‘So this was all about animal liberation, was it?’ Brock said.
‘No,’ Anne said, ‘Not at all . . .’
Her words were lost in a deafening crash of noise as the doors at both ends of the boat were smashed open and dark figures came pounding in. Brock recognised the familiar gear and began to rise from his seat but was abruptly forced back down by a strong hand on his shoulder. One of the men strode forward to the end of the table and said, ‘I am a police officer. I have a warrant to search these premises and I require you to identify yourselves. You . . .’ He pointed at Anne, whose eyes were wide with shock.
‘I . . . My name is Anne Downey. I’m the owner of this boat. What—’
‘You!’ The man pointed at Ned.
‘Officer,’ Brock said. ‘I am Detec—’
‘Shut up!’
Ned, trembling and stumbling over his words, gave his name. Two of the uniforms moved forward and handcuffed both him and Anne Downey.
‘You two are under arrest on suspicion of illegal entry of restricted premises and obstructing the course of justice. You are not required to say anything, but anything you do say . . .’
He finished the caution and turned to Brock. ‘And you are?’
Brock carefully drew back his jacket and took out his wallet, showing the man his police ID. The man flinched. ‘Sir.’
‘What’s your name, Inspector?’
‘Leith, Derek Leith, sir; same command as you, assigned to Operation Intruder.’
‘Can I see your warrant?’
The inspector handed it over. It was dated four days previously, and had been signed by Commander Lynch.
‘I was in the process of questioning these two people when you arrived, Inspector,’ Brock said. ‘I’d like to finish what I was doing.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I have explicit instructions to prevent them communicating with anyone until they have been placed in custody.’
‘And where will that be?’
‘I’ll take them to the Stratford station.’ The inspector turned to Kite. ‘You are Professor Kite?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m instructed to advise you to go straight home, sir. Someone will contact you.’
Kite looked shaken. ‘I see. Yes, very well. But . . . aren’t they to be charged with murder?’
‘Not at this stage.’ He turned back to Brock. ‘You came with Professor Kite, sir?’
‘Yes. My car is back at the bridge.’
‘One of my men will escort you both back there. Now, if you please.’
Brock turned to look at Anne Downey. She stared at him, then at Kite, and said softly, ‘You bastards.’
27
Jack Bragg had a local doctor, it seemed, a tubby little man who gave every impression of being terrified by his patient. He examined the mark on Bragg’s back gingerly, as if fingering an unexploded bomb. Then he came and had a look at Kathy. If he thought it odd that she was tied to a chair, he didn’t say anything.
‘Mm, a little unusual, Mr Bragg, certainly. You haven’t asked the doctor who treated you at the clinic? Would you like me to speak to him?’
‘Not until you work out what he’s done. She thinks . . .’ he nodded in Kathy’s direction, ‘. . . that they’ve injected us with something to give us a heart attack.’
‘Hah!’ The doctor’s laugh turned to a cough as he caught the fury in Bragg’s eyes. ‘That may be a little far-fetched.’
‘How can we find out?’
‘Um, well, we might do a CAT scan, or an MRI, and make sure there’s nothing odd going on in there.’
‘Do it.’
The doctor fumbled his phone and made arrangements for an immediate MRI at a local clinic. ‘Her too?’ he asked Bragg.
‘No. Just me.’
They hurried out, leaving Kathy still tied to the chair by the pool, with the boxer watching her. His name was Bennie, Kathy had gathered, the body builder Troy.
‘Nice try,’ Bennie said. ‘Trouble is, when he finds out it’s a load of bollocks he’s going to be very angry with you.’
Kathy, feeling a chill in her stomach, knew that he was right. ‘That’s why you need to let me go, Bennie. You don’t want my blood on your hands. Cut the ropes and tell him you had to go out for a few minutes, and I must have had a blade up my sleeve.’
Bennie thought that was quite funny, stretching his mouth briefly in a smile before he turned and ambled across to a newspaper lying on a bench. He had a slightly unsteady gait, bumping into a chair on the way, as if one fight too many had upset his sense of balance.
