The Death Messenger

by Mari Hannah

‘Well, if it’s not terrorism, what’s with the cloak and dagger, Frank?’ Ryan glanced at other drinkers at the bar. ‘And why here and not in front of O’Neil? I deceived her once before. I won’t do it again. Things are different now. She’s my guv’nor—’

  ‘She’s a lot more than that.’ Customers were crowding the counter, close enough to listen in. Newman pointed to a free table. They made their way to it and sat down. Ryan felt tense. The spook’s expression gave nothing away. ‘We’ve both been trained to look beyond the obvious and cover all the angles. What I have to say isn’t something you’ll want to hear.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘This new unit—’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It was set up for a specific reason. I wanted to find out what it was, who’d originated it and why, who sanctioned this level of finance from the public purse . . .’ Despite the urge to, Ryan didn’t interrupt. He let Newman have his say. ‘Ordinarily, it takes months to organize a unit like ours, and yet here we are with all the bells and whistles, including firearms. That’s a big deal, as big as it gets. Whoever is behind it moved heaven and earth to make it happen. Not only that, they moved rapidly.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want to be linked with us.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘So why are you poking your nose into stuff that doesn’t concern you?’

  ‘Before I delve into any case, be that terrorist plot, a secret trial or the Muslim brotherhood, I like to know what’s behind me, who has my back, as well as who I’m up against.’

  ‘You just said it wasn’t terrorism.’

  ‘And I stand by that. I still need the names of those I can approach, those I should avoid, or shall we say those who require handling differently. Targeting the right information is good housekeeping. It’s the safest way for me and my informants.’

  ‘Smoke and mirrors. Now get to the point.’

  Newman stared at him.

  Ryan held his gaze. ‘There is a point, I take it?’

  ‘Listen, I understand your scepticism, but you’re in the big league now. The first killing took place in July on foreign soil, nothing whatsoever to do with us. Danish police were dealing. The DVD was in their possession, so they knew what was going down but, at our request, they reported Ambassador Dean’s death as a stabbing, a random attack by a drug addict. Happens every day in cities the world over.’

  ‘Then a few months later, another high-profile victim, a second DVD.’

  A nod from Newman. ‘Now our lot are worried. In fact, they’re shitting themselves. Trevathan has friends in high places. They’re calling for a special ops unit to investigate. They get their wish: the new unit is created. Money’s no obstacle. This is top-level stuff. The only way to find out why and what’s really going on is to find out who’s pulling the strings.’

  Ryan stroked the scar on his chin. ‘Are you telling me Ford isn’t running the show?’

  ‘It would appear not.’

  ‘So who is?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that, Frank? We’re having our meeting in a pub.’

  Newman stared him down and then levelled with him. ‘I happened on something that you should know.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘The apartment we’re using is O’Neil’s.’

  ‘What?’ Ryan’s disbelief was fake. Newman’s revelation came as less of a surprise than it otherwise might have. The first time he’d met Eloise at ‘their place’ it occurred to him that she seemed right at home. He’d written the feeling off. She’d been in post a couple of weeks, had overseen the set-up, was more used to being there than he was – a matter he kept from Newman.

  ‘It gets worse,’ Newman added. ‘It’s not under any mortgage, neither was it bought with her own funds. Someone called Hilary Forsythe signed the cheque for the full amount. One payment of almost three-quarters of a mill.’

  Ryan’s mind raced back to the Quayside, specifically to the despondency O’Neil tried hard to conceal when he first coined the phrase ‘our place’. Newman might have solved part of that mystery, but Ryan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘Rewind. You’re telling me that the apartment is owned outright by O’Neil but was bankrolled by someone else?’

  ‘It’s her name on the deeds.’

  The hair stood up like rods on Ryan’s neck. He’d examined O’Neil’s phone while she was mumbling to someone on the landline in her room. The name HILARY was displayed clearly in the viewing window as the last person to call her. He’d assumed it was Jack’s widow; now he wasn’t so sure. He could hear O’Neil yelling at him not to touch her phone ever again; pictured her flight from the apartment last night, getting into a Porsche Carrera. If only he’d seen and taken down the registration.

