by Tony Kent
He knew that he could lose no one else.
‘Let him go.’
Michael’s voice was full of impotent, defeated rage; the words of a man whose world had been ripped away.
‘Just let the bastard go.’
With that his eyes returned to Liam’s face. He did not watch as Haversume pushed his gun into Claire’s neck, preparing to exit through a crowd of men who wanted him dead. Nor did he look up as that crowd parted, in obedience to Michael’s instructions. He did not look up at all. And so he missed the last sight that Haversume would ever see.
Haversume steeled himself to move as Liam’s men parted. It left a channel through which he and Claire could pass. He took a step towards it, but stopped at the sight of a figure who until now had stood unseen behind the crowd.
It was possibly the greatest shock of Haversume’s life. And as Dempsey pulled his trigger from thirty feet away to send a single round into the front of his skull, it was certainly the last.
Haversume was thrown backwards by the force of the bullet. He was dead long before he hit the ground.
What remained of Liam’s men watched as Dempsey strode through the channel they had opened for his victim and stopped directly over Haversume’s lifeless corpse. The hole in ‘Stanton’s’ forehead removed any doubt that the shot had done its job.
‘I told you I’d find you.’
With those words, Dempsey turned and walked away.
It was over.
EIGHTY-FIVE
It was unusual for the world’s press to cover the funeral of a mere backbencher of the British Parliament. But Anthony Haversume had come so close to being so much more. He had become the voice of the British majority, the man of the people who had stood up to the liberal elite. Haversume had challenged the weakness of the British government and in doing that he had caught the world’s attention. Or at least that was the memory.
Haversume’s message may have been false, but it had also been popular. It was a message now carried forward by Britain’s new prime minister, Jeremy Ross. And it was to Ross that every camera now turned.
The world waited to hear his views on the new dawn.
‘I stand before you today thanks to the efforts, the beliefs and the sacrifice of one man. I stand before you because Anthony Haversume, the man who deserved my position and the man Britain deserved as her leader, cannot. Anthony was taken from us by an act of the very violence he tried so hard to fight. I stand before you as a believer and as a supporter. And I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to live up to the ideals of this truly great statesman.
‘As you all know, Anthony Haversume gave up a ministerial position to languish on the back benches. He did so because he was one of us. Because he objected to the government’s capitulation to terrorism. Because he objected to its failure to support the men and women who fought and died for our ongoing security. That Anthony should have made such a sacrifice is a testament to the man’s character. But there was so much more to him than just that.
‘Anthony was, by anyone’s standards, a true one-off. Not only was he possessed of a morality and patriotism that centred his political beliefs, he was also gifted with the determination of the soldier he once was. With a mind of which we could all be envious. He was, without question, the best of us—
Dempsey hit the off button before Ross could eulogise Haversume further. The myth they were now spinning was inevitable. He knew that. But that did not mean that he needed to listen to it.
He got to his feet, walked to the door of Liam Casey’s office and stepped into the corridor. It would lead him back to the packed front rooms of the 32 Counties Bar. For now, though, Dempsey was alone. He stood for just a moment, motionless and silent. Thoughts ran through his mind. Hundreds of them. But first among them was disgust. Disgust that the establishment – terrified of what could happen if Haversume’s actions were discovered – had chosen to cover them up and allow the man to die a populist hero.
It was not worth his time or concern. Dempsey knew that. It was the way that the political world worked, and he could do nothing to change it.
Dempsey stepped through the door that marked the border between the bar’s public and private quarters. On its other side was the bustling crowd of black-clad mourners. At least a hundred. Probably a lot more. All celebrating the life of Liam Casey in a way that only the Irish could.
All around him was singing and dancing. It made Dempsey shake his head. He was bemused by how these people dealt with death. It was certainly not the English way. The dead man’s family and friends were dancing with abandon to the sound of traditional Irish music while their emotions flitted from laughter to tears and then back again. All of them ably assisted by the content of the 32 Counties’ cellar, which was being drained as the wake continued. It was perhaps a healthier approach than the stoic stiff upper lip, Dempsey thought. But still not a celebration of life that he could join. As he looked around he realised that he was not alone in this.
Michael stood behind the bar that had been his father’s and then his brother’s. Framed pictures of both were hanging on the wall behind him. His right arm was in a sling and his facial injuries were healing well. Dempsey thought that Michael looked remarkably healthy for all he had suffered.
‘Are you not joining in with the singing?’ Dempsey’s sympathy went out to the one man who had lost more than he had lost himself.
‘No. Never really been my thing.’
Michael tried to smile as he spoke, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed him. Dempsey recognised it. He had seen it often enough and he knew it would need to come out through proper mourning. This would not begin until Michael was finally alone. Until then he would need a distraction.
‘Sarah seems to have settled into it well.’
