by Matt Johnson
‘No,’ I said. ‘But I think I know why you’re asking.’
‘It’s not me being crazy then is it?’ Kevin paused. ‘What if Bridges and Skinner were others? We’ve got a link and a motive.’
‘Like I said in the beginning, and one that takes us back to Monaghan,’ I said.
‘You don’t think Blackwood might have had her too, do you?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought he was her type. But you can never tell. And look at Skinner, face like a sack o’ spuds.’
‘We used to call him “Amoeba”.’
‘“Amoeba”?’ I asked.
‘Single cell for a brain, no chance of reproduction through normal methods.’
I laughed. ‘Ask their old mates, one of them might know,’ I suggested.
‘Bridges’ wife might have an idea,’ replied Kevin.
‘She might. Do you want to ask her?’
It was Kevin’s turn to laugh. ‘Not a chance. I’ll go back to Hereford in the morning and ask around. Cochran might know something.’
‘One last thing, Kev.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Arab, Yildrim. He had blue eyes.’
‘Damn it, I said I knew him.’
Plans arranged, we exited the lift and went our separate ways. What we would do about Monaghan if our theories were confirmed was yet to be decided.
Chapter 80
Costello reached his victim’s home at just after midnight. The target car was parked in the same place as before.
The previous evening, he had watched the gates to the local police station and smiled at the predictability of the night shift, as they all came in for a midnight tea break. For over fifteen minutes, the streets were devoid of a police presence. It meant virtually no risk of being disturbed by a patrol car and a good delay if some Nosy Parker saw something and dialled 999.
Costello stood and watched the street for a few moments. The September night air now had a chill to it. Condensation from his exhaled breath told him that summer was drawing to a close. There were no dog walkers and only a few lights on in the nearby properties. The target’s house was in darkness. With the exception of one or two people watching television, everyone was asleep.
Costello slipped his hand into the carrier bag under his arm and turned the memo park timer on the small package it contained. The movement disconnected the circuit to enable him to arm the bomb.
Next came the bit he hated most. His mouth was dry and his heart pounded as he started to pull the doweling plug from the side of the box. The plug released a spring which completed the circuit to the timer. Once the timer finished its cycle, all that would be needed to connect the battery to the detonator was the tilt switch. He gently eased the plug free and breathed deeply. It was at this point that most ‘own goals’ were scored, when the bomber met an untimely end. Despite years of practice and many live operations he never lost his fear at the moment of arming a bomb. There was an almost inaudible ‘click’ as the spring was released.
Senses gathered and breathing deeply, Costello walked briskly forward. With well-practised familiarity, he dropped to his knees on the pavement next to the car. Slipping the small bomb underneath, he rolled onto his side. He had rehearsed this part on a similar car the previous day and knew that he could reach the underside of the battery tray. He found it. The magnet attached the bomb onto the metal with a solid clunk. He prodded it gently to check it would stay in place and then rolled away. The whole process took less than ten seconds.
As Costello left the East London street behind, there was little to indicate his having been there. The shadows were the same and the trees still fluttered gently in the breeze. Birds still slept in the trees, a hedgehog continued his night patrol. Only the soft, unrelenting, ticking of the clockwork memo park timer gave any clue as to the peril that lay hidden beneath one of the parked cars, waiting for its intended victim.
Twenty-eight minutes later, the timer fell silent. The bomb was armed.
Chapter 81
Grahamslaw got the call just after eight-thirty. It was the Information Room Chief Inspector at New Scotland Yard.
‘Guv, there’s been another bomb.’
‘Where?’
‘East India Dock Road.’
The Chief Inspector reported it was a car bomb. There was one confirmed dead, several walking wounded. Local police were dealing with it and the area had been cordoned off.
Telephone call completed, Grahamslaw ran across the main office and along the corridor to Mick Parratt’s room. Heads turned as he thundered past. But this was no time to worry about decorum. Within five minutes, they were in his Superintendent’s car.
