The Angel of Whitehall

by Lewis Hastings

  “Miss, are you there?” Warm African voice.

  “Yes, yes. I’m here.” Panicked London accent.

  “Big black eyes?”

  “He will have, trust me on this.”

  “I meant the snake. Has it got large all black eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Tell your friend it looks like a Green Natal Snake. Not venomous. Tell him right away, it might stop him having a heart attack.”

  “Jack, it’s not venomous.” She was almost in tears.

  “Why couldn’t we have stayed in New Zealand? They don’t have snakes for a start.”

  “He’ll be OK, miss. You just need to keep the wound clean. It will bleed for a while. If he held his hand in there it would bite him again until he moved it out of the way. They are amazing things. So fast along the ground. Even quicker to get up a tree. Kind of makes sense, don’t you think?”

  “No. None of this makes sense. But thank you. I could kiss you.”

  “Then in that case my name is William and I can be found at the Reptilian Department every day except Wednesday.”

  “Thank you, William. I’ll visit you one day, I promise. Dear God he’s going back for round two…”

  “In that case, he’ll just have to work out how not to get bitten. They are very quick. I’ll stay on the line…” He was enjoying this.

  Cade had wrapped a towel around his damaged hand and plunged it into the tank, holding down the animal until he could grip onto it by the head.

  “You ever done anything like this before, guv?” asked the panicking Scotsman.

  “Never Dev. But the expert said he’s not poisonous. So, are you ready?”

  “For what? Seriously, inspector or no inspector, if you think I’m gonna dae that you can get tae fuck!”

  “Sergeant, I’ve got the bloody snake. Search the bottom of its tank for Christ's sake and do it before I drop it.”

  “This is way beyond my job description.”

  “And mine. Now go!”

  The Scotsman was incredulous, and yet equally he did as he was told and put his hand into the tank.

  “OK, Steve bloody Irwin. Now what?”

  “Search every corner, lift every stone.”

  “But what if there’s a scorpion?”

  “Trust me. There won’t be.”

  “OK, now we’re David frigging-bloody-Attenborough. I trust you as far as I could kick you – sir!”

  He quickly moved his hand around until his fingertips stopped on something. Something that felt far from natural. Hard, almost granular under the sand. He rubbed it between his fingers and slowly pulled it out. It was a silver chain.

  “What the actual bloody hell…?”

  He looked at Cade, who was busy keeping an eye on Rufus.

  He nodded eagerly. “Yes, take it out.”

  Dev pulled the chain out from the sand to reveal a locket. He lifted it clear and brushed it off.

  “Happy?”

  “Delirious Dev. More than you might know.”

  “Can you put the snake back now. Please?”

  Cade walked across to the tank, struggling to hold onto the green creature.

  “I’ll drop it in, you slam the lid back down.”

  The paramedics had applied heavy dressings, medicated the woman with tranexamic acid to stem the bleeding, and had got her onto a stretcher. Everyone was making room for them when what happened turned the whole place sideways, upside down and to quote Dev the Scotsman inside-bloody-well-oot.

  The woman who had earlier been declared as good as dead sat up as far as the restraint straps would allow and screamed.

  “Maciji…Rufus!”

  The team of police and scene investigators and paramedics stopped.

  The woman was frantic. She was talking about the snake. Mumbling in some language that they couldn’t understand. She was looking at the locket.

  “Maciji…” She said it again.

  William heard it too and started shouting down the phone. O’Shea was transfixed, trying to decide whether to look at Cade and the snake or the woman whose insides had been practically ripped out or answer the velvet-toned snake charmer.

  “Miss!”

  “What?”

  “The voice. It is saying snake. Maciji is snake in some African languages.”

  “Jack. She’s saying snake.”

  “I guess so, and I’m guessing Rufus is its name.” He was trying to hold it calmly so the woman didn’t become more distressed. “He’s called Rufus, yes?”

  She nodded. But kept saying the same word over and over again whilst pointing at the locket.

  “We are losing her – stand back, we need to go now!” shouted the middle-aged female paramedic.

  “Baki Maciji!” The woman tried to shout, but her voice was weak.

  “Miss!” William yelled down the phone.

  “What now?”

  “This is different. She is saying black snake. I think she is saying Black Mamba. Ask her if there is another snake in the house.”

  “Is there another snake in the house? Please, my love, we need to know.”

  The woman was shaking violently, trying to speak. “No. No, miss. No. Baki Maciji is everywhere. Take the locket…”

  Cade knew this was likely to be a dying declaration. He mimed writing to Dev, who got out his pocketbook.

  “Listen, my friend, we are going to get you help. You will be OK. I need to ask you one question.” Cade looked into her dark brown eyes with his bright blue ones.

  “We need to go now!” The paramedic had no time for questions. Every second counted as she started to wheel the woman towards the door.

  “One question might save many more people. Please. I beg you to let me ask this one question.”

  He held the dying woman’s hand, squeezed it slightly, showed her the locket. “My love, where did you get this from?”

  She breathed deeply, each breath becoming shallower.

  “Come on. Talk to me. Save the others.”

  “Mala’Ika…Farin Mala’Ika.”

  “Who is that?”

