by Mari Hannah
‘He’s unpacking.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘Malmaison. Our room has a Millennium Bridge view. Slumming it,’ she joked. ‘I reckon we can handle that for a good cause. You know Frank, he’s like you – only better looking – as long as he can see water, he’s happy. Well, happy might be a bit of an exaggeration. Right now, he’s sulking. Wants to know why he’s not involved here too. We need to work on Eloise.’
‘Work on me?’ O’Neil had come to find them.
Grace blushed.
O’Neil stuck out a hand, the formality surprising Ryan. The two women weren’t exactly friends, but they had been well acquainted prior to Grace’s retirement. There was an awkward moment as O’Neil set down demarcation lines with the woman Ryan’s ex had referred to as the pit bull. The thought made him smile. O’Neil and Grace were polar opposites – he looked forward to the fireworks. His new guv’nor had chosen well.
Still counting his blessings that it was Grace and not Roz who’d walked through the door, he said to no one in particular, ‘How come I wasn’t consulted?’
Grace snapped her head round to face him. ‘You saying I’m not good enough?’
‘Take no notice, Grace. Staffing is my baby,’ O’Neil said. ‘Come in and make yourself comfortable. We have much to do.’ She led the way into the apartment proper.
‘Blimey!’ Grace was staring at a bank of computers on the far wall. ‘You want for nothing, do you?’ She scanned the room. ‘Except maybe a Christmas tree. We’ll have to sort that out. I’m not working without one.’
O’Neil rolled her eyes. ‘Priorities, Grace.’
‘No one is more important than Baby Jesus.’
Ryan laughed.
O’Neil didn’t. ‘Our jobs are uploaded onto HOLMES: how they came in, how they were reported, where we’re up to. Statements in the system have all been checked off. House-to-house needs updating. You must review it all, every scrap of information. In other words, you are now a one-woman incident room – the way you like it.’
‘She’s nailed you already,’ Ryan said.
‘You still need a tree!’ Grace spoke over her shoulder as she walked away, unconcerned with O’Neil’s agenda. She turned. ‘And my other half? You need him too. He’s a real star, if you ever fancy giving him a whirl. You might have to stand in line. He doesn’t suffer fools, if you know what I mean—’
‘Don’t make me regret taking you on,’ O’Neil said in return.
At the risk of annoying O’Neil, he jumped in: ‘Guv, when we were searching for Jack, Newman was brilliant.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘No, hear me out. Without him, there’s a lot we would’ve missed. Frank has contacts we don’t and he’s prepared to use them. Fingers in pies is exactly what we need.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ O’Neil said.
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘Ryan, we’re serving police officers. We need to do things by THE book, not HIS book. The two things are very different—’
‘You’re reading the wrong book,’ Grace said loudly, forcing Ryan to stifle a grin. She was already at work, organizing a workstation behind them, moving bits of equipment out of her way, replacing them with her own stuff. He loved having her around.
‘I’ve made my decision,’ O’Neil said.
‘The wrong one.’ Grace turned, leaned against her new desk, arms crossed. ‘If you don’t use Frank, it might be a while before you crack this case. It wouldn’t do to fail on your first outing.’
‘Ryan, a word.’ O’Neil was losing patience. They moved into the hallway. ‘I hope she isn’t going to keep on about him.’
‘I can think of one way to stop her.’
‘I know you have a lot of time for him—’
‘That’s a gross understatement,’ Ryan interrupted. ‘What would it take for me to convince you that he’s a good idea?’ O’Neil seemed to waver, so he pushed on. ‘Meet with him. Talk to the guy. He doesn’t say much and, to be perfectly honest, I don’t know a lot about him. He’s . . . How can I put this? An acquired taste. I didn’t take to him straight off. He grew on me. He’ll grow on you too.’ He nodded back into the room they had just vacated. ‘Grace trusts him implicitly.’
‘They’re married!’
