by Gwyn GB
In those months that followed his death, she made up her mind to live for them both. She'd had no idea of a career path, Christopher had been the ambitious one, so she took his. She would be the one to follow in her father's footsteps and become a police officer. She stopped being lazy and she started competing at sports. Claire tried to pick up where her brother left off.
When the grief got too much she went into his bedroom to be around him. She opened his wardrobe and she looked at his favourite t-shirts in the drawer. She didn't dare borrow anything, wear it against her skin to keep him close, for fear their father would see it and get angry; or her mother get upset finding it in the wash basket. She touched the sports trophies on his shelf and willed the strength which had achieved them to enter her. She lay on his bed, trying to drink in his essence and she closed her eyes imagining him wrapping his arms around her and them becoming one.
His bedroom stayed as he'd left it. She kept visiting and finding peace, until his clothes became child's size and his scent completely disappeared.
12
Claire, Monday 6th November 2017, London
Claire stopped off at one of the M & S Simply Food stores before work. She couldn't face another fast food meal and her trouser waist line felt a little tight this morning. She'd been craving something fresh and light after yesterday's burger, so she picked herself up a Caesar salad and a pack of melon slices. She headed past the shelves of newspapers on the way to the tills and took a quick look to see if their case had made the front pages.
As she looked, her dad’s conversation last night came back to her. The Queen's bad luck was their result. She'd pushed the snake murder story off the front pages. The Daily Mail screamed 'Queen Dragged into £10m Offshore Tax Row' and the Times, 'Queen invested millions in offshore tax haven'. Claire took a quick look, but couldn't see any mention of Jersey - not yet, although she guessed it would just be a question of time.
Their case was inside. Images of the white forensics tent and the investigation team looked back at her from the pages. They'd captured her, standing talking to Bob, both of them hands in pockets as they watched the SOCO team. She'd no doubt Bob would have already seen it, a full folder of press cuttings would have arrived in his email from Julian and the Communications team. They'd read every article, just in case the journalists had discovered something they hadn't, spoken to someone they'd missed.
When she got to the office, Claire found that the pizza delivery moped had been discovered abandoned in south London. Predictably the helmet was nowhere to be seen and neither was their assailant. He'd chosen the spot well, no CCTV and so no way of checking what vehicle he’d got into and what direction he'd gone.
The team were all flat out chasing leads. Claire sat at the desk opposite Lew again. He was glued to the phone, concentrating, but managed a nod in greeting. To his right was DS Tom Knight who was looking more like a creased-faced tired puppy with bags under his eyes.
'You alright Tom?' Claire asked, wondering if maybe he was ill.
'Getting there,' he replied, but there was none of his usual energy.
Tom got up to take some paperwork across the room just as Lew finished his phone call.
'Is Tom alright?' Claire asked Lew quietly, 'he looks absolutely wiped out.'
Lew laughed, 'that's new fatherhood for you.'
'Tom's a dad? He doesn't look old enough!' Claire was shocked.
'Looks can be deceiving DI Falle, Lew smiled, 'They had twins three weeks ago, he should be on paternity leave but this case has got in the way - although to be honest I think he's relieved. Not so sure Lucy is happy about it though. She's getting her revenge, the mother-in-law is coming to stay to help.'
'My God, twins, I couldn't even begin to imagine,' said Claire, her mind flitting back to the conversation she'd had with Jack yesterday. 'Did you know that Lara's pregnant? Jack says they're getting married.'
Lew nodded his head. 'Yeah, he invited me over for drinks. That's great news for them both. You OK?' He looked at her, concern on his face.
'Oh yeah. Yes. Absolutely. Really pleased for them both.' Claire nodded vigorously and then wondered if she'd over done it.
Lew smiled reassuringly at her and bent his head back down to his screen. Claire did the same, that was enough gossiping for one day.
The snake man had come good with a description and their artist was able to recreate an idea of the man who had visited his shop several weeks before. Of course there was no guarantee he was the killer, but his mugshot made it up onto the board as a possible suspect. No other forensics were found in the Land Rover which crashed into his shop and although snake man was delighted to have one pair of cobras returned, he expressed his real concern for the other two. So did Bob and the rest of the team who had to not only fret that another murder was impending, but also endure the newspaper headlines: 'Snake bite killer slips away' or, one tabloid which never let the facts get in the way of a good headline, 'Cops rattled by snake killer' with a picture of a rattle snake, not a cobra.
The story travelled globally and Bob and the team could only keep plugging away, knowing full well whoever had arranged David Lyle's murder, was getting exactly the attention they'd wanted.
Jersey police were more than willing to co-operate and Claire was being picked up from the airport. They did confirm however, that David Lyle wasn't on their radar. There was a big link somewhere that they hadn't yet found and the more they looked at the case and David Lyle's life, the more the whole team became convinced the answers lay in Jersey.
Bob was toying with the idea of sending another officer over with Claire, but as the Jersey force were being more than accommodating and promised their full support, he decided to leave it to them and to Claire as they knew the Island, and most importantly, the Islanders, the best.
