The Journal

by John R McKay

  ‘Yes, boss,’ she replied not looking up. ‘A few things to clear up before I go.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Like what, may I ask? I’m sure it’s something you could hand over, or leave until you get back. You’ve been working really hard recently and need your break.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, looking up. ‘But I won’t be able to relax while I’m away if I don’t make a couple of phone calls first.’

  ‘The hit and run thing?’

  ‘Yes. It kind of grew arms and legs didn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly did. I’m sure that Cooke is probably safe now. I can’t see this Lange character doing anything other than running. He made a complete arse of everything from what I hear.’

  ‘To a point boss,’ said Julie. ‘He’s a cold blooded killer and until he’s in custody we can’t be certain that Danny Cooke will be safe. I’ve tried to persuade him to come back here where we can protect him but he isn’t interested. I suppose there’s nothing we can do about that.’

  ‘No there isn’t,’ replied Raymond, sighing. ‘And what’s happening with the Holbrook guy?’

  ‘The Met were picking him up yesterday afternoon for questioning. I’m waiting for their call. It’s the main reason why I’m here, to be honest.’

  ‘OK,’ he said turning away. ‘Let me know what they say. Then get yourself off and don’t come back for at least two weeks.’

  ‘Yes boss,’ she said and turned back to her desk as he left the room.

  She didn’t have long to wait before the phone on her desk started ringing. She picked it up, ‘Hello, DC Green speaking.’

  ‘Hi Julie,’ said Wilson. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. Ignoring any pleasantries she asked: ‘So what have you found out?’

  ‘I hope you’re sitting comfortably,’ he said. ‘Got a lot to tell you.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Julie impatiently.

  ‘We picked up Simon Holbrook yesterday afternoon after we spoke to you and brought him in for questioning. I’ve got to tell you, I’ve never met such an arrogant arsehole in all the time I’ve worked in the police. He spoke to us as if we were plebs and he was the big I am, but once we put certain things to him, he soon changed his attitude.

  ‘I don’t know if you’re aware but the guy is quite high up in the security services. MI5. We’ve got the Flying Squad looking into his role with them and they’re currently speaking to his superiors, who happen to be high ranking government officials, by the way. We asked him if he knew Sean Lange, what he knew about the events that have been going on over the last couple of weeks and all that. At first he denied everything but when we told him we would be talking to his bosses and they would be conducting an internal investigation into what he’d been doing over the past few weeks then he seemed to give up and, to use a very old cliché, sang like a canary!’

  ‘So he is the MI5 connection,’ said Julie. ‘He would have access to all kinds of information.’

  ‘Exactly,’ continued Wilson. ‘I think he knew that the game was pretty much up for him and that’s why he was so co-operative. He says that Sean Lange was one of his operatives, someone he controlled. He’s been using the resources of MI5 for some time and has involved his subordinates in doing that. It would only take the right questions to be asked to the right people and we could easily link him to Lange, that’s why he talked. At first he started quoting Official Secrets Act and all that kind of crap but he soon realised that he was wasting his time.

  ‘He found out about the will and his brothers intentions to pass everything to a complete stranger and he says he lost it. He denies asking Lange to have Cooke killed though. He reckons that he told Lange about what was happening and then Lange just kind of took it upon himself to do what he did.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘Absolutely not. He’s trying to deflect blame in my opinion. Pass the whole thing over to being Lange’s idea. Why would Lange get the hump to such an extent over something that ultimately doesn’t concern him? It’s all a load of crap. Whatever happens, whether what he says is true or not, he’s in deep, deep shit. At the very least his career is over and he’s looking at an accessory to murder charge, if not conspiracy to commit murder. Either way he’s going to prison.’

  ‘Can he help with Lange’s whereabouts?’

  ‘No. He’s either unable to or unwilling to. He says he’s lost contact with Lange and has got no idea where he is. However, what he was able to tell us and what is most worrying, is that he believes that Lange will more than likely be looking for Cooke to finish what he started. He told me that Lange is very good and efficient at what he does, despite the mess he’s made of this particular job. If you can call it a job.’

