by Jack Gatland
‘Because they can show you uploaded a file for him.’
‘Yeah. People won’t realise it’s two separate ops. They timed it to the second.’
‘And you don’t know who did this?’
‘Not yet, but I’m working on it. It has to be someone who knows Baker, though.’ Trix walked to the door. ‘I’ve been here too long already,’ she explained. ‘Just be careful, eh? Someone’s trying to rewrite your narrative.’
Now at the door, she stopped.
‘Listen. Before you caught me, I had a way out,’ she said. ‘Never got to use it though. When I joined the Unit, I got hold of the building plans. The whole place was bombed during World War Two, and they kept the external walls, building effectively a whole new block within. Created a lot of crawlspaces.’
‘So?’ Declan was confused at this sudden architecture lecture.
‘Your offices didn’t have toilets originally, as they linked to next door. When the police were given the floors, they added them in, in the process bricking over a door at the back that connected to the next office via a back staircase.’
‘There’s only one staircase,’ Declan corrected.
‘Now there is, but originally there were two,’ Trix continued. ‘In the toilets, over the middle cubicle is a hatch into the crawl space between the second and third floors. Get in, crawl north five yards, and you bypass the wall. You drop into the corridor next door, leading to the stairway. Follow the stairs until you reach the top floor. Once there, follow the corridor west, to the front facing windows, effectively skylights to the roof. Once on the roof, run north until the end, and drop off the western side onto the roof beside. West, north, and west again around Old Mitre Court, jump north onto the next building—‘
‘Jump buildings?’ Declan almost laughed. ‘I think we’re falling more into the Mission Impossible school of escapes here.’
‘Listen!’ Trix’s voice rose in anger. ‘I’m not talking about me! I’m telling you, in case you have to escape!’
Admonished, Declan stopped. Trix continued.
‘When you jump, carry on to the end, and up a set of white metal stairs to the white door. Code to enter is 5022. Once in, go down the stairs to the bottom. It brings you out on Fleet Street, beside Messrs Hoare Bankers. You’ve then got several routes of opportunity while they’re still working out if you’re still in the building.’
‘Why are you helping me?’ Declan asked as he opened the door for Trix. She shrugged.
‘When he hurt you outside your apartment, back at the start of all this, that wasn’t supposed to happen. I realised then that people like Pearce Associates and Rattlestone believed they were higher than the law. What I did to your friend’s reputation wasn’t great, but she’s a stranger to me. You guys? It’s complicated.’ As if remembering, she patted Declan on the arm. ‘Behind the toilet in the cubicle is a taped burner phone. It has my number in it. I put it there last night. If it all goes wrong, call me.’
And with that Trix walked over to her Fiat 500, parked half on the curb. Declan went to shout out after her, but his phone, currently on the coffee table, rang. Closing the door on Trix, Declan walked over to it, seeing on the screen that it was Anjli.
‘Yeah?’ he answered.
There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Anjli spoke. She was outside, and she was nervous, shocked even.
Declan had a sudden fear that Monroe was dead.
‘We’ve got a body,’ she replied. ‘You need to come.’
‘Where?’
‘Brompton Cemetery, in Chelsea,’ Anjli’s voice was breaking. ‘Declan, it’s personal.’
‘Who is it?’ Declan thought back to the call last night, where Lizzie had claimed that Jessica hadn’t come home. A sensation ran down his spine. The one that people always claimed was when someone walked over your grave.
‘I don’t want to say on the phone,’ Anjli whispered. ‘Just get here now.’
The phone went dead. Declan stared at it. Then, in a flurry of action, he called Lizzie.
No answer.
He called Jessica.
It went straight to voicemail.
Now suddenly scared, with the gut wrenching feeling that the sky was falling, Declan grabbed his coat and keys and ran out of the front door, locking up and clambering into his Audi. It was an hour to Brompton, but with the sirens on and his foot down on the accelerator, he could make it in twenty minutes.
He started the car but paused as his phone went. On the screen read JESSICA.