Michael followed Dempsey’s gaze. He smiled again. Wider this time. And genuine. Sarah and Anne sat at a table alone. They laughed, cried and even sang as they nursed what was left of a bottle of Irish whiskey.
‘Yeah. Those two seem to have bonded. I’m glad she’s been here for Anne.’ Michael hesitated a moment before changing the subject. ‘And back in England? How was everything?’
‘The way I said it would be. The people who need to know about Haversume know. And it’s terrified them. Too many important people jumped on his bandwagon after Trafalgar Square. The truth coming out would damage them – ruin some of them – and so they’re covering it up. The public will never know what he did.’
‘And Sarah’s role?’
‘She did as she promised, Mike. For you and for Anne. Once I explained that there were still people out there who’d worked for Haversume – including whoever killed McGale – there was no way she was going to push things further. Not if it put you at risk.’
‘You think she’ll hold that against us?’
Dempsey glanced in Sarah’s direction, then back towards Michael with a smile.
‘I don’t think there’s anything that could make her resent you. Besides, she still got to file the fake story – the cover story – instead of the real one. It might not be the perfect start for a campaigner for truth and all that sort of thing, but with an exclusive like that, her career’s made. So it’s not so bad a result.’
Michael nodded. Dempsey had warned him of how things would need to be dealt with in London to ensure Sarah’s, Anne’s and his own safety from whatever might be left of Haversume’s organisation. And he had been proved right.
Michael was just pleased that at least Sarah would benefit from the necessary lies.
It left only one question.
‘What about Turner?’
‘Time will tell,’ Dempsey replied. ‘He’s hanging on, somehow. Christ knows what he’s made of.’
‘And if he lives?’
‘If he lives he won’t be going to any court you’d recognise. They’ve got different rules for men like him. Different prisons, too.’
Michael nodded. He seemed satisfied that – dead or alive
– Turner’s crimes would not go unpunished.
‘So what about you?’ Dempsey finally asked, breaking into Michael’s thoughts. ‘What do you plan to do now?’
‘I’ll need to stay here for now,’ Michael replied. ‘Just for a short time. I need to help Anne clean up Liam’s affairs. There’s a lot of money there that she stands to inherit, but a whole lot of murk around it. Plus I want to make sure she’s OK in every other way, too. After what she’s lost.’
‘What about what you’ve lost?’ Dempsey asked. Once again his glance flicked to Sarah. ‘And what you might have gained? You can’t put your life on hold for ever.’
Michael smiled. Dempsey’s meaning might have been unspoken, but it was hardly unclear.
‘I don’t intend to,’ he replied. ‘Sarah has to go back soon, otherwise she risks losing the momentum this will give her career. And I’ve got some serious trials lined up to the end of next year. Which means we both need to get back to work.’
‘So it’s a “we” now, is it?’
‘It is for me,’ Michael replied, with a lightness in his voice as his eyes found Sarah across the room. ‘And I hope it will be for her.’
‘I don’t think you have to worry about that, Mike.’
The two men smiled at Dempsey’s words. A temporary silence fell as they both considered their meaning. Finally Michael spoke again.
‘And you? What happens to you after all this?’
‘That’s complicated.’ Dempsey’s answer was all he had thought about since his return from London. ‘They’re going to disband the DDS. It’ll be made official next week. Inevitable, I suppose, after Callum McGregor’s involvement in everything that happened.’
‘So you’re out of a job?’
‘Not exactly. It turns out that what happened has convinced the powers-that-be that a more unified approach to security and intelligence is needed. They think they need something beyond the usual domestic agencies, so they’re forming a new department that’ll be based in New York. The International Security Bureau they’re calling it. God knows if that name will stick.’
‘Do they want you?’
‘As their first recruit, yeah. And they’ve promised I’ll get to pick my own team from various agencies around the world. It seems my stock’s fairly high these days.’
‘But you’ll be based in the States?’
‘That hardly makes a difference, Mike. I’ve been based in London since joining the DDS and I’ve spent two weeks at home in all that time. Besides, the ISB’s remit is worldwide. So I could end up anywhere.’
‘Sounds like you’re planning to take it?’
‘I already have,’ Dempsey replied. ‘But that’s all for another day. Tonight I’m helping my friend mourn his brother. Now pass that whiskey and get us both a glass.’
Acknowledgements
There is an old saying: it takes a village to raise a child. It’s a cliché and it may or may not be true, but as I now sit down – still a little disbelievingly – to write the acknowledgements for my first novel, there is one thing I know: it took a village to write this book.
It was an unexpected discovery. When I began Killer Intent I foolishly believed that it was me and the page. I could not have been more wrong. The help I have received in the creation, marketing and publication of this novel has been invaluable. Without it, your hands would now be empty. The very least I can do in return is to say thank you.
First, the two women whose drive – and, at times, flat out cheerleading – kept me going. My wife, Victoria, and my mother, Elizabeth.
