by Tom Benson
Below the tapestry stood a large map table, which was home to a large, modern map of Western Europe. Compasses and notepad were laid on top as if abandoned during the planning of a journey.
Jake nodded to the wall safe when he was joined by Annabel. “Empty, unless you count about £50,000 in hard cash. No documents.”
“Well done, Jake. Close it, please.” Annabel looked on the desk. She attached a micro-transmitter to the phone and inspected the large Captain’s Log. How detailed would Flannigan want his Captain’s cabin to be? Annabel used her new digital camera to photograph double pages going back and forward in time for four weeks each way.
She photographed the large map which was on display but didn’t disturb the measuring instruments. Everything else was tidy, and those few items could have been specially arranged, or in use.
Getting good reproductions of the framed photos would be difficult. Annabel asked Jake to note names wherever they appeared. Annabel checked her watch and proceeded to take shots of the pictures. A noise occurred somewhere in the house. The pair froze.
Annabel moved cautiously to the door, put away her camera, and pulled out the Glock. She stood outside the room, and whispered to Jake, to close and lock the study door. Another noise occurred, and it was a human cough. Annabel had been through every other door of the house. The sound was coming from the cellar.
Jake turned from the study door and tapped Annabel’s arm. When she turned to face him, Jake touched his ear. Outside, a car door slammed. Annabel checked her watch and nodded to the front door. Jake strode along the hallway, peeked out of the drapes, and dashed back indicating somebody was coming to the front door.
The pair stood close to the side door and listened. When they heard the front door lock being operated, they left through the side door. They made their way up through the trees on the recently blinded side of the house. Once among the greenery, Annabel put away her gun, and they both removed their gloves and shoe covers.
On the way back into Helensburgh, Annabel pulled into a car park near a public toilet. She lifted a bag from the boot and told Jake to stay put.
When Annabel came out of the small building a few minutes later, she turned on the footpath and walked towards the car, carrying the bag with the bright green logo.
Annabel strode towards the car, head held high, and her hair lifting from her shoulders as she walked. The white T-shirt and faded jeans were incredible on her. The high heels carried her along as if she was on a catwalk, and the designer shades prevented anyone seeing her eyes. She threw the bag in and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Jake said, “You are awesome.”
She turned and lifted her shades down slightly with her left hand. “I hope the staring was to make sure it was me.”
“Yeah, yeah ....” His cheeks flushed.
They drove along the main road, and Annabel pulled over. She suggested Jake went to a cafe for a short break. There was something to be set up, and she could do it quicker alone. Five minutes later, Jake was sitting alone with a Coke, looking out across the Clyde.
Annabel drove back towards Cove but turned in the village of Rhu. She booked into The Rosslea Hall Hotel on Ferry Road. As before, when booking in as the reporter, she paid cash. She wasn’t recognised.
Once inside her room, Annabel sat at the window and was glad she’d checked out the location thoroughly. The hotel was ideally situated, less than a mile from Helensburgh town centre and less than two miles ‘as the crow flies’ to Flannigan’s house in Cove. It took five minutes to set up her recording equipment to operate on an ‘active’ signal.
She used her headphones to listen as doors opened and closed. The bugs she’d fitted were sensitive enough to pick up any noise inside a room. They would monitor at all times, and if a phone were used, a recording would be made automatically.
Annabel returned to Helensburgh, parked up near the cafe and sat for a while with Jake to have a Coke and a chat. She called to update Phil before leaving Helensburgh.
Sam and Eddie arrived back in the station with a fistful of security tapes from the Cowcaddens car park. They’d stayed while Lindsey Watt’s car was carefully removed on a police low-loader, to be taken for forensic tests.
As they passed the front desk, Constable Lennon was on the desk.
“John,” Sam said. “Send Amy up to my office, please.”
“Yes, Sir.” Would he ever shake the nickname?
The two detectives settled into their chairs in Sam’s office, both with a disgusting coffee. Somebody knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Sam grinned when he saw the girl walk in with three sheets of paper. “How did you get on Amy?” The younger officers liked Sam’s friendly approach, especially the females. Eddie had given him the heads-up.
Amy said, “I’m sure I could find more with time, Sir. I’ve got main points of interest.” She glanced at Eddie and turned to the DI. “With respect, you suggested to Constable Lennon, this information was for you alone.”
“What did I tell you, Eddie?” Sam turned from his partner to the constable. “Go on Amy, the DS is privy to anything we need in this case, but well done for observing my brief.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said to Sam and turned to apologise to the DS, in time to see him staring at the upper part of her crisp white blouse. “Lindsey Watt is a widow. Several years ago, her husband was killed in action. He was serving with the SAS in the Middle East—”
“What was the husband’s name?”
Amy looked down her first piece of paper. “Ken, Sir, Sergeant Ken Watt, VC.”
Sam closed his eyes for a moment and pursed his lips. “Sorry,” he said. “Go on.”
Eddie said nothing but listened carefully to the information.
Amy continued. “Mrs Watt bought the B & B as a going concern a year after her husband’s death and has made it a profitable business. Last week, at the time the dead man was found in the house, a ‘No Vacancies’ sign was displayed in the window. As you may already know, evidence shows another female was living there.”
