The hotel telephone rang at 7 a.m. It was Joshua’s habit to set an alarm call for that time. It was never necessary. This morning was no exception. He had been awake for over an hour already.
It had been less than five hours since he had returned to his Kensington suite. The four miles from the abandoned Land Rover to the railway station had been covered quickly but the early-hours train service had been less efficient. It had doubled his expected journey time. That could not have been helped. Losing the car had been necessary and use of the transport system unavoidable.
The delay was ultimately irrelevant but it had still irked him. Kept him awake too long. So Joshua had hardly slept when his body clock – honed by years of obedience – ordered him up. Rested or not, 6 a.m. would always be his limit.
He had showered before bed and woke up clean. It made no difference. Routine was Joshua’s master and so he showered again. Quick and cold. Enough to wash the sleep from his eyes and from his mind. When finished he dried off and pulled on the clothes he had laid out the night before.
Reinvigorated, Joshua turned his attention to the large metallic case that sat by the room’s desk. He reached out, grasped it by the handle and lifted. Once it was on the desktop Joshua opened it.
From the outside it looked like any other suitcase, no different to the countless others dragged around the globe by travelling businessmen. Two simple three-digit codes provided the only security. Exactly the impression its makers intended. Once opened it was an entirely different proposition. The second security barrier could only be bypassed by Joshua’s unique fingerprint, which revealed an arsenal of weaponry within.
Each weapon was carefully removed and placed onto a sheet he had spread across the floor, between the desk and the bed. When all were in place Joshua lowered himself to the far end of the sheet. Legs crossed for comfort, he reached out and lifted the hunting knife with which he began this exercise each morning. With a sharpening stone in his left hand he spent exactly sixty seconds on the blade, running the stone along its length. Ensuring it was razor-sharp. It always was.
Once the knife was back in place he continued the ritual. Weapon after weapon came to his hands, each one expertly inspected. Modified. Maintained. It was a compulsion. But it went further than that. It gave him absolute confidence. Absolute peace of mind. The closest he could ever come to therapy.
A calm came over him as he worked. It had never been so welcome. His mind had been in turmoil since the first call from Stanton the previous night. Every action since then had been methodical. Perfect. The work of a professional. But always, at the back of his mind, something had been screaming. Only now had that screaming stopped.
Joshua cleared his mind as he reached out for the next weapon. Every distraction was expelled. Every other thought – conscious or unconscious – ejected. It left just one: Stanton.
The man had been an enigma from the start. A disguised voice at the end of a no doubt secured telephone line. The access he had arranged and the information he had possessed had surprised even Joshua. Yet somehow none of this had prepared Joshua for the unthinkable. That Stanton, a man who took such relish in knowing so much, might know even more besides.
But he did. That much was now clear. Joshua was not going to waste time asking how. Instead he concentrated on the meaning of that knowledge. On its effect. It left him helpless, with no choice but to do as he was ordered. It was not a position he was used to. Nor was it one that he enjoyed.
The thought remained for the next ninety minutes. Through Joshua’s weapons check. Through a lengthy television news report on Eamon McGale’s death. Through his morning bodyweight work-out. Something should have distracted him. Should have replaced the feeling that he was not in control of his own destiny. But nothing did. Nothing could remove the image of his wife and son – the only two people who meant anything – at the mercy of the faceless Stanton.
Joshua pushed himself harder as the clock showed 8.30 a.m. Dug deeper into his well of endurance. He was used to the combination of intense press-up and sit-up pyramid sets. He put himself through them every morning, pushing his core muscles beyond their limits in an attempt to hold back the effects of time. What was not so familiar was the intensity. Joshua would usually have stopped by now. But he pushed on, hoping that the pain would finally replace the misery.
It did not get the chance.
The distinctive ringtone swept every other thought aside. He filed them for later. For now, the alarm bell had sounded.
Joshua leaped to his feet and grabbed the mobile, knowing already who the caller would be.
‘Stanton.’
‘Congratulations, Sergeant. A job well done.’
There was no need to question the reference. It could only be Daniel Lawrence.
