Dead And Buried bs-16 Read online

  Mackenzie looked back at him, making an attempt to summon up some belligerence, some sort of a defence against the onslaught, and then he folded. ‘Neil, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have told you about the drugs and the money. I was out of order. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘True; not on this investigation at any rate, because you’re benched.’

  ‘You mean I’m suspended?’

  ‘No, you’re on holiday. You and Cheryl are decorating the bathroom, and you’ve been planning it for some time. I’ll see you a week on Monday; then we’ll talk about second chances.’

  Fifty-four

  Normally, Bob Skinner preferred his dentist’s chair to the passenger seat of a car. However, on the way to Bakewell he was content to leave the driving to Shannon: he had serious thinking to do.

  The inspector thought that he was asleep as she turned off the M1, skirting Chesterfield as she headed for the A619 and the Derbyshire Dales: she was startled when he spoke. ‘I brought my older daughter down here on holiday once,’ he said, ‘when she was about thirteen. Easter was late that year, and we decided to do something different. It was bloody freezing, but the pub food was terrific, and they were relaxed about letting Alex in. It’s nice countryside.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘Maybe I’ll do the same with the second lot in a few years. Jeez,’ he mused, ‘I’ll tell you, Dottie, being a one-parent family isn’t something you reckon to do once in a lifetime, but twice . . .’

  The revelation took Shannon by surprise; for a moment she wondered whether she should sympathise, but decided that silence was the better option. As if he sensed her unease, the DCC moved on. ‘Okay, tell me about Esther Archer.’

  ‘She’s Esther Craig now, aged thirty-six, and married to a baker called Elton Craig . . . but you knew that already from the letter. She has two sons, Aaron, who’s eleven, and Joshua, who’s just turned eight. The family seems to go in for Biblical names. Her parents were Joshua Archer, a soldier, and Joan Hartland, who’s described as a housewife on Esther’s birth certificate. The father was killed in action, serving with Two Para in the Falklands, but the mother is still alive. However, there is no record anywhere of the birth of anyone called Moses Archer.’

  ‘There wouldn’t be: Adam, and the MoD, would have made sure his tracks were covered for the family’s sake. That’s why I find the houseboat so hard to figure out.’ He glanced at her. ‘What were you able to find out about that?’

  ‘He’s been registered as owner with the Port of London Authority for the last six years. The previous owner was a Dutch registered company: Archer bought it from them for a hundred and thirty thousand pounds, paid in full by certified cheque drawn on an account in the Premier Taiwan Bank, City of London branch.’

  ‘Who was the account holder?’

  ‘Moses Archer.’

  ‘Eh? Adam was a serving soldier; where the hell did he get that sort of money?’

  ‘I wasn’t able to establish that, sir, but I do know that he was getting it regularly . . . so to speak. The account was set up seven years ago with an initial deposit of two hundred thousand pounds sterling. Much of that went on the acquisition and improvement of the Bulrush, but since then there have been annual inward transfers, for fifty thousand at first rising to a hundred and fifty thousand this year.’

  ‘What’s it been used for?’

  ‘Bills relating to the upkeep of the boat, mostly. There have been a few cash withdrawals over the years: the biggest of them was a hundred thousand, this summer. At the moment, the balance is standing at just over two hundred and ten thousand.’

  ‘You couldn’t trace the origin of these payments?’

  ‘No. All I know for sure is that they weren’t made over the counter.’

  ‘What about the Premier Taiwan Bank? I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.’

  ‘It’s a private outfit, sir, not a high-street player: a posh people’s bank.’

  ‘Indeed? And who’d be feeding money into that?’

