Shard at Bay

by Philip McCutchan

  “Detachment X?”

  Harcourt-Fanning nodded. “There were charred pamphlets and a plastic notice up a tree. There’s a huge crater —”

  “Casualties?” Hedge mopped at his face. This wasn’t going to look too good: him in Ireland, and the thing blew behind his back. The target had very likely been Southampton, he supposed. God damn Shard … oh, but of course he’d disappeared, obviously by force majeure. Or was it? That bribery …

  “No human casualties at all,” Harcourt-Fanning said. “New Forest ponies, that’s all.”

  “All,” Hedge said bitterly. The world was a madhouse these days, full of lunatics, do-gooders, fringe groups … at any moment now he would have the animal rights people howling for blood.

  6

  When Hedge reached Whitehall the Head of Security was back, in obvious pain from the shingles.

  “You should be in bed,” Hedge said.

  “I will be again, soon. This explosion —”

  “I can cope, Head.”

  “Yes. I wanted to be here in your absence, that’s all. Did you have any success?”

  Hedge made his report in full. The Head of Security said nothing had come through from the Garda while Hedge had been on his way back. Presumably neither Phelan nor Garrity had said anything more. Hedge said, “The Garda seemed convinced it was a case of renewed bombings — they had very thin evidence, I must say, but now it seems they may have been right. The New Forest, you see.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Southampton, d’you suppose?”

  “Or Portsmouth —”

  “Navy again! That doesn’t support the theory.”

  “Not entirely, no. But a bombing’s a bombing, my dear Hedge, and Portsmouth’s only a theory. Besides, I don’t suggest positively the dockyard.” The Head of Security’s face was drawn and pale, and the mouth seemed pulled down at one corner. “I’ve always had the feeling that terrorism wouldn’t stick wholly to London. London’s London — big, large concentration of population, yes. Prestigious. But there’s a damn sight more people in the rest of the country, and they all feel safe because they’re not in London. Attack the provinces and you get a hell of a lot more widespread alarm, right?”

  Hedge nodded. The Head went off at a tangent: he didn’t appear to be concentrating fully. “That Arab, at Faslane. No identification, I gather?”

  “None, up to the time I left for Dublin, Head.”

  “H’m. Arabs and Irish, an explosive mixture. And there’s Shard — a nasty business, that. There’s a toothcomb in progress —”

  “I initiated it,” Hedge said, sounding unctuous.

  “But a nil result still.”

  *

  Word went to all police authorities in England, Scotland and Wales: a new bombing campaign against mainland Britain appeared likely and there was to be full alertness without in any way alarming the general public. The press was not to be informed and if they dug anything up it was to be denied. At the same time the usual exhortations, such as around Christmas time, could be made once again: report anything suspicious such as unattended packages or furtive men with Irish accents. The public was used to that by now; it wouldn’t arouse any particular alarm. Nor, Hedge guessed, would it really arouse many reports or any extra alertness on the part of the populace. The British always minded their own business.

  At 12.20 that morning, the morning of Hedge’s return from Dublin, a Korean girl named Ho Suzy was arrested at a branch of Barclays Bank in Eastleigh near Southampton. A cashier had been right on the ball when Ho Suzy paid a cheque for ten thousand pounds into the account of one S. Shard, for crediting his account at his own branch. The police had been informed immediately; Ho Suzy, soft-eyed, pretty, and pregnant, had been detained in the bank meanwhile and was duly arrested. On orders from Whitehall, she was not questioned locally but taken in a police car under escort to Scotland Yard. At this stage the Foreign Office did not want to be seen to be involved; but it was Hedge who did the questioning, with a senior police officer present.

  Ho Suzy was fully co-operative even if what she said to Hedge was lies. The father of her unborn child, she said, was Simon Shard, who had disowned her when she became pregnant. It was because of this that she had agreed to act as paying agent for certain persons known to her as having given bribes to Shard in the past. She understood the risk involved but she wanted Shard shown up.

  “You realise you’ll be charged?” Hedge asked.

  “For bribery? It was not me.”

