The Last 10 Seconds (21 page)

Forty-one

Mike Bolt exhaled loudly. ‘That’s some theory.’

‘It fits the facts, Mike. And right now, it’s the only one that does.’

‘But you said there was no footage on Kent’s laptop.’

This was where Tina knew her theory became tenuous. ‘I think he must have removed it for some reason.’

‘Why would he do that?’ asked Mike. ‘It’s not as if he was expecting to be caught. There’d be no point removing it.’

But she’d thought about that. ‘There was if he was blackmailing someone. Let’s say Kent filmed the murder and managed to find out who the murderer was. He then makes contact and demands money. At the same time he removes the footage from his laptop and keeps it safe somewhere. Think about it, Mike,’ she continued. ‘It would explain why he was broken out of prison. The person he was blackmailing would know that Kent possessed explosive knowledge about him, so he set up the abduction. And now he’s got Kent somewhere. He can find out where the incriminating evidence is, get rid of it, and then get rid of Kent. End of threat. End of story.’

Bolt was silent down the other end of the phone for what seemed like a long time. ‘But that means that the person he was blackmailing has to be someone with some major clout.’

‘We both know there are people out there who could have done it.’

‘There aren’t many of them though, are there? Have you got any idea who it might be?’

‘Not yet, but from Roisín’s phone records it looks like she had a lover, and two neighbours reported seeing an older man with silver hair leaving her flat. It’s possible he killed her.’

‘It’s possible, Tina,’ said Bolt after a long pause. ‘But if her lover killed her, how did he know to cover up the murder to look like the work of the Night Creeper? The Creeper’s MO was never public knowledge, was it?’

‘No, it wasn’t. But Roisín’s murder was a definite cover-up. She was the only victim to be strangled; the hammer blows were delivered to her face post-mortem. I don’t know how the real murderer knew about the Creeper’s MO, but the fact is he did. At the moment, the most important thing is for us to find out who he is. Once we’ve done that, we can find Kent, although I’ve got a feeling he’s no longer alive.’

‘How can I help with that?’

‘I’ve got a mobile number that I think belongs to the killer. It’s a pay-as-you-go, and I’m pretty certain it’s been dead since Roisín’s murder, but if there’s any way we can find out who it belonged to . . .’

‘That’s not going to be easy.’

‘The phone company’ll be able to triangulate the old calls made from it though, won’t they?’

‘Maybe, but that’s more your area of expertise.’

‘You’ve got the contacts though, Mike. Can you get it checked out? Urgently.’

‘You don’t ask for much, do you, Tina?’

‘It’ll help solve a major crime,’ she persisted, knowing that Bolt would help her.

He sighed again. ‘Well, I’m awake now. I’ll see what I can do.’

She thanked him, promising to make it up to him as soon as she could.

‘You always say that, but we only seem to talk when you need something. Other times, I don’t hear from you for months on end.’

He sounded genuinely hurt, and she felt a sudden rush of relief. So he still had feelings for her after all. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I would have called, but things have been . . . difficult.’

‘I know. You’ve been through a lot, but you’ve also got to let go and move on. It’s the only way.’

‘I know.’

‘Is everything OK with you at the moment?’ he asked. ‘Life-wise, I mean?’

The question made her uncomfortable, because the true answer was a resounding no, and it was one she could never give. ‘It’s fine,’ she answered. ‘I’m enjoying CMIT. The work’s a lot more satisfying than CID. Or Soca, to be honest. And you?’

‘It’s good. Busy as always.’

‘And Paul Wise?’ she said, referring to the man who still haunted her, and who, more than anyone else, was preventing her from moving on. ‘Any developments on his case?’ Even as she asked, she regretted bringing it up, knowing full well what the answer was going to be.

‘There’s still an ongoing inquiry, but I’m less involved on that side now. But they’re not going to give up on him, Tina. He’s too big a target for that.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it, but I’ve got to say, the speed you guys are going, he’ll be dead by the time you get any evidence against him.’

‘It takes time, Tina,’ Bolt said evenly. ‘You know that. Particularly with someone as savvy as Wise.’

‘Yes,’ she conceded, ‘I guess I do.’ She stood up and looked around the living room. ‘It’s late and I should go. But if there’s anything you can do on that car reg and the phone number, it would be hugely appreciated.’

