The Lucifer Network (19 page)

‘I read it. Go on.'

‘Well, the inquiries we've been making in Austria tell a different story.' She pointed to the folder.

Steph ran her eye over the pages and handed them back. ‘I get the drift. But what's the UK angle? There has to be one if you're involving the Met.'

‘Conspiracy. We suspect that the material her father shipped out of Russia could have been nuclear weapon components. If we can get her to admit discussing the smuggling of them with him when he was last in England, then we've grounds for a prosecution.'

‘Possibly. Conspiracy's hard to get past a jury,' Steph cautioned. She'd have liked to see Julie Jackman banged up for life after what she'd done to Sam, but there were rules to be followed. ‘We'll give it a whirl.'

‘Good. You're happy for me to lead?'

‘Makes sense.' Steph stood up again. ‘I'll see if they can get us some coffee. Like some?'

‘Wouldn't say no.'

Julie recognised the Paddington police station as the one they took terrorists to. She'd seen it on TV. Her nerves began to fray as they led her into an
interview room. When she saw who was there she groaned inwardly.

‘Thank you for coming in, Miss Jackman.'

‘Wasn't given much of a choice,' she answered stonily. She'd hoped never to see Denise Corby again.

The narrow room had a plain table in the middle with a tape-recording panel at one end. The other woman there looked almost as butch as Denise Corby, she decided, and was staring at her with a curiosity too intense to be merely professional. Two bull dykes ready to work her over.

‘My colleague here represents the Metropolitan Police,' Corby began. ‘No need for you to know her name,' she added sourly.

The door opened and a uniformed policewoman entered with a tray of coffee, this small act of hospitality belying the hostility that crackled in the air.

‘We thought we'd talk informally at first,' Corby began. ‘If we reach a point where the Chief Inspector thinks you need to be cautioned, then we'll switch the recorder on. Understood?'

Julie found it hard not to be cowed by them. ‘Would you mind explaining why you've got me here?'

‘Because we don't think you've been truthful with us.'

‘That's nonsense. I have.'

‘Really? That letter your father wrote – you claimed it was the first time you'd ever heard of red mercury and also said you'd never been involved in your father's business activities.'

‘Correct.'

‘We think that's a lie, Miss Jackman. We have evidence that says otherwise.' Denise Corby coughed behind her hand. ‘It suggests you may even have been his accomplice.'

‘
What?
'

Julie shivered. Her father's warnings about the deviousness of the intelligence people were coming true. They were going to frame her.

‘July 1997. Your father was in Vienna setting up the shipping arrangements for the so-called red mercury. He said so in his letter.'

‘Yes,' Julie whispered. She felt her neck begin to glow.

‘A criminal business deal which you claimed to know nothing about.'

‘That's right,' she croaked.

‘Which is odd, because you were there in Vienna too. Weren't you, Miss Jackman?'

Julie opened her mouth, but no words came. She shook her head in dismay.

Denise Corby opened the folder and produced a sheet of fax paper.

‘According to the register of the Intercontinental Hotel, on three consecutive nights that month you had room 115 and your father room 120.'

Julie felt the ground opening up. An innocent happening was to be twisted and used against her. The establishment's revenge for what she'd said to the
Chronicle.

‘But you don't understand,' she protested feebly. ‘Yes, I was in Vienna at that time. But under my own auspices. It was pure coincidence my father was there too.'

‘Coincidence?' Corby mocked.

‘What auspices?' Stephanie asked, deciding to take a hand. Still unsure what to make of the girl, she had a suspicion she was telling the truth.

‘An international conference on HIV. My boss, Professor Norton was one of the speakers. And a few days before I went, my father happened to ring, saying he
had to be there at the same time. For business – but the point is, I have no idea
what
business.'

‘You can't expect us to believe that,' Corby insisted. ‘Same hotel. Rooms on the same floor. You knew exactly what he was doing there.'

‘I did not. We co-ordinated our plans, of course we did. We wanted to see each other.'

‘How much time did you spend together?' Steph asked.

