Present Danger

by Stella Rimington

‘He was shot dead by the army twenty years ago trying to ambush a patrol.’

  The car pulled up outside a small red brick house, one of a long terrace with the front doors up one stone step from the pavement. As soon as Liz knocked, the door of the next-door house opened. Their arrival in the street had clearly been observed by the grey-haired woman who now stood at her open door, hands on hips. Her neatly ironed apron, the sparkling net curtains at her window and the polished door step all spoke of someone who spent much of her time at home.

  ‘There’s no one in. Never is at this time of day. She picks a kiddy up from school and the lad’ll be at work. I saw him going off this morning – usual time. There hasn’t been an accident, has there? Can I give her a message?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘No thank you, madam. It’s just a routine enquiry,’ replied Kearne.

  ‘I’ll tell her you called.’

  I bet you will, thought Liz as she climbed back into the car.

  ‘What now?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘Just a minute.’ Liz got out her mobile phone. ‘I’ll see if I can find out where Mrs Ryan might be.’

  Judith answered immediately. ‘Yes. I’ve got Daisy. We’re in the tea shop. I don’t think Mrs Ryan suspected anything. She said she’d go back to the flat and tidy up. I didn’t tell her not to as I didn’t want to alert her to anything.’

  ‘OK. Stay out for the moment and I’ll ring you when I’ve talked to her.’

  At her house, Liz let them in with her key and knocked on Judith’s door. They waited tensely, but no one answered. Kearne looked at her questioningly; she was listening to something. Then, motioning him to follow, she climbed the single flight of stairs to her own flat. Through the half-open front door came the sound of a vacuum cleaner. Liz paused; pushing by her, Kearne went in first.

  Mrs Ryan was in the sitting room with her back to them, vacuuming the carpet. Liz called out, but her voice was lost in the din. Looking around, she saw where the plug was pushed into the socket and switched it off. The vacuum gave a strangled moan, then went silent. Mrs Ryan looked round and jumped when she saw Liz and Kearne standing in the doorway.

  Putting a hand on her breast, she said, ‘Oh, you’ve frightened me, miss. I wasn’t expecting anyone.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you either,’ said Liz. ‘I thought you’d be at Judith’s today with Daisy.’

  ‘I should’ve been. But Mrs Spratt picked Daisy up herself. I knew you’d been away so I thought your place could stand a bit of sprucing up. I hope you don’t mind, miss,’ she added.

  ‘That’s very thoughtful, Mrs Ryan. Thank you. It’s lucky you’re here because I wanted to speak to you. This is Detective Inspector Kearne.’ Beside her, Kearne nodded.

  ‘Why don’t we all sit down?’ said Liz, motioning Kearne to take one of the chairs and gesturing at the sofa for Mrs Ryan. She crossed the room to close the front door and as she passed the open doorway into her small study she saw that the stack of files and papers on her desk still lay where she’d left them, but the top file was open – and Liz knew she had left it closed. She’d never brought secret documents home – so Mrs Ryan’s snooping, if that was what it was, would have been rewarded with nothing more interesting than her electricity bill.

  Back in the sitting room Kearne and Mrs Ryan were sitting awkwardly across from each other, neither speaking. Liz pulled up a chair next to Kearne, and smiled reassuringly at Mrs Ryan. But the woman avoided her gaze. She never looks me in the eye, Liz thought, alert now in the light of her new information about Mrs Ryan’s background. And that’s why I’ve never looked very closely at her.

  She inspected the woman carefully and realised that Mrs Ryan was younger than she’d believed. It was as if she wore the trappings of old age – the grey tousled hair, the slight stoop, the thin-framed glasses, the dowdy clothes – as a cover.

  ‘Is there something wrong, miss?’ asked Mrs Ryan quietly. ‘Inspector Kearne and I have a few questions to ask you.’ ‘Questions?’ asked Mrs Ryan. ‘What about? Is there something wrong with my work?’

  ‘Not at all. It’s about your son Danny.’

  ‘Has something happened to him? Is he all right?’ Her concern was real.

  ‘I don’t know, Mrs Ryan. I was hoping you could tell us. We wanted to talk to Danny but we can’t find him. We thought you might be able to help.’

