By All Means (Fiske and MacNee Mysteries Book 2)

by Alan Alexander

  The missing Press-Rite van was found abandoned under the Chiswick Flyover of the A4 road westward out of London. It was empty, but a forensic examination would collect a DNA sample that was eventually matched to James Michael Roskill. This was less conclusive than it appeared, as the defence would no doubt have pointed out, if a case against Rosklill had ever come to court, because the van had often been used to collect laundry from the Roskill house. Vanessa Fiske could imagine his QC, well instructed by Cordingley, leading a forensic witness to a statement that the presence of a minute sample of DNA did not prove that Roskill had been in the van.

  Airline records showed that the van driver had been on a late flight to Marrakech from Heathrow. There was no record of Roskill having left the country. DCI Fiske was cynical enough, perhaps wise enough in the ways of the rich and powerful, to think that that was not evidence that he hadn't.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  'He's gone, Neil. Disappeared. Smuggled out of his fucking house in a laundry van right under the noses of his so-called protection. No record of him on any commercial flight.'

  'He's a former prime minister, Vanessa. He can't just vanish.'

  'Well he has. And my former colleagues in special branch don't seem to want to pursue him with any enthusiasm. They've alerted Europol and Interpol, issued his picture to border agency staff at ports and airports. Theyr’e asked to “identify and report”. Straight out of the fugitive hunt playbook. I don't think they give a toss. As far as they're concerned the case is solved, the murderers are in custody, and they can now offer us all assistance short of help. Even Peter Mishcon, who I thought was a mate, seems happy to leave the file open and hope that somebody, somewhere fills it.'

  'So get on a plane and come home. You must be exhausted. And in your condition...'

  'Christ, you're beginning to sound like Esslemont. I'm perfectly able to do my job. And I don't like loose ends. I'll be home tomorrow. Or the next day if I go to see mum and dad. Right now I have to talk to Colin.'

  *

  Mishcon, as the officer in charge of Roskill's protection squad, had suspended the officers on duty on the night of the disappearance, pending a full investigation. DCI Fiske's assumption that he was content to let the matter rest turned out to be a little unfair. He had no more affection for loose ends than she had, and the fact that the former PM had been mislaid by his officers rankled.

  'Sir, the FO sometimes provides senior politicians with more than one passport, sometimes in "alternative" names.'

  Bancroft and Mishcon were having a drink after Esslemont had been collected to be driven to Heathrow to get the next available flight to Aberdeen. As Vanessa had pointed out, he was already showing signs of disorientation, even withdrawal symptoms, as a result of having spent a night away. His instruction to her to stay and 'tidy things up" had come as no surprise.

  Bancroft nodded.

  'Could you find out if Roskill had one and if so, in what name?'

  'I could try. But Carey will escalate it to the cabinet secretary, who'll talk to the PM, who'll want to consult the security services, who'll be reluctant to give us the information. Unless we go public about what we think Roskill's done. And that's not a decision for us.'

  'It might enable us to find out where he went, and possibly why.'

  *

  'When I was on royal protection - in special branch - I learned that people like Roskill sometimes have more than one passport and more than one identity. Bancroft's trying to get details, but it may take time, especially if we're right in assuming that Carey is complicit. He's ideally placed to slow things down. And we don't have much time.'

  Colin MacNee decided to push things along. "What do you want me to do, boss?'

  'People don't usually choose false names entirely at random. I need you to get hold of as many biographies of Roskill as you can find and make a list of all the family surnames they mention. Mother's and grandmothers' maiden names, name changes, adoptions. Places of birth, too.'

  'The libraries are shut, but I'll get on to it first thing. When are you back?'

  'Not sure. Depends what you come up with.'

  'Have you checked this with the DCS? Sounds as though you may be about to go off piste.'

  'I'm going to assume that you're speaking to me as a friend. Otherwise, it might be insubordination. Get me on my mobile. I may take a train to Coventry and go and see my parents. They don't know they're going to be grandparents. Might be nice to tell them in person. If I do, I'll book it as leave.'

  *

  'There's a lot of stuff in the British papers about the interest that the cops investigating the Keller and Jamieson murders are taking in James. Not clear what the connection is, but it won't be long until they mention us.'

  Richard Seaton, sitting in his Washington DC law office, looked across his desk at Cy Packard and took a sip of his bourbon.

  Packard went on. 'We both think he's up to something. His silence at the board meeting the other day was so out of character. He's usually like a rutting moose, challenging you and me, maybe positioning himself to move into your chair or mine. He's sure as hell up to something.'

  'What do you suggest, Cy?'

  'As I said before, I could call in some favours. Get some of my old colleagues to see what they can find out. Might take some time, though I'll emphasise that time is money.'

  'Unfortunate turn of phrase. Let's hope it doesn't turn out to be prescient.'