  ‘You think she’s on the other bus?’ Newman asked.

  ‘What? No! How the hell should I know – and what if she is?’ O’Neil was an enigma. She rarely, if ever, talked about herself. It would explain why she was friendly but at the same time nervous in Ryan’s company. She was wise to the vibes of the opposite sex. Maybe she wanted what he could never give her.

  ‘Ryan, pay attention, we haven’t got all day.’

  ‘What?’

  Newman was staring at him. ‘Maybe Hilary Forsythe is O’Neil’s secret,’ he was saying. ‘You can read people, Ryan. You know as well as I do that she’s hiding something. It’s as plain as day.’

  ‘Who fed you this crap?’

  Newman supped his pint. ‘You know better than to ask.’

  ‘C’mon, it’s a simple enough question.’

  ‘I don’t discuss informants and you know it. Suffice to say, I have the means to access certain information. If the price is right, anything can be bought—’

  ‘You expect me to take your word for it? Just like that? You’ve gone beyond your brief, pal. O’Neil is our boss, a damned good one at that. She sent you to London for a specific reason, not to dig into her private life, so why are you?’

  ‘The way I roll.’ Newman’s expression sent a clear message: like it or lump it, mate. ‘I don’t imagine you’ll accept what I say wholesale. I do expect you to challenge her over it—’

  ‘Oh yeah . . .’ Ryan held up his hands as if the spook were pointing a gun. ‘Do I look like a fool to you? You want to confront her on the subject of her sexuality, be my guest. Then close the door on your way out. She’ll axe you in a heartbeat – and Grace too.’

  ‘That’s a chance we’ll have to take.’

  ‘Have you told Grace?’

  ‘It’s none of her business.’

  ‘Nor yours.’

  ‘But it is yours.’ Newman paused. ‘You know what Grace is like. If I tell her, she’ll take the direct route, go straight to O’Neil and confront her. And maybe she’d be right to do so. Eloise is her guv’nor too.’

  Ryan palmed his brow. If Newman didn’t trust O’Neil, Ryan sure as hell didn’t trust him. He dropped his head, the name on the cheque Newman had mentioned repeating like an earworm in his head. He looked up. ‘Hilary Forsythe rings a bell but, for the life of me, I can’t remember where from.’

  ‘It’s a name on a cheque for the time being – I have feelers out.’

  Ryan was no longer cagey, he was angry. ‘You’re not sure about this, are you? You doubt your own information—’

  ‘No. What I gave you is confirmed. The only thing that doesn’t add up is the timing. O’Neil has owned the apartment for over a year. That doesn’t fit with why and when the unit was set up.’

  ‘A year?’ Ryan took a moment to think. Newman was correct: it didn’t make sense. ‘I can assure you that no one has lived there, Frank. The apartment was brand spanking new. So new I had to strip the plastic coating off the ceramic hob. It hadn’t been used, none of it had. It was like walking into a show home. You’re wise to hesitate. I’m certain O’Neil will enlighten you if you give her a chance.’

  ‘You sure
about that?’ Newman eyeballed him. ‘What do you know about her apart from what you see on the surface? She doesn’t say much.’

  ‘Neither do you.’

  Newman didn’t comment.

  ‘You made my point, Frank. Get your facts straight before you shoot your mouth off about Eloise. Maybe the unit was going to be set up ages ago and was knocked on the head. You know what it’s like: some boffin at Whitehall has a great idea, does half a job, then bins a project because rising costs have taken it over budget. It happens every day—’

  ‘You don’t believe that any more than I do. I’m sorry, I know you rate her. I do too, but a strong team is built on trust. There are shifting sands beneath our feet and that makes me uneasy. O’Neil was a thorn in our side when we were looking for Jack. And don’t you think it’s odd that we’re operating out of a privately owned base?’

  ‘Yes, but there’ll be a perfectly reasonable explanation—’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Remember the laptops stolen from an office commandeered by John Stevens?’ Stevens, a former Northumbria and Metropolitan police chief, had been heading up Operation Paget at the time, the investigation into the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. ‘That was a security breach like no other.’ He pointed at Newman’s phone. ‘Look it up. All hell broke out over it.’

