Frankie (29 page)

Sean Carter found himself frozen to the spot. Armed police were securing the area, shouting at passers-by to keep away and training their guns on the body sprawled down the steps; but even from the distance of a few metres he could see the river of blood flowing from the
dead man's head – there was no possibility that he would be getting up again.

It took the firearms officers a little longer to come to the same conclusion, but eventually they lowered their weapons; elsewhere, snipers pulled their rifles away from the edges of the surrounding buildings and back out of sight. A cordon had been erected in seconds, and police vans were screaming up to the scene. One officer was trying to move the weeping girl holding the baby, but she was too distraught, too hysterical, even to listen. She just sat there, awkwardly holding her child – wrapped up in the jacket she had taken off – and burying her head against him. The other arm hung limply by her side. Carter ducked under the cordon and hurried up to talk to Francesca Mills.

‘Francesca?'

There was no reply.

‘Francesca, are you OK? Are you both OK?'

Nothing.

‘Francesca, I'm Sean Carter. We spoke this morning. Please talk to me.'

Ever so slowly, Frankie raised her head to look at him. Carter was taken aback by her appearance. All he'd had to go on was the photograph found in her house, but she looked quite different now. The hair was shorter, of course, but there was a huge purple bruise across the side of her face and a haunted expression in her eyes that touched him. Pain, shock, and God knows whatever other emotion that was coursing through her. He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Francesca, listen to me. I want to get you and your child to hospital, check you're both all right.'

Frankie gazed numbly at him.

‘Do you understand what I'm saying?'

She nodded.

‘Good.' Carter shut his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. ‘Francesca,' it seemed he could barely dare ask the question. ‘Do you have the locket?'

Frankie appeared to consider the question for a moment. ‘In my pocket,' she said weakly.

The relief on Carter's face was considerable. Frankie tried to fumble with her good hand into her pocket, but it was difficult because she was holding Jasper. ‘Let me hold him for you,' Carter offered, but Frankie shook her head abruptly, eventually managing to pull the necklace out.

She dropped it into his hand. ‘Take it,' she breathed. ‘I never want to see it again.' She turned back to Jasper and held him close once more.

Carter considered questioning her further, but he could tell a traumatized witness when he saw one, and he knew it would be much better to wait until the shock of whatever hell she had just been through dissipated a little. He stood up and walked back down the stairs. On the other side of the cordon, his face a mystery, stood Mark Taylor. ‘You get what you wanted?' he asked Carter shortly.

Sean nodded.

‘Good,' Taylor continued. ‘Then I suppose
I
'd better have a word with the elusive Francesca Mills.'

Carter put his hand gently on Taylor's arm. ‘Not now, Mark. It's not the time.'

Taylor looked down at Carter's hand and brusquely pulled his arm away. ‘Come on, Sean,' he said. ‘I've got a job to do as well as you. She may not be guilty of your three murders, but she still has questions to answer for
me.' He bent down under the cordon, then looked back at his colleague. Something unspoken passed between them, something that clearly made Taylor feel uncomfortable. He tore his gaze away from Carter and, with what looked like reluctance, walked up the steps towards Frankie.

‘Francesca Mills?' His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and Frankie raised her head to look at him. ‘My name is DI Mark Taylor. I'm arresting you on suspicion of the manslaughter of Robert Alexander Strut. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.'

Frankie looked blankly at him, then turned her head to look directly at Carter, standing below her at the bottom of the stairs. Her face suddenly became etched with such hatred that Carter could not bear to see it.

The locket firmly in his grasp, he turned and walked away.

Ainsley Cooper sat behind his desk at the Ministry of Defence, somewhat distracted. The Chief of Defence Staff and the Under Secretary of State were briefing him on a range of matters, and Cooper was doing his best to absorb their information diligently. He didn't much like either man, and he knew the feeling of disregard was mutual, but they normally managed to maintain a cool civility. Today was different, though. Cooper was finding it difficult to keep his attention on what either man was telling him, and his lack of focus had not gone unnoticed; but he had been ignoring the irritated glances his two subordinates had been throwing at each other across the room. His mind was on other things.

He had last spoken to Andreas earlier that day, when he had been assured that everything was under control. Since then, nothing. He didn't dare phone him for fear of who might answer. Cooper might have been aggressive towards the man, but he did trust him to do his job well, and the fact that he had gone off the radar was deeply unnerving.

There was a knock on the door. Cooper raised an apologetic hand towards the Chief of Defence, who stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Come!' he called.

The door clicked open, and his private secretary walked discreetly in. He whispered something to Cooper, then
stood waiting for his instructions. ‘They'll have to wait,' he said dismissively.

‘They say it's urgent,' the private secretary replied, casting an uncomfortable glance at the two other men in the room.

Cooper's lips twitched as he tried to decide what to do. ‘You'll have to excuse me, gentlemen,' he said finally. ‘Perhaps you could wait for me next door. This shouldn't take long.'

The two men nodded soberly, stood up and left the room, with the private secretary following quietly behind them. Cooper remained seated at his desk, his face perfectly expressionless – the result of a career spent giving nothing away; but had anyone been there to notice, they would have observed that he was absent-mindedly scraping away at the cuticle of his right thumb, always a sure sign that he was on edge.

