Andrew was silent for several moments.
“Let me turn this around, Tom, and ask you a question. Do you honestly feel you can now turn away from the new regime and leave it with Latiffe – and Goody, I suppose? That’s what you need to do, and what I insist that you do. They are more than capable of taking the reins, and you will just screw up their jobs if you don’t back off.”
Tom leaned forward, but Andrew held up his hand to stop him and continued.
“And you asked about other things. I just have an uneasy feeling about your attitude towards certain elements of the NJR itself. The opening to your speech in the House – the bit about the prayers – was way over the top on the sympathy side. To be fair, you got away with it, but that could have been interpreted as an expression of doubt – wondering if it was really okay what we’d done. We can’t afford that. And then there’s this knee-jerk reaction in charging off to Alpha to see those bastards on the wire. Given what nearly happened to that chopper this morning, we could have lost the Home Secretary and the Scottish Secretary plus a couple of MPs all in the same pointless exercise. So tell me, are you having second thoughts on some of the provisions?”
“Absolutely not! And, as I said, I think that’s harsh, drawing that sort of conclusion from two minor incidents after more than three years of my unswerving pursuit of this new justice system. Here’s an example within this timeframe that you’ve chosen not to mention – my extending the provisions to hit drug dealers, and in the face of some opposition. It was on my insistence that it went through, with your backing, of course. I hardly think that points to a softening of my commitment to the over-riding principles. But …” it was Tom’s turn to raise his hand to stop Andrew jumping in, “I will admit that it will be a wrench to hand over the reins to Jonathan. However, it’s a challenge that I will meet, so you need have no worries about that. Okay?”
Andrew paused before responding.
“Whatever we decide, Tom,” he said, “I want you to be comfortable with it. So, if you’re telling me right now that you can leave Latiffe alone to manage this, then that’s great. We’ll give it a go and review it again in, say, three months. In the meantime, we won’t say anything more about it. Okay?”
Tom nodded.
“However, that’s just one option,” said Andrew, leaning forward. “But here are a couple of others I’d like you think about. Either … we detach Home and Justice again and Latiffe gets full Cabinet status, and this time Police Reform goes with Justice, rather than shared. You stay Home Secretary. And you can’t say Jonathan doesn’t deserve a full Cabinet role based on his support as a Shadow Minister.
“Or … we focus you on the current real biggy – Security and Counter Terrorism, and make you Minister of State. That would mean shunting Ruby Weller to one side, of course. I could try to get the role up-graded to Cabinet level, but frankly, I’d rather not, and I’m not sure I could anyway. That would mean a step back, but we can position that carefully. We’d say we were focussing you on where your strengths lay, ex Special Forces, wealth of practical knowledge, et cetera. We would make it absolutely clear that it’s not a question of demotion.”
“Even though it would be,” Tom said.
“Well, yes,” said Andrew, “in hierarchical terms, but not in the context of visibility or salary, if I get my way. This could, in fact, raise your profile again. You’re a campaigner, Tom; an agent for change. The NJR’s all about the status quo now; a new status quo – if that’s not a contradiction in terms – but, all the same, a maintenance job.”
Tom did not reply.
“Look, let’s leave it for now, but please think about those options. Let’s get together again in, say, ten days time – a week on Thursday – and let me have your thoughts. And, as I said, if you want to stay as we are for now, then we’ll review it after three months. Okay?”
Tom nodded and rose from his seat, taking the prime minister’s offered hand.
*
“Same again all round?” Jack asked the five people sitting with him in the Cross Keys beer garden. The large open area behind the pub was crowded with young people clustered around the dozen or so wooden tables. A number of unhealthy-looking potted plants in a variety of tubs, were dotted around between the tables, all hung with strings of lights. Music could be heard from inside in the public bar, the whole creating an unlikely party atmosphere for a Monday lunchtime.
“Yes please,” said Jason, pushing his empty pint glass across the table towards him.
“He means ‘no thanks’,” said Katey, standing up and grabbing Jason under the arms, pulling him to his feet.
Jason stretched and sighed in resignation, smiling broadly. Just nineteen and a fraction under six feet, he was slim and broad shouldered, with a handsome face which featured shining eyes and a wide smile. His hair was short and styled, but retained some of the natural curl which was his Kenyan birthright.
“We’re leaving,” said Katey. “Come on, you’re taking me to the movies.”
“I love it when you beg,” said Jason.
The others laughed.
“See you later,” said Katey, over her shoulder, as they walked away, arms around each other.
The group had met up on Monday lunchtime as usual. They were reviewing Friday’s festivities and sharing claims about the amount each of them had drunk on the night.
“Tell you what,” said Jack, “if this random sample of six is typical – consumption-wise – of the wider population, then I haven’t a clue where all the booze came from.”
“Well it can’t be truly representative, can it,” one of the two girls present pointed out, “because one of the sample wasn’t there at all.”
“Okay, Jade, sample of five,” said Jack, turning to Mickey Kadawe. “Yes, come to think of it, you haven’t come up with an excuse for not attending. Have you got an absence note or anything?”
