by Angie Smith
“You’re awfully good, Maria. Where did you learn to do this?”
“From now on, it’s Laura, not Maria, and what I’m doing is common sense.”
Woods scratched his head, “Of course it is, Laura. Now would you like a cup of tea before you go upstairs to pack? I understand the girls have left you some of their holiday clothes on the bed.”
She laughed and was tempted to say ‘yes please dad’, but refrained. Instead she replied, “milk and two sugars, please.”
Woods parked in the multi-storey car park at Terminal One. It was 5.20 p.m. Pamela was sitting in the passenger seat, with Barnes in the back. He took the keys out of the ignition and turned to Barnes. “Let’s run through this again,” he said.
She leaned forwards. “We walk into the check-in hall. As we do I’ll hand you my case and dash off to the toilet. You and Pamela stand, look up at the large screen with the departure information on, as though you’re trying to locate which gate we need to go to. You then walk towards the right of the hall and our gate is at the very far end near the toilets. After a couple of minutes I’ll join you and we’ll check-in at Etihad’s first class desk.”
“I appreciate the reason for this, but you’ll have a similar problem when we go through security.”
“It’s not just about avoiding looking straight at the camera, which is in the information screen; the people monitoring it watch out for that. As I’ve explained, usually only seasoned travellers know which gate they’re checking in at and therefore don’t look up at the screen. They walk straight to their gate and stand in line. But we’re a family going on holiday, so we need to give that impression. If I stand with you and don’t look up, when Dudley’s chums check the footage they’ll know something’s up, but if I look like I’m desperate for the loo and only you two stop and look, I avoid direct eye contact with the camera and also I won’t have airport security taking an interest in me.”
“What’s the plan as we go through security?”
“I’ll handle that. Because we’re business class passengers we’re allowed in the express security check-in aisle, so we don’t have to queue. We can walk straight up to the row of scanners. We place all our bits and pieces in the trays and onto the conveyor with our hand luggage. We’ll then, when directed, walk through the detectors and, if asked, the body scanners. You two go through first and try to avoid looking back at me, just follow the instructions of the security staff. I’ll be behind you avoiding the cameras.”
“How do you know where they all are?”
“Someone in security is a good friend of mine.”
Woods scowled. “Who in security?” he asked, opening his door.
“A good friend,” she repeated, stepping out of the car.
“Maria, there’s nothing untoward going on here is there?”
“It’s Laura,” she snapped. “And no of course not. That is except for me using a false passport to exit the country.”
“Why would you know where all the security cameras are?”
“I’m a detective, and over the years I’ve obtained a detailed knowledge of how, where and why security cameras are located. It’s something I’m particularly interested in; airport security is one of the most fascinating areas of surveillance.”
Woods sighed. “Okay, come on then, let’s play happy families.” He removed three suitcases from the boot; Pamela took one, Barnes one, and he took hold of the largest.
“The lift’s this way,” Barnes said, heading off.
“Interested in where, why and how elevators are located in airports are we?” Woods muttered, struggling to pull the retractable handle up on his suitcase.
Barnes spun round; she’d heard him. “Dad, you know I’m interested in lots of things. That’s why you love me so much.”
Woods looked at his wife who was laughing. “She bears an uncanny resemblance to both Laura and Holly,” she said. “It must be you who influences their behaviour.”
Woods threw the suitcase down and picked it up by the carry handle. “Bloody thing’s broken,” he said, wandering off after Barnes.
Foster came out into the Incident Room and looked around for McLean. “Have you seen Pete?” he asked Jacobs.
“In the loo,” Dudley replied.
“Ask him to pop in when he gets back.”
Five minutes later McLean knocked at the door. Foster motioned for him to enter.
“I haven’t been able to speak to Maria,” Foster said. “She’s not answering her phone. It’s continually ringing; it’s not even going to her mailbox.”
“Bearing in mind what you told us this morning, do you think I need to go and check on her?”
“Do you mind?”
McLean shook his head and looked at his watch. “I’m hoping to leave around six o’ clock. I’ll call in on my way home.”
“Let me know how she is,” Foster said.
Barnes was sipping champagne in the Etihad Escape Lounge. Woods and his wife were sitting on the leather low-level sofa chairs next to her. Pamela also had champagne, Woods a Scotch and lemonade.
“Cheers,” Barnes said, raising her glass and leaning toward the other two.
They chinked glasses.
“Cheers.”
Woods grinned. “You’ve done that before.”
Barnes looked coy. “I don’t know what you are suggesting?”
“You were really good,” Pamela said. “You selected that particular security officer, knowing exactly how he’d react to you flirting with him.”
Barnes smiled. “You weren’t supposed to be looking.”
“Your eyes never left contact with his,” Woods reinforced. “And the way you stumbled going through the metal detector, well, I thought you’d really tripped up, it was so realistic.”
“I’m just a sweet, innocent nineteen-year-old girl, who’s going on holiday with her parents. I can’t help flirting with a young man, becoming giddy and stumbling right at the very moment I should be looking straight into the security camera, positioned specifically so it catches everyone walking through the detector.”