  ‘That’s not good,’ said Julie.

  ‘No it isn’t,’ agreed Wilson. ‘Do you know where he is? Cooke?’

  ‘All I know is that he’s somewhere in Paris. I have no idea where about or in which hotel he’s staying. He doesn’t seem interested in coming home but I’ll give him a ring as soon as I’ve hung up and tell him what’s happened. Try and persuade him to come back. He needs to get back here, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Very much so. I’ll speak to our colleagues in the Surete and see if we can locate him. If he’s staying at a hotel then he would have had to register and I’m sure that they can find him, or where he’s staying, very quickly. That’s if he’s stubborn and won’t tell you where he is.’

  ‘OK,’ said Julie. ‘I’m going away for a couple of weeks but can you please keep me in the loop with what’s happening? I’ll have my mobile with me all the time.’

  ‘Will do.’

  They said their goodbyes and hung up.

  Julie immediately dialled Danny Cooke’s number. It went straight to voicemail. She thought that maybe he was on another call and so she waited for a couple of minutes before trying again. Again voicemail. She decided to leave him a message and try again later.

  ‘Danny. When you get this message can you call me straight away? Thanks. Bye.’

  She looked at her watch. Nearly eleven o’clock. She was flying out to Greece first thing on Monday morning and she could do with some last minute shopping. There were still things she needed and she was running out of time to get them. She really wanted for all this to be sorted out before she left or she would not be able to relax and enjoy herself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Danny had woken early and eaten a quick breakfast in the hotel before going out for a walk. He had slept fitfully and had been aware, once more, that his dreams were troubled with strange images, the details of which were instantly forgotten on waking up. He had pretty much made his decision to stay in the French capital for a few days while he got his head around what had happened and to decide on his way forward from this point.

  He had walked along the Seine, crossing at the Pont Neuf and headed towards the Louvre. He had paid the entrance fee, which he always found to be reasonably priced, and wandered around the gallery not really taking in the paintings and sculptures all around him. Tourists rushed to see the usual sights. They flocked around the ridiculously small Mona Lisa, struggling to get a glimpse of the world’s most famous painting. The Venus de Milo, another overrated piece of artwork in Danny’s opinion, was also a source of much interest from amateur art lovers. He preferred the many other pieces, where he could view them in relative peace, but today they did not hold the same interest.

  He sat on a bench next to two Japanese tourists who were clicking away on a huge Nikon camera, taking pictures of their friends who were posing in front of paintings by Boticelli. Danny was amused at how they could get so excited about the most trivial of things and felt envious that his life was not as simple and happy as theirs appeared to be. Sitting there, amongst the crowds, he had never felt so lonely.

  He looked at his phone and saw that he had two missed calls from Julie Green and a voicemail besides. He listened to the message and then
called her back.

  ‘Hi Julie, it’s Danny.’

  ‘Danny, hi. Where are you?’

  ‘Right now I’m sat on a bench in the Louvre, watching a load of nutcase tourists.’

  ‘OK. Listen. You need to get your things and get to the airport and get back over here.’

  ‘You sound agitated. What’s happened?’

  Julie explained the morning’s developments, while Danny sat listening in silence. ‘So you see,’ Julie finished, ‘you need to get back here. Holbrook reckons Lange won’t stop until he’s finished what he’s started.’

  Danny sighed. He was sick of it all. Sick to the back teeth.

  ‘Listen Julie,’ he said after a while. ‘I’ve made my mind up and I’m not coming back just yet. There’s no way Lange can possibly know where I am. Even if he does find me then so be it. I’ll deal with that then. I can’t keep running away all the time.’

  ‘Danny you’re not listening to me, are you? You have to come home.’

  ‘It’s not happening Julie. I’m sick to death with it all. I just want it all to be over and to be left in peace. I wish the whole bloody thing hadn’t happened. I wish that Peter Holbrook had just burned that bloody journal and all those letters and left me alone. But he didn’t did he? And now look where it’s left me.’

