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Preview – Chapter 3
Tuesday 6th July, 1999. 8:55am.
John had grown to like the coffee shop on Argyll Street. It was cosier than the one on the High St and unlike the one on the High St his wife’s cousin wasn’t the Duty Manager. She didn’t like John and would invariably tell his wife if he dared to treat himself to a luxury chocolate brownie to accompany one of their delicious tuna and cheese melt toasties. John’s wife didn’t understand why the toasties weren’t satisfying enough. She lectured him about the outrageous calorie content of consuming the unnecessary sugary snack.
The shop on Argyll St looked relatively quiet this morning. John entered and ordered a flat white with an accompanying packet of biscuits. He sat on a table with two seats in the corner. As he proceeded to melt a biscuit over his hot beverage, a tall attractive female in her late twenties with brown hair, wearing a smart grey suit jacket and skirt approached him.
“Good morning, John,” she said smiling. She hugged John warmly which made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. “My name is Laura. Pretend we know each other and be convincing,” she whispered.
John did as Laura instructed and awkwardly reciprocated the hug. “It’s lovely to see you, Laura. What can I get you?” His greeting sincerely lacked any tangible authenticity.
“Skinny latte please, John. I’ll pass on the biscuits,” Laura said, as she elegantly took a seat. John stared intently at Laura with his face scrunched up in thought.
“What are you staring at? Go and get my coffee. We haven’t got all day.”
“It’s just… well, you remind me a lot of Rachel. Only greyer. The suit I mean, not your hair, or personality or anything.”
“Coffee. Now, John.”
Upon his return with the beverage, Laura retrieved an envelope from her handbag and discreetly opened it to reveal photographs of Rachel’s meeting with Sarah and Will leading up to the police raid and Rachel’s apprehension.
Laura sniggered at the shocked expression on John’s face. “Staying one step ahead is very important if you wish to succeed, John.” Astonished, John merely nodded in acknowledgement.
Laura showed John a photograph of Clare Stevens taken during the arrest. “This is Detective Sergeant Clare Stevens. She announced her name during the arrest and Rachel slipped it to her solicitor in custody.”
“The solicitor’s corrupt?”
“Keep your voice down. Yes, of course he is. Do you think our employers would expect us to use the duty solicitor if we’re nicked?”
“They’re not my employers.”
Laura smiled. “The Leidenstraum household is going to be off limits now. To complete your mission, you’re going to need to figure out where they’ve taken Sarah and Will and the best solution to that is Clare Stevens. Now you know what she looks like, I suggest you stake out the police station, and follow her when she leaves.”
“You want me to carry out surveillance of a police station and of a police officer? Are you mad? I’ll get caught.”
“John, you’re displaying a very negative attitude. I suggest you show a bit more positivity about what you need to do and focus on the consequences of failure. That should help you to explore the art of the possible,” Laura said, as she leaned in close to John. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as you’re told and you’ll do it well.” She kissed John on the cheek delicately and laughed.
“Thank you for the coffee, John. It’s been lovely. See you again soon.”
“I hope not,” John muttered under his breath. He stared at the photo of Clare Stevens and worriedly contemplated the day ahead.
Will paced up and down the beige carpet of the living room. Every carpet in the apartment was beige. Magnolia walls and beige carpet. Sarah looked out of the window at the car park. Thirty-four parking bays, fifteen in use. Four of the cars were red. None of them were ‘Joanna.’ They both grew increasingly restless. Fear and grief had been fleetingly substituted with tedium.
Will received a text message from his friend Tariq:
Tariq: “Hi bro, what’s happening? I’ve not heard from you and thought we could play Snooker later? Txt bk.”
Tariq was eighteen years old, medium height with a stocky build and was a bit of a joker. He was one of Will’s best friends.
Will responded: “Hi mate, sorry I’ve not been in touch, my dad has died and things have been a bit crazy. My head is all over the place.”
Tariq replied: “Sorry, bro. We must meet up soon.” Tariq turned to his sister Shabeela, aged thirteen, and said: “That’s sad, you know?”
“What is?”
“My mate Will. His dad has died.” At this point their father Tanveer entered the room.
“That is sad news, Tariq. How old was he?” Shabeela said.
“I don’t know, to be honest.”
“How old was who? What are you two talking about?” Tanveer said. He was a short, rotund man with an even shorter temper.
“My mate Will’s dad has died.”
“Will who? Not a name I’ve heard you mention much of before, son.”
