The man tried to catch Stich in his stomach, but with Stich’s chin tucked in low, he took the full force of his body weight. There was a sickening sound as he flipped over in the air and came down hard onto the pavement. The crowd rushed forwards. His eyes fluttered briefly and a thick tongue, rosy red and bleeding, flopped from between his lips. Stich caught the briefest glimpse of him before hurtling onwards.
Immteck was within range and he had no time to waste.
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Two weeks ago, colleagues in a neighbouring force had investigated a death – Immteck related – in which a man had hung himself in his office. On learning this, Varcy had made some enquiries of his own and discovered the victim, a man called Michael Venton, was not only employed by Immteck but was also working on the same project as both David Stichell’s fiancée, Susan Harrison, and the scientist found dead that morning in Chiswick.
Five minutes ago, Kendrick had burst into Varcy’s office excitedly. He had some new information about the cheque found on Richard Hart. Kendrick took a sip of coffee and dragged the chair nearer Varcy’s desk. ‘For now it’s a dead end,’ he said. ‘ But, the account from which it was issued – ’
‘The Mayne Foundation?’ interrupted Varcy.
‘Right. The Mayne Foundation is not a registered charity. The account was apparently opened six months ago by a postman living in Northampton.’
‘A postman?’
‘We’ve spoken to him – he doesn’t even know the account exists. Worked all his life for the PO, married for years, children, grandchildren, lives in a small bungalow in a cul-de-sac … get the picture?’
‘So, not the criminal type, then?’
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‘Definitely not,’ said Kendrick.
‘Identity theft?’
‘Probably.’
‘Is there any money in the account?’
‘There was.’
‘Was?’ said Varcy sitting bolt upright. ‘How much?’
‘One hundred thousand. It was moved from the account yesterday. ’
‘Yesterday?’
‘Looks like Hart’s benefactor found out he’d been murdered and didn’t want us getting our hands on the cash.’
‘I bet,’ said Varcy. ‘Can I take it then that Hart would have cleaned up had he lived?’
Kendrick nodded. ‘Looks like it.’
‘So, what’s happened to the money? Where’s it gone?’
‘That’s where it gets complicated,’ said Kendrick loosening his tie. ‘It’s been transferred to an account in the US – known as a Nevada Limited Liability account. You don’t have to be a US citizen, so bank account details, addresses, telephone numbers, all the usual requirements, aren’t needed. You can even nominate members of the organisation that set these accounts up to be directors of your company.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, the true owner of the account need not disclose any personal information at all.’
‘So, we don’t know who got the money.’
‘As of yet, no.’
‘What are we doing about it?’
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‘I’ve escalated the problem.’
‘Financial Investigations?’
Kendrick nodded.
‘Timeline?’
‘You know how these things are. It could be months before they untangle it.’
‘Okay,’ said Varcy, getting up and moving towards a white board pinned to the wall behind his desk. He uncapped a marker pen. ‘Let’s go over what we have. It starts here,’ he said, writing the name, Michael Venton, at the top of the board. ‘At first, I assumed it all started with the murder of Richard Hart but that’s not the way it is at all.
Michael Venton’s wife found him hanging from a beam in his office two weeks before then. The record shows death by suicide, but, knowing what we know now, that seems less certain.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Kendrick.
Varcy then wrote three more names, one on top of the other: Richard Hart, Susan Harrison and Clive Rand.
‘The link between these four is now obvious.’
‘They all worked in the same place.’
‘And on the same project.’
‘But there is another link too,’ said Kendrick. ‘The obvious one. She killed Hart.’
Varcy shook his head. ‘Maybe not. I’ve had the CCTV analysed. There’s something funny about her image. It’s been tampered with.’
‘Who by?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to work out.’
He circled Mike Venton’s name. ‘I spoke to his 251
widow two hours ago by phone. Guess who paid her a visit this very morning?’
‘No idea.’
He wrote a name next to Susan Harrison’s: David Stichell.
‘Seriously?’
‘He was asking her questions about Venton’s death. Told her he didn’t think it was suicide.’
Kendrick scratched his head.
‘A man,’ Varcy continued, ‘who has supposedly just killed his fiancée before going on to kill a policeman at the hospital where he is being held, doesn’t mess about asking questions of a dead man’s widow.’
‘You’re determined to keep him out of the frame, aren’t you?’
‘Not at all. I just don’t like mistakes.’
‘So, what next?’
‘We need to talk to Stichell.’
‘No shit, Sherlock!’ laughed Kendrick.
‘You know what fascinates me?’ said Varcy, moving back to the desk. ‘The notion that there are two separate issues at work here, both very different yet irrevocably entwined.’
‘In English?’ said Kendrick.
‘Take the murder of Richard Hart. That event is intimately related to the disappearance of Susan Harrison and the subsequent mayhem that has followed.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Yet,’ Varcy continued, ‘I believe the reason he was killed has nothing to do with what followed. The fact 252
he was killed has everything to do with what followed.’
Kendrick closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I now know how Alice in Wonderland felt. Varcy, you are the white rabbit.’
Varcy smiled and reached into his pocket.
