by Karla Forbes
“You don’t have to,” Wilson told him, not pausing in his work. “All you need to do is shut up and give me some peace.”
“What I don’t understand,” Fox continued as though Wilson hadn’t spoken, “is why we couldn’t use the plutonium to make a proper nuclear bomb.”
“To do what exactly?” Wilson asked cuttingly. “I’ve already explained that we don’t have the technology. I’ve got a second-class degree in chemistry, a small kitchen and a Bunsen burner. What the hell do you expect? Hiroshima?”
“Well, yeah…why not?” Fox asked.
“If it was that easy, every squalid little fifth-rate regime in the world would have nuclear capability. I’m doing the next best thing. Now give over with your stupid questions and let me get on.”
“It’s alright for you,” Fox complained. “You’re doing something. All this hanging around is doing my head in.”
Hubner walked into the kitchen carrying fresh supplies. “Make yourself useful, then.” He slid two of the carrier bags in Fox’s direction. “Put this lot in the microwave.”
“What is it?” Fox asked, eyeing up the bags with the same suspicion he had reserved for the plutonium.
“A Chinese takeaway for three. Plus a few bottles of what you British laughingly call beer.”
Fox, visibly cheered, began piling trays of food into the microwave and settled back to his newspaper while he waited. Wilson’s peace lasted nearly two minutes.
“Hey!” Fox glared once again over the top of the newspaper. “I’ve just thought, is it safe heating up food in the same room as that shit?”
“For you it might be fatal,” Wilson muttered menacingly.
Fox saw real danger in Wilson’s face and grudgingly returned to his newspaper.
“Fucking hell!” he yelped after another two minutes had passed.
“What now?” Wilson exploded.
Fox pointed at the newspaper. “There’s an article here about those two losers on the boat.”
Hubner looked up sharply. “What does it say?”
Fox sat up straight, scanning the page and reading out the relevant passages.
“Police have identified the dead man as Timothy Wellerby… The death is being treated as suspicious… Police are looking for the owner of the boat, Nicholas Sullivan, who police believe will be able to assist them with their enquiries…I knew it!” Fox stabbed angrily at the newspaper. “That bastard’s still alive.”
“Not necessarily,” Wilson said, his voice nervous. “It says the police are looking for him. Perhaps that means his body was never washed up.”
Fox turned on him with derision. “You’re kidding yourself, aren’t you? It says that the police believe he can help them with their enquiries. That means they know he’s still alive!”
“It also means,” Hubner interjected smoothly, “that if he is still alive, then the police probably didn’t believe his story and he is now their only suspect.”
“Do you reckon?” Wilson asked, eagerly.
“Yes, but nevertheless it changes everything.”
Fox was immediately alarmed. “How come?”
“If the police are looking for him, he must be on the run.”
“So what?” Fox asked with a shrug. “As far as I’m concerned he can do all the running he likes. It means the heat’s off us.”
Hubner fished around in his pocket for his cigarettes. “If the police believe that this man murdered his friend, he has a very good reason for wanting to find us and prove them wrong. If I was in his position, I’d be doing everything possible to hunt us down.”
“But he can’t…can he?” Wilson asked, looking from one man to the other. “You said yourself that we’ve covered our tracks.”
“True,” Hubner agreed, “but we can’t afford to be complacent. He got away from us, and now it seems he has also given the police the slip. It wouldn’t do to underestimate him.” Hubner lit a cigarette and sat there for a moment deep in thought. The other two men waited in silence for him to speak.
“From now on,” he said at last, “we must be even more careful.” He jabbed a finger in Wilson’s direction. “How much longer will you need?”
Wilson considered. “Not long…I hope…I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” Hubner growled.
Wilson flinched. “I’ve never done this before. There’s a certain amount of trial and error.”
“Trial and error?” Fox repeated incredulously. “I didn’t fuck around making excuses when I was bringing it up from the seabed.”
“Quiet!” Hubner snarled. He turned back to Wilson. “I asked you a question. How much time do you still need?”
“This is plutonium, not sugar. It‘s taking longer to dissolve than I thought it would. But I’m nearly there.”
“Not good enough,” Hubner snapped. “Be more specific.”
Wilson wriggled uncomfortably. “I can’t hurry this. It’s radioactive, for Christ’s sake!”
“You said it wasn’t dangerous!” Fox yelled.
“It’s not dangerous… Well, not if it’s handled properly.”
Hubner held up a hand for silence. “Work as quickly as you can, but don’t take risks. As soon as we have the plutonium in powder form, we’ll pack what we need and leave.”
Wilson’s jaw dropped open. “We can’t do that. I’m not touching the plutonium without the glass cabinet.”
Hubner nodded. “OK, we’ll take everything you need with us.”
“This is the second fucking change of plan,” Fox protested. “Originally we were going to stay out of sight on the boat until it was all over.”
“We had to scuttle the boat and we couldn’t afford a new one,” Hubner reminded him.
“Yeah, thanks to that arsehole Sullivan. What’s wrong with staying here instead, like we agreed?”
