Death's Silent Judgement: The thrilling sequel to Dancers in the Wind (Hannah Weybridge Book 2)

by Anne Coates

  “It’s the informaton Liz amassed in Somalia. I’ve sent copies to some safe addresses plus I’ve also written an article for The News – although I don’t suppose they’ll publish it.”

  “We’ll see,” was all the DI said as she received a message on her radio and her driver put the car into gear and they were off.

  FORTY-THREE

  “Gas explosion! Gas explosion my arse! And we’re supposed to go along with that?”

  Rory was on his feet. His whole body rigid in outraged disbelief.

  “Yes we are.” Larry Jefferson from the legal department spoke with a quiet authority. “We don’t want to put Hannah at any more risk.”

  “And where is she now?”

  “Somewhere safe. The fewer people who know where, the better. For the time being at least.” Georgina actually looked like she wanted to cry. A definite first.

  “I take it we are covering the story?”

  “Of course we are, Hannah is one of us.” The editor looked around the room daring anyone to contradict her. “And this is a major news story. You’ll write it Rory. Based on the official version of events of course. Then we’ll add references to what has been going on – behind my back it would seem – to have the edge on the other papers. We’ll have to be devious but it shouldn’t be beyond our combined capabilities. Our copy will be checked by the appropriate authorities. Lot of good they’ve been so far.” Georgina looked down at her bitten nails. “Okay let’s get going we’ve only got a short lead on the other papers… We won’t go with the early edition to avoid spoilers.”

  There was a scraping of chairs. The deputy editor looked even more absent-minded professor than usual. “Where’s Judy, by the way, or am I missing something?”

  “She’s on gardening leave…” Georgina said nothing more but snapped her fingers and pointed at the door. Larry Jefferson was the last to leave as another man entered the office by the opposite door. He was short in stature but exuded power and a confident authority.

  “So what do we think?” Lord Gyles asked.

  “I think we do everything we can to support Hannah. I have no idea what had happened to her last year after we spiked that exposé of hers but that was yet another cover up. God knows what she’s going through now. We’ve still got that story. We could use it as leverage now.”

  “We could indeed. I’ll make a few calls.” He paused. “No I’ll make a few visits.”

  “Better take some security with you.”

  “I always do.” The proprieter smiled and stood up. “I take is we can trust everyone who was in this room?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I never assume, do you?”

  She shook her head. “No, never.”

  He left by the door he’d come in by. Just before it clicked shut, it opened again. “Be careful George.”

  “You too.” She put her head in her hands and breathed out slowly. There was a knock on the door and Rory entered looking flustered.

  “Georgina – you need to read this.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s an article Hannah wrote here this afternoon. She sent copies of the documents it’s based on to various addresses. As insurance. She asked me not to read it – but under the circumstances…”

  “Thanks Rory.” She scanned the pages. “We won’t be able to print any of this yet but you can allude to parts of it in your copy.”

  She smiled. “What a resourceful woman. Lord Gyles will be glad she’s on our team.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Hannah woke up and for a moment it seemed that the horror of the night before had not happened. Elizabeth was curled up beside her in the king size bed. The hotel had provided a cot in the room but Hannah wanted her child close to her. She looked at her now, sleeping peacefully. The thought of what might have been was too awful to contemplate.

  From the sparse facts Claudia had given her, it seemed she was the target. And when it was realised she wasn’t at home, whoever was behind all this had arranged for the taxi to collect her at St Thomas’s. The memory of that nightmare journey sent shock waves through her. Claudia had been amazed at her escape plan and that it had succeeded.

  The police had found and arrested the taxi driver soon after she had been picked up. Apparently he hadn’t known much but had been generously paid for his service.

  And Paul? How could he have been part of all this? How involved was he? Hannah’s information had been that some of the trafficked girls from Somalia ended up as sex slaves in Europe including the UK. No matter how much she despised Paul for the way he had acted towards her, she couldn’t believe he would be part of such a despicable syndicate. For that’s what it was, a syndicate that used and abused young girls.

