Double Cross: A gripping political thriller (The Cadre Book 3)

by Stephen Edger

  Mercure stubbed the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray before walking over to the sideboard, opening the cupboard and pouring herself a large sherry. She neglected to offer either of her guests a drink. She threw the liquid down her throat in one gulp, before re-filling the glass. She then joined White on the wicker sofa.

  ‘I think I owe you an apology, White,’ she began, tentatively sipping from the glass. ‘It seems pairing you two up has had a positive effect. One of the reasons I didn’t want to promote you, Davies, was I felt you lacked the balls to make difficult decisions and to challenge the status quo. It seems like you’re now developing into a fine detective. Congratulations!’

  Kyle didn’t know whether to smile or not. He pushed his hands behind his back to hide their trembling.

  ‘Okay, Detective Sergeant Davies, you have my attention. Tell me what you know.’

  16

  White licked his lips as he watched Mercure sipping the sherry. It was all he could do to stop himself reaching out and snatching the glass from her hand. ‘Will you excuse me, please?’ he said, standing up. ‘Where’s the toilet?’

  ‘Head back down the hallway and it’s the last room before you reach the front door. Make sure you clean up after yourself…I know what you men are like.’

  White ignored the jibe and headed down the hallway. He could see Mercure’s husband in the lounge in an armchair near the window, still in the cardigan, but now wearing a large pair of headphones over his ears. His hands were dancing wildly as he conducted the imaginary orchestra before him. White could see a decanter of whisky to the man’s left, and wondered whether he could sneak in and grab it before the husband noticed. He was still staring at the decanter when Walter Mercure looked up.

  ‘Yes?’ Walter shouted.

  ‘Looking for the bathroom,’ White replied quickly, hoping the other two didn’t hear his raised voice.

  ‘End of the hallway on your left,’ Walter shouted back, before turning to look out of the window once more.

  White continued down the corridor, and quietly slipped into the bathroom, locking it behind him. He could feel a cold sweat on his forehead, and wondered whether Kyle or Mercure had noticed it while he’d been in the conservatory. The bungalow wasn’t overly warm, yet the back of his shirt felt wet through. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and was appalled by the clammy mess that stared back at him. He reached out for the tap, his fingers struggling to grip it as they trembled. He twisted the knob and cold water filled the sink.

  Get a grip, man, he told himself.

  He knew what was wrong; he knew what he needed.

  He stared back at his reflection as his eyes egged him on.

  As much as he wanted to fight the urge, he knew that he was too weak, and slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out the silver hip flask he always carried. It was inscribed with a message of congratulations, a present from a former colleague for a job well done. He closed his eyes tight so he wouldn’t have to watch as his trembling fingers unscrewed the lid, and placed the flask to his lips. He tilted it back and savoured the liquid as it gushed into his mouth. He held it there for a second before willing himself to regain control and then he reattached the lid. He let out a deep breath, waiting for the alcohol to enter his bloodstream and settle his nerves. He returned the flask to his jacket pocket and headed back to the conservatory.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Mercure asked as he returned to the wicker chair. ‘You look awful.’

  ‘Low blood sugar,’ he quickly replied. ‘I’ve hardly eaten a thing all day.’

  ‘I’ll fix you something,’ she said, quickly rising and striding towards the kitchen.

  ‘How far have you got?’ White asked Kyle when she was gone.

  ‘I’ve told her that we believe Paul Burns was framed by someone close to him, and that we also believe we know who that person is,’ Kyle replied, ignoring White’s obvious lie about his low blood sugar.

  Mercure returned a moment later with a bowl of crisps and a can of ginger ale. ‘It’s the best I can do for now, I’m afraid,’ she said, handing the items to White. ‘I wasn’t expecting guests.’

  He opened the can and began to sip the drink. He ate one of the crisps before placing the bowl on the table in front of him; he hated prawn cocktail flavour.

  ‘So, you said Burns was framed?’ Mercure beckoned, retaking her seat.

