The First Cut (Terrence Reid Mystery Series Book 2)

by Mary Birk

  “Now.”

  Lawrence clamped his jaw shut, but nodded. He hit the intercom and barked out an order.

  When Reid had Lawrence’s attention again, he said, “Dropping the surveillance was a major mistake, DI.”

  “No one dropped the surveillance. The man was in for the night.”

  Reid struggled to keep his voice calm. “So?”

  “I give my men the discretion to terminate surveillance when it’s clear the subject’s tucked up for the night. Saves wear and tear on them and on the overtime budget.”

  “Ramsey apparently wasn’t tucked up for the night as his body was on the railroad tracks on the edge of town this morning.”

  Lawrence thinned his lips, his eyes glowering at the implied rebuke. “And I suppose you blame Parsons.”

  “No, DI Lawrence, I blame you. Ramsey was supposed to be under surveillance around the clock.”

  “I don’t recall anyone saying it was a protection detail. Simple surveillance is how I understood it.”

  “Around the clock surveillance or protection, neither one means your people take the night off and go home to watch the telly.”

  Lawrence shifted in his seat. “You can’t expect me to make a man stay all night watching after everyone’s gone to bed for the night. That would be a waste of manpower.”

  “That was not your call to make, DI Lawrence.”

  “Maybe you should be more clear about your expectations next time.”

  “More clear?” Reid spoke through clenched teeth, incensed by the other man’s cavalier attitude. “More clear? How could I be any clearer than to say there was to be someone around the clock on Ramsey?”

  Lawrence’s back visibly stiffened. “As I recall, your orders were that the man was to be under surveillance when he was likely to be away from his home or office.”

  Reid tried to breathe back his anger while he scoured his memory for exactly how the order had been given. What exactly had he said? He’d been distracted by his worries about Anne, he knew, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t have mucked up such an essential order. No, he distinctly remembered saying the surveillance was to be around the clock. He tried to think. Who else had been there when he’d given the command? Then he remembered. DC Parsons.

  “You and I both know that’s not true. And Parsons knew as well.”

  “Superintendent, explain to me how anything Parsons could have done would have stopped Ramsey from committing suicide. He could have slit his wrists in his bathtub and having my man sitting outside the gate of his house wouldn’t have stopped him.”

  “Who said it was suicide?”

  DI Lawrence’s face took on a wary look. “That’s what I heard.”

  That narrowed Lawrence’s probable source down to someone from the local cops, Reid thought. The SOCOs would have had better information.

  “I’ll be waiting to hear from DC Parsons. Have him call my mobile as soon as he’s located. You’ll be lucky if I don’t decide to file a formal complaint against you for this.”

  “You’re not exactly in the best position to do that right now, are you, Superintendent?”

  Reid raised his eyebrows in a question, searching his mind for what DI Lawrence’s snide comment signified.

  The other man didn’t make him wonder long. “A little birdie told me that this operation might not be yours much longer. I understand some of the brass isn’t taking your recent notoriety well. They don’t like the idea of one of their superintendents starring in sleazy tabloid stories and true crime shows about love triangles, kidnapping, and murder. So you’d best be nice to me. You need all the friends you can get.”

  Reid stood up to leave, letting the fantasy scene where he punched Lawrence hard in the face run through his mind, then drop away. “I doubt I’ll ever be so hard up as to need you as a friend.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” Lawrence barely bothered to hide his smirk. Something in his manner gave Reid an uneasy feeling that the other man knew something he wasn’t telling.

  Chapter 4

  “LOSING RAMSEY is a serious setback, but you’ll have to find another way to get the information we need. We’re chasing a lit fuse line.” Chief Constable McMurty sat behind the ubiquitous government-issue blond wood desk chewing on a fat unlit cigar. Although in his late fifties, the chief constable had an athletic build that made his only average-sized body seem more powerful than that of many larger men. His mustache was bushy though his hairline had receded. Despite McMurty’s outward compliance with the smoking ban, the telltale smell of cigar smoke hung in the room. Outside, the sound of sirens made a steady stream of background noise, police vehicles pulling out to respond to calls in regular intervals.

  “Understood.” Reid nodded, feeling more tired than he wanted to let on. He’d no sooner returned from California, exhausted emotionally and physically, than he’d been thrust into the middle of one of the worst international disasters in which Scotland had ever been involved. In a hideously brutal attack, over seventy innocent students had been killed, and dozens more wounded and maimed in an early morning bombing of a student residence hall at the university in Heidelberg, Germany. German authorities uncovered evidence tying the funding of the terrorist group responsible to a Scottish money connection, and when Interpol intercepted intelligence that a more coordinated attack on universities all over Europe and Great Britain was being planned, they’d known that there was a good chance the connection was the same man Reid’s team had already been investigating—Walter Von Zandt.

  “We can’t afford any more delays.” McMurty, the ranking officer overseeing the Strathclyde Police, had an air of comfortable and intelligent authority that inspired confidence and loyalty in the officers that served under him. Not a small feat, considering that the Strathclyde force made up almost half of Scotland’s police officers.

  “No, sir.”

