“I threw it in the boat. It went with him.”
“Shame.”
“Why?”
“Because you found something on it, didn’t you? Pictures and stuff.”
“Yes,” Ed answered.
“What was that all about?”
“Not a clue.”
“Come on,” Jordan said. “You don’t forget when you’ve just killed someone and dumped his body.”
“I didn’t kill him. I didn’t mean to.”
“Okay. But tell me what you saw on his mobile.”
Ed took a moment to think. “There was a picture of this bloke, something about five thousand pounds and where he lived.”
“What was his name?”
“It was a long time ago.”
Jordan simply stared at Ed and waited.
“Can’t remember his first name. His last name was Dodd or Dowd or something, I think.”
“Where did he live?”
“I remember that because I’ve got an uncle there. It was somewhere in Peterborough.”
“What was his address?”
Ed exclaimed, “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“All right.”
Jordan thought the key words of Dodd, Dowd, Peterborough and money into the Unit Red computer, but the search did not bring up anything significant.
Clearly surprised by Jordan’s sudden silence, Ed prompted, “Well? I don’t know any more.”
“Sorry. I was thinking.”
“What happens now?” Ed asked him.
“Nothing. If you’ve given me all you’ve got.”
Ed raised both arms, palms upward, indicating that he had no more.
“Okay,” said Jordan. “Thanks.”
“You won’t dump me in it?”
“No,” Jordan promised. “I’m only interested in Salam Bool.” He turned his back on Ed and headed for the railway station.
On his way to Newcastle Central, Jordan called Unit Red to report on his exchange with Ed Hathaway. Angel didn’t know what to make of the contents of Mr. Bool’s phone either, but he promised to search through databases for information on a man called Dodd or Dowd in Peterborough. He also promised to persuade a police team to look for Bool’s body.
The train trundled across one of the impressive bridges over the River Tyne. Drumming his fingers on the table, Jordan viewed the series of huge iron and concrete structures, but he was thinking about the missing Mr. Bool. Jordan had never really imagined any teacher having a life outside of school so it had been a shock to find out that Mr. Bool was an obsessive gambler, mixed up with a shady loan company. He remembered that the teacher had not been in school on the morning of the missing phone and the Thames explosion. Perhaps he was placing bets or working on some money-making scheme.
The rumbling sound in the carriage changed as the train returned to solid ground and accelerated. Less interested in the industrial scenes out of the window, Jordan opened a file in his mind on the casualties of the estuary blast. He scanned down the lists for all deaths that had occurred in boats. He wanted to know if every victim had been identified beyond doubt or whether one might have been Salam Bool.
It was a depressing task. The register began with the crew of Ocean Courage. Not one of the thirty had survived. Twenty-eight of the badly burned bodies had been found in the wreckage of the ship. Two more had been recovered from the estuary. The captain’s death was particularly sad, Jordan thought, because the voyage was his first in charge of the huge ship.
Six people in small boats had made it back to the shore. Two had not. Both of the drowned bodies had been identified by next of kin. A married couple in one of Southend’s marinas had become trapped when their yacht submerged. The river police officers who had chased Cara Quickfall’s motor-launch had died when their patrol boat went down. Four shift workers unloading oil at Canvey Island had died on the supertanker when it went up in flames.
Jordan saw nothing to suggest that one of these victims might have been Mr. Bool, wrongly identified as someone else. It seemed likely that what remained of his body was still in the river somewhere – or maybe it had been swept out to sea and lost for ever.
As the train powered south, not far from York, Angel called. “I want you to get off at Peterborough,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve found a man called Vinnie Dowd. He still lives there. Winter will meet you at the station and take you to him.”
“Why me? Winter could do it on her own, couldn’t she?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure she’d be as successful. Vinnie Dowd might sympathize more with someone else who’s been disfigured.”
Keeping his voice down, Jordan said, “He’s been disfigured?”
