by Alex Caan
‘True that,’ agreed Stevie.
Kate’s mind was reeling. She thought they had got past mysterious viruses and what they were capable of, but instead she was again faced with something unknown that reacted in a way nobody had seen before. And she didn’t understand exactly who Julian Leakey had upset to the extent that they were willing to source a foreign toxin to annihilate him.
And then there was the question of the blood. The blood they had found that didn’t belong to Leakey. Did it belong to the murderer? Had there been a struggle, had Leakey done some serious damage to whoever was behind this?
Whatever the truth, Kate needed to be back at HQ, and she needed to be on top of this investigation. Even if there wasn’t a risk of infection, what exactly was stopping whoever did this from striking again and killing someone else?
*
The bitch had survived. The watcher saw her leave the hospital and head to a vehicle in the underground car park. She was flanked by two of her team. The butch one and the terrorist one. He didn’t know much about them yet, but he would find out. He had plenty of time, to find out whatever he needed. Kate’s father was paying him enough, and the desire for his own personal vengeance was burning him.
While Kate had been in hospital, the watcher had made contact with her mother, and she was running scared at least. Ready to do anything that was asked of her. The watcher had used a low trick, played on her maternal instincts, trapped the stupid bitch almost too easily. He felt he needed a challenge, a worthy adversary. And that would happen when he brought the DCI down, saw the look on her face when she realised it was time for retribution. He would savour that moment.
And then the games could really begin. Properly. And Winter Morgan or Kate Riley would truly know the meaning of the word suffering. She too would lose everything, just like he had.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was nearly two o’clock by the time Kate was back at the Police Crime Commissioner’s headquarters in St James’s. It felt so good to step out of Zain’s Audi and breathe in the air she was familiar with. She felt alive, despite the tiredness and stress, and told Zain she needed to clear her head. She took a walk through the park, passing familiar landmarks, until she reached the bridge. It was a favourite place of hers, somewhere she had brought Eric, where the two of them had strolled arm in arm in the darkness, with only a silver moon to guide them. She had been honest with him that night.
‘I was only ever after fleeting moments of escape. I honestly never intended to allow any man into my life, and I don’t even know if I’m ready.’
His hand had covered hers, as he touched her palm gently to his lips.
‘You don’t need to overthink this, Kate. I don’t need an explanation. Right now this is what I want. Tomorrow we might not even wake up to see the sun rise.’
‘I can’t work out if you’re being optimistic or not.’
‘I think we’re both mature enough not to raise our expectations too much.’
‘Shoot, I better return the wedding dress then.’
He had moved closer to her, turning her around so her back was resting against his body, and had gently lifted her hair to kiss her neck. She didn’t feel very mature, the thrill reminding her of the first time any boy had touched her.
‘Let’s not use words like everyone else. We don’t have to label this. Lovers, friends. Who cares?’
‘Are you psychoanalysing me or giving me advice as a professional, Dr Sandler?’
‘I’m just laying it on thick so you let me do what I need to.’
She had gasped as his hands had moved between her legs, then to undo her belt, and pull her jeans down, before entering her from behind. In the dark, against the cold, she had felt so close to him as he made love to her, and yet she had allowed herself to feel just that. He understood her. And made her want to be ready for someone for the first time in her life.
Kate snapped away from that night and looked out towards Buckingham Palace. A swan glided by underneath. It was ethereal, not a part of her day, of the nightmare she had just been through.
Kate gripped the barriers of the bridge tightly, as people passed her unawares. And in that moment, when she was so invisible and so unimportant, Kate finally let herself break down.
Walking back, cleansed of the feelings she had wound up so tightly inside herself, Kate saw the debris from the previous night, lining the streets around St James’s. It seemed so long ago, and yet it wasn’t even twenty-four hours since the protests had begun, and even less since she had been called to the scene where Julian’s body had been found.
When your life was hanging under such flimsy certainties, time really did slow down. She had felt it so acutely, and what was worse was the loneliness of the moment. Kate had always prided herself on being self-sufficient, on not needing anyone, able to walk away from everything she had known. She was the strength for those around her, protecting the vulnerable. Her mother’s disability and her reliance on Kate were just extensions of Kate’s natural bent. It was why she had taken to law enforcement, and why she was perfectly willing to inhabit a corner of the world where attachments were limited. Especially after those closest to her had betrayed her so badly.
And yet, when she feared that she was about to lose the relationships that she had kept close, her mother and now Eric, it was like her gut was being torn from her. How had she become this wax doll, from the ice maiden she had always striven to be? How had Winter become Kate? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was happy it had happened.
She felt vulnerable, in danger, at risk from her own past. And though she was feeling weak, Kate knew it was her mother who was most at risk from that past.
Kate slowly closed the doors of doubt as she walked back to the office. She had to regroup mentally, and hoped she could over the next few hours. She had a killer to catch, one who was more sophisticated and dangerous than any she had known before.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The room was different to the one back in Victoria: all glass walls and inspirational words in white calligraphy across them. The outside world could look in, all emotions and conversations open to scrutiny. No room for secrets, or the worst behaviours that could go on in closed and opaque rooms.
