“Ah, Domenic. Wonderful to see you. You’re looking fit. Keeping well, I take it? Given up that birding business yet?” Gresham’s uncertain expression suggested he might have heard otherwise, and he switched subjects quickly. “You remember Gilo, of course.”
The man rose into an awkward half crouch to take Jejeune’s proffered hand. The palm itself was disconcertingly soft, but the grip suggested great strength. Simon Giles, Jejeune recalled, even before the man announced it in his polished public school accent. He had a stocky build with shoulders that tapered up strongly into a thick neck. A rugby player, Jejeune had suspected previously, likely a good one if his competitive streak matched the determined set of his jaw.
“Gilo will be sitting in on this one.” Gresham’s matter-offact delivery was that of a man used to making pronouncements that would go unchallenged. “No need for any of that signing nonsense, though. The inspector’s discretion has already been demonstrated,” he said turning to Giles. “Besides, if the government whistleblowers have taught us anything, bless their cotton socks, it’s that a confidentiality agreement is not worth a damn if somebody decides they’re going to spill the beans.”
Whether Giles’s sour expression was a response to the Home Secretary’s statement or to his decision to forego the formalities in Jejeune’s case, the detective couldn’t have said. But the government man seemed reluctant to share anything without a nudge from his Home Secretary.
“Gilo tells me there have been a number of unsavoury types fetching up on our shores recently. Down your patch, Domenic.” He made it sound as if Jejeune was personally responsible.
“Organized crime figures,” said Giles. “Eastern European. Major players.” The man’s clipped delivery suggested he was expecting Jejeune to be taking notes. Or at least committing the facts to memory. He needn’t have worried.
“I suppose we should be grateful that not everybody in Europe views us as a pariah state.” Gresham laughed at his own joke alone. It was a comment that might have played well in the inner sanctum of Whitehall offices, but it seemed strangely jarring out in the open like this, and Giles shifted uneasily. If Gresham sensed the man’s discomfort, he did nothing to acknowledge it.
“As Gilo says, it’s mainly the higher-level operatives,” continued Gresham blithely. “Some seriously undesirable characters, I’m told. There seems to be an established route, of sorts. By boat from the Netherlands to the north Norfolk coast.”
“There are certainly closer landing spots,” said Jejeune, “but few less populated.”
Gresham leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of single malt by the neck. “A wee dram, Domenic?” he asked, waving it at Jejeune. “Gilo here’s a teetotaller, but I seem to remember you liked the odd tipple.”
Jejeune declined, and watched Gresham as he refilled his own glass. There had always been an element of private school foppishness about the Home Secretary, but Jejeune didn’t remember the routine being developed to this degree. The kidnapping of his daughter had changed him, hollowed him out somehow. It was as if the man had lost himself and had now settled on a character to play. Jejeune waited until Gresham had set the bottle down on the tray before asking his question.
“Any particular part of Eastern Europe?”
The men’s expressions told Jejeune he had asked the right question.
“Poland. There’s a major crackdown on organized crime going on there at the moment. The Polish authorities are trying to cast as wide a net as possible, but those with resources — money, contacts — are finding ways to slip through.”
“Do you think there’s some connection between this and the case I’m investigating? Perhaps that Jakub Kowalski might have had something to do with this operation?”
“He seems to have been particularly well placed for it,” said Giles. “He had access to restricted areas, which would mean away from the eyes of the public. He had reason to be out there, even armed. No one would question him even if he set up a spotting scope and tripod to watch for their arrival. And there’s a network of local Polish émigrés to be called upon to provide assistance. For a hefty fee, I imagine.”
Jejeune digested the idea. It left a lot of unanswered questions, but there was an undeniable soundness to the reasoning. He wasn’t sure if the men were aware of Paulina Kowalski’s role in processing documentation for newly arrived immigrants, but it would have been a valuable contribution to her son’s enterprise.