‘Thank God,’ he said as he answered it. ‘Do you know how worried I’ve been—‘
There was no reply. Just a slow, soft breathing.
A male’s breathing.
And then a chuckle. A quiet, mocking one.
And then the phone went dead.
10
Bad Day
Declan drove to Brompton like a man possessed. He couldn’t get through to Lizzie, and Jessica’s phone was now turned off. He left message after message as he sped down motorways and A-roads, his siren blaring and his blue lights flashing. He almost changed direction halfway along the route, driving directly to Lizzie’s to see what was happening, but Brompton was closer and he knew that this couldn’t, wouldn’t be the worst-case scenario that he was thinking it could be. There were a ton of reasons why he couldn’t get through to his daughter, or why a strange man had her phone—
He almost took out a car as he sped across a crossroads.
He couldn’t stop himself. He started screaming with impotent rage.
Jessie was fine. Jessie had to be fine.
Pulling up outside the North entrance of Brompton Cemetery, Declan realised it had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d attended a secret meeting here with Kendis. He hadn’t expected to be back so soon.
Waving his warrant card at an approaching Scene Of Crime Officer, he was waved through the crime tape, past the curious bystanders and mourners currently barred from entry and started making his way down The Avenue towards the first crossroads where he could already see a gaggle of police officers and forensic teams gathering, the white crime tent already raised.
His phone buzzed; pulling it out, he saw with a mixture of relief and fear that it was Lizzie.
‘Christ,’ he said, answering the call as he walked past the graves. ‘I’ve been worried sick! Is she alright? Tell me she’s alright!’
‘Of course she is!’ Lizzie replied, far calmer than she had been the night before. ‘She was a little shaken though, because someone stole her bag in the cafe so she couldn’t call home. Had to get a lift from a friend, and after they searched for the bag and tried to call her number and all that sort of thing, she eventually got back just before eleven in a bit of a state. And then my phone died, and I forgot to turn it back on.’
‘Someone called me,’ Declan was approaching the crime scene now, Anjli breaking off from a conversation, now walking towards him. ‘Using her phone.’
‘Probably kids, screwing around,’ Lizzie replied. ‘She’s fine. Honest.’
‘Gotta go. I’ll call you later,’ Declan turned off the call, looking at Anjli’s concerned face. If it wasn’t Jessica, who was it?’
‘Why so secret?’ he asked. Anjli pulled him to the side.
‘I didn’t want you crashing or anything,’ she said. ‘They found the body when they opened up. Doctor Marcos reckons it’s been about twelve hours, so around eight pm last night since she died, and they brought her here post-death.’
‘She?’ Declan’s gut churned again. ‘Who is it, Anjli?’
‘I’m sorry, Declan,’ Anjli looked away as she spoke. ‘It’s Kendis Taylor.’
Declan stared at Anjli silently for a moment and then, without even realising it, he ran towards the crime tent. Billy, standing near the tent and talking to some officers, saw this and hurried to intercept him.
‘Suit up first, sir,’ he said calmly. ‘I know she meant a lot to you, but you have to be police right now.’
/>
Declan stared at the tent. This wasn’t happening. This was a dream.
‘How did she die?’ he asked woodenly. Everything was fading; the colour was seeping out of the scene in front of him, the sound being replaced by a whooshing sound that filled his ears. He wanted to sit on the floor, to cut the string above his head that held him standing and just collapse to the ground.
But he didn’t.
Billy was right. He had to be police right now.
Robotically, he gathered his white PPE suit, pulling it on, pulling the white boots over the bottom and the blue gloves over his wrists as Billy joined him.
‘I hate these things,’ Billy muttered. ‘They always make me sweat in the worst places.’
‘That’s because you’re always wearing tweed,’ Declan replied in an emotionless monotone as they entered the tent. It was nothing more than a gazebo with sidings, and Declan saw that Doctor Marcos was standing by a gravestone, something that you didn’t expect to see under the tarpaulin.
