by Angie Smith
“I told you I’d never heard of Drummond, so how would I possibly know who his mother was?”
“But you definitely know Freddy Williams.”
Plant squirmed. “Err, I think I’ll need to speak to my superior.”
“The one who informed me the killer was Freddy Williams, but failed to mention he’d worked for the Intelligence Service and was actually Geoffrey Drummond, who I’m assuming was quite peeved at all his family being murdered to prevent the Russians maintaining a hold over the European energy market?”
“That’s classified information! We shouldn’t even be discussing it. How did you get hold of it?”
“Not from the SIS, that’s for sure.”
Pauline, who’d been sitting quietly, spoke. “You told me your superior was F-B. . .”
“Faulkner-Brown,” Foster confirmed.
“Was it Freddy William’s photograph you showed me?” she asked. “You said you didn’t have a name, and you’d pass it on to the police. Did you?”
Foster shook his head.
“I can’t comment on any of this,” Plant muttered.
“We’ve obtained our own photograph of Williams at a business function with Gerrard in Russia.”
She scowled at Plant. “You said you’d make sure they got the picture.”
“The opportunity didn’t arise.”
“What’s going on, Jonathan?” she asked, looking concerned.
This time Foster jumped in and explained about Gerrard’s Russian involvement, the connection to Williams and the suggestion that the two had formulated a plan to murder eight people.
“Where does Jonathan fit into all this?”
Foster looked at Plant. “Shall I explain, or would you prefer to?”
“Don’t say another word - unless you have absolute proof you can substantiate what you say.”
Foster smiled. “I don’t need to say anything; your reaction is proof enough for me.”
“Jonathan, either you tell me what’s going on, or you get out of my life for good.”
“Ball’s in your court, Mr Plant,” Foster said calmly.
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you anything, until I’ve spoken to my superior.”
“You admitted you thought I was in danger because of you.” She paused. “I’m not the one at risk of being killed; it’s you, isn’t it? That’s why I wasn’t killed last night; it was a warning to you. Think about it. If Gerrard conspired with Williams to murder eight people and I was one of them, why would I be at risk because of you?” She turned to Foster. “Am I on the right lines?”
“That’s what we think. We believe Mr Plant is in danger because of actions he undertook which impacted on Williams.”
She spun to face Plant. “You murdered the Mathewson family,” she snarled.
Plant stood. “This is not open to discussion.” He glared at Foster. “You need to speak to my superior before things get out of hand.”
“I intend to.” Foster stood. “I’ll let myself out. I’m sure you’ve a great deal to discuss.”
“I’ll show you to the door,” Pauline said rising.
She went outside with Foster and over to his car. “What should I do?”
Foster sighed. “There’s still the possibility you are at risk because Gerrard discovered your adultery. Therefore, until we are absolutely sure you’re not, either you accept police protection or continue with your own. I intend meeting with Mr Plant’s superior and agreeing a way forward. Until I’ve done that, if I were you I wouldn’t make any hasty decisions.” He said goodbye, got in the car and headed to the gates.
Pauline went straight back to Plant who was speaking on his phone. When she appeared he stepped outside and continued the discussion out of earshot. She waited patiently, carefully forming the words she would use. Finally, after fifteen minutes he re-entered the room. He didn’t say anything; she surmised he awaited an explosion of anger.
“Did you murder the Mathewson family?” she asked, quietly.
He shook his head. “No, I definitely did not, but that’s what Freddy Williams believes and that’s why I’m in danger.”
“So why did you say I was at risk because of you?”
He sighed deep and long. “I assumed he’d try to do to me what he wrongly thought I’d done to him; murder the ones he loved.”
“Why didn’t you say this to Foster?”
“I shouldn’t be saying it to anyone, but I figure if I don’t tell you some of the facts we’re finished, and I don’t want that to happen.”
“What can you, or, more to the point, what are you prepared to tell me?”
“Foster’s right about Gerrard’s Russian involvement and the realisation that if the project succeeded they would strengthen their hold on the energy market. But the Mathewson family were killed in a boating accident. There was a gas leak and a spark; it was a tragic accident. Williams put two and two together and came up with five, blaming me for the deaths.”
“Did he also work for the Foreign Office in the so-called Diplomatic Service?”
“I can’t say anything about that, but the connection between him and Rose Mathewson wasn’t discovered until after the boating accident. He’d been adopted by his mother’s parents and retained their name. Obviously he’d been using a false identity when working in Russia.”
“You are so plausible, but why didn’t you pass the photo on to the police? Surely the sooner they knew who they were after the better.”
“We didn’t want the connection to be made between Williams and Rose Mathewson. Think about the conspiracy stories that would generate; the press would have a field day.”
“You have an answer to everything.”
“That’s because I’ve nothing to hide.”
She scoffed. “That must be the understatement of the year.”
“You know what I mean.”
“So what do we do? Foster says there’s still a possibility I am at risk because Gerrard may have discovered I was unfaithful. Therefore he suggests I either accept police protection or carry on with my own.”
Plant nodded. “He’s right. My advice is we continue with our own people; they’re better trained and that way I can look after you.”