‘Thank you.’ The reply came through gritted teeth. ‘I see you’ve dealt with your side of the problem. Can I ask how you got to him?’
‘Let’s keep our exchanges on a need-to-know basis, shall we?’
‘If you say so.’
Joshua’s position demanded obedience. It did not demand good manners.
‘So what now? Are we clean?’
‘I think we’re very close to spotless,’ replied Stanton, ‘but not quite. There is one other person I need you to visit for me.’
‘Just tell me who.’ Joshua was growing impatient. ‘Tell me who and I’ll deal with it this morning.’
‘Not so fast, Sergeant.’
Was there a hint of mockery in Stanton’s voice? Joshua could not be sure through the effect of the electronic modulator, but he suspected that there was. It seemed that, despite the stress of the situation, the man was enjoying his dramatic role.
Stanton continued.
‘It can’t be this morning. This person is currently out of reach. Probably until tonight.’
The word ‘probably’ felt heavy on Joshua’s ear. It was not what he expected to hear from Stanton. It smacked of uncertainty.
‘Who’s the mark?’
‘His name is Michael Devlin. A nobody.’
‘Then what’s this nobody done to deserve what’s coming?’
‘I thought we agreed it would be “need to know”, Sergeant?’
‘I do need to know. Why he’s on your radar could affect how I tackle this. So what am I up against?’
‘I’ve already told you. He’s nobody. A barrister.’ There was a pause. Stanton seemed reluctant to disclose more. Finally, he continued. ‘If you must know, Sergeant, I have accessed Daniel Lawrence’s telephone records. Between being summoned to Paddington Green police station and arriving there he telephoned no one. But between leaving and his death there seems to have been a call, made from his car. That call was to Michael Devlin.’
‘And you’re sure it wasn’t about something unconnected?’
‘Of course I’m not sure.’
Stanton’s words should have been spoken with emotion – irritation, exasperation, anything – but the flat metallic tone rendered them as colourless as ever.
‘But as they work together on criminal cases, the chances are that the conversation was about Daniel Lawrence’s latest criminal client. Which would be Eamon McGale. So no, we cannot be certain but that possibility alone has to be enough.’
Joshua considered Stanton’s words. They left him in no doubt about his wishes. But so much was at stake. It would pay to be thorough.
‘Then what exactly is it you want?’ he asked.
‘Surely that’s obvious. I want Michael Devlin dead by the end of this day.’
‘As you wish. Tonight. Where will I find him?’
‘At his home address. It has been sent to your phone already. Along with everything else you need to know.’
Joshua was not surprised. Efficiency had been a hallmark of Stanton throughout. There was no reason that should change now. Joshua took the phone from his ear and opened his messages to find a newly received one that included photographs and information about Michael Devlin.
Joshua read the few contents quickly before returning to the call.
‘OK. That should be enough.’
‘I would hope so, Sergeant.’
Joshua was irritated by the arrogance in Stanton’s words. A less controlled man would have bitten already. But that was not Joshua’s way. Those comments would be collected and stored. To be accessed later, when the tables were turned.
Instead he asked the question that most concerned him.
‘Surely if I kill this Devlin guy within twenty-four hours of Lawrence, there are going to be questions about both deaths?’
‘Let there be.’ The response was flippant. ‘With Devlin out of the way there will be no one to suggest that Eamon McGale ever saw or spoke to Daniel Lawrence. And without that, what will people see? The murder of a long-standing legal team. Nothing more. They become the unfortunate statistics of organised crime. Your job will have been done, Sergeant. Your wife and your son will be safe, and you will retire a rich, happy man with our paths never to cross again. You have everything to gain from this, so make it happen.’
Joshua heard the line go dead. He waited for a few seconds. Listened as he always did for the telltale ‘click’ that would indicate a line interception. Nothing came. Satisfied, he reclined and brought the well-defined muscles of his bare back against the cold hardwood bedstead. With his head resting against the top of the headboard he focused his mind.
One more death. One more and he could walk away. One more and he could return to his life with the safety of his family guaranteed. There was a light at the end of this dark tunnel and only one obstacle stood in his way. An obstacle Joshua would remove before the day was over.