“Baqil was investigated, though. He’s squeaky clean. He was shocked at what his brother had done.” Joe frowned. “You think Baqil is Leviticus?”
“He was never clean, just as I told the investigation and the court that convicted his brother.” He closed his hand around his mug. “Baqil al-Abbasi is Leviticus, there’s concrete evidence. His brother’s bomb crippled me, Joe, and Baqil was no moderate. He just got away with it. I knew it, the media knew it, any right-thinking person knew it. How he pulled the wool over the CPS’s eyes and walked free, I’ll never know.”
Joe gripped his mug. He hadn’t met Baqil, but he’d read about his brother, and whenever Baqil popped up in reports, he’d condemned what his brother had done. Could he really have flipped over that fast and become radicalised too? Or was he really a radical in plain sight after all?
“Commander, is there concrete evidence that everything is all him? The online abuse, the firework, the letters that came to this house, the hanged wighead, the parcel bomb? We’re not looking for anyone else?”
“Do you recall the flowers he sent after his brother hanged himself? That ridiculous carry on in the Mail because they arrived boxed in a neon candy-striped box and nobody bothered to unwrap them before they put them on the grave?” Patrick allowed himself a smile. “That box always stuck in my mind, for some reason. Perhaps it was because one brother was dead whilst the other was sat at home counting the damages from all the lawsuits he’d won against our free media and security services.”
“I do remember the flowers. And I remember the fuss about it, but only because someone said that it only showed that Baqil wasn’t radicalised. As far as I’m aware, devout Muslims aren’t really big on funeral flowers.” At the risk of angering Patrick again, Joe continued. “And the press did hound him. They shouldn’t be able to get away with what they did to that man. They held their own trial. Don’t you remember the front cover? Baqil’s face and ‘GUILTY!’ in capital letters? What’s the point in having a police force and judicial process when the press behave like they’re judge and jury?”
“He was guilty, Joe! Look at how those two left me!” Patrick’s knuckles were white. “That man and his brother ended my career. Cut it dead! Have you any idea how much work, how much pain it’s taken for me to even shuffle about like this? I was a fit man, Joe. I shouldn’t be stuck behind a desk, hobbling on a stick!”
“It could’ve been me in the park that day, but you know what? Even if it had been me lying there in hospital, I would’ve still wanted the guilty party brought to book by following due process, not with the bloody press walking all over it,” Joe said, flinging out his arm towards the unseen reporters outside. “And when I did end up in hospital, I wrote to one of the papers that covered the story because putting the photo of the man behind the wheel under ‘NUTTER!’ in giant letters was completely out of order. Sorry, Commander. Maybe we’ll never agree on that. But are you sure now, that Baqil is Leviticus? I just want to know, is Zak Smythe-Unwin completely ruled out?”
“The feeling is there are two distinct cases.” Patrick’s anger had passed, it seemed, as most things did when the commander had tea to hand. “The first thing you need to know is that this is my last hurrah. I’ve taken some decisions that the brass won’t like, pushed a few things through without quite following protocol but…it’s worth it to put Leviticus away. When this is put to bed, I’ll be retiring, taking that fat pension pot of mine and heading into Sussex to enjoy the countryside. They’ll be looking for a new commander, Joe.”
From upstairs Joe heard a blast of impassioned Spanish. Alejandro was telling Mamá, he realised.
And Patrick’s going to fall on his sword.
“We want to talk to Mr Smythe-Unwin about the break-in at Wendy’s house but with regard to Leviticus… You recall I told you that something about the explosion here rang alarm bells, but I couldn’t pinpoint it?”
Wendy’s house.
Joe tried to shake away the despondency that rose in his mind at that thought. But maybe it always had been Wendy’s, and had never really been theirs.
“The explosion? Go on, what was it?”
“It arrived in a candy-striped box.” He paused to take a drink. “It was a bit of a tall order for some of the boys and I skipped a couple of layers of protocol, but this is Peanut’s life we’re talking about. The courier collected the box from Broadway Bouquets, the same florist Baqil used for the funeral. It was purchased online via a cloned credit card and a throwaway email address, but this time he made a mistake. He emailed from that address to change the delivery time, who knows why, and this time he didn’t use a VPN. The IP address took us to the residence of Mr Baqil al-Abbasi. And on the few occasions Mr Baqil al-Abbasi leaves his home, he does so in a black Ford Mondeo. Perfect for launching fireworks, I imagine.”