“Now don’t try and embarrass me, Jack,” said Mickey. “You know I don’t like parties …”
The other three jeered.
“Oh no. I forgot,” said Jade.
“Come on, Mickey. I’m serious,” said Jack. “What could possibly have been more important than spending an evening with a bunch of beautiful women? Like Megan and Jade, here.”
He waved an arm towards the girls. They were similar in appearance; slim, with long blonde hair tied back in ponytails and wearing tight denim jeans and loose tops over tee shirts.
“Yes,” said Jade. “Come on, tell us.”
“Unless, of course,” put in Megan, “it was because of just one beautiful woman somewhere else.”
“Okay,” said Mickey, raising his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Guilty as charged. It wasn’t a date, though; it was someone over from Jo’burg, a friend from my mysterious past. I gave her a lift to Heathrow and her flight was delayed for a couple of hours. So I stayed with her to keep her company. It was after eleven-thirty when I got back. I was far too wasted to start boogying at that time.”
“What do you think?” Jack asked the girls. “Do we believe him?”
“Mmm…” Jade wasn’t sure.
“Slightly more believable than him not liking parties, I suppose,” said Megan.
“That settles it, then,” said Jack. “You’re off the hook, Kadawe. Just this once. So, I ask again, same all round?”
“My turn,” Jade raised her hand. “Sex equality, and all that.”
“I accept,” said Jack. “Just because I’m a rich kid, doesn’t mean I have any pride. Double whisky and lemonade, please.”
“Same here,” said Mickey. “In fact, make it a treble. Oh, and some crisps as well…”
Jade stood up.
“Okay, that’s two halves of Stella. And what would you like, Megan?”
“Orange juice, please.”
Jack and Mickey looked at each other and shrugged in mock disappointment.
“Worth a try,” said Mickey.
*
Jo had an excellent first day,
spent mostly in the company of her new boss. He had an easy charm which made her feel both relaxed and attentive as he showed her round the Centre, introduced her to her colleagues and went through the fundamentals of her new position, in particular the differences from her previous experience as an Area Detective Inspector.
“I think the biggest challenge,” he said, “will be integration with the local Forces. Everyone is aware that you people are, in effect, an elite group. As Tom Brown put it, you are to the police what the SAS is to the army, the SBS to the navy. And, like that analogy, we take only the best from the main Force.
“The big danger, of course, is in the breeding of resentment. Because where the analogy with the Special Forces breaks down is that you won’t be doing anything different from what the Area Force is doing. You are there to help, to provide additional manpower, and special qualities and skills. You’ll build respect and gain your acceptance over time, with positive contributions and excellent results. I have absolutely no doubt about that. But I think it could be rocky to start with. I think you might feel you’re piggy-in-the-middle between the law and the lawless for a while; hopefully not for long.
“One way we’ve mitigated these concerns,” he went on, “is by keeping accountability – and hence over-riding authority – with the local Area Forces. So wherever you work, anywhere in the UK, your assignment boss will be a local DCI or, more likely, Detective Super. That way, the focus – and the credit – will stay within the area.”
“And what about the blame, sir?” Jo was relaxed and confident enough to make a joke. “If things don’t go to plan.”
John laughed.
“We’ll make sure they get that as well.”
*
Tom watched the gates slowly open as Paul turned off the lane and their escort car sped away. Mags was waiting for him on the porch.
“What are you smiling at?” she said.
“I’m just happy to be coming home to the world’s sexist woman.”
“Well, I know that. But there’s something else. It’s sort of satisfied going on smug, I would say.”
“That’s an excellent description, actually. Because, after a meeting with Andrew which was full of the unexpected, including an attack on my ability to do my job, the greatest surprise of all is how little I care about what he said. I’ve been thinking about the plans we made on the rug in front of the fire in Knoydart, and wondering whether five years is too long to wait.”
Mags smiled at him. “Well, we should talk about that – but later perhaps. In the meantime, I’ve been thinking about the other things we did on the rug in front of the fire in Knoydart.”
She took his hand and led him inside.
*
Tom looked at the clock on his bedside table – 11.30 pm. He could hardly have been asleep for more than a few minutes. He gently untangled himself from Mags, trying not to disturb her.
“What’s wrong?” she said, blinking herself awake.
He swung his legs out of bed.
“Has Jack come in?”
Mags sat up. “I don’t think so.”
He got up to check, looking along the corridor towards Jack’s room. Katey’s head appeared, peering out from her own room further along and looking back towards him.
“Did you hear something?” she asked.
“I thought I did. A mobile, was it? I thought it might be Jack’s.”
“It wasn’t his phone,” said Katey. “I didn’t recognise the ring tone.”
“He’s not back, is he?” asked Tom. “I thought he was out tonight.”
Tom knocked on Jack’s door. No answer. He opened it and they both went in. There was no one there. The bed had been half-made after the previous night, but it was clear that it hadn’t been slept in since.
Mags appeared in the doorway.
“What’s going on?”
“We thought we heard a phone,” said Katey.
“Should we check downstairs?” asked Mags.
“I’ll go,” said Tom. “You two wait here in case it rings again.”
