Bob nudged me, breaking into my thoughts. ‘Okay, let’s get moving before somebody spots us. It’s going to be really crazy here for a while.’
We headed for the gates at the end of the street, where the uniforms on duty let us through.
‘How are you doing?’ my friend asked. ‘Do you need to eat, with your . . . thing?’
‘I need to eat because I’m hungry,’ I replied, ‘but it can wait. What we have to do is more important.’
He agreed, perhaps a little reluctantly, and we began to walk, briskly, towards the latest incarnation of New Scotland Yard, which is very close to the first one. I prefer it; I didn’t like the Broadway building. ‘How are we going to play this?’ I wondered aloud, as we approached the Embankment. ‘Technically we should probably be reporting this to Charing Cross Police Station, or to PaDP.’
‘You’re the cop,’ Bob observed. ‘It’s your decision. But my view is that it’s already been reported to you. There’s only one other man in the Met who knows that something’s up and that’s the Commissioner himself. Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m heading to see him.’
‘Fair enough,’ I agreed. ‘He ordered me to the Commons yesterday, personally, so it’s logical that I should report back to him, even though he didn’t tell me to.’
Bob laughed. ‘Possibly because he didn’t want to know what was happening. But it’s too late for that. He needs to know now, for he’s the man who has to determine how we proceed.’
When we reached the HQ building, with its iconic sign relocated, I talked my companion through security and got him a visitor’s pass. That done, I took him up to my office, and from there called the Commissioner’s executive officer, a chief superintendent named April Colquhoun. I expected a wait when I asked her for an appointment with the boss, but she told me to come straight up. ‘He’s been expecting you, Commander,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what’s up, but it has him on edge.’
‘I won’t be alone,’ I warned her.
‘That’s all right,’ she replied. ‘He anticipated that.’
Sir Feargal was standing by the window when April ushered us into his presence. He smiled when he saw Bob. ‘How are you, Chief Constable Skinner?’ he exclaimed as he stepped towards us, hand outstretched. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘I’m no longer lumbered with that title,’ he laughed. ‘Good to see you, Feargal. Where was it last time, Northern Ireland?’
‘That’s right. I thought Belfast was hypertension city, but it has nothing on this job. I imagine you feel happy to be out of the Scottish police service hot seat.’
‘I did until yesterday,’ he agreed. ‘I was down here on a harmless reconnaissance mission, then I was dragooned by Amanda Dennis.’
‘There are worse people to be dragooned by. What have you two been up to for the past twenty-four hours?’ He looked at me. ‘Fill me in, Commander. You can miss out the part about the Prime Minister being dead; I saw the man Bryant’s tearful announcement, but I knew before that, through the protection officers.’
I glanced at Bob. He nodded and I ran through the story, or at least the parts to which I had been a witness. I said nothing about Spitfire; officially I didn’t know, and wouldn’t have at all but for my friend Bob’s disregard for Kramer’s orders. I omitted anything about Merlin Brady also; I hadn’t been a party to his revelation.
I thought Bob might have volunteered the fact of the relationship between the Labour leader and Kramer’s wife, but he didn’t, not even when the Commissioner asked him if he had anything to add.
‘Nothing that’s relevant to the Prime Minister’s murder,’ he said.
‘Why do I suspect that there is something and you’re not telling me . . . Consultant Director?’ He smiled as he added the temporary title.
My friend shook his head. ‘There’s nothing that’s relevant, Feargal,’ he repeated, ‘that I promise you. Anything else, you do not want to know.’
The boss laughed. ‘Christ, man,’ he exclaimed, ‘I always thought you were a spook in a police uniform.’
‘Rarely in uniform, Commissioner,’ he retorted. ‘Only on ceremonial occasions.’
‘Lucky you. I have to wear mine all the bloody time. The Mayor, whom we must all obey these days, insists that we wear the tunic as the rule rather than the exception . . . apart from Commander McIlhenney’s unit, that is. That would be a bit of a giveaway.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘where is your investigation now?’
