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by Freddie P Peters

  Or had it?

  It had fostered in him the desire to live intensely, to take risks, to challenge himself, find his limits. He never wanted to feel fear again.

  But the old question came back to him.

  Could he actually kill?

  Could he bear the sight of the body torn and lost? He was ruthless, he knew. He had removed people from his team who did not perform to the highest standards he imposed on himself. He, Henry Crowne, had done so in what he considered to be a tactful and humane way. But the choice between the black bin bag and the quiet chat on the side was the only attempt to appear considerate. The careful words selected to make the point that, “you did not make the grade”, or “sorry you batted for the wrong team” were always the same, picked more in an attempt to avoid a lawsuit rather than to show compassion. He pondered, but then again there was Belfast. Henry forced the image of his native city from his mind, not wishing to revisit his now so distant past. He once more focused on the ways of the City, the subtle back-stabbing, of gossip and opinions directed at colleagues or competitors to gently discredit them. An activity repeated every day, so common that it became hardly noticeable after a while.

  Henry was still deep in thought when Morag tapped at the glass partition.

  “I am off for the day. Do you need anything else tonight H?”

  “No, that will be it. Thanks.” Henry smiled.

  Morag had been superb, not a word about the events of the past couple of days, business as usual. Amazing.

  He had not noticed the time or the fact that the desks were already deserted. At 7pm it was rather unusual but then again the past few months, and certainly the past few days, had been anything but usual. He was himself glad to be able to escape early. He made his move.

  * * *

  The meeting with the IAFA had been predictably tedious. The question of the breach of security was clearly on everyone’s mind as no new details had emerged from the interrogation of personnel at the airport or from the pilot’s background checks. Pole had decided not to mention the second briefcase until it was clear it was a material piece of information. He wanted to gather more but also force the IAFA investigators to dig deep on their side, a strategy that could backfire. He was prepared as ever to take the risk. Pole was unhappy at the way evidence was lining up and he was willing to stretch his luck.

  Nurani had not attended the meeting. She was to fully concentrate on the background checks. Information was starting to arrive thick and fast. It was time for Pole to carry on completing the picture of the murder he had started to formulate.

  There was a great deal of activity at Pole’s office when he arrived. Nurani was on the phone, frantically taking notes. Andy was organising documents on the meeting table. The team had been busy in his absence and Pole felt invigorated at the thought of plunging into the nitty gritty of the case again.

  “Hi gang,” said Pole cheerfully.

  “Hi Boss,” said Andy.

  “What have you got for me?”

  “Followed your advice and got my own thinking organised on the white board and then file. Hope you don’t think I am, sort of, lacking initiative,” blurted Andy.

  “To give orders it is essential first to know how to receive them. That’s always my first piece of advice to you young people,” smiled Pole.

  “You like training people,” said Andy.

  “Is that a question?”

  “No, no, I can see that and I sort of really like it.”

  “Well, I am sure you have been told that I am a bit of an oddball. And don’t worry, I don’t mind a bit,” carried on Pole. “Just tell me if I start acting like your dad though.”

  “Boss, I can tell you there is zero chance you’ll be like my dad.” And with that Andy closed the discussion.

  Pole nodded, he would elucidate Andy’s last remark over a more convivial pint of beer.

  Nurani waved as she finished her conversation and put the phone down. She looked triumphant.

  “The travel agent confirms they sent the tickets.”

  “OK.” Pole dumped his mac on his chair. “Rewind will you. Which travel agent and which ticket and where?”

  “Sorry. Plane tickets to go to Zurich on HXBK’s private jet were delivered to Crowne’s flat the day before the trip. The travel agent says someone signed for them. I have asked for the documents to be scanned and sent to us.”

  “Very good. Bring them along as soon as you get them. Andy, what have you got for me?”

  “Quite a lot actually, Boss.”

  Pole was about to ask Andy to stop calling him Boss every time he opened his mouth but thought again.