Even with sirens and blue lights, it took nearly twenty minutes before they reached the taped-off scene of the explosion. They were met at the inner cordon by the local Duty Inspector. An hour since it had been hit by the force of the explosion, the fire brigade was damping down the gutted remains of a Ford Focus. The similar burned-out skeleton of what looked like a Vauxhall lay on its side on the footpath, and in the centre of the road were the blackened remains of what could have been anything.
Grahamslaw looked over the scene of devastation. The shattered remains and twisted metal in the middle of the road had surely been a car at one time; the vehicle that contained the device. On the far side of the wreck, an engine had come to rest, its oily contents spewing over the road. Next to it, a blue blanket was covering a small figure. The edges of the blanket were stained a deep crimson, and a thick stream of blood and body fluids flowed slowly across the tarmac to the gutter.
Grahamslaw flashed his warrant card to the Inspector who seemed to be in charge.
‘I assume that’s the victim under the blanket?’ he asked.
‘Half of him, sir. The bottom half is still in the car. The explosion tore the poor bloke in two.’
Grahamslaw grimaced. That meant a particularly gory post-mortem. ‘Have you identified the car?’
‘According to a rear index plate that we found, it’s an Audi. Police computer details of the owner are blocked. All it says is refer to SO12, Scotland Yard.’
‘Special Branch?’
‘That’s right. We’ll be as quick as we can. Once the brigade are finished, it’ll have to be declared safe by an EXPO. I’ll give you the nod once that’s done.’
Grahamslaw thanked the Inspector as he headed off to continue his work. He turned to Parratt.
‘Finlay?’
‘Or Jones? Who knows? Maybe it’s someone new. Jones has an Audi. So does Finlay’s wife. Finlay’s been using a hire car. We’ll find out soon enough. Forensics have just arrived. I’ll brief them and get to work as soon as the explosives officer has given it the all clear.’
The Anti-Terrorist Squad forensic team began with the car. Obvious clues were sought first. They had only been going about three minutes when one of them waved the two detectives over.
‘We’ve found something we think you’ll want to see,’ said the white-overalled scientist.
‘What is it?’ asked Parratt.
‘A briefcase. Looks like the victim was planning to go abroad, there’s tickets, currency, some files and a list. It’s the files and list that I thought you’d want to see right away.’
‘Let’s see it.’
The scientist held the list up in his plastic-gloved hand. Grahamslaw knew the names. Bridges, Skinner, Finlay, Jones. All with addresses and telephone numbers.
‘What about the files?’
The scientist held out one that he had placed in a plastic evidence bag. Grahamslaw could see it was a photocopy of a police file. The type that personnel branch kept at Scotland Yard. It bore the name ‘Jones, Kevin.’
‘Are there more?’ Parratt asked.
‘Several. Do you want to see them all before I seal them up?’
‘We’d better.’
The scientist returned to the remnants of the car and came back with three more bags. They were the same types of files. At the top
were the names. Bridges, Skinner and Finlay.
‘Got a name for the body?’ Parratt was hopeful.
‘John Mills.’
‘John Mills? Who the hell is John Mills?’ said Grahamslaw, turning to Parratt.
‘It’s on the passport.’
The scientist produced a brand-new British passport. He gently eased the wet pages open to show a scorched picture. Grahamslaw and Parratt studied it. It was difficult to make out the face.
Grahamslaw wanted a confirmed identification, and quickly. ‘How soon can you get the body printed?’ he asked.
The scientist thought for a moment. ‘Right away – one of the hands is clean. If you can get me a car to run the prints up to the Yard, I should have a match in an hour or two.’
As the scientist started to print the body’s undamaged hand, Parratt took Grahamslaw a few steps away and spoke quietly.
‘You thinking what I’m thinking, guv?’
‘What’s that then, Mick?’ Grahamslaw replied.
‘John Mills is a false name.’
