“Jack, that’s St. Michael’s Church. We can be in the area in ten. Just hold up, we are entering Swain’s Lane now.”
Roberts called their position into the CAD room.
“MP from DCI Roberts – Operation Orion team leader.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m at Swain’s Lane near Highgate Cemetery. Can I get a marked car to St. Michael’s Church please? Officer on foot chasing a female suspect. Believe she may have gone to ground nearby.”
“Received.” The operator looked at his screen. “Sorry sir I’ve got no one anywhere near you, other than the four staff I deployed to the cemetery. They are still at the scene sorting out some diplomatic admin.”
“Well, tell them from me to do that tomorrow. I need a unit to the church now.”
“Do you have a description?”
“White blonde female wearing a regimental uniform of the Intelligence corps. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot.”
The operator looked at his colleague and smiled. It was all he could do. “If resources were cooking ingredients, I wouldn’t have enough to make a flippin’ bread roll.”
He keyed the microphone once more. “Roger. Leave it with me sir, I’ll have a unit travelling as soon as I can.”
Cade was jogging again now, wondering why he was so bloody hot when everywhere there were signs of a frigid end to winter. His years of running on the local beach back in New Zealand seemed futile, but he picked up the pace again and was heading towards the church.
“Frank it’s me. Get to the location I’ve just sent via text. And hurry.”
She tucked back into the shadows of the Gothic church, watched and waited. Nothing.
She turned the handle on the impressive red wooden door and entered beneath the buttressed tower with its tapered steeple that was home to an ever-precise large blue clock with gilded hands.
She checked her watch. Ten minutes Frank – or else.
The building was quiet, as one would expect on a weekday in the winter. Rows of dark wooden pews were flanked by white pillars that led the eye to a tall stained-glass window.
She walked forward. As far as she dared. She had a morbid fear of churches and chapels; she had no idea why, and yet this morning she needed sanctuary from the demons that were beginning to haunt her since her grandfather’s untimely death.
‘Why couldn’t you just have lasted a little longer? Then we would all have benefited.’ Thoughts ran through her mind as she sat and stared up at the multi-coloured glass.
‘He’ll be here soon then I can get back to work and try to sort this bloody mess out. Where to start on what just happened back there?’ She mulled over the last few hours. A non-descript funeral in an iconic graveyard and then chased by a handsome copper through a wooded glade. She had been tempted to stop and find out more about him.
The door creaked slightly. The sound amplified in the ecclesiastical chamber that had become her temporary refuge.
She felt she was being watched from the moment she had entered the building. Ghosts from her past?
Her eyes were trying to readjust having looked at the beautiful coloured glass for a while.
She turned. “Frank?”
The outline of the man was about the right height.
She blinked the spectral lights away as the figure walked slowly towards her into the one shaft of sunlight that did its best to light up the church. She blinked again.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were a friend.” She smiled, appearing calm and collected.
“Did you now? Well, how do you know I’m not a friend? After all you didn’t hang around long enough to chat. You can run, I’ll give you that much.”
“I’m sorry we haven’t met and I really need to be going.”
“Afraid?”
“Of you? No, not at all. I think we established that earlier.”
“Ah, so we have met then. A point to me. Good, that I haven’t lost my policeman’s instinct. Jack Cade by the way, and you are?”
“Mr. Cade you know damned well who I am so let’s stop this charade shall we? I have to go.”
“You are going nowhere until we have had a chat. And that might end up as a chat about your rights. And right now, there’s only one witness.” He pointed upward as he continued to walk towards her.
“Nice uniform. It suits you. Lovely shade of green. Intelligence Corps if I’m not mistaken?”
“So now you are trying to chat me up. I commend your style Mr. Cade, but I’m really not your type.”
“Let me be the judge of that Susan. Or should I call you Red?”
That rankled her. And he knew it.
“You will step out of my way right now. Or…”
“Or what, you’ll have me arrested? I hardly think so, seeing as though I’m on the side of the good guys.” He was now within arm’s length, touching range, in range of being punched.
He held out his hand. “Friends? Worst case allies? Until we can establish what the hell is happening to both of our lives? Deal?”
She stepped forward and took his hand, held his gaze. He had fiercely inquisitive, charming, blue eyes that floated in a turbulent sea of life-changing stories, some from his past, some from the present, either way they spoke to her.
He smiled. It was known to be a disarming smile and his handshake was warm and firm. Hers was too. A match made in hell.
She couldn’t help pitying him. He was handsome. Not quite a frisson. But a country mile from revulsion. No super model, but the recent tan and the hint of silver in his side burns lifted those eyes even more.
She held his gaze and his hand just long enough for Cade to spot her eyes move very slightly. The blow hit him hard, from behind, with a resounding metallic crash.
He dropped to the ground, any hope of the blonde captain switching sides had vanished as the large brass collection plate hit him squarely across the back of his head.
He dropped quickly, then lay in the aisle, the faint smell of wood polish and recent floral tributes permeated the air.
His hearing was still working.