  McMurty expelled a sigh. “So now explain to me how someone got to Ramsey when he was under surveillance.”

  “The surveillance was dropped.” There was no pretty way to say it.

  “I’d figured that out. Why?”

  “My question exactly. As you know, the surveillance detail was put under DI Lawrence’s management.” Reid had argued against having the CID team involved, but the urgency and high priority nature of the investigation meant internal politics came into play, and he’d been stuck with them.

  “You’ve talked to DI Lawrence?”

  “Aye, right before I came here. Lawrence tells me that he told his people surveillance could be discontinued once they decided the man was tucked up in bed for the night.”

  “That wasn’t the plan.”

  “No, surveillance was to be around the clock.” Reid tried to control how furious he was about the balls-up the CID team had made of the surveillance, and consequently, of the operation, knowing any show of emotion would weaken his position, but his words came out clipped and harsh.

  “So DI Lawrence countermanded your order?”

  “He did.” Reid said, “And not for the first time. I know this situation is rife with political implications, but he needs to be taken off the operation. We can’t afford these kinds of mistakes.” Reid weighed whether to bring up what DI Lawrence had said about the brass’s uneasiness regarding Reid’s suddenly very public and messy personal life, and try to gauge from McMurty’s response how much damage to his career the whole California debacle had caused.

  “How did he explain going against your orders?”

  “He doesn’t agree that my orders specified it was to be round the clock.”

  “And did they?”

  “Yes.” Reid had hesitated for a mere fraction of a second before answering, but he knew McMurty had seen it. Although he was fairly certain he’d made his command that the surveillance be around the clock clear, if he were being brutally honest with himself, he couldn’t be absolutely sure if he’d said that the surveillance was also for Ramsey’s protection. He took a breath, let it out. Surveillan
ce was surveillance. Whether the purpose of the surveillance had been spelled out didn’t matter.

  “Were your orders in writing?”

  “No, nor would they be expected to be.”

  “Was anyone else there that can back up what you told Lawrence?”

  Reid nodded. “The young officer who was on duty was there when I gave the instruction. DC Parsons. We’re trying to track him down and find out what happened.”

  McMurty pressed his lips together. “Let me know when you find him. If we can prove Lawrence disobeyed your orders, I’ll go to Steynton and tell him we’re pulling Lawrence off. Until then, it won’t help you to ruffle any more CID feathers. Steynton hasn’t forgiven you for getting the superintendent position he was championing Lawrence for. It’s colored his support of not just you, but also of the task force. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hoping you’ll fail.” The unlit cigar went in and out of McMurty’s lips. “I’m not saying he wants the human carnage that will result, mind you. He just doesn’t want you to be the one to get the credit for resolving things.”

  “Understood.” Reid’s struggle to gain acceptance with his colleagues in law enforcement was an unending uphill battle. Reid’s family was not only titled, but Roman Catholic in a country where that religion was a disfavored minority. To make matters worse, they were rich—filthy rich, some would say, due to owning one of the most prominent whiskey distilleries in the world. Some thought Reid’s social rank and wealth gave him an advantage over his peers, but in truth it did just the opposite. He had to work that much harder to prove himself, besides being on constant guard for potential political attacks.

  Since he’d returned from California, he’d worked just as hard as he always had, but he knew he’d been preoccupied on a visceral level. Reminded, he glanced at his watch, calculating what time it was in San Francisco. Maybe he should just call Anne. Better to get the bad news sooner rather than later.

  McMurty misinterpreted Reid’s interest in the time. “I know you need to go. What’s your next move?”

  “That’s a good question. Obviously, Ramsey’s death changes everything.” In the weeks since Heidelberg, Reid had focused his efforts on recruiting Ramsey to turn informant, feeling the urgency to get the information in time to stop further attacks. In addition to showing Ramsey graphically horrific photographs of the carnage from the attack—the bodies of blameless young people lying slaughtered amongst the wreckage of the old building—he’d pressured Ramsey with threats to put a word in the ear of his contacts at Inland Revenue who would initiate an uncomfortable investigation into Ramsey’s financial affairs if he refused to cooperate.

  Faced with the horror of what he’d help fund, as well as fear of tax evasion charges, Ramsey had agreed to supply the information about the numbered accounts into which he’d been feeding his payments to Von Zandt. There was no guarantee that those accounts would be the same as those being used to fund the terrorist cells, but as Harry had pointed out, the information would have given them a valuable start at unraveling the thread that would lead to the information. The bitter taste of failure, like old onions and burnt garlic, coated Reid’s tongue, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten yet today.

  Most importantly,” Reid said, “We need to stop the rest of the attacks. And right now the best way to do that is to get the account information. Finding the accounts will help us trace where the money originated and where it ended up, or is supposed to end up. That could give us not only the conspirators ordering these attacks, but the actual bastards carrying them out.”

  “You think you can find the accounts without Ramsey?”

  “I hope so. We’re doing everything we can.”

  “And then?”

  “Once we get the actual account numbers, we can confirm that the destination or the origination of the monies is tied to known terrorist factions. Then we can shut off the money spigot, trace it to the conspirators, and force them to turn over the dates and locations of the next attacks, so we can stop them from happening.”

