Thornwyn

by Laurence Todd

  “I don’t think he committed suicide,” he eventually said. “I think he was murdered but, of course, I can’t prove it.”

  “Huh? Why do you think that?” I was startled by his comment.

  “I know Paul. He’d never contemplate suicide. He enjoyed his life too much to even think about taking his own life.” He still sounded choked up. He was uncorking the lid on emotions he’d kept buried. “Oh, it’s too complicated to go into. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. I don’t wanna be the next one.”

  He blew his nose, then quickly got up and began walking back towards Birdcage Walk. I left the seat to catch him up but, as I did, I spotted the same woman who’d been following me in Whitehall the previous evening. She was standing by the junction of Birdcage Walk and Horse Guards Road, pretending to be glancing at a newspaper. Had she been following me since I’d left Marsham Street? Had she been there all the time and I’d not noticed her? Tilling could wait. I wanted to know who this woman was. Her presence was now an irritation.

  I watched Tilling cross over Birdcage Walk and then I started walking away in the opposite direction. I walked north in the direction of The Mall, certain she’d follow me. She did. By the north side of the park I abruptly doubled back on myself. The same woman was walking about 150 yards behind me. When she saw me coming towards her, she quickly turned right and walked fast towards Horse Guards Road, looking over her shoulder to see how near I was. This proved beyond doubt I was being followed.

  I increased my pace to narrow the distance between us, but then, at the kerb, she suddenly sprinted diagonally across the road, narrowly dodging an oncoming taxi which screeched to a halt, and she turned left. I did the same and chased her along The Mall. She was fast and she’d opened a bigger gap between us. I saw her running under Admiralty Arch and towards Trafalgar Square. I crossed the road, passed under Admiralty Arch and into the square. I looked around but couldn’t see the woman I was looking for because there was a sizeable crowd gathering for a march. This was the one Clements had alluded to last night. The numbers present made it impossible to pick out any one person. After a couple of minutes looking I gave up. I’d lost her.

  Who was this woman and why was she following me?

  I also realised I’d left the cake on the park seat. Sod it.

  Back in the office I requested and played the CCTV footage of the area for that time. I spotted her running towards Admiralty Arch with me running across the road. It was almost bizarre watching myself pursuing someone, knowing she was somewhere in front of me but not being able to see her, though I was impressed with how fluidly I was running. I zeroed in on her to ensure she was kept in the picture. She was wearing a loose sweater and tight jeans and I noticed she had great legs, though this wasn’t the time to admire them.

  At the Arch, however, she’d turned left and, instead of going into the square to lose me amongst the crowd, as I’d assumed she would, she’d turned into Cockspur Street and then left along Pall Mall. I saw myself looking around, wondering where she’d gone, whilst she walked away in the opposite direction. I didn’t see Richard Clements in the crowd.

  Through switching cameras and adjusting angles, I tracked her going west from Pall Mall, through St James’s Square, across Piccadilly and into Mayfair, looking furtively over her shoulder occasionally to ensure I wasn’t still following. Tracking her had involved a little luck as two cameras weren’t recording, so I’d guessed which direction she might be going in. She finally stopped outside a building in a street just south of Grosvenor Square and entered. It was a place I knew well. It was the headquarters of Prevental.

  Prevental was ostensibly a security firm, providing night watchmen and security guards for office and factory premises, plus advice on how to protect and secure your property. At least, that was what their somewhat anodyne website and corporate literature said. But for those of us who knew the truth, the firm offered so much more. It was actually a brokerage house for mercenary soldiers and others offering their services in theatres of war anywhere on Earth. You were looking for trained ex-soldiers who still wanted to fight? Contact Prevental and chances were they’d have access to people matching your requirements. It also hired out ex-Special Forces personnel to act as bodyguards to leading industrialists and anyone who felt they were in danger of attack whilst in the UK. It had, to my certain knowledge, at least one professional American assassin on its books. It survived, I was certain, because of its close ties with MI5, who occasionally outsourced work to the firm. This was no coincidence; the two men who’d founded Prevental were both former long-time senior MI5 officers.

  I knew someone who worked there. He was ex-police and had been my training officer when I’d left Hendon and been based at West End Central. He had left to go into the private sector, initially training and working as an inquiry agent, but was now a Prevental operative. We’d fallen out over a case a little while back and I’d assaulted him, though not seriously, but he’d forgiven me when I had next met up with him. Time to visit him again.

  I expanded the CCTV display further, froze the image and took a good facsimile of the woman who’d been following me. She was a good-looking woman and I briefly speculated, with legs like hers, whether she was following me because she wanted to ask me out on a date, but I suspected this was unlikely. I printed off a copy, then entered the picture into the Branch database, the family album as we flippantly referred to it, and requested details but was informed there was nothing on file about her, which was very suspicious. Smitherman was in his office but I decided to go to Prevental first.

  Prevental occupied the top two floors over a very chic and pricey boutique in Mayfair. I wondered what the rental would be for such a location as this. I glanced through the boutique window at what appeared to be just a piece of coloured oriental silk dangling from a mannequin’s shoulder, saw a £4,000 price tag and winced.