“That’s how I found him. His hospital record says someone threw acid over him, same day as the Richard Montgomery went up.”
“That’s horrible. Why?”
“Over to you and Winter. But it’s worth pointing out that Bool taught chemistry, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“So he knows all about acid and no doubt he had access to it at school.”
“But...” Jordan stopped. He didn’t understand why Mr. Bool would do something like that. He didn’t know why Angel was suggesting that he might have done it.
“I’ve got a theory,” Angel said. “Winter’ll bring a photo of Salam Bool. Show it to Dowd and see if he recognizes him. Then we’ll know.”
Jordan and Winter found Vinnie Dowd pottering about in the tidy back garden of his small terraced house in a rundown suburb of Peterborough. He was blind in his left eye and much of that side of his face had been burned. Surgery had repaired it as much as possible, but it certainly wasn’t a pretty sight. For Vinnie’s sake – and for his own – Jordan hoped that people looked beyond surface blemishes.
Glancing round the garden, Jordan introduced himself and then asked, “Hey. Do you keep chickens down there, where it’s wired off?”
Vinnie looked him up and down, lingering on his face and artificial arm. “Yes. But, even round here, the foxes get them.”
“We had some once,” he replied. “A long time ago. And it was the same thing. But I guess foxes are just doing what they do.”
“What do you want?”
“I looked you up. Found out what happened to you. I’ve come to see if you can help me.”
“Me? Help you? What is this?”
“I’m trying to find out who attacked you. Did you see him?”
Vinnie took a deep breath before he answered. “Yes, I saw him. Just a flash, but I won’t forget.”
“Can you look at a photo and tell me if it’s him?”
“Yes. But...”
“What?”
“I know who did it.”
Puzzled, Jordan asked, “Who?”
“Well, I owe money...”
“Who to?”
“He calls himself EasyCash. He sent one of his men. When I couldn’t pay...” He touched the ragged parts of his face. “It’s a reminder to keep up the payments.”
Jordan grimaced. “Did you report it to the police?”
“What’s the point? And I don’t want them looking into where my money comes from – or how I spend it.” He glanced at Winter and asked, “You’re not police, are you?”
Winter laughed and shook her head.
Looking back at Jordan, Vinnie said, “Did he do your arm in as well? Is that why you’re after him?”
“I’d like to know who did this to me. More than that. I need to know.” He turned towards Winter and she held out the photo of Salam Bool.
Immediately, Vinnie nodded.
“Sure?”
“Certain.”
It didn’t make sense to Jordan. Vinnie and Mr. Bool should have been on the same side. They both owed money to EasyCash OnLine. “Thanks,” he said. “That’s all I need.”
“What’s his name?”
“Salam Bool. He’s a teacher. Or was. We’re pretty sure he died in the Thames e
xplosion a year back, straight after he saw you.”
“Good.”
“At least he can’t do it to anyone else. But...”
“What?”
“One thing’s puzzling me. He owed EasyCash a lot of money as well.”
Vinnie looked faintly surprised, but then smiled and nodded. “When you’re in debt and the devil’s after you, you’ll agree to anything.”
“What? You mean...”
“There’s more than one way to pay it back. He couldn’t cough up enough so I bet he agreed to extract money from other people in the same boat – like me.”
Jordan was horrified that Vinnie almost seemed to accept that this was the way the world worked. Jordan also wondered how many other clients had ended up in hospital because of Salam Bool.
If Mr. Bool had become a vicious debt collector, it explained why he’d destroyed the messages on his computer and hunted down his missing mobile. They could have given him away. And the final recording on his home phone made sense. “I hear you’ve done the job. I’ll be in touch.” It was probably EasyCash acknowledging the success of Mr. Bool’s latest – and last – contract. Perhaps Ed Hathaway had unknowingly done a favour to everyone who got into trouble with the loan company.
