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bar staff remember her being there until closing, drinking with a tall, dark-haired man in his thirties or forties. Possibly the same man we have in the picture here. We’re waiting to look at their CCTV footage.’

‘What else?’ Anjli was writing into her notebook now as Declan felt sick. If the CCTV appeared of the night before, he’d be seen with her. Damned by association.

Sutcliffe looked at his phone as he beeped.

‘A message from Doctor Marcos,’ he said. ‘Apparently there were traces of semen in the body. With hubby not around, this has to be our guy’s DNA.’ His phone beeped again. Reading this message, Sutcliffe shook his head.

‘No,’ he simply said before walking out of the room, phone already to his ear.

‘We went to the Taylor house,’ Anjli continued in his absence. ‘We met his neighbour, an Edith Langham. She said that she saw a man leave early yesterday morning. He was white, brown hair—‘

‘Bit like you then, Declan,’ Frost smiled.

‘My friends call me Declan, everyone else calls me DI Walsh,’ Declan replied coldly. ‘You don’t get to call me anything. And yes, he looked like me. She told me that, before pointing out all the points where we differed.’

Sutcliffe walked back into the room now, seemingly chastened. He stared at the image of the man on the screen, as if staring through the glasses and the hat.

‘It’s you, Walsh,’ he said.

Declan felt his stomach fall.

‘Sorry?’

Sutcliffe turned to face him now, and the impotent fury was obvious in his body language.

‘I said it’s you,’ he repeated. ‘Lead on the case.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Declan looked around, in case he was missing something. ‘This is a murder case. A DCI runs that. And you told me that—‘

‘I know what I damn well told you!’ Sutcliffe shouted. ‘But that was Whitehall. Seems your friend Baker’s pulled some strings, wants you running it. Claims you’re the best detective he knows, and he therefore believes that you can solve this murder.’

Declan stared in shock at Sutcliffe. ‘Baker asked for me personally?’

‘Must be so great being special,’ Sutcliffe snapped. ‘Oh, and your boss, Monroe? He’s woken up.’ He raised his voice as Billy, Anjli, and Declan rose. ‘Sit back down, dammit! We’ve got a murder to solve. Walsh, Kapoor, you’re tagged in. Find out what you can. Frost, Fitzwarren, go see Monroe and find out if he remembers anything about his attacker.’

Frost and Billy rose and left the room, Sutcliffe returning to Monroe’s office as Anjli looked to Declan.

‘So what now?’ she whispered. ‘I mean, we can’t hunt this guy down when he’s you!’

‘I know,’ Declan rose. ‘Let me think.’

Leaving the briefing room, Declan walked down the corridor at the back of the office that led to the toilets. Although it had several cubicles inside, it was a unisex room, mainly because of the small amount of officers working there. Now in the middle cubicle, Declan paused, leaned over the bowl and threw up anything that remained in his stomach. Images of the night with Kendis swum around his vision, forcing him to fall against the cubicle, while random thoughts flashed through his mind, striking at him as they did so.

Why did Baker want Declan to run the case?

Who killed Kendis?

Did Frost steal Jessie’s phone, and if so, did this give him an alibi for the murder?

Who was her contact, and how could Declan get them to pass everything to him?

Now at the sink, splashing cold water onto his face and swilling out his mouth, spitting into the basin and watching it swirl into the plug hole, Declan felt a little more normal. He had to hold it together. He had to work out what the next stage was, because everyone would try to learn the identity of Kendis’ terrorist ‘handler’.

And the moment they found out that it was Declan, there wouldn’t be a trial.

Declan would be taken to a black site and forgotten.

He looked back to the cubicle, walking over to the toilet and flushing it once more. Then, reaching around the back of the toilet tank, he felt the lump of a phone taped to the back.

He could take it and run, leave now, find a bolt hole and hide.

No.

He had to solve the murder, find out who killed Kendis Taylor and possibly bring down a Governmental coup before the world learned his identity.

Because when they did, he was totally screwed.

12

Bipartisanship

Charles Baker sat at a small table in the Members Terrace of the Houses of Parliament, eating an early lunch before the noon sessions began when Will Harrison, a face of thunder joined him.

‘What do you have?’ Charles asked between mouthfuls, ignoring his companion’s expression. Will, turning on his iPad glanced at a page of written notes.

‘Well, I think—‘

‘Please, for the love of God tell me you don’t have the notes on that,’ Baker pointed at the iPad with his fork. ‘We said paper only, remember?’

‘These are just notes,’ Will replied. ‘Nothing more.’

Charles stared at his advisor with the look of a man who desperately wanted to believe in them, but just couldn’t. ’So, go on then. What do we have?’

‘Someone’s taking a shot at you,’ Will started. ‘I’ve ensured that our assets are on the case.’

‘Not my bloody assets,’ Charles muttered. ‘If I find that they were involved in the murder—‘

‘She wasn’t exactly our greatest ally here, Charles,’ Will waved for a server, ‘It’s not a bad thing that she’s gone.’

‘There’ll be a bloody investigation!’

‘And my men will fix this!’ Will caught himself from raising his voice too much. Charles looked across the terrace dining area at Julia Roxbury, the Lib Dem MP for Christ knows where and faked a smile as she looked up.

‘They don’t need to,’ he said through smile-gritted teeth. ‘I’ve fixed it. I’ve arranged for DI Walsh to lead the investigation.’

‘Why the ever-living fu—‘ Will caught himself, forcing his tone quieter. ‘Why would you do that, sir?’

‘Because I want the murderer found and I want this removed off my table,’ Charles snapped. ‘We had

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