‘We’ve got no case against Campbell. I understand that—’
‘More importantly it means someone in this incident room can’t be trusted.’
‘Chuffing hell, Boss — that hadn’t even crossed my mind!’
‘That’s why you have to do this check on your own — don’t say anything to anyone and get back to me as soon as it’s done. The check will also show if anything else is missing.’
‘I’m on it!’ Sally hurried back to her cupboard.
Matt called Mark and asked to meet him in a nearby café.
The SIO ordered a black coffee at the counter before pulling out one of the plastic orange chairs. ‘So, Matt, what’s with all this cloak and dagger?’
‘It looks like someone’s nicked exhibit ND/7 — Campbell’s fag end from the property store.’
‘You’re fucking with me!’ Matt’s look told him he wasn’t.
‘Sal’s just told me. I’ve sent her back to check every bloody exhibit and told her to keep shtum about what’s happened.’
‘An inside job?’
‘Has to be.’
‘Any thoughts on who?’
‘I’d back my boys and girls to the hilt—’
‘Implying it’s one of the anti-terror boys—’
‘Or one of the civvie investigators — we pay them peanuts and not all of them are in receipt of their police pension yet.’
Mark nodded thanks to the woman who placed a dubious looking cup and saucer in front of him.
‘Okay. First things first — get onto the other SIOs connected to this case and give them a heads-up that they may have a mole in their midst. If that bloody woman has paid someone off in this incident room, she’s probably done the same in Norfolk and Leeds. Advise them to conduct an exhibit audit too, we need to know the extent of any other damage.’
It took Sally over three hours to check every box in the property store. When she walked back into the SIO’s office, she felt mentally and physically drained.
‘I see from your face you’ve not found it.’ Mark indicated the same chair that Matt had a lifetime ago.
‘No, Boss.’ She shook her head.
‘When did you last have eyes on?’
‘The day before yesterday, when DI Brown,’ she glanced over at Matt, ‘booked it back in from the lab.’
‘And who’s been in the store since then?’
‘It could be anyone who bothers to note down the new codes. Since we’ve been changing it every week, most people now wait until I’m there; but I can’t stay put all day, Boss. I have to eat and pee—’
‘Of course you do, Sal.’ Matt could see moisture pooling in the woman’s eyes. ‘We’re not blaming you for any of this. If you weren’t so on-the-ball it might have been weeks or months before we knew the fucking thing was missing.’
‘Thanks, Boss.’
Mark stood and looked out of the window. ‘Well, the one thing we’re certain of is that it was an inside job.’
‘Boss,’ Sally spoke to the SIO’s back, ‘it may be nothing, but Mia Langley was in the store last night, during evening briefing.’
‘Really?’ Mark’s whole body tensed. ‘What was she doing there?’
‘She said she needed to check some exhibit numbers for her continuity statement, but when I checked the statements just now, she’d already submitted it weeks ago and nothing new has come up regarding her production of exhibits for a long time.’
‘You left her on her own in there?’ Mark didn’t turn.
‘I’m sorry, Boss, but you were insistent I make the evening debriefs, and I thought she’d be fine—’
‘No reason not to.’ Matt’s tone said don’t you dare blame her.
‘You’re right, Matt. Sorry, Sally. But with timings and Doctor Langley’s duff reason for being there, she’s now our prime suspect.’ He didn’t move from the window as he struggled to process what he’d just said.
Matt took over. ‘Sal, go back to the property office and get the code changed again. You, me and the SIO are the only three to have it from now on. No one gets into that room unless you’re there — okay?’
‘Yes, Boss. Will you tell everyone else so they know to get any exhibits in or back before six? I need to leave on time, my little one’s poorly.’
‘Of course, but keep all of this to yourself. Tell no one, absolutely no one, until we can nail the person responsible.’
She nodded and left.
Matt looked at Mark’s rigid back. ‘You okay?’
‘The bitch — the fucking bitch!’
‘We don’t know it’s her—’
Mark turned around. ‘Why was she in there, Matt? Minutes, literally minutes after I told her about the DNA results! And do you know what makes it worse — the bitch used me as a fucking alibi! We were having dinner the night of the Danish attack!’
‘Fuck — you kept that quiet.’
Mark sat back at his desk, confusion and fury crossing his face, which combined into a look of pure desperation.
Matt waded in. ‘Well, let’s get a tracker on her car and hack her phone and laptop.’
‘She’s not used a laptop since coming back off compassionate leave.’ Mark met his gaze. ‘Get me Doctor Mia Langley’s security clearance file will you, Matt?’
The DI nodded and left, closing the usually open door behind him. Mark was grateful it was late and the incident room was virtually empty. He leant on his desk, head in hands. He felt sick. Heartsick. He needed to think, to get a handle on his emotions — especially his anger.
He’d always admired Mia’s professional abilities, but as they’d travelled around the country together investigating this, and two previous cases, his admiration had turned to love. He loved her. Had? Perhaps it had only ever been lust. The way her body was forever pushing against the confines of its clothing, and the way she’d sometimes pushed it against his. And this bloke Alex! If she was prepared to risk everything for him, the bitch was probably sleeping with him! Was he the reason for her Scottish getaway? She’d led him on and hung him out to dry like some wet-behind-the-ears schoolboy! The prick-teasing bitch had even used him as a fucking alibi!