Next to the stone however was a body.
Declan knew it was Kendis the moment he saw it; she hadn’t changed from the clothes she’d met him in earlier that day. He turned away, taking a deep breath. Doctor Marcos walked to him.
‘You don’t need to be in here,’ she said soothingly. ‘I can send you a report.’
‘What do you have?’ Declan’s voice was still emotionless, even if his expression wasn’t. Doctor Marcos looked back to the body, still being examined by one of the onsite CSI officers.
‘Defensive wounds on her hands and arms, bruising around her neck, as if she was throttled.’
‘She was strangled to death?’
‘No, sorry. She was arm-barred during the struggle, I think. Forearm pressed against the throat. There are taser marks on her upper chest, so I think she tried to fight whatever was happening, and then was zapped. There’s a cut to her head where she fell, struck it on something.’
‘And then?’
‘Declan, we don’t need to—‘
‘And then?’ Declan’s voice had risen in volume now, and the other CSIs stopped momentarily to glance back at him. Doctor Marcos sighed.
‘They stabbed her in the chest,’ she replied. ‘Small, thin blade into the lung. It would have caused an injury-related pneumothorax, a collapse of the lung itself. She would have passed out most likely, suffocated eventually.’
‘She was killed here?’
Doctor Marcos shook her head. ‘There’s not enough blood,’ she said. ‘She was killed elsewhere but dumped here. God knows why. And weirdly, they left her possessions too, purse and phones still in her jacket.’
‘Phones, plural?’
‘Yes, two of them. Not that uncommon these days.’
Declan moved past Doctor Marcos, past the forensic team who, realising that this was an important moment for him, stepped back to allow him some space.
Kendis was lying on her back, arms crossed, as if in repose. She had a blood covered chest wound, but her eyes were closed and her face looked peaceful. Declan knew though that this death had been far from peaceful, and he was going to make someone pay for this.
kissing in the living room as Kendis pulls back for air
pulling at his tie, sliding it out of his collar
tossing it to the carpet
Rising back to his feet, Declan backed away from the body. ‘Anything that connects this to Monroe’s attack?’
‘Nothing as yet,’ Doctor Marcos replied. ‘Joanna’s with Monroe right now.’
Declan nodded, feeling hot. The walls of the tent were moving in on him.
pushing Kendis against the bed
fumbling for the clasp of her bra
laughing as they move together
‘I need some fresh air,’ he muttered.
‘In case you hadn’t realised, we’re still in the fresh—‘ Doctor Marcos stopped herself. ‘Of course. Let’s move outside.’
Walking back out into the cemetery, Declan pulled off the PPE suit, gasping for air. The world was slowly and lazily spinning. He staggered across The Avenue, making his way towards a waste bin.
Kendis smiles as she says she loves me
‘Guv?’ It was Anjli, her hand on his back as he started vomiting into the bin. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’
No dammit, don’t you dare pass out. Declan nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin that she passed him. Looking up, he saw she had a bottle of water ready as well.
‘We’ll find the bastard,’ she said. ‘But we need you at your best right now.’
‘Why?’ Declan felt that there was more to this statement than just well-being. He didn’t want to be at his best right now. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die right now.
Anjli indicated a group of detectives in the cemetery crossroads.
‘Because that’s who’s taking over for Monroe,’ she said.
Declan rose, sipping gingerly from the water bottle, swilling it around his mouth and spitting it into the bin as he looked across at the DCI leading the scene. He was overweight, in his fifties, and bore the attitude of a man who didn’t expect to be argued with.
He was also a man that Declan had met before.
In fact, DCI Sutcliffe had once stood on the doorstep of Declan’s house with a full contingent of SCO 19 officers and demanded a suspect who Declan had inside. If Monroe hadn’t arrived, Declan didn’t know what would have happened. But one thing Declan knew was that Sutcliffe was at the time connected to Francine Pearce, or Pearce Associates, because the man with the rimless glasses had also been there when—
The man with the rimless glasses was here.
