by Mari Hannah
‘Rewind, Hilary.’ Ryan sat down. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
‘Jack didn’t get bail. I’ve had Professional Standards here. It sounds crazy, but they say his mates have helped him escape. The prison van never made it to Durham. It was attacked by armed men.’ Her voice broke and she began to cry again. ‘He’s gone, Ryan. Jack’s gone. He hasn’t been sprung … he’s been abducted. Oh God …’ She choked back her tears. ‘The police are looking for you.’
‘Well, they’re not looking very hard. I’m on the other end of this mobile. You found me, didn’t you?’ Ryan placed the phone in the crook of his neck and picked up a pen. ‘Where did this happen? Was anyone hurt?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hilary sobbed. ‘They wouldn’t tell me.’
‘I’ll be right over.’
‘No! That’s not a good idea. They’ve stationed a car outside.’
‘So? I’m not in hiding—’
‘You’re not at work either. Your office said you were at headquarters. Complaints say they can prove your car hasn’t been there all day. They’re viewing that as suspicious. They think you’re involved. They practically accused me of tipping you off as to the time Jack left court. Be careful. They’re gunning for you.’
As Hilary rang off, Caroline’s head went down. When she looked up, she was sheet-white. This was bad – very bad – they both knew it. For once in his life, Ryan was pleased she couldn’t see his face.
3
Six p.m. In the two and a half hours since the hijack, investigators had pulled together an extensive file. A countdown of events leading up to Jack Fenwick’s flight from custody: witness statements, times, actions, several diagrams of the scene – all necessary for an incident that would dominate the coming weeks. Detective Superintendent Eloise O’Neil had questioned his wife, telling her to make contact if she heard from her husband. Unlikely. And where the hell was DS Matthew Ryan? He was to have been her next port of call. All attempts to find him had failed.
Far from happy, O’Neil scanned his picture. Ryan had dark hair, brown eyes and enough grey-flecked designer stubble to hide a small scar on his chin from being thrown over the handlebars of a pushbike when he was a kid. He was a dead ringer for Henry Cavill. Unmarried, she noticed. Probably best. Few relationships survived the rigors of a job that demanded your devotion 24/7. She detected hidden depths, as if he had a story to tell.
She bloody hoped so.
Throwing the photograph on her desk, she pulled out her phone and scanned her emails. As usual, her superiors were screaming for a result, but piecing together an exact sequence of events was proving difficult. One vital witness – the driver of a Renault Clio abandoned at the scene – hadn’t yet been traced. According to prison escorts, corroborated by one other witness, the guy had fled the scene and hadn’t reappeared after the hijacking.
O’Neil’s internal phone rang.
Frustrated, she picked up the handset. ‘I said I wasn’t to be disturbed.’
‘It’s the front desk, guv. DS Ryan is in the building.’
‘Where exactly?’
‘Fenwick’s office.’
‘Tell him to wait there.’
Ryan stood up as they entered. Eloise O’Neil was Northumbria’s most revered Professional Standards officer. With a reputation for impartiality, she’d clocked up years of experience, an impressive track record. Unlike some in her department – namely the male by her side, DS John Maguire – she could punch above her weight. These two were not the same officers who’d interviewed Ryan when the case broke.
These were the big guns.
‘Guv.’ Ryan extended his hand, receiving a firm shake from her, a glare from Maguire. ‘How can I help you?’
‘It’s good to meet you … finally.’ It was a dig. O’Neil was looking directly at him. Judging him. In her hand was his personnel file, a white label on the front displaying his name, rank and number. She nodded to her cohort, a man Ryan couldn’t stand. ‘DS Maguire has been trying to find you.’
‘Did he not think to call me on this?’ Ryan held up his phone.
O’Neil glanced at her DS, a question in her eyes. He shrugged, his colour rising. The Detective Super let it go. Cautioning Ryan, she asked if he required representation from a solicitor or a Police Federation official. He declined, telling her he’d done nothing to warrant one. She asked him to think again. When his answer was the same, she got stuck in, levelling her gaze at him, her expression inscrutable. ‘On Saturday the twenty-first of September you were interviewed in connection with firearms found in DI Fenwick’s house. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, guv.’
