An Urgent Murder

by Alex Winchester

  “Can I have a look in there?”

  “Yes. Is there a problem?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  The Home Secretary handed Victor a couple of keys on a fob from a desk drawer.

  “These are master keys. Please don’t disturb anything.”

  “I won’t need to.”

  “Be aware the security men walk this floor when they know I am still here.”

  He left the room as the Home Secretary, Ian and Graham indulged in general chit chat about Nicholas and his antics.

  Graham confirmed that Nicholas’s house had been searched under the auspices of a search warrant, and took from his briefcase a bundle of papers.

  “I attended the search myself with two colleagues who are beyond reproach. We recovered these papers which we believed may be of interest to you. As yet, we have not recorded the fact we removed them. Should you want me to, I will.”

  The Home Secretary flipped through them checking the titles or headings.

  “Have you taken copies of these?”

  “No. A silly oversight on my part.”

  “Nicholas should not have had these. In fact, they should never have left this building.”

  “Well as they are no longer in my possession, and in their rightful place, there is nothing I need to record.”

  “Thank you” and the Home Secretary put them into a drawer and locked it pocketing the key.

  Ian said, “I happened to be in the area when the search was taking place, and was able to have a look at his phone. There were no calls of note. They seemed to be all personal friends. I am still going through a couple of his old bills which show the numbers he called. If any transpire to be of interest, you will be the first to know.”

  “Thank you.”

  A noise came to them from the hall. It wasn’t Victor. The Home Secretary said, “Damn. I’ll go and fend him off.” She was up quickly, and left the room. After a short conversation, she returned to her office. The security guard left.

  A couple of minutes later, Victor walked back into the office and put a very small chip onto the desk next to his case. They all looked at it. He was passed a little metal box from a case on the floor which Ian opened up for him. Connecting the one wire to his desk case, he put the chip into a slot. The machine in the main case started to whirr. Dials started to move.

  “I thought so.”

  The Home Secretary said, “What?”

  “I took this chip out of the computer next door.”

  “What, Kathy’s computer?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry. It shouldn’t have been there. Someone had planted it there, and I think I heard you talking to the culprit.”

  “I only spoke to the guard.”

  “Yes. I know. This chip records some sound and which keys are pushed on the keyboard. It’s called ‘key logging’. Then it uses the host computer’s wi fi to send its signal. Kathy had left her computer switched on.”

  “Yes. She always does so any e-mails go straight to her inbox whatever the time of day or night. Her computer and mine are linked, so I can see what has been sent. Oh no. Tell me they can’t get into my computer through hers?”

  “’Fraid they can, and they have.”

  “So anything I type or Kathy types can be seen?”

  “No. Only what she types. I knocked the computer when I was unscrewing it which probably alerted the guard. As he arrived, I was able to get the mobile phone number that the chip sent the sound alert to. It was within five yards so could only have been the guard or you. I’ll have to work on this chip to find where the main signal is sent. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.”

  The Home Secretary slumped back in her chair.

  “If that was in her computer. Why didn’t the security scan find it?”

  “Probably because it was turned off and did not have any output that could be detected. The guard could always let the main receiver know when there was to be a scan and they would disable it.”

  Ian said, “Yes. Logical.”

  Victor continued, “The guards phone will have an app on it which is connected to the bug. Get hold of the phone and Ian could find it and prove it in seconds.”

  The Home Secretary said, “How do you propose that we do that?”

  Victor said, “That’s out of my remit.”

  All in the room turned to Graham.

  “I don’t know. Other than by arresting him.”

  The Home Secretary said to Victor, “Is that the only problem?”

  “I need to get into your printer room.”

  “One of those keys will do it. It’s the room next to Kathy’s.”

  Victor stepped out into the corridor. The hair on the back of his neck stood up to attention. He knew he was being watched and moved back into the office.

  “The guard is watching. I need an excuse to go into the room.”

