Heaven's Door (30 page)

“
Christ!
” She turned to her three colleagues. “Get in there!
Now
!”

She led the way, dropping the phone as she reached for the door handle.

*

Jack took the tiny glass capsule from the locket and placed it in his mouth. Tom's eyes widened with horror. He sprang to his feet, although it felt as though he was moving in slow motion; and the shout seemed to take an age to pass through his lips.

“
No-o-o-o-o!!
”

Jack's eyes were pouring tears.

“I want to die with someone I love, Dad. I'm so sorry.”

Tom reached across to him.

Jack bit down onto the capsule.

The door crashed open behind him and people burst into the room; Voices were shouting, some were screaming.

He grabbed his son, forcing his fingers into his mouth. He could already feel the convulsions shaking his body.

“
No-o-o-o!
” Another voice; he recognised it as his own.

Hands gripped his shoulders, trying to pull him away. He held onto Jack tightly with one arm, flailing behind him with the other, catching someone hard and high on the head. He heard them fall to the floor with a cry of pain.

“
Jack! Jack!”
The same voice again, screaming now.

Someone was forcing their arms between him and Jack, trying to prise them away from each other. A young man, shouting into his face.

“Let go, sir! Let me see him! Please!”

“Get off him! Leave him alone!” He yelled back at him, freeing one arm again and pushing his hand into the young man's face, clawing at his eyes. The man turned his face away, still trying to force them apart.

More people were grabbing his shoulders, trying to pull his arms away. He tried to shrug them off.

“Get away! Get away from him!”

He needed both arms now to hold on to Jack; he could feel his body arching backwards and stiffening with the poison. He was not going to let go. He was
never
going to let go of his son. They couldn't make him. He gripped him, harder and tighter.

Then he was free of them. He sensed the young man standing motionless by his side. He could hear sobbing behind him and heavy running footsteps in the corridor outside.

And then, for a long time, there was nothing else in the world except his son, clutched to his chest as he knelt on the metal floor of their last meeting place.

“Tom, leave him, please,” said John Mackay, eventually. “I'm afraid there's nothing you can do. Let the doctor see him. Please.”

Slowly he released Jack and as they lifted him away, it was Tom who slumped to the floor, as if he was the one being supported. John helped him back on to his chair again, standing in front of him as he did so to block his view of the medical staff working on his son.

Several uniformed police officers had by now sealed off the corridors leading to the room and were preventing anyone entering or leaving the building. A forensic team was already in the reception area waiting to be summoned to what they had been informed was a crime scene. The four prison officers were sitting in a state of shock at the table outside, where events were unfolding on the screen in front of them; but no-one was observing any more. Judy was slumped on the floor with her back to the wall, crying openly. Alison and Phoebe were trying to comfort Emily, as she described, for Alison's benefit, the incident with the locket. Jools was sitting motionless, staring into the middle distance, occasionally dabbing at the scratches on his cheek with a moistened tissue.

Twenty minutes later, the paramedics left the room pushing past them with the trolley with Jack's body on it. Emily turned away as the others stared at it in horror and disbelief. Shortly afterwards, John Mackay emerged, looking pale and tense.

“The doctor's looking after the Home Secretary for now,” he said. “Your office, please, Chief Anders.”

“Yes, sir.”

They walked off together, leaving the three prison officers anxiously looking at each other wondering what was to follow. Ten minutes elapsed and the Chief Superintendent returned alone, seating himself at the table on the vacant chair. Judy got unsteadily to her feet and Jools got up from his own chair so she could sit down.

“I need to officially inform you,” John said, “that there will be an immediate internal enquiry into what happened this afternoon, and you will all be required to assist as key witnesses. I suggest – no, I
instruct
– each of you to take time out right now to separately record your account of the Home Secretary's visit with his son today, whilst it is fresh in your mind, starting from the point at which you each had your own first contact with him. Judy, I'd like you to do the same for your call with Major McNaughton. Do you understand what I'm asking – and why?”

“Yes, sir.” In unison.

“
Unofficially
, Officer Parker, I don't think any human being in the world would have decided other than to let Mr Brown give the locket to his son. You examined it first, I understand, and at that stage it contained nothing but the photographs. From what I can gather – although he is currently not in a fit state to communicate clearly – he had concealed the capsule between the base of his thumb and the palm of his hand, fastened there by a piece of sticking plaster. It would have been virtually undetectable unless you checked all ten digits individually, and even then there's no guarantee that you'd realise what it was. It would have been relatively simple for him to slip the capsule into the locket before passing it over.

