Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (read a book .TXT) 📗

smile. “Did you really think that I would allow you to come swaggering into our country, like some sad, old cowboy, shooting and murdering British citizens? Well, perhaps you can get away with that in Mexico and Panama, or whatever other countries you exploit, but not here! Here we have a little thing called accountability. And here, you face the music.”

I shrugged almost apologetically. “Well, it wasn’t really me.” I pointed at Dehan. “It was her. She has a really bad attitude. She’s known for it. But to be honest, Hastings, it did kind of look like self-defense.” I frowned then at Caulfield. “However, I am a little confused. We have here a shadow cabinet minister, we have the man who a couple of hours ago said he hoped for both our sakes we would never meet again, we have, as far as I can see, no policemen…” I spread my hands. “What’s going on, Lord Chiddester?”

Caulfield raised his hands and rested them gently on his lap. “Perhaps I had better explain, as it is in fact I who arranged this meeting. Nigel came to me with this rather bizarre story and I have to say I was a little alarmed. Much as I enjoy seeing the government embarrassed, and especially my honorable friend Lord Chiddester, I do not enjoy seeing my country embarrassed. So I called him and suggested that, before this whole thing becomes an international incident, we talk it through and make sure everything is, so to speak, kosher.”

Dehan raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

“Mrs. Stone, why don’t we begin with you telling us exactly why you shot and killed Sadiq Hassan?”

Chiddester watched her. He looked distressed. Dehan crossed her long, mortally sinful legs and said, “I have a better idea. Why don’t we start at the beginning, and you explain why you have ties to terrorist organizations that employ assassins to kill foreign nationals on British soil?”

Chiddester’s face turned to stone and he shifted his stare from Dehan to Caulfield. He looked troubled. “Steady,” he said. “In the first place I don’t owe you any explanations for how we run the Labour Party. That is absolutely none of your concern. In the second place, I am afraid that the accusations you’re making sound like little more than right-wing extremist hysteria.”

I chuckled amiably and did my best imitation of Yosemite Sam. “I ain’t sayin’ that us an’ the boys down the Gun Club don’t enjoy huntin’ us a few gay Marxist mus-leems at the weekend, but that they-er akazay-shun weren’t no hysteria, boy.”

Caulfield narrowed his eyes at me like he was trying to work out what was going on in my head. Meanwhile, Hastings was staring as though I had just spoke to him in ancient Greek.

“If you think this is some kind of joke…”

“It’s not a joke, Hastings. You are. And I already warned you that you are playing a very dangerous game.” I turned to Caulfield. “I’m just wondering how much of this you know, and how much of it is going on behind your back.”

He snapped, “How much of what, exactly, Mr. Stone? I have to tell you that you are not endearing yourself to me with this cavalier, gunslinger attitude of yours.”

I shook my head. “Oooh, no you don’t, Mr. Caulfield. The only gun slinging that has gone on here has been from your pals at the Whitechapel Marxist Party, under the orders of your fixer, Mr. Hastings here.”

“Again, Mr. Stone, I hear a lot of vague, unsubstantiated…”

I interrupted him. “Detective Dehan and I went down to Goodnestone Park earlier today, to talk to Simon Clarence…” I waited, watching. Caulfield’s face was a blank. Hastings had gone white. I went on. “Simon Clarence, with dual American and British nationality, otherwise known as the Butcher of Whitechapel. On the way back, in a remote area of woodland, a dark blue Audi came up behind us at speed, and as it overtook us, the driver fired a gun at us. The bullet missed my wife by inches. I rammed him in self-defense. His car overturned. When I went to get him out, to ensure that he was all right, a struggle ensued and, in self-defense, Detective Dehan shot her intended assassin. He ambushed us and we defended ourselves.” Caulfield drew breath but I talked over him. “That man was Sadiq Hassan, of the WMP.”

I could see Hastings’ hands trembling in his lap. Caulfield looked confused. He turned to face his aide. “Is this true? Did you know about this?”

He shook his head. “It’s not the way he is telling it. Sadiq went to try and…”

“So you do know this Sadiq Hassan?”

Hastings licked his lips. “The Party has unofficial ties with various left-wing groups…”

Caulfield turned in his chair to face Hastings more directly. Chiddester was staring hard at both of them. “So would you kindly explain to us all, Nigel, what this has to do with us, and in particular me. Why was this Hassan character apparently assaulting Mr. and Mrs. Stone?”

Hastings took a deep breath and stared hard at his boss. “Sir, they were going to interview Simon Clarence. The file on Simon Clarence was sealed, and we thought it advisable to discourage Mr. and Mrs. Stone…”

“By shooting at them, Nigel? These are police officers working in the service of our closest international ally!”

I was getting bored. I said, “Allow me to cut surgically through the bullshit, Mr. Caulfield.” He stared at me with serious distaste expressed on his slightly hairy face. I ignored him and went on. “A few nights ago, Lord Chiddester’s daughter was murdered. You both know that. The MO used by the killer was almost identical to the MO used fifteen years ago by the Butcher of Whitechapel. I had various reasons for suspecting that Katie had not, in fact, been killed by the same man as those original