Fennington scanned the list, then pushed it back to Mel without bothering to look at her.
‘Our forensic financial experts tell us that your above-the-board business has been profitable,’ McCracken said. ‘What puzzles me is why you’ve been dealing on the dark side?’
Silence. McCracken waited; his gaze fixed on Fennington who was looking over McCracken’s shoulder at the far wall.
‘No?’ McCracken said after a few minutes. ‘Okay. We’re doing so well I don’t think we’ll need to bother you anymore.’
Fennington continued his intense study of the back wall.
‘Unless you have anything particularly helpful to tell us?’
Fennington looked away, then at Mel and back to McCracken.
‘Very well,’ McCracken said. ‘Dealing’s over. We’ll prepare the formal paperwork for charging you.’ He nodded to Mel and they both stood. She grasped the door handle, ready to leave the room, when Fennington’s voice came.
‘Wait.’
‘Yes?’ McCracken said.
‘Get your boss in here. Stevenson. I’ll talk to him.’
McCracken left and Mel sat down again and studied Fennington. She had an idea about why he’d stepped into the illicit side, but it was intuitive rather than evidence based. She’d seen it in some soldiers. It was the frisson of crossing the line, the dare of exceeding the norm, the ego trip her mother’s generation called it. Fennington was a very intelligent man and these types tended to become bored.
‘Are you attempting to analyse me, Mélisende? Please don’t. You aren’t capable.’
‘I may be a simple soldier, but I can put my thoughts together. It grieves me to see you involved in such a sordid mess when you have so many talents to offer the world. And Oliver, he’s hurting and can hardly believe what you’ve been doing.’
‘Don’t you bloody dare bring him in.’
‘You brought him into this mess by your actions.’
‘God, you really do sanctimonious, don’t you, Mélisende? Rohlbert was completely right. You are prim and proper, nothing but a posh totty.’
That was the moment that McCracken came back into the room with Stevenson.
Mel froze, in contrast to the heat rising up her neck. She ignored it and kept her eyes fixed on Fennington. How dare he reduce her to a bonasse! She’d heard worse in her army time, but never said like this to her face. She was too embarrassed to turn round to face Stevenson and McCracken but made every effort to keep her expression neutral so Fennington wouldn’t see how his remark had hit her. He’d always been polite to her before, so it must be a sign he was feeling pressurised. Well and good. Stevenson slid into the chair beside her. McCracken leant against the side wall and stared down at Fennington as if he was a bad smell.
‘Now Mr Fennington, I understand you have something to tell me.’ Stevenson put on a pair of black-framed spectacles, glanced at a sheet of paper in his file, then looked up at Fennington. ‘I’ve just had a trying interview with the French military attaché and the second secretary at the embassy about their missing weapons found in your possession, so I do hope this will be a more pleasant conversation.’
‘Ah, the redoubtable Madame de Villiers. A witch in Givenchy.’ He glanced at Mel, who looked steadily back, her face neutral.
‘Let’s leave aside the personal unpleasantries.’ Stevenson leant back. ‘I’m listening.’
Fennington glanced up at the ceiling, then gave a half-hearted shrug as he brought his gaze back to Stevenson.
‘Much of my company’s turnover reflects standard secure business services – physical such as logistics and personnel as well as virtual – plus financial trading, transfers, escrow, insurance and so on. Sometimes clients require an extra degree of discretion, and we also have clients whose only dealings with us are extremely confidential, such as the provision of specific services or specialist security personnel. Sometimes those dealings are carried out on a near anonymous basis.’
‘I see. That violates your security licence.’ Stevenson glanced at McCracken. ‘Another item on your charge sheet for our friend here, Inspector.’
‘No,’ Fennington interrupted. ‘Really, Stevenson, you must think I’m mentally retarded. Even though we don’t know them, we hold those details through a third party private key and could, if legally required, provide names and contact details.’
McCracken snorted. ‘And does providing “specialist personnel” include a team to terminate my colleague?’
