Larry knew she was right. Too many times he had returned home drunk, and he could see it becoming a habit. He had seen too many police officers’ marriages confined to history due to a predilection to drink too much, work too many hours, and associate with criminals, and Rasta Joe was a criminal, the worst kind. In fact, he had to admit that many criminals were charming, even Hughenden with his superior manner, but Larry wasn’t sure if O’Shaughnessy would be. The man was literate, but he had gone at Stewart’s body with a chainsaw: hardly the manner of a charming man.
‘Across the road!’ Larry said.
‘Hughenden,’ Wendy said. ‘Where’s he going?’
‘No idea, but it’s not the time to be closing up.’
Both the police officers observed the man as he fastidiously secured the metal grille over the windows and set the alarm. He was moving quickly as he completed the task, which seemed unusual, especially to Larry, as the man had been, if anything, in the interview at Challis Street, slow and measured.
‘Something’s flustered him,’ Wendy said. ‘We need to follow him.’
‘You’re better than me. You’d better do it.’
Soon after the two police officers left the café, Larry careful to conceal himself as he turned to the right. Wendy turned to the left, her eyes very firmly on Hughenden’s back. She hoped he would not walk fast as her legs were giving her trouble, or jump in a car, as hers was fifty yards away.
Hughenden continued to walk at a brisk pace. Wendy realised she could keep up if it were only for a mile or so. The man did not look to the left and right, and certainly not behind him, which was as well, as a red in the face woman would have been suspicious.
Four hundred yards from his shop, Hughenden came to a halt. A man approached him from a side street. Wendy ducked into a shop doorway to observe. The owner of the shop came out to ask what she was doing. ‘Sergeant Wendy Gladstone,’ she said. She showed her police identification. ‘Give me a couple of minutes.’
‘Take as long as you like,’ the shop owner said.
Wendy, momentarily distracted, could see the two men in discussion. It seemed to be an amenable conversation. Wendy took out her phone and made a call. ‘DI, it’s O’Shaughnessy.’
Larry, alerted to the development, started to put plans into place.
Isaac was contacted and could see one murderer charged if they could only capture him. DCS Goddard, who was in his SIO’s office at the time of Larry Hill’s phone call, was elated. ‘This will keep Commissioner Davies off my back,’ he said.
‘Still causing trouble?’ Isaac asked.
‘The man looks after his own.’
‘Caddick,’ Isaac said.
‘Davies wants me out, too.’
‘Can he do that?’
‘If he can prove incompetence.’
‘We’re not incompetent,’ Isaac responded.
‘Davies knows that, but that’s hardly the point, is it?’
‘Throw enough mud around for long enough, some is bound to stick.’
‘That’s it,’ Goddard said. The man had entered Isaac’s office ten minutes earlier, and for him, he was in a remarkably good mood. Rarely seen with a cheery smile, he had positively been beaming when he had entered.
Isaac had asked why, although had not received a satisfactory answer. Knowing his DCS as well as he did, it could only mean a new political connection either within the police service or without. He was playing a dangerous game, and if the commissioner discovered it, whatever it was, then Detective Chief Superintendent Richard Goddard would be hung out to dry. Isaac knew that office politics was not a game he played well or even wanted to, but the DCS revelled in it. With the previous commissioner, it had worked well, but with Commissioner Davies it was a risky gamble.
‘I want the man charged by tonight,’ Goddard said.
‘We’ve got to catch him first.’
‘Don’t give me that negativity. Sergeant Gladstone’s got him in her sights. How can he get away?’
‘You’re right. We don’t intend to let him slip through the net.’ Isaac picked up his phone. ‘Larry, mobilise whoever you can. We want O’Shaughnessy.’
‘He’s just driven off with Hughenden.’
‘Damn,’ Isaac said. ‘Any idea where?’
‘We know where.’
‘Where? I’ve DCS Goddard in the office with me,’ Isaac said. Larry took the hint to be careful in what he said.
‘O’Shaughnessy’s old house. I had an officer out there as soon as Hughenden closed his shop.’
‘Well done,’ Goddard said over the phone.
‘Thanks, sir,’ Larry replied.
‘Are they both in the house?’ Isaac asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Storm it and grab O’Shaughnessy.’
‘Not so easy. It’s best if we wait it out.’
‘It could be a long wait. We need O’Shaughnessy today.’
‘Very well,’ Larry replied.
Chapter 14
Inside a house, a smart terrace house in a good part of Bayswater, two men spoke. One a jewellery shop owner, the other, a known murderer.
‘Devlin, the police are looking for you. Why are you here?’ Hughenden asked. He was feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the situation, unsure whether to trust his former tenant or not.
‘I need to get out of the country.’ O’Shaughnessy sat in a comfortable leather chair, his favourite to recline in when listening to classical music when he had been living there.
‘Where to?’
‘I can’t stay here.’
‘Why not?’ Hughenden asked. The man sitting across from him was edgy, and Hughenden knew he was dangerous. They had been friends, good friends, but now…
‘Get real, Alex. We’re both in trouble.’
‘I’m not.’
‘I’ve had a phone call.’
‘From who?’
‘Our mysterious master, that’s who.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He wants me to kill you.’
Hughenden, the colour in his face draining rapidly, took one step back and sat down hard on a wooden chair on his side of the room.
