Not that he begrudged her. After all, he could have just given them the solution that they wanted, that Ed had wanted, that Arbuthnot and his torturing partner had attempted to extract from him, but he had made his decision, chosen which bed to lie on.
Big Greg turned away from the entrance to the park where his daughter was gently pushing his granddaughter in a swing. Today was not the day to reveal himself; today was a day for action.
***
Larry, back in the office, conscious of his wedding anniversary, sat with Bridget. The two were looking through the evidence that he had brought back from Arbuthnot’s bedroom. The photo album, only small, no more than fifty photos, most of his travels, was not of much interest, save for three photos with four people in each, including Arbuthnot.
‘The sort of photos you’d take at a department’s Christmas party,’ Bridget said. Larry could see what she meant.
‘Unusual,’ Larry said. ‘Most people take those photos, never look at them again, and, nowadays they’re stored on a smartphone, not in an album.’
The passport revealed that the man had travelled extensively, sometimes to countries off the beaten track, but there was nothing suspicious in that. Bridget had discovered, as had Isaac through Goddard’s contact, that the man was a facilitator, putting together deals with foreign governments that were not by their nature illegal, but would be regarded as dubious.
Larry thought it must be something to do with weapons sales, which made sense, in that the British Government, or any government, is not averse to selling weapons, although some of those purchasing them could be less than democratic, more likely to shoot their own people or attack the neighbouring country, even give the weapons to terrorists.
Whatever it was, George Arbuthnot was not a middle-ranking civil servant. Bridget had checked the man’s bank statement, and found it to be genuine.
The photos continued to be of interest. Bridget had taken enhanced photos of each of the individuals and was attempting to match them with the police database. Not that she held out much hope for success as the people in the photos, four men and three women in total, showed no distinguishing features.
Putting the photos to one side, Bridget checked the phone numbers on Arbuthnot’s mobile phone; most were of no interest, although some were clearly government.
Larry called some of them to see if he could find out whose they were. It was assumed that most would be unlisted, especially if, as suspected, Arbuthnot was involved in the selling of weapons.
Larry left Bridget and went to speak with Isaac; the man was deep in thought when he entered. ‘What is it, guv?’
‘The usual.’
‘DCS Goddard.’
‘You’ve got it. Arbuthnot’s death is causing waves.’
‘Waves? What do you mean?’
‘The sort of waves that tell us Arbuthnot was more important than he appeared to be.’
‘We know that already.’
‘The man’s passport?’
‘I reckon he was up to no good for the British arms industry.’
‘That’s what Goddard inferred, although I’ve no idea what it all means, and his murderer, who the hell is he?’
‘Whoever he is, he’s out there, and he would not have killed without reason.’
‘Anything more on him?’ Isaac asked. Larry could see that Goddard, and by inference Commissioner Alwyn Davies, was placing special emphasis on the Challis Street Homicide department, and yet again the British Government was involved.
‘Wendy’s trying, but the man disappears. We have an approximate idea of what he looks like. We’ve issued an APW on him, but, apart from his height, he’ll blend in easily enough, and if he has any experience, if he’s involved with Arbuthnot, maybe the same line of business, he’ll be able to stay concealed.’
‘What about the formulas and the technical drawings in the notebook? Anything more?’
‘Bridget’s tried, but no.’
‘Why did he kill Bob Robertson? That’s the one question that confuses me,’ Isaac said. ‘The man’s remained hidden, hiding out as a tramp, sleeping under bridges, eating at charitable hostels when he could, and then he kills a man for no apparent reason, and then he cleans himself up and goes on a killing spree.’
‘It’s hardly a spree,’ Larry said.
‘It is, and you know it. Once they start, these sorts of people don’t stop. There’ll be more murders.’
‘Serial killer?’
‘Not this man. He’s methodical, and he’s working to a plan. Arbuthnot’s death was not random; the man was tied to him, I’m sure of it, but how do we find out who else was involved?’
‘Your political connections, MI5, MI6?’
‘I’ve no intention of trusting McTavish again.’
‘You still believe he was implicated in the deaths in a previous case?’
‘He was involved. Always made out he wasn’t, and now he’s sitting in the House of Lords. If I contacted him, he’d give me answers, but I’ve no idea if they’d be the right answers, not even sure if it would help.’
‘We’re floundering here. We need a breakthrough from somewhere,’ Larry said.
Isaac knew that his DI was correct. Unless the connections were made, then the chances of finding Big Greg were slim. He wondered what sort of man could conceal himself by living on the street, given that the man recited poetry, wrote complicated formulas in notebooks, and killed civil servants who appeared to be involved in arms trading.
Isaac knew that it was going to become more involved as they peeled away the layers, and almost certainly more dangerous. If men such as Bob Robertson could be killed to maintain a secret, if Arbuthnot could be killed, probably for revenge, then how far would Big Greg go? Would he consider a police officer expendable if he started to get below the first few layers that concealed the truth? Isaac knew he had not become a detective chief inspector out of some false naivety. He knew that the man would kill as necessary, whatever the reason.
