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BRONSTEIN WAITED IN his office for thirty minutes looking at Orlov’s empty seat and scrutinising Securitavan headquarters on Google Maps, when there was a knock at the door. Fleming came in, followed by Ruby Parker.
“I believe you’ve already met,” she said. “David, I’m delighted to say Nicholas will be joining us. You’ll be working together for the foreseeable future. You’re in charge, David, and I’ve briefed Nicholas on the details of the case.”
The two men shook hands. “Welcome to the revolution,” Bronstein said.
“I’m heading off to vote,” Ruby Parker said, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Then I’m going home. Nicholas, have you voted yet?”
“This morning before I set off for Bedford.”
“You’re in no rush to get away, then. If you need to contact me, you know where I am.”
She closed the door as she left. Bronstein indicated Orlov’s chair and the two men sat facing each other across the joined desks.
“You’ve been inside the compound,” Bronstein said. “What did you find out?”
“Very little. I only looked in one warehouse, but I chose it at random. No guns, no sign of anything suspicious, except they seemed pretty cheesed off to see me.”
“What do you think annoyed them?”
“I don’t know why they seemed so riled to begin with, except that they were busy. Then I got the crazy feeling the fellow showing me around was pointing a gun from inside his pocket. I realised mine had the safety catch on, so I took it out and undid it. They’d been watching me by CCTV – I didn’t realise till afterwards.”
“So you had a weapon. That’s no reason to chase you along a freeway with a bolt-action rifle. There must be more. You must have stumbled on something important.”
“I was a witness – or as near as wasn’t worth taking a chance over – to the killing of Ivan Ryazantsev. They must have deduced from my gun that I didn’t belong to the Department of Transport, which meant I must be working undercover. The fact that I’d witnessed a murder meant I was probably in a position to bring the roof down on their heads. What do we know about Securitavan? I mean, have we got a list of its recent and pending contracts?”
“If only. We only really latched on to them this morning. Since then, we’ve been trying to hack into their computer.”
“And?”
“And we don’t think they’ve even got one. If they have, it’s not networked. We’re guessing they do things the old-fashioned way, pen and paper.”
“There’s one other thing. While I was in there, I managed to get a look inside the back of one of the vans. It had a false ceiling. Some of the panels had come away, and there was a big gap between that and the actual ceiling.”
“Which probably indicates smuggling. So we need to watch for them going abroad. Anything else?”
“There were some scraps of paper on the floor. I didn’t get a proper look but looked like leaflets. Roughly identical, about A5 size, crumpled. Something left over from a previous job maybe. I scooped up a few and put them in my briefcase.”
“Where are they now?”
“Still in the back of the car my girlfriend wrote off, hopefully. Ruby Parker’s been on to Bedford constabulary, but they shipped it to the scrap depot when we told them to stop the investigation. They’re going to fax us the contents as soon as they’ve retrieved them.”
“A bunch of Pizzaland flyers, maybe?”
Fleming looked at the table and folded his arms. “That’s a very good point, actually. No, no, they weren’t.”
Bronstein grinned. “Hey, I was joking.”
“Sorry, yes, I realise that. I meant your standard commercial flyer would be three hundred grams per square metre silk art board, or similar. One hundred and thirty grams minimum. But these can’t have been any more than seventy.”
“So ... just normal paper, yes?”
“But if you can’t afford better than normal paper, you probably wouldn’t hire a company like Securitavan to do your deliveries.”
“Assuming they were deliveries. Let’s not get carried away.”
There was a knock at the door. Gavin entered with a sheaf of papers. “These have just arrived for Inspector Fleming, sir. Courtesy of Bedford police.”
“Talk about expert timing,” Bronstein said. “Spread them on the floor, Gavin. And make mine a twelve-inch Margherita, please.”
Gavin fanned them out and they gathered round to see. It took them a few moments to recognise what they were looking at, then they stood stupefied.
Ballot papers with the names of parliamentary candidates down the left hand side and a cross next to a different name on each.
“You don’t think someone could be trying to rig the General Election, do you?” Bronstein said eventually.
Ruby Parker went back to her office and put her coat on. She thought she’d give the potted plants some water before she went home – the Peace Lily was looking a little thirsty – so she took out the plastic bottle she kept in her drawer. Mahtab knocked on the door.
“Message for you, ma’am. There are some solicitors waiting to see you at Waterloo Bridge.”
“Solicitors? In connection with what?”
“Representing Slope Enterprises. They’re alleging police harassment.”
She chuckled. “They must have a pretty slim case then. Who sent them?”
“Lionel Edgeware, I believe.”
“Ah.” She screwed the top back on the bottle. “Mahtab, if you’re going past the kitchen, would you mind running a drop of fresh water in here and putting it in my pigeonhole for tomorrow morning? This, I’ve got to hear.”
She considered driving herself, but a chauffeur would make it look as if she was someone to be reckoned with, so she asked Terence. She arrived at the police station five minutes later. Terence accompanied her upstairs, carrying her briefcase.
They were waiting for her in the foyer: two men in charcoal suits like advertising executives, both in their early fifties, one thin, the other thinner.
“Ruby Parker?” the thin one said.
“I am Ruby Parker. What do you want?”
He took a sealed envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “We represent Steven and Goldsmith, corporate lawyers. We’ve been instructed by our client to issue you with this.”
She took it without looking at it. “I’m a busy woman, gentlemen. I hope you’re prepared to summarise its contents.”
“To begin with, it alleges institutional harassment of individuals under contract to Sockpuppets, a theatrical agency owned, until recently, by Constantine Slope and now under the temporary direction of Mr Lionel Edgeware, MP. It contains an itemised list of dates on which you pulled clients of the firm in for questioning, including principally, Nichole Moore, who we’ve been given to understand has now been with you for five hours without charges being pressed. We need to know where she is and how to contact her.”