Back in the car, Winter said, “Good work. Salam Bool isn’t one of our suspects any more. Ed Hathaway gave him an alibi at Hoo Marina. You can’t blow anything up when you’re unconscious or dead. And all the suspicious stuff – like the landline message and his missing mobile – was about debts, not bombs.”
Angel’s urgent voice sounded above the hum of the engine, making Jordan jump. “Winter. There’s a situation brewing. I want you to turn round and head for Hunstanton.”
Winter did not question her chief’s order for a moment. She tugged on the steering wheel and executed a perfect U-turn at speed. Jordan was thrown sideways in his seat, the tyres screeched, a horn sounded somewhere, and Winter accelerated in the opposite direction. The engine’s hum became a roar as the Audi hurtled north-east.
“On the way,” she said calmly into the hands-free phone. “You’d better brief us.”
13 CLIFF
“There’s a group of political extremists who’ve smashed up a few banks here in London, brought down some government websites, scrawled slogans across the city, and even kidnapped a businessman for a while,” Angel explained. “I’ve got an undercover agent in there trying to find out if they were responsible for the estuary bomb as well. For the purposes of the mission, he’s called Tom Flynn. I know where he is. Hunstanton. His GPS chip tells me he’s stationary at a supermarket on the edge of the town, but he missed his last two contact times. That means something’s wrong. I hope for his sake they haven’t worked out who he really is.”
“Before he went quiet,” Winter said, “what did he find out?”
“Nothing about the estuary bomb, but he said the group’s planning a big splash. They’re bent on attacking a symbol of capitalism and getting their cause on the news. I don’t need to tell you that could mean a hit on a supermarket. Find out what’s going on, Winter.”
Eyes fixed on the road as she overtook a long line of cars, she replied, “Okay.”
Winter spun the wheel, taking the sharp bend past the petrol station and up into the car park. It was large and mostly empty. Bringing the car to a halt at the front of the supermarket, Winter reported, “We’ve arrived. Is Tom still somewhere here?”
“Yes,” Angel’s voice replied from the speaker. “He hasn’t moved.”
“Worrying.”
“Take care.”
Winter undid her safety belt. “I’m going into the shop to look around,” she said to Jordan. “You stay here in contact with Angel. Watch out for anything unusual.” Without giving him time to reply, she got out, slammed the door, and strode to the entrance.
As soon as she disappeared inside, everything became still and quiet. The sky was dull and thick with cloud. Over the road, there was another parking area, caravans and houses. Through the drizzle, Jordan could also see a large carousel and the tops of funfair rides. They weren’t moving, though. They seemed to be closed. Beyond them was the grey sea. An elderly couple in heavy coats emerged from the supermarket and shuffled towards some steps that led up into a housing estate. Two cars drove past the shop and out of town.
A minute passed. Nothing happened. This part of the coastal town appeared to be dead.
Then Angel’s voice came out of the phone speaker. “He’s moving! Not fast. Just a few metres away from the building.”
Suddenly alert, Jordan looked all around. There was no sign of movement.
“He’s edging towards the road.”
Jordan was puzzled. “But nothing’s...” He stopped when he spotted the cab of a truck pulling out of the delivery area at the back of the supermarket. “Hang on. It’s a lorry!” he said. There was no sign of Winter so he made a decision. “I’m going after it!”
As he shut the car door, Angel was saying something through the secure phone but Jordan didn’t listen. He sprinted along the pavement beside the shop.
Ahead of him, the lorry eased out of the goods entrance and turned right. It was heading away from him, towards the centre of Hunstanton. Jordan was too late to see the driver or to clamber up the passenger’s side. The truck gathered speed. Without Winter’s help, he had only two options. He could watch it go or he could try and do something about it.
He would risk anything if it helped him solve his first case. Putting on a burst of speed, he ran up to its rear end and jumped onto the back door. Clinging onto a damp handle, he stood on its footplate. The lorry went along the straight road for a short distance, slowed and then forked left. Jordan gripped tighter as it swayed round the corner.
