by Bill Ward
Once Bob was finished with Murphy, Miller would have a further meeting with him, to see if he could find out something about Brian Potter’s death. He was too young to have been personally involved but his father was high on the list of suspects. Miller was hoping his son may have overheard some useful snippet of information. Maybe even something he didn’t realize was significant. Often in policing, it was a case of putting together the tiniest scraps of information that led to solving cases.
Miller decided it might be worth meeting personally with Ashdown. He didn’t believe it very likely he’d learn anything new but he liked to hear things first hand. Reports were all very well but you couldn’t beat hearing it directly from the horse’s mouth. It was as much how someone said something as what they said. He would set up a meeting for the next day. If necessary he could travel down to Brighton.
Any reason to get out the office was always welcome nowadays and a visit to Brighton would bring back mixed memories. He remembered the late nights and extra shifts that had followed the bombing of the Grand Hotel in Brighton in 1984. The IRA had tried to kill Margaret Thatcher while the Conservative Party Conference was taking place. She had narrowly survived but five people were killed and many injured. It took them a year to track down and arrest Patrick Magee the bomber. Of course Magee had been released in 1999 as part of the Good Friday Agreement, which granted early release to paramilitary prisoners. Miller had understood the need for a radical gesture, to help win the support of the wider community for the agreement, but even so it troubled him that someone who killed five people should be released so early. That was the problem with Ireland. Everything about it was complex and confused. Nothing was straight forward and to a man of simple ideals, it caused chaos with his value system.
Miller had watched and admired Thatcher’s speech at the conference the next day. He fully supported her assertion that all attempts to destroy democracy by terrorism will fail. Sadly though he had learned that many people can suffer before terrorists learn that, in the words of Abraham Lincoln, the ballot is stronger than the bullet!
Jones was parked about fifty yards along and across the road from his target’s Georgian style town house, waiting for him to leave for his regular Wednesday night assignation. On three occasions in the last month Jones had surveyed the house to verify the information he had obtained was correct and each time the target had kept to the same timetable.
It was early evening and cold enough to freeze hell over but Jones was happy that he was not only finally going to get rid of the bloody man but thanks to his blackmailers they had provided the perfect cover for a scapegoat. This would be a good night’s work.
His anger at the men in Dublin was replaced by smug satisfaction. There was a worry he should have to be personally carrying out the job, as it had been a long time since his days as an operative but necessity dictated he act. The target was part of a plot against the service that had been hatched in Whitehall, by politicians who didn’t have a clue about security. He had given a lifetime to the country’s security and wasn’t going to let some fools temporarily elected to office, simply because of the incompetence of the previous government, destroy his service. They would be out of office again at the next election and with them would go the foolhardy vision of a single security service. Tonight would lend extra credence to the view that there was a new breakaway faction of the IRA, responsible not only for the attack on Melanie Adams but also tonight’s events. Maguire’s death and the subsequent meeting with the Irishman had indeed been quite fortunate.
It was a well-lit road and Jones had a clear view of the house, which backed onto an exclusive area of Regent’s Park. Although he knew where his target would be headed and could have lain in wait there for him, he preferred to check there was no last minute change of plan that sent him elsewhere. A sudden desire to eat out or go to the theatre was unlikely but Jones always allowed for the unexpected. It was one of the factors that made him so good at his work. It was also true to say that he was meticulous in his work because the result of getting it wrong was inevitably very bad for his health and could even be terminal.
Jones had an unobstructed view of the entire road and had easily spotted the two policemen assigned as the target’s protection. They were sitting in an unmarked car immediately in front of the house and Jones knew they would be armed. It wasn’t the front door though that held his attention. From where he was parked, he could observe the road that ran along the side of the house. A door in the garden wall opened and the familiar figure hurriedly emerged and climbed in an inconspicuous Ford car. He turned on the engine and quickly pulled away and headed down the side road, in the opposite direction to his two police protectors, still parked out front none the wiser.
Jones followed in his Saab at a discreet distance, ensuring the target was indeed headed in the expected direction. He found it amusing that someone should choose to elude his protection, in order to gratify his lust for a girl half his age. Jones understood that people in power no longer felt they could trust the police, servants or anybody not to sell the story of an indiscretion to the highest bidder. Even so, Jones found it hard to fathom why in the first place a man in such a position, with a wife and family, should want to risk everything for some momentary pleasure. Even as the thought occurred, he winced at the obvious similarity to his own situation. What he had originally paid for his pleasures was minor compared to the subsequent blackmail. They were both driven by their sexual desires. For the moment he was grateful that his target’s weakness for young flesh afforded an easy opportunity for the job in hand.
By the time he’d followed the Ford down Park Lane and turned right towards Knightsbridge, Jones was feeling fairly confident there was to be no change from the usual routine. Sure enough, the target turned into Cadogan Gardens and Jones hung back, not wanting to arouse suspicion and now knowing for certain where they were headed.