Pauline scowled. “It still doesn’t explain why I wasn’t killed last night.”
“That’s troubling me too,” Plant admitted. “Unless Gerrard’s the reason you’re in danger and this is all part of his plan to intimidate you, similar to what was done to Ramírez.”
“Stop it! You’re frightening me again.”
Foster returned to the Incident Room at 1.21 p.m. On the way to Wakefield he’d been called by Matt Holden’s secretary and asked what time he was likely to be back; she was arranging a meeting for him and the Chief Constable. He’d guessed Faulkner-Brown would be there, particularly when he’d been told Inspector Dudley was also expected to attend.
“Aye, how did it go?” McLean asked as Foster made his way over to the office.
“Where’s Dudley?”
“He’s been out all day.”
“I’ve got a meeting at two o’clock with the Chief Constable and Dudley, and I assume his boss. Where’s the dossier? I’ll need to read it, and I’d better take a copy of it with me. Did you do as I asked?”
McLean smiled. “Aye, the original’s safely locked away in my drawer and an untouched copy in an evidence bag is ready for you to hand over. Plus there’s another copy on your desk.”
“Excellent. I might need to ring Maria before I go into the meeting.”
“She’s not answering her phone; they’re monitoring it. You’ll have to go to the flat if you need to speak to her.”
Foster briefly looked up at the clock. “I haven’t got time; I’ll wing-it. I’ll speak to her later if there’re any problems.”
At exactly 2.00 p.m. he was invited into Holden’s office. As expected Faulkner-Brown and Hilton Dudley were already seated. Foster ignored them and waited to be asked to the table.
&nb
sp; “Glad you could make it,” Holden said, beckoning him to come and be seated.
“Good afternoon, Sir.” He placed his briefcase on the floor next to him.
Faulkner-Brown began by saying, “I understand you’ve received new information.”
“Has Plant explained everything?”
“Where did this information come from?” Faulkner-Brown persisted.
“We received an anonymous dossier through the post,” Foster replied, opening his briefcase and taking out the evidence bag. He handed it over. “I’ve got a copy you can read here.” He pushed it across to Faulkner-Brown who instantly snapped it up and started reading.
“Any idea who sent it?” Holden asked.
“We think the killer, Sir. We don’t know anyone else who would know that much detail. Obviously we can’t substantiate some of the claims, without help from our friends here, but what we can say is the majority of the information is accurate. What do you say?” He looked at Faulkner-Brown.
“Who’s seen this?”
“McLean, Jacobs, West and myself. It arrived this morning. I’d telephoned to let them know where I was and McLean mentioned that an envelope with ‘Confidential’ on it and marked for my attention had arrived. He said it didn’t look official, so I asked him to open it. He read it out. As soon as we realised what it was he copied it and placed it in the evidence bag.”
“Can I read it?” Holden asked.
Foster passed him another copy.
“How many damned copies are there?” Faulkner-Brown enquired.
Foster made out he was counting in his head. “About eight or nine, maybe ten,” he lied.
“Can I ask that you recall every one of them? All hell will break lose if this gets out into the open.”
“Is this true?” Holden asked, appearing to have read through the document.
“Some of it.”
“Care to share?”
“Everything, apart from the British having murdered the Mathewsons, and the claim that Williams worked for the Secret Intelligence Service.”
“You admit you knew Williams was Drummond?” Foster said.
Faulkner-Brown nodded.
Foster’s grip on the briefcase tightened and he shook his head in disbelief. “But you chose to keep that from us, along with details about the link between Crean and Williams.”
“If any of this,” Faulkner-Brown waved his copy in the air, “gets into the public domain, the conspiracy theorists will have a field day.”
“Can I respectfully remind you, that we’re not the public domain,” Holden stated. “We’re actually investigating a series of murders, and withholding information is a criminal offence.”
“And while we’re on the subject, please can you explain why you’ve been monitoring my detectives’ phones and keeping them under surveillance?” Foster added sharply.
“We haven’t.”
“I know for a fact you’ve had people following Jacobs, Woods, and Barnes.”
“I’ll admit we followed Jacobs while he was in France, and Woods after he’d gone off sick, but we haven’t been anywhere near Barnes. You know what she’s like; she’ll have invented the allegations, she’s known for her overactive imagination.”
Foster’s eyes narrowed. “How would you know that?” he hissed.
Holden intervened. “Could we return to this?” he held up the dossier. “If you’re saying the British had nothing to do with the deaths of the Mathewsons then Plant can’t be at risk.”
Faulkner-Brown raised his gaze. “Unfortunately, Williams wrongly believes Plant murdered his family. That’s why he and Pauline are under threat. We think Williams will try to murder her and then Plant. Last night was a failed attempt.”
“Therefore you’re assuming Pauline’s CCCXVI and Plant’s CXVI,” Foster clarified.
“Yes.”
“Why then have you got people watching Victor Zielinski?”
“Like you, we have doubts.”
“I doubt every word you say.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Faulkner-Brown mumbled.
Holden looked at Foster. “You think the relationship is beyond salvation?”