‘Agreed, but I trust him and you trust me. It’s like a daisy chain of trust.’ Ryan made a funny face. O’Neil didn’t laugh. ‘Listen, Newman was a spy when spies went out and did instead of sitting around on their arses staring at computer screens. Utilize him to your advantage – to ours, I mean. Believe me, you won’t regret it.’
‘He’s dangerous—’
‘But effective.’
‘No, I can’t risk it. The last thing I need is a maverick on my team.’
‘You’ve met him?’
‘Yesterday. And I didn’t take to him.’
‘Guv, Newman was the one who went out and made the connections when Grace and I were searching for Jack’s killers. Say what you like about him, he has my vote.’
Just as he appeared to be getting his message across, O’Neil’s phone rang. She checked the display and asked for some privacy, waiting until he walked away. Ryan swore under his breath. The opportunity was gone. After a minute or two, she was back in the room. Whatever the call was about, it was serious. She was pissed off and making no attempt at hiding it.
‘We’re getting a visitor,’ she said.
Ryan was immediately on the defensive. ‘I thought no one knew we were here.’
‘Well, they do now.’ O’Neil’s eyes shot towards the door. ‘Do the honours and meet our guest. Actually, don’t bother, I’ll do it myself.’
‘If it’s Ford you better keep him away from her.’ Ryan threw a glance in Grace’s direction. ‘Somehow, I don’t think they’ll get along.’
‘I heard that.’ As O’Neil made a move, Grace pulled a scary face at Ryan.
‘How old are you?’ he said crossly.
She burst out laughing.
They heard the access door open and close, a heated exchange in low whispers between O’Neil and their visitor. When she returned to the room, Newman was in tow. He shook hands with Ryan, a friendly exchange between brothers in arms. Grace strode across the room, kissed her husband and over-egged her soft Geordie accent.
‘Were you missing me, pet?’
Newman stepped away from her embrace, ice-blue eyes on O’Neil.
She scowled at him. ‘I assume you followed her here.’
Grace bridled: ‘What do you take me for?’
Newman’s expression was unmoving. He was in work mode and nothing would deter him from what he’d come to say. ‘What would your response be if I told you that your offenders began their antics in Copenhagen. The victim was the British Ambassador to Denmark. The woman you’ve been listening to sent a DVD there too.’
‘Fuck!’ Grace raised her hands in the air. ‘Eloise, I didn’t know this, I swear.’
The death of an ambassador, a person holding the most senior diplomatic rank, was about as serious as it could get.
‘Hang on. That was in the papers,’ Ryan frowned, ‘but it happened months ago.’
‘July twenty-eighth, to be precise,’ Newman said. ‘At least that’s the date on the DVD, the same day he went missing.’
‘Wasn’t it reported as a robbery?’ O’Neil said.
‘It was.’
‘What day of the week was that?’
‘Sunday. Danish police were on it immediately. His body was found in an abandoned warehouse two days later.’
‘Any witnesses?’
‘One. A local woman. She’d seen a male and a female acting suspiciously near the Ambassador’s official residence in Kastelsvej a couple of days before he went missing. She didn’t raise the alarm at the time, but came forward when the case was reported in the press. The Foreign Secretary consulted at the highest level, imposing a news embargo on anything more than basic information.’
/> ‘Which makes Trevathan the second victim, not the first,’ Ryan said. There was a deathly hush as the full impact of his statement sank in. He could see his guv’nor’s brain working overtime. If she had any doubt that Newman was required, it was gone.
‘OK, you’re in,’ she said. ‘I seem to have been outvoted.’
‘Yes!’ Grace punched the air. ‘Just don’t go adding his name to the payroll.’
‘I’m sure Eloise and I can come to an untraceable arrangement,’ Newman said. ‘As far as this unit goes, I’m the invisible man.’ He eyeballed O’Neil, keen to get going, asking for the lowdown on the enquiry to date. She told the former spook and Grace to read up on the case and be ready for a full briefing by six o’clock. Her unit had doubled in just two days.
