Bold Lies

by Bold Lies (retail) (epub)

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he said. ‘What was all that bloody noise? It woke me up, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Gunshots, Horace. Now get me out of here.’

  Chapter 55

  The patrol car was already at Eamont Bridge when it got the call. No one had told them to use sirens. It was a routine call to a woman on her own: a potentially important witness intimidation case. They sped through the countryside at a good pace, slowing down only to negotiate tight bends. The driver was adept at throwing his vehicle around roads framed with sharp dry-stone wall edges, and he navigated with expertise, but the passenger still held on to his roof strap.

  When they arrived in Bampton, the village was deserted, and they carried on to the tiny hamlet of Bampton Grange, searching for the house in question. The only light was from a few tiny orange slits behind closed curtains and blinds, and they struggled to locate the address. They checked their navigation equipment and found that they were on the wrong side of the road. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary at all. No barking dogs, screaming arguments, or drunken yobs. It was just black and silent.

  They got out of the vehicle and approached the door. One of the officers knocked. There was no answer. He knocked louder, then spoke into his radio.

  ‘Patrol 357, no answer at property, repeat, no answer at property. Going round the rear of the residence.’

  Round the back, they found a different scene. There was smashed glass, and the door was wide open. Inside, the property was in darkness.

  ‘Proceed with caution,’ came the instruction.

  ‘Is anybody there?’ one of the officers shouted. ‘Tilly?’

  They looked at one another and stepped inside. The first officer switched on a light. The other held up his hand and shook his head. He spoke urgently into his radio.

  ‘Patrol 357, request for support. Evidence of violence.’

  His colleague made his way cautiously into the living area. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a cry could be heard above him, and he took the steps in twos. His colleague swore: it was a blatant procedural error, but in the heat of the moment, few men could ignore a woman in distress, and they all knew it.

  ‘Patrol 357, urgent request for support.’ He gave the address again and continued his search of the downstairs. A figure emerged, rushing down the stairs; the PC swung around a fraction of a second too late and was caught by a fist in the face. It startled him, but he was incapacitated for only a half a second before he gave chase. He was the quicker of the two, and the man hadn’t made it out of the back door before the officer was on top of him, using his specialist training to disable him and cuff him. He left him on the floor, face down, while he took to the stairs to assist his partner.

  There was another scream, and he rushed into the bedroom to find a woman being held by a second man, who was brandishing a knife. His partner was negotiating with him calmly.

  ‘Come on, pal. You’re already going down for breaking and entering; you don’t want to go down for anything else.’

  ‘Fuck off, mate. You need to let me past.’

  ‘You know I’m not going to do that.’ He spoke into his radio, whilst holding up his hand in a peaceful gesture. ‘Patrol 357, request hostage negotiator.’

  ‘You don’t need one of those, mate. Just let me past with the girl and I won’t hurt her.’

  ‘I can see she’s hurt already.’ The woman was bleeding from a cut on her head, and her clothes were roughed up and in disarray. ‘Miss… is it Matilda? Tilly?’

  She nodded.

  The man tightened his grip on Tilly’s neck and held up the knife. The second officer shifted in the doorway and caught her attention. He held her gaze while his partner continued to speak to the man.

  ‘You’re not going to get past us. It’s over, pal.’

  ‘Don’t “pal” me, you fuck.’

  ‘It’s gone wrong. Whatever you were planning to do, it’s not going to work. You might as well accept it and take the lesser charges. I don’t know what you want with the young lady, pal, but she’s—’

  ‘I told you, don’t call me pal!’ The man’s physical demeanour changed into pure fury, and the PCs watched as Tilly slipped beneath his grasp, making herself into a tight ball at his feet, and elbowed his crotch. The man yelped and the officers sprang into action. One grabbed Tilly and dragged her away; the other took the full force of the intruder, who swung the knife into the air and brought it down hard. The PC groaned and cried out.

  ‘He got me, Steve.’