‘Well, take a seat, I have a few more questions for you.’
Ryan got a whiff of expensive scent as she moved closer. It was hot in Jack’s office. Before sitting down, he loosened his collar and left his desk to open the window. He didn’t care that his action might be misconstrued as nervousness on his part. Still, he was glad she couldn’t see the trickle of sweat running down his spine.
‘Have you heard the news?’ O’Neil took the seat opposite.
‘About the hijack? Yeah, I heard.’
‘Who told you?’
‘My DI’s wife.’
‘Oh?’ Maguire interrupted. ‘Thick as thieves, are you?’
‘We’re friends. She’s frantic with worry and wanted my help. By your presence here, I’d say she has good reason. I told her I was as much in the dark as she was.’
Placing a couple of stills on Ryan’s desk, O’Neil turned them round to face him. The images showed the hijack taking place. He looked at them for a few moments, memorizing the time and date at the bottom of both, information that might come in handy later. The incident had been over in less than two minutes.
‘Now tell us DI Fenwick isn’t guilty,’ O’Neil said pointedly.
Ryan eyeballed her. ‘He’s not.’
The Detective Superintendent shook her head. Clearly, she didn’t share his faith. She pointed at the photographs, her voice calm, measured. ‘He was getting into the car with them – as cool as you like – I have the whole thing on videotape and eyewitnesses to back it up. You need to understand, Ryan. He wasn’t running or being dragged. He was walking of his own free will.’
‘You’ve had the benefit of the footage, guv. I haven’t.’
‘Then you’ll have to take my word for it.’
‘What can I say? No offence, but I think you’re wrong.’
Ryan’s eyes flitted from one officer to the other. They were a perfect fit for the job they were doing. In contrast to O’Neil’s fair-mindedness, Maguire was a nasty piece of work. The good cop/bad cop routine was alive and well in Northumbria force. No one liked bent coppers, least of all Ryan, but Maguire enjoyed his job too much. Often boasted about how many colleagues he’d locked up. It wasn’t as if he had anything to be proud of either. Despite his overinflated ego, his arrest–conviction ratio was crap. He represented everything Ryan hated in a policeman.
All the gear – no idea.
‘Fenwick clearly had assistance,’ Maguire said. ‘A coconspirator, if you will. We’re here to investigate where it might have come from.’
Ryan locked eyes with him. ‘‘Fraid I can’t help you.’
‘Where have you been all afternoon?’ O’Neil asked.
‘I had a personal errand to run—’
‘I bet you did.’ Maguire pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘Care to enlighten us?’
‘I was visiting my sister.’
‘The blind one?’
Ignoring the moron like he wasn’t in the room, Ryan directed his answers to the senior officer. ‘I’m sure DS Maguire is well aware that I only have one sister, guv. Our mother died recently. My twin has taken it very badly. I popped up to Alnwick to make sure she was OK.’
O’Neil bristled, not on account of him, if Ryan was any judge. Maguire’s heavy-handedness had angered her. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she said. ‘But you can appreciate the posit
ion I’m in. Because you were not where you should’ve been at the time someone was helping Fenwick escape, you’re on dodgy ground. Whether you like it or not, I have to assume that your twin would say anything to save your skin. It’s a weak alibi. In fact, it’s no alibi.’
‘Fair comment,’ Ryan said. ‘It doesn’t change my answer.’
‘Can anyone verify what you say?’ Maguire again.
‘My sister can.’
Dissatisfied with his answer, his attitude or both, O’Neil attacked. ‘We’re investigating a criminal conspiracy involving illegal firearms, DS Ryan. You may be involved. You may not. Either way, we need your full cooperation.’ She opened his file, telling him how impressed she was with his record. ‘You’ve not put a foot wrong, have you? Apart from a couple of unsubstantiated complaints from members of the public – I’ve picked up one or two myself over the years – you’ve been a force poster boy.’ She looked up. ‘You’re acting DI in your boss’s absence. You stand to lose a lot if you’re lying to me.’
