by Matt Johnson
I picked up the bug and handed it to her. ‘Hard-wired inside a plug socket. I’ve had the Geek Squad look at it and they tell me it’s a type that was on trial in the Met and MI5 but proved to be too expensive. We only wondered if you might be able to track its serial number to see who this one might have been sold or loaned to.’
‘I am busy, you know,’ was the sharp response. ‘Can’t your own people do some checks? I’d start with the techie stores, see who booked it out or who had it on trial.’
‘I was going to do that until it was pointed out to me that whoever that was might get tipped off if I started asking questions.’
‘You asked me, for goodness sake.’
‘I trust you … and I trust Nell.’ I saw the researcher smile. Clearly the headphones were a ruse; she was listening to every word we were saying.
Toni twisted the bug between her thumb and first finger. ‘Can you leave it with me? I’ll need to ask Nell to see what she can do. I’m not promising, mind. We might only find out what country it was exported to – some of these devices soon drop off the radar.’
‘Anything is better than nothing,’ I said. ‘Do you think we should do a sweep on my home again?’
‘Would it make you feel better if we did?’
‘It might give me some reassurance. I’m not sure how Jenny would react to it though.’
‘We could do it with a drive-by to check for a transmitter and I could ask Nell to check the phones. We wouldn’t need to go into the house.’
‘That would be great. Maybe soon?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘So, nothing’s changed with regard to Howard Green then?’
‘Nothing,’ Toni replied. ‘As I told you several months ago, Howard was told in no uncertain terms that you and Kevin are not to be touched. Any ideas he may have had about including you in the clean-up operation were quashed.’
‘That’s good to hear. I really don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.’
‘How’s the new baby? A little girl, I heard.’
Normal service resumed, I thought, as Toni changed the tack of the conversation.
‘That’s right,’ I said, slowly. ‘We’ve called her Charlotte.’
She laughed. ‘My mother’s name. She’ll be Charlie before you know it.’
‘She already is.’
‘And what about the promotion board? How did that go?’
I shrugged. ‘No joy. Bit too old, I reckon.’
‘Well, Nina Brasov will be pleased. I heard her saying to someone in the canteen queue not long ago that she had only just licked you into shape and now it looked like she was going to lose you.’
It was my turn to laugh. Toni handed the bug to Nell and undertook to get back to me as soon as she had any news. I pressed her for a faster response but all she would promise was that she would be as quick as she could. Sensing that I was beginning to outstay my welcome, I headed for the door and made my way back to my squad offices. I had some calls to make.
Chapter 14
‘Don’t you think you were a little hard on him?’ Nell stared hard at her Section Head, her face expressionless.
Toni was reaching for her coat, her thoughts elsewhere as she prepared to head back to Thames House. ‘Where’s Stuart?’ she asked.
‘With Special Branch upstairs, I think. He said something about a meeting.’
‘How’s he settling in?’
‘Pretty good, really. Things aren’t quite the same since you were promoted, but he seems to be enjoying the extra responsibility.’
‘Good. And yes, you’re right. I did overreact a bit. But I didn’t like the inference from Finlay suggesting we’d been spying on him and his friend.’
Nell nodded and then paused, as if gathering her thoughts. ‘Can I speak plainly?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you think the reappearance of Brian McNeil may have unsettled you a bit?’
‘It wasn’t the best news I’ve had recently. So far as I was concerned that Al Anfal business was dead and buried.’
‘And it most probably is. I also think we may need to take a step back. I’m not sure Finlay is concerned so much about who has been listening in on Kevin Jones so much as why.’
‘Don’t you think that hadn’t occurred to me?’ Toni answered impatiently. ‘Fact is, it wasn’t us. But to start digging and asking questions about it could make waves. It really is bloody annoying that someone is targeting Jones, but should we really be surprised after what has happened earlier in the year?’
‘It has to be Howard Green,’ said Nell. ‘He’s being careful, double-checking what the Director told him. Making sure, like you said, that neither of them were part of the plan to sell secrets to the newspapers.’
‘Could we check?’
‘I could try and find out quietly, if that might help? Without making any ripples.’
‘Electronically, you mean?’
‘Yes, and I’ll make sure there’s no trail back to here. If you leave the device with me, I’ll see what I can find out about it. If I can see who it was issued to that might tell us what we need to know.’
It was Toni’s turn to reflect. Perhaps she could be more accommodating? There was little to lose and, if Nell could be discreet, it would be useful to know and might help Finlay answer his concerns.
‘OK,’ she answered finally. ‘I’ll be back at Thames House in about an hour. Ping me an email if you find anything. But keep it to yourself, don’t mention it to Stuart for the time being.’
‘I will. But I have to confess to being very concerned.’
‘About what, exactly?’
Nell leaned forwards, a look of concern on her face. ‘That call I had from Kevin Jones a few weeks ago, surely you haven’t forgotten it? And now McNeil surfaces. There seems to be lots of moving parts going on here. We don’t know them all; we don’t have the facts. It seems to me that somebody is pulling strings and we don’t even know what those strings are or why.’
‘You think there might be a connection between that call and Howard being behind the deaths of the soldiers?’
