“The prisoner, one of the rugby guys, he’s dead!”
“What do you mean he’s dead?” asked Harris.
“Not breathing dead.”
“But how?” asked Kelly, worried he had been murdered.
“No idea, we pushed his food under the door, went back a half hour later to pick it up and found him dead. Stone cold, must have died during the night,” he gasped.
“But he was completely fine last night,” objected Kelly.
“Well who knows, sometimes your time’s just up,” said Harris imparting his wisdom to the group.
Kelly looked at him quizzically. She knew sometimes people just dropped dead but it was incredibly rare and was another bizarre twist to their already baffling case.
“You’d better let the Chief know,” she said to Harris.
“You call him, he’s got a soft spot for you,” he said smiling.
Kelly instantly blushed, the over lingering looks of the pervy old Chief had not gone unnoticed.
Before she had a chance to pick up the receiver, it rang. With her hand already on it, she answered before the end of the first ring.
“Hi, I’ve got the FSS on Line One for you.”
“Thanks.” And before she pressed the flashing red light to take the call, she whispered to Harris.
“FSS!” and then hit the loudspeaker. The sergeant, realising he was finished with, left the office and closed the door behind him.
“Hi, Detective Sergeant Kelly here,” she announced after hitting the flashing button.
“Morning detective, I’m Brian Musgrave a supervisor here at FSS Huntingdon. I’ve got a couple of things here. Probably most importantly for you, we have a match between your suspect and the serial rapist. However, not with the latest victim.”
Kelly and Harris digested the information which didn’t really make sense. They’d only caught him because of the last victim. If anything matched it should have been that.
“Are you sure?”
“Until we run the tests again, yes. Unfortunately I can’t verify it with the tester…”
“Why not?” Harris butted in.
“Actually that’s the other reason for my call, it seems there’s been a terrible accident.”
Harris and Kelly could do nothing but stare at the phone in disbelief.
“John Yates one of my team seems to have fallen over in his chair and broken his neck. He’s dead.”
“Don’t touch anything, that area is a crime scene,” said Kelly quickly. That was one too many coincidences.
“But you can see the tear in the carpet where his chair must have caught…”
“Brian trust me, everything to do with this case is not as it seems.”
Another phone ringing interrupted them. Harris stood and walked across to the other desk and picked it up.
Kelly took the phone off speaker and picked up the receiver and proceeded to tell Brian exactly what to do. As she ended the call, she looked across at Harris who seemed to be just holding the phone in mid air and staring blankly at her.
“What?” she asked
“That was the hospital, all three of the rugby men died during the night!”
“But only one was critical, the other two had fractured limbs.”
“I know but all three died.”
“Holy shit!”
“And then some!!” added Harris.
After a moment or two of silence.
“What next?” asked Kelly. “What next?”
As the time neared 8.00 a.m., their fellow detectives began to arrive. Jokes about the previous day’s dropping quickly died down as they were brought up to speed as to the turn of events. The arrival of the Detective Superintendent who headed the department silenced the room. His absence on the previous day had been noted, particularly following the Chief’s involvement. If Detective Superintendent Dan Addison had not been basking in the Mediterranean sunshine with his latest conquest, he may have been slightly more prepared for what was about to hit him. Unfortunately, his flight from Malaga had not landed until 2.00 a.m. whereupon he’d gone straight home and crashed out. He hadn’t seen the news, read a paper or even listened to the radio in the previous twenty four hours. He had also ‘accidentally’ left his cell phone in the office on the Friday, so that his wife couldn’t catch him out on his ‘weekend with the boys’.
Kelly and Harris briefed him and brought him up to speed.
“Fuck! How many dead, did you say?”
“Seven and the custody sergeant is critical - less than a fifty/fifty chance,” replied Harris.
“Fuck!”
A knock on the door announced the entry of Detective Constable Ben Merrick.
“Sir, sorry to interrupt but I’ve got a Detective Inspector Newell on the phone from Newcastle. He urgently wants to talk to the officer in charge of the rape case.”
“Put him through,” replied Addison.
“Line 3, Sir,” he said before leaving the room.
As they waited for Line 3 to start flashing, all wondered what next. As it started to flash, Kelly pressed the button, instantly connecting them to DI Newell on speakerphone.
“Hi, is that DCI Harris?” asked Newel.
“Yes, you’re on speaker with Detective Superintendent Addison and Detective Sergeant Kelly.”
“Good morning,” replied Newell.
“How can we help?” asked Addison.
“If you’ll bear with me here, Sir. About two years ago, I was investigating a serial rapist who had raped six women in less than a year. Anyway one night we get a break, he’s just raped a girl and she escaped and managed to give us a good enough description in order to track him down. We went in and caught him comatose in his bed, caught him bang to rights exactly where she said. He comes round and protests his innocence, doesn’t know how he got into the room etc… you know, the usual. Anyway the last victim disappears, we don’t know where she’s gone, presume a break down or that she was a student who went home without giving us her address. He’s fingered as the serial but his DNA doesn’t match, which felt right as he just didn’t match the profile. But the CPS in their infinite wisdom reckon he must have planted the false DNA and that we should go for prosecution anyway. They use the victim’s running away as her being too scared to go to trial and before you know it, the guy’s sent down for 15 years.”