  ‘That’s right,’ Kyle continued. ‘It never made sense to me, how someone like Burns could have organised what happened on that day. I mean, the placing of the bombs, hiring an international assassin, the coded messages, that’s real strategic shit. Did Burns really strike you as capable of organising something so big? And where did he get the money to put it together?’

  ‘I thought he was listed as a director of that money laundering front?’ she interrupted.

  ‘He was, but even that made no sense; the only evidence we had was his name on some papers. His bank accounts showed no trace of illicit funds, hell, he was barely scraping by on his monthly wage. His flat, his clothes, none of it suggested he was an international money launderer.’

  ‘Why did he run when you and White tried to arrest him then?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ma’am; maybe he realised he’d been set up and couldn’t live with it…maybe he had done something else that he felt guilty about, I just don’t know.’

  Mercure shrugged. ‘Okay, for now I’ll accept that he didn’t fit the profile of who we were looking for. Who do you think the real culprit is?’

  Kyle glanced at White, seeking confirmation that he should continue. White was too busy sipping from his can and didn’t notice the look. ‘I…we…believe that Eve Partridge was behind the whole thing.’

  ‘Eve Partridge?’ Mercure declared, bursting with laughter. ‘Oh this I’ve got to hear.’

  ‘I know it sounds ridiculous, Ma’am, but it all makes sense if you piece the puzzle together with her in the frame. It’s like a real-life game of Cluedo: once you establish who is responsible, the location and weapon follow quickly after. Who had access to Burns’ computer and could have planted evidence linking him to the events of that day? Who was it that brought the threatening letter to us, thus bringing the terrorist’s plot to our door? Whose career has skyrocketed since the events of that day in May? Who now has full access to our investigations as civilian oversight of all major operations?’

  ‘Okay, so she’s made the most of her media opportunities, but you didn’t see her face when she brought the letter in. She looked genuinely scared.’

  ‘So she’s a good actress; aren’t all politicians?’ Kyle challenged.

  ‘I’m presuming you have a piece of tangible evidence to support your theory?’

  ‘Not exactly, Ma’am.’

  ‘Well tell me what you have got.’

  ‘The D.I. witnessed her covertly meeting with a known drug importer this morning.’

  Mercure looked over to White who was now nodding along. ‘It’s true. I saw her meeting with Jock McManus in Brockenhurst this morning.’

  ‘Oh God, not McManus again. Really, White? You think I didn’t read up on your history with that Scot before accepting your transfer? I thought you’d let it go once you got stuck into some southern crime.’

  White was surprised that she knew about his history, but was pleased that he wouldn’t have to explain McManus’ chequered past. ‘Everything I’ve ever said about that canny bastard is true. I saw him being all pally with Partridge this mornin’. They’re up to somethin’ I swear.’

  ‘Up to what?’ she challenged. ‘What were they discussing?’

  ‘I didn’t hear,’ White admitted, ‘but given his past, it’s bound to be drug-related.’

  ‘That’s a huge leap to make, gentlemen.’

  ‘Is it, Ma’am?’ Kyle jumped in. ‘I mean, really? It isn’t when you consider her connections, and the fact that she now gets regular updates on Operation Fortress. She is the perfect person for McManus to use to ply his trade down here.�
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  ‘And what would she get out of such a partnership?’ Mercure persisted.

  ‘I don’t know. Kickbacks maybe? A share of the profits?’

  ‘That’s my point, Davies. You don’t know. I’m all for sticking that woman with something, but whatever you find, it’ll need to be seriously backed up with the strongest possible evidence. Supposition and gut feeling simply won’t be enough.’

  ‘We know that whoever hired The Serpent was well-financed and well-connected. The newly-appointed Home Secretary is just such a person.’

  ‘But she didn’t have all those connections back in May; that’s precisely my point,’ Mercure said. ‘If the incident happened today, then your theory would have more credence.’

  ‘McManus would have had those kind of connections back in May, though,’ White piped up. ‘You don’t get to control the north without strong links.’