  ‘Isn’t he at work at the garage?’

  ‘He left there earlier. He said he was going home ill. But he’s not at home.’

  ‘How do you know?’ For the first time she looked straight at Liz, her voice rising in agitation. ‘Have you been round there causing a fuss? What’s Danny supposed to have done?’ she demanded, looking at the policeman.

  ‘That’s something we’re wanting to talk to him about. Where do you think we could find your son?’ Keane asked sharply.

  ‘If he’s not at home, then I haven’t the faintest idea. He’s old enough to look after himself.’

  ‘I must warn you, Mrs Ryan, that we have reason to believe that your son may have been involved in a serious offence. If you fail to provide information, you may be charged with obstructing the police and it will be worse for him.’

  ‘Worse?’ Suddenly Mrs Ryan’s voice was rising. She stared at Liz, her eyes filled with hatred. ‘How could it be worse? You murdered my husband. Are you saying you’re planning to murder my boy now?’

  Liz said, ‘Calm down, Mrs Ryan. This has got nothing to do with your husband. Listen, this entire country’s having to learn how to live with its past and move on. You should be helping Danny accept that, not harking back to the past.’

  Mrs Ryan sat straight up in her chair, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘Don’t you lecture me about the past – or the future. This is our country and you’ve got no right here. Your lot haven’t given up a thing, have you? Peace agreement my backside,’ she said bitterly, all pretence of gentility gone now. ‘You bastards are still here, aren’t you? You think you’ve won, don’t you? But just wait and you’ll see what we think of your peace process.’

  Her voice was shrill, and Liz raised a hand in a calming gesture. But Mrs Ryan was having none of it. There was no deference now, just loathing, a hatred cast so deep it chilled Liz. ‘Don’t you shush me!’ the woman shouted. ‘Oh, it’s all sweetness and light on the surface – you and your friend, with her spoiled little brat. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Ryan,’ and ‘Have a good day, Mrs Ryan.’ You’d think this was bloody Africa and me a native working for a pair of colonial women.’

  She took off her glasses with one hand, and when she leaned forward and glared at Liz her eyes were a raging blue. ‘Women who couldn’t keep a man, though at least Mrs Spratt’s got a child. Look at you: you haven’t even got a husband, much less a family. How dare you lecture me? You haven’t got a clue what it’s like raising a child on your own, without a penny to spare, and the man you loved gone because a soldier decided it was his turn to die. How am I supposed to move on from that, Miss Carlyle?’

  Inspector Kearne had heard enough. ‘That’ll do, Annie. I think you’d better come with me down to the station. I should warn you—’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she broke in. ‘You can do what you like to me. You’ll never catch my son. He’s a clever boy.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said the inspector, putting his hand on her arm and manoeuvring her towards the door. When they’d gone, Liz sat down heavily on the sofa. The sudden transformation of Mrs Ryan from deferential cleaning lady to hate-filled harridan had left her thoroughly shaken.

  42

  ‘Peggy, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.’ Liz was looking affectionately at her younger colleague’s earnest face. Peggy Kinsolving had arrived the previous evening and was now installed at a small table in the corner of Judith’s office.

  Judith wasn’t expected in that day; she was having to look after Daisy. Judith had been mortified by her failure to check out Mrs Ryan with the police. Her only explanation was that she had
been so focused on getting things sorted out quickly for Daisy, so that she could start work without delay, that when the references from the agency had all been fine, she had simply forgotten to do a separate police check. But yesterday she had had a call from Inspector Kearne’s wife, Bridget. Bridget was a qualified childminder and – something that had seemed to Judith a gift from the gods – she was looking for a job. They were to meet that afternoon.

  Peggy had been in the office since seven-thirty and had already mastered the main facts of the case. Her table was strewn with papers and Liz could see that she had drawn up a list of questions. The two women had worked closely together for the last few years, both in counter terrorism and in counter espionage, ever since Peggy had transferred from MI6 after working with Liz on the case of an IRA mole in the intelligence services. They were perfect foils for each other: Liz the driving, quick-thinking, inspirational case officer, who to Peggy’s admiring eye always seemed to know what to do. Peggy, with her clever, enquiring mind; the scholarly lover of detail who took nothing at face value, and who, having recently acquired a boyfriend, had begun also to acquire the self-confidence of knowing she was attractive.

