by ML Rose
Harry said, "This guy's been to Dover Castle, for some reason."
The officer straightened, and lowered the mask from his place. "Has he now? I’ve been there. Took the children, it’s great for them. Lots of history in the castle. Nice place. On a good day you can see the coast of France."
Harry's eyes widened a fraction. The coast of France?
The officer carried on. “The Dover Strait is the shortest distance from England to Calais. We stood on top of the castle ramparts, and Calais was visible. You could even see the ferries going up and down."
Harry breathed faster. Synapses were firing in his brain, neurons triggering impulses that lit up his brain circuit like a Christmas tree. "What do you know about the castle?"
"Oh, it's great guv. It’s stood there for donkeys’ years, obviously. It was also used in both the wars. They have tunnels that go right up to Dover Harbour. They were used as nuclear bunkers during the Cold War as well."
Harry reached out and gripped the man by both shoulders. The officer looked astonished. Harry's pulse was surging. "Do you know if these tunnels are still used?"
"Yes. You need tickets for them and the guide takes you down to them…
The man didn't finish his sentence. Harry rushed out of the room, barging into the unfortunate uniformed constable at the door, who slammed against the wall.
"Sorry!" Harry shouted. Then he was charging down the stairs, taking them three at a time.
CHAPTER 46
Rob and Rosslyn were shown into the spacious hallway by the caretaker. From the sweeping central staircase Rochelle Pitt descended swiftly. She literally ran across the length of the corridor. She was followed by her mother who followed at a slower pace.
"Have you found him?" Rochelle demanded. Her eyes were puffy and red. They were bursting with unshed tears. Her face was flushed and the tips of her nostrils quivered. Sandra Pitt was more composed. But the lines on her cheeks were deeper, and the bags under her eyes darker. She looked exhausted.
"Can we please go inside?" Rob said. The main door opened again and Emily Leadbetter, the family liaison officer was shown in. Rob introduced them. "Emily will stay here and help to answer any questions you might have. She will also be in direct contact with us."
"I am in direct contact with the Commissioner of the London Met," Sandra snapped. She stepped forward, her eyes blazing despite her haggard appearance. "We need some answers right now. Where is Emmanuel? And where is that stupid nanny?"
"We need to go inside, please. We need to show you evidence that has come to light. We cannot do that standing in the corridor."
Sandra walked into the side waiting room where Rob and Rosslyn had been before. When they sat down Rob explained what they had found so far. Rosslyn opened the tablet from her bag.
She selected the CCTV image that showed the photo of Greg Holdsworth in the best light. She showed it to Rochelle and Sandra. Rochelle's mouth opened in shock, then both hands covered her face. Sandra's eyes widened, then blazed at the screen. Then she glanced towards Rob.
"Where were these photos taken?"
"In Hyde Park. This afternoon. You can see the timestamp. I think it says 1:30 PM."
Sandra glanced at her watch. It was 6:30 PM now. Rob and Rosslyn were watching mother and daughter closely. Rochelle had slumped back in her seat, her hand still covering her face. Her shoulders started to shake, and she sniffed loudly. Sandra reached out for her daughter, touching her arms. Rochelle didn't respond.
Rosslyn asked, "Do you know who he is?"
"Yes," Sandra said with a stony face. "His name is Charles Gordon." Her eyes closed briefly, as her head hung down. She shook her head, unable to speak. Rochelle pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes and nose.
"I'll tell you," Rochelle said in a tremulous voice. "Charles was very briefly my boyfriend. We know his family." She glanced towards her mother, who was still staring at the carpet.
Rochelle continued. "His mother, Beatrice, worked in the same office as my mother. She was a civil servant in the foreign and Commonwealth office. We used to play together as children, our families were close."
She paused to wipe her nose.
"Beatrice passed away, when Charles was in his mid-20s. That's when he became friends with me, as we used to invite him and his father around."