‘At an end,’ Bob told him, ‘according to the new Prime Minister.’
‘Fuck all to do with him,’ Sir Feargal muttered, curtly. ‘I knew that you and he were a personality clash waiting to happen. I rather hoped that someone else would succeed Emily Repton.’
‘It was a close-run thing,’ he said. ‘It might have come down to one vote in the end, but Ellis backed down. You’re right about me and Kramer. He’s a dangerous man; arrogant shit. I’ve served my purpose as far as he’s concerned. I’ve investigated the attack, and I’ve come up empty handed. That suits his book, and now he wants me out of the way.’
‘And have you? Come up empty handed?’
‘So far, yes. But I still see lines of inquiry that the new investigating team need to follow up.’
‘And who might they be?’ the Commissioner asked. ‘This new investigating team?’
‘How the hell would I know?’ Bob exclaimed. ‘It’s your call. Whoever’s in your major crimes unit, I imagine.’
‘I don’t quite see it like that,’ Sir Feargal countered. ‘I would prefer it if you two continued. This is beyond a major crime; it’s as big as it gets, and until all possibilities are explored and exhausted or until a perpetrator is found, there’s no doubt that it impacts on the security of the nation. I’ve discussed this with Amanda Dennis, and she agrees.’
‘You haven’t discussed it with me, though,’ he complained, ‘and neither has she.’
‘No, but we both know, and so do you, that you don’t want to walk away from this. Carry on, please; call in whatever assistance you need, but finish the job.’
‘What about the legality of it?’
‘I’ll swear you in as a special constable if you like; you can wear two hats.’
‘One will be fine, thanks. That’s not what I meant. If I was in Scotland, as a police officer I’d be an agent of the Crown and reporting to the procurator fiscal. Don’t you have to report to the City of Westminster coroner?’
‘In this case,’ Sir Feargal replied, ‘I choose not to, at this stage. The crime took place within the Palace of Westminster, which makes it a bit of a grey area. Don’t worry, you’re both at liberty to proceed as you think fit. I’ve advised the head of the Parliamentary and Diplomatic Protection Unit, the Parliamentary Security Director, the Serjeant-at-Arms, and the Speaker. They’re all only too happy to leave it to you . . . not that they have any choice, since it’s my call, as you said. The Security Director is not best pleased about having been kept out of the loop, but that’s tough; to me it’s quite understandable, since the attack on Ms Repton happened on his watch, so to speak.’
‘That’s good,’ my friend and co-investigator said, effectively declaring himself on board. ‘There’s something I’m not happy about. It may involve me leaning on some people; if I do, I won’t want any comeback.’
‘You have a free hand, I assure you.’
‘We’ll need a base; the Cabinet Office won’t be open to us from now on.’
‘Use Commander McIlhenney’s office.’ That could be a tight squeeze, I thought, but I said nothing.
I thought we were finished, but Bob wasn’t. ‘There’s just one more thing,’ he continued. ‘Forensic pathology services in England are under the control of the Home Office pathology unit. In these circumstances I don’t like that; I don’t want Kramer, or his placeman
as the new Home Secretary, to have any access to the autopsy findings.’
‘How will you avoid it?’ the Commissioner asked, but I knew what was coming.
‘I want to bring in my own. My wife holds the chair of Forensic Pathology at Edinburgh University. She’s eight months pregnant, and champing at the bit. She’s too far gone to fly, but I can get her on a train this afternoon. I want to use her.’
‘Then go for it, Bob. Kramer will instruct the Home Office to appoint someone, I’m sure, but I’ll countermand it.’
‘What if he complains to the Mayor?’ I asked.
‘That would not pose a problem, Commander,’ my boss laughed. ‘The Mayor hates Kramer too.’
Twenty-Seven
‘Pack a bag with enough for a few days,’ I said to Sarah, as Neil wolfed down some sort of Mediterranean wrap in the canteen, ‘take a taxi to Waverley Station, get on the four o’clock London train, and I’ll meet you at King’s Cross. Don’t eat on board; we’ll go somewhere flash.’