  ‘I strongly advise that you come back Danny. But if you aren’t going to do that at least tell me where you’re stopping.’

  ‘Fine. I’m staying at the Grand Hotel Saint Michel. It’s on the corner of Avenue Victor Cousin and Rue Cujas. Just down the road from a hotel I used to stop in with Lucy. I’m thinking of moving to somewhere else though, somewhere a bit more plush.’

  ‘Right,’ said Julie. Danny could tell that she was writing this down. ‘OK Danny, I can’t force you to come back. Just be very careful will you? The Met have passed Lange’s details to Interpol and are liaising with the police in Paris too. I’ll need to let them know where you are so they can look out for you. No arguments. And if you do decide to change hotels then let us know.’

  ‘Whatever makes you comfortable,’ replied Danny, not really caring.

  Danny spent another hour in the gallery and then left, walking along the Seine, retracing his steps from earlier. Halfway along the Pont Neuf he stopped and leaned against the wall facing the Eiffel Tower. He loved this place, but the happy memories he had of it, the memories he had built up with Lucy over the years were now just that, memories. That is all they would ever be now. And it was all down to Simon Holbrook and Sean Lange. OK, the killer, the guy who drove the car at them was dead, but he had just been a puppet of the other two.

  Simon Holbrook was now in police custody, being questioned and admitting to his involvement. Sean Lange, the real danger, was more than likely somewhere in this city looking for him. What were the chances of bumping into him? Virtually none, he concluded. It was highly unlikely that Lange would be able to find him so there was no need to worry, he thought. But something within Danny made him want to be found by Lange. At least that way, whatever happened, it would bring an end to it all. An end he craved more than anything. He was unable to move on, to sort out his life, until this was all behind him.

  He moved away from the wall and continued on his way back to the hotel. He was starting to feel hungry and he was happy that his appetite had returned. He thought about the cafes and restaurants on the Place de la Sorbonne and decided that he would get a bite to eat there and then check out of the hotel. He would then take a taxi to the Hilton and check in there. Maybe he would get a suite for a couple of nights. Time to live a little, he thought.

  He entered the Place de la Sorbonne from the Boulevard Saint-Michel and found a suitable restaurant on the right. He sat down at an outside table which was in the sunshine facing the square and asked for the menu from a young waiter who approached him. He enjoyed sitting outside like this, watching the people go by. He found it relaxing and therapeutic and never felt awkward in his own company. He ordered a coffee and the waiter left him to mull over the menu. He had a quick look at the dishes and instinctively looked at the prices before remembering that he could now pretty much afford to buy the restaurant let alone the most expensive dish on the menu.

  The waiter returned with his coffee and he ordered a steak with fries and salad before handing the menu back to him. He sipped at the coffee and looked around the square. It was quite busy with tourists and students from the nearby world famous university. He found it amusing to try and work out who were tourists and who were students, it gave him something to do whilst he waited for his food.

  A group of three women in their late teens to early twenties sitting by the fountain on the low wall. Students he thought. A couple walking hand in hand across the square. Tourists or Parisians, he was not sure. He decided on locals. A man at the far end of the square leaning against the wall of the university building alone, woollen hat, small round glasses, satchel and scarf. Mature student, he thought. A group of young men on bicycles, stopping for a quick cigarette. More locals he decided. He liked this game. Small things and small minds, he smiled to himself.

  It was not long before the waiter returned, balancing a number of plates expertly along his lower arm. He placed one in front of Danny and moved quickly away to another table to serve others. Danny looked at the food which was well presented, and picked up his knife and fork. A couple on the table to his right were having an animated conversation and he looked at them for a moment. He decided that he would attempt to learn the language. If he was to spend more time in France in the coming years, then he wanted to be able to converse with the French people and now that he had as much leisure time as he wanted it was something that he would certainly do.