  “If they even know the details. Often things are too compartmentalized.”

  “Aye.” As he thought, Reid traced one of his fingers around the cold metal that edged the chair’s arm. “We have to get someone high up enough to know.”

  “You’re still sure Von Zandt’s involved?”

  “Up to his rotten neck.”

  “And you think Von Zandt actually knows names?”

  “I do. If not, he’ll likely know who does.”

  “Have you talked to Schilling?”

  “Aye. I’ve kept him advised.” Reid officially answered to two men: Chief Constable Martin McMurty of Strathclyde Police, and the Director General of SCEDA, the Scottish Crime and Drug Enforcement Agency, Deputy Chief Constable Rex Shreve. Unofficially, he also answered to Nelson Schilling, who, as the Deputy Director General of the Security Service, also known as MI5, was largely responsible for counter-terrorism for that agency. Schilling had been Reid’s commanding officer when he was in the military intelligence service early on in his career, and had been instrumental in placing Reid in the position he was today.

  “And does MI5 have any more intelligence?”

  “They still think the next attacks are planned for right before classes adjourn for the summer—probably on the same day or at least close together.”

  “Any more clarity on locations?”

  “The next targets are most likely Paris, London, Munich, and Florence. Which institutions in those cities, we don’t know. Precautions are being taken under the assumption that it could be any of the universities in those cities.”

  “It’s still not been on the news.”

  “No, they don’t want to cause general panic, but the authorities are all in the loop, and the universities have been advised. No one thinks shutting every university in Europe is a practical alternative. But to be safe, all colleges and universities in Europe and the United Kingdom have been advised of the increased threat and are on alert as well.”

  McMurty nodded his head. “So being as you are stuck with him for the time being, what are you planning to do about DI Lawrence?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “Might be wise to keep your opinion that he bollocksed things up to yourself until we talk to Parsons. It’s important that you’re able to work well with CID. Having a special operations team as a liaison between our standing divisions only works if we get cooperation and buy-in from those divisions. There are too many who fought having a task force with as much independence as yours has. Bureaucrats are nothing if not territorial, but keeping them on our side is vital.”

  “I understand. Truth be told, I’m not anxious that the balls-up becomes common knowledge. We’re working with a lorry load of international agencies, and if word gets out that we botched this by dropping surveillance on Ramsey at such a critical juncture, it could seriously undermine our credibility.”

  McMurty pondered for a moment. “At least perhaps DI Lawrence will realize he’s under heightened scrutiny, and that he’d better cooperate.”

  “Maybe.” But Reid knew Lawrence would never play nice. The remark the other man had made about the operation not being Reid’s much longer thrummed against the back of Reid’s mind. He resisted the urge to ask McMurty if there was any basis for Lawrence’s insinuation.

  McMurty shook his head in disgust. “And even though I think it’s best that we leave Lawrence on the operation right now, I’ll speak with Chief Superintendent Steynton and express my displeasure, which in turn, I expect, will result in Steynton calling DI Lawrence on the carpet. I’ll make it clear that if anything like this happens again, Lawrence will not just be off the operation, he’ll be lucky if he keeps his rank.” McMurty slowly twirled the ill-used cigar around in his fingers.

  “I appreciate that, and rest assured I’m taking measures to make sure Lawrence doesn’t have the chance to foul things up again.”

  “Do what you need to do to protect the operation
.” McMurty lips formed a thin smile. “Whatever you need to do.”

  Reid nodded.

  McMurty put the cigar down on top of a small plate that bore a suspicious dusting of ash. “How do you think Von Zandt knew Ramsey was talking to you?”

  “No question someone is feeding him information. Not just about Ramsey, but also about the leads we’ve gotten on financial institutions where we’ve tracked down suspicious accounts. Every time we’ve gotten close to being able to pin down account locations, Von Zandt seems to have gotten wind of it, and suddenly, the money’s moved.”

  “You think that someone in our organization is letting Von Zandt know when you’re close to getting something.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “It’s the only explanation considering we’ve had problems no matter which of the various financial institutions were involved. Von Zandt has his fingers in many different pies, and informants in some of those places, I’m sure, but it stretches credibility to believe he has an informant in every bank or financial institution, or that Ramsey just happened to get himself killed this weekend.”

  “That does seem far-fetched. And there’s no question that Von Zandt has his own political connections.”

  “Aye, I know. I also know that Von Zandt is ruthless with anyone he suspects of betraying him. We know Ramsey met with him on Friday, but we don’t know what transpired at that meeting. I’d hoped to find that out when I met with Ramsey tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s out now. Do you think there’s any chance the leak is coming from DI Lawrence?”

  “That might make sense if the information about Ramsey turning informant was the only thing that had been leaked. But Lawrence didn’t have the information about the accounts we’d located, so I don’t know how that could have come from him. So, as things stand, I don’t have any reason to suspect it’s him.”

  “Then who?”

  “Everything that’s been leaked was in reports that went to those in command in CID.”

  “You think the leak is from someone high up?”