  “You said one question mate.”

  “Who is that?” he persisted.

  “Mala’Ika is our friend. I am number six.” She smiled, then laughed a light laugh, it was all she had left.

  “Find him. Find Baki. Stop this happening, please.” She squeezed Cade’s hand now, tighter by the second, her breathing quickened, she screwed her eyes up then let go.

  They spent ten minutes trying to revive her. Six hundred seconds of care and compassion and hope. But they failed, and the woman from Guinea on the west coast of Africa died in a small over-priced flat in south London.

  “Miss. Are you still there?”

  O’Shea had walked outside. She needed the air. She could hear the voice and picked up the phone.

  “Oh my God, William. I am so sorry. You must think I am so rude?”

  “It’s OK. I wanted to say let me know if you need someone to come and get the snake.”

  “Of course, and thank you.”

  “Look miss, I couldn’t help listening. It may be nothing, but in West Africa there is a woman the people call Baki Maciji. She is very much feared. The name means Black Mamba. Arguably the most dangerous snake in Africa. I could be a million miles off course here, but I feel you need to know.”

  “Thank you. Can we send someone to come and get some more information from you?”

  “Anytime. Except Wednesday. And miss…”

  “Yes?”

  “The poor lady was saying another name.”

  “She was? I thought she was just mumbling about her snake.”

  “No. Not at all. She was telling you another name. Farin Mala’Ika. In our language, that means the White Angel. I’m not a cop, but I suspect if you find one you will find the other.”

  “William. I think it’s fair to say I love you.”

  “In that case, I’m free on Wednesday.”

  Cade was stood in the flat, f
avouring his hand. The second paramedic had given him a dressing and told him to go to the nearest accident and emergency centre to have it checked, which both knew wouldn’t happen. Now he was one of three people left. The Scotsman, himself and the CSI who was de-kitting, having taken samples from everywhere and photographed everything.

  “Find all you need?” Cade enquired.

  “Pretty much. A lot of work for one. There was a time we’d swamp a scene like this, but the cutbacks have been ruthless.”

  “Indeed, they have. I got out just in time, you’ve got to love the Home Secretary for making those decisions. Tell me, anything odd about this case?”

  “Looks like a pre-meditated job to me. Or she knew her attacker. No signs of forced entry and despite all the blood there’s no real sign of a struggle in the shower either.”

  “Did you notice the self-abuse marks on her arms and chest?”

  “I did. But you’ve got that wrong. They are deliberate. It’s tribal. I have studied it for years. That’s why I’m here. I got a call too.”

  “Interesting stuff. So you’d consider yourself a subject matter expert on this type of thing?”

  “As far as the UK is concerned Mr. Cade probably the leading expert.”

  “I didn’t introduce myself, but you know my name.”

  “I’ve got big ears, Jack. And we share the same initials. I’m Jackie Clarke.”

  “Good to meet you. I’ll ring you if I need you.”

  “Anytime.”

  She watched him leave the room, then with her sleeve started to rub off the two words that were slowly appearing on the shower glass.

  Cade turned around and spoke, startling the CSI.

  “That’s devotion to duty. Cleaning up after yourself!”

  “Call it dedication to a fault.” She smiled as she packed away the last of her equipment.

  “Jackie.”

  “Yes?”

  “You ever seen anything like this before?”

  “No. This is a first. I suspect they were after drugs, it’s not an attack wound. If I was pushed into providing an answer, I’d say drugs, that’s what I’ll probably put in my report.”

  An hour later, the scene guard met a frustrated-looking CSI at the plastic tape.

  “You OK?”

  “Yep, fine, or at least I would be if I wasn’t so bloody busy. One man, covering what, fifty square miles, sixty probably, you know when I joined the job there would have been ten of us, three coming to this, one to check the outside, one inside and a photographer. And another thing…” He flicked a roll-up into the gutter, stepped onto it until the last ember had gone.

  “Can I stop you? You need to sign the log. The thing is a CSI has already been.”

  “I doubt that very much my love. I’m the only one on duty south of the river tonight.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Marylebone, London

  John Daniel had opened the door to the black cab and helped Denby inside. It was freezing outside, so the warmth of the cab was welcomed.

  “We ready?” asked Hewett dressed down but always one step ahead.

  “Born ready, young man,” replied Denby. “Life’s good and then you die. Let’s get there shall we so I can carry out phase one.”

  Phase One had been discussed over dinner at JD’s London home. It required Daniel to circulate, chatting to all and sundry, anyone in fact, as long as he circulated and was able to keep an eye on Denby.

  Hewett would join them within minutes, having got changed in the back of the cab. He’d lost count of the amount of embassy and consular affairs he’d been present at. His first was in Singapore with his parents; loyal British subjects overseas and keeping the reputation of the country alive.

  Denby’s role was two-fold. Remember, as many people as he could and above all, not get recognised. In order to do the latter, he needed to confront one particular person. The risks were huge, but he no longer cared.

  They arrived outside the Marylebone address of the embassy. Hewett stayed in the cab – it looked better that way, more authentic, and avoided him being seen on any cameras.

