by Rob Wyllie
Cameron took a large gulp from his glass then cradled it in his hands. Maggie saw that they were shaking.
'We took your phones. Yours and Philip's. It was a mistake. The police have them at the moment, but you and I both know that nothing that is found on them can be used in evidence, given the circumstances in which they were acquired.'
It was a little white lie, because the police didn't have them yet, but they would pretty soon. When she plucked up enough courage to tell Frank what they had done.
'The police have them?' His eyes betrayed his anxiety.
'Well, a policeman, to be accurate. He's attached to a special department of the Met and he is trying to figure out at the moment what to do with them. They're a bit of a hot potato to be honest.'
He did not appear to be listening.
'What do you know? I mean, about that meeting. The dinner. I know you have the photograph of it. What do you know?'
Maggie's eyes narrowed. 'We don't know anything. We weren't there, were we? I was hoping you would tell me what it was all about.'
He didn't answer.
'Come on Adam, you can tell me. What was it all about?'
'It was just an innocent get-together. Just a dinner with friends and colleagues.'
Maggie recognised these words immediately. So that was why he was here, sent by her ex-husband to find out what they knew. Too cowardly to do his own dirty work, that was just so Philip.
'One of the people at your cosy little dinner has just been murdered Adam, for god's sake. And in case you've forgotten, you told Judge Henderson that you had never met Tariq Khan, who I don't think you could describe as either a friend or a colleague. So it wasn't a bloody innocent little dinner, was it?' Maggie's voice was steady, her manner crisp. Just like the old days in the courtroom, cross-examining the witness, exposing the inconsistencies in the testimony. As if she had ever been any good at that.
Cameron hesitated before answering. Maggie could see he had prepared like a witness in the dock, pre-programmed with pat answers to the questions that were expected to be thrown at him. The difference was hardened criminals were good liars, distinguished QCs less so.
'The murder is awful of course, quite awful, but it doesn't have anything to do with the dinner. Penelope White had made many enemies in her career. She was always getting death threats.' It wasn't convincing.
'So why are you here then Adam, behaving like a frightened little rabbit?'
'I'm not frightened.'
'Of course you're not. Why would you be when all you've done is attend a dinner where the topic of conversation was so innocent that someone got murdered to keep it quiet? Believe me Adam, I would be frightened if I had been there. So don't give me that crap.'
'It was an innocent dinner. I don't know why Penelope has been killed.' That was his story and he was going to stick with it.
'Well that's good for you,' Maggie said, 'so it's safe to assume the police won't find anything interesting on your phones when they examine them.' She knew from the other's reaction that she had struck a raw nerve.
'Ok you're right,' Cameron said. 'There was a reason why we held that dinner. The truth is, we had lost some confidence in the authority of our expert witness Professor Walker. We heard about Dr Khan's reputation and wondered if he might not be a better bet. That was all.'
'So why meet in such a public place?' Maggie said. 'And why did it have to be kept so secret that you were prepared to lie to the judge about meeting him at all?' This evidently was a question he had not rehearsed.
'He...well, it was simply the fact he worked in GCHQ in Cheltenham and it made sense to meet locally. We thought if we entertained him and made him feel important, then it might persuade him to help us.'
'What, so you and a cabinet minister and a journalist and my shitface ex-husband traipsed up the M5 to a one-hundred quid a head eating place just to smooth-talk some geeky boffin? A geeky boffin, by the way, who works for the government and could just have been ordered to co-operate. And then, someone dies. Coincidence? No, I don't think so, you'll have to do better than that.'
'Well that's what happened. If you don't believe me, that's your prerogative.' He had regained some of his composure, buoyed no doubt by Maggie's admission of how little they knew.
Without asking, she topped up his wine glass.
'I do know something, as it happens. I know there was a move to make sure someone rubbish was appointed to defend Alzahrani. Whose idea was it to get me appointed as defence barrister? Oh yes, you don't need to look so surprised, because that's one thing we have worked out. The crap barrister plot, let's call it that.'