“I met him at college. We went to different schools so I didn’t know him from before. He’s got a strange surname. I think his dad was German or something. It’s Leivenbaum or Leidenbeam, or something like that anyway.”
“Is it Leidenstraum?” Tanveer said, with a look of horror etched on his face.
“Yes, that’s it. How did you get that dad?”
“Well, it sounds German, doesn’t it? It was obvious,” Tanveer said sheepishly.
“Are you ok dad? You’ve gone a bit pale,” Tariq said, perturbed by his father’s odd reaction.
“I’m fine, son. I’m fine. I just need to get some air.” He then went outside and sent a message on his phone:
Tanveer: “WE NEED TO SPEAK NOW.”
The phone rang instantly. “What is it?” a male voice said.
“My boy knows Leidenstraum’s son.”
“Why the hell have you never said anything before now?”
“I didn’t know, I’ve just found out. I had no idea.”
“Ok, see what you can do through your boy to track him down. I’ve got someone else working on it as well.”
Tanveer walked back into the room. “You should get back in touch with your mate Will and see if you can help him with anything, like the funeral.”
“Why are you so interested all of a sudden?” Tariq said.
“I’m not, just trying to teach you some manners and respect, boy, which you’re clearly lacking. Maybe you should arrange to meet up with him.”
“I’ve made that offer, just got to give him some space to let him grieve I think and let him decide if he wants to get in touch with me.”
“You’re right, son. Just be there for him if he needs you.”
Tariq and Shabeela glanced at each other, both suspicious of their father’s unusually caring attitude.
John sat in his car watching the comings and goings of Oxford’s boys and girls in blue. Who carries out surveillance of a police station, he thought to himself as he peered through a pair of binoculars that would be more suited to birdwatching. Is this what officers did when watching suspects? It wasn’t a job John would want to do. A good friend of his from secondary school had moved to London and joined the police cadets. The last he’d heard, he had been promoted to Inspector and had married a sergeant. They’d had twins and were living in a leafy Surrey suburb. If only he could see John now.
John observed DS Stevens leaving the station in a car and started to follow her, but soon got caught up in traffic at a red light. In a split second he decided to swerve around the car in front and jump the red light, turning right onto the dual carriageway to maintain his pursuit of Stevens. Cars beeped furiously at John as a collision was narrowly avoided.
Unbeknownst to John, the beeping horns and his actions were witnessed by Stevens in her rear-view mirror. She realised the car matched the description of John’s, thought it was too much of a coincidence and requested back-up. So as to not alert John, she maintained a steady speed, but amended her route away from the journey to the location of Sarah and Will.
Continuing to give her position and with back up units not far away, she pulled into the residential car park of an apartment block and parked up. John drove behind her and parked a few spaces further along. Stevens pretended to search for something in her bag and did everything she could so as not to alert John or arouse his suspicion. This caused John to panic and he became caught in two minds as to how to react. Impatiently, he got out of his vehicle and approached hers. She locked herself in. He banged furiously at the window, pulled out a gun and pointed it towards her. Stevens screamed and, with exquisite timing, police cars swarmed the car park. John turned around with the gun still poised. This was perceived as an act of aggression by armed officers who immediately discharged their weapons. John fell to the ground, blood trickled out of him and under Stevens’ car. She got out of the car and tended to him on the ground.
“My wife and kids, please. You’ve got to help me. They’ve got my wife and kids. I’m not the bad guy,” John said as he gasped for breath.
John was rushed to hospital by ambulance. Stevens accompanied him. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Stevens encouraged John to expand on what he’d said. She gripped his hand firmly. “Stay awake. Speak to me. Come on, tell me about your family.”
“Kidnapped. They’ve been kidnapped. I was forced to do this,” he said as he became increasingly weak.
“Who has kidnapped them? Come on give me something that will help me find them?”
John gasped and reached towards his trouser pocket. “Phone. Numbers in phone. Photos. Rachel.”
“I know about Rachel, but I need other names. Anything you can remember.”
“Laura. Laura,” he said.
“Laura. Who is Laura?” Stevens said. She pressed John for more information, but he became unresponsive. As a paramedic tended to him, Stevens removed the phone, wallet, and keys from John’s pocket. The ambulance arrived at hospital and John was rushed immediately into surgery. Stevens opened John’s wallet and found the picture of his wife and children. She prayed that John would survive his injuries, but vowed to find them no matter what.
