Before sitting down, he and Upton had called their respective offices and asked them to check for all convicted murderers on their way back into society in the previous and upcoming two weeks, information they might need before that question could be addressed.
Upton was wiping the last of the runny yolk from his plate with a piece of toast when his phone rang. He listened for almost a minute, pushing his plate aside to take notes in a small leather-backed pad. When he hung up, he looked at Hugo and Agarwal. “We’ve got just five names from the whole of England and Scotland that fit our criteria. Four men and one woman.”
“Who’s the woman?” Hugo asked, always inclined to examine the outlier.
Upton looked at his notes. “Stanton. June Michelle Stanton,” he said.
“June Stanton.” The name floated in a haze, familiar to Hugo, yet he wasn’t immediately clear why. Then it came to him. “She killed a police officer, didn’t she?” Now he could picture her face on the television, a face he’d seen the same day he met Harper.
“She got forty years,” Upton nodded. “She served twenty-five years, now getting out. Used to be gorgeous but got hooked on drugs, lost her modeling contracts, and ended up robbing banks with her boyfriend. Quite a downward spiral, and it didn’t turn out well for either of them. He got himself killed during a robbery, and she was arrested in the car outside.”
“And the other four?” Hugo wanted to be thorough, not jump to conclusions because he recognized one person. Upton read them off, and Hugo said, “The names don’t mean anything, but maybe their crimes …?”
“One murderer, three rapists. None of them famous, their crimes not especially heinous. Relatively speaking, of course.”
“Of course. So if you want to go out with a big splash, you go for Stanton.”
“Yep,” said Upton. “Which means we need to find her.”
“Where was she released from, when, and do we know where she’s going?”
“Yes.” Upton looked at his notes. “From Houseblock Two, Her Majesty’s Prison in Peterborough. Jesus — yesterday.”
“Which is why Walton wanted us in Edinburgh, far away from what he has planned. Where is she going?”
“According to this, she was released last night to her daughter and sister, who live in Hendon.”
“That’s north London, isn’t it?” asked Hugo, remembering his trip out of the city.
“Right. Not my area of operations, as it were.”
“Seriously?” Hugo looked up. “I thought you guys weren’t worried about jurisdictional crap.”
Upton smiled. “I’m not. Some others might be.”
“Well, until they speak up, it’s you, me, and PC Agarwal.” Hugo turned to the constable. “You have a first name, right?”
“No, sir.” Agarwal stood and picked up his cap from the seat beside him, ready to go. “Not until I’m a sergeant.”
“Shouldn’t be long. Just tell me you know how to get to Hendon.”
“That I do.”
“Excellent,” said Hugo. “Then you drive and I’ll use your phone.”
They moved quickly across the parking lot toward Upton’s Vauxhall and had just opened the doors when two police cars turned in and headed toward them. The first stopped yards away and the rear door opened an instant before the car had even come to a stop. The solid figure of Upton’s boss, the chief constable, stepped out and strode across toward them.
“Oh shit,” murmured Upton. “This isn’t good.”
She got to where Hugo and Upton stood by the open rear doors of the car and stopped, her hands perched on wide hips. Hugo wanted to smile when Agarwal slid behind the wheel, as if taking shelter from the impending storm.
“Going somewhere, Detective Chief Inspector?”
“Chief Blazey, I didn’t know you were coming.”
“How could you know,” she said, a thick eyebrow raised high, “you’ve been a little out of touch lately.”
“Well, we’ve had some new information about—”
“I don’t think this is a conversation we need to be having in front of our American cousin,” Blazey said icily. “Why don’t we go inside?” She turned to Hugo, “Please excuse us, Mr. Marston, we have police business to discuss.”
“Chief Constable, if I may,” Hugo began, “DCI Upton has been—”
“I’m well aware of what he’s been and what he hasn’t been,” Blazey said. “And while I appreciate you Americans haven’t intended to cause all this trouble, nonetheless several people are dead, and so far you’ve not done the most exacting job at finding out who or why, so you’ll forgive me if the British police return to following orders from their British superiors. We may not have as many murders as you do, but we’re quite good at solving those we do have. As I said, please excuse us while we discuss police business inside.” She shot an icy look at Agarwal as he climbed out of the car and stood to attention. “You too, Constable.”
She turned on her heel and started toward the pub, and Upton looked quickly at Hugo before following, his blank expression saying plenty. Agarwal followed, too, rounding the front of the car and passing close to Hugo on the passenger side. Hugo started to move out of his way then saw the keys in his open palm, saw the look in Agarwal’s eyes. He palmed the keys like a spy as the constable brushed by and fought the urge to smile at the man’s whispered words.
“Remember,” Agarwal said, “we drive on the left.”
Chief Constable Blazey’s driver and two other uniformed officers traipsed behind Agarwal into the pub, leaving Hugo alone in the parking lot. He moved around to the driver’s side of the car and slipped behind the wheel. First step, get on the road to London. Second step, call Bart Denum for the address and directions. But when he started the engine he saw that Agarwal had gotten into the car for a reason: he’d programmed the GPS system with Stanton’s address.
He pulled out of the lot and followed the calm and directing voice that drew him through the web of country lanes toward the A1 motorway and London. As he passed the first exit, he noticed his gas tank was near empty. He smiled. If he was borrowing a police car, the least he could do was fuel it up.
He left the highway at the next sign for a gas station, beating a blue Ford to the only open pump. He took a moment to locate the right buttons and the right fuel, then stood patiently as the machine beside him throbbed and the pleasant smell of gasoline drifted up from the tank. He looked over his shoulder to see if the Ford had found a pump, feeling slightly guilty about screeching to the head of the line. But the Ford was tucked between two SUVs in front of the station’s convenience store, doing other business.
He turned his thoughts to what he was going to tell Stanton, aware that he was going into this situation with no authority, no proof, and no weapon. But at the very least he could warn her, let her disappear of her own accord until this thing was over.
As the pump clicked off automatically, Hugo felt a sudden pressure in the small of his back. Words spoken closely to his neck sounded like the hiss of a snake.
“It’s loaded and you know I’m willing to use it. At this point, I have no reason not to.”
“I believe you, Walton, don’t worry. What do you want me to do?”
“Finish up here and get back in the car. And don’t do anything stupid. Even if you do manage to get away from me, I see several other people I can shoot.”
“Seems to me you don’t shoot innocents.” Hugo turned to face him and felt the nub of the gun in his stomach. “Am I right? Isn’t that the point of this?”
“Innocent is a relative term,” Walton snarled. “And right now, what I have planned is more important. The bigger picture, if you like.”
Hugo held his eye and nodded slowly. “Fine. Where are we going?”