The Accidental Warrior Read online

  “Mr Jones? It’s Harriet Lacey; sorry for the delay in getting back to you. I’ve put you on speaker phone, it’s perfectly safe to speak.”

  “Mrs Lacey, about half an hour after I returned from the train station, I received a charming visitor at school, your cousin Tracey Webb. She informed me that due to a family emergency you had asked her to collect the children. I told her that Ben was in an exam and, family emergency or not, could not be disturbed, and Amelia was on a school trip. She thanked me and left.”

  “Well done, thank you. You know, I do have a cousin called Tracey Webb. What did she look like?”

  “Tall, mid- to late-twenties, slender, dark hair tied in a pony tail, smartly dressed, in a grey trouser suit, striking.”

  “You were right to be suspicious; my cousin is blonde, short, thick-set and aged about fifty now I think. I can’t thank you enough, you know it’s possible she may try again.”

  “And I will be ready, Mrs Lacey, please don’t worry.”

  Harriet turned to the others. Derek had returned with Mike.

  “Bloody good job, Harriet.” Nick took a swig from a bottle of water, or at least it looked like water. “I bloody knew it. I knew it. Bloody Steve Smith,” screamed Nick.

  “What?” Nick’s sudden change of subject alarmed Harriet.

  “I knew I was right, that it was no mugging. Steve Smith has some explaining to do. He’s supposed to be a bloody experienced detective.” Nick paced up and down.

  “Sir, would it be helpful if Mr Wynn and I reviewed the assault?” said Mike. Derek put a calming hand on Nick’s shoulder.

  “Thank you, yes. Good idea.”

  “Nick, there’s something else.” Harriet leant against the wall wondering how Nick would react to her next revelation.

  “DS Paul Jones has discovered that the tool used to jemmy the French doors at our house left traces of snake venom behind. Black mamba venom, to be exact.”

  “Oh my god. What the hell is going on?” Nick jumped to his feet.

  “I’d say that the most likely explanation is there’s an organised attempt by a person or persons unknown to interfere with this investigation,” said Derek.

  “Nick, please don’t take this the wrong way, but in my opinion this enquiry needs to be cranked up a level. We need to push on, to seize the advantage. To be honest the investigation is too slow, it lacks both focus and impetus. Basic enquiries are taking too long to accomplish.” Harriet placed her hands on her hips.

  “Like what?” Nick sounded defensive.

  “Well for starters, it’s been weeks since it was agreed that the deceased family and friends should be canvassed to see if anyone recognised either of the voices on the tape sent in the post. These enquiries are still outstanding.” No-one said anything.

  “You know what, I’m going to progress this right now,” said Harriet, slamming both hands down on Nick’s desk. “I suggest you stay here and discuss what you’re going to do about Alec Brown.” She strode out of the office and shouted across to Poppy. “Are you free?”

  Poppy nodded.

  “Good, get your coat, we’re going for a drive.”

  As she drove, she wondered if she had overstepped the mark in Nick’s office. She’d certainly let her frustration spill over. But she could not shake a strong sense of foreboding. Nick seemed distracted and out of sorts, just when they needed a strong leader. If she were honest, he wasn’t the right person to head up the enquiry.

  Two hours later, Harriet and Poppy were driving back from their enquiry.

  “I can’t believe how quickly Professor Grey’s housekeeper Mrs Briggs recognised his voice,” said a smiling Harriet. But she also could not forget the horror on the face of Mrs Briggs as she listened to the tape. Although Professor Grey had been her employer, he’d also been her dear friend.

  Poppy turned onto the dual carriageway. There were few cars on the road. She moved into the nearside lane and drove at a steady speed. A fast-moving grey truck appeared alongside. It slowed and Harriet noticed the driver peering in at them.

  Poppy laughed. “I think that idiot wants to race.”

  The truck sped off, but as Poppy turned the corner, it was once again in sight. As they approached, it abruptly veered into their path and screeched to a halt, side on. There was no escaping it, no time to brake. The sound of crunching metal was deafening. The force of the impact slammed their car into the kerb, before it somersaulted off the carriageway into a tree.