  Daniel helped Denby out of the passenger side, next to a bus stop, again to try to avoid initial footage of the ailing sailor who took a second to compose himself then walked upright and purposefully to the entrance.

  They were met at the main door of the anonymous office block. Set behind a skeletal wintry tree and next to the dark-red brick-built church of St Mark’s.

  “Welcome to the Embassy of the Republic of Guinea in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. May I take your names please gentlemen?”

  “Of course. John Daniel and Frank Asquith.”

  “Oh yes, there you are.” The doorman ticked off the names and allowed them to pass. “Please take the lift to the second floor where you will be met. Merci.”

  “Merci beaucoup,” replied Daniel as they entered the lift.

  “You sure you are up for this, Tom? It’s not too late to leave.”

  “Lad, I’ve had my bag changed, and this suit feels like it was made for me. As long as I don’t look bloody ridiculous with this hair colour, we’ll be fine.”

  The door opened to reveal a riot of colour. Deep blue, white, orange and green. Traditional dress dominated; the hosts resplendent in their full-length gowns, the Ambassador choosing to wear a well-cut dark grey business suit. Music was playing and the smell of freshly prepared finger food wafted through the entire floor.

  Unlike larger functions, the two British men were not formally announced, instead walking into the foyer and shaking hands and introducing themselves.

  “Good evening, Ambassador. John Daniel.” JD shook Ambassador Diallo’s hand warmly and hoped he didn’t receive too many questions.

  “It is an honour to meet you. And remind me where you are from?”

  “The British Foreign Office.”

  “Of course!”

  “Indeed. The food smells divine and these most beautiful ladies too, such vibrant colours, it is a feast for the eyes and nose!” Daniel was an old hand at this game.

  “You are too kind, sir. Please introduce me to your colleague and then we can provide you with some food and drink and genuine Guinean hospitality.”

  “Frank Asquith. Also from the Foreign Office but looking forward to retiring soon.”

  “Marvellous!” Diallo clapped his hands together and laughed a deep, bass laugh which encouraged everyone to join in. “But surely you have a few years yet? We must be of a similar age, Mr. Asquith?”

  “That depends Ambassador.”

  “Well…I’m not a betting man you understand, but I’m guessing you might be in your early sixties.”

  “Then I am honoured to call you my friend!” Denby shook Diallo’s hand sincerely. He hoped this was the start he needed.

  “Come, Frank, let me introduce you to my wife and my daughters. John, please join us.”

  And that is how Denby gained access to the lower-level embassy function in the heart of London. How he got the invite was another story.

  Ten minutes later, Hewett arrived.

  Within a very short time, he had the Ambassador and particularly his daughter eating from his hand – there was every chance the beautiful girl could literally be doing that if she played her cards right.

  He shook her hand long enough to create some chemistry.

  “You are also from the Foreign Office, Mr. Hewett? There are three of you here tonight.” It was the first test.

  “Ah yes, I see Frank and John have gate crashed again. Anything for a free cocktail. Now tell me all about the current situation with the French investment in your oil industry. This has enormous potential, and you must be so excited? But first, forgive me, I didn’t get your name…”

  “My name is Simone.”

  “Wonderful. Come on, let’s go and have some fun.”

  Hewett whisked her away from her family and gathered up two glasses of something white and fizzy.


  “Cheers.”

  “Cheers. Do I call you Mr. Hewett?”

  “Well, that’s my name, but my friends call me Johnnie. Come on, introduce me to a few of yours.”

  Denby and Daniel were also skilfully talking to those on the outer margins of the ninety or so guests, allowing both men to watch and observe.

  “Recognise anyone yet, Frank?” asked Daniel fully adopting the cover story.

  “Not one. This was a bad idea. We need to go soon.” He took a sip from the glass as the lift door opened.

  A statuesque woman walked into the foyer and embraced the Ambassador and his wife.

  “Doto Adesida! How wonderful that you made it.”

  She hugged them all like old friends, took a glass of wine then surveyed the gathered business and government attendees as a lioness surveys the Savanna.

  Daniel couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had forgone the traditional dress for something a lot more daring, one that showed her figure off in the bright light of the embassy. It was clear she enjoyed attention.

  “Recognise her?”

  “For some reason, yes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. But don’t ask me why. Let’s subtly make our way over to her, shall we?” Denby walked slowly, deliberately in her direction.

  Daniel whispered, “If this is subtle, I need to look it up in the dictionary again.”

  “Frank Asquith. Foreign Office and this is John Daniel from our Trade Department.”

  “I am Doto Adesida. It means second born.”

  “Are you one of sisters, perhaps? Could there be two women quite so beautiful? You look exquisite tonight, if you don’t mind me saying?”

  “Of course not, sir. And I did have a sister once, but I haven’t seen her for a very long time. You say I look beautiful tonight? Have we met before?”

  “No, sadly not my dear, it was just a British turn of phrase, but you do look exquisite nonetheless.” His ancient eyes sparkled.

  Daniel couldn’t help admire the old man. He must have been a real player in his earlier years.

  Doto smiled a natural smile and tipped her head back slightly, showing a toned neck that led all the way down her chest to a large diamond. She knew they were looking at it and what nestled either side of it.