Jones found a convenient place to park, a short way from the tiny mews where his target rented the small pied-a-terre, he kept especially for these occasions. By the time Jones walked to the entrance to the mews, there was no sign of anyone but he could see the red Ford as expected, parked outside number five.
The need to move quickly had limited his options when planning how to carry out his plan. He could not afford to lift the bonnet of the car and risk being spotted, so he had settled for a remote controlled device. He checked nobody was present in the poorly lit mews and placing his bag on the ground, he bent down to tie his shoe lace. He took one more look around, then took the bomb from his bag and swiftly attached it, by its magnet, to the underside of the car on the driver’s side. He was back up on his feet in less than ten seconds. He picked up the empty bag and glanced around one final time as he hurried from the mews, checking as best he could that no one had been observing his actions from their window.
Jones had to wait an hour and a half, before he noticed the front door of number five open about a foot. He didn’t want to run his engine and risk attracting attention, so had become progressively colder as he sat waiting. The target’s head finally appeared and glanced up and down the mews, presumably to check it was clear. Jones had managed to repark his Saab directly opposite the entrance to the mews and it was from there he was able to watch the undignified haste, employed by his target, to reach his car. There was no sign of the girl he had been visiting. No farewell kiss on the doorstep or wave to an upstairs window.
Jones was faintly amused that the man went to such lengths to protect his reputation, while being so lapse about his personal security. He was worried about photographers not bombers. Jones didn’t dwell long on the thought. Once the man was behind the wheel of the Ford, Jones shattered the calm of the mews by turning the car into a blazing yellow and orange inferno, which hurtled jagged pieces of metal and splinters of glass, to all corners of the mews. He didn’t hang around to check what he knew to be inevitable. The distinguished career of Lord Bancroft had been brought to a premature end.
Colin’s train was on time and as he emerged from the ticket barrier he gave a broad smile when he recognized Tom. In fact Colin was unusually ebullient in his greeting. As Tom prepared to shake Colin’s hand, he found himself instead being enveloped in little short of a bear hug. Tom assessed that his brother was at least thirty pounds heavier and being a couple of inches shorter, it was evident he spent more time at a desk than in the gym. He had the same blue eyes and brown hair as Tom, though it was worn shorter and not yet showing any signs of greying. Tom doubted anyone would easily identify them as brothers from their looks. He being tall and slim. Colin shorter and stockier.
There was a sincerity in Colin’s, “it’s good to see you” that took Tom by surprise. He wasn’t used to such overt expressions of emotion from Colin. Indeed, Tom had sometimes wondered whether Colin felt any emotion at all or was just the result of some complex computer program.
“That’s a hell of a shiner you have,” Colin laughed.
Tom touched the bridge of his nose. He knew the bruises had turned a bright blue and yellow and were quite a souvenir. “Looks worse than it feels luckily,” was a response he was getting used to giving.
Tom had given a lot of thought to where to eat. He had finally decided on Brighton’s best known fish restaurant because he remembered Colin had quite often ordered fish in the past, when they went out. It didn’t have any Michelin stars and the décor was a bit dated but it used fresh fish and was always reliable. Tom would have preferred Thai but he knew Colin wasn’t a fan of spicy food. He thought that might again be the influence of Liz. He was sure she would consider eating Thai as somehow debauched. It was a short ten minute walk to the restaurant and they agreed to save all storytelling until they were seated comfortably out the cold.
They shared a bottle of dry white wine while considering the menu and it was evident to Tom that his brother was up for a good night out. Probably because he wasn’t often allowed off the leash for a night on the town, Tom thought. He would have liked to have eavesdropped when Colin announced to Liz that his worthless gambler of a brother had saved Melanie Adams’s life and they were going out to celebrate. By now she must have read the newspapers and seen the news on television so would have to accept for fact it was true and he was not so useless after all.
Tom ordered six Lindisfarne Oysters to start, followed by Sea Bass and on his recommendation, Colin followed suite. Tom explained that the Lindisfarne oyster farm lies on the site of the oyster beds established in 1381 by the monks of Lindisfarne priory, so they would be eating a bit of history. Colin was impressed by Tom’s history lesson until he admitted he was reading it from the menu.
They finished their second bottle of wine half way through the main course and so ordered a third. The wine seemed to loosen Colin’s normally rather conservative manner and he was genuinely enthralled to hear Tom recount, in great detail, the events of the past few days. Tom noticed that every time he mentioned Melanie’s name, his brother seemed to be extra interested. Colin admitted to being a fan of her films. He seemed able to conceive that Tom had acted bravely in rescuing Melanie but he was overcome by the notion that Tom was now on first name terms with her and they had actually sat and eaten dinner and breakfast together. Tom assured him he was not inventing anything and then had what he considered to be a brilliant idea.
“I’ll tell you what,” Tom said. “Why don’t I call her and you can say hello.”
“You are joking?”
Tom reached into his pocket for his phone and found the number she had given him to her private mobile. He watched Colin observe in a state of shock, mixed with disbelieving, as he pressed the call button. He was showing off a bit but what the hell. He didn’t often get to impress his younger brother. And it gave Tom the perfect excuse just to hear Melanie’s voice.
