The Real World- the Point of Death

by Laurence Todd

  “He turned back to face me and said, I’d like you to tell Rob something. I said okay, I would. He said he’s only here in the UK to take care of a couple of small matters which can’t be resolved back home. Apparently one of them involves someone you both know. He thinks they won’t take too much longer to sort out, two or three days more at most, and then he’s going back home to Italy. He also said, and he stressed this, you’ll approve of what he’s here to do.”

  “Someone we both know?” I repeated. “He didn’t mention this last night. Don’t suppose he said who this person was?”

  “No, that’s all he said about it. What do you think it all means?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head.

  I didn’t. I was wondering, who was this person we both knew? Was this the person who’d clued him in about what had happened in my life recently? Or did this mean Red Heaven had something planned, a bombing perhaps, and he was giving me the heads-up? If it involved Red Heaven he’d know, as a Special Branch detective, this would be something I wouldn’t approve of.

  Or did it mean it was something he needed to take care of personally? It was unlikely to be anything to do with the family catering business, and I was certain he wouldn’t be risking his liberty just to negotiate orders to supply Italian restaurants and delicatessens in London. My information concerning Red Heaven had been that, whilst it still had sympathisers here, it was largely a moribund organisation in the UK at the moment, and the best intelligence available from sources inside Red Heaven was that it had nothing planned. So what could he be here for? And who was this person we were both supposed to know? What was it Mendoccini was here to do I’d approve of? My mind was spinning with the possibilities.

  “He say anything else?”

  “That’s about the gist of it. We were only at the table about ten minutes.” She stopped for a moment and looked at me, smiling. “Oh yeah, last thing he said to tell you, and he specifically told me to emphasise this point. I’m to tell you, whatever you might think now and no matter what happens in the future, you’re still his brother and that’ll never change. He said, You know what famiglia means to us Italians, and Rob is famiglia. So, Sally, as you are Rob’s wife, you are now famiglia as well. Then he smiled and said something in Italian, took hold of my left hand and kissed it, said it was great to finally meet you and welcome to the famiglia. He said you’d told him I was an amazing woman and he could now see why you’d said it. After that, he finished his coffee, said, Ciao, Sally and left. I watched him cross the road and disappear into the crowds. I went back to the office wondering if it’d really just happened. It was all so quick, and I was so surprised I forgot to thank him for buying me a latte.”

  She was quiet for a moment, then smiled at me. “Did you really tell him that?”

  I knew what she was referring to. “Yeah, I did, ’cause it’s true.”

  “Oh, McGraw, that’s so sweet.” She leant over and kissed me on the cheek.

  My head was reeling with what Taylor had told me. How brazen was this, to approach her in broad daylight and have coffee with her? I sat deep in thought for several seconds.

  “So, what did you think?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure what I think.” She frowned. “He was so calm and reassuring and just told me what I’ve told you. The way he was talking, you’d think we’d known each other for some time.” After a few seconds, she laughed, looking puzzled. “I can’t help wondering if he stood around all morning waiting for me outside the Standard building. I mean, how would he even know I was in there on a Saturday?”

  An interesting point. How would he have known she was in her office on Saturday? “Did he look the same as he did last Tuesday?”

  “Pretty much, though he had a baseball cap pulled right down over his forehead. I did notice his eyes were a different colour, though. His hair seemed a little longer as well.”

  I thought for several seconds. Changing his appearance could be one way he’d stayed ahead of anyone looking for him. That’s, of course, assuming anyone was. I’d not heard if they were.

  I’d once been told on a training course that just making subtle changes to your appearance could be more effective than a full-on disguise. He obviously knew this, because he’d said last night he’d already been in the country a week and nobody’d picked up on his presence. I wondered how he could be so sure. Something wasn’t right here, and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

  Taylor saw the doubt on my face, took hold of my hand and put her head on my shoulder.

  “How you feeling now, McGraw?” she asked.

  I gave her a warm hug and just nodded.

  Feeling emotionally unsettled was not how I’d thought I’d be spending Saturday night. Standard procedure meant I should now be reporting Michael Mendoccini was back in the UK, but I personally hadn’t met up with him, and, despite Taylor recognising him from his picture, I was certain I’d have heard from Stimpson if MI5 suspected Mendoccini was in the UK again, so, for the moment, I decided to say nothing.

  We spent the rest of the evening quietly. I found it hard to concentrate on anything and I don’t suppose I was particularly good company. Lying awake around midnight, Taylor curled up around me and breathing very lightly, I thought it bordered on the surreal; Mendoccini was probably just casually strolling around London somewhere, taking care of whatever business he had here. It hadn’t been possible to trace his call last night, so, for all I knew, he could have been just across the road, phoning from Battersea Park. I was even more curious about how he’d known I was married and where to find Taylor, as well as how he’d recognised her. Also, how did he know she was at work today?

  I eventually dozed off and slept fitfully, having several bizarre dreams in which Michael Mendoccini featured. The only one I could remember involved him and me running along a crowded seafront somewhere and laughing. What would Freud make of that one?

  I was awoken by a call from Smitherman just after six twenty.