To Maggie's surprise, Cameron gave an audible sigh of relief, the words blurting out before he could stop himself.
'So that's all you think it was?'
So that's all you think it was. Condemned by the words from his own mouth. Of course, it had to be much much more than that, something big enough to cause someone to be assassinated and to scare the life out of Adam Cameron QC. Something very big indeed. But she was pretty certain he wasn't going to tell her what it was.
She picked up his almost-full glass and stood up.
'I think you'd better go now Adam. Tell Philip whatever you like, but believe me, we will get to the bottom of all this. Oh, and I'll get you your phone back as soon as I can.'
He gave her a distracted look, his mind obviously on more important matters. 'What, that? You can keep it, I've already got a new one.'
Afterwards, Maggie reflected that perhaps she hadn't played the meeting as well as she could have. Perhaps she shouldn't had given away how little they knew. That was a mistake, but still, a lesson learned. Cameron had come to find out what they had, and had gone away with the knowledge that they had nothing. Mission accomplished as far as she was concerned. So far.
◆◆◆
Pall Mall was all but deserted when Cameron's taxi dropped him off at his club. Hell, how he deserved a drink this evening. In fact maybe he would spend the night there, get a good sleep, with a nice cooked breakfast to look forward to. Right now, there was plenty of time for a shower and to enjoy some of the excellent steak and ale pie, washed down with a nice bottle of Merlot.
The evening passed pleasantly enough and he was feeling much better as bed-time approached. He checked his watch. A quarter past twelve, he hadn't realised how late it was. Just time to slip out for a quick smoke and then he would retire.
The entrance was well-lit and covered by a barrage of close-circuit cameras, although they hadn't really helped the police in the subsequent investigation of his killing. The best they could say was it was a slim tall figure, almost certainly young and male based on his lithe movements, face indistinguishable behind the balaclava and dark glasses. They had got a capture, but unfortunately nothing for the facial recognition software to work with. A single stab wound, driven upwards with force into his heart.
A neat professional job.
Chapter 22
It took nearly four days for the second victim's identity to be released to the press, but only one day for the Met to put DCI Colin Barker in charge of the investigations.
'What's the bloody place coming to ma'am?' Frank was on the phone to his boss as he drove through the morning traffic towards Paddington Green police station, where the incident rooms had been established. 'Crappy Colin running a double murder. I mean, come on.'
'Are you hands-free?'
'Yes boss,' he lied.
'Good. Well if you look on the bright side, it's a big boost for the Alzahrani investigation now they've taken him off it. Maxine Wood has taken that one over, and she's a good cop. Now listen Frank, just tell him what we know and then leave and please, don't get into any more trouble. That's an order.'
'Me ma'am, trouble? When do I ever cause trouble? Not getting into trouble in any way whatsoever is my middle name.'
'Very funny. You know what I mean. Just do your job in a nice professional manner.'
'I promise ma'am, I'll
be a very good boy indeed. All I'm going to do is see what the knobhead has to say and then I'll report straight back to you. See you later.'
It turned out the police station car park was full, but then he spotted a gleaming silver BMW bearing the registration number 'CB 3' in a reserved slot next to the main entrance. It said everything about the tiny-dick syndrome of the man that he had gone to all the trouble of getting a private plate on his police motor. It would have taken hours of form-filling and a tower of bureaucracy to get that one signed off. Crazy. And what did the '3' signify? Probably the number of cases he had ever solved. Or the length of his dick. In centimetres. He pulled his battered Mondeo up behind the BMW, blocking him in, and blocking up the rest of the car park too. Not to worry, this was only going to take five minutes at the most.
There were mutters of surprise and anticipation from the investigation team as Frank wandered insouciantly through the huge open-plan office towards Barker's glass-walled enclave. He had worked with many of them in the past, and was pleased to see that his old mate Pete Burnside, veteran DI and witness to that punch that had sent cheers reverberating across the Met, occupied one of the untidy paper-strewn desks. He gave a friendly 'Hey Frank, good to see you mate,' which was acknowledged with a thumbs-up.