Bragg and the doctor returned after an hour, looking grim. One glance at Bragg’s face told Kathy that the little speech that she’d prepared to persuade him to spare her would be pointless.
Bennie got to his feet, a look of anticipation on his face. ‘Okay, Mr Bragg?’
‘No, it’s not okay.’ He glared at Kathy. ‘You were right.’ To the doctor he said, ‘Show her.’
The doctor, who had a large envelope in his hand, came towards her and pulled out several prints from the MRI scan.
Kathy, startled and wondering if this was some kind of game they were playing with her, looked at the sheet he held in front of her. It showed the ghostly forms of what looked like ribs and soft organs, and in the middle of them a small, sharply defined white lozenge, about the size of a grain of rice.
‘There appears to be an implant,’ the doctor said, sounding shaken. ‘Immediately behind the left ventricle of the heart.’
‘A time bomb!’ Bragg roared. ‘A fuckin’ poison capsule waiting to dissolve! Just like you said.’
Kathy was stunned. This was crazy. It couldn’t be right—she’d made it all up!
‘I imagine you must have the same thing,’ the doctor said to her. ‘Of course, we don’t know what’s in it exactly . . .’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Bragg said bitterly. ‘It’s not going to be bleedin’ vitamins, is it? This is murder by stealth. Now I understand why they let me out, so I can go home and have a quiet heart attack in my own bed and everybody’ll be happy. Well, you’re just going to have to take it out, Doc.’
‘Impossible.’
‘What?’
The doctor wrung his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Bragg, but I couldn’t possibly do something like that. It’s in just about the most inaccessible part of your body, right next to your heart. It would require major surgery, an operating theatre, a highly skilled surgeon, post-operative care . . .’
Bragg pondered for a minute. ‘Well, we’ll have to go to where we can get all of that. Troy, get the guns. You can go home, Doc. Not a word to anyone, okay?’
‘Yes, yes. I’ll leave you the scans, shall I?’ He dropped them on a table and scampered off.
Bennie, standing at his shoulder, said, ‘What about her?’
‘We’ll take her with us. They may need to practise on someone else first. Untie her and kill her if she tries anything.’
When Brock and Kite reached the car their police escort waited until they drove back to the main road, heavy with rush-hour traffic. Brock said, ‘They knew your name, Desmond. I think you’d better explain.’
‘Yes, of course. I should have been open with you, but I wasn’t sure. They said to keep it to myself, you see.’
‘Who did?’
‘A senior police officer, a Superintendent Russell. She came to see me a couple of days ago.’
‘In Cambridge? When?’
‘Er, Tuesday it was.’
He’d had lunch with Suzy Russell on Monday, and he’d spoken to her on the phone earlier that morning and she’d said nothing.
‘Go on.’
‘She explained that they now had convincing evidence that Freyja and Gudrun’s deaths were not accidental. They had specific evidence that two people who knew the girls—Dr Anne Wood and Ned Tisdell—were involved in their murder. Both people were in hiding, and the police couldn’t trace them. However, she suggested that if I came to London and started aski
ng after them they might agree to see me, and then the police could act. So that’s what I did.’
‘Did she tell you why they would have been involved in the girls’ murder?’
‘They’re involved in industrial espionage, she said, stealing industrial secrets that Freyja was working on.’
‘So how did the police find the Aquarius just now?’
‘I led them there. Superintendent Russell told me to leave my phone switched on, and they’d know where I was.’
‘I see.’ Brock pulled in to the kerb and sat for a moment, thinking. Finally he said, ‘I’d like you to switch it off now, Desmond.’
‘Why?’
‘Superintendent Russell has told me a very different story. I don’t think she’s been entirely frank with either of us. And I’d like to know the rest of what Anne Downey was going to tell us before the squad arrived. Did she strike you as a guilty witness?’
‘She was very hostile, they both were.’
‘Yes, and frightened and suspicious. But guilty of murder?’
Kite hesitated, then said, ‘I’m not sure that I can judge . . . When we were talking to her I tried to imagine it, and I couldn’t.’
