'It was a miracle that there was only one casualty.' Inspector Brown spoke to the group assembled as they broke for a quick coffee, and a chance to survey the scene.
'Yes, sir. Plenty of property damage though. Must be a few million quid in damage,' one deputy chipped in.
'True enough, but the insurance companies will put that right.' Brown was unconcerned with the smashed windows and scratched cars.
'You think it was Al Qaeda?' a crime scene tech ventured.
'If I hear any of you say that near the press, you'll be fired. No one here is to use the term terrorist. Do I make myself clear?' Brown glared at them.
They nodded quickly, knowing they'd simply wait until he was gone before they finished their conversation.
'Right, back to work.'
There was one victim, the driver of the car. His body was better preserved than Detective Brown had expected. Rather than the complete immolation he had expected from an explosion, the body was remarkably well preserved. The fireball had not been hot enough or long enough to incinerate the remains. Forensics had explained that the concussive force was minimal for an explosion, and that it was safe to rule out any controlled substance being used to fuel the explosion. It was simply the petrol tank exploding.
Brown knelt near the car. There wasn't much left of whatever trigger had been used to set off the explosion. The shrapnel fragments would have to be sorted by hand for any evidence of the requisite electronics, but it would take a while to collect all visible evidence. Until that had been done the search for the trigger couldn't begin.
CCTV was being analysed by the audio-visual department, but coverage on the Portsea peninsula was spotty at best, with most of the coverage focussing on the tourist areas such as Gunwharf and the Historic Dockyards. Most of the other shops carried their own cameras, but in the residential areas the blanket ceased and a few cameras were dotted around the major throughways.
The work was being hindered by the media. Minutes after the emergency services were called they began to converge on the scene. Roads that would normally flow freely were being clogged with journalists, and camera crews. Combined with the road closures the police instituted near possible targets for attack such as the Guildhall, the city was at a standstill. Even the Navy had the good sense to remain on base with tightened security checks on the entrance.
Every officer on the force was under strict order to only reply with 'no comment', yet the journalists were getting some of the information anyway.
Inspector Brown knew he would have to call a press conference sooner rather than later to address the public's concern. They deserved to know the truth, but at the same time the last thing he needed was to incite public panic. Before that happened he had been asked to meet with an Executive Liaison Group from MI5. It probably wasn't a terrorist organisation. None had claimed responsibility yet. Nonetheless, they couldn't afford to risk it, and it would be actively pursued as a possibility.
For now, the police would have to follow up on the bomb, and hope that something could be seen on the CCTV.
***
Grim satisfaction resonated through Ant as he saw the aftermath of his handiwork on television. The road had been devastated, bits of car and masonry scattered over the street. He was glad no one else had been hurt. His anger was great, but it was directed only at the man who had caused him to wind up in prison. He had extracted his revenge. The talking heads on television were haring off in the wrong direction. More than one had been quick to attribute the blame to Al Qaeda, despite a denial being issued by their spokesperson through Al-Jazeera. Ant didn't mind; the speculation was fuelled by ignorance, and the more he heard about terrorist groups the further away from the truth the police had become. The device might give them some hints, but even it was a design he had stolen from a former cellmate who had attempted to use it during the Troubles.
He knew that there was a danger he would become overconfident. He had killed two people, and so far the police were none the wiser. There was one more death that he had to bring about, the man who set him up to carry out the first kill but reneged on the deal. He had enough information to piece together who he was. Now all he needed to do was find out where he went and when. With that information he could begin to form his plan, and then revenge would be his.
CHAPTER 50: IMPLICATIONS
Edwin felt smug. He knew he'd layered just enough information into the darknet exchange to implicate Yosef. Neither of them had any idea he was involved as they both believed they were dealing directly with the other. Yosef didn't deserve to die. He wasn't the one who had benefited from the kill Ant carried out, but Ant didn't know that. By giving Ant the chance to take it out on Yosef he removed the chance that someone with knowledge of the darknet would try and hunt him down. Eleanor was long since dead and buried, and the police were still nowhere near finding out what had happened.
