Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

“Alright Jimmy bring my van back.”

The conversation went on and the more Jimmy, who was in a pub, denied it the more Dave Barrett didn’t believe him. Mason was heading out to the M1 via East Park Road in the direction of the 5199. He decided to stop at Bedford for the night. He watched his speed as he hit the big motorway, easing into the fast moving traffic and playing it safe.

Euston Tower

6 p.m.

April 17th

There was an air of intense activity on the watching floors of Euston Tower. Contact with DIC watchers and replies were flying back and forth across the country. Every last scrap of CCTV was being checked. Jack Fulton was prowling the rooms looking at screens.

“What’s that?” Jack stopped in his tracks by a transcript print out of a call to police regarding a stolen hatch back in Inverness.

“Stolen car, White Alfasud Ti, stolen off the Carse Industrial estate in Inverness.”

“Check motorway route cameras for that type of car, get about ten people on it, split the time between reported theft and now between you.”

“Okay Jack.”

Jack went up to the duty team floors. He stopped in on Beaumont and David. They were printing possible routes.

“Is that every possible route?”

“Yup, that includes boats, assuming the target destination is London. I can’t think why though. It can’t be because the quickest way in would be London airports or boat into Thames.”

“If Dewey hadn’t spotted them we’d be none the wiser. No-one knows Dewey is there to watch. Some know we exist, but they don’t know exactly where our watchers are. Whoever did this probably thought the remote location gave them a better chance. They know security services can watch the airports and that they have a daily photo match for every airport, so once every face had been run through their systems and files, which takes three hours a day, the assassins could safely assume security services would know all about them. No this was an attempt to throw off regular security services; of course as that doesn’t include us they made a mistake.”

“If any have taken the sea route we’ll have to watch Marinas and harbours quite closely.”

“Have all the marina visits been done?”

David checked. “Everyone, but a guy called Wally Tyson in Liverpool. He hasn’t e-mailed back yet.”

Jack grinned. “I know Wally, shambling man, lovely outlook, very gentle, utter genius, mathematically, so he’ll need a nudge. I’ll phone personally.”

David and Beaumont looked surprised.

“Relax I know Wally of old. Put those routes into the system and we’ll create a rolling incident map. The computer programme will add sightings and connections to possible routes.”

“Well given the start they should all be south of Glasgow by now.”

“Not Wheeler. According to the police there he’s badly dressed, seriously injured and won’t be able to move until he’s disguised and he’ll need clothes and a place to change. God help anyone who runs across him, though happily he’s disarmed.”

Jack went up to his office. Magda had retired to her apartment on the top floors. She was single, in her late twenties and largely lived in the building. She loved the work and adored Jack. Jack noted her absence and went into his office and closed the door. He didn’t often call DIC watchers at home, but this was important to him. In the back of his mind he was worried. As the phone ‘burred’ its attempt to contact and rang loudly in Wally’s house Fulton stared at the hard face of Cobb sketched in the match light. Ginny answered the phone. It was near seven-thirty and she was worried about where Wally had got to. Jack put the phone down and called Mersey police, mentally saying a prayer for his friend’s safety.

Beaumont and David, having done their maps, ordered take away. Twenty minutes later they were sat comfortably in club chairs drinking coke and munching steadily.

“Anchovies and black olives!” Beaumont declared through a mouth full of pizza.

“Beats that tired and not a little weird ham and pineapple combination.” David replied.

“You say tomayto base etcetera?” Beaumont laughingly replied.

“There’s no accounting for taste.” David said flatly.

An announcement over the speaker system called them from their reverie. It asked for them and two other duty pairs specifically and called them to the offices. It was eight p.m.

Mersey Marina

8 p.m.

April 17th

On the basis of Jack Fulton’s phone call to Mersey Police two constables had been despatched to the marina with armed back up from one special unit. Two armed police went ahead, the two regular constables followed, shining torches and a last armed policeman followed them, covering the rear. They searched the marina and jetties for any signs of life. There was a black shadow movement which made them all tense and relax as a cat jumped off a sleek white yacht. With no collar, rather dirty and thin looking, it had to be one of Liverpool’s million strays. The marina was all in darkness.

Assuming Jack Fulton was right every boat had to be checked. Whilst one constable radioed this conclusion the other one decided to walk the jetties probing the ground with his torch. To his mind if there had been a murder here there might be one small sign. He moved off walking back over the planks his sweeping torch moved ahead of him. In the background his colleague’s radio crackled management unhappiness, he heard an approximate number of boats mentioned and then his torch lit the cat’s green eyes, jolting him again. The cat was near another boat now, two down from the sleek yacht, a scruffy looking ocean going cruiser, a small one. The constable was about to carry on when he saw the cat licking at a small white fragment close to a mooring post.

It would have taken hours to search every boat, but they didn’t have to. The constable had approached the cat, it had moved away, leaving the licked clean fragment. When he picked it up the constable knew at once it was a curved bone fragment, more than likely part of a skull. He called his colleagues.

Within half an hour the Marina manager was on site. They’d established that the watch man was missing and found Wally’s car. Police divers were standing on the jetty by Cobb’s boat and police were standing on Cobb’s boat having searched it and noted the missing bed linen. The sharp eyed constable was feeding the cat some chocolate. Crime scene investigators were on their way and the place was filling up.

The chief constable rang Jack Fulton. Fulton upset as he was asked the name of the constable who had seen the cat licking the bone fragment. PC Jamie Ford he was told and he noted the name down on his desk pad.

Inverness

8- 30 p.m.

April 17th

Stanton had made his phone reservation for the night sleeper to London via a call box using the Mastercard happy in the knowledge that it worked. It was a simple matter of check in and board. He walked into the station at eight-thirty. The train left at eight-thirty eight giving him just enough time to catch it. He knew he’d show up on CCTV and given the odd method of entry into the country and the cash limitations he felt that someone somewhere would be watching. He strode in quickly, head down and made every subtle move to make any camera image unclear.

“Ticket in the name of Sam Kirk please?”

“Yes Mr Kirk. I have it here.”

She handed over the ticket and asked, “You have a restaurant reservation…” Stanton tuned out. To his left, exactly the next ticket station along, he heard a voice he recognised. Slightly stressed sounding Spencer was there.