Chapter 13
The office had a commanding view of the city, an imported desk and a high-backed leather chair. It was a suitable office for Ed Barrow, the director of the research department and the husband of Big Greg’s former wife, or as the two men in the room knew him, Malcolm Woolston.
‘Why after all these years?’ Barrow said to the man sitting opposite.
‘Are we certain?’
‘It’s him, no question.’
‘Have you told your wife?’ the man opposite said. The two men knew who they were referring to. One was his friend who had consoled his wife after he had died, the other man, older and wiser, had realised the importance of the work he had been doing, ensured that the funding, secretive, well hidden, and government, was available as required. Neither of the two men in the office trusted the other, although it did not matter. With Woolston back, both their livelihoods, their reputations, their lives were at stake.
‘I hope it never gets to that stage,’ Barrow replied.
‘He’s marked for death?’
‘We need his knowledge first.’
‘If he gets away again, you know what he could do?’
‘No more than he could do now. The risk remains the same.’
‘On your head, you know that.’
‘I know it,’ Barrow replied.
‘It’s complicated in that you married his wife.’
‘That was unforeseen.’
‘It’ll be personal with him.’
‘The man was dead. I married his widow. What’s the problem?’
‘If she ever finds out that you never believed him to be dead.’
‘She never will. Not from me. Will you tell her?’ Barrow said.
‘If he’s standing in front of me, gun in hand, what do you think?’
‘You’ll cry like a baby, tell him whatever he wants to hear, do whatever he wants.’
‘Of course I will.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘Once I have the upper h
and, I’ll kill him without hesitation.’
‘Is that what Arbuthnot would have done?’
‘The man was a savage. You were there when he and that other man went to work on him. You saw how they held Woolston down, pummelled his face to a pulp, applied electric shocks, threatened his family.’
‘Malcolm is a tough bastard. He’ll protect them at all costs.’
‘He’ll come for them if they’re threatened again.’
‘You’d use them as bait?’
‘If they’re threatened, he’ll give himself up. Is that why you married his wife?’
‘Not totally.’
‘Barrow, you’re a bastard.’
A smile crept across Barrow’s face. He knew that he loved his wife, Gwen, even her daughter, but the stakes were bigger than either of them. He knew how to get Malcolm Woolston to give himself up, and this time the man would not be able to get free.
***
Big Greg realised that he should have dealt before with those who had caused him to adopt a life of the destitute, but it had been Robertson who had been the catalyst to cause him to return.
All those years of being careful, and then, in one instance, Robertson had revealed that he, Big Greg, was still alive. There was no way that they would have missed the alert. For once, there was indisputable proof that he was still alive, although he always suspected that they thought that he was. After all, hadn’t he phoned his wife to tell her that he’d be looking out for her the same day as he had disappeared. Ed Barrow must have read the signal, even if Gwen had not, and now the man was sitting at his table, sleeping with his wife.
Barrow should be the first, but he could wait. Big Greg had to make sure that his family were safe. He needed to let them know that he was alive, and they should disappear for a while. Only then could he act. But he knew that would not be possible. His daughter would not leave her husband without wanting to tell him, and emotionally how would she handle the knowledge that the father she had mourned, and in whose memory she still placed flowers on a plaque in the local cemetery every Sunday, was still alive. He could only imagine her reaction if he knocked on her door and announced himself.
It was clear that he would not be able to spirit them away, and where would they go? His funds were limited, it would be difficult to conceal them, and there was no way that they could become part of the homeless, not his daughter with a child. The options were few, and he was worried. A can of worms had been opened, and it was not going to close until all the worms were dead.
Big Greg had seen the man that he needed to visit next, leaving Ed Barrow’s office. He phoned Ed Barrow. ‘Leave them alone,’ he said when Barrow answered the phone.
‘Malcolm, where are you?’ Barrow replied. ‘My office door is always open.’
‘Not a chance. I’m giving you fair warning. If you harm my family, then you’re next.’
‘Look here, Malcolm, you stay hidden for all these years, and then you come back and start ordering me around. What right do you have?’
‘I have all the right. I knew what you were planning. How you intended to steal what I was developing and then to sell it to the highest bidder.’
‘No such thing.’
‘Arbuthnot talked. He was my proof. I have it on record.’
‘And what are you going to do with it? Tell the press, inform the prime minister. Get real, nobody’s interested in a few ratbag countries.’
‘You know that’s nonsense. It could give England a great financial benefit, a chance for low-cost energy, only you want to use it to make weapons of war.’
‘That’s how the world works. You may have your idealistic views, but this is the real world, and who do you think is funding us?’
‘The military?’
‘And where do they get their money?’
‘Your people didn’t come up with the solution after all these years?’
‘You knew they never would, and besides, where are you? Where were you?’
‘I was around.’
‘I never believed that phoney story about you drowning.’
‘Yet you married Gwen.’
‘Why not? She’s a lovely woman; she could have still been your wife if you hadn’t had one of your psychotic episodes.’