He knew that the pile of carcasses on his conscience had grown steadily since then, but he had no personal connection with any of them. He hadn't so much as seen them, so it was easy for him to rationalise them as just numbers. It was the same way he felt when he first read of the tsunami that had killed 1.7 million people back in 2004. He knew that it was a devastating loss of life, and that every victim would be mourned by someone, but without a face to put to each number it was easy to disassociate the deaths from his actions.
Knocking back a whisky, Edwin toasted his freedom.
***
Ant didn't bother planning his last kill. He knew the man couldn't carry out a hit, so he certainly couldn't pose a threat to a hardened lag like Ant. He knew the man had a child with a rare illness, which meant he probably spent a lot of time at Guy's Hospital in Southwark, as it was the only hospital in the capital to deal with Tay-Sachs children. He knew he was looking for a Jewish gentleman, and he knew his first name.
Finding out who his son was had required him to be bold, but had worked like a dream. He walked into the hospital, and asked the nurse which room Yosef's son was in, holding an armful of toys. The nurse immediately showed him to the private room that Zachariah occupied. Surreptitiously glancing at his charts gave him a surname, Gershwin. He thanked the nurse for her help, and made a hasty retreat. He now had all the information he needed.
***
Inspector Brown was being stonewalled. The 'liaison' group had seized a great deal of evidence in the name of national security, and the police were in the dark. CCTV had shown nothing. With over 200,000 people milling around an island city it was impossible to keep track of just one individual. Per square mile Inspector Brown had responsibility for more people than London, and when cases like this came along his department was overstretched.
A backlog of forensics was being examined, and in the three days since the explosion the debris had been sorted according to source. This was mainly done by visual inspection. Glass was separated from metal from plastic, and placed into mountains of evidence. Each piece over an inch long was individually logged and numbered, with the position at the scene noted carefully. 360-degree imagery allowed Brown to explore the crime scene as it was on arrival, but the resolution left something to be desired.
The team were still looking for traces of electronic debris in a bid to find something that could identify the bomber. The problem was that it was at the epicentre of the blast, and was likely to have been melted by the heat. Brown also feared that the electronics from the car itself would contaminate anything found, and render it worthless as a means to trace the bomber.
Instead of focussing on the slim chance of finding something forensically significant he had been homing in on the life of the victim. Four people shared the house which was bombed, and the car was used by just one of them. Brown had assigned deputies to investigate all four, but his personal hunch was that the bomb had hit its mark when Jake Randall had died in the blast.
Mr Randall was a lecturer in international relations at the university, and outside his housemates and students he appeared to hav
e a fairly closed social group. It would be somewhere to start, even if unlikely to be fruitful. Even if the university proved a dead end it would beat sitting around waiting for forensics to come up trumps.
***
Ant lay in wait on a dark street near Guy's. He knew Yosef drove to the hospital after watching him leave his son's bedside the previous evening. Finding the car again took some time, as there were no car parks in the area, and with London congestion it was impossible to park in the same place twice. Yosef was clearly affluent though, as the car was a new-model BMW. It wasn't brand new, but at barely eighteen months old it would still cost a pretty penny.
He found the vehicle parked near Vinegar Yard, a short walk east of the hospital, and far enough away from London Bridge Station to have lower footfall. On foot, the quickest way to it was to take Melior Street straight from Guy's and cut down an alleyway.
He debated breaking into the car and hiding inside, but it would increase the odds of his being seen. It seemed like he was loitering for an age when Yosef appeared. When he walked past, Ant waited a moment before following. He reached his BMW around thirty seconds before Ant got there and there were simply too many watching for Ant to be able to make his move. Mr Gershwin would survive that evening, but it was only a temporary reprieve.