Rochelle said, "But he was a strange type. Very moody and insecure. At first, I felt sorry for him." She waved a hand in the air. "We were friends as children, but I didn't know him well as an adult. I think he got worse after his mother's death. Because I sympathised with his loss, and grievance, we had a brief relationship. It was a mistake. I broke it up, and he didn't take it well."
Rob said, "Did he follow you around, or stalk you?"
Rochelle touched her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh my god. Yes, he did. Mum, tell them."
Sandra sighed, and shook her head. "We had to inform the police, and take out a restraining order. He realised soon that he might end up in jail if he kept bothering Rochelle, so he stopped."
Rob and Rosslyn glanced at each other. It all made sense now. Charles Gordon had been the person who broke into the Pitt residence, and also to Shirley Linklater's house. Then he decided to seduce Shirley, and he did it all to abduct Emmanuel.
Rob asked, "Do you know why he would want to kidnap your son? I mean, if there is a restraining order in place, then why would he risk it?"
"I don't know!" Rochelle wailed. "It's your job to find out."
Patiently, Rob asked, "When was the restraining order issued?"
Rochelle paused before speaking. "Seven years ago, I think. Yes, that's right. Two years before Emmanuel was born." Mentioning her son's name made her eyes well with tears. She dissolved into a bout of helpless crying. Emily came forward to comfort her, and so did Sandra.
Rob stood, walked a few paces away. He took out his radio and spoke quickly. "We have a positive ID. Suspect’s name is Charles Gordon."
CHAPTER 47
Harry skidded to a halt on the road when he saw David, the constable, running up to him.
"Guv, we found the white van. It matches the registration number, from the CCTV images in Hyde Park. It's a Ford rental van, five years old. It was parked on a side road, at the end of the block."
Harry had his car keys in his hand, but he paused. A thought occurred to him. He ran down to the van, accompanied by David. The uniform team had used one of their signal decoders to disarm the alarm. It was a modern vehicle, and once the alarm frequency signal was known, the van opened up automatically. A fact that all car thieves knew, and also policemen.
Harry didn't waste any time in putting on new gloves and getting inside the driver's seat of the van.
The car smelled of diesel, stale beer, and another smell he couldn't quite recognise
Harry wrenched off the boxing below the steering wheel. He found a screwdriver in the glove compartment, and used it to locate the two wires he needed. He hotwired the van, and the engine came to life.
He turned on the radio, and from the main console, he was able to get into the van's satnav. His lips parted in a smile. This is what he was looking for. Harry turned the satnav on, and went to old destinations. He zoomed through all of them, then found what he was looking for.
The car had been to an address in Ashford, Kent. Kent was also the county where Dover, the seaside town was situated. Harry kept on looking, and then he saw it. The satnav didn't give him the time or date, but the white van had been driven to Dover three times in the last month. And he found another two journeys on the Dover Ferry to Calais. It was a popular destination for tourists from England to France.
The remainder of the journeys were in and around London. He noted the car had been to Woodham today, the place where the barn was situated. Where Arla almost lost her life earlier. He breathed faster. That entry for Hyde Park was the top one on the list, making it the most recent.
Harry's chest was heaving, a pattern slowly emerging in his head. Piece
s of the jigsaw were falling in place. His phone beeped, and he checked the screen. It was Rob. He had two missed calls from Rob's as well. He answered immediately.
"Guv, we have a positive ID. Charles Gordon." In an excited voice, Rob told him about Charles. "Apparently, he likes to be called Charlie."
"I might be sitting in one of his cars right now. The white van."
Harry told Rob what he had found about the satnav destinations, and inside the apartment.
Rob was silent. Harry said, "It takes 2 to 3 hours to get down from London to Dover, right?"
"About that, yes."
"In which case, if he left at 1.30, he's been there for at least a couple of hours. What if he's bolted already?"
Rob said, "What shall we do, guv?"
"Alert the Coast Guard for any private boats leaving Dover. I'm going to speak to Johnson now, I think we need the gold command on this."
The strategic authority within the Metropolitan Police Force rested on three commands. Gold was the second highest, one below platinum. Platinum was a nationwide terrorist threat, and gold was a significant event, or a small-scale terrorist attack.
