“So, it looks like it had to come from the French police and prosecutor or someone with access to their files?”
“I can’t see who else. I’m going back to the police HQ now, and I’ll try to find out more about the card and missing CCTV footage. I also want to look at the hotel footage from when Walter Flushing was shot.”
“Let me know what you find out,” Ben said.
“Oh, and another thing to add to the list is that Brendan Dowell, the senior bod at the British Embassy who was down here sorting out the transport of Johnny Musselwhite’s belongings back to the UK, has gone AWOL or at least isn’t answering his phone. He was travelling to Paris late last night, but he’s not answering his phone this morning. He may have spoken to Walter or seen something.”
With that, the call ended, and Patrick walked slowly back towards the town centre.
CHAPTER TEN
The first thing Mike had noticed on boarding the plane was that there weren’t any overhead lockers; this wasn’t a problem as all of her luggage had been whisked away from her at Northolt. Why would they have overhead lockers? she wondered. Stupid girl! The second thing was the enormous sofa that faced across the aisle halfway down the cabin, with a large TV screen opposite. She was shown past this by a flight attendant, who looked like a model in a casual white blouse and skirt, to a large seat ready for take-off. Everything was either ivory-coloured leather, polished wood, or carpet in a bold pattern of greys and black.
Mike was also colour-coordinated: black Cleopatra wig, black leather biker’s jacket, black trousers and black trainers. She was even wearing dark eye make-up and dark lipstick. She had covered up her orange-peel complexion with foundation. The latter was a time-wasting exercise she had undertaken in her cabin. Private jet travel was a whole different world to her. As she had pulled into Northolt on her motorbike, she had wondered exactly what she was doing. Hadn’t she told Leonard that she would never go back into the field?
Before they were over Brittany, the flight attendant had served gin and tonics. Charles was sitting opposite her in a light summer jacket, chinos and loafers. He looked across and lifted his glass in a silent toast. He seemed to be enjoying her nervousness – normally, it was her making him nervous. She had said yes to a gin and tonic, but this wasn’t her normal drink, and the bitter taste made her grimace.
“Would you prefer something else?” Charles asked, and without anything being said, the flight attendant reappeared and asked her what she would like.
“Do you have a beer?” Mike requested.
“Of course. Peroni?”
“Thank you.”
Two minutes later, she was presented with one in a tall glass on a small, white tray with a bowl of crisps. Charles was still smiling. What was it about this man that irritated her so much?
Halfway through the flight, Charles left his seat to talk to the captain and first officer in the cockpit. The flight attendant, who was called Sylvia, came over to ask if Mike wanted anything, although this might have been more to relieve her own boredom. Mike, for her part, had started to relax and had decided to enjoy the experience. How often do you get to fly in a private jet? She asked if she could sit on the leather sofa and watch the TV, to which Sylvia smiled.
Sitting sideways on a plane – a seemingly empty plane as Charles and Sylvia were now out of view – felt strange. On the screen, she flicked through the channels before settling on the UK news. The PM was being interviewed by someone called Karen, against a backdrop of a newsroom seen through a glass wall.
“Prime Minister, may I ask you about the G20 summit next week in Marrakech? Why Marrakech?”
“Well, I recognise that it’s a break with tradition, but we’ve had summits for forty years, mostly in the cities of the member countries. It was a joint decision to pick destinations that widen all of our horizons going forwards. Apart from Saudi Arabia and South Africa, there are no African or Arab members of the G20, so it’s a great opportunity to include Morocco. I’m very excited about that.”
“Will Western Sahara be discussed?”
“I’m sure many things will be discussed, both in the formal sessions and outside.” Victor was giving his boyish smile.
“But Western Sahara is the bone of contention in the region. Is the UK changing its stance?”
“No, the UK and the USA – and Spain, I might add – are very supportive of the UN resolution and eventual autonomy for Western Sahara.”
“But Morocco occupies eighty per cent of Western Sahara and has done for decades. The UN peacekeeping force has been there longer than anywhere else on earth. There is stalemate, isn’t there?”
“It’s complex, I won’t deny that, but we’re all working towards a solution. Hopefully, this summit will help.”
“Nothing will happen without Algerian agreement. Are they invited?”
“No … but this isn’t a one-issue summit. Western Sahara is just one of fifty subjects that will be discussed. There are other important ones, such as the war in Ukraine.” He was trying to deflect the questioning.
“And in the Ukraine war, Algeria supports Russia?”
“No, no, that’s not true. Algeria hasn’t supported Russia. In fact, despite their close relationship, they’ve stayed resolutely neutral.”
“May we move on to energy? And speaking of Russia, how are the investigations progressing into the murder of Johnny Musselwhite in France?”
“I know there are rumours, but we need to let the French police and authorities investigate. We’re in close touch with our counterparts over there.”
“If it is the Russians who have murdered a British minister, what reprisals against them are left? We’ve used every economic one already as a consequence of the war, haven’t we?”
“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions. Let’s wait and see.”
At that moment, Charles came down the aisle of his private jet, carrying a cup of coffee, and sat next to Mike on the sofa.
She nodded at the screen. “Are you involved in any of that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Morocco, Algeria …?”
Charles looked a bit sheepish, but then he always looked sheepish. He took a sip of coffee. “I’m interested in lots of areas. That’s my job.”
“What were you doing in Algeria when this Walter guy saw you?”
“I presume he saw me at the British Embassy. I don’t make a habit of travelling around Algeria.”
“And?”