  Mercure considered them for a moment. ‘I still don’t understand why though. I think that’s the keystone that you’re missing. Let’s say you’re right; that Eve Partridge was the one who hired The Serpent and framed Burns to take the fall. Let’s also say, for the moment, that she was in fact part of the Parvon group and working with McManus to help him create a network of drug traffickers here in the south. What I don’t understand is why she would take these steps. Sure, her notoriety has increased, but there’s no way she could have foreseen being appointed Home Secretary; I don’t care how clairvoyant she is! Is it really just so she can claim a share of McManus’ bankroll? You’re missing something else.’

  ‘Like what, Ma’am?’

  Mercure shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Davies. So far you’ve given me a few scraps of information. If you want to build a real case against her, if you want to untangle what really happened that day, you’re going to need a helluva lot more, that’s for sure.’

  ‘But where do we start, Ma’am? What would your next step be if you were running the investigation?’

  ‘Investigation? Is that what you think you’ve got? I’m not so sure.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Ma’am. We spoke with D.I. John Stead a couple of hours ago. He confirmed that there has definitely been an increase in drug traffic this last six or so months. Whatever he and Partridge are planning, it’s happening right now.’

  ‘You spoke with Stead? The man heading up Operation Fortress? What did he make of your theory?’

  ‘We didn’t tell him, Ma’am.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him? In fact, why are you even bringing this to me? Why aren’t you discussing this with your current D.C.I.? Naomi Payne isn’t it?’

  ‘With respect, Ma’am,’ Kyle said, ‘we don’t know who is and who isn’t involved in this conspiracy. Payne was recommended by Partridge to replace you. For all we know, she could be on the payroll too.’

  ‘So who does know about your little theory?’

  Kyle shot White a glance. ‘It’s just us, Ma’am. As I said, due to the delicate nature of what we’re suggesting…’

  ‘And you still think you have an investigation?’ she interrupted.

  ‘With respect, like, we have something,’ White challenged.

  ‘I’m sorry, White, but you really don’t,’ she smirked. ‘It sounds nice, and you nearly had me convinced, but you’re a long way from having anything tangible, and I’d strongly suggest you two are very careful about who else you share your theory with. I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, but if even a fraction of what you suspect is true, don’t you think that the people financing Eve Partridge will be looking to keep her secret?’

  ‘What do you mean, Ma’am?’

  ‘I mean: a small-time politician from Southampton doesn’t accidentally set up a money laundering front on her own. There are bound to be other people involved in this little operation; people you don’t even know about. Where there’s money, there’s power. Where there’s power, there’s an unbelievable desire to hold onto it. If there is any truth to what you two are suggesting, then you could be in grave danger if you publicise what you know.’ She let out a sigh. ‘If I were you, I would probably ignore that nagging feeling, and just put this to bed.’

  ‘No, Ma’am, I can’t do that,’ Kyle said.

  ‘Is it really worth risking your life over, Davies? What about your family. You have a wife and young daughter, don’t you? Is it really worth endangering them too?’

  ‘I don’t know how you can sit there and say that, Ma’am,’ Kyle fired back. ‘An innocent man may have been framed for crimes he didn’t commit, whilst the real culprits continue with their plans. We have a duty to investigate this.’

  Mercure laughed mockingly. ‘How can I say it? How can you still believe in a system which doesn’t give a shit about those who serve it?’

  White grabbed Kyle quickly before he could fire a further retort back. ‘Come on, man,’ he said as he ushered him into the corridor. ‘There’s now’t we can do to convince her otherwise. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  White led Kyle to the front door and pushed him outside. Mercure remained in the conservatory, while her husband continued to conduct the orchestra.

  ‘I can’t believe her attitude,’ Kyle said once they were back on the road. ‘To think I used to respect her.’

  ‘There’s a reason she’s not a police officer anymore, remember that,’ White said, eagerly scrawling the internet on his phone.

  ‘Do you think she’s right, Guv? That we should just leave things as they are?’

  ‘Give over, man! If anything, I believe that we’re right even more.’