  He was frowning as he took out his mobile, retrieved a stored number and called it. ‘Merle,’ Shannon heard him say, ‘it’s Bob Skinner. How’s things in your busy world?’ He chuckled. ‘Look on the bright side. You’re a section head now, with a staff, instead of being stuck in an outpost on your own. That’s got to count for something. Listen, pal, can I ask you an idle question?’ Pause. ‘The Premier Taiwan Bank: does it have any special meaning for you?’ Pause. ‘I tripped over it, that’s all; possible money-laundering.’ Pause. ‘I see. Tell you what: I’m having dinner with a friend tonight in the Charing Cross Hotel. There’s a pub round the corner called the Clarence; full of tourists, but no players. Can you meet me there?’ Pause. ‘Seven will be fine. There’s something else I’d like you to do for me, but I’ll call you later about that.’

  He ended the call. ‘Friend of mine,’ he said. ‘Her name’s Merle Gower, and she’s based at the US Embassy, National Security section. That bank means something to her, but she’s not for telling me over the phone. We’ll see her tonight.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Sure. You two should meet: you could be useful to each other.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘Bakewell, two miles. Nearly there: do you know how to find the address?’

  ‘I’ve got a map if we need it, but from memory we take the first right across the river, then we’re looking for a left turn.’ She paused. ‘I’d have thought that the Security Service would have had satellite navigation in their cars.’

  ‘I didn’t want that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Just.’

  Shannon’s memory had served her well: she found Stannington Drive without the need for the map. They drove slowly down the leafy street until they saw Glebe Cottage, on their left. ‘What was your cover story when you called her?’ Skinner asked.

  ‘I told her that you’re from the Imperial War Museum and that you’re doing a book on the real Falklands; I’m your research assistant. We’re looking into what soldiers really thought of the war as it was being fought.’

  ‘She bought that?’

  ‘Hook, line and the other thing; I can be very persuasive, sir.’

  ‘That’s your way of saying you’re a bloody good liar, isn’t it?’

  She smiled. ‘If you want to put it that way, who am I to argue?’ She parked in front of the house.

  When Esther Craig opened the door, Skinner found himself stifling a gasp. The woman was an inch or so taller than her brother and was more slightly built, but facially she could have been his twin. ‘Hello,’ she greeted them breezily. ‘You’ll be the people from the museum, will you? Mr Skinner, is it, and Ms Shannon? Come on in.’ The visitors followed her through the living room of the cottage and into a sunlit conservatory. ‘Have you driven all that way up this morning?’ she asked them.

  ‘It’s not that far, Mrs Craig,’ Skinner replied, as he settled into the soft cushions of a bamboo-framed couch.

  ‘This is really fascinating,’ the woman said; her accent was also very similar to that of her brother, in his less formal moments. ‘I’ve looked out some of my dad’s letters. I think you’ll be interested in them.’

  The big Scot looked at her. ‘We have an apology to make to you, I’m afraid,’ he told her. ‘My colleague spun you an out-and-out lie in arranging this meeting. However, she did it with the best possible motive: she didn’t want you worrying unduly.’ He took out his warrant card and held it up for Esther Craig to see. ‘We’re police officers, and we’re investigating your brother, Moses.’

  ‘Investigating him?’ she gasped, as her open face creased into a frown. ‘Moses? Is he in trouble?’

  ‘As of this moment, no.’

  ‘Then what’s this about, Mr Skinner?’

  ‘Call me Bob, Esther. How much do you know about his professional life?’

  ‘You mean what he does for a living?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not a great deal, because he never talked about it much. He’s a policeman, l
ike you, but he works under cover a lot. The boys, my sons, think he’s a civil servant: so does my husband, for that matter.’

  ‘He joined the army when he was young, didn’t he?’

  ‘Straight from school. After he took his A levels, he went to Sandhurst.’

  ‘That would be about, what, twenty years ago?’

  She thought for a second. ‘Yes, that’d be right. He’s two years older than me.’

  ‘What age was he when your father was killed?’