  ‘You bastard!’ The PC who was unharmed lifted his truncheon and brought it down with full force on the head of the man who’d stabbed his friend and colleague. The man slumped and fell to his knees, then face first onto the carpet. They were taught where to hit someone on the head without causing permanent damage, but it was a risky manoeuvre and only used in emergencies. The officer cuffed the guy, then rushed to his friend. Tilly was cowering in the corner of the room.

  ‘Did it go into your stab vest?’

  ‘No, it missed and went through my jacket.’

  ‘Fuck, let’s see… Patrol 357, officer down! Repeat, officer down!’ In the distance, they could hear sirens.

  The injured officer clutched his side. Blood was seeping into the carpet beneath him, and both men realised it must be a deep wound.

  ‘Get a medic!’ Steve screeched into his radio. ‘Mate, I’ll be back in two seconds. I’m going for the first aid kit.’

  He ran down the stairs and out to his patrol car, grabbing the kit they all carried. It was more sophisticated than the ones you could buy in a chemist’s, but it wasn’t designed to save a life if an artery had been punctured. All he could do was his best. He ran back up the stairs to where his colleague was slumped on his side. The floor was sticky with blood, and the PC was pale and drowsy.

  ‘Stay with me, mate! Look at me! MEDIC! MEDIC!’ he screamed into his radio.

  The sirens grew ear-splitting and stopped outside. Steve had no idea who to thank: God, or the skill of the driver, or the forethought of the desk operator who had sent a patrol car with a medic. He almost sank to his knees when he saw the green overall rush past him with a huge case. All he could do now was watch as the medic stripped his friend’s clothes and examined the wound.

  ‘Hold here, now!’ the medic commanded. Steve knelt and did as he was told. The medic got out what looked like a sewing kit and gave the wounded officer a shot of something before setting to work.

  Steve looked away.

  He swore he could hear a chopper.

  Chapter 56

  Kelly put one hand over her eyes and turned towards the car window. She couldn’t sit around at Eden House waiting to see if the injured officer pulled through. Graeme Millar had reported what had happened at Allerdale House, and she and Matt were on their way there behind several patrol cars and two armed response vehicles. Graeme had warned them of the volatility of the old weapon, and they couldn’t be too careful.

  She knew that Sebastian could have left by now, either by car or boat. The mystery man was a new one, but he could easily have a playmate from London that they knew nothing about. Their digging had been focused on George, Ravensword and the lab research, rather than the disgruntled disinherited grandson.

  ‘It happens. You’re not responsible,’ Matt tried to reassure her.

  ‘Yes I am. I allowed myself to be persuaded that the risk to Tilly was one-dimensional. I underestimated a direct threat.’

  Matt looked at his iPad. ‘Colonel Dansford has shot himself at the Montague Club. He’s dead.’

  Kelly looked up. It was as much a confession of guilt as anything else.

  ‘Personal reasons?’ she asked sarcastically.

  ‘Come on, Kelly. We’ve got work to do. Chin up. We’re almost there. Tooting’s gone off the radar, but we’ll find him. It’ll take a little longer to get an arrest warrant for our senior civil servants. We don’t want any mistakes.’

&n
bsp; Kelly knew he was right. It could take weeks to put together a watertight case pointing at senior members of the Home Office and beyond. They didn’t even fully understand yet where the illegal activity began and ended.

  Units from Keswick were on standby to support them at Allerdale House, but not before the ARVs arrived. She didn’t want any other casualties. They used blues and twos, and it was exhilarating speeding down the A66 with anticipation burning inside them. The ARV commander would take charge of the initial securing of the property. They intended to clear every room before allowing other personnel inside. Kelly wished at moments like this that she could rush into buildings herself and point a gun at somebody who dared to exist in a twilight world of thuggery, threatening and harming others with impunity.