  Harriet felt her body fly forwards; her seatbelt locked, she was jolted back so violently that she did not feel the impact with the windscreen.

  When she regained consciousness, she felt strange, woolly; she tried to take in her surroundings but her vision was blurred. She had begun to shake. The acrid odour of overheated electrics and diesel permeated the car. Glancing to her right, she saw the driver’s door had crumpled inwards, partially enveloping Poppy.

  Poppy’s blonde hair was wet with perspiration. She was unresponsive. Harriet scrabbled around for her phone, eventually finding it in the footwell. She dialled 999. Then she tried to find a pulse. None was detectable in Poppy’s left wrist, but maybe a faint one in her neck? She couldn’t be sure.

  Stroking Poppy’s left cheek, she tried to assess the extent of her injuries. It was impossible to move her; the right side of her body was engulfed by the door. Pale and clammy to the touch, her breathing was almost undetectable.

  “Hold on, Poppy, please hold on, help is on its way,” said Harriet. “It’s going to be okay, please stay with me. Come on, fight, please Poppy!”

  Several witnesses had stopped and were crossing the carriageway. Compelled to do something more, Harriet carefully exited the car; she felt weak and unsteady on her feet. Using the car to support her, she carefully made her way round to the driver’s side, to a scene of destruction. The tree was tight against the door. There was no space to manoeuvre. In that instance she knew the situation was hopeless. Wiping the vomit from her mouth, she made her way back to Poppy’s side.

  As she took hold of Poppy’s hand, she began to sob, for she realised Poppy had taken her last breath, there was no more to be done.

  A traffic officer appeared at the open passenger door.

  “She’s dead,” wept Harriet. “I need to stay with her.” Gently, the officer took hold of her hand and helped her out of the car. He put his arms round her, holding her until she had no tears left.

  Harriet sat in the back of the ambulance as a paramedic placed her in a neck brace. It could have been her driving the car. Earlier, it had been her driving the car. She shook uncontrollably as this hit home. A blanket was gently placed on her. She tried to make sense of what had happened, but the truth was terrifying. She picked up her mobile, hands trembling.

  “Mike, something terrible has happened. Mike, they tried again. It’s Poppy.” Her voice trailed off.

  A few days later, Deputy Chief Constable Jack Peters made an unannounced visit to Operation Chapel. He made a brief statement praising the staff and offering support to anyone who needed it. He referred to Poppy’s death as a tragic accident, before dropping the bombshell that Operation Chapel was to be run down. He said staff should expect to return to their departments and day jobs within the next couple of weeks. The justification? No credible lines of enquiry to pursue in terms of who might be responsible and why.

  Peters was tall, Harriet guessed maybe 6 ft 3, in his early fifties, with short mid-brown hair that had just started to grey at the temples. She noticed that he was sporting an expensive Rolex watch. As he spoke, she wondered why she felt so angry and upset by his address. Perhaps she should have taken a few more days off. She was finding it tough to remain composed.

  “Sir, I’m Detective Sergeant Harriet Lacey, I wonder if I might say a few words?”

  He nodded curtly.

  “I just wanted to start by thanking you all for your kind words and support over the last few days and to say I firmly believe we still have important work to do her
e.”

  Before Harriet could continue, the room resounded with spontaneous clapping.

  “For my part, I feel a duty to seek the truth, to seek justice for the dead and their families and a duty to seek out and punish those responsible.”

  More enthusiastic clapping.

  “Yes, progress has been slow, but we have made headway in the last few weeks. If we have learnt anything, it’s that attention to detail is fundamental. Reinterviewing family members and looking again at the crime scenes has yielded new information.”

  “I also wanted to take this opportunity to pay tribute to a special colleague. I know you are all deeply saddened by Poppy’s death. On a personal level, I feel desperately, desperately sad that I wasn’t able to save her.” Voice cracking, Harriet forced herself to continue.

