Who is Jeff Walker?

Sanjeev Shetty

Description

Jeff Walker is one of the best golfers in the world. But all of a sudden, he seems at a crossroads. Controversial posts on social media and alleged death threats lead to Team Walker hiring extra security. Enter Sam Langford, a West London based security expert who follows Walker around, finds nothing suspicious but does find time to fall in love with the golfer's agent.Meanwhile, in the Midlands, police officer Catherine Horvill's search for a missing man sees her uncover a drug cartel who threaten her life. And it leads her to London and Langford.Full of suspense, mystery and murder, Who is Jeff Walker? will keep you guessing until the final page.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 30 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 6
• EAN13: 9781398489745
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Who is Jeff Walker?
Sanjeev Shetty
Austin Macauley Publishers
2022-11-30
Who is Jeff Walker? About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56
About the Author
Sanjeev Shetty is the author of the critically acclaimed boxing book No Middle Ground as well as a biography of Lionel Messi. In a career that has spanned four decades, he has worked in journalism and politics. He lives in Cheshire with his wife, Laura, and their two sons.
Dedication
For Laura and those other two wonderful miscreants, Raf and Rub, it means nothing without you.
Copyright Information ©
Sanjeev Shetty 2022
The right of Sanjeev Shetty to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398489738 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398489745 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2022
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ®
1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
20230119
Acknowledgement
Thanks to Alison Anderson for the support, encouragement, reassurance and just being a good friend. And a special thanks to Andy Padmore for helping to fill in the blanks. I am indebted to several people, as always. But the person who deserves most of the credit is my youngest son, Ruben, for no other reason than the fact that, a while ago, he decided to answer all my questions with two words ‘Jeff Walker’.
Chapter 1
Unemployment wasn’t a new experience for me. It was all part of being freelance/self-employed. There were upsides: never doing what I was told and rarely working for dickheads. The downsides were rent, I seldom made it, and the fact I’d to do bar work from time to time. And that’s when my no dickhead policy was tested. I often wondered whether having served in a military capacity had made me less tolerant towards my fellow man but I think it was just the way I was made. And as both my parents were now dead, there was no one I could verbally blame.
In recent weeks, the emptiness of my pockets forced me into the one thing I hoped to avoid: social media. My best friend, and some would say only, Alex Kouris, recommended I become a presence on the information super-highway as a last resort to bring in new business. I offered a variety of services in the investigation/security industry. I wish I could say I was fielding enquiries on an hourly basis but the truth was the most frequent message I received told me how I could ‘grow my followers’. As I had two and knew them both, ‘growing followers’ wasn’t what I was in it for.
I was considering closing my accounts when I received what they call a ‘DM’. It came from someone claiming to be ‘therealSarahhenderson’ which begged the question, who was her imposter? Her message was brief but direct. She said her firm represented some popular sporting people and would I meet in Soho to discuss some security arrangements? A quick look at my schedule told me I was free for a meeting. Then, now, later or tomorrow. But I remembered some advice from my deceased parents about never seeming too keen and answered Sarah’s request by typing ‘When? I’m pretty busy’.
Chapter 2
Constable Catherine Horvill shook the rain off her coat, hung it neatly, said hello to her colleagues and then sat by her desk. A smattering of water dripped slowly from her head onto her desk. She thought that given she had just walked in and was still one of the new kids on the block, now was not the time to go to the toilet and check how she looked. Being a new kid meant she generally did jobs that other, more established members of the unit didn’t need or want to do.
Catherine had been working for West Midlands Police for about a year. This was not a job she fell into, since she was not very big, but since the first time her parents made her watch police dramas on TV, this is what she wanted to do. She’d gone to university, at her parent’s insistence, despite knowing she already had enough qualifications to be a police officer. She’d read what she needed to do to become a police officer and what she should avoid. The one thing that had caught her eye was to not have any tattoos on her hand. It was a small sacrifice, as she had plenty of tattoos elsewhere, but none that were visible when she put the uniform on.
She was 25, had never had another job, a boyfriend or girlfriend and had only recently left home. Home was a small, two-bedroom house in Wolverhampton, which her mother and father helped her buy. Their help meant she had a manageable mortgage, which they knew she could pay because she’d always been responsible with her money and more importantly, her life. They were as proud of her as they could be and in turn, Catherine wasn’t too embarrassed by them.
Catherine’s computer fired up and she checked the missing person’s log, as that was one of her jobs to do. There was a new entry, Walid Mahmood.
Chapter 3
When I had the opportunity, I liked to walk to places. For instance, I lived somewhere in West London and my appointment to meet the real Sarah Henderson was in Soho. If you knew London, you’d appreciate that was a trek of around six miles. So, with my date being at 4, I set off at two. The walk served a number of purposes. It saved money for a start, it allowed me to miss out on a tube journey as rush hour limbered up and it also gave me time to enter ‘game mode’.
Game mode was how I’d present myself to a prospective new employer. At my age (somewhere between 40 and 50) you’d think I’d know how to do it. But I had a smart mouth. If a receptionist asked me whether they could help me, I’d say ‘could you?’ It was a tendency that others had tried to persuade me to ditch. They had been unsuccessful.
Thinking about temporarily changing my personality was too dull for a glorious walk so I decided to take in my surroundings. I breezed past Holland Park and tip-toed through Lancaster Gate. It was mid-April and the season was mild, so I was wearing a light coat, shirt and slacks. I liked to think I was dressed for all eventualities. I was appropriate for a meeting or could start work today if they needed me to. Which was really wishful thinking.
I had read up on the firm I was meeting. They represented footballers, tennis players and golfers. I’d heard of some and there were some household names. If I had a preference, I’d like to run security on a boxer because I figured we’d bond on our love of the sweet science. But they had no boxers on their resume. If I had a dread, it would be to stand behind a golfer, but as I had empty pockets, I didn’t really have the option of being fussy.
My inner discourse had taken me through Marble Arch and I was now drifting through the backstreets of Oxford Circus and through to Soho. I found the office I was meeting the real Sarah Henderson pretty quickly, realised I was 20 minutes early and grabbed a cup of coffee and something sweet. There were still things I had to work out and naming my hourly rate was one of those. I didn’t want to come too cheap, even despite the nature of my bank balance. And security work was pretty dull so I liked to add a boredom tax whenever I could.
Coffee and cake eaten, I walked back to the office.
“I’m here to meet Sarah Henderson,” I told the man at reception.
“And what is your name sir and will she know what it is regarding?”
“Sam Langford and yes she will.”
He turned away from me and dialled a number. I was too busy admiring how professional I had been to notice anything else. The man behind the reception asked me to sit down and said someone would be down to collect me shortly.
Within 10 minutes, I was on the second floor of the building, sat in a private office, having met the real Sarah Henderson but now waiting to meet the ‘big cheese’. That was Angela Cross, who was apparently the chief account officer, responsible for all ‘premier’ athletes. She walked in, said my name, offered her hand and told me that she was grateful to me for coming.
People in business have a few stock phrases they say without ever thinking about their meaning. It’s all part of the act and I was prepared to let Angela say them without questioning. She spoke with a deep voice that had obviously been subject to some kind of training. I was no expert, but I would not be surprised if she originally hailed from Yorkshire. In London, everyone is expected to sound the same in the end.
“So, Sam, we are in a position where we just need to increase the security of one of our top clients. Do you know who Jeff Walker is?” she asked.
Jeff Walker was one of the best at what he did. Admired by men, loved by women and incred