  When Liz had finished bringing Peggy up to date with the previous day’s events she said again, ‘It’s such a relief to have you here, Peggy. Not that Judith’s not great. But this business with Mrs Ryan has really knocked her for six. And to tell you the truth, I’m beginning to wonder if Michael Binding’s having some kind of a breakdown. He’s never been the easiest person to work with, but he’s behaving really strangely. You never know what sort of a mood he’ll be in. He swings from seeming almost eerily calm one minute to getting in a rage in the next. Then yesterday when he heard about Mrs Ryan, he was crying. I just don’t think he can take the strain.’

  ‘Why don’t you ring up Charles and tell him what’s going on? He sent you his best, and I’m sure he’d be happy to help – he’d want to know if it’s that bad with Binding. And he’d tell DG, without making a big fuss.’

  Liz flushed. She had avoided asking Peggy about Charles, though part of her had wanted to. But the truth was that she didn’t want to think about him. She had to admit to herself that she’d been very hurt by her mother’s implication that Charles and Alison were going around as a couple. Since Joanne’s funeral Charles had said hardly a word to her, let alone told her that his affections were now engaged elsewhere. Liz had decided that she would move on, knowing that for now she had nowhere to move on to. Never mind. She certainly wasn’t going to run to Charles for help in the present circumstances.

  ‘Oh there you are, Liz,’ said Binding, poking his head round the door and nodding in Peggy’s direction to acknowledge her arrival. ‘Any news? It’s been three days now and you’ve turned up precisely nothing.’

  Liz and Peggy both stared at him, startled by the outburst. He looked flustered, sweating slightly, his tie loosened and hanging crookedly from his unbuttoned collar. He went on, ‘I’m not happy about this at all; you don’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’ve got to brief DG and the minister this afternoon. Is there anything for me to tell them, other than that you and Judith have been employing a known IRA sympathiser in your households?’ His voice rose almost to a shout as he finished speaking.

  Liz resisted the urge to shout back at him and said soothingly, as if speaking to a child, ‘A few things are beginning to fall into place now, Michael. Why don’t we go into my office where we can all sit down and I’ll tell you what I make of what we now know?’

  ‘I don’t have time for a lot of chat, Liz,’ said Binding, but she ushered him firmly along the corridor to her office and sat him down. Peggy followed them in, and Binding gradually fell silent as Liz began to set out the case.

  ‘Firstly, we know from Brown Fox that Seamus Piggott’s intention was to kill policemen and an MI5 officer, and the FBI have given us the background on why he wants to do that. It can’t be coincidence that there’s been movement on both fronts – Jimmy Fergus got shot and Dave’s …’ she paused, trying to find words that encompassed both their worst fears and their uncertainty ‘… Dave’s been taken.’

  ‘Secondly, we know from Brown Fox and A4 surveillance that Milraud is involved with Piggott, probably supplying weapons. We know from CCTV and the woman in the shop that Dave made it to see Milraud, though from the absence of any CCTV coverage of him leaving – and the fact that his car was still in the shopping centre car park – I think we can assume that Dave disappeared from the shop. Because of that, I’d say we can assume Milraud was involved with his disappearance, and I don’t think it’s too much to argue that Piggott was as well. Now we can’t find Piggott or Milraud – or Dave,’ she added. ‘We don’t know whether Piggott and Milraud are together but it’s a fair assumption that one of them has Dave.’

  ‘What do the French say?’

  ‘They’re looking for Milraud. But they don’t see him as a kidnapper.’

  Binding snorted while Liz went on. ‘Then there’s Jimmy Fergus – at least we’ve got a lead there. A man named Sean McCarthy has been linked to the van that Fergus’s attackers were driving, and possibly to the gun that was used to shoot Fergus. The problem is, we don’t have anything to tie McCarthy to Piggott, and he hasn’t been found yet either.’

  When Binding sighed, Liz held her hand up. ‘I haven’t finished. McCarthy had a sidekick. The man who drove the van. Jimmy Fergus’s description of him resembles Danny Ryan, the son of Mrs Ryan, Daisy Spratt’s minder and our cleaning lady, whom you’ve heard about. He’s disappeared.’