***
Morton could see what the FSA meant. He'd done his own research on the individuals Burrows had pointed the finger at. It was a loose collection, and he wondered if Burrows was clutching at straws trying to find a connection. Thirty individuals could be found who had made vastly more than their peers. Much of the work in the investigation had already been done by journalists astounded at the profits. Morton doubted he and WPC Stevenson would be able to dig anything more up, at least not without alerting them to the investigation, and he knew Burrows wanted to keep it hush-hush to avoid ruling out a sting.
The links the media had highlighted were spurious at best. Two had gone to the same school. Another pair shared the same golf club. Three more graduated from Oxford together. All of the links were of the same ilk, connecting together small subgroups, but nothing suggested that they were all linked. Burrows' own case file that he had sent over unabridged ran to hundreds of pages including detailed surveillance work, and not once had all of the suspects met, or communicated in any way known to the FSA.
Feeling a migraine come over him as he pored over dozens of financial statements, Morton shouted for WPC Debra Stevenson.
'Debs, be a doll and get me two aspirin, would you?' He grinned, knowing she hated to be called doll.
'Get it yourself!' She turned to go.
'C'mon, doll, my leg.' He gestured at the scar left by his previous encounter with Barry Fitzgerald, and suppressed a wry grin. He knew he had her over a barrel.
'Fine, but I'm telling Sarah.' She pulled out the ultimate threat, telling his wife. Morton knew it had been a mistake to let them meet at a police function the previous Christmas. He was normally savvy enough to skip work socials, or at least leave Sarah at home. She didn't do much for his macho image, as she loved to tell embarrassing stories, even from decades ago. She took after her mother that way.
Morton mimed having been shot in the head as Debra went to fetch his coffee.
CHAPTER 51: MARYLEBONE
The failed attempt had forced Ant back to the drawing board. Now that he had followed Josef once, there was a chance that he would recognise Ant the next time, and be on guard. Ant hadn't planned for that, and knew that he needed to follow through the second time because there might not be a third opportunity.
Extensive web searches helped pinpoint Gershwin's workplace. He was an architect based at Greagor, Gershwin and Hopkins LLP in Palgrave Gardens. A Marylebone firm, their offices overlooked the railway leading out of the station of Monopoly board fame. It was a noisy area, particularly during peak commuting times, and Ant knew that he could simply shift his plan's location but leave it otherwise unchanged. The obvious place to attempt to extract revenge would be the firm's car park, which appeared to be in the basement. If he could get in there then the odds of a witness would be greatly diminished, as it was fairly private.
The danger this time would be coworkers using the same car park. If one saw him he'd be rumbled. He'd also have to avoid any internal CCTV, and manage to sneak into the car park without being seen. It was a tall order, but not impossible. The car park had one entrance for cars that came up on the road, and was just about wide enough to allow one car in and one out at the same time. Barriers were used to prevent unauthorised entry, but a pedestrian could easily duck under, or climb over those.
The issue was the CCTV. The entrance was bound to be covered, and it would be even harder to obtain access through the building's internal lift as he would certainly be seen trying to go through reception.
A disguise would be the only way to go in unnoticed. In London maintenance men were virtually invisible. Jeans, a blue shirt and a tool kit would open more doors than trying to pretend to work there. A suit that wasn't a regular would be greeted, asked questions of, and remembered even if the individual encountered didn't call security. A man repainting a few lines on the floor had an excellent excuse to loiter for hours, slowly repainting the demarcation lines of the parking spaces. If he was challenged he'd simply say the landlord sent him. With several floors, and different leaseholders on each, they would all assume that one of the other tenants had hired him, and leave him be with minimal questioning.
It also gave him a great excuse to carry a makeshift weapon. A wrench would be an easy way to clobber Yosef Gershwin, and he could always pop the wrench back in the tool kit to carry it out of there unnoticed. By the time anyone realised malfeasance had taken place, he would be long gone.
