The Hawk Is Dead

58

Sunday 26 November 2023

In his office, minutes after the briefing had ended, Roy Grace sat with his back to the less-than-glorious view of the upper car park.

‘I can’t reiterate enough, keeping confidential what you’ve just heard. We can’t have any of this getting out,’ Roy said.

‘What the fuck, man?’ Branson exploded.

‘Glenn, we’re at work. You call me sir, or boss. Understand?’ Grace chided him, more harshly than he’d intended. Grace’s voice was so uncharacteristically imperious, it startled Branson into compliance.

Branson shook his head.

‘What’s this all about?’

Facing him across the desk, Grace said, ‘You know exactly what this is about.’

Early in their relationship, Grace had concerns about Glenn Branson marrying the senior crime reporter of the local newspaper, the Argus. His concerns were as much for his friend’s future promotion chances within the police as they were about the risk of leaks. Since the couple had started dating, there had been far too many confidential stories appearing in the paper about cases the Major Crime Team had been working on.

‘She knows the importance of this case, Roy — sorry — SIR.’

Grace smiled at Branson’s exaggerated deference. ‘Walls have ears, mate.’

‘Siobhan’s zipped,’ he assured him. ‘Proper zipped.’ He mimed the motion across his lips.

Grace nodded. ‘I just know how it is. Sandy used to get mad at me for not telling her about stuff that was going on — really mad — and she’d try every trick in the book to coerce information out of me. But there’s nothing in the marriage vows — well at least in the Anglican ones — that says you have to share secrets. Worldly goods, maybe. And with Sandy it was just pure curiosity, she wasn’t after information from me to advance her career.’

‘And you’re saying Siobhan is? SIR?’ Branson said, tightly, still clearly mad at him.

‘We both know how much Siobhan’s job means to her. You know damn well in the past she’s inveigled information from you. Right?’ He stared at the DI pointedly.

Branson had the good grace to lower his eyes and nod. He remembered. Two incidents when he and Siobhan had been dating, one of which got him perilously close to being investigated by Professional Standards — and it was only Roy Grace’s intervention that calmed that situation. And then another instance when a key piece of information about a crime scene had appeared in the Argus. Grace had deliberately withheld it from becoming public knowledge, to help them weed out the numerous timewasters who delighted in calling the Incident Room on any major crime investigation with their crackpot theories.

‘Glenn,’ Grace said, softening his tone. ‘I’m not having a go at you and I know you’ve laid the ground rules down with Siobhan — and that she is a person of integrity — but maybe I’m just being paranoid.’ He smiled. ‘OK?’

Branson nodded. ‘OK.’

‘The stakes have rarely been higher. Any newspaper would kill for a scoop on this investigation, and it would blast their circulation into orbit — for a day or two anyway.’ He smiled more widely. ‘Enough said. I’ve something I want to discuss with you privately, away from the team — a thought I want to run by you.’

‘Is it about what I told you about Siobhan wanting to get a pet? You’re going to suggest me and her get a tortoise?’

‘No, you’re both too quick off the mark.’ He winked. ‘And anyhow, with the baby on the way, perhaps that’s enough to be getting on with for now?’

‘Yeah, it sure is,’ he said, smiling.

Grace leaned forward, placing his elbows on his cluttered desk and interlocking his fingers. ‘If what Greaves says in his diary is correct and, acting on it, we go blundering into Buckingham Palace asking questions about missing artwork and other valuables, we are just going to drive these conspirators — thieves — underground—’ Then he stopped abruptly. ‘Shit!’

Branson frowned.

‘I’ve just realized something. Last Wednesday, when The Queen was giving me a tour, en route to The King’s office—’

Branson raised an interrupting hand. ‘Sorry, boss. “When The Queen was giving me a tour, en route to The King’s office...”’ He grinned. ‘I don’t imagine that’s a line many SIOs ever get to say in their careers. And it just rolled off your tongue so naturally.’

Grace returned the grin.

‘Just make sure that goes into your Policy Book — for posterity.’

