by Mari Hannah
‘He was hit by a car.’
‘What?’ The revelation stunned him.
‘Whether it was accidental or deliberate is under investigation …’ O’Neil paused, giving him time to digest information she knew he didn’t have. As unpleasant as it was, he took it better than she expected. ‘There are, however, some things that give me cause for concern—’
‘Like what?’ he asked. ‘He was innocent!’
She thumbed over her shoulder. ‘Could we sit down?’
Ryan brushed past her, moving through the hallway and into the living room. As always it was tidy, apart from an empty bottle of Scotch that lay abandoned on the tartan sofa, along with his leather jacket, his wallet sticking out of the side pocket. Picking it up so she could sit down, he wondered if she’d looked at it while he was sleeping. If she had she’d have seen his old warrant card, his passport into a covert murder room.
Maybe Grace’s idea wasn’t as crazy as he’d first thought.
O’Neil sat down where the jacket had been, her eyes drawn first to the sea view through the recessed window, then across the room to the patio door that overlooked his outside space, a sheltered yard where, in other circumstances and a different season, he might have invited her to sit and share a bottle of wine. Her focus switched to the wood-burning stove laid ready in the hearth.
‘You cold?’ he asked. ‘I’ll light the fire.’
‘No, it’s cosy.’
He could see she loved the room. Bizarrely, that pleased him. He’d taken such care to make it his own. He adored it: the sea-grass rug, an old chest for a coffee table, especially the sea urchin footrest Caroline had bought him as a housewarming gift – and books – lots and lots of reading material, his secret passion. This cottage was his sanctuary, the only place he felt at peace.
Roz hated everything about it.
‘You were saying,’ Ryan asked.
O’Neil drew in a breath. ‘Jack wasn’t wearing anything on his feet when they found him.’
‘And that’s not suspicious?’
‘It needs investigating, yes.’ She almost looked embarrassed. ‘Initially I thought he’d lost his shoes as a result of the impact. But we’ve combed the scene and didn’t find any. The search is ongoing. His shoes are still missing. He wasn’t wearing any socks either and his feet were filthy. It would appear he was barefoot when struck.’
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the wind howling in the chimney, echoing the waves crashing on to the beach a few hundred metres away.
‘Why are you finding it so difficult to accept that Jack was held against his will?’ Ryan asked.
‘I’m not ruling it out—’
‘For Christ’s sake, listen to yourself! If he’d gone dark he’d have been living the high life in the Mediterranean, wouldn’t he? Running about the countryside unshod is hardly the action of someone in cahoots with gunrunners, is it?’
‘No, it isn’t …’
There was more. Ryan sensed it.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘The only information I have at the moment is that he was run over.’
‘Mown down, more like.’
O’Neil didn’t react.
‘Eyewitnesses?’ he asked.
A nod. ‘One female travelling in the opposite direction … she called it in—’
‘And?’
‘Evidently, the driver had no chance to take avoiding action. Jack ran into the middle of the road and was struck. The car that hit him stopped, so our witness didn’t. She was very shaken up. We’re trying to trace other witnesses. It’s possible that Jack was trying to flag a vehicle down.’
‘Because he needed help.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Maybe.’
Ryan searched her face. ‘What is it you’re not telling me?’
O’Neil hesitated. ‘The collision vehicle didn’t hang around.’
‘You’re not suggesting he was the victim of a hit-and-run?’
‘The post-mortem will tell us more.’
‘His death is being treated as murder, though? Please tell me it is.’
‘Not at this stage.’
Ryan felt his temper rise. He didn’t even try keeping it in check. ‘Why not wash over the whole bloody business? Maybe Jack just came into some bad luck while he was escaping the police. Hey, anything’s possible. No murder equals no expense to HQ, physical or financial. That’ll be a win-win – a tick in the target box. Give yourself a pat on the back, why don’t you?’
‘Ryan, you’re not helping.’
