by Ellis, Tim
He’d expected Crabbe to find something. Maybe he should take a look himself. What had Jacob come here to do? Was it to kill Molly? With what? The bastard liked to use drugs on his victims. He’d felt sure Crabbe would have found a needle and syringe. Maybe he was David Hill the burglar.
His phone rang once.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to go now.’ He said pushed himself up.
‘What about me? Please let me go. I promise I . . .’
Randall put his face close to Jacob’s. ‘You and I still have unfinished business.’ To Crabbe he said, ‘Bring him.’
‘But . . . it’s kidnapping. You can’t . . .’
‘Break his jaw if he speaks again.’
Jacob shut up.
They left Molly’s flat and walked along the corridor to the stairs.
Crabbe opened the door and pushed Jacob onto the landing.
Randall waited until the lift reached the fourth floor and then followed Crabbe and Jacob down the stairs.
Outside, Crabbe shoved Jacob in the back seat of his car. ‘Where to?’
He scratched his head. ‘I need somewhere . . .’ He half-smiled. ‘I know just the place. Head for Shoreditch.’
They climbed in the car and Crabbe pointed the Camaro in the direction of Shoreditch. They crossed back over the bridge and after some accelerating and jinking through the night traffic in Hammersmith and Shepherd’s Bush he joined the Westway.
It took them just over half an hour to reach the dilapidated Shoreditch Police Station and Magistrates Court on Old Street. The Kray twins were charged there in 1965 for demanding money with menaces, and Sergeant Cole Randall had served there in the early nineties before being posted to Hammersmith as a detective.
From the boot of his car Crabbe obtained two torches, a crowbar and a lock and chain.
The Edwardian four-story Grade II listed building was all boarded up in preparation for its conversion into a hotel, but they found a door at the back behind an overgrown crab-apple tree and Crabbe forced it open.
It was dark, cold and damp inside and smelled of mildew. Randall led the way down the stairs into the basement where the cells were located.
‘Surely you’re not going to leave me here? I’m innocent for God’s sake.’
‘Take his belt and shoes,’ he said to Crabbe. ‘And search him again just to make sure he hasn’t got anything that might help him get out of here.’
Crabbe did as he was told.
‘I’ll freeze to death. What about food and water? You’ll never get away with this.’
Randall ignored him. Passed his torch to Crabbe to hold, tore a page out of his notebook and then pulled a few strands of Jacob’s hair from his head.
‘What the hell?’
‘You’ll stay here until I know who you are. Your DNA will be analysed and compared with what’s on the criminal database, and then we’ll know exactly who you are If, by some strange quirk of fate, you are David Hill the burglar – then I’ll let you go.’
‘And if I’m not?’
‘I’ll leave that to your imagination.’
They left Jacob’s hands restrained behind his back.
Crabbe wrapped the thick chain around the bars to secure the cell door, slipped the padlock through two of the links and closed it.
‘If you scream and shout no one will hear you, so don’t bother. Someone will come back tomorrow with food and water. Sleep well – it might very well be the last night you ever have to sleep.’
Chapter Fifteen
As she opened the door to her flat the faint smell of aftershave wafted up her nostrils.
‘Hello?’ It didn’t sound like her voice.
Nobody answered, but then why would they?
She had the idea of leaving the door open while she switched all the lights on and ventured deeper into her flat, but then she realised that there might be someone behind her just waiting for the opportunity to sneak in. She closed the door and put the security chain on.
Her security was rubbish – especially after what had happened. She needed something more substantial. Didn’t Randall know someone in the security business? Maybe she’d speak to him about getting a cut-price deal or something. At the very least, she should be safe in her own home.
As she moved further into the flat she switched every light on, checked every cupboard, looked under the bed and behind the curtains. She’d seen Hitchcock’s ‘Psycho’ a number of times, but she had clear glass instead of a shower curtain. There was nobody hiding in her flat.
Maybe she’d imagined the aftershave. Maybe it had blown over from Russia on the freezing Siberian winds and sneaked under her door as its last defiant act. Maybe an Arabian Prince or oil tycoon wearing expensive aftershave had strolled past her door only minutes before she’d arrived home. Maybe . . .
The answer-phone was flashing. She was about to listen to her three messages when her mobile jangled. The ringtone was deafening in the quietness of the flat and made her jump.
‘Stone?’
‘It’s Andrew Strebler.’
‘Have you frightened your children to sleep?’
‘Well and truly.’
‘Your turn for a horror story. Are you sitting comfortably?’
‘Go on?’
She told him what had happened at the ESW and what she’d done about it.
‘So, your forensic people have checked the storage unit for fingerprints and DNA, but up to now found nothing?’
‘Correct.’
‘There’s a computer spec’ interrogating the computer system to identify the details of the breach?’
‘Correct.’