‘I’ll make sure, Glenn.’ He emphasized this by pointing his index finger upwards. ‘OK, so The Queen wanted to show me one of her favourite and most valuable paintings in the Royal Collection, a Vermeer that was hung on a wall in the Picture Gallery, I think that room was called. But the Vermeer wasn’t there, there was another — apparently much lesser — painting in its place. She seemed surprised — actually more annoyed than surprised — and she then explained that the Royal Collection team were often moving works of art about or taking them to be cleaned. So I didn’t think any more of it — until now.’

‘Now you’re wondering if it might have been nicked?’

‘Yes. I’m thinking we need to make discreet enquiries as to its whereabouts. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation — as Her Majesty... implied.’ He paused for a moment. ‘But what I wanted to discuss with you, privately away from the team, is an idea I’ve had for a line of enquiry that might help in avoiding alerting too many people in the Royal Household to our suspicions. If it succeeds, it might also help recover at least some of the stolen items.’

Branson looked at him. ‘I’m all ears.’

‘OK, if Denton Scroope has accurately deciphered Greaves’ diary — and I believe he has so far — then we have a group — ring — of trusted people in the employ of the Royal Household who are stealing from their employers, and selling the valuable items through contacts made in the dark web. Would you agree?’

‘If Scroope’s deciphering is correct, then yes, boss.’

‘He still has to decipher one more page that consists of five seemingly cryptic entries that might be connected to the group. He thinks they may give us either names, locations or a list of objects. And meantime we need to be looking hard at the dark web. My thinking is we need someone to carry out a deep dive into the dark web, firstly to see what dealers or dealings they can find for the kind of works being stolen from the Palace. Also, and I think this will prove harder, to see if they can find any evidence trail of transactions involving stolen Royal Collection works.’

Branson nodded. ‘That makes a lot of sense.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘Are you going tell Magellan-Lacey what we’ve learned from the diary — and our next plan of action?’

‘I’ve asked him to let me have a list of everyone who could be considered high up in Royal Service and anyone — in any of the five Royal Household departments — who might have reason to be disgruntled. I’ve not yet heard back. I’ve a meeting scheduled with him tomorrow so he can update both The King and The Queen, but I’ve not decided yet what to tell him. I’m not sure I want to take the risk, however helpful he is, of us losing the advantage we currently have from what we’ve got from the diary. At the moment we have control and I want to keep it that way.’

‘That’s good thinking.’

‘But I have a further idea. What if we could have someone create a false identity, setting themselves up as a dealer who is acting for a wealthy overseas collector — an oligarch or some such — looking for highly unique items around the world that have some kind of historical provenance.’

‘Entrapment — is that what you are saying?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘We can’t do that. The police setting up a sting? That wouldn’t play well in a court of law. It rarely does.’

‘It doesn’t — which is why we need a person who’s not connected to us in any way, and ideally someone who’s been involved in criminal activity on the dark web and would know their way around. The dark web isn’t just one layer below the normal web everyone uses for legitimate purposes — it’s multiple layers, which is why one of the networks to access it is called The Onion Router, because it’s like peeling back the layers of an onion. We can be pretty sure these thieves are smart enough to have their sales activity buried very deep down in the dark web — unlike that idiot footman Sir Tommy told us about who was nicking stuff and flogging it on eBay.’

‘Including one of his own medals.’

‘I think he was more pissed off about that than anything,’ Grace said.

‘Yeah.’ Glenn Branson frowned. ‘Do you have someone in mind? Someone not connected to us in any way.’

Grace looked deadly serious. ‘I do. Someone we nicked last year. I did a pretty good job behind the scenes, talking to the CPS and the judge, in getting her the minimum sentence possible. She knows her way around the dark web like nobody does. And she owes me a big favour — although she might not see it that way.’

‘Are you talking about a certain Shannon Kendall?’

A year ago, Shannon Kendall, a computer expert with a background in cybersecurity and an authority on the dark web, had been the lover of a killer for hire, for whom she ran a business selling handguns on the internet. Grace and Branson had secured her arrest and conviction for the firearms offences.

‘I am indeed talking about a certain Shannon Kendall. She’s currently enjoying His Majesty’s hospitality in HMP Downview — just an hour’s drive from here — so surely she’d be only too happy to reciprocate some of that hospitality in helping avoid any more theft of The King’s valuables?’

Branson cocked his head. ‘I’m thinking, good luck with that one.’

‘Got a better idea?’

‘Nope, not right at this moment.’