First to Die

by Alex Caan

  ‘Yes, they were only rumours though,’ said Kate.

  ‘Anya’s father, Lord Fox, served as an ambassador and diplomat to a number of those nations after the fall of the Soviets. Before her marriage, Anya used to work for him. She would accompany him on his postings.’

  ‘That would have been, what, fifteen or sixteen years ago now?’ said Zain.

  ‘Yes,’ said Michelle. ‘However, she still manages to accompany him for the odd holiday now and then. I checked both her and Julian’s travel history. Most of those countries are not in the EU; you have to apply for visas to travel there. Julian has no history of accompanying his father-in-law, but Anya did, sometimes with the children, sometimes alone.’

  ‘Something else we need to speak to Anya Fox-Leakey about,’ said Kate. ‘I think we should also speak to Lord Fox and some of his aides who were there at the same time as Anya. See if they can throw any light on exactly what she was doing out there.’

  ‘Yeah, like Fox will just meet us,’ said Zain. ‘And if Hope finds out we’re going after a peer, he’ll be spitting.’

  Kate smiled at them both.

  ‘Yeah, OK I get it, win–win. He’s going to tip off his daughter though if we speak to him.’

  ‘Then focus on the aides,’ said Kate.

  ‘Lord Fox was recently out in Russia as part of a diplomatic mission,’ said Michelle. ‘They were negotiating with them over the conflict in the Ukraine.’

  ‘Have you got his travel itinerary too?’

  ‘No, I just Googled him.’

  ‘Was Anya with him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Four months.’

  ‘That should mean the staff he currently has were probably there with him. Can you check for me, and get me some names?’

  Zain considered the figure that Anya Fox-Leakey was creating in his mind. She was far more complex than he had given her credit for, and if she was bitter about the affairs, then there was a reason why she might want to hurt Julian. And her trips might have been the way in which she had found how to deal with him, once and for all.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The industrial estate was built off the M25, on a turning you would miss if you didn’t know it was there. There were units for import/export companies, another under the management of a printing firm, and then there were a whole block of units used by the NHS. Some management arm no doubt, wasting money that could have been spent on front line nurses. Rob felt his indignation, which he proudly thought of as working-class and Northern, growing as he parked.

  Raxoman had a separate block of units, made of glass and chrome, interspersed with patches of green lawn. He spotted a number of flash cars outside the pharmaceutical giant’s offices, including a sleek green Porsche. He gave it a once over as he walked past, envy and curiosity mixing together.

  He knew that no matter how wealthy he became, the boy born in inner-city Manchester just couldn’t fork out that much for a car. The value of money was ingrained in him. Easy to say though when he was struggling on a public-sector salary in one of the most expensive cities in the world. He was looking at crossing thirty still sharing a flat with three other guys, all in the same position as him. Something had to give surely?

  The receptionist was an older woman, who greeted him with a melodious Caribbean accent. He told her he was here to see George Sharp, Natalie’s old boss. The woman placed a call and a few moments later Sharp was there, a man who looked to be in his forties, with hair greying at the temples, dressed in a smart blue suit.

  ‘Sergeant, please follow me, I’ve got us a room at the back. And ordered fresh coffee.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rob, nodding at the receptionist who was now glued to a mobile.

  The room had blinds on the glass walls, and a small table on which sat two cups of coffee. Rob took his black, Sharp added milk and sugar to his.

  ‘What exactly can I help you with?’ asked Sharp. ‘You weren’t too clear when you asked to meet.’

  ‘I was after a lowdown on a former employee of yours. A Natalie Davies? She was a temp . . .’

  ‘Yes, I remember Natalie. Is she in trouble with the law?’

  ‘I’m just running a background check on her. How was she as an employee?’

  ‘Natalie was fine. She had some issues, some serious issues.’

  ‘And her work?’

  ‘Hmmm . . .yes, OK. She wasn’t the best by any means; I’m sure even she would admit that.’

  Great, thought Rob, he was landed with Mr Nice.

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me though that she’s in trouble. Lots of things happened to her. Always something to interfere with her work.’

  ‘You kept her on for nearly six months?’

  ‘Yes. She was having marriage problems, health issues. I just couldn’t bring myself to fire her.’

  ‘What was she doing for you?’

  ‘Just basic admin. Taking meeting notes, writing memos, letters. Arranging conferences.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like a lot you can get wrong?’

  ‘She just kept making silly mistakes. On top of that she was coming in late all the time, disappearing for long lunches. I gave her verbal warnings so many times, but they fell on deaf ears, to be honest.’

  ‘And yet you kept her on despite all of this? So what made you finally ask her to leave?’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to you, but she ended up stealing from us. Not stationery, or money.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘Drugs. She was caught stealing some of the pain-relief medication we were working on.’

  Rob felt his heart rate pick up.

  ‘Can you tell me about that?’

  ‘Yes, of course. They were medicines we were testing for rheumatological pain, severe arthritis, dealing with recovery from complex surgery on the spine and other parts of the body that take a while to heal.’

  ‘What were the drugs?’

