Lost Souls

by Michael Knaggs

  Neither spoke for a while before Katey continued. “So – are you coming or not?”

  “Yes – definitely. See you there.”

  *

  Tom watched the brake lights on the Porsche Boxter flash briefly before Katey swung the car out of Copley Road onto Redstone Avenue and roared away. He allowed himself a little smile, estimating that his daughter would be exceeding the speed limit within fifty yards of leaving the junction. Her aggressive driving, so often a cause of concern for him – and of friction between them – was today a welcome return to normality.

  He leaned forward in the driver’s seat of the Audi, his forearms resting on the wheel, thinking about the woman whose house he had just left. How she had hugged him when he arrived, like a long lost relative, the complete absence of any recriminations, her unqualified praise and affection for his daughter.

  “As long as Katey’s around, Jason will be as well, living through her,” she had said, robbing Tom of his ability to speak for a while.

  She seemed to accept what had happened to her son with a sad resignation but without bitterness. It was a reflection, he thought, of someone who expected very little from life and, as such, had the inner strength to take adversity as a matter of course. He compared that with his own situation; the first thing that had gone wrong in his life, and he’d fallen apart.

  The sound of his mobile phone brought him out of his thoughts.

  “Hi, John. This is a surprise.”

  “Hi, Tom,” John Mackay said. “Just a quick one – Mickey Kadawe’s appearing tomorrow at nine-thirty at Guildford Magistrate’s Court. He’s being charged with drug dealing.”

  “Okay, John. Thanks for that, though I’m not sure why I need to know.”

  “You don’t, but you’ll find out through Katey, no doubt, and I just wanted you to be clear about the circumstances.”

  “R-i-ght.” Tom drew out the word, inviting John to elaborate.

  There was a long silence. Tom could hear John’s breathing.

  “Is that it? What circumstances?”

  “I really shouldn’t tell you this, but it’s possible that Kadawe could be linked to Jack’s case. Something has come to light which puts a new complexion on it. That’s all I can say right now and it’s a lot more than I should have said. So please don’t press me and don’t repeat it. Okay?”

  “Of course. Thank you, John.”

  “You’re welcome. Bye, Tom.”

  He turned the key, pulled on his seat belt and eased away from the curb with a last, sad look across at the Midandas’ home

  *

  Jo checked the time on the screen in front of her – 6.35 pm – time she was leaving for Etherington Place. She logged off and removed the laptop from its docking station, sliding it into its case and swinging the strap over her shoulder. She picked up her hand bag and stepped out into the team room just as DI Waters emerged from his office.

  “Before you go, Jo…”

  “Actually, I’ve got a meeting at seven-thirty.”

  “Won’t take more than two minutes.”

  Jo followed him back into his office and perched on the edge of a chair. “I’ve really got to go, Harry.”

  “Literally, two minutes. You know we were looking into Tom Brown’s record re explosives, and I said there was no way they would let us see it. Well, I was wrong. I got a contact of mine in Special Branch to ask the questions and, guess what; some senior admin guy from Special Forces actually phones me and tells me everything I want to know. I don’t know what to make of it, to be honest.”

  “I guess you just know the right people – or your contact does. What did he say?”

  “That Tom Brown was the designated expert in his unit. Not that he needed to be, I suppose, but it means there’s absolutely no doubt that he was capable of the attack in Dorking.”

  “That is surprising – that they released the information, I mean.”

  “What I had to do, of course, was tell my contact why we needed the information, which means that our interest in Mr Brown is now sort of official. We can’t guarantee to contain it any more.”

  “Right.” Jo got to her feet. “Thanks, Harry. Now I must go.”

  *

  Katey went right through the house looking for Mags before eventually finding her outside in the grounds, sitting at her easel in a heavy fleece, dabbing paint onto a canvas without enthusiasm or any apparent artistic purpose.

  “Not much of a hiding place,” Katey said. “Though I can’t think why Dad would bother to look for you, anyway. Why can’t you just make an effort? If not for me, for Jack. It was the last thing he asked you to do.”

  Mags said nothing. Katey sighed, then turned and walked away. Five minutes later, Mags followed her into the house. Tom had not arrived yet.

  “Did he definitely say he was coming?” Mags asked.

  “Yes, I left him at Leila’s about half an hour ago. In fact, we left together. I thought he’d be here by now.”

  “Leila’s? What was he doing there?”

  At that moment, they heard the sound of tyres on gravel outside. Katey ran to the front door as Tom got out of the car.

  “Hi, Dad! Forgot the way? I thought you were following me.”

  Tom smiled. “There’s no way I could have kept up with you, young lady. All those lectures I gave you about speeding – like chaff to the wind.”

  “That’s your fault for buying me a Porsche. What did you expect?”

  They walked hand-in-hand to the porch where Mags was waiting inside with the faintest of smiles.

  “Hi, come in,” she said, turning away before he got close to her. “Did Katey tell you? DI Cottrell will be here at seven-thirty. I assume you’ll want to eat with us?”