Fennington’s lips parted by a few millimetres.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Investigator des Pittones was attacked by two ex-FSB operatives a few weeks ago, just after you put her through that “special interview”,’ Stevenson said. ‘They haven’t yet brought themselves to share who commissioned them, but it does seem rather coincidental.’
‘They didn’t come from me, if that’s what you’re implying.’
‘Nor the monkeys who followed her back from Rohlbert’s funeral, I s’pose,’ McCracken chipped in. His voice couldn’t have held more contempt.
‘No. I knew she was Rohlbert’s fiancée, but why would I want to kill her? She wasn’t even a loose end that needed tidying up.’ Fennington looked at Mel, who hated the way they were talking about her as if she wasn’t there.
‘Yet you were happy to employ me, knowing who I was,’ she said.
‘You flatter yourself if you think it was for your personal qualities. It amused me to have a descendant of an ancient aristocratic family drive me around.’
What a jerk. She forced a laugh out.
‘You prolos always think that sort of thing is so important, don’t you? How sad.’ She didn’t quite sneer.
Fennington’s face flushed.
‘I may have modest beginnings, Mélisende, but I employed you chiefly for your father’s connections. After Rohlbert’s death, I was damned if I was going to lose all the hard work cultivating that way into Paris business circles.’
‘My father wouldn’t have had anything to do with such an irregular character as you. We cultivate our connections, as you call them, over generations, not mere years.’ She was so annoyed that she almost missed Stevenson’s half-smile and McCracken’s grin.
‘Very well.’ Stevenson’s calm voice broke the tension. ‘Let’s return to your own situation, Mr Fennington. Such as the list my colleagues showed you earlier. Tell me about these clients.’
‘I think you need to put your offer on the table first, Stevenson.’
‘If this list is everything you think it is, I have to disillusion you. We’ve already identified Rohlbert and Duchamps as two of the most active people on it. As we go through the fine detail of your records, we’ll no doubt uncover the others including the so-called “Immigrant”.’ Stevenson pocketed his glasses. ‘If that’s all you have to say to me, Mr Fennington, then you have overestimated your value to us.’
40
‘Blimey, I thought Fennington was going to deck the boss.’
Mel accepted McCracken’s invitation for a pub supper this time, but she’d suggested the gastropub near her flat; the menu went well beyond the usual burger and pie selection. McCracken had raised an eyebrow at first at the ‘revamped Victorian’ decor, but conceded the beer was good.
‘Well, unless Fennington gives us some valuable information, he’s going to get everything he deserves,’ she said.
‘I thought you liked him.’
‘I did, until he started insulting me.’
‘Ah, yes. That was pretty nasty.’
‘You heard it?’ She looked away towards the half-frosted window.
‘Promise you won’t slap me again if I say something?’
‘Are you trying to make me more embarrassed than I am?’
‘I thought you were tougher than that.’
‘You know I am, but it doesn’t stop me having feelings.’ She leant in slightly, curious to know what he was thinking. ‘What did you want to say?’
He t
ook a sip of beer as if for courage.
‘Being honest, you are quite posh. And pretty attractive.’
‘But what he said meant something much more basic.’
‘Yeah, well, that too.’
She stared at him, took a gulp of her wine. She looked over at the bar, heard the chinking of cutlery, the swish of liquid into glasses, the soft footfall of the waiting staff. There was no tinny music, just the murmurings of other diners.
‘I… I don’t know what to say.’ Her heart started to beat hard. She looked him straight in the eye. He looked steadily back. She could read the warmth there. The hard policeman who had carted her off to Friars Green the day Gérard had died had gone. The grudging, bantering rival had gone, as had the supportive colleague of recent days. In his place was a man who liked her for herself, who respected her, who wanted her. He was still a mystery to her in so many ways, but at this moment all she wanted was for him to take her in his arms.
He stood, holding out his hand. She took it.