  “I don’t say it was. With being an accessory. That’s serious in its own right.” Hedge got up from his hard chair and paced the room, frowning. She was certainly attractive … could Shard have been suborned by her charms? Of course, that didn’t prove he’d taken bribes, but senior police officers attached to the Foreign Office didn’t fornicate. He went back to Ho Suzy and stared down at her, his face full like a moon. “Of course, if you’ll tell me who these people are, the ones who offered bribes … a word might well be put in.”

  “I do not know their names.”

  “Oh, nonsense, of course you do, since you took orders from them! Come now, Miss Ho.”

  “No, I shall not say. I do not know. It was done through … what is it you say, intermediaries?”

  “Yes, intermediaries. Then tell me who they were.”

  Ho Suzy smiled, taunting him with her looks, her sexiness. “More intermediaries,” she said. “You wish to know their names?”

  “Yes,” Hedge said shortly.

  “Robin Hood. Arthur Scargill. Bernard Shaw.”

  You couldn’t give women the rough treatment. Especially off-white pregnant ones. The anti-racialists would make a meal of him. Hedge tried and tried but in the end had to admit defeat. Ho Suzy just sat there and smiled placidly, hugging her very pregnant stomach. The baby … was it Shard’s? Perish the thought! Such a scandal — but no, Hedge simply wouldn’t believe it. It was all part of the frame. He left the room with the police officer and went along to talk to Hesseltine, much as he disliked having to seek advice from the man. Hesseltine, however, had a solution to offer.

  “The charge per se needn’t necessarily be regarded as particularly important —”

  “Goodness gracious —”

  Hesseltine held up a hand. “I said needn’t necessarily. That allows scope. And once she’s charged … I suggest she be released on police bail.”

  “H’m.” Hedge pondered, cheeks wobbling. “Unusual, in a case like this, surely?”

  “It’s results that count, Hedge.”

  “Ah! Put her under observation, you mean?”

  “I can arrange that easily enough.”

  “Yes, a good idea,” Hedge said. There was no knowing where Ho Suzy might lead them. Hedge didn’t believe she had much intelligence, it was even possible she believed in Robin Hood, Arthur Scargill and Bernard Shaw. She might cast all caution to the winds and lead them right to the source. Hesseltine wasn’t so sanguine but said he had some very good men and she would find it hard to shake them off. Hedge went back to the Foreign Office, hoping he would soon know who Ho Suzy’s paymasters were. The big boys, presumably. Ho Suzy had taken a risk and no-one sacrificed their liberty for nothing.

  *

  There had happened to be a reporter from a national newspaper in the Eastleigh branch of Barclays at the time Ho Suzy had been detained and then arrested. This reporter, in Eastleigh not on duty but to visit a sick aunt, had heard the mention of the name Shard, a name known to him in his professional crime-reporting capacity. He had been much intrigued by all the circumstances and had rung his newspaper as soon as possible. Certain enquiries were then set in train: moles abounded everywhere. It was not difficult to unearth a few pointers and the newspaper managed to dig up Detective Chief Superintendent Shard’s extra directory home address. A reporter was despatched in the hopes of talking to Shard’s wife. Nothing had leaked about the bribery aspect, but the reporter who had been in the Eastleigh bank had immediately jumped
to that conclusion, perhaps naturally. Senior police officers juxtaposed with sexy eastern women depositing money had that sort of ring about it. Another matter that had not so far leaked was the fact of Shard’s disappearance; so the newspapermen didn’t have that on their minds at all. However, the time when Shard was likely to be at work was obviously the best time to catch his wife on her own, and there was always a better story to be got out of a wife, the more so this time since Shard would definitely not be talking to the press.

  The reporter arrived in Shard’s road just after Beth had driven off in the car, having this time made sure the garage was locked. In the small garden there was an elderly woman pottering about. The reporter approached.

  “Excuse me,” he said over the gate.

  “Yes, what is it, who are you?”

  “I was wondering if Mr Shard was in.”

  “No, he isn’t. Nor Mrs Shard. What did you want, Mr — er —?”

  “Press.” The reporter named his newspaper.