Detective Chief Superintendent (DCS) Paul Johnson was a domineering figure, very tall and stocky with broad shoulders; a talented rugby player in his youth, he was renowned for his expensive but ill-fitting suits and receding hairline. He was carrying a substantial beer belly and double chin; his reliance on alcohol evident in the angry capillaries that adorned his face like intertwining lines on a map.
Stevens entered the CID room and headed straight for Johnson’s office. He was the senior responsible officer for the investigation and had trained her when she first became a Detective Constable. Clare had full faith in him as both a superior and a trusted confidante.
“Sir, I need to debrief you on this afternoon’s events,” Stevens said.
“Come in, Clare, and close the door,” Johnson said.
DC Marcia Reynolds watched intently from her desk. She was a tall, well-built mixed-race female in her mid-twenties, very smartly dressed, and a recently qualified, but ambitious and eager detective who had asked to shadow DS Stevens as part of her development. DC Reynolds admired Stevens and had sought advice from her when she had sat her exams and applied to be a detective. Something in Stevens’ demeanour made Reynolds think this could be a good opportunity.
“Sir, the subject who was shot. I don’t think he’s the cause of the leak in the investigation into Dr Leidenstraum.”
“Clare, I find your response a bit of a surprise. All evidence points towards him and he’s just followed you armed with a gun,” Johnson said.
“Sir, whilst laying on the ground having been shot, he told me someone had taken his wife and kids. In the ambulance he again reiterated they’d been kidnapped. I think he’s been set up.”
“He’d just been shot. He probably didn’t know what he was saying.”
“Sir, honestly I am convinced he’s telling the truth.”
“Ok, I will assign some resources from here to work with you. It is best we keep it secret between us, Clare. I’m not convinced we can trust the others in the counter investigation.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it, but are you sure that’s wise? It’s a breach of protocol. The counter investigation was set up–”
“Clare, I’m well versed in the protocols of such matters, but this is an unusual case. I’d rather be confident in my own command and control, if that’s ok? I will be completely responsible for this. I don’t want you to feel I’m placing you in a compromising situation.”
“Thank you, sir. I respect your decision.” As Stevens turned around to leave the office, she saw Reynolds through the glass. Reynolds looked at Stevens with a willing smile. Stevens stopped and turned around to face the Chief Superintendent.
“Was there something else, Clare?”
“Actually sir,” she pointed at DC Reynolds, “maybe Marcia Reynolds can help me. She’s new and really keen. It could be a good learning opportunity for her.”
“Errr no,” Johnson stuttered. “She’s still relatively new as you say and I think you need more experienced detectives for this. Please leave it to me.”
“Sir, I’m sure she would benefit from–”
“Clare, Marcia has other things she needs to do. She will no doubt be able to support you on something else when she’s more experienced. Trust me, I will find you some resources.”
“Yes sir. Sorry. Thank you.” Clare was disappointed in the response, but respected his decision gracefully. As Clare left Johnson’s office, she looked at Reynolds and said: “I’m sorry, I tried. We’ll definitely work together soon, I promise.”
Reynolds smiled and nodded at Clare. “Thank you, Sarge. I appreciate it.”
It had been frowned upon when Tanveer had put his mother into a care home a few months ago. Tanveer’s family, friends, and the wider Muslim community were disgusted with him. It was perceived as a shameful and selfish act not to take an elder into your own home and care for them as they had cared for you. Some people at the mosque had shunned Tanveer ever since. Tanveer wished he’d had a sister to take care of her; he had two brothers, but they were both overseas. If neither of them were prepared to give up their lives and return to the UK to look after her, why should he? Besides it was a nice care home, although culturally his mother had struggled to adapt, as her English wasn’t very good. He was sure she was happy enough though.
Tanveer’s phone rang. “I’m going to have to take this, Mum,” he said. He stepped out of her room into the nursing home corridor and answered it.
“Has your boy got in touch with the Leidenstraum boy yet?”
“Give me a chance. I don’t want to arouse any suspicion.”
“You need to get a grip of this. Time is of the essence and I’m currently having trouble getting hold of the person I had looking into it. You need to show a bit more urgency, do you hear me?”
“Ok, ok. I will speak to my boy.”
“You’ve got twenty-four hours.” The phone went dead. In a panic, Tanveer phoned his son.
“Hi dad.”
“Hi son. Are you at home?”
“Yes, why?”
“No reason. I am just with grandma and was going to have a chat with you when I get home. I haven’t spent much time with you lately.”
“Are you ok, dad?”
