Authors: Angie Smith
“We didn’t want the connection to be made between
Williams and Rose Mathewson. Think about the conspiracy stories that would
generate; the press would have a field day.”
“You have an answer to everything.”
“That’s because I’ve nothing to hide.”
She scoffed. “That must be the understatement of the
year.”
“You know what I mean.”
“So what do we do? Foster says there’s still a
possibility I am at risk because Gerrard may have discovered I was unfaithful.
Therefore he suggests I either accept police protection or carry on with my
own.”
Plant nodded. “He’s right. My advice is we continue
with our own people; they’re better trained and that way I can look after you.”
Pauline scowled. “It still doesn’t explain why I
wasn’t killed last night.”
“That’s troubling me too,” Plant admitted. “Unless
Gerrard’s the reason you’re in danger and this is all part of his plan to
intimidate you, similar to what was done to Ramírez.”
“Stop it! You’re frightening me again.”
Foster returned to the Incident
Room at 1.21 p.m. On the way to Wakefield he’d been called by Matt Holden’s
secretary and asked what time he was likely to be back; she was arranging a
meeting for him and the Chief Constable. He’d guessed Faulkner-Brown would be
there, particularly when he’d been told Inspector Dudley was also expected to
attend.
“Aye, how did it go?” McLean asked as Foster made
his way over to the office.
“Where’s Dudley?”
“He’s been out all day.”
“I’ve got a meeting at two o’clock with the Chief
Constable and Dudley, and I assume his boss. Where’s the dossier? I’ll need to
read it, and I’d better take a copy of it with me. Did you do as I asked?”
McLean smiled. “Aye, the original’s safely locked
away in my drawer and an untouched copy in an evidence bag is ready for you to
hand over. Plus there’s another copy on your desk.”
“Excellent. I might need to ring Maria before I go
into the meeting.”
“She’s not answering her phone; they’re monitoring
it. You’ll have to go to the flat if you need to speak to her.”
Foster briefly looked up at the clock. “I haven’t
got time; I’ll wing-it. I’ll speak to her later if there’re any problems.”
At exactly 2.00 p.m. he was invited into Holden’s
office. As expected Faulkner-Brown and Hilton Dudley were already seated.
Foster ignored them and waited to be asked to the table.
“Glad you could make it,” Holden said, beckoning him
to come and be seated.
“Good afternoon, Sir.” He placed his briefcase on
the floor next to him.
Faulkner-Brown began by saying, “I understand you’ve
received new information.”
“Has Plant explained everything?”
“Where did this information come from?”
Faulkner-Brown persisted.
“We received an anonymous dossier through the post,”
Foster replied, opening his briefcase and taking out the evidence bag. He
handed it over. “I’ve got a copy you can read here.” He pushed it across to
Faulkner-Brown who instantly snapped it up and started reading.
“Any idea who sent it?” Holden asked.
“We think the killer, Sir. We don’t know anyone else
who would know that much detail. Obviously we can’t substantiate some of the
claims, without help from our friends here, but what we can say is the majority
of the information is accurate. What do you say?” He looked at Faulkner-Brown.
“Who’s seen this?”
“McLean, Jacobs, West and myself. It arrived this
morning. I’d telephoned to let them know where I was and McLean mentioned that an
envelope with ‘Confidential’ on it and marked for my attention had arrived. He
said it didn’t look official, so I asked him to open it. He read it out. As
soon as we realised what it was he copied it and placed it in the evidence
bag.”
“Can I read it?” Holden asked.
Foster passed him another copy.
“How many damned copies are there?” Faulkner-Brown
enquired.
Foster made out he was counting in his head. “About
eight or nine, maybe ten,” he lied.
“Can I ask that you recall every one of them? All
hell will break lose if this gets out into the open.”
“Is this true?” Holden asked, appearing to have read
through the document.
“Some of it.”
“Care to share?”
“Everything, apart from the British having murdered
the Mathewsons, and the claim that Williams worked for the Secret Intelligence
Service.”
“You admit you knew Williams was Drummond?” Foster
said.
Faulkner-Brown nodded.
Foster’s grip on the briefcase tightened and he
shook his head in disbelief. “But you chose to keep that from us, along with
details about the link between Crean and Williams.”
“If any of this,” Faulkner-Brown waved his copy in
the air, “gets into the public domain, the conspiracy theorists will have a
field day.”
“Can I respectfully remind you, that we’re not the
public domain,” Holden stated. “We’re actually investigating a series of
murders, and withholding information is a criminal offence.”
“And while we’re on the subject, please can you
explain why you’ve been monitoring my detectives’ phones and keeping them under
surveillance?” Foster added sharply.
“We haven’t.”
“I know for a fact you’ve had people following
Jacobs, Woods, and Barnes.”
“I’ll admit we followed Jacobs while he was in
France, and Woods after he’d gone off sick, but we haven’t been anywhere near
Barnes. You know what she’s like; she’ll have invented the allegations, she’s
known for her overactive imagination.”
Foster’s eyes narrowed. “How would you know that?”
he hissed.
Holden intervened. “Could we return to this?” he
held up the dossier. “If you’re saying the British had nothing to do with the
deaths of the Mathewsons then Plant can’t be at risk.”
Faulkner-Brown raised his gaze. “Unfortunately,
Williams wrongly believes Plant murdered his family. That’s why he and Pauline
are under threat. We think Williams will try to murder her and then Plant. Last
night was a failed attempt.”
“Therefore you’re assuming Pauline’s CCCXVI and
Plant’s CXVI,” Foster clarified.
“Yes.”
“Why then have you got people watching Victor Zielinski?”
“Like you, we have doubts.”
“I doubt every word you say.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Faulkner-Brown mumbled.
