Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel (3 page)

Jacob laughed, “Have they even noticed you yet?”

“Nope, they’ve just walked straight for the café. One of them is standing outside, like a bad impression of a US secret service guy. The other one has just ducked inside,” she paused, waiting. “And now he’s back out. And they’re going over to talk to their friend at the bus stop. Oh dear, this is amateur hour. All they need is mirror-sunglasses and they’d be perfect.”

“What do you want to do?” Jacob asked.

“We’ll wait until I’m sure they’re our main guest’s escorts. If not we’ll abort. I have,” Tien glanced at the car’s clock, “10:17, so we have a few minutes. Give Toby a heads-up.”

“Roger.” The line disconnected and Tien knew that Jacob would call his brother who was currently at the next Tube station down the line, providing eyes-on protection for Kara.

Tien in turn called Kara, who answered on the second ring, “Yep?”

“We have company at the RV. Three tall, slim males, mid-twenties, behaving like they’ve read the easy-reader book of bad security details.”

“Still, three young guys. I could maybe teach them a few moves?” Kara interjected with a laugh.

Tien couldn’t help smiling, “Concentrate Kara,” she mock scolded. “I’m going to get you to stay where you are until I know they’re with our guest. Okay?”

“Yep.”

Tien kept the line open but said no more. Instead she waited and watched. A few minutes later the Jaguar reappeared. The two men in suits left their colleague at the bus stop and crossed the road. As the car stopped level with the Tube station the rear, nearside passenger door opened and an older man, thin, with a receding hairline, stepped out. He nodded at the two younger men who got back into the car. It pulled away.

“Kara?” Tien asked.

“Yes.”

“Our guest has arrived. He still has a plus-one in situ. I thought the old man trusted us?” Tien said with a small laugh.

“Yeah, guess he trusts us like we trust him. Are we still going?” Kara asked.

“I think so. Seems okay. The other two were confirmed as his and they’ve left. When you talk to him you might suggest he ups his game. Those guys were dreadful. Wait,” Tien watched the older man, dressed in a dark three-piece suit and carrying a slim document folder, walk purposefully towards the café. He carried himself with the poise of authority and despite Kara and Tien’s assumption that he was way past retirement age, he walked with the bounce and vigour of a much younger man. He entered the café without a single glance around. “Okay, you’re on,” Tien said and disconnected the call.

From where Tien was parked she could see the elevated train line leading to the above ground station of Canons Park. At 10:24 Kara’s train came into view.

Tien was satisfied the meeting place was secure. Jacob Harrop was positioned to the rear of Station Parade. He’d been in the vicinity of the shops since eight that morning. For the last hour he had been in a concealed vantage point that allowed him to get to the rear door of the café in less than thirty seconds if needed. His brother Toby would step from the train just behind Kara and be in loose contact with her until she was within sight of Tien. Then he would turn away and, having been briefed by his brother, knew to find a spot where he could keep an eye on the man at the bus stop. His job was to prevent anyone getting in the way of a rapid extraction. Tien was in overall control and as she saw Kara walking towards the café, she flicked a small switch on a compact radio transmitter. Each of the four wore a concealed earpiece and an omnidirectional mic that didn’t require you to speak into your cuff, unless you wanted to look strange. It was much more convenient than using mobiles but had a limited range. Given their proximity now, the range was of no concern.

“Hi all, we’re up on comms, how read?” Tien asked.

“Fives,” answered Jacob.

“Same,” answered Toby.

“Just dandy,” Kara answered with a light tone as she looked into the florist’s window.

“Thanks for that professional assessment,” Tien said. “Anyway, you’re cleared in. Time now is 10:27.”

Tien watched Kara step through the café door and cross to a table set back from the window, about halfway into the small establishment. The older man rose and extended his hand. As he spoke, Kara’s voice-activated microphone transmitted. Tien heard the distinctive ‘Tic’ as the mic switched on.

“My dear Kara, it is so good to see you again.”

“You too Franklyn. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’d like you to make sure the dead are really dead.”

Canons Park, London.

Franklyn slid
a
document folder over to her. It contained a set of photographs, a coroner’s provisional report, a number of newspaper cuttings and a handwritten letter. Kara closed the cover when the waitress appeared at her elbow. After Franklyn had ordered for both of them, Kara scanned the letter.

‘To my family, friends and fans,

I’m sorry for all the hurt that I have caused. There is no excuse. I succumbed to greed and my addictions. I should have reached out earlier but it is too late now. I am so sorry for disappointing you all. The money is gone and I cannot face any of you again. Especially not the parents and children who were relying on it. On me.

I know you can never forgive me for I can never forgive myself. It is better that I end it like this. I am so sorry.

Derek Swift’

“Okay, who’s Derek Swift?” she asked.

“He was a radio broadcaster and sometimes television presenter in Suffolk. Strictly provincial but well known within his region. A local lad and a local celebrity,” Franklyn said.

“And according to this, I assume he committed suicide because of some money he squandered?”