Ruby Parker laughed. “She’s not with me.”
“You’re sure about that? Because you should really file another missing persons report if you think she’s genuinely gone astray again.”
“Just because I personally don’t know where she is, that doesn’t make her a missing person. Someone has to report her missing.”
“In that case, I hereby report Nichole Moore as missing.”
Ruby Parker held his eyes. “You’d better go downstairs and file a missing persons report, then.”
“Except that we all know where she is, don’t we? You’re holding her.”
“Why don’t you phone her?”
“Because we both know she’s not in possession of her mobile. The taxi driver’s witness statement makes that abundantly clear. What’s going on, Ms Parker?”
“You think I’m interrogating her? What do you think I imagine she’s able to tell me?”
“She was due to attend a victory party at Conservative Campaign Headquarters after the close of polls tonight. When a party representative rang this address to confirm, earlier today, he was told in no uncertain terms she would not be available. We have a recording of that conversation. We allege that the police officer who gave the assurance – and we would like to know her name – had no time to consult with Miss Moore with a view to obtaining her consent or refusal.”
She took a breath. “I didn’t know that.”
“She’s not at home and neither is her grandmother. Her boyfriend doesn’t know where she is and neither do any of her friends or relatives. If this sort of thing was to happen in a developing country, Ms Parker, one would probably describe it as scandalous.”
“Is that all?”
“By no means. Mr Edgeware has also been given to understand that an official claiming to be from the Department of Transport paid a visit to the Bedford Headquarters of Securitavan this morning, another Slope company. He wishes it to be known that he is in possession of CCTV footage of the gentleman in question, and if it subsequently turns out that he is a member of the police force or the security services, he will make life very awkward for you.”
“As far as I’m aware, most of Slope’s companies were shell corporations. They’re hardly worth making anyone’s life ‘very awkward’ for.”
“You’re prevaricating, Ms Parker. If you suspect any wrongdoing on our client’s part, you should have taken it up with the Director of Public Prosecutions long ago.”
She smiled. “I’m sure ‘very awkward’ isn’t a legal term either. What exactly does Mr Edgeware want from me?”
The two men looked at each other. “I believe Mr Edgeware is particularly concerned that Securitavan should be allowed to fulfil its contractual obligations tonight unhindered by interference from the law enforcement authorities. He’s been given to understand - by a source whose identity we’re not at liberty to disclose - that you were planning a raid on the company’s central office in Bedford tonight.”
She flashed with rage. “Major General Tim Reynolds, well I never.”
“You may or may not be aware that Mr Edgeware has devoted a considerable amount of time and energy to persuading the Chair of the Electoral Commission that Securitavan’s irreproachability more than qualifies it for the minor task of transporting ballot boxes from polling stations, under the auspices of the various Presiding Officers, to Returning Officers at the Count Centres. He’s staked what remains of his... slightly tarnished reputation - after the expenses scandal - on the notion that here is a company that can deliver significant goods in the public interest. The service is free, but its advertisement value is worth millions, and of course, if you sabotage it, you could find yourself footing a very large bill.”
Ruby Parker handed the envelope they’d given her back to them. “I hope you didn’t spend too much of your valuable time and money making that document up, gentlemen, because tomorrow morning, the boot’s likely to be on the other foot. Incidentally, don’t forget to fill in that missing persons form before you leave. You might as well waste a little more of your day.”
When Marcie and Miss Demure went outside, there was a black Jaguar waiting. The chauffeur got out and opened the rear doors for them. They left Bedford by the same route Marcie had driven with Fleming earlier, and she saw her tyre tracks on the roundabout where they’d momentarily become airborne.
When they got onto the motorway it was relatively traffic-free, and the driver accelerated to a hundred and twenty in virtual silence. At one point, they passed a police car in the slow lane. It looked for a moment as if it was about to give chase, but then thought better of it and slipped off sheepishly at a junction.
“Where are we going?” Marcie asked.
“London. I told you. Slow down, Tomlinson, please. You’ll cause an accident.”
“Whereabouts in London?”
“To meet your new employer, hopefully.”
“Who were those men that were chasing Nick and I?”
“We don’t know yet. Have you voted?”
“No.”
“We’ll stop off in Hertfordshire then. I don’t want your parents to think we don’t care. Tomlinson, did you hear that? We’re taking a diversion to Hertford.”
“Very good, Madam,” he said.
“Do you know Daddy well?” Marcie asked.
“I met him for the first time in connection with you. We haven’t met since.”
“Is Celia Demure your real name?”
“I never disclose my real name. I’ve too many enemies, and if I don’t tell you it, you can never give it away.”
“Did you ever meet Jonathan?”
“Yes, and I liked him very much.”
“Do you think he died ... heroically?”
“He died trying to save an innocent woman, after attempting to get vital information to his fellow operatives. In the armed services, he’d probably have been awarded a medal. So yes, indubitably.”
“Would you mind telling my parents that?”
Miss Demure put her head on one side and smiled. “They know he died in the course of duty, don’t they? Surely, that’s the important thing.”
“Actually, they think he murdered Jilly Bestwick then threw himself off a cliff.”
She sat up. “I - I beg your pardon?”
“After he died, Mummy went to see the Beachy Head Chaplaincy. They told her he’d been found broken to bits on the coastline with a gun on him.”
Miss Demure closed her eyes and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, good God, your poor parents. I’m so, so sorry.” She leaned forward. “Tomlinson, speed up, please. Forget about Hertford. Make straight for Thames House.”