  “Charles Garlinge’s been found dead.”

  E I G H T

  Sunday

  “So, what happened?”

  After hearing from Smitherman, I’d quickly dressed and listened to the radio, but details given were sketchy and confined to formally stating a Conservative backbench MP, believed to be Charles Garlinge, aged fifty-one, had been found dead outside his home in Hemel Hempstead around 4.45 am. No cause of death was given, and police had issued a preliminary statement saying there were currently no suspicious circumstances and they were not looking for anyone in connection with the death.

  Smitherman was already in his office, looking a little tired. He must have been here most of the night because he’d been wearing the same shirt, tie and jacket when I’d left early yesterday evening.

  “How’d he die?”

  “There’s no obvious visible cause of death,” he stated. “No bloodstains, no wounds anyone could see with the naked eye, no sign he’d been stabbed or shot, so initial speculation is death by natural causes, heart attack or a stroke perhaps. But a medic who examined the body before it was removed doesn’t seem to think that’s the situation. Apparently his eyes were still open, and there was something about his eyes which gave her this impression, so she isn’t prepared to state anything definitively until a toxicology test has been conducted. She’s going to be conducting it herself soon to try and isolate the cause of death. All this is, of course, off the record for the moment. Police are going with death by natural causes for now.”

  “What’d he been doing up to this point?”

  “From what we can piece together of his last known movements, Garlinge went to his constituency Friday afternoon for a few hours, then stayed over in London Friday night; he and several other MPs share a house in Pimlico. He was at the ExCeL centre most of yesterday, and, after a reception back at the MOD building, left there last night sometime around eleven thirty. He’d had a few drinks, so he left his car behind, got a ride home with a Government drive
r. He was dropped off outside his house about fifty minutes later. His driver estimates it was around twelve twenty when he dropped Garlinge off, and the driver’s recorded as returning the car at quarter past one, so his timeline fits. The driver’s been checked out; he’s clean, nothing suspicious there.”

  “Who found him?”

  “His wife. Apparently, she always gets up really early to take the dog out, so she goes outside to let the dog run. It was still dark then, so she puts on the outside lights and sees the dog sniffing around a shape lying on the gravel in the driveway in front of the garage, right alongside her car. She goes over and sees her husband’s body, calls the emergency services. She’s not said much yet, still in a state of shock. But she did say she wasn’t too concerned he hadn’t returned home when she awoke. Apparently, if he’s has one too many when he attends official functions, he tends to stay at his place in town and come home next morning, so she assumed this was what had happened last night.”

  “The driver see anything?”

  “No. All he’s said is he dropped Garlinge at the entrance to his driveway and then drove off. He saw Garlinge wave as he drove away, then he went into his garden. Didn’t see anything else. There’s no CCTV around his area either, so anyone arriving at his house would be able to come and go without being recorded. His place’s a five-bedroom detached property, and there’s plenty of bushes and trees, so it’d be easy for anyone who knows what he’s doing to find cover there, if this’s what happened, and obviously nothing’s been ruled out yet,” Smitherman said thoughtfully.

  I sat quietly for several seconds. “Any indications it was a botched robbery?”

  “None. His keys, his phone, House of Commons and Portcullis House security passes, and his wallet with a couple hundred in cash plus several credit cards were still in his pockets.” He shrugged. “So, as nothing’s been ruled out yet, it’s possible we could even be looking at a cold-blooded kill, if this medic’s suspicions are correct.”

  I was aware there was evidence suggesting Garlinge was engaged in facilitating bribery and had an involvement in unauthorised arms reaching Burundi, but I was attempting to connect this to why someone might kill him. I’d heard Garlinge’s name had been included on company documents relating to the sanctioning of bribery, which would mean the persons he had dealt with would also be implicated, and would expect to be suspected in his death, so anyone giving money to Garlinge or accepting money from him would be unlikely to kill him. Was there another reason someone might want him out of the picture?

  “He wasn’t robbed, and, if it was murder, I doubt it’d be a purely random attack, so there could be a personal motive to take him out,” I suggested. “Could this be in some way connected to what I’ve been looking into the past two days?”

  “Can’t rule it out, can we?” Smitherman shrugged and spread his hands. “Though I’m reasonably sure no one from Armswatch’s involved. They’re just an annoying bunch of agitators; killing Garlinge isn’t their style. You’re right, though. This wouldn’t be just a random, motiveless kill, so, if he was taken out, it’d be for a reason and we’ve got to find out what it is.”

  “So, what’s the Branch’s role in this?”

  “For the moment, there isn’t one. Hertfordshire CID’s investigating the case and hasn’t identified anything suspicious, so, until the cause of death’s established, we can’t do too much. But, given who the victim is, and what we’ve heard, we’re going to be looking into it as well. So ...” He bit his lower lip and nodded. “I want you to look at everything Garlinge’s been involved in recently, where he’s been, what he’s been doing, who he’s met, and so on. If, as I suspect, this isn’t death from natural causes, this’s likely to be our starting point.”

