“This is delicate,” a woman with a strangely low fringe and gold earrings suggested, “The Russians haven’t acknowledged anything, and we’ve monitored the relevant traffic between France and Moscow. We’re ninety per cent sure it’s them, but we’re not yet certain. We don’t want to give President Putin any advantage, should it prove not to be him. He would probably say they were tourists, like in Salisbury, looking at Strasbourg Cathedral.”
“What about the hotel’s CCTV footage of when this Flushing chap was shot? They haven’t lost that as well, have they?”
“No, we haven’t seen that yet.”
Victor turned to a nondescript man in a grey suit whose only distinguishing feature was that he had absolutely no distinguishing features. “Robert, what have you found on Johnny or this Flushing chap?”
In a surprisingly high voice, Robert explained, “Well, we started with the cocaine and have established from sources that Johnny had been back using again. It’s likely that he took it down with him in his car as there’s no mention of it on his phone or email traffic. We’re going through his communications, but we’ve found nothing strange so far. He may, of course, have had a separate phone – in which case, this will all take a bit longer and come via our French counterparts, using the hotel as a location for unidentified devices. As to what Mr Musselwhite was about to do next, his family say he was going on down to Spain, and we have an address just outside Málaga. We’re checking it out. Mr Flushing appears to be whiter than white. He doesn’t even have three points on his driving licence, if you know what I mean? He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“May we go back to the poison?” Victor asked, “Is Porton Down checking it out?” He wanted to know if the UK’s Defence Science and Technology Laboratory near Salisbury was engaged.
“No, it’s being tested by the DGA [Direction Générale de l’Armement], the French agency, in their laboratory at Vert-le-Petit in Essonne. We are in contact.”
“Then, I only have one question: why? Why Johnny?”
There was a wide selection of blank faces, but one person offered the only plausible theories without any additional facts – namely, that Johnny was seriously up to no good outside his official duties or that the UK or something in his portfolio was upsetting the Russians.
Mike was at home transferring money to her landlord for her share of the electricity when her mobile trilled. “Mike Kingdom.”
“Hello, Miss Kingdom, I’m Inspector Maslen from the police. I was hoping that you could help us with one of our investigations?”
Mike was looking at her screen, which was displaying “Caller ID withheld”. She didn’t trust random callers, especially ones not revealing their number.
“Hello, Inspector. Which police division are you from?”
There was a pause before the inspector replied, “Special Branch … in London.”
Mike was about to ask him for a number on which she could call him back when he said, “This may not take long. All I’m interested in is the reason you called Walter Flushing on his mobile at 4.02pm on Thursday, 1st September. I just want to eliminate you from our enquiries.”
The word ‘eliminate’ did not sit easily with Mike. Having heard of Walter’s attempted murder via Leonard, she needed to play along – if, indeed, this was a real policeman on the line.
“I’ve never met a Walter Flushing, Inspector.” This gained her a few seconds while she thought this through.
“So why did you phone him?”
“To ask him about a report he had written.”
“Which report?”
“The Current Political Tensions in the Maghreb.”
“Why are you interested in Algeria?” This was beginning to sound a little more like an interrogation.
“I have an academic interest.”
“And this was the first time you had tried to contact him?”
“Yes,” she answered truthfully.
“How did you get hold of his number?”
“A mutual friend gave it to me.”
“And who’s that?”
“Sorry, Inspector, I’m not discussing this further until I know a lot more about you and your investigation.”
“Did you know Johnny Musselwhite?” He seemed to have changed tack.
“No.”
“We may need to interview you formally. Will you give me your address?”
“Inspector, if you are from Special Branch, my address is up on your screen right now as we speak – or it can be in two minutes.”
“Thank you, Miss Kingdom, we’ll be in touch.”
With that, Brendan Dowell made some brief notes, looked at a printout of calls from Walter’s phone and prepared to call Charles Yelland.
CHAPTER NINE
Charles Yelland was standing drinking a mug of tea in the arched gateway to his Victorian walled garden. One of his staff was far behind him, cutting the lawn using a ride-on mower, while another gardener was weeding the rose beds with their low box hedges that formed a geometric pattern in front of him. It was a beautiful day, and his family were still away in Mexico. He was enjoying the noises of the countryside and the freedom from his usual weekend routine. Unexpectedly, his personal mobile phone rang. He knew this must be important as very few people had this number. The caller display came up as Jo, his so-called ‘PA’ who was, in fact, probably better described as his confidante and the actual managing director of Petronello.
“Hi, Jo.”
“Charles, I’ve got the police on the line. Should I transfer them?”