“I never liked that idea,” Hubner said. “You talked me into it, against my better judgement. The house is in your name; there are too many neighbours watching us coming and going.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Fox demanded.
“We leave today and never come back.”
Fox’s heavy eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “What? I own this place. I don’t pay rent like you two.”
“Start using your head!” Hubner said scathingly. “If the government hands over sixty million quid, what the hell are you going to do with this shithole?”
“And if they don’t?” Fox asked, bridling.
“Then your accommodation will be taken care of by the authorities. Either way, you won’t be coming back here again. From now on, we stay together and use one car and the van. Pack a suitcase. Everything else you leave behind. Understand?”
“What about me?” Wilson asked unhappily. “I haven’t even got a toothbrush. I thought I’d be going home.”
Hubner shook his head in frustration. “We’ll call in to your place on the way. The same thing applies. You can pack one small suitcase, no more, and then we go.”
“Yeah, but where?” Wilson asked. “We went through all this when we lost the boat. There isn’t anywhere safe; that’s why we decided that we had no choice but to stay here.”
Hubner was already pulling a laptop out of his bag. “Get on with your work and leave the thinking to me,” he ordered.
“It’s impossible,” Fox protested. “We need somewhere isolated without neighbours poking their noses in, watching everything that’s going on. Where are we going to find something like that at short notice and for only a few days? We’d be better off stealing another boat.”
“No,” Hubner said sharply. “The reasons for not stealing a boat haven’t changed. I won’t risk having the law catch up with us because some sharp-eyed coastguard is too good at their job.”
Fox was unimpressed with Hubner’s logic. “In that case, I’d rather take a chance and stay where we are. The loft is already prepared, and no one around here gives a toss what their neighbour is up to.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t take chances,” Hubner told him coldly. ”If you want to stay, then stay. It’s up to you. I won’t force you. We’ve got the plutonium. From now on, we can manage without you if we have to.”
“You bastard!” Fox jumped to his feet, his fists clenched.
Hubner paused in what he was doing, his fingers suspended over the laptop. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
Fox hesitated, recognising the threat in Hubner’s words, and let his fists fall to his side.
Hubner turned back to the laptop. “A wise choice,” he observed. “Now, make yourself useful and check on the microwave. The food will be ready.”
***
Nick waited an hour and phoned Ed back.
“It’s me,” he said. “Can you talk?”
“No, give me five minutes and call me on my mobile.”
Nick disconnected and explained things to Annelies.
“In that case we must find a phone box,” she told him. “My number’s programmed into Ed’s mobile. He mustn’t know I’m helping you.”
Twelve minutes later Nick phoned again. “Where’ve you bloody been?” Ed grumbled.
“Have you got the address?” Nick asked, cutting across him to avoid questions he couldn’t answer.
“Yeah, and more besides. The car is registered to a Malcolm Fox, last known address in Croydon.” Nick reached for a pen to scribble it down.
“And?” he prompted.
Ed lowered his voice. “I did a quick check on Fox. He’s done time.”
“What for?” Nick asked, instinctively lowering his own voice.
“He’s not a nice person,” Ed said. “He’s led a useless life by all accounts. The only skill he ever learnt was diving. For a while he tried using it to earn a living, teaching scuba diving with a club down at Portland, but it didn’t last long. He left under a cloud and bummed around after that, taking a series of dead-end jobs or living off benefit. He came to the police’s attention for getting drunk and beating a man senseless. He got a suspended sentence but was soon in trouble again. He was sent to prison for six months, and after that, things got worse. He’d only been out for a few months when he broke into a house, found the female occupant home alone and beat her up badly before raping her.”
“Why is a scumbag like that walking the streets?” Nick asked, angrily.
“He was sentenced to twelve years but managed to persuade the parole board that he was a reformed character. He barely served half his sentence before he was free again.”
“Free to murder,” Nick said bitterly. “But at least the police might believe me now. “
“Um…yes,” Ed said before lapsing into an ominous silence.
“What do you mean?” Nick asked, sensing he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“It might not be as easy as that. I’ve got a mate with Kent Police. I asked him what he knew about DI Mason.”
“And?”
“He’s got a reputation for being a blinkered, self-opinionated old fart. Once he’s made his mind up, that’s it, you’re guilty.”
“Oh, bloody marvellous!” Nick exploded. “So what now, stay on the run? It’s you that’s been saying all along that I should give myself up.”
“That’s before I heard about Mason,” Ed admitted miserably. “But you could still be better off giving yourself up than going after Fox. Mason might try and put you in the frame for murder, but at least he won’t slit your throat.”
Nick wasn’t impressed with either option. “Do me another favour, will you?” he asked.
“What’s that?”
Nick thought that it was a measure of Mason’s reputation that Ed was no longer objecting to requests for help. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind.
“Find out everything you can about Fox. If I can link him to the German, and the man calling himself Harris or Smith, I might have something positive to go back to Mason with.”
“Yeah, will do,” Ed agreed.
“And Ed…”
“Yeah?”
“Make it quick.”
Nick disconnected and turned to Annelies. “I’ve got an address for someone called Malcolm Fox. I need to borrow the car. Don’t worry; I’ll keep you out of it. If I’m stopped I’ll say I stole it.”