  Outside Prevental’s entrance I looked up into the camera monitoring the double doors. I blew a kiss at it as I was buzzed into the building.

  I went up the stairs and into their foyer, which was decorated with tasteful and very expensive furniture. There was soft lighting giving a warm glow and pictures of various dignitaries such as the Queen and Barack Obama on the walls. There was also a deep blue carpet bearing the emblem of Prevental, a shield with various firearms protruding from it, facing the entrance to the foyer, and a table by the armchairs with a pile of glossy magazines. I could see a magazine entitled Guns and Freedom and I briefly wondered who published such a title, though I was sure it was an American publication.

  The foyer radiated calm and efficiency. There was a secretary sitting behind a mahogany desk who was typing fast but also looking over her glasses at me as I approached her desk. I didn’t doubt she’d have a gun close to hand.

  I’d phoned ahead so I was expected. Nobody just drops into Prevental unannounced for a quick chat.

  “DS McGraw.” She told me rather than asked me. She handed me a visitor’s lanyard and told me the person I wanted to see was in a meeting which would finish soon, so I was directed to a seat against the far wall, underneath a large reproduction of Constable’s Dedham from Langham.

  I was reading the weekend’s football news in the Times, having decided a magazine called Guns and Freedom sounded a little too intense for me, when my name was called. The secretary led me along a corridor and into an office.

  Gavin Dennison was sitting behind his desk. He was casually dressed, T-shirt and jeans, and smiling as I entered. He looked like he’d been hitting the iron recently as his pectoral muscles were pushing against his tight shirt. He stood up as the secretary left the room.

  “Rob, how’s it going, mate?” he asked amiably as he came around from behind his desk and patted my shoulder.

  “Yeah, okay. You?”

  We engaged in court gossip for a few moments about someone we both knew who’d been appointed to the rank of Superintendent and about how undeserved this was, remarking that Private Eye’s ‘
Order of the Brown Nose’ would be a more appropriate reward for his obsequiousness.

  “So, what’s up, mate? Why’re you disturbing me on a Saturday?” He grinned and sat on the corner of his desk rather than behind it. “It’s the only day I get anything done.”

  I took a picture from my pocket. “You can tell me who this woman is,” I said pleasantly as I handed it to him.

  He looked at it for a few seconds. From his expression I could see he recognised her.

  “Why d’you need to know that?” he said in a neutral tone.

  “She was following me last night in Whitehall and, this morning, she was watching me in St James’s Park when I was talking to someone about a case. She ran off when I approached her and I’ve tracked her to here. That suggests to me you know who this femme fatale is. I wanna know why she’s on my tail.”

  Dennison looked at me for a moment, nodding slightly. There was an awkward silence.

  “I know who she is.” He handed the picture back to me. “Her name’s Gillian Redmond, and she works for the same inquiry agency I worked for after leaving the police. She does the occasional job for us if we have something she can be useful for.”

  “So following me’s now a Prevental job?”

  “Is that what she was doing?”

  “Yeah, and not particularly well either. I clocked her instantly last night and again earlier today,” I gloated. “I think this chick couldn’t trail a bull through a china shop.”

  He looked at me for a few moments, then spoke. “We were contacted recently by quite a large, important firm who wanted someone to do some legwork for them, look into a few things. They’ve got their own security people but they wanted someone from outside, and it was the kind of thing Gill’s good at. We offered it to her, she took it. I don’t know what exactly they wanted her for, but I honestly didn’t know it meant following a police officer.”

  “Which firm? I’ll ask them.”

  “That’s confidential, mate, can’t tell you that.”

  “Why’s it confidential? Why would this firm want a Special Branch officer followed? What have I done to get onto their radar? Are they planning on offering me a job? They could just come straight out and ask me.”

  “As I said, it’s confidential. Look, Rob, I’ll be honest. I’m not certain I know why they wanted someone to do whatever Gill’s doing, but even if I was, you know I couldn’t tell you. A client’s business is always a matter of trust between us and them. You know that. If I asked why you’re asking about Gill, would you tell me?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you. I went to meet a friend for a drink last night and this woman” – I nodded at the picture – “followed me there. I clock her, she leaves. This morning, I go to talk to someone in connection with an investigation about something the Branch has an interest in and she’s on my tail again. I approach her, she runs. I wanna know why she’s following me. If she’s trying to interfere with a police investigation, that’s obstruction. I don’t have to tell you that, do I?” The question was rhetorical.

  There was silence for a few moments. I was waiting for Gavin to reply. He then stood up.

  “I’m sorry, Rob, I really can’t help you with this. All I know is she’s doing work for a firm who asked us for someone good to do something for them. As long as it’s not unlawful, we don’t keep tabs on what people working for us do.”

  “You mean so it’s legally deniable if they get caught.”

  “Ever the cynic, eh, Rob?” He grinned. “You really should think about coming to work here. There’s always room for a good freelancer. You know how much freelancers can earn? You know how much some of our clients’ll pay for our services?”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” I stood up. “Tell her, if she’s gonna follow me, she’d better up her game because I’m looking out for her. I’ve sussed her twice, next time I’ll grab her. If I don’t like her answers I’m gonna take her in. Tell her, also, with legs like hers, if it’s a date she wants, not to be so coy, just ask me,” I said, somewhat cheekily.