Holden looked at Foster. “You think the relationship
is beyond salvation?”
“Sir, with the greatest respect, they’ve done
nothing to assist. They’ve withheld information, tampered with evidence, placed
my officers under surveillance, monitored their phone calls and attempted to
bug their office and homes. Dudley’s hardly ever around. He repeatedly
disappears off to update Faulkner-Brown every time there’s a new development.
He’s totally unreliable, and if that isn’t enough, I’ve got two of my best
detectives on sick leave because of them.”
Holden looked at Faulkner-Brown. “What have you got
to say?”
“I agree the relationship has broken down, and I
take the lion’s share of responsibility for that. But for many reasons I must
insist on Dudley being part of the investigation; he needs to keep me up to
speed with developments. Therefore, if you try to remove him from the team,
I’ll have your decision overturned. I’ll go to the very top if I have to. I
didn’t want it to come to this, but if you back me into a corner, I’ll have no
option.”
Holden leaned forward, “I don’t appreciate being
threatened, especially by someone like you, but I accept you would go to any
lengths to get what you want. You’ll be able to pull strings I didn’t know even
existed. Therefore,” he turned to Foster, “it appears my hands are tied.”
Foster nodded and stared at Faulkner-Brown. “Promise
me you’ll stop hounding Barnes.”
“What is it about her? Do you think butter wouldn’t
melt?”
Foster ground his teeth. “I want you to leave her
alone, stop following her, monitoring her phones and keep away from the flat!”
“For reasons I cannot divulge, I’m unable to agree
to your request. My interest in her outweighs your concerns about her welfare.”
Foster’s patience frayed. “On the one hand you claim
not to have been anywhere near her; you besmirch her character with allegations
of an overactive imagination, and yet your interest in her outweighs my
concerns about her welfare.” He glowered at Faulkner-Brown. “Well, allow me to
make myself very clear, because you and I appear to be facing an evolutionary
gap. If anything happens to Barnes, I’ll hold you totally responsible.”
Barnes looked out of the window
at the many small islands below. The beautiful turquoise waters, the brilliant
white sandy beaches and the stunning vegetation. “Welcome to paradise,” she
said to Pamela and Woods.
“How scary was that take-off?” Pamela said.
Woods grinned. “The Twin Otter’s a highly
manoeuvrable aircraft suitable for all conditions and climates. It’s capable of
short take-offs and landings, and was chosen because of its versatility,
reliability and safety.”
“Yes, I read the in-flight magazine too,” Barnes sighed,
“but it didn’t mention anything about the strong cross-winds, nor the fact that
the locals all appear to adopt the crash-landing brace position on take-off. Do
they know something we don’t?”
“Can we catch the ferry back to Mahe?” Pamela
enquired.
“That can be worse; I’ve heard it’s like being in a
washing machine,” Woods answered.
“And you’re expecting us to sail around the islands
looking for Gerrard Crean?” Pamela snapped back.
“We need a catamaran,” Barnes suggested. “They’re
more stable in heavy seas.”
“Greg, are you capable of sailing one of those?”
Pamela asked.
“We’ll soon find out.”
“You’ll need at least a RYA Day Skipper
qualification, or more likely a RYA International Certificate of Competence and
a second competent person to charter a yacht or cat the size we’ll be requiring.
I don’t suppose you have one?” Barnes said, hoping to be surprised.
Woods’ expression answered for him.
“Luckily, the hotel has access to a catamaran which
you can charter along with a fully qualified two-man crew. I’ve already
contacted them and it’s provisionally booked for us tomorrow, weather
dependant.”
“You leave nothing to chance, do you?” Woods said. Then,
as the small plane banked sharply, “Here we go, look, they’re all adopting the
brace position again.”
Barnes gripped the seat, screwed her eyes closed
and wished she’d thought of a good reason not to come. The plane levelled out
and lined up for its final approach.
“Stop worrying.”
Woods’ words were small comfort. She held her
breath.
Come on, you can do this.
The plane was being buffeted by the
winds, but it touched down smoothly, with no drama or mishap. Barnes opened her
eyes and looked out of the window. “Wow, how cool is this?”
Woods beamed. “You see, nothing to worry about.
Let’s grab our luggage, meet the chauffeur and head to the hotel for
cocktails.”
Faulkner-Brown and Dudley were
having dinner together at the hotel where they were staying, just off Junction
39 of the M1 motorway. Faulkner-Brown munched his way through half a roast
chicken, while Dudley tucked into the pan-fried sea bass.
“Do you think it was Williams who sent the dossier?”
Dudley asked.
“I don’t think so, there’s much more information he
could have divulged, but I’m having it forensically tested; see if there are
any clues. The question is, who else would have known that amount of detail?”
“What about Barnes, she said she’d worked it all
out?”
“She hasn’t left her flat since Tuesday afternoon. The
document was posted on Wednesday morning near the city centre.”
“How can you be sure she hasn’t left the flat?”
“I told you, I’ve got a first-class team monitoring
her; I’ll ring them.” He took out his phone, pressed a speed-dial number and
asked for an update. He listened for a few moments, and then terminated the
call. “She’s watching TV in the living room,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“They can see the reflection of the TV on the window
blinds, and shadows occasionally moving around the room, the lights go off
around midnight and presumably she goes to bed.”
“That doesn’t prove she’s in.”
“We’ve pressed the intercom, saying we had a parcel
to deliver. She told us to leave it in the entrance hall and she’d collect it
later; after an hour it had gone.”
“She could’ve got someone to collect it for her, and
if she did produce the dossier the same person could’ve posted it for her. It
could be a friend, or one of her neighbours, or maybe she’s working with
someone we don’t know about.”