  ‘They were a form of neurokine modulator. A new form. Basically we were taking naturally occurring neurotoxins and using their destructive power to target specific areas of the neurology that sends pain signals to the body.’

  Rob started messaging back to the office.

  ‘Do you manufacture these on site?’

  ‘Yes, we have laboratories here. It was why the theft was so serious. Natalie not only entered a secured area; she was potentially taking medicine that hadn’t been tested and could possibly have serious side effects.’

  ‘Why would she?’

  Sharp took a sip of his own coffee.

  ‘The drugs are pain relief. When the prescriptions run out, DS Pelt, I’m sure you can imagine those people that have come to rely on them will do anything to get their next fix.’

  Natalie was dealing? In highly toxic untested medicines?

  ‘You say she got caught – was it only the once that she took them?’

  Sharp looked embarrassed, unable to meet Rob’s eyes.

  ‘We can’t be sure. You see, we don’t log the medicine that is created during the testing phase. Most of it is destroyed, but we don’t really keep stringent records of quantities produced as such.’

  ‘So she could have been stealing them for a while?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’

  ‘Can you show me your labs, please.’

  Chapter Forty

  Rob looked over the laboratory where Raxoman were developing new medicines. It was sterile, although full of glass bottles and substances he didn’t particularly want to come into contact with. Chemistry was not his strength at school, and he barely had a grasp on the things he had learned over the last couple of days.

  There were CCTV cameras guarding the way in and out of the lab, and locks on most cupboards and glass cabinets. Rob heard screeching noises coming from somewhere. He felt sick. Images of large eyes, fur, trapped bodies. He had seen the evidence, the cruelty done to those without a voice, tested on for man’s benefit. He tried to
shut it down, he was on duty, he couldn’t let his personal views interfere. But he couldn’t help it, his skin was crawling, he wanted to free whatever was being held captive and punch the people doing the ‘research’.

  Sharp was staring at him. Rob became aware he hadn’t spoken for a minute or two. He didn’t trust himself, swallowed hard, looked away, before speaking.

  ‘Everything seems secure. Tightly locked up. How did Natalie gain access?’

  Sharp was fidgeting as he replied, and he’d been texting someone during the tour. They were probably trying to do some form of damage limitation. It made Rob’s insides tighten more. These were the type of people he hated most.

  ‘She was taking master keys from where security kept back-ups. I don’t know how she knew about them.’

  ‘And you never caught her on CCTV?’

  ‘There was no need to check. We would only really play it back if we suspected something had happened. We had no reason to. None of the lab staff reported anything suspicious.’

  ‘Why didn’t you report it to the police?’

  Sharp was red in the face when he replied. ‘She begged me not to, said it was the only time. That she had enough problems and couldn’t face any more.’

  ‘And you just let her go?’

  Sharp nodded.

  Fucking incompetent, thought Rob.

  ‘Can you tell me exactly what Natalie has done?’

  Rob didn’t explain, but asked him what sort of side effects the medicines they were producing at Raxoman might induce. Again, images of animals suffering during the testing process smacked him hard. He was feeling hot, and claustrophobic.

  ‘They can vary, if neurotoxins are not tested properly. Side effects might be paralysis, vomiting, a breakdown of neuron responses.’

  ‘Any type of haemorrhaging?’

  ‘That would be rare from neurotoxins.’

  ‘The modulated ones you are producing here, though?’

  ‘You mean modified. And no. We are working with industry-standard chemicals, their effects are known. Our modifications would only work to enhance certain aspects of them, it would be unlikely they could cause a severe reaction.’

  ‘You can’t rule it out though?’

  Sharp was quiet. He shook his head.

  ‘Is it possible that these neurotoxins could have been modified to cause extreme adverse side effects? Even death?’

  The colour drained from Sharp’s face, as the implications of what Rob was saying started to hit home.

  *

  Natalie was happy. She couldn’t help it. Julian Leakey was dead. Finally the fucking scumbag had met his end, and she hoped it was as painful and as dreadful as it could be. She should have been there though, she should have watched him suffer. It didn’t feel enough to just know.

  Her mood started to dip then. It didn’t feel like closure. It should be. This is what she had fantasised about for so long, as her life broke down and her existence unravelled. Every cell that died chanted his name. Julian Leakey. The man that had taken her away from her life, and then dropped her from such a great height she had shattered. Every piece sharp and painful as she walked over them, trying to put herself back together.

  Only she never could. And now he was gone. She wanted him to suffer, for every part of him to cry out in the pain she felt.

  An anger tore through her and she screamed. Her voice bounced around her bedsit, and in that moment she didn’t hear her door open, and didn’t hear the footsteps behind her. When the hand covered her mouth, and the darkness overtook her, Natalie knew. Julian Leakey had come back from the dead to finish her off as well.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The interview with Lord Fox hadn’t yielded anything significant. He was over seventy and his retirement was already late in coming. He had a gravitas about him, a charisma at least, and Zain could almost see the diplomatic life leaking from his every pore. He was polite, friendly, extremely well spoken, asked Zain about his own life, and yet when it came to answering questions about his daughter and son-in-law he was resolute and unyielding. That was the diplomat to the core, Zain thought.