‘Too damn right we will,’ she replied. ‘What’s this about, Bob? Are you missing me that much? Hey,’ she paused, and I could almost see her eyebrows rise, ‘are you bringing me down to check the place out? Have you decided to accept their lordships’ offer?’
‘I haven’t made any irrevocable decision yet,’ I insisted; technically that was true. ‘I want you with me, that’s all; it would help me in my thinking. If you feel fit enough for it . . . if you don’t, speak now.’
‘I’ve had two kids already. I know I’m not going to drop for at least three weeks, whatever they say. I’ll ask Trish to call the taxi while I pack. Do you want me to stick a couple of shirts and stuff in for you? You must be running short.’
She was right. I’d packed for two nights, maximum. ‘Yes, please, that would be good.’
‘Okay,’ she said, cheerily, ‘I’m on my way. It had better be something flash, mind.’
It was; I had already checked that there was a room available in the Savoy. As soon as I hung up on Sarah I called back to confirm it, then rang my original hotel to cancel my booking and settle my account by card. I asked them to cram everything in my room into my case, and arranged through Neil for a police car to pick it up and deliver it to New Scotland Yard.
When all that was done, I turned back to the business in hand. ‘I need to go back to the Commons,’ I told Neil. ‘I need to see Brady again. Want to meet him?’
‘If it’s relevant to the investigation,’ he replied, ‘why the hell not?’
I sent Aileen a text: Can you fix it to see Merlin again, ASAP?
She came back within five minutes: Chaos here with PM death; MB about to tour TV studios, but has a slot within next half-hour.
‘Come on,’ I said, grabbing my Filofax and heading for the door.
I had visions of being delayed by security, but the cops Neil had met the day before had told him of a pass-holders’ entrance at basement level, accessible from Westminster tube station. We took a chance and it paid off; we got through with our badges, our rank, and a quick frisk.
I was beginning to have a feel for the building’s geography: I found the Central Lobby without difficulty and from there the Labour leader’s office was accessed easily. When I knocked, the door was opened by a shovel-faced woman wearing a red suit. ‘Don’t keep him long,’ she warned as she let us in, then left the room, as I introduced Neil to her boss.
‘Sadie Finch,’ Brady advised us. ‘She’s the party’s head of communications. You can imagine what sort of a day she’s having.’
‘And you too, I guess,’ I added.
‘Not really. The TV people expect me to say something appropriate about Emily, and to comment no doubt on the speed with which Kramer has been installed as her successor. There’s nothing difficult in that; she was politically ruthless, as most party leaders are, but there was a decent woman beneath it all. As for the rush to replace her, I don’t go in for posturing. It was necessary; I hope that Kramer will seek a fresh mandate from the electorate, and I’ll say as much. I don’t suppose he will, though, any more than Emily did when her predecessor fell on his sword in mid-term.’
He smiled. ‘However, it does give me a chance for a small reshuffle, to adjust to his altered front bench, and to fix some other things. You made a good point yesterday about your ex-wife’s special experience.’
‘Don’t raise her up too high,’ I chuckled. ‘She’s after your job.’
‘I know she is. More than half of my shadow Cabinet are after my job. Two or three of them are even capable of doing it. What about you?’ he exclaimed. ‘Yesterday you said you’d want to be leader in the Lords if you joined us. I think that’s an excellent idea; it would put some excitement into the place.’
‘You’re joking,’ I said, glancing to my left, ‘or you’re flattering me. Either way, you’re making Commander McIlhenney feel awkward. We didn’t come here to talk politics. There’s something I want to ask. Yesterday you told me that you saw a woman in the corridor, as you were trying to leave, with her back to you. I want you to think about that. What was she doing? I mean was she standing still, or was she moving?’
Brady scratched his chin. ‘I saw her so briefly, that to be honest I couldn’t say.’
