by Ellis, Tim
‘Sir.’
A very pleasant looking young woman wearing a knee-length khaki skirt, a white shirt with Sergeant’s stripes and a red beret marched in and saluted. She gave the impression that her spinal vertebrae had been surgically fused together and her jaw was made of titanium, but her eyes were the prettiest light-grey he had ever seen.
Yes – in his opinion – more was definitely better than less. Women walking around in thongs and bits of string left nothing to a man’s imagination, and a man without imagination may as well be wandering in the desert without a drop of water.
‘At ease, Sergeant.’
‘Yes, Sir.’ She opened her feet slightly and put her hands behind her back.
‘This is Sergeant Madison from the Special Investigation Branch, Royal Military Police. She’s one of our best investigators.’
Parish stood up and offered his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sergeant.’
She shook his hand. ‘Likewise, Sir.’
‘Would you like to work with Inspector Parish, Sergeant Madison?’
‘Very much, Sir.’
‘And you, Parish?’
‘I probably need all the help I can get.’
‘Then, I now pronounce you partner and partner.’ He smiled. ‘I’m famous for my one-liners, aren’t I, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, Sir. The best one-liners in Cyprus, Sir.’
‘Take a seat, Sergeant.’
She sat ramrod straight in an easy chair with her balled fists resting on her knees.
‘Now, there doesn’t seem much point in Inspector Parish having a driver as well as a partner, so you can also be his driver. Is that all right with you, Madison?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Right, should we get down to the business at hand – Major Thomas Durrell? He’s being held at the main police station in Limassol. I’ve arranged for you to see him at eleven o’clock. Your contact, and the person who is in charge of the investigation, is Inspector Christos Kefalis. Sergeant Madison knows him, so will be able to tell you what he’s like.’
‘Are the Cypriot police happy to co-operate with us?’
‘Let me give you some history, Inspector. Cyprus gained its independence from the United Kingdom in 1961, after 83 years of British control. Since that time, we have retained British sovereignty over two areas in Dhekelia and Akrotiri. These areas are not under the jurisdiction of the Cypriot government and several Cypriot villages are enclaved in those areas. In the past few years there have been numerous arrests of anti-British demonstrators who assert that the UK should not continue to hold territory in another EU state. The Cypriot President – Dimitris Christofias – has pledged to remove all foreign military forces from the island, calling the British presence a "colonial bloodstain.” So, you can imagine that if Major Durrell is responsible for the murder of Caterina Makhairas, and implicated in the disappearance of the other three unfortunate women, it would be grist to the mill for the anti-British lobby.’
Parish was getting the distinct impression that he’d been air-lifted into the middle of a firestorm with only spit to fight the flames.
‘Now, as I discussed with DCI Kowalski, I’m not advocating this should be swept under the rug, or anything like that. I want the truth to come out. If Major Durrell is responsible for the crimes he’s been charged with then so be it, but I don’t want him to be railroaded if he’s not guilty, and I’m not convinced that the Cypriot police have got Major Durrell’s best interests at heart. So, the answer to your question is – yes, they’ll co-operate, but only if it serves their purpose. ’
He nodded. ‘I understand, Sir.’
‘Good. Now, I don’t know how you keep your DCI informed . . .’
‘Briefings in the morning?’
‘Okay, let’s say nine ‘till half-past. That all right with you, Sergeant?’
‘Whatever suits you and the Inspector, Sir.’
Beckett stood up. ‘I think we’re done. I’ll see you both at nine tomorrow morning for an update.’ He shook Parish’s hand.
Sergeant Madison saluted.
Once they were outside the headquarters building Madison said, ‘You do know I was telling a white lie, Sir?’
‘About what?’
‘About the Air Commodore’s one liners. I don’t want you thinking that I think he’s funny – he’s not. He wouldn’t know a funny one liner if it bit him on the arse.’
Parish smiled. ‘I see, so you’re complicit in his delusion. Why doesn’t somebody tell him his one liners suck?’
‘He’s the Air Commodore. If he wants to think he’s funny, then he has every right to do so. But you could tell him if you wanted to – as a service to humanity.’
‘I’ve known you all of five minutes, Sergeant, and you’re already trying to get me into trouble.’
‘Me, Sir?’
‘Have you got a first name?’
‘Anne-Marie, but everyone calls me Maddie.’
‘Okay, Maddie. You can call me, Jed.’
‘Now who’s trying to get whom into trouble. I’ll carry on calling you Sir, Sir.’
‘Up to you.’
‘What happened to your partner?’
‘She fell down the steps of the plane and tore the ligaments in her ankle.’
‘So she’s lying by the pool catching up with her suntan while you do all the work?’
‘That’s about the size of it. Not only that, but I’m married to her mother, have a baby son called Jack and a Schnauzer called Digby.’
‘Sounds bad, Sir.’
‘You ever been married?’
‘Do I look like the marrying kind?’
‘What do they look like?’
‘A bit like you, Sir.’
‘I see. So, what’s the plan?’
‘You know I’m more than your driver?’
‘Meaning?’
‘I want to be a full partner.’
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way, Maddie.’