  His aides were just as opaque, not really revealing anything new except to confirm Anya’s presence in Russia on numerous occasions and that she had in the past been on other trips to visit her father.

  As with Julian Leakey’s staff, Zain was convinced there would be a chink in the armour somewhere. One of them would be harbouring a resentment. It was finding the right person that was the problem.

  Zain was walking back to the PCC HQ. Lord Fox’s offices were in the Houses of Parliament, a stroll from Whitehall. Crowds were thronging the fences that looked into the heart of the British establishment, traffic jostling from all angles. Armed guards kept a watch on anything untoward.

  He angled himself through people from across the globe, again lamenting the fact that he had London on his doorstep and barely took it in, when other people travelled thousands of miles for the experience.

  He headed past the Cenotaph and on to the main stretch of Whitehall that led to St James’s Palace and 10 Downing Street. It was then his phone rang, a number he didn’t recognise.

  ‘DS Harris? This is Mike Turner. We just spoke briefly? I work for Lord Fox?’

  Zain remembered him, with sleeked-back black hair, gold-rimmed glasses and an earnestness in his tone. Zain had given all the aides his card when he left, hoping one of them would be willing to give him more details. And here he was, Mike Turner.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Firstly, I need to know that this will remain confidential. As in who the source of your information was.’

  Zain threw out these assurances all the time, knowing full well he would ignore them if he needed to. I’ll drag your ass into a dock if needs be, Mr Turner, but until then sure I’ll give you false hope.

  ‘Of course, anything you say will stay confidential.’

  You don’t have it in writing, so go ahead, do your worst.

  ‘I didn’t want to say this in front of the others, or in the hearing of Lord Fox. He is an exemplary man, and an extremely professional employer.’

  ‘I have no doubts at all about that. Listen, Mike, would it be easier if we met somewhere? Did this face to face?’

  There was silence on the line, but Zain’s head was filled with the sounds of cars, buses, voices. London at one of its most famous crossing points. Eventually, Mike said he would like to meet, and gave Zain the location.

  ‘It’s a little alcove across the road from Parliament.’

  ‘Yes, I know it well, we used to be based on Victoria Street and I went there a lot.’

  The alcove was a garden in Westminster where the original Abbey buildings had once been. They arranged to meet there in fifteen minutes.

  Zain hurried to where the garden was, retracing his steps past Parliament again.

  Mike Turner was already there when Zain arrived, wrapped in a thick black coat, scarf and gloves. Zain took a seat on a bench opposite him.

  They shook hands, Mike’s soft and warm in his gloves. Zain put his in his pockets to try and heat them up.

  ‘Thank you for meeting me, and sorry it’s so clandestine,’ Mike began.

  ‘No problem. So what can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s more a case of what I know that might help you. We are obviously devastated by the news of Julian’s death. He was a good man. Had his opinions, but carried himself with dignity at all times.’ If only you knew, thought Zain. ‘I don’t know which direction your investigation is heading, but I can only assume your questioning of Lord Fox and my colleagues, means there may be something that doesn’t sit right?’

  ‘It is an investigation into an unlawful killing,’ said Zain. He heard how he sounded. Whenever he met someone posh, he always ended up speaking like a twat. Still, Kate always did go on about mirroring people and the Reid technique.

  ‘And the questions about Anya?’

  ‘Just covering every angle.’ Za
in wanted to say ‘innit’ just to sound normal again.

  ‘I may have some information which might be of assistance in that regard.’

  The wind was biting, and Zain felt his nose begin to condense. He took a tissue from his pocket, wiped it. Mike watched, not speaking again until he had his full attention. Zain wanted him to just get on with it, hated protracted conversations. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasted the blood, tried to stay calm.

  ‘Anything, no matter how innocuous or unrelated, could help. So please, go ahead.’

  Mike glanced around again. Working for the FCO no doubt he had read enough le Carré novels to give him a sense of being wary of his surroundings.

  ‘I can’t really say if it happened in previous postings, I can only assume it has. While Anya was visiting us in Russia there was an incident. It meant that Lord Fox had to be rushed to a meeting with his Russian counterpart. The security vetted driving staff had to accompany her father, so I was left to take Anya to the airport. It was all quite smooth, the trip to the airport. Anya is pleasant enough, although she does have a habit of treating her father’s staff as her own sometimes.’

  There it was, the resentment that Zain had hoped for. Watch who you piss off, because if they ever get asked about you, their version will sting. Badly.

  ‘At the airport, we were checking in her luggage. Everything was fine, apart from her not putting through one of her bags. She refused to, and the check-in desk staff were not impressed. On closer inspection though, I realised it wasn’t just a normal bag. She had one of her father’s diplomatic pouches with her.’

  Zain understood, he knew how they worked. Diplomats used them mainly for sending confidential documents, with the guarantee that they would not be searched or checked leaving or entering a nation.

  ‘Was that usual for her to do that?’

  ‘I’m not sure. There were no special arrangements made, and she seemed to have acquired the pouch from somewhere. I asked the others afterwards but nobody admitted to having supplied her with one.’