Bolt said again he’d do what he could and rang off, leaving her staring at the phone, feeling tired and curiously depleted, knowing that for the moment there was nothing more she could do.

Ten minutes later she was lying in bed, trying not to think about Paul Wise. It was hard, because Wise was a classic case of justice not being done. A ruthless thug and suspected paedophile, he was also a hugely successful businessman who’d built an empire which encompassed everything from property development to large-scale drug smuggling. Although suspected of organizing dozens of murders, including that of Tina’s former partner, in his twin pursuits of financial gain and avoiding prison, he was currently living scot-free and out of reach in Turkish Cyprus. Mike was right, she needed to dust herself down and move on with her life, but it was hard to do that knowing that the man who’d ruined it was sticking two fingers up at the law, and at her personally.

She shut her eyes, afraid of what she might dream of, wondering what psychopaths like Andrew Kent and Paul Wise dreamed of. Wondering if they too ever had nightmares.

She hoped so.

Forty-two

I suppose I must have slept, because when I next opened my eyes and saw the darkness of the woodland all around me, with the orange glow beyond it, I wasn’t entirely sure where I was.

Then it all came back to me in a huge, terrifying rush. The abduction. The beating. The murders. The escape. And finally the knowledge that I was in real trouble.

The flames from the burning building no longer danced across the night sky, but they still threw up a deep glow that mingled with the flashing blue lights from the emergency vehicles. I could hear a lot of shouting coming from the fire-fighters in the distance as they fought to bring the blaze under control, and by the sound of their voices it was still some way from being put out. The tree-line was some fifty yards distant and I could make out figures moving in the flickering light.

I slid out from underneath the bush and stood up. It was a slow procedure. Every part of my body ached, but my ribs, particularly, were agony. My face still hurt, and I had a raging thirst, having not had a drink of anything since I was in the second getaway van, hours ago now.

I looked at my watch, wanting to know how much time had passed, which was when I got a nasty shock. It wasn’t there. I cursed, crouching down and looking under the bush. It wasn’t there either. I tried to remember when I’d last had it. I thought it was when I’d been locked away in the room upstairs in the house, but couldn’t say for sure. So much had been happening that knowing the time had been the least of my concerns. But now I had a real problem. All the evidence I had against Wolfe and Haddock was stored on the listening device within that watch. I hadn’t had time to download any of it on to another disk. Without copies I had nothing. Wolfe and his whole team might be dead, but now there was nothing to back up my story that I was only involved in Kent’s abduction because I’d had no choice. In other words, to all intents and purposes I was a criminal who’d taken part in a kidnapping during which a police officer had been shot, and possibly killed.

I exhaled loudly. I had to get away from here as soon as possible. It wouldn’t be long before the first bodies were discovered, and then this whole area would be declared a major crime scene. I was confident any evidence of my own involvement left behind in there would have been extinguished by the flames, but unfortunately at least one person other than me was still alive – the man who’d tried to kill me earlier, and who presumably had started the fire. And it was possible he knew who I was.

It also begged an intriguing question. If no one knew his identity – and I was pretty certain no one did – then why did we all have to die? It would have been just as easy to keep to the original plan. Get us to deliver Kent to the house. Leave the remainder of the money there for us to collect, then wait until we’d gone before going in and doing whatever he’d wanted to do to Kent. But he hadn’t done that, and I wanted to know why.

It was difficult to gauge what time it was, but the sky above me was still black through the trees so I guessed it was maybe two or three a.m. Taking a deep breath, I began walking.

I didn’t dare double back and take the driveway back to the road. It would have been far too dangerous, given that I could still hear vehicles arriving. Instead, I kept moving in the opposite direction, crossing several fields and moving through more woodland before coming to a winding, tree-lined B-road. I had to stop for a couple of minutes to get my breath back, then turned left, again trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and the fire. I moved quickly, knowing that if I got spotted by a passing police car in my current state – smoke-blackened, with torn clothing, and doubtless looking like death – I was finished.

I must have walked about a quarter of a mile, and was beginning to think I couldn’t carry on much longer, when a driveway appeared on my right. It led down to an ugly-looking 1960s bungalow with lawn frontage and two cars parked outside. One was a BMW saloon that was either new or recently cleaned. The other was smaller and looked like a Ford Fiesta. This would be the far easier one to steal.