  He suddenly realised that the couple had stopped talking and were staring at him. He quickly turned his eyes away, embarrassed that he had been caught watching them. He was hardly eavesdropping, he thought, because he had not understood a single word that they had been saying. His eyes now once again fell on the ‘mature student’ he had observed some minutes ago. The man was still standing in the same location. Was he waiting for a friend, he thought.

  Danny’s heart skipped a beat. For some reason he felt suspicious of him. Did he recognise him? He was not sure. It was not his face or the clothes he was wearing but more the size and shape of the man. He had only seen Sean Lange for a few moments, moments that were full of panic and fear, but there was something about the stranger who was now standing near the big blue doors of the Sorbonne that reminded Danny of him. He was not sure, but after what Julie Green had just told him, that Lange could be in Paris looking for him, his suspicions were magnified. He looked again around the square attempting to see if anyone else would give him the same odd feeling, the same dread, as the man who stood, perhaps innocently, only fifty yards away. But no-one did.

  Danny lowered his head slightly. The latticed screen between the restaurant he was occupying and the one next door provided a barrier between them. He was suddenly aware that the couple on the next table were still looking at him. He looked at the man, who stared at Danny for a few moments more before frowning then turning back to his partner and engaging in conversation once more.

  Danny looked again at the short man near the university doors and observed him for a while. He was constantly looking down the Rue Victor Cousin and would occasionally turn his head toward the square and scan around. Maybe he was waiting for someone who was late, but there was something about his manner that disturbed him. The man did not seem to know from which direction the person he was waiting would be arriving. Danny was not sure whether he was being overly suspicious or paranoid, but this man was the same height and build as Sean Lange. Lange had had a beard, if Danny remembered correctly, and this guy was clean shaven. But then he could very easily have shaved it off.

  He could feel his heart racing and nausea crept over him. The couple on the table looked over toward him once again, a look of concern on the woman’s face.
She said something in French to him and he looked back at her blankly. Realising he was not a Frenchman she said in English, ‘Are you OK, monsieur?’

  Danny looked at her and smiled. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  He stood up and took out his wallet. Placing a fifty euro note on the table he turned and walked away leaving the untouched meal on the table. He got to the corner of the Boulevard Saint-Michel and turned left, out of sight of the suspicious looking man at the university doors. He considered his options. He was not totally sure that the man was Lange but if he was he needed to get as far away from him as possible. He could contact the police but he had to be sure that it was in fact Lange before he did that. Also, he had to get back to the hotel and retrieve the journal and other documents that he had left in a drawer in his room. He would be able to double back and get to the hotel via the Rue Cujas, hopefully avoiding Lange, if indeed it was he.

  He started to doubt himself. He had to know if it was Lange before he did anything. He could be panicking for nothing and how could Lange know where he was anyway? He had only moved hotels the previous day and hadn’t Holbrook been picked up by the police before he had moved hotels? He wasn’t sure. And then it dawned on him that if it was Lange, then he was probably watching the Hotel de la Sorbonne and not the hotel he was now staying in, the Grand Hotel St Michel.

  Danny strained to think through a developing headache. He had to do something and he was unsure of what that something was. He had to be one hundred per cent certain that this was Lange before he contacted the police or made himself more sick with worry. Even if it turned out to be someone else, someone completely innocent, it was obvious to him that this whole situation had to be resolved and quickly. He cleared his head and then made a decision on what he would do next.

  #

  Sean Lange had been standing in the same position for a couple hours and he was beginning to doubt his decision to come in search of Cooke. Initially people had taken no notice of him but occasionally a passing pedestrian would look at him with curiosity as they walked by. More than once a waiter from the nearest café, on the corner of the Rue Victor Cousin, had looked over to him, inquisitive as to why he was still standing there. When this happened he had looked at his watch impatiently, attempting to give the impression that he was waiting for someone who was late. However, he realised that he could not stay there for much longer if he was to avoid more prying eyes. The last thing he needed was people taking too much notice of him; he needed to blend into the background, just another insignificant member of a largely populated city.