“You just can’t prove any of it, can you?” He smirked. “This is all conjecture on your part. You have a few basic facts and you’ve added some gloss to them. It’s riveting stuff but it goes nowhere really, does it?” He sounded more alive, as though I’d touched a chord somewhere inside of him and
he was responding to its reverberating.
“If, as you said, those pictures proved nothing, why was someone so concerned to prevent knowledge of them being circulated?” I asked. “I’ve spoken to someone who thought the shooting of Eric Biggins was just a laugh, a wind-up, but who’s since discovered it was the real thing. That’s murder as far as I’m concerned. Is that what’s being covered up?”
He said nothing. I stood up.
“We’ll continue this at the Yard. I think you’re lying and I’m sick of being lied to, so I’m taking you in. That’ll give the press something to talk about outside when we walk past together with you in handcuffs, won’t it?” I said. “Christian Perkins, I’m arresting you on suspicion of being party to a conspiracy to commit murder. You don’t have to say—”
“You’re not serious, are you?” He sounded worried. “You really going to do this? This goes higher than me. The whole thing does.”
“Okay, convince me. You tell me what this is all about and I might reconsider this course of action. Otherwise I guarantee you’ll be in custody before you can say Auspicium Melioris Aevi. Like my pronunciation?” I smiled at him. He ignored me.
He sat down again. He somehow seemed more in control of himself. It was just a guess but I now had the impression he was more focused. He was still agitated about the situation but now had the chance to play things his way. I sat down at the table nearby.
“Okay, talk to me.” I was ready. He took a deep breath and sighed.
“Your initial comments yesterday were correct. There was a plan to overthrow the Labour Government but it came from a source you’d not believe and, even now, is classified top secret and buried deep within the Whitehall labyrinth and very likely will never see the light of day. But there was a wider purpose than what you might think.”
“And that was?”
“Top secret,” he said matter-of-factly and shaking his head, as though it was obvious and didn’t need spelling out. “The real reason for it all was successful, and that’s all you get to know.”
He looked out the window for a few moments, gathering his thoughts.
“I won’t bore you with the details but, suffice to say, what was being planned was ultimately in the best interests of the country.”
“So your manifesto was right when it said union bosses and Government ministers were to be rounded up and shot,” I asked outright. “It was a definite plan.”
“Oh, absolutely. No doubt at all. But it was all just a front for the real reason.”
“Which was?”
“As I just said, Detective, you will never know. It’s a very closely guarded secret and will stay that way, quite likely for evermore. I doubt even the hundred years rule will apply.”
This wasn’t going as I’d planned. He was admitting to what George Selwood had told me but was now saying it was not for the reasons given.
“What about Eric Biggins? What sins did he commit?” “Ah, Eric. He was going to leak what was happening. He was part of why the whole plan was set up, ab initio. That we couldn’t allow, so he was dealt with military style, by firing squad. I took full responsibility for the safety of what was being planned and I was exonerated.”
“By whom?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“So this was a lawful killing.” I said, hoping to be corrected. I wasn’t.
“It was. I don’t regret what was done as it was ultimately successful. Trust me, if we hadn’t done it, someone else would have done.”
Perkins looked proud when he said this. He was enjoying recounting adventures that occurred almost forty years ago. I thought for a few moments.
“So this coup, or whatever, never occurred because—” I speculated.
“Because it was never intended to. There was never going to be one. The whole thing was a counter-deception – the manifesto, training a private army and all that. It was designed to make certain people in various Government offices think it was going to happen. Once they believed that, those individuals the security services had an interest in came out of the woodwork and they were hauled in.” He smirked with self-satisfaction.
“And it’s not worth my while asking, is it?” I asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid not. Sorry.”
I thought for a moment.
“So you’re saying this coup, or whatever, was never going to occur. It was a scheme by security to smoke person or persons unknown out of wherever they were hiding?”
“Without being too specific, that’s the situation. And it worked.”
“Is this why the Phippses were killed? Because they’d found all this out?”
“Couldn’t take the chance on what they knew. You were right earlier. It was myself and Richard who, ah, persuaded them to act for us. They stole the car all right, but they opened the bags and found the pictures, plus some other sensitive items, one of which was personal. I took the really important materials. You don’t need to know what. The rest was of no consequence and could easily be dismissed if they ever surfaced. Phipps, however, thought otherwise, and tried selling them to Debbie Frost. At that point I didn’t know what he did or didn’t know. Richard said he’d take care of it. Enter Mr Gant. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“So that’s why MI5 came in on their interview.” I looked directly at Perkins.
“Right,” he nodded. “Needed to know what they knew.”
“How did Phipps know who was who or what it was all about?”
“She told him. She met him and paid for the return of the pictures and the rest of it, but he reneged on it. Wanted more. Threatened to go to the newspapers. He’d photocopied everything and was going to tell the press what he’d seen. One of the items he kept was a letter she wrote to me which Phipps saw, and it contained something I didn’t want revealed. He was going to name me and her. Couldn’t have that.” He shook his head vigorously.
“So Debbie Frost did lose a package from her car when it was stolen.”