‘That’s about the sum of it. Fake passport, false name, just what I’d expect from someone about to flee the country thinking he’s about to be nicked.’
‘Finlay?’ suggested Parratt.
‘Yes, or the new one, Kevin Jones.’
‘Doesn’t explain the documents in the car.’
‘Maybe they got hold of their own files?’
‘Or maybe it’s Anderson. They got rid of the poor bastard when he was no longer any use.’
‘Might explain the SB block on the registration number.’
‘It might … smart money is on Finlay or Jones, mind.’
Chapter 82
I got up late. Sleep was still proving to be an elusive friend. Every time my mind wasn’t fully occupied, I’d be thinking about the ‘what ifs’ again. What if Kevin and I had been caught? What if I’d been shot? What would happen to Jenny and Becky? What was I going to do if it turned out Monaghan was behind the murders? It was beginning to drag me down.
At eleven a.m., the telephone rang. It was Jenny. She asked if I was ok and then told me to turn on the television immediately.
I put the phone down, located the remote control and pressed the power button. A news reader was describing damage to a London street; the accompanying film pictured the wreck of a blown-up car. When the commentary stated that Scotland Yard were unable to confirm rumours that the victim of the car bomb was another policeman, I felt my stomach tighten and hands begin to shake. It was several minutes before I remembered to pick up the telephone.
Jenny spoke first. ‘I thought it might be you.’ She was distraught, her voice almost breaking.
I was stunned. I had to sit down before I could reply. ‘No … no, it wasn’t me … I’m OK. I know who it is though.’
‘Who … how do you know? What’s been going on, Bob?’
‘It’s Kevin. I can’t say how I know. He was on his way to confirm something today. Looks like he didn’t make it.’
‘Confirm what?’
I should have got Jenny off the phone right then. Easy to say with hindsight, but I shouldn’t have told her. If I’d been thinking straight then I wouldn’t have. But it came straight out. All thought of security was forgotten. I just had to speak to her.
‘We’ve worked it out. All the blokes that have been targeted had affairs with Monaghan’s wife. All except me. Kev was going to check this morning, he was on his way to Hereford.’
‘All except you?’
‘Yes. I promise. But there were rumours.’
‘Rumours, what do you mean rumours?’
‘Just talk. Soldiers enjoying a good gossip.’
‘Is that what this is all about? Are you telling me that Monaghan man has been killing people that his wife had affairs with?’
‘Yes … looks like Kevin was his latest victim.’
‘But … you’ve got to tell him, you’ve got to speak to him. Tell him you know what he’s doing. Tell him you never went anywhere near his bloody wife.’
‘It’s too late for that.’
‘What do you mean, too late? What are you going to do?’ Jenny had regained her composure, her voice becoming calm and controlled.
God, she was tough, I thought. As I was cracking up, she was getting stronger.
‘Nothing,’ I said, knowing it wasn’t the truth.
‘I’m coming over.’
She knew.
‘No … don’t,’ I said
‘I’m coming over.’ The line went dead.
I thought for a moment, uncertain what to do next.
I rang Kevin’s home. It was the answerphone. Kevin’s mobile number had been programmed into the phone that had been destroyed when the Citroen was blown up. I couldn’t remember it. It would be a waste of time ringing it anyway.
As my heart raced and my anger grew, I headed down the garden to the old oak tree. Finally, I knew what had to be done.
Chapter 83
I headed to the only place I thought it likely to find Monaghan. His club.
With the hire-car safely parked, I began to wonder how I would handle it. Shoot the bastard first or talk to him and then shoot him? I was past caring about being caught now. All logic seemed to have given way to anger. Now I wanted revenge. Bridges, Skinner and Kevin Jones had been in the wrong, but what Monaghan was doing was way over the top. He had to be stopped.
On the passenger seat sat the small bag that contained my old Beretta. Taking a deep breath, I slipped the pistol into my belt and zipped up my fleece jacket.