“Oh my God!” said Kelly.
“What?” asked Newell.
“You’ve not had any rapes like it in the last year have you?”
“Nope, not a one, which was beginning to make me think we did get the right guy.”
“But what you describe is exactly what’s happened here. Can you send us everything you’ve got?” said Kelly.
“Will do. Can you let me know what happens, I’ve got a young guy up here stewing in prison for what this pair have done.”
“Definitely,” replied Addison ending the call.
Silence filled the room as each worked out what the implications of the call were. It was Kelly who broke the silence first.
“The only issue we have is the DNA match. Other than that, it’s completely the same.”
“I’m willing to bet a few bob the young scientist didn’t fall. This whole thing stinks!” said Addison.
Noticing they were off their call, DC Merrick stuck his head in again.
“Sir, the Chief wants you all in his office asap and he emphasised ASAP.”
Chapter 15
The long wheel base Jaguar Sovereign swept along Whitehall, its four police outriders ensuring a quick and smooth passage through the Monday morning rush hour traffic. A right turn into Horse Guards Parade announced to anyone watching that the UK’s Secretary Of State for Defence had arrived at his office.
Receiving a nod from his bodyguard, George Cunningham stepped out of the back of the limousine and walked the few steps into the Ministry of Defence for only the second time in his life. His rise to stardom within his political party was nothing short of meteoric. MP a
t 25, Parliamentary Private Secretary to the Chancellor at 26, Minister of State for Policing, Security and Community Safety at the Home Office at 28 and four days earlier appointed into his new role at the Ministry of Defence at the tender age of 30. There was no doubt in anybody’s mind that George Cunningham would one day govern the country and the current Prime Minister was merely keeping George’s seat warm.
At 8.31 a.m., George sat at his desk and turned on his computer. His e-mail inbox showed 257 unread messages. He knew that a lot would be well wishers, wishing him well in his new job. He was amazed they even had his email, it had only been set up on Friday night but the brown nosers were a very resourceful bunch and had obviously pulled out all the stops to ensure their congratulations were the first to arrive. He scrolled through the list, firstly by name. He recognised most of them and was unsurprised to see the usual suspects. He’d let his secretary send a simple thank you on his behalf. Leaving the names, he clicked on ‘subject’ and the list immediately rearranged itself. Again, he was unsurprised as most of the 257 mails fell into either C or W, his well wishers wishing him ‘Congratulations’ or ‘Well Done’. After moving the well wishers into another folder, the number of e-mails totalled a rather more acceptable 22 unread. The first few turned out to be nothing more than department circulars that had been sent to all staff. One was from the Prime Minister, a copy of some e-mails sent to his predecessor that he had promised to forward on to him. Already knowing their content, he moved on.
Ten minutes and another 15 e-mails later, George came across his final e-mail, subject heading URGENT – DEF MIN ONLY. He chastised himself for not noticing ‘Urgent’, otherwise he would have opened this one first. He clicked on the mail and was instantly confused.
From: FSS
TO: DEF MIN
Subject: URGENT – DEF MIN ONLY
FYEO
A member of K Squad has been identified in relation to a sample being analysed in Huntingdon, the reference code for the case is 47362192. No identification can be released nor that a match occurred unless approved by Secretary of State for Defence.
Message ends.
George read the computer generated mail again and wondered what the hell it meant. He had no idea what the K Squad was nor why only he could authorise the notification that a match had been found. He pressed the buzzer on his desk.
“Yes Mr Cunningham,” chirped his secretary.
“Please call me George,” he repeated again for what seemed the 20th time. “Can you get me Tony please, asap.”
Five minutes later Tony Wilson, the Minister of State for the Armed Forces entered his office.
“Hi, Tony,” greeted George.
“Hi George, what’s up?” he asked cheerily.
“The K Squad,” replied George.
“The what? Never heard of it.”
George watched Tony closely and having known him for a few years knew he wasn’t lying. If Tony didn’t know it meant no one in the building would know. His predecessor had been clear when he left, whatever you do keep Tony on your team, he knows this place inside out, there’s no one and nothing he doesn’t know. It seemed that had been an over statement, in less than two working days he’d already caught him out. There was only one other person to call, his predecessor, the newly appointed Home Secretary.
“Hi James, how’s the new job?” asked George, having called the Home Secretary’s mobile number.
“Nightmare, place is a fucking disaster, you?”
“Nothing to do.”
Both men laughed at the compliment.
“Thanks for that, just need to work my magic here. Anyway how can I help?”
“We secure on these phones?”
“Of course.”
“What’s the K Squad?”
“I’ll call you right back,” replied James in a distinctly more serious tone.
George replaced the receiver and awaited the call back. After fifteen minutes, he began to wonder what he hell was going on and was lifting the phone to call James back when there was a knock on the door and the Home Secretary walked in.