“I understand you’ve been speaking to Curtis Angeren,” said Gresham with a deceptive softness Jejeune remembered from previous encounters. It was not to be underestimated. “He told you he had nothing to do with Kowalski’s death. Can I ask, Domenic, have you come across anything that makes you believe otherwise?” Gresham’s question seemed to have come from nowhere, and left Jejeune slightly wary as he searched for a connection.
Gresham turned to Giles and raised his eyebrows.
“We’ve been watching Curtis Angeren very closely for a number of months,” said Giles. “We know he put the word out that he viewed Jakub Kowalski as a problem. But we have sound information that Angeren was not involved in the man’s murder.”
The Home Secretary looked at Jejeune significantly. “Ask him where he gets this sound information, and he comes across all tongue-tied, which suggests he and his mob are up to no good, as usual,” he said, affecting irritation, but with no real malice.
“The source is reliable,” said Giles, in a tone that suggested there would be no further discussion on the matter.
“Nevertheless, if Angeren found out about Kowalski’s human smuggling operation, his threat to Kowalski takes on a new light.”
“D’you think so, Domenic?” There was lightness in Gresham’s tone that had no place in such a sober conversation. “It’s a far cry from delivering a few fiery anti-foreigner speeches in public to actually bumping a chap off.”
Kowalski had been brutally murdered, and the Home Secretary’s schoolboy idiom could do nothing to change the starkness of that fact. But the message was clear now. Another time, Jejeune might have voiced it himself, sparing the Home Secretary the ignominy of having to say it out loud. But being used as a pawn in a larger game never sat well with Jejeune, and for once he chose to use his silence uncharitably.
Gresham could see there would be no help coming and allowed himself a small sigh. “The thing is, Domenic,” he said, as if testing the words to see how they would fare out in the open, “Gilo and his mob would prefer you to give Angeren a wide berth just now.”
Giles saw Jejeune’s doubt. “Angeren has been cultivating connections to ultra-nationalist extremists up and down the country. We’re squeezing him tight, cutting off his cash flows, getting banks to lean on him. We want him to bolt to his new friends so we can roll the whole lot of them up at the same time.”
“They feel if you start stirring things up at this time, it could put him on his guard,” added Gresham unnecessarily. “After all, there’s every chance Angeren really is innocent. So if you can see the way clear to letting him slip under the radar for now, I’m sure when the time comes to grab him for this other nonsense, we could manage an honourable mensch for the good DCI here, eh Gilo?”
Giles, who had already seemingly found much to disapprove of during the conversation so far, clearly now had a new candidate for top spot. “Of course,” he said mechanically.
“In the meantime, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of other avenues to explore,” said Gresham brightly. “But if you do need somebody fitted up, Gilo’s your man.”
Gresham’s hollow laugh could not disguise the fact that the comment left a maw of awkward silence hanging in the cavernous room.
“Sir David is joking,” said Giles eventually.
“Thing is, Domenic, we need to tread lightly until we’re absolutely sure we’ve got him. Curtis Angeren is a bad enemy to make. He’s utterly ruthless, and he’s very well connected. And while those qualities may be desirable in a politician, they’re a bloody nightmare i
n a criminal.”
Jejeune shifted uneasily. Angeren was his only link to Hayes, and at this point his only way of ensuring Lindy’s safety. But Angeren still harboured hopes of news on the case. If he thought Jejeune was avoiding him, he would take his revenge by refusing to provide any further information about Hayes. Jejeune couldn’t sever the connection now.
“Angeren will be expecting the police to be looking at him for this,” he said evenly. “It’s why he came to us in the first place. As we continue to turn up new evidence, it’s inevitable we’d pay him another visit. If we don’t, it will look suspicious.”
Gresham smiled indulgently. “Still got that wonderful mind of yours, I see. However, it’s decision taken, Domenic, for the time being, at least.” Gresham’s thin smile didn’t disguise the fact that it was an order. He leaned back and considered the room.
“That’s it, Gilo. No need for you to stay for the next bit. I’m sure the taxpayer’s money can be better spent than by having you sit in on a chinwag between two old friends about the state of play.”
