‘I trust we have a warrant?’
‘I’ve got three. Stichell’s we’ve used. There’s Hart and Harrison left.’
They were interrupted by a knock on the door and the appearance of an officer. ‘Sir, I think we’ve had a breakthrough.’
* * *
Stich drove out of Cambridge. He knew Berry was caught off guard by what he had to say, and that he was hiding something. All right, he didn’t know what exactly but suddenly he was taking the initiative and asking the questions. It felt good.
Ten minutes out of the town and Susan’s mobile rang. It was Alan again.
‘Stich, good news. I’ve spoken to a policeman called Willis about you.’
‘I know him,’ Stich replied. ‘He’s the detective who interviewed me at the hospital. What did he say?’
‘First up, you’re not in the frame for Susan’s murder.’
‘I’m not?’
‘No.’
‘What’s happened?’
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‘They’ve made progress. Found something at Maxi’s house that led them to someone else. They’re holding him as we speak.’
‘Hold it, Alan. I don’t have hands-free.’ Stich pulled into a lay by and parked behind an articulated lorry that had a sticker asking, ‘How am I driving?’ and a phone number underneath.
‘Who are they holding?’ asked Stich.
‘They’re not giving much away just now –
playing it close to their chest. But I have other sources. I think I can safely say you’re out of the woods.’
‘Didn’t they want to know where I was?’
‘Yeah, but I wasn’t about to tell him you’re in Cambridge.’
Stich frowned. ‘Sorry?’
‘I wouldn’t tell him where you were. I have spies everywhere, remember? Stich, you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘I thought you knew my movements?’
‘Touché! Will you swing by here before you do anything else? There’s someone I want you to meet.’
‘Who?’
‘Does the name, Laurence Tench, ring any bells?’
‘Tench? You’re joking.’
‘Never been more serious in my life, buddy.’
‘What does he want with me?’
‘Isn’t that obvious after what you’ve been through? He wants to help you.’
‘Help me? How?’
‘He’s concerned about the spouse of an employee 164
caught up in a tragic situation. He has a lot of power, a lot of influence.’
‘Sure … it’s good of him.’
‘Seems they are holding an ex-Immteck employee and will probably charge him as well.’
‘For Susan’s shooting?’
‘That and the murder of Clive Rand.’
The image of the killer lying in a pool of his own blood after Vicky’s car had destroyed him was seared onto Stich’s brain. ‘Hold it, Alan. They can’t be holding the man who killed Susan. He’s almost certainly dead.’
‘I know about that.’
‘So, who have they got?’
‘Seems there was someone else pulling all the strings. Look, Stich, I’ve told you too much already.
It was stupid of me to give you all this over the phone. Come on over and we’ll do it properly. Tench will fill you in on what he knows.’
‘This person,’ Stich said, ‘does he have a name?’
‘Not yet he doesn’t. They won’t release that for a day or so.’
‘Is he insane?’
‘Probably. Tench says he knows who it is and why he did it.’
‘He knows why?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me.’
‘When you get over here.’
‘Has he told the police what he knows?’
‘He’s just had a session with a man called Varcy.’
‘My God, he’s the guy heading up the Moorcroft 165
murder.’
‘I know,’ said Alan. ‘Don’t worry about any of that. How do you feel?’
The roar of the M11 seemed muted, suddenly less intrusive. The tornado had just spun itself out. ‘I’m not sure. Relieved, I think.’
‘Nightmare over – ’ Alan stopped. ‘Sorry, Stich, I know it’ll never be over – ’
‘Don’t worry,’ Stich said, ‘I know what you mean.’
‘How far from us are you?’
Stich looked at his watch. ‘I can be with you in less than an hour.’
‘Great,’ Alan said. ‘We’ll be waiting.’
‘Alan?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’
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31
The lorry had moved on, replaced with a packed Ford S-Max – Mum, two kids, bags, bottles, snacks –
and a dad dancing his way up the bank to urinate in the bushes at the top. Passing cars sounded their horns as they realised what he was up to. Twenty minutes had passed since Stich had finished the call but something Alan said kept bothering him. He knew Stich was in Cambridge. Only that wasn’t all.
Hadn’t he said the police were holding the man who killed Clive and Susan? Stich knew that couldn’t be right. Vicky’s Peugeot had seen to that. After being corrected, Alan changed the story. As though he was fishing for something.
The mobile sprang to life once again.
Stich picked it up. ‘Alan?’ The voice when it came was not Alan’s. It was laboured but Stich knew who it was.
‘Hello, Stich.’
‘Maxi?’
He coughed.
‘My God, Maxi, is that you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jesus, I thought they’d killed you.’
He coughed again. ‘I wish they had.’
‘What’s happened to you?’
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‘The worst,’ he said between breaths. ‘Listen, Stich, you are in serious danger. Where are you? No
– don’t tell me. They would love that.’
‘What? Who would love it?’
‘Not now, Stich.’
‘Maxi, stop screwing around. What’s going on?’
‘Bad things.’
‘You said I’m in serious danger – who from?’
He spluttered for a minute. ‘They’ll kill anyone who knows.’