  Elizabeth stirred beside her. Hannah stroked her cheek.

  There was a discreet knock on the door. Hannah moved carefully out of the bed, put on the hotel bathrobe and went to the door. The plain clothes woman police officer who had settled her into the suite the previous evening smiled at her.

  “I hope you managed to get some sleep, Ms Weybridge. It’s eight o’clock and I wondered if you would like to order some breakfast. DI Turner should be here at 9.30, I think.”

  “Have you been here all night?”

  The woman smiled. “No, I’ve just come back. But you’ve had someone here all night.”

  Hannah walked through into the enormous sitting room complete with dining table and chairs. She didn’t feel hungry but knew she’d have to eat and ordered from the breakfast menu with some extras for when Elizabeth woke up. “Are you having any…”

  “Susan. No I’ve eaten but I join you with the coffee if that’s ok and we can go through what you need delivered.”

  “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

  “I really don’t know. We’ll have a better idea when the DI arrives.”

  While she was waiting Hannah had a quick shower in one of the most luxurious bathrooms she’d ever seen. There was a walk-in shower, a huge bath, bidet and enough mirrors to saistfy the most committed narcissist. Plus there were toiletries and just about anything a guest would conceivably need. Last night she’d had a bath and her clothes had been taken away for laundering. They were in the bedroom waiting for her when she emerged.

  “I could get used to this level of service,” she said as she walked into the sitting room at the same time as the breakfast was delivered.

  Susan murmured something to the waiter before he left.

  “Do you know him?”

  “One of us. We’re taking no chances.”

  Hannah didn’t know whether to feel reassured or even more frightened. Elizabeth’s imperious call distracted her.

  James walked over to the nurses’ station and idly picked up a copy of The News. In a red box along the top of the front page he read: “Gas explosion in East Dulwich pages 2, 3 and 4”.

  He felt his stomach lurch and sat down quickly as he opened the paper. He scanned the story for Hannah’s name which he found in the second paragraph. Only once he was assured there were no casualties did his breathing return to near normal. The article implied that the “gas explosion” – their quotes – was a cover and that journalist Hannah Weybridge, who was investigating the murder of her friend Liz Rayman, was a victim of a crime syndicate’s retribution.

  James looked up as a cup of tea was placed before him.

  “You look as though you could do with more than this but it’s all I have on offer.” The ward sister picked up a file and left him alone.

  The article also linked in the deaths of a tramp, Jacob Gurnstein, the priest Patrick Ryan and a medic who had worked in Somalia with Liz: Sam Lockward. It also mentioned that Paul Montague had been arrested and was helping the police with their enquiries.

  Paul! What the hell was he doing in all this. James had quite liked him when he and Hannah were seeing each other. He’d noticed him at Liz’s funeral but they hadn’t spoken.

  Without thinking, James picked
up the phone and dialled Hannah’s number. Then disconnected abruptly. The article stated she was currently in a safe house. He could only hope that was true. His thoughts turned to Mia. Was she safe? At least she hadn’t been mentioned by name in the article Hannah had written. God what a total mess. And there was, it seemed, nothing he could do to help. He drank the tea which was now lukewarm and stood up. His whole body felt leaden with dread. But he still had a job to do.

  Simon Ryan’s grief for his brother was tempered by his need to do something. Anything. There was a rage boiling up in him which needed an outlet. After reading all the information Hannah had passed on to him, he had tried ringing Hannah but the number appeared to be disconnected. He tried her mobile but that just rang out.

  He had phoned his mother last night which was just as well as he’d had a call from The News early this morning. They confirmed that Patrick’s death had been linked to Liz Rayman’s. Hannah was in a safe house somewhere after an explosion at her home. Apparently a colleague of Liz’s had been killed by a hit and run driver.

