by Angie Smith
“I agree.”
“Aye, we all know what a bunch of arseholes work there don’t we?”
Foster cleared his throat, trying to bring attention back to him. “I understand we made significant progress on the car cloning.”
“Aye, we thought there must be a link between the people who’ve had their vehicles cloned, and eventually after a lot of digging we found it. We knew Williams covers every eventuality, he’s meticulous and precise; therefore, he’s not the type who’s going to see a car in the street and decide to clone it. He’s going to do his homework and ensure the risk of being caught is minimised. So we concentrated on what information he needs when driving around in a clone car.”
“To avoid unnecessary detection he needs the registered keeper’s name, address, date of birth and to have a vague resemblance to their appearance,” West said, assisting with the explanation. “He needs to know the car’s legal, and then if he’s randomly stopped he can pass as the owner and not arouse suspicion. Also he needs to know the movements of the cloned vehicle so he can ensure he doesn’t use the clone at the same time.”
“Aye, one of the most vital things is he needs to resemble the registered keeper, so we thought that’s maybe where he starts. He selects someone similar to his own age, height and build, then he obtains all the other information. Their vehicle is probably the least important item.”
Foster nodded as West continued. “He chooses someone who looks fairly respectable, with a reasonably decent car, consequently he’s minimising the chance of the vehicle being illegal. But how does he obtain their name and date of birth? The other information can easily be obtained by following them, so we concentrated on where you always have to give your personal details.”
“Aye, the hospital. Every time I’ve an appointment they ask me to confirm my name, address and date of birth, even though it’s on the blooming letter I’ve just given them!”
“Spot on,” Foster said smiling. “So Williams goes to a hospital car park, waits until he sees someone with a similar appearance, follows them into clinic, stands behind them as they book in, monitors their vehicle’s movements, and then steals an identical car and changes the number plates.”
“Good deduction,” Jacobs said.
“Aye, that’s the link. Every one of the cloned vehicle owners has been to a recent hospital appointment. So Sharron then trolled through hours and hours of CCTV footage from the various hospitals.” McLean looked at West.
“I discovered that a dark blue Audi A6 had been following them, not only out of the hospital, but in and around where they worked and lived.”
“Do we have a registration number?” Dudley asked.
“Aye, but it’s not what. . .”
The door to the Incident Room crashed open and Woods strode in with Barnes at his side.
“Greg, Maria,” Foster said, attempting to sound surprised.
Dudley jumped up and looked stunned as Woods made a beeline for him. He tried to deflect the blow from Woods’ clenched fist, but it came too fast and sent him crashing to the floor.
“Cuff him and throw him in the cells,” Woods ordered, as Jacobs and McLean came to assist him.
“What’s the charge?” Jacobs asked, placing handcuffs on Dudley.
Woods was busy rummaging through Dudley’s pockets. He removed two mobile phones and the gun from the leg holster.
“Attempted murder,” Barnes answered, handing Foster the laboratory report on the coffee.
McLean and Jacobs manhandled Dudley to his feet.
“Faulkner-Brown will have me de-arrested,” he said, defiantly.
“Not if he doesn’t know you’ve been arrested,” Woods replied.
Dudley was frogmarched out of the Incident Room towards the Custody Suite.
“I need him out of circulation for as long as possible. Maria and I need to get over to Hawes.” He looked at Hooper. “Are your guys briefed and ready?”
“Of course. They’re already there, waiting for your instructions.”
“Excellent, we can’t afford any mishaps.”
“There won’t be any; you’ve got my four best men.”
Woods turned to Foster. “Is everyone up to speed with what I uncovered in the Seychelles?”
Foster nodded. “We’ve been here since seven. As you instructed, only Dudley was kept out of the loop. We also think we’ve uncovered who sanctioned the murders of the Mathewsons.”
Woods frowned. “How?”
“Williams left us a gigantic clue. We discovered a dark blue Audi A6 had been following the cloned car owners; that too was a clone.” He grinned. “A clone of the car belonging to Henry Guilford-Johnston MP.”
