by Jack Gatland
Idiot idiot get out of here now
Francine’s fingers still tapped on the side of the chair. The side of the chair facing the CCTV camera.
‘What did you tell them?’ Declan rose now, looking at the hand. Francine shrugged.
‘Just morse code,’ she replied. Saying get help this is Declan Walsh repeatedly.’
Declan listened; in the background he could hear police sirens.
‘I guess Rattlestone owns you,’ he said. Francine shook her head.
’No, they owe me,’ she replied. ‘I’m giving them you, after all.’
As Declan turned to the door, it opened and the young police officer entered, a bright yellow X26 taser gun in his hand.
25
The Fugitive
‘Get on the floor,’ the police officer said nervously, his voice wavering as he raised it to aim at Declan, who stared at the officer, hands slowly raising.
‘There’s more here than you realise,’ he suggested, but the officer didn’t budge, the taser gun still aimed at him. However, he was nervous, and the taser was wavering a little in Francine’s direction.
‘Don’t point that near me, you bloody idiot!’ she snapped as it passed her a third time, and as the officer glanced in her direction, pulling the taser away, Declan took the momentary distraction to jump across the sofa, taking the officer down in a tackle, the taser firing off to the side as, now up and running again, Declan ran past the confused PCSO and slammed open the door.
There was no way to leave through the main gates; the police had already arrived, screeching up onto the curb outside. Luckily though, the gates were closed; the young officer had forgotten to open them before he entered the room, and that gave Declan a moment’s respite as the police ran to the gate, franticly hammering on the pad beside it to open it up, watching the man in the suit exit through the front door and stop, unsure where to go next. Deciding, Declan turned to the right, sprinting across the garden in a diagonal direction away from the gate. He knew the police would run around the house, but he hoped that he could get to the gate and climb over it before they reached him. Then he’d try to lose them down the back roads and alleys as he made his way back to the car.
Leaping over the back fence with the help of an apple tree beside it, Declan fell to the pavement on the other side of the wooden slatted wall, looking back up the street to see a young officer sprint around the junction. He was alone, so had obviously already been moving in that direction, but one officer, no matter how large or small could still see where Declan was going. There was a good fifty yards between them so Declan now continued running in the opposite direction now, hoping to escape the chasing police, darting down the first side road, turning into the footpath before the second officer could catch him. He could hear the sirens of police cars, but it was too late for them; they would have to take the long way round to reach him.
There was a piece of pallet wood on the floor down the alley; about three to four feet in length and, as Declan grabbed it, hefting it in his hands like a baseball bat and moving against the wall where the path turned, it became a vicious-looking weapon. As the officer ran into view Declan swung it hard, catching the police officer low, under the anti-stab best and sending him to the floor, clutching at his groin. Declan tossed the pallet away, said a quick ‘sorry’ and carried on running.
Through the passageway now and with the keys in his hand, he ran to the car loaned to him by Karl and, leaping into the driver’s seat, started it up, driving off down the street before he’d even closed the door. He knew the police officer, by now back on his feet would see him drive off, but the street was dark, and Declan had faith that the registration wouldn’t be seen.
He drove for two more streets before pulling into a busy pub car park and stopping, parking up between two vans. He could hear the police vehicles as they passed, and so he hunkered down in the seat, with the car turned off. There was a moment of tension when a police car drove into the car park, looking at the vehicles, but as a torch swept across, Declan stayed low and kept as quiet as a mouse. And, having seen nothing, the police car continued on.
Declan gave it an hour before he dared leave the car park; by then the police would have moved the search out of the area.
And now with a clear route out of Woking, he placed the car into first gear and started back to London.
In Westminster, in an upstairs room at The Red Lion pub, Anjli nursed a glass of wine and stared across the table at DCI Bullman, now drinking a half pint of some obscure pear cider.
‘So what do you think?’ she asked.
‘I think that it’s never dull with you guys,’ Bullman replied, staring into her glass as she swirled it. ‘Any reason we’re not discussing this back at your office?’
‘Don’t trust the people in it,’ Anjli shrugged. ’Stunned we weren’t arrested the moment Harrison appeared.’