Joe nodded. There wasn’t much else he could do. Zak was nothing more than a rubbish burglar, whereas Baqil was a pro. Until he’d slipped up. “Compelling evidence, then.” Unlike last time. “So what happens next? Is he going to be arrested today?”
“We raided his address this morning. He wasn’t there and his car was gone, but there’s no question of it, Joe. There were bomb-making materials, records of Peanut’s movements, even a few new threatening letters ready to go into the post from Leviticus.” Patrick sighed and shook his head. “All that talk of polluting royal blood…it almost threw us off. We were looking at the right, not into the east.”
“And he called himself Leviticus so you’d think he was a far-right Christian.” Joe shook his head. “Do you think he knew you were onto him, and that’s why he’s disappeared? Would he come here and try something big? We should get the press away. They’re too close to the house if Baqil tries to ingratiate himself. If they got injured, that’d certainly give them something to put on their front pages.”
“I think he realised his slip over the message to the florist and panicked. The house looked as though he’d bailed out in a hurry but just in case, I’ve put an armed detail on this house and the press will be moved back. This time there’ll be no mistake.” He smiled. “It’s the good old ring of steel, Joe. If Baqil pays a house call, he’ll find himself in rather deep trouble.”
“Thanks, Commander. We’ll all be glad when this is over. By the way, talking of the ring of steel, Peanut wants to go to his studio later. After dark, in case Zak’s lurking. Just wants to collect a few things, I think. Would that be okay?”
“Notify Control when you leave, just so we’re aware. It gives me no pleasure to be proven right, Joe. These people… We have to be on our guard.” He drained what was left in his cup. “And I rather think public opinion might be on my side if all this gets out. I may not have followed procedure at every turn, but the life of our young charge comes before one old cripple’s career. I’ve given my best years to Britain—I’ll retire without any regrets knowing Leviticus finally got his due.”
These people.
“By these people you mean criminals, don’t you?” But Joe knew what Patrick was implying. He’d heard the same from Wendy, who’d insisted on calling Paloma ‘it’. He used to hear it from his father as well. Anyone who wasn’t straight, white and British all fell into the same camp and were not quite trusted.
“I mean anyone who threatens the sovereignty and stability of the nation I’ve devoted my life to.” Patrick smiled warmly, knocking his fist against Joe’s upper arm. “We’ve devoted our lives to. I think you and I are fighting for a common cause, eh?”
“I’m here to protect people. That’s all. I don’t really see it as a cause. Whether it’s a foreign dignitary who’s on a visit, or the Queen herself, it’s a job, Commander.” Joe thought of Sir Robert the bear sitting on Alejandro’s bed upstairs, and the police officer father who’d given it to him. “I was raised from the cradle for it.”
“It’s not a job, it’s our life’s work,” the commander told him as he rose to his feet. “I’ll leave Peanut in your capable hands, Sergean
t. Let him know the net is closing and just sound him out about Baqil, you never know! You’ve distinguished yourself time and again for the Albany household. It’s bound to go in your favour in the future.”
“Don’t worry, you can count on me to keep Peanut safe.” But Joe wondered if he’d answered Patrick’s question properly. Typical copper, covertly sounding him out. Joe didn’t want this to be his life’s work. Not anymore, and he wondered if Patrick suspected it. “I’ll see you to the front door.”
As the commander departed, Joe saw that the press had been moved back down the street, the only indication that things had subtly changed. Yet Baqil had seemed so far from radicalised that none of this struck Joe as quite real. Whatever had gone wrong in his life, Joe wondered if it had been brought on by the media trial he endured, the excrement smeared on his door after his brother’s arrest, the sly digs about loopholes and insufficient evidence in reports both popular and official. Few used the word that actually applied. His brother was guilty but Baqil was innocent. Not because of a loophole or a mistake, but because he’d had no involvement in the plot that had left Patrick broken. It had been a lone wolf in a horrified, shell-shocked family, not a terrorist cell.