“Wasn’t he Foreign Secretary when the Mathewsons were killed?” Barnes ventured.
Woods scowled. “He certainly was. But…, I don’t understand, why would Williams clone his car? Surely the last thing he’d want would be to draw our attention to the person he intended murdering.”
“Maybe he has something else planned for him. He told Crean he’d hold the Establishment to account. He didn’t say he’d kill the people involved. Maybe Plant isn’t in danger either.”
Foster looked at Woods. “Does this affect your plan?”
Woods was nodding. “It might do. Can you get over to Guilford-Johnston’s and see what he has to say? As planned, Maria and I will go to Pauline’s and deal with Plant. You ring me as soon as you’ve spoken to Guilford-Johnston.”
One of the mobiles Woods had removed from Dudley’s pockets started ringing. He picked it up, glanced at the screen and pressed the reject call button.
“Faulkner-Brown?” Barnes surmised.
“Fat-Boy, according to the screen.”
Barnes grinned.
Faulkner-Brown pressed the send button to dispatch the text asking Dudley to contact him urgently. The two agents, who had arrived at the hotel where Woods and Barnes stayed, had discovered they had left the previous evening. Enquiries revealed that after visiting Gecko Island they’d checked out of the hotel and sailed back in the direction of the island on a very expensive motor yacht which had arrived to collect them. The agents immediately commissioned the same catamaran that Woods had, and headed for the same location where the vessel had been moored the previous day. Faulkner-Brown instructed the agents should search for signs of Woods, Barnes, and Gerrard Crean; he was waiting for an update from Vauxhall Cross.
“Yes,” he snapped, snatching up the phone.
“When the catamaran reached the island the villa appeared deserted; there was no sign of anyone and all the shutters were closed. They decided to go ashore and investigate, but as they approached the beach, armed guards appeared and shot the dinghy out of the water; our guys had to swim back to the boat.”
“Amateurs,” grumbled Faulkner-Brown. “Get them to go back under the cover of darkness. Crean, Woods and Barnes must be there.”
“We think you need to refocus,” Vauxhall Cross responded. “According to social media sites, Woods’ so-called daughter posted that they were thinking of going to Russia. Coincidentally a private jet left Seychellois airspace late yesterday, heading for Moscow via Doha.”
The line went quiet while Faulkner-Brown processed the information he had just been given. “Why would they go there?” he finally muttered.
“To unravel the large ball of fog you appear to surround yourself with.”
Faulkner-Brown banged down the phone. He tried Dudley’s number, and again the call was rejected.
Woods and Barnes arrived at the farmhouse gates. Woods explained to the guard that they were Detective Chief Inspector Malcolm Foster and Detective Sergeant Sharron West, who wanted to speak with Mrs Crean. Barnes flashed West’s ID and the guard radioed in. Seconds later the gates opened slowly.
“Easy-peasy,” Barnes said as Woods pulled up outside the stables. “Now comes the difficult part.”
They went to the main entrance and Pauline was already waiting to greet them. “I wasn’t ex
pecting to see you two; they told me it was Foster,” she said smiling. “How are you?”
The dogs appeared and Barnes bent down to stroke them. “We’re fine,” she said, then with a resigned look, “Pauline, would you mind coming with me to the stables? There’s something important I need to tell you.”
“Is Plant in there?” Woods was pointing at the farmhouse.
Pauline nodded. “Making coffees, I think.”
“Good, I’ll have a chat with him,” he said, stepping inside. He spotted Plant in the kitchen. “I’ll skip the coffee, if you don’t mind,” he called. “You never know what’s in it. That is, unless you have the lab report.”
Plant spun round and frowned. “I was told it was Foster.”
“He’s interviewing Henry Guilford-Johnston MP.”
Plant appeared hesitant. “I thought you were in the Seychelles.”
“Can’t believe anything, can you? Although, when it comes to misleading information, you and Faulkner-Brown are the experts.”
“Where’s Pauline?”