  ‘Really? Where do we go from here then?’

  ‘I think we should re-interview the surviving passengers from the bus; the lawyer and the navy guy. I remember him spouting conspiracy theories at the time. I dismissed them as victim delusions, but the more we talk about this, the more I think they might know.’

  ‘Okay, well it’s gone five, so we’d better do it in the morning. Do you fancy a quick pint before I drop you home?’

  White laughed. ‘I’m glad you’re finally starting to appreciate my methods, man, but on this occasion, no.’

  ‘Wait, you’re turning down a trip to the pub; are you feeling alright?’

  ‘How quickly do you think you can make it to Eastleigh?’

  ‘What the hell is in Eastleigh? I suppose we could be there in about forty minutes.’

  ‘Well step on it, man. There’s a plane taking off from the airport in less than an hour, and I need to be on it.’

  ‘A plane? You got some holiday you haven’t told me about, Guv?’

  ‘I wish, man! No, I have an old friend I need to go and see.’

  ‘What about re-interviewing Nazir Ahmed and Aaron Cross in the morning?’

  ‘You’re a big boy, Kyle, you don’t need me to hold your hand. As far as I’m concerned, we need to attack this thing whilst we’ve still got the advantage.’

  ‘Advantage?’

  ‘Aye, advantage. We’re ahead of the game right now. We know what’s going on, but they don’t know we know. I think we need to attack this thing from both angles. You take the bus victims and I’ll work on McManus. Let’s shake the tree and see what falls out.’

  17

  SAN YSIDRO, U.S.-MEXICO BORDER

  10:00 (P.S.T.)

  Aaron had been virtually stationary for forty-five minutes already. He estimated that he’d moved fewer than fifty metres at the San Ysidro border crossing, and the signs at the side of the road were indicating that he would have to wait the same amount of time to actually get back onto U.S. soil. When he’d told Victoria that he’d make his way to Fallon immediately, he hadn’t really thought about the logistics of what he was attempting. The vehicle’s built-in G.P.S. system told him that the nine hundred kilometre trip would take nine hours without traffic. Leaving at what he now understood was the peak time on a Tuesday had not been such a good idea. He should have told her he would wait until much later in the evening and travel under the cover of darkness, but
then that would have meant he would have to kill twelve hours with nothing to do.

  He wished that Dylan had decided to come with him, if for no other reason than for the company. He was bored of listening to songs he didn’t know on the radio. It was starting to get a bit chilly in the car too. The car’s temperature gauge said it was ten degrees outside, but it felt cooler inside. It would have been easier to turn on the car’s heating fan, but he didn’t want to waste unnecessary petrol.

  He was taking a huge risk to cross the border so brazenly. He was gambling that the state police who had been pursuing them for the last day, would try and keep their chase off the radar, and that would mean they hadn’t notified the authorities to look out for him. That was another reason he was travelling in broad daylight, as he assumed they would expect him to travel later when the port was quieter.

  Hide in plain sight, he told himself.

  There were currently nine lanes of vehicles heading towards the border entry, and he was stuck right in the middle, with four lanes of vehicles either side of any escape plan he may have required. He was angry that he hadn’t considered an escape plan earlier. He hadn’t reached the Mexican checkpoint yet, and that was going to be the greatest challenge to navigate. Once he was officially on U.S. soil he was confident that his entry would be granted. His passport and visa were still in date, so there was no reason for him to fear detainment; that was of course, assuming he made it past the Mexican checkpoint.

  The van in front moved forward a couple of metres, so Aaron started the engine and followed suit, before killing it again. It was the same process he’d been following since he’d arrived. He was fed up of seeing the same bumper sticker stuck to the rear door of the van. He’d found it amusing at first: What if the Hokey Pokey IS what it’s all about? That had been more than half an hour ago when he’d mistakenly chosen this lane. It was tiresome now. He’d never understood the appeal of bumper stickers anyway. Sure, they could provide a witty highlight in an otherwise tedious day, but what was the point really?