Within a few moments of my ringing the bell, the doorman opened the heavy oak door. Although unexpected, he recognised me immediately and politely bade me enter. I did my best to look calm. Inside, my stomach was churning.
The doorman wasn’t sure if Mr Monaghan was in, but he agreed to go and look for him. I waited. He seemed to take an age.
After about twenty minutes, he reappeared.
‘If you’d like to follow me,’ he said.
We made our way to the same opulent room that I’d met Monaghan in before.
‘Is Mr Monaghan here?’ I asked.
If you’d just like to wait here, sir.’ His reply was bland, non-committal. He said nothing more as he closed the door gently behind him.
Now alone, I fingered the butt of the pistol, checking it was safe. The feel of the metal provided me with a little reassurance. I had to concentrate, stay cool. Breathing was hard. My heart was racing, demanding that my lungs supply more oxygen. My brain was saying, no … breathe steadily, don’t give anything away. The adrenaline was winning.
The door behind me opened. I was ready.
And then in walked Commander Bill Grahamslaw and Superintendent Mick Parratt.
I was stunned. Speechless. All thought-processing seemed to grind to an immediate stop.
Grahamslaw looked solemn. Staring hard at my face, he spoke first. ‘Are you looking for Mr Monaghan, Inspector?’ he asked.
I could only mumble, ‘Yes.’
Feelings of confused panic started to overwhelm me again. There was a gun in my belt. I was in deep shit. I thought of Jenny. She would be at the house by now, panicking and wondering where I had gone. Becky would be at her mother’s, innocently playing some game or other, blissfully unaware that he father was about to be arrested. I wondered how they would cope. Now Kevin was dead and I would never get to Monaghan. What a bloody mess.
‘Would you mind telling me why?’ said Grahamslaw.
I moved my gaze between the faces of the two detectives, searching for a clue as to what was going on. Both stood, stone-faced and still.
‘We’ve some unfinished business,’ I replied, my voice trembling.
Grahamslaw turned away from me, sat down and indicated for me to do likewise. Again, I looked for a suggestion or hint that would reveal the reason for this unexpected confrontation. There was none.
Once seated, the SO13 Commander spoke again. ‘Your business with M
r Monaghan will have to remain unfinished, Inspector Finlay. He was killed this morning by a car bomb.’
I was silent for a moment, unsure how to respond or react. I was sure it had been Kevin that was killed. Were they referring to the same bomb? ‘The one that’s on the news?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice flat.
‘Correct.’
Stood before the two detectives, I felt vulnerable and weak. The invitation to sit down became a very attractive one. As I gripped the arm of the chair and took the weight off my feet, I realised there was no possibility of them having missed my stunned expression. I sat still for a moment, while the implications of what had just been said sank in. Kevin wasn’t dead. And where did this leave our theory about Monaghan being behind the murders? We must have been wrong. Now that my anger was subsiding, an uncomfortable realisation was dawning on me. I had come very close to murdering a man, and in such an ill-conceived and reactive way that I would never have gotten away with it. I would have lost everything.
‘Are you Ok, Finlay?’
I looked up to see Grahamslaw staring at me, a puzzled look on his face.
‘How did you find me here?’ I blurted the words out, trying, and failing, to sound in control.
Grahamslaw glanced across at his colleague. Experienced detectives as they were, my pre-occupation with my own thoughts hadn’t gone unnoticed.
‘We’ve had a tail on you, Inspector. We found the address of this club in Monaghan’s briefcase this morning and when our surveillance reported that you seemed to be headed here, I decided it might be time we joined you.’
So, they had been following me. I held my tongue; I wanted to know how much more the Commander knew. The pistol dug into my back. For a moment, I’d forgotten it was there. Christ, I hoped they didn’t search me.
‘Also in Monaghan’s briefcase, we found some letters. They were letters to his late wife. It appears that, many years ago, your friend Kevin Jones was her lover.’