  Cars moved aside for them. Kelly alerted the Derwent Water coastguard and instructed them to clear the lake, sending warnings to all registered boats in the area. Matt liaised with London and received updates from the squad cars approaching the home of Christopher Slater, as well as that of Colonel Dansford’s widow. Descriptions and alerts had been sent to all units across the capital and beyond, as well as airports and motorway patrols with the ability to track number plates. Tooting owned three cars and had a driver who ferried him around in a Mercedes. All four vehicles had been entered into the combined alert.

  They had a hit from CCTV on the A4 out of London towards Heathrow. A quick check confirmed that Philip Tooting was planning to leave the country on a BA flight to Buenos Aires. The unit deployed to the airport was instructed to procure airport staff cooperation and take Tooting by surprise. A senior manager at the airport contacted BA, who agreed to position the flight as delayed so that Tooting stayed in the business lounge.

  Kelly glanced at Matt’s iPad and saw that he was watching five separate frames on the one small screen.

  An alert popped up on his phone.

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘What?’ Kelly turned to him.

  ‘The PC injured at Graeme Millar’s cottage. He died in the air.’

  ‘Fuck.’ She spoke in a low whisper. ‘Wasn’t he wearing a stab vest?’

  ‘Yes, but the knife came in the side, under his arm. It went into his brachial artery.’

  Kelly stared out of the window into the blackness and they drove on in silence.

  ‘Do we know the suspects? Are they talking?’ she finally asked, after clearing a lump in her throat. Both men apprehended at Graeme’s cottage had been taken to Kendal for questioning.

  ‘Not yet.’

  The cars sped through the gloom of the falling night and Kelly felt nauseous. She hadn’t eaten properly in days and the fatigue was kicking in; it would soon be replaced by adrenalin, but until then, the motion of the car made her drowsy.

  They turned off to Portinscale and made their way to the private lane that led to Allerdale House. Suddenly the car jolted forward and made a brutal emergency stop. Kelly’s head swung forward and then backwards, banging on the rear rest and coming to a stop. Her neck screamed in agony. Matt put his hand out to her.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ said the driver. ‘Obstruction ahead.’

  They listened on the radio, nursing their whiplashed necks, as the two ARVs apprehended a car containing a driver and a passenger.

  ‘Police! Hands on the wheel! Stay inside the vehicle, do not move your hands!’

  They saw high-visibility jackets up ahead and the glint of weapons pointing at the vehicle. The driver was unknown, but the passenger was positively ID’d as Sebastian Montague-Roland. Both men were arrested and read their rights. Neither made a comment.

  The ARV commander informed Matt and Kelly that they could leave their vehicle, and they did so, rubbing their necks gingerly.

  Sebastian Montague-Roland looked shaken but still arrogant as he sat in the back of one patrol vehicle; the second man, whom neither Kelly nor Matt had seen before, sat in another. They were to be taken to Eden House for formal interview. Meanwhile, she and Matt would accompany a search of the escape vehicle as well as the property to see what they could find. A forensic team had already been called.

  Chapter 57

  Christopher Slater was sound asleep in his sprawling six-bedroom home in Surrey. His wife had been roused by bright lights and shouting outside. She’d assumed it was drunks or other such riff-raff and had gone along the first-floor landing to see if their children were home. She still called them children, though they were both in their late twenties. Still using their parents’ house as a free base between jobs and partying. Mrs Slater didn’t mind.

  Now, as she peered out of the window after confirming that both the children were in their rooms, she saw police cars parked in the drive, with officers and dogs swarming around. She shook her husband.

  He’d taken sleeping pills and was difficult to rouse. He’d come home late smelling of booze, and they’d argued.

  A loud pounding at the door scared her, and she shook her husband more determinedly. The boys padded half asleep through to their parents’ room.

  ‘Mum? What’s going on?’

  ‘I have no idea. I’m sure it’s a mistake.’

  Finally Christopher woke up, though he was incomprehensible for the first few minutes. The sleeping pills and the booze made him sound like an idiot. He scrunched his brow. The continued banging pierced his thoughts and a voice booming through a loud hailer made him sit up alert and fully awake.

