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Requiem for a love affair

Chapter 6

Adam and Zaf were sitting in the meeting room, quietly discussing whether to progress with their plan to frame Oliver Mace for Ruth's 'murder', when Jo came bursting through the door.

"You have to see this!" When neither man moved, she grabbed Zaf's arm and hauled him out of his seat. "Now!!"

With Adam hot on their heels, they almost ran back onto the Grid. Malcolm was standing in front of the television with a look of disbelief on his face.

"…it's not known how long the body had been in the car but police sources have indicated that the state of decomposition suggests death occurred seven to ten days ago. Identification of the remains is expected to take several days although unconfirmed reports suggest personal items found with the body indicate it is Oliver Mace, who was reported missing by his wife two weeks ago after he failed to return to his Surrey home. Both police and Security Service spokesmen have said it is 'unhelpful' to speculate on the identity of the victim or the cause of death."

"Jesus." Adam was the first to find his voice. "Where did they find him?"

"In the boot of a BMW in one of the long-term car parks at Heathrow. Apparently, someone hit it as they parked and set the alarm off. The Security guards decided they didn't like the smell coming from it and called the police." Malcolm spoke carefully, still stunned by what he had seen on the news.

Adam sat on the edge of his desk, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "You know it's only a matter of time before Anderson and his merry men are back here asking more questions."

"They'll drag Harry back in again," Zaf said matter-of-factly.

"Have you got anywhere with that old mate of yours? Be nice if we could find out what plod are planning for him before the event."

Zaf nodded, "I'm working on it."

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Harry was woken by a loud knocking at his front door. He cursed profusely as he hauled himself out of bed; he hadn't been asleep long, his mind racing as he considered his seemingly diminishing options to extract himself from his predicament. He glanced at the kitchen clock as he passed: 6.45 a.m. There was another heavy knock at the door just as he reached for the latch.

"Mr Pearce, please open the door, we need to speak to you."

Harry groaned. Even though the words were muffled, he recognised the voice. He yanked the door open and glowered at Superintendent Anderson.

"What do you want?"

"Good morning sir, we need a word. Not here, down at the station. Get dressed." The whole explanation was delivered in one breath and, as Anderson finished speaking, two uniformed policemen moved past him and stood looking expectantly at Harry.

"You don't mind if these officers keep you company do you?" It was a statement not a question.

Reluctantly, Harry let them in, but quickly blocked the doorway when the Superintendent moved to follow them. "Not you." He shut the door none too gently and turned to face the two policemen. "Don't touch anything," he growled at them.

---

There was frustration on both sides of the table as the last hour had been spent going round in circles. Anderson asked the same questions and Harry gave him the same answers. Eventually, Harry's solicitor, whose presence seemed to be another bone of contention, had ended the interview.

"So do you have any evidence Superintendent? As I understand it, you haven't even formally identified the body yet so I fail to see why my client is here." Gordon McMurray was a tall, no-nonsense Scot and an old friend of Harry's.

"Mr Pearce did threaten Mr Mace, in the presence of an independent witness."

Harry snorted, opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again when he saw the look on McMurray's face.

"I think the independence of Mr Mace's witness could be called into question, don't you? This is the second time you have questioned Mr Pearce about these allegations. You're on a fishing expedition Superintendent; you have no grounds to continue questioning my client, who, as you helpfully pointed out at the beginning of this interview, is not under arrest and so may leave at anytime." Harry and his solicitor stood up and headed for the door.

"Don't make any travel plans Mr Pearce," Anderson called after them.

---

The car halted at a set of traffic lights and McMurray looked across at Harry. "That wasn't a very clever thing to say to Mace."

"I just wanted him out of my house."

"So you thought threatening him would be more effective than asking him to leave?"

Harry rubbed his hand over his face, "I know it was bloody stupid."

They were on the move again.

"At least all the surveillance on you will give you a rock-solid alibi," a pause, "unless you've been practising your counter-surveillance skills." McMurray shot him a sideways look and the comment hung in the air.

They rolled to a stop outside Harry's house and he felt Gordon's hand on his arm as he started to get out of the car.

"If you want me to help you Harry, I have to know the truth; the whole truth, to coin a hackneyed old phrase."

"I didn't kill Mace."

"Harry…"

"Thanks for the advice," he was out of the car now, "and the lift. Send me your bill." He was halfway to his front door before he called over his shoulder, "Bye Gordon."

