KILL ME IF YOU CAN (Dave Cunane Book 8) (30 page)

When the Government needed to launch an Inquiry to fend off allegations that it had supported torture what could be more natural than that it should turn to Sir Lew to conduct the Inquiry, a man who understood the problems of intelligence gathering?

All went smoothly for a while.

Kelly spoke of Sir Lew’s journeys up and down the country, the many meetings in London. Lew’s temperament seemed benign, all was going well. Then there came a special meeting in the week before Lew was killed.

It was held in the vast car park of the Bluewater Shopping Centre in Kent. Kelly didn’t see whoever Lew met but he did see that his boss was in a towering rage when he got back in the Roller.

After that nothing went well. According to Kelly, Lew had hardly slept or had a meal in the days before his death. He seemed alternately angry or depressed.

I didn’t need to be a genius to work out that Lew had learned something unpleasant at Bluewater. What was it: that torture was being sanctioned by one section of the service?

Alban Pickering had been summoned to explain.

He’d been at Weldsley Park on the Friday afternoon following the Bluewater meeting on the Wednesday.

Had his masters given him the mission of persuading Lew to keep his mouth shut? Had he failed in that? Was it on that Friday that Lew learned about the MOLOCH operation and the name of the chief conspirator?

I could imagine Pickering trying to explain to Lew why MOLOCH was necessary.

Perhaps he’d raked up religious causes, trying to enlist the devout Christian against the Muslims. That seemed a bit off the wall. True, Lew was devout enough but he was no supporter of religious wars. More likely Pickering had appealed to Lew’s feelings of solidarity, the need for an old Secret Service hand to stand firm with his colleagues.

If that was the scenario whoever tasked Pickering had misjudged the target. Lew Greene was the last man on earth to overthrow the constitutional and legal set-up in this country.

Even so, there was a gap to explain.

If Lew had learned about the plot on the Friday why did he wait until Monday morning before taking action?

I asked Kelly what Lew had done on the rest of the weekend before his death.

‘He didn’t seem as agitated as he was before Mr Pickering’s visit.’

‘Not agitated?’

‘Yes, he slept well on Friday night and got up early. He wanted to go for a very long walk up in the hills. I think it’s called the Gritstone Trail. I dropped him off at the start and picked him up at Tegg’s Nose. There was a strong wind but he said it had blown the cobwebs out of his mind. I got the impression he’d come to a decision. He went to church on Sunday and then spent a lot of time in here. I think he was writing something because he asked Janet to borrow her pen because his had run out. Then on Monday I took him to your office. He came back here and bundled us all off to Grasmere. That’s how he came to be on his own when he died.’

‘He didn’t die, Peter. He was murdered.’

‘Yes sir,’ he said stubbornly.

I didn’t correct him.

‘Were there any visitors after Mr Pickering?’

He looked uncomfortable and made no reply.

‘Come on Peter, this isn’t the third degree. I asked a simple question.’

Kelly made no reply again. He looked down at his hands.

I stood up and walked round the room for a moment. The books on the shelves were mainly legal texts with a sprinkling of history and theology.

‘You’ve been threatened haven’t you?’ I asked. ‘You weren’t just asked to stick to the story of the madman killing Sir Lew, you were told to keep quiet about whoever visited him on Sunday.’

He grunted in a way that I took to be affirmative.

‘Peter, there’s an undercover war going on,’ I said. ‘They’re keeping it out of the media, that’s why you were threatened and why the clean up squad came here. Do you understand?’

He nodded.

‘They said they’d kill Janet if I told anyone about Sir Lew’s visitors. They didn’t seem to know that Mr Pickering had been here.’

I tried to absorb this information before speaking again.

‘Who were the visitors on Sunday?’ I asked after a moment.

‘It was late, after nine o’clock. There were two of them. One was tall and thin, a very gentlemanly type … I heard Sir Lew ask him what name he was using so I knew it was Secret Service business.’

‘What name did he say?’

‘Appleyard.’

My heart gave a lurch.

I repeated my previous description of the man I knew as Appleyard, even venturing to imitate his accent.

‘That wasn’t him. This man was slighter taller than you and a few years younger than me and very well spoken. There was no accent.’

‘OK, you said there were two men.’

‘The other one was much smaller and foxy looking, with dark eyes. He looked like an ex-soldier. I didn’t get his name. They were only with Sir Lew for a few minutes. They left without much ceremony and showed themselves out.’

