of Rees’s court-martial and information about his state of mind, but he had had no luck.

A logical mind would have distanced himself from London, and Rees was clearly intelligent and organised, as he had managed to alternate between two names with apparent impunity. There were even two British passports in his name, and if he had left the country, hidden away in a backwater somewhere in the world, then he could have remained at liberty indefinitely.

Bridget had taken the photo from the young woman’s phone in Canning Town, enhanced it, proven that Gareth Rees had been on the fire escape and he had at his side a bag, the approximate size of a rifle with telescopic sights, as Sean Garvey had received one bullet to the head, dead before he hit the ground.

The All-Points had been updated with a registration number, more good work from Bridget, and the make of car, a Toyota as believed, as well as its year of manufacture and colour.

Surveillance cameras were scanning for the vehicle, as were cameras in each and every patrol car. It was an automatic sequence; it was bound to give a result, if the car was still visible, its progress after it left Canning Town, and if within the concentration of cameras in the city, a reasonably accurate detail of the location where it had been last seen, good enough for more concentrated enquiries, out on foot and walking the area.

The team knew that Gareth Rees was coming to them; there were just too many factors against him now, although if he was to be taken, armed officers would be needed. Isaac phoned the head of the team that they had used at Naughton’s address in Holland Park, assured him that this time it was not a wild goose chase and that Rees was experienced, armed, a murderer, and a crack shot. This was not an amateur that they were dealing with.

Chapter 27

Gareth Rees sat in the interview room at Challis Street. His arrest had been without violence; the man had even been polite as he got out of his car after a patrol car had picked up the registration plate. Isaac had spoken to him briefly on his arrival and could see that he was as Gabbi Gaffney had described. He was well-dressed, an open-necked shirt, a jacket, a pair of grey trousers. He was tall, clearly fit for his age, known to be forty-four.

So far, the man had not had a chance to give his side of the story, although he had been formally cautioned and told that he was in the police station on suspicion of murder. A lawyer of his choice was on the way to the station, and until the man arrived, the interview would not commence.

At eleven-thirty in the morning, the imperious Jacob Jameson entered the station. He was known at Challis Street, a fair-minded man of searing intellect, a cultured accent, the child of affluent parents, and his manner in a courtroom and the eloquence of his speeches for the defence had meant that more than a few villains had walked free. Isaac was determined this was not to happen with Rees.

Isaac went through the formalities in the interview room. Rees sat back on his chair, only sitting upright when stating his name. Jacob Jameson, resplendent in a pin-striped suit, sat firm, his arms folded, only unfolding them to read the case against his client, the murders so far, and the evidence, which, apart from the killing of Sean Garvey, was perilously weak.

‘My client reserves comment,’ Jameson said. ‘Apart from a blurry photo and Mr Rees being in the location of a shooting in Canning Town, and we will contend that he was there on legitimate business, your evidence is based on the circumstantial, and the frustration of the police in failing to find the murderer.’

‘Mr Rees,’ Isaac said, ‘you were in New Barn Street at the time Sean Garvey was shot.’

‘I was,’ Rees responded. ‘I saw a commotion, that’s why I left.’

‘And you were on a fire escape, with a clear view of the man?’

‘I’ll not deny it; no point, seeing you have the photo.’

‘Your purpose for being up there?’

An interruption from Jameson. ‘My client was checking out a property for sale. The prices are depressed in the area, and he was taking the opportunity to evaluate a possible investment.’

Isaac looked over at Larry as if to say, is this true?

Outside the room, Wendy phoned Bridget, asked her to check.

‘You were carrying a bag?’ Isaac directed his question to Gareth Rees.

‘I was.’

It seemed to Isaac and Larry that the forty-five minutes that Rees and his lawyer had spent together before the interview had been time well used. There was no doubt that Rees was Garvey’s murderer, but no one had seen the rifle, nor the shot being taken, and the weapon had not been found. Rees was innocent until proven guilty, and Chief Superintendent Goddard, who was listening in from the other room, realised that at this rate the man could still walk free.

Bridget came back within five minutes to state that the building with the fire escape had been up for sale four weeks previously, but had since been withdrawn from sale. Whether Rees knew this wasn’t important.

The case against Rees was not cast-iron.

Isaac, struggling to keep the interview going and in the police’s favour, tried a different tack.

‘Mr Rees, Godstone, a village to the south of London. Do you know it?’

‘I do.’

‘You rented a house there in the company of an Asian woman.’

‘I’ve driven through it, had a pint of beer in the pub, and as to this Asian woman, I only know of one, and she did a runner as soon as I got her permanent residency in England.’

‘Are you in contact with your former

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