A pretty uniformed WPC sat at a desk alongside the door to Barker's office. Down the pub, he probably called her his personal assistant. What an arse.
'Morning constable,' said Frank cheerily, flashing his badge, 'I need a wee word with the DCI. Important stuff about these murder cases. I'll just go in now, ok?'
The WPC looked up in alarm. 'Well sir, I think he's in a meeting...'
Frank spread his arms, gesticulating through the glass at the empty office.
'What, a meeting with himself? You know what they call guys who play with themselves.'
She blushed faintly and tried to suppress a smile.
'What I mean sir, is I think one's about to start...'
'Aye, well, I'll tell you what constable, I'll have a wee meeting with him now. I'll only be five minutes, won't take up much of his time.' Smiling, he strolled past her into Barker's office.
The DCI was on the phone, pacing the office with his back to the door and from the obsequious tone, Frank gathered that he was speaking to his boss.
'Yes sir, we'll have them wrapped up pretty quickly I hope. The reason I called actually was to let you know we've already got someone in custody for the Cameron stabbing... yes, that's right...we're pretty confident we'll be charging him before the end of the day...yes sir, it is quick work on my part...thank you sir... yes, you know we always get results when I'm in charge...yes... ok sir, I'll give you an update later today.'
He was evidently surprised and not terribly pleased to see Frank in his office.
'What the hell do you want Stewart? I thought they'd made you a traffic warden, or was it a lavatory attendant, I can't remember.'
'Morning sir. No, not been promoted to those jobs yet, I think they're still keeping them open for you. Oh, and did I really just hear you say we always get results when I'm in charge? You mean like the Alzahrani job they've just had to take you off to save further public embarrassment? Aye, you always get results right enough.'
Too late, he remembered his promise to Jill Smart. Don't get into any trouble. But this time it seemed he had got away with it, as Barker either ignored or was oblivious to the insults. He shouted out to the young WPC.
'Ellie, will you get DI Burnside in here right away. So what is it you want Stewart, I'm a busy man.'
'I've got some information on the Cameron and White murders from another case I've been working on sir. My boss DCI Smart felt it was our duty to share it with your investigation and sent me over. It's up to you what you do with it'.
DI Pete Burnside entered the office, winking at Frank and ignoring his superior officer.
'Great to see you Frank mate. How's tricks?'
'Good Pete, really good. It's a laugh a minute down in Department 12B, I can tell you. You should apply for a transfer, DCI Smart's always looking for smart guys like you, ha ha.'
'I might just do that mate.'
'Aye, it's good. We don't get the free coffee to be fair, but there's a well-stocked vending machine. Twixes and Mars Bars usually.'
'Look, can we just get on with this,' said Barker impatiently. 'So what crap is it you've got for me?'
'Aye, all right then sir. So we've just started on something in the Department, it's connected to the Alzahrani case as a matter of fact.'
He took his phone from his pocket and scrolled to the Seven Cathedral Close photograph.
'Look, you can see here. That's Adam Cameron and that's Penelope White, your murder victims. This was taken about two years ago, just before the Alzahrani trial kicked off. Doesn't mean their murders are connected of course, but it is something of interest I think. The reason I'm saying that is because, you see this other guy in the picture? That's Dr Tariq Kahn, you know he was the guy who wrote that report that the CPS suppressed, causing the mistrial and all that.'
He wasn't surprised by Barker's reaction. It was no more than he had expected from the useless halfwit.
'So you've wasted my time with a picture of some guys having dinner together? What does that prove? Bugger all Stewart, bugger all. I've already established that there's no connection between these two murders. One was a shooting and the other one was a knifing for a start, or maybe you didn't figure that out.'
'But sir,' Frank said, persisting, 'the other thing is, Adam Cameron said to the judge that he had never met Khan. This picture proves that for a reason we don't yet know, he was lying. Do you see what I'm saying? Why would he lie if he didn't have something to hide? And if he had something to hide, maybe that's would be a motive to shut him up permanently.'