It was a state-of-the-art conference room with linked slide panel screens, individual tablets, recording equipment seamlessly built-in to the ceiling. PCC Hope had asked for the best, and the most expensive, and had been given both.
Yet despite the new facilities, the team was the same. Her team, the men and women she had come to trust to do their best, for her, and for whatever they were working on. Special Operations Executive Unit 3.
Brennan, Pelt, Harris and Cable. Bad law firm. Phenomenal law enforcement.
They inspired confidence in her, and in return she gave them her trust and complete backing and support. The fact they chose to stay as part of Unit 3, despite PCC Hope’s proclivities and seriously questionable connections and views, despite the pressurised work they were encountering regularly, convinced her of their loyalty to her. She had no doubt if she left, they would too. It wasn’t arrogance. They had chemistry, and they worked well together.
And that was key. If Julian Leakey’s killer was to be found, it was this team who would do it. She hoped so anyway, because she knew that whoever did this to Leakey would have no qualms about doing it to anybody else. And before that happened, she would make sure she found whoever was responsible.
There were images on the screen, graphic close-ups of Julian Leakey, the damage done to him. Beside his picture was one of his wife and another of Natalie Davies. There was a silhouette photo in the mix, and a postcard showing what they knew about the neurotoxin so far.
Kate was summarising the facts. They all knew them, but it helped focus the mind when it was so cluttered. Almost as though she was organising her own thoughts, sliding facts across a smooth surface, rearranging them until they made a shape she recognised.
‘Julia
n Leakey, aged forty-seven, Permanent Under Secretary at the Department for International Development. One of the country’s most powerful men, one of the faceless brokers that hold high offices across the Civil Service. Married for fifteen years to Anya Fox-Leakey, daughter of Lord Fox, member of the House of Lords.’
‘Hereditary peer?’ said Stevie.
‘No, given the title as an independent. Lifelong diplomat, serving across a number of postings, ambassador to various Balkan states, just finished a post at the British Embassy in Moscow. What else do we know about Julian? Michelle?’
‘He has a varied work history that’s for sure. Started off working for HSBC, straight out of Cambridge, moved up the ranks there very quickly into senior managerial positions. Moved around the big hitters like Merrill Lynch, Barclays, Citibank. After a decade with the banks he jumped ship to the Civil Service, went straight in at Senior Executive Officer level, after a couple of years he rose up to head up a department at the Home Office, looking into terrorism policy. His move coincided with his marriage to Anya.’
‘Nepotism at its finest,’ muttered Rob.
‘Leakey worked there for five years, before being seconded to the Ministry of Defence, where he stayed on for another six years.’
‘MoD?’ asked Rob. ‘He involved in any sort of weapons testing?’
‘Not that I can see, but his records there are very generic. A number of management posts, they don’t divulge details. After that he did secondments as Assistant Under Secretary for various departments, including the National Health Service, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Department for Education, until he landed the top job at DFID three years ago.’
‘It strikes me as relatively innocuous, but let’s try and get access to any HR files or records that we can, or any work-related incidents or problems. There may be something in his work history that might allow us to explore an avenue we are yet to consider. And the MoD connection. I want to know if there’s a link with any form of development and research into any sort of chemical or biological warfare preparation.’
‘I don’t think they just hand that sort of intel out,’ said Zain.
‘We need to get to the right people then. Any suggestions?’
Zain stayed quiet, but she hoped he was getting the message that he should use DCI Raymond Cross if necessary. He had helped them out before, without her approval, but at least this time she was tacitly giving it.
‘Along with his postings he also held various executive offices, ma’am, so board member for a number of private sector companies. He seems to have done a few months in the public sector and then a few in the private of late. I haven’t got much detail on the companies he worked for, often as a consultant, but they range from manufacturing firms to private healthcare bodies.’
‘What the fuck?’ said Stevie. ‘He gets insider knowledge about how government departments work, then sells his secrets to the highest bidding private sector firms? I thought only wanker politicians did that.’
‘It’s far more widespread than you might think,’ said Michelle.
‘It’s a joke, that’s what it is.’
‘His postings may explain his wealth,’ said Kate. ‘I can’t imagine where else the money has come from. I thought it may belong to his wife, but I don’t think career diplomats like her father would earn that much necessarily. Anya isn’t working, so Julian must have made his money somehow.’
‘As a consultant his rates were hitting over five thousand pounds a day, sometimes even more.’
‘That’s just ridiculous, no one is worth that much,’ complained Stevie.
‘A thorough check into his history would be useful. Let’s see if any red flags pop up,’ said Kate.
‘Are we leaving behind the idea this might be an act of bioterrorism then?’ asked Rob.
‘I don’t want it to distract us. While we thought this may be a virus, a Cat A one at that, then that risk was more acute. Now we suspect it to be a neurotoxin of some sort, a poison in essence, it changes things. It makes it personal, he wasn’t randomly picked, and I believe he was the intended victim. I think we need to focus on the why, and hope it leads us to the who.’