  *

  'Wife's maiden name: Carroll; mother's: Harrington; grannies': Slaughter and Watkins; place of birth: Madely, Staffordshire; wife's place of birth: Sedlescombe, West Sussex.'

  Vanessa Fiske sat in her parents' kitchen in Offchurch, three miles from Leamington Spa, taking down the names as Colin MacNee read them at dictation speed. Her mother poured her a second glass of fizzy water, which she accepted, and offered her, using sign language, some toast and honey, which she declined by shaking her head.

  'What now, boss?'

  'We need to check if any of these names appeared on the passenger manifest of any international flight on the night he disappeared, or the next morning'. Vanessa was being careful not to use Roskill's name: her mother knew to be discreet when she overheard her talking about work, but training will out. 'Let's start with long haul and then go to European if nothing turns up.'

  'Do you want to have a punt at the most likely? I suppose I could just go through them alphabetically, but you know him better than me, so you might like to guess what he'd have chosen. We could even have a sweepstake on it.'

  Vanessa laughed. 'Harry Conival would run a book. Let me have a look.'

  After she finished reading, she laughed again and this time the ironic tone was obvious. 'I'd like to think that he's far enough into black humour to have gone for "Slaughter", but it's too good to be true. Wasn't his constituency in the Black Country? Start with Madely, then it's your call. I'm on leave today.' She looked over to the other side of the kitchen, where her mother was wiping surfaces with great concentration. 'I'm going to try to help my parents come to terms with imminent and unexpected grandparenthood. My dad has said nowt so far except "Who would've thought it?" before retreating into his study.'

  *

  Sir Justin Carey was playing the FO mandarin. 'I'm sorry, Commander Bancroft, but I don't think I am at liberty to confirm or deny that an additional British passport, either in an assumed name or in his own, was issued to Mr Roskill.'

  'Sir Justin, we believe that Mr Roskill has been involved in a criminal conspiracy that has led to two murders and possibly to two separate but serious acts of terrorism. He fled from his home just before we went there to arrest him. It is likely that the police and the prosecuting authorities in Scotland will announce today that they intend to charge him. He will be declared to be an international fugitive from justice. He did not leave this country under his own name. We need to know whether he was travelling on another passport, in another name.'

  'I have no doubt that your enq
uiry is both soundly based and legitimate, but I am not prepared to release confidential information, if such exists, about such a high-profile public figure, entirely on my own authority.'

  Bancroft considered whether to find a way of hinting to Carey that he suspected his complicity in some of Roskill's activities, but said only, 'Whose approval would you need?'

  'I'd need to speak to the Cabinet Secretary. He may have to consult others.'

  'Who, for example?'

  'Possibly the PM.'

  'Do it.'

  Carey looked as though he might object to Bancroft's peremptory tone, but he thought better of it.

  'I'll try to see the Cabinet Secretary today. I'll come back to you as soon as I have an answer.'

  *

  'We have to say something. There's still a press mob outside his house. The blogosphere is awash with speculation. And the PF is pretty well convinced that we could charge him with several serious counts of conspiracy and possibly with procuring illegal acts. If we could find him.'

  Colin MacNee was in the Chief Constable's office with Esslemont, Fiona Marchmont and Harry Conival. The Chief's Acting Staff Officer was taking notes.

  'DI MacNee is right.' Harry Conival had spent the seven hours since Esslemont had got back from London no-commenting inventively to an unbroken series of enquiries about NEC's interest in Roskill. He was very good at it, as he was the first to admit, but both his patience and his imagination were wearing thin. 'The least we can get away with is a press release, but it would be better if we put out a statement accompanied by an announcement of a press conference. That might give me and my colleagues a bit of respite. We're a press office, so we can hardly switch the phones to voicemail and go home, tempting as that is.'

  'If Roskill had been there when the DCI and the DCS turned up at his house this morning, they would have arrested him, driven him to the Met helipad and flown him to Dyce. We would then have announced that a sixty-three year old man had been arrested in London in connection with, blah, blah, blah. The reptiles would have done everything short of naming Roskill. Some of them might even have taken a chance and done so, calculating that the Crown Office wouldn't cite them for contempt. In any case, we would have had him in court tomorrow morning. So we should ask Harry to put all that in a press release, call a press conference at which we can say all the things we would have said at a briefing after the court appearance.'

  The Chief looked less than comfortable. 'I see the logic in that, Colin, but we need to be sure that we do nothing that might be prejudicial, in the event that Roskill ever faces trial. Fiona?'

  'There is a risk, certainly, but we might mitigate it by getting the PF to agree to a joint statement.'

  Colin MacNee laughed. 'How long have we got? It takes him an hour to say yes or no to the simplest recommendation to prosecute. We can hardly tell the press that we hope to say something by next Tuesday week!'

  Colin seldom looked chastened, but the look he got from Esslemont made his expression change rapidly from irritation to regret. "Sorry, sir. Tough afternoon.'