20
She sought to obliterate any light. Covering the windows of her living room with thick newspaper to conceal her whereabouts was the way to go, cancelling out any reflection that might give away her location, creating a proper darkroom. Placing a simple wooden chair facing the camera – one of few props – she set up the tripod, inviting her accomplice to sit so she could adjust both focus and lighting.
He grinned at the lens, begging her to let him do it. That was out of the question. SHE was to be the live subject of this transmission, not him. He was the grunt. She’d been forced to remind him, time and again, that she was the brains behind their operation, the driver of their mission.
She’d brook no argument.
He was sulking now, trying to convince her that it would be more menacing coming from a man. Idiot. Gender didn’t come into it. He was a vicious little shit who took pleasure in hurting people but had absolutely no composure. No style. She would bring the shoot to life in a way that he could not. Her eye was trained to stage the beauty of the moment.
She peered through the lens.
Smoke from his cigarette danced with dust mites in the air, adding to the drama. Never before had she been this rapt. It wasn’t perfect, but she’d get there if she persevered. As always, patience was key.
She took her time. The camera angle didn’t please her. He was partially obscuring the message she’d carefully painted thick and black on a crisp white bed sheet, allowing time for it to dry before pinning it to the wall – the perfect backdrop.
Fail to plan, plan to fail. That was her mantra.
Modifications complete, she stepped back to observe her handiwork with her naked eye, then dimmed the lights a touch, adding just enough shadow to create a chilling atmosphere for her film debut. Already scripted and rehearsed, her message was more than a communiqué. It was a tribute to her people. She’d learned the words by heart and would deliver them with clarity and profound passion, as was fitting for such a just cause.
She wasn’t in the business of churning out propaganda. She’d hate viewers to accuse her of that. There was nothing misleading in her message. No hype. This was truth. Her truth. They’d had their say; now it was her turn, an opportunity to redress the balance and set the record straight. It was high time they took her seriously.
She felt proud.
As the self-appointed leader of her group, it was her responsibility to make the world sit up and take notice. She relished the prospect of spelling out her motivation, knowing that in doing so she would strike fear into the hearts of her audience, remind them that there would be more deaths, that no one was safe. And when the chosen were all dead, she’d upload her masterpiece to her favourite channel and explain herself.
That was the plan.
Not until she was satisfied did she switch places with her accomplice so she could examine what she looked like, sitting in that chair. She wrapped the black scarf around her head and face until only her eyes were visible. She paused a moment to compose herself, then pressed the button on her remote control – a still for the album. Her grinning associate walked towards her, turning the camera round so she could see it. She nodded, her eyes sparkling with deep joy through slits in the material. The image was quality, almost poetic in its simplicity. She took a deep breath and began to speak.
21
O’Neil briefed Grace and Newman. Actions had already gone out to satellite incident rooms on the shoe and axe from the North Shields scene, the bloody footprints in Fraser’s flat, the route he took to his mother’s house, the DVDs generally. In light of Newman’s bombshell, the enquiry into who stood to benefit from Trevathan’s will was less important now, she told them.
The Superintendent focused on her newly recruited retired detective. ‘Grace, if you think of more that should be done, we’ll put it out – no names required – we are Gold Command on these jobs. Our enquiry will be closed to satellite rooms and I’ll decide what we feed into HOLMES, what we leave out.’
‘Ooh!’ Grace feigned excitement. ‘I do love a silent room.’
It was the name she’d coined for the covert command centre she, Ryan and Newman had set up in her house. Irked by the mention, Ryan eyed her closely, his message best summed up by the cliché: don’t bite the hand that feeds you.
O’Neil let it go without comment. Inviting him to carry on, she took her mobile from her pocket and checked the display. Ryan was fairly certain she was bluffing. There was no call, no incoming text. His guv’nor was simply taking the opportunity to establish a hierarchy, drawing a line between official and unofficial personnel, as she’d done when Grace first entered the apartment.
‘The Home Office, our bosses, are keeping us in the dark,’ Ryan said. ‘There’ll be a reason why they’re not sharing intelligence. Frank, do you have anything on Trevathan’s trial?’
