by Angie Smith
Bedford turned to his computer. Within seconds the adjacent printer fired into life producing a four page document containing the names of current and former employees, which he handed over to Barnes. “I hope this helps,” he said.
Barnes bit her lip. “Thank you, I’ll be in touch if there’s anything else I think you might be able to help me with.”
“It’s been nice meeting you,” Bedford said.
She stood up. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could get my hands on a couple of unregistered mobiles and a few unused sim cards?”
Bedford smiled. “You can have these,” he said, rummaging in his desk drawer. “Just make sure I’m not dragged into the investigation.”
Hilton Dudley walked into the city centre past the cathedral, down towards Kirkgate and then headed across Chantry Bridge to the Hepworth Gallery. While inside he walked slowly around, admiring the exhibits and passing the time of day.
“This is nice,” a voice said from his left.
He turned and saw Faulkner-Brown. “Where is she?” he snapped.
“The last phone signal indicated she was sixty miles north of Manchester travelling south on the M6.”
“What’s going on?”
“She’d been to see Pauline Crean, then visited Barrow-in-Furness and Blueberry Woods where she found Zielinski. He has locked-in syndrome following massive brain trauma. Foster’s already got police protection organised.”
“Foster said she was heading to Manchester chasing a lead on Ramírez.”
“Hmm, well perhaps her phone died. We’re waiting its reconnection to the network, or perhaps you got the wrong person off the investigation.”
“Wait a minute; I followed your orders.”
“Hmm, you did,” Faulkner-Brown muttered.
“You know she can speak fluent Russian?”
“And Polish according to the manager at Blueberry Woods.”
“She has the exact tablet Woods has, unless it was her who recorded the bugging of his office.”
“Maybe she needs some coffee?”
“Don’t even joke about that. She’s already made subtle reference to it.”
“Hmm, possibly we underestimated the wrong person.”
“What now?”
“Stop fretting. I’ve organised for her phones to be monitored, and her flat bugged. What could a lowly detective sergeant possibly do? Except find people you can’t.” There was acidity in Faulkner-Brown’s tone.
“That’s not funny. You’re in this as deep as the rest of us.”
“Yes, but I have friends in high places. Now why don’t you scurry back to your role as detective inspector and let me concentrate on her.”
Barnes waited until she was crossing the border back into Yorkshire before she pulled off to the side of the road and switched on her mobile. As soon as it connected she rang Foster and explained her phone battery had died and that she’d only just managed to get enough charge to ring in. She described the unfortunate altercation between Zielinski and Crean, and passed on the details about Ramírez.
“Excellent,” Foster said. “You and I appear to be the only ones still working. I don’t know where Dudley is; he disappeared late this afternoon and isn’t answering his phone. Jacobs’ dashed off to a dental appointment; McLean’s left for the evening and West’s rung in sick. I’ll ring Jacobs later this evening and organise for him to fly out to France in the morning.”
“Okay, I’ve got something I need to do, so I’ll see you in the morning. I’m sorry, I’ll have to go; my phone’s dying again.”
“Fine, and well done, Maria,” Foster said quickly.
Barnes disconnected the call and immediately switched the phone off. She then drove another twenty miles before again pulling in to the side of the road. This time she placed one of the unused sim cards into one of the unregistered mobiles Bedford had given her and she keyed in the laboratory’s number. When the call was answered she asked to speak to the lab technician she knew.
“Well?”
“Traces of anthracyclines, paclitaxel, mitoxantrone, interferons, and interleukin-2.”
“Meaning?”
“Drugs associated with the onset of congestive heart failure.”
“Bingo.”
“What do you want me to do with the report?”
“What time are you finishing this evening?”
“I’m about to leave.”
Barnes looked at her watch; it was 6.30 p.m. “I’m not that far away. I can meet you in IKEA’s car park in twenty minutes if that’s okay.”
“Right, I’ll grab a burger and see you there just before seven.”
Pauline was relaxing in the jacuzzi when Simonstone knocked quietly on the bathroom door and informed her that Jonathan Plant had arrived unexpectedly and was waiting downstairs in the lounge.
“Is there a problem?” Pauline called out as she stepped from the tub, grabbed a towel and quickly dried herself.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Pauline put on her dressing gown and went down to greet Plant.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” she said, sitting next to him on the sofa.
“I’m only here tonight; it’s more of a stopover. I’m flying out to South Africa tomorrow afternoon, but I thought I could use this opportunity to check and see how things are going and, most importantly, how are you?”
Pauline smiled affectionately. “No doubt you’ll have noticed the increase in protection officers.”
“I’m suitably impressed. The Queen doesn’t have this many people protecting her. I don’t think I need worry about your safety now.”
“Maria Barnes came to see me this morning. Woods has had a heart attack and is off the case. Detective Chief Inspector Foster has taken over.”
“So I heard. I understand they’ve found the care worker who abused Gerrard’s mother; he was living in Barrow-in-Furness at a private care home that specialises in brain injuries.”
“Blueberry Woods?”
