The Hawk Is Dead

105

Thursday 30 November 2023

Roy Grace and Glenn Branson entered the Magellan-Laceys’ London residence, which was starting to feel familiar, Grace thought. Although it had a strangely empty atmosphere now. But maybe that was his imagination?

As before, it felt to him extremely homely, more like being in a family farmhouse than a palatial residence. They both heard a plaintive miaow. Grace looked around and saw the couple’s dark brown cat sitting halfway up the staircase.

‘Hello, cat!’ Branson said. Then he turned to Grace. ‘Can you remember its name?’

‘George,’ Grace said.

‘Hello, George!’ Branson called.

The cat miaowed again, louder and more pitifully.

‘Sounds like he’s hungry.’

Lost in thought, Grace barely heard him. He was very mindful that Rose Cadoret could have been lying. But it was more than just mildly suspicious that, in the middle of all that was going on, Sir Tommy and his wife had gone off on holiday without mentioning a word about it to him.

And that they had a lot of luggage with them, too. Travelling like royalty, the RaSP had just said. A lot of luggage?

As they entered the kitchen, Branson said, ‘What the hell?’

‘That wasn’t here before,’ Grace said.

‘It sure wasn’t.’

Out in the hallway was a shrill, ‘Cuckoo’. But they barely noticed it as they stared at the tall, black machine standing beside the wooden kitchen table. It looked like an industrial-size photocopier. But both detectives instantly recognized it as a paper shredder. The bin tray was open, showing it was full to the brim.

Alongside a ceramic bowl of bananas and apples on the table was a tall stack of A4 paper, all with printing on. It looked like someone had been interrupted in the middle of shredding it.

Grace and Branson looked at the top sheet. But couldn’t make any sense of what they saw.

The next page contained more of the same. As did the next, and the one after. And reams more.

Grace looked at Branson, frowning. ‘Recognize the language?’

‘I’m guessing it’s computer,’ the DI replied. ‘Code, algorithms, some kind of software program.’

Grace took a photograph of several sheets. ‘I know someone who’ll be able to tell us.’ Then he emailed them with a note to Shannon, asking her to call him as an absolute priority the moment she received this. He glanced at his watch, and decided he would give her five minutes.

But she needed less than two. He stared at her emailed reply.

106

Thursday 30 November 2023

‘It looks like the very charming Rose Cadoret might be right,’ Grace said.

Branson nodded, pensively.

‘I think we—’ Grace was interrupted by his phone ringing. He answered. It was Greg Mosse.

‘Is this fast enough for you, Roy? I’ve got what you need.’

‘Already? Nice work, tell me?’

‘The black cab that picked up Sir Tommy and Lady Fiona was booked yesterday afternoon at 5.24 p.m., for a pickup at 11.20 this morning.’

Grace thought back. That was shortly after he’d been in communication with Sir Tommy about interviewing Rose Cadoret, and the whereabouts of Jon Smoke. ‘Where did it take them, Greg?’

‘To London Heathrow Airport — Terminal 5.’

‘Did they talk to the driver at all, about where they were going?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. My officer spoke to the driver, but the driver said they hadn’t spoken — but they paid him and gave him an extremely good tip, in cash. What’s going on, Roy?’

‘It looks like Sir Tommy is doing a runner.’

‘A runner?’

‘Let me explain it all later. We need to find them, stop them getting on a plane.’

‘Them?’

‘Him and his wife. I’ll call you back, I’m going to be needing your help.’

‘I’m here!’

As he ended the call, Grace looked at his watch. It was now almost 1.15 p.m. The drive from here to Terminal 5 would take around forty minutes. Sir Tommy and his wife would have reached it at about midday. Given that airlines, particularly if you had check-in baggage, required you to be there a minimum of two hours ahead, it was likely their flight wouldn’t be until 2 p.m. at the earliest. One of dozens taking off every hour. Which gave the police at the airport a possible window of only forty-five minutes to find the couple.

He turned to Branson. ‘Where the hell have they gone?’

‘What was it Rose Cadoret said? You’re the detective, you figure it out.’

Grace studied Branson’s face for a moment, as if the answer was written on it. ‘I’m the detective, figure it out,’ he murmured. ‘So let’s imagine he has so much luggage because it’s full of loot — stolen items. And he knows the police are after him. Where’s he going to go?’ He looked quizzically at his colleague.

From out in the hallway they heard a sharp, ‘Cuckoo!’

It startled them both.

‘It would drive me nuts to have that going off every fifteen minutes in my house!’ Branson said.

‘They have their uses.’ Grace gave a knowing smile, which Branson didn’t pick up on.

‘Cuckoo clocks? Yeah, well, each to their own.’

Grace clapped his hands. ‘OK, let’s focus on where Sir Tommy and Lady Magellan-Lacey might be going.’

‘Somewhere that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the UK?’

‘Move to the top of the class.’

‘Where do we find out which countries those are?’

‘I know them,’ Grace said. ‘There aren’t many. Currently, Russia, China, North Korea, the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia. There may be a few more that I can’t think of.’

‘So we’re going to have to find out all the flights leaving this afternoon to all those countries?’

‘No, we haven’t time, we’re going to need to eliminate some. North Korea for starters. Tell me, which would be your country of preference, if you were heading off with a big stash?’

Branson shrugged. ‘The Emirates would be top of my list. Sunshine and bling — what’s not to like?’

‘Mine too,’ Grace agreed, glancing at his watch again. ‘But if we are right about Sir Tommy — and I’m increasingly sure we are — I don’t think he’d be dumb enough to travel with his wife under their real names.’

‘I agree.’

The cat prowled into the room and miaowed again.

‘Maybe we can narrow it down,’ Grace said.

‘How?’

Grace locked eyes with him. ‘You need a new ID, fake passport, fake everything. You’re going to go for a common surname and not one that sticks out, right?’

‘You mean like Smith or Jones or Williams or Brown or—’

Grace looked pointedly down at the cat.

Branson’s eyes widened. ‘George? Is that what you’re suggesting?’

Grace shrugged. ‘Good as any and it’s right under your nose. We have to start somewhere.’ He picked up the phone and called Luke Stanstead. When the researcher answered, Grace gave him his instructions: to extremely urgently get onto the London Heathrow Terminal 5 police, and request the passenger lists for all flights leaving this afternoon for Dubai, and any parts of Russia, China and Saudi Arabia. He was to look in particular for common surnames, and he was to call him back immediately if there was a Mr and Mrs George booked on any flight. Also, just in case the Magellan-Laceys were travelling under their real names, he told Luke to check for those too.

As he ended the call, the cat miaowed again, very plaintively.

‘Let’s find some food for him,’ Grace said. ‘You never know, he might just have earned himself a slap-up dinner.’

Branson knelt and began opening cupboard doors.