Persons of Interest

by Peter Grainger

She was recalling that moment a day or two ago when she realized that Smith had worked it out.

  ‘If you’d asked me to write a shortlist, it would have been a very short list and this name would have been on it.’

  She very rarely swore as far as he knew, but when she did so, she did it properly. It was anger, of course, and bitter disappointment, but also in Reeve’s case the fact that she had not encountered this before in her career. At this moment, she probably did not know quite what to do.

  Smith said, ‘In the absence of a DCI, I expect that you’ll be telling Superintendent Allen first that the person concerned has now been outed by a Kings Lake villain – professional etiquette and all that. He wouldn’t want to hear this from Harry – sorry, I mean Superintendent Alexander.’

  If he had added “Ma’am” on the end of that, she would have been tempted to slap him but his judgement in these things was close to perfect. She just accepted it and said, ‘Yes, I know. And it’s the bloody weekend again. It’s Sunday, for God’s sake!’

  ‘Yes, well, it used to be mainly for God’s sake but not so much these days. Did you know that in Italian it’s called ‘Domenica’ which literally means ‘the day of God’? A young lady I once knew told me that... But the more pressing matter is how the hell is Superintendent Allen ever going to get his handicap into single figures?’

  ‘It won’t wait until tomorrow, will it?’

  ‘No.’

  She swore some more, and Smith wished that he had pressed record on his phone again three minutes ago. Murray backed in to the room carrying two mugs, and she straightened herself up, decision made.

  ‘OK, I’m going to ring him. He’s going to ask me where this has come from, this confirmation of what was already being looked at, and then I’m going to say your name. Can you imagine what he’s going to say then, on a Sunday morning?’

  Smith considered various possibilities before he offered up, ‘Praise the Lord?’

  She was at the door before he said, ‘Ma’am? Just one thing I meant to ask earlier. There haven’t been any arrests since yesterday, have there? Not just the odd one that we haven’t been told about yet?’

  ‘No, nothing. Unless they’re not telling me either...’

  She meant it ironically but Smith didn’t take it that way, she could see that. She closed the door and walked along the corridor to her office, steeling herself for the call she had to make and cursing Smith and his conspiracy theories; it wasn’t possible, was it, that there had been such an arrest?

  Smith took a swig of the coffee, which was predictably awful but necessary, and thought, so what did trigger that phone call to Stuart Routh? It was niggling him now, and that meant that the answer might be important – he just could not see how yet. Across the desk, Murray was texting – no need to ask to whom but he did anyway.

  ‘How is madam?’

  ‘Yes, good. She thinks you and I cooked this up so that I could get out of the house.’

  ‘They always overestimate us. And number three?’

  ‘Her sister says it’s going to come earlier than they reckon. Maggie’s getting so big she says she’ll have to have it at home because they won’t get her out of the door.’

  ‘Ah well, the important things, eh? If there’s ever anything I can do – you know that, John.’

  Murray nodded – it had all been said and sincerely meant before.

  Smith went through it all again step by step, and he still could not explain it. The only arrest had been that of Katherine Diver – Murray, Waters, Wilson and Dunn knew about it, as did the custody sergeant and her brother, whom she had called when she was given the opportunity late last night. How could that have set in motion a train of events that led to the threats to Stuart Routh? One bad apple in the barrel and you imagine everything tastes off but he was certain of the integrity of the four officers he had just named to himself, even if one of them would happily string him up from the yardarm if they were ever stuck on a ship together. Had Jason Diver called someone else? Was it conceivable that he, or even both of them, were in some way involved and playing an extraordinarily complex game? Unlikely – but he still could not explain it.

  Charlie Hills came in through the door that Reeve had just used to leave the room. He carried in front of him at arm’s length a small piece of paper, as if it had radioactive contamination, but the explanation, no doubt, was that like Smith he was having certain difficulties with his focal lengths.

  Smith said, ‘I was only saying this morning that you must have retired without telling anyone, thus saving the cost of a round down at The Cock and Bull. Is that a prescription you want me to get filled for you?’

  There seemed to be something of a minor epidemic of swearing this morning. When the latest bout was over, Smith sat looking up at Charlie with mild surprise and an expression of wounded innocence that had taken half a lifetime to perfect.

  Charlie said, ‘Good morning, John. DC, have you told everyone who answers the phone in this place to direct all your messages to me?’

  ‘No, absolutely not.’

  ‘Then why?’, waving the piece of paper about in front of a non-existent crowd as if he had just stepped off a plane from Munich a long time ago.

  ‘They must be using their initiative. Let’s have a look, then.’

  Charlie didn’t hand it over straight away.

  ‘It’s from one of your patients. I hope you haven’t set up that back-street clinic again, not after what happened last time. Here.’

  ‘Thank you, Charles. If your taking this message helps to break the case, I’ll make sure you get the medal for gallantry.’

  Charlie and Murray began a conversation about the usual subject and Smith read the message – “10.25. One of your patients says his molar is playing up again. To my amazement, he did not leave a name. Ring back on this number...” A mobile this time. Presumably, if he rang it he would be speaking to Warder Ward but he considered all eventualities as he walked out into the corridor and dialled.

  Someone had pressed accept but not spoken; in the background Smith could hear music, probably a radio playing, a small dog barking and then a female voice telling the dog to be quiet. The noise gradually faded and Smith realized that whoever had the phone in his hand was walking away to somewhere quieter, just as he had walked out of the office.

  ‘Sergeant Smith?’

  ‘Mr Ward. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to take your call earlier on. Would you like my mobile number, just in case?’

  The voice was clipped and brisk, old-fashioned NCO style, just as before.

  ‘No thank you, sergeant – the less I have about me, the better. And I don’t anticipate that I’ll be calling you again.’

  ‘OK, that’s fine. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Is your phone on loudspeaker?’

  ‘No. I’ve only had it a few months – I wouldn’t know how to do that yet. This is just between the two of us and it won’t go any further.’

  Ward told him then that he would not normally get involved in a matter like this but that their mutual friend had been particularly concerned to pass on one more piece of information to the policeman who had visited him the previous Tuesday. Smith could read between those lines: Ward knew well enough what this was about and he wanted the killer or killers of Lionel Everett caught as much as the next man – perhaps more if he had known him personally during his time in Littlemoor.

  Smith said, ‘I appreciate everything you’ve already done, sir,’ avoiding saying the name – no names, no pack-drill.

  Ward said, ‘As I say, I don’t get involved and I don’t know what’s going on but I said I would pass on another message, which is this: our friend says that Elvis will soon be leaving the building. I hope that means something to you – it doesn’t mean anything to me.’

  Smith could picture the wily old bird, probably standing in his garden in the Sunday morning sunshine, watching the dog, wife in the kitchen preparing the Sunday dinner, a drive out into the country
side afterwards if the grandchildren were not coming over today.

  ‘Thank you, sir. It does mean something to me, and I will be passing that on as a matter of urgency to someone who will deal with it. Naturally, no names will be mentioned when I do that,’ and then Ward was gone, after the briefest of goodbyes.

  Back in the office, he found only Murray – Charlie must have used the other door to leave after drinking what had been left of Smith’s coffee. There would be consequences for that but first he had to contact Nigel Hinton. He decided against phoning, having spoiled enough Sunday mornings already, and so he passed the message on in an email, and then sent a text saying Read your emails. Hinton would, this very morning if Smith had judged him correctly, and he would also understand the message that Billy Slater had sent them – “Get a move on!”

  ‘John, we’ll get a bite to eat before we take over from Mike and Wilson. I told them two o’clock, so we’ll have time. How do you fancy driving out to the Tuck Stop? I’ll bet Floyd does a mean Sunday special. You haven’t gone vegetarian or anything, have you?’

  Murray was already on his feet.

  ‘No. Why do you say that?’

  ‘Pregnancy. I’ve heard it does funny things to people. Anyway, let’s get going. If I’ve got to spend the afternoon staring at a stationary blue car, I want a decent lunch beforehand. Did you bring your wallet?’

  Chapter Twenty

  They talked about Maggie and maternity leave, about retirement and about Waters at the beginning of it all, about RSCU and Reeve, about the Routh boys and Lake – not only Lake Central and its changes but also about Kings Lake itself, how it had grown and altered during the years that they had both spent there. Approaching the turn off from the by-pass and back into the town, Smith thought how enjoyable it had been – he thought about how often people asked him over for a meal and how rarely he actually went despite his promises. That ought to change as well; the next time he was invited, he would go, even if it was Superintendent Allen.

  It was 1.40 pm, and they were within ten minutes of Harper Gardens, when Smith’s mobile began to ring. He twisted to one side, eyes on the road, and managed to extricate it from his trouser pocket – then he handed it to Murray and said, ‘Answer it, unless there’s a picture of a mysterious, exotic-looking woman.’

  Murray flipped the case open and said, ‘It’s Mike Dunn. Hello Mike, it’s John – what’s up?’

  Murray listened for a few seconds and then said, ‘Hold on, Mike. No point me trying to repeat all that. I’ll put this on speaker and you can say that bit again. There you go.’

  Smith glanced down at his phone which now rested horizontally on the fingertips of Murray’s enormous hand, wondering why it was that everyone knew more about his phone than he did – and then he began to listen to Dunn’s voice because it had some sense of urgency.

  ‘OK. Not a sign of anything until a few minutes ago when one of them came out to have a smoke – we reckon it must be number fifteen, Harper Gardens. This is the younger one of the pair that we saw outside The Wrestlers, one of the Albanians, so we’ve definitely found them. He was using his phone as well, maybe texting, can’t say. He had a good look about but we don’t think he clocked us – John’s agreeing. Anyway, five minutes ago, the other one sticks his head out, says something and then they’re both back inside and sharpish.’

  Smith had picked up speed, but the traffic lights ahead were on amber by the time he went through them.

  ‘Go on, Mike, I can tell there’s more.’

  ‘There is. Then an Audi draws up, John’s got the details, and out gets Duncan Bridges. He goes straight in and shuts the door, he looked like someone in a hurry.’

  They could hear voices in the background then, before Dunn came back on with, ‘John says how far away are you?’

  ‘Five or six minutes.’

  ‘Right, well, we now have two cars. I don’t suppose it’s very likely to happen but if they both – what?’ They could hear Wilson again, and muffled curses.

  ‘DC? It has happened. They’re all outside. Bridges is doing the talking, giving the orders, I’d say. It’s odds on they’ll all be gone before you get here. Yep, they’re heading for the cars now. What do we do?’

  In the pause they could hear Wilson, still swearing. Murray was watching the road ahead, silent and stone-faced, and Smith was driving as fast he dare – three minutes at most now.

  He said, ‘Give me ten seconds – start the car, Mike.’

  Were Tina and Cameron in the house in Harper Gardens? If so, they might be dead in which case nothing could be done for them except to pursue their killers; or they might be alive and well, in which case the best thing was get someone else to them as quickly as was sensible whilst pursuing their abductors. The third scenario was the most difficult – they are seriously injured, possibly dying, in which case pursuing their potential murderers would be the wrong decision. What are the odds it’s number three? Small – but are they small enough to be worth the risk?

  He pushed the car into third gear, the final streets being narrow and shorter. His instincts were telling him that the hostages were not in the house – but why? Bridges had shown himself to be cautious; if he had given such orders as to harm the pair of them, he would not, surely, have gone there himself, would not have stood outside the house while he did so. The Albanian had been outside smoking and texting; not the behaviour of someone with prisoners inside... But these were thin, very thin.

  ‘DC, they’re getting into the cars.’

  Smith turned to Murray.

  ‘John, get the station on your own phone. A car, any car to the Harper Gardens address pronto. Tell them it’s a potential life or death, not to bugger about making inquiries. Warn them, suspects in the area, probably armed. Mike, follow the Albanian boys – I take it they’re in the Lexus?’

  ‘Yes, and they’re pulling away now.’

  ‘Sod it. We’re going to be a minute too late. Keep this line open, give me a running commentary. Who’s driving?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Right – hand the phone to Wilson. Keep your distance, don’t panic them. Wilson?’

  John Wilson had given him the name of Astra Maitland in the Lily House investigation, and Smith had thanked him for that, but since then the two sergeants had kept their distance operationally and in every other sense. Now there was a silence while the phone was handed over.

  ‘Smith?’

  ‘If we see the Audi in the next minute or so, we’ll take it. If we don’t, we’ll follow you, so keep us up-to-date with where you’re heading. There should be some uniform at Harper Gardens within a few minutes, assuming they’re not all at Sunday afternoon barbecues – we’ll review when we’ve heard from them. OK with that?’

  ‘We’ll do it your way.’

  A ringing endorsement, just the sort he had anticipated.

  Smith said, ‘There’s a chance that if they haven’t left the boy and girl behind, that’s where they’re going now. These guys aren’t the child-minding sort, someone else will be doing that. Another thought – on your own phone, give the Audi details to control, tell them to APB it, do not stop but report any sightings to Lake Central control as a matter of urgency. Got that?’

  ‘Doing it now. We’re heading out north towards the by-pass.’

  When Smith and Murray arrived at Harper Gardens it was deserted, not a soul walking about or sitting on the little square of amenity grass. Smith drove in and stopped outside number fifteen, engine running, giving his instincts time to review the situation – then he looked at Murray with a question.

  Murray said, ‘Hold on,’ and pressed his own mobile closer to his ear. Then, ‘There’s a car with two uniforms coming from Central, already on its way, eta a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Good. Two minutes is neither here nor there...’

  It was time for the next decision. Wilson was handy enough and mean enough but he didn’t know about Mike Dunn in a situation like this; the two Albanians wer
e, by the look of it, professional hard-men, and probably carrying knives, that’s what the RSCU intelligence had said. Not the best odds... He pulled away and spoke into the phone that Murray was still holding up between them. He hadn’t charged it for a couple of days – did this speaker thing use more battery?

  ‘Wilson? We’re coming after you. If they’re going any distance, we should catch up. What sort of speed are they doing?’

  ‘On the limits, they don’t want to get stopped, I’d say. We’re going over the by-pass and turning right onto it, so we’re heading east. Need me to repeat any of that?’

  ‘No – just keep back and look unimportant. We’ll tell you when we’ve got you in sight. We’ll get onto Central and tell them what we need.’

  It was suddenly hot in the car, and Smith wound down his side window – Murray did the same. They were already in the suburbs or what passed for them in Kings Lake, the northern housing estates, the designs of the houses changing with each successive wave of development out towards the bypass that had been built to keep the traffic away from the people.

  ‘Right, John. Get back onto them. Presumably someone has realised that something is going on by now. Tell them to make sure that an RSCU officer has been informed. We’re pursuing armed suspects at a distance. We need back-up available at short notice but keeping a very low profile – remind them that we have a potential hostage situation. Can you think of anything else?’

  Murray shook his head and dialled. Smith listened as he drove quickly – if they got pursued it might be quite helpful – and heard Murray repeat exactly what he had just said to whoever was in the control room at Central. It went more smoothly than usual, and Smith guessed that at least one of the morning’s occupants of the incident room was now by the desk in control.

  Murray told his contact to hold on and turned to Smith.

  ‘They are saying, do we want a helicopter?’

  It was the first time anyone had ever asked him that.

  ‘Yes, why not? The black and yellow one, please.’

  He made the right onto the by-pass. The thought that they could not be more than a minute or two behind was interrupted by Wilson.