Just before Claire left for the airport they traced the money. Not surprisingly, for an accountant, he'd hidden it well. Eventually, thanks to some detailed transactional tracing, they discovered a bank account controlled by David Lyle containing just over one million pounds.
'Alice Lyle said Jersey had been expensive, she gave that as one of the reasons why they'd left, although she also said David wanted to come back to the UK.' Claire said to the assembled team.
'So was he stealing money from someone, or being paid for a job or to keep his mouth shut? We need to know exactly who David Lyle associated with in Jersey so the quicker you get over there the better.' Bob said to her.
She took the hint.
It took longer to board the flight to Jersey than it did to fly there. No sooner were they up in the air and the drinks served to those who wanted them, than they were preparing for descent. They flew over a blue/grey sea, not as sparkling and bright as summertime, but still a more pleasant colour than the murky brown of the north sea. Jersey sits, protected by the arms of France's Bay of Mont Saint-Michel, the most southerly British soil, and thus generally, the warmest.
As they descended, the granite rock of Jersey appeared in the plane windows and they flew over long sandy beaches, farms, houses, and countless swimming pools, some glinting as they passed, others covered for the winter ahead. Claire was coming home, but it was with some trepidation. Dealing with the emotions her parents engendered was something she wasn't looking forward to, especially as she needed to concentrate. As they thumped down on the short Jersey runway, she felt the warm familiarity of the island envelop her. Perhaps it boded well, perhaps it could help her solve this case. Get her career back on track.
13
Anonymous, Monday 6th November 2017, Jersey
The pool cover was smothered in leaves and the gardener had been using one of those leaf blowers, sending them spiralling up into the air and back onto pool-side, before corralling them into the corner of the garden. She always thought those blowers were the lazy man's way of raking leaves, but she guessed they worked.
This morning her mind was elsewhere. The phone call she'd received just minutes ago told her he'd foun
d out where and when David Lyle was meeting but just not who. Who else knew? Who else was willing to risk everything by being greedy or just downright nosy?
The weak winter sun made the pool's white marble surround glint a little, reminding her of the summer just passed and not yet forgotten by months of cold, wet, windy weather. The marble busts, which adorned each corner of the pool area, watched over the gardener disdainfully. Soon she would be away from here, somewhere the sun always shone, and she could lie by a pool every day.
14
Claire, Tuesday 7th November 2017, Jersey
Since she’d arrived in Jersey yesterday afternoon, everything had been a blur. Claire was picked up from the airport and taken straight to the new police headquarters, on the east side of St Helier. She'd been swiftly introduced to the team who were going to support her and she’d told them all she knew about the David Lyle case. They'd briefed each other about what was likely to happen tomorrow and how they were going to deal with it.
Jersey didn't deploy its armed police too often, but the Trojan 1 unit had received its permissions from Gold Commander and was preparing its weapons. A mix of semi-automatic Heckler & Koch MP5s were being deployed, along with longer range sniper-style Accuri International rifles. With a potential hitman in attendance they weren't going to take any chances with public safety.
Standing in the small canteen at Jersey Police headquarters, looking across rooftops to the sea at Havre des Pas, Claire felt completely removed from the London murder scene she was investigating. It always felt safe here, crime was low - that was one of the reasons she'd chosen to join the Met. It would be strange to think that the cause and source of one of the most bizarre murders she'd ever dealt with, should be found in her home island of Jersey.
There was one final briefing of the back-up team before they left. Ten eager officers were gathered in the small room off the canteen to look at the plan of the Charing Cross area and take their orders. It was broad daylight in a busy street with CCTV everywhere, it was unlikely the hitman would strike, but you never knew. The adrenaline was palpable.
Claire was taken downstairs to the basement car park where she and Jersey's senior Serious Crimes Unit officers got into an unmarked car and headed into town. Trojan 1 was already in position, scoping potential sniper points and ready to shoot should the order be given. Snake man's photofit had been shared around and committed to memory. If he was their killer, there were over fifteen officers all ready to swoop.
Once she got there, Claire bought a copy of the Jersey Evening Post newspaper and sat herself down on one of the individual wooden benches facing the toad, and with a good view of the circular bench which dominated the area. Sat here, she wouldn’t look out of place reading the paper. The headline, "Apple moved billions to 'tax haven' Jersey" confirmed the Island's worst fears, that it had been dragged into the Appleby leak. Claire had missed the Panorama programme last night, but her parents mentioned it at breakfast.
The statue of the toad stood around nine feet tall, a large column with engraved writing and on top a very large toad, staring up the high street. He was pride of place at an intersection, two roads - one now pedestrianised, converged and split again - four possible arrival and escape routes. Added to this the various alleyways and backstreets all around; the building site on her left, where a new Premier Inn was being developed, and it was a difficult area to monitor.
Claire hoped it would be obvious that someone was waiting for David - but that was assuming that whoever he'd been meeting hadn't already heard that he was dead. They had so far managed to keep his name out of the media, but they'd no idea what they were dealing with and how many people might be involved.