‘You’ve arrested the Records Manager from the CCRC, locked him in a cell at Hammersmith Police Station and denied him his right to a phone call and access to a solicitor?’
‘Correct.’
‘And now you want me to . . . What do you want me to do?’
‘Okay, you’re in agreement that if this comes out you’ll lose your job?’
‘I suppose.’
‘You suppose! Look, you took your eye off the ball. While you were sitting in your nice comfortable office in New Scotland Yard doodling, drinking coffee and eating hobnobs, the mice were running riot in your warehouse. You’ll be asked to explain to an independent public inquiry how it all went wrong on your watch. Are you able to do that?’
‘No.’
‘You’ll have to resign. Your boss will have to resign. In fact, I’m sure you’re well aware of what this government is like for accountability in public office. The resignations might very well go all the way up to the Police Commissioner. So, besides the ability to captain a ship to the bottom of the sea, do you have any other qualifications that might be considered useful in acquiring gainful employment?’
‘No.’
‘So, we’re in agreement that the right thing to do is to prevent your lack of oversight from leaking into the public domain?
‘We’re in agreement.’
‘By doing so there’s a chance we can prevent a rapist and murderer from being given the opportunity to rape and murder some other unfortunate young woman, we can save your career and the careers of a number of other people above and below you, and we’ll also save the government and the police force millions of pounds during a time when they can least afford it.’
‘You seem to have everything worked out, DI Stone.’
‘I’m putting my career on the line to save your career, Strebler. The least you can do is say thank you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘So, what do you want me to do?’
‘You need to get over to the ESW first thing tomorrow morning and prevent word of this fiasco getting out. Now, as far as I’m aware, the only person who knows exactly what happened today is Sergeant Cooke. The other people on duty with her knew that there was something going on, but not the details. Of course, someone else there knows because they’re involved, but as yet we don�
��t know who that is.’
‘How am I going to explain it away?’
‘Sergeant Cooke shouldn’t be a problem. Get her on board, because she’d be the first to lose her job tell her. I suggest you explain to the other staff who were on duty that it was a security exercise and they failed miserably – I’m sure you can think of something along those lines.’
‘Surely we can’t cover this up indefinitely.’
‘My forensic guy is checking that the DNA in the evidence bag still belongs to David Haig. If it does, I’ll let you know. You can then re-bag and re-seal it, and put everything back as if nothing ever happened.’
‘And what if it’s not his DNA?’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let’s think positive.’
‘Jesus! If we get caught . . .’
‘There’ll be an internal inquiry. We’ll both lose our jobs – maybe . . .’
‘Maybe?’
‘I think the powers that be will sweep everything under the rug if they found out. It won’t be the first time, and I’m quite sure it won’t be the last either. Nobody’s interests would be served if this was made public. Sometimes, it’s better to turn the other way.’
‘Okay, keep going.’
‘Well, when my computer spec’ comes back to me with what went wrong, you can correct it. You write a detailed report explaining to your bosses that you’ve been running a little security exercise based on a “what if” scenario, and you’ve found a loophole, but you’ve also found a solution. They think you’re the best thing since God invented the Taser, and they put you forward to receive the medal of honour at Buckingham Palace.’
She heard a laugh. ‘I certainly like the idea of that.’
‘Good. So, we’re clear on the plan?’
‘Yes.’
‘And don’t start having panic attacks or second thoughts. If you do, just think of your wife and children begging for handouts outside the tube station.’
‘Don’t worry, I can see the logic of your plan. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow when I’ve spoken to Sergeant Cooke.’
‘You’d better give me your mobile number, I don’t really want to talk to Chief Superintendent Phillips again, I think I might have upset him.’
Strebler laughed. ‘Phillips is easily upset.’ He gave her the number and said goodnight.
God, she hoped the plan was going to work. When she was describing the details of it to Strebler it sounded like something Albert Einstein might have thought of, but now she was beginning to think she’d pulled it out of a Christmas cracker.
She was starving. After peering in the cupboards and fridge she decided that she needed to do some shopping. During her sick leave she’d drunk a lot of wine, but she’d also eaten some healthy meals. Now, her first day back and her diet had turned to shit. The best she could cobble together tonight was cheese and crackers with pickled onions. It wasn’t the healthiest meal she’d ever had, but it would fill a gaping hole. She also found an open bottle of wine that tasted slightly vinegary, but she filled a glass with it anyway.
While she was eating she listened to the three messages on the answer phone:
To claim five thousand pounds of payment protection insurance that is owed to you press 5 now . . .
Delete
Are you on the cheapest electricity and gas tariffs? Press 3 now to . . .
Delete
Hello Molly, it’s Doctor Lytton. You know why I’m ringing. We need to talk. Ring me.
Oh God!
Delete
She walked along the corridor to the bedroom and got washed and changed. It was ten to ten. Another day gone the way of the Dodo.