‘Just one evening. On the other nights there were conference events.' She noted Corby's disbelieving glance towards the policewoman.

‘Tell us about that evening,' the Vauxhall Cross woman continued. ‘Was your father alone?'

‘No. He had his latest woman with him. South African, I think. Quite nice. Most of them were, his wives and girlfriends. I never understood why none of them lasted.'

‘Know her name?'

Julie frowned, trying to recall it.

‘Linda, I think.'

‘Where did you meet them?' Steph asked.

‘In the hotel bar. They were sitting with three or four others. All men. My father introduced me. The men just nodded, then carried on with their conversation. In whispers mostly. I didn't speak to them at all.'

Stephanie's uncertainty deepened. Any man with a normal set of tackle would have made a pitch for a pretty girl like Julie. Sam had.

‘And your father was involved in their conversation?'

‘Most of the time, yes.'

‘What was it about?'

‘I didn't hear. I was talking to Linda. She and I got on really well. I'd not met her before.'

‘You spent the whole evening there?'

‘We stayed in the bar for a while, then the three of us went to the restaurant and had dinner.'

‘You, your father and Linda,' Corby checked.

‘Yes.'

‘What about the men your father was with? They didn't join you?'

‘No.'

‘Later?'

‘No.'

‘Tell me about them.'

‘For heaven's sake,' Julie complained, ‘I hardly looked at them.'

‘Nationalities?'

‘God knows. It was a year ago.'

‘But they weren't English . . .'

Julie frowned, trying to think why she'd always assumed they were foreign. ‘I believe not.'

‘Was one of them Russian?'

‘Could have been. I really don't remember.'

‘Names? Does Vladimir Kovalenko ring a bell?'

The name in the letter. She shook her head. Only one man had registered with her that evening, and that was long after she'd bade her father goodnight.

‘What about the Arab?'

She shook her head again. ‘I don't remember any Arabs.' She was surprised at how calm she was sounding now.

For several seconds, maybe as much as half a minute, they just looked at her, digesting what she'd told them.

‘You're quite sure your father never told you the specifics of why he was in Vienna?' Steph queried again.

‘Certain.'

Denise Corby leaned forward across the table. For a moment Julie feared a re-run of the hand-holding trick.

‘You do understand what sort of deals your father did, Miss Jackman?' Corby asked, hush-voiced.

‘I always assumed they weren't a hundred per cent straight,' she replied.

‘Not a hundred per cent,' Corby mocked. ‘His whole world was a web of lies, Miss Jackman.'

‘He wasn't a saint,' Julie answered defensively, aware that a change of direction was under way.

‘His speciality was avoiding customs controls – that's a serious criminal offence. He paid bribes to officials – also a crime. His career in Africa began with the theft of precious minerals that didn't belong to him, which he sold for personal gain. A fraud in anybody's language. Need I go on, Miss Jackman?'

‘I'm not sure what point you're . . .'

‘Simply wanting to make sure you understand that of all the considerable wealth he amassed in recent years I doubt whether one penny was earned honestly. He lived by lies and deception.'

‘That's as may be, but whatever my father did, I'm different,' Julie insisted, riled by the implication that she was dishonest too. ‘Everything I've got, I've worked for.'

‘The simple point I'm trying to make,' Denise Corby persisted, ‘is that your father was one of the most untrustworthy men you could ever hope to meet.'

‘Maybe, but
I'm
not a liar.'

‘Oh really? What about that extraordinary load of tosh in the
Daily
Chronicle
this morning? Where did that come from?'

Julie looked down at her hands. ‘There was a second letter from my father,' she admitted softly.

‘We gathered that. What did it say?'

Julie swallowed. Her throat was as dry as a bone. Reluctantly she told them. ‘It said that if he were to die
suddenly, then Simon Foster of MI6 would probably be to blame.'

Denise Corby sighed with exasperation. ‘And you believed him? Despite knowing what a liar he was?'