  ‘You’re clutching at straws, mate.’

  ‘Am I? Our lot said never again would they risk information of that magnitude falling into the wrong hands. It may have passed you by, but we’ve sold our empty stations and police houses. Fuck’s sake! Until recently, Grace lived in one. There’s very little real estate left to resurrect. If O’Neil wanted somewhere secure, I can think of no better place, whether she owned it or not.’

  ‘That still doesn’t explain her name on the deeds.’

  He had a point.

  Ryan was beginning to doubt himself.

  Newman spotted it immediately. ‘I’m sticking my neck out here. I think she may have been recruited by MI5. She’s using you.’

  Stranger things had happened. Theirs was a shadowy world where such things were not unknown. Was O’Neil capable of such betrayal? It was a question Ryan presently had no answer for. He found himself nodding, his mind racing through the possibilities, unable to disagree or come up with a plausible excuse on O’Neil’s behalf. If the intelligence gathered proved to be correct, the stress of keeping secrets went some way to explaining her strange behaviour.

  ‘No,’ Ryan shook his head. ‘I don’t buy it, Frank. If she was MI5, her name wouldn’t be linked to this operation, much less appear on the deeds, not in a million years.’ He spread his hands, a gesture of openness. ‘She joked about being “Eyes Only”. She’d hardly do that if she was, would she?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not . . . People tend not to take you seriously if you throw in something absurd, even if it’s the truth.’

  Ryan was running out of ideas.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Newman said. ‘It shouldn’t take long to trace Forsythe, assuming that’s her real name.’

  ‘Yeah, well you’d know all about identity theft, wouldn’t you?’

  Newman ignored the dig. ‘We nail Forsythe, we’re halfway to making our move on O’Neil.’

  ‘You’ve been a spook too long, Frank. You need to re-join the real world.’

  Without comment, Newman stood up and made his exit. Ryan didn’t follow. Of all the scenarios that had gone through his head on the way to the pub, none compared to the bombshell the spook had delivered. Newman made O’Neil sound like the enemy.

  Maybe that’s what she was.

  31

  Having got his head into gear, Ryan was back at base within the hour. He took in a breath as he entered the apartment. O’Neil was nowhere to be seen. He felt relieved, unsure how he would face her with Newman’s revelations ringing in his ears. Ryan felt guilty for the treachery and for ridiculing Newman without good cause. The spook was calling it as he saw it. Ryan owed him an apology and made his way across the room to voice it.

  ‘I was out of order earlier,’ he said quietly.

  Newman waved away the act of contrition.

  Grace looked up. ‘Out of order?’ Newman put a finger to his lips, alerting Ryan to the fact that O’Neil was in the apartment, his wife to the fact that she should let it go. When no explanation was forthcoming from either man, Grace rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you two have been fighting again!’

  Ignoring his new bride, Newman spoke quickly, half his attention on the bathroom door, half on Ryan. ‘We can make this easy,’ he said. ‘Next time we get an opportunity to examine O’Neil’s phone we take it. If we can get a number for this woman, I can find out who she is instantly.’

  ‘What woman?’ Grace whispered.

  Ryan acted as if she wasn’t there. ‘Not going to happen, Frank. O’Neil told me, in no uncertain terms, never to touch her phone and I promised I wouldn’t.’ He shook his head vigorously, a gesture that generated a scornful expression from the spook. ‘I mean it, Frank. I won’t snoop on her. Don’t ask me to—’

  ‘Fine! You get the prize for righteousness. Leave it with me.’

  He was about to move away as O’Neil re-entered the room. ‘Did I miss something?’

  ‘Boys’ talk,’ Grace covered for them. ‘I’ve heard more scintillating conversation at the crem.’

  ‘We have time to mess around?’ O’Neil eyed the two men warily. ‘You ready to go to work now?’

  Ryan and Newman were nodding like schoolboys caught smoking behind the bike sheds. With no clue as to what was going on between them, Grace got on with her work, content to wait it out until she had the opportunity to bone them about this mystery woman.