'Frank, do these guys know of the existence of this picture?' Burnside asked.
'You're a very clever guy Pete,' Frank said with pointed admiration. 'Aye, I think there's every chance that they do. One of them does certainly, that's this guy Philip Brooks, and I would bet my pension that he's gone and told everyone else by now. That was the other thing I came here for. We need to bring Brooks in for questioning pronto, see what he knows.'
'Brooks, who the hell's he?' Barker said. 'Not on my radar'.
Not surprising thought Frank bitterly, you wouldn't recognise a suspect if he was wearing a t-shirt with 'suspect' printed on the back in capital letters.
'Sir, don't you think Frank might have something here?' asked Burnside cautiously. 'What I mean is, if someone wanted to keep the purpose of this meeting a secret, as he says, that might be a motive for the murders. And if this guy Brooks knows that the meeting is all out in the open now, maybe we should bring him in, find out what he knows...'
'That's total bollocks,' Barker replied shortly. 'What, you start murdering people just because of a dinner conversation? Complete shite. No, I told you, there's nothing connecting these murders in my very expert opinion, and I'm a man who knows what he's talking about. And anyway we've already got someone bang to rights for the Cameron stabbing.'
'Aye, I heard you saying that to your boss,' Frank said suspiciously. 'There's no way that can be true.'
'Well, we have and it is true,' smirked Barker. 'The result of superior police work, but of course you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?'
'Superior police work from you? Yes, I must bow to your superiority, no doubt about that sir.'
Petulance was evidently Barker's default mode. 'You just remember Stewart that you are talking to a senior officer and it's none of your business frankly, but we just happened to stop and search a youth the next day and low and behold, wasn't he found in possession of Mr Cameron's phone.'
This was a turn of events that hadn't occurred to Frank. It was beyond bad luck that some opportunist thief had taken Cameron's phone as he lay dying.
Barker gave a sickly smile. 'Stop and search. I've always believed in it. Gets results you see.
And now we've got it all wrapped up. Neat and tidy, just the way we like it.'
'Aye, fitted up more like,' said Frank bitterly, 'and don't tell me, you've not been able to find any DNA or fingerprint evidence connecting this poor lad to the murder, but you're working on it. And that's because you haven't found the knife yet but you're working on that too.'
'We don't need to worry about these little technicalities, do we Burnside? They're all the same, dangerous thieving little toe-rags, every one of them. But this one wasn't so smart, was he? He was found with the phone in his possession, he hasn't got an alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the murder, and it turns out he's got a string of previous convictions as long as his arm. CPS lawyers are happy with it, they agree it's all we need to charge him, all neat and tidy. Nice speedy clear-up, just the way the Super likes it. DCI Colin Barker strikes again. Yes!'
He pumped his fists in a grotesque gesture of triumph. Frank could feel the anger swelling up to bursting point.
'You're an arse-licking bent bastard,' he said quietly, 'and a bloody disgrace to this force and every other. Well, I'm going to see you get exposed for the lying fuckwit you are if it's the last thing I do.'
Burnside looked alarmed. 'Calm down Frank, just calm down mate. Don't do anything stupid.'
Now Barker was hitting his stride, arrogant and confident in equal measure. He evidently knew how easy it was to wind up Frank Stewart.
'Well, you'll no doubt be pleased to know that we've got a suspect for the Penelope White case too. We found out from her paper that she was working on a big story to expose the army officer that was responsible for the death of that young soldier in Belfast. A right bloody coward, letting that young girl die while he sat all safe and sound in the armoured vehicle. And now that's she's dead, that coward is off the hook. Very convenient, don't you think Frank? You see, that's what I call a real motive for murder, not some stupid dinner party.'
Burnside tried to stop him, but he wasn't quick enough. Frank leaped forward, grabbing Barker by the lapels and smashing him against the wall.