Julie turned her face away. She felt wretched and looked towards the door, anywhere to avoid them seeing into her soul. There
was
no factual justification for doing what she'd done. She'd known it all along. She'd co-operated with the press to impress her father. To make the wretched man love her, wherever he was now.

‘Did he give you money when you saw him in Vienna?' Corby asked, going for the kill.

Startled, Julie nodded. ‘A little. It made him feel good to be generous.'

‘How much?'

‘A few hundred.'

‘Pounds?'

‘Yes.'

‘More like a thousand?'

‘Possibly.'

‘He gave you money whenever he saw you?'

‘Not every time, but usually. It was his way of making up for not being around when I was a child.'

‘And with you working in a health service laboratory, you wouldn't be paid much . . .'

‘Not a lot,' she agreed.

‘So getting cash from your dad was something you came to rely on,' Corby suggested.

‘Look I don't know what you're getting at, but the money was to help support Liam,' Julie floundered. She looked up at the ceiling, a single lamp burning in the middle of it, protected by a metal grille.

‘But you were grateful for the cash. Probably felt you owed him something for his generosity. Felt that one
way to repay him was by giving voice to his lies and fantasies through the media.'

‘I don't know that they're lies,' Julie whispered, wretchedly.

‘Well you should do, Miss Jackman,' Corby said harshly. ‘One final question. What did you and he talk about when he was last back in England? Smuggling nuclear weapons?'

‘Of course not. We spoke about him wanting to come home. Life in Africa was beginning to frighten him.'

Corby let her eyebrows float up in an exaggerated expression of derision.

‘
Really?
And what was he scared of, pray?'

‘Of being robbed, mostly,' Julie answered, not realising the hole she was digging. ‘He said whites were being killed for the cash in their pockets and for their cars . . .'

They let her words hang in the air, waiting for it to sink in.

Death by robbery. Not by conspiracy. Not through the agency of one Simon Foster. Julie felt as small as a flea.

‘I think I'd like to go now,' she whispered, staring down at her hands.

‘And hang yourself, I shouldn't be surprised,' Corby snapped. ‘You do realise that your slanderous allegations have destroyed the livelihood of a perfectly decent businessman?'

‘He's not a businessman,' Julie retorted. ‘He's one of you lot.'

Denise Corby folded her arms and raised a sceptical eyebrow.

Steph could see that the girl was on the verge of breaking down and took pity on her. ‘The officers who brought you in can take you back to the West End, if you like,' she offered gently.

‘I . . . I'd rather walk,' Julie sniffed.

‘As you wish.'

As she stood up, Denise Corby thrust a business card at her. ‘In case you've lost the last one I gave you. If you remember anything else about Vienna, do yourself a favour and give me a ring.'

Julie nodded. When she reached the door she half turned.

‘Would you do something for me, Ms Corby?'

‘I'll try.'

‘Tell Simon Foster I'm sorry.'

She left the room.

‘That'll be a huge comfort,' Corby spluttered when she'd gone.

‘A silly
little
girl,' Steph declared, her comment tainted with personal venom. ‘And quite out of her depth.'

‘But with the power to inflict enormous damage,' Corby added, getting to her feet. ‘Thanks for your support, Chief Inspector. At this point in time it seems we don't have a case.'

‘No, but congratulations. I don't think she'll be talking to the papers any more.'

Denise Corby smiled.

‘Probably not. Unfortunately the harm is already done.'

Steph itched to ask about Sam's fate but didn't dare. Her friendship with him was private and she wanted to keep it that way. ‘Would you like me to run Julie's story past Professor Norton, just to see it stands up?' she checked.

‘Yes, please. It'd be mad not to.' Denise Corby held out her hand. ‘Now I think I'd better get out of your hair and leave you to concentrate on nailing the Southall bomber.'

Stephanie grimaced. ‘We're painfully short of leads
there. Nothing from the usual neo-Nazi sources. Hoping like crazy that there's something on the surveillance videos. Sharp eyes and a bit of luck is what we'll need if we're to catch this little runt before he strikes again.'