“You know it, then.”
Pauline explained about Gerrard’s charity donations and his special affection for the centre. “How strange that the man who abused his mother was living there. I wonder if he knew.”
“He must have done,” Plant said.
“How come you know all this?”
“I keep my ear close to the ground.”
“Come off it, Jonathan. Where are you getting the information?”
“That’s not important. I’m trying to keep up to speed with developments so that we can react and be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” Pauline asked, sitting up straight.
“Anything.”
She repeatedly shook her head and put her hand to her mouth, gently pulling at her top lip.
“They’re going to France tomorrow to speak to Ramírez, so she too will be protected.”
She sighed. “Is Albion Bedford involved?”
“Yes, indirectly.”
“I was feeling better today, safer and slightly more relaxed. Now I’m unsettled and frightened.”
“There’s no need to feel frightened. You’re well protected and other people are patrolling the area looking out for you. By tomorrow all the people who we think might be in danger will be under police protection… And they have someone they’re trying to apprehend.”
“Who is it?”
Plant pulled out a photograph from his jacket pocket and held it up. “I don’t have a name, but Gerrard obviously came into contact with this individual which is why it’s extremely important if you can recollect seeing them together or meeting this man?”
Pauline took hold of the photograph and studied it. “I’m sorry; I’ve never seen him before.”
“I’ll take that back then,” he said, grabbing the photo out of her hand.
“Why didn’t Sergeant Barnes ask me if I knew him?”
“This photo has only just surfaced and the police didn’t have it until this afternoon.”
“
Then why didn’t they e-mail or fax it to me?”
“I don’t know, perhaps they’ve been too busy.”
“Jonathan, if you don’t start treating me like an adult and tell the truth, I’ll ring Barnes right now and ask her why.”
“The police don’t have the photograph. Alright?”
“But you do!!! What the hell’s going on? You’re withholding information and I’m not having any part of that. If you know who the killer is then you need to ring Maria now. Either you do it, or I do.”
“It’s not that simple.”
She stood and went over to the phone.
“What are you doing?” Plant strode across the room, but she was already keying in the number. He snatched the phone out of her hand. “Alright, I’ll get the photo to the police, but you’ll have to trust me; they mustn’t know where it came from.”
“Why, does it contravene the Official Secrets Act?”
“Yes it bloody well does,” he snapped, looking exasperated.
She walked back over to the sofa and flopped down. “Are your buddies at the Diplomatic Service,” she smirked, “conducting their own investigation, separate to the police?”
“No, we’re working together, but. . .” He stopped and looked perturbed. “We’re working together, but sensitive complex issues have to be handled delicately.”
“I’m in danger because of you!” she said, every word containing ice cold conviction.
Plant walked over to the window, looked out and slowly turned to face her. “That’s what we think.”
“Well thanks for sharing that with me. I’ve been going half-crazy trying to understand why Gerrard would want to have me killed and all the time it’s your fault I’m in danger. The police don’t know that do they?”
“No, but Woods suspected it. And please don’t say anything; it doesn’t affect the investigation and we’re trying to assist them without disclosing that fact.”
“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, and I’m not sure where that leaves me. If you look at what the papers are saying about Gerrard. . .”
“Pauline, Gerrard commissioned a number of murders, there’s no getting away from that fact. The people we suspect to be at risk are being protected, the only difference is we believe you’re at risk because of me, and the police believe you’re all at risk because of Gerrard.”
“You said Woods suspected it though. Is that why he’s had a heart attack and is now off the investigation?”
“Don’t be silly; he had a heart attack due to the stress he was under.”
“Let’s be clear here. Gerrard didn’t know you, but whoever he hired does, and they want to harm me to get at you. Is that the truth?”
“In a roundabout way, yes.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake! Why did I ever get involved with you?”
“Look, nothing is going to happen to you. I’ll make sure of that. We’ll catch the killer and then things can return to normal. You have my word.”
Barnes arrived at the Coronary Care Unit at 9.20 p.m. She pressed the call button on the door and one of the nurses came to see what she wanted.
“Is it okay to have a word with Greg Woods?” she asked, holding up her ID.
The nurse allowed her in and checked she knew which room to go to. When she arrived Woods was busy on his laptop.
“Hello,” he said. “Did you know that when pancreatic cancer first develops, it rarely causes any symptoms and therefore you only notice changes when the cancer has become relatively advanced? It’s difficult for GPs to diagnose, as the symptoms may be vague and can be caused by other conditions. However, they’ll look at your eyes, the colour of your skin to check for jaundice, test your urine for bile and take a blood sample. They may also examine your abdomen to feel for any swelling in the area of the liver. After this, you’ll normally be referred to a specialist who’ll ask you about your general health and any previous medical problems, then examine you, arrange blood tests, chest x-rays and scans to help make the diagnosis.”
“Feeling better, are we?”
“They’re letting me go home tomorrow. I’m bored out of my skull, so I thought I’d do some preparatory work looking into Gerrard’s illness.”
