by Jack Gatland
The opponent moved in again, a quick snap to take out Susan’s leg, but she blocked him and moved in herself, grabbing his arm and flipping him over in what looked like a mixture of Judo and Aikido. Declan was impressed.
Susan helped the opponent up and nodded to him, indicating the session to be over. Grabbing a hand-towel, she wiped her neck, her face glistening as she looked at Declan.
‘Detective Inspector Walsh,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’m afraid my solicitors aren’t here right now.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Declan replied. ‘They were such fun, talkative people.’
Susan chuckled, and not for the first time Declan could see the beauty in her face.
‘What questions do you have?’ she asked.
‘Just some basic ones,’ Declan pulled out his notebook. ‘About the time of the murder.’
‘Do you have the letter?’
Declan shook his head. ‘That’s in progress.’
‘Then no questions,’ Susan said, turning and walking back to the Dojo mat. She paused for a moment, turning back with a dark looking smile.
‘Unless you beat me,’ she suggested.
‘I’m sorry?’ Declan asked. Susan indicated the mat.
‘Sparring session,’ she said. ‘You win? I answer anything you want.’
Declan considered this. There wasn’t really any way to get Susan to change her mind on this, and he really did have questions to ask. And there was a chance, during the sparring that Susan could drop her guard.
‘Done,’ he said.
‘Good,’ Susan replied. ‘I want to see the Priest Puncher in action.’
Declan groaned inwardly as he walked to a bench, taking off his overcoat, jacket and tie. Of course she’d researched him. She probably had a dossier on each of the Last Chance Saloon before she even walked into the office. Clearing his mind and loosening his shoulders, he rolled his shirt sleeves up, turning to face her.
‘You should go shirtless,’ she suggested. ‘I could rip it by accident.’
‘I have others,’ Declan replied, unsure whether this was a rivalry or a strange flirtation that was going on. He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Susan, but then this was probably her plan, placing her in a position of power. Removing his shoes and socks, he walked onto the practice mat.
‘So how do we—’ he started, finishing with a whuff as the air slammed out of his body, crashing to the floor as Susan swept his feet out.
‘Like that,’ she said, already moving past him, pacing as Declan rose. ‘You’re not going to be able to ask your questions from the mat.’
Declan wasn’t asking questions though; he was already moving in, bringing up his arm to block Susan’s anticipated strike. However the strike never came, and Susan grabbed the arm, hip-tossing Declan to the floor.
As he lay there, Susan looked down at him, unimpressed.
‘You’re letting me win,’ she said. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Declan said, rising. ‘You’re what, a black belt in god knows how many disciplines, while I’m just a policeman. Of course you’re going to win.’
‘No,’ Susan said, no longer moving. ‘You’re hoping that by beating you, I’ll let my guard down. That I’ll feel superior.’
Declan rose, annoyed now. She was playing him more than he was playing her.
‘And what if I am letting you win?’ he asked.
‘This interview is over—’
Susan didn’t manage to finish her sentence as Declan suddenly moved in, a high kick attack that caught her square on the chest, knocking her to the floor.
She rose, smiling. ‘Better,’ she said.
Shaking off the strike, she threw her own kick at Declan’s head, but he ducked, sliding into a leg sweep, knocking Susan’s support out as she stood off balance. Landing hard but rising quickly, she quickly lashed out with a wicked looking right hook. Caught off guard, Declan stumbled backwards as he barely avoided the strike. He was off balance now, and both he and Susan knew it, Susan now moving in for a second attack.
There was nothing that Declan could do but drop to the mat; while off balance he wouldn’t be able to block anything, but Susan was already down too, her full weight on him as she squirmed for purchase. If this had been a different situation Declan might even have enjoyed it, but Susan was trying to wrap an arm around his throat now, trying to legitimately choke him out, to make him tap out in a vicious MMA hold.
