by M. L Rose
Harry said, “Remember Commander Bose? The guy who helped us in the drug trafficking case last year?”
Arla frowned, then a light dawned in her eyes. Commander Bose was a high-ranking uniformed officer. His remit lay over five districts of West London, and he was part of SO14, the Royal Protection Group , the secretive, little known unit of the London Met that was charged with personal protection of the royal family members.
“Good idea Harry.” She flashed him a smile. His brows were furrowed, eyes on the road. His chiselled jaw was set in a grim line, and he spoke without looking at her.
“Anytime guv.”
Arla had the phone out, thumbing for Bose’s number. She stopped. “Call me Arla.”
“Ok, Arla.” He sped past a slow car and then braked rapidly to avoid crashing into another. “Listen, I need to put the siren on. Can you please hurry up with the phone call?”
She got the number and dialled, praying Bose would pick up. He did, and his warm, baritone voice came on the line.
“Who is this?”
“DCI Baker, sir. We worked on the Bulgarian cocaine bust last year? I’m at the Clapham nick, South London Command.”
Bose’s voice lightened. “Ah yes, I remember. How are you doing? Arla isn’t it?”
“Yes sir. I need your help with something.” Speaking rapidly, Arla laid out the situation.
Bose asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“To prevent this suspect from escaping sir, I want a lockdown on Kensington High Street, the Palace and a two square mile radius, including the tube station.”
“That’s asking a lot, Arla. Who is authorizing this?”
Arla hesitated. In truth, it should be Johnson speaking to Bose, not her. But she didn't have the time to explain to Johnson, and she knew what his response would be. Leave it to MI5.
She had to be honest with Bose. “I will get clearance from DS Johnson sir. But could we please get the gears in motion? You know how long these things take.”
“You don’t have to tell me that, DCI Baker,” Bose said in a colder voice. “I need to speak to your commanding officer to get authorization on this. You know the drill.”
Arla’s heart sank and a tone of desperation creeped into her voice. “Sir, please. We’re trying very hard to catch this guy. Even the Secretary of State is involved in this case. He was a personal friend of the deceased, and the murderer could be caught today.”
“The Secretary of State? James Fraser?” Bose asked slowly.
“Yes.”
After a slight pause Bose said, “Fraser has an apartment next to Kensington High Street. I know because once we had to organise a security detail for him when he visited Prince Charles at Kensington Palace.”
A spasm tightened inside Arla’s mind, a potent contraction that suddenly caused a domino chain of nerves firing in her brain. James Fraser, Cherie, David…what was the connection really? What had she missed so far?
It couldn't be a coincidence that Luke was in Kensington, so close to Fraser’s residence. Could it?
In a tremulous voice she asked, “Is Fraser there right now, sir?”
Bose’s voice was very quiet. “As a matter of fact, he is. This is the Embassy area, as you know. A number of cabinet members are meeting with the President of Egypt this morning.”
Fear caught the back of Arla’s throat. She didn't know exactly what would happen today, but an ominous coldness was flowing into her skin like sheets of ice. She shivered. “Sir, I think we need to order this blockade and see if we can catch this guy. I have a very bad feeling about this.”
“I should have known about this earlier. Have you informed NPAS for air support?”
“Yes sir, I have. Two of my uniform units are on their way as well.”
“OK. I will mobilise my force and the palace security guards. I believe some members of the royal family are in residence at Kensington Palace.” Bose paused. “Is this guy a terrorist threat? Do I need to alert the Counter Terrorism Command?”
Arla searched her mind for a few seconds. She was hurled against the door as Harry took a sharp turn. She steadied herself quickly. “No, sir. I don’t think so.”
“Right. I will inform your boss, Wayne Johnson, and I suggest you do too. And Arla?”
Her voice was dry. “Yes?”
“The Commissioner and the entire Police Advisory Board will be in on this. This is a big deal. For your sake, I hope you know what’s going on.”