“So, although it would be wrong of me to anticipate the outcome, I am confident the enquiry will not find any evidence of negligence. I think you can all pretty much depend on that, but we must go through the process – for all our sakes. Okay?”

They all nodded, relieved and grateful.

“What was it that he took, sir?” asked Phoebe.

“A suicide pill – kill-pill, death-pill, L-pill – whatever. Most probably liquid potassium cyanide, to act that quickly. The sort of thing given to spies in wartime and, in some instances, Special Forces operating in areas where being taken alive is … well … let's say, not advisable.”

“But how could he do it, sir?” said Jools. “How could he just hand that thing to his own son and watch him …”

“Let's not be too hasty to judge, Officer Gorton. From what the Chief tells me, his reaction to Jack taking the pill suggests he had no idea he planned to use it there and then. You were in a good position to see that. But we'll have to wait until he can be properly questioned.”

“And ‘Heaven's door', sir,” Emily spoke for the first time in half an hour. “What's the significance of that?”

The Chief Superintendent turned to Judy.

“Major McNaughton told me it's the name Tom Brown's unit had for the pill,” she said. “Not a term used generally in the Special Forces, just one adopted by their own small group.”

“And something he must have talked to Jack about,” said John.

His composure briefly left him and he shook his head in sadness.

“It's the timing I find hard to come to terms with,” he went on, half to himself. “If Judy had got that call yesterday – or just five minutes earlier; if the Chief had answered her phone the first time … That's not a criticism, by the way, but … well, we might have prevented this.”

“Except Jack wouldn't have seen that as a good thing, would he, sir,” said Jools. “This is how he wanted it. Just before he took the pill, he mentioned the two guys on the wire on Alpha; particularly the judge's nephew and what happened to him. And I reckon he was right. God knows what they would have done to Jack, with his dad being the reason they were out there.”

The Chief Superintendent paused as if absorbing what Jools had said.

“I guess that's true,” he said, with a deep sigh. “And the Home Secretary would have known that, too, of course.”

He turned to look at the screen, which showed Tom still slumped in his chair, the doctor kneeling beside him.

“I'd better get back in there.”

*

David drove along Delaware Street. It was a typical suburban, supermarket-era thoroughfare; formerly a busy local shopping centre, now comprising a string of estate agents, cafes, amusement arcades, charity shops and dubious takeaways. At 4.30 pm there were relatively few pedestrians around.

They crawled along, Laser directing, until they reached the place where he had waited with Sammo. David double-parked and got out, his huge frame and intimidating appearance discouraging any complaints from the following motorists faced with the prospect of easing round his car through the infrequent gaps in the oncoming traffic. He crossed the street to the spot where Laser said he had approached Jack. Standing in the same place, David checked the walls above the shop windows on both sides of the street and easily picked out the CCTV installation which had recorded Laser, Jack and Sammo.

He turned back to the car. Laser was still there, but looking furtively across at David, as if weighing up his chances of making a break for it. David slipped back into the driver's seat and pulled away again taking a couple of left turns to head back towards Cobham. A few minutes into the journey his phone sounded. He pulled over to the side of the road, pressing the answer key so he would not miss the call. Removing the keys from the ignition he got out and walked round the car, leaning up against the passenger door.

“Hi there,” he said.

“Hi,” said Jo. “First chance I've had to call. Sounds like you've got news.”

“News
and
Laser,” he said.

“Wow! Do tell.”

“Well, it seems Laser was put up to asking Jack for drugs, though he claims it was only soft stuff. Jack told him to get lost – I'm paraphrasing to save your delicate ears – so he reckons no deal was done. What's also interesting is that he was told a very specific spot to contact Jack – right where the camera would get them.”

“That sounds like progress, don't you think? Not bad for a pensioner.”

“I've just added a nought to my invoice for that remark, young lady. Anyway, Laser's supplier – the one who set up his meeting with Jack – is one Sammo Sampson, and the guy behind him is someone they call Duke, or ‘the Duke'. Any bells ringing?”

“I know Sammo, but never heard of Duke. Actually, I think Sammo is legit now,” she said. “At least I thought he was. He was a beneficiary of the amnesty; got a license out of it for the soft stuff. I'm pretty sure he's not doing the sort of gear we found at Jack's.”

“But we know that Laser
used
to take the hard stuff, so if he's had a relapse that would explain why Sammo put him on to Jack.”

“Hey, whose side are you on? We're trying to clear Jack, not …”

“I thought we were looking for the truth, and what I just said is the best fit with the facts so far. We're not going to get to the truth, Jo, if we just blindly assume that Jack is innocent and try to fit all the facts to that.”

