by Mark Arundel
Uncertain of the reason for the unwanted delay she lowered her window and waited for the approaching police officer. Watching him, she saw the man’s gait was heavy and his legs slightly bowed. Traffic cops spent hours at a time sitting in their vehicles. His partner had not gotten out. Charlotte wondered why he too did not take the opportunity to stretch his legs.
‘Good evening, officer,’ Charlotte said in both a polite and concerned way that remained the correct side of respectful.
‘Good evening, madam,’ the officer replied with his expression set hard in an authoritative grimace. Was “madam” the way traffic cops addressed women of Charlotte’s age driving alone after dark? His torch beam searched the car’s interior and ran briefly over Charlotte’s body and across her face. ‘I’ve stopped you because you were exceeding the speed limit.’
‘Was I, officer? I’m very sorry.’
‘Can I see your driving licence, madam?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Charlotte switched on the interior roof light, turned away to the passenger seat and opened her handbag. She immediately found the calfskin document wallet and noticed at the bottom of her bag the semi-automatic compact pistol. It was her officially issued weapon, legally registered and licensed. She had only ever fired it during the training course several years earlier.
Charlotte turned back and handed the officer her driving licence. He held it up in the torch beam and studied it carefully.
‘Please confirm your name and date of birth,’ he said. Charlotte told him her full name and birth date. They matched those of the licence. The officer passed back the document. ‘Where are you driving to?’ he asked.
‘...St. James’s Square,’ Charlotte replied.
‘...and where have you come from?’
‘...Pimlico,’ she said.
Then the police officer leant nearer and studied Charlotte’s face. ‘Have you recently consumed an alcoholic drink?’ he asked.
‘No, officer, I have not,’ she lied assertively.
‘I’m sorry, madam, but I believe you might be driving having consumed a higher than the legal amount of alcohol. Please switch off the engine and pass me the keys while I test you for alcohol intake.’
Charlotte studied the police officer’s face. It was dark and shadowy behind the torch beam. His eyes were serious and professional. She saw it was pointless trying to dissuade him. ‘Please, madam, do as I say.’
‘Yes, of course, officer.’ This was the last thing Charlotte needed. She switched off the engine and passed over the keys. He took them and put them in a tunic pocket. She turned, leant down and opened her handbag. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked forcefully. She turned back surprised by his apparent concern.
‘I’m going to make a phone call,’ she explained.
‘That can wait,’ he said strongly. ‘Let’s do the breath test first. It only takes a second.’ The device was in his hand. He already had it. He must have brought it with him from the car. Charlotte did not think anything of it. Why would she?
He held it up for her. Charlotte took a deep breath as instructed and blew long into the plastic tube. The police officer waited for the reading to register. Charlotte waited too.
‘It’s forty,’ he said and held it up for Charlotte to see. He seemed odd. It was almost as if he was relieved.
‘What’s the legal limit?’ Charlotte asked.
‘The legal limit is thirty-five,’ he replied with a stony face. ‘I want you to give a second reading.’ Charlotte had to repeat the process. ‘This one is also forty,’ he said.
‘Can I make that phone call now?’
‘No. You can make it at the station.’
‘...the station? Forty is not much over thirty-five. I’m not drunk. Surely, you can let me go with just a warning.’
‘I’m sorry, madam, but forty is where we start prosecuting. You’re going to have to come with me to the station and provide a blood or urine sample.’
‘I’m late for an important meeting,’ Charlotte said. ‘Please let me off with a warning.’
‘I can’t do that. I’m sorry, madam. After you’ve given a sample we may decide then not to prosecute, but we can only do that at the station.’
‘Which police station are you taking me to?’ Charlotte asked. For a slight moment, the police officer hesitated.
‘...Strand and Whitehall,’ he said boldly. ‘It’s close by. You’ll come with me in the police car. I’ll get my colleague to drive your car.’
Charlotte considered her options. Without the police officer conceding his position, a visit to Strand and Whitehall police station was unavoidable. However, once there and after making a phone call Charlotte would not have any further problems. The sooner she made the phone call the better.
‘I’ll just make that call,’ she said.
‘No,’ the police officer said forcefully. ‘We must clear the road.’ The blue light was making the passing traffic slow, which had caused a tailback. ‘As I said, you can make your phone call from the station. That’s how it has to be. Please step out of the car, Miss Miller and follow me to the police car.’ To Charlotte, the police officer’s shadowy face seemed agitated. There was an occasional anxious frown that she found difficult to explain. Surely, he was used to this situation. He must have experienced it many times before. Why was he uneasy?
Tightly holding her handbag Charlotte stepped away from the open driver’s door. The early evening traffic streamed by. A double-decker bus loomed above Charlotte’s head with brightly lit windows that glowed yellow in her eyes and the faces of the passengers stared with indifference at the unexciting police incident below. For a second, a brief horn blast became the loudest sound and then the monotonous rumble of slow moving city traffic resumed.
