Chapter 47
Alfie’s fine, FYI. I knew you’d be concerned, so just to reassure you, he’s definitely going to live. Turns out Charli was about as good a shot as her ex-husband.
He suffered a little light lung-puncturing, of course, and lost about a gallon of blood, but I think that’s only fair after what he put us through.
Even so, Charli managed not to hit anything essential, and luckily for Alf, the police who charged the building within a minute of hearing the gunshot had brought some paramedics as backup.
I feel like he’s going to grow as a person when all this is done.
Sorry, that’s not the relevant bit.
They arrested us too, of course. Kate McAdams, our police friend from the restaurant, was in the second wave through the door, and was very happy to see us again. When I asked what the charges were, she said they’d think of something, and in due course, they did.
There was a great moment when they were wrestling Charli off to the van and she screamed, ‘You’re going to believe a bunch of fucking squatters over me?’
Em heard it and shouted back, ‘We’re not squatters. We’re interlopers.’ I could have kissed her. If it wasn’t for the officer grinding my head into the Axminster, I would have done.
Elle had masterminded the police side of things.
The first person she’d phoned was their sister Claudia, the super-recogniser, who had been trying to trace the girls without success ever since their last contact.
Then Claudia pulled a few levers and got the police involved, including Kate McAdams. It was quite a multidisciplinary operation and a proud example of modern global Britain punching above its weight.
Not that I was aware of any of that at the time.
For me it was all a bit of a blur – separation from the others, wrenched shoulder, hot van, interview room, badly made tea.
Annoyingly, I didn’t get to tell anyone that I wasn’t going to say shit without a lawyer present, because they provided a lawyer immediately.
He’s called Richard, he’s even younger than me, and he’s spent most of his time since he qualified defending really grim cases and keeps telling me this one is going to be ‘super-fun’ by comparison.
I’m just glad to be spreading a bit of happiness around.
There are heaps of charges, but none of them are for murder or money-laundering or espionage, so all in all I don’t feel too hard done by.
And one of the ones they are apparently determined to make stick is unlawful entry of the home belonging to …
Mr Paul Lethbridge. Remember him? Captain Coaster. I freely admit, that is funny.
Nobody bailed me, of course. I didn’t want to ring Freddy and bother him again; he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested.
And now here I am, in the Visitors’ Room, waiting to see who turns up. Whoever was visiting didn’t fill in the form properly, so I’m just waiting without knowing who I’ll meet.
After fifteen minutes of sitting listening to the low buzz of inmates all around me chatting to their families, I see Richard, the legal beagle, through the porthole window, being escorted in by the guard.
He puffs over, ditches a few files on the floor by his chair, and flaps his jacket around a bit, trying to get some fresh air.
‘I have some news.’ He’s trying to put a brave face on it, but I can tell he’s seriously perturbed.
‘OK. What?’ This doesn’t sound great. He’s sighing and rolling his eyes like he’d rather be anywhere else than here.
He mutters something.
‘What was that, Rich?’
‘I said,’ and he’s almost got tears in his eyes, ‘they’re dropping the charges.’
‘All of them?’
‘All of them. Apparently this is such a sensitive case they’re just going to sweep you under the rug. They think they have more than enough evidence on Charli Harcourt without dragging you into it. And they’d rather not admit all that awkward stuff about the, er …’
‘The British agents who were sent to kill us? Very wise.’
‘Yes,’ Richard says. I suddenly realise why he looks so absolutely crushed.
‘So that means … no trial?’
‘No trial.’
‘I’m sorry, pal. I think you’d have done a brilliant job.’
‘Thank you.’
‘There’ll be another case like this. You just have to believe in British criminals.’
‘I hope so.’
And after muttering some congratulations he clearly doesn’t mean, Richard steps out of my life, so far for good.
You didn’t get to spend any quality time with him, I’m afraid, but he’s awfully busy and I’m not sure he enjoys life so much.
Mothers: warn your children off a career in the law. As he leaves, he turns and says:
‘You have another visitor, by the way.’
Thirty seconds after Richard white-rabbits off to his next perp, Kate McAdams of the National Crime Agency enters the room, scans it, then makes a beeline for me.
She looks much more comfortable in uniform than she did in the restaurant where we first met her.
She sits and gets out a greige folder, labelled in head-girl copperplate.
‘Hello …’ She consults her notes. ‘Which of these names am I using?’
‘Al is fine.’
‘I’m here to talk through the details of the agreement you’re going to sign. It shouldn’t be me really, but they thought you’d react well to a friendly face.’ This is pushing it. She looks like a child’s drawing of a frown.
‘Well, thank you, Kate.’
‘So. These are the terms.’ She pushes a sheet of paper over to me.
‘Is it common for the police to ask people to sign NDAs?’
‘Nothing about this story is common. But if you keep your mouth shut on this one – for ever – we’re willing to drop the charges, as your lawyer should have told you.’
‘Even the Lethbridge one?’
‘You will have a totally clean slate. Plus, if you do keep your mouth shut, it means you probably won’t be targeted by the Qumaris.
Or the Iranians. Or any of these crime families Mr Harcourt had worked with over the last decade and whose houses you turned up at asking personal questions.
’ She slides over another sheet of paper with a lot of names on it.
I give it a read. A few names jump out at me. I point at one. ‘Didn’t they get a podcast made about them?’
‘You’ve annoyed a lot of people.’
‘These ones are the actual Mob, aren’t they?’
Kate remains impassive. I sign the NDA.
‘Any questions?’
‘Thirty or forty. What happened to Conor Vane?’
‘He’s in custody. He was arrested actually leaving the House of Commons. Great bit of theatre.’
‘He told us Rob Wallace was involved in Davy’s murder.’