‘Remember that hair sample I took from Stichell’s ex’s flat?’
‘From the hairbrush?’
‘I got it DNA profiled and compared it to the known DNA profile for Stichell’s daughter and Richard Hart.’
‘Go on.’
‘They are closely matched.’
‘What?’
‘I’m serious.’
‘How close?’
There was a knock on the office door. It was Cole.
‘We think we might have arrested Stichell, then lost him.’
‘When?’
‘Twenty minutes ago.’
‘Where?’
‘Holborn.’
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The revolving doors at the entrance swallowed him up and Stich ran to the lifts. Unlike the main building, the lobby in Immteck Two was empty. No security, no visitors.
‘The quadrant is at the highest level. Go there.’
His hands still locked, he stuck out his chin to hit the lift button and waited.
Come on …
Next to the lift were fire exit doors leading to a stairwell. He ran towards them, barged through and headed upwards floor after floor. The exertion of bolting along almost parallel to the road, and now the challenge of the stairwell, meant that Stich was damp with sweat when he finally emerged into the spacious area on the top floor. Unlike the functional, inorganic business environment he’d left downstairs, this had a carefully created, natural feel, with hardwood flooring rolling forwards and outwards for at least fifty metres. Small, raised gardens along one side packed full of colour and foliage, areas of seating arranged in clusters. It was warm too – not the dry, centrally heated warmth that might be expected, but a tropical, moist heat. Ab
ove him low fans rotated slowly, circulating the air. A small sign gave directions to the Tench Lecture 254
Theatre, Conference Room, Gym, Gardens, and Quadrant.
Silence.
Stich remembered Susan telling him about this place. All departments used it on a rota basis so that it was never too busy. The idea of a place where Immteck employees – many of whom had their brains frazzled by the pace – could go to sit, relax or workout, was a concept Immteck took seriously.
Susan came here a lot, mostly to read but sometimes to think quietly or to sleep. Immteck provided their key staff with beds to use whenever they felt the need. A well-rested scientist, especially one developing a multi-million pound drug, was always more productive than a stressed one.
Stich continued moving forwards. Stooping, hands clasped behind his back. The only sounds were his footsteps hitting the floor. Sweat now began to drip into his eyes.
Still no sign of life. The floor curved to the right and fed into a large square hub. It was laid to grass, edged with slate and bathed in white light.
Cantilevered overhead were six white lamps directing warmth downwards towards plants and sweet smelling flora. The heat was soothing and sun-like. Tropical plants, bright and fragrant, evergreens and conventional English roses sprouted from carefully tended beds. In the centre of the quadrant, a tree snaked upwards towards a skylight some twenty metres high. To the left, a fountain sprayed crystal jets into a pool of Koi carp. Stich was breathing hard, his eyes flitting in all directions.
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Then he heard the cry, ‘Daddy!’ and spun around. Alice sat on the lap of a man, himself on a bench. Stich recognised Laurence Tench straight away.
‘Alice!’ Stich broke into a run and then pulled up as two other men appeared from the shadows behind Tench. The black man he knew from his trip to the labs with Vicky. The other one was at the labs too. He had worn the dinner suit then, but was now dressed in jeans, leather jacket and a black roll-neck sweater.
‘Fine daughter you have, Mr. Stichell.’
‘Let her go,’ Stich said. ‘I’m the one you want, not her.’
‘Indeed.’ Tench’s gaze so far had been completely focused on Alice, but now he turned and looked at Stich for the first time; his milky blue eyes locking on. Stich stared right back trying his best to look unafraid. Tench lifted Alice from his lap, kissed her cheek and handed her over to the dinner-suit man who scooped her up and moved away from them.
‘Where are you going with her?’
Tench lifted his hand. ‘Don’t worry, she’s perfectly safe. My colleague will take her back home.’
‘When?’
‘Right now. As you say, it’s you we’re interested in.’
Stich watched as the man carried Alice towards the exit. She turned her head to look at him before disappearing. He waved at her. ‘Daddy will see you in just a while!’
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‘I want you to know, Mr. Stichell,’ said Tench when Alice had gone, ‘your daughter will be well provided for. Financially she will want for nothing.’
‘I’ll provide for my daughter’s future,’ said Stich.
‘I’m afraid you won’t be around to do that,’ said Tench, shifting his weight on the bench. ‘You see, the reputation of my company and myself is something I take very seriously indeed. I despise those like you and your fiancée who try and taint it. Why you would want to do it puzzles me. I had done nothing to harm you, quite the reverse in fact. My company employed your fiancée, and in doing so provided security for your family.’
‘How can people like us do any damage to a man like you?’ Stich said. ‘Look at the differences between us.’
‘What about Hart?’ said Tench.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Richard Hart.’
‘What about him?’ Stich asked.
‘Don’t play games with me, Mr. Stichell.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Tench sighed. ‘Let me help you. Hart had information I was very keen to acquire. Now I won’t be able to.’
Stich’s eyes flashed between him and the henchman behind him. ‘What’s that got to do with me?’
The black man moved further out of the shadows.
‘Perhaps your memory needs help,’ said Tench.
