Big Greg turned away from the entrance to the park where his daughter was gently pushing his granddaughter in a swing. Today was not the day to reveal himself; today was a day for action.
***
Larry, back in the office, conscious of his wedding anniversary, sat with Bridget. The two were looking through the evidence that he had brought back from Arbuthnot’s bedroom. The photo album, only small, no more than fifty photos, most of his travels, was not of much interest, save for three photos with four people in each, including Arbuthnot.
‘The sort of photos you’d take at a department’s Christmas party,’ Bridget said. Larry could see what she meant.
‘Unusual,’ Larry said. ‘Most people take those photos, never look at them again, and, nowadays they’re stored on a smartphone, not in an album.’
The passport revealed that the man had travelled extensively, sometimes to countries off the beaten track, but there was nothing suspicious in that. Bridget had discovered, as had Isaac through Goddard’s contact, that the man was a facilitator, putting together deals with foreign governments that were not by their nature illegal, but would be regarded as dubious.
Larry thought it must be something to do with weapons sales, which made sense, in that the British Government, or any government, is not averse to selling weapons, although some of those purchasing them could be less than democratic, more likely to shoot their own people or attack the neighbouring country, even give the weapons to terrorists.
Whatever it was, George Arbuthnot was not a middle-ranking civil servant. Bridget had checked the man’s bank statement, and found it to be genuine.
The photos continued to be of interest. Bridget had taken enhanced photos of each of the individuals and was attempting to match them with the police database. Not that she held out much hope for success as the people in the photos, four men and three women in total, showed no distinguishing features.
Putting the photos to one side, Bridget checked the phone numbers on Arbuthnot’s mobile phone; most were of no interest, although some were clearly government.
Larry called some of them to see if he could find out whose they were. It was assumed that most would be unlisted, especially if, as suspected, Arbuthnot was involved in the selling of weapons.
Larry left Bridget and went to speak with Isaac; the man was deep in thought when he entered. ‘What is it, guv?’
‘The usual.’
‘DCS Goddard.’
‘You’ve got it. Arbuthnot’s death is causing waves.’
‘Waves? What do you mean?’
‘The sort of waves that tell us Arbuthnot was more important than he appeared to be.’
‘We know that already.’
‘The man’s passport?’
‘I reckon he was up to no good for the British arms industry.’
‘That’s what Goddard inferred, although I’ve no idea what it all means, and his murderer, who the hell is he?’
‘Whoever he is, he’s out there, and he would not have killed without reason.’
‘Anything more on him?’ Isaac asked. Larry could see that Goddard, and by inference Commissioner Alwyn Davies, was placing special emphasis on the Challis Street Homicide department, and yet again the British Government was involved.
‘Wendy’s trying, but the man disappears. We have an approximate idea of what he looks like. We’ve issued an APW on him, but, apart from his height, he’ll blend in easily enough, and if he has any experience, if he’s involved with Arbuthnot, maybe the same line of business, he’ll be able to stay concealed.’
‘What about the formulas and the technical drawings in the notebook? Anything more?’
‘Bridget’s tried, but no.’
‘Why did he kill Bob Robertson? That’s the one question that confuses me,’ Isaac said. ‘The man’s remained hidden, hiding out as a tramp, sleeping under bridges, eating at charitable hostels when he could, and then he kills a man for no apparent reason, and then he cleans himself up and goes on a killing spree.’
‘It’s hardly a spree,’ Larry said.
‘It is, and you know it. Once they start, these sorts of people don’t stop. There’ll be more murders.’
‘Serial killer?’
‘Not this man. He’s methodical, and he’s working to a plan. Arbuthnot’s death was not random; the man was tied to him, I’m sure of it, but how do we find out who else was involved?’
‘Your political connections, MI5, MI6?’
‘I’ve no intention of trusting McTavish again.’
‘You still believe he was implicated in the deaths in a previous case?’
‘He was involved. Always made out he wasn’t, and now he’s sitting in the House of Lords. If I contacted him, he’d give me answers, but I’ve no idea if they’d be the right answers, not even sure if it would help.’
‘We’re floundering here. We need a breakthrough from somewhere,’ Larry said.
Isaac knew that his DI was correct. Unless the connections were made, then the chances of finding Big Greg were slim. He wondered what sort of man could conceal himself by living on the street, given that the man recited poetry, wrote complicated formulas in notebooks, and killed civil servants who appeared to be involved in arms trading.
Isaac knew that it was going to become more involved as they peeled away the layers, and almost certainly more dangerous. If men such as Bob Robertson could be killed to maintain a secret, if Arbuthnot could be killed, probably for revenge, then how far would Big Greg go? Would he consider a police officer expendable if he started to get below the first few layers that concealed the truth? Isaac knew he had not become a detective chief inspector out of some false naivety. He knew that the man would kill as necessary, whatever the reason.
Chapter 13
The office had