“No need,” Annelies told him brightly. “I’m going with you. I’ll drive.”
Nick turned to her, his face grim. “No Annie. You’re not. These men are dangerous. I appreciate the help you’ve given me so far, but this is my fight. I’m going alone.”
Annelies looked equally determined. “No you’re not. I’m going with you. If you try to stop me I won’t let you borrow the car.”
“Fair enough,” Nick informed her, “I’ll take the bus.”
“If you do,” Annelies countered, “I’ll only be following with the car, so you might as well be comfortable and sit in the passenger seat.”
“Annie, stay out of this!”
She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s too late for that, I’m already in it.”
The two combatants glared at each other. It was Nick who capitulated.
“Oh, very well then,” he said with resignation. “But when we get there, you stay in the car out of trouble. Understand?”
Annelies smiled sweetly. “Of course, Nick.” She picked up her car keys. “Come on. What are we waiting for?”
Chapter Five
Mason plucked the sheet of paper from Gaskin’s fingers with childlike eagerness, but his face immediately fell. “Is this it?” he asked suspiciously. “It’s not as long as I thought it would be.”
Gaskin looked around for a seat, found the only one taken up with Mason’s briefcase, and reluctantly decided to stand.
“Sullivan’s wife hasn’t listed any of their joint-friends. She doesn’t think any of them would feel comfortable sheltering him when that would look as though they were taking his side. She’s also discounted people who are acquaintances rather than really good friends. She counts his working colleagues and boating friends among that category. There might only be half a dozen names on that list, but they all represent friends who go back a long way: people who he could turn to if he was in trouble and who wouldn’t hesitate to help him.”
“I suppose it will do for a start,” Mason said grudgingly, “but if none of these come up trumps, we go back to her for a fuller list.” He returned to the paper.
“Who’s this?” he asked stabbing a bony finger at the first name.
“An old school mate,” Gaskin explained. “They’re still in regular contact.”
“And this one?”
Gaskin attempted to read upside down. “He was at university with Sullivan but you can forget him. I’ve already checked him out. He works for Reuters. He’s been out of the country for the last month.”
“What about this one?”
Gaskin gave up the task of reading upside down and walked around the back of Mason’s chair. “Ah, yes. Edward Burgen. He’s interesting, that one. He’s a detective sergeant with Sussex Police, based in Brighton. He met Sullivan when they were both at university. According to Sullivan’s missus, they’ve helped each other out on many an occasion.”
“Really?” Mason perked up. “Just the sort of mate you might turn to when you’re in trouble with the law.” He lowered the paper and stared off into the middle distance. “But he’s a copper. He’d have to be seriously indebted to Sullivan to stick his neck out, however pally they are.”
“I thought the same,” Gaskin said, “so I did some checking. It seems that Sullivan provided Burgen with an alibi a few years ago.”
Mason eyes glinted dangerously. “That’s interesting. Tell me about it.”
Gaskin took advantage of the moment, carefully cleared the chair of his boss’s briefcase and sat down. “A couple of drunks stole a car and crashed it. One of the men was a good friend of Burgen’s. The identity of the other man was never discovered, but naturally, suspicion fell on Burgen himself.”
“Don’t tell me,” Mason cut in. “Sullivan swore that Burgen had been with him all night.”
“Something like that,” Gaskin agreed, with a jaded smile. “Anyway, it got Burgen off the hook. He’d just been accepted into the force, and with a university degree behind him his career prospects were looking good. If he’d been done for stealing and crashing a car, he would have lost everything.”
Mason turned back to the list and stared hard, as though by doing so he could make the information he needed appear on the page. “What do we know about him?” he asked at length.
“At the moment, not a lot,” Gaskin admitted.
Mason sat back, the other names on the list apparently forgotten. “Find out everything you can. Make it your number one priority. Get over to Brighton, interview him, dig around, talk to his neighbours. Ask them if they’ve noticed anyone staying over for the last few days. Has he got family?”
Gaskin shrugged. “Sorry Guv, I don’t know.”
“Make it your business to know,” Mason ordered. “I’ve got a feeling about this Burgen. I’m damned sure Sullivan went to him for help, because that’s what I would have done in his shoes. The question is, did Burgen do the sensible thing and send him packing, or did he get sucked into helping out for old time’s sake? Find out for me, Bill.”
Gaskin unwillingly hauled himself out of his comfortable seat and ambled back to his desk, where he immediately reached for his phone and put a call through to Sussex Police HQ. When his boss was in this mood, there was no point in delaying. The sooner he started the better.
***
Sarah Feltham reached down to give her five-year-old son a goodbye peck on the cheek. He screwed up his face with dismay.
“Don’t, Mummy,” he pleaded, cringing with embarrassment. “All my friends are looking.”
She laughed and ruffled his hair instead. “Sorry William. I keep forgetting you’re all grown up now. Did you remember your lunch pack?”
The small child rolled his eyes. “It’s in my bag.”
“What about your gym kit?”
“Oh Mummy, you know we haven’t got gym today.”