‘So what was the outcome?’ Vincent asked.
‘Well he must have encountered a miracle of some sort because within days of the CCJ being issued, he was able to pay off all his debts.’
‘What do you mean by a miracle?’
‘Well, either he hit the jackpot on the lottery or a very rich relative died and bequeathed him a fortune because he cleared debts of over eighty thousand pounds in a day.’
‘What about his mortgage?’
‘Oh no, that was the only debt he didn’t clear but he had never missed a payment so the mortgage company were happy for the mortgage to remain in place,’ Taylor confirmed.
‘Perhaps he had a windfall at the casino, you know what these gamblers are like, maybe he risked it all and won.’
‘I suppose it’s possible, but judging by the amounts he had spent on his credit cards there in the past, he didn’t seem the lucky type.’
‘So what is the significance of all this?’
‘Well,’ began Taylor, ‘you may remember that Simpson was also a bit of a gambler? Emma and Barrett visited the casinos in the city to see which ones Simpson had been to. Of the three in the city, he had only been seen at one: the M-Club, which is suspected to be a front for several crime syndicates in London, including…’
‘Go on,’ Vincent urged waiting to hear the words he longed for.
‘The Stratovsky family.’ Taylor smiled as she saw Vincent’s face light up. ‘Jarvis managed to get a list of members’ names for the M-Club while she was there, and I’ve just looked at it and…McGee is not listed as a member.’
Vincent’s face dropped.
‘However,’ Taylor continued, ‘the withdrawals he made on his credit card back in 2010 were from the same location. The casino has been renamed, and is officially under new management, but it’s the same building that McGee used to visit. Assuming that the higher echelons of management haven’t changed, there is your link.’
Vincent screwed up his face, ‘It’s a bit tenuous, don’t you think?’ he said.
‘Agreed, but where there’s smoke there’s fire. What if McGee got in with the Stratovsky family or associates of theirs at the least? What if they agreed to pay off his debt and clear the CCJ in return for something? Maybe that is what his testimony was due to be about. The family know they need to tie up the loose end, so what if they find someone who is in a similarly precarious situation and they agree to clear his debt if he kills McGee? What a result that Simpson happens to work in the same office as McGee.’
Vincent considered the theory; it did seem to fit but it was nothing more than circumstantial.
‘I can see you aren’t so sure, Guv. Let me do some more digging tomorrow. We know that Simpson was withdrawing large sums of money, and it is reasonable to think it was to pay for his gambling at the casino. I’ll arrange to speak with McGee’s widow, to see if she knows how he managed to clear the debt back in 2010. Now that he’s gone she might be willing to tell us what she knows.’
Vincent agreed and told her she had till tomorrow to pull something tangible together.
29
Vincent was just packing his things away when his mobile phone rang. He answered it without even checking who was calling.
‘Vincent,’ he barked into the phone.
‘Detective Inspector, it’s Terry,’ a voice replied. ‘I trust you have recovered from yesterday afternoon’s attack? How was your meeting in London?’
‘How did you know?’
‘There is a lot I know Detective,’ the voice interrupted, ‘which brings me round to the purpose of my call.’
‘Wait a minute; how did you get my mobile number? Yesterday you phoned my work line and today you have my personal number? Who are you? M.I.5?’
The voice laughed.
‘Not exactly, Detective. I have friends in high places and I have access to a variety of systems that allow me to keep abreast of global activities.’
‘So you’re a spy of some sort then?’
‘Not anymore, no. How goes your investigation?’
Vincent was conscious that he knew little about the man on the end of the line, and was loathe sharing any information that wasn’t in the public domain, yet he needed to keep the informant on-side.
‘We are following up on the eighty-third passenger you mentioned. In fact, I am waiting to hear back from one of my Sergeants as we speak.’
‘Good, good, and what about our shooter? Have you figured out how he fits into the puzzle yet?’
Vincent was more certain that Taylor’s connection between McGee and Simpson was genuine, but wasn’t ready to disclose this fact to the mystery caller.
‘We have something we’re pursuing,’ Vincent replied evasively.
‘Good, good,’ purred the voice. ‘Have you figured out how it all ties in to your terrorist friend yet?’
‘With respect, I am not at liberty to share specific details of an on-going investigation with you.’
‘I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then,’ the voice laughed. ‘That will come with time. Listen, Detective,’ the voice continued with greater urgency, ‘the reason for my call is to warn you: I believe your life is in danger.’
‘What kind of danger?’
‘I think you are the next loose end they wish to tie up.’
‘They? Who are they?’
‘This line is not secure, Detective. I will be in touch again tomorrow. For now, watch your back!’
The line went dead. Vincent checked the display but the number had been withheld again. He wondered who Terry really was; there was a chance he was a genuine insider looking to help the case, but equally, there was every chance he was trying to disrupt the investigation. Either way, he decided, it was worth keeping him on-side in case extra intelligence could be gathered. Of course, that left the worrying thought that Vincent’s life might be in danger. He was still thinking about this when his desk phone rang. It was Kyle Davies on the other end.
