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The Last Enemy(28)

By:Jim Eldridge


‘Our colleagues at Holloway Road station will deal with any other issues,’ said the policewoman.

With that, the two officers walked to their patrol car, got in and drove away.

‘I don’t believe it!’ repeated Jake. He screwed up the traffic citation and threw it away at the moving police car.

Beside him, Lauren sighed.

‘Better watch out they don’t come back and nick you for littering,’ she said.

Jake scowled. He knew Lauren was cracking a joke to try to make him feel better, but he was so angry he didn’t feel like laughing.

‘What now?’ he muttered.

‘I guess we head back to Holloway Road.’ In a hopeful voice, she added, ‘Who knows? Maybe they’ve got news about Guy?’





Chapter 13




The gridlock of traffic on the M25 was such that it was over two hours before Jake and Lauren finally arrived at Holloway Road police station. There, the desk sergeant put in a call, and Detective Inspector Bullen appeared in reception. He glared at them, and gestured for them to follow him. They walked along the corridor to the same interview room where Bullen had questioned Jake before. This time, though, there was no official caution; no tape running; no other accompanying officers. Bullen pointed at two chairs side by side at a table. Jake and Lauren sat down, and Bullen took a chair opposite. The detective inspector still hadn’t said anything and now he spoke, his tone a mixture of anger and frustration.

‘What the hell is your game?’ he demanded.

‘It’s no game!’ protested Lauren. ‘We saw Guy de Courcey being put into a car at gunpoint . . .’

‘And you gave chase and then were run off the road by some mystery car,’ said Bullen curtly. ‘Yes, I know. I got the report through from Kent.’

‘Then why aren’t you out searching for him?’ demanded Jake. ‘Why drag us in like we’re the culprits?’

‘I don’t need to search for Lord Guy de Courcey,’ said Bullen grimly. ‘I know exactly where he is. Or, rather, where he was an hour ago.’

‘Where?’ asked Lauren.

‘He was at Bromley police station in south London, talking to me on the telephone,’ said Bullen. ‘He’d gone there with his legal representative, to his nearest police station, at my request, as soon as I received word of the allegations you were making.’

Jake and Lauren stared at the detective inspector, stunned.

‘But . . .’ began Jake.

‘There are no “buts”,’ said Bullen firmly. ‘All this talk about him being kidnapped by gunmen is a load of eyewash. Lord de Courcey told us that he was in no danger of any sort.’

‘But . . . but,’ stammered Jake.

‘He was at de Courcey Hall!’ exploded Lauren. ‘We can prove it! Check the CCTV cameras there!’

‘He’s quite happy to admit that he was at de Courcey Hall today, but not under duress. He went with his solicitors to see someone he knew, an old friend of the family, who’d agreed to be a character witness for him. De Courcey Hall was a convenient place for them to meet. As his visit wouldn’t be in breach of his bail conditions, his solicitors were happy to take him. That’s it. End of story.’

‘Whoever he was with, they weren’t solicitors!’ snapped Jake. ‘Not unless solicitors are walking around wearing hoodies and tracksuits!’

‘And then there were the Mexicans!’ burst out Lauren.

‘Mexicans?’ queried Bullen.

‘They took us prisoner and threatened to kill us unless we told them where Guy was!’

‘When was this?’ demanded Bullen.

‘Yesterday,’ said Lauren.

‘And you’ve decided to tell us this now?’ asked Bullen, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

‘We wanted to get hold of The Index first,’ said Jake. ‘That’s why we went to de Courcey Hall.’

Bullen glowered at them.

‘That’s enough from you two!’ he growled. ‘I don’t know what your game is, but right now I could have you both thrown into the cells and charged with wasting police time. But I choose not to, because I have more important things to do, like solving the murder of Alex Munro. You, Mr Wells, should be treading very carefully.’

‘I didn’t kill him!’ protested Jake. ‘I’m innocent!’

‘Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it. Stunts like this, it’s almost like you want to keep reminding me you’re here. What is it? Some sort of psychological game? Playing with the police?’

‘No!’

Bullen shook his head, his face grim.

‘I haven’t got time for this. You’re lucky I don’t lock you up for wasting police time. Now get out!’