‘What’s the plan, boss?’ Saira said, as Jo accelerated away.
‘Yes, good point. I don’t actually have one yet but given the likelihood of us being stuck in traffic, we can cobble one together before we get there. But here’s what we know. Tony Evans, and probably Sir Ben Parsons, are behind the boys’ poisoning and most likely the whole campaign to undermine Op Eradicate.’
‘What, including killing Lizzie and putting Scotty in hospital?’
‘Yep, all of it. I need to find out from Evans what Murphy contaminated their food with so the hospital can treat them. For me, everything depends on that.’
‘Right. Can’t Mr Heaton pull some troops together?’
‘Of course, and I’m sure he’s on to that, but we’re not blessed with a lot of time so we need to do what we can while he’s getting sorted. There are risks, though. Are you OK with that?’
‘If they’ve done what you said, to your kids and my mates, you bet your fucking life I am … ma’am.’
After all these years policing Brighton, it still amazed Jo how angry the 319languid traffic made her. Despite needing thinking time, she could have done with making more progress. As she tried the shortcuts, she realised that she wasn’t alone in knowing the rat runs.
‘We need to get in the house,’ she said. ‘Or at least strike lucky that Evans or Parsons come out.’ Jo glanced at the dashboard clock. ‘It’s a bit late in the day for the old parcel delivery trick, so we need to think of something else. Can you bring the address up on Street View?’ Saira fiddled with her phone, while Jo zipped into a bus lane to undertake a lorry which was, frankly, taking the piss.
‘There’s a huge set of gates which look like they’re remote-controlled. That probably means a camera too, so we might struggle with the element of surprise.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Jo saw Saira zoom in on the image. ‘Same on the front door by the look of it. What are you like at climbing?’
Jo gave her a look that said In your dreams.
As she bullied her way towards Dyke Road where, God willing, the traffic would thin, Jo wrestled for ideas. ‘It’s going to have to be subterfuge. We have to trick our way in,’ she said.
‘With respect, you sound like Scotty, ma’am.’
‘How so?’
‘Mansplaining. I do know what subterfuge means.’
Jo laughed. ‘Sorry, you must forgive me. I’m used to working with Superintendent Hedges.’
‘Well, there are a host of things I could be. No one suspects a young Asian woman to be a cop. The only difficulty is, you’re too well known. Unless of course …’
‘What?’
‘Can you pull over at that parade of shops?’ said Saira. Jo obeyed and the PC got out of the car and ran into a chemist. Two minutes later, she was carrying what looked like a tissue box. Once she was back in the car, Jo was eager to learn what Saira had in mind.
‘Face masks. Nowadays, people wear them without getting a second 320glance. At least they might not realise it’s you. Well, until you want them to.’
‘Mmm,’ said Jo. ‘It might buy us some time, but that’s all. We still need a story.’
‘And quickly. Looks like we are only a few minutes away.’
Jo’s heart sank. She pulled off Dyke Road and weaved through the streets that served the heart of the most exclusive area of Brighton. Checking her satnav, she saw Sir Ben’s road was next on the left. She gently coasted round and was struck by how quiet it was, and thus how exposed they were. They both knew the house was on the left, so kept their heads straight ahead, straining their eyes sidewards to scope out what obstacles or opportunities there might be. As Jo looked ahead again, she saw a red and white ambulance, with red roof-bar lights and CareFly Medical Care emblazoned on the side, crawling towards her.
Both the woman driver and the female passenger seemed to be searching for a house, their heads flicking right and left and the passenger pointing. ‘Keep an eye on them,’ said Jo as it passed at a snail’s pace.
Saira crooked her neck to study the wing mirror. ‘They’ve paused outside Sir Ben’s, now they are heading to the end of the road. I reckon they’re turning round.’
Jo threw caution to the wind and crunched her car into reverse, backed into a driveway two mansions down, then drove out at speed to catch the ambulance up. ‘Got it,’ she announced. ‘Follow my lead and bring the masks.’
Just as the ambulance was about to complete the turn, and out of view of Sir Ben’s, Jo blocked their path. She got out of the car and Saira followed. Ambling up to the driver’s door, she took out her warrant card and flashed it just long enough for the other person to see the badge but not the name. The window glided down.
‘Good morning. Are you here for the Parsons residence?’
‘Yes,’ came the reply in an accent Jo struggled to place. ‘We are taking the patient to the airport.’ 321
Jo managed to keep her expression neutral but a thousand questions erupted in her head. ‘Yes, of course. My colleague and I just have to complete the security checks.’
‘The security checks? What security checks?’