I crept up the driveway, moving off the gravel and on to the lawn at the first opportunity to mask the sound of my approach, and I was within five yards of the cars when an intruder light came on at the front of the house. I ducked down behind an apple tree and waited. The curtains inside didn’t move. I imagined they got a lot of animals round here that set the lights off, so would sleep through it. With the light still on, I reached the Fiesta and looked inside, hoping rather optimistically to see a box of the kind of tools I was going to need. Not surprisingly, it was empty.

Taking my shoes off, I crept across the gravel and round the side of the house where I spotted a water butt attached to the drainpipe. Such was my thirst, I had to stop myself from yanking off the lid and throwing it aside. Instead, I removed it carefully, placed it on the ground, scooped up the water with my hands and drank it down as quietly as possible.

When I’d finished, I replaced the lid and continued into the back garden. There was a garden shed at the far end of the lawn, but I didn’t go there straight away, preferring to wait a few minutes so that if I set off another intruder light it wouldn’t worry the occupants either. When I’d concluded enough time had passed, I crossed the lawn and was still in darkness at the end, surprised that they didn’t have a light at the back as well as the front. The shed door wasn’t locked either, which was stupid, since it contained everything I needed to commit any number of crimes. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent too long in the company of criminals, but I can never understand how people can be so complacent. Thieves are like scavengers. Leave something out for them and they’ll have it just like that.

I gathered up the things I needed before returning to the front of the house, stopping again for a few minutes by the water butt en route. The security light went on again and I hid behind the Fiesta. Once again, no lights were switched on and nothing moved.

By my calculations, the light would stay on for about two minutes, which meant moving fast. Like any good copper, I know the tricks of the thief’s trade, and getting into an old car like a Fiesta is easy. All it requires is a length of garden wire and about a minute’s effort. The light turned off a few seconds after I’d got inside, but the sensor couldn’t pick up my movements inside the car, giving me the opportunity to use a screwdriver to break the steering lock at leisure. The locks on older cars are far easier to break, but though I know what I’m doing, I’m no expert, and it took me a while to get the wheel turning. I counted slowly to five hundred, desperate to get going but knowing that it was also better to be patient, then released the handbrake and slowly manoeuvred the car down the drive. When I was at the bottom, I used the screwdriver, and the car started with an angry sputter.

The drive back to London was uneventful, although it took me a long time to find the main road. It was 4.57 according to the clock’s dashboard when I finally pulled up on a backstreet in Colindale, half a mile down the road from the two-bed 1930s terrace that was my real home. I felt bad about stealing the car, and even toyed with digging out the owner’s number and calling him to say where he could find it. But I quickly thought better of it. After what I’d done to it, the damned thing was ruined, so he might as well collect the insurance money.

Ten minutes later, and as the first grey light of dawn flickered over the tower blocks on the horizon, I finally stepped inside my front door, having avoided being spotted by anyone on the way. I was shattered and desperately needed to sleep, so allowed myself an hour’s power nap before the alarm clock woke me up. Then I cleaned up, had a shower and made myself a strong mug of coffee.

The thing was, I couldn’t leave matters as they were. As soon as the fire brigade realized their fire had been lit deliberately and that the building contained the remains of five people, including a dangerous fugitive and his likely kidnappers, there’d be a huge hunt for whoever was behind it. It was going to be hard to trace the client, given his lack of direct involvement, but there was a possibility that my name could end up in the frame. My undercover op to become one of Wolfe’s gang might have been unofficial, but Captain Bob, for one, knew I’d been lobbying to infiltrate them for years. Someone might also have seen me getting into Wolfe’s car in Doughty Street earlier that evening. My image might have been caught on CCTV.

If I kept quiet and my name ended up in the frame, my silence would count against me hugely. But if I came forward and admitted everything, there was still no guarantee that I’d be believed. I knew I couldn’t count on Captain Bob for support. He was a career man first and foremost, and would drop me like a stone if he thought I was liable to become an embarrassment to him.

But there was one person who could help me. It had been a long time, but I trusted him, which was hugely important because I was going to need to tell him the whole truth. The time for operating on my own was over.

I pulled out a mobile, then stopped. This was going to have to be done face to face. It would be too dangerous otherwise.

I was going to have to turn up at his door.