“Fine son, fine.”
“Ok, I’ll see you in a bit.”
Tanveer said goodbye to his mother and drove home. He walked in the front door and shouted Tariq’s name repeatedly and impatiently.
“Dad, what is wrong?” Tariq said as he walked out of the lounge.
“Nothing’s wrong, boy. Can’t a father be interested in spending time with his boy.”
“Sure, but–”
“But what?”
“We don’t spend a lot of time together, do we? We haven’t done for a long time. Not since before mum went to Pakistan.”
Tanveer looked Tariq directly in the eye. “That’s what I want to change. Even just having a chat. Let’s sit down and have a chat in the lounge now,” completely ignoring the reference to his estranged wife.
“Ok, dad.” They sat down, Tariq on the sofa, Tanveer on a chair. There was an awkward silence.
Tariq’s phone beeped. He instinctively retrieved the phone from his pocket.
“So, I say I want to talk to you and you’re more interested in your phone.”
“Sorry. What do you want from me, dad? It’s a message from Will. Ok?”
“The Leidenstraum boy?”
“Yes, and can’t you just call him Will?”
“How is he doing?”
“Why are you bothered?”
Tanveer looked at his son angrily.
“Ok. He says he wants to meet me, but he can’t at the moment.”
“Perhaps you could go and see him. Say that you’ll go and see him.”
“Do you think I should? Maybe he just needs time.”
Tariq: “I’ll come to yours if it’s easier. We’ll go to Snooker another time.”
Will: “I’m not at home.”
Tariq: “Ok, maybe I can meet you somewhere?”
Will: “That’d be good. Let’s meet at the Snooker Hall actually. Give me two hours, ok?”
Tariq: “Ok bro. See you there.”
“I’m going to meet Will at the Snooker Hall in two hours,” Tariq said to Tanveer.
“Ok, son. I think that’s a great idea. It’s very caring of you for a friend in need of support at a difficult time. I’m proud of you.” Tanveer then stood up to leave the lounge.
“Where are you going? I thought you wanted to spend time together,” Tariq said.
“I do son, but–”
“But what dad?”
“I’ve got things to do and you’re going to be meeting your friend soon anyway.”
Tariq stood up from his seat angrily, brushed past his father and left the room to go upstairs. Tanveer went outside into the garden and took out his phone. Tariq slammed his bedroom door and stared out of the window. He saw his father in the garden and opened the window ajar. Tanveer made a call, unaware his son was listening to him.
“My boy is going to meet the Leidenstraum boy at the Snooker Hall on Chamberlain St in two hours’ time. I need reassurances for my boy’s safety. Please tell me my boy won’t come to any harm, please. Hello… HELLO.” Tariq watched his father pacing and holding his head. As Tanveer turned around to face the house, Tariq dropped to the floor in his room to ensure his father didn’t see him. Tariq messaged Will:
Tariq: “Yo bro, not sure about Snooker innit. I hurt my arm in the gym, you know? Meet me in the coffee shop opposite. Can you make it half hour earlier?”
Will: “Hurt yourself in the gym. A likely excuse. You need to stop watching porn, but yeah ok, I’ll meet you in the coffee shop.”
“I’m feeling a bit tired. I’m going to have a lie down for a while,” Will said to Sarah.
“Ok, no worries. Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Once inside his bedroom, Will opened a window and climbed out. He managed to hang out of the window by his fingertips and shuffled along to drop to the balcony below. He then climbed over the balcony and lowered himself until it was just a short drop to the ground.
Johnson sat in his plush glass fronted office and squeezed a bright red stress ball. He had a lot of outstanding paperwork to complete, but the sports section of his favourite newspaper sprawled out in front of him was competing for his attention.
DC Simon Lyle and DC Natasha Herbert bounded confidently into the CID office and knocked the door of Johnson’s office. Clare Stevens briefly looked up from her paperwork.
Johnson slid the sports section out of sight and beckoned them in. “Tell Clare Stevens to join us, Natasha,” Johnson said.
“Sarge,” Natasha said, as she poked her head out of the door and planted a fake smile in Clare’s direction. “The guv has asked if you can join us.”
Clare Stevens put down her trusted black biro, walked to the office and closed the door behind her.
“Clare, I’ve spoken to DI Taylor and DS Simpson and they’re able to release Simon and Natasha to help you review this potential kidnap,” Johnson said.