Joe padded upstairs to Alejandro’s room. “Alejo? Commander Holloway’s gone now. There’s news.”
“Come in and share it, Osito!”
Joe went into the neat, tidy room, his heart leaping at the sight of his lover. He’d never get bored of thinking of Alejandro in those terms. Alejandro was busy brushing a wig, a long copper-coloured piece that reminded Joe of Rita Hayworth. He put his arms around Alejandro and kissed his neck.
“They’re going to make an arrest, darling. They’ve identified Leviticus.”
“It’s Zak, isn’t it?” Alejandro turned in his seat.
Joe crouched down beside him. “It was Zak who broke into my—into Wendy’s house. You know I told you the wedding photo was smashed? They’d done it with the heel of your broken shoe. But the other stuff… I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
“My Romy?” he murmured, wrapping his arm around Joe’s shoulders. “What do you need to ask me?”
Joe had taken his phone out of his pocket and was searching online. “I’m going to show you the photo of a man, and I want you to tell me if you’ve ever seen him before.”
A photo of Baqil wasn’t hard to find. Joe chose one of a hunted-looking man who was juggling a carrier bag as he rummaged in the pocket of his tracksuit for his car keys. Alejandro looked closely for a while then shook his head.
“Is that Fuckface?”
Joe didn’t answer, even though he hated having to be officious with Alejandro. “Have you seen him? In the street, in a club, outside the house maybe?”
This time Alejandro took the phone, looking again until he said, “I don’t know if I’d have noticed him, he’s just a normal guy.”
Joe nodded. He’d thought exactly the same thing, but the evidence was now telling them something else. “Okay. Next question. Do you know the name Baqil al-Abbasi?”
Again Alejandro shook his head. “No.”
“His brother was behind the bomb that nearly killed Commander Holloway. At the time, the press and…certain figures in the security forces thought—assumed—that Baqil was a co-conspirator. But there was never any evidence.” Joe put the phone away in his pocket. He couldn’t bear to see Baqil’s photo a moment longer. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Baqil had anything to do with that device. And this is sensitive information, but I can trust you with it, I know, but there’s compelling evidence that he’s behind Leviticus. And the police are going to make an arrest.”
Alejandro nodded, his face still clouded with something. After a moment he said, “But…I Googled your boss and that was one man, a fanatic? I don’t understand. So one brother is an ISIS fanboy and the other wants the royals to stay straight, white and British? That makes my family seem normal!”
“Baqil was hounded by the press, and was investigated thoroughly. Too thoroughly. Pestered. Harassed. He was shouted at in the street by people who believed the lies they’d read in the papers, and…and…I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s unbalanced Baqil’s mind. You all think I’m a terrorist, so I may as well be one. And he picked on you because you’re a royal with a difference, I suppose. He tries to disguise himself, calls himself Leviticus, like a right-wing bigot, bangs on about the royals being traditional and straight and British… But the evidence points to him, Alejandro. I know, it seems strange to me too, but it can happen. The most unlikely people can be behind things like this sometimes. Takes everyone by surprise.”
“I spoke to Mamá and Abuelita,” Alejandro told Joe. He slipped from his chair to kneel on the floor beside him. “It went as you’d expect it did with Mamá but we’re best friends again. What do you think Abuelita said?”
“I can imagine just how it went with your mamá, in fact I heard some of it from downstairs!” Joe kissed the top of Alejandro’s head. “I don’t know. What did Abuelita say?”
“She gave me a little bit of a nice telling-off.” He smiled then, snuggling his arms around Joe. “Then told me that we’ve all weathered worse and I shouldn’t waste any more worrying on it.”
“She’s a sensible old thing, is Abuelita!” Joe happily sank against Alejandro. Then he remembered. “You’re okay to go to the studio, by the way. I just have to give Control the nod when we’re ready to leave.”
“It’s nearly over, isn’t it? Are they going to arrest him?”
