High in a sky of the most brilliant blue, white clouds appeared to be suspended motionless in midair. Out in the main channel of the harbour the cross channel ferry steadily made its way out towards the open sea. Dillon stood on the balcony drinking strong black filter coffee out of a white china mug. The trials of the night were now behind him and with the sun rising and a new day before him, he found himself wide awake and in need of a shower and a shave.
He stood in front of the mirror and found the cuts on the back of his hands, face and neck were only superficial. After he’d showered, he felt refreshed and decided not to bother with bed, so went back through to the kitchen and made more coffee. He had already made a note of the gunmen’s car registration number and from his Sony Vaio, emailed this information along with a report to Vince Sharp back in London. Next, he plugged in the USB memory stick containing the files he’d taken off of Jack Fox’s hard drive and started to sift through what was there.
They were mainly files containing names, addresses and contact numbers, each placed in its own separate sub-file. Some of the names had additional information added to them, but this had been encrypted so that only Jack Fox was able to view it. Vince had software to decode these encryptions. Most were unknown names, but there were three that he recognised and two of those were men not to mess with. The third name was the same as that of a leading politician, but that could be a coincidence. By the time he’d finished looking through the files, he was feeling tired and frustrated, because Charlie Hart’s name wasn’t there, and nothing connecting him to Jack Fox either.
He went back outside onto the balcony and paced up and down to keep himself awake, for he knew if he fell asleep it might be for the rest of the day and he still wanted to make a number of phone calls. He was also anxious about Issy who he hadn’t contacted since she’d moved in with her friend, Grace.
Sleep had got the better of him and it was the comfy sofa by the window that had been its accomplice. He woke three hours later, feeling like he’d just been dragged over barbed wire and then wrapped in it. He glanced down at his wrist watch — it was eleven-thirty. Outside the sun was now high in a sky of unbroken blue and he still had a number of phone calls to make.
He rang Vince Sharp for a trace on the car registration number, and also asked him to get as much information on an MP named Julian Latimer. He knew the name and was only able to bring up some basic information about him, but Dillon wanted everything — public and private. As this would take longer, Vince told him that he would email the information later in the day. He phoned Issy to tell her that he was okay and to find out how she was. Before disconnecting the call, he reiterated how important it was for her remain off the radar for the next few days. And that it was most likely that she wouldn’t hear from him for the next day or two either, but not to worry.
He phoned an old acquaintance in Bournemouth who he knew specialised in the repair of exotic cars. He would come and collect the Cayman and wouldn’t ask any awkward questions as long as he was paid in cash. He then phoned Vince again and this time checked two of the names that he recognised on Jack Fox’s database. The details were exactly the same as those held on the Home Office and police files. One of them was Tommy Trevelyan, a notoriously dangerous south coast criminal who allegedly solved his problems with the gentle persuasion of a pick axe handle. At first glance he looked as respectable as any major league property developer can be. But beneath the surface was the true man, involved in serious crime, running prostitutes, people smuggling and the distribution of class-A drugs.
Dillon had indirectly crossed Trevelyan before. Trevelyan was involved with certain ostensibly respectable London businessmen, one of whom ran more rackets than Trevelyan himself and had been killed by a contract hit man about a year ago. Amongst other things, Trevelyan was involved in money laundering and had important connections from London to Shanghai. Proving it was another matter. It then struck Dillon that it would make sense if Trevelyan was associated with Charlie Hart.
The other man was more difficult to find information on. By comparison to Trevelyan, Paul Hammer was the complete opposite; introvert and had apparently become reclusive over the last few years, although he controlled a number of highly successful multi-million pound businesses. These were mostly in the hotel and hospitality sector. It was strongly rumoured that he was also involved in illegally supplying weapons to rebel armies in exchange for gold bullion or uncut diamonds. This was only hearsay, and nothing had ever been proven, but Dillon had heard the same reports from a number of reliable sources via the grapevine of dubious underworld snouts and criminals with whom he sometimes came into contact. Hammer also owned a nightclub and a casino and both were located in South London. Dillon had seen the likes of Hammer before — men who had a knack for making large amounts of money from illegal activities, but who never got their hands dirty themselves and therefore never got caught. But they always slipped up sooner or later.
Hammer had some questionable friends who were all involved at the highest level of serious organised crime. From time to time, an article about him would appear in the financial press; usually about one of his PLC companies and how well it was doing on the Stock Exchange. Rare though it was, a photograph would occasionally turn up in The Times, taken at one of the elaborate annual charity functions he had hosted, usually at one of his five-star hotels. Invariably the image would show a group of random people standing around him, along with some of the highest ranking police officers in the Met. Dillon thought how that must cause a few sniggers throughout the force, especially as many of the faces present at these gatherings were well-known criminals. Yet, as far as Dillon knew, Hammer had no actual police record. There were certain types of businessmen who for some quirky reason got a kick out of fraternising with the upper echelons of the criminal underworld and the police — like groupies with rock stars. So it was logical to assume that both would be called on from time to time, essentially to boost their sense of importance.
On the flip side of this was that some of these criminals got their kicks from mixing with legitimate big names: businessmen, politicians and so-called celebrities. In fact, anybody who on the surface of it all placed them on the ‘A’-list of important people. History was littered with cases of criminals rubbing shoulders with, and usually to the detriment of, members of society’s elite and politicians. Hammer was not only extremely wealthy, but well-connected too. His reclusiveness was something that people found intriguing, which made him attractive to others. Whereas Tommy Trevelyan was only moderately wealthy by comparison, had a limited vocabulary, and couldn’t string a sentence together without the inclusion of a number of the more colourful swear-words for company.
The two names were a strange combination. Dillon couldn’t see Paul Hammer openly mixing with the likes of Tommy Trevelyan, who sent fear through most of those who knew him, and was rarely seen in any photograph or in public. Trevelyan didn’t seek publicity of any kind. It was difficult, too, to imagine Jack Fox having anything to do with either of these men — they were both way out of his league. But he had both names on his database, which Dillon thought was odd. True enough, even those in a position of power often needed the services of men like Fox.
It was well over two hours before Vince rang back. Dillon listened to what he’d found out, making the odd note and not interrupting. Ten minutes later, he hung up and immediately phoned Dunstan Havelock on his Whitehall number. After a few minutes of listening, Havelock was berating Dillon for jeopardising the whole assignment with his maverick approach and they ended up arguing. At which time Havelock reminded him that the Home Office could not, under any circumstances, tolerate unorthodox intelligence activities, let alone fund them. Dillon shot that down by reminding Havelock that he was the one who had got him involved in what was fast becoming a life-or-death situation. That both partners of Ferran & Cardini International and Sir Lucius Stagg were not happy about some of the high-profile names involved. They believed that there was something very much adrift with the whole affair.