  “Well, I’ve nothing to say to the press, thank you very much.” Mrs Micklem sniffed, felt inclined to say, especially that rag. “What cheek, sending you round here!”

  It was an indiscreet remark: the reporter was a very experienced man with an excellent nose for news, and he believed the elderly woman, probably a mother or mother-in-law, was in possession of some since her reaction had been one of annoyance rather than of surprise. Why? What was it she thought he had been sent round for? The Eastleigh man had mentioned possible bribery, and where there was smoke there was fire more often than not.

  Mrs Micklem asked, “How did you get my son-in-law’s address?”

  Mother-in-law established. She had a tiresome look about her, a complainer, a nagger. The reporter took a chance and told more-or-less the truth. “The Foreign Office gave it, Mrs —?”

  “Micklem.”

  “I wonder if I might come inside for a moment, Mrs Micklem?” He took another chance. “We might be able to … to help. The press often does, and my newspaper likes to, well, see that people aren’t —”

  “I know all about your paper,” Mrs Micklem said with asperity, “but you may as well come in rather than talk out here in front of the neighbours.” She swung away and marched up the short path to the front door and went in ahead of the reporter, who had scented victory and a good story. Mrs Micklem showed him into the sitting-room and stood with her back to the empty grate, staring at her visitor. “Well? What is it you want to talk about?”

  The reporter, still guessing as to the facts, still in the total dark really except for the report from Eastleigh, plunged in at the deep end. He said, with a touch of phoney embarrassment, “There’s a girl. She could be Chinese. Ho Suzy.”

  *

  Next day a newspaper was brought to Shard and laid on the floor of the room, opened where he was intended to read. There was a headline: MOTHER-IN-LAW TELLS ALL. The shock was immense: the old bitch. What the hell had she thought she was up to?

  She was certain her son-in-law was innocent, that he would have an explanation when he returned, that he had obviously been framed. Scotland Yard had taken the money away — the report made much of the fact that actual cash had been found on the premises. Credit where credit was due, however: Mrs Micklem seemed genuinely to believe in Shard’s innocence and resentful of the distress caused to Beth. But it was different when it came to the girl. Shard ground his teeth. Who in God’s name was Ho Suzy?

  Mrs Micklem had been scandalised. Shard could appreciate her feelings well enough. But that was where the fiction began, the reporter’s imagination in the interest of a good selling story. The muck-raking — muck-inventing rather. The moment Shard was free he would start an action for libel. Mrs Micklem, the report stated, had been distraught, the betrayed mother-in-law. If it was true that a girl, obviously pregnant, had paid money into his account, then perhaps her son-in-law wasn’t innocent after all. It all hung together. Loose women and bribes. And he was away an awful lot … Mrs Micklem, the paper said, had broken down in tears. And a query had been left in the air: where was Detective Chief Superintendent Shard? Out of the country already?

  *

  Hedge was beside himself. Immediately on his early arrival at the Foreign Office next morning, keenly anticipating a report from the Yard that Ho Suzy had been successfully tailed, he was sent for by the Head of Security, who was looking worse than ever. The newspaper was flourished at Hedge, who paled as he read.

  “Scandalous! A writ must be issued at once, Head.”

  “Not so fast, not so fast. First, an internal investigation to establish who made the leak. We must have our facts at our fingertips —”

  “Of course. I shall see to that immediately.”

  “Then the newspaper editor. This is serious, Hedge — I need hardly say. We’re going to be thoroughly discredited throughout the country. And that Korean woman!”

  “I agree entirely. But she may yet help.”

  “She hasn’t yet.” The Head of Security had been put in the picture about the surveillance. He didn’t seem hopeful. Perhaps it was too much to hope for. But it was all they’d got. The Head flourished the newspaper once again, his face a threat. “This. Get on with it — priority. And this Mrs. Micklem. I’m going to talk to her, and Shard’s wife. Have them brought, Hedge — send a car.”

  Hedge went back down to his office, shaking like a leaf. The Permanent Under-Secretary wasn’t in yet but soon would be. Hedge tried hard to think of him as kind old Pippin, but failed.

  Within minutes of Hedge reaching his office, Miss Fleece and the whole security section was in uproar.