“Sir, with the greatest respect, they’ve done nothing to assist. They’ve withheld information, tampered with evidence, placed my officers under surveillance, monitored their phone calls and attempted to bug their office and homes. Dudley’s hardly ever around. He repeatedly disappears off to update Faulkner-Brown every time there’s a new development. He’s totally unreliable, and if that isn’t enough, I’ve got two of my best detectives on sick leave because of them.”
Holden looked at Faulkner-Brown. “What have you got to say?”
“I agree the relationship has broken down, and I take the lion’s share of responsibility for that. But for many reasons I must insist on Dudley being part of the investigation; he needs to keep me up to speed with developments. Therefore, if you try to remove him from the team, I’ll have your decision overturned. I’ll go to the very top if I have to. I didn’t want it to come to this, but if you back me into a corner, I’ll have no option.”
Holden leaned forward, “I don’t appreciate being threatened, especially by someone like you, but I accept you would go to any lengths to get what you want. You’ll be able to pull strings I didn’t know even existed. Therefore,” he turned to Foster, “it appears my hands are tied.”
Foster nodded and stared at Faulkner-Brown. “Promise me you’ll stop hounding Barnes.”
“What is it about her? Do you think butter wouldn’t melt?”
Foster ground his teeth. “I want you to leave her alone, stop following her, monitoring her phones and keep away from the flat!”
“For reasons I cannot divulge, I’m unable to agree to your request. My interest in her outweighs your concerns about her welfare.”
Foster’s patience frayed. “On the one hand you claim not to have been anywhere near her; you besmirch her character with allegations of an overactive imagination, and yet your interest in her outweighs my concerns about her welfare.” He glowered at Faulkner-Brown. “Well, allow me to make myself very clear, because you and I appear to be facing an evolutionary gap. If anything happens to Barnes, I’ll hold you totally responsible.”
Barnes looked out of the window at the many small islands below. The beautiful turquoise waters, the brilliant white sandy beaches and the stunning vegetation. “Welcome to paradise,” she said to Pamela and Woods.
“How scary was that take-off?” Pamela said.
Woods grinned. “The Twin Otter’s a highly manoeuvrable aircraft suitable for all conditions and climates. It’s capable of short take-offs and landings, and was chosen because of its versatility, reliability and safety.”
“Yes, I read the in-flight magazine too,” Barnes sighed, “but it didn’t mention anything about the strong cross-winds, nor the fact that the locals all appear to adopt the crash-landing brace position on take-off. Do they know something we don’t?”
“Can we catch the ferry back to Mahe?” Pamela enquired.
“That can be worse; I’ve heard it’s like being in a washing machine,” Woods answered.
“And you’re expecting us to sail around the islands looking for Gerrard Crean?” Pamela snapped back.
“We need a catamaran,” Barnes suggested. “They’re more stable in heavy seas.”
“Greg, are you capable of sailing one of those?” Pamela asked.
“We’ll soon find out.”
“You’ll need at least a RYA Day Skipper qualification, or more likely a RYA International Certificate of Competence and a second competent person to charter a yacht or cat the size we’ll be requiring. I don’t suppose you have one?” Barnes said, hoping to be surprised.
Woods’ expression answered for him.
“Luckily, the hotel has access to a catamaran which you can charter along with a fully qualified two-man crew. I’ve already contacted them and it’s provisionally booked for us tomorrow, weather de
pendant.”
“You leave nothing to chance, do you?” Woods said. Then, as the small plane banked sharply, “Here we go, look, they’re all adopting the brace position again.”
Barnes gripped the seat, screwed her eyes closed and wished she’d thought of a good reason not to come. The plane levelled out and lined up for its final approach.
“Stop worrying.”
Woods’ words were small comfort. She held her breath. Come on, you can do this. The plane was being buffeted by the winds, but it touched down smoothly, with no drama or mishap. Barnes opened her eyes and looked out of the window. “Wow, how cool is this?”
Woods beamed. “You see, nothing to worry about. Let’s grab our luggage, meet the chauffeur and head to the hotel for cocktails.”
Faulkner-Brown and Dudley were having dinner together at the hotel where they were staying, just off Junction 39 of the M1 motorway. Faulkner-Brown munched his way through half a roast chicken, while Dudley tucked into the pan-fried sea bass.
“Do you think it was Williams who sent the dossier?” Dudley asked.
“I don’t think so, there’s much more information he could have divulged, but I’m having it forensically tested; see if there are any clues. The question is, who else would have known that amount of detail?”
“What about Barnes, she said she’d worked it all out?”
“She hasn’t left her flat since Tuesday afternoon. The document was posted on Wednesday morning near the city centre.”
“How can you be sure she hasn’t left the flat?”
“I told you, I’ve got a first-class team monitoring her; I’ll ring them.” He took out his phone, pressed a speed-dial number and asked for an update. He listened for a few moments, and then terminated the call. “She’s watching TV in the living room,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“They can see the reflection of the TV on the window blinds, and shadows occasionally moving around the room, the lights go off around midnight and presumably she goes to bed.”
“That doesn’t prove she’s in.”
“We’ve pressed the intercom, saying we had a parcel to deliver. She told us to leave it in the entrance hall and she’d collect it later; after an hour it had gone.”
