Hunter Hunted, Jack Gatland [good story books to read .txt] 📗

‘And the letter opener that killed her in his chest, too,’ Monroe countered. ‘Yes, we’re aware of that, laddie. And that was a problem. How did the weapon that killed Kendis, a particular weapon that left a rare, easily identifiable residue arrive wedged between his ribs? That was tough until we realised a couple of things.’

‘First, although Will bought the item, he gifted it to you,’ Declan chimed in. ‘You even claimed it.’

‘I don’t recall this,’ Gladwell replied, Po faced. ‘My people would have done it, and Will probably lied to them.’

Declan pulled out his phone. ‘And how did Laurie Hooper get it?’

‘From the crime report I read, she found it in a box on his sideboard or something,’ Gladwell commented, on stabler ground now. ‘Which shows that Will had both weapons and most likely killed Kendis Taylor.’ He smiled now, a humourless one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘If only the dead could speak,’ he said.

‘But they can,’ Declan said, pressing play on his phone. Through the speaker, voices could be heard.

Frost’s voice: Well, well. Hello there. What do we have here?

Gladwell: What the hell are you doing here?

Frost: I saw her enter. I was coming to see if I could help Mister Harrison. That seems a bit late, though.

Gladwell: You’re Frost, right? You work for him?

Frost: Well, I worked for him. Now that looks a little sketchy. What exactly are you doing here, Mister Gladwell?

Gladwell: It’s not what it looks like.

Frost: Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re repeatedly tasering a dead woman.

Gladwell: What I’m doing is fixing a problem. And if you help me, I’ll be a better benefactor to you than he ever was.

Frost: I’m listening. What do you need?

Gladwell: Take this box and put it on the sideboard. Make sure the receipt is visible. And then wipe this down and stick it in his hand—

Declan turned off the recording.

‘We recorded everything Frost did for the last twenty-four hours,’ he explained.

‘Frost’s dead. You already told me,’ Gladwell, his voice now rising with fear, looked from face to face as he replied. ‘This won’t stand up in a court of law.’

‘No, but we don’t need it to,’ Declan replied. ‘You wiped the knife down, but forgot to wipe the box. We know you had it. And we know that ten minutes after arriving at the cemetery, your phone makes its way back to Page Street momentarily before moving back to the mausoleum.’ Declan moved closer now, his hands clenching.

‘You tasered her. She fell, unconscious, bleeding from the head. You then left her, unconscious and locked in a tomb as you went back to your apartment, found an item that could be blamed on Will Harrison and then returned, stabbing her in the chest.’ His voice was breaking now, the emotion raw. ‘You then dumped the body near Harrison’s tomb. But you didn’t expect him to place his own men, including Frost, into the investigation and you panicked. You needed to create a patsy, and so you groomed Laurie into killing Harrison with the same letter opener.’ He grabbed Gladwell by the jacket lapels, pulling the scared man close now. ‘I shouldn’t arrest you! I should kill you!’

‘Fun story, but only that,’ Gladwell tried to sneer. ‘I never had a relationship with Laurie Hooper. You can’t prove—‘

‘I have the footage from The Horse and Guard,’ Declan replied. ‘You were so busy trying to blow it up, you never checked if they backed onto the cloud.’ He released his grip, letting Gladwell fall back to the chair.

‘I might not prove all this, but you’ll damn well lose all this,’ he hissed. ‘And the Balkans file in your safe will send you away for the deaths of innocent soldiers.’ He looked to the main door.

‘Get this traitorous bastard out of here,’ he shouted.

Anjli and Billy entered now, handcuffs at the ready. Gladwell, horrified, looked at Charles.

‘You set me up?’ he exclaimed. Charles shrugged.

‘I made a deal,’ he replied, standing now, watching as Monroe, Anjli and Billy led the now handcuffed and protesting Malcolm Gladwell out of the office, and into the corridors of power. They wouldn’t walk him through the major areas, but the press would hear. They’d locate him as he left. He’d be front page news within the hour.

‘I’m genuinely sorry about Miss Taylor,’ he continued. ‘She was a pain in my arse, but politicians need people like her.’

Declan nodded silently, turning to the door.

‘DI Walsh?’ Charles said, stopping him. ‘We had a deal. You had my help here, and in return…’

‘The combination, sure.’ Declan looked back to Charles Baker now. ‘Enough people have died because of Rattlestone,’ he said. ‘I expect you to do the right thing.’

‘My wife died because of it,’ Charles mused. ‘I never want to hear the bloody word again. So, what was it?’

‘Two words, eleven letters, a name you’ll always remember,’ Declan said as he wrote the password onto a piece of paper, passing it to Charles and, without another word, he turned and left the office.

Charles Baker picked up the piece of paper, reading it.

And then he laughed.

‘Oh, you arrogant bastard,’ he said as he sat down at the desk and made calls.

Epilogue

The fallout from this, as expected, was immense. With the information gained from both the phones of DCI Sutcliffe and DI Frost, and the additional evidence gained from the investigation by the Temple Inn Crime Unit, there was more than enough evidence to destroy the career of Malcolm Gladwell, let alone charge him for the murders of Kendis Taylor, Laurie Hooper and by association, Will Harrison. There was a faint chance that he could have been charged with the murder of Donna Baker, but Charles Baker had spoken against that, claiming that his family just wanted closure. He had however sent the police to Gladwell’s family mausoleum in Brompton Cemetery where, in an antique safe opened by a combination password was a single folder, one on the 2015 Balkans debacle, which laid