“Yes,” Franklyn hesitated. “Well, that’s what the official police enquiry and the initial coroner’s report concluded.”

Kara looked up from the file, “But you don’t think so?”

“I don’t know. I just think it’s too convenient.”

“Alright, let’s begin at the beginning then?”

Franklyn smiled across the table at her and Kara, as she had done the first time they had met, found herself reciprocating the expression. There was something charmingly enigmatic about this old man which she found at once relaxing and intriguing. She knew practically nothing about him and despite Tien’s and her best efforts they had failed to uncover anything. She didn’t even know his full name. But then again, she didn’t need to.

“Ever the practical one Kara,” he said.

“I like to think so,” she agreed.

“All the details we could recover are in the folder, but the general gist is this; Derek Swift was born in a village just outside of Ipswich, Suffolk in 1970. From age fourteen he volunteered at the local cottage-hospital radio station and after leaving school he moved permanently to Ipswich and started working for Radio Gippelwich.”

“Never heard of it,” Kara said.

“Well you wouldn’t. It services the town and about twenty miles around. But it’s second after BBC Radio Suffolk in popularity, so as Derek progressed from teaboy to DJ he began to be known in and around the town. He covered the local sports events, did outside broadcasts from the Suffolk Show, judged the occasional pageant, baking competition, you get the idea.”

Kara nodded.

“Eventually he had his own breakfast show, ‘The Swift Start’, which quickly became the most listened to radio show in Suffolk. After a few years he received offers to move to London and join the big national networks but he turned them all down. There’s a newspaper cutting in there saying that he loved his home county and that he was happy. Ambition and money were second to family and friends.”

“That’s quite refreshing,” Kara said. “What family did he have?”

“Parents and an older sister. That was it, no long-term partner although he was often seen in the company of women at functions and events,” Franklyn paused as the waitress came back with his pot of tea and Kara’s latte. He thanked her and poured himself a cup. Kara added a sugar to her coffee and watched Franklyn sipping his hot tea with no sugar or milk added. As he set the cup down he continued.

“He diversifies by going onto the local commercial television station. Chairs local-interest panel shows, a debate at election times, interviews the manager when the town football club was doing well, or badly. Eventually they offer him his own local-television talk show on a Friday night, ‘A Swift Seven Days’ taking a look at the events of the past week. Again, it does well and again he’s offered to move to bigger things but again he turns it down.”

“Sounds like he was doing okay. So what went wrong?” Kara asked.

“As you can probably imagine, Swift was always involved in local charities. Last year there was a cluster of kids in the Ipswich and greater Suffolk area all diagnosed with the same rare cancer. It made the national news, but the Scottish Independence vote was at its height so it was rapidly pushed from the newsfeeds. Locally it was still a significant story because four kids in a thirty-mile radius had a cancer that normally would affect only ten in the entire country per year. The progression of the disease was advanced and the normal treatments weren’t successful.”

“How old were the kids?” Kara asked.

“A four year old, two five year olds and a seven year old,” Franklyn lifted his cup again.

“This isn’t going to end well, is it?” Kara asked, dreading the answer.

Replacing his cup in its saucer the old man refilled it from the small pot, “No. Not well. Derek Swift headed up a fund-raising drive to get enough money to send all four kids to America. A hospital in Washington State had pioneered a new treatment and was having some success with it. The only problem was the cost of seventy-five thousand dollars per child in addition to the travel and accommodation costs. All in all they needed to raise a quarter of a million pounds. It took a while, but in May, the week before the UK’s General Election, the parents were presented with one of those big promotional cheques for a total of two hundred and fifty six thousand pounds. That was on Saturday, the Second of May. The following day, Swift, and a friend called Amberley, went out deep-sea fishing, but Swift never made it back to harbour.”

Kara frowned, “He fell off a boat?”

“So everyone thought. Your old colleagues in the RAF launched an immediate air and sea search but it was near dusk when he was reported missing so there wasn’t much chance. Then on the Monday the police found the suicide note in his house in Ipswich. The reference to the money being gone and the children being disappointed raised obvious concerns. Swift had been one of the custodians of the charity account and sure enough it was empty. Nobody else involved had even checked and other than a few bank officials being reprimanded over shoddy audit practices, there was nothing anyone could do. The money was gone and so was Swift. The thinking was that he had been aiming to pay it back at some point, but the final total was reached quicker than expected. The loss would have been discovered as soon as the parents went to draw down the funds. With no time left, Swift took the decision to kill himself rather than be found out.”

“Why didn’t this make the news?”

“It was the General Election the following Thursday,” Franklyn said with a shrug, “The media had bigger things to pursue than some provincial celebrity committing suicide.”

“How did the police rule out that he hadn’t done a runner, instead of drowning?”

“As he was boarding the boat, a passer-by had taken a, umm,” Franklyn hesitated.

“Taken a?” Kara prompted.

“A photo of Swift and himself, as a memento of meeting him. I know there’s a name for it.”