‘Good, because as the Air Commodore said, I’m a pretty good investigator.’
‘Ever investigated a murder?’
‘No, this will be my first.’
They reached an open-top Land Rover.
‘Oh I forgot. We need a whiteboard at the hotel.’
‘A whiteboard?’
‘To use as an incident board. It helps . . .’
‘I know what an incident board is. Okay, climb in. We’ll drive round to the Training Wing, they should have a spare whiteboard or two.’
Outside the Training Wing he said, ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
‘Why, don’t you think I can manage?’
‘I don’t get involved in those type of conversations, Maddie’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Sir.’
‘We’re staying at the Four Seasons Hotel in Limassol. The person to ask for is Constable Mary Richards – she’s got a plaster on her left ankle and is walking around using crutches. Also, ask them in the Training Wing to send Bluetack, sticky tape and an assortment of non-permanent marker pens.’
She returned five minutes later. ‘All sorted. Lieutenant Ludwig said he’ll take the whiteboard personally. Any excuse to get out of work. He’ll probably give himself the rest of the day off and take his swimming shorts and towel with him.’
‘Is he allowed to do that?’
‘He’s a Captain, Sir. Rank has its privileges. Should we go?’
‘Lead on, Sergeant.’
***
Sir Peter Palmer picked up the phone receiver. ‘Yes?’
‘We missed them.’
Every time he thought he had Group 323 they had eluded him. One day, he was going to make them pay for it.
‘And no indication where they are now?’
‘None.’
‘Return to base and await further instructions.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
As soon as he put the phone down it jangled again. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s Nana.’
‘Hello
, my dear.’
‘WikiUK now have our files. They’ve notified the world on their website that they’ll begin publishing the files tomorrow.’
‘Aren’t they somewhere in Iceland?’ He knew there was an international warrant out for the arrest of Cally Flinders – the head of WikiUK, which the Icelandic government were choosing to ignore.
‘Yes.’
‘And the time difference?’
‘They’re an hour behind us.’
‘Which gives us approximately twenty-five hours to correct the situation.’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you locate them?’
‘I’ll need a couple of hours.’
‘During which time I will activate a team of operatives. Good work, Nana.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’
‘You’ll notify me as soon as you have their location?’
‘Of course.’
He pressed the switch-hook until he obtained a dialling tone again and called the Black Ops team leader – Brad Fulgham.
‘Sir?’
‘You’re going to Iceland.’
‘I’ll get my thermals out.’
‘Good idea. WikiUK have some of our files – I’d like them back.’
‘I understand, Sir.’
‘Once you have the files, and any existing copies of those files, leave nothing standing. And make sure there are no witnesses.’
‘Of course.’
‘I should have a location for you once you’re in the air.’
‘I’ll wait to hear from you.’
He put the phone back in its cradle. Should he make the Prime Minister aware of what was happening? No – plausible deniability. If it all went awry then the PM needed to say he didn’t know and Sir Peter would be sacrificed on the altar of democracy and a free world.
He’d sent people into friendly countries before – sometimes it couldn’t be avoided. If the Icelandic government were happy to harbour international terrorists, then he had no qualms about sending his people there to deal with them.
WikiUK had been a thorn in the side of the UK government for a number of years, but now they had become a lot more dangerous by threatening national security. Publishing files that could get people killed was unacceptable, and he would not tolerate it. Everyone would suspect the UK of taking illegal action, but suspecting and proving were two very different words without the glue in the middle to link them together.
***
Jerry was in two minds whether to continue with her journey or not, but in the end she decided that even if she went back to Charlie’s burnt-out office in Woodford Green there would be nothing she could do.
Tomorrow, she’d have to get on with the business of looking for a new place – something bigger – and they’d call it Baxter & Kowalski, or maybe Kowalski & Baxter.
Well, at least she’d sent off the Form N19B for Tug Muleford’s restraining order. That at least had been dealt with.
It took her twenty minutes to reach Temple station and if she didn’t put a spurt on she was going to be late for her first lecture.
Thankfully, today she’d worn jeans and a pair of flats. Her grazed knees precluded wearing a skirt and tights because the first question anyone would ask would be: “Oh dear! How did you cut your knees?” She could tell them the truth, and then there would be a long drawn-out conversation, which she could well do without. Or, she could lie, but they’d believe she was the victim of domestic abuse or some such. Yes, best to simply cover her knees up. That way, nobody was poking about in her business – especially that nosy bitch Julie Wilkinson, who couldn’t keep her curiosity to herself.
Professor Jason Lewis-Payntor had just welcomed everybody to the first lecture in the Criminal Law Module as she slid into a seat.
‘Mrs Kowalski! Glad you could join us. I’m so pleased that you’ve taken time out of your busy schedule to grace us with your presence.’
She stood up. ‘Who do you think you are, Professor? I don’t want to make an enemy of you right at the start of the first lecture, but you don’t get to talk to me like that. I suggest you concentrate on your lecture, stop acting like a bully and a misogynist, and leave me alone.’