“You might like to read this. It’s the report from the laboratory. Dudley tried to kill you.”
Woods took the document and skimmed through it. “Bastards,” he said, placing the report in the bedside locker. “I’ll keep that if you don’t mind. So, how’s it going?”
She spent twenty minutes relaying the day’s events. When she’d finished Woods appeared to be mulling over what she’d told him.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why would Gerrard donate millions in order for Blueberry Woods to provide the best possible care to Zielinski, and then arrange his murder?”
Barnes smiled. “I agree. I don’t think Zielinski’s in danger at all.”
“No. And when I pushed Faulkner-Brown about Plant knowing the killer and vice versa, he wouldn’t comment. Neither would he comment on Pauline being in danger because of Plant rather than Gerrard.”
Barnes nodded again. “I too have doubts about Pauline needing protection. Maybe it’s Plant that’s in danger.”
Woods leaned back. “He was the one who insisted Pauline needed protecting; perhaps that was to throw us off the scent.”
“But if neither Pauline nor Zielinski are in danger, and Plant is, that still leaves one other who needs protecting.”
Woods sucked the air in through his teeth and then exhaled deeply. “We need to work that one out, Maria. I wonder if Hilton Dudley knows the answer.” He smiled, “I bet he was infuriated when he couldn’t get in touch with you this afternoon.”
Barnes raised an eyebrow. “I’ve brought you a present,” she said, handing over the phone and sim cards. “Don’t use these anywhere near home, and always select a different location. I’ve made a note of your three numbers, and here’s a list of mine; I suggest we use the top number until one of them has been compromised, then we move on to the second set of numbers and so forth. We need to agree how and when we’ll contact each other.”
“Have you done this before?” Woods asked, scowling.
“No.”
“You seem pretty clued up.”
“I’m trying to avoid detection, that’s all.”
“Okay, what’s a good time for you?”
“If we aim to switch them on between 7.00 and 8.00 p.m. we can pick up any messages and answer any calls during that time slot. We can also periodically check for messages throughout the day, dependent on where we are and who’s with us.”
Woods nodded in agreement. “I don’t want you to place yourself in any danger. Do you understand?”
“How many times do I have to tell you I can look after myself?”
He smiled. “You’ve done fantastic today; what are you planning for tomorrow?”
“I’m checking out the people who’ve worked for Albion Bedford. Is there anything you want me to do?”
“I intend to speak to Gerrard’s oncologist and run checks on the pathologist who undertook his post-mortem. I’ll text if I need anything.”
“Right, I’ll leave you in peace. I’ll ring you with an update tomorrow evening. I’ll be out running between 7 and 8. Make sure you’re away from the house and the phone’s switched on.” She looked at her watch. “Felix needs feeding; I’d better dash.”
It was 10.40 p.m. when Barnes arrived at her flat. She went inside and placed her hand on the light switch. She froze. Someone’s been in here. She didn’t switch on the light and stood stock still, waiting a couple of minutes to let her eyes accustom to the low light levels. She quietly slipped off her shoes and then crept stealthily around each of the four rooms analysing every minute detail. Satisfied she knew what had been touched, she tiptoed into the kitchen and silently removed her toolbox from under the sink unit cupboard. She selected one small flat blade and one small cross blade screwdriver and went back to the light swi
tch in the entrance lobby.
She carefully unscrewed the cover plate and slowly eased it forwards. Ah, there you are. She repeated this process on the light switches in the lounge, kitchen and bedroom, and she also took apart the television remote. Five listening devices; someone has been busy. Well Felix, we’d better give them something to listen to.
She crept back into the kitchen, unplugged her digital radio and took it into the lounge, collecting the television remote on the way. She plugged the radio in near the entrance door and held it up next to the listening device in the light switch; she also held the remote with the same hand. Finally she turned the radio volume control to maximum and with her big toe flicked on the plug. The noise was phenomenal. She chuckled with delight, imagining the person with earphones listening in at the other end - first hearing slight movements, and trying to turn up the volume to monitor what was going on, and then being deafened by the blast from the radio. After ten seconds she turned the radio off.
Sorry, she thought, thinking about the neighbours. She then removed all the listening devices, and, after stamping on them, threw them in the bin.
Night, night Hilton, sleep well, she said to herself as she snuggled under the duvet.
Chapter 13
Friday 1st June – Saturday 2nd June.
Madame Laurent drove into the school car park at 7.30 a.m. and was surprised to see her secretary’s small blue Fiat already parked in the far corner. Simone Laurent, the headmistress, always arrived early at the start of each day, preferring to check everything at the school was in order prior to the arrival of her staff.
As she stepped from the car she squinted in the early morning sunlight and looked towards the Fiat noticing it was parked in an odd position, as though it had been abandoned. She then saw a figure slumped inside. She walked briskly over and was perturbed to find Patricia Gomez asleep in the driver’s seat. Gomez was usually smartly dressed, and often appeared younger than her age. Today her appearance was totally out of character; she was dishevelled, her hair unkempt and her complexion pale.