  The Home Secretary said, “I ‘ll print something for you to go and collect” and she tapped a few keys on her keyboard.

  In the stillness of the night, the noise the printer made as it woke up and disgorged a few sheets of paper echoed about the corridor.

  Both she and Victor stepped into the corridor.

  “The printer is the second door on the right and the loo is further along round the corridor. It’s marked.”

  Victor thanked her and started towards the toilet. He knew the guard would have to back a lot further off to prevent detection. The guard had other ideas and was already in the toilet when Victor arrived.

  “Hello. Unusual for the Home Secretary working so late.”

  “Yes. We were meant to have arrived earlier but got delayed. She wanted to see us before tomorrow’s disabled servicemen’s lunch. She’s the main speaker.”

  “I see. Without being rude, what happened to you?”

  “Afghanistan.”

  “Not good.”

  “Were you military?”

  “No. I worked in prisons.”

  “Just as bad. Anyway. Got to pick up her speech. See you” and Victor walked out.

  The guard wasn’t sure. His phone had let him know there had been a noise in Kathy’s office. It had been a slight noise. He couldn’t say if it had been verbal because the chip wasn’t that good. Could have been the cat that frequented the building. How would it have got in? The door was locked. When he checked it: it had been. Maybe a mouse. He’d often seen them scuttling away when he did his rounds. Checking his watch, he realised he’d been too long. His fellow guard would be getting anxious. A mouse. Definitely. Running back to the foyer, he made the excuse he’d been caught short. An excuse that nearly always worked.

  His colleague who was as straight as the day was long, said, “I’ll have a wander round. I need to stretch my legs. Is everything ok with the Minister?”

  “Yeah. They are talking about some do for ex-military personnel tomorrow. You were a squaddie, weren’t you?”

  “I was. I haven’t heard of any do. Then again, I’m not disabled.” Then with his shoulders back, stomach in, he marched towards the lift to imaginary marshal music. The guard watched him go. As soon as he was out of sight, he rang a memorised number on his mobile.

  All he said was “I think we have a problem at the Home Office. Three people will be leaving shortly.”

  It was enough.

  In the Minister’s office, Ian was casually watching a screen on a piece of kit that he had brought. The oscilloscope oscillated. It attracted his thorough attention. A line flew across and then returned to normal. Within a matter of seconds, a number scrolled onto an LED screen.

  “Now what?”

  “Someone within fifty metres, ie: in this building, has just made a call lasting less than seven seconds. I’ll have the number and what was said in a few more.”

  A paper printout scrolled from his machine. Just three inches long and an inch wide. He read out the line. The Minister was nearly apoplectic. Graham and Ian were not in the least bit daunted even though the message concern
ed them. When Ian confirmed it was a phone line listed as belonging to the South African Consulate, she let more expletives fly than they had heard for years.

  156

  Wednesday 22nd June 2011

  Victor was soon to dispense more bad news. He walked back into the office and placed another chip on the desk. It was too much for the Home Secretary.

  “Where the fuck was that?”

  “In your printer. Everything that was printed was sent via wi fi. Basically, whoever has done this had no need to bug your office. They had access to everything they wanted. The only thing they hadn’t got was what was said in here.”

  Ian added, “A security sweep of this office would probably find any listening devices whether turned on or off. It wasn’t worth the risk. Although Kathy’s office would be swept, it would not attract as much scrutiny as yours.”

  “It will in future.”

  The guard did not know what to do. He sat behind the reception desk. Within easy access close to his knees on a shelf was a Sig Sauer P226 semi-automatic handgun. It was a standard issue military firearm and he had been trained how to use it. There was no way he was going to shoot anyone in cold blood. Having been a prison officer, he knew what the inside of a prison was like and if caught he was going to become an inmate. He could probably survive a short prison term, but murder meant life.

  Outside, two patrolling Policemen laden down with body armour, MP5 machine guns and side arms as well as tasers, handcuffs and radios ambled past. The gun under the desk was in case some idiot actually got past them and into the building. It was like the last line of defence.