“She did indeed and I wanted it back so that’s why I, ah, persuaded the Phippses to go and steal her car for me.”
“Because you knew she had them there.”
“I did.” He nodded his agreement.
“How did she get hold of them?” I was curious.
“Long story. The potted version?” He spread his hands. “She and I had an affair a while ago. I’ve known her a long time. I knew her when she was a student up at Oxford, you know?”
“I know. I’ve seen pictures.”
He appeared momentarily surprised but continued.
“I’ve carried a torch for her for years. I arranged to get her the job at Central Office. It usually goes to someone older with more experience but I pulled a few strings and she got it. I kept in touch and we began an affair a couple of years ago. It was the greatest love I’ve ever known but I couldn’t leave my wife, you see? Would have destroyed my career, a man my age and her?”
His eyes looked almost pleading with me to understand; two men of the world together.
“And we couldn’t have that, now, could we?” My sarcasm was noticeable. I cared nothing for his feelings.
I remembered Richard Clements telling me Debbie Frost had had an affair with a leading Tory but I would never have guessed it was with Christian Perkins. He was more than twice her age and had children the same age as her. A father fixation perhaps? Was he simply a useful conduit for her to get to the top of the greasy pole? Could it even have been love? Who knew?
“Anyway, I broke it off last autumn. Just before last Christmas, though, she tells me she’s pregnant and the child’s mine. Neither of us was happy at the idea of a child so she decided she’d have an abo
rtion. Phipps saw a letter she wrote telling me she was pregnant and wanted to know what we were going to do about the situation. I knew where and when it was going to happen so, when I knew she was going to be undergoing the procedure, I arranged for her car to be stolen.”
“She had the pictures by then? Where’d she get them from?”
“Took the break-up badly. Became hysterical. Threatened to go to the press.” He was talking almost mechanically, as though reciting a script he’d rehearsed beforehand. “We managed to get things sorted out, but not before she stole the package with the pictures and all the other evidence.”
“Where from?”
“My house. My constituency’s Richmond and I’ve a house by Wimbledon Common. She was there quite often so she knew her way around.”
“How did she know about them?”
“I told her. Stupid thing to do, I know, but I ended up telling her about the plan. Not the whole thing, you understand, not the real reason. She was impressed. When we broke up she went there and stole the package whilst I was away. She was going to use them as leverage to get back together with me.”
“How did you get on to Louis Phipps? How did you know him?”
“Didn’t. Got a friend in the police to do some research and find a stooge. His name came up. I took him to one side, told him I could have him thrown inside unless he did what I wanted. Scared him half to death, it did.” He seemed pleased by that. “Told him what I wanted and he did it. I took a few things out of the package, the really incriminating material. I was a fool. Should have taken the whole thing but I left them behind. Phipps finds them and tries to sell them to Debbie, thinking they’re hers.”
“So that’s when you got on to Gant,” I said.
“Me? Good Lord, no.” He stressed this point. “It wasn’t me who did that. That was her. She arranged for Gant to kill the Phippses. She was correcting her mistake in telling Phipps what this was all about, and for his being a lying little shit. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Debbie Frost hired Gant?” I was surprised yet, at the same time, I wasn’t.
He nodded. “Yes, Detective, she most certainly did.”
“How would she know about him and where to contact him?”
“Through my son, Richard. She knew him through me and she got in touch with him asking if he knew anyone prepared to do a killing for her, and he introduced her to Gant. I’m not sure why but Gant owed them a favour and he said he’d take care of the problem.”
“A favour.” I repeated.
“Yes. Gant did it for free.”
“It was Rhodes who went turning over Phipps’ flat looking for that package, wasn’t it?”
“Quite likely. I would imagine so. Sounds like his style.”
“It was also him who killed Simeon Adaka last Thursday, wasn’t it.” I wasn’t asking.
Perkins said nothing. He sat still and looked nonplussed.
No wonder Gant had smiled when I’d accused Perkins of hiring him when it had been Miss Sweet and Innocent herself, Debbie Frost. Could I arrest her on what I had?
“So, this whole thing was because she got mad at you, stole a package from you, you get Phipps to steal it back to get what you want. He keeps the rest, tries to sell it back to her and gets himself killed in the process. Three dead because you and her fell out.”
“Neatly summarised, Detective. That’s largely how this sorry situation arose. She really made a pickle of it all, I’m afraid. If she’d only kept her mouth shut.” His voice got lower and he stopped talking.
“Biggins and the Phipps brothers, plus Simeon Adaka. Four dead and your grubby handprints on all four bodies. You denying any responsibility for them?”
“Oh, I’m probably culpable in some way, I would imagine,” he said serenely.
Perkins drained his coffee.
“Phipps was actually shrewder than you’d give him credit for. He saw a chance to make money and went for it. Alas, however . . .” His voice died away.
“Are you prepared to put all this into a sworn statement?” I asked.
“Good heavens no.” His voice sounded as if I’d asked the most stupid question ever. “And I shall deny ever saying a word of this if it ever comes out in public. As I said, I’ve been a fool but I’ve not killed anyone.”