  ‘And what has Mrs Ryan said about it all?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s not talking. And the police haven’t enough on her to hold her. So she’s back home.’

  Liz went on. ‘Danny Ryan works at the Davis Hire agency at the airport. He was in charge the night Milraud’s car was returned, and apparently he signed it off. Finally, it was he who handed me the keys of the car I drove when I first arrived. The one that had the blowout. It’d been in their car park for several hours before I collected it.’

  ‘Oh God, Liz, are you still going on about that? They might have killed Dave by now, and you’re still obsessed with a flat tyre.’

  This was the last straw; Liz found it impossible to restrain herself any longer. ‘How dare you?’ she said angrily, rising from her desk, her voice loud and clear. ‘My close friend and colleague has disappeared, and you have the nerve to imply I’m being paranoid? Do you actually think I care more about a flat tyre as you call it than what has happened to Dave?’ She looked at him incredulously. Peggy shifted in her seat but said nothing.

  Binding stood up and just for a moment Liz thought he was going to explode. She tensed, but then, to her relief, his fists slowly unclenched, and his whole frame seemed to relax. He sat down again and slumped in his chair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, barely audibly. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest –’

  ‘Forget it,’ said Liz dismissively. ‘I have already.’

  Binding nodded – not graciously, but it was still a nod. ‘What should we do next?’

  Liz sat thinking for a moment, gnawing gently at the side of one of her fingers. ‘It seems to me that everything points to Piggott. Think about it: Dave’s informant Brown Fox – O’Reilly – worked for Piggott; Milraud was doing business with Piggott; and I’d bet my bottom dollar that when we track down Danny Ryan we find there’s a connection there as well.’

  ‘But you can’t find Piggott. Or any of these other people.’

  ‘A4 has Piggott’s flat in the city under twenty-four-hour surveillance. And the police have been to his house in County Down.’

  ‘Where is that?’ asked Peggy.

  ‘It’s about thirty miles south of here. On the coast.’

  ‘On the coast?’ repeated Peggy.

  ‘That’s right. Why?’

  ‘Well,’ said Peggy hesitantly. ‘It’s just that if all these people have gone to ground, maybe they’re not still here. And they haven’t got a natural plac
e to hide, have they? I mean, an old IRA hand like this Brown Fox guy must have all sorts of old ‘comrades’ – here or in the Republic – who would put him up almost indefinitely. But not Piggott, and certainly not Milraud. I wonder if they’ve left Ireland altogether.’

  ‘We’ve checked all the obvious possibilities,’ Binding said. ‘Airports, trains to the Republic.’

  Peggy was nodding vigorously. ‘Yes. But what if they’ve gone out by sea? In a boat. Has Piggott got a boat? That would have been the easiest way out.’

  ‘I should have thought of that,’ said Liz. ‘I think we need to have another look at the County Down house.’

  ‘I was just about to suggest that,’ said Binding importantly. The entente cordiale had been too good to last. But if they’d gone by sea, thought Liz, what had they done with Dave Armstrong? She could only pray they had taken him with them. The alternative was too awful to imagine.

  43

  The rain was streaming down the jacket of the policeman who opened the National Trust gate and waved their car through. The gatehouse seemed to have become a temporary police post. If there had been visitors staying there they must have been sent packing. Further up the drive two patrol cars were parked and as their car swung round to park on the gravel apron in front of Piggott’s house, a sergeant came out to greet them.

  ‘We’re inside, sir,’ he said to Binding, as they moved quickly, heads down against the driving rain, to the front door. ‘There’s no one here except the housekeeper.’

  ‘Have you got a warrant?’

  ‘Yes. We’re going room by room now, but so far nothing unusual has shown up. I’ve got two men searching the grounds as well. The housekeeper claims she hasn’t seen Piggott for over a week. She’s rather an old lady, sir.’

  Liz was surprised by how almost unnaturally clean the inside of the house was. On the ground floor a large sitting room ran the full length of the front of the building, its tall, oblong windows giving a dramatic vista of the shore. The sea was rough, filling the bay with white-crested waves, which came crashing onto the beach of the little cove.