Standing at the window in her dressing gown she guzzled the last of the wine and stared out over Harrods Wharf at the flickering lights on Hammersmith bridge. She didn’t like boat races, but she always had a grandstand view of the Oxford and Cambridge boat race. Maybe she could make a killing at the next boat race.
All her time and energies since four o’clock had been devoted to keeping David Haig in prison. What had that lazy bastard Randall been doing?
“My people!” She wished she had people. How many people did Randall have? Did he need people for divorce cases? Why hadn’t he rung her back with what “his people” had found out? It seemed like she was doing all the work, and he was getting big ideas about having “people”.
She walked into the living room, picked up the phone and called Dr Lytton. There was no way she was going to get to sleep until she rang him.
‘Hello, yes?’
‘Dr Lytton?’
‘Hello, Molly.’
‘Why do you keep ringing me?’
‘You know why. We need to discuss what we’re going to do about finding out who your father is.’
‘Why? What’s the point? And what can you do anyway?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why we need to talk about it.’
‘I thought my medical records were confidential.’
‘They are.’
‘The Archbishop of Hammersmith knew about my father.’
Dr Lytton didn’t speak.
‘Are you still there, Doctor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, how did he find out?’
‘We had a break-in at the surgery. Nothing was taken, but the cabinet where the medical records are kept was smashed open. It was reported to the police, but they haven’t got any clues.’
‘I find it hard to believe the Archbishop of Hammersmith breaks into GPs’ surgeries when he’s off duty.’
‘So do I, but that’s the only explanation I have. Apart from the information being contained in your medical records, you and I are the only two people who know about your father.’
She didn’t say anything about the Archbishop also knowing what Jacob had done to her. The only people who knew about that were her and Jacob.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said.
‘What are we going to do about your father?’
‘What can I do?’
‘Have you thought about running your own DNA through the national database?’
‘That’s a last resort. And it’s illegal. I have a garage full of my parents’ possessions I need to go through first. My mum might have left me some clues.’
‘When?’
‘Why are you pushing me?’
‘I care about you, Molly. I’ve been your doctor since you were born. Psychologically, you need to find out who your real father is, and why your mother betrayed her husband and never told you the truth.’
‘At the weekend. I’ll look in the garage at the weekend.’
‘I’ll come and help you.’
‘No. I want to do it on my own.’
‘I’ll ring you on Sunday to see how it’s going.’
‘If you want to.’
She ended the call.
Did she really want to know? She’d had a father, did she really need another one at her time of life? And even if she did find out who he was – then what? He might have a wife and children of his own. He could be dead, in jail or any number of other things.
God, she was so tired.
She switched the lights off and crawled into bed, but she knew sleep would drag its heels like everything else had today.
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday, December 4
Thankfully, he was there at six o’clock when Kiri decided to make love to him.
Afterwards, rushing about like a whirling dervish, she blamed him for making her late.
‘It takes two to tango.’
‘A man would say that.’
He ambled into the kitchen, made himself a coffee and sat by the window to watch King Street wake up to another cold, grey day. Maybe it would snow today.
She kissed him half on the lips and half on the nose, and then rushed downstairs to open up the cafe.
‘Have a good day,’ he called after her.
He made himself another coffee and phoned Molly.
‘Are you fucking crazy?’
He smiled into the phone. ‘I have a certificate that states I’m not.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘So, why are you ringing me at this time of the morning?’
‘Meet me outside the station at eight o’clock.’
‘Why?’
‘I have something that Perkins needs to analyse.’
‘So I’m the fucking postwoman now?’
‘A very pretty postwoman, but it would be in your best interests to do as I ask.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I’ll explain when I see you.’
‘Have “your people” found anything on Swash yet?’
‘No, but I’m hoping that they will have by the end of the day.’
‘Does that Athena you’re working with do security systems?’
‘Yes.’
‘I need something for my flat. I had the feeling someone had been in here when I got home last night.’
‘I’ll speak to her.’
‘You’ll get the best deal for me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Shit! You’re crazy ringing me at this time of the morning. I’m fucking late now.’
The phone went dead.
Same old Molly. She was one of the best detectives he had ever worked with, but she should come with a health warning. Her personal life was a war zone.
He made himself another coffee.
What he should have been doing was studying the reports Ruby had sent him, but if he was going to meet Molly at five to eight then he needed to get ready himself. After that, he had to visit Jim and Colleen’s home address at 24 Hay’s Mews in Chiswick, Oyster Wines & Spirits in the City and Lotus Systems in South Ockendon. He had a full day ahead of him.
He left his coffee half drunk, stripped off in the bedroom and climbed into the shower. There would be about ten minutes between getting ready and having to leave to meet Molly. During that time he’d get himself organised and take all the reports with him to analyse during his travel time. It wasn’t ideal, but then when was life ever ideal?