  ‘He’d have been fourteen. After that it was only ever going to be the army for him: Queen and country and all that. Our dad got a posthumous Military Cross, with a citation, and a letter to my mum from Her Majesty, thanking us all “for Major Archer’s sacrifice”, as she put it. That made sure that Moses was a real monarchist . . . not that my dad wasn’t, mind. God, was he ever? I remember him telling us that he wouldn’t fire a shot for a politician, only for the sovereign. He believed that without the King for everybody to rally round, we’d have lost the Second World War, and we’d all be speaking German now. He never gave Churchill much credit, only King George and his generals.’

  ‘So Moses followed him into the army.’

  Esther nodded. ‘Yes; but, sir, Bob, what’s all this about?’

  ‘I’ll get to that, I promise, in due course. Were you surprised when he left?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I was. I thought he loved it; I thought that everything was going well for him. He was a first lieutenant, a company commander in Two Para just like our dad, as he’d always wanted to be, and then, what, ten years ago now, he just up and left.’

  ‘Did he tell you why?’

  ‘He said that he was disillusioned.’

  ‘By what?’

  ‘By the rules, he said. He said that it was the rules that had got our dad killed and that he wasn’t having any more of them. So he told me that he was taking a job with the police in London, and that he’d be working on special things, infiltrating gangs and the like.’

  ‘Did that worry you?’

  ‘No. If I’d been about to worry about anyone it would have been the people he infiltrated. Moses is a lovely man, Bob, but after Dad was killed something changed in him. He’s only a little chap, but he’s as hard as nails.’

  ‘Have you ever visited him in London?’

  ‘No: he said he didn’t want that. We see him when he comes back here . . . and the little sod’s overdue us a visit.’

  ‘What about your mother? Does she ever visit him?’

  ‘No, her neither; he’s been to see her in America a couple of times, though.’

  ‘America?’

  ‘Yes, my mum’s remarried, to an American called Titus Armstead. He and Mum got married about twelve years ago, and she moved to America. Titus is retired now, and they live in Delaware; it’s a lovely place, very quiet.’

  ‘Mmm. So how did you keep in touch with Moses?’

  ‘By letter. At first he had a post-office box number, but after a few years he bought his houseboat and I could write to him there.’

  ‘Have you ever been there?’

  ‘No, but he showed me pictures after he bought it. It looks lovely.’

  Skinner gazed at her, knowing that the moment when he would change her life was drawing near. ‘This job of his,’ he asked, ‘did you ever question it?’

  ‘No, why should I? It’s what he told me, and I always believe him.’

  ‘He never left the army, Esther.’

  She stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean what I say. He did go under cover, that much was true, but not in the way he told you. He was in the SAS for a while, in Ireland, and then he went into Military Intelligence, into its most secret and sensitive branch. When I think about it, I reckon that’s what he meant when he talked to you about the rules. He went into a different world, one in which a new identity was created for him, to protect you and your family from the possibility of anyone ever trying to get at him through you. Moses Archer ceased to exist, and Adam Arrow was born.’

  ‘Adam Arrow?’ she whispered, incredulous.

  ‘Yes. That’s the name I knew him by.’ He chose his tense deliberately and watched her as it registered.

  ‘Knew,’ she repeated quietly, lining her fingers together in her lap.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I’m very sorry to have to tell you that he was killed on an operation a little while back.’

  Esther Archer sank back into her chair and buried her face in her hands. Shannon started to rise, to comfort her, but Skinner motioned to her, staying her. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he repeated.

  She wiped her tears, almost defiantly. ‘Thank you, Bob,’ she replied quietly and with dignity. ‘You know, if he had to die, I’m glad it was in the same service as our dad, and for the same cause. Now can I ask you a few things?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why am I hearing this from you, from a policeman, rather than from a fellow soldier?’

  ‘I was his friend, and that’s the most important reason. In the aftermath of his death some things have emerged about the operation that killed him and I’m looking into them. One of them is the continued existence of Moses Archer; that wasn’t supposed to happen, and I need to know who else knew about him, and knew where he was.’

  ‘Nobody outside the family; only Mum and me, and Elton and the boys, and Titus, I suppose.’

  ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘Nobody’s heard of it from me, I can promise you that.’

  ‘Good. It’s best there’s no link; just as Moses’ records were erased, none were ever created about Adam Arrow.’

  ‘Is anyone telling Mum?’

  ‘That’s your job, I think.’

  ‘Who killed him?’

  He almost told her, but he bit it back. ‘He was killed in a fire-fight,’ was all he said.

  ‘I see. What happened to his body?’

  ‘Nothing yet; it’s still in a mortuary.’

  ‘Can we have him back, back here where he’s from, so we can look after him?’

  ‘I’ll arrange that.’

  ‘If it’s all so secret will you be able to?’

  ‘I know people who can. We’ll give you what they call a legend, a story to explain his death, a car crash in Australia, something like that. You’ll have to bury him as Moses Archer.’

  She looked at him and smiled. ‘What else would I do, Bob? I never knew Adam Arrow, only my lovely little brother.’

  Fifty-five

  As McIlhenney drove inside the cordon that had been set up around the building, a plastic coffin was being slid into a dark blue mortuary wagon. The scene had been played out before in the Wild West; it never failed to draw a crowd. The superintendent looked around as he stepped out of his car, seeking out familiar faces, and seeing a few, older and more leathery, but probably no wiser for all the time that had passed since he and McGuire, in their uniform days, had forged their reputation as hard men by cracking their heads together.

  ‘Gary Starr’s board man?’ he asked Wilding, as he came towards him from the stairway door.

  ‘Yes, killed with a single shot to the head. There’s no exit wound, so Arthur Dorward reckons it was probably a hollow-point bullet.’

  ‘Initial thoughts?’

  ‘He knew his killer, and didn’t suspect him. There’s not much of a lock, but there’s a spy-hole in the door and a chain and a bolt on the inside. In this place, if you’ve got those you use them, so I reckon that Ming let the guy in.’

  ‘Neighbours?’

  ‘I’ve interviewed everybody on the stair, including the local cannabis supplier. Wise monkeys, the lot of them; saw nothing, heard nothing, couldn’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Who found the body?’

  ‘I did, with PC Drake. We came to pick him up. He called me this morning to tell me he could identify the bloke with the missing finger.’

  ‘Christ,’ McIlhenney exclaimed. ‘I wonder if he told anyone else?’

&n
bsp; ‘That’s been on my mind too, sir. Could the guy have found out somehow?’

  ‘Did he tell you anything about him when he called?’

  ‘He said that he’s involved in the management of a club. He was going to take me there.’ Wilding paused. ‘Sir,’ he asked, unable to hold back the question any longer, ‘why are you here and not DCI Mackenzie?’

  ‘Bandit’s on holiday; he’s taking ten days off.’ The sergeant looked at the ground. ‘He’s on holiday, Ray,’ McIlhenney repeated. ‘It was booked in before he was transferred. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand.’

  ‘Let’s go down to Queen Charlotte Street: I want to review where we are in this whole business.’

  ‘Are you setting up the mobile HQ?’

  ‘Here? We’d need to put a guard on it. We won’t get anything out of this place other than any forensic traces that Arthur’s lot turn up. Come on, I’ll give you a lift.’

  Fifty-six

  When Skinner and Shannon returned from Bakewell a note was waiting on the DCC’s desk. ‘Come and see me: AD.’

  Dennis was behind her desk when they answered her summons. ‘How did you get on?’ she asked.

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ Skinner replied. ‘Moses told her he was a copper, but Esther had no idea what he really did. His continuing existence seems to have been kept within the family; apart from her, all the rest of them thought he was a civil servant.’

  ‘We’re not going to have a media problem, are we?’

  ‘I don’t see it, not if they get his body back for burial.’

  ‘We can’t authorise that, Bob: that’s a Ministry of Defence decision.’

  ‘Amanda, I don’t care whose decision it is. It’s got to happen, and that’s an end of it. We’ll need a cover story as well, to explain his death. If you’re sensitive about it, leave it with me and I’ll make arrangements.’