A minute or two later the door opened and his secretary ushered in two more men. One of them, smart and suited, he recognized, although he couldn't quite put a name to the face – it often happened in his line of work – but the other man, scruffy and unshaven, he had never seen before.

‘Good afternoon, Sir Ainsley,' the man in the suit politely broke the ice. ‘Andrew Meeken, Director of the Serious Fraud Office. This is Detective Inspector Sean Carter.'

‘I hope this is important, Mr Meeken,' Cooper said, ignoring Carter and without any words of welcome. ‘You're interrupting government business.'

‘I wouldn't be here in person unless it was, Sir Ainsley, as I'm sure you are aware. I'll let DI Carter explain.'

Cooper nodded his head slowly and looked directly at Sean. ‘Go ahead, Detective Inspector. But make it quick.'

‘This won't take long, Sir Ainsley,' Carter told him. ‘Over the past couple of years I have been investigating certain irregularities at Lenham, Borwick and Hargreaves. You are aware of them, I presume?'

‘Vaguely.' Cooper didn't take his eyes off Carter.

‘That's what I thought. We have photographs of you meeting with their chairman, Morgan Tunney.'

‘I meet a lot of people in my line of work, Detective Inspector,' Cooper said impatiently.

‘I'm sure. But certain information has come to light,' Sean continued delicately, ‘in respect of which we believe you might be able to help us with our inquiries. We'd like you to accompany us to Scotland Yard.'

There was a meaningful silence, before Cooper turned back to Meeken. ‘I am the Secretary of State for Defence,' he said quietly. ‘I am more than happy to do anything I can to help the Serious Fraud Office, but I will do so here, and at a time convenient to myself. Have I made myself perfectly clear?'

Meeken smiled. ‘Perfectly clear, Sir Ainsley.'

‘Good.'

‘Unfortunately it was DI Carter who was not completely clear in his explanation. What I believe he was trying to say was that you have a choice. Either you accompany us to Scotland Yard willingly, or DI Carter has the authority from the commissioner to arrest you on suspicion of fraud.'

‘You're insane. I'm going to call security and have you removed.'

‘Your security officers already have instructions to restrain you if you try to leave the building without my express permission, Sir Ainsley.' Meeken stood up and walked to one of the windows of the second-floor office. ‘There are usually a few journalists milling around here, aren't there? A picture of the Secretary of State for Defence being bundled handcuffed into a police van would make fine front-page news for tomorrow's paper, don't you think?'

‘Are you trying to blackmail me, Mr Meeken?'

‘Not at all, Sir Ainsley. Just making sure you are aware of all the options open to you. You may be interested to know that Morgan Tunney was taken into custody about two hours ago. He's already begging for a plea bargain – I understand he actually broke down in tears in the police car.'

Cooper's eyes narrowed as a look of contempt crossed his face. ‘You realize, I hope, that the Prime Minister is a close personal friend of mine?'

‘Indeed,' Meeken replied calmly. ‘The Prime Minister is being apprised of the situation as we speak. Now, are you going to let DI Carter accompany you to Scotland Yard?'

Cooper looked at the two men, who returned his gaze implacably. ‘You wouldn't dare arrest me,' he whispered. ‘It would be more than your jobs are worth. Go to hell.'

Meeken gave a regretful little shrug, then nodded at Carter. Sean approached Cooper. ‘I'm arresting you on suspicion of fraud. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.'
He pulled a set of handcuffs out of his jacket pocket and approached the minister. ‘Put these on, please.'

As he tried to close them round his wrists, Cooper pushed him away with surprising force. ‘Don't be idiotic,' he snapped. ‘You can't handcuff me, don't you know who I …'

But before he could finish, his voice trailed off. Carter had turned his back on him and was walking to the door. He nodded at someone outside, then held the door open for two security officers who came in and stood perfectly still, awaiting his instruction. He gave the handcuffs to one of them. ‘Take the minister to the front reception,' he ordered. ‘There are some police officers waiting there to escort him to Scotland Yard. He's under arrest. Make sure he doesn't leave your sight.'

‘You seem quiet, Sean.' Meeken was in the passenger seat as they were driving in the evening traffic along the Embankment behind the police van that was transferring Ainsley Cooper to the Yard.

‘Just tired,' Carter told him. ‘It's been quite a couple of days. And I've been working on this for a long time.'

‘You've done well,' Meeken acknowledged. ‘But you know it's not finished yet. Cooper will pull all the strings he can to get himself off.'

‘We're ready for him. By all accounts Morgan Tunney is squealing like a pig to slaughter – he's ready to admit his part in the fraud, and to give us details of the money his bank has passed Cooper's way, and how he did it.'

‘And how did he do it?'

‘Well, we're still deciphering the evidence Rosemary Gibson discovered. It's a pretty complicated paper trail,
but from what we've managed to learn from Tunney so far, the arms company Rankin Systems were depositing some of the money they overcharged the British government at the bank. Tunney was then surreptitiously authorizing transfers of large sums into companies of which Cooper is either a major shareholder or on the board of directors. He's covered his tracks well, but if we're diligent we'll be able to trace the money through the company accounts back to him, I'm sure of it. It might take a bit of time, but the fraud charges will stick; and if Tunney wants to cut a deal he's going to have to help us nail the accessory to murder charges too. It's going to be a long few months for the minister.'