Rolling to the side as much as he could, Declan writhed his arm under Susan’s, twisting at the elbow and breaking the choke, sending her off him as he staggered to his feet. As Susan rose again, Declan moved forward and leapt into the air, spinning his body around and shooting his foot out, catching Susan in the chest again, dead centre. As he landed on the mat awkwardly, Susan crumpled to the floor, wheezing.
‘Are you okay?’ Declan asked, moving forward, but he stopped as he realised the wheezing was actually laughter.
‘You’re no policeman,’ she said as Declan helped her to her feet. ‘They don’t teach that in Hendon.’
‘Military Police,’ Declan answered. ‘Five years before joining the force.’
Susan nodded. ‘And they teach ninja training there?’ she mocked. Declan walked to a water cooler to the side and poured out two cups, passing one to Susan.
‘As a policeman, you need to get into the mind of the person you’re hunting,’ he said. ‘Thieves, muggers, that sort of thing. But in the armed forces, the people you hunt are trained killers, some more so than others. So, if you want to take them down—’
‘You have to fight better than them,’ Susan said. ‘That poor bloody priest got off lucky.’
She smiled.
‘You ever killed a person?’ she asked. Declan almost lied, but he knew there was no point. Someone like Susan Devington would have the resources to get hold of his army dossier within a couple of hours. If he lied now, she might not trust him later.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘When I worked for the Special Investigation Branch.’
Susan watched Declan, her eyes flashing.
‘Was it hand to hand, or from a distance?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, so more than one,’ Susan almost cooed her response. Declan found it a little unnerving. ‘Still, a deal is a deal,’ she eventually said, returning to business. ‘I’ll answer your questions. But first I need a shower.’
She raised her eyebrows at Declan.
‘You could take one with me,’ she said.
Declan grinned.
‘On duty, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I’ll wait for you elsewhere.’
And with that he pulled on his socks and shoes as Susan Devington left the room, already pulling off her top as she did so.
Declan didn’t look.
Sometimes being a gentleman was a pain in the neck.
12
Priest Holes and Protests
The old man, who Declan learned was actually called Ratcliffe, led him to the Library.
‘Not many people can beat the Lady,’ he said with a hint of parental pride, ‘as she’s a formidable foe.’
‘I get the impression that she wanted me to win,’ Declan said, sitting into an armchair.
‘She wanted you to take a shower with her,’ Ratcliffe replied irritably. ‘I’m glad you were a gentleman and turned her down.’
Declan grinned. ‘You are?’
‘Of course sir,’ Ratcliffe said with no hint of amusement. ‘For if you had, I would have had to cut your knackers off with the garden shears.’
Declan crossed his legs at this. The old man wasn’t joking. ‘So you’ve known her long?’
‘Since she was born,’ Ratcliffe said, the pride appearing again. ‘I been here almost fifty years, man and boy.’
‘So you knew Victoria too?’
‘Oh yes, sir.’
‘Declan, please.’
Ratcliffe walked over to a bookcase, stroking the wood as if caressing a lover.
; ‘This house was built in the 1500s, you know,’ he said. ‘Robert Smythson himself built it. The Devingtons back then were very much in with the royal court, but they were also closet Catholics. They used money hidden from the dissolution of the monasteries to build it.’
‘Dangerous times,’ Declan said.
‘When have times never been dangerous?’ Ratcliffe replied sadly. ‘This house is full of dark secrets. Nicholas Owen himself came here before he was captured and executed.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know the name,’ Declan admitted.
‘He was a Jesuit who built secret passages and priest holes in Catholic-friendly houses,’ the old man explained. ‘That way priests on the run from the authorities had places they could stay, and exits they could take.’
‘And this house has them?’
‘All houses of this time have them, sir,’ Ratcliffe said. ‘Miss Devington and her sister used to play in them as kiddies.’
‘They were close? Susan and Victoria?’
