by Matt Johnson
Toni nodded her thanks. ‘I’ve never had anyone I could really talk to about work. Sometimes I think it’s important to have a sounding board, someone to brainstorm with. You know what I mean?’
‘A bit difficult to discuss national security matters with a parent or sibling, you mean?’
‘Yes, exactly. I just have a feeling I’m missing a trick. I could do with an objective view.’
‘Where do you want to start?’
‘It’s all to do with Finlay, of course, and what’s been happening.’
‘OK, fire away.’ Bill put down the plates. ‘Shall I open some wine?’
‘It might help. The main issue as I see it is someone being behind the listening device in Kevin’s home and the fact that he really should have been dead if that drug overdose had worked.’
‘You don’t buy the manslaughter-suicide idea then?’
‘Call it a gut feeling, but I don’t.’
‘I call it instinct,’ Bill said, wryly. ‘A copper’s nose to smell when something’s not right. So, what are you thinking?’
‘That someone is behind it?’
‘Do you have a suspect?’ Bill said as he opened a bottle and placed it carefully on the table. ‘You pour.’
Toni did as he asked. It was a Malbec, one of her favourites. Bill’s ability to remember such details was something she found comforting. ‘Howard Green, of course,’ she replied. ‘His fingers seem to be all over it. I just can’t see him being so determined to take out Kevin Jones that he would risk going against the direct orders of an MI5 Director.’
‘You’re suggesting he may have set Kevin up? Seems a bit far-fetched. Why would he do that?’
‘Kevin called Nell a couple of weeks back asking if we knew of an Arab translator. I wondered if he’s laid his hands on another copy of that document Howard Green was working so hard to keep secret?’
‘Think about what happened to the other people involved in that. I thought you told me Finlay and Jones were safe because, so far as Howard was concerned, they knew nothing about it?’
‘That’s right.’
Bill sipped thoughtfully at his wine. ‘So, if Kevin became a security risk, Howard could simply secure authority to have him killed – terminated like all the others … whatever the term is people like that use.’
‘That’s true, yes, and it’s a clean-up.’
‘So, when did Howard first appear as part of this investigation?’
‘Last year. When he pulled me in after I sent Finlay to Egypt on holiday to try and locate that author, Chas Collins – the one who’d exposed the CIA operation in Afghanistan. Not my finest hour, I know. Anyway, Finlay met some people, and that resulted in Howard getting in touch to warn me not to get involved with the hunt for Collins.’
‘So, what did Howard actually say?’ Bill asked.
‘He told me to leave it to him. I concluded at the time that he wanted the kudos for himself.’
‘We’re talking about the same author whose agent is now missing and who the newspapers are suggesting has been abducted or maybe killed?’
Toni nodded. ‘The very same, yes.’
‘How did Howard find out Finlay was in Egypt?’
‘From the Cristea family … it was only later I found out that they aren’t just a publishing company.’
‘So, one of them got a message to Howard. Seems an unusual connection, a Romania-based family who are involved in sex-trafficking and a London-based MI6 officer?’
‘The Cristeas used to run drugs and weapons into and out of Afghanistan before they switched to trafficking people.’
‘And I remember you telling me that Afghanistan is where Finlay and Jones knew Howard Green from. Green supposedly made an enemy of Jones during some kind of incident where Jones was nearly killed I recall…’
‘That’s right,’ said Toni. ‘That was why I agreed with Finlay not to tell Jones who had been behind the deaths of their friends.’
Bill stood up, and headed to the window. He seemed deep in thought. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.
‘Have you looked into the connection between the Cristeas and Howard Green?’
‘We have, yes. Nell found out last year that Gheorghe Cristea has a PF, a personal file that Howard created. He’s been keeping tabs on the family for years.’
‘Have you looked deeper than that? Maybe explored the possibility that the connection to the Cristeas may go deeper than simple monitoring?’
‘In what way?’ Toni sat up, intrigued at how Bill’s investigative mind was working.
‘The Cristeas appear to operate with some impunity,’ he replied. ‘Is it possible they have an arrangement with Howard?’
‘A deal, you mean? But how would that have any relevance to what’s happening here and now with Kevin Jones?’
‘Motive, Toni, motive. What if he had another reason, more pressing to him than the national security question over Al Anfal? What if he has own personal reasons for wanting Jones – and maybe Finlay – out of the picture?’
‘Which is why he went to Shabat? He wants Finlay and Jones taken care of in a way that doesn’t lead back to him?’ Toni sat up, it was as if a light had been turned on.
‘And Shabat said no. And then Jones supposedly kills his girlfriend and then tries to kill himself.’
‘And our Director has no cause to believe Howard has gone against his orders?’
‘Exactly. You’d better start digging to see if it’s more than just a theory.’
Later that evening, Bill returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes as she watched the late news. It was part of their routine, a tacit agreement that met both their expectations. In fact, it wasn’t too dissimilar to their relationship, which also seemed to fulfil mutual needs. The affair – if she dared call it that – had started slowly at first and, given their age difference, with some reluctance on both their parts. But the more they had found the time to meet outside work, the more they accepted they each had something the other could offer. Within a few months, they started dating frequently and it didn’t take too long before the difference in their ages became irrelevant.