‘Have you any idea what was said?’

‘No, but they weren’t friendly. Usually Sir Lew would show a guest to the front door but these two just slunk out.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘is there any whisky in here, I need a drink after that.’

Kelly breathed a sigh of relief.

‘This way, sir,’ he said deliberately, leading me out of the study into a conservatory overlooking the vast rear lawn.

Kelly opened a cupboard revealing a connoisseur’s collection of malt whiskies.

‘I’ll try that one,’ I said, indicating a bottle of seventeen-year old malt.

Kelly poured a healthy dram into a crystal glass with a tulip shape. I knew it was a specialist ‘whisky nosing’ glass.

‘Spring water, sir?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Peter and I’ll let you carry on calling me sir if you’ll join me in a glass.’

He did.

‘Sir Lew loved the Balvenie,’ he commented.

It was like nectar. I resisted the vulgar urge to take a full bottle back with me. We Cunanes may be lowborn but we know the right thing to do.

‘I’ll see you get the papers about the cottage and the pension enhancement early next week. Mr Desailles will probably have something for you to sign.’

I showed myself out.

My excursion into the feudal world of Sir Lew and Lady Magdalen Arabella Veronica Anderton-Weldsley Greene had been short but not very sweet. I was better suited to the world I knew. Kelly was as loyal as the day is long to Lew but it was painfully clear that he trusted me about as far as he could throw me. I’m afraid the feeling was mutual. I guessed that if Lew’s security service pals asked him for info about me Kelly would sing like the proverbial cage bird.

Early retirement to the cottage of his dreams was the best outcome for both of us.

32

Thursday: 5 p.m.

I drove back to Ridley Close by an indirect route, stopping several times to see if I was being tailed. If I was, I couldn’t detect it but then if it was MI5 I probably wouldn’t.

I was embroiled in action as soon as I turned into the Close.

The old lady from across the road who’d been clipping her ornamental shrubs so assiduously this morning threw herself into the path of the BMW. She was still clutching her secateurs very firmly.

‘He’s been trying to break into your house. I saw him, he’s been round the back and he’s tried the windows and he’s banged on the door enough to wake the dead. I didn’t phone the police because I know Mr Lane wouldn’t like that.’

‘Who is it?’

At the sound of raised voices the culprit emerged. He poked his head round the side of the house. It was Lee. He waved and gave me a sheepish grin. For a moment he looked like a normal ‘young adult’.

I subsided.

‘I know him. It’s all right, Mrs …’

‘Cunningham.’

‘He’s OK.’

‘Are you sure? He looks very dodgy to me and he smokes that substance. I can smell it from here. I know you’re all right because you look after Mr Lane’s brother. You’re his carer, aren’t you?’

‘You could say that, Mrs Cunningham.’

‘I knew you worked for Mr Lane when I saw you driving his car.’

I cleared my throat noisily.

‘Mr Lane’s told me not to phone the police if I see anything going on. He said not to bother with them but to get in touch with one of his men. Well, he’s right isn’t he? The police they have these days couldn’t organise a … Oh, I’m sorry! I see I’m holding you up. Anyway, as long as you’re happy it’s all right. And if you’re in touch with Mr L let him know I was keeping an eye out. He’s always so generous to me.’

‘OK, I’ll tell him. Thanks.’

I peeled myself away and parked the car in the drive. Then a thought struck me.

I got out and went back.

‘Mrs Cunningham, if you do see anyone creeping around who looks as if he shouldn’t be here will you give me a bell on this number? Mr L’s away.’

I gave her the number of the unlisted mobile and I wrote it down on a fifty pound note.

She smiled gratefully.

‘Oooh, that’s naughty, writing on good money, you shouldn’t do that,’ she said, quickly tucking the note in her purse. ‘What name shall I say?’

I looked at her blankly.

‘If someone else answers and I want you?’

‘Just ask for Mr Topfield and if you do see anything the same terms apply as with Mr Lane.’

I returned to number Twelve.

‘Inside, you,’ I said to Lee.

He pulled a face but complied.

‘Don’t start on me,’ he said.

‘Lee, if you’re thinking of taking up a criminal career you can forget it. Smoking dope on a posh residential street where you aren’t known will get you arrested any day of the week.’

He looked at me.

His pale blue eyes were expressionless and if he hadn’t been such a weedy runt a nervous person could have been quite frightened by that stare. His lips twitched and I mentally recited the swear words he was about to come out with.