At five to one, Claire took the umpteenth stock of who was hanging around the area. There were two young women, one with a pushchair - they looked eastern European; a young man, suited and smoking - probably out on his fag break, and an elderly woman sitting watching the world go by on the other wooden bench. Sitting in front of Claire was another woman, middle aged, eating a sandwich and scrolling through Facebook. People walked all around them. They were lucky that because it was November, there weren't too many sat around so someone waiting would stick out. Claire pulled her coat around her, it wasn’t that cold, not like the Novembers she remembered as a child, but if she sat for too long the cold would sink into her and slow her response rate.
Suddenly Claire's ear piece fired up.
'Man in jeans and a leather jacket Sand Street side. He looks like he's searching for someone, not just walking into town.'
Claire waited for the man to come around and into her view. She didn't want to swing round and stare. There he was, wiry, nervous looking with thinning brown hair. Could this be who David was expecting?
The man stopped and looked around. Claire's muscles twitched. He looked down at his phone, then searched again. Was he looking for David? Then his face broke into a smile and as she followed his gaze, Claire saw a woman walking towards him from King Street. They embraced and walked off chatting.
Claire breathed. Her heart was running at a faster rate than its usual resting rhythm but she was trying to look relaxed, reading the latest business news - an office worker on her lunch break.
Then she saw her. For a few seconds the familiarity didn't register. The woman was driving, she turned her face, briefly, pausing at the pedestrian crossing, but she didn't see Claire. Claire was back where she’d grown up, she expected to see faces she recognised, but her mind cut back to London two nights ago - Rachel's face on her board. It was her. It looked just like her, driving right past in a blue Ford Focus hire car.
Claire jumped up dropping the newspaper onto the floor. She needed to follow the car, see if it really was Rachel. Get the registration plate. A large Jeep travelling behind had blocked her view.
'DI Falle what's the matter. Have you seen someone?' the voice in her ear again.
What should she do, what should she tell them? Each second she hesitated the car with Rachel travelled further away. She took a few steps in pursuit.
'Terry Morgan has just turned up. Looks like he's waiting for someone. DI Falle, do we need to move now? Please indicate if you have seen something or someone suspicious. Terry Morgan is currently on our radar as part of another investigation - he could be who David Lyle was meeting.'
Claire looked across the street, one of the SCU officers was leaning against a shop window, watching her, waiting for a signal. He was searching for some indication as to what she was doing or had seen. She looked again at the car disappearing up towards the hospital, and snapped back. She had completely missed this Terry Morgan arrive and Bob's words rang in her ears. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run after the car, but her head over-ruled. She forced Rachel out of her mind, smoothed down her trousers, made out as though she had just stood up to stretch her legs, and sat back down again, picking the paper up from the floor.
The man her Jersey colleague was referring to, had gone to stand under the toad. He was casting his eyes up and down and all around. It was obvious he was there waiting for someone.
Claire watched him from her vantage point. He was a man with money, she could tell that from his clothes. He was casually expensive, not suited, neatly groomed. New money, not sophisticated old. He could just be waiting for a date, but she didn't think so. His eyes were focusing mainly on men, only occasionally straying when a pretty young woman walked by. They'd soon know if it was him because his meeting wouldn’t turn up. If it was him, they needed to keep a close eye out. Now could be the moment that he becomes the killer's next victim.
At ten past, he looked at his watch again and scrubbed at his chin. He was getting agitated. Impatient. Every instinct in Claire's body told her this was their man. There was nobody else around the area who looked like they were waiting for a dead accountant to turn up. Everyone was either rushing around on their lunch hour or stood catching up with someone. Terry Morgan checked his watch once again and then kicked his heel
s and started to walk away, Claire gave the signal.
She walked fast, blocking his path.
'Are you here to meet David Lyle?'
His face looked shocked.
'How... who?'
'Police, I'd like you to come with me please.'
The unmarked police van drew up alongside them, and two officers helped bundle Terry inside. It was all over and done within seconds so that the busy lunchtime crowds barely even noticed anything had happened.
Across the road in the Simple Simons' cafe, someone had noticed. He'd watched everything unfold, seen the man arrive, wait and be taken away. He'd taken photographs. His employer would know who he was. Then he'd just have one more job to do and he'd be done and away.
15
Claire, Tuesday 7th November 2017, Jersey
Terry Morgan was shocked, to say the least, when he heard about the unfortunate end of David Lyle. Back at Jersey police headquarters, Claire had him settled in one of the brand new interview rooms. The white walls and white plastic benches couldn't quite dispel the claustrophobic containment of the small room, but the effect was to at least make it bright despite the lack of any natural light. They both had hot cups of tea steaming between them and despite his confidence and distinct undertone of arrogance, Terry Morgan was clearly rattled.
'He called me, said he wanted to meet up. I thought he was just back in the island for business or something and wanted a catch up.'
'How do you know David Lyle?'
'Business. He did my accounts. It went both ways. I trade shares, he also had clients who wanted to invest and sometimes he dabbled himself.'
'Can you tell me if you know any reason why someone would want David Lyle dead?' Claire cut to the chase. She watched as Terry Morgan's eyes left hers.