‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Liz, wondering who her mother was.
A voice came from the hallway. ‘Don’t be so sure about that.’ It was a woman’s voice, followed by a laugh that could only belong to one person.
‘Judith,’ cried Liz, as a tall, elegant woman came into the hall. ‘I had no idea you were living here.’
Judith Spratt had worked with Liz in counter terrorism. She was a desk officer, widely respected within the service for her acumen and relentless pursuit of leads. She had always been admirably unflappable, and Liz and she had become good friends before losing track of each other – Liz had been moved to counter espionage, and Judith had gone on extended leave after marital problems. Liz had heard vaguely that Judith had come back, but she hadn’t seen her in Thames House – and now she knew why.
‘I’ve been here over a year,’ said Judith, as if amazed herself. ‘Time flies when…’ she paused, then grinned. ‘When you’re as busy as I am.’
By now the white-haired woman had a firm grip on Daisy’s hand, and with a nod to Judith marched the little girl out of the flat. Liz and Judith went into the kitchen, where Liz turned the kettle on.
‘And of course that’s Daisy,’ said Liz, remembering the tiny child in London who would clamber out of bed to interrupt her mother’s dinner parties. ‘My she’s grown,’ she added. ‘How old is she now? Five? Six?’ Going on twenty, thought Liz.
‘Almost six. I found her a good school.’ Judith’s expression darkened. ‘I’m divorced from Ravi now, you know.’
Liz was not surprised. Judith’s husband had been involved in a prominent City fraud case; cleared by the Fraud Squad, he had almost immediately found himself charged with a credit card scam. Charming but volatile, he had left Judith at the height of the scandal, which had added humiliation to her shame, and made her loyalty to her husband in his travails seem pointless.
‘Where is Ravi now?’ Liz asked gently.
Judith shrugged, in a display of indifference that Liz sensed was not altogether sincere. ‘He got a suspended sentence, but after that he couldn’t work in the City again. He went back to India for a while; God knows where he is now. The way he fought me for custody of Daisy you’d think he’d be in touch, but I haven’t heard a monkey’s.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She had always admired Judith’s ability to juggle career, marriage, and a child. It had been a big shock when things had fallen apart for her friend, and Liz had been taken aback to find such a paragon of self-assurance so upset and unsure of herself. Yet from the look of her now, Judith had picked herself up and built a new life.
‘Don’t be sorry. I’m all right now, Liz, and so is Daisy. She’s at a very good school here and doing well. Mrs Ryan collects her every day, and looks after her until I get home. Don’t be fooled by the white hair – she’s quite feisty. But I like that. And I’ve come to rely on her – it’s busy at the office, believe it or not.’
‘So Michael Binding was telling me.’
Judith gave a knowing smile. ‘I know you’ve never been keen on him, Liz. Nor me. He hasn’t changed much but at least he lets us get on with it – I think he’s got enough on his plate with the politicians not to interfere too much. Have you seen Dave?’
‘Not yet. They told me he was away on a case.’
Judith nodded. ‘Yes, he seems to think he’s onto something new.’ Her handsome, composed face suddenly broke into an unrestrained grin. ‘Dave’s so glad you’re here. And so am I. There really is a lot more going on than people in London realise. I don’t know what you’re feeling about this posting, but I promise you one thing. You won’t be bored.’
8
‘They could easily stop it doing that,’ said Technical Ted Poyser to his two companions, as the gate closed behind them with a long drawn-out squeal, then crashed shut.
‘Good job they didn’t. Or we wouldn’t know there was anything going on.’
‘If there is,’ said Ted sardonically.
Ted had decided they would go into the gatehouse in daylight, dressed to look like National Trust visitors, letting themselves in with the key Robinson had provided. So Maureen Hayes had dropped them off in the village and they had walked the mile or so to the house, carrying their equipment in large rucksacks.
In the office, Ted, the service’s master of all things electronic, didn’t look remotely like an average National Trust member. But now his long black dyed hair was tucked inside a woolly hat with a pom-pom on top, which also hid his gold earring; he had discarded his black leather jacket and biker’s boots in favour of a green anorak; and his costume of walking trousers and knee socks was finished off with brown walking shoes. The whole ensemble looked OK at a distance.
‘I wouldn’t mind a few days here,’ said John Forrest as he finished unpacking his drills and looked out of the dining room window at the wide bay. The tide was in now, and the little football-like heads of seals were popping up inquisitively from the ripples.
‘Well we haven’t got a few days,’ replied Ted, ‘so let’s get on with it.’
A couple of hours later, after some muted drilling and hammering, Ted was on the phone to the office at Palace Barracks. ‘There’s a woman with a dog just coming up to the gate now. How’s the focus?’
‘Clear as a bell,’ came back the answer. ‘But hang on there till a car comes past – we need to check the angle.’
A minute or two later a small hatchback came out, driven by a woman with a small child in a car seat at the back. ‘You need to adjust the angle. The number plates are out of the frame. Just a few degrees down and to the left.’ Ted relayed the instruction to John Forrest in the loft, the adjustment was made and the OK given.
As the team started to pack up they heard the engine of another car coming down the track. Ted stood at the side of the dining room window, half-concealed by the curtain, and watched as a red Vauxhall Vectra with racing tyres slowed as it reached the gate. There were two men sitting in front, and another in the back seat, but from the house he couldn’t see their faces. As the gate clanged shut and the car drove away he thumbed in a number on his phone. ‘Did you get that?’
‘Brilliant,’ said the voice at the other end. ‘Front seat, clear enough for Hello magazine. But we’re not going to be able to get the rear seat passengers, I’m afraid.’
9
The camera at the gatehouse had been busy. There were photographs of walkers, and several of a black Toyota hybrid car which came and went and had been identified by Phil Robinson as belonging to the holiday tenants who had taken a fortnight’s let. But Liz was staring at several pictures of a red Vauxhall.
‘The owner is called Malone,’ said Dave Armstrong, standing behind her and looking over her shoulder. ‘That’s him driving. He has form.’
‘What kind of form?’ asked Liz, still looking at the photographs of the car.
‘Six years in the eighties for the attempted murder of an RUC officer. He left his fingerprints all over a bomb that didn’t go off underneath the policeman’s car. After that he was more careful. We couldn’t get him on terrorism, but he’s got a list of convictions for violence. A GBH charge when he worked as a doorman in a nightclub in Cookstown, a couple of domestics when his wife got fed up and rang the police. Lately he’s calmed down. He’s middle-aged, like we’ll all be soon.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Liz.
She looked again at the photographs. She could see the two figures in the front seat clearly but the back seat passenger was not identifiable.
‘Who is the other guy in the front seat?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Dave.