‘I’m not, guv. And I have nothing to add to the statement I already gave.’
‘You deny any wrongdoing?’
‘Yes. So, unless you have proof that I aided an escape, I have work to do.’ Ryan climbed down. It would be unwise to put her back up. ‘Listen, I don’t want to be a pain in the arse. I realize yours is a difficult job but, throughout his interrogation, Jack Fenwick protested his innocence. Ever considered the notion that he might be telling the truth?’
‘Not for a millisecond,’ Maguire answered for her. ‘We have forensic evidence.’
‘A plant maybe?’
Maguire wasn’t finished. ‘Maybe we’ll catch you out too.’
‘That would be difficult, given that I’m squeaky clean.’
‘Don’t smart-mouth me.’
‘Or what?’
‘Oi, you two, cut it out!’ O’Neil’s eyes flashed a warning to them both, eventually coming to rest on Ryan. ‘I’ll ask you again, Detective. Do you know anything about those firearms, Fenwick’s involvement in concealing them, or who might be responsible for helping him escape from custody?’
‘No, guv. My DI plays by the rulebook.’
‘Shame you don’t.’ Maguire couldn’t help himself.
Ryan repeated that he didn’t believe Jack Fenwick had done anything wrong. ‘As far as I’m concerned, he’s as straight as they come.’
Maguire gestured for him to stand.
Ryan got to his feet. Instinctively, he knew what was coming. Maguire had waited a long time for this moment. He’d want to make the most of it, not let it pass without a fanfare. More worried about the safety of his friend and colleague than the trouble he was in personally, Ryan wondered if he might convince O’Neil to take him on. Allow him to aid her investigation. With his knowledge of Jack and his close contacts, he might be of use to her. Putting it to her in as few words as he could, he told her she’d have more success working with him than without.
‘Believe me,’ he said. ‘I want to get to the bottom of this and find my DI as much as you do.’
‘No chance,’ Maguire said. ‘In fact, you know what? You weren’t where you should’ve been this afternoon. You’d buggered off for some spurious personal reason. Now you’ll have to face the consequences. You’re suspended.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘I just gave you the grounds.’ Victorious, Maguire began to count on his fingers. ‘Neglect of duty; inappropriate use of a police vehicle—’
‘You forgot theft of diesel,’ Ryan mimicked his tone.
‘You’re quite the comedian.’ Maguire was almost smirking. ‘We’ll get round to that too … eventually.’
Ryan stared him down. ‘That’s the best you can do? It’s bollocks, Maguire. You know it and so do I. I covered the expenses. Check the logbook.’
‘I will, except it might take a while. Right now I’m busy.’
‘What is this? Payback for being passed over for Special Branch, or something more personal perhaps?’ Ryan enjoyed taking him down a peg. ‘I won’t spell it out with your guv’nor here. That wouldn’t be fair. Unless … yeah, that must be it: you’re afraid I might get to the truth before you do. I guarantee it.’
‘No.’ O’Neil was all over him. ‘You’ll do no such thing. From this point on you are suspended. You will not involve yourself in this matter in any way. Failure to comply will only land you in more bother. If you have anything to say to me, say it. We don’t need you on duty in order to follow it up. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Crystal,’ Ryan said.
Maguire stuck his hand out. ‘Warrant card.’
Ryan wanted to punch his lights out. His eyes found the floor instead. He took a moment to regain his composure. The outcome of the interview was even worse than he’d imagined. When he raised his head, O’Neil looked decidedly uncomfortable. Unlike the goon sitting beside her, she took no pleasure in seeing an officer of his calibre hand over his most prized possession. Taking his warrant card from his breast pocket, he presented, or rather threw it down. It landed with a solid thump on the desk. Skidding over the polished surface, it tipped over the edge into Maguire’s lap, wiping the sneer off his face.
‘Close the door on your way out,’ he said.
Grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, Ryan told O’Neil that he had every confidence in her ability, and Maguire that he was making a big mistake. With his head held high, he walked out, leaving his office door wide open in his wake. Without access to the station, he was screwed.
