Dillon phoned Havelock again — this time on his mobile number, and was immediately diverted to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message, instead tried again an hour later and got hold of him. By this time Havelock was worried about the whole assignment. What had started out as an effort to help the Americans recover a priceless work of art had got hopelessly out of hand. Now there were pressures from above, on Havelock himself, to come up with answers regarding Charlie Hart.
Havelock wanted to meet Dillon to bring himself up to speed, but Dillon’s survival instinct told him that Havelock would surely be followed this time. He explained quickly.
“Three dead, one seriously injured, I’m keeping my head down and I’ve sent Issy to stay with one of her friends. I won’t tell you where she is and I’ve told her not to go near her office. I’ve already given the names of those I think are involved one way or another, but I want more information on Julian Latimer.”
Havelock knew he was getting out of his depth, but couldn’t do anything other than help.
“I can tell you most of what is known about Latimer off the top of my head. He’s a confirmed bachelor, is of a similar age to Charlie Hart and has been in politics since his early twenties. For most of that time he’s barely uttered a parliamentary word since his maiden speech. For the majority of his political career he has been used on various committees, which I’ve no doubt made him feel as if he was doing something useful. But on the whole, a lack-lustre man with very little drive according to those who know him well. I would say that he’ll never get any further in the party and that must frustrate the hell out of him.”
“You told me before that he isn’t liked. Was there a point in his career when that came about, or has that always been the case?”
“Look, Jake. This is all very well talking like this, but we should meet and discuss it properly.”
“Dunstan, I’m sorry. But that’s not an option at the moment. They’re looking for me and I don’t want you getting caught up in the crossfire. You wouldn’t stand a chance against those thugs and you most certainly wouldn’t live through the torture they’d inflict. So talk.”
“He used to be the life and soul of the political circuit. Harmless enough, some would say, with a certain charm and charisma that used to win him the votes. But he’s changed over the last few years. He’s become very self-opinionated, obnoxiously arrogant and, at times, quite insufferable.”
“Any obvious reason?”
“Some say that he may have come into a substantial sum of money which made him surer of himself. His parents were quite normal and definitely not wealthy, so it might have been a rich relation that left him a legacy or something. He doesn’t seem unhappy by the prospect of almost certainly losing his seat at the next election.”
“What were these committees that he sat on?”
“For heaven’s sake, Jake. I’ve absolutely no idea. After all, there could have been hundreds of them over the years. They’re the normal things; parliamentary committees are commonplace, set up with as much frequency as you or I drink coffee.”
“You’d better trawl through the archives then. From about the time his character changed.”
“That will take forever. I’ll have to get one of my office juniors to do it. The problem there is that it will run the risk of not only awkward questions being asked, but Latimer himself may even get to hear about something like that being sanctioned.”
“Okay, but try and do what you can. I also want to know how much money he has. And whether he’s ever been seriously involved with anyone?”
“I’ve already told you that he’s a confirmed bachelor, and as far as I’m aware not seeing anyone past or present. As for what he’s worth, I’ll see what I can rake up on him.”
Havelock sounded exasperated. “Where are you staying, Jake?”
“It’s best you don’t know, Dunstan. It’s safer that way. Now you give my love to Rachel and I’ll be in touch very soon. Oh, and Dunstan, thanks.”
Dillon made a mental note to visit Julian Latimer first thing the next morning.
It turned out to be one of those luxury apartment buildings in Chelsea. Just six in one building, with names and numbers alongside their respective intercom buttons. Stepping out of the Ford, Dillon peered back up the street to the King’s Road and then in the opposite direction towards Fulham Road. Satisfied that he’d not been followed.
As there were eight floors including the basement parking area, Dillon naturally assumed that one of the apartments must be a two-floor penthouse. He pushed the intercom button of number six, which he figured was at the top of the building, and waited. Nothing happened. He pushed the button once more without result and crossed the road to get a better view of the whole building. He spotted the security cameras on each corner and the one over the entrance to the underground car park. Buildings of this calibre usually had a central security system controlling door access CCTV and police alert, and that made things a little trickier. Data was usually fed to the concierge’s workstation and monitor, or directly to a contracted security company’s office and monitored from there. Gone were the days of locks and chains on each occupant’s door which could only be opened by a mortise key or a lock release from inside the apartments — this building looked as if it had electromagnetic locks and digital entry systems.
As he gazed across the street, Dillon thought of Anthony De-Luca, better known as ‘Cracker’. Dillon knew his own limitations when it came to breaking and entering, and he had used Tony before for this sort of job.
Somewhere along the line he would have to break in to find what he could. Nobody was going to tell him what he wanted to know. Tommy Trevelyan was the last man to enter his mind as a possible source of information; he would need an army to help him and then another to protect him. Hart was wired up to the hilt. Paul Hammer was a possibility. But Julian Latimer seemed to be the weakest of them alclass="underline" arrogant men could rarely be told and invariably never listened to sound advice. But he needed to know something of Latimer’s habits and didn’t have the luxury of time to have him followed for the next few days. Havelock would curse him for this next request, but somehow he had to ensure that Latimer was in the House of Commons, preferably a late session that would drag on for a bit.
He dialled the number again. A resigned Dunstan Havelock said, “Yes Jake?”
“I need to know what Latimer will be doing over the next forty-eight hours. Especially the times when he’s in the House.”
“What you want, Jake, is for me to hack into his electronic diary, isn’t it? Why?”
“I need him to be away from his apartment for a while.”
“I never heard that. Just what the hell are you up to?”
“Will you?”
“Of course I won’t, because I bloody well can’t! I’m the personal assistant to the Home Secretary. Not a spy.”
Dillon could almost see Havelock shaking his head in despair.
“Dunstan, I want to be absolutely sure that he’ll be away from his home for at least four hours.”
“Look, Jake, the man is a bloody loose cannon. He’s been warned numerous times by senior ministers to tow the party-line. And because of that he’s very rarely seen in the House.”
“What about if there was something happening, which meant that he had to be there?”
“Oh, you’d like me to organise something, would you? That’s no problem. Let me have a look at the next few days. I know I’ll have a word with the Home Secretary and get her to ask the PM to rearrange the whole dammed schedule just so that you can do a spot of breaking and entering at a Member of Parliament’s private home address. How does that sound?”