‘They were not psychotic, they were real.’
‘Malcolm, real enough to you, but none of it happened. Arbuthnot may have been a bastard dealing in military weapons, but he was a government employee, and he did not deserve to die.’
Big Greg realised there was some truth in what Barrow said. He had had the occasional episodes of madness, enough to have been confined to a mental institution for short periods where they had sedated him and fed him pills, and subjected him to lengthy discussions with psychoanalysts. But that had been before, and during his homeless period, he had not felt the need to talk to anyone, and the dreams that had plagued him had been strangely absent.
‘You talk well, Ed, but I can’t trust you. Once I’m up there in your office, you’ll have me locked up in a padded cell.’
‘Not me, Malcolm. Think about it, remember the past.’
‘I saw you with Hutton.’
‘The old man?’ Ed enquired, jumping up from his seat to look out of the window, trying to catch sight of a man who had once been his friend.
‘You’ll not see me. I see you’re still wearing a suit to work.’
Ed Barrow reacted with alarm; he pressed another button on his desk. A woman came running in, Barrow told her to be quiet. ‘Malcolm Woolston,’ he mouthed, pointing to the phone in his hand.
‘Tell Sue Christie not to bother. You’ll not find me.’
‘Where the hell are you?’ Barrow asked.
‘I’m not far. I can see you well enough. Are you still screwing Sue?’
Barrow moved to the window of his office, looked out at the buildings nearby. The sun was reflecting off their windows. It was impossible to distinguish who was looking back.
‘I’m smarter than that, you should know that.’
‘What is it? A camera?’
‘Nothing complicated. Just an internet connection and Skype. I could be outside your door, or a hundred miles away, and you’ll never know.’
‘Malcolm, this is ridiculous. You need professional help,’ Barrow said. He had closed the blinds in his office. Sue Christie was sitting across from him, listening in on the conversation. She was worried.
‘I have a list,’ Big Greg said. ‘If any harm comes to my family, then I will kill you, Ed.’
‘No harm will come to them. You have my word.’
‘The word of a liar. What use is that? Tell Sue not to take out any life insurance. She has no protection.’ The phone line went dead.
‘You should have killed him when you had the chance,’ Sue Christie said.
‘How was I to know that he was going to come back from the dead?’ Barrow replied.
‘You always knew he was alive. You could have found him.’
‘How? The man’s been watching this office, and we’ve no idea where he is. Find that camera he’s using.’
‘Look at your laptop,’ Sue said.
‘Hell, the camera’s on.’
‘The man was always smarter than any of us, you know that. He’s probably accessed your files as well.’
Barrow looked down at his laptop, a cartoon face looked back at him. It spoke. ‘Remember what I told you. Any harm to my family and you’re the first.’
Barrow slammed shut the lid of his laptop. ‘We’ve got the best hacking protection. How did he do that?’
‘The same way he’ll kill any of us if we touch his family, your family.’
***
Big Greg, after his conversation with Ed Barrow, sat in the park opposite his daughter’s place. He knew that at two-thirty in the afternoon she would enter the park by the far gate. His daughter, he knew, was a methodical person, the same as him. It had been how he had dealt with eleven years on the street: one day at a time, the same
place for a meal, the same repartee, the same place to bed down.
He knew that Barrow had been correct. He could have just given them what they wanted and gone home to his family. They had intended to use his work for evil, to sell it to the highest bidder, good or bad. He had researched the subject, read up on the wars in the Middle East. Where did they get the weapons that were fired at the English, the Americans, the Russians sometimes? They all came from those countries, sold in some arms deal only to be used against the seller in return.
He was not going to be a party to that, whatever the cost. Hadn’t his parents died on holiday in Egypt when visiting the Middle East twenty years previously, and what had it been: an English-made missile launched at a police station that hit them as they were catching the bus to the pyramids. He had vowed then that he would do everything in his power to prevent such an occurrence happening again, and now his family was threatened. He knew Ed Barrow, he knew Sue Christie, and he certainly knew the old man, Harold Hutton. He’d been there, standing in the shadows with Ed Barrow, when he was being tortured by Arbuthnot and the other man, the man he had killed in his escape.
He would deal with Hutton to reinforce what he had said to Barrow.
Across the park, Big Greg could see his daughter. She was playing with her child. Little did she know that a man who was plainly in her vision if she only looked his way was protecting her.
Big Greg stood up from the bench he had been sitting on, quickly read the plaque attached to it: Dedicated to Mary, by her loving husband Michael. He felt sad on reading the remembrance of a man for his wife, knowing that he would never have that luxury. He was aware that the road ahead was rocky and would be strewn with casualties. He just needed to ensure that they were the ones he chose.
Chapter 14
There were days when Isaac Cook wondered if it was worth it. His team were working at full stretch, following all the procedures, and still receiving criticism about what they were doing, or at least, what he was doing.
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 4 - 6: Murder (The DCI Isaac Cook Thrillers Series Boxset) Page 32