Arla’s heart squeezed against her ribs. She swallowed painfully. Did she really know what was happening? Yes and no. But every instinct in her being was screaming this was critical.
She tried to sound confident, but her voice was croaky. “Yes sir, I do.”
Bose hung up. Arla knew he would now fire off emails and call secure line phones to mobilise a huge force. She had to do the right thing too. She called Johnson.
“Where the hell are you, Arla?” Johnson’s voice was impatient. Arla informed him. For a few seconds there was complete silence. She had a mental image of Johnson’s mouth hanging open.
“You what?” he spluttered. “You...oh my God, what have you done?”
CHAPTER 51
Luke had rented the small studio apartment above the corner shop with cash. Mr Patel, the Indian owner of the corner shop, who also owned the row of flats above it, didn’t mind. Luke had chosen the apartment as it was on the second floor and gave him a direct view of the handsome red brick terraced buildings opposite. The ground floor was all swanky, expensive boutique shops selling Prada and LV, but the upper six floors were live in apartments.
Luke knew the one where James Fraser lived when he was in town. Like most members of parliament, he had an apartment where he stayed during the week, its cost subsidised by England’s tax payers.
Luke had a camera tripod set up near the window. He had a telescopic lens attached to an SLR camera. It was aimed directly at the window where Fraser could be seen, moving around. Luke had been in position for the last two days. This apartment was now his base. He had rung Fraser’s office to find the politician’s exact schedule. Luke knew in half an hour, Fraser would leave the apartment. His bodyguard would accompany him to the Egyptian Embassy opposite Hyde Park, a twenty-minute walk, at most.
Fraser liked to walk the short distances, which suited Luke’s plan to perfection.
A woman in a bath robe came into view. She embraced Fraser, who was dressed in a suit. His steel grey, hair was slicked back with gel. Luke watched them kiss, revulsion growing inside him.
And with it, his resolve.
At Luke’s feet, lay a backpack. Inside it, he had a crossbow and two knives.
After today, Luke knew he would be famous in a way he had never dreamt of. It was a moment he had waited for, for several years. Not that he knew what to do several years ago. That had only been recently. The answer had come to him easily. There was only one way out.
David Longworth had paid.
Now it was Fraser’s turn.
Luke picked up his phone and stared at the blank screen for a few seconds. A movement on the street caught his eyes. A car rolled down and parked on the same side as Fraser’s apartment. It was the bodyguard.
Luke returned to the phone screen. He wanted to leave another message for Cherie. But what good would it do? She was the same as the rest. Maybe she didn't even know. Now, he would never find out. It didn’t matter.
Luke put his eyes back to the lens. The woman was sitting on Fraser’s knee, kissing him. Anger hardened inside Luke again. He knew she wasn’t his wife. He had seen the wife’s photo. She was old and frumpy, not a pretty young thing like this woman. The woman was getting frisky, but Fraser stood, holding her hands down.
It was time.
As Fraser smoothed down his suit, Luke opened the bag and put one of the long blade knives in his trouser pocket. It was wrapped in two layers of kitchen towels, with only the handle sticking out.
He took out the SD card from the camera. He
connected it to his laptop, then streamed all the photos to the five newspaper websites he had opened accounts.
Then he stood. His breathing was fast and heavy, anticipation burning in his heart like fire. He slung the backpack on his shoulder, then opened the door and walked to the staircase.
CHAPTER 52
Arla wrapped the coat around herself, an ill-timed rain plastering wet hair to her forehead. She couldn't speak on the radio with the hood over her head and it compromised her visual field. She walked fast, weaving past the throng of sightseers at the Hyde Park end of Kensington High Street. Kensington Palace Gardens loomed far to the right. Princess Diana’s old home.
Her radio crackled, and she answered immediately, out of breath. “DCI Baker.” Call signs were abandoned, and she was now available on multiple channels.
“Guv, this is Andy. One of the helicopter crew has spotted a blue Renault van, M reg. Vehicle fits our description.”
“Where is it?”
“Christchurch Street, two streets away from here.”
