Michael, on his father’s return, had found him to be generous and attentive, but he was still only young. It was the last time that they had spent any time together until the flat in Bayswater, and now he was dead, the victim of drugs, the victim of callous and shallow parents, the victim of Helmsley. The man had annoyed him at school, and now he had taken his only child from him.
Ralph Lawrence took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and blew his nose, as well as dabbing his eyes. He then picked up his phone and dialled Antigua.
***
Bridget had debriefed Homicide on her return to Challis Street, also giving Wendy the largest box of Belgian chocolates that she could buy.
The team watched the edited video replays from Herzele, crystal clear images of Caxton and O’Grady, the rifle inside the vehicle. ‘It’s them,’ Isaac said. ‘The only problem is that it’s not proof, just more evidence if we manage to secure enough evidence against them for a trial.’
‘The weapon?’ Bridget said.
‘Without it, Forensics can’t do bullet analysis. Regardless, we do have a case against the men. We can pull them in, make them sweat. We’ve got Ralph Lawrence’s evidence as well. Anyone else?’
‘Not yet,’ Larry said. ‘Give me twelve hours while I go and talk to the man who put me onto Frost. He knows more, I’m sure of it.’
‘He’s not going to allow himself to be compromised,’ Wendy said.
‘Who knows how these people think. If Frost is out of the way, then there are more suckers for them to bleed. My man’s no saint, even if he pretends he is. I’ll push, see what I can get. Maybe best if you phone up Emily Matson, tell her to keep a close watch on Frost and his henchmen, and to be prepared to pull Caxton and O’Grady in at short notice. Not Frost, though. We need him to sweat some more. Without them around, who knows? Easy to be tough when you’re protected, not so good when you’re on your own.’
Emily Matson intensified the surveillance on Caxton and O’Grady. The DI whose nose was out of joint was once again complaining to the station’s superintendent about being sidelined while his junior was getting all the glory. He had been quick on the phone after leaving the super’s office, Emily overhearing the gist of what was being said, certain he was speaking to Alwyn Davies.
Larry told Emily to stay focussed and to ignore the office politics. She had the full support of Challis Street Homicide and Chief Superintendent Goddard. He only hoped her superintendent was up to the task. If he wasn’t then Isaac and Goddard would make a personal representation at Greenwich, endeavour to bolster the superintendent, a man with just over one year to go for his full pension and retirement, and who did not crave the ignominy of a reduction in his rank and his pension.
Caxton was out and about, buying McDonald's one day, a pizza the next. O’Grady was not so visible, although he had been seen in a local gym pushing weights. Both men were feared in the area, both as likely to grab someone by the collar than wish them a good day.
If they were to be brought in, Emily knew, it would have to be one at a time. Indications were that they would not come voluntarily. Neither had committed any offence in England, not in recent years, although Caxton had picked up more parking fines than most, but that wasn’t an arrestable offence as he had paid them all on time. O’Grady had nothing against him.
The hotel in Brussels where Caxton and O’Grady stayed had been found, the bill paid, no trouble from either man, although they had drunk too much in the bar. Isaac knew the case was weak, and he could bring them in, but a smart lawyer would have them out within a couple of hours. Ralph Lawrence would testify, but only if Frost had murdered his father and was locked up, otherwise he wasn’t going to confront the lender of no hope and his henchman purely on the say-so of the police that they would protect him. They had not managed to protect Michael, and he had seen the police protection already offered to him and his family: minimal at best, useless if the truth were known. No doubt subject to budgetary constraints or some other jargon that everyone seemed to use.
‘The kneecapped man, what about him?’ Isaac said to Larry. They were out of the office, walking around Gilbert Lawrence’s mansion, trying to go over what they had so far. Arresting Frost looked possible, especially if they could get Caxton or O’Grady to break. But Frost had no apparent connection to Gilbert’s death, no prior knowledge that Ralph and Gilbert had been related.
Inside the previously bolted off main section of the building, the two police officers could see that the CSIs had been careful, no fingerprints, no footprints, but they had walked through with their equipment, and the floor, previously covered in dust, had been disturbed. Larry and Isaac had ensured to put on gloves and overshoes and to let Gordon Windsor know that they were in the house, a matter of courtesy rather than a procedural requirement. They climbed the sweeping staircase, the steps creaking as they moved. It was not a pleasant place to be, still smelling of decay and death, although the death was more imagined than real.
At the top of the stairs, a cold breeze. Larry froze, not sure what to do. He had read his children a bedtime story the previous night, a fairy tale about a princess in a draughty castle. It was recommended for ages five to seven, although it had a touch of the melodrama