The truck juddered as it went over bumps and drain covers in the road. It seemed to be trying to shake him off. Jordan had no idea how long he would have to hang onto the lorry’s tailgate. It could be hours. He decided he had to get inside. Grasping the locked handle tightly with his left hand, he smashed his right fist through the thin metal door. Peeling back the aluminium sheet with his artificial arm, he made a hole big enough to edge through.
Running parallel to the beach, the lorry swerved round a parked car and Jordan’s feet slipped off their wet and risky perch. He let out an instinctive scream. He was about to fall heavily into the road when his right hand closed around the torn metal. Hanging from the back of the truck, he heaved himself awkwardly upwards. The strong wind coming off the sea buffeted him. Manoeuvring his top half in through the hole, he pitched forward. The rough edge of the metal was as sharp as an opened tin can. It cut painfully into his skin as his waist and legs followed the rest of him through the gap.
He landed head first on the floor of the trailer and rolled over. His legs slammed against a stack of cardboard boxes. Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet, lurching with the lorry’s uneven movement. The trailer wasn’t full. It must have delivered most of its load. Some boxes were still strapped to the struts around its sides and there were a few scattered items but there was a lot of space. Inside, the air smelled of everything. He detected fish, tobacco, soaps, vegetables, lots more supermarket goods, and the seaside smell of seaweed. He heard the wind pummelling the side of the truck, the engine growling and the screams of seagulls. In the gloom, Jordan’s vision system picked out a warm body at the far end, near the cab. His legs cut and stinging, he tottered towards it.
The shape was a man, silenced by duct tape across his mouth. He was lying down, tied with rope to one of the upright bars, just like one of the cardboard boxes.
Jordan kneeled beside him and ripped the tape away from his mouth. “Are you Tom Flynn?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Trying to undo the rope, Jordan replied, “Angel sent me.”
“He’s going to drive the lorry over the cliff!” Tom cried.
“What?”
“It’s a protestor driving it. He’ll jump out at the last second. We’
ll go over.”
Fumbling with the rope, Jordan felt the truck braking.
Tom shouted, “Quick! We’ve only got a few seconds. They talked about going over this side of the old lighthouse. I tried to contact Angel but they rumbled me.”
Jordan freed the last knot and yanked the rope away from his fellow agent.
They both got up and at once fell over. The sudden change of direction told them that the lorry had veered left and jumped the kerb. The vibration meant that the truck had begun to bounce across the grass towards the sheer drop over the cliff edge.
“Come on!” Jordan yelled, jumping up again and staggering down the length of the trailer to the hole at the back.
The engine snarled louder and louder. The driver was giving it full throttle to crash through the wire fence and plummet down onto the stony beach. There was a crunch as the cab barged aside a park bench.
Jordan grabbed Tom Flynn and, without wasting a second, pushed him head first out of the gap. At the same time, there was a thump and a jerk as the truck flattened two wooden fence-posts. The wires wrapped themselves around the cab but didn’t stop it. The engine revved and the trailer tilted. The rear end leaped off the ground.
Jordan threw himself at the hole in the door, squeezed through, rolled down the outside and then fell through the air. He landed with a thud on the weeds right at the edge of the cliff and grabbed at a bush to steady himself.
The nervous driver had misjudged his own leap from the cab. He’d got out in time but rolled to the lip of the cliff. Unable to stop himself going over, he was now hanging on to the crumbling edge by his fingertips as the truck plunged down spectacularly, scattering the seagulls nesting on the cliff face.
The cab struck first. With a huge bang, it crumpled against the slabs of fallen rock below. The trailer landed on top of it and then fell sideways until it lay on the stones and sand like a shipwreck. Then the whole vehicle caught fire.
Flames shot up the white and red layers of rock. They singed the driver’s clothes and skin. Shrieking in agony, he lost his grip on the lip of the cliff.
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