  The clock had crept unstoppably to just prior to 4am. Scotland Yard was within half a mile and the two officers decided they had time to walk the complete length of the building just one more time before they were relieved. Engrossed in conversation, only one of them noticed a black cab pull up against the pavement some fifty yards short of the building in Marsham Street. Sodium street lights lit wisps of smoke as they twirled into the early morning’s air from the exhaust. Casually, he informed his fellow officer. They were both getting on in service and instinctively knew when something was wrong.

  One of them spoke to the Yard’s protection team’s Control Room on his ‘Airwave’ radio. There were more armed officers within a mile’s circumference than the rest of London put together, and they all heard the transmission. Three vehicles which were managing the reliefs and had four similarly armed officers in each drifted towards the Home Office. In the back of the taxi, the hit man waited for three people to leave the building. His driver, who was also armed, told him they would attract attention if they stayed too long in the same place. They could afford to move by going around the block as a car with another hit man in slowly cruised by. The officers heightened senses quickly ensured they spotted the car.

  Inside the office, Graham phoned the City Police Control Room and asked them to arrange with the Met for protection officers to see the group out of the building. He was quickly phoned back and brought up to date with what was happening outside. Speaking to the senior officer at Scotland Yard, it was agreed that a ‘hard stop’ be invoked by the protection officer’s red marked vehicles. Graham had a thought, and bounded along to the lift and down to the foyer. He stood looking out of the front door. Both security guards approached him.

  “I think my driver should be here shortly.”

  The disreputable guard walked off. Upstairs, Ian noticed another short burst on his machine.

  “They will be leaving any minute now.”

  Outside both the taxi and the car quickly made their way to the front entrance. Not one other vehicle was in the street, parked or moving. The taxi stopped directly outside the front door with the rear window wide open and the car a few yards further behind. There was not an ounce of subtlety.

  Stepping back to stand next to Graham the guard said, “Is this your car?”

  The Police vehicles suddenly swept round from the side roads. Two came out of Romney Street against the one-way system and one pulled up sharply behind the car as the other slithered to a halt alongside both the car and the taxi. The third, at speed, screeched into Marsham Street from Great Peter Street and swerved across the road and bonnet on to the front of the taxi a few seconds later. Neither vehicle could move. Officers decamped from the vehicles brandishing their weapons.

  Graham sprang onto the guard knocking him off his feet shouting, “They are going to start shooting. Get down.”

  The man in the back of the taxi raised a fully automatic machine gun. He pointed it in the general direction of the officers from the front facing lead Police vehicle and pulled the trigger. Twenty bullets were gone in less than two seconds. Three pairs of shots slammed into him from three different officers. Each of the individual rounds would have proved fatal.

  Four officers were on the floor having collected a bullet apiece. Not one had a life threatening, or serious injury. The driver was pulled unceremoniously from his seat in the taxi and thrown brutally on the floor. An irate officer pushed his head hard against the road knocking him out.

  The officers surrounding the car had less trouble. Both the driver and his backseat passenger sat in the vehicle with their hands on the top of their heads. Having heard the shooting at the taxi, officers approached the vehicle with extreme caution. Not one lowered his weapon. They carefully opened the back door of the car and saw a machine gun resting across the man’s legs. One officer removed the gun and the man was searched in situ. An automatic handgun was found in a shoulder holster.

  “Before we go any further officers, I must inform you that we have diplomatic immunity.”

  An officer replied, “That’s as may be. First you are going to get out of the vehicle and lie face down on the ground with your fingers interlocked above your head. Or of course, you can object and make a sudden movement and I will shoot you. Your choice.”

  The man complied and was thoroughly searched. His driver was even more complicit. Graham seemed to struggle up and helped the guard to his feet.

  “That was close. We must step forward as witnesses.”

  He opened the door and called to an officer who seemed to be in charge.

  Identifying himself, he spoke quickly to him.