Mum was the first person to read Killer Intent, in bits and pieces as I wrote. She endured long phone calls, rambling questions and maybe the occasional need for some unearned praise, and through it all she gave me the reassurance and confidence I needed to keep going. Mum’s advice was insightful, her encouragement vital. She was my first editor. She was my first critic. And she was my first fan. This book is entirely hers. Thanks, Mum.
Victoria came to Killer Intent much later, at a time when my focus was back on the day job. It was Victoria’s instant enthusiasm, her support and her sheer drive that brought me back to this book. My brilliant, beautiful wife reignited my writing ambitions and pushed me to achieve publication. I would not be here without her.
The rest of my family, too, have played their part. Whether it was a detailed critique from a long-term reader of the genre (my brother Derek), the inspiration for various characters (my brothers Joe and Jimmy), sheer enthusiasm (my sister Kate) or even just a willingness to listen about the tortuous path to publication without telling me to shut up (my dad), everyone offered something and I realise how vital each ‘something’ was.
Moving from one family to another, I cannot write another word without recognising Lorne Forsyth, Jennie Condell, Pippa Crane, Angela McMahon, Anthony Keates and everyone at Elliott & Thompson for believing in an untested writer and for taking the risk to back me. The dedication and skill that Jennie and Pippa collectively brought to bear on the main edit, on the final preparation and on the publication of Killer Intent has been staggering; this is the book that it is because of them, and it is infinitely better for their attentions. Combined with the PR and marketing expertise of both Angela and Anthony, the E&T team have allowed me to jump into the deep end without fear of drowning. I could not ask for more effort, professionalism or skill from the people I have behind me.
And Lorne in particular deserves the utmost praise for championing the book you now hold and those that will follow. His extraordinary faith has changed my life.
My sincere thanks is also owed to Gill Richardson – a true champion of Killer Intent – Sarah Anderson and their incredible sales team at Simon & Schuster. I cannot thank them enough for everything they have done to make this book a success.
Next are Annalise Fard, Michael Ward and Virginie Duigon, for all of their amazing efforts in launching the hardback. They have truly gone above and beyond to give Killer Intent a start in life that was beyond my wildest dreams, and ‘thanks’ seems so woefully insufficient. And the same is true of Daniel Gedeon, whose determined support from his receipt of our first proof has been invaluable.
All of which brings me to Neil Speight, the friend whose skilled advice turned the first draft of Killer Intent from an amateur manuscript into something more. Neil spent weeks reading and editing what I foolishly thought was already a finished novel, and I realise how incredibly lucky I was for that attention. He added the finishing touches to my writing style, and his impact on every book I will ever write cannot be overstated. Killer Intent would have caught no one’s attention without Neil’s influence and advice. We each get very few true friends in life, and Neil has proved that he is one of the best.
So those are the big ones in terms of creating this novel, but of course there are many more. And so thank you to Scott Ewing, Jeremy Newell and everyone at Ewing Law for helping me to wear two hats; without their efforts and understanding it would be impossible to combine the Criminal Bar with crime writing. To my former pupil-master Craig Rush and to everyone at the Chambers of William Clegg QC, for introducing me to and educating me about the world of criminal courts and criminal lawyers that provides the backdrop for Killer Intent. To Craig again, this time for being the pedantic nuisance whose factual corrections to my earlier drafts were sometimes less than graciously received. To Lucinda Boon and to Jane Oldfield, for their character and plot suggestions that helped develop Killer Intent from draft to draft. To John Lawrence, for providing some of the inspiration – and all of the surname – for a key character. To David Charters, Clementine Rainey-Brown and Orla Constant, for the ‘Rolls-Royce’ of introductions which ultimately put me in touch with Lorne and therefore with Elliott & Thompson. And to my friends David French, Charlie Langley, Michael Epstein, Stephen Ferguson and Libby Ferguson, all of whom tried to help me achieve publication at times when – unknown to them and to me – the book was not yet ready. I truly appreciate the efforts they all mad
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And finally to the readers. Those who have read and hopefully enjoyed Killer Intent at various stages in its development. Thank you, then, to my aunt Angela Gray; my uncle Michael Gray; my father-in-law Clive Christian OBE; his partner, the lovely Frances Falconer; my brother-in-law Stef Humphries; my self-appointed big sister Jacqueline Carey; and my good friends Grant Benjamin, Carolyn Lawrence, Shauna Bush, Helen Ding and Michelle Edelson.
It’s a small village, but each and every one of you has been indispensable. Thank you all.
If you enjoyed this book, follow Tony at:
@TonyKent_Writes
First published 2018 by
Elliott and Thompson Limited
27 John Street
London WC1N 2BX
www.eandtbooks.com
epub: 978-1-78396-327-0
MOBI: 978-1-78396-328-7
Copyright © Tony Kent 2018
The Author has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this Work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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