Stevens wasn’t particularly pleased with the resources Johnson had allocated to her, but didn’t wish to appear ungrateful to a superior officer whom she held in high regard. Whilst she’d never worked closely with them, she was aware Herbert and Lyle both had mixed reputations at best amongst colleagues. “Thank you, sir. I have a plan of action in mind which Simon and Natasha can assist me with.”
Simon Lyle was in his late twenties, a conventionally good-looking male who was fully aware of that fact, tall with blonde, perfectly styled hair. He swaggered, with a confidence bordering on arrogance, was streetwise, opinionated, and often aggressive. He was a challenging character who revelled in his polarising reputation.
Stevens placed the items retrieved from John’s pocket on Johnson’s desk and listed actions to be taken. “I’ve noted one number from John’s phone that’s been in touch with him recently, but isn’t stored as a contact. I think that must be a starting point. Natasha, can you please cross reference it with the phone seized from Rachel when she was brought into custody? Simon, we need to go to John Paterson’s home and do a search,” Stevens said.
Three miles away in Chamberlain St, Will occupied a wooden seat looking out of the window of the coffee shop. He ordered a latte and waited for Tariq.
A short while later, Tariq appeared. Tariq was clearly nervous and on edge. He had a worried look on his face and was fidgeting. A concerned Will asked him if he was ok.
“I’m fine. Do you mind if I sit facing the window? I’ve got a headache and need to get some light.”
“Bad arm, bad head. I thought you were the one supposed to be cheering me up,” Will said.
“Sorry, bro, how are you? I’m sorry to hear about your dad.”
“Thank you. It’s tough. I’m trying to come to terms with things, but I’m finding it hard.”
“I can imagine. I know it seems a strange thing to say, but are you in some sort of trouble mate?”
“How do you mean? Why would you ask that?”
“I’m sorry, man, ignore me.”
“What do you know?” Before Tariq could respond he saw his dad’s silver-coloured Mercedes C Class car pull up outside the Snooker Club.
Tariq grabbed will. “We need to hide, bro. Stay away from the window.”
“What the hell is going on, Tariq?”
“It’s my dad. He mustn’t see us.”
“Your dad. Why, what’s up with him?”
Tariq and Will squatted. Their eyeline was level with the bottom of the window. This drew stares from the barista and other patrons. To reassure them, Tariq laughed and said: “I’m hiding from my dad. I didn’t wash the dishes as I promised.” This convinced nobody and they looked away from them shaking their heads disapprovingly.
“The youth of today, they are a waste of space,” one patron muttered under his breath.
“What aren’t you telling me, Tariq?” Will said as quietly as possible.
“I don’t know mate, I really don’t, but something’s not right. My dad was pushing for me to meet you and I couldn’t figure out why. Then, after I agreed to meet you at the Snooker Hall, I overheard him on the phone and he was talking about you, the fact we were going to be meeting at the Snooker Hall and talking about guaranteeing my safety. I was freaked out, which is why I asked you to meet me here. There’s nothing wrong with my arm. I’m just a bit shook up by it. I said to come here so we could scope out the Snooker Club.”
Will reflected for a moment and looked at Tariq. “I know what it’s about, but I don’t know where your dad fits in.” At that moment, Tariq and Will’s attention was drawn to two vehicles, one car and one van pulling up outside the Snooker Club. As two men got out of each vehicle, Tanveer got out of his vehicle and confronted them. A short exchange took place and all five men entered the Club. Tariq and Will looked at each other. Both were bemused, neither said a word.
Apart from a smattering of lights hovering above the rows of illuminated green baize cloth covered tables, the room was pitch black. Tobacco smoke filled the air. Stephen Hendry and Steve Davis wannabes eyed up their next pot with cues in hand. Snooker tables didn’t look this big on television, Tanveer thought. What did his son find enjoyable about this game? Where was his son?
“Tariq isn’t here,” Tanveer said.
One of the men asked the owner if they’d been in. He responded he knew Will and Tariq, but hadn’t seen them today. All five men left the club. As they did so, one of the men nodded to the others. Tanveer was set upon, punched repeatedly, placed in a headlock, and dragged to the van.
Tariq got up in an apparent attempt to leave the coffee shop to help his dad, but Will stopped him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’ve got to help him.”
“You aren’t going to help him by getting kidnapped as well. We need a plan.”
The car and van started to pull away, leaving Tanveer’s vehicle behind. “I’ve got it. I’ve got the spare key to his car. I’ve been driving it without him knowing sometimes. I did it to impress the girls at college because they laughed at my Fiesta.”