‘Don’t you? We established that Kevin Jones had an issue with Howard Green because something happened between them in Afghan.’
‘When Howard nearly got him killed?’
‘Exactly. And because of that I agreed with your decision only to tell Finlay that Howard had been behind the operation.’
‘If Jones had been told, he would have gone after Howard. It was best he be kept in the dark.’
‘And I’m not saying now that was the wrong decision. But Jones calling me asking about an Arabic translator – which is exactly what Finlay did when he first got hold of that secret Al Anfal document – and now McNeil … and a listening device turns up in Jones’s home … I know coincidence isn’t causality, but surely it’s odds-on Howard Green or our Director may be behind it somewhere? They were last time, after all?’
Toni knew Nell was right, and that she was doing what she always did: avoiding the irrelevant distraction and focussing on the real issue. Toni took a deep breath. Could they have intercepted the call from Jones and then decided to start surveillance on him?
‘I was assured the operation was over,’ she said. ‘I had that from the Director himself.’
Nell simply raised her eyebrows; she didn’t need to say a word.
As she headed out to the street, Toni was still thinking about her conversation with Nell. As she so often did, her former researcher had hit the nail on the head. But looking into the origins of the listening device would very likely open a can of worms. It was possible that Howard Green’s operation was still live. He would want to be absolutely sure that Finlay and Jones weren’t a risk; bugging their homes would be one way of doing that. And, as much as the prospect annoyed her, it was quite possible the Director may have lied to her in order to try and make sure she stayed out of the way.
And what of Kevin and his quest
ion? Why had he been asking for a translator? Had he secured access to a copy of the Al Anfal document? Was McNeil’s reappearance a coincidence or not? A shiver ran down her spine as she exited the building and began the long walk back to her office. She hoped she was wrong, that his request and the appearance of the listening device were just a coincidence. But, in her heart of hearts she doubted it was and, should her fears prove to be right, the probability was that he was heading towards a heap of trouble.
Chapter 15
Grahamslaw left the door to his office open as he went through the mound of paperwork on his desk.
Top of the pile was a letter from Omar Shabat, the Housing Minister. He had requested some information and data on people trafficking. Nina Brasov had put together a report and was to attend Shabat’s offices to discuss it with him.
Pinned to the file was a handwritten note from Assistant Commissioner, George Mason. It read simply, ‘Speak to me before you talk to Shabat.’
No time like the present.
Grahamslaw picked up the telephone and dialled Mason’s direct number.
The AC answered immediately, and got straight to the point.
‘Who are you sending to see the Housing Minister to discuss his questions?’
‘Nina Brasov. She knows more about the subject than any of us.’
‘Send Superintendent Cutts with her, or someone else of rank. We can’t have his Private Secretary complaining we’ve only sent a bloody Sergeant.’
‘I’ll do that.’
Abrupt as always, Mason ended the call.
Grahamslaw replaced the receiver, just as Mick Parratt walked past his office door.
‘Perfect timing, Mick,’ Grahamslaw called out.
From the corridor, his number two leaned around the door frame, a beaming smile across his lips. ‘You spotted me, guv.’
‘Come in and close the door, will you? Now, the AC just told me he wants Ron Cutts to go with Nina to see the Housing Minister,’ continued Grahamslaw as Parratt took a seat.
‘Ron’s on annual. Do you want me to go instead?’
‘Ah, damn. I forgot. No, I’ll send Bob Finlay. He could do with a morning sat drinking tea and exchanging small-talk with a politician.’ As Grahamslaw spoke he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a white envelope.
‘What’s that?’ asked Parratt.
The Commander paused. ‘Something I need your advice on,’ he said, finally.
‘Sounds ominous. Is it personal?’
‘Ha … you know me too well. Yes, it’s personal … something I need to talk over … to try and get my head around.’
Grahamslaw paused and closed his eyes for a moment before continuing.
‘I’ve had a letter from my wife’s solicitors,’ he began. ‘It’s divorce.’
‘She give a reason?’
‘Adultery.’
Parratt sighed deeply. ‘Meaning she knows. She knew about Emma and she knows you’ve got another squeeze on the go.’
‘She thinks…’
‘She knows, guv. She ain’t stupid. If I’ve sussed you splashing on the Old Spice and digging out your best suit every time you head off for a meeting with a certain MI5 officer, you can bet your wife’s spotted it as well.’
Grahamslaw leaned hard back in his chair, the legs creaking under the strain. His friend was right. ‘Does anyone else know?’ he asked, quietly.
‘If they do, then it hasn’t reached my ears. Liz in the squad office made a crack about the aftershave a few weeks ago, but even she hasn’t a clue who it is.’
‘They know there’s someone though?’
‘They’re not blind, guv. Most of the times you’ve been picked up from the flat it’s been clocked there was someone with you.’
‘I thought I’d been discreet.’
The Superintendent’s lips curled upwards into a warm smile. ‘We’re coppers, guv. People know what we’re like.’
Chapter 16
If I walked along Grahamslaw’s corridor once in the hope of finding his office door open, I must have done it half a dozen times. Each visit produced the same result: door closed and Grahamslaw deep in conversation with his Superintendent, Mick Parratt.