‘I came back early because I found that bitch you’re looking for,’ he said in a dead flat tone. ‘I tried phoning you but your f**king mobile’s turned off.’

‘Where is she?’

‘That’s a problem. A toe-rag called Lamar Dushawn Bell found her. She’s in Moss Side but he won’t say exactly where. He wants more than five hundred.’

It crossed my mind that it was Lee who wanted more than five hundred but I had to go along with him.

‘How do you know this Lamar isn’t pulling a fast one?’

‘That’s just what I said to him, Boss. He’s a dodgy bastard but he showed me this.’

He took out his mobile phone and held it under my nose.

I took it from him.

It was a latest model with a very large screen. I’d seen Lee playing with it.

The rectangular image showed a woman coming out of a door onto a street. The number of the door was obscured.

It was April Fothergill, that is to say the real April Fothergill, the young black woman with good office skills who’d been referred to the Pimpernel receptionist job by Mr Greasy Gonzi’s agency.

There was no mistake. I compared the excellent image with the photo she’d supplied to the agency. It was her. Her face seemed to be registering shock. 

‘It’s Fothergill, int it?’ Lee continued. ‘This guy called Lamar Dushawn Bell spotted her. He wants his money.’

‘How did Lamar get so close to her? He must have been practically touching her.’

‘No Boss,’ Tony said pityingly. ‘Lamar’s a total nerd. He has this top-line phone with a twelve megapixel camera and video capture and he’s fitted it with an add-on zoom lens. The guy’s a walking TV studio. He can film anything.’

‘So why’s he out mugging students?’

‘He has to pay for his f**king phone, doesn’t he?’ Lee said gruffly.

I could have argued with his logic if I’d had all day but I didn’t.

‘So this is from a video?’

‘Yeah, he videoed her and she didn’t like it. She practically knocked him off his bike and kicked him a couple of times. She tried to snatch the phone. That’s why he wants more money … he says he dint know he was gettin’ mixed up with no gangs.’

‘Gangs?’ I repeated. Once again there was that feeling that I was hitting my head against a brick wall.

‘He says she’s linked up with the Snare Drum crowd.’

The Snare Drum crowd had been involved in a war with a rival group called the Pepper Pot mob … Yes, not a joke. There’d been shootings, long prison terms and for some time a lull in violence for which the police took the credit but was more down to exhaustion by the gangs rather than fear of the law. If the original April Fothergill was tied up with the Drums then opening that can of worms was the last thing I wanted to do.

‘I’ll go to six hundred if he can send me that video straight away, otherwise tell him to forget it. We don’t want to get involved.’

I waited for Lee to announce that he also wanted more money but to my surprise all he did was phone Lamar with my offer.

There was a lengthy discussion but in the end Lee took down Lamar’s bank details. I agreed to transfer two hundred by internet banking and the rest when I’d received the video.

I accessed my bank account, agreeably surprised to find that Gonzi had paid me three thousand pounds in compensation. Appleyard’s threat to freeze my assets had been an empty threat. Nothing was frozen and Lamar’s money went straight through as we both had the same bank.

Lamar sent his video to Lee.

He’d obligingly filmed the street name: Austin Redfearn Close, just off Claremont Road. I knew it well. He’d captured a view of April arriving, getting out of a red Porsche Boxster, waving goodbye to the driver, a hard looking man with an elaborate blond cornrow ‘do’ and then walking up to her front door. She must have sensed that she was being observed because she turned and made a run at the cameraman. The image swung up and down as Lamar fought her off and then he was away, cycling out of Austin Redfearn as fast as he could.

I transferred the remaining four hundred.

Lee spoke on the phone again.

‘Thanks Boss, Lamar’s off on his travels. The guy in the car is Shaka Higgings and you don’t want to mess with him. He’s a mean dude and he’s put quite a few people in intensive care.’

‘Damn it to hell. The first decent lead I get and I find she’s shacked up with a major criminal. Six hundred pounds to find her and we daren’t get in touch.’

‘Best not, Boss. He’s worse than Beast, that guy.’

In frustration I poured myself a small glass of malt whisky. I drank it too quickly and it burned my throat.

Lee was fiddling with something in his jacket pocket.

‘All right, Lee you’ve earned it but go right to the bottom of the garden this time. We don’t want Mrs Cunningham saying we’re setting up a crack house.’