George’s look of confusion was answered by James.
“We’ve got a meeting with the P.M. in twenty minutes. I’m not authorised to tell you what you want to know but he is. Grab your jacket, we’ll take my car.”
Chapter 16
Harris, Addison and Kelly entered the Chief Constable’s office just after 9.00 a.m. and took a seat as instructed.
“So where are we?” asked the Chief.
Kelly and Harris turned to Chief Superintendent Addison who took the lead and sitting forwards, began to update the Chief.
“Well, Sir…”
The Chief, however, had other ideas and looked across at Kelly.
“Perhaps it’s better coming from someone involved in the case, Detective Sergeant Kelly?”
“Ummm yes Sir. Of course Sir,” she said looking at Addison who sat back in his chair and subtly nodded for her to carry on.
For the next ten minutes Kelly outlined what they had discovered. The FSS match, the supposed accidental death of the scientist, the death of all the rugby fans and finally the call from Newcastle.
“Views?”
Addison, not one to be put off by the earlier rebuke, jumped in.
“We’re pretty certain we’ve got the wrong man. The only thing that really doesn’t add up is the DNA match, particularly as the one he should have matched is the only one he didn’t.”
“DCI Harris?” asked the Chief.
“I’m less convinced than my colleagues of the suspect’s innocence Sir.”
The chief’s eyebrows raised slightly as he turned away from Harris and faced Kelly.
“Kelly?”
“I believe we definitely have the wrong man Sir,” replied Kelly with conviction.
“It certainly seems that way but why the hell do we now have seven dead bodies with a central link that seems to be our suspect?” asked the chief, as he summed up.
“That’s the bit that’s got us baffled, Sir” replied Addison. “I’ve sent someone out to check the FSS death which we assume is foul play and I’ve asked the coroner for causes of death on the rugby players asap.”
“We’ve also been trying to contact the lawyer who visited last night but so far have been unable to trace the firm he allegedly represented,” added Kelly.
Before the Chief could respond, his phone rang. He lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Please hold for the Prime Minister,” came the clipped voice.
***
After visiting the hospital and dealing with his team members, Karl had driven one of the Range Rovers back to London. He had arranged to meet the Colonel the following morning at nine and approached his flat with trepidation. Karl still couldn’t believe that almost his whole team had been wiped out, three of them at his own hands, an action that would haunt him for a very long time.
As he neared the exclusive block of flats in the heart of London’s Mayfair, he checked that nobody was watching before mounting the steps and pressing the Colonel’s buzzer,
“Hello?” came the voice from the speaker.
“Hi, it’s Karl.”
“You’re early,” responded a surprised Colonel, releasing the door catch.
Karl pushed the door open and quickly mounted the four floors. Finding the Colonel’s door wide open. He walked in. The Colonel shouted from the kitchen.
“Tea or Coffee?”
“Neither, thanks,” Karl answered as he walked through to the kitchen.
The Colonel was pouring the boiling water into his cup when the bullet ripped a hole through the back of his skull and destroyed any possibility of an open casket funeral. Karl quickly left the flat, removing the silencer and pocketing his prized 9mm Korth semi-automatic.
Karl checked his watch, 9.03 a.m. just under an hour to get to Heathrow to meet the flight from Washington as instructed.
***
“You’re on
speaker phone with myself, the Home secretary and the Defence Secretary,” informed the Prime Minister.
“Good morning,” replied the Chief, wildly indicating for his guests to leave his office immediately. As the door closed behind them, the Chief continued.
“How can I help you Sir?”
“I’m calling on a matter of national security. I’m afraid I can’t go into the detail but it seems your suspect is not who you think he is and I assure you has nothing to do with the rapes.”
“We had pretty much come to that conclusion but his DNA matches the first four samples.”
“When did those rapes occur?” asked the Home Secretary.
“Over the last ten months.”
“It wasn’t him, he wasn’t in the country,” he replied firmly.
“He told us that but wouldn’t tell us where he was.”
“He can’t but I’ll vouch for him as an alibi,” offered the Home Secretary.
“As will I,” added the Prime Minister.
“I’m sure that gives you sufficient comfort to eliminate him from your enquiries,” said George, the Defence Secretary.
“Yes of course but we’ve got the incident last night. I can’t just let him go. Somebody may be trying to kill him.”
“That’s our concern and that’s why we want him in a car and on his way to us as a matter of urgency. We’ll be waiting for him at the Defence Ministry,” instructed the Home Secretary, the Chiefs ultimate boss.
“Yes Sir,” replied the Chief, confused but delighted to get the suspect the hell out of his station and constabulary.
As the call ended, he called DCI Harris and DS Kelly to his office and informed them of their trip to London.
Chapter 17
BA0292 touched down at exactly 9.47 a.m., thirteen minutes ahead of schedule. Clark had spent most of the flight sleeping. His companion, supplied by The Unit, had turned out be particularly untalkative. All he had managed to ascertain was that she was a freelancer who had carried out some assignments for The Unit before. When he had tried to find out her name she had simply said that Rosie was fine.
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