He wasn’t next to Sutcliffe, but he was to the side and back a little, speaking into a phone. Declan hadn’t even realised that he was moving, his fists clenched into balls as he positioned himself to attack—
‘Guv,’ once again Billy had stepped in, blocking his way. ‘Not now.’
Declan looked to Billy and was about to demand that he move aside, but seeing this Sutcliffe walked over to him.
‘DI Walsh,’ he said, offering a hand. ‘We seem to meet at inopportune moments.’
Declan paused, but then took the hand, shaking it.
‘DCI Sutcliffe,’ he replied. ‘I thought you didn’t work for the Met?’
Sutcliffe forced a smile. ‘When we met, I was working with an undercover unit that was examining corruption in the police,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘In fact, if your suspect hadn’t jumped off a roof back then, we’d still be there, gaining far more than you did.’
‘We?’ Declan was now staring at the man in the rimless glasses as he finished his call and walked over to Sutcliffe. It took every inch of self-control that Declan had to not leap at the man and attack him, to beat him like he knew he’d beaten Monroe.
‘Yes,’ Sutcliffe replied, showing the man with the rimless glasses. ‘Meet DI Frost. He was working undercover in Pearce Associates for almost six months.’
‘Apologies,’ Frost, the man with the rimless glasses said as he held out his own hand to be shaken. ‘I went a little too far undercover. I deserved the beating you gave me.’
Declan smiled as he took the hand, his expression hiding the dark fury he held. ‘Yeah, you did.’
‘Of course, I let you beat me,’ Frost continued. ‘I needed you to get up there before Shaun Donnal killed anyone.’
Declan’s smile strained a little. ‘I see,’ was all he could say before looking back to Sutcliffe. ‘I understand you’re taking over the Unit until DCI Monroe recovers?’
‘If he recovers,’ Sutcliffe replied, raising a hand to stop Declan’s immediate reply. ‘I know, he’s a fighter. But he’s still in a coma. Once he’s out, we’ll assess how he is, and whether he’ll be fit enough to return to duty.’
‘He will,’ Declan said, looking at DI Frost. ‘And when he wakes, we’ll learn who did this to him. And then we’ll do the same back.’
Declan was sure that Frost flinched, the slightest
of facial movements before Sutcliffe continued.
‘We won’t be playing eye for an eye here, Detective Inspector,’ he said calmly. ‘No matter how much you like punching suspects.’
‘So what’s the plan then, sir?’ Declan asked, forcing himself to be professional.
‘You knew the victim, right?’ Sutcliffe asked, continuing before Declan gave an answer. ‘You could speak to the next of kin then, see if they knew anything about her extremist tendencies.’
‘Her what?’ Declan could hear the whooshing noise in his ears again.
‘She was a terrorist, Declan,’ Frost said, intervening again. ‘We’ve got files on her. She worked for some violent little rag-heads that wanted us all dead. Surprised you never saw it in her. Guess you’re not as shit hot a detective as people say.’
Declan didn’t mean to, it was completely instinctive; he went to swing at Frost, a vicious right hander that would have sent the glasses flying from his stupid, smug face. It didn’t connect though, as Billy grabbed the arm, holding Declan back.
‘You bastard!’ Declan cried out at Frost. ‘You piece of traitorous shite! You weren’t undercover! You’re corrupt—‘
‘Detective Inspector Walsh!’ Sutcliffe exploded. ‘I’ll let you off this time because you’re emotionally connected to the victim. But I will not have this in my squad!’
‘It’s not your squad,’ Declan muttered. ‘It’s Monroe’s.’
‘And Monroe isn’t here right now.’
Declan glared at Frost. ‘We’d love to see the files,’ he said, his voice ice cold. ‘The ones Rattlestone sent last night froze on Monroe’s computer when he was beaten.’
Again, another micro expression of surprise. Declan knew he was giving away ground here, but he didn’t care right now.
lying in bed after
Kendis smiles and lazily drapes her arm across his chest