‘No, you’re the one not helping.’ Ryan paused, white noise filling his head. ‘Jack was out of it when he reached the hospital. He flatlined before Hilary got a chance to speak to him … did he say anything to paramedics at the scene?’
O’Neil recoiled as if he’d hit her.
‘What?’ he barked.
A shadow crossed her face. ‘He asked for you.’
Ryan stood up and turned his back on her. He was fighting for breath, only this time for real. Resisting the urge to bawl in front of her made his sore throat worse. He stood stock-still, memories of Jack occupying all conscious thought.
Back in control, he swung round to face her. ‘Mind telling me where it happened?’
She gave him a pointed look. ‘You know how this works.’
He stared her down until she answered.
‘Remote,’ she said. ‘Durham – I can’t say where.’ He was about to interrupt but she got in first. ‘Before you bite my head off, I want you to know that the scene is being forensically examined as we speak.’ She glanced at the wooden floor, avoiding his gaze. When she raised her head, he knew she had something to say he wouldn’t want to hear – but first the preamble. ‘I know you don’t think so, but I’ve been straight with you all along—’
‘Your point being?’
‘Before I came here, I had a word with the duty SIO on the Murder Investigation Team. Although no murder enquiry has been launched yet, I’m treating Jack’s death as suspicious. I managed to persuade them to link it with my abduction and uploaded the case on to HOLMES.’ That was a big deal. The acronym referred to the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, a computerized tool for dealing with only the most serious incidents. ‘You know as well as I do, mowing someone down, as you put, it is an easy kill. You also know how difficult it is to prove intent.’
‘And where do I stand in all this?’
‘In what respect?’
‘Am I on board? Can I work with you on it?’
She seemed to be considering his request. But then something happened to change her mind. She was preoccupied all of a sudden, looking anywhere but at him, her colour rising. Maybe she’d seen his warrant card after all.
‘Guv? What’s up?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Well, it’s gone cold in here and it’s not coming through the double-glazing.’
O’Neil pointed at a pile of stuff in the corner of his tiny living room. On top was Express Quest packaging. ‘What was in the parcel, Ryan?’
‘Nowt.’ Ryan felt hot. He knew his explanation would be met with a level of scepticism. ‘I know you’ll find it hard to believe – and I’m in no position to prove otherwise – but apart from a load of shredded paper, it was empty. Why? Has someone sent you one?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, guv. It must be relevant for you to ask.’
‘The same courier was used to send a video of the hijack to Nick Barratt at the BBC.’
‘Take it,’ he said. ‘Search the house. It’ll only take you ten minutes. It came yesterday. Delivered to a neighbour in my absence. I have no idea who sent it. The shredded stuff is in the recycling bin if you want it for Forensics. Now, are you lifting my suspension or not?’
‘No. I’ll review the position when the PM results are in.’
‘You’re making a mistake.’
‘I’m sorry,’ O’Neil said. ‘I’ve made my decision. That’s the way it is.
’
‘Did I say anything?’
‘You didn’t have to.’
Ryan shook his head. ‘If you had no news for me, why the hell come here?’
‘Because Jack Fenwick was a police officer and so am I.’ Her eyes misted ever so slightly. She recovered quickly. ‘And because you worked with him and I know you two were very close. I’ve been upfront with you, now it’s your turn. If there is any information you’re withholding, you need to hand it over. There’s no longer any reason to hold back.’
‘Jesus! How many more times?’
‘OK.’ She raised her hands in defence. ‘Don’t say I didn’t give you every opportunity.’
‘I don’t believe this.’ Ryan’s frustration was mounting. ‘I know nothing that can help you. Ask your mates in the Organized Crime Unit, why don’t you?’
A flash of incredulity crossed her face before she could hide it. She was genuinely staggered by the allegation that the unit had taken an interest in her case. He said nothing as she stood up to leave. It was time to go to work, for both of them. Frozen out of the enquiry, Ryan made up his mind to go along with Grace’s suggestion.
Covert murder room coming right up.
32
‘Are you in or out?’ Newman asked.
Ryan hesitated. He knew the risk he was taking but was full of hell after his showdown with O’Neil. Although Grace’s plan to resurrect an incident room from old wires under the floor didn’t inspire him with confidence, Newman assured him it could be done. He nodded his consent. ‘I can’t see any other way. O’Neil’s not listening. She’s suspicious of me and she’s holding the best hand. She has the law on her side: manpower, equipment and HOLMES at her disposal. It’s hardly a level playing field, is it?’
‘Yet,’ Newman said.
‘You sure, Ryan?’ Grace was staring at him. In bits, having spent her morning with Jack’s widow and children, she’d returned home so drained she’d gone straight to her room, preferring her own company, a situation that was as worrying as it was out of character. She’d always been a team player. Retreating into her own world and blocking them out wasn’t her style. She’d only just emerged and even Newman looked troubled.
‘Positive,’ Ryan said.
As they discussed the way forward, he lost all concentration. The news on the radio was almost as depressing as the task of hunting Jack’s killers. A case in Greece had made the headlines after DNA testing proved that a little girl was not the biological daughter of a Roma couple. In similar circumstances, a second child had since been taken into care by child-trafficking officers in Ireland, reminding Ryan that he wasn’t the only one searching for the truth.
Grace had gone quiet.
Newman too.
It was obvious to Ryan that the spook felt their sadness, even though he’d never show it and had never met Jack personally. The two men would’ve got on. Undoubtedly. They had similar personalities. Both played their cards close to their chest, a characteristic Ryan was convinced had contributed to the death of his DI.
‘Ryan?’ Grace’s voice jolted him from his thoughts, prompting him to look at her. ‘I’m unhappy about the Organized Crime Unit creeping around the investigation.’
‘Me too,’ Newman said. ‘Are you certain you weren’t followed?’
‘We’re clean,’ Ryan said.
‘Good.’ It was the first expression of faith from Newman.
Ryan understood his reluctance to confide in others.
In their line of work it was dangerous to share intelligence or shoot your mouth off to the wrong kind. The less said, the better. It was second nature to keep your own counsel. They had both learned to rely on their wits to see them through. As Grace had already pointed out, Newman’s scepticism had probably saved his life more than once. But like all games, when the stakes were high you had to up the ante. In this particular instance, it meant enlisting specialist expertise.
Newman wanted to bring in a trusted wires man. A highly qualified technician who’d worked for a government-led top secret computer project team, an underground unit only high-level officials knew about. No longer employed by the Home Office, he was up for hire, a consultant and private contractor.
‘They come no better,’ he said finally.
‘We’ve decided it’s your call,’ Grace said.
‘Do it!’ Ryan said.
Newman took out his mobile, scrolled through his address book and pressed the call button. While the number rang out, he put the phone on speaker. A woman came on the line, answering with the number.
‘Suzy, it’s me. Is Garry in?’ Newman asked.
‘For you? Always. You want him to call you?’
‘Sure … the usual number, ASAP. Cheers, hon.’
Newman hung up. Taking another mobile from his pocket, he held it up like a US marshal holds up a badge. He smiled as it rang in his hand. ‘Now that’s what I call service,’ he said, answering.
This time he kept the call private.
‘I need a favour.’ The smile was gone. ‘The way I roll, mate, you know that. Usual place …’ He didn’t specify where, just glanced at his watch. ‘An hour,’ he said and pocketed the phone.
33
O’Neil burst through the door of the Regional Organized Crime Unit looking for a fight and found one. DC David King stopped chewing, swept the rest of his mid-morning snack into a wastepaper bin and stood up as she entered, introducing herself with an ID card and a look that could kill from a mile away. Her intent was clear. This was no social visit.
‘I want all you’ve got on Jack Fenwick,’ she said.
King met her gaze. ‘We haven’t got much—’
‘You obviously knew he was under investigation, correct?’ She took in a weak nod. ‘Did it not occur to you to contact me or one of my officers?’
The DC blushed. ‘We didn’t know who he was initially.’
‘That I can accept. But subsequently?’
‘We knew …’ King paused, playing for time. ‘We’d been following a target for weeks, guv. One day this guy walks in and we didn’t know who the hell he was. Only when he was arrested did we realize—’
‘Then I’ll ask again. Why wasn’t I told?’
‘It was thought to be inappropriate at the time. We didn’t know for sure why Fenwick was there or how involved he was with the people we had under observation. Our guv’nor took the view that you had him sewn up and that we should keep quiet in case it jeopardized our operation.’
‘Well, you can tell your guv’nor I don’t “sew up” fellow officers.’
‘Sorry,’ King said. ‘Bad choice of words.’
‘No shit! Surveillance not your thing, Detective?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Who sanctioned the tail on DS Ryan?’
O’Neil felt sorry for Ryan. He was devastated by the death of his colleague. Maguire was out to shaft them both. She’d had to rein her number two in, tell him to lay off, at least curb his enthusiasm. She was beginning to think that it had been wrong to suspend the Special Branch officer. If the same was true of Jack Fenwick, she couldn’t live with that.
‘DC King? I asked you a question.’
‘My DCI.’
‘Why?’
‘For the same reasons you suspended him. We suspected he might be involved with Fenwick somewhere along the line. It seemed worth pursuing. Fenwick and Ryan were close and we were scratching for information. It seemed like the logical thing to do.’
‘Involved in what?’
King didn’t answer. He was cornered and knew it.
‘I see. So, with bugger all evidence you have enough resources to follow policemen around because you think it’s a good idea? What the hell did you think you were doing? If you had nothing on Ryan, you had no business mounting such an operation. And by the way, whoever was on that duty wasn’t very good at it, because he clocked them.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says Ryan. He thought I was following him, so he pulled me
about it. I assured him I wasn’t. It seems he lost your Mickey Mouse team and then followed them here. He thinks I knew all about you. But I didn’t, did I? I want answers, Detective. What were you working on?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘You can and you will, or you’ll face a disciplinary.’
‘Sorry, you’re going to have to take it up with my guv’nor.’
The DC was getting more and more nervous as O’Neil persisted. She wanted information and she wasn’t leaving without it. In the end he felt compelled to fill the silence by trotting out the party line: ‘I have nothing for you, guv. You’ll have to go over my head.’
‘That’s bullshit!’ O’Neil glared at him, held her ground. If it wouldn’t land her in it and bring on a visit from her own department, she’d rip his head off. ‘Has it passed you by that your targets might be the same people my team have been looking for? I may be investigating a miscarriage of justice here and I need answers, so you’d better start talking.’
King was sweating. ‘We caught Fenwick bang to rights, associating with guys knee-deep in illegal firearms. So if you think he’s innocent, think again, guv. After you arrested him there was no need to tell you we had him in the frame for our job. That’s all I’m prepared to say.’
His words made O’Neil feel slightly better.
Slightly.
Maybe Ryan was wrong. Maybe he’d allowed a personal relationship with Fenwick to cloud his judgement. It wouldn’t be the first time, or the last. For her own sanity, O’Neil needed to be sure. She pressed on, telling King that what he’d told her so far wasn’t good enough.
The DC let out a big sigh, his eyes finding the window, an action that angered her.
‘Will you please look at me when I’m talking to you?’ she said. ‘I have already established that the shotguns found in DI Fenwick’s house were recently sawn off, stolen in a series of burglaries on farms in Cumbria. Hardly international arms dealing, is it? It happens almost every week.’
‘He was seen, guv! Our targets were in a boozer in the arse-end of South Shields when your man Fenwick wandered in and shared a pint with them at the bar.’