Her professional betrayal was as humiliating as her personal, but at least it could be shared — he wasn’t the only one who’d been fooled. But don’t kid yourself, mate! You’re her Boss, her line manager. It was you who gave her too much of a free rein. You let her go rogue. This fucking buck will stop with you!
Humiliation fanned the flames of rage and he gripped the arms of his chair as raw emotion engulfed him. He wanted to lash out, sweep everything off his desk, but all he had left was his career and he couldn’t afford to be dragged from a major incident room in a straitjacket.
He stared at his mobile lying on the desk. Behind its soft blue light lay evidence of both betrayals. He thought about deleting it, but any internal inquiry would expect to see messages between him and his bitch consultant. Perhaps he could just delete the personal stuff. Checking the texts, he was relieved and surprised to find that none of them crossed the professional line. Odd that — so much more meaning in his memory than in the reality of his contact with her.
He reached for the unopened bottle of whisky, stored like a cliché in the bottom drawer of his desk. He didn’t normally drink on duty — in fact, he wasn’t much of a drinker at all. The bottle had been a gift from his Leeds DS, a talisman, ready for an office celebration of a job well done. Ha fucking ha! He twisted open the seal.
The desire to use his power and make an immediate arrest had never been so strong, but he could not afford to go off half-cock. His evidence soldiers needed to be lined up and well briefed before savouring the satisfaction of Mia’s arrest. Even if they got the twenty-eight day extension allowed in terrorist cases, once the security services became involved, time would drain like water down a plughole. And, more importantly, once she was arrested her co-conspirators would scatter like chaff in the wind.
Matt returned with a single sheet
printout. ‘What was the reason behind Mia’s compassionate leave?’ he asked.
‘Her mother had a fall which she subsequently died from.’
Matt looked grim. ‘It says here that Mrs Maria Langley was killed by a hit and run driver a year ago — which makes her more recent death rather redundant.’
Mark took a swig of whisky and handed the bottle to Matt, who sat down and took a swig before handing it back.
‘I bet the bitch has been in league with this black feather woman for some time.’
‘That’s a bit of a leap, Mark. How the hell did Mia find her when we couldn’t?’
‘She’s been working on her own too much — that holiday up in Scotland and her mother’s fake death! How else would she know or care about Alex Campbell enough to risk arrest and imprisonment? And she’s well into all this animal-welfare stuff!’
He took another swig and offered the bottle to Matt — who declined with a raised hand.
‘You should have heard her defending activists over our dinner, our fucking expensive dinner. Christ, I’m glad I never slept with her — how fucking embarrassing would that have been!’
‘Maybe it’s just a straightforward financial transaction, Mark. Maybe she’s never even met Alex Campbell. Everyone’s got their price and Mia Langley does like her labels.’
His boss’s look of gratitude made Matt uncomfortable. ‘I’ve put a request in for her phone records, which should give us some indication of where she was during her holiday and compassionate leave — not to mention weekends off. We’ll get this sorted.’
‘We fucking well need to! I want that bitch nailed! I want her locked up for a very long time!’
Dead would be better, he thought, but locked up will do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Speak softly but carry a big stick.
It was 6.30 in the morning and despite it being a Sunday, the incident room was slowly filling. Matt walked into Mark’s office without knocking on the now permanently closed door.
‘Do you want the good or bad news?’
‘Bad.’
Matt thought his boss looked exhausted. He’d obviously not slept properly in days. His jacket was crumpled and starting to hang on his frame.
‘There’s nothing suspicious or incriminating on Mia’s work phone, but not much at all on her personal one—’
‘Which suggests an unregistered burner.’ Mark sighed and leant back in his chair.
‘Which, on the upside, is yet more indication of guilt.’ Matt tried a smile of encouragement. ‘Anyway, the good news is, because she had to keep her work mobile on, we’ve got a trace on its movements and it’s been pinging off masts in the Brecon Beacons—’
‘Alex Campbell’s playground!’ Mark sat up.
‘It gets better. Triangulation of the local masts gives us a fairly small area which local police have confirmed contains Mountain View, a small farm that was recently turned into an animal rescue centre.’
‘That’s fucking brilliant!’
‘Discreet enquiries in the village say it was run by a lovely little lady named Ellie Grant—’
‘Was?’
‘She died a few weeks back — cancer. Confirmed by the registry office.’
‘Date?’
‘Ten days before the Danish attack.’
‘So, do we think this Grant woman could have been our black feather lady?’
‘It’s a distinct possibility, Boss. That ricin attack would have taken months of planning. If everything was in place, Campbell could have run the operation on his own.’
‘Or has someone else taken over from this Ellie Grant?’
‘Let’s not go there — just yet.’
‘There’s been black feather attacks since—’
‘Minor league — copy-cat stuff without the same level of planning or skill.’
Mark didn’t answer. He seemed lost in thought, but Matt needed action.