‘I honestly don’t know what you’re talking 257
about,’ Stich cried.
Tench shook his head gently, buttoned his jacket and stood. ‘Then we have nothing left to discuss.’
He gestured to his man who produced a handgun from inside his jacket and stepped forwards pointing it right at Stich.
‘Wait, just hold on a moment!’ Stich screamed.
‘I’m listening.’
Stich’s eyes flashed between Tench and the henchman. He had nowhere to go. No place to hide, so he yelled the only relevant thing that came into his head. ‘I know about Krenthol! Your own doctors put me on the drug!’
A loud crack interrupted the flow. The man behind Tench whirled to his left. It happened so fast Stich wasn’t even sure what it was. Nor, he suspected, was Tench. Bewilderment was etched all over his face. Within a second, the henchman shifted aim and there was another shot. Stich hit the deck.
Gunfire.
More cracks. Running; then quiet. Stich lifted his head and noticed the man with the gun was lying on his front with his face turned towards him, eyes open. Then he heard a voice he knew.
‘Get up.’
The voice was not directed at Stich. Stich craned his head and saw Tench. He was half laid over the bench looking up at a man standing over him. A man much different from the last time Stich had seen him. The stoop had gone, so had the grey, haunted look. Maxi was back to the way Stich had always known him.
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Tench’s jaw was tight as he slowly got to his feet.
Maxi, on the other hand, looked relaxed. He held a gun too – nothing like the ridiculous antique he had pointed at Stich earlier – and waved it around like a pro. He could obviously use it like a pro too.
Stich got up onto his knees. Now he could clearly see the dead man just ahead of him. He had taken a hit in the shoulder and one at the side of the head.
The blood oozed from his wounds onto the grass.
‘You’re a witness to this, Stich,’ Maxi said, looking at him for the first time. ‘This man was about to kill you. I saved your life.’
Stich got to his feet and nodded. There was no doubt about that. Maxi turned back to Tench and gestured to the bench. ‘Sit down.’
Tench lowered himself carefully, his eyes never leaving Maxi.
‘You’re a murderer,’ Maxi went on at Tench. ‘I can’t believe you’ve got away with it for so long.’
Tench’s eyes narrowed a little. ‘What do you want?’
Maxi backed up slightly and waited a beat.
‘Nothing, except you leave me and my family alone.’
Stich hoped he was included in this family. As far as he knew Maxi didn’t have any other relatives.
Tench tried to work it out too. He switched his gaze from Maxi to Stich, then back again.
‘What has happened here will put you away for the rest of your life,’ said Maxi. ‘There are two witnesses to vouch for it. Do we have a deal or not?’
Stich waited for the catch. So did Tench by the look of him, but Maxi said nothing else. Eventually 259
Tench agreed. ‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ Maxi pointed to the dead man. ‘You will take care of this?’
Tench nodded again.
‘Okay.’
‘Come on, Stich, let’s go.’
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Varcy had arrived ten minutes ago. He had spoken to the officer who made the arrest, but he was still groggy and uncertain of detail. There were statements to be read, and he was told about the member of the public who had tried to intervene but now had a broken clavicle for his trouble and a gash in his head. The ambulance took him away a few minutes befor
e Varcy arrived.
The arrested man had escaped and run off towards Lincoln’s Inn.
Varcy left the crowd and walked the route. A mad sprint through packed streets followed by the collision into a newsstand was not hard to imagine, especially for a desperate man. And one thing he was sure of: Stichell was desperate.
There was a reason. There was always a reason.
Where were you going, David? Why the urgency?
That’s when he saw the building on his right.
Immteck Ltd.
* * *
Maxi and Stich backed off towards the same stairwell Stich had entered earlier and when they were clear, sprinted down the stairs, through 261
reception and exited onto the street and away towards Holborn tube. Maxi stopped abruptly.
There were four police cars arranged in an arc near where Stich had been arrested. He spun around and went in the opposite direction, deeper into Lincoln’s Inn. Stich followed; running desperately, both panting like dogs. When they reached Chancery Lane they started to let up the pace. The sheer mass of people here made Stich feel easier; the only problem was the cuffs. They were drawing glances.
Maxi pulled him into doorway. Stich rested his head on the wall behind to catch his breath. It was more than just the pace; the shock was starting to take effect.
‘Where now?’ he asked.
‘We need to sort those out,’ Maxi said, looking at Stich’s hands. ‘Can you get them to the front?’
Stich tried but it was too difficult. ‘I need to lie down to do it, but not here.’
‘I know where,’ said Maxi.
There was a piece of green just along Cursitor Street. Stich got onto his back and began to wriggle his hands downwards, with Maxi helping to pull them. The pressure in his shoulder joints felt as though they might gape open, the pain urging Stich to scream out. A handful of abortive attempts later and Maxi said, ‘Forget it. We’ll think of something else.’
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‘Useless sat-nav,’ Kendrick complained, switching it off.
Varcy got out the roadmap and checked the directions.
‘Which way?’ asked Kendrick.
‘Give me a minute, I’m lost.’
Kendrick pulled over and waited.
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