Downstairs, in the garage beneath the building, a car. He took the keys, left his penthouse and found the Mercedes. He did not drive often, but this time he would. As he came out from the garage, a police car opposite saw him and reported it to Greenwich Police Station, to the inspector charged with keeping a watch on Frost.
‘Let him go,’ had been the instruction. ‘We’ll keep a watch from here.’
The two police officers who had kept watch overnight complied with the instruction. After all, the man was their senior.
One of those in the vehicle, a smart young man, ambitious as well, phoned Emily.
‘What did he say?’ Emily reacted with alarm. It was still early, and she had just fallen asleep. She had set the alarm for two hours, not fifteen minutes, but the information was startling.
‘Inspector Camberwell told us to let Frost go. It made no sense to us, but we followed instructions.’
‘Any idea where Frost is now?’
‘None. He took off, heading west.’
Emily phoned Isaac to update him, then her superintendent. He was straight out of bed and on the phone. ‘Camberwell, fifteen minutes, my office.’
Bridget, also woken up, was at the office at Challis Street within twenty-five minutes, and logging into the CCTV cameras in Greenwich. The registration number of the Mercedes that Frost was driving was known, and the police cars in London were equipped with automatic number plate recognition.
Meanwhile, Frost had parked across from Ralph’s flat in Bayswater. He was in a side street, concealed from view.
An arrest warrant had been issued, with instructions for Frost to be detained and taken to Greenwich Police Station, suspected of being an accomplice to murder. He was not considered dangerous, but officers were advised to approach him with caution.
At Greenwich, Jules Hougardy was back in the police station. He had stayed the night in a hotel no more than five minutes’ walk away. Isaac and Larry were finding their own way back across the Thames. Wendy was with Bridget, helping if she could, lending moral support if she couldn’t. Both women were feeling the effects of a heavy night, although now was not the time to complain.
Edward Sharman arrived at Greenwich Police Station at ten minutes after nine in the morning. He was not in a good mood. Emily was pleased, so were the other members of the team. He had been updated as to the situation, a full report of the current status at his disposal. Ainsley Caxton, on being advised that Gary Frost had left his penthouse and was nowhere to be found, realised that he was vulnerable. He had admitted to the charge of assault, minor to him, as he had committed far worse crimes in the past. Sharman had chastised him for his outburst in the interview room. ‘You bloody fool,’ he had said. ‘All you had to do was to keep your mouth shut, and I would have got you out, but where are you now? Five years, if those fools testify.’
‘You can fix it,’ Caxton had said in reply.
But now, the situation had changed. Gary Frost was no longer around, a warrant was out for his arrest. He would be defending himself, not one of his employees, and where was the man, what was he doing? Was he running, or was he planning something more serious?
Sharman and Caxton sat together to discuss the situation. Sharman reflected on his fee for services rendered, realised that he was committed to continuing for the time being, but unless Frost transferred money to his account, then he and Caxton could find someone else.
‘O’Grady’s been found,’ Sharman said. As usual, he was wearing the three-piece suit, his hair immaculately parted down the middle. ‘Three bullets, one in the brain.’
‘It was an accident. He was out of control.’
‘They’ll not go for it. How do you want to plead?’
‘What will happen if I admit to it?’
‘Sixteen years minimum.’
‘And the grievous bodily harm?’
‘Five each, although we should be able to get all sentences served concurrently.’
‘You can’t get me off?’
‘Not on this one, and now Frost has done a runner. They’ll take what you’ve admitted to, the statements from Lawrence and Waters, the proof of you and O’Grady being in Brussels, no more than one mile from where Samuels and three others were killed. I can cause confusion in the jury, raise an element of doubt, but you’ll be convicted of the murder of O’Grady, and if you’re not, the Belgian police will have you extradited. No chance of their proving their case, but Frost has made fools of the police. They’ll not forget.’
In the interview room, Emily and Larry sat. On the other side of the table, Ainsley Caxton and Edward Sharman.
Outside, listening in, Isaac, Jules, and Wendy. In another part of the building, Inspector Camberwell was clearing out his desk, with another inspector checking that what he took wasn’t police related, only personal. He had been suspended on full pay while a disciplinary hearing was convened, a chance for him to explain why he had called off the surveillance of Gary Frost. His badge was with the superintendent, as was his phone. He knew that if they checked the numbers dialled, they would find the calls to Frost. He knew that he should have used another phone to call the man, but in the last few days, with the frenetic pace, the information that needed passing on, he had not had a chance to add credit to the phone that he kept hidden underneath the dashboard in his car. There was nothing that the police force disliked more than a bent policeman, and if he were in prison,