  The officer said, “The ambulances will be here soon so I will arrange for a statement to be taken immediately.”

  A uniform protection officer sat at the reception desk and started the longest, most pointless statement he had ever taken. Outside was pandemonium. Graham bounded up the stairs, too much in a hurry to wait for the lift. Inside the Home Secretary’s office, he found Ian and Victor packing up their kit.

  “Ian, I’ve got the guard’s phone but he doesn’t know so I’ve got to get it back to him pronto” and passed a new type smartphone to him.

  Grabbing a piece of kit back out of his case, Ian connected a wire to the phone and hit a button.

  Three minutes dragged slowly by, then Ian disconnected the wire and tossed the phone back to Graham.

  “I’ve cloned it so I can see what he’s been up to at my leisure.”

  Graham was off again back down the stairs. Arriving in the foyer, he slowed to a walk. As he passed the reception desk where the guard was going through what he saw, “What’s that” loud enough to be heard. He walked towards the door and bent down. Standing back up he showed the phone and said, “It’s a phone. It’s not mine. Someone must have dropped it.”

  The guard patted his inside jacket pocket and knew instantly it was his.

  “It’s mine.”

  Graham handed it to him.

  The prisoners, as they currently were, were taken to Paddington Green Police Station. Senior officers at Scotland Yard began searching the diplomatic register for the names given by the three remaining assassins and finally found them in the list pertaining to South Africa. They all had to be released. Whatever the Police thought, they had no choice. Due to the fact there was a corpse lying in the mortuary at St Thomas�
�s Hospital, a Chief Superintendent spoke to all three before they left.

  “He is a colleague of yours. You can collect the body later today, or we will arrange for it to be disposed of. I am sure the Prime Minister will be having words later with your Ambassador. Now get out!”

  Graham, Ian and Victor left the building as the Home Secretary woke the Prime Minister.

  157

  Friday 1st July 2011

  Every officer from the Armstrong enquiry and those engaged with the Simpsons were seated in the conference room. There were uniform officers who had played minor parts and PCSOs and some civilian staff who had inputted information at one time or another. They were all facing three empty chairs. Some were chatting excitedly about the cases as others were holding their own opinions. One had his eyes closed and appeared to anyone who noticed, to be asleep. The temporary incident room above them was deserted and the answerphone was active.

  Alison was there. She had explained her injuries to those inquisitive enough to ask as having been sustained falling down some stairs while suffering from food poisoning. It was a sufficiently adequate explanation.

  Murray was sitting to one side in a wheelchair with Doreen acting as his carer. He had been carried up the one flight of stairs in his wheelchair by a team of four laughing male detectives. They had wobbled about so much, he had become more frightened than at any time in his entire career.

  As the hands of the wall clock moved to 6pm with a slightly louder tick, the CC, followed by Prodow and Groves, marched into the room. Everyone except Whiles jumped up.

  Groves called loudly to him. “Oscar. Just for once, do you think you could make an exception.”

  His eyes flipped opened. Smiling, “Sorry Sir. I was miles away,” and he struggled to his feet. Prodow, Paul and Jimmy began to applaud and were joined by many others. Alison was amazed to see him turning a slight shade of red through embarrassment.

  The CC was amused. “That Mr Groves is an effective way of dealing with the obdurate. Something you have picked up lately I notice.”

  John went redder still.

  “Now please be seated. I have called this extraordinary meeting at the request of Mr Prodow and Mr Groves. I want first to bring you all up to date with where we are at the moment. In conjunction with the CPS, numerous charges have already been laid. For those that don’t know, I shall summarise the main ones in chronological order. Deborah, who has taken to using her great grandfather’s last name of Andrews, has been charged with the murder of George Armstrong. When he is fit enough Maurice Haskland, her boyfriend, will also be charged with murder. That will likely as not be dropped to accessory if he pleads to it in court. Both have a nice little additional charge of conspiracy to murder. One of my favourite charges. Shame it will probably be dropped as well.