Ten minutes later he was back.
“Nothing,” he said. “Anyway, if it was a phone, it was definitely up here. I must have dreamt it.”
“It must have been something,” said Katey. “We can’t both have dreamt the same thing.”
“Well, whatever it was, there’s nothing we can do,” said Mags. “Night, Katey.” She gave their daughter a brief hug and they all went back to bed.
Tom and Mags wrapped their arms around each other and Mags was asleep again within a couple of minutes. Tom lay awake for a long time.
*
Two days later
Week 3; Wednesday, 8 April…
“No sign of life.”
The voice crackled over the radio. The Wildcat dropped low to make sure, dipping into the huge box formed by the accommodation blocks round the sides of the platform, and out of sight of the second aircraft.
“Okay to go.” The same voice, as the helicopter rose into view again, climbing vertically to hover a few hundred feet above the highest point of the fence.
The EC135 moved in below it, the winch man already descending towards the bodies on the wire. When he was level with the highest one, he signalled to the chopper which moved him laterally until he could reach the lifeless form. He slipped a harness onto the body, securing it under the arms and crotch, then unclipped a pair of heavy-duty wire-cutters from his belt and got to work.
He needed only half a dozen cuts to release him from the wire, and they swung away from the fence as the Eurocopter pulled clear and started to hoist them up. He turned his head away from the horrifying sight hanging closely in front of him, the shredded remains of the young man’s face only inches from his own. A crew man pulled the body into the helicopter and released the harness.
“You okay?”
The winch man swallowed and nodded; and set off down again.
*
“A call box! Who the hell uses a call box these days?”
“Well, apart from people who don’t have a mobile or a house phone, sir, anyone who wants to get rid of the phone afterwards. You just walk away from it,” said the DI. Today it was his turn to be sitting down watching someone pacing the room. A large man in a senior officer’s uniform.
“Yes, silly question.”
“We found the box, lifted some prints; hundreds of them, in fact. So, don’t hold your breath, sir. There’s nothing we can use.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway. It’s the message we need to focus on, not the caller.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that was very specific.”
“Yes, sir.”
They were both silent for a moment. The senior man stopped pacing and leant on the back of his chair. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully.
“Right. We’ve been very diligent with this, Harry. Very meticulous, very critical, treating with suspicion every bit of evidence as it’s come in. More so than in any normal case – and for good reasons. But that stops now, with this latest piece in the puzzle. From this moment it is a normal case and we do what we do as well as any bunch of cops anywhere. We go by the book and get a result. I want you on target two; I’ll get one of the FRTs to take target one. We’ll go early next week.”
“With respect, sir, should we wait?”
“I know what you mean, but in spite of what I’ve just said, I want one more trawl through everything we’ve got. And there’s no reason to think anything will change between now and then.”
“Very well, sir.”
They were silent again for a while.
“Have you seen the movie Journey to the Centre of the Earth?”
“Yes, sir. Brendan Fraser wasn’t it?”
“Actually I was thinking of the earlier one – end of the fifties, I think it was. James Mason and Pat Boone.” He sat down and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. “There’s a scene at the end where they’re sitting on this huge stone dish with a v
olcano under them about to erupt. Well, right now I feel exactly how they must have felt.”
The other man laughed.
“But they survived, didn’t they, sir.”
The big man across the desk smiled.
“That’s true, I suppose. But it must have been bloody hot on there before they got spewed out into the open.”
*
Week 3; Thursday, 9 April…
The climate in John Mackay’s office was very different to that of a few days ago.
“Just one question, sir. Why me?”
“Because you’re new, Jo – four days new. You’ve no history here. You might not think so, but it will be easier for you than for any of the others.”
Jo was silent for a while.
“I hope it’s not true,” she said, at last, half to herself.
“I’m one-hundred percent with you there,” said John.
Neither spoke for a full minute.
“Do we have to do it like this, though?” she asked. “I mean, given who we’re dealing with.”
“It’s because of who we’re dealing with that it’s essential we do. The MO is set out very clearly in Section 7 of the NJR Directive. And what if we didn’t? With the evidence we’ve got to date, if we subsequently fail because we didn’t follow procedure, think of the ramifications; the accusations of a cover-up. No, the best case scenario is … we do it by the book; we’ve got it wrong; there’s no case to answer.”
Jo sighed again, shaking her head.
“When, sir?”
“Five days from now. Next Tuesday. 5.00 am.”
“And the other party?”
“The same.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Five days later
Week 4; Tuesday, 14 April…
Tom was awoken by the sound of loud banging and a ringing bell. Mags was already sitting up in bed, shaking with alarm and looking at the strobing blue lights on the bedroom curtains.
Tom instinctively checked his watch, as if the disturbance might be justified by the hour it was taking place. Three minutes past five. He grabbed hold of Mags, pulling her close to him, whilst his mind raced to take in what was happening. The banging was someone knocking hard on the outer front door and the continuous ringing was the doorbell being pressed in and held. There were voices outside; he went quickly to the window, fractionally pulling back one of the curtains to look out.
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