  “Right. Shoot.”

  “Background check on Albert and his family nearly completed, lots in there. Statement from the integration committee – they have been willing to release this before they do so to anyone else but it’s very general. We’ll need a lot more detail. Finally background on Crowne, I have not got all the basic but there are a few bits that may be interesting already.”

  “Sounds excellent. Let’s begin with Albert.”

  Andy adjusted his thick glasses on his nose and started flicking through the tags he had arranged in Albert’s file.

  “For a start, his original name is not Albert but Albertini. His father was an Italian immigrant. He owned a small pizzeria near the train station in Southend. He and Albert’s mother never got married and it was a real struggle for him, I mean the father, to stay in the UK before the EU. We have a wad of applications for work permits and so on. He died when Albert was very young, five or so. The mother never married, she had a small allowance from her family but was always on the breadline from what I can tell.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  “No, died a few years ago.”

  “So, Albert had no money as a kid, no real family around him and what does he do next?”

  “Well, he gets into accountancy. Safe job and all that. He is a bright guy because he gets his diploma with distinction. He gets married to someone else on the course and as soon as they are married he changes his name, making it more English, I suppose.”

  “So, from Mr and Mrs Albertini, we now have Mr and Mrs Albert.”

  “Right, then.” Andy was flicking through the file. “He spends five years at Arthur Andersen, works as an adviser to City Group for some of their structured products and makes the big move into banking. Spends another five years there and gets headhunted into HXBK for the small guaranteed bonus of US$200,000. That was thirteen years ago, not bad.”

  “Actually, not that great Andy. Even thirteen years ago some of the big boys earned a damn sight more! So Albert did not negotiate his welcome pack into HXBK that well, probably because he moved from Arthur Andersen after the Enron scandal. Please check.. What else?”

  “His wife stopped working eleven years ago. They had their first kid, a daughter called Anastasia, now age eight, and a son Alexander, age four. They only moved to Belgravia two years ago, before that they lived south of the river,” said Andy flicking through his notes more vigorously. “Aaannnd a few more bits of interest now. He and his wife may have had some marital problems – they went to see a marriage counsellor about five years ago.”

  “Before the second kid was born?”

  “Yep.”

  “Had a second kid to try to shore up the marriage, which never really works. Anything else in that vein could open up possibilities, in particular if he is the one playing away … oh, and for that matter is she playing away?”

  Pole remembered how Adeila Albert’s attitude had changed during their first encounter when he had mentioned potential enemies. He was about to call Nurani to check on their next meeting with Albert’s widow when Ms Shah appeared in his office.

  “Got the scanned documents. Don’t recognise who signed for the tickets. Might be the janitor but we need to check. I will give him a call to see if he remembers slotting them into Crowne’s mailbox.”

  “Regrettably, it looks as if t
he delightful Mrs Albert will have to wait for a while,” said Pole.

  “So we think Crowne got the tickets. That would confirm Albert was expecting him but does not confirm Crowne had agreed to be on the flight.”

  “Maybe but why would Albert send the tickets then?”

  “To force Crowne to be on that very flight, in particular if he, Albert, wanted to have a meeting which the other guy, Crowne, was trying to avoid.”

  “Surely Crowne would have made an excuse even at the last minute, anyway – unless, unless Crowne did not want people to know he had agreed to be on that flight.”

  “That’s a point.”

  Pole pondered this for a while.

  “What happened to the second briefcase? Albert would have wanted to open it before the flight to check the contents. He would have wanted to look at the presentation or whatever Crowne was supposed to deliver to satisfy his curiosity, and anxiety. Why take a second case full of documents if you can’t open it?”

  “So, we need to establish whether he opened the bloody thing,” said Nurani.

  Andy, who had not said a word, raised a timid hand.

  “Yes,” said Nurani turning towards him, unhappy at the interruption.

  “If I remember correctly, from what I saw on the CCTV camera, I should be able to tell you what type of lock it is, I mean, was.”