  ‘Christopher Tarquin Slater! Answer the door! This is the police! We have a warrant for your arrest!’

  The boys looked at their mother and then their father.

  ‘What on earth is happening?’ Mrs Slater asked.

  ‘I have no idea. You stay here. I’m sure it’s a mistake.’ Christopher stood up and started getting dressed. ‘I’ll go and see what’s going on.’

  He knew exactly what was going on, but he didn’t have the courage to tell his family: to prepare them. Instead, he left the room knowing that he wouldn’t see them again as a free man. He couldn’t look at his boys.

  He went downstairs and opened the front door.

  ‘What the…’ His voice tailed away as he came face to face with two heavily armoured police officers. Both were over six foot tall and neither smiled at him. ‘Look, chaps, I think there’s been a mistake.’

  ‘Are you Christopher Tarquin Slater?’

  ‘Well, yes…’

  ‘Turn around, sir. We’re arresting you on suspicion of being an accessory to murder, fraud and corruption. You have the right to remain silent…’

  He was shoved roughly around, facing the interior of the lavish house that had been his family home for eighteen years. His wife came to the top of the stairs and gazed at him questioningly. He looked away.

  The cuffs that were snapped on to his wrists were cold, hard and very tight. He winced. He was marched out of the house towards a waiting car, and as he looked back at the house, he saw at least five officers entering it, flicking lights on and moving equipment into place.

  He’d never felt so scared in his life. His thoughts whirled. Had Benji been arrested too? And Tooting? He tried to stay calm. As they drove away, he could feel the blood throbbing in his hands.

  ‘What is this about? Why are those officers going into my house?’

  ‘We’ve got a search warrant, sir.’

  Christopher closed his eyes. He had no idea where he was being taken or exactly what he was accused of. They’d mentioned murder and fraud in the charge.

  All would be well. Philip’s lawyers would see to it.

  Chapter 58

  The delay to his flight was only a minor irritation, and Philip sat back with another glass of champagne. The business-class lounge wasn’t what it used to be; anyone could come in here now if they had enough Air Miles. They even served Prosecco. His wife called, and he decided to answer it in case it was something important about work or the grandchildren.

  ‘Philip, the police have been looking for you: at the club, here, at the flat in London.
’

  ‘How do you know about the flat in London?’

  ‘Oh come on, Philip, I know about everything. That’s not important. Why do they want to speak to you?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ The creeping feeling returned under his ribs and he glanced around the lounge, but no one was taking any interest in him.

  ‘Where are you?’ asked his wife.

  ‘I’ve just been to the gym. I’ve been on the rowing machine. I’m knackered, actually, I’m—’

  ‘I suggest you get back here as soon as you can. They’ve been calling all your numbers.’

  ‘I don’t keep work phones on me at the weekend, you know that.’

  ‘I gave them your private number.’

  ‘They haven’t called it.’

  He glanced over at the receptionist behind the desk: she was speaking into her phone. One look his way told him what he needed to know. He hung up on his wife and looked at his watch, then gathered his things and made his way to the exit from the lounge. He was too late. Uniformed police entered through the double glass doors and blocked the way.

  ‘Mr Philip Tooting?’

  ‘That’s my name.’ He straightened his tie and tidied his jacket over his arm.

  ‘We’re arresting you on suspicion of murder, conspiracy to murder, fraudulent activity and perverting the course of justice.’

  ‘Well, I… This is ludicrous.’

  A burly officer approached him and turned him around. His laptop case and hand luggage fell to the floor, along with his jacket. He struggled and complained, but the officer was firm and he heard the sound of handcuffs. His wrists were restrained and the cuffs locked tightly before he was marched out of the lounge.

  People stared. Some took photographs. Others pointed.

  Philip’s cheeks raged red as he was paraded through the terminal building towards a private customs area. He was escorted through a search station and towards some service entrance doors, where three police cars waited. They’d sent the fucking cavalry.