‘This way, madam,’ the police officer said and then guided Charlotte safely between the vehicles. At the police car, he opened the passenger door and leant in. Charlotte listened to him tell his partner the situation and then saw him pass over her car keys. The second police officer got out. He was a tall man with long arms and a smooth face darkened by five o’clock shadow. He briefly stared at Charlotte. He had small eyes, she thought, like full stops on velour writing paper.
‘Get in please, madam,’ the police officer said. Charlotte ducked her head and eased onto the seat. The door shut with a heavy clunk and Charlotte automatically fitted the seatbelt. She watched the brawny police officer hurry round to the driver’s side and get in. He switched off the flashing blue light, indicated and then waited for a gap in the traffic. Behind, the indicator on Charlotte’s car was also flashing. Charlotte held her handbag on her lap and fought the annoyance that she felt.
Inside Charlotte’s car, the second police officer watched carefully for space so he could pull out and follow his colleague in the police car. He raised the phone to his ear and listened to the ringing. A man answered the call.
29
FRIDAY, 17:59—18:06
Xing stood up first. Her reactions were like a Newtonian law of motion. She was first. She was always first. The ring from the doorbell faded out and already she had one foot in the hallway.
‘Just as we planned,’ she murmured while her eyes questioning mine for compliance. I nodded. Xing pointed Meriwether to the seat by the fire. I held the Taser together with the baton and moved over to the door. The plan was neither cunning nor practised, but it was all we had.
Xing hurried along the hallway to the front door and peered through the spy hole. She turned away from the door and rushed back to me. Her urgency told me we already had a problem.
‘There are two of them,’ she whispered, ‘both men, both wearing suits.’
‘Use the security chain and ask them what they want,’ I whispered back. She hurriedly returned to the door. It was unnecessary for me to tell her to be careful so I kept silent.
Xing unlocked the door with the chain secured and looked through the narrow opening. I had moved closer so I could hear what the two men said. It was like
ly they would assume Xing was a domestic servant of some kind. Men on the sanctioned termination roster were just as likely as most to rush to judgment. At least I hoped they were.
‘How can I help you?’ Xing asked shyly. She was playing her role well.
‘Good evening, miss,’ replied one of the men. His voice sounded formal and serious. I turned to find Meriwether standing at my shoulder.
‘There are two men and not just one as you predicted,’ I told him in a whisper.
‘They must think I’ve got more fight in me than I do,’ he murmured back finding pleasure in the observation.
‘Go back to your seat,’ I said without much conviction. He remained where he was.
‘We’re police officers, miss,’ the man said from behind the heavy door. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Harris and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Bates.’
‘Are they real policemen?’ I asked in my lowest voice. Meriwether raised his eyebrows and then shook his head.
‘No, of course, they’re not,’ he murmured. He seemed surprised by my question.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
Xing’s eye line lowered. She studied something and then looked up again.
‘They have identification,’ I said.
‘They have fake identification,’ Meriwether replied.
‘We’re hoping to see Mr. Bartholomew Meriwether,’ the police officer said. ‘Is he at home?’
‘What is the nature of your business with Mr. Meriwether?’ Xing asked primly. I wondered whether she had ever taken acting lessons.
‘To kill him,’ whispered Meriwether dryly.
‘We want to ask him some questions,’ the man said. ‘It’s a private matter, miss.’
‘One moment,’ Xing said and then shut the door on them. She came hurriedly over. The three of us stood together in the hallway like an American football team with our heads bowed and shoulders huddled.
‘They look genuine and so do the identifications.’ Xing said. ‘How can we be sure?’ It was a good question. We both looked at Meriwether.
‘Fine,’ he said, ‘but I can assure you they are not real police officers and while you two are busy being nice they’ll be busy working out how to kill me.’
‘We’re not going to let them kill you,’ I said. Xing remained silent. ‘Are we?’
‘No,’ Xing said, ‘probably not.’ Her dry wit reminded me of our recent time together in Macau. Her soul, if she had one, was black like the void of infinity. Deadpan comedy delivered with consummate ease. Meriwether smiled. I had not seen the smile before. It made him look like a man whose friends had erected gallows and were now leading him towards them.
‘All right,’ I said, ‘we’ll follow Xing’s original plan and take them down, but if they turn out to be real policemen then you’re doing the explaining.’ Meriwether smiled again, but this time, with greater enthusiasm.
‘Agreed,’ he said.
‘Xing, can you take the second man if I Taser the first?’ She met my question with a silent expression that conveyed the needlessness of an answer. ‘Without killing him,’ I qualified. The smooth expression changed to a frown and then a nod of confirmation. ‘All right, let’s do it.’
Meriwether returned to his seat by the fire. I moved inside the doorway and Xing went back to the front door and the two waiting men. Now out of sight, I listened. Meriwether listened too. We heard Xing open the door and allow both men to enter.
‘Mr. Meriwether will see you in the drawing room,’ Xing said. ‘It’s this way.’ I heard footfalls along the hallway and prepared myself with the Taser. Meriwether sat quite still and watched the doorway.