Kara laughed, “A selfie, Franklyn, had he taken a selfie?”

“Yes. Quite. A selfie,” he said the word self-consciously.

“So this convenient photo puts Swift on the boat, what else did the police turn up?” Kara asked.

“The witness testified that Swift and this chap Amberley were on the boat when it left. The boat had a full communications suite and a GPS trace available, a result of the navigation equipment on board, so they knew where it had been. According to the printout, it had gone into a well-known fishing area, then circled around looking for Swift, then eventually came back into harbour. They had the time of the first distress call from Swift’s friend back to harbour and when the boat returned it was met by local police. All rather neatly packaged.”

Kara drained the last of her coffee, “Do you want a fill up for your tea?”

“No, I’m fine thank you.”

Kara caught the eye of the waitress and ordered another latte, but in a takeaway cup.

“Okay, so we have a dead minor celeb and a chunk of missing money. He spent it on a drug or booze or gambling debt if we believe his note and then dived off a boat. Why am I here Franklyn?”

“Because it’s all too neat for me to be sure he’s dead. If he paid off a debt for drugs or illegal gambling or whatever, then he was paying it off presumably to prevent being killed, or at least beaten to a pulp. Yet he pays the debt off then commits suicide? It doesn’t sit quite right.”

“Perhaps not, but guilt and remorse and who knows what could have been rattling around in his head. But that’s not quite what I meant.”

Franklyn’s brow creased, “I’m sorry, what did you mean?”

“I meant why am I here now? This money went missing in May, the man died, or didn’t, in May. It’s sad that he stole all the money, but it was six months ago and it’s hardly the type of case that I thought would have concerned you.”

“The children all succumbed to their disease,” Franklyn said, his voice neutral of emotion.

“Well, yes, I assumed that,” Kara said, her own voice reflecting Franklyn’s. “But that still doesn’t explain it.”

“All four passed away before further funds could be raised. The eldest was the granddaughter of a former,” Kara noticed he paused fractionally, “colleague of mine, but I only found out recently. I’m a grandfather too Kara. I don’t know what losing a grandchild feels like and I don’t want to know, but I can imagine. So, yes you’re correct, this isn’t necessarily the sort of case we had discussed. In fact the reason you’re here is personal. I’d like to know if this Swift chap is really dead. I want to know if the money is really gone. It won’t bring any of the children back, but it might allow for some closure. For the families.” Franklyn folded his hands together on top of the table and held Kara in his gaze.

She found herself looking down at the old man’s hands. He had long, slender fingers that matched similarly long, slender facial features. The liver spots on the backs of his hands betrayed his age much more than the rest of him. He was trim in his waistcoat, and although his hair had receded, his face was not severely lined or creviced. Each time Kara had met him, he had worn a three-piece suit with a fresh white shirt. This time his tie was a plain dark blue, on the previous meeting a maroon and on the first occasion she thought he had worn a regimental pattern, but hadn’t been certain. Now she considered it was more likely than not.

“You said you heard about this recently. Would I be right in thinking you found out ten days ago?” she asked, trusting her instincts and playing a hunch that Franklyn had heard about the events at a Remembrance Day reunion.

Franklyn nodded. As Kara silently considered her options he sat still, almost reverential and patiently awaited her decision.

“I’ll have to-,” she didn’t finish her sentence as there was a small ‘Tic’ sound in her ear.

“Kara, if you’re going to say you need to ask me, don’t worry. I think we should take it,” Tien’s voice sounded softly in her ear.

“I’m sorry Kara, what were you saying?” Franklyn asked.

“Nothing. It’s okay. We’ll take the case. Can I assume this is all the information on file,” she said patting the document folder.

“Yes,” Franklyn nodded, “The police had little to go on and processed it by the book. They classified it as a high-risk missing persons, searched Swift’s house, cars and work area but found nothing of consequence. The details of the friend who owned the boat are in the file, but it all came up clean. They kept it active for three months and then dropped it down to a low-level missing persons file.”

Kara hesitated as the waitress came back to the table with her takeaway coffee. Once they were alone again she said, “Which in effect means no one is looking at it.”

“Exactly,” Franklyn confirmed. “Basically they might take it out and dust it off every so often but it will probably stay as it is for seven years. Then the coroner will review it, assess it for what it appears and declare Swift legally dead.”

“Okay. Well, we’ll take it from here. I’ll be in touch,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing.

Franklyn stood too, “Thank you Kara.”

As she reached into her jeans pocket for money, he said, “It’s okay, I’ll look after the bill. I do appreciate you taking this on.”

“It’s fine Franklyn, no need to thank me yet.” Kara put the folder under her arm and picked up her coffee. Halfway to the door she stopped and looked back, “The grandfather of the eldest child, who was he?”

Franklyn, still standing at the table, seemed to be considering how much he was willing to share. Eventually he said, “My Company Sergeant Major.”

Kara nodded and left the café.