‘That’s what I was thinking.’
Professor Kite hesitated for a moment, then drew out his phone and switched it off. ‘What now?’
‘I’m going to take you to see a man who I think knows what Anne knows—maybe more. All these people seem to have a great distrust of the police, and are very reluctant to talk to me, but he may be prepared to say more to you.’
They drove on in silence, back through Central London towards Paddington. When they reached the canal basin, Brock drew to a stop and they got out and went over to the railings.
‘Over there is Gudrun’s boat, Grace, and next to it Roaming Free, that one with a herb garden on the roof.’ Brock pointed, Kite peering through the mist. ‘It’s owned by a couple, the Stapletons, who were friendly with Gudrun. Further down is Jonquil, owned by Debbie Rowland, another friend. You might like to speak to them, but I don’t think any of them have the answers you’re looking for. However, down there is someone who might.’
Kite followed his direction. ‘What, in that wreck?’
‘It’s a houseboat, of sorts. The man’s an eccentric, name of Ollie Kovacs, with a history of involvement in radical causes, and Gudrun used to visit him. I think he knows something. Why don’t you try and find out? When you’re finished go over to Gudrun’s boat and give me a ring from there.’
They shook hands. ‘Good luck.’
‘Where will you be?’ Kite asked anxiously.
‘I’ve got a little job to do. Don’t worry, I won’t be far away.’
From the tenth floor the ground was barely visible, wreathed in patches of mist in the twilight gloom. Brock turned from the view through the glass wall and went over to the reception desk where a young woman was talking on the phone. She ignored him as he studied the business cards displayed on the desktop. He selected one, Steve Budd, Business Manager, and when she finally rang off and favoured him with a blank smile he said, ‘Steve in?’
She blinked. ‘Steve?’
‘Steve Budd.’ He held up his police ID. ‘I’m Dave, from Superintendent Russell’s crew.’
‘Oh, right.’ She picked up the phone.
‘Tell him I’m a bit pushed for time,’ Brock added, and wandered back to the window. There was a Christmassy feel to the view from up here, he thought, the streetlights glimmering through the tinselly fog.
‘Dave?’
Brock wheeled round. A short, pugnacious-looking man was peering at him uncertainly. ‘Steve,’ he said forcefully, sticking out his hand and taking the other in a tight grip. ‘They sent me over to have a word. Where can we talk?’
Budd showed him into a meeting room and Brock unbuttoned his overcoat and sat down with a grunt. ‘Gudrun Kite’s father’s in town. Just wanted to warn you, in case he tries to make contact.’
‘Ah.’ Budd’s face cleared. ‘Yes, they told me he might come. Don’t worry, I know my lines. He’s not going to make trouble, is he?’
Brock sighed wearily. ‘You never know, do you? He’s a bitter old man who’s convinced that his daughters were murdered and that the cops are covering it up.’
‘Whoa.’ Budd blew out his cheeks, raising his hands as if to fend off trouble. ‘Don’t ask me, Mr Kite, sir. I know nothing. Far as we’re concerned she was Vicky Hawke, an excellent employee.’
‘That’s the way,’ Brock nodded.
‘You don’t think he’ll go to the press, do you?’
‘We’ll look after it. But you’ve got nothing to worry about, have you?’
‘Our people don’t like publicity.’
‘Harvest, you mean?’
Budd gave a fretful sigh, then shrugged. ‘Anyway, you lot should be happy. From what I read in the papers everything’s going brilliant, isn’t it?’
Brock nodded. ‘Oh yes. Brilliant.’
‘Well then, you’ll just have to keep Gudrun’s old man off our backs, won’t you? Was there anything else?’
‘No, that’s all.’ Brock got to his feet.
‘Right then.’ Budd showed him out to the lift. ‘See you around, Dave.’
When he reached the street Brock checked his phone, but there was no message from Professor Kite. The air was colder now. He imagined the two men huddled together in the ruined belly of the Princess Louise, elderly scholars interrogating each other for the truth.
