Hunter Hunted by Jack Gatland (best value ebook reader .TXT) 📗

and that if she tried to reveal anything that happened that night, she’d not only lose the high flying and well paid Government job that she’d been moved into immediately following Donna’s suicide, but that she’d never work in any form of employment above overnight shelf stacker ever again. If people asked her, she walked away. If people contacted her, she passed it on to Will Harrison and let him deal with it.

Whether she agreed with this was irrelevant. This was how it worked when you played at this level of politics.

The problem was that Laurie Hooper had seen what she thought she saw. As Donna Baker’s PA, she’d been on call the night of ‘the incident’. She’d witnessed the argument that Donna had with Will Harrison shortly before her death; but she’d also seen other things. The additional fight that she had with her husband the morning of the death. And she’d seen Donna arrange secret meetings with both Malcolm Gladwell and Kendis Taylor, the former of which was...

Well, it was complicated.

Laurie Hooper hadn’t mentioned this when asked, though. She was told to ‘forget everything’, and so she did.

Besides, she liked Gladwell more than that fat prick Harrison.

So, when a bald man in a bomber jacket arrived at her office door that evening and told her to gather her things and leave immediately, she thought that this was her time to join Donna.

But instead, she was told as they walked hurriedly down the stairs of Portcullis House to the back entrance on Canon Row, an enclosed street that went nowhere with contractor buildings at one end next to a tall, grey, spiked barrier fence and the stark brown and white brick walls of 1 Parliament Street facing her, that there were detectives coming to speak to her, and it was better for her, better for everyone if she simply wasn’t there to speak to them.

Clambering into a black Ford Focus, balancing her briefcase and her hastily gathered paperwork together, Laurie took a moment to check her appearance in the passenger mirror, noticing how tired and scared she looked as the car now drove down Canon Row, turning left into Derby Gate and the exit into Whitehall.

This was usually only a way into Portcullis House, the exit out long blocked, but the bald man seemed to have some kind of sway with the armed police that guarded the gates here and as the Ford Focus approached, the barriers were raised so that the car could move out into the traffic. However, as they exited the second gate and moved onto the section of road that drove beside The Red Lion pub, Laurie was surprised to see a woman walk out of the door and stand in the road in front of them, effectively blocking the way. In her late fifties, her short, blonde hair over a charcoal grey suit, she seemed nonplussed as the bald man hammered on the car’s horn, yelling at her through the side window to get out of the way. Instead, as the armed police at the gate, seeing this altercation made their way out of the gate and towards the car, the woman simply smiled, pulling out a warrant card and waving it to the inhabitants of the car, allowing the headlights to pick it up.

‘DCI Bullman,’ she explained, still standing in the way. ‘Laurie Hooper, I have some questions for you. Please get out of the car.’

‘We’re on—‘ the bald man stopped as he realised they weren’t on Government land. And, unable to run this woman over and with armed police now surrounding his car, he turned the engine off and swore.

It was another ten minutes before Anjli made her way from the Houses of Parliament to The Red Lion pub. The car was still there, and the bald man was arguing with Bullman, stating that Miss Hooper couldn’t speak to anyone right now, but the moment he turned to the end of the road and saw Anjli approaching, he swore again.

‘Hello again,’ Anjli said as she walked over. ‘I haven’t seen you since you drove away from the scene of a terrorist explosion.’

At this comment the armed police standing around raised their rifles, and the bald man leaned against the car.

‘Has he been allowed to make a call?’ Anjli asked. Bullman shook her head, holding out two phones that were in her hand.

’Stopped them the moment they tried,’ she explained. ‘With a little help from these guys.’

Anjli looked at Laurie Hooper, still sitting in the car, facing forward, acting as if nothing was happening here.

‘This is your chance to tell us everything,’ Anjli said.

24

Catching Up

Declan had pulled up near the house in Woking at around half past ten that night, and stared at it through the windscreen for a good ten minutes before finding a better spot to park the car, down a side road a couple of streets away, gained by walking through a narrow pedestrian footpath with a right-turn in the middle and with a clear route out of the area. If everything went fine, it was a slightly longer walk to return to it.

If everything went wrong, however, this could save his life.

It was a detached five-bedroom house, with a hedge around it, a tall slatted fence at the back and a six foot high wooden gate at the front with a buzzer beside it. No camera though, which was a small blessing. Declan pressed the buzzer and waited.

‘Yes?’ a male voice answered.

‘DI Frost,’ Declan lied. ‘I’m here to speak to Miss Pearce.’

‘We don’t have a Pearce here,’ the voice replied.

‘Don’t mess me around, laddie,’ Declan put on his best Monroe voice. ‘It’s late, I’m tired, and it’s starting to rain. Open the bloody door.’

‘Yes, Guv.’ The door buzzed and Declan pushed it open, walking to the front door. His hair was slicked back into a severe side parting, as if he was enabling a comb over to hide a bald patch. His