The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(37)

That was the plan.

Not until she was satisfied did she switch places with her accomplice so she could examine what she looked like, sitting in that chair. She wrapped the black scarf around her head and face until only her eyes were visible. She paused a moment to compose herself, then pressed the button on her remote control – a still for the album. Her grinning associate walked towards her, turning the camera round so she could see it. She nodded, her eyes sparkling with deep joy through slits in the material. The image was quality, almost poetic in its simplicity. She took a deep breath and began to speak.





21


O’Neil briefed Grace and Newman. Actions had already gone out to satellite incident rooms on the shoe and axe from the North Shields scene, the bloody footprints in Fraser’s flat, the route he took to his mother’s house, the DVDs generally. In light of Newman’s bombshell, the enquiry into who stood to benefit from Trevathan’s will was less important now, she told them.

The Superintendent focused on her newly recruited retired detective. ‘Grace, if you think of more that should be done, we’ll put it out – no names required – we are Gold Command on these jobs. Our enquiry will be closed to satellite rooms and I’ll decide what we feed into HOLMES, what we leave out.’

‘Ooh!’ Grace feigned excitement. ‘I do love a silent room.’

It was the name she’d coined for the covert command centre she, Ryan and Newman had set up in her house. Irked by the mention, Ryan eyed her closely, his message best summed up by the cliché: don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

O’Neil let it go without comment. Inviting him to carry on, she took her mobile from her pocket and checked the display. Ryan was fairly certain she was bluffing. There was no call, no incoming text. His guv’nor was simply taking the opportunity to establish a hierarchy, drawing a line between official and unofficial personnel, as she’d done when Grace first entered the apartment.

‘The Home Office, our bosses, are keeping us in the dark,’ Ryan said. ‘There’ll be a reason why they’re not sharing intelligence. Frank, do you have anything on Trevathan’s trial?’

Newman shook his head. ‘The case is sealed.’

‘Can it be unsealed?’ O’Neil asked.

‘Nothing is watertight,’ he said. ‘Leave it with me.’

‘We have no alternative,’ Ryan grumbled. ‘We’re locked out—’

‘Sounds familiar.’ Grace couldn’t help herself.

O’Neil peered over the top of her specs, warning her to be careful.

Newman moved quickly on. ‘The more you dig, the more nervous the Home Office will become. If you get close, they’ll want to monitor everything you do. You can count on them making life difficult.’

‘He’s right.’ Ryan’s focus was O’Neil. ‘Guv, we need to set a protocol so every one of us is clear on what we’re doing, why we’re doing it and what we’re going to reveal to those working on the ground.’

‘Agreed,’ O’Neil said. ‘I’ll talk to Ford.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Ryan scoffed.

O’Neil ignored him. Whether they liked it or not, the grey man would have to be updated from time to time. ‘We’ll operate as an intelligence cell, running our own closed enquiry. That way, any other interested parties won’t see all – I stress all – of what we find out. If we want something from Ford, we’ll need to give him something in return.’

‘I agree,’ Ryan said. ‘Otherwise it’ll look suspicious.’

O’Neil carried on. ‘We can choose to use the HOLMES computer system however we like. Grace will oversee linked incidents, looking for any ambiguity. I’ll decide whether to view only or update electronically. Grace, I need you on board because you have more incident room experience than the rest of us put together. You will action jobs to satellite rooms. Ryan and I can’t do everything.’

‘And when the case comes to court?’ Grace asked.

‘I intend full disclosure at the pre-trial review phase. I’ll make the sitting judge aware of the cell, why we chose to operate that way, and I’ll ask for certain information to be kept secret.’

‘Including my involvement,’ Newman said. ‘Just so you know, I will protect my informants.’

He would too.

‘Ryan and I had a chat about that earlier,’ O’Neil said. ‘Don’t worry, Frank. I’ll be sure to take that into account when deciding whether to feed the machine or keep information we discover to ourselves.’

‘I’ve done it numerous times when MI5 were being awkward,’ Ryan said.

‘MI5 don’t trust anyone.’ Grace glanced at Newman. ‘That’s how Frank and I met. I was getting rather close to someone his old colleagues were trying to protect. He was sent to show me the error of my ways.’

‘Not that it made any difference.’ Newman’s joke resulted in a sharp elbow to the ribs.

O’Neil eyeballed her new recruits. ‘Let me recap. You are employed here, Grace – we are now a unit of three. Frank doesn’t exist. The way I see it, we have three categories of job: the ones we don’t mind sharing; those that are suspect – we feed those into the system under the Gold Command banner; and finally the red-hot jobs that we, and only we, act upon.’