Amy changed to her second sheet. “Mrs Watt also owns a large, luxury caravan, which is kept in the Gart Caravan Park, near Callander.”
Eddie said, “Has she been there recently?”
“The site owner thinks she was there last Saturday, Sarge. He can’t be sure. A traffic accident involving a coach occurred one hundred metres along the road. The site owner directed emergency vehicles to use the campsite entrance to turn safely; because it has no barrier. The site staff assisted ambulance crews with walking casualties. The owner said anybody could have been coming and going, due to the time of year. He was helping the authorities, which meant his hands were full for two hours.”
Sam said, “I don’t suppose the owner remembers when he patrolled the site?”
“He thinks it was mid-day, Sir. He’s sure it was four hours after his first full check of the day. I pushed him on timings and told him it was a murder inquiry. I hope I was right.”
“It was exactly the right thing to do Amy. Did we get anything else?”
“I asked him if the refuse bins near Mrs Watt’s caravan had been used recently, but he said the bins were emptied by a contractor every other day. It’s a new arrangement, and he couldn’t say for sure.”
Sam turned to Eddie. “Has this girl got the makings of a detective, or what?”
Eddie nodded, and smiled at the blonde, but remembered to look at her face.
Sam said, “Thank you, Amy. You did a good job in a short time.”
“For you, any time, Sir.” She gave him a beaming smile and glanced sideways at Eddie before letting herself out of the office.
Eddie screwed up his face and leant across the desk. “For you, any time, Sir,” he mimicked and laughed.
“Eddie, some of us have got it, mate—and the rest of you are fucking jealous.”
“I could have her anytime.”
“It doesn’t earn you any points when a woman catches you sta
ring at her chest. In Amy’s eyes, you’re another lecherous bastard.”
They enjoyed the light relief before getting back to the subject of the missing woman. Sam was content in the knowledge Lindsey Watt had disappeared of her own free will. The name didn’t ring a bell before, but the SAS connection was conclusive—he knew her.
When Phil received the call from Annabel, her tone wasn’t as upbeat as usual, but she assured him all was going according to plan. He asked her to download any good photos which she could bring to the de-briefing on the following morning.
He agreed with her suggestion Jake should take it easy until his late task on Thursday with Rachel. He suggested Annabel should get to the lockup at 08:00 in the morning, at which time they could discuss their joint role for the evening, and consider next steps.
Amy left the station after her shift and went to the library. Something was missing which connected the names on Hawk’s list. It was like having an itch she couldn’t scratch, and she was determined to work it out. She wanted to help and impress Phil, but at the same time, she wanted to practise her detective work. Secret favours for somebody else were also keeping her on her toes.
She was caught up thinking about her unofficial tasks, and her vigilance wasn’t up to its usual level. Amy didn’t notice the silver Land Rover Discovery parked at the end of the street near the station or the bearded man in the driver’s seat.
24. Office Work
.
Thursday 25th July
Phil and Annabel pulled up two of the folding chairs at the back of the lockup. On the table, two diagrams were spread, complete with a timetable of the next few days.
“Now isn’t this cosy?” Annabel gazed at him from under long lashes.
Phil smiled. “I had a message left at the ‘dead-drop’ in Glasgow Green this morning.”
“Is it anything for us to worry about?”
“It isn’t if we’re careful. The Scottish PNC has been undergoing tests and will go back online to the rest of the UK police forces on 1st August.”
“It’s nice to have somebody on the inside.”
Phil nodded. He was in his standard outfit of T-shirt and jeans. Beside him sat a woman who was dressed to go on a casual date, or spend the day at the office. Her hair was perfectly brushed, and she wore a red mini-dress with a broad black belt.
“You’re looking radiant,” Phil said, openly appraising his business partner.
“I’m taken aback.” She gave a short burst of lyrical laughter. “A compliment—and it didn’t sound as if you read it from a prompt card.”
“Am I so wooden?”
“No.” She smiled as she reached across, and briefly placed a hand on his muscular thigh. “I apologise. You always seem to be on autopilot.”
“I’ve done a lot of soul-searching recently,” he said and shook his head. “I wouldn’t change the life I’ve led, but I feel as if a big piece of it was somebody else.”
“You must have been a godsend to the Special Forces Phil, but it’s your life now.” Was he thawing, albeit slowly?
“I am trying to loosen up, even with the project we’re working on.”
“Keep going,” Annabel said. “Somewhere under the surface, a great human being is trying to get out from within the warrior.”
“Thank you.” They both laughed. For a moment their gaze locked on each other, and they shared a strange, unspoken warmth.
“Right,” Annabel said, breaking the spell. “We’d better get to work. I’ll give you a rundown on yesterday, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Let’s hear it.” Phil was back in character.
Annabel rapidly reported on the outing, and said how well Jake had performed, in consideration of his strapped-up ribcage. “He’s on an emotional rollercoaster, but I’m convinced he’ll give his best until we have our end of project de-briefing.”
“You said he was disturbed about something at Cove.”
“Yes, the captive in the cellar. We didn’t get down there, because Flannigan returned too soon, but somebody was there.”