‘Knows what?’
‘Not over the phone.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Maxi. Susan’s dead, I’ve been shot at and now I’m running – ’
‘I know all that,’ Maxi interrupted.
‘Then you know I’m not listening to this cloak and dagger shit.’
‘Meet me.’
‘What?’
‘Just meet me, Stich.’
‘Where?’
‘Remember when I wore the green cardigan?’
It was a standing joke; the cardigan he’d worn the first time Stich ever met him, to embarrass Susan.
‘I remember.’
‘Good. I’ll be upstairs.’
‘When?’
‘I can be there in three hours.’
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32
There had indeed been a breakthrough – a couple of very interesting ones, in fact. Both were to do with the Moorcroft murder victim, Richard Hart. The first concerned a cheque found in Hart’s wallet. Varcy had invited another officer, Inspector Cole, who had found it, to come to the office.
‘And this was in his wallet all the time?’ asked Varcy.
Cole nodded. ‘One of my lads was doing the inventory this morning and realised just what we had.’
One hundred thousand pounds. Varcy began shaking his head. ‘Must have been quite a shock.’
‘It was,’ said Cole. ‘I checked it half a dozen times before I believed it.’
‘A dead man with a cheque for a hundred grand on him is a tad unusual, I’ll give you that.’
Kendrick smiled. ‘And a fuck-off big motive for murder as well.’
<
br /> Varcy cleared several paper piles from his desk, and lifted his legs into the vacated space, one over the other. ‘He won’t cash it now, that’s for sure. But why kill him and leave this as evidence?’
‘Maybe whoever killed him didn’t realise he had it on him, or didn’t have time to check,’ said 169
Kendrick.
Varcy noted the bank on the draft – Lloyds – and the account name – The Mayne Foundation – then handed it back to Cole. ‘The Mayne Foundation?’
Cole shrugged.
‘Find out who they are. Any prints?’
‘Half a dozen unique profiles, including Hart’s,’
said Cole. ‘We’ve run them through the database but there are no matches stored.’
Varcy studied the half-open horizontal blinds covering the window. Beams of sunlight were casting a peacock’s tail of shadows on the ceiling. He closed one eye and chased the shapes with his other.
‘Get prints off his work colleagues – anyone you think he might have had contact with at Moorcroft.
Now, what about the disc?’
That was the second development. Disc five from the Moorcroft security camera had been found.
‘I’ve got it set up in meeting room two just down the hall,’ said Cole, leading Varcy and Kendrick outside.
‘So, tell me what happened,’ said Varcy.
‘I spoke to the security guard on duty today –
Beattie – who said he changed a new set of discs, pulled out a tray and noticed our missing disc was trapped between the tray and the back of the cabinet.’
‘And he’d not spotted it before now?’
‘Apparently not.’
They entered a busy office. Varcy raised his voice.
‘Who did Beattie report finding the disc to?’
‘The on-duty constable,’ replied Cole. ‘He got in 170
touch with me and I went down straightaway.’
‘And he reported as soon as he found it?’
‘That’s what he said.’
They walked in silence for a short moment. Then,
‘How did he appear to you?’ asked Varcy.
‘Who?’
‘The security guard. Was he nervous?’
‘I wouldn’t have said so.’
‘Was he was telling you the truth about how he found the disc?’
‘I think so,’ said Cole, leading them into a meeting room. ‘I’ve set it up in here.’
Green carpet tiles on the floor, a large wooden table with enough room for a dozen chairs in the centre, and various white boards and flip charts positioned along one wall. A police officer was sitting in one of the chairs staring at a monitor on the table before him. Cole nodded at him as they approached.
‘Carl, you know DI Varcy and Inspector Kendrick.’
‘Of course.’
The three men joined him around the monitor.
‘It starts a bit grainy,’ said Cole. ‘But after that it’s okay.’
Carl hit the play button and the screen was filled with the view from camera five. The image bumped and fizzed for a while then calmed and became clear again. A man appeared from the bottom of the scene, carrying a briefcase.
‘Hart,’ said Cole.
He stopped by a Toyota and fiddled with his 171
pockets.
‘Searching for his car keys.’
He found them and aimed at the car. The sidelights illuminated as the central locking released. Hart opened the back door and slid in the brief case. ‘This is where it gets interesting,’ said Cole quickly. ‘Look to the left directly behind him …
There!’
A figure appeared and smashed an object into the back of Hart’s head.
‘Ouch,’ said Varcy.
Hart slumped downwards. The figure hurried forwards and struck another blow, this one into the side of the head.
‘What’s he got in his hand?’ said Varcy.
‘Looks like a brick,’ said Kendrick.
The figure now loomed over the supine Hart and delivered the third and final blow before turning.
‘Right, stop it there, Carl. Okay, we get a better look here. This equipment isn’t the best for manipulating these images, but watch as we enlarge it.’
Carl went to work with the mouse. Then he hit return and a new picture came into view. Varcy and Kendrick stared at it, then looked at each other amazed. It was the face of a woman, one they both recognised. Varcy hastily pulled out his notebook and thumbed through till he came to the picture inserted in the back page.