“He even ran to help you,” Pamela said, sipping some champagne.
“Ten out of ten,” Woods said. “You managed to turn your back on the camera when you thanked him, and then, appearing embarrassed, walked away holding your hand to your face.”
“I didn’t want my parents to see how silly I’d been,” she replied, winking at Pamela.
“There is so much I don’t. . .” Woods stopped as Barnes’ phone rang.
She picked it up and looked at the screen. Her face turned deadly serious; she held her finger to her mouth indicating they should be quiet.
“Hello,” she said in a croaky voice.
“Hello, Maria. It’s Pete. Is it okay to come in?”
She mouthed ‘McLean’ silently to Woods. “Hello, Pete. I’m sorry, I’m in bed. I’m not feeling too good. Can it wait?”
“Aye, sorry, I just wanted to know you were alright. Foster’s been worried and trying to ring you.”
“I’ve got my phone on silent, so I can get some peace.”
“Aye, I’ll go then. There’s just one thing. You mentioned you’d worked it all out; could you give me a clue?”
“I’ve sent an anonymous dossier to Foster explaining everything, but I don’t want Dudley knowing it’s come from me.”
“Aye, Foster’s been explaining all about him. I take it you knew.”
“I worked it out for myself. They’d been following me; that’s why I dumped the car and came back on the train.”
“Aye, they’re a set of bastards, by all accounts.”
“You don’t know the half of it. They’re monitoring my phone; that’s what’s making me so ill. You can tell Foster the dossier’s from me, but please do not let Dudley know.”
“Aye, don’t worry. That bastard can go to hell. As long as you’re alright, that’s the main thing. Ring me if you need any help.”
“I will. Thanks Pete.”
“Right, I’ll let you have some peace.”
She ended the call and explained McLean’s half of the conversation to Woods.
“So Foster’s spilled the beans to him.”
Barnes nodded, but refrained from commenting. She was thinking about Dudley’s reaction when he was told an anonymous dossier had been received identifying the killer.
Pauline stood looking over the lake. The dogs were close by sniffing around, chasing and barking at the Canadian geese. Plant was on the sun-terrace — taking advantage of the late evening sun — watching her. She’d told him she needed to be alone with her thoughts and wandered down to the lake. It held a special place in her heart and was where she went when remembering Gerrard. Also keeping watch were Simonstone, Inwood and three other protection staff, stationed at various points around the farmhouse and grounds. Now that Plant was living with her it had been agreed the number of protection officers could be reduced from eight to five. In addition there were still two police officers keeping her under surveillance and, according to Plant, several — he wouldn’t be specific — others watching from a distance.
Pauline looked down at her reflection in the water. The ripples ebbed and flowed as the geese bombed frantically back to the safety of the lake, chased off the land by the dogs. What have you done, Gerrard, and why? She thought. Retaliation? Settling old scores? It’s not like you; not the person I knew. It goes against everything you lived for, everything you preached to me about the futility of revenge. You were the one who always said let things go, and move on. What changed? Was it the illness, the medication, or is there something I’m missing? She sighed and ambled over to her favourite tree. She remembered when the willow had blown down in the gales; consequently it lay on its side at the edge of the lake like a wounded animal, but the roots still gave it life, beauty and magnificence. She jumped up and settled on the large branch where she could sit quietly lost in thought.
Then, Isambard came running up to her, barking.
“What is it boy?” she said, puzzled by his actions. The dog barked standing prone. “What have you seen?” she asked.
Isambard turned to the woodland and growled.
“Who is it?” she said, as the gunshot cracked across the valley. The bullet hit the willow and a splinter of bark shot out and caught her in the neck. She fell out of the tree to the ground and instinctively placed a hand on her neck. It felt warm; she pulled it away and glanced down. It was covered in blood. As she looked back at the farmhouse, Plant, Simonstone and Inwood were running towards her. She felt woozy.
“STAY DOWN, PAULINE!” Simonstone yelled.
Chapter 17
Wednesday 6th June – Thursday 7th June.
Pauline winced as the nurse carefully bandaged over the sutures in the neck wound. Simonstone and Inwood were with her and she looked across at them. “I know what you are going to say: I shouldn’t have been down by the lake.”
“The important thing is you’re alright. We thought you’d been shot. Thankfully it’s just a deep flesh wound, caused by a fragment of wood. The bullet hit the tree.”
She knew Simonstone’s words were meant to reassure her, but nevertheless she shuddered. “Any news from the farmhouse?”
“Jonathan and the protection officers went after the gunman, but he’d disappeared into the woods. The police have closed the area down; they’re searching with the helicopter and the thermal imaging camera.”
“Thanks for bringing me to A&E.”
Simonstone smiled. “You don’t need to thank us; it’s part of our job. We decided it would be quicker than waiting for the paramedics to arrive, and then for the ambulance.”
“What now?” Pauline asked, clearly still in shock.
“Do you want to go back to the farmhouse, or is there somewhere else you’d rather be?”