  “The only comfort I can take is that she was not alone when she died. My biggest regret is that I never got to tell her how much I’d grown to like her.” A single tear ran down her right cheek.

  “Poppy had her whole life ahead of her and in an instant it was deliberately taken. I don’t know about you, but I feel I owe it to her to find out who is responsible and bring them to justice. This was no road traffic collision.” Harriet felt her voice falter for a second time.

  “Mr Peters, don’t let Poppy’s death be for nothing; let’s make it count, let’s demonstrate that we will not be intimidated, we will not be bowed, and we will do our utmost to see this through to the end.”

  The clapping was deafening. For now, there would be no more talk of closing the incident room…

  As the room started to clear, Mike took Harriet and Derek Wynn to one side.

  “Well done, Harriet, brave speech. Did you see the look Peters gave you at the end?” asked Mike.

  “No, but I can guess it was like thunder?”

  “Just a bit!”

  “That was a strong speech, Harriet, but what you said needed saying, well done,” said Derek.

  Mike moved closer to them both and whispered “I’ve just had some really encouraging news. A DC friend of mine called to say he’d been speaking to a witness. The man was on the other side of the carriageway at the time of your collision. He says the other vehicle was an old-style grey Mitsubishi Shogun Truck. He says there is no doubt in his mind that the driver deliberately placed the truck in the path of your Fiesta.” Mike looked angrier than Harriet had ever seen him.

  “Is he prepared to make a statement?” asked Derek. “And did he get any details of the vehicle?”

  “He’s happy to make a statement, but didn’t manage to get the index. He did see the vehicle make off at speed following the crash.”

  “So, we may be able to trace it?” Harriet was trying to sound positive.

  “Maybe. It’s a good start anyway,” said Mike.

  “I’ve been thinking, it was a spur of the moment decision on your part to go out that day. Mike and I were in the office with Nick, it was lunch-time, so the room was quiet. I can only think of five or six members of staff myself who were there. One of them may have seen something pertinent,” said Derek.

  “I do remember Poppy was with her friend Janice when I called her away,” Harriet replied.

  “I’ll ask, as part of a welfare check. She’s taken Poppy’s death hard,” said Derek.

  “I nearly forgot, I’ve a message for you both from DS Paul Jones. He doesn’t think the venom was imported, it has a distinct DNA profile and Customs have confirmed there have been no consignments of live mambas for over a year. Best guess is the snakes are being farmed in this country,” said Mike.

  “That’s interesting, but how do we move this forward?” asked Harriet.

  “Paul is going to see if he can identify any unusual purchases of specialist equipment, he’s currently chasing down a tip from a reptile expert in Surrey.”

  “With all the chaos of the last seventy-two hours, I haven’t had the chance to ask about the outcome of your discussion regarding Alec Brown, did you come to any decisions?” Harriet asked.

  “We agreed the situation is complex, that we are not comfortable involving Professional Standards at this stage, as we only have part of the story and they are not known for their sensitivity. We’ve decided to try to persuade Brown to disclose more detail. We figure Brown will be waiting to see if we rush to involve professional standards, when he realises that we’ve held back, he may be more inclined to open up to us,” Derek told her.

  Harriet nodded. “Sounds a sensible approach to me.”

  Harriet wasn’t keen to head home, she didn’t relish being on her own. Although exhausted and in pain, she stayed late to finish her statement into the crash. Derek and Mike also stayed.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” said Derek, getting to his feet. Harriet was weeping silently at her desk.

  “I’ve messed up big time, how could I have been so stupid? So stupid, so stupid.”

  “What the fuck?” Mike walked across.

  “When I spoke to Ben, I used my work mobile. What an idiot. There’s a real chance they were monitoring my calls and now they know where the children are. Hell, what am I going to do? And why the bloody hell am I sobbing?”

  Derek and Mike exchanged looks.