  What a nest of vipers, Hannah had exposed. To make it worse he personally knew two of the people on the list. Two men of high social standing, at the pinnacle of their careers. Two men who had allegedly bought young Somalian girls from some trafficking syndicate. If anything could make him change from defence to prosecution this would be it. Bastards. And his brother had been killed to keep their dirty secrets.

  He thought back to the scene at the hospital. He’d walked into Patrick’s room as a nurse was admistering an injection.

  “What’s that for?” he’d asked more for something to say than for the answer.

  “A vitamin infusion,” came the reply.

  The male nurse had actually smiled at him. Then left the room. Two minutes later all hell broke loose as another nurse came in, started the obs then called the crash team, as she began pumping at Patrick’s heart.

  All to no avail. It looked as though Patrick had been murdered in front of his very eyes. His grief had given clarity to his anger. And then Hannah had arrived – and fainted.

  His mobile ringing broke into his thoughts. DI Turner was calling to say she was on her way.

  Well, the police had a lot to answer for. Not to mention hospital security.

  He made several calls then sat down to wait.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Lady Celia Rayman had been contacted by the police. Hannah and Elizabeth were unharmed but there had been a minor gas explosion at their home.

  “Apparently,” she said to Mary after the call, “they are now in a safe house whatever that is.”

  Mary had tears running down her face. The two women clung to each other like reeds in a windswept lake. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

  Then a courier arrived with an envelope. Inside was a copy of The News with a brief note from Lord Gyles. Side by side they sat and read the article together. Mary broke the unhappy silence between them.

  “Poor Hannah. What she has been through - because of us.”

  Celia nodded. “But we couldn’t have known, Mary. We couldn’t have known. I wonder how much will actually come out. Our dear darling girl was so brave. I don’t want her to have died in vain.”

  That evening on the early news a short item revealed that four young Somalian girls had been freed from a large, residential property in York. It was, the presenter commented, part of a wider and ongoing police investigation into trafficking. No other details were released.

  At the end of the programme, a face both of them knew, appeared on the screen. The MP for Darlington South had resigned to spend more time with his family.

  Celia and Mary looked at each other. Maybe Liz and Hannah would succeed after all.

  Hannah had followed the news on the TV and in the newspapers. There was little she could do. After a mercifully brief interview with Claudia Turner, she was told it would be a couple of days before she could return home. It transpired that Lord Gyles, proprietor of The News was footing the bill for her hotel stay.

  “I’d make the most of it, if I were you.” Claudia smiled then her expression turned serious. “I wish you’d confided in me earlier, Hannah, but I understand why you didn’t. Has Tom been in touch? I did leave a message for him?

  “No I haven’t heard from him since he … anyway I expect whatever he’s working on is far too important.” She sounded bitter and she knew it. But she didn’t want Claudia’s pity either. “Can I have my mobile back now?”

  “Yes nearly forgot that.” She delved in her bag and retrieved the phone. “By the way, the prints Graham lifted on the bugging devices found in your house…” Hannah nodded. “Matched with Paul Montague.”

  Hannah was silent. She’d already learned that Paul’s involvement was to curry favour with Judy to find out what The News had on Liz’s murder. She, it seems, was also his target. Nothing to do with wanting to see his daughter. Just acting to save his own neck. The bastard.

  “We’ve been unable to trace the man Paul says instructed him. The address of the office he went to, was a room rented by the hour. We’ve been told to stand down now. MI5 have taken over. So I don’t suppose we’ll ever discover the whole story. But Hannah, you have liberated a number of girls whose lives have been almost destroyed. Some of them will be able to return home. All thanks to you.”

  Hannah’s face gave only a ghost of a smile. “But not Liz or Patrick or Sam Lockwood.”

