very seriously. I couldn't tell them much anyway, seeing as I never saw anything other than the missions I was directly involved with.
"However, I was told in no uncertain terms that there would be serious consequences if I cooperated in any way with either of you again."
"Oh," said Mary. "We wouldn't want you to get in trouble. Would you rather we leave."
Bateman rolled his eyes.
"I wouldn't have met you at all if I felt that way," said Careem kindly.
Mary breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.
"Of course," she agreed.
"We've come to ask you about a particular friend of yours," said Bateman.
"Who?"
"Tell us about Harriet Castle?"
Careem's demeanour changed at once. He looked down into the cup he was cradling with both hands.
"I've not seen her for a while," he said at length.
"I got the impression that you two were rather close," said Mary quietly.
Careem nodded sadly.
"I was very fond of her. Still am, I suppose."
Mary and Bateman waited patiently as Careem prepared to tell them.
"Things started to go wrong a couple of months ago. That's when it got bad, anyway. I tried to get her to see a specialist, but she refused. Shortly after that she told me never to contact her again. I persisted for a while, but I could see I was just hurting her."
"When was the last time you saw her?"
Careen shrugged, still not looking up.
"It's been a few weeks now."
"What was it that got bad?"
"Well, in the beginning it seemed to be just her memory. She'd forget things. Things we'd done together; times we'd gone out."
"Was the specialist a neurologist?"
"No. I wanted her to see a psychiatrist. You see, sometimes she was like a different person. The very last time I saw her, I really thought I was beginning to get through to her. Then all of a sudden she gets this vacant look and then denied she even knew me."
"That must have been very distressing," said Mary. "Have you considered that she may have been influenced by something. Wizards and witches can perform memory charms."
"And they can sometimes control what people say and do," added Bateman.
Careem nodded.
"Of course I considered that. The problem I had was that there was no-one to talk to about it or contact someone who could help her. They closed down everything."
"Do you still have an address for Harriet?"
"Yes. She gave up her flat, but I know where she moved to."
"We'd like to talk to her. We promise not to upset her if we can help it."
"I'm coming with you," said Careem firmly.
Mary smiled and said, "Thank you. We should see her first, but if we believe she might have been affected by anything magic related, we'll get help for her from Kingsley Shacklebolt."
Careem nodded and asked, "Do you want to go now?"
"Yes."
They all stood and in one fluid motion, Bateman withdrew his hand gun and held it at Careem's head.
"John!" cried Mary. "What are you doing?"
Careem held his hands out and said without moving an inch, "He's wondering why I didn't ask after Harry and the others."
"Obviously, you already know," said Bateman.
Careem turned to look directly at Bateman.
"Obviously," agreed Careem.
After a long moment, Bateman put up the gun and then returned it to its concealed holster.
"Oh," said Mary with dawning comprehension.
*
"I'm sorry, Miss Alice, but I really can't talk about it," said Careem for the fifth time in as many minutes.
"Please call me Mary while we're out here," she insisted, leaning forward from the rear passenger seat, steadying herself using the back of the front seat.
"Alright, Mary."
"Are you working for another group set up by the Prime Minister?" she persisted. "I don't understand, though. If you are working with another task force relating to the magical community, why couldn't you get help for Harriet? I mean, how come-"
"Give it a rest, will you?" pleaded Bateman from the front passenger seat of the car. "If he did tell you about any Special Forces activities he was involved with I'd feel obliged shoot him."
"You were going to shoot him anyway!"
Careem laughed as he skilfully manoeuvred the borrowed Cooper Mini through the streets.
"Well, I'd be shooting him for a better reason."