‘I’ll do what I want. It was good to see you the other day, Rebecca. We must do it again sometime.’
Her father hung up and Silva remained sitting on the wall for a long time. When a neighbour came out from the next-door property and asked if she was OK, she stood, shrugged and walked off down the street to deliver the rest of the mail.
They were back in the office. Pension Man and the Boy Wonder. Two superheroes fighting a global terrorist network with Taher at its centre and the world on the brink of disaster. Something like that anyway.
Over the past couple of days Holm had put a lot of thought into their next steps. Did they ignore the mysterious Twitter account and the clue that led to Ben Western? Holm was minded to do so. It was possible the information was bogus or the whole thing was a set-up designed to push him in the wrong direction. On the other hand the execution-style murder of Western – which it appeared to be – was rare enough to warrant another look. On a hunch Holm called a friend he’d once worked with in Special Branch. Special Branch was now renamed and reconfigured as Counter Terrorism Command, but his friend was still hanging in there.
Bob Longworth and Holm went way back, even further than Holm and Palmer. They’d graduated from Hendon Police College at the same time and risen through the ranks. A few years ago, Holm had tried to persuade Longworth to move to JTAC, but he’d declined.
‘You know me, Stephen,’ he’d said. ‘Paperwork makes my head hurt. Pointless and expensive paperwork doubly so. I try and do as little of it as possible.’
‘Bob,’ Holm said when Longworth picked up. ‘A favour. Off the record, at least off my record. Can you do that for me?’
‘Depends entirely on what it is,’ Longworth answered.
An hour later Holm hand-delivered a note to Longworth at Scotland Yard and promised him payback in the form of a lunch. Longworth glanced down at the note.
‘Why can’t you route this through official channels?’ he said.
‘I’ve been sidelined,’ Holm said. ‘After what happened in Tunisia I’m supposed to stay well clear of anything in this area.’
‘I’d heard something on the grapevine but didn’t believe it.’ Longworth looked pained. ‘Stephen Holm investigating bunny huggers?’
‘Now you can see why I don’t want Huxtable to know about this.’ Holm pointed at the piece of paper. ‘She’ll have my bollocks in a glass jar on her desk if she finds out.’
‘If she finds out I helped you go behind her back then mine’ll probably be floating in there too.’
‘So she’d better not find out, right?’ Holm patted Longworth on the shoulder. ‘For both our sakes.’
Back in his office Holm made a call to Billie Cornish. The request was similar to the one he’d made to Longworth.
‘What do you want those for?’ Cornish asked. ‘You’re not keeping something from me, are you?’
Holm said he wasn’t and that he’d let her know if anything came of it.
A few hours later both requests had been granted and Holm had two sheets of paper on his desk. He skimmed through the information on both, not quite believing what he was reading.
‘OK,’ Javed said. ‘Are you going to enlighten me?’
‘Ballistic reports.’ Holm weighed the two pieces of paper. ‘One from the Met’s trip to Tunisia to investigate the cafe killings, the other from Cornish’s man-on-the-heath murder case. The bullet used to kill two of the victims in Tunisia was a nine millimetre hollow point fired from a Glock 19. Care to have a guess as to the weapon and ammunition in the Suffolk case?’
‘You’re fucking joking.’ Javed lunged for the two pieces of paper. He snatched them from Holm and peered down. ‘You’re telling me Taher killed Ben Western?’
‘To be precise I’m saying it is likely one of the guns used in the attack in Tunis was also used to kill Western, probably by Taher or an accomplice of his. Whatever, it looks like our mysterious Twitter account was on to something after all.’
The evidence was so shocking that Holm suggested they adjourn for lunch. They grabbed a couple of baguettes from a sandwich bar and walked down Millbank to find a bench. They ate by the side of the Thames.
‘People will be talking, sir,’ Javed said, gesturing at a woman who walked past. ‘That’s Julie from Cyber Security. Once she gets back inside the gossip will be spreading like wildfire. You and me sharing a quiet moment by the river.’ Javed smiled. ‘If you like, I could put my hand on your knee to stir things a little more.’
‘Fuck off.’ Holm looked pointedly at his leg. If Javed so much as brushed a hand near it he’d floor him. ‘Let’s concentrate on Western.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Boats.’ Holm nodded at the river where a tourist cruise boat was passing. No doubt the guide was pointing out the MI5 building because heads were craned to the side. ‘Ships, to be precise.’
‘SeaPak?’
‘Of course.’ Holm took a bite of his baguette. ‘SeaPak are a container shipping company. According to Cornish they bring goods in and out of the UK via Rotterdam. It seems obvious to me that Western, as a manager at SeaPak, must have been killed because he stumbled across some kind of smuggling operation. Throw Taher into the mix and what do you think was being smuggled?’
‘I don’t know, guns?’
‘Guns, weapons, bombs, chemicals. Something else too: people.’
‘People? You mean trafficking?’
‘No, I mean terrorists. Either UK citizens trying to return surreptitiously or foreign nationals ducking in under the radar.’ Holm took another bite, wiped some cream cheese from his chin. ‘Either way it means another trip to Suffolk.’
‘To see Billie Cornish?’
‘No, to visit Felixstowe and get the lowdown on SeaPak Containers.’ And, Holm thought, if they needed to liaise with Cornish while they were in Suffolk then there was no harm in that, was there?
Silva returned from work to find a black