“Yes.” Joe wasn’t going to tell him that Baqil hadn’t been found when his home was raided. “And until he’s arrested, you’re safe anyway. No more Leviticus, and no more Zak. He’ll be arrested for that junior-level, stupid break-in.”
“I know you might not agree but I don’t want to ruin his life, Joe.” Alejandro kissed his cheek. “Just maybe have the coppers take it as far as they need to with the video? Zak’s not dumb. He knows he’ll be ruined if he ends up in court for blackmail.”
How could Alejandro be so forgiving of Zak after what he’d put him through? “That man never deserved you. You do realise that?”
“We junior royals always do our bit for charity.” He winked. “Since you’ll be moving from bodyguard to boyfriend soon, shall we get some practice in? Right under the noses of the press, too!”
“What a brilliant idea, Alejo,” Joe said, then he pressed his lips to Alejandro’s in a kiss.
Chapter Eighteen
Joe looked through the spyhole in the front door. “I think that’s the car just pulling up. Control said they wouldn’t be long.”
“Off we go to the studio, me and Joe,” Alejandro sang, popping his admiral’s cap rakishly atop his hair. “Then shall we go for something to eat? I fancy something spicy!”
“Shall we go into town? How about Thai, is that spicy enough?” Joe reached for his phone. He’d heard a text arrive. But there was nothing on his screen. “Is that you?”
“Thai!” Alejandro smacked his lips. “You’ve worn me out, you naughty copper. I need heaps of food to build up my delicate feminine strength.” He took his phone from his pocket. “Oh, it’s Mel. She’s at the end of the road with one of your associates, Sergeant, and seeks an audience with the admiral. Do you mind if she comes up for a bit? I won’t ask her to dinner, don’t worry.”
“Yes, that’s fine, she can come in. And she can come to dinner too if she wants.” Joe wasn’t sure why Alejandro wouldn’t want her to dinner, unless he wanted it to be a romantic meal a deux. And Joe was still glowing from all the a deux they had enjoyed that afternoon. “I’ll give them a ring at the top of the road and say it’s okay to let her through.”
“You’re such a lovely, normal boyfriend!” Alejandro flung his arms around Joe and held him tight. Alejandro’s boyfriend. It had a much better ring than his generic CPO. “I’m still getting used to having someone who’s not a nut!”
The shade of Zak strikes again.
“I�
�m not here to control you, or tell you what to do, you know that. Unless I need to get you out of the way of a firework!” Joe kissed his cheek, then told the security team outside to let Mel through. There in the hallway, with just that brightly painted door keeping them from discovery, Alejandro treated Joe to a romantic Hollywood smooch. There was going to be a lot more a deux, Joe concluded happily.
Then Mel knocked on the door. “Coo-eee! I’ve been allowed through the barricade!”
Joe peered through the spyhole again. “Yup, it’s definitely her. I’ll let her in.”
Joe pulled back the locks and Mel stepped inside, then flung her arms around Alejandro’s neck. “I’m here!”
“Through the barricade, just like Jean Valjean!” He hugged her tight. “What brings you to our little corner of London, Lady Melanie?”
She grinned at him excitedly, but her gaze roamed to Joe and she giggled. Then she smiled at Alejandro. “Have I just… Did I interrupt?”
“We’re popping out to the studio,” Alejandro told her brightly. “Then for Thai, do you fancy it?”
“Wow, I’d love to go for a Thai, but…” Mel clapped her hands. “I’m going on a date later! Very hunky man, Alejo, you’ll be jealous.” She glanced at Joe.
“At least have a quick glass of something before you run away? Our swanky car can drop you anywhere you like.” Alejandro led them towards the kitchen. “Tell all about your hunky man, since you seem so intent on seeing saucy couples everywhere!”
“Oh! Sorry. So you two aren’t…?” Mel pointed back and forth between them.
Oh, fuck it.
“No, no, we’re not. I’m a married man!” Joe said, hoping he sounded convincing.
“Although you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve jettisoned Zak off into outer space!” Alejandro took a bottle of wine from the fridge. “Joe has to put up with me, it’s his job. Do you really think I’d be his type? He’s nice, for starters!”
“Joe is very nice! Well, I thought hunky guys were your thing, Alejo!”
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