***
His attire was almost that of the archetypal handyman. A waterproof beanie obscured his brow to help prevent identification, and a bulky toolset around the waist made him appear far more rotund than he was in reality. This was reinforced by baggy jeans, and a dark blue work shirt that was so fungible it could have been worn by anyone. He wore a ratty grey jacket over the top to add pocket space to his attire. A large blue toolbox rounded off the look, bought that morning from a charity shop in Wimbledon. Even the boots were as mass-market as they could be, and the newness would mean that the soles had not had time to wear, so any footprint impressions would be rendered virtually useless.
He had a tin of paint in the opposing hand to the toolbox, and was carrying a small brush to repaint the four-inch lines in the car park. He aimed to get to the car park at half four. Much later than that and he would be cutting it too fine, not to mention it would be odd seeing a handyman start so late in the day. He knew his target would want to get to Guy's Hospital after work, and the visiting hours in his son's ward began at six and ended at eight. It was likely therefore that he would make an appearance between half past five, and quarter to six.
By the time 5.30 p.m. rolled around Ant had repainted almost sixty of the hundred or so spaces in the car park. His work had been surprisingly neat. He knew that diligence would let him work without being accosted, whereas sloppy lines would garner attention.
He didn't have to wait much longer, as his target emerged from the lift at 5.34 p.m. The problem was that he was not alone. He stopped to talk to the other man beside his car, and Ant began to tense, knowing what he had to do. He kept his head down, watching the pair out of the corner of his eye. They were over fifty feet away, and so far Yosef had not recognised Ant from their brief encounter near the hospital.
The pair broke apart with a handshake, with the stranger getting into his car. Ant knew the timing would be tight. He needed the potential witness to leave, but Yosef to remain behind. He was a few feet from Yosef's car, and began to redo the line adjacent to it. As Yosef strolled over he realised that the car would have to be reversed carefully to avoid getting paint on his tyres.
'What are you doing? Get that paint away from my alloys!' Yosef's tone was haggard, as if
he had had a particularly arduous day.
'Jus' paintin'.' Ant replied, his voice thick and nasal. He played up the idiotic handyman stereotype. He needed to buy time.
'Well, stop.'
'No can do, suh. I got me deadlines.' Each syllable was slow and deliberate. As he finished talking the first man's car left the parking lot. It was now or never.
'Hurry up and get out of my bloody way.' Yosef tone turned aggressive, the weariness from before melting in an instant.
Ant seized his toolbox with his left hand, putting the paint brush in as if to comply. He stood slowly, with his back to Yosef. The wrench fit snugly in the pit of an elbow as he held his arm to his chest to conceal it. He placed the right hand on one end, and turned quickly, lunging at Yosef.
Yosef reacted far quicker than he expected, seizing his wrist, and bringing a knee up to his groin. He doubled over, briefly wracked with pain as a throbbing sensation emanated from the hit. With a howl of pain he charged forward, knocking Yosef to the floor. His wrench lay abandoned on the floor a few feet behind him, dropped during the struggle. Yosef went for his eyes, attempting a quick jab that Ant narrowly dodged before rolling to his side and straightening up.
Yosef tensed, one foot in front of the other in a stance Ant didn't recognise. In full bloodlust, he charged, right fisted cocked behind him. As the blow landed Yosef turned his cheek, diffusing the force of the throw. Ant yelped. He had broken one of the cardinal rules of hitting someone. Jaws break fingers, not the other way around.
Blood oozed from his fingers as he considered his next move. Realising that he couldn't win hand-to-hand he dove for the wrench. Picking it up he spun on his right heel, swinging the tool violently. He caught Yosef's arm, sending him crumpling to the floor. Yosef tried to kick out as Ant advanced, but this time he was ready and deftly sidestepped. Seconds later he crushed Yosef's skull with one powerful blow, the weight of his body behind the blow. Yosef's body went into spasm then fell still.
Dead on Demand (A DCI Morton Crime Novel) Page 20