“Send a team down there now. You and Darren meet me outside Fraser’s apartment.”
Harry was listening in, and he hung up the same time as her. He said, “Luke could be anywhere. But you’re right. If he’s targeting Fraser, for whatever reason, that’s our first priority.”
“Yes,” Arla gasped. She was trying to walk as fast as him, but his bloody legs were so long she was literally running. The crowd scattered as Harry bore down on them.
“I’m guessing Fraser has a bodyguard. So he has some protection. You need to stay next to me. Got that?” Harry glanced down at her, slowing his pace.
Arla squinted up at him, frowning. “I am the SIO…”
“Shut up and listen to me,” he growled. “If this gets rough, I don’t want you hurt.”
Harry swallowed, his eyes flicking around the crowd. A bead of sweat travelled down his left cheek and his lips were set in a grim line. Harry was stressed. She thought she’d never see the day. His concern for her was sweet as well, and for a brief second, despite the urgency and fear knotted up like a cannonball in her stomach, a corner of her heart softened.
“Whatever.” She lifted her chin, hiding her emotion. “It’s number 342.”
They were on the High Street. Harry swivelled his head around. “Evens on our right. Further down.”
They dodged past the Arab women with glittering headscarves and the yummy mummies with prams and designer handbags. Far above their heads, Arla heard the distant hum of a helicopter’s rotor blades. The pilots were instructed to keep as high as possible, to minimise warning Luke. If it was Luke, and not someone else, Arla thought grimly.
A black BMW moved slowly past them, sirens off and unmarked, but a CID car nevertheless. It followed the traffic up the road, then parked at the top, joined by another similar car. Arla prayed they didn't give the game away.
“We’re here,” Harry breathed. They were standing next to the glass windows of a dress shop, thousand-pound gowns draped on mannequins inside.
Harry moved swiftly forward, to a narrow door sandwiched between the dress shop and another boutique. Arla stayed to one side. Harry narrowed his eyes and gestured her to join him. Reluctantly, she agreed. He offered her his elbow.
“Hold my arm. Make it look like we’re window shopping.”
She shot him a look, but knew it was the right thing to do. She tried to look interested, staring at the blind eyes of the mannequin, but watching the reflection of the street opposite in the glass.
Something caught her attention. A door, much like the one she was standing next to, opened across the street. A man stepped out. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black hooded top, with a backpack slung on his shoulders. He came out onto the busy street and stood still, his head moving side to side. Slow, deliberate movements. Then the hooded head lifted, and he seemed to stare straight at Arla’s back.
She stiffened. Her left foot nudged Harry’s. He leaned closer.
“Behind me. 12 o'clock.” Arla described the man to him. His features were hidden, but Arla could make out he was young, maybe less than thirty. His right hand sneaked inside his right pocket and stayed there.
There was movement next to them. The door opened, and a stocky, barrel chested man in a suit strode out. He flexed his arms, rolled his shoulders and looked all around him. He was the bodyguard. He looked behind him and nodded.
A man in a crisp, pressed navy-blue suit stepped out. He unfurled an umbrella over his head. He looked to the left, and his eyes met Arla’s. She had seen photos of James Fraser several times on screens, but this was the first time she was seeing him upfront. He was shorter than she had imagined.
His eyes held Arla’s, swept over Harry, then transferred back to his bodyguard. Arla turned around. From the corner of her eye, she had seen the young man begin to cross the street, hand still inside his pocket.
It happened very quickly.
CHAPTER 53
Arla grabbed Harry’s jacket, but he was already moving. At the edge of the pavement, he bent down, pretending to tie his shoelaces. Fraser and his bodyguard had drawn abreast of Arla, and moved past her, heading towards Hyde Park Corner. Arla saw the young man cross the road in a run, his eyes fixed on Fraser and the bodyguard. He would be approaching them from behind. Harry got up and straightened, obscuring her view.