‘Yeah. We think he was just trying to throw you off. Probably panicking. We’ve found out quite a lot about Mr Vane since you saw him last.’
‘Was it him who sent the spies after us? The British ones, I mean?’
‘Yes.’ Despite being Scottish and therefore having almost translucent skin, I’d swear Kate is blushing a little.
‘Obviously Charli Harcourt was the one who had the financial interest in you staying alive, at least until she’d tracked you down and got access to Mr Harcourt’s half of the account.
But after you visited Vane, he just wanted you shut up, and he was worried enough to pull the biggest lever available to him.
He phoned some … contacts in the security services and persuaded them that it was in everyone’s interests that you be removed from the board. ’
‘Right. Is that going to happen again?’
‘No. They’ve been, er, called off. One of them is dead, and the other one won’t be bothering you any further. He’s been reassigned, by about eight thousand miles.’
I wave the bit of paper. ‘And signing this means I can’t even go on Loose Women to talk about it.’
‘No.’ She takes the NDA and files it back in her folder.
‘Ugh. Fine. Oh, I’ve thought of another one. Where did the money go from Charli’s account?’
‘It’s been impounded. I think not even you could get your hands on it.’
‘And Charli herself?’
‘One murder confessed and another attempted, all on film, plus the evidence of her accessing the account, and the transactions over the years? She’ll be keeping us busy for a while. I think that at last count there were nine separate agencies gathering evidence on her.’
‘Rob Wallace?’
‘On a long sabbatical from the agency. He’ll be back. He’s done nothing wrong, outside the usual for estate agents.’ I like that. I didn’t think Kate had a sense of humour.
‘What about your bent copper? Jay Hawthorne?’
‘He’s retiring at the end of the month. Very distinguished career.’ Kate’s face suddenly has all the plasticity of a Japanese theatre mask.
‘Is Lulu Harcourt all right?’
‘I believe so. She’s putting her father’s properties on the market.’
‘Sensible girl. And …’ This is the one question I really care about, so paradoxically I’ve saved it until last. ‘What about Jonny, and Elle, and Em?’
Kate McAdams consults her notes. ‘Jonny is still recuperating, in a secure military hospital. Elle is in a safe house in Surrey, which I believe she is attempting to refurbish without permission. And Em …’ She glances down at the piece of paper in front of her.
‘Your friend Em is on the other side of that door.’
Clearly McAdams has a taste for the theatrical too.
She’s also gathered from my expression that I’m no longer interested in anything she has to say, so the next things she gathers are her paperwork and her jacket.
‘For what it’s worth, I’m rather impressed, although this could all have been done much more cleanly if you’d just told me everything in the restaurant. ’
‘Next time, eh?’
She twists her mouth and leaves.
Once she’s gone, I promise myself I’m not going to stare at the room’s outer door like a lovesick puppy. I will be bold, nonchalant, Cool Hand Al. This act lasts for about eight seconds, after which I stare at the door like a lovesick puppy until Em walks through.
She’s dressed down for the occasion – jeans, jumper, trainers – but she looks wonderful. Her hair is bigger than I remember. Sorry, I’m not good at describing this romantic stuff.
‘Nice place you have here.’
‘It’s a house share, but it’s decent. All food laid on and the gym is refreshingly simple. Broad range of life experience in here too. It’s no Balfour Villas, of course, but …’ I shrug.
‘You holding up all right?’
‘Not bad.’
‘They’re dropping the charges, I hear.’
‘Just as I was getting the hang of this place.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I have a few apologies to make.’ I think of Fred, and – although I have no idea how I’m going to deal with the situation – of Mum and Dad. I’ll manage it somehow. Maybe Fred can help reintroduce us. Eventually.
‘You’ll need somewhere to stay,’ says Em. ‘And something to do.’
‘Yeah, I don’t imagine I’ve still got my old photography job. I think the police will have asked after me enough that my old bosses won’t be interested in employing me any further.’
She smiles. ‘In that case, you might like to know we’ve had an approach.’
‘Oh. I can’t talk to anyone, I’m afraid. That McAdams woman made me sign a vow of silence about the whole thing. Plus, I’m not sure I’m really a morning television kind of guy.’
‘Not that kind of approach. A job offer.’
‘From …’
She holds her phone out so I can see the screen. ‘They call themselves social engineers. They test weak points in corporate security – getting into places they shouldn’t be, reporting back. Kate McAdams says she put them on to you. To us.’
‘You’re saying … interloping for a living?’
She shrugs. ‘Might beat working. For a little while.’
‘Sounds a bit legal for my taste. And yours. I’ve always thought of myself as a poacher-staying-poacher.’
‘I’m sure we can find ways of making it interesting.’ She smiles at me.
There’s one other thing I want to say to Em, and I don’t know how to say it, so I’m just going to start and follow where my mouth leads. This breaks Rule 25 (Only start a line if you know how it finishes); right now, I don’t care. ‘Thanks for coming back.’
‘Thanks for asking.’
‘Were you not worried that I didn’t know what I was doing? I mean, I was.’
‘I don’t think any of us knew what we were doing there. We’ll be better prepared next time it happens.’
‘Very funny. I’m serious, Em. I don’t know what I would have done without any of you.’
‘Well, that’s good. Because I’ve been looking, and I think between the four of us, if this new job pays anything decent, we might be able to secure a three-bed somewhere.’
‘Only three bedrooms?’
‘Well, you’ve got to economise somewhere.’
It’s my turn to smile.
‘Am I allowed to kiss you goodbye?’
‘Even if you’re not, I don’t think they could get to you in time to stop you.’
It turns out I’m right about that. And as Em is politely escorted from the room, I get the feeling – just an indication, you understand – that from now on, everything might just be completely fine.
There should probably be a rule for this sort of moment, but right now I’m afraid I can’t think of a single one.