‘I’ve got tactical surveillance on standby — the isolated location of the farm makes normal obs impossible.’
Mark sprang back to life. ‘Deploy them ASAP, Matt — twenty-four-seven obs! I want a record of everyone entering and leaving. Any chance of getting the house miked-up?’
‘Anything’s possible, but personally I’d not want to risk spooking them. If Campbell and his men are still at that location they’ll be surveillance savvy. At the moment they’ve no idea we’re onto them and we need to catch as many of the fuckers as we can.’
‘Okay — have we managed to get a tracker on her car yet?’
‘Last night.’
‘Great — if we can put her and Campbell at this Mountain View, we’ve got the b— her bang to rights.’
‘Cherry on the cake?’ Matt sounded almost gleeful.
‘What?’
‘I’ve also spoken to all the other NCA SIOs and none of them have Mia working a case in Wales — so her frequent trips to the Brecon area are not work related — at least not our work.’
Mark raised both eyebrows.
‘In fact, digging a little deeper, Mia’s not working full time on any cases at the moment. She’s giving advice over the phone when asked, but has no regular presence in any incident room — except this one.’
Mark looked up at the ceiling, digesting the now obvious conclusion that Mia Langley was guilty as fuck. All he had to do was prove it — and by Christ he was going to do just that. He was going to finish what she’d started and he was going to win. He had to win . . . for his career . . . and self-respect.
He looked back at his DI. ‘Cheers, Matt. Let’s take it steady though, and everything by the book. No short cuts. This has Old Bailey and world media written all over it and I don’t want any surprises or get-out-of-jail-free cards — understand?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll go brief the surveillance teams.’
Eight hours later Matt bounced back into the SIO’s office looking like a puppy wanting to play.
‘What’ve you got?’ Mark asked.
‘Mia drove straight to Mountain View this morning — just one stop on the motorway.’
‘Photos?’
‘Not just of her.’ Matt handed him a brown file.
As Mark flipped it open, his heart felt tight. The first photo showed Mia getting out of her BMW in front of an impressive stone farmhouse. The second showed a newish Land Rover parked on the same gravel courtyard.
Matt was at his side, pointing at the vehicle. ‘Do you recognise that index number?’
His mind was still full of Mia’s image, but Matt didn’t wait for a reply.
‘It’s the vehicle that followed the baiters’ Volvo from Birmingham to Gloucestershire.’
‘So, as we thought — a clone.’
The registered keeper of the real plates had been arrested and questioned, but had been able to provide a solid alibi for both himself and his vehicle.
Mark refocused. But he wasn’t prepared for the next photo. It was Alex Campbell, complete with scar and beard, welcoming Mia in a way that made his innards drop. The bitch! The fucking, whoring bitch. He’d been right all along!
Matt moved away. ‘Sorry, Boss . . . Does it make things easier or harder?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Mark rubbed his face and stood up. ‘It certainly gives us motive for her nicking that exhibit.’ He reached for his jacket. ‘I’d better let upstairs know our suspicions have been confirmed.’
Matt thought his boss had the look of a dead-man-walking as he left the incident room. When he returned half an hour later, Mark signalled him into the office.
‘The Chief and Home Sec want arrests now. They’re not prepared to wait — they need to be seen to be on top of things.’
‘Can I make a suggestion?’
‘Of course.’ Mark sat down.
‘Get Mia back here to affect the arrest — it’ll make it easier to contain her — but keep obs on Campbell and see if he leads us anywhere else or to anyone else. We can still pick him up quickly if needs be.’
‘Yes, all right. You call her in, Matt. Tell her we’ve got some more intel on Campbell—’
‘No lies needed then—’
‘Try and get an ETA.’
Matt nodded and left.
It was early evening and Mark was standing at his office window when Mia pulled into the secure car park in her brand new BMW. The small non-descript mobile she was speaking into was not her usual gold-encased smartphone.
‘Evening, Mark. I understand we’ve got more intelligence on Campbell?’
Her tone was diamond bright.
‘We certainly have. Sorry to spoil your weekend—’
‘Not to worry — work comes first.’
‘Were you doing anything special?’
‘Not really.’
Mia felt the question wasn’t rhetorical, but quickly dismissed the idea. She mustn’t allow herself to become paranoid.
‘Is that a new car?’ Mark nodded towards the car park. ‘We must be paying you too much.’ His smile was fixed.
‘I wish that was the case, but no, I’ve been fortunate enough to come into a small inheritance.’
‘Your mum?’
She nodded and tried to look sad. He changed the subject.
‘So, this new intel—’
‘Yes, what is it?’
She sat down and he watched her cross her legs in that deliberately provocative manner, before reaching into her attaché case for the ring-backed notebook.
‘We’ve got surveillance on him.’
Mia’s head snapped up and he enjoyed the undisguised panic that contorted her pretty face — pulling away the mask he’d once thought so beautiful.
‘You’ve located him then?’
Mark grinned. ‘Oh yes. We’ve . . . located him.’
‘Wow!’ Confusion radiated from her eyes.
She Will Rescue You Page 18