  Moles, such hard things to find.

  *

  The bearded Irishman had come back soon after Shard had taken in the newspaper report. He said, “Well now. I suppose you’re getting there, Mr Shard.”

  “Where?”

  “The reason for the bribery.”

  “The alleged bribery. I —”

  “The money’s there. That’s a fact. And now this.” The man bent and lifted the newspaper. “The whole country will know now,” he said, unconsciously paraphrasing Hedge’s boss. “At a time when things are about to happen, both the Foreign Office and Scotland Yard have a nasty scandal on their hands, a very nasty one. That will pre-occupy them and will not be good for their efficiency or for the British people, as you will see. Such things never help, Mr Shard. And there is something that is not in the papers, but soon will be.”

  “What’s that?”

  The man smiled. “Your child, Mr Shard.” He tapped the paper. “It says Ho Suzy is pregnant — and it is a fact that she is. Soon there will be headlines naming you as the —”

  “Get out,” Shard said through his teeth.

  “Of course. So you can think about it by yourself. I shall be back later. Enjoy your morning. It’s a nice day, plenty of sunshine.”

  He left Shard alone. Shard’s mind went in circles. Somewhere a bird was singing, close to the window, a sound of peace and tranquillity. Shard was just aware of it; lucky bird! There was no peace in his mind and no tranquillity. His first thought was for Beth. What would she be thinking, what would she be feeling, what would Mrs Micklem be saying to her — and she to Mrs Micklem come to that. Beth was a loyal wife. The atmosphere would be fraught. Mrs Micklem might take off for home. On the other hand, Hedge was going to see her as lethal to what was left of security and might insist on her remaining where Beth could put some sort of clamp on her tongue. And now this business of paternity. When that broke, his name would be mud, and he was currently in no position to wash it off.

  If he’d been able to get his hands on Mrs Micklem he’d have been done for homicide.

  Down south in Whitehall Hedge was also feeling homicidal. He had made Mrs Micklem blench: he could be tough. Mrs Micklem, he said, was a threat to national security and he had a good mind to have her arrested and charged — he didn’t say what with and she didn’t ask. Beth sat silent, glad enough to see her mother
being bollocked. She had already said similar things herself, but Mrs Micklem had simply said, “Hoity-toity,” and tried to justify herself. With Hedge, it was different. Hedge, in the sanctity and dignity of the Foreign Office, was impressive to the lay person. Mrs Micklem had begun to weep. When that started Hedge coughed, rang through to Miss Fleece, and had Mrs Micklem removed from his office for a cup of strong tea. He retained Beth.

  “Now, Mrs Shard. Naturally, you’re anxious about your husband — as to his whereabouts, perhaps.”

  “Yes,” Beth said, fists clenched in her lap.

  “So are we, Mrs Shard, so are we.”

  “You mean —”

  “I mean only this: we don’t know where he is.” Hedge stared into her face, into haunted eyes. “This is for your ears only, certainly not for your mother’s, you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “We believe he’s in the hands of — undesirable persons. No doubt you’ll have read in the papers of a sick passenger removed at Carlisle from —”

  “Yes! Was that Simon, Mr Hedge?”

  He nodded. “We believe so — no proof, but a description … yes, we think so. We don’t, as I said, know where he is. But soon the press is going to get hold of it. They’ll add the alleged bribery to the sick passenger and they’ll put two and two together. And I’ve no idea what they’ll make of it … except that certain sections may well make innuendos. I expect you know what I mean.”

  “But surely, if they connect Simon with that passenger, it’ll be obvious he didn’t leave the train of his own accord? That he wasn’t disappearing because — because he’d taken bribes?”

  “That,” Hedge said pontifically, “is of course how we see it. I’m only warning you. You know what the press can be like, some of it. I don’t say they will, mind you. But you’ve got to be ready for dirt and you’ve got to take it in silence.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  A finger was wagged at her. “Not a word — not one word — to any newspaperman. I shall arrange for you to be given protection, a plain clothes man who will be very discreet but may be called upon if you’re under pressure. And for heaven’s sake, my dear girl, keep your mother under control.”