Gilo’s face remained impassive. He’d spent a lifetime dealing with terse dismissals from higher-ranking officials and this one wasn’t going to faze him. He stood and extended a fleshy hand to Jejeune.
“Should there be any developments at your end, you know where to reach me.”
Neither man spoke until the broad back of Simon Giles had disappeared from view.
“I’ve had intel that Caro is to be spoken to,” said Gresham without preamble.
Intel. Jejeune had imagined that it was a phrase used only by people on the periphery of such matters, who seemed to revel in such jargon. To hear it coming from a man at the very highest levels of intelligence operations was both surprising and enlightening.
“Needless to say, she’s not best pleased at having to revisit that time, but she understands the need. Rather better than her mother, who’d like me to be lopping off a few heads over all this. Understandable, of course, parents would go to any lengths to protect their child, I suppose.”
He looked at the detective for understanding. In the past, it had never been necessary to spell things out to Domenic Jejeune. Gresham suspected it wouldn’t be now.
“She’s doing well, has a wonderful little daughter. No son yet. As a grandfather, one always hopes …” Gresham gave a wan smile. “The thing is, Domenic, if Carolyn does have to go back over it all again, she’d rather it was with you, someone who was there, who can understand what she went through at the time.”
“Sir David, my own conduct during the events forms a part of the Empowered Investigator’s review. I’m not sure even having me present at an interview with your daughter would be —”
Gresham held up a hand to still Jejeune’s protests. “Don’t trouble yourself over the details, Domenic.” He flashed a mirthless smile of a kind that Jejeune was sure had signalled the end of many objections. “I’ll tell Caro it’s all set then, shall I? And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some constituency business I should be attending to. It really has been wonderful to see you again.”
Jejeune stood to leave. As he reached the door, Gresham called out to him. “Domenic, I am right in thinking there were no breaches of protocol in this one. Nothing coming out of the woodwork at us.”
“Nothing I’m aware of,” said Jejeune from the doorway.
Gresham nodded his contentment. “Caro is fine, as I say, but there are still days … there have been for all of us. Frankly, I’m not sure how well we’d cope with a major rethink. Any of us.”
Jejeune paused in the hallway, the great leather-panelled door shut behind him. It had been an uncertain performance from the Home Secretary, full of false starts and misjudgments. Jejeune could see why so many of his meetings were now scheduled off-campus like this, where his conduct would be less scrutinized. Staying on top in the political world required razor-sharp acumen, and the events surrounding his daughter’s kidnapping had taken the edge off Gresham’s finely honed skills. He was a political survivor, but he was hanging on now, no longer a rising star, destined for greatness. His time as Home Secretary was surely drawing to a close, but Jejeune wasn’t concerned about losing the support of the man who had backed his own meteoric rise through the police ranks. He was only saddened by the way crimes never stopped accumulating victims, and never stopped destroying lives.
29
There are many reasons for keeping secrets in a police station: covert operations, love affairs, deals — above board and below. There are some secrets that come from the stresses of the job: drinking, gambling, abuse of one form or another. But Danny couldn’t remember a time when so many people seemed to be carrying so many secrets at the same time.
He’d entered the Incident Room last and it seemed to give him a different perspective, as if, settled in and waiting for him, the group’s hidden concerns had been given time to percolate to the surface. DCS Shepherd, for a start, had the distracted look of someone whose troubled thoughts were a long way from this room. The eyes of Des Gill told Danny of hidden secrets there, too. Her gaze seemed to track DCI Jejeune’s every move, but the expression Maik caught in the fleeting, unguarded moments suggested it wasn’t the admiration he’d seen previously. Holland’s own stare, meanwhile, appeared increasingly to be dwelling on Gill. But again, it was not at all in the same way Danny had seen the constable look at a steady procession of other young female officers over the years.
But Shepherd seemed keen to get the meeting underway, so Maik turned his own thoughts to the matters at hand. He waited for a moment to see if DCI Jejeune was going to reprise his leadership role in the summary, but he waved Maik on from the back of the room.