‘Can you describe her?’
‘Medium,’ he replied. ‘That’s the only word that comes to mind, medium height, medium build, medium-length hair.’
‘Hair colour?’
‘That didn’t register.’
‘Clothing?’
‘Nothing red, but that’s all I can tell you. I really had the briefest glimpse.’
‘Where was she in relation to the Prime Minister’s office door?’
‘She was beside it.’
‘So she could have come out of her office?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘she could. But equally, she could have been one of the Chancellor’s staff, and have come out of his room.’
‘The Chancellor wasn’t there, so that’s less likely. Mr Brady, you told me yesterday afternoon that you didn’t recognise the woman, but was she completely unfamiliar to you?’
He sighed, frowning. He closed his eyes, imagining. ‘I suppose,’ he ventured, ‘I might have seen her before, but I’ve seen most people in this place. I’ve been an MP for twenty-five years.’
‘Do you know Ms Repton’s PPS?’ I asked.
‘Doctor woman?’ he asked. ‘Remind me. What’s her name?’
‘Michaela Satchell.’
‘I know her,’ he admitted, ‘but she’s not someone I see very often in the Commons. Ministers’ PPSs are dogsbodies, Mr Skinner, like a senior officer’s batman in the forces. They’re unpaid, doing the job because it’s on the ladder, albeit the lowest rung. They scurry around in the background, but stick to their own side of the House.’
‘The woman you saw,’ I asked him, bluntly, ‘could that have been Dr Satchell?’
Merlin Brady shook his head. ‘I know how important this is, Mr Skinner, and I would really like to help you . . . if only to help persuade you to join my team . . . but honestly, I cannot say yes, and I cannot say no. I have no idea who she was.’
I gave up the fight. ‘Okay,’ I sighed. ‘Thanks for trying.’ I turned towards the door, then paused. ‘I’ll get back to you on the other thing.’
He smiled again. ‘But don’t build my hopes up?’
‘Something like that.’
‘He knows,’ Neil exclaimed as soon as we were outside. ‘He knows that this is a murder investigation, doesn’t he? Even though we didn’t say so.’
‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘I told him yesterday that she’d been attacked. At the time I didn’t see it as a risk, and I’ve been proved right.’
‘Just as bloody well!’ he exclaimed. ‘He didn’t strike me as a Lothario,’ he murmur
ed. ‘He didn’t strike me as anything, truth be told. He’s just an ordinary-looking bloke; how he got to lead his party defeats me.’
‘It defeats most people.’
‘What the hell can a wolf like Siuriña Kramer see in him?’
‘Loneliness,’ I replied. ‘It emanates from him; inside he’s a shy man who just wants to be liked. My suspicion is that she realised it from the start, and latched on to him. Even though he was a backbencher when it began, he’d been around for a long time. And even though he wasn’t seen as a leader then, he had influence.’
‘Poor sod,’ Neil murmured. ‘Now that she’s the Prime Minister’s wife, she won’t need him any longer.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
‘It’s a pity he couldn’t help us identify the woman in the corridor.’
‘He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no. Let’s busk it and confront Satchell; see how she reacts.’
‘How do we find her?’
I’d been wondering that. Satchell’s world had been turned upside down in the previous few hours. Her personal power base had gone; there was no point in trying Downing Street, or even Norman Hamblin. She was just another . . .
‘We page her,’ I exclaimed, remembering something I’d seen happen while I was waiting for Aileen. ‘Simple as that.’
We walked back to the Central Lobby and straight up to the reception point. I could see the corridor that leads into the Commons chamber; the doors were open and there was someone in the Speaker’s chair, but with very few people to keep in order, as far as I could see.
There were two men on duty, bright eyed and eager to please. ‘Yes, gentlemen,’ one of them said as we approached. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Will you call Dr Michaela Satchell MP, please?’ Neil replied.
‘Certainly, sir. And you are?’
‘Constituents,’ I shot back. ‘She’s expecting us.’
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