“Why do you think Flannigan came back as fast?”
“He couldn’t have reached his boat and got back to Cove. He must have realised he’d been sent on a wild goose chase.”
“What made you think Jake was upset about the possible captive?”
“On the drive back he was quiet, and he’s usually animated around me.”
“Who could blame him,” Phil murmured. “I’m sorry, go on.”
Annabel suppressed a smile. “I asked him what was on his mind, and he said we should have helped. I emphasised the bigger picture, but he felt bad leaving somebody. I explained in our operational scenario, we have to live with some shit decisions.”
“If you had the opportunity to get into the cellar, would you have gone?”
“I would, and if I found somebody in a state beyond hope, I’d have finished them mercifully. Jake couldn’t have handled it.”
“I’m sorry you found yourself in such a situation. We’ll be dealing with Flannigan soon enough. I’ll tell you more when we’ve discussed our task for tonight.”
“I got the best of the photos printed if you’d like to see them.”
“Yes, please. It might help us put names to faces and faces to names.”
“I asked Jake to write the names as they appear on the photos, and I’ve worked out which list goes with which photo. I’ll lay them out together.” She opened the manila envelope she’d brought, and emptied the photos and lists onto the table.
“How many bugs did you get fitted?”
“Four,” she said. “We’ll listen to the recordings this evening before we move in.” She spread the six photos and placed the names under each.
“You took photos of the Captain’s Log and the map—have you got them with you?”
“Yes, I enlarged them to A4 for clarity, and they’re in the other envelope.”
Phil didn’t lift the photos or the names, but he stood to gaze down at them. Three pictures were significant, and he moved the others to one side.
“Here,” he said, “we have Flannigan, Cameron, MacDonald, Hartley, and Davenport at a golf club.” Phil picked up the photo and stared. “This Hartley guy reminds me of somebody.”
“Is it somebody you’ve seen recently?”
“I don’t know from where,” Phil said, “but his face is vaguely familiar.” He lifted the second photo and looked closely. “Flannigan’s boat—and he must have taken the photo. It shows Hartley, Davenport and Metcalfe ... but who the fuck is Metcalfe?”
“The third one there shows Davenport, MacDonald and Metcalfe together on the boat, and it looks like they’re all friendly with each other.”
“Right,” Phil said. “We have Flannigan, the sailor who’s into anything. He’s in cahoots, with Hartley, who is the Godfather. MacDonald is the solicitor. Chief Constable Davenport is either; a bloody cool undercover cop or, he’s in somebody’s pocket. What could Metcalfe be, for him to be connected to them?”
“He must have a useful connection,” Annabel said. “Could he be the mastermind, and Hartley is the middle man?”
“A good theory,” Phil said, “but Metcalfe doesn’t fit in.”
“He’s in two of the photos.”
“If you look at the photos Metcalfe appears in, he’s wearing different clothes, but the photos could have been taken within days. His hair hasn’t changed, and his suntan is the same. The other men are photographed together throughout a few years.”
“I see what you mean.” Annabel nodded. “You think he’s come late to the party?”
“Yes,” Phil said. “We need to find out why Metcalfe fits.”
Annabel laid out the photographs she’d taken of the map table. “I used a magnifying application to decipher the measurements on the instruments and the markings on the map.”
“It must have been challenging.”
“My laptop is high spec’, but it’s the nineties and we’re developi
ng these things. Fortunately, I’ve got a decent photo enhancement programme. I took the pictures with a high resolution.”
“You’ve done well ... these show map coordinates,” Phil said.
“I’d like to check them out on the ground.”
“How would you suggest we prioritise?”
“I’d like to investigate three of the locations marked on the west coast of Scotland,” she said. “I think one of them is the remote farm Kirsten told us about.”
“When would you intend to go?”
“As soon as possible, say Friday ... or maybe Saturday if it’s okay with you.”
“Okay, we’ll say Saturday. I’d like to be in a position to take out Hartley on Sunday, but I have to find his place first and conduct a rapid ‘recce’. It’s important to have a good look at wherever he lives, but I’ll do the job on my own. It will leave you free on Saturday.”
“As long as there’s a phone signal, I’ll keep in touch, but there aren’t many relays out there.”
“Okay,” Phil said. “I was going to brief you on tonight’s session, but I think it will be enough to give you a broad outline and we’ll look at the detail when we’re in the location.”
“Right,” Annabel said.
Phil spent twenty minutes explaining his strategy for the evening and the weekend ahead.
Jake was dressed in suit and tie and wore tinted glasses with a gold frame. The briefcase he carried was black leather and in the expanded mode. Although the case looked heavy, it wasn’t, but he carried it in his right hand to ease the pressure on his left side.
He didn’t have far to walk, because the No.9 bus stopped around the corner from his mother’s house. There would be no changes to worry about, due to the service terminating in the city centre. A bus was preferable to a taxi for the task because taxi drivers remembered individuals.
Jake had spent most of the previous day with Annabel. On this mission, he’d be teaming up with his constant fantasy, Rachel. A short while after boarding the bus, it turned from Lincoln Avenue onto Dumbarton Road in Scotstoun.