4
Grace Ellis turned on the TV. She was bored. She’d been bored since 20 December 2010, the day she retired. A succession of displacement activities, some paid, some voluntary, had kept her interest for a while, the pick of which was Foreign Office courier, a job that had taken her all over the world. Even with the perks of diplomatic status, within a year the novelty had worn off, so exhausting was the travelling. To get over it, she’d spent the past month chilling with a mate in Sainte-Maxime, a few kilometres from St Tropez, enjoying glorious weather, fine wine and brilliant company, with a view to moving there. But she’d returned to the UK, unsettled, with little appetite for life in the slow lane.
Emigration simply didn’t appeal.
Although undeniably at a loose end, she was nowhere near ready to sit on her arse and get fat. With no firm plans for her evening, beyond shoving on the washing machine and necking a bottle of red, she flicked through the TV channels until she happened upon the theme tune for the local news. On camera, the ITV News presenter, Ian Payne, gave the headlines, listing them in order of priority.
Thinking she’d misheard, Grace turned up the volume.
The news anchor’s expression darkened as he returned to the day’s top story. ‘And in news just in, a disgraced Northumbria detective has escaped from a prison van in a daring hijack in broad daylight. The police officer was arrested and suspended from duty in September following allegations of possession of firearms without a licence and misconduct in public office. We’re going live to the scene, where our correspondent Helen Ford has the details. Helen, what can you tell us?’
On screen, the image switched to an outside location where Ford was standing by in the dark. ‘The former Special Branch officer was en route from Newcastle Crown Court to Durham prison following an unsuccessful bail hearing. The security van was hijacked on the main road you see behind me, an audacious attack that has shocked this rural community.’ She gestured over her shoulder, telling viewers that the road had been cordoned off and would remain so for some time. ‘Prior to his arrest, DI Jack Fenwick was a decorated policeman, trusted by his superiors and assigned to highly sensitive cases, including counter terrorism. As recently as three years ago he’d been tasked with monitoring subversive organizations operating within our force area.’
Lighter fuel ignited with a mini-explosion. Grace pulled the flame towards her, lit a cigarette and threw the pack on the coffee table, eyes glued to the TV as the
report cut back to the studio, the focus of her attention an image of Jack Fenwick that had just uploaded on the left-hand side of the screen. His face seemed to get larger the more she looked at it.
‘Do we know what the detective had been working on?’ Payne asked.
Ford glanced at her notes. ‘We have no specific details on that. According to his solicitor, Paul Godfrey, the officer has always protested his innocence and denied all charges. Today’s events, however, seem to support the contention that he may be involved with some pretty heavy people.’
Bullshit.
Adrenalin rushed through Grace’s veins, transporting her back in time. Her living room walls seemed to expand and disappear until all that was left was her armchair and the TV. In her mind, she’d just pulled on a uniform. Whatever had happened during her holiday in France, she was certain of one thing: wherever ITV were getting their information, it was wrong. Working with Jack in the Serious Incident Squad had been a blast, every shift exciting, every tour of duty better than the one before. He was her protégé, his promotion to Special Branch after she’d left the force well deserved. A more decent guy you couldn’t wish to meet. The press had a duty to report the facts, of course, but they had no right to imply any more than that, or sully a fine officer’s reputation.
Taking another hit of nicotine, Grace checked her watch. Six-forty. She picked up the phone, dialling a number she’d committed to memory years ago. It was answered on the fourth ring, no greeting given, just a patient and weighty silence from the man on the other end.
Same ol’ Newman.
‘Fancy coming out to play?’ she asked. ‘I need your help, Frank.’
‘Hello, Grace.’
‘Listen to this.’ Putting the phone on speaker, she turned up the TV.
In the studio, Payne continued, ‘What do we know of the hijackers?’
Ford reappeared on screen. ‘I’ve spoken to one witness who confirms that there were two men, both armed. They drove away at high speed in a silver Audi – registration NB59 HFT. Police are keen to trace the getaway vehicle as well as the detective who fled the scene …’