She sighed, desperately trying to keep her emotions in check. “It was stupid of me not to stay in the areas around the farmhouse, but I wanted to have some time alone and Jonathan suggested I go down to the lake. He said he’d keep watch.” Tears trickled down her face. “I was thinking about Gerrard and it nearly got me killed.”
“For what it’s worth,” Inwood said, “I don’t think the gunman wanted to kill you. He had clear sight, you were sitting still and yet he hit the tree eighteen inches above and to the right of your head. From what I understand the killer’s meticulous and precise.”
Simonstone was nodding.
“What has Jonathan said?”
“He would like you to go back to the farmhouse and not stray away from the buildings.”
Pauline touched the bandage. Her neck was swollen and felt sore and quite stiff. “Okay, but I don’t understand - if he could have killed me, why he chose not to.”
“Neither do I; but let’s make sure we don’t give him another opportunity.”
Thursday 7th June.
It had been late on Wednesday evening when Foster received the call about the attempt on Pauline’s life. At that time the police were still searching the area looking for the assailant, and therefore he asked for regular updates. He telephoned McLean to inform him of developments, and asked about Barnes. McLean provided a brief appraisal of how she’d sounded when he’d called at her flat. He mentioned her concerns about phone monitoring and being followed. He also notified Foster about the dossier — which detailed her latest findings — and her specific wish that Hilton Dudley should not know its origin. Foster had listened intently and due to the possibility of him being called out to Hawes during the night he’d instructed McLean to intercept the document, and after reading it to telephone him with an update. Notwithstanding this, regular updates from Hawes had become increasingly despondent and by 2.00 a.m. the possibility that the attacker had escaped became a reality. Foster agreed to visit the crime scene at first light, and interview Pauline.
He looked at his watch. It was 6.00 a.m.; he could be at the farmhouse by around 8.30. Hopefully McLean would intercept the dossier sometime before 10 while the morning post was being sorted in the mail room. Ideally he would prefer to receive the update while at the farmhouse, where if necessary he could speak to both Pauline and Plant about its contents.
However, traffic on the motorway was particularly heavy and there were numerous times when he was slowing to a standstill and then crawling for several miles before speeding up again, only to repeat the experience a few miles further on. Consequently it was 9.20 a.m. when he finally pulled up at the farmhouse gates and was allowed in by the guard.
He was met by Plant and taken to the lake. He first viewed the willow tree where Pauline had been sitting, then walked over to the woodland and looked at the actual spot where the gunman was positioned when he fired the shot.
“He had a clear view from here,” Foster observed, looking over at the tree.
“I think the dog unsettled him; he panicked and thankfully he missed.”
“Umm,” Foster mumbled, unconvinced. “Could we go and speak to Mrs Crean?”
He was taken up to the farmhouse and shown into the sitting room where Pauline was convalescing, sipping tea and nibbling at some toast. Foster introduced himself and was invited to be seated. He started by asking how she was feeling.
“Shocked, sore and confused,” she replied.
“To be expected,” Foster acknowledged.
“Where’s Sergeant Barnes?” she asked.
He explained about the sick leave.
She looked at Plant who’d squatted on the pouffe near her. “Was Maria asking too many awkward questions?”
“How would I know?” Plant responded, looking somewhat perturbed by the question.
Foster hesitated. He knew Woods’ thoughts on Plant, and he could see why his Superintendent disliked him. Nevertheless, he decided to wait for McLean’s update before tackling him. “Mrs Crean, could you explain what happened yesterday evening?”
She insisted he call her Pauline, and then she ran through the events, Plant chipping in with
odd details and information about the fruitless search for the gunman. “What I’m confused about is why he didn’t kill me; it wasn’t as though I was a moving target. I was sitting thinking.”
“Isambard spooked him,” offered Plant.
Foster frowned.
“One of the dogs,” Pauline clarified.
Foster looked at Plant. “I understand you’re staying here with Mrs Crean until the killer’s been apprehended.”
Plant nodded.
Foster intended asking if he carried a licensed firearm, but he felt the mobile vibrating in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll need to take this outside.”
Plant sprang to his feet, opened the French doors and motioned that he should step out onto the sun-terrace.
“Hello, Pete,” Foster said, as he wandered out of Plant’s earshot.
McLean gave a detailed résumé of the dossier, while Foster wrote down the salient points in his notebook.
“Aye, I’ve checked what details I can. They stack up with what Maria’s said; she’s done a canny job.”
“Thanks, Pete. Make sure Dudley doesn’t see it.”
“Aye, I will. He’s out again, no doubt at the Hepworth receiving his latest instructions.”
“When I get back I’ll need to have a chat with his boss.”
Foster ended the call and went back inside. “Now, Mr Plant,” he said sitting. “What can you tell me about Geoffrey Drummond?”
Plant frowned. “Never heard of him.”
Foster gave him a derisory look. “Never heard of him. Umm… Well, what can you tell me about the deaths of Rose and Philip Mathewson and their teenage children?”
Plant shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.”
“They worked for Gerrard’s development company,” Pauline said.
Foster nodded, but kept his eyes firmly fixed on Plant. “So you won’t know Geoffrey Drummond was Rose Mathewson’s first child.”