Will Harrison had appeared a couple of minutes after Anjli had entered the Ford Focus, out of breath and sweating and screaming out that this couldn’t happen, as the bald-headed driver worked for the government under the Intelligence Remit of 2016 and was at no liberty to divulge any information to her without a warrant, and the people and items within his car, including Laurie Hooper were covered by the same remit. Anjli had thanked the flustered Will for confirming that the man who apparently blew up a pub in Chelsea was indeed an employee of his; Will then backtracked, saying that the man, still unnamed, was an employee of the Government, and therefore not just the office of Charles Baker. At this, Anjli had thought for a moment and then nodded, allowing the bald man and Mrs Hooper to leave.
The bald man, unaware that he’d dodged a bullet, or possibly too arrogant to believe that he could be shot at had glared furiously at Anjli as he climbed back into the car, starting it, and with a loud rev of the engine, the Ford Focus had screeched into the late night traffic, scattering onlookers beside The Red Lion pub as he did so.
Anjli had looked at Will right then, noticing his flushed red face. Poor bastard had likely started running here the moment Anjli had left. The only difference was that she was a damn sight fitter.
‘Happy?’ she had asked.
‘Far from it,’ Harrison snapped.
‘Take it up with your MP,’ Bullman then replied, looking to the armed police and nodding thanks. This done, both Anjli and Bullman had entered the pub, ordered drinks and taken them to a quiet area upstairs.
‘So, what did she tell you?’ Bullman took a drink after asking. Anjli glanced out of the window, down at the street below.
‘Nothing much,’ she replied. ’Stuck to the same story as we had in the report. She’d worked with Donna on the day of her death and didn’t know that anything bad would happen. Donna had met with three people that day; Will Harrison, Malcolm Gladwell and a journalist named Kendis Taylor.’
‘Why Taylor?’
‘She didn’t know. But I got the impression that Laurie Hooper knew more about Kendis Taylor than she was letting on.’
‘Maybe she was the source that Kendis spoke to Declan about?’ Bullman suggested. Anjli nodded.
‘Apparently she was also in the pub that blew up the same night that Kendis and Declan were,’ she replied. ‘But she wouldn’t say who with.’
Anjli pulled out her phone as it beeped, her eyebrows rising as she read the message.
‘Anything interesting?’ Bullman indicated the message on the phone.
‘Doctor Marcos,’ Anjli nodded. ‘She thinks that the murder weapon could be an incredibly overpriced letter opener.’
‘It’s Westminster,’ Bullman snorted. ‘Everything’s expensive.’ She caught the expression on Anjli’s face, however. ‘What?’
‘Harrison, when I confronted him tonight,’ Anjli replied. ‘I was goading him, saying that he’d have to fall on his sword. He asked if a letter opener would do.’
‘Interesting, but not enough to convict.’
‘Yeah, true,’ Anjli finished her drink. ‘Come on, le
t’s go, Guv. I think we’ve given Sutcliffe and his crew enough time to dig some holes. Let’s go find Monroe.’
Malcolm Gladwell hadn’t expected Laurie Hooper to come back to him that night, although it was a welcome distraction for him. Allowing her access by buzzing her into the building, he met her at the door to his apartment, hugging her tightly as she cried into his arms.
‘What happened?’ he asked as he brought her into the room, sitting her down on the sofa and walking over to the kitchen counter where, out of a cabinet he found and poured out a generous measure of vodka, walking over and placing it into the crying woman’s hands.
‘They questioned me,’ Laurie mumbled, sipping from the tumbler.
‘Who did?’ Gladwell felt a twinge of fear run down his spine. ‘The police?’
Laurie nodded. ‘And Will,’ she continued. ‘They bundled me out of Westminster in a car, Malcolm. They didn’t want me talking about Donna.’
‘What did they want to know about Donna?’ Gladwell asked. ‘Do you mean the police?’
Laurie nodded. ‘They wanted to know about her last day. The officer, an Indian woman, she said she didn’t believe that Donna died, and she knew I didn’t think so either. She knew, Malcolm! She knew I was the whistle-blower!’