“Outside. I wanted to speak to you alone.”
“I need to make a phone call.”
“I think you do. But first we should have a chat. Shall we?” he gestured towards the sitting room and Plant left the coffee-making and followed him in.
“What exactly do you know?” Plant asked as he looked across at Woods, who was sitting down on the opposite sofa.
“I’m assuming everything you and Faulkner-Brown have desperately tried to prevent me uncovering.”
Plant raised an eyebrow. “Well, information can easily be discredited.”
“I’d like to see you do that, since the majority comes in the form of classified documents produced by your own department.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“You’re smart enough to realise my smugness suggests otherwise.”
“Then tell me what you know.”
Woods intentionally paused, giving the impression he was considering his options, then he spoke slowly and without emotion. “I’ve detailed documents naming you as the perpetrator of the Mathewsons’ murders. I’ve classified reports on the operation, including information about the deal between the British and the Russians, resulting in the documents you stole being destroyed and the murders you committed covered up. I know your codename is XVI and the assignment to murder the Mathewsons was CXVI. I also know it was Guilford-Johnston who sanctioned the operation. Do I need to go on?”
“Who gave you that information?”
Woods’ expression remained absolute.
“It was Williams! Wasn’t it?”
Woods smiled. “If I’d spoken to him, he’d be under arrest, and no doubt your chum Dudley would have murdered him by now. I’m sure Faulkner-Brown would’ve kept you up to speed with events. Has he not been in touch this morning?”
“Stop playing games.”
Woods scoffed. “Fine words; it’s a pity you and Faulkner-Brown don’t heed them.”
“Williams is the only person outside the department who’d have that information.”
“Is he?” Woods’ phone buzzed. “Excuse me, while I take this,” he said. Three minutes later he ended the call; it had been Foster with an update after speaking to Guilford-Johnston. Now he needed to amend his plan, but if luck was on his side he could use the situation to his advantage. “That was Foster,” he informed Plant. “Guilford-Johnston’s agreed to cooperate. He’s been expecting us; he’d already prepared his resignation letter. He’s making a statement this afternoon. He’s asked for police protection.” Woods stopped and looked at Plant. “Apparently, it’s you and Faulkner-Brown that he wants protection from; he says he’s not too concerned about Williams.” Woods inwardly smiled as he saw Plant squirm. “I can feel the rope tightening around your necks as we speak.”
“He’ll be discredited. Faulkner-Brown will have it covered.”
“Will he?” Woods grinned.
The door opened and Pauline marched in with Barnes, Simonstone and Inwood. She went straight to Plant and slapped him hard across the face. “I want you out of my life. Take your things and get out now; I never want to see your despicable face again.” She turned to Simonstone and Inwood. “Get the guards and escort this abhorrent individual off my property.”
As requested, Inwood spoke on the two-way radio and summoned help.
“Pauline, don’t believe a word they say. I can explain.”
“I’ve had enough of your explanations. Everything you say is a lie. My mother always told me that you could never believe a liar, even when they were telling the truth. Now for the last time get out of my house.”
Woods looked at Pauline; she was trembling. “I’ll escort him off the premises.”
Plant huffed, “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve spoken to Faulkner-Brown.”
“You can do that after you’ve left,” said Woods, standing and walking over to him. “Come on Sunshine. Time to go.”
Simonstone and Inwood went to assist as two more guards entered the room.
Plant stood. “I need to collect my things. There’s no need for a scene.”
“You know where they are. Go with him and make sure he doesn’t touch anything of mine,” Pauline snarled.
“And make sure he doesn’t ring anyone until he’s off the premises,” Woods added.
“You’ll not get away with this. Faulkner-Brown will have you kicked out of the police; both your careers are over.”
“How are his family?” Barnes piped up.
Plant glared at her. “You’re the one who’s despicable; at least I work in the national interest.”
“How was murdering the Mathewsons’ children in the national interest?”
“I don’t question orders or make moral judgements; I do what I’m paid to do.”