‘Just don't underestimate how much the government will want to cover this up, Sean. It's political now – we might have had difficulty getting this far, but our problems are only just beginning, believe me. Have you arranged everything with regard to Francesca Mills?'

‘Yeah, it's all sorted – at least, it will be by the morning.'

‘What about Mark Taylor?'

‘He's onside – I'd never have thought it of him, but I actually think he feels bad about arresting her. Not that there was much else he could have done, I suppose, but he seems to want to make things right. And his eyes lit up at the thought of a change of scene. There won't be any problem transferring him to the SFO, will there?'

‘No, it's all in hand.'

‘Good. I don't think you'll regret it. He's a bit rough around the edges, but he's decent enough. We were friends once. Who knows? Maybe we will be again. You sure you're happy for me to proceed with our plans for the Mills girl?'

Meeken nodded. ‘The commissioner's received the authority he needs and has given the go-ahead. He wants to see this put to bed as much as we do – a glorious collaboration between the Met and the SFO. Won't do his career any harm at all.'

‘Or yours,' Carter observed slyly.

Meeken smiled. ‘Especially if we nail them with the accessory to murder charges as well as fraud. But it will be a tough call to get a jury to believe a street girl like her above a cabinet minister. We don't really have a choice about what to do with her if we're going to see this thing through.'

They drove in silence for a few moments before Meeken spoke again.

‘And besides,' he said, ‘it's the least we can do. If anyone needs a break, it's her.'

The hospital room in which Frankie lay was stark and white. Jasper lay beside her in a Perspex cot, asleep, as he had been for most of the past twenty-four hours. Sleep was the best thing for him, the doctor had said – he had undergone extreme trauma over the past couple of days, and this was the best way for him to recuperate. He had winked at her reassuringly. ‘They're a lot tougher than they look,' he had said. ‘He'll be fine. It's that arm of yours I'm more worried about.' Somehow that had made Frankie feel a little better.

She glanced, grim-faced, through the small pane of frosted glass in the door; the telltale silhouette of the policeman guarding her room was still there, wandering slowly back and forth. On first arriving here in the police van, her only thought had been to escape, but it soon
became apparent to her that she was too exhausted even to sit up, let alone to run, and the cast around her arm made it difficult to hold Jasper. Yesterday had all been something of a blur, an endless stream of doctors and nurses, but she had slept well and deeply since then, made drowsy by the painkillers, the warm hospital room and the clean linen. But now her mind was racing again. She was in as much trouble as she'd ever been. How could she stop Jasper from being taken away? What could she do? With the police officer standing outside the room, not much. And she had to be honest with herself – maybe this was the best place for him, at least for the moment.

There was a knock on the door. Frankie didn't bother to answer, knowing that whoever it was would walk in anyway. But she was surprised to see who entered: Sean Carter. The past twenty-four hours had taken their toll on the officer – black rings under his eyes and a haggard look on his face, which was covered in even more stubble than before. He carried a newspaper in his hand. ‘Good morning, Francesca.' He spoke almost sheepishly.

Frankie turned away, ignoring the man who had failed to keep his promise to help her.

Carter stood over the sleeping Jasper for a few seconds, before pulling up a chair to the side of Frankie's bed. ‘How is he?' he asked.

‘How does he look?' She still refused to look at him.

Carter accepted the reproach with a silent bow of his head. ‘And you? How's that arm of yours?'

‘Sprained. But they say it will fix.'

‘I thought you'd like to see something.' Carter unfolded the paper and placed it on Frankie's bed. She read it without
our much interest:
DEFENCE SECRETARY ARRESTED
. A picture of a tall man with receding hair took up most of the front page. Frankie didn't know who it was, and she didn't care. ‘That's all thanks to you,' Carter explained. ‘The information we retrieved from that locket will put him and a lot of other people in prison for a very long time indeed.'

‘I look forward to seeing them there,' Frankie replied bitterly, passing the newspaper back to him. Their eyes met. ‘You said on the phone that you'd help me – well, you've got a weird way of doing it.'

‘And I'm still going to, Francesca –' he started to say.

‘Don't give me that bullshit,' Frankie snapped. ‘My son could have been killed.'

‘No, Francesca,' Carter had suddenly raised his voice.

‘Your son is alive because of us. Don't forget that.'

Jasper stirred slightly, and they both looked at him. Somehow the sight of his sleeping face eased the tension between them and they sat in silence for a while. ‘There's someone here to see you,' Carter said finally.

‘I don't think so,' Frankie replied automatically. ‘Everyone I know is dead, remember?'

‘Not everyone. Francesca, it's your mother. She's downstairs. Your stepfather got wind of your arrest and she got in touch with DI Taylor immediately. You don't have to see her, of course, but …'

‘But what?'

‘Well, who knows when you'll see her again? Maybe you should say hello, for her sake if not for yours.'