“Okay, point taken, but why was it so important, then, for Jack to be caught on camera with a known – albeit ex – hard drug user?”

“That I can't answer yet. But I'll carry on reeling you in whenever you get ahead of yourself. We're nowhere near proving anything yet, let alone a set-up. This joker isn't capable of setting up a deckchair, and if Sammo is really just a legit street-trader, it has to be Duke or beyond if you're right. And even then, it could be just one dealer trying to stitch up another, you know. That's much more likely than the framing of an innocent.”

“Yes, I know, but it's new evidence – the fact that Laser was
told
to speak to Jack and in a very specific place – under the gaze of the security cameras. That's the best we could have hoped for from Laser and it might be enough to put the brakes on for an appeal. Right?”

“Possibly, but not automatically. It will have to be weighed against the mass of evidence on the other side. Anyway, the question is, what exactly do we do with the info and, more importantly right now, its source? He's sitting in the car, probably thinking I'm getting instructions on how to kill him.”

“You're not planning to, I assume,” asked Jo.

“It's not Plan A,” said David. “But I'm worried about getting hold of him again if we need him. You're the boss, so tell me what to do.”

“What about threatening to kill his auntie if he disappears? How much does he like her?”

“Christ, Jo, I didn't bring you up to think like that! Mind you, that's exactly what I was planning to do, and in the meantime I'll send you the recording of our little chat.”

“Hold it! Got another call. Need to take this. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Oh, and well done, Hercule.”

“Merci, ma petite.”

*

Jo ended the call from Shana and ran to the ladies room, falling onto her knees in the nearest stall before throwing up violently into the basin. She flushed it away and stayed there for a long time, her arms around the seat and her head hanging over the bowl, tears splashing into the water. The sickness and despair had drained her almost to the point of sleep, when a hand on her shoulder made her start.

“Jo – ma'am? What's wrong?”

It took her a few seconds to remember where she was, mainly because Detective Sergeant Seb Carter should not have been in there. Seb had been assigned to her team as her number two. He was around five years younger than Jo, not much smaller than David and with a handsome, boyish face and easy, relaxed manner.

“Seb, what on Earth are you doing in here?” she asked, in a faint voice.

“Just checking on you, ma'am. I saw you rush in here and – well, you didn't come out. That was about twenty minutes ago.”

“Twenty minutes! Christ!”

Jo struggled to her feet, helped by Seb.

“Just felt sick,” said Jo, recovering enough to feel embarrassed. “Been sick, actually.”

“Do you always cry when you feel sick?”

Jo turned and looked in the long mirror over the washbasins. Her face was streaked with mascara and her eyes were red with crying.

“Give me a couple of minutes, Seb. I'll be right out.”

“I was just coming to get you anyway,” he said. “Dot-com wants to see you.”

*

It took a long time for Tom's mind and eyes to clear and for his surroundings to come back into focus. He looked around. He was sitting in a wing chair in John Mackay's office. John was standing by his side, a hand on his shoulder, and crouching in front of him was a small, thin man in a white jacket and rimless glasses looking anxiously up into his face.

“I must get back to Mags,” Tom said. “Oh God, poor, poor Mags. She doesn't deserve this.”

“We'll drive you over,” said John.

“Thanks, but it's better if I tell her. I'll go on my own.”

“I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Tom. You can tell her yourself, of course, but for one thing, you're in no condition to drive, and also, more to the point, you are now formally in police custody. I should caution you really, but there'll be time for that later.”

Tom turned to look at him through his glazed and bloodshot eyes.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I'm sorry, Tom, but you are now officially helping us with our enquires. As you know – or you'll realise when you are in a fit state to think about it – what happened today will likely prove to be a crime; helping someone in custody to take their own life. Please don't make me go into it now. Just accept the need for our being with you. Believe me, I am trying to be as sensitive as possible about this.”

“Sensitive! Well, thank God for that, Chief Superintendent. I can't even begin to imagine what you're like when you're
not
being sensitive!”

“Tom,” said John. “I have said many times during the last hour or so how terribly sorry – devastated – I am about what has happened, and how desperately I feel for you. Maggie is not the only one who doesn't deserve this. But I have to do my job. It's what you expect of me. Things are bad enough, aren't they, without you kicking out at your friends? Let's just say, for now, that I'm giving you a lift home. I've got to come with you – I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter – and you're right, you must get back to Maggie as soon as you can. So let's go now, together.”