  “Can you?”

  “If it is a simple key lock, then it is easy enough to open even without the right key. If it is a combination lock well, then, it is much more difficult.”

  “Excellent, go and find out. I need to know whether there was an issue with opening the case. Did Albert try to contact Crowne to get it open? We did not spot anything on email, Nurani, so check for text messages, voice messages. I want to know whether Albert was carrying a case he had not and could not open.”

  Both disappeared leaving Pole to immerse himself in the fast-growing case. This would be a welcome late night.

  * * *

  It was 6am when they came for him. Henry had just switched off the alarm when there was a ring of the main entrance bell. Henry knew immediately who it was. The sound of his doorbell had the effect of a cold shower, he was wide awake, his mind totally alert. Inspector Pole and Ms Shah stood in front of him as soon as he opened the door. They had a search warrant for his apartment. There was no point in protesting, so he moved sideways with a welcoming gesture as if to invite them in.

  Irony …

  The only way to remain in control. Henry got dressed quickly and grabbed the piece of paper on which he had jotted down Harold Wooster’s telephone number.

  Nurani had spent a good part of the night searching through various emails, text messages and phone records to find any piece of evidence that would link Henry, Anthony Albert and the second briefcase. She had been rewarded for her efforts with the discovery of a text asking for the PIN number of a briefcase, textbook evidence. Andy had also confirmed, through his work on the CCTV videotape, that the briefcase lock was a combination one. It could not be opened unless the PIN number had been entered into the lock. The text read, Number invalid, please resend code. There had been no reply from Henry.

  The accumulation of evidence necessitated a formal chat with Mr Crowne. Henry was also a flight hazard and Pole was not taking the risk.

  Henry sat down without a word, finding space at the back of the police car. Pole took his seat next to him. Both men remained silent until they reached Scotland Yard. The smell of disinfectant assailed Henry’s nostrils as soon as he entered the building and was suddenly back to being a boy in Northern Ireland.

  He is no more than seven. It is the first time, but not the last, he ends up in the nick – no … the paddy! Some street fight with another gang of kids descends into chaos, bricks thrown, windows smashed. The police are called and catch up with them pretty quickly. In those days any scuffle attracts an instant police response. Belfast is not a playground for young boys. After a couple of hours, his mother comes to collect him. A quiet English woman, she came to Ireland as a teacher, married his Irish father and decided to stay. But she has never managed to find her place among the Irish, and found herself shunned by the English as well. Why does he have to hang around with the Irish mob? She tries and fails to scold little Henry. He remembers her crying. On that occasion he feels ashamed but anger prevails … always.

  Pole’s voice had shaken Henry back. He had directed him towards the interrogation room. Henry had barely noticed he had been processed in the customary fashion. Pole had offered a drink.

  “A good cup of tea would not go amiss,” said Henry with his usual hint of irony.

  His renewed confidence at holding Wooster QC’s address, had pushed him to start without his lawyer. There would be plenty of time to call at a later stage. Calling him too early may indicate guilt and he had no intention of giving Pole ammunition.

  Inspector Pole started the interview with Dolores observing. A trained psychologist was helpful now that serious questioning was underway.

  Both men went over old ground, the sequence of events, the CCTV tape, the takeover, Henry’s relationship with Albert. The answers came back identical. The interview had been going on for an hour and a half when a text message flashed up on Pole’s mobile phone. He excused himself and left Henry alone in the room. Dolores waved as Pole appeared in the observation room.

  “Are you taking five so that you can see how he will react on his own?”

  “Yes and no. I’ve received a cryptic text from Nurani, more evidence rolling in and it was time to take the pulse with you. So, what do you think?”

  “On the surface, self-assured, focused, excellent memory. He is going to use the same words for the same questions no matter what. He has formidable self-control. If you go deeper and I mean much deeper, there is a lot of anger.”