  *

  Back on the Branch database, I began by opening Charles Garlinge’s file and looking over his whole life. All MPs have a file kept on them detailing their entire life history: schools and university attended, employment record, known political beliefs and situation on the political spectrum, known associates, any controversial publications or beliefs held, and so on. I already knew his current details – an MP, married with no children, living near Hemel Hempstead, with a triple-A credit rating and no criminal record or major debts – from when I’d looked at the file on Friday before talking to him. But I wanted to know more about him, so I went right back to the beginning.

  I’d been right; he came from money. His father, Professor Sir John Garlinge, had been a consultant surgeon, and his mother a judge in the family division of the High Court. He’d attended St Paul’s, one of the Clarendon schools, and gone on to Trinity College, Oxford. On coming down with a good second-class honours degree he’d enlisted in the army, serving eight years and attaining the rank of sergeant. His commanding officer was on record as stating he couldn’t understand why Sergeant Garlinge was leaving the army, aged only twenty-nine, when a promising career as an officer had been his for the taking, but he’d accepted the reasons given, which were apparently compelling. Whatever these were, they weren’t listed.

  He’d then joined Bartolome Systems and worked at their Herts base for nearly twenty years before standing for Parliament in Paul Sampson’s Hemel Hempstead constituency and being comfortably elected. He was also a member of the Army and Navy Club.

  The Bartolome connection was interesting. The late Jeremy Godfrey had also been a soldier before joining Bartolome, and he too had worked in arms procurement. Godfrey was also Garlinge’s cousin, their mothers being sisters, so the cynic in me wondered whether nepotism had been involved. Garlinge had initially joined the marketing department but had rapidly moved up the company hierarchy and, by his early forties, had become one of the senior management team responsible for negotiating with government officials, in the UK and abroad, when orders were under discussion. This would mean occupying a significant position in the company as he would have been in a position to access confidential information relating to arms procurement.

  Bartolome was one of the main suppliers of weaponry and essential equipment to the British military and had a number of rolling long-term contracts with the Ministry of Defence. Because of the secrecy involved, and because of the almost osmotic relationship between arms procurement and the Government, inevitably there was a security interest in the personnel involved, and anyone involved in weapons procurement would have been screened by MI5 before being allowed to take such a highly sensitive position. Garlinge had passed with no hindrance, a background in the military undoubtedly helping.

  The file included a few charities he supported, such as the British Legion and also Help for Heroes, helping injured members of the armed services. The fact his wife was on the ruling council of the National Trust was also included.

  There were other details given but, for the most part, his file was almost a textbook page from the lives of the great and the good, and exemplarily dull. Next time I have trouble sleeping I’ll bring up Garlinge’s file. Nothing in his personal file suggested anything other than someone following the time-honoured gilded and seamless path to the top, as I’d heard Richard Clements once say.

  Out of curiosity I checked the information the Branch database had on Bartolome Systems. The majority of the information given was factual, listing the range of arms the company manufactured, emphasising its close working relationship with the UK and other governments, with brief details concerning the personnel involved and which companies it did business with in various countries. Edward Priestly had mentioned Gibraltar yesterday, but there were no companies listed as being in Gibraltar.

  At this point I was unable to access any more information as a message flashed onscreen stating I’d need top security clearance to read any further in this section.

  I was particularly interested in the section pertaining to its dealings with the Middle East. Bartolome did business with several nations in the region, particularly with Saudi Arabia, Dubai, the United Arab Emirates and Bahrain, and the total value of its sales in the
region per annum ran into the hundreds of millions. The sales to these nations mainly consisted of electronic guidance systems, holographic weapons sights and night vision devices, plus a diverse range of firearms and ammunition. There was nothing listed against any of these sales as being inimical to the UK’s national interest and, despite the concerns about Saudi Arabia’s appalling record of abusing and ignoring human rights, all had had the appropriate export licenses granted by the requisite minister.

  Graves had mentioned Ibrahim Mohammed, so I wondered if he’d been involved in any of these deals. I entered his name into the Branch database and searched under the heading Persons of Interest, the list maintained of individuals who were considered to be an actual or potential threat to national security, or were simply persons of interest because their activities, whilst lawful, had a bearing on security issues.

  Unsurprisingly he was known to UK security. He was forty-four and a former officer in the Bahraini army but, since leaving armed service eleven years back, had lived in Paris. The picture attached to his file showed a Middle Eastern man dressed in a dark suit, with immaculately trimmed curly hair and a full black beard. He was known to be an influential player in the international arms trade through his military connections. He’d been a broker in several major arms deals, becoming extremely rich in the process, which explained how his address was an exclusive gated enclave in the centre of Paris, close by the Élysée Palace. I speculated on just how many of these sales actually ended up with the firm named on the End User Certificate, if Bozetti was anything to go by. This information, however, would be classified and Special Branch had no access to it.

  I was aware Ibrahim Mohammed had been employed by Bartolome Systems on several occasions when it was looking to do business with a company or nation it hadn’t done business with before. In this role, he’d conduct the initial negotiations, bring all the right people together and make all the necessary introductions and arrangements for business to be done. His list of known contacts in the UK included Charles Garlinge, whom he’d met and dealt with multiple times.