“Right. We’ve received confirmation on a couple of key issues from forensics.” Maik seemed to hurry by the observation, as if perhaps he didn’t quite trust himself to venture any nearer the world of Mansfield Jones.
“Did Dr. Jones shed any light on these ducks?” asked Holland brightly.
Maik looked confused. “Is there any reason he would’ve been able to?”
“Well, he is a quack.”
“So we can now turn our attention to motive,” said Maik, as if the past few seconds had never existed. “Why don’t we start with some ideas as to exactly what Jakub Kowalski might have done that set Curtis Angeren all aquiver? Despite his claims to the contrary, a vindictive Angeren still seems about as good a suspect as we’ve got. We’re as sure as we can be he was behind the attempt to grab Kowalski’s belongings at the mother’s house.”
“I wonder,” said Shepherd. “That list: laptop, phone, digiscope, hard drive, iPad. All electronics that would fetch a fair price on the black market. Could it just be as simple as somebody trying to rob a grieving mother of a few bits and baubles?”
“The men didn’t ask for Kowalski’s binoculars. Or his ’scope and tripod,” pointed out Jejeune. “They’d be as valuable as the electronics.”
“If we’re so sure Angeren is behind it, we should bring him in,” said Holland, who apparently felt he might need to redeem himself by showing his serious side.
“We don’t have probable cause,” said Maik, “and he’s hardly likely to come in of his own accord. He’s already voluntarily offered his version of events.”
“Then we should go round there. Let him know we’re not going to stand for him pulling our chain about not remembering why he was upset with Kowalski.”
Maik inclined his head in agreement, but Shepherd stepped in. “There is a new line of inquiry, something that the inspector believes takes us away from Curtis Angeren.” She looked at Jejeune to see if he was going to tell them. But he seemed strangely reluctant, so Shepherd continued. “Jakub Kowalski may have been involved in a human smuggling operation, bringing in Polish criminals by boat from the Netherlands.”
As an observer only, it was not really Gill’s place to make contributions. But she was a serving police officer, and a detective at that, so a point of clarification surely couldn’t
hurt. “I can’t quite see why that takes you away from Angeren, sir. Surely, he’s the obvious choice now. Stopping an activity that brings in illegal immigrants, criminals at that. It’s a clear motive for a man of Angeren’s political views.”
“I agree,” said Holland. “He’s much more likely to take matters into his own hands than report Kowalski to us, where he’d see him getting a slap on the wrist and being out in a few years to start things up all over again. No doubt he’d see killing Kowalski as some twisted act of patriotism.”
“I’m told there’s no evidence Angeren knew anything about this operation.”
Holland looked at Jejeune quizzically. “Evidence is one thing, but it’s hard to believe Curtis Angeren wouldn’t be aware of an operation to bring in illegals right on his own doorstep. We can at least bring him in and ask him about it. We can have a go at him about the other stuff while he’s here.”
“What possible justification can we have for asking him to come in?” asked Jejeune.
“I don’t know,” said Holland in exasperation. “We’ll make up a reason if we have to.”
Shepherd looked up sharply at Holland. “When we bring anyone in, ever, it will be solely on the basis of evidence that exists, not on what we want to exist, or worse still, that suddenly materializes to suit our needs. There is no place at this station for anyone who thinks otherwise. Do I make myself clear?”
Maik doubted anyone in the room would have missed the point. Not in my station, she was saying. No investigations into questionable evidence are going to play out here. It was all for DC Gill’s benefit, but coming up with creative reasons to question suspects was part of many police investigations, and Shepherd’s heavy-handed response seemed over the top. Whatever burdens she was carrying around, they were taking their toll on the crisp professionalism they had come to expect from her. It was a point not lost on Holland.
“Understood, ma’am,” he said meekly. “All I’m saying is that Angeren has already put himself in the frame for this, with no help from us. I think it’d be wise to at least bring him in for a chat about this new development.”
A Tiding of Magpies Page 18