‘Bonsoir, Guv,’ Davies said cheerily.
‘Kyle, finally, I’ve been trying to get hold of you all afternoon. What have you found?’
‘Still looking, Guv,’ he replied. ‘I got here just before ten but had some difficulty obtaining the cooperation of the French airport security team. They refused to assist me initially as we had not gone through official channels.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Vincent bellowed. ‘Don’t they know we are trying to solve a crime?’
‘Tell me about it! Anyway, they refused to help so I demanded to speak to the police chief in Paris and, after I used a bit of the old Davies charm, he agreed to speak to the people at the airport.’
‘What did you say to him?’
‘I told him that we believed one of the passengers on the flight may have been carrying an incendiary device, and it would be somewhat embarrassing if it was discovered that airport security at Orly-Ouest had failed to identify it. He phoned the airport chief, and I’ve had full access to all their footage since three.’
‘Good work, Kyle, now what have you found?’
‘I have watched, and re-watched the footage of passengers boarding the flight and your source is right, there are definitely eighty-three people who board the flight including the crew. I am currently comparing the faces of those boarding the flight with the passport photos that were included in the AAIB report of those who survived the crash. I’m about halfway through the list but haven’t found anyone’s photo missing yet. My thinking is, if we can find the face of the person who boards the plane who doesn’t match one of the photographs, we will have our missing passenger. I’m not yet sure how we will then identify him but I’m working on it.’
‘Have you managed to get border control to check their records?’
‘Yeah, they’ve printed the records and they only have eighty-two names on that flight. I’ve shared that there is a missing passenger and they are currently checking system audits to see why only eighty-two are logged. I think they’re quite worried about
it, though. I mean, the guy I’m with is being super nice to me, a total contrast to how I was received earlier.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘I was going to say, Guv, it might be worth me staying the night. It all depends how quickly we can identify the extra body, and how well we can track who he is. There is a flight home just after nine tonight but if I’m not finished, it might be better to stay. I wanted to check whether there is budget to cover the stay?’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Vincent replied quickly. ‘I’ll chat with Mercure and get her to sign it off.’
The truth was, Vincent was more than prepared to pay for Davies’ hotel room if the D.C.I. refused to sanction it, which was very likely.
‘Great, Guv, cheers. I’ll keep working on it and let you know how I get on.’
‘It’s fine to phone me tonight if you find something. I’ll leave the mobile on.’
Davies thanked him again and disconnected the call. Vincent rubbed his neck with a hand and tried to relax his shoulders. It had been a long day; the rest of the team had already packed up and gone home so he decided it was probably time to follow suit. He picked up his coat and headed for the stairwell.
Despite the time of year, Vincent was pleasantly surprised by the warmth in the air as he exited the station and headed for home. It wasn’t mild enough to discard the overcoat, but it was still sufficiently clement to encourage him to walk home rather than catch the evening bus. The walk would take him about thirty minutes if he maintained a brisk pace, but he decided to stop off on the way at a fish and chip shop for his supper.
It was nearly nine o’clock when he turned onto Park Street and reached his flat. The street was fairly quiet with only a handful of parked cars. He climbed the three steps up to the communal front door and then proceeded to Flat Four. He opened his door and was surprised to see that the usual collection of bills, credit card offers and local takeaway leaflets were not there to greet him. He hung his keys on the hook behind the door and made his way to the kitchen. Without turning on the light he opened a cupboard and pulled out a plate that he subsequently dropped his supper on, before putting it in the microwave to warm up; there was nothing he hated more than lukewarm chips.
Leaving the kitchen he went to his bedroom and changed into a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt and then returned to collect his dinner. As he entered the kitchen he flicked the light on and was surprised when he saw a pile of post neatly stacked on the kitchen table. He tried to recall if the postman had arrived early that morning and he had already collected the mail from the mat, but he was that tired that he could not remember. He ignored the pile and removed the steaming plate from the microwave, heading to the single armchair in the living room and his place in front of the television.
The plate was hot so he returned to the kitchen to find a tray he could balance it on his lap. The stack of post caught his attention again. The three envelopes didn’t look particularly familiar and the leaflet for the local pizza joint was certainly not one he had seen before.
A shiver shot down Vincent’s back as a troublesome thought entered his head: had someone been in his flat?
He quickly moved from room to room to check that there was nobody there now and was relieved that he was alone. He could not understand how his mail could have got onto the table unless someone had broken into his flat and placed it there. Was he just being paranoid? It had been a long day, and the stress of the investigation was certainly taking its toll, but the warning message the voice had imparted, barely an hour before, had him on edge.
He picked up the tray and returned to the lounge. He picked up the remote control and tried to switch it on. He noticed it was not on standby; the little red dot that was ever present in the bottom right corner of the set was dead; he was somebody who always left the television on standby.
