‘Coombes!’ she yelled as she burst through the gate and pursued the shadow downhill along the muddy track that ran alongside the woods.
Rachel was twenty-five years old and had been the star runner at her university. She was rapidly closing the gap between them as they stumbled down the steepening slope, which was growing increasingly uneven underfoot. It was surreally silent; the only sound in the tranquil hills was that of their laboured breathing and heavy footsteps as the chase continued.
‘Police! Stop!’ she panted.
The sun was rising with every passing moment, and the tips of the dark trees were now painted in golden sunlight. Rachel could now make out that she was chasing an imposing man with a closely shaven head and a deep scar running diagonally across his scalp. He was wearing heavy boots and a black or dark blue coat that billowed out behind him as he ran.
Suddenly he veered off the track and leapt awkwardly over the barbed wire fence surrounding the woods.
Rachel heard him cry out in pain before scrambling back to his feet and disappearing through the treeline. She reached the spot where he had hurdled the fence and abandoned her pursuit. Sometimes it was difficult to remember the training once the adrenaline had kicked in, but she was only armed with pepper spray. She had already ascertained the man’s imposing size and therefore, suspected that the dense woodland would be of greater advantage to him than to her. Besides, she had what she needed.
She knelt down to look at the dark blood pooling around a coil in the metal spike. Without anything to cut the wire with, and unable to leave the evidence unattended, she took a clean tissue from her pocket and soaked up what she could. With one eye on the treeline, she began the long, steep, ascent back up the hill.
Baxter had been the first member of the team to arrive at the office on Sunday morning and had picked up the urgent message to contact Protected Persons. She had to go through an arduous twenty-minute process of identity checks and security numbers before finally being connected to Rachel, who informed Baxter of the incident and the brown envelope that she had found tied to the gate of the cottage on her return. It had contained a single photograph, taken the previous afternoon, of Rachel and her colleague struggling with Ford in the front garden.
Rachel and her supervisor had been reassuringly competent and thorough. They had local police combing the woods, had cordoned off the muddy footpath to preserve footprints, and had bagged the bloodstained tissue that Rachel had collected and the section of fence that the trespasser had injured himself on, both of which were already in transit to the Met’s forensic lab.
If it had been their killer’s first mistake, they fully intended to capitalise on it.
It was clear that Andrew Ford was no longer secure at the safe house. With Simmons unable to get hold of Wolf, he had sent Baxter and Edmunds to collect Ford while he worked on alternative arrangements. After a few personal calls to contacts that he had met through Mayor Turnble, he was connected to the ambassador of the Embassy of Ireland.
The embassy had seemed a logical choice as it was already overseen by the armed diplomatic protection officers and had security measures engineered into the building as standard. Simmons had been as open with the ambassador as he could, and was upfront about Ford’s drinking problem and volatile behaviour.
‘No need to check his passport then,’ the ambassador had joked.
He had invited Ford and the Metropolitan Police to utilise the top floor of the embassy until the situation had been resolved, and Finlay had drawn the short straw of spending Sunday night there.
Edmunds had returned home on Sunday evening, exhausted from his day of travelling. They had left Ford in Finlay’s care and then Baxter had kindly dropped him home.
‘Don’t let the cat out!’ Tia screamed at him as soon as he stepped over the threshold.
‘The what?’
He almost tripped over the tiny tabby kitten as it sped past him and collided with the front door.
‘T? What is this?’ he asked.
‘He’s called Bernard, and he’s going to keep me company while you’re out at work,’ said Tia challengingly.
‘A bit like the baby will?’
‘The baby’s not here yet though, is it?’
Edmunds stumbled through to the kitchen as the affectionate kitten rubbed up against his legs. Tia was clearly delighted, though, and had not even complained that he was home late, so he decided not to object or remind her that he was severely allergic to cats.
On Monday morning, Vanita had assumed Simmons’ role and taken charge of the case. Simmons, back at Chambers’ desk, was rather looking forward to being a more intimate part of the unit – less so to the disciplinary action awaiting him when things calmed down. Baxter, meanwhile, had been reassigned to normal duties.
Her first case had been a woman who stabbed her cheating husband to death. Boringly, she had admitted to it. Baxter, therefore, faced several hours of tedious form-filling to complement her five seconds of investigative work. She also had to work alongside Blake, one of the obnoxious Saunders’ crowd, who had always had a thing for her. It was fortunate she was such a gifted actress that nobody had picked up on the fact that she could not abide the man.
Simmons had scribbled the weekend’s updates onto the scruffy board in the meeting room:
(HEAD) Naguib Khalid ‘The Cremation Killer’
(TORSO) – ? – Madeline Ayers – (Khalid’s defence lawyer)
(LEFT ARM) platinum ring, law firm? – Michael Gable-Collins – why?
(RIGHT ARM) nail varnish? – Michelle Gailey – (Khalid’s probation officer)
(LEFT LEG) – ?
(RIGHT LEG) Detective Benjamin Chambers – why?
A – Raymond Turnble (Mayor)
B – Vijay Rana/Khalid (Brother/accountant) not at trial
C – Jarred Garland (Journalist)
D – Andrew Ford (Security guard/alcoholic/pain in arse) – Dock security officer
E – Ashley Lochlan (Waitress) or (nine-year-old girl)
F – Wolf
Edmunds had all but forgotten about the newest addition to their family as he got ready for work that morning but received a stark reminder when he accidentally trod on the sleeping fluff-ball in the hallway and stumbled face first into his front door.
Tia had, of course, sided with Bernard, and told Edmunds to stop scaring him by bleeding so profusely.
CHAPTER 22
Monday 7 July 2014
11.29 a.m.
The moment the ‘On Air’ light went out, Andrea pulled off her microphone, hurried out of the studio, and back into the newsroom. Elijah had scheduled their meeting for 11.35 a.m., and as she climbed the stairs up to his office, she still had no idea what she would say should he offer her what she had always wanted.