They’d continued to discuss her concerns and, at one point he had drawn a mind map, a visual aid to help focus her thoughts. It produced exactly the same as their initial, less structured discussion. A series of facts, events, theories and ideas, and at the centre of them all sat one man, Howard Green.
As Bill was returning crockery to the kitchen cupboards, his mobile telephone began to ring.
Toni glanced across from her seat in front of the television as he returned to the sitting room and then nodded his way through a short conversation, all the while making notes on a small pad he habitually kept near the front door. As he ended the call, she saw the concerned expression on his face. She turned the TV off and swung around in her seat towards him.
‘Work?’ she asked.
‘It was. Shit’s hit the fan a bit quicker than I expected. That was Jim Mellor. He wants to interview Finlay tomorrow – in my office.’
‘He’s already been poking his nose in?’
‘No, much worse. They want to ask him about a loaded Glock pistol their search team just found in the boot of Kevin Jones’s car.’
Chapter 26
Howard was feeling angry as he waited for the call.
He was also very tired. It was late and he was desperate to get some sleep. Shuffling up and down the floor of his study, he glanced frequently at the telephone sat silently in the corner near the window. The time had finally come for him to get to grips with this clusterfuck of an operation.
As he walked, he chewed his fingers. Not just the nails, but the skin, the end of his fingers and, even the knuckles. It was an annoying habit that had started in his childhood and continued throughout the whole of his life. He had tried all kinds of remedies, from covering the ends of his fingers in plasters through to sucking a sweet every time the urge overwhelmed him. Nothing seemed to work, particularly as he of
ten failed to notice the damage he was causing until it was too late.
Now, as he waited for Grady to call, he stared at the raw, bleeding tip of his left index finger. Pulling a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, he wrapped the cloth tightly around the now-tender flesh.
The phone rang. He waited. After four rings, it cut off.
Twenty seconds later, it rang again. With his free hand, Howard picked up the receiver. ‘Grady?’ he demanded, angrily.
‘I rang as soon as I got your message. Is there a problem?’
‘You could say that. Jones is alive.’
There was a pause. ‘How come? We gave him enough ket to kill a horse,’ Grady replied, his tone one of puzzlement, almost exasperation.
‘One of the woman’s kids came home early from school and found him. A paramedic saved his life.’
‘He’s a lucky bastard. If you recall, Cathy did say it was a chancy operation.’
‘Don’t fucking lecture me,’ Howard snapped.
‘Not my intention, boss, sorry. So, where is Jones now?’
‘In custody. The police are convinced he killed the woman and then tried to end his own life.’
‘Well, at least that part worked.’
‘But he knows the truth,’ said Howard.
‘He has no idea what happened. Cathy took him out with a taser before he even saw us.’
‘It’s still a loose end. He knows someone else killed his girlfriend.’
‘No one will believe him,’ Grady said, confidently.
‘Finlay will.’
‘I thought you had a plan to deal with him?’
‘Had a plan, Grady, had a plan,’ said Howard. ‘We now need a rethink.’
‘I could take Jones out.’
‘I know, but it’s not that simple. I have an idea, but it will need the three of you to mobilise with just an hour’s notice.’
‘We can do that.’
‘OK. And Grady…’
‘What?’
‘This is the last time I’ll say this: No more mistakes.’
Howard placed the telephone receiver on its cradle and turned towards the hallway door.
The house was quiet. Upstairs, his wife would be reading in bed.
He headed up the stairs quietly, switching off the light as he reached the landing.
His heart was racing, and he understood why. A great many years had passed since he’d been out in the field, and he’d missed it. Now, if this unholy mess was going to get sorted, he was going to have to become a lot more ‘hands on’.
The prospect was something he found very exciting.
Chapter 27
Grahamslaw waited as Mellor began the formal introductions before starting the interview.
The room they sat in was small and windowless. There were four seats, two each side of a narrow wooden desk. At one end of the desk sat a twin tape deck. The room was left over from the days when the Complaints Unit used to occupy offices in the main building at New Scotland Yard, so it currently saw little use. Nowadays, CIB had their own offices, well away from the people they were tasked with investigating. Security had been the acceptable and public argument for the move, but many within the service accepted that the infamy and reputation of the branch suggested it was a sensible move to place them well away from the mainstream.
‘My name is Superintendent James Mellor; with me is Detective Sergeant Ian Bishop. Also present is…’
‘William Grahamslaw. Commander, Specialist Operations Directorate.’
The Complaints Superintendent then introduced Robert Finlay, who was sat alongside his Commander, much in the way a solicitor might sit with his client. Finlay spoke his name in response to Mellor’s prompt.
Mellor then outlined the purpose of the interview – that he was investigating the involvement of Police Constable Kevin Jones in criminal activities, including murder and the possession of firearms. He continued with the formal caution that they were all familiar with, to let Finlay know he wasn’t under arrest, he wasn’t obliged to remain in the interview and answer questions, and that he was entitled, at any time, to break off and obtain legal advice.
Finlay answered ‘yes’ when asked if he understood his rights. The Commander had done his level best to prepare his Inspector for what was to come but, he’d made it clear that, once the questioning started, Finlay was on his own.
Mellor opened a file. ‘OK, let’s make a start, Inspector. First things first: how long have you known PC Kevin Jones?’
Finlay sat upright in his chair, his back straight, his gaze steady. He’d kept his jacket on and looked smart, if perhaps a little uncomfortable. Grahamslaw knew that his work phone was in his pocket, turned off. The Commander had suggested Finlay put it there because he figured Mellor would want to seize it. Also on the desk in front of them sat Finlay’s work diary. It was a log that every detective was expected to keep, and showed the hours and days he’d been working as well as what he’d been doing and when.
‘I’ve known him for a little over twenty years, sir,’ came the reply.
‘And how did you first meet?’
Finlay glanced across at the Commander before answering. ‘He was a member of 22 SAS Directing Staff overseeing selection for the Regiment. I first met him when I was doing that selection.’
Grahamslaw remained impassive as he listened. He’d recommended Finlay was open about the Special Air Service and his army experience. They’d agreed that, to avoid appearing to be evasive, he would answer as honestly as he could.
‘So, you were soldiers together?’
‘Not exactly together. I was applying to become an officer in the Regiment. Jones was a Corporal at the time and was on a different squadron to me. Our paths didn’t cross for some time after that first meeting.’
‘Until when, if you can tell us?’
‘Until he joined my squadron on promotion to Sergeant. That would have been in … early 1980.’
‘You have a good memory for dates, Inspector.’
‘Not especially, sir. I remember because I was injured in a firefight in the January of that year, which resulted in my doing a course with the Met while I recovered. It was that experience that started my interest in becoming a police officer.’
‘And, of course, as well we all know, a large number of your fellow soldiers were involved in the Iranian Embassy siege in the April of that year.’
‘Correct.’
‘Were you and Jones both on that siege, Inspector?’
‘I’m sorry, sir. As I believe Mr Grahamslaw can confirm, I cannot disclose the identity of any soldier who took part in that operation.’
Mellor turned to the Commander who simply nodded in response.
The Superintendent took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Very well, I understand – although, given the number of men who have written about Operation Nimrod, I don’t think it would have caused any particular conflict. Right, let’s move on … and try to relax a little, Inspector.’
Mellor probed about the length and strength of the friendship that had developed between an officer and one of his sergeants. He suggested, and Finlay agreed, that it was unusual but not unheard of.
‘You were in touch quite a lot in late August and early September 2001, would that be fair to say?’
‘We were. We’d not seen each other for a while and had drifted apart to some extent. As you’re probably aware, we were both the subject of an attempt by people from our past to have us killed.’
‘The IRA?’
‘Correct.’
‘And you’ve heard the reports of two soldier-types abseiling onto a block of flats called Alma House in Hackney and giving our SO19 boys a bit of a licking?’
Finlay didn’t answer. The pause was deliberate.
Grahamslaw recognised the signal to cut in. ‘The Inspector has been instructed by Director MI5 not to speak about events of that period, I’m afraid. Shall we move on?’
Mellor scowled. ‘So, you wouldn’t be able to
tell me if PC Jones was one of the men on the roof of Alma House?’
Again, Finlay remained silent and poker-faced.
‘And what about the reports of a helicopter being heard in the fields near the house you lived in at the time? A large helicopter of the kind used at the Hackney flats? I suppose you can’t answer anything about that, either?’ Mellor raised his voice as he leaned forwards in his chair.
Grahamslaw recognised the tactic. It was a ploy designed to unsettle. The Superintendent was too experienced to allow his temper to show, he was hoping to gradually unnerve Finlay, by revealing some things he knew and others that he might hint at knowing.
It didn’t work.
‘I understand enquiries made at the time with the RAF confirmed that to be one of their flights at low level, sir,’ Finlay replied.
Grahamslaw stifled a smile. ‘That’s correct,’ he added.
‘Yes … all rather convenient,’ Mellor scoffed. He stared hard at Finlay, who shifted his gaze towards the Sergeant making notes on a small pad.
‘Do you mind if I ask a question?’ Finlay asked.
‘This is my interview, Inspector. If you have any comments or questions we can deal with them at the end. Is that clear?’
Finlay didn’t reply.
Mellor cleared his throat before continuing. ‘What have you been doing workwise since the attacks on you in late 2001, Mr Finlay?’
‘I’m sure you’re aware, Mr Mellor. After a period of leave, I returned to work here at the Yard, working on the anti-trafficking team.’
‘And have you had much contact with PC Jones in the last year?’
‘A fair bit, yes. My wife and I used to visit him in hospital and when he was discharged, and we’ve met socially on quite a number of occasions.’
‘You’d describe him as a close friend, then?’
‘Certainly, which is why I find it almost impossible to believe the allegations I’ve heard concerning him.’
‘Which are?’
‘That he’s in hospital having taken an overdose and that Sandi, his girlfriend, died at his hands.’