  “That was an invitation to dinner, by the way, in case you didn’t recognise it,” Katey said, glaring at her mother.

  “Yes, thank you,” Tom said.

  “I thought we’d eat before she comes. Just something light. Ready in about fifteen minutes.”

  Mags retreated to the kitchen, supposedly to help Millie McGovern finish preparing the meal. Tom and Katey looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Small mercies,” Tom said.

  “What?”

  “Let’s be thankful for them. At least I’m getting fed. Although I wish I’d brought my food tester with me.”

  *

  Jo finished the call on her Bluetooth as the huge gates swung slowly back. She pulled up alongside the silver Audi R8 and switched off the engine. Before getting out, she sat for a long time turning over in her mind Tom’s new official status as a suspect, and wishing she’d insisted on leaving the station before Harry had had the chance to tell her.

  Looking across at the porch, she noticed Mags was already there waiting for her. She got out and the two women exchanged a brief hug before Mags led her through to the sitting room. They were joined by Tom and Katey. Jo shook hands with them both, searching Tom’s eyes for any sign of unease or discomfort.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “I had a meeting with my boss that didn’t start until late. And as a result of that meeting, what I’m going to tell you tonight must go no further for the time being. I must have your promise in advance.”

  There was silence for a few moments before Tom spoke. “How can we promise if we don’t know what you’re going to tell us?”

  “You have to, Mr Brown. There’s no point in my asking you afterwards, is there? I’m taking a big risk with the information even under promise of secrecy. I wouldn’t be saying anything at all except for the agreement I made with Katey on Monday.”

  “Agreement?” Tom said.

  “What agreement was that?” Mags asked.

  “There are certain things you should know which Katey is already awar
e of, but which I insisted I wanted to tell you myself. I am prepared to keep my commitment to Katey, but only if you’ll make a commitment to me to keep silent.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, let’s get on with it,” Tom said.

  Mags turned on him quickly.

  “I think you should know that the Detective Inspector took an enormous risk on our behalf after the trial, by continuing to investigate Jack and Jason’s case without the knowledge of John Mackay. And she did it as a personal favour for me. John is aware of that work now, of course, but he is not aware that it was at my request.”

  “A personal favour? Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Tom asked.

  Katey spoke to end a brief, uneasy silence.

  “I suppose because you were officially still part of the justice system at the time, Dad. It could have put you in a very awkward position.”

  “That will do as the reason for now,” Mags said, with a little smile. “The point is that Jo seems prepared to go out on a limb for us again. The least we can do is agree to protect her.”

  “Okay,” Tom said. “My apologies, DI Cottrell; and my thanks, it seems. Of course you have our assurance.”

  Jo got up from her seat and paced up and down in front of them for the whole time she was speaking, as if she was delivering a lecture.

  “Two hours ago we charged Mickey Kadawe with drug dealing. He will appear at Guildford Magistrate’s Court tomorrow morning at nine-thirty and I am confident he will be committed and remanded in custody pending trial in a few weeks time. That is what I can tell you officially. However, it goes further than that and this is where I need your discretion.

  “His arrest and this charge is a means of buying time to prepare for further action against him which directly involves Jack and Jason. We have reason to believe that he may have been complicit in planting the drugs in this house and at Jason’s. If we can prove it, that alone would not establish their innocence given all the other evidence against them, but subsequent events point to the possibility that he organised that as well.

  “It would mean, of course, that prior to the drugs being planted, he would have had to arrange for people to phone the police with reports of Jack and Jason supplying ‘bad’ drugs; for users to deliberately catch Jack on camera; and for people to make calls to the phones which were found with the drugs in the two houses. And, of course, for people to attend interviews with the police and submit evidence in court. It is an incredible series of events for anyone to even attempt to coordinate, let alone achieve.

  “Our next step will be to go through the evidence collected and presented by the Crown and re-examine its sources.” She looked at Tom. “Where possible,” she added, her eyes fixing on his. He returned her gaze.

  “I knew it had to be Kadawe,” he said. “I instinctively believed that right at the start. But then the whole thing seemed so fantastic. That’s when the doubts came in… But I knew; all the time I knew.” He looked across at Mags and then back to Jo. “What I don’t know is how a single individual can make so many people do so many bad things?”

  “Fear I guess, Mr Brown. That young man can be the most charming or the most frightening of individuals at the flick of some internal switch. It seems he’s as big a danger to his friends as he is to his enemies.”

  “But why?” Tom said. “Why would he go to all that trouble and take such a risk?”

  Jo shot a glance at Katey, who gave a brief shake of her head.

  “We don’t know for certain yet, Mr Brown, but we have our theories.”

  Mags slumped forward, dropping her head into her hands, and began to cry, her shoulders shaking. Katey, sitting next to her on the sofa, turned and wrapped both arms around her, as her own tears trickled from her eyes. Tom stared into space.

  “And Jason?” Katey turned to Jo. “What does this mean for Jason?”

  “I can’t say for certain at this stage, Katey, but it seems likely they’ll take him off passage. It may come down to whether we can get a conviction, but… Well, let’s say I believe there’s cause for optimism.”