Eventually, I struck lucky. The door was open, Parratt was nowhere to be seen but, as was often the case, the Commander was on the telephone.
My presence in the doorway must have registered, as he beckoned me in with an almost regal wave of his free hand. I took a seat and waited. It didn’t sound like the call was ending any time soon.
Given that Bill Grahamslaw held one of the most prestigious commands in the policing world, the size and décor of his office must have come as quite a surprise to those that called on him. It wasn’t large, more than needed for one person but smaller than you might have expected for a Commander. And it was untidy, unusually so. In one corner, several pictures were on the floor, stacked together against the wall. It looked like they were intended for display but, for one reason or another, it had never happened.
Two glass-fronted book cases contained what looked like copies of old case files and a surprising number of novels. On each occasion I had previously sat in his visitor’s seat, I tried to spot the new titles. Grahamslaw’s reading habits were similar to mine, in that he only found time, he’d said, to read while travelling on the tube. Although my preference was for a decent newspaper, we agreed that being transported into another world by a good writer was a useful way to make underground commutes more tolerable. Our tastes differed though; I preferred thrillers whereas Grahamslaw was a science-fiction fan. Alongside his collection of weighty legal almanacs that included the latest Stone’s Justices’ Manual and Cox’s Criminal Law Cases, I noted several well-known sci-fi titles.
Grahamslaw slammed the receiver down. ‘Bastards!’ he exclaimed.
Although distracted during my study of our surroundings, I’d heard enough of the conversation to work out that it was a discussion about manpower. ‘Not a good time?’ I asked.
‘No. Sorry, Finlay. Actually, your timing is perfect for once. That was HR playing silly buggers with the transfer dates of some detectives we’ve selected to fill vacancies in the office. I sometimes wonder if our new breed of human resource managers actually realise the kind of pressure we’re under these days and that the numbers they see on paper are actually real people.’
‘Rather than resources?’
‘Exactly.’ The Commander leaned back in his chair. ‘But that isn’t what you’re here to see me about, I guess?’
‘I was wondering if you had any news for me.’
‘On that complaint from Jim Mellor? Yes. It’s canned. Mellor can take a hike as far as I’m concerned. But, like I said in your office, be careful of him in future.’
‘I’ve met people like him, even before I joined the Met. The army investigation branch had its fair share of awkward bastards. Before this job I always had a policy of not trusting men in suits.’
Grahamslaw laughed. ‘And now you’re wearing one? How times change.’
‘I guess.’
‘Now, about your other question. I got your email, thanks, and I did some checking. The device is one of a type the Met trialled but decided not to buy.’
‘So, we’re no closer to knowing who planted it?’
‘We’re not. I’ve had lads on discipline boards for using official listening devices to check on their wives when they think they’re having an affair. A lot cheaper than employing a private detective and a good reason to hide that it’s booked out to you.’
‘But this one turned up in Kevin Jones’s house,’ I said. ‘So, unless his girlfriend’s ex-husband is spying on him, that’s not going to be the reason.’
‘Is he in the job?’
‘Actually … yes.’
‘Best you check him out then, before we start jumping to conclusions. Simplest answers are often the right ones.’
I couldn’t recall the name of Sandi’s ex but I did remember Kevin saying he was a un
iform Sergeant somewhere. And although I accepted that a quick phone call might place him as a suspect or eliminate him, I doubted he could have had access to the device. That said, I still had to check. I thanked the Commander for his effort and was just about to head back to my office when he called me back. He had a job for me – accompanying Nina to see a Housing Minister where she was to present him with some data on people trafficking. ‘Make sure the Minister knows you’re a senior officer,’ he said. ‘And make sure you’re both on your best behaviour.’
The trafficking office was empty as I returned. I checked my watch – lunchtime. I guessed Matt and Nina had popped out for a sandwich. I closed the office door, sat down at my desk and tried Kevin’s phone. Three attempts, each time cutting through to his answerphone. I gave up and left a message for him to contact me.
Stomach rumbling, I grabbed my jacket and headed for the canteen.
I was deep in thought, having just polished off a large bacon sandwich, when my musings were disturbed by one of the last people I expected to see. I’d picked a quieter end of the canteen, far from the servery area and near the window, somewhere I could watch who came and went.
At the counter, I noticed the familiar figure of Nell Mahoney – the MI5 researcher who worked with Toni Fellows – as she paid for a meal. Nell, I’d learned, had Asperger’s and tended to keep herself to herself. So, in normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have expected her to head towards me. We weren’t friends and, although we had spoken several times, I had noticed she only ever had a light snack and tended to spend just a few minutes eating it alone before heading back to her office. On this occasion, she came in my direction and sat down opposite me at my table.
‘Will you be here long, Mr Finlay?’ she asked, immediately tucking into her food.
I smiled to myself as I saw what she was eating for her late breakfast – a large pile of chips with plenty of tomato sauce and a pint of cold milk – but then I knew Nell wasn’t a woman who bowed to conventional behaviour. ‘I was about to head back, to be honest,’ I replied. ‘How are you?’