Newman shook his head. ‘The case is sealed.’
‘Can it be unsealed?’ O’Neil asked.
‘Nothing is watertight,’ he said. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘We have no alternative,’ Ryan grumbled. ‘We’re locked out—’
‘Sounds familiar.’ Grace couldn’t help herself.
O’Neil peered over the top of her specs, warning her to be careful.
Newman moved quickly on. ‘The more you dig, the more nervous the Home Office will become. If you get close, they’ll want to monitor everything you do. You can count on them making life difficult.’
‘He’s right.’ Ryan’s focus was O’Neil. ‘Guv, we need to set a protocol so every one of us is clear on what we’re doing, why we’re doing it and what we’re going to reveal to those working on the ground.’
‘Agreed,’ O’Neil said. ‘I’ll talk to Ford.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Ryan scoffed.
O’Neil ignored him. Whether they liked it or not, the grey man would have to be updated from time to time. ‘We’ll operate as an intelligence cell, running our own closed enquiry. That way, any other interested parties won’t see all – I stress all – of what we find out. If we want something from Ford, we’ll need to give him something in return.’
‘I agree,’ Ryan said. ‘Otherwise it’ll look suspicious.’
O’Neil carried on. ‘We can choose to use the HOLMES computer system however we like. Grace will oversee linked incidents, looking for any ambiguity. I’ll decide whether to view only or update electronically. Grace, I need you on board because you have more incident room experience than the rest of us put together. You will action jobs to satellite rooms. Ryan and I can’t do everything.’
‘And when the case comes to court?’ Grace asked.
‘I intend full disclosure at the pre-trial review phase. I’ll make the sitting judge aware of the cell, why we chose to operate that way, and I’ll ask for certain information to be kept secret.’
‘Including my involvement,’ Newman said. ‘Just so you know, I will protect my informants.’
He would too.
‘Ryan and I had a chat about that earlier,’ O’Neil said. ‘Don’t worry, Frank. I’ll be sure to take that into account when deciding whether to feed the machine or keep information we discover to ourselves.’
‘I’ve done it numerous times
when MI5 were being awkward,’ Ryan said.
‘MI5 don’t trust anyone.’ Grace glanced at Newman. ‘That’s how Frank and I met. I was getting rather close to someone his old colleagues were trying to protect. He was sent to show me the error of my ways.’
‘Not that it made any difference.’ Newman’s joke resulted in a sharp elbow to the ribs.
O’Neil eyeballed her new recruits. ‘Let me recap. You are employed here, Grace – we are now a unit of three. Frank doesn’t exist. The way I see it, we have three categories of job: the ones we don’t mind sharing; those that are suspect – we feed those into the system under the Gold Command banner; and finally the red-hot jobs that we, and only we, act upon.’
Ryan was nodding. ‘That’s standard procedure in antiterrorist cases. It’s the only way we ensure that information isn’t leaked – to or by anyone.’
‘An effective strategy,’ Newman said. ‘If it’s MI5 you’re up against, they’ll put up walls if they think you’re poking your noses into business that doesn’t concern you. And they’ll be watching you in case you uncover information they don’t have.’
Ryan was torn. There were two sides to every argument. Undercover policing and MI5 were separate entities, both conducting important work, viewed as the good guys until the wheel came off, then public perception changed. When jobs went wrong, as they sometimes did, the press were up in arms demanding complete transparency. Unfortunately, that didn’t protect people who put their lives on the line. If you wanted to infiltrate organized crime gangs, hard-core activist groups or terrorist cells – or, God forbid, your own government – rules sometimes went by the wayside. They all agreed that people working behind the scenes deserved anonymity.
Paradoxically, this wouldn’t help their unit.
Ryan hoped that Newman might cut through the bureaucracy. A spook with the ability to hide in plain sight was the perfect man to take on those seeking to withhold the truth in the interests of national security. He might even get lucky and find himself a whistle-blower, prepared to speak out for the greater good. In doing so, they might be putting their own life at stake in the process. Newman wouldn’t want his informants compromised.
