Sprawled across the floor was the lifeless body of Adrian Heath, surrounded by a pool of blood. Only moments before he’d been looking forward to starting a new life with his girlfriend in Rio. Adrian’s throat had been cut in one clean movement by someone who knew what he was doing, and his right eye had been gouged from its socket and left by the body as a warning to any other dealer who might even think about becoming an informer.
‘Don’t move!’ shouted a voice from behind him.
William raised his arms and said firmly, ‘I’m a police officer. I’m going to show you my warrant card.’
‘Slowly,’ said the voice.
William extracted his card from an inside pocket and held it up for the officer to see.
He heard footsteps advancing towards him, followed by the words, ‘OK, sergeant, you can turn around.’
William swung round to see an older police sergeant, trying to remain calm, accompanied by a young constable who couldn’t stop shaking. Airport police usually deal with illegal immigrants, the occasional pickpocket, sometimes a passenger who has removed a bag from the carousel that isn’t theirs. This certainly wasn’t part of their job description. William accepted he would have to take charge.
‘Listen carefully,’ he said. ‘The first thing I need you to do is cordon off the whole area. Make sure no members of the public are allowed anywhere near this washroom.’
The young constable quickly left the room, a look of relief on his face suggesting he was glad to escape.
‘Sergeant, I want you to phone Detective Superintendent Lamont at Scotland Yard. Tell him Adrian Heath has been murdered, and DC Adaja is in pursuit of the suspect, known as Tulip.’ William made him repeat the message, as another officer appeared. He turned away the moment he saw the body.
‘I need you to inform the airport’s duty officer and take control of the crime scene,’ said William to the third officer. ‘The body is not to be moved until officers from the murder squad authorize it.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said another man who was only too happy to obey orders.
William squatted on one knee next to Heath’s body and extracted a boarding card and passport from an inside pocket. The photograph was of Heath, although the name wasn’t.
‘Sorry, old friend,’ said William. ‘God knows, you didn’t deserve this.’
When William emerged from the men’s room, he found two more policemen cordoning off the crime scene, while a group of exasperated passengers were demanding to know why they couldn’t use the washroom. If he’d told them, they would have peed in their pants.
The older sergeant hurried back to join him.
‘The forensic medical examiner should be with us fairly soon. I wasn’t able to get through to Superintendent Lamont because he’s been called to give evidence at the Old Bailey. A Commander Hawksby says you’re to take over until a crime scene manager arrives.’
‘Understood. Make sure—’
‘This is the last call for BA flight 012 to Rio de Janeiro. Will all remaining passengers please make their way to gate twenty-seven, as the plane is about to depart.’
‘—that no one other than the lab liaison sergeant and the FME are allowed anywhere near the body. And one more thing—’
‘You’re leaving me in charge?’ said the officer.
‘Yes, but not for long,’ said William, as the sound of blaring sirens grew louder and louder. ‘There’s someone I have to question before her plane takes off.’ Without another word he began running towards the escalator, taking the steps two at a time.
The officer at passport control looked up in alarm at the blood-stained, breathless man who’d jumped the queue. He was about to press the panic button below the counter when William produced his warrant card, shouting, ‘Rio?’
‘The gate’s about to close, sergeant,’ he said. ‘I’ll call ahead and warn them you’re on your way. I hope you catch the bastard.’
William took off once again. Two ground staff were waiting for him by gate twenty-seven, and after a cursory check of his warrant card he was ushered down the walkway and onto the waiting aircraft, where he joined the last of the passengers looking for their seats. He checked the seat number on Adrian’s boarding pass, before making his way down the aisle searching for a woman he’d never met. He came to a halt when he saw Maria Ruiz clutching on to a briefcase, anxiously searching for a different face.
William changed his mind. He turned around, walked back along the aisle to the exit, thanked the stewardess and returned to the terminal.
BA flight 012 to Rio de Janeiro took off on time, although one of the passengers was a no-show.
‘That was the Director of Public Prosecutions,’ said Sir Julian, putting the phone down.
‘It’s not hard to guess what they’ll be recommending,’ said Grace.
‘Following Heath’s evidence this morning, they’re advising me to contact Booth Watson and try to make a deal.’
‘I know exactly what two words I’d say to that suggestion if I was BW,’ said Grace, ‘and one of them would have four letters. What sort of deal did the DPP have in mind?’
‘We agree to drop the charge of intent to supply, in exchange for Faulkner pleading guilty to possession. He’ll have to pay a heavy fine, but will only be given a two-year suspended sentence. However, typical of the DPP, they say they’ll leave the final decision to us.’
‘That’s why they’re known as the Department of Pontius Pilate,’ remarked Grace. ‘So Faulkner will get away with it yet again. If he goes on like this, he’ll be on suspended sentences for the rest of his life, and never see the inside of a prison cell.’
‘What would you do, Grace, if you were my leader on this case, and I were your junior?’
Grace was taken aback for a moment, as her father had never before sought her advice on such a major call. She thought about his question for some time, because although she was flattered, the look on his face left her in no