‘Oh no, sir,’ Ratcliffe smiled. ‘You misunderstand me. Miss Victoria would lock Miss Susan into them for hours at a time, just for fun. Why, there was a time she even went down to dinner, telling her parents that Susan had gone to bed for the night, while Susan was trapped in the walls. She couldn’t have been older than six back then.’
He went to continue but paused as the door to the library opened, and Susan Devington walked in. No longer in business suit or sportswear, Susan wore a chunky cream jumper over jeans, a pair of riding boots completing the ensemble.
‘Christ, you’re not boring him with architecture again, are you?’ she said, sitting down opposite Declan.
‘Can I get you anything, Ma’am?’ the old man asked. Susan shook her head.
‘Just come back in a few minutes and tell me I have a meeting to go to,’ she said looking directly at Declan. ‘Whatever it takes to get me out of this boring conversation.’ She smiled at the end, as if trying to disarm Declan; but not for the first time that day, Declan wondered how much of this had been for his benefit.
As Ratcliffe walked out of the room, Susan pouted.
‘I waited in the shower,’ she said. ‘You didn’t come.’
‘Your man Ratcliffe was talking about the house,’ Declan replied calmly. ‘Felt bad to leave him. And there was some kind of underlying garden shears threat.’
Susan nodded, as if understanding this too well.
Ask your questions then,’ she said. Declan pulled out his notebook.
‘When did you read the letter?’ he asked.
‘What makes you think I did?’
‘You mentioned a name that’s in it without being prompted.’
Susan smiled.
‘Sarah,’ she said. ‘I knew the moment I said it that I’d made an error.’
‘So, when did you read it?’
Susan leaned back in the armchair. ‘When I received it.’
‘It wasn’t sent,’ Declan replied. ‘There was no postmark. How did it end up in your hands?’
‘What do you know about me back then, Detective Inspector?’
Declan thought for a moment.
‘I know you were an activist under a fake name, living in a squat in Birmingham and hanging out with road protestors,’ he said. ‘How am I doing so far?’
Susan clapped her hands, slowly applauding him.
‘Good,’ she replied. ‘But not everything. End of the year, I was on a road protest near Derby. I can’t remember who I was with or what road it was for, but there was a scuffle with the police and during it I was arrested.’
‘What for?’
‘Honestly? Simply being there. Oh, and for kicking a policeman and stealing his helmet.’
Declan couldn’t hide the smile as he looked to his notepad. ‘And then?’
‘Well, that was the weird part,’ Susan replied. ‘I was kept in for about forty eight hours, but I was treated very well, all things considered. I think someone had cottoned on that I was that Devington girl and they were trying to work out how to get rid of me without causing a massive ruckus. And then right before I was let out, a man came to the cell.’
‘What sort of man?’
‘The ones that don’t exist,’ Susan said. ‘Nice black suit, bland expression, scared the living hell out of me. Said I needed to fix my sister before she did herself some trouble, and passed me the letter. They’d intercepted it before it reached the Westminster post room.’
‘You read it in the cell?’
Susan nodded. ‘And as I said earlier, it was just Victoria having a meltdown. The man had left by then and the police let me out shortly after, but I gave them back the letter and told them to throw it away.’
And that’s how the letter got lost in the Derby police files for twenty years, Declan thought to himself. Someone forgot to throw it away and it was filed with the wrong folders.
‘Did you see her after? Victoria?’
Susan shook her head. ‘I couldn’t be done with her histrionics, I went back to the road protests instead,’ she replied. ‘Next thing I know, she’s all over the news.’
‘Sorry.’
‘We weren’t close by then.’
Declan returned to the notepad.
‘We know that Victoria was having an affair with one of three people—'
‘Shaun Donnal.’ The hatred was almost visible in her tone. ‘They met at some Labour donor event. She was besotted with him.’
‘You weren’t a fan?’
‘Christ, no.’ Susan snapped. ‘I was an actual social activist while he was a middle class prick from Islington playing one. He had Michael and Victoria wrapped around his little finger. Had them believing in ‘the cause’ again after years of New Labour eroding it.’