  Katey jumped to her feet, tears still flowing.

  “Thank you, Jo. Oh, thank you so much,” she said, embracing her, “I just can’t believe it.”

  “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jo disentangled herself with some embarrassment. “I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t feel confident, but it’s not a done deal, yet.”

  “So what’s the big secret?” Tom asked.

  “Well, up to now, there’s been nothing officially released to the media about the investigation into Kadawe. There will be a low-key Press statement tomorrow, after the magistrate’s hearing, about the dealing charge, but with no reference yet to Jack and Jason’s case. When anything does happen, of course, we’ll let the Press know of any new charges, and… well, we’ll take it from there.”

  No-one spoke for a long time; Mags finally recovered herself with a struggle.

  “I am so sorry,” Jo said, in a small voice choked with emotion. “For Jack,” she added, in a barely audible whisper.

  *

  The flotilla of small boats bobbed and rocked as the bow wave from the huge vessel spread across the harbour. Prisoner Transfer Vessel Two set out on her maiden voyage, edging through the harbour entrance and turning fully to port to head for the open water of the Firth of Lorne.

  The two men standing together on the bridge were starting their fifth journey together, this time with two hundred prisoners on board, fifty more than on each of their previous trips, and the last to be taken to Alpha. The men were similar in size and build, both in their early fifties with broad shoulders and slim waists. One had a full grey beard.

  The other man checked his watch.

  “Not bad, Skipper,” said Calum Nicholson, Lochshore’s Chief Prison Officer. “Seven past eight. Let’s say twelve hours early rather than two late, although I’m not sure that’s how the big guys will see it.”

  “Sod them, then,” Douglas McLeod said, with feeling. “You couldn’t have done it any quicker.”

  “You’re right, sod them. Next stop, Tobermory.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Thursday; 24 September

  It took Tom a few seconds to realise where he was when his alarm woke him at 7.00 am. It was a sound he had not heard for a long time. He swung his legs out of bed and looked round his room in Etherington Place, his eyes coming to rest on the unopened bottle of Jack Daniels on the dressing table. He remembered taking it from the drawer of his desk in the adjoining study last night, then thinking better of it.

  Good decision, he thought, because he needed this early start.

  He got out of bed, showered and picked out a set of clothes from his wardrobe, putting the ones he had worn the previous day into a small hold-all to take back to the apartment. He used one of his old electric shavers and then went down to the kitchen, pleased to find that he was alone. He left the house after toast and coffee at just before eight o’clock, with a note of ‘thank you’ for Mags – placed in the traditional spot on the kitchen workshop – which he ended with ‘Love, Tom x’. He drove straight to his destination, arriving exactly an hour early for his planned encounter.

  Parking in a side street close to the Guildford Centre of Justice, he waited near the gates through which Mickey Kadawe would be driven to make the quarter-mile journey to the magistrates’ court. Opposite the gates across the huge courtyard, the site was dominated by Guildford New Station, the police headquarters for the South Thames Division and for the region’s Flexible Response Teams. The rest of the complex comprised the Holding Centre, where Jack and Jason had been confined, the Crown Court building; the Police Academy, the Forensic Services Centre; and a large accommodation block boasting two penthouse suites. Tom recalled how he had spent a night there following a ceremony at which he had officially opened the Cent
re.

  As the time approached 9.30 am, he walked down to the magistrate’s court to wait with a small crowd of reporters hanging around on the off-chance of catching a familiar face entering the building. Mindful of his being recognised, he stayed well away from the group until he saw a police car approaching from the direction of the GCJ followed by a larger personnel carrier. The car stopped, and waited for the vehicle behind to discharge six police officers, heavy with body armour and each carrying a semi-automatic weapon. They formed a short corridor – three on each side – from the car to the base of the flight of steps up to the court entrance. Tom walked across to join the loose throng.

  Jo Cottrell got out of the front passenger seat of the car, as a uniformed officer emerged from each of the rear doors. The one nearest the steps reached back into the vehicle to ease the prisoner out. Between them, the two officers escorted the handcuffed Mickey Kadawe up towards the front entrance of the building. Jo followed a couple of steps behind. At the top, Mickey stopped and half-turned, looking over his shoulder at the sea of faces. His eyes alighted on Tom. He stared and blinked in surprise before his expression twisted into a sneer.

  “Well, look who’s here!” he shouted, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “Come to hand yourself in for murdering your son, Mr Brown?”

  Tom lunged forward, racing up the steps through the armed police escort. They hesitated, confused by the fact that he was instantly recognisable. Mickey shook himself free of the restraining hands of his escort to face the charge square on. Tom was within a few feet of the prisoner when Jo stepped in front of him, embracing him to halt his rush. Tom stopped, wrapped in her arms, and reached forward, pointing his finger and yelling over Jo’s shoulder.

  “Rot in hell, you fucking evil bastard!”

  “Mr Brown!” Jo’s mouth was so close to his ear that her scream of restraint made him wince.