the car and changed clothes. The used ones I tied in a plastic bag. I would take them to the civic dump back at Brent Cross tomorrow, along with some old rubbish my wife had been nagging me to get rid of. After that I’d take the rented car back, having removed the false plates, of course. No doubt they would give the car a good clean for me, too.
I drove back towards North London. Totally at ease by then. I was beginning to realize my potential. My power and control were unrivalled. It had been the most beautiful experience of my life – to take a life in this way – not in revenge or a fit of temper – not when my blood was boiling with hatred and anger after being insulted and wronged, but a glorious execution of my right to do as I please and take whoever I want to take – my power. No hot blood coursed through my veins. My blood ran cold and she – she was a cold killing.
There was no going back now.
12
Monday morning
Sean hauled himself from his uncomfortable chair, stretching and yawning as he looked out of his office window at the flat roofs of the surrounding buildings, their surfaces littered with the detritus of man and nature. He hadn’t slept well the previous night, too many unanswered questions swimming around his mind. His body ached miserably. A hopping bird caught his eye, drawing his attention to the nearest of the rooftops, its blue-black feathers shining in the sunlight, making its white patches barely visible. The magpie took over-sized steps towards what had brought it to this desolate place, its head constantly jerking into new positions as it checked for danger and opportunity. Sean saw what it was moving towards – the half-concealed body of another bird − and assumed it had come to feast on a dead pigeon, but as it grew closer he realized it held something in its beak, something shiny, like a polished stone. He watched fascinated as the bird placed the object next to the body, then squawked loudly and sorrowfully before flying away. He squinted against the sun and focused as hard as he could on the small corpse below, the black and white feathers confirming what he’d already suspected. As he continued to watch the sad little drama more magpies came to see their fallen kinsman, each bringing gifts of twigs and shiny objects, food and things precious to their kind, always chasing away any pigeons that dared to approach the lifeless body, pecking violently at their eyes, prepared to kill to protect their dead. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look away, until Donnelly burst into his office holding a set of car keys, shattering his temporary escape. ‘Going somewhere?’ Sean asked.
‘Drop your linen and stop your grinning. Fingerprints finally got back to us. They’ve matched a single print from the victim’s flat to Hellier. He was in the flat. There’s no mistake.’
‘A single print?’ Sean asked, confused. ‘Is it a partial?’
‘No,’ Donnelly reassured him. ‘It’s a full match.’
‘Just one print.’ Sean could tell he was alone in his scepticism. ‘Where did they find it?’
‘On the underside of the door handle for the bathroom. The outside handle,’ Donnelly informed him. ‘You don’t look overly excited,’ he added.
Sean chased the doubts from his mind and tried to concentrate on the fact that finally he had usable, tangible evidence. His aches and pains faded as his excitement grew. ‘No wonder he didn’t want to give his fingerprints. Get hold of the surveillance team and find out where Hellier is now, and get Sally to sort out a couple of search teams. Once he’s nicked I want his office and home searched. No shit once-over. Full searches. With forensics too. You take one team and do his house. I’ll do his office with the other.’
Donnelly spun on his heels and left Sean’s office.
They always make a mistake, Sean thought. They always make a mistake.
The three unmarked police cars drove fast towards Knightsbridge. The surveillance had confirmed Hellier was at his office. The blue lights attached to the roofs of the cars whirled while the sirens screamed at the mid-morning traffic to clear the way.
Sean sat in the trailing car. He felt exuberant. He remembered this was why he had joined the force. Driving fast through traffic. Lights flashing, sirens wailing. Envious looks from other drivers. Children pointing. It just didn’t happen enough.
They would arrest Hellier at his office and then search the entire place. Inch by inch. It didn’t matter to Sean who knew Hellier had been arrested. He wasn’t about to be subtle.
Maybe Hellier would confess when faced with the fingerprint evidence. If not, how was he going to talk his way out of it? With luck, Hellier would be charged with murder before dark.
Other officers, led by Donnelly, were on their way to Hellier’s house in Islington. They would wait until Sean sent word that Hellier had been arrested. As soon as he was, they would have the legal power to search his home for evidence relating to the murder of Daniel Graydon. Sean thought they had a better chance of finding something incriminating in Hellier’s office. Surely he wouldn’t risk leaving anything for his wife and kids to stumble across at home.
The three cars braked hard outside Hellier’s Knightsbridge office. They didn’t bother to look for parking spaces, just left them to block the road. A driver remained with each. The car doors seemed to open simultaneously. Nine police officers including Sean and Sally stepped out on to the tarmac. The heat had made it sticky.
They moved menacingly across the pavement to the front door of the building housing Hellier’s office. Sally pressed the buzzer for the ground floor. No need to forewarn Hellier.
The intercom spoke. ‘Good morning. Albert Bray and Partners. Do you have an appointment with one of our consultants?’
‘I’m a police officer and I need immediate access to this building.’ There was a silence. Sally continued: ‘This doesn’t concern your company or any of your employees.’
The door buzzed and Sally pushed it open. The detectives moved quickly and quietly into the entrance hallway. Two remained close to the front door. The other seven walked fast up the stairs.
They reached Butler and Mason and another locked door. Sean pounded on it. Time to ruffle some well-groomed feathers. Within a few seconds the door was opened by the perfect-looking secretary. He swerved past into the office itself. Her mouth dropped open. Sean thought she was about to protest.
‘Is Mr Hellier in his office?’ She was struck dumb. ‘I said, is Mr Hellier in his office?’ Nothing. ‘I’ll assume he is. Jim. Stan.’ Two detectives looked at him. ‘You boys stay here and cover the front door. The rest with me and Sally.’
They strode along the corridor towards Hellier’s office. Finally the secretary found her voice. She chased after them. ‘You can’t go in there. Mr Hellier is in a very important meeting.’
‘Wrong,’ was all Sean said.
‘You need a search warrant,’ she argued.
‘Wrong again,’ Sean told her without looking.
He threw open Hellier’s door and walked straight in. The other detectives waited outside. Hellier sat at his desk, and Sebastian Gibran, who’d disturbed their last meeting, sat next to him, watching them as closely as Sean watched Hellier. Two other men Sean didn’t recognize sat opposite; they seemed terrified. Hellier never flinched. Sean kept moving. He was almost at Hellier’s side. He showed Hellier his warrant card.
‘James