‘I thought Michael was a major donor to New Labour?’ Declan asked. ‘I mean, the New Year’s party was a donor event, wasn’t it?’
‘The last one,’ Susan nodded. ‘He’d already started looking at moving on. He didn’t believe that Blair was the right man for the job.’
‘He thought that Donnal was?’
‘Let’s just say that Donnal had convinced him that he was.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘What do you think?’ Susan gave out a little laugh. ‘Donnal started screwing his wife.’
She leaned forwards, relishing the moment.
‘I mean, don’t get me wrong. She was no angel. I know first-hand she slept with MacIntyre and was working her way through the Civil Service, but I also know Baker turned her down.’
‘He did?’
‘Poor bastard held a torch for me over her, it seems. Unrequited, I’m happy to say.’
‘So Shaun?’
‘He was different. More serious. But he was a lunatic. Vicky was a Socialist, but he made her look practically Tory by comparison. And he was damaged goods, too.’
‘How so?’
‘Sarah.’ The name hung in the air.
‘I suppose you mean Sarah Hinksman?’ Declan looked back through the notes, flipping back to Andy Mac’s comments.
‘You do work fast,’ Susan said as if genuinely impressed. She got up, walking over to a cabinet, pouring out a whisky. She offered it to Declan; he shook his head.
‘On duty.’
‘Shame.’ Nursing the glass in her hands, she walked back to the armchair.
‘Hinksman was a Lib Dem, one of Paddy Ashdown’s team,’ she said. ‘Married, no kids, looked great on TV. Everyone said she had a future but her assistant, that poor girl did everything for her. And then she met Donnal.’
‘They were in adjoining offices to each other, right?’
‘Yes and no,’ Susan replied. ‘You don’t mix parties in Westminster. Her husband, Liam was next door. He worked as an advisor for some Labour MP from somewhere in the arse end of Scotland, and she’d come and visit him from her own offices elsewhere.’
‘Was that allowed?’
‘What, entering the lion’s den, so to speak? People did it
all the time. Deals being made all over the place, people trying to swing votes for bills that needed them, all that sort of thing. But there were problems back then; the Lib Dem command, such as it was felt that their leader Paddy was getting too chummy with Labour, and this caused rifts, in particular with Sarah’s marriage.’
‘Yeah, I can see how that could cause strain on a relationship.’
‘Anyway, Shaun was a shoulder to cry on. And then he became more. She’d send her assistant to arrange ‘debates’ on bills in Queen Anne Chambers. Always under the assistant’s name, of course.’
‘An affair?’
‘The whole nine yards. They were going to elope and everything. She was even pregnant with his child.’
‘Bet that went down well.’
‘Even better when she quit Parliament and her husband to have the bloody thing.’ Susan shook her head. ‘Silly cow, thought Donnal was her Prince Charming, and he’d join her once she was settled.’
‘But Donnal never went with her.’
Susan took a drink from the glass.
‘We’ll never know. She had a car accident six months after the birth,’ she explained. ‘Died. Shaun was convinced that it had been orchestrated by the Labour Party to stop him colluding with the enemy. Made him even more tinfoil hat wearing looney than before’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think he’d seen too many Princess Diana documentaries. Sometimes a car accident is just a car accident.’
Declan flinched a little at the line. If she saw this or even understood it, Susan didn’t comment.
‘The baby?’
‘Adopted,’ Susan said. ‘I don’t think they even told Shaun it was still alive. The assistant did it; I think it was her last duty before she moved on. Best to be rid of him. Anyway, Shaun grieved for a few months, and during this time Vicky turned up a lot more. She started to hang out with him. She believed his conspiracy theories; I mean Christ, my sister might have been the eldest, but she wasn’t the brightest of us. And at the time, Vicky and Michael were destroying the company, using it as their own personal cash dispenser.’