“You want to tell that to Eric Biggins’ family? You even went to his funeral, didn’t you? You had him killed then stood there with his family whilst they mourned their son and buried him.”
“Buried with full honours and his memory unbesmirched. If they knew the truth—” He stopped.
“Anyway, that’s why Stimpson saw your DCI Smitherman recently, to put him in the picture. You may soon find your investigation will go no further, Detective.” He looked smug.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Perkins, you’re a real piece of work. No wonder your son’s an amoral piece of shit. I wonder which parent he gets that from?”
“Don’t judge me, Detective. You’re not capable of doing it properly.” He used a patronising tone , as though I was just a
hired hand asking to perform a task I was unqualified for. “If you knew the whole story you wouldn’t be so quick to condemn me.”
As Perkins was speaking, the door to his flat opened and three men entered. I recognised the one in front. It was Stimpson, whom I’d seen recently in Smitherman’s office. He walked to where I was now standing. The other two men stood by Perkins.
“You just don’t understand, do you?” Perkins said airily, smiling and shaking his head.
“We meet again, DS McGraw,” Stimpson began. “It was entirely predictable you’d come here to talk to our colleague, Mr Perkins.”
“Colleague?” I looked at Perkins.
“Yes, Detective, colleague. You know, someone you work alongside?” He sounded condescending. I was irritated. I wanted to hit him.
“Mr Perkins has to come with us as we need to talk to him,” he continued. “I think we can safely say your involvement in this case is now concluded, DS McGraw. I believe you’ll find there’ll be no further investigation into this matter.” He said this in an amiable voice, almost as if he was politely turning down an offer I’d made for us to play golf. “DCI Smitherman will put you in the picture.”
As he spoke the two other men and Perkins walked out of the flat. Perkins looked back at me for a second then followed the other two out.
“Down to the basement and out the back, in case you were wondering about our exit strategy,” Stimpson said calmly. “There’s a car waiting for us. The press outside will not know Perkins isn’t in residence as they won’t have seen him leave.”
I didn’t reply. I left the flat, followed closely by Stimpson. He closed the door behind him. We didn’t talk descending the stairs. He continued past the ground floor down to the basement. I walked out past the newshounds who, once again, ignored me. I was used to being ignored.
I walked back to the office and wrote up an account of all that had happened that day and deposited a copy on Smitherman’s desk. He wasn’t there so I left it and began to pack up. I was feeling flat and dejected. I’d been confident we were near to resolving the case and getting the cuffs on somebody but that now appeared highly unlikely.
I was sure I now knew how things had gone concerning the deaths of Louis and Paulie Phipps but I could prove nothing. Courts of Law don’t convict on conjecture and opinion. Both of these I had plenty of but nothing in the way of solid evidence that counsel could pin on someone and get a conviction based upon it.
I was especially dejected about Debbie Frost’s role. She’d stonewalled me all week, had blatantly lied to me and been obstructive, yet she was now probably going to walk free and continue her climb up the Conservative Party ladder, from a position her boyfriend had wangled for her. The Phipps brothers, especially Louis, may well have been about as much use to society as a virulent strain of bacteria, but even they deserved to know their assailants had paid the price for unlawfully taking their lives to
cover up something potentially politically embarrassing if it were made public. Barring something unforeseen, that wasn’t going to happen.
Even worse, this past week was supposed to have been a week’s holiday but, instead, I’d spent it looking into a pair of murders I was a witness to but had been unable to resolve because, somehow, the case had crossed over into ‘National Security as defined by MI5’ territory. I didn’t know when I’d reached that point. Maybe I never would. Smitherman may or may not tell me, assuming he ever knew the situation. I was frustrated and needed an outlet for my anger. I knew where to find it.
Prevental had its offices in Mayfair on the top two floors above an upmarket clothing store, not too far from the American Embassy. It was a high-powered security consultancy business providing everything from nightwatchmen to mercenary soldiers, though from its blurb, you’d never guess. Its website was so anodyne it could appear in a daytime soap opera.
I was admitted into the building and went to the second floor. I asked to speak to Gavin Dennison. Told he was in a meeting I said I’d wait downstairs for him. I was asked my name and I said Phil Gant. I was interested to see if he came out when he heard that name.
I’d waited across the street for about fifteen minutes when I saw him come outside. He looked around for who he thought he was going to meet. As he looked around he saw me walking across the street towards him. He smiled.
“Rob, how you doing?” He sounded pleasantly surprised. “I’m just meeting someone.”
“That’d be me, pal.”
I walked straight into him, grabbed his tie by the knot, pushed my clenched fist up again his throat and shoved him into the nearby wall. Hard. He made a noise that sounded like “Ercke”. I kept my fist on his throat and pushed hard. He was clearly in discomfort and I had the edge.
I stared at him for a few moments. He struggled to break my grip but couldn’t. I wanted to punch him in the mouth then wipe my feet on him when he was down, but I resisted the desire. I gave him a final push in the throat and released my grip. I stepped back. He rubbed his throat and tried to regain his composure.
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