Rob hung up, and Harry rang Johnson. He explained the situation, and Johnson listened, breathing heavily down the line by the time Harry finished.
"Chances are he's in Dover already, sir."
"You don't know that," Johnson said. “He could have been to Dover for sightseeing. Lots of people do. Or, maybe he did a booze cruise like millions of others. Take the ferry to Calais, and come back in the car loaded with duty free alcohol."
"That's a possibility sir. But if he was trying to get away with a five-year-old boy, what better then to escape into continental Europe?"
"The boy doesn't have any papers, right? How will he smuggle him into France?"
"I don't know," Harry said, feeling the pangs of desperation. Time was of the essence, and he didn't want to waste it in arguing with Johnson.
He said, "France has a long southerly coastline, sir. He could land anywhere in Normandy."
Johnson grunted. "For that, he needs to be a damn good sailor, and have a seaworthy boat. Does he have that?"
"I don't know sir. He definitely can't fly with the boy, not without a passport."
Johnson thought for several seconds. "Okay, I guess it makes sense. Worth checking out. But don't give up your search around London. I don't want to waste resources on a wild goose chase, when he could be hiding in plain sight somewhere else."
"Will you please let the Gold Command know? Arla is still the SIO," Harry said.
"Which reminds me. How is she?"
CHAPTER 48
Arla had her laptop on the hospital bed. She had the oxygen mask on her face, and breathed through it. The mask was small, and transparent, and fit snugly over her nose and mouth. The headphones rested on her ears. She stared at the laptop screen, where a Zoom conference was in progress. Dr Banerjee held the top left screen, and a microbiologist called Dr Terence Corrigan was on the screen next to him.
Dr Banerjee had done the autopsy on Natalie Chapman as a matter of urgency.
Arla said, "So, to summarise, your findings are similar to that of her ex-husband?"
Dr Banerjee nodded. He was in his office, and still in his theatre blues.
"Stephen Vaughan had damage to his heart and thrown off blood clots, which went to his brain. When the heart contracts like a bag of worms, without any control, they’re called ventricular arrhythmias. I couldn’t understand why a healthy person would suddenly get such acute arrythmias. Natalie had the same."
"So, did you reach a conclusion? And why is Dr Corrigan here?"
Dr Banerjee said, “The ventricular arrhythmias, vomiting and loss of bowel function made me think of poisoning. Toxicology didn't find anything, so I called the expert, Dr Corrigan."
Arla had already been introduced to Dr Corrigan. She asked him, "Do you have anything to share?"
Dr Corrigan was older than Dr Banerjee. He had a few wisps of silvery hair on his forehead, and he wore gold rimmed spectacles. He had a professorial air, and coughed into his fist before he spoke
"Mo called me because we are old colleagues, and I work in the London School of hygiene and tropical medicine as a poisons expert. He didn't find anything in the bloodstream or stomach, and the symptoms didn’t fit a typical poisoning. He was concerned it could be a type of synthetic poison."
Arla knew that Dr Banerjee’s first name was Mohit, and his friends called him Mo.
Arla frowned. "Is that what you think it is, a synthetic poison?"
"No, I don't."
Arla's shoulders slumped. She put a palm to her forehead. She took the mask off her face, and took a deep breath in.
"The guy who killed Dr Vaughan, and probably Natalie Chapman as well, has just kidnapped a boy. Not just any boy. He happens to be the grandson of Baroness Sandra Pitt, secretary to the Home Secretary."
The two men digested the news in silence. Arla said, “So, all the science is fascinating, but I do need you to get to the point, if you don’t mind.”
Dr Corrigan said. "I don't think it's a synthetic poison, but I do agree these two cases could be the result of another type of poisoning."
Arla sat up straight. "What do you mean?"
"There is a plant called Wolfs Blane. It goes by various names. Monk's Shade is another. The plant is called blue aconite, and its petals, roots and stem are extremely poisonous to human beings. Even touching the petals can cause numbness, tingling or loss of vision."