  O’Neil was staring at Ryan. ‘Was there something else?’

  ‘No, guv.’ In his ears, those two small words sounded very wrong. What he wanted to say was: Whatever gave you that idea? Of course there’s something else! By the way, is that your real name? Is the name Hilary Forsythe fictitious too? Who the hell are you, Eloise? What are you? And while we’re at it, why have you been lying to me?

  ‘Can we have a word?’ O’Neil took him into the hallway and shut the connecting door. ‘Is this about running out on you last night?’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘Are you sure? You seem pissed off.’

  Ryan flushed up. ‘You had other plans. It’s no biggie.’

  ‘We’re cool?’

  ‘We’re cool.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  Her smile could melt steel. Ryan fought the urge to meet her eyes. She’d see through him. How long could he keep up the pretence? He liked this woman – more than liked – and it bugged him to think that she wasn’t who she said she was.

  She’s using you.

  He could’ve decked Newman for saying that, but what if she was? What then? What if the new unit was a cover for something else? What if everything he thought he knew about her was a sham? Ryan hated to think he was that gullible. On the one hand, he was beginning to regret ever setting eyes on her. On the other, he’d do anything to prove Newman wrong.

  ‘Ryan? Will you please tell me what the hell is wrong with you?’

  Now he looked at her. ‘I’m fine, guv.’

  ‘I can see you’re not.’

  He offered no explanation.

  How could he?

  ‘Whatever it is, get your act together, and don’t take all day,’ O’Neil said. ‘In view of our plans to stake out the lock-up this evening, I’d like to bring the briefing forward. Frank will take the lead. Since he’s back from the capital, I must assume he has something to feed in—’

  ‘He hasn’t done it yet?’

  ‘I had to pop out. He was here when I got back. Where were you?’

  ‘Needed some air.’

  ‘You need to focus.’

  Ryan wondered if she’d followed him; if she’d seen him meeting Newman out of the office – if she was testing him – if she was MI5. That was a lot o
f ifs. He couldn’t shake that thought as she led him to the others, inviting Grace and Newman to leave their desks and sit with them.

  The spook fed them what he’d already told Ryan about the terrorist trial, including the fact that he didn’t think it was related to their case. During his delivery there was no sign of distrust of O’Neil. Frank was the consummate professional: psychologically sound, even-tempered, able to think on his feet. In short, he had reverted to type, his doubts about the unit and O’Neil safely filed away until he was ready to investigate further.

  ‘Anything else?’ O’Neil asked.

  ‘Five have the briefcase.’ It was a test O’Neil passed with flying colours. She didn’t flinch, not a flicker. Newman hit her again, so quick she didn’t even feel it. ‘To be on the safe side, I’ve swept the apartment and checked all the comms. We’re clean. All that remains is to examine mobile phones and we’re good to go. I want to make sure that there are no tracking devices attached.’

  ‘Good plan,’ she said.

  Ryan couldn’t look at either of them. He felt like a shit, knowing what Newman was planning. When he chanced a cursory glance at O’Neil, she showed no concern, acting like she had nothing to hide. She had all the attributes of a spook. Ryan couldn’t deny it.

  32

  Gloria was standing in her usual spot, pretending to ply her trade at the Borough Road–Clive Street junction, under strict instructions not to accept any work. O’Neil had taken care of her financially; so generously, in fact, the girl reckoned she could take a week off if she wanted.

  Ryan wished she would.

  He hated using Gloria as bait, even to catch the punter who’d beaten her up, wandering into a crime scene, leaving a shoe behind. That was the unit’s thinking until they could prove otherwise. O’Neil hadn’t been able to trace the punter by any other means. Officers were still checking the PNC for make of car. Likewise, they were trying to locate the jeweller who’d engraved his watch with the initials SFW.

  So far: no bites.

  Because of that, O’Neil had decided to lie in wait for him, nicking him the old-fashioned way. Her new recruits thought it was a good call. It was one she couldn’t take credit for. Ryan had suggested it from the outset. There were times when there was no alternative to boots on the ground.