Heaven's Door (31 page)

*

“Right, Laser, all you have to do now is answer one more simple question, and then you can go – for the time being. Okay?”

“Okay,” replied Laser.

They were back again in the builders' yard, parked in the same place.

“Where can I find Sammo?”

“Why do you want …?”

“I need to find out who this Duke is. Unless, of course, you can now suddenly remember yourself; which could make me think that you were lying to me before.”

“No, I don't know him, honest.”

“Which means Sammo will have to tell me, right? So – I'll ask you again – where can I find Sammo?”

Laser looked David up and down.

“Okay,” he said. “But promise you won't say it was me who told you?”

“Of course not, Laser,” said David, smiling. “Look, after today, and all you've helped me with so far, we're almost best mates, you and me. So just tell me. Okay?”

“Best place is where we've just been – Delaware; where he was standing in the picture. He's there for an hour or so some time between six and nine most nights. Not every night, but that's where you can usually get him.”

“What about tonight?”

“Don't know for sure, but probably. Don't fancy your chances of sneaking up on him though, unless you can shrink a bit.”

David smiled.

“I don't have to sneak, son,” he said. “People just freeze with terror when I get anywhere near them.”

“Yes, I can believe that.”

They both gave a brief laugh.

“The thing is, Laser, I'm going to need to see you again very soon. So I'm wondering – do we arrange to meet somewhere, or do I tie you up and keep you in the boot. What do you think?”

“Look, just say where and I'll be there.”

“Okay, at your aunt's place then, where I picked you up today.”

“Yes, that's fine.”

He reached for the door handle. David grabbed the front of his fleece and pulled him round towards him.

“You haven't asked me when.”

“Oh, yes. When?”

“Tomorrow morning – ten o'clock.”

Laser nodded.

“Now you promise me you'll be there, don't you?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Well that's good, Laser. So if I call tomorrow and Auntie Nookie says you're
not
there, then I'll know
she's
lying, won't I, because you've promised? And I don't like people lying to me, so I'm going to give her a really bad time. Know what I mean? Do you like your auntie, Laser?”

“Yes, she's more like a mother to …”

“So if anything happened to her that would make
you
more like an orphan, wouldn't it? But, hey, what am I talking about? All you have to do is be there at ten tomorrow and she'll be fine. Okay?”

Laser gulped, audibly, and nodded.

“As I said, Laser. I reckon you and I could be really good mates when all this is over. Till tomorrow then.”

He released his fleece and Laser slipped quickly out of the car. Then he stopped and looked back at David. He nodded and ran away.

*

Wesley W Wallace sat behind the desk in his large office. The detective superintendent was in his early fifties; tall, slim and with square shoulders which he pulled back to provide the clue to an earlier military background. His face was thin, but with handsome chiselled features under thick steel-grey hair cut very short.

“So it appears I'm going to lose you already, Jo,” he said, after telling her about Jack. “Mr Mackay can't live without you, it seems. Understandable, under the circumstances. He's going to be tied up with the internal enquiry. Nasty business for him.”

“Can you tell me what happened, sir?”

“Only that Jack apparently took a poisoned capsule during a visit by his father. John couldn't tell me much more than that yet, but he's going to call back when he can. In the meantime, it appears his father is being held by the police.”

“What? The Home Secretary? He's under arrest?”

“It seems Mr Brown might have smuggled the capsule in to his son, although please be aware that isn't official yet. The internal enquiry will focus on how it happened, I expect.”

“But why would he help his son take his own life? I'm afraid I just can't believe it.”

“I think the answer to that question is fairly obvious if you stop to think about what's already happened on Alpha. Anyway, I'd like you to start tying up any loose ends and hand everything over to DS Carter, so he can brief your replacement. I'm really sorry to lose you, Jo. I sincerely hope we can work together again. I'll certainly be asking for you personally if the need arises.”

“Thank you, sir.”

*

Mags was downstairs at the window of the front sitting room and saw them as they drove through the gates. She realised the car was a police vehicle from the uniformed officer in the driving seat and for a few hopeful moments, as she hurried to the front door, she wondered if this could be Jo Cottrell with some news for her. Instead, she was instantly shocked at the sight of her husband's face as he got out of the car, a picture of tension and despair.

“What?” she gasped. “Tom, what's happened?”

He grabbed her, pulling her to him, as if trying to hold her as close as possible, not wanting to look at her face.

“Darling Mags,” he sobbed. “It's Jack. He's … he's …”

“
No-o-o-o
!” Mags screamed, finishing the sentence for him in her mind. He held her as tightly as he could, but she pushed him away, looking up wide-eyed in horror.

“He's dead … Mags, I'm so sorry” he said, speaking words she could barely hear. She felt herself falling against him and everything receded quickly into darkness.

*

Kim Lacey was waiting for Jonathan in the Commons Lobby when he left the Chamber.

“Sir, this message was left for you by Chief Constable Mills.”

“Thank you, Kim.”

He read it quickly and stepped into one of the rooms off the Lobby facing onto the Inner Court. He called Grace on her office landline.

“Grace, have you …?”

“Yes. Eddie phoned me as well.” Her voice was hoarse and strained. “I called Kim straight away – told her not to interrupt you in the House. Didn't want to drag you out and start a lot of people guessing.”

“Does Andrew …?”

“He's still in Paris. I haven't tried to contact him yet, but we'll have to do it fast. Can you imagine if it gets to him via one of the other delegates?”

“I don't like to think. I'll speak to him. I'll have Shirley get him right now.”

“Okay.” She dropped the business tone and her voice was filled with sadness and regret. “God, Jonathan, what must Tom be feeling now, I can't even begin to imagine. Poor Jack; he was such a lovely young man.”

“And Maggie,” said Jonathan. “Poor woman. Did you hear what happened? Eddie didn't give any details.”

“Jack took a capsule, apparently, that Tom seems to have taken in with him. Like he used to carry himself, I guess, when he was in the SBS. They're not releasing any details to the press other than the fact that Jack died. I'm meeting with Eddie in a few minutes. He's on his way from Guildford. Listen, you get in touch with Andrew and I'll get back to you after Eddie's brought me up to date.”

“Right. I guess we'll need a press release tonight as well. Should it be us or the police?”

“Probably both. Ask Andrew what he thinks and I'll check with Eddie.”

*

The prime minister made no attempt to hide his annoyance at being interrupted during what he described as ‘a crucial debate at which his attendance was imperative, and without distractions'.

“We have to distance ourselves from Brown, Jonathan, just as soon, and as far, as possible. We need a press statement tonight – with all the usual ‘regrettable, tragic, etc.' – but making it clear that I had already asked for his resignation and was waiting for him to confirm. It must not be seen that we failed to recognise and to deal with a loose cannon in the government. We might take a ratings hit from the Tom Brown fan club in the short term but, trust me, we need to be – and be
seen
to be – as hard-as-nails on this one. Have you got that?”

“With respect, Prime Minister, I think including the fact that you have asked the Home Secretary to resign in a statement which will essentially be the news of his son's death, will look very bad indeed. We have no need with an initial statement to say anything at all other than Jack has died. There seems no point at all in using it as a vehicle to defame his father.”

There was a long silence.

“Very well. Do it your way tonight. I'll draft a statement for when it
does
become clear that Brown has lost the plot – my guess, tomorrow at the latest. Just one thing though, Minister. I expect unflinching support from my Cabinet at times when the credibility of this government comes under threat. Send me a copy of the statement before it goes out.”

He hung up.

The phone rang less than a minute later.

“And I want that little black friend of his on the next shipload to Alpha. I don't want him hanging around a minute longer than necessary as a magnet for public sympathy. Get Goody onto it. She can do stuff under the radar that you wouldn't be able to do.”

The phone went down again.

*

Looking around, David estimated that he was probably twice the age of the next oldest person on Delaware Street. He was standing in a shop doorway, scanning the milling crowds for the man in the CCTV image. Hispanic-looking, longish dark hair, medium height, average build, casually, but tidily, dressed, – he thought he had a fairly good picture of him in his mind after staring at it for ten minutes before starting his search. However, presented with the tide of similarly aged and dressed individuals ebbing and flowing before him, he wasn't so sure.

His mobile rang. He checked his watch as he answered the call – 7.35 pm.

“Hi, Jo. I was beginning to get worried about …”

“David, something terrible has happened.”

“What? Are you okay? You sound …”

“It's Jack. He's dead!” Her voice broke and David could hear her sobbing quietly.

“Christ! How?”

“Not got all the details, but it seems he took some poison.”

“Poison? But how …”

“That's the worst part. It's not official, but it seems Tom Brown gave it to him. God, it's just too awful …” She broke down again.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Newport Pagnell services. On my way back. Where are you?”

“On Delaware. Desperately seeking Sammo,” he said. “Or at least I was. What now?”

“I've been thinking about that. There's still Jason. I feel like we'd be abandoning him if we didn't carry on, especially when there's even the smallest chance that we're on to something. On the other hand, it could make it even worse for Maggie if we uncover anything now, when it's too late. Perhaps we should leave it.”

“I don't think so, Jo. As far as I'm concerned this was to help
you
get to the truth, in which case there's absolutely no reason to stop looking. Nothing can bring their son back now, but I'm sure Mrs T would still like to clear his name if possible and – more than anything right now – save her daughter's boyfriend.”

“I'm glad you said that, David. Let's carry on. You're way ahead of where I thought you'd be by now. Do you think I should phone Maggie now? Just to say how sorry I am.”

“Why not wait until you get back. And you just take care driving home.”

“Yes. I'll phone later. I'm alright now. You take care as well.”

“I will, and I think my next appointment has just turned up. Speak soon.”

*

Philippa Symes looked up from her monitor on the news desk in front of her and spoke into the camera.

“We are just getting news in of the death of Jack Tomlinson-Brown, the son of the Home Secretary, Tom Brown, at the Guildford Holding Centre earlier today. We will shortly be going over to Westminster for a statement by James Landish, the Government Press Secretary. That's in just a few minutes.”

Across the bottom of the screen, the moving message reinforced her words. ‘BBC News 24: Breaking News – Home Secretary's son dies in Guildford Holding Centre whilst awaiting passage to exile.'

News channels across the UK, Ireland, Continental Europe and the US and Canada were carrying the same bulletin in anticipation of the press statement. At 8.10 pm, James Landish faced the cameras from behind the lectern on the pavement in front of the Home Office Building on Marsham Street.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr Andrew Donald, the Prime Minister, is at present at a meeting of the G20 group of nations leaders in Paris. He has asked me to read you this statement from him:

‘It is with the deepest regret that I must inform you of the death this afternoon at 3.40 pm, at the Guildford Holding Centre, of Jack Tomlinson-Brown, the son of the Home Secretary Tom Brown and his wife, Maggie Tomlinson-Brown. The police are currently looking into the circumstances surrounding the incident and at the moment are not in a position to provide any further information. As more details emerge from their investigation, I will, of course, ensure that they are communicated to you in full at the earliest opportunity. In the meantime, I know you will join me in extending our prayers and sympathy to the family and friends of the deceased and wish them strength in what has already been an exceptionally difficult time for them.'”

James Landish looked up from his notes.

“That is the statement in full, and as this comes directly from the prime minister himself, I am sure you will respect the fact that I am not in a position to add to it. Thank you.”