Arla listened with her mouth open. Dr Corrigan continued.
"Blue aconite grows naturally in England. It's roots and tubers are often used as a vegetable. In fact, they grow naturally all over the world. The roots, which look like sweet potato, are often used in Chinese soups. There have been cases of whole families falling ill and some unfortunately dying after consuming the soup."
He paused to let his words sink in before continuing. "Aconite kills by causing sudden arrythmias which can cause the heart to stop. It can also cause vomiting, heavy breathing, loss of vision. I do think what we have fits the pattern of aconite poisoning. But I know that you need proof."
"And how can we get that?" Arla asked, her voice rising a notch.
Dr Banerjee answered. “Aconite is absorbed in the stomach epithelium, which is the stomach lining. If we take a biopsy of the stomach lining, it could grow aconite. It's been sent off to Terence's lab, because he's the specialist."
Dr Corrigan nodded. "It's not every day we get stomach tissue samples that might have aconite. I have inspected the tissue, and treated it with a couple of lab reagents. I know that we are dealing with aconite. To get the exact subtype, I am waiting for some results, which will be available by tomorrow.”
Arla clutched her hands together like she was praying. She felt dizzy with excitement. “In that case, I think we have a case."
Dr Corrigan smiled. "I think you do.”
Dr Banerjee said, "Do you have any idea how they might have been poisoned?"
Arla thought back to Dr Vaughan’s dining table, and the food samples on the floor.
She said, "The victim ate that night. The blonde woman might have bought him food which was poisoned. I assume the blonde woman was Natalie Chapman, but that might not be the case now. Do we have stomach tissue samples from Natalie as well?"
Dr Banerjee said, "Yes. And Terence has them.”
Dr Corrigan said, "Both of the samples have tested positive for aconite, Inspector Baker."
Arla's mind was aflame with ideas. She bit down on her lower lip, thinking furiously.
If Natalie didn't poison Dr Vaughan, then who did?
It seemed reasonable to assume that the same person had poisoned Natalie later on.
Did this person ask Natalie to meet him in the barn? And how did he make Natalie drink, or eat the poison?
Arla's mind snapped back to the bottle of water inside Natalie's car. She didn't take a sip from it, and now she was grateful
. Lisa had put it in a specimen bag, and it was in the lab now. She had to call them immediately. Her spine tingled as a serpent of fear slithered down.
Who could this person be?
She thanked both the physicians, then turned off the conference. Her fingers danced over the keyboard, searching for aconite. She read, then picked up the phone and rang Harry.
He was literally gasping on the phone, which alarmed Arla. “Are you okay?” she asked quickly. Her eyes enlarged as she heard what Harry had discovered.
“Wait, Harry. He could just be going to Dover for a holiday, right? Like the rest of the country, en-route to France. Check the castle out on the way?”
Harry kissed his cheek, the traditional south London way to show annoyance.
“That’s what Johnson said as well. But I’m telling you, I got a feeling about this. He’s going to sail from Dover, or smuggle the boy on the ferry. Or maybe charter a private boat. Look, I don’t know how, but I strongly suspect that’s his plan. He knows there’s a manhunt for him now. What better way to escape from an island than by sea?”
Arla bit her lower lip, her mind running loops at the speed of light. Over the years, she had learnt to trust Harry’s judgement. She could see his reasoning, and Dover was also one of the most popular tourist and haulage ports in England. It might be easier for a man and boy to mingle with the crowd of sightseers.
Harry spoke again, letting her know what Johnson said. “Kent Police have been alerted. They are sending out a team to the castle as we speak.”
“It’s going to be shut now, but I guess worth a check.”
Arla continued. “Harry, did we check the bottle of water inside Natalie’s car?”
“Yes, it’s in the lab. But there was a bottle of carrot juice as well. Waiting for a result on them both.”
Breath caught in Arla’s throat. Her lunges spasmed and she went into a bout of coughing. She wiped saliva from her mouth, removing the phone.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked.