Forty-six
It was seven a.m., and Tina felt a sudden rush of apprehension as she parked the hire car in a resident’s bay across the road from Anthony Gore’s grand four-storey Notting Hill townhouse. All the way there Grier had been asking her if she was sure she was doing the right thing, and suggesting that it would be far better to get authorization before barging in on a government minister and effectively accusing him of murder. To his credit, though, he hadn’t refused to come along. ‘If it all goes wrong, I’ll say I forced you into it,’ she’d said in an attempt to mollify him.
As they got out of the car now, Grier looked pale. ‘He’s the Minister of Home Affairs, for God’s sake, ma’am,’ he said again, with something close to fear. ‘I don’t like the idea of doing this at all.’
But it was too late for that, and once again Tina told him she knew what she was doing. ‘Just leave me to do the talking,’ she said, walking up to the front door and rapping hard on the knocker. ‘You’re just going to be back-up. Look stern.’
He said something she didn’t catch under his breath, but which she was sure wasn’t complimentary, and then she heard footsteps coming from inside.
‘Who is it?’ came a voice from behind the door that she recognized from the occasional TV programme she’d seen him on as belonging to Gore himself.
‘Police, Mr Gore,’ she answered firmly, holding up her warrant card to the spyhole in the centre of the imposing oak door. Grier did the same.
There was the sound of locks being turned on the other side, then the door opened on a thick chain and a very irritated-looking Anthony Gore looked out at them. He was wearing a grey silk dressing gown and his collar-length silver hair was a mess. Even so, he looked sleek, well fed and prosperous, as if he’d never had to struggle for anything in life, and Tina’s dislike for him immediately hardened.
‘It’s seven on a Saturday morning, this had better be bloody important,’ he said, examining the warrant cards before finally opening up to let them in.
‘It is,’ Tina answered, determined not to be intimidated, even though there was a charisma about Gore that hinted at real power. In spite of herself, she could understand why an attractive woman like Roisín, more than twenty-five years younger, could fall for him.
They followed him as he stalked down the grand hallway to a room at the end. It was a large study, tastefully furnished in mahogany and leather, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases lining two walls and a view out on to a walled garden. Gore took a seat behind an imposing desk so that it looked like he was in charge, and motioned for them to take seats opposite.
As she sat down, Tina stole a glance at Grier, who seemed to be wilting under Gore’s grim, lawyerly demeanour.
‘My name’s DI Tina Boyd, and this is—’
‘I know who you are, Miss Boyd. You have a very high profile for a police officer, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. What is it that I can do for you?’
‘We’re investigating the murder of Roisín O’Neill,’ she told him, trying to remain as unfazed as possible.
‘I thought someone had been charged with her murder,’ he answered smoothly and without exhibiting any sign of concern. ‘The man who was broken free from police custody last night.’
‘New evidence has come to light that suggests he didn’t kill Roisín,’ said Tina, and this time she was sure she caught the first flicker of nerves on his face.
‘Really? That’s interesting.’
There was a short silence. Tina knew she was just going to have to go for it. There was no alternative. ‘You were seeing Roisín O’Neill, I believe, at about the time of her murder.’
He made a great play of looking shocked by her comment. ‘How dare you accuse me of having an affair with someone I’ve never even met.’
But this time Tina could tell he was acting. ‘Don’t lie to us, Mr Gore. We have phone records between her mobile and a mobile that was used from this address on a number of occasions in the run-up to the murder, including the previous day. Just because you got rid of the phone after her death and never registered it in your name doesn’t mean we can’t trace it back to you.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve come in here and made some unfounded and totally untrue allegations, and I’m not prepared to stand for it. Perhaps all the adulation and high-profile successes have gone to your head, Miss Boyd, but because of your much-publicized trials and tribulations, I’m going to let it go and not take action against you, if you leave here now.’ He turned to Grier. ‘This is your opportunity to save your colleague’s career.’
‘She’s my boss, sir,’ Grier answered calmly. He might have looked nervous, but Tina was pleased to see he was holding his own.
‘You’ve also been positively identified by a witness as the man seen entering and leaving Roisín’s flat on a number of occasions, including’ – she paused for effect here – ‘the night of her murder.’ This last part was bullshit, but she needed something to put him on the back foot, and she was pleased that Grier didn’t ruin things by looking surprised himself. Instead, he remained expressionless.
‘Rubbish,’ said Gore with an angry finality.
Tina shook her head slowly. ‘No, Mr Gore, I’m afraid it’s not.’
‘Your alleged witness must have been mistaken.’
‘She wasn’t. I showed her your photo less than an hour ago, and she swears it’s you.’
Gore didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘I may have had a very short, uh, dalliance with her,’ he said at last, choosing his words very carefully, as lawyers tend to do, ‘but that was all. I shouldn’t have done, and it shames me to admit that I did, and that I didn’t come forward after her death, but I was afraid of becoming involved. Especially as that was all the relationship was. A dalliance. Nothing serious.’
‘That’s not what her sister said. She said you two were very close.’ Tina was lying through her back teeth now, knowing that this was blatant entrapment, but her desire to force the truth out of Gore was making her desperate.
A worried look flitted across the minister’s face, and Tina smelled blood.
‘You didn’t expect that, did you?’ she continued. ‘That her sister knew all about it? She said Roisín had told her that she’d tried to get you to leave your wife on a number of occasions. We’d have talked to her father as well, but you, or whoever you were using, got to him first, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’
‘Why did you kill Roisín O’Neill?’
‘How dare you accuse me of murder!’ he shouted, his face contorting with a rage so intense that Tina was taken aback. Then, seeing that he’d shown too much emotion, and with an eye towards the study door that suggested his wife was somewhere in the house, he took a deep breath, clearly forcing himself to remain calm. When he spoke again, he was quiet and controlled, but rippling with venom. ‘I’m the fucking Home Affairs minister, for Christ’s sake. Not some common criminal you can talk to like dirt.’
‘We know that the Night Creeper, Andrew Kent, didn’t kill Roisín, Mr Gore,’ said Tina firmly, wanting to press her advantage before he could recover fully. ‘He has a cast-iron alibi for the time of her murder. Plus, the MO was different. Unlike Kent’s other victims, she was strangled and the hammer injuries inflicted upon her after death.’
‘What’s this got to do with me?’
‘Because you did it. Or did you get someone to help you cover it up? The same person who murdered Kevin O’Neill and organized the kidnapping of Andrew Kent, perhaps?’
Gore stood up. ‘I’ve had enough of this conversation. You have absolutely no evidence against me whatsoever—’
‘Sit down.’
‘No. Get out. Now.’
There was a finality to his words, and Tina knew she’d lost him.
But she wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Standing up herself, she faced him down. ‘We know you killed her, and I’m not going to leave a single stone unturned proving it. I’ll have you for this, even if it’s the last thing I do.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Grier stand up and stare at her in total shock, as he saw his own career getting caught up in the constant car crash that was DI Tina Boyd.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I think we’d better go.’
‘We’ll go when I say.’
‘You’ll go now. Right this minute.’
‘You’re finished, Minister.’
Gore strode round the desk, a confidence returning to his manner now. ‘You haven’t got the power, you little bitch,’ he hissed, coming in close so that their faces were only inches apart. ‘It’s time you realized who you’re dealing with. I’m a government minister. I’m one of the handful of people who run this fucking country. You are just a . . .’ He paused, before spitting out his final words. ‘A small-time copper who thinks she’s Robocop. And who’s not. Now get out of my house. I’ll be speaking to your commanding officer about this. I don’t care who you are, or what you’ve done. You’re going to pay for this. Do you understand? I’ll have your job, and I’ll have your pension.’
Tina felt the anger in her seething beneath the surface. She wanted to hit this smug bastard. She knew he’d done it. Would have bet her life on it. ‘But you won’t stop me,’ she said, facing him down, her expression coldly determined, just so he’d know she’d never give up. ‘Not unless you have me killed, like the others, and I wouldn’t advise that. Not when there’s a witness present.’
Gore’s face darkened. He stared at her with an animal-like ferocity, and she could hear him grinding his teeth. He wanted to hurt her. She could feel his hatred as if it was a physical thing, and she willed him to lash out, to knock her down and give her a chance to turn this situation round and nick him.
Go on, you bastard, hit me. Hit me hard. Put your manicured hands round my neck, just like you did with Roisín that night. Give me the chance to twist your arm behind your back, slam you into that pricey antique desk of yours and finish your career for good
.
But Anthony Gore wasn’t that foolish. Breathing hard, he stepped away from her and turned to Grier. ‘If you know what’s good for you, officer, you’ll take your colleague with you and leave right now, and don’t worry about her being your boss. In fifteen minutes’ time, she won’t be. She’s finished. I’m willing to ignore your part in this slanderous fiasco, as I’m sure you were coerced into coming here, but only if you leave this minute. Otherwise, I’ll hold you jointly responsible.’
Grier looked at Tina with a quiet desperation in his eyes. ‘Come on, ma’am,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here.’
For a moment, Tina didn’t move, knowing she’d overplayed her hand, and lost the battle. Grier put a hand on her arm, gently nudging her towards the door. This time she didn’t resist, and as they walked out of the study, not looking at each other, Tina focused on maintaining her poise. She didn’t think she managed it, though.
But as Grier opened the door and stepped aside to let Tina into the hallway, she stopped dead. Standing there, facing her, still in her nightgown, was a small woman in her fifties, her tear-stained face a mask of rigid shock. Mrs Gore. And Tina felt a rush of hope, because one thing was absolutely clear.
She was terrified.
Forty-seven
‘Don’t move,’ said Dougie MacLeod. ‘Or you’re dead.’
I was so shocked to hear my old mentor and the boss of one of London’s murder investigation teams threaten me with death that I disobeyed his instructions and turned round.
Dougie stood in the doorway pointing a black revolver at me. He was dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt, and his face was etched with a tension I’d never seen on him before.
Seeing that it was me, he lowered the weapon. ‘What the hell are you doing here, Sean?’ he demanded.
‘You weren’t answering your door.’
‘So you thought you’d just walk in?’
‘I need help, Dougie. Badly.’
He sighed. ‘This is a bad time, Sean. We’ve got an emergency on.’
‘What kind of emergency?’ I asked, feeling a terrible lurch of disappointment, followed by resentment. I’d expected a lot more from him.
‘The kind you’ve been watching on the news. The Night Creeper abduction. He was our suspect, remember?’ He replaced the safety on the revolver and put it in the back of his jeans, then pulled a half-crushed pack of Marlboro Reds from his pocket and lit one. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be more help,’ he continued. ‘Perhaps we can talk later.’ He walked past me, picked up the remote control from the arm of the sofa and switched off the TV. ‘Right now, I’ve got to go.’
I noticed he was sweating, and that his movements were stiff and hurried. ‘Do you always carry a gun for policework these days?’ I asked him. ‘I didn’t think DCIs needed them.’
‘I wasn’t going to take it with me. I only had it out because I thought you were an intruder.’
‘I didn’t even know you owned a gun.’
‘And I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone. It’s an illegal one. There’ve been a lot of break-ins here,’ he added, as if this explained why he was walking around with an illegal weapon I knew he’d never fire. ‘I’m sorry I pointed it at you, but if you will come trespassing round here . . .’
I noticed he wasn’t looking me in the eye as he spoke, which again wasn’t like him. Something was definitely wrong.
‘I wasn’t trespassing. I came here looking for help, and I still need it. And it’s do with your case as well,’ I added, not sure how else I was going to get his attention.
‘And I’ll help later if I can, but right now, I’ve got to go. We’ve got a press conference.’ He started towards the door.
‘The press conference is at ten – they announced it just now. That’s three hours away.’
‘There are things to do before then.’
But I wasn’t moving. ‘It’s strange,’ I said. ‘I sneak into your house, battered and bruised, telling you I’ve got important information on what’s got to be the biggest case of your career, and you don’t seem to give a shit. You know what that says to me?’
He stopped in front of me, the muscles in his jaw working, his eyes wide and alert with nervous tension. ‘We’ll talk soon, OK?’
My punch caught him, and me, completely unawares. My strength and energy reserves might have been running on empty, but Dougie MacLeod went sprawling to the floor. Within a second I was on him, rolling him over on to his front and sticking my knee into his back before he could resist. I whipped the gun out from his jeans, then yanked him round and shoved the barrel against his forehead, cocking the weapon.
‘Start talking, now. Tell me everything you know about this whole case because I know you know something. Do it or I’ll kill you here and now. I swear it.’
I wouldn’t have done. I couldn’t have done. Even doing this to the man who’d once been a good friend and had saved my career when it could easily have gone down the pan, even that hurt me. I hated it. But I had to find out what was bothering him and why he was wandering round his house with an illegal firearm, and the only way I was going to learn that was if he took my threats seriously. I glared down at him, pushing the gun even harder into his head.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he whispered, staring up at me in fear, his nose bleeding where I’d hit him, his face turning an unhealthy puce colour.
‘I’ve almost died tonight, Dougie. I was involved in the Night Creeper abduction.’
‘What?’
‘It was an undercover op that went wrong. Kent’s dead. So’s everyone else who took him, and someone set us all up. And the thing is, I think it was you. Now you’ve got one chance. You talk or you die. Understand?’
And that’s when I saw the tears running down his face.
‘They’ve got Billy,’ he said desperately. ‘The bastards have got my boy.’