  That night the news featured an atrocity in Somalia. Trevor Macdonald announced: “An aid worker in an outpost in Somalia was brutally murdered. His mutilated body was found hanging from a tree in the local village. No one has been charged and no one is claiming responsibility. Although rumours suggest he may have had terrorist connections. We go over live to the offices of WelcAf the charity responsible for this NGO post.”

  Hannah watched Michael Dresdon in front of the WelcAf offices read out a prepared statement.

  “Naturally I and my team are devasted by the news of Frank Stone’s terrible death in Somalia. This is the third death of personel who worked at this station and for that reason we are evacuating all our staff there. While Liz Rayman and Sam Lockwood died in London we have been told that their murders are linked to events in Somalia. This is all I am able to say at this point in time. My thoughts and prayers are for the families and friends of our departed colleagues.”

  Hannah switched off the television. Presumably this Frank Stone was linked to the trafficking. She wondered who the perpetrators had been. Blaming terrorists was the easy option.

  James had been to see her that evening. His usual bear hug was so welcome.

  “How do you feel about being back home?” The implied question she thought was, is it safe?

  “Relieved. Saddened. Worried… Half the time I don’t know what to think. Claudia Turner wouldn’t have let me return if she wasn’t as sure as she could be of my safety. I notice the local bobbies walk down this street more often than before.”

  James chuckled. He looked more relaxed than she’d seen him for a while.

  “And Tom thinks that MI5 have all bases covered. Whatever that means.”

  “You’ve heard from him then?”

  Hannah was about to retort “obviously” but swallowed the word when she saw James’s face. He looked stricken. “Yes I have. James, can I ask you something?”

  “Ye-es. Don’t guarantee answers…”

  “Are you involved with Mia?”

  “That’s an odd question. Of course I am, she’s my cousin.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “She’s my cousin, Hannah. And it’s complicated.”

  “Sorry I didn’t mean to pry. And thanks for calling in,” she added as he stood to take his leave. “I do appreciate all you’ve done for me, James.”

  “Come here you idiot.” He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. “Just aim for a quieter life. Please.” He kissed her again and left for another long night shift at the hospital.

  Si
tting quietly in church, Hannah reflected on how much had changed since she’d last been there for Liz’s funeral. Not to the church but to her life. And how close she’d come to losing everything. Although everyone kept assuring her she was safe now, she didn’t quite believe it. All the precautions she’d taken after Gerry Lacon’s attempt on her life she now redoubled. She didn’t want to move house – anyone would still be able to find her if they had the resources. Deciding to stay put was an act of defiance. There in the church she almost prayed that she’d made the right decision.

  Simon Ryan had asked her to meet him at the vicarge to discuss arrangements for his brother’s funeral. He wasn’t there when she arrived too early so she left a note and had walked round to St John’s. Simon had been packing up Patrick’s things and sorting his affairs. Apparently Patrick had left detailed instructions for his funeral. Seemed a bit morbid but perhaps that’s what priests do. Another priest was saying evening prayers. Hannah had not joined the small group who sat with him but she returned the nods and smiles from Lucy, Beano and someone she vaguely recognised but didn’t know the name of.

  The service was soon over and she walked with Lucy and co out of the church. The afternoon was already dark. A flash almost blinded them. “Miss Weybridge? Anything to say about your friend’s murderers?”

  Hannah was blinded by another flash and could feel rather than see movement around her. Somebody positioned himself in front of her. The Cardboard City dwellers moved in closer. There was a scuffle. She heard someone fall heavily and a familiar voice shout, “Get after that photographer.” A sound like a punch and a grunt.

  “Okay let’s add resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer to the list of charges.”

  The man in front of her was rock solid. He had not moved a muscle and she felt protected by his presence.

  A siren sounded then the squeal of brakes. She still couldn’t see a thing but she could sense the tension around her slowly dissipating. Someone was being led away.

  Lucy clutched her hand. “You alright luv?” Hannah didn’t trust her voice and nodded. “Where did you spring from Sherlock?” Lucy asked the man in front of Hannah.