The DiSTaF office block seemed quiet, the lobby deserted apart from the same fashionable young man lounging behind the desk. He snapped upright as Brock pushed through the door, alerted perhaps by the look on Brock’s face.
‘Sir? Can I help you?’
‘Superintendent Russell,’ Brock growled.
‘She’s not in, sir.’
‘Really.’ Brock began walking to the lifts.
‘Really,’ the man repeated. ‘And you can’t use the lifts without a pass . . . sir.’
Brock turned back to him, and saw his smirk. He stomped back over to the desk and pushed his face too close to the other man’s. ‘Where is she?’
‘Um . . .’ The man winced, tilting his head back. ‘She’s out with the others. They’re all out celebrating.’
‘Where?’
‘I could contact her if it’s urgent.’
‘Where?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Tiles, Buckingham Palace Road.’
‘Thank you.’
Brock drove slowly along Buckingham Palace Road until he spotted the place, a wine bar and restaurant, and turned off into a side street and parked his car half up on the footpath with his police pass visible on the dash. From the restaurant on street level he was directed downstairs to the private party in the basement bar.
From the volume of laughter and chatter they had been there for a while, a couple of dozen of them, all young and casually dressed. They turned to look at him as he moved among them, eyeing him over the rims of their wineglasses as if trying to work out what he was doing there. One called out, ‘Looking for the gents, mate?’ He could see no sign of Suzy Russell.
‘Brock!’
He turned and saw Mickey Schaeffer coming towards him, a puzzled look on his face. ‘Boss, hi. Can I help you?’
‘Hello, Mickey. I was told Superintendent Russell was here.’
‘She was, but she got a phone call just a couple of minutes ago and had to leave.’
‘Ah. What’s the occasion?’
‘Operation Intruder, boss. A bit of a celebration. Everybody seems very happy with the way it’s gone. Can I get you a drink?’
‘No thanks, Mickey. See you later.’
Mickey followed him to the foot of the stairs. ‘Boss,’ he said, voice lowered, ‘how’s Kathy doing?’
‘Not too bad. Convalescing.’
‘With your friend in Battle, yes? Bren told me.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Mickey was looking thoughtful, and Br
ock added, ‘Why, is there a problem?’
Mickey seemed about to say something, but then someone from the party called out to him and he shook his head and turned away.
Commander Lynch’s secretary Carol had been installed at headquarters at the same time as Lynch himself, displacing Commander Sharpe’s secretary Lillian and completely rearranging her room within an afternoon. No one was very sure where she’d come from, and the word was that she was not given to idle chat, was fiercely loyal to Fred Lynch, and was filled with a sense of her own self-importance. On the previous occasions they’d met, Brock had formed the impression that she didn’t like him. This time he was sure of it.
‘No, Chief Inspector, you may not speak to the commander.’ It was said with satisfaction.
‘It’s extremely urgent.’
‘Send an email.’
Brock took a deep breath. ‘I need to speak to him now. He’s not answering his mobile.’
She fixed him with a bleak glare. ‘He is at an important function, if you must know, and has turned off his work mobile.’
‘He has another phone?’
‘Why don’t you go and talk to Mr Payne. He may be able to help you.’
Brock left, seething. When he got back to Queen Anne’s Gate he told his secretary Dot, who wasn’t surprised.
‘She’s a bitch, everyone says so. Leave it with me. I may be able to get hold of his personal mobile number.’
‘I’d appreciate it, Dot. And I’m expecting a call from Professor Desmond Kite. He hasn’t rung this number, has he?’
‘No. There’s a heap of other messages on your desk, none critical.’
Brock went reluctantly into his room to face the in-tray. After thumbing through the pile of documents and files he pushed them aside and turned to his computer. The website for the Harvest Group described their operations:
From our offices in London, Palo Alto and Singapore, we have supported innovative companies for over twenty years, helping to develop ground-breaking technologies with a potential for global growth. We focus on the fields of electronic technology and life sciences, making investments ranging from seed funding to large-scale development capital for market-ready products.
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