* * *
She ran the shower long and hard next morning, but even the powerful stream hitting her shoulder blades couldn’t diminish the glow she felt. What a strange man Jeff McCracken was. Much as she’d wanted him last night, she’d been expecting something coarser, even rougher than Gérard. But he’d been gentle, yet firm, a man in control, but also knowing how to surrender. Her skin tingled at the mere thought of his fingers running down the side of her neck, over her shoulder and breast. When he lifted her onto him, the strength of his arm was arousing yet protecting.
Dieu, she was like some melting heroine in a soppy romance.
She towelled her hair, ran a comb through it and slipped on her robe. She went back into the bedroom, but the duvet was pulled back and the bed empty. The sound of the fridge opening, water flowing from the tap in the kitchen. She hesitated and swallowed hard. Had it only been the wine?
‘Hi. Coffee or tea?’ He put his head round the door frame.
‘Coffee, please,’ she croaked.
‘Come and show me how this poncey machine works, then.’
She laughed out loud. The real Jeff McCracken was still there.
* * *
As his car stopped and started in the morning traffic, he was preoccupied with cursing the other drivers and the cyclists that buzzed them. As she looked at the skin tight across his face, his strong arms, his thighs in close-fitting jeans, Mel swallowed. She wondered how the hell they were going to manage after last night. Perhaps she should ask Stevenson for a transfer out. He’d think she was mad. Maybe she was thinking too far ahead. The sex had been stupendous, but was Jeff serious about a relationship?
Come on, Mel, stop imagining every man you sleep with is going to be permanent.
As they got out of the car in the station car park, he turned to her.
‘Are you okay?’ He was calm, almost back to his habitual frown, but not quite.
‘Sure,’ she answered, as unsure as she could be. ‘You?’
‘Look, last night—’
‘I understand.’ Hell. He was giving her the brush off.
‘Do you? I want to say—’
‘Ah, McCracken, Pittones. Good to have you join us.’
They turned at the voice calling out. Ellis was standing by the back service door. He looked at them, from one to the other. A knowing grin broke out on his face.
Mel half closed her eyes. Was it so obvious?
‘Steady,’ McCracken murmured as he stretched his arm out towards his car and pressed the central locking button on the key. ‘He’s a jerk. Probably watches porn to get his jollies.’
‘Oh, no, Jeff, I’m sure he doesn’t – he’s married and seems devoted.’
‘Sometimes you’re so naive, I can’t believe it.’
‘And you’re too cynical,’ she whispered back. ‘But what’s he doing here? He’s supposed to be on leave.’
‘Dunno.’
They crossed the yard to the door, but Ellis didn’t move.
‘If you’d let us through, Mr Ellis,’ McCracken said in a firm but bored voice. ‘We’ll be able to get on with our work.’
‘Work? You’re not getting anywhere by what I read in the director’s report.’
‘We’re pursuing several positive leads. It always comes down to good solid police work in the end. Now please move aside.’ McCracken was so close to Ellis he was almost wearing the same coat. After a few moments, Ellis stepped back and to the side. He yelped.
‘Oh, sorry, did I step on your toe?’ McCracken said. ‘There’s normally plenty of room in this doorway. Seems a bit bunged up this morning.’
* * *
‘Mélisende, Jeff. A word, if you please.’ Patrick Stevenson stood in the doorway of the main room, then disappeared before either could ask why.
Mel reluctantly abandoned the coffee she’d just made, picked up the briefing folder for Fennington’s next interview and glanced at McCracken. He shrugged and made a ‘not a clue’ face. In the corridor, he stopped her by catching her hand.
‘Wait a mo,’ he said. ‘Last night was something I wasn’t expecting.’
‘Are you saying it was a mistake?’ She felt disappointment stab through her.
‘God, no. It’s just that I don’t want to rush anything.’
‘Was that rushed? I’m curious to see how slow would go with you.’
Bon Dieu, what a thing to say.
He blinked. ‘Well, it’s true what they say, then, that the poshest women have the dirtiest minds.’