‘Hush, darling,’ Gladwell replied, sitting down beside her and placing a protective arm around her shoulders, feeling her lean into him as he continued. ‘They don’t know that. Only I know that, remember? And I agreed to speak with Kendis for you, so she only ever believed that I was the whistle-blower. You’re safe, my dear.’
‘What did you speak to Donna about?’ Laurie asked softly. ‘The day she died?’
If Gladwell was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. ‘I was warning her about Will,’ he replied. ‘That you didn’t cross Sir Hiss and expect to get away unbloodied. She was angry that they had duped her, and that Rattlestone was being dumped on her shoulders. I was taking it off them.’
‘I always wondered if you were having an affair,’ Laurie forced a weak smile, sipping again from the tumbler of vodka. Gladwell laughed out loud at this.
’She’s definitely not my type,’ he said as he stroked Laurie’s hair.
‘I’m sorry I came here,’ Laurie mumbled, her cheeks reddening, partly from the vodka but also as she flushed. ‘I didn’t think it was right to go home.’
‘I’m glad you came,’ Gladwell stood up now, leaving Laurie at the sofa as he walked across the room, picking a small, thin box up from the side cabinet. ‘I have news for you.’
‘What sort of news?’ Laurie was suspicious as Gladwell returned, placing the box on the table. ‘Good news?’
‘That depends,’ Gladwell took the tumbler and placed it on the table next to the box, as he took Laurie’s hands, turning her attention to his face. ‘I know how Donna died. Will Harrison brutally murdered her. I’ll have the full facts texted to me tonight, and we’ll go to the police tomorrow.’
‘They won’t believe us,’ Laurie moaned. ‘Will? He’s protected.’
‘True, he’ll never be charged with it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t face justice,’ Gladwell picked up the box. ‘You see, he made a massive error yesterday. He killed a journalist and tried to blame it on a police officer.’
‘Kendis Taylor?’ Laurie half rose, but Gladwell’s grip kept her in place. ‘He killed her? How do you know this?’
‘Because thanks to my own assets, I know where he did it, why he did it, how he did it…’ Gladwell opened the box, showing the contents; a thin, sharp looking gunmetal grey letter opener, with black leather insets.
‘… and what he used to do it with,’ Malcolm Gladwell finished. ‘And tomorrow, Will Harrison is going to find that Karma is a bitch.’
‘Is he here?’ Anjli asked, leaning against one of the heavy bags as Johnny Lucas faced her, his expression one of amusement.
‘I should start charging rent,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got more coppers here now than boxers.’ He looked at Bullman, currently examining a spot of blood on the floor. ‘Boxers, love. Bleed when punched.’ He turned back to Anjli with a broad smile.
‘I know I said don’t be a stranger, but I never said bring all your pals.’
‘Interesting times,’ Anjli replied.
‘You gonna introduce us?’ Johnny indicated Bullman.
‘No,’ Anjli replied simply as, from the back corridor, Doctor Marcos walked out into the gym, Monroe with her.
‘These ones don’t have to be kicked out,’ he said wearily as he smiled.
‘We had some visitors,’ Doctor Marcos explained. ‘They were quite forceful, but eventually were convinced that they should leave.’
‘They’re probably trying to gain a warrant for here right now,’ Monroe added.
‘That won’t happen,’ Johnny replied, without explaining why he was so sure.
Anjli couldn’t help herself; she walked over and embraced Monroe.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked. Monroe shrugged.
‘I’ve been better, but I’ve also been a hell of a lot worse,’ he replied. ‘The headaches and the dizziness have gone. But then the adrenaline’s also gone, so I’m feeling a little shite right now.’
Doctor Marcos looked to him, her tone softening. ‘Alex, when this is over, we need to have a serious discussion.’
‘On whether I’m fit to continue?’
‘Among other things,’ Doctor Marcos turned to Anjli. ‘Any news on how Declan’s doing?’
‘They haven’t caught him, so hopefully he’s out there fighting. And we think we know what the murder weapon is.’
‘We might have something for you on that,’ Monroe weakly smiled. ‘Oh, and did I hear right, that Billy’s working with Sutcliffe?’
‘Currently, yes,’ Bullman stated, still watching the gym, as if expecting to be attacked at any time.