Before he closed his mouth, a whole host of illusory flies, beetles and cockroaches had crawled inside to eat away at his manly ego. The way he looked at her before he carried on, she guessed she wasn’t going to be the teacher’s pet anytime soon.
Nobody was going to trample over her anymore. They were dealing with the new Jerry Kowalski now, so they’d better get themselves tin helmets, flak jackets and a nuclear bunker to hide in if they said or did something she didn’t like – enough was enough.
Julie Wilkinson shuffled along the bench. ‘That was great, Jerry.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Although, I don’t think you’ve won him over with your rebuttal.’
Jerry smiled. ‘No.’
She rummaged in her bag for her pen and notebook. Julie was prattling on about something ridiculous and she was trying to listen to what the lecturer was saying. ‘Will you shut up?’ she said to her.
Julie gave her another look to kill.
So what. She’d made it quite clear she didn’t want to be friends with her, but it seemed to have no effect. Every time she looked up, Julie was there wanting to talk, to sit with her, to discuss the lecture, to swap notes . . . any excuse to be with her. Hadn’t she even told her outright in plain English that she didn’t want to be her friend? What more could she do? Julie was like some weird sticky substance you couldn’t seem to get off your shoe.
Thankfully, the Professor was still on the introduction to the module – the aim, the objectives and the assessment – a two and half hour exam at the end. She’d passed the last one, but only just. Trying to be a wife, mother, Charlie’s . . . what was she? His office manager? His partner? His protégé? And then she was also chief cook and bottle washer. She was spread a bit thin. No wonder she’d just scraped a pass on the last exam. It wasn’t really going according to plan. Maybe she needed to make more time for her studies, but how?
‘You need copies of,’ the professor said and wrote the details of two books on the whiteboard:
Quick, O., and Wells, C., Reconstructing Criminal Law, Fourth Edition (Cambridge, 2010);
Herring, J., Criminal Law: Text, Cases and Materials, OUP (2008)
She made a note of them.
‘Both books are available for purchase in the university shop. Right, I think we’ll begin. Today we are discussing the theory behind criminal law. Can anyone hazard a guess?’
Jerry put her hand up like everyone else. She’d done her preliminary reading, but he picked a younger, prettier woman near the front to answer.
‘Aren’t there a number of theories, Professor?’
‘Yes there are, Miss Price.’
He pointed to a man this time. ‘Mr Rogers?’
‘Utilitarianism.’
‘Which is?’
‘Laws which look to the future and try to prevent future harm?’
‘Very good. I see some of you have put the hours in. What about you, Mrs Kowalski?’
Here we go, she thought. Now he’s going to use every opportunity to try and embarrass me and knock me off my perch. Well, the bastard will have a long wait. ‘What about me, Professor?’
‘How does utilitarianism manifest itself in a democratic society?’
‘Through laws that are based on general or specific deterrence, retribution and incapacitation.’
‘And the final theory someone?’
‘Retribution?’ Julie shouted out.
‘Yes, very good Miss Wilkinson.’
He didn’t say “very good” to her, but that was to be expected. Whether she liked it or not, she’d turned him into an enemy. She made notes as he discussed each of the theories in turn, but her mind wasn’t really focussed on the lecture – she was worried about Charlie.
***
The flat-roofed GeneTest building stood in its
own grounds at Stone Hill Business Park, Chingford. It was a white panelled building with blacked-out windows and expanded over a considerable area.
Stick parked up and they walked into the reception.
‘Good morning,’ the pretty receptionist with “Polly” etched on her name badge said. ‘How can I help?’ A microphone from a telephone headset protruded from beneath her black corkscrew hair and curled round the left side of her face.
He held his warrant card up for her to see. ‘DS Gilbert and DC Koll. We’d like to speak to the person in charge concerning Dr Samantha Morrow.’
‘Yes, of course, Sir. Just one moment.’ She pressed a button on the switchboard.
‘I have two police officers in reception concerning Dr Sam . . . Yes, Sir.’ She ended the call and said, ‘Mr Higgins will be with you shortly.’
‘Is he a Mister or a Doctor?’
‘Oh yes, he’s a Doctor. He has a million letters after his name. Sometimes, I think the only person who isn’t a doctor in this place is me.’
He smiled. ‘Yes, but you have your beauty instead.’
Her face reddened. ‘Thank you, Sir.’
A small man with grey hair, shaped matching beard and glasses appeared. He held out his hand towards Stick and then Koll. ‘Bill Higgins. Please, come through to my office.’
The door into a long corridor needed a pin code. He keyed in a number, and hid which buttons he pressed with his other hand. They followed him along a spotless corridor. Stick could hear the air conditioning in the ceiling recycling air and removing any dust particles.
‘Please excuse the security,’ Higgins said as they walked along the corridor. ‘I shouldn’t have to explain that we carry out a lot of sensitive work here.’
‘Such as?’ Stick queried.
‘Testing for inherited and acquired genetic disorders such as familial breast cancer and cystic fibrosis; prenatal diagnosis of chromosomal abnormalities; tests for familial cancers; paternity tests; ancestry tests; immigration DNA tests as proof of biological relationship; and a more recent addition to our array of services – meat testing.’