No doubt about it. This was the face of Susan Harrison.
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33
Stich needed some thinking space. He pulled into a petrol station and parked at the back. The vice at his throat loosened and he closed his eyes.
Maxi was alive.
‘They are trying to kill you, Stich …’
Wasn’t that the truth. But who?
Then a thought: Vicky.
Whoever wanted him dead surely had to know about his involvement with Vicky. He took out Susan’s mobile.
Stich dialled the number for the Mellbrook Hotel. The operator put him through to the room he and Vicky had rented but the phone rang unanswered. She had a mobile. He searched through Susan’s addresses, found it and called. A recorded message cut in. Vicky’s phone was turned off. Then he remembered her battery was dead.
Shit, where the hell was she? He got out of the car, bought a Coke from the shop inside the petrol station and sat on a wall outside. Something didn’t fit. He sat blinking into space as cars pulled into the bays, radios blaring. The smell of fresh petrol as they filled up.
Moorcroft.
Trinny Becker had been sure Susan was in the 173
Moorcroft lobby the morning of her murder. He had to find out why. Finishing up his Coke, he squashed the can and threw it in a litter bin.
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34
Kelly’s have two pie and mash shops on Roman Road. Trevor sat in the one opposite Holman House.
It was busy, the line of customers spilling out of the door. The service was rapid fire. Dozens of baked pies, mashed potatoes and stewed eels dispensed effortlessly. He doused his three pies with malt vinegar and flicked through a file containing most of what he had on David Stichell and Susan Harrison.
Ed appeared at the entrance. He avoided the queue and went straight to Trevor’s table.
‘You eating?’ Trevor asked.
Ed shook his head. ‘No time.’
Trevor scooped a chunk of pie into his mouth as Ed spread his fingers over the table.
‘So,’ he wanted to know, ‘where are we?’
‘Overall, good progress, but we do have a specific problem and that’s why I called.’
‘Go on.’
‘David Stichell has been up to Cambridge this afternoon.’
Ed raised his eyebrows. ‘Why?’
‘Not sure,’ said Trevor swallowing the food. ‘I tried to bring him in using his friend, Alan Frazier.
But that was two hours ago and he still hasn’t 175
shown.’
‘Frazier cooperated okay?’
Trevor smiled. ‘You know how many skeletons are rattling around in his cupboard? He had no choice.’
‘Any idea where Stichell is now?’ asked Ed.
Trevor loaded a spoon full of mash. ‘He’s left Cambridge, that’s for certain. He’s on his girlfriend’s mobile but he keeps turning it off which breaks the signal and makes tracking difficult. Oh, and there’s something else. The girl he called from the hospital?
I know who she is.’
‘So do I,’ said Ed. ‘Victoria White. I got a look at her earlier this morning.’
‘The longer they’re left, the more they’re likely to find out,’ said Trevor.
‘This is starting to escalate. I want it controlled quickly.’
‘I know where we can locate her,’ said Trevor.
‘She and Stichell are staying at a hotel in Hollan
d Park. He’s not there, but she definitely is – I’ve had a couple of my people check it out.’
‘Good.’
‘In the meantime, there’s Stichell. We have three options – continue to track him as we have been, wait for him to get back to the hotel, or we can give him some encouragement to come to us. He has a weak spot.’
‘His kid?’ Ed asked.
Trevor nodded. ‘I know how you feel about using kids like this. I don’t like it myself. But sometimes it’s necessary.’
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‘Do it if you must, but make sure you don’t hurt the child.’
* * *
Stich fed a parking meter enough coins to keep the wardens away for hours. After that he caught the hour-long overground train journey back to Liverpool Street station. As usual, the place was swamped. Up the escalators to street level and the situation was worse. Late afternoon drinkers – those not bothering to go back to the office – littered the area around Hamilton Hall, right up to the station entrance.
Opposite was the tinted façade of the Moorcroft building.
Moorcroft Pharmaceuticals was deceptive: there was a lot more space within than was suggested from the outside. As Stich got through the revolving glass doors, an expanse of white marble rolled on before him. The front desk jutted from this blank canvas like the bow of a pine-coloured ship. It arced towards him and ran for about ten metres to his left.
There was a lot of activity in front of it.
He moved forward and joined the queue.
‘I’d like to speak with Trinny Becker,’ said Stich when it came to his turn.
‘Which department?’
‘I’m not sure.’
The receptionist’s fingers tapped at a keyboard on her desk. ‘Yes, here we are. Trinny Becker.
Molecular Genetics.’
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She adjusted a hands-free set. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘I’m David Stichell. Tell her I’m Sue Harrison’s fiancé.’
Five minutes later, Trinny came bounding out of the lift. Red hair frizzed back, calf cut beige khakis, white pumps and a black heathered baseball tee with Coldplay scrawled across it. ‘Hey, Stich.’
‘Hello, Trinny, sorry to drag you away from your work.’
‘No worries.’
‘I need to ask you something about yesterday morning.’
She frowned. ‘Okay.’
‘You said you saw Susan here in the lobby at about 7.00.’
Trinny’s bounce began to diminish. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I just need to know, that’s all.’
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