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Ruth swore loudly as the full cup of coffee slipped out of her grasp and smashed on the kitchen floor. She made a grab for the sink, suddenly feeling dizzy. Caffeine was probably not a good idea given the current state of her nerves. The discovery of Mace's body was splashed across every news channel and she'd watched the reports with a mixture of disbelief and fear, surprised at her own reaction. She wasn't sorry Mace was dead but she couldn't shake the sense of unease that had settled on her. However much she tried not to think about it, she knew that Harry was somehow responsible for Oliver's death. He had made McTaggart's revelations public and this had undoubtedly, to her mind at least, led to Mace being killed.

She took a few deep breaths before crouching down to pick up the broken pieces of china and mop up the spilt coffee. If only she could talk to Harry and find out what had happened. Whatever he may think, she wasn't naïve; she knew about his past; knew he had been responsible for the deaths of others, in one way or another. With Mace though, it was just…so personal. It would be simple, she thought, to just pick the phone up and talk to him. It wasn't as if she hadn't thought about doing it before; she'd even got as far as lifting up the receiver and dialling the first few digits of his number.

But it wasn't simple; nothing was where she and Harry were concerned. She didn't even know what she would say to him if she did call him. 'Hello, it's Ruth; you remember me, the woman you loved, who decided to sacrifice everything to expose a torture scandal and protect you. How are you?' She felt mildly hysterical at the prospect. It was madness. His phone was probably tapped; he'd be under surveillance…and he might not even want to speak to her. No, Harry was not the person she should contact. An idea she had considered, and then discarded, resurfaced: she should try to get in touch with Malcolm. She was sure he would have been behind getting the McTaggart revelations onto the Number 10 website. As much as she loved Harry, she knew he didn't have the technical knowledge required.

Her mind was made up – she would get a message to Malcolm and find out what was going on.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The repeated knocking at the front door failed to get any response.

"Put it in."

It took several attempts but eventually there was the sound of splintering wood as the door finally parted company from the frame. Uniformed police streamed into the house with Anderson close behind. Shouts of 'Mr Pearce, it's the police, we have a warrant' failed to get any response and it quickly became clear the house was deserted.

"Shit," Anderson said to no one in particular. What was the point of having twenty-four hour surveillance if Harry Pearce could evade it? "Right, take this place apart!" he shouted at the nearest officer.

---

Zaf sat with his feet up on his desk, scrunching bits of paper up into small balls and throwing them at a plastic cup balanced on the edge of Adam's desk, and shouting 'goal' every time one of the paper missiles landed in the cup.

"Zaf!" Jo was getting more and more irritated.

"Goal!"

She moved quickly and, with a violent sweep of her hand, the cup landed in the waste bin.

"Hey! What did you do that for?" Zaf swung his legs of his desk and straightened up in his seat.

"Because you're getting on my bloody nerves!"

"Come on you two, don't argue," Malcolm spoke quietly. "We can't afford to give them any ammunition," he briefly looked at the two policemen who were standing near the pods, watching them.

As predicted, Anderson had turned up, accompanied by his own Detective Inspector and a Detective Superintendent from the Major Incident Team. Malcolm had accurately observed that the Met now seemed to be engaged in some sort of internecine warfare as two different teams argued over who was responsible for investigating Mace's death.

Adam appeared, grim-faced, from the meeting room. "You're next Zaf."

The younger man got up and headed in the direction his colleague had come from.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Zaf enjoyed the forty minutes he spent being interviewed, or rather, not being interviewed. He'd managed to get Anderson to tie himself in knots and it was only the intervention of the MIT Superintendent, called Hexley, which had prevented Zaf from being punched.

Chastised, but still angry, Anderson continued, "stop fucking about and tell me how you and your cronies got Harry Pearce out of his house."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Zaf replied calmly.

"So what do you think happened?" It was Hexley who spoke this time.

"I don't know."

"Humour me."

"I've told you, I don't know," Zaf held the policeman's gaze.

"Thank you Mr Younis." Hexley terminated the interview without warning. He watched Zaf leave and then turned to Anderson.

"This is a total waste of time. Even if any of them do know how Pearce got out of his house unobserved, they're not going to tell us."

"They know!" Anderson's temper flared again.

"You should take your foul mood out on the surveillance team; after all, they screwed up."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was pitch dark and the rain-slicked road was narrow with tight bends that could catch an unwary motorist by surprise. The driver slowed to a halt and risked a quick look at his map. The best spot was only another quarter mile or so. He engaged the gear selector and drove off, keeping his speed down so that he wouldn't miss the lay-by. He switched the headlights off just before he came to a stop. Now it was just a question of waiting.

Well, if you want to know what happens next, send me a review! Thanks.