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

finished dressing and walked out onto his balcony; he lived on the fifth floor of a luxurious Chelsea apartment complex that looked out onto the Thames, a location way above his pay grade if he’d just relied on his Advisor’s salary. Luckily, he had other forms of income. Considering these, he sipped at his Italian roast coffee and decided on what his next plan was to be. He needed to clean up the house before Rattlestone applied for the Ministry of Defence Police tender, as there were too many loose cannons in the wind now. Bloody Frost had royally screwed the pooch when he went rogue and attacked the DCI in his office, and only the fact that Declan Walsh had been outed as a terrorist kept the idiot from too much scrutiny there. Sutcliffe too was a waste of time; since being installed in the Temple Inn office, not only had he lost the prime suspect, but he’d also allowed his detectives to run around performing their own enquiries, something that Will knew only too well from the previous night.

Someone wanted Will out of Rattlestone. It had to be. They had seen his movement, knew he was ambitious. This had to be it. But who? They weren’t wrong, however; he was making a power play. Too many Parliamentarians had a say here—

There was a knock on the door; Walking back into his apartment, Will crossed through the living area and opened it. A blond man in a three-piece suit stood there, a warrant card in his hand. Will didn’t need to see the card though, as he knew this officer from the files.

‘DC Fitzwarren, City Police,’ Fitzwarren said, putting the warrant card away into an inside pocket. ‘Any chance of a quick chat?’

‘Make it quick, I’ve got a busy day of meetings,’ Will walked back into the apartment, Fitzwarren following. ‘You’re with Sutcliffe, aren’t you? I’m hearing good things about you. He might be a prick, but work ethics are work ethics.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Fitzwarren said uncertainly as he looked around the minimalistic design of the apartment. ‘I just had a quick question for you.’

‘Only one?’ Will chuckled. ‘Your partner Kapoor had loads last night.’

‘Anjli’s not my partner,’ Fitzwarren said frostily. ‘I serve the law, not my vanity.’

‘Well said,’ Will sat down at the breakfast bar as he faced the young detective. ‘What’s the question?’

‘I saw you’re a member of the Friends of Brompton Cemetery.’

‘What of it?’ Will asked. ‘It’s been a family thing for generations.’

‘I wondered how much access you gain from it,’ Fitzwarren continued. ‘For example, if there’s a way to get in out of hours?’

‘Yes, we’re given a key to the North Lodge gate, as the Friends have offices in the East Wing,’ Will replied. It wasn’t a secret, and he knew that lying would soon catch him out. ‘You can access the cemetery from the cafe garden. Not that we need to, as the bloody place is open from dawn until darkness.’

He smiled.

‘I have a grave grant pass too, which means I can drive to my family mausoleum, if that’s of interest too.’

‘Do you visit the mausoleum much?’

‘Christ, no. Morbid, tiny bloody place. I pay people to cover my workload there. You know, tidying it up and all that. Several of us do.’

‘Us?’

Will nodded. ‘Quite a few MPs have plots there. Malcolm Gladwell, for example.’

He leaned forward.

‘You should check into him, DC Fitzwarren. You should tell the others.’

Fitzwarren nodded as if understanding this. ‘I will do, sir,’ he replied. ‘Can you tell me who has access to your key though?’

‘My workers have it,’ Will replied a little too nonchalantly. ‘I get it from them if I need it.’

‘And could they have used it the night that Kendis Taylor died?’

‘It’s possible,’ Will considered this. ‘But I thought the murderer was Walsh?’

‘I’m trying to work out how he got in there,’ Fitzwarren admitted. ‘Or, why Kendis and Declan hung around for so long after their meeting.’

‘Who said they did?’

‘Well, going on the evidence—‘

Will waved Fitzwarren silent. ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘Look, there’s about a hundred members, maybe more, I don’t know. You can join on their website. But only a few of us have keys. They’re old ones. There’s bound to be copies, and some old bastards who have them are in their nineties, so it wouldn’t surprise me if a few had disappeared. You know, sold on the dark web or something.’

‘Why would keys be sold on the dark web?’

‘I dunno,’ Will replied, already regretting his flippancy. ‘Getting into a graveyard at night and all that?’

Fitzwarren nodded, as if this thought hadn’t occurred to him. ‘Thank you for your time,’ he said. ‘One other small thing, and you might know nothing about this. Do you own a Montblanc letter opener?’

‘Is this case related?’

‘Is that a yes or a no?’

‘I don’t know,’ Will replied, his expression completely void of any emotion. ‘Come to the office sometime and we’ll have a rummage. How does that sound?’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Fitzwarren turned for the door.

‘Well, when you hear anything more, please let me know,’ Will smiled, rising from the stool.

‘Of course,’ Fitzwarren walked to the door, but at it he stopped, turning back to Will.

‘Between us,’ he said conspiratorially. ‘Why did you give the order to attack Monroe?’

‘I didn’t,’ Will’s smile dropped now. ‘And if you suggest to anyone that I did, I’ll ensure you’ll never work a case again. Understood?’

Fitzwarren nodded, his face unchanged. Almost as if he’d expected the response. ‘Of course, sir. I had to ask, to ensure I can’t be accused of bias. And sir, my family has connections to you, I believe. I’d appreciate it if you could put in a kind word for me?’

Will nodded, escorting Fitzwarren to the door. ‘Think nothing of it,’ he said as he ushered the detective out. Closing the door behind him, he walked over to his coat rack, pulling his phone out of a jacket that hung there.

Dialling a number, he waited.

‘It’s me,’ he said as he