She laughed, mostly in a surge of secret relief. Now she’d glimpsed inside this man’s mind and heart, she wanted to stay there.
He coughed and pointed to Stevenson’s office. She knocked and whispered, ‘Later.’
‘Close the door please.’ Stevenson picked up his phone from his desk, tapped the radio app and switched on a light music radio station. He did not invite them to sit.
‘I wanted to discuss interview strategy with you, but first Mr Ellis has made a complaint against you, mostly Jeff, for disrespect and assault.’
‘What?’ Mel said. ‘I think there must be some mistake. He didn’t seem himself this morning. I was quite surprised when he blocked our way in from the car park to the building. When he moved aside a little, we could only just get through.’ Mel glanced at McCracken. ‘Jeff accidentally trod on Mr Ellis’s toe on the way through. I’m sorry, Mr Stevenson, but Mr Ellis seems to be a little awkward this morning.’
‘What she said,’ McCracken added. ‘Only I’d say irritating bastard instead of awkward.’
‘That’s enough, Jeff,’ Stevenson snapped.
McCracken shrugged.
‘He’s usually perfectly polite and friendly to me,’ Mel continued, ‘so I was surprised.’
‘Hm, well,’ Stevenson replied. ‘Mr Ellis is under considerable strain with family matters. Actually, I’m surprised to see him here. I’ve told him not to worry about our current investigation. He’s going to work now with Miss Winters as his assistant on re-establishing the Brussels office when he’s able to resume.’
Neither Mel nor McCracken commented. She continued to look at Stevenson while McCracken studied the landscape picture hung on the wall behind the director.
‘Very well,’ Stevenson said after a few moments. ‘But please remember to treat him with appropriate courtesy. Now, show me your interview strategy.’ He read through the top sheet in Mel’s file. ‘Unusual, but approved.’
41
Before she went to interview Roland Fennington, Mel watched him for a few minutes from the observation room. He was wearing a grey tracksuit, not his impeccable tailoring. She knew he’d only had access to the utilitarian shower block in the station, a simple comb and a battery razor rather than personal barbering, but up to now he’d appeared as well-groomed as he’d been in his normal life. However, this morning, the brown shadows in his eye sockets gave him away.
He was rubbing his finger on which he normally wore a large signet ring;
that was in a bag locked away. When Mel walked into the interview room, he darted a glance at her, then at the uniformed constable who took up station just inside the door.
Mel sat down, crossed her arms and gave out a long sigh.
‘I don’t know what to say to you, Mr Fennington. Inspector McCracken is currently processing the documentation to have you taken to the magistrates’ court and remanded to Belmarsh.’ She waved her hand. ‘I understand from colleagues here that some of the hardest and most violent prisoners are imprisoned there, often those who have not enjoyed your privileged lifestyle nor sympathise with men who partner other men.’
He shrugged, but shifted very slightly forward.
‘Are you trying to threaten me?’
‘No, but I’m pointing out what lies before you. Truth to tell, I’m disappointed you won’t protect yourself. We’d also prefer to move more quickly with our investigation. We’ll get there – there is no doubt of that. But as an intelligent man, you must realise that the more our analysts uncover, the less you’ll have to bargain with.’
‘Dear me, are you doing the good cop routine? Will the inspector come in and shout at me next?’
‘Don’t be so stupid!’ Mel slammed the flat of her hand on the table. ‘I’ve had enough of this. You’ve wasted Mr Stevenson’s valuable time and ours. Either you cooperate now with full disclosure or you’ll be thrown to the wolves. Your choice.’
She leant forward and glared at him until he dropped his gaze.
‘Perhaps—’
‘Now,’ she said. ‘Or not at all.’
Fennington threw his hands up.
‘You’ve probably ruined my business and destroyed my reputation, so I’m buggered anyway, if that expression doesn’t seem too ironic.’
Mel said nothing but nodded to the uniformed policeman who went out. McCracken came in armed with paper, pens and a small voice recorder.
Double Identity Page 24
