It was Fitzhenry himself who opened the door. He was slight with a darkly handsome face, a perfect match for his photo.
Hooley had already grabbed his ID but, before he could hold it up, Fitzhenry’s expression switched from welcome to alarm and he slammed the door shut. Hooley cursed. He’d committed the absolute sin of not making sure he got his foot in the door.
Roper was looking amazed. “I’m pretty certain I heard him running to the back of the house. I think he must have got out the back way.”
“Did you see him long enough to get a decent description of what he was wearing?” asked Hooley, who was already starting to dial Scotland Yard. “We need to get an urgent alert on this man. Maybe he’s not as harmless as we’ve been led to believe.”
“Yeah. He’s five feet and eleven inches tall, lean build and was wearing blue jeans from Primark, a white t-shirt from Gap and black shoes from Sketchers. The picture is a good likeness, but he has changed his hair from a centre parting to slightly longer and parted on the right. He needs glasses but he wasn’t wearing them when he answered the door.”
Hooley stared. “Are you sure about all that? I mean the detail about where he got his stuff from - and the glasses? I have to admit I missed the pretty much all that...”
Roper looked puzzled to be asked. “Of course, I'm sure. When I walk to work, I like to practise by seeing what people are wearing and where they bought it from. I am also excellent at judging height and making allowance for the type of shoes they wear. Some heels are much higher than others. As for glasses, you could see the indentations on his nose.”
Hooley shook his head. “You might have noticed indentations. All I saw was a bloke running away very fast.”
The uniformed officers were already looking for a rear exit and Hooley phoned in with the news and detailed description.
They’d barely moved from the spot on the pavement, but now Roper went to lift the letter box so he could peer inside.
Hooley grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back.
“Are you crazy? That man has just jumped to the top of the queue. Maybe he’s left a little surprise for us too. You have no idea what might be wired to that letterbox, so don’t go poking around! In fact, we’d better make a start on getting people out of the houses next door…”
Chapter 22
Even in the school photo, John Palmer was that kid right at the back with his face obscured by someone else’s shoulder, and in his adult life he had displayed the same skill at anonymity. He hated it, but there was nothing he could do about it.
He tried to be bitter and twisted but people seemed to ignore him – so the best he could manage was a sullen silence which everyone ignored. Then, much to his surprise, he was noticed. And not just by anyone. He was noticed by the boss.
Tony Cross was the owner of the huge warehouse where Palmer had ended up working in logistics. It was a busy site, but the big money came from his secret sale of drugs, as Cross fed a growing habit, targeting the towns and coastal villages of Devon and Cornwall.
These areas presented a uniquely complex challenge. During the peak holiday periods they were jam packed with people and customers. But at quiet times of the year the area was significantly under-populated.
The problem was having the right number of boots on the ground at the right times. What Cross noticed was that, when Palmer was running the legitimate side of the supply chain, errors were at a bare minimum. Realising that a significant talent might be sitting right under his nose, Cross made him an offer. This is the profit, he explained, that I have been making for the last few years. Double it and I will cut you in for a percentage. It turned out that all Palmer needed to bring out his true talent was the right sort of motivation. Before long, the new approach was paying dividends. Profits went up by nearly fourfold, generating extra millions for Cross and a huge dividend for Palmer.
In the past, their work might have gone unnoticed, but in the modern world of drug smuggling, the top-end players kept an eye out for innovation. Within a short space of time, word had spread that Cross and Palmer were the pair to turn to if you were working on complex problems with many moving parts. Between them, this pair could keep anything running smoothly.
Eventually, they attracted attention from those who lurked in the darkest corners of the dark web, and before long they were contemplating offers that would pay fantastically well – but also drag them out of their comfort zones.
Which is when Palmer’s genius for understatement came to the fore. The problem was murder. Both men were happy to deal in drugs that destroyed lives – but suggest that they should arrange a killing to order and it got complicated.
Palmer’s solution was simple. If you created a spreadsheet that showed murder as one of the key business tools, it sanitised the issue and made both men feel comfortable with what they were doing.
Within a few years, Palmer was thoroughly addicted to his lucrative lifestyle. He enjoyed an amazing standard of living with very little effort. He’d even got to the point where he could kill with ease; hence his lack of squeamishness with his direct part in the murders last night.
Having got home late, today he was “working from home” and looking forward to using his new, ride-on, lawn mower. He lived in the exclusive Crown Estate, in Oxshott, Surrey, where he rubbed shoulders with millionaire lawyers, bankers and footballers. His was one of the biggest houses with eight bedrooms spread over three floors, a basement swimming pool and a huge expanse of lawn. For a while he tried cutting the grass with a conventional mower, claiming the exercise would do him good. But he was too idle to keep it up for long, first bringing in a gardener and then developing serious mower envy after his neighbour bought a top of the range sit-on. Last week his machine had been delivered and set-up. Today he was using it for the first time as a “reward” for his poisoning work.
Palmer had persuaded his wife to come and film him on her mobile phone and she had been happy to play along. Wearing his gardening outfit, a pair of shorts, an oversized t-shirt, grubby baseball cap and raggedy shoes, he turned the ignition on.
The explosion ripped them both to shreds.
Later, Crime Scene Investigators found bits of both Palmer and his wife in trees two hundred feet away. The blast shattered windows in nearby houses. They even had to extract several toes from a neighbour’s hot tub.
The first police officers on the scene ran out of words to describe the mayhem. Where Palmer, his mower and his wife had been was now a smoking hole in the ground.
With all the resources being sucked in by the London terror investigation, the lab tests got pushed to the back of the queue – so it would be a few days before the results got sorted.
But, when they did, it would cause pandemonium.
Chapter 23
This was not turning out to be the best day of Jasper Fitzhenry’s life. After slamming the front door, he had run, panic stricken, to the rear of the house intending to escape before realising that was a dead end. He decided he had no choice but risk his luck with the pair on the pavement.
Which case a surprise Hooley and Roper who were astonished to see the front door reopen out of which shot a wild-eyed Fitzhenry. He ran full tilt at the DCI, clearly marking him down as the weakest link, which is where his bad luck struck again.
The DCI instinctively swayed to one side leaving his left foot planted on the pavement. Fitzhenry managed to trip over the foot and went sprawling onto the ground, winding himself in the process. An elated Hooley, who couldn’t quite take-in what he had just done, ordered Roper to sit on their suspect while he whistled up the two uniforms.
Now it was Roper’s turn to look impressed. “That was amazing. You reacted so fast and then it was all over.”
Hooley took a small bow. “I’d love to say it was all planned, but I doubt if I will ever be able to repeat it. I must admit though, that was a bit of dumb move on our blokes’ part. I think he may turn out to not be our bombing mastermind.”
◆◆◆
Back at Victoria, it had been agreed that Hooley and Roper would get first crack at him. Julie Mayweather had intervened on their behalf, arguing that it was their detective work that had got them so far in the first place.
Fitzhenry was handcuffed to a table in a secure interview room and, while the pressure was on to talk to him, the DCI had insisted that they wait a while in order to make him “sweat a bit more.”
Roper and Hooley were watching him through the camera system. New HD colour units gave a pretty good view, and the more he looked, the less convinced the DCI was becoming. Fitzhenry looked like a little boy and nothing like a terrorist.
“What do you think, Jonathan? Have we got our man? Or one of them?”
Roper shrugged. In some ways, he was very clever with body language – his training as a psychologist enabled him to spot classic signs of people telling lies – but he still couldn’t read what Hooley thought of as “day to day” emotions.
The pair watched Fitzhenry drink a paper cup of tea with trembling hands and decided they might as well start, with the DCI leading and Roper following up any lines of inquiry that struck him as promising.
In the room, they sat down and introduced themselves, going through the formalities of an interview under caution. Fitzhenry turned down the chance of a lawyer, saying he wanted to get “on with it.” In Hooley’s mind this lessened the chance that he was guilty.
His opening question was the obvious one. “Why did you run?”
His answer was a surprise. “I just saw two blokes on the doorstep and thought the Savages had sent some more of their goons’ round.” Pulling up his shirt, he showed them some bruises on the right side of his ribcage. “They did this to me a couple of weeks ago, and all because I ditched that mad, psycho-bitch sister. She won’t take no for an answer and keeps telling me she’s going to tie me up and keep me in her basement. I used to think she was just trash talking but lately she’s got a lot scarier. That demented brother of hers is in on it too. I don’t know what sort of relationship they have but it can’t be healthy. This last beating, he turned up and watched while his people worked me over. They stuffed a gag in my mouth to stop me screaming. When they were finished, I was lying on the floor and he pissed on me.”
“Why didn’t you report them to the police?” Hooley asked, although he was guessing at the answer.
The incredulous look he got confirmed he had guessed right. “What, you lot are going to take my word against the ‘Golden Trio?’ Fat chance that was going to happen! A working-class snot like me, against a bunch of posh twats? I’d have had no chance at all. Besides, they’re well out of control. I wouldn’t like to think what would have happened to me if I’d made a complaint.” He paused. “The thing is, I can’t help wondering about them. Even on a good day, they piss off a lot of people with their ‘no entry’ policy. There’s a lot of rich people who get caught up in that as well, and some of them really don’t like being told no. I can’t help wondering if their beloved store got blown up because they managed to annoy the wrong people.”
This last comment triggered an idea with Hooley, and he spent a moment mulling it over. Then, pushing his chair back, he told Roper, “I just want to check something out. Let’s take a break for a minute.”
As they left, Fitzhenry, observing intently, looked anxious.
Outside the interview room, Roper seized the moment to go on a coffee run. By the time he got back, the DCI was looking relaxed.
Roper handed over an Americano and said, “I’m guessing that you have just checked we are in the clear for picking those three up?”
Hooley jerked his thumb in the general direction of the interview room.
“I’ve got no idea whose version of events is right, but what he just told us in there could not be more different to what they’re saying. We need to get the three of them in here and put them under pressure. What do you make of it?”
Roper said, “I was watching him very closely. He was giving off a bit of a mix of signals.”
“I noticed he kept looking up to the right when he answered questions. Isn’t that some sort of signal he’s telling lies, or making things up as he goes along?”
Roper shook his head. “Not at all. People did believe that sort of thing for a while, but it has been shown to be total rubbish. If you really want to read someone from their facial expression you have to know them really well and understand how they react in different situations. Imagining you can tell if someone is lying by the way their eyes move is stupid.”
He took a breath; the DCI could sense he was just getting into his stride.
“Sorry, my mistake. Let’s stick to what you have discovered.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Roper. He was used to Hooley guiding him and didn’t get in a flap. “I really could do with more time to establish some base line observations, but I also used my Rainbow Spectrum. That told me he is very anxious and definitely lying about something. He’s not the bomber, so it is something to do with his relationship with the sister.
“The trouble is what the Spectrum is telling me and at the moment I can’t quite work out why that is the case.”
Hooley narrowed his eyes as a thought stuck him. “Do you think he might have played her along a bit, spun her a yarn about being wildly in love and she was the only girl for him?”
Roper went silent for a moment while he processed this thought. When he refocused, he looked at Hooley.
“I think you are right. I re-ran the Rainbow Spectrum and that suggested your analysis fits very well. How did you work that out?”
The DCI shrugged. “Because he wouldn’t be the first bloke to whisper any old nonsense to get what he wanted. He probably saw her as a meal ticket for life.”
Roper clearly had many questions, but Hooley held him off with a double hand up, palms out. “Sorry Jonathan, but there isn’t enough time to explain the ins and out of that sort of thing. At least it means there's still room for a bit of old-fashioned police thinking.” He hesitated before carrying on. “Is this any help in bringing up your theory, the one you’re keeping to yourself at the moment?” He kept his tone light, but a sudden sense of intensity gave the game away. He wanted to know.
Roper looked thoughtful. “I think the way they have dealt with Fitzhenry shows there is a dark side to those three.”
The younger man blinked and was about to go on when Hooley’s phone rang. The DCI was tempted to ignore it – at least, until he saw who was on the line. It was the duty sergeant back at Victoria. He picked up and listened.
Whatever he was told made him stand up, a fierce expression on his face.
“Make this a full alert. Right now, they’re our number one suspects – so check everywhere. Airports, roads, rail and ships. It sounds like they’re on the run… so let’s get them. Make sure every senior officer on the alert list is informed.”
Chapter 24
The trio had taken off fast after Hooley and Roper left.
CCTV footage showed them hurrying from the building just a few minutes behind the two detectives. Had they been any quicker, they might well have met in the lobby area.
The security guard claimed he’d seen them climbing into the back of a black cab they’d managed to hail as soon as they stepped out into the street. Their PA said they had given no clue as to where they had gone.
Attempts to reach them on their mobile phones resulted in calls ringing out. Location services appeared to be switched off – although MI5 experts said they had the technology to switch them back on and track them.
Within twenty minutes, the spooks had established that the phones were in the Piccadilly area and heading East. Half-an-hour after that, they were discovered hidden in a black cab. The three had left their phones when they got dropped at South Kensington. The driver had decided to treat them as an extra payment.
Five hours after Hooley and Roper had last seen them, the trail ran cold. The cab driver couldn’t help, claiming they had s
tood on the pavement watching until he was out of sight.
Reading the details of the latest findings, Roper grunted and leaned back with his eyes closed, keeping very still until he finally came out of his trance. “What if they are guilty of something, just not the bombings? They would be feeling the most intense pressure right now – and us turning up might have just tipped them over the edge.”
Hooley flexed his fingers, a nervous habit when he was impatient. “I don’t get it. By running, they might as well have told us they’re guilty. But I agree, I can’t see those three behind the attacks. They’re certainly annoying and unpleasant, but that’s not a crime in its own right. I wouldn’t mind giving that brother a bit of a slap, but they don’t strike me as cold-hearted killers.”
Roper said, “I’ve been doing some background research and they went to the best schools and universities. A few years ago, they were mixing with other rich people and celebrities.”
“You mean they were A-listers?”
Roper – who took the view that only bona-fide geniuses should be considered A-listers – ignored him. The mood was broken by Susan Brooker.
“I’ve got enough sandwiches for six people, so no-one can complain about feeling hungry.” She gave Roper a meaningful look, which he missed as he was rooting through the options. Hooley joined him, extracting a ham and mustard. Suddenly hungry, he took an overlarge bite, making him choke.
Through his tears, he saw Roper approaching. Recovering his poise, he held up his hand. “Were you thinking about performing the Heimlich Manoeuvre on me? There was something in your expression.”
Roper inclined his head. “As you know, I have just been on the advanced first aid course and it did cross my mind that you might be in trouble. You should have seen yourself. Your eyes were bulging, and you went very red.”
Just Kill Them Page 9