  “Interesting, you mean old anger coming from way back?”

  “Yes, past events, not surface aggression.”

  “OK, keep up the good work. I will be back.”

  “Count on me. Don’t often study a specimen coming from one of the largest trading floors in the City.”

  Pole was about to make his way to his office when Nurani appeared. She could not resist the temptation of observing Henry in the cage and had come to deliver her piece of information to Pole.

  “I was on my way.”

  “I know, but this is massive Jon. Henry has some connection with the O’Connor brothers, Liam and Bobby.”

  Pole’s focus became absolute.

  “Any recent contact?”

  Nurani nodded slowly as if to emphasise her response.

  “Two days before the crash.”

  Chapter Seven

  Pole resisted the temptation to go back into the interrogation room and savage Henry.

  Was he getting soft?

  If Henry had the serious IRA contacts he seemed to have, anything, absolutely anything was possible including taking a plane down. After the IRA decommissioning, the O’Connors had remained on a small list of hardcore operatives; a recent fusion of three IRA splinter groups meant reinforced vigilance in Belfast and London.

  Anger was not part of his temperament but Pole was angry. Angry at himself for having given Henry the benefit of the doubt, but more importantly because he might have made a fundamental mistake, one which an officer of his rank and experience should never make. He kept asking himself why as he walked towards his office, but could find no answer.

  It was unlike Pole to ask anyone in his team to get him a coffee but nevertheless he asked Nurani to fetch him one. He always looked upon his colleagues who abused their juniors with disdain. But Pole was annoyed, he wanted space. Nurani left him, deciding on a particularly good coffee shop. Inspector Pole needed a treat and space to brew.

  She came back ten minutes later and placed a cup of coffee in front of Pole.

  “Here we are Jon, strong latte, one sugar.”

  His fist was still clenched in front of his mouth. He was not looking a
t the file.

  “Thanks, Nu, much appreciated. Give me the lowdown on the Irish connection.”

  “In the background check, we noticed that Crowne had gone to school with the O’Connor brothers. This rang a bell and so we tried to see whether we could trace any contact they may have had after they left school. Crowne and Liam O’Connor shared the same house with a number of other students when they went to college in Dublin.”

  “They could not have gone to uni together. I thought Henry’s mother was English. And after his father died she looked after him on her own,” interrupted Pole.

  “Correct. Crowne went to Trinity, which would have been very usual in those days. The O’Connors went to Queen’s but they shared the same house.”

  “Did Crowne leave straight after uni to come to London?”

  “Correct again. It seems that after uni, Crowne saw them far less but whenever he went back to Ireland, he called upon Liam and they might meet, with or without Bobby.”

  “How do we know all this? Was he under surveillance?”

  “No, not him, but the O’Connors were.”

  “Obviously,” said Pole. “Henry must have known that his friends would be tracked. He can’t have been that naive.”

  “Perhaps. Or maybe he didn’t think the Counterterrorist Squad would find anything. I don’t know but he met with Liam again about six months ago. Now, the amazing thing is that it was after the closing of a large transaction in Dublin and guess what? Anthony Albert was there as well.”

  “Crowne and Albert hated each other’s guts … a meeting on Crowne’s turf. We need to know more.”

  “Albert’s team had little to do with the transaction but I get the feeling that he invited himself to the party anyway. It was a very big ticket – $3.5billion.”

  Pole could not help smiling as Nurani used the term ticket like a pro from the banking world.

  “Don’t think I am going mad, I did get the number right. I guess Albert wanted to be part of the glitz. May have cost him his life, of course.”

  “Are you not jumping to conclusions a little fast here?” said Pole.

  “Well, hear me out, this is NOT the end of it,” she said emphatically. “Liam hardly comes to the UK for the reasons we know. He did, however, visit last week, arrived on Sunday and left Tuesday night for Dublin. On the Monday he had a drink with Henry.” She was about to carry on when Pole lifted his hand.