‘And if we’re wrong?’ said Rob. ‘If he was just a coincidence, and this is some sort of mass attack?’
‘We have to hope that the pathology of a neurotoxin means that we can contain the number of deaths. They don’t work in the same catastrophic manner a Cat A would. Let’s hope it buys us the time we need to find whoever is responsible, before they strike again.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
The screen was now showing images of the Leakeys. Julian, Anya, and their two teenage children, Ollie and Lucy, fifteen and thirteen, who were both away at boarding schools, expensive ones judging from the information that Michelle had gathered.
‘The question of Leakey’s finances keeps coming up,’ said Kate. ‘We need to get a handle on this. Stevie, can you get in touch with whoever you know at the HMRC? Let’s see what he declared in terms of earnings, and use that to build a picture of what he might have been earning and how.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘The marriage then. What do we know?’
‘On the surface, and if you take Anya’s view, then it’s all pretty amazing. No problems or issues,’ said Zain.
‘And the reality?’
‘Anything but. She didn’t react when I said he might be dead; when she saw the 3D mock-up, again, she barely had a reaction. His PA was more cut up than she was.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I spoke to one of his staff and she gave me a version of Leakey that wasn’t pleasant. She made him out to be a bully and a misogynist. This was corroborated by Natalie Davies, a former employee of Leakey. She took him to a formal tribunal for harassment, vindictive behaviour and bullying. HR released the files after a lot of convincing, and Natalie’s permission. What is missing though, and which is key if it’s true, is her allegation that she had an affair with Leakey for a couple of months.’
‘Is there any corroborating evidence at all?’
‘None that I can find yet. Nobody else has mentioned the affair. HR forwarded us the deranged emails she sent to them. She literally went into minute detail with them over it, even telling them what his favourite sexual positions were. She had by this point been left by her husband and attempted suicide at least twice.’
‘Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Men are fucking pricks,’ said Stevie.
‘Really? You’ve never expressed that opinion before,’ said Zain.
‘And there you go. Point proven. Prick.’
‘How did HR deal with the allegations?’ asked Kate.
‘They consulted Leakey, told him what Natalie was saying. They got the police involved after she started making threats, but Leakey decided not to pursue anything against her. At the time he told the investigating officer he felt sorry for her. Natalie was asked to stop contacting HR and him, so she went a step further. She contacted Anya directly.’
‘Did Anya mention any of this to you?’
‘No. We traced Natalie’s emails to Leakey in which she threatened to tell his wife what they were up to. There isn’t a response from him. Her emails were by this time being blocked and sent to a secure address. The police spoke to her again, but there was not much they could do. Especially as Leakey was so reluctant to do anything official.’
‘We therefore only have Natalie’s word that she spoke to Anya?’
‘Yes, basically. Anya didn’t let on when we asked about the state of her marriage. Then again, why would she? Her husband had just died: she wasn’t about to say, “Yeah? Great. He was a cheating bastard anyway.” I need to speak to her again. You see, I don’t think Natalie was the first. I think there’ve been loads of others, and Anya for whatever reason was turning a blind eye to it all.’
‘Perhaps she reached breaking point?’
‘She’s a diplomat’s daughter, a Cambridge graduate. She’s not stupid and s
he has the resources. She could easily plan something this elaborate. And Natalie, well, she’s desperate enough and bitter enough to do the same.’
‘Your doubts?’
Zain pushed back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head.
‘It’s the weapon used. How the hell would women like Anya and Natalie get hold of something like that? It just doesn’t make sense.’
‘I agree. So that’s what we need to focus our investigation on.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
The day was fading when Kate finally got into her Ford Focus to head home. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since she had left, and it felt like an eternity. How her body was still able to function and drive, she had no idea.
The gates were closed when she arrived and the security guard, Charlie, looked her over. She smiled and waved as he opened the electric barricade to let her through. Kate wound her window down by the security booth.
‘Hey Charlie, how are you?’
‘All good, thank you, DCI Riley. Just saw PCC Hope on the news, said they found a body they believe to be some government top nob. You can imagine the buzz in here today.’
Kate nodded. Dolphin Square was full of politicians, civil servants and the bored, retired rich. It was also one of the most secure addresses she could find to live in.
‘How is she?’ said Kate, referring to her mother.
‘Hasn’t been out today, not even for her usual walk, or to eat lunch at the restaurant.’
Kate’s face shadowed, as she headed to the underground car park. It was odd for her mother not to take her daily walk around the grounds; there were acres of landscaped gardens for her to explore; or she could have lunch at the onsite restaurant. There was even a shopping mall she could go to. Her walk often involved a trip down to the river, or to the Tate, nothing too far, and with a tracker on her wrist band and ever watchful security like Charlie around, Kate felt she could stop worrying. She didn’t require the sort of intensive live-in help she had done when they lived in Highgate.