She called him Frank. He heard them running. Then the red wooden door, beneath the buttressed tower slammed shut, and the building was quiet once more.
Cade was mumbling into the stone floor.
“Dear God. If you can hear me, get me some backup.”
He was out cold and didn’t hear the door re-open minutes later.
“Jack. Jack….”
“I’ll go and find a first aid kit.”
“Jack, buddy, it’s Jason. You are in good hands mate, just lie still. Help is on the way.”
Cade lifted his head slightly, could smell the metallic tang of blood. Felt round with his hand, rubbed it between his fingers. Then looked up into the light.
“Are you an angel?”
“No. I’m not. I’m a slightly gingery-blond with a passion for tea and biscuits…”
“But let me guess. You don’t like ginger nuts? Glad you are not an angel, because if you are you are not a very worthy representation of the afterlife…”
“I’ll choose to ignore that former Inspector Cade.”
Cade snorted a laugh. “Touché. Did you see her?”
“Who?”
“Reddington. Who do you think did this, the bloody Pope?”
“Wrong church old son, the Catholic place St. Joe’s is about a mile away. And no, we didn’t see them. She did this? How?”
“Actually, that’s not true, I was holding her hand when someone clobbered me with the collection plate. Clearly not happy with what I put in last Sunday.”
“Well, at least you found a home for that dodgy coin collection. Come on, mate let’s try to sit you up.”
Cade leant against a pew as Francis entered the church with a first aid kit that consisted of a box of plasters, a triangular bandage and an eye patch.
“Sorry Jack. Standard police kit. Not much use is it?”
“OK, if he wants to go to a pirate party.” Roberts knew i
t was a poor joke. But continued, “You could see if you could dig up some treasure…Arr lad!”
Cade held up his hand. “Stop. Give me a second.” He shook his head.
“We need to get back to the cemetery.”
“No, you’re still alive. We need to get you to a hospital.”
“No, Jason, get me back to Reddington’s grave. Now.”
“You’ve had a blow to the head old son, the last thing you should be doing is paying your last respects to a crooked soldier.”
“No, I’m not planning to. I intend to dig him up.”
“For the love of Christ.” He stopped, looked up. “Sorry! Forgive me?” He tried to cross himself as he’d seen his mother do so many times.
“Jack, listen to me. You are probably concussed.” He held Cade’s shoulder, trying to keep him down.
“No, Jason you listen to me. This is not concussion. The old soldier back there said something before I ran off after her. He said Captain Reddington’s father was taking his secrets to the grave… He also said she wasn’t what she seemed.” He let the sentence permeate like incense at the nearby mass until Roberts stood up quickly. Too quickly. He staggered and was caught by Francis who was still favouring his wounds.
“What a bloody team. Come on, let’s go. You got a spade in the car?”
“Obviously. I’ve got a bucket too. Why are we planning on making sand castles?”
“No, I’m seriously planning on digging her grandad up.”
They got to the car, belted up and Roberts accelerated across the road, calling up his control room with his left hand.
“Sorry sir, that unit has been re-deployed to a report of a large fight a few miles south. They did what they could to appease the parties at the scene and left.”
“Received, can we establish if those parties were still at the scene when our unit left over?”
“Stand by.”
They accelerated along the two-lane road, unable to overtake due to the sheer volume of traffic.
“Time for blues and twos DCI Roberts?” asked Cade, still rubbing the back of his head.
“I was concerned about giving our position away.”
“Come on, mate, this is London. The noise of sirens is an hourly occurrence.”
“OK. Your call.” He pushed the Single Man Operation button and tapped the steering wheel to switch from a wail to a more euro-sounding siren. A change of sound effect often helped to navigate quicker.
“How long?”
“Ten at most?”
“Good. Make it nine and I’ll buy the first round later.”
“For that I’ll make it eight. Do you really need to dig him up?”
“I do. Call it intuition.”
“As long as you are not into munging.”
“What? That’s a new one on me Jason.”
“Me too,” said Francis, busy searching for the word on his cell phone.
He made a groaning sound. “Bloody hell who thinks of these things?”
“Care to enlighten us Dave?”
“No. End of. Go and have a look yourself. But don’t have a hearty meal before you do. Disgusting.”
At Highgate cemetery, two men worked at a feverish pace. The right tools certainly helped. One more job today and they could put their feet up, have a drink and relax.
Sleet started to fall, and the sky took on a dark grey, almost green hue.
They didn’t always enjoy their work, and today was no exception. But orders were orders.
And being paid that well for fifteen minutes’ work was reward in itself.
Doto brushed the mud from her one good heel, favoured the damage to her precious face and leaned back in the sumptuous leather of the Bentley.
“We have done well today. Now, let’s get back to the house and work out where we go from here. How are we doing on tracking the girls down?”
“Better than expected madam.”
“Have you found all twelve yet?”
“No.”
“Then that is not better than I expected is it?”
The driver remained silent as they made their way back to Kensington.