‘Billy works for the law,’ Monroe replied sagely, sitting on a foldout chair and shutting his eyes. ‘He’s doing the right thing.’
Anjli nodded. ‘We’d better leave,’ she said, looking to Bullman. ‘We just wanted to make sure you were okay, although it sounds like we’ll need to find you a new place to hide.’
‘No need,’ Monroe replied, his eyes still closed. ‘We’ll end this tomorrow.’
And then Monroe, his eyes closed, snored.
‘I hope to God you’re right, old man,’ Anjli whispered.
26
Ghosts
Billy sat in the black Mercedes, looking nervously out of the window as it made its way through the night-time traffic, heading westwards along the Embankment and towards Westminster. He’d been at his desk and about to log off for the evening when DCI Sutcliffe had exited his office and tapped Billy on the shoulder, telling him to grab his coat and follow. Billy had expected them to be heading to a crime scene, or perhaps to a briefing at a different location, but he hadn’t expected the address that was given to the driver of New Scotland Yard.
‘Am I in trouble?’ he asked Sutcliffe, sitting next to him on the back seat, currently reading his phone as they drove.
‘Why would you think that?’ Sutcliffe looked up at him. Billy shrugged.
‘Because we’re in a black Mercedes at eleven at night, and I have no idea where we’re going or why we’re doing it?’
Sutcliffe snorted. ‘That’s the problem with you nine to five-ers,’ he replied. ‘Everything out of the ordinary is an issue.’
Billy bit back the reply that pretty much none of the cases that he’d taken since joining the Last Chance Saloon had been ordinary and sat back in the seat.
‘Frost’s making a play for you,’ he whispered. This gained Sutcliffe’s attention, and he put the phone away as he turned in the seat to face the younger man.
‘Say that again,’ he ordered. Billy licked his now dry lips.
‘He said you were a tool, and that he was effectively going to replace you,’ he replied. ‘He offered me a job in his new unit. And a promotion.’
Sutcliffe nodded at this, as if it wasn’t a surprise. ‘And you’re telling me because?’
‘I thought I ought to,’ Billy said, looking out of the window again. ‘You’re a higher rank, and even though we work together, I still remember what Frost did.’
‘What he did?’ There was a note of caution in Sutcliffe’s voice.
Billy looked back. ‘You know, when he attacked Declan that time.’
‘Oh, yes. That.’ Sutcliffe’s posture relaxed. ‘Well, you did good letting me know. Leave it to me, just carry on as if nothing’s happened.’
’Is this a Rattlestone thing?’ Billy asked. Sutcliffe’s head snapped back to him.
‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked. Billy leaned in closer.
‘He told me that Rattlestone was the future, that it’d be involved more with police work. Suggested I even consider affiliating myself with it.’
Sutcliffe looked surprised at this.
‘Bugger’s definitely making a play,’ he said. ‘He knows he needs Rattlestone on his side if he wants to oust me.’ He smiled. ‘But Rattlestone and me? We go a long way back. And I know where the secrets are.’
Billy grinned. ‘So it’s like the Freemasons?’
Sutcliffe looked away, irritated. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘They never invited me.’
‘Well, that’s easy enough to fix,’ Billy said, settling back into the seat. ‘You get me into Rattlestone, and I’ll put a word in with my Lodge for you.’
Sutcliffe mulled this over for a moment.
‘Only if you join my team after this,’ he suggested. ‘If you’re a team player, that is.’
Billy nodded. ‘There’s a reason I gave up Frost to you, sir,’ he replied.
The car pulled up outside of New Scotland Yard, and Sutcliffe climbed out of the vehicle, Billy following a moment later, looking up at the white brick building beside him. Although Temple Inn was technically City Police jurisdiction, it was on the western border of it, and therefore one reason that all the officers now working there had come from the Metropolitan Police, of which Scotland Yard or, more officially New Scotland Yard was the headquarters for. Billy carried on after Sutcliffe, now walking up to the main entrance and entering without checking on his young companion, hurrying through the foyer, passing through the security checks and entering a lift to the fourth floor. It was only here that Billy realised what the purpose of the meeting was; these were the offices of Chief Superintendent David Bradbury.