He was off like a shot. I was impressed that he hadn’t even mentioned the five hundred I’d promised him. Perhaps he was too addled to remember.

I tried to think of a way to reach ‘black’ April Fothergill without starting a major riot.

In the end light dawned.

I took out Aunty Velmore’s phone, prayed that it was still secure, reassembled it and called Marvin and sent him on his way. It took some prodding before he agreed that the gangster’s woman was a witness to a crime against me and that he had enough credit in the world Higgings moved in to have a chance of reaching her.

I barely had time for self satisfaction before Lee was back.

‘It’s Tony, he just called.’

He passed me his mobile.

‘Osman Ahmed Gullet,’ Tony announced. ‘Somali immigrant, he works for the Probation Service.’

‘What?’

‘This is your guy, your thieving receptionist’s boyfriend. He’s Somali and he’s quite recent in the country.’

‘But he works for the probation service?’

It sounded unlikely but who was I to say?

‘Yeah, he’s an interpreter or something but Dave, the best yet. I beat Loveland down to two hundred for the name and he has a mate high up in the Probation Service who gave him Gullet’s address. He threw that in for free.’

‘Wonders will never cease.’

‘Yeah, but I had to promise to keep him well supplied with cushy jobs. He’s off to Thailand this summer and he wants plenty of spending money.’

‘I wonder why?’

‘You know why. He’s quite a lad is our Greg.’

‘Yes, anyway, the address of this Gullet is?’

‘No, you’ve got that wrong Boss. You’d address the man as Mr Ahmed Gullet. Ahmed Gullet is his surname. Osman is his birth name and he probably has another name that he’s known by among the Somali people, like a nickname.’

‘Thanks for the info Tony, but the address is?’

‘Just saying Boss, 15 Layborn Road, Levenshulme. It’s off Matthews Lane which is … ‘

‘Off Stockport Road, yes I know. Listen Tony, I’m getting a bit nervous about using Bob’s car. I need fresh wheels but not stolen ones. Do you know anyone who could lend you a clean car for a couple of days?’

‘Yeah, it’ll cost you though. I can use some of the money I saved for you by beating down Loveland’s price.’

‘Do that, shut the office and get yourself round here. And Tony, do you still have that clever friend with the bug detectors, the portable ones?’

‘Yes,’ he said hesitantly, ‘they’re all portable. They wouldn’t be any use otherwise.’

‘Yeah, well borrow one off him and bring it with you. And Tony, buy half a dozen pre-pay phones in different shops.’

‘Will do, Boss. The price of freedom in the ‘surveillance state’ is paranoia. Who said that Dave?’

‘I’ve no idea but I’m sure you’ll tell me.’

‘Me, I just made it up.’

‘OK, Mastermind, get a move on.’

He gave a crazed cackle and cut the call.

I allowed myself to wonder if the ‘reconditioned brain’ was collapsing under the strain.

I handed Lee his phone.

*

An hour later the Velmore phone rang.

‘Marvin?’

‘Don’t Marvin me, man. It’s Mr Desailles to you in future.’

There was no trace of humour in Marvin’s voice.

‘What’s happened?’

‘What’s happened, he asks. What hasn’t happened would be more like it.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I go to the lady’s address, all nice and polite and no sooner do I get my backside on her nice tan leather sofa than that maniac Higgings appears and puts a gun to my head.’

‘The bastard.’

‘I don’t know anything about his parents but I do know he threatened to prevent me having more children and I believed him. Man, he’s foaming at the mouth because you sent someone round to bother his lady. The boy Lamar gave him your name when Higgings caught up with him.’

‘Is Lamar all right?’

‘Yes, he spilled the beans to Higgings out of his bedroom window but it’s me you should be worried about. He roughed me up bad, Dave. He ripped up my tam and cut off one of my locks with his blade.’

‘Are you still in one piece?’

‘Just about, he ruined my suit and that’s going to cost you, Dave.’

‘Did you find anything out?’

‘Nothing good. When they threatened me I told them that swapping identities is illegal and they thought that was very funny. Her name isn’t Lakesha Uhura anyway. She’s really April Fothergill, and just for spite she rang the woman you’re looking for, the phony receptionist, and told her that you were after her. She’ll be in the wind now, man.’

‘Oh,’ I said nervously. ‘Marvin, … er … Mr Desailles, do I need to look for a new lawyer?’

‘Whaaaat! And me give up the best client I’ve ever had? No way, but I am going to charge you for a new suit and tam.’