Impatiently, she moved to one side. Fear caught at her throat as she clocked the man, now running full tilt, clearly heading for Fraser. The bodyguard walked next to Fraser, but he hadn't seen the man.
Harry was striding forward, then he broke into a run as the man went past him.
“Stop!” Harry shouted, and the bodyguard turned just in time to see the man bearing down on them. The man pulled a knife from his pocket, lifting it high. Arla and Harry got to them the same time as the bodyguard moved unbelievable fast. His right arm shot up, grabbing the knife arm, and he bundled into the man, pushing him to the ground. A woman screamed, and pedestrians stopped.
The bodyguard punched the man across the face. Harry shouted at them, but neither looked up. He went down on the pavement, helping to restrain the man who was still fighting. The two CID cars screeched to a halt next to them, sirens whining. More uniformed police arrived. All of a sudden the place was crawling with police officers, shouting at pedestrians to keep away and forming a barricade.
The man was raised to his feet. Harry cuffed him and read him his rights. Blood trickled down a corner of the man’s lips. Arla stepped closer, inspecting his now familiar face. It looked similar to the photos she had seen of Luke Longworth.
She asked him his name. In return, the man snarled and spat at her. The gob narrowly missed Arla’s face and Harry shoved him to the floor again, making him kneel. He pressed on Luke’s neck, forcing his face down.
“Stop!”
James Fraser stepped inside their little circle, placing himself between Arla and Luke. Fraser reached out to grab Harry’s arm. “Leave him alone.”
Arla said, “Mr Fraser?” She showed him her warrant card. “I am DCI Baker. This man just tried to kill you. He needs to be taken into custody.” She frowned at the politician. “Why are you trying to protect him?”
Fraser was sweating profusely. His face was beetroot red, and his grey eyes were glassy. Rain water mingled with sweat, streaming down his head. His suit was drenched.
He looked at Arla, a strange mix of fear and pity in his eyes. He whispered so that only she could hear.
“Because he’s my son.”
CHAPTER 54
The sounds of the busy street seemed to die down. The mingled voice of pedestrians, distant shouts, the belch of exhaust all faded into silence. A distance dilated in front of Arla’s eyes, the hapless, hopeless eyes of a forlorn man coming into focus, then receding, like he was being viewed through a lens, zooming in and out. That man was James Fraser. He looked very different all of a sudden. Stooped shoulders and sagging cheeks. Sodden suit that lost colour and turned
black. Not the confident, self-assured politician he normally was.
From somewhere, Arla found her voice. It sounded scratchy, like an animal trying to crawl out of it hole.
“Your...your son?”
Fraser’s face was pale, but his dull eyes never left Arla’s face, never looked at the maelstrom around them. He came closer to her.
“Can I trust you?”
Arla was speechless. Fraser said, “Please?”
She still couldn’t speak. Fraser repeated himself, and slowly, not knowing what she was doing, Arla nodded.
“OK. He is my son. It’s a long story. Are you arresting him?”
“Yes, of course.” Arla found her voice. A moment had passed, sounds of daily life were filtering through her senses again. The flash of uniforms. Harry’s face opposite, staring at her. The whisper of rain.
She blinked, then stared at Fraser who was watching her carefully. “If this man is Luke Longworth, then he is wanted for the murder of David Longworth.”
At the sound of the names, Fraser winced like someone just punched him in the gut.
He said, “Your boss is Wayne Johnson, at the South London Command, isn’t he?”
Arla gaped at him. Fraser said, “I’ve been following the investigation. David was a close friend of mine.”
Arla narrowed her eyes. A lot of the confusion had suddenly cleared. Harry had lifted Luke to standing and he was barely upright, wobbling.
“Get him a medic,” Arla called out to Harry. Andy Jackson pushed his way in through the barricade of uniforms. Two riot vans appeared, sirens blazing, stuck in traffic a hundred yards away. Windows were open in all the floors above them, heads poking out, several hands outstretched with phones trained on them.
Harry said, “There’s a medic at the nick, guv, that might be quicker than getting someone out here.”