She stared out of the tinted glass onto the city as it unfolded before her. How could a girl from the township have ended up in a city like this, with such a lifestyle and in such a beautiful car, with the ability to influence, possibly even control people she met? Was it success, as defined by her lifestyle, or her natural persona that people found impossible to ignore?
Her carapace was the light switch that turned dark to day and she hid behind it rather well – the people that quietly judged her still, looked down at her, or placed her on a pedestal weren’t to know that she still had fears of her own.
She smiled, saw her reflection in the glass. She considered that there were two very powerful women in London. The Queen and Doto Adesida. And with what she held in her hand the balance of power had shifted once more.
“Put some music on! I feel like dancing.”
The passenger complied, found a track that she liked. Plenty of bass. A dance track, fast and furious.
“Toss a coin to see who gets to wash my back tonight.”
They were four minutes away from the cemetery gates when Cade remembered he had a voice mail. He swiped a shape onto the screen, a sort of exaggerated star, opened the phone and listened.
“Jack, it’s me.” She paused. As if she was reading something.
“Look love I’ve got some bad news. It’s Dr. Adaeze.”
He knew as soon as he heard her name.
“A council team were clearing a property for demolition when they found her body. Well, parts of it anyway. A Crime Scene team have attended and took DNA and prints. They matched them against some old immigration data. It’s her Jack. I’m really sorry. Ring me.”
Cade exhaled, shook his head. “Jason, pull over a second mate.”
“But you said…”
“I know. Please, anywhere here.”
The car stopped, Cade opened the door and leant out into the gutter and threw up, and again.
“It’s OK mate, let it all go. Concussion is a bitch.”
Cade wiped his mouth with a tissue. “It’s not that mate. Carrie has told me that they’ve found Adaeze’s dismembered body. Remember that time we were told the gloves were off? When we were dealing with Alex Stefanescu and his team?”
“How could I forget?”
“Well, I’ve just put them back on, except now they are lined with lead. Get me to that cemetery, and if you see that Bentley ram it.”
They pulled into the sprawling graveyard and drove as quickly as they felt they could to the area where Reddington had been interred.
“I hope this proves to be worth it Jack. You know I’ll back you to the hilt but I have no idea where this will end up. Probably a massive complaint from the family! We’ve already got one coming from the embassy of…”
Cade was about to respond when he looked ahead. Saw the grave. The small digger next to it.
The sleet was turning to snow, and the wind was doing its best to cut through the three men who now walked quickly along the narrower roadway to the fresh grave. Roberts pulled the collar up on his coat in a vain attempt to shield himself from the howling squall.
All three stopped.
“Does this look right to you Jack?” Francis was trudging around in the mud, trying to get to the pine panel that lay about ten feet away. “Because it certainly doesn’t to me!”
The panel had a small brass plaque on it, covered in fresh mud and the polished wooden surface was gouged as if by a broad-bladed tool.
Francis ran his hand over it, almost pre-empting what it would say. He wasn’t wrong.
It seemed whoever concocted the epitaph for the army officer was a man or woman of few words.
In the hole lay Brigadier Reddington retired and very much dead. He was wearing his regimental uniform without the medals. Soil filled every gap around him and covered his upper torso.
&nb
sp; “There are marks all over the lid of this coffin chaps,” announced Francis now walking towards the hole.
Cade was looking down into it as flakes of snow began to form into a gentle ermine blanket.
“Whose suit was the most expensive?” He asked, hoping it was his.
“I’m guessing yours Jack. I’m on a DCI’s wage…” replied Roberts.
“Well then, in you go.”
“No way. I have a morbid fear of the dead, average-priced suit or not. Anyway, why would anyone in their right mind get into a grave?” It was a more than reasonable question.
“To try to find out what is left. This happened in the time it took you two to get to the church and for me to get sacrificed on the altar. I’m guessing our African friends might have had something to do with it, and possibly our female soldier, the one who skilfully lured us away…secrets…to…the…grave.”
“Toss for it?” Roberts was getting desperate. “Tails?”
“Then heads for me. Dave if you’d be so kind – as I’m guessing you won’t be going in with that gammy leg of yours?”
“Tails it is. Sorry Jack. Can I hold your jacket?”
“Why not, it’s not as if it’s the middle of bloody winter is it?” He took a second then began to climb down into the hole.
“The concussed man ate a hearty breakfast – before he was abandoned by his so-called friends in the depths of the arctic tundra.”
He was surprised how far down he was when he looked back up at the two frigid faces of his friends staring back down at him.
“I have to say it’s much warmer out of the wind.” He began to cautiously brush the dirt away, trying to balance either side of the coffin which sat in the nearly two-metre-deep hole. It measured just over two metres in length. The last thing he wanted to do was fall onto the deceased soldier, decent suit or not.
He continued to brush, then almost dig away with his right hand, flicking it between his legs until he had uncovered the face.
“So, that’s what the old sod looked like.”
Roberts had nothing but admiration for his colleague. No way, no way on this earth would he even climb into that damned hole.
The Angel of Whitehall Page 32