“Were you paid to become friendly with Pauline? Is that it? Is this Faulkner-Brown’s doing?”
“No it was not.”
Barnes smiled. “I wonder what Williams has in store for you. What he did to Ramírez was probably an indication of what lies ahead. You’d better ring Faulkner-Brown and ask him what to do next.”
“That’s enough, Maria,” Woods said. “We’ve got work to do.”
The guards escorted Plant out. When he’d gone Pauline turned to Woods. “Thank you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
He forced an unconvincing smile. “The jet’s waiting to take you to Gerrard,” he said. “Will the farmhouse be okay while you’re away?”
She nodded. “I’ll organise for a couple of the guards to stay here, and for the livestock and dogs to be looked after. I’m not sure how long I’ll be there, but I’ll sort something out. I just want to get to Gerrard before it’s too late.”
“We’ll stay with you until Plant’s off the premises,” he said.
“He’ll need his two chums from up on the hills to come down and collect him. His Mercedes has suddenly developed a fault,” Barnes said, smiling.
“What have you done?”
“Disabled it. This way we won’t have company on the way back to Wakefield.”
Woods’ nose twitched. “Nevertheless, he’ll need to collect it at some time.”
“No,” Pauline snapped. “I’ll have the guards tow it to a layby; he can whistle. He’ll never set foot in here again.”
They waited until Plant was collected from outside the main gates and then Woods immediately telephoned George Hooper’s men. “He’s leaving. For goodness sake don’t lose him.” He turned to Barnes. “Time to go.” He watched as Pauline hugged her.
“Maria, thank you for believing in Gerrard,” she said. “I knew he wasn’t the monster people think him to be.”
“I know that,” Barnes replied.
Faulkner-Brown received Plant’s call at 12.53 p.m. He listened with increasing anxiety as the morning’s events, which had unfolded at the farmhouse, were relayed to him. “I can’t reach Dudley; he’s not returning my calls or texts,” he said.
“Come to Wakefield. We’ll regroup. I’ll speak to Guilford-Johnston; find out what he’s playing at. In my opinion he’s jumped too soon; he’s obviously lost faith in us. I’m also going to speak to the Home Secretary; if Woods received the information from either Williams or Crean, then the investigation is compromised and I can retrieve the situation, provided I can convince Guilford-Johnston we can silence Williams. I’ll update you when you arrive.”
“What about Barnes? She made reference to your family.”
“We need to discredit her.”
“Can’t we arrange for some compelling evidence to be discovered in her flat?”
“Yes, but at the moment I’m receiving negative vibes from HQ, and I’m getting the distinct impression we’ll be hung out to dry if the situation deteriorates. I can’t afford any more mishaps. I need to speak to several people before we decide on our next move.”
Woods and Barnes returned to the Incident Room at 3.05 p.m. as Foster and Hooper stood watching the live broadcast of Henry Guilford-Johnston’s resignation statement. Woods hurried over, but the short statement had ended and the former MP was not answering questions. The news commentators were reviewing the salient points.
“What did he have to say?” Woods asked Foster.
“Nothing of note; just that personal circumstances dictated he leave the government.”
“What about this morning?”
Foster smiled. “He was perturbed by the amount of classified information we’d uncovered. He said there’d have to be an enquiry, but he suspected he knew where the leak occurred. The reports will have to be given to the Intelligence Service, and any copies you’ve made will have to be destroyed. I understand someone will be speaking to the Chief Constable about this.”
“I bet they will,” said Woods, having no intention of destroying the copies he and Barnes had taken.
“Guilford-Johnston admitted being aware of Williams,” Foster continued. “He knew about the undercover operation in Russia, and had already worked out that he and Plant were likely to be the two final victims. He said he’d been given assurances that Williams was — as he put it — being taken care of, but his confidence in the operation commander had diminished. He’s worried that he’s now under threat not only from Williams but also Faulkner-Brown and Plant. He said he knew nothing about the attempt on your life and appeared shocked by the news. He said he’ll cooperate fully with the investigation.”