Jo looked at Saira for the ambulance crew’s benefit, as if to say Not again. ‘No one told you? I’m so sorry. Sir Ben has special status and we are his personal protection detail. We have to search you and scan your phones and the ambulance. It won’t take long, then you’re free to carry on. I’m so sorry your office didn’t pass on the message. Would you mind stepping out?’
Both women obeyed and Saira went to the passenger while Jo attended to the driver. Loud enough for Saira to hear, Jo said, ‘If you just slip your jacket off and pop it on the seat. I’ll check that in a minute. Oh, and your phone.’ The driver obeyed and Jo frisked her, aware that Saira was doing the same. When they completed the search, Jo said, ‘We won’t be a moment. We have to drive the van through the X-ray just inside the gate, then we’ll be done. Just wait here.’ She couldn’t believe that, despite them looking so confused, the two women didn’t question a thing. Before anything dawned on them, Jo got in the driver’s side and Saira into the passenger’s. ‘Won’t be a mo,’ said Jo as she drove the short distance to the gate.
‘We cannot get away with this,’ said Saira.
‘We have to,’ said Jo. ‘Now get that jacket and your face mask on.’ Jo did the same as she was driving. ‘What does that say on the clipboard?’ she added.
Saira scanned it. ‘Looks like we’re taking an Audrey Parsons to Gatwick to catch an air ambulance to New York.’
‘What?’
‘Yep,’ said Saira, just as Jo turned level with the intercom. She pressed the buzzer and it was answered instantly by a gruff male voice.
‘Yes?’
‘CareFly ambulance. We are here to collect Mrs Parsons.’ Jo’s heart 322pummelled her ribcage, certain she’d be rumbled.
As the voice said, ‘Come to the front door,’ the gates opened, and Jo paused, turning to Saira. ‘Last chance. You sure you want to do this with me?’
‘Got nothing else on,’ she replied. Jo wished she still had the naive enthusiasm of the young rather than an overwhelming sense of doom.
As Jo pulled up to the door, it was already open. Emerging from it was the man who made it his life’s goal to be in every charity event photo the local paper printed: Sir Ben Parsons. Aware that her own face was also no stranger to the Argus front page, she adjusted her face mask. ‘Let’s do this,’ she whispered to Saira. ‘Whatever “this” is,’ she added, more to herself.
Just as she stepped out of the van, Sir Ben ran forward, followed by a shorter man who, while appearing sportier than Sir Ben, had a look of fluster and fear about him.
‘Come quickly,’ said Sir Ben. ‘You’re late and I’m told the slot time at Gatwick is tight.’
Jo grunted as she flicked her head for Saira to follow.
‘I’m Dr Blaketon by the way,’ said the other man. ‘I’ve signed the FTF and the patient is ready for you. I just need to hand over, then you can be on your way.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jo in what she knew was a dreadful Eastern European accent. Hopefully the muffling effect of the face mask would have stifled it enough so as not to arouse suspicion. She was desperate to ask what an FTF was, but instinctively knew that would give the game away.
Jo scurried behind the two men with Saira in tow as they raced up the stairs. Halfway up she wondered whether she should have brought the stretcher. Then she remembered she was not actually going to take this patient anywhere – she just needed to be in the house so she could confront the men who’d tried to kill her sons. They reached the top and were soon in a huge bedroom with ornate furniture and knick-knacks from a bygone era. However, it was the wizened, confused-looking old lady in the ornate 323lime-ash bed at the centre of the back wall, and the faint whiff of a recent gunshot, that took her aback.
‘Mum, these ladies are going to take you on the aeroplane Dr Blaketon was telling you about, so we can make you better.’
Jo heard a buzz coming from downstairs and prayed it was not who she thought it was.
‘How kind,’ said Audrey, then a vicious coughing fit consumed her. The panic that followed told Jo the woman was choking. Dr Blaketon rushed over. ‘You, come and help,’ he shouted to Jo. She faltered, then joined the medic, with no idea what she was expected to do. ‘Sit her up and forward.’ Jo hesitated again and she could tell the doctor noticed. She grabbed the woman by the shoulders, which made the doctor shout, ‘Careful. She’s incredibly frail.’ The look he gave her could have frozen mercury.
‘Get back,’ came another voice from the door. Jo swivelled round to see a short, squat, bald man with the distinctive splatter of a birthmark on his head, aiming a pistol in one hand and pushing the two genuine ambulance crew into the room with the other. Jo did as she was told and noticed Saira step back and edge towards the door. Tony Evans saw it too and swung the gun in the PC’s direction. ‘Don’t even try it,’ he snarled.
‘Tony, what the hell’s going on?’ said Sir Ben.
Tony shoved the terrified newcomers further into the room. ‘These two just came to the gate asking whether security had finished with their ambulance yet. Seems your personal protection officers needed to scan it before they were allowed in.’