“Hi Melanie. Hope I’m not disturbing you?” Tom hoped he wasn’t slurring his words.
“Of course not. How are you?” She sounded genuinely pleased to hear from him. “I thought you were having dinner with your brother tonight.”
“Actually I am.” Tom looked across at Colin who was looking very sheepish. “He’s quite a fan of yours so I thought it would be nice if you could just say hello to him. I’ll put him on.”
Tom thrust the phone at his brother. “Melanie wants to say hello.”
Colin took the phone like it was a hot coal. He slowly put it up to his ear and said a weak, “Hello.”
Tom watched as Colin muttered how much he liked her films. He seemed a bit lost for words and after a minute said how nice it was to speak to her and goodbye. He handed the phone back to Tom who spent a couple of minutes asking about her day and reminded her about his racing invitation, before wishing her a good night.
“I just spoke to Melanie Adams,” Colin said, when Tom ended the call. “I can’t believe it.”
Tom was smiling. He understood how his brother felt. Just a few days earlier he would have thought the idea equally absurd.
Tom eventually managed to change the subject from Melanie and they spoke of their childhoods and their parents. Tom realised that they were discussing subjects they had never previously done. Conversation over most of their occasional dinners was very shallow, never exploring emotions or the past. He wasn’t sure why that was the case but in one evening he felt closer to his brother than ever before.
By the time they staggered from the restaurant, Colin was in no fit state to put on a train, if indeed there was still one running. For his own part, Tom found the freezing night air helped make him quickly feel more sober. He suspected Colin rarely drank as much as he had this evening and the effect was quite funny.
He found Liz’s number and called to let her know Colin had decided to stay over, as he was a bit the worse for wear. She did not receive this news well and demanded to speak with Colin, who was standing there waving his hands dismissively to suggest he did not want to talk to her. He also seemed to have a fit of the giggles like a naughty schoolboy. Tom explained to Liz in the least slurred voice he could manage that Colin was in the Gents and he would give him the message to call but in all honesty Colin was looking very tired and quite likely to fall asleep in the taxi, on the way home. Tom tried to tell Liz not to worry because he would be sure to get Colin safely to bed but her final words were that he should tell Colin to phone or else! Exactly what the “or else” would be, Tom wasn’t at all sure but was certain it would be horribly unpleasant. Tom decided further conversation was pointless and said a cheerful goodnight and ended the call. He could imagine Liz seething at the other end of the phone. She already viewed him as the devil incarnate and wouldn’t forget this in a hurry. How Colin lived with her was completely beyond Tom’s comprehension. Then again he knew from personal experience that ninety per cent of couples seemed an unlikely match.
There was a taxi rank right outside the restaurant and the driver of the first in line looked less than keen given the state of his passengers. Tom’s assurance Colin wouldn’t be sick in the car, barely seemed to dispel the driver’s fears but Tom guessed it was a quiet night for business, so they eventually made it into the back seat. Tom wound down the window and within seconds Colin was asleep, his head falling against Tom’s shoulder.
Tom felt quite brotherly for the first time in a very long time. He struggled getting Colin out of the car and hal
f carried him to the front door of the house. Tom propped his brother against the wall and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. Colin started to slide down the wall and Tom grabbed him under his arms while holding the door open with his foot. Somehow Tom managed to get Colin inside and support him as they climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
“Sorry,” Colin apologized for the umpteenth time, as Tom laid him down on the bed.
“Don’t worry about it. Sleep it off and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Tom closed the bedroom door on an already snoring Colin. Over dinner while drinking the second bottle of wine and knowing they would inevitably have more before the end of the evening, Tom had checked with Colin whether he had to get into the office early in the morning. Fortunately, given the state Colin was in, he had confirmed he was working from home the next day and wouldn’t need to be up early for a change.
Back downstairs, Tom was not yet ready for bed. A few drinks usually led to him feeling like a visit to the Casino down at the nearby Marina. He could see no harm in going out for a couple of hours. There was no chance of Colin waking but in case he did Tom went back up stairs and turned on the landing light, so he would easily find the bathroom. Tom prayed Colin would at least make it to the bathroom if he felt sick in the night.
Tom called a taxi and not much more than twenty minutes later was seated at a table playing Blackjack. Tom liked casinos. Gambling at home was sometimes more convenient but nothing can beat the atmosphere of a casino. He was a regular visitor and greeted warmly by all the staff. He always felt at home in a Casino. It was like being part of a brotherhood of gamblers and the Casino was where they came together to meet.
He would play without any stress and enjoy himself for a couple of hours. Maybe when Colin left in the morning, he would slip a business card or something inside Colin’s jacket that suggested he’d visited the den of iniquity with Tom. Or even better would be a card from one of the town’s lap dancing clubs that he occasionally visited. That would really make Liz mad and Tom was quite sure she was the sort of woman who would go through Colin’s pockets, when he returned home. Better not, he thought. Colin doesn’t deserve that and I’m growing to quite like having a brother.