Xing stopped outside. ‘Please, go through,’ she said. I waited. The door swung fully inwards and I was entirely covered. I raised the Taser in both hands and pointed it ahead.
The first man appeared inside the room. Sitting for a long period had left his suit jacket badly creased and the intense glow from the chandelier above his cropped, sandy hair lit up his presence like an entering stage actor. His broad back presented an easy target. The seated Meriwether held the man’s focus and made his speed across the thick carpet respectfully slow.
For a brief moment, I wondered whether he was a police officer or an assassin and then I fired the Taser. It was just as the second man entered my line of vision. His suit jacket was crease free and his dense, curly hair repelled the chandelier light with ease. His freer gait and longer strides together with the angle of my location positioned his swinging arm in the line of fire. My aim was true and the Taser seemed to shoot straight, but somehow it struck the moving jacket sleeve. It was only a glancing blow but even so, it was enough to alter the outcome. Instead of both the darts striking the first man’s back where I had aimed, one of the darts flew past his shoulder. Without both the electrodes connected neuromuscular incapacitation failed to materialise. Instead of having one man down, I had two men both of whom were now fully aware of my presence and both extremely mobile. The realisation they were under attack was immediate and it caused them to undertake a rapid reassessment of the situation. If danger can alter the physical laws of time and motion, it happened then. Everything moved very fast.
Both men were turned and both sets of eyes were on me. The second man was nearest. Beneath the chandelier, I could clearly see his features. His thick eyebrows had merged with his dark eyes in a scowling frown through which he emitted his instinctive dislike. He arched his back and threw his right hand inside his open jacket. He was going for his gun. I dropped the Taser and extended the baton while I stepped forward away from the door. It was then that I saw Xing. She had entered to my right.
The man’s hand reappeared from inside his jacket and I saw the black pistol. It was a Glock 17, which is a light, accurate weapon and one I knew professionals often favoured. It was obvious to me now that they were certainly not genuine British police officers.
I raised the baton and swung sharply. The man had anticipated the strike and skilfully pulled his arm clear. I had to put the pistol out of action or at least out of his action. I rushed forward, grasped the man’s raised wrist and jabbed the baton at his stomach. He used my own momentum to step backwards and evade the attack. It told me something that was not pleasing. It told me the man had had expert training in hand-to-hand combat.
I glanced sideways at Xing. I was rather hoping to see her pointing her own Glock pistol but her hands were empty. The first man was moving towards her. Not expecting any difficulty, he tamely raised his hands in an attempt to grasp her arms. Xing spun and kicked. She aimed for the man’s lower abdomen. The defensive speed of his hands was impressive. He blocked the kick and then adopted a much more serious and aggressive stance. It was clear that he too was skilled in close quarters combat.
Maintaining an iron grip on my opponent’s wrist, I attempted to turn his body and take him down with a judo throw. He reacted in time by widening his stance and pushing backwards. With his balance now secure, he swung his free arm in a tight punch aimed at my side below the ribcage. I blocked it, but only just and the effort in doing so caused me to drop the baton.
I had to get the pistol out of his hand. If he broke free from me while he still held the Glock, I was dead.
I glanced at the other man to see whether he too had pulled his weapon. Xing had not given him a chance. She had not let up on her attack. The man, however, was fighting hard and maintaining a resolute defence despite conceding ground. Xing was pushing fiercely and her steely expression communicated her total commitment. I suspected that she too had worked out our adversaries were definitely not Metropolitan police officers on a routine house enquiry. They were anything but.
I needed help and the help I found came from an inanimate object. The drawing room was large. Beside the closest sofa was a freestanding mahogany table, which held a lamp, a framed picture and a silver box. With all the determination of a young fly half helping a rolling maul I shoved. Every muscle in my b
ody tightened like the rope in a tug-of-war between King Kong and his bigger brother.
Although taken unawares the man kept his balance, which impressed me, but he was unable to block the force once it had started.
The back of his thighs struck the table and both he and the table went flying with me as a necessary passenger. We crashed to the floor. The thick carpeting and expensive rug protected the solid china lamp from smashing and my opponent from sustaining any serious injury. He also maintained his grip on the pistol, but I also maintained my grip on his wrist.
While I pinned his arm and the pistol hard against the carpet the man attempted to hurt me with his knee, but I was prepared. Using my whole body from my position of advantage, I held the man securely restrained on his back and did my best to punch his face. He did what all good fighters do. He dug in. By using his free arm and moving his head, he successfully evaded any meaningful impact from my whitened knuckles. This person was good.
I turned my attention to the pistol. Using all the strength available in my extended arm, hampered by the awkward purchase the position created, I lifted the man’s gun hand and bashed it back down onto the floor. His grip remained solid despite repeated attempts. I heard a crashing noise from across the room and looked over.
It was Xing and the other man fighting intensely. Pieces of broken coloured glass and pottery scattered the carpeted floor like early spring bulbs pushing up through a bed of woodland moss. The man had either thrown or knocked Xing onto a circular table to the demise of a collection of delicate ornaments. I suspected valuable delicate ornaments.