“Then the only possibility is hospital staff.” Nancy cleared her throat. She owed it to Ollie and Cora to focus on the matter. “Or, more likely, someone who managed to pass for a doctor or hospital nurse.”
Pole nodded. “I’ll get Andy to check the CCTV cameras. We should have a good record of who came in and out of the room.” Pole finally raised his head. He briefly met Nancy’s eyes. Some remaining anger flashed there, but he was no longer in the mood for an argument and neither was she.
Nancy stretched out a hand and gently squeezed his fingers.
“I’m sorry I gave you concern, Jonathan.”
Pole’s fingers hesitated. “I can’t protect you if you won’t let me.”
“I don’t always need protecting … it’s also who I am, a risk taker, always needing to know how far I can push my luck.”
“I’m aware of that, but by not talking to me, you have delayed what I could have done to investigate the assault.”
“I spoke to Andy.” Nancy had laced her fingers into his. He almost pulled back.
“You know Andy will not query what you say. He is good, a very good DS, but he’s still a little green.”
“It felt right that I should not surrender to fear … I don’t believe the bike attack was aimed at snatching my satchel. It was all about scaring me off, intimidation.”
“But we don’t know what the assailant was trying to scare you about. Is it the Wilson case? Is it your father’s case?”
“And we won’t know until I pursue both investigations with equal determination.”
Pole looked surprised. He must have expected her key focus to remain on the Wilson case. But he had to know she would no longer rely on others to find out about her father’s fate.
“I can’t let people get hurt because they make enquiries about him on my behalf. And somehow China is a key player in what is happening to me, to Ollie and of course to Amy.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I had a number of conversations with Ollie about China … At the time I thought it was all about Cora. Her parents’ disappearance. Her upbringing as a Hong Kong Chinese. But I no longer think that is the case. His questions were concerned not so much with the past but about the present, and I did not spot it at the time.”
“Is that a good enough reason to go barging into his office?”
“You don’t have enough evidence for a search warrant, as you said yourself. Not to search his office, anyway. You could just about justify requesting access to his computer, but the company will have removed any sensitive data by now and there is nothing you can do about it.”
Nancy came to sit next to Pole. “You know I’m right. This case is made to look like a drug addiction gone bad, perhaps even a drug dealing transaction that went wrong … and nothing else.”
“And we can’t discard that as a possibility.”
“You are right, we can’t … I might be too …” Nancy hesitated but carried on. “… obsessed with China to think straight, but I’d like to follow my hunch.”
“I don’t mind you following your hunch as long as I know whether that puts you in danger.” Pole moved his body round to face her.
“It’s not always practical to do that.”
He picked up his mobile. “This is switched on 24/7 as you know.”
“But I know you too well … you’ll try to convince me to stop.”
“That’s my job. I stop people doing stupid things all the time, so I’d like to stop you from doing them too.” Pole dumped the phone on the table again, irritated.
Nancy smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I need to be free to choose. I know I’m asking you to do the opposite to what you spend your career doing … very successfully I might add. I find solutions because I take enough risks to discover the right information.”
“I don’t want to change that, Nancy, I just want to be given the important information in time so that I can anticipate any problems.”
“And I’m about to feed you exactly that.”
Pole ran his free hand through his hair and left it there for a moment. “So, what have you got for me?”
Nancy moved more fully into the sofa, her back against the armrest, legs pulled underneath her. She gave a detailed account of her day without omitting the motorbike incident. Pole picked up one of her yellow notebook pads. He didn’t interrupt. It felt more like a deposition than teamwork, but Nancy had decided not to worry if he felt put out by this.
“I’ll check whether there is anything on record about Viro-Tech Therapeutics,” Pole finally volunteered.
“And I’ll get more information about the ultimate beneficial owner of the Hong Kong company that has invested in Viro-Tech … I have called the most suitable contact amongst my former criminal lawyer colleagues. I am sure he will help.”
Pole thought for a moment. “The NCA has given me very little so far. I’d like to know how it was that someone spotted Ollie in the heroin den so quickly.”
Nancy cocked her head. “Any idea? It is odd, as you say.”
“Someone was very keen for us to find him … I just need to know who.”
“Any other discoveries on your side? Andy has been sieving through CCTV cameras for two days solid.”
“We’ve traced one of the fake SOCO men to Balham but after that nothing.”
“And the other man?” Nancy pushed away the memories of the moment she had crashed the chair over his back several times.
“Eastern European, according to Yvonne … previously had lots of tattoos but they have been removed surgically.”
“So, a keen desire for anonymity.”
“Without a doubt … these people aim to operate without being noticed. They know all the blind spots of the London CCTV system. They have an excellent understanding of how the police operate.”
“And they recruit people who won’t mind being anonymised. It’s a big thing for those Eastern European gang members to let go of their tats … they tell their life story.”
“Is that so?” Pole moved forward a little.
“There is a code, and some tattoos will tell what crimes these people have committed, whether they have escaped prison, whether they are lifers and so on …” Nancy nodded. “The Russians in particular. The mafia and the prisoners themselves use it to signal reward or punishment. You get a tattoo that tells people if you are a snitch or a paedophile, and you are given that tattoo whether you like it or not.”
“So, you think Eastern European or Russian mafia?”
“That’s right … or an agency involved in this area, using former agents … ex KGB or ex FSB that have moved on.”
Pole jaw tightened. “Something we can’t ignore either.”
“I wouldn’t. As long as we don’t know what it is that Ollie was trying to hide, we can’t discount anything.” Nancy had hit an unexpected nerve.
“Shall we have some food?” Pole looked at his watch. He got up and moved slowly towards the kitchen.
Nancy waited for a short moment. She was not backing down and she had to try to make him see this was right. She was now certain that Pole was himself taking risks he had not disclosed to her.
There was only one way to find out.
She stood up and reached the kitchen as he was moving the tossed salad to the table, meticulously arranging the serving cutlery on top of the bowl.
“I almost forgot to say … Yvonne has found someone willing to help in the authentication of Amy’s document.”
Pole slowed down a little. He considered the dish he had just brought in and rearranged the cutlery once more. “Who is that?”
“I don’t have a name, but that person has the tools it will take … they work for MI6.”
* * *
“Ollie,” was the only word Cora could utter when the UCH doctor called her. She ha
d asked to be told as soon as the results came, torn between the desire to still have hope and wanting to know the truth.
He wouldn’t wake up. He would never smile at her again. He would never …
The doctor’s voice was saying her name, asking questions.
Was she alone?
No.
Did she need help?
No.
He could call back later to discuss things further.
Yes.
Cora thanked him in a voice she barely recognised. She looked around, feeling at a loss. Beth’s room that had felt welcoming and cosy, now looked alien. She longed to be in her flat, in their flat amongst their familiar things. She wanted to wrap herself in Ollie’s ample dressing gown and smell the scent of his discreet aftershave.
She must have spent some time on the floor where she had fallen. Someone was knocking softly at the door. Johnny’s cheerful face popped in through the door he had just opened.
“Dinner is …” He did not finish his sentence. In a few steps, he had reached her, knelt next to her to wrap his arms around her. There was no need to talk. Her friends knew about her last visit to the hospital.
Beth and Charlie came in. Beth sat on the bed next to Cora, hands on her shoulders. Charlie sat on the other side of her, simply a kind presence.
“The doctor told me to speak to Inspector Pole.” Cora closed her eyes for a short moment. She managed to steady her voice to tell her friends the news.
Crying would not bring back the man she loved. She needed to know what had happened. Whatever Ollie had been, he had no longer been a junkie.
“Whoever suggested that?” Charlie moved sideways to look at Cora, his voice tinged with anger.
“Because they found him in a heroin den and that looks bad if you don’t know the guy.” Johnny had moved forward to speak to his partner.
“That’s ridiculous … I know a junkie when I see one and that was not him.”
“He didn’t even want to try your excellent, crunchy cookies spiced with a hint of weed.” Johnny shrugged. This was almost incomprehensible.
“He had taken drugs though … at uni.” Cora’s voice trembled. Perhaps she was wrong after all.
“Everybody at uni tries a bit of everything … right?” Johnny looked at the others for support. “That’s what it’s all about, try different things, find yourself … you know, that sort of stuff.”
“And learn something …” Beth’s tone of voice stopped Johnny. “… which Ollie did better than any of us … with a PhD from Harvard Medical School.”
“What did Inspector Pole say about all this?” Charlie slid to the floor to sit next to Cora.
“I’m not sure he will want to discuss it with me. I suppose I could be involved … but I sense he is not ruling it out.”
“That’s his job.” Beth spotted a loose thread on Cora’s sweater and removed it delicately.
“He won’t fall for it.” Johnny shook his head with fierce determination. “For a copper he looks pretty enlightened.”
“You just like the goatee and the fancy motorbike.” Charlie mumbled.
“Not true … I’m perfectly able to see a man for who he is, despite the goatee and the Ducati.”
“Enough you two …” Beth snapped, and it silenced them. “What can we do to help, Cora?”
“Yes, tell us.” Johnny grabbed Cora’s hand and squeezed hard.
“I keep thinking that the answer must be in his office.” Cora volunteered after a moment.
“Why?” Beth frowned.
“He was so involved in the development of this new idea, something that would revolutionise drug production … he didn’t want to speak about it with me, because it was confidential … but I now wonder whether he wanted to protect me.”
“What does Nancy say about it?” Beth was still frowning.
“I haven’t had time to speak to her about it … it’s just dawned on me … after the call from the hospital.”
“Call her.” Johnny was already looking for her mobile phone.
Cora shook her head. “Not yet.” She hesitated.
“Come on … tell us.” Charlie wiggled his fingers to coax an answer out.
“I’d like to pay a visit to Ollie’s office first.”
The others looked at each other. “Why not, you’re entitled to collect his stuff from his desk aren’t you?” Johnny proposed.
“I want to go now.” Cora was already standing up.
Chapter Nineteen
It was almost midnight. Jack’s stomach started to complain, and it was time he paid attention to it.
The file that Laurie had sent had triggered more questions than it gave answers. Ms Wu was not what he had expected. She was not a Chinese investor or biotech researcher and seemed to have little connection with that industry.
She was a retired QC, admittedly retired before her time, but nevertheless a lawyer. A high profile one at that. Her experience in criminal law and corporate fraud had propelled her into representing high profile defendants. She had built a reputation for sagacity, perseverance, and an uncommon intelligence. She had given up the Bar at the height of a career at a point when a possible Appointment to the Bench was in the offing.
For many years now she had focused on mentoring young professionals and supporting contemporary art. Laurie had not found any questionable associations until the Henry Crowne affair popped up.
Matters had changed abruptly for Ms Wu, it seemed. Henry Crowne, the disgraced financier, had spent time at HMP Belmarsh in the high security unit. He had disappeared however after a mere four years in prison, achieving a feat no one had before him … escape from HSU Belmarsh. No one had seen or heard of him since.
Jack had smiled at the information. If MI6 were not involved in this, he was no longer called Jack Shield.
The enigmatic Ms Wu had become, in the meantime, an expert advisor to Scotland Yard in London.
Jack had called Laurie a few times. She was still getting more information. According to her, the best was yet to come.
She was right. Nancy’s father, Li Jie Wu, had been a well-known artist and activist. He had escaped the Cultural Revolution with his family before it was too late and yet returned to China when Deng Xiao Ping had taken over the reins of the country. He had disappeared again like so many dissidents in the aftermath of the Tiananmen Square uprising.
His daughter, however, had never returned to mainland China after her father’s disappearance. Jack was no longer certain what her link with Viro-Tech could be.
Still, coincidences were rare in his line of business. Whatever tenuous connection was there, he had to find it.
Jack had delved back into the McCain report in the hope that something might be relevant. So far, the document had not made him any the wiser, and by this time he also had to content himself with fewer choices when it came to dinner. Jack closed the laptop and placed it back in the safe.
He added a sweater to his shirt, donned his winter jacket and made his way downstairs to reception. The busy lobby was now empty, apart from a young couple who were enjoying their last drink. They sat next to each other, oblivious to the world. The receptionist was now an older gentleman. He gave Jack a friendly nod which Jack returned.
Jack pushed open the heavy entrance door and stood outside, at the top of the three steps that led down to the street. The temperature had dropped to freezing and he felt a few pinpricks of ice on his face. He lifted his head towards the sky. It might snow very soon. Jack stepped into the street and hurried up towards St Martin’s Lane.
He walked at a brisk pace towards a row of old buildings with tall narrow frontages, red bricks and steep roofs. The streets were almost empty. The gift shops, casual eateries and pubs had already closed.
The pedestrian lane that appeared to his right looked dark and deserted. According to
his guide he was only a few yards away from the next passage in which he could find a restaurant that served after theatre dinner. A place that had an excellent reputation for seafood and for accommodating late comers after midnight.
The wind had become stronger. The small shards of ice he had felt when walking out of the hotel were now relentlessly assailing his face. He took refuge for a short moment underneath an overhanging roof. The theatre had closed a couple of hours earlier and the façade was now dark.
Jack took his bearings again. The pub opposite the theatre was also shut but the light inside the main room was still on, probably for staff preparing the place for tomorrow’s customers.
A small group of people walked out of the restaurant he was looking for and Jack hurried towards its door. They looked happy with their evening and the weather seemed to have very little effect on their joviality.
He pushed the door open and a breeze of warm air welcomed him. A young woman in white shirt, dark waistcoat and long black apron smiled and took his jacket. “It will have to be the bar if you would like to join us for food and drinks.”
Jack nodded. Any place would do as long as he could have some hot food. He took a seat on one of the bar stools. A couple sat at the corner of the long bar, a few seats away from him, enjoying the dessert they were sharing.
He ordered a crab bisque and seared scallops. The sommelier recommended a glass of Meursault. Even by the glass the price seemed expensive, but Jack might not be able to find one of such quality in Washington.
The waiter behind the bar brought him six opened Jersey oysters, on the house. An excellent ploy to make sure the first glass of the outstanding white burgundy would be followed by another.
The woman who had welcomed Jack was about to lock the door for the evening when a small man slipped in. Jack cast an eye over him. He looked unremarkable, dressed in a black puffer jacket, a dark scarf wound tight around his neck and the lower part of his face. The hostess hesitated but allowed him in. He moved to the opposite side of the bar, taking off his scarf as he settled onto one of the stools.
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