‘Furness was unarmed and your apartment contained a surprising, alarming was the word the police used, variety of weapons besides the gun used to kill him. Ballistics has confirmed that your gun was used to fire the fatal shot and your fingerprints were the only ones found on your gun. DNA testing has so far revealed no other intruders, but we have a witness that places you at the scene at the time of death.’
He paused. Flabbergasted, Gerry stared at him.
‘This is ridiculous. I wouldn’t shoot Furness on the say-so of one man, especially a creep like Neil Samms. That witness must have been mistaken.’
‘At first the Americans believe that you killed Furness under our express authority. We assured them that this wasn’t the case.’
‘But I didn’t shoot Furness,’ Gerry protested. ‘I was with Jasper White after I returned from the office! This is preposterous!’
‘Yes, Miss Tate, it is!’ Don Jarvis declared. ‘Because we have CCTV that shows you walking out of Richmond tube station on your own and then other pictures of you in Richmond High Street at the time you say you were with Jasper White. And in any event he has dropped his story. It seems that when the evidence was presented to him, he seemed rather angry, in fact words like “bitch” and “see her in hell” escaped his lips. Neither we nor the Americans place any credence in your story. Although you have carried out terminations on behalf of the British Government, that was on operations. Throughout your time in the service it has been emphasised that, shall we say, extra-curricular terminations will not be tolerated.’ He looked down at the report in front of him.
‘Until we have received a satisfactory explanation from you, or otherwise established the truth about what really happened to Furness, you are indefinitely suspended from operational duty. For now you will remain at liberty, but you will surrender your passport and file reports of your whereabouts as directed. If you fail to comply with this or any other restriction we may place upon you, you will be arrested for the murder of Dean Furness.’ He paused. ‘Is that clearly understood, Miss Tate?’ Gerry tried to swallow her anger, but her meek reply deserted her when she saw the look of smug satisfaction on Jarvis’s face.
‘You fucking bastard,’ she said quietly to Sir Hugh Fielding. ‘You set me up in front of this drumhead court martial, dump all this crap on me and expect me to be intimidated. You’re a bunch of absolute shits!’
‘That’s as maybe,’ said Fielding with the equanimity of someone who had received many verbal assaults through a long career, ‘but I would nevertheless advise you not to pit yourself against the Service, which as you know full well, would win. Perhaps you are unaware that prison inmates are not allowed to keep their new born infants in prison with them for longer than eighteen months. After that they’re taken into care.’
Gerry stared at them aghast. She unwillingly conjured up a mental picture of someone carrying off her infant child while she held on to the bars of a prison cell shrieking in protest. Her furious resolve drained away and in a state of sudden emotional weakness she meekly replied ‘I see.’
Jarvis pressed a button on his intercom. ‘Vince, could you come in, please; you can escort Miss Tate from the building.’ He looked up at Gerry. ‘Give me your identity card.’
‘I… I left it behind. I came in on a temporary card.’
‘Hmm. Ok We’ll send someone round to collect it. Your firearms licence will be revoked. You will be given three months’ pay in lieu of notice.’
The three men stared at her. She heard the door open and then a hand on her shoulder. At the security desk she handed over her temporary pass and followed Vince outside into the bright sunshine.
‘Ok, I have to take you back to the hotel and you must hand over your ID card,’ he said.
‘After that could you give me a lift home, please,’ she said, rather proud that her voice sounded steady.
‘I’m sorry, I have to go straight back to the office; you’ll have to get a taxi,’ he replied.
Gerry slowly walked up to her flat where a policeman stood watch. She automatically reached for her identity card but then let her hand drop as she remembered. ‘Is it ok if I go back inside my flat now?’ she asked.
‘Are you the owner, Geraldine Tate?’ The policeman eyed her suspiciously. ‘Have you got any id? We’ve had a couple of scribblers trying to get in.’ Gerry searched for her driving licence. The policeman took it nodded and handed it back. ‘I can take you in to pick up personal items, but I understand you’ll have to wait at least until tomorrow before the scene of crime people release it.’
Gerry followed the policeman inside. She could see an outline drawn on the carpet and a forensics officer was inspecting blood spattered on the adjacent wall but when she tried to go in to take a better look he grasped her elbow. ‘Not in there please.’
He watched her walk around her bedroom picking clothes out of drawers and cupboards and stuffing her two biggest suitcases. She pulled them off the bed and picked them up. ‘Ok I’m ready,’ she said.
‘Look love, you shouldn’t be carrying them, not in your condition.’ Gerry allowed him to take one from her and they carried them outside.
‘Ok thanks; if you can just look after them while I get my keys… oh hell, where’s my car?’
‘I believe it was taken by forensics,’ he said.
‘Oh shit!’ Gerry sat down on the door step and pulled her phone out to call a cab.
Forty minutes later she had checked out the hotel and another taxi drove her back to Philip’s flat. She thanked the driver who had also decided that someone in her condition should not be lugging big suitcases, and closed the front door. She stared out the window for a minute or two and then with her remaining resources she pulled off her clothes and fell into the bed. She hugged the pillow to her, caught a vague scent of Philip and lay in quiet misery until she fell asleep.
She was woken up by a hammering on the door and the insistent ringing of the bell. What was the time? 9:53pm according to the bedside clock. She rolled wearily out of bed, unhooked her dressing gown from the door and trod slowly downstairs. She looked through the security lens and saw four police officers, three male and one female. Two of the officers were wearing flak jackets and held firearms. She considered rushing upstairs, quickly dressing, fetching her weapons and breaking out through the back door but a glance out through the kitchen window showed a flashlight being waved around outside. She still fancied her chances against the posse outside the front door but perhaps someone would wind up dead and it might be her. She opened the front door.
‘Geraldine Tate?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are under arrest for the murder of Dean Furness. You do not have to say anything. However, it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
She was convicted of murder and given a life sentence. She was told to expect to serve a term of fifteen years before she might be eligible for parole.
Two months after her conviction her mother had suddenly died. A few weeks later she gave birth to a healthy baby girl and then after several days of extreme anguish she had given her up for adoption.
Long, long years passed by before events took a sudden and surprising turn.
Part Two: At Sea
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Hey Tate, you’ve got a visitor.’
Gerry carefully lowered the bar and allowed the weights to settle back down and stared at them for a few seconds. Apart from a social worker a psychologist and a solicitor, she had received no visitors since her brother had come to see her when he had arranged their mother’s funeral. Without stating it in so many words he had managed to imply that the stress of her daughter’s trial and imprisonment had contributed a good deal to her heart attack. Gerry had given up the idea of asking him if he might adopt her baby and there had been no contact between the two siblings in the years since. ‘Who is it then?’ she asked.