Reluctantly, Will agreed. They left the coffee shop, got into Tanveer’s car and began pursuing the car and van from a distance, with Tariq in the driver’s seat and Will in the passenger seat.
“In the coffee shop you said you knew what all this was about?” Tariq said.
“My dad’s been doing some weird science experiments for years. It turns out he attracted the attention of some dodgy people not long before he died, but I don’t know where your dad would fit in. We had this guy John come to our house and then me and my sister met with this woman who knew John, and then the police turned up. It’s been crazy, Tariq.”
“No way, bro, I didn’t know your dad was a scientist. But wait a minute, my dad is a scientist too, you know.”
“What? I didn’t know that.”
“This John you were talking about. What does he look like?”
Will gave Tariq a detailed description of him.
“That sounds a lot like my dad’s manager. This is crazy, bro.”
The black leather two-seater sofa was ripped in no fewer than three places. It had at least four cigarette burns. How many people had sat on this sofa confronting their deepest fears and staving off monotony as Sarah was now? Sarah moved one of the cushions and could see some paper poking through the sofa seat. It was a five-pound note. Sarah pocketed it and smiled to herself that she’d found it and not Will. She’d use it for petrol money for ‘Joanna’, if she ever saw ‘Joanna’ again.
Sarah knocked on Will’s bedroom door and called his name a couple of times. “I’ve found a fiver down the side of the sofa,” Sarah said. Receiving no response, she entered and saw that he’d gone.
In a panic, Sarah immediately called Clare Stevens who was at the Paterson household. “Clare, my brother has gone.”
“Gone, gone where? Have you tried calling him?”
“No, not yet.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll call him now,” Stevens said.
The pursuit continued as Will’s phone rang.
“Who is that?” Tariq said.
“It’s the police.”
“Don’t answer it.”
“I’ve got to. Hi Clare.”
“Don’t you ‘hi Clare’ me. What the hell do you think you’re playing at? Your sister is scared witless. Where are you?”
“We’re in a pursuit. Someone has kidnapped Tariq’s dad. I think it’s all connected in some way.”
“A pursuit? Who the hell is Tariq and who is his dad?” Lyle heard the conversation and sent a message on his phone, unbeknownst to Stevens.
“Look, I’ve got to go, Clare. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”
“Problem, Sarge?” Lyle said.
“Isn’t it always?” Stevens said before calling Sarah back to try and allay her fears.
“Your brother’s ok, I think. He’s with Tariq, if you know him. You stay where you are and I’ll update you as soon as I can.” Sarah bit her fingernails and seethed with anger at her brother’s recklessness.
Stevens and Lyle continued to search the Paterson home. Herbert then arrived at the property. Surprised by her arrival, Stevens asked Herbert why she had attended the address.
“All I can say is sorry, Sarge,” Herbert said. Lyle then approached Stevens from behind and tasered her, causing her to fall to the ground in a heap.
“Now what are we going to do with her?” Herbert said, as DCS Johnson arrived.
“Let’s ask the guv,” Lyle said.
As Stevens writhed in pain, Johnson walked in. “What are we going to do with you, Clare? Always like a dog with a bone, you just can’t let go,” Johnson said.
Stevens looked up to see Johnson hovering over her with Herbert and Lyle watching on unsympathetically.
“W-w-w-hat is going on, sir?” Stevens said.
“Clare, I’m so sorry that I have to do this.” He retrieved a gun from his pocket and ordered Herbert and Lyle to wait outside. Both did as they were instructed.
“You’re one of, if not the, best detectives I’ve ever trained, Clare. I trained you too well, if anything. It breaks my heart to have to do this, it really does, Clare.”
“SIR, WHAT IS GOING ON? WHY ARE YOU GOING TO SHOOT ME? I’VE LOOKED UP TO YOU MY WHOLE CAREER. I NEVER HAD YOU DOWN FOR BEING CORRUPT. YOU’RE NOT A KILLER, I DON’T BELIEVE IT.”
“I wasn’t, Clare, but since Sharon divorced me, I’ve been really struggling for cash. I’ve got serious debts, and needs must, I’m afraid.”
“What about Herbert and Lyle? Where do they fit in? There’s always been rumours about them?”
“They both joined the police on behalf of organised criminals. I only found that out since I–”
“Became corrupt. You disgust me, Paul. You don’t deserve to be called sir.” Outside the address, Herbert and Lyle heard a single gunshot.