  “Okay, don’t panic. You’re crying because you’ve just been through a really traumatic experience, it’s a normal reaction to extreme stress and it’s nothing to be concerned about.” Mike handed Harriet a box of tissues and Derek put his hand on her shoulder.

  “What the hell is happening to me? What do they want from me? What do I have, or they think I have, that’s so important that they are willing to kill for it? Things are so crazy.”

  “You’re right, the whole situation is mad, it’s bizarre, but we are a team and we will get through this together, understand?” said Derek looking directly at Harriet, who managed a nod of her head.

  “I couldn’t agree more. Now, Sheffield and its surrounding area is vast. I think it’s unlikely anyone would be able to locate the children from the little you did divulge. I tell you what, If I leave tonight, I can be there in a few hours. I can assess the situation, and move them if need be.”

  “Oh, my God Mike, I can’t ask you to do that.”

  But Derek Wynn was already on the phone arranging for a traffic car to drive him to Sheffield.

  “Harriet, please don’t worry. I have this in hand. I’ll keep you fully appraised, I promise,” said Mike as he left the incident room.

  “Harriet, there’s no way it’s safe for you to be alone. I’ll drive you home and stay the night,” said Derek. Harriet did not respond.

  “By the look of horror on your face you’re not keen on the idea?” he asked. “If it helps, I was going to add that we will pick up Rebecca Wood on the way.”

  “Oh my God Derek, I’m so sorry, I meant no offence, I’m just…”

  “Harriet, it’s fine, no offence taken.” Derek took her by the arm and led her towards the door.

  Next morning, Mike was on the phone bright and early.

  “How are you this morning?”

  “Not too bad, just a bit stiff and bruised,” said Harriet.

  “Thought you’d like to know Annie and the children are fine. Annie’s smallholding is remote, I’m confident it couldn’t be located from your conversation with Ben. But just to make sure, a surveillance team will be at the farm for a few days.”

  “How did you get authorisation for that?”

  “You’ll have to thank Derek for that.”

  “Well, you are my hero.”

  “Steady!” Harriet could hear Mike laughing. “I thought you didn’t rate me?”

  “I never said that… Well, not to your face anyway.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Harriet glanced at the service sheet in her lap. A Celebration of the life of Poppy Elsa Webster 1994-2017. Friday 4th August, 11 a.m. Whichever way she looked at it, it felt wrong to be celebrating the life of someone who’d died in such appalling circumstances. She looked around her; the m
odest Norman church had begun to fill up, mourners jostled to find space on the narrow wooden pews. Those who couldn’t find a seat stood respectfully at the back. Subdued chatter was punctuated every so often by a child’s scream.

  Sunlight streamed through the ancient stained-glass windows, light beams danced across the ceiling. Then the organ burst into life: The Lord is my Shepherd. Harriet gazed at the rafters, she could already feel tears forming. The congregation got to their feet as a small white willow coffin entered the church. It was carried by Poppy’s brothers, with Mike, Derek and Nick. Harriet turned her head toward the incoming procession. The coffin bearers were visibly struggling with their emotions, all except for Nick, whose expression was blank.

  It was Harriet’s turn to read a poem. As she got to her feet, she leant against the lectern to steady herself.

  “Death is nothing at all, by Henry Scott Holland 1847-1914.” As she spoke, her gaze fell on the flowers adorning the top of the coffin. White roses and sweet peas. She thought of the slip of a girl who had inadvertently ended her marriage, how traumatised she’d been when they first met and how unwilling she’d been to have anything to do with her. And yet despite this, they had struck up a friendship. She would miss the kind, generous and open girl who greeted her each morning with a smile and a coffee. Harriet’s voice faltered.

  After lunch, senior staff gathered in the incident room. Harriet took her seat for the briefing. She had mixed emotions about work continuing so soon after the funeral. It seemed she wasn’t the only one, the room was subdued.

  The briefing started late. With no sign of Nick, Derek Wynn stepped in. They were informed that Nick had felt unwell after the funeral.