  Fiona Marchmont diverted attention from Esslemont's displeasure and MacNee's discomfort. 'I'll talk to the PF. I'll get him at home and go out to see him if need be.'

  The door to the Chief's office opened and his secretary came in. 'DCI Fiske on the phone, sir. She needs to speak to the DCS urgently.'

  *

  'Sir, I need to have one more go at bringing Roskill in, but I'll need your approval.'

  'Have you got a lead?'

  'I think so, but I'm asking you to trust me to pursue it for a few days. If what I want to do works out, we'll all take credit, but if it doesn't, I'd like you to have "plausible deniability".'

  Esslemont thought that sounded like 'Met speak'. 'You mean I'll be able to say I didn't know about it. Don't like the sound of that but, for the sake of argument, if I go along with this, what would I have to do now?'

  Esslemont, was not a man for taking risks, not even as the last few months of his career coincided with the demise of North East Constabulary and the creation of the new Scottish Police Service. But, Vanessa Fiske was a good officer whose instincts and diligence had paid off in this investigation and in others. The possibility of still being head of CID when one of his people brought off the biggest arrest anyone, anywhere could remember had its attractions.

  'Colin tells me that we're under pressure to announce that Roskill is a fugitive from justice and to say what we want to charge him with. Could you delay that for a few days, three at the most, and sanction some extraordinary travel expenses for me? I'll use my own credit card and claim it back, so we'll be able to decide how to describe it.'

  'I don't like the sound of this, Vanessa. I'll delay any announcement of what we intend to do about Roskill, but I'm not giving you a blank cheque. If you go on with this, I'll do what I can, but your expenses may be at your own risk.'

  Vanessa knew that this wasn't entirely unreasonable, even if it was consistent with Esslemont's risk averseness. It was the best she was going to get.

  'Thank you, sir. I'll keep you informed as appropriate.'

  *

  Patrick Joseph Carroll had flown to Amsterdam, leaving Heathrow early on the morning after Roskill's disappearance, and connecting to a flight at noon to Aruba. Both flights were operated by KLM and Carroll had flown business class. The booking had been made online - no signature required - and the tickets had been charged to a credit card in the name a company registered in the British Virgin Islands. Nothing to link it to Roskill, but DCI Fiske was convinced enough to book a British Airways flight to Aruba.

  'Where the fuck is Aruba?' Esslemont wasn't given to bad language, having come from a Presbyterian home and joined the police before Anglo Saxon became the lingua franca, so Vanessa knew he was unhappy. Getting his signature on a claim form for more than a thousand quid that she had spent on the ticket wasn't going to be easy. But his tone also suggested he was impressed that she had, apparently, picked up Roskill's trail so quickly.

  'In the Dutch Antilles, off the coast of Venezuela. He may be on his way to BVI, where he has "interests", but I doubt it. He's unlikely end up where we might easily be able to get him and repatriate him. He's on his way to somewhere else.'

  'What are you planning? Or don't I want to know?'

  'Probably not, at this stage, but I'm hoping that he doesn't know, or has forgotten, that the Americans have a permanent Homeland Security and Defense presence there. Bancroft is contacting them, as well as the local police, in case I need some back-up.'

  'You'll only be able to bring him back if he agrees voluntarily. Not likely, is it?'

  'Worth a punt, if I can get to talk to him. It'll do no harm for him to know we're on to him.'

  *

  'Richard, Cy here. Homeland Security has a post in Aruba, in the Dutch Antilles. It's mainly to facilitate US citizens in transit - they can clear customs and immigration before boarding a flight home - but they keep closely in touch with the local authorities. One of my contacts tells me that a Patrick Joseph Carroll arrived in Aruba yesterday. He bears more that a passing resemblance to James and they're considering how to act, given that Interpol has an "identify and report" out on him. They're trying to get a positive ID.'

  'Should we try to speak to him, try to find out what he's up to and whether it will affect us?'

  'Might be prudent. I could send Jack Eisner to see if he can locate him. Jack can be quite intimidating. If there's anything to be found, he'll find it.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  At five feet eight, Vanessa Fiske was a few inches too tall to get comfortable in a tourist class seat on a Boeing 747. Making her warrant card visible when she checked in for her flight to Aruba had failed to secure an upgrade. When she disembarked at Queen Beatrix International Airport after a flight of nearly ten hours she was knackered, stiff, and fed up, relying on adrenalin eventually to kick in and keep her going.

  'You're where?' Neil Derrick had thought that
his capacity for surprise about what his partner got involved in was more or less exhausted.

  'Aruba. In the Caribbean. Near Venezuela. Don't ask me why. I'm phoning just to let you know I'm OK, not to tell you what I'm doing.'

  'I thought you were at your parents'

  'I was. And now I'm not.'