As his paranoia reached boiling point he threw the plate of food from his lap and almost in slow motion he dived from the chair, heading for the doorway.
The television set exploded as the small incendiary device connected to the rear of the box detonated. The explosion was deafening and the sharp increase in room temperature as fire emanated from the television stand sent Vincent into panic mode. Small bolts and nails that had been bagged up and attached to the device flew through the air in all directions, some embedding in nearby walls, others hitting the floor or ceiling, some even striking and penetrating the diving body of Jack Vincent.
The glass in the windows shattered and flew into the night sky as the room in turn erupted into fire. The armchair from which he had thrown himself was the first to spark, before nearby lamps and a wooden table also caught alight.
Vincent’s body landed on the carpeted floor, in the doorway between the living room and the hallway. He was unconscious even before his head struck the floor.
30
Two hours later, in a small room at a hotel a stone’s throw from Orly-Ouest airport, Kyle Davies was about to tuck into the warm brie-filled baguette he had bought on his way over to his temporary accommodation. In some ways, his day had been largely taken up with efforts to overcome the bureaucracy that existed between the French and British authorities. However, right before he had been told it was time to finish for the evening, he had successfully identified the passenger presently named ‘eighty-three’. A man, maybe in his early thirties, wearing a short-sleeve shirt and casual trousers had boarded the flight, minutes before the gate had closed. He was accompanied by a taller man in a pale looking suit wearing an unsightly Panama hat. From the grainy footage, it was clear that both men’s passports had been verified by the gate attendant, and yet the shorter man’s face was not included in the photographs provided by the AAIB.
The second man’s passport photograph was included and Davies had managed to identify him as Pascal St-Jean, allegedly a Parisian businessman on his way to the UK to oversee the purchase of a small printing company, according to the AAIB. The more Davies now reflected on the face of the man in the Panama hat, the more he resembled the man that Nina Johnstone had described who had tried to get into the cabin during the flight. She said he had introduced himself as Scott Aldridge and had claimed to be M.I.5. Davies supposed it was highly likely that the agent had been travelling under an assumed identity.
But that still didn’t clarify who the second man was. The images did confirm that the two men were travelling together, which would suggest that Aldridge/St-Jean knew the man’s identity; but that in itself would be an unlikely source, given that they did not know the current whereabouts of the man in the hat.
Davies had managed to get agreement to return to the airport the following morning to view the CCTV footage covering the rest of the complex in an effort to see if the two men had been aboard any other flights together; in that way he could begin to piece something of the puzzle together.
He was about to pick up the phone to call Megan and explain that he wouldn’t be back until the next day; they had parted that morning on the understanding that he might be away for the night, so his call would be unlikely to surprise her. Kicking his shoes to the floor, he stretched his legs out on the bed and fished for the remote control. He turned the television on and, as he always did, began to flick through the limited channel selection the set had to offer, to see what English channels were available. As he did so, he began to phone Megan. The only English station he could find was BBC News 24 so he left it on a low volume and proceeded to tell his wife about his day. She was just telling him about her trip to the hair salon when something on the screen caught his eye. The image on the screen was of a block of flats engulfed in flames with a ticker bar at the bottom of the screen that reported a suspected bomb explosion had occurred in Southampton.
‘Can I call you back in a minute, Megs?’ he said into the phone as a feeling of dread started to grow.
She acquiesced and that gave him the cue to turn the volume up.
‘…the device is believed to have been planted in a flat in the Shi
rley area of the city,’ said a male reporter’s voice. ‘You can see from behind me that the whole building is currently alight but if you look at the ground floor flat, you will see that the windows have blown out. Investigators have suggested it was here that the device was detonated and such was the ferocity of the explosion that the rest of the building is now alight.’
‘Was anyone in the building at the time of the explosion?’ asked the female reporter in the studio.
‘The building housed four maisonettes, two on the ground floor and two above, and it was one of the upstairs residents who phoned the emergency services. The second upstairs resident has returned home subsequently and confirmed that his maisonette would have been empty. Fire fighters have completed their search of one of the ground floor flats with no victims identified, but I believe they are still trying to battle their way into the property where the fire originated.’
‘A second bomb in Southampton in a week, what are the police saying about this?’ continued the presenter.
‘Nothing at present, but coincidentally, the property that the fire-fighters are currently trying to access belongs to the officer leading the investigation into the terrorist threat on the West Quay shopping centre on Saturday.’
Davies mouth dropped open.
‘So there is a probable link between the two incidents?’
‘Very possibly,’ the male reporter concluded. ‘It is certainly a significant coincidence otherwise. At present no group has come forward to claim responsibility for Saturday or this evening. From speaking to residents this week, the city was already in panic over what happened at the shopping centre. Tonight’s events will have done nothing to allay those fears. I’ll have more for you over the next hour as I hear it.’
Shadow Line Page 18