  Dennison looked as though he was about to speak, then sat down behind his desk. “I’m sorry, Rob, I can’t help you. I’ve helped you out before but I can’t do so now because I don’t know why Gill’s doing what she is.” He shrugged. I didn’t believe him but didn’t call him out about it. “Keep in touch, mate. Let’s have a beer soon.”

  “Yeah, alright. Take care, Gavin.”

  I left, somewhat frustrated at not learning anything other than the identity of the person who’d been following me. I was also certain Gavin hadn’t been completely honest with me.

  There’d been nothing on our database about Gillian Redmond, which was somewhat surprising, but I’d found details about her by calling in a favour from one of the Branch’s IT specialists. The specialist had logged onto whatever site it was giving her access to a wide range of persons held on file by the security services, and sent over what details she could find, including a picture, which wasn’t as grainy as the one from CCTV.

  Redmond was thirty-one and had obtained a history degree from Oxford before being recruited into MI6. MI6? She’d been a spook for nearly six years but left to join the inquiry agency DeeCee Inc. All inquiry agents have to be licensed, so I checked with their central registry to ascertain what this agency did and was told she’d done the requisite training and was qualified to operate as a licensed private inquiry agent. I wondered how much training she’d had as I’d clocked her twice already but, walking back from Prevental, I’d not spotted her.

  DeeCee Inc. had its offices on the top floor of a building in Chancery Lane, just east from Lincoln’s Inn. The business advertised itself as specialising in all manner of inquiries ranging from industrial to international to personal and it guaranteed total discretion in every investigation undertaken. I was amused at the idea of a firm like this employing ex-MI6 operatives and involved in a messy divorce case. With Redmond’s background, it was easy to see why Prevental would offer her work occasionally. She’d have the training and the skills they’d want. Her intelligence background would explain why we had no details about her.

  I was thinking about this and wondering which firm it was that had hired her, and why did this involve following me? What was I doing, or had I been doing, likely to merit someone being put on my tail?

  Early evening; I’d decided to see if I could catch Geoffrey Tilling at home. Tilling’s flat was on a side road just off Borough High Street. I parked nearby and saw a light on in the front window, so I rang the bell and, when asked, identified myself over the intercom. A buzzing sound and the latch on the outer door clicked, the door opened and I entered.

  He lived on the top floor of a four-storey building and I took the stairs two at a time. He was at the door of the flat and nodded as I entered. He was dressed as he’d been earlier.

  The flat was well lit, spatially well appointed and minimalist in content. A few large Habitat pine scatter cushions were placed strategically on the floor around a coffee table; there were only a few other small items of furniture in what I assumed was the main lounge and there was the pungent smell of jasmine joss sticks burning. There were three shelves filled with books and plenty of arty-type pictures and posters of abstract images on the wall, none of which meant much to me, as my glazed expression probably suggested to him.

  He offered me a glass of wine but I refused. I don’t drink wine. He sat down on a cushion. I remained standing.

  “Why do you wanna see me again? Why are you here?” he began.

  I resisted the temptation to say everyone has to be somewhere.

  “We didn’t finish our chat earlier. You went off and I saw someone in the park I had an interest in.” I didn’t explain further.

  He slumped down against his cushion, looking morose and with an expression suggesting his mood hadn’t improved since he’d left me in St James’s Park earlier.

  “I’m sorry I broke down in front of you in the park,” he began. “I’d been waiting for someone
to get back to me and tell me how much he was going to take from me to keep quiet. It took me by surprise when you said you weren’t there for that.”

  He drained the rest of his wine in one gulp. It wasn’t his first glass either as there was an empty bottle on the coffee table. He poured himself another from an open bottle.

  “What I don’t understand is” – he paused for a moment – “how did that cop Thornwyn even know about Paul and me? We’d been so discreet, so careful. Paul said his sexuality didn’t even come up when he was vetted before he became a minister.” He shook his head. “I just don’t get how he would know about us.”

  “You really wanna know?”

  “Indeed I do.” He looked interested.

  “The guy you get your ecstasy from? He’s one of Thornwyn’s informants. That’s how Thornwyn found out. He told Thornwyn about you two to save his own neck after he’d been arrested. He offered you and Paul up on a plate.”

  “Oh, the bastard.” His voice rose an octave at what he’d heard. “We were good customers. How could he do that to us?” He sounded indignant.

  How naïve was Geoffrey Tilling? Did he really think drugs like ecstasy were distributed and sold by Benedictine monks?

  “Scum like that’d sell their own mothers into slavery for drugs,” I said. “This guy’s name, it’s Bernie, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know if that’s his real name.”

  This was the name Thornwyn had told me when I’d spoken to him in Belmarsh yesterday.

  “Where do you go to buy ecstasy from him?”

  “Usually met him someplace. I’ve a number for him. I’d call when Paul and I wanted to get high. We’d meet someplace, usually the pub he drank in, I’d buy off him.” He shrugged.

  “Give me the number.”

  Tilling recited the number to me, and I noted it.