Page 58

FIFTY-SEVEN

There was always a way.

He thought about how things had played out with Tully.

It would have been easy enough to do what he’d later done with Callaghan, to study the shift patterns then put out a call and wait for the dutiful bobby to come trotting along.

He would have done exactly that, had not something a little more inventive occurred to him.

The day he’d come up with the doughnut idea had definitely been what you might call a good day at the office, and he hadn’t lost too much sleep over the other three who’d died.

He was already struggling to remember their names.

‘Innocent’, that’s how they’d been described in the papers and on TV, but he knew better.

There was no such thing as an innocent police officer, only one who hadn’t turned yet.

There was always the right way.

Putting a plan together, then executing it perfectly was immensely satisfying, of course it was, and Peter deserved no less. It was even better, though, when the opportunity simply fell into your lap.

He’d got there good and early and sat waiting outside the burger place, on the second-hand moped he’d picked up for less than a grand on Gumtree.

He’d watched the delivery riders pulling up every ten minutes or so and collared each of them when they came out, checked the address until he knew he’d got the right one.

Waving a twenty pound note around and telling the bloke his story.

Now, I know this is going to sound a bit weird . . .

The delivery was actually for his girlfriend, he’d said, and he was planning a special way to propose.

She wouldn’t know it was him because he’d keep his helmet on and he wanted her to find the ring when she took out her burger.

Maybe even inside it, though on second thoughts he didn’t want her to choke on the flipping thing.

It was sort of an ‘in’ joke because she lived on bloody takeaways.

Fingers crossed and all that, but she’d definitely find it funny . . .

So, what do you think? Can I deliver this one for you?

The driver had said it was sweet. Romantic, you know? He’d actually been grinning as he handed over the delivery boxes and wished him luck as he was pocketing the twenty quid.

Aww.

He turned into a side street a quarter of a mile or so away from the Edgware address, stopped and removed the delivery package from his rucksack.

He needed to be quick; didn’t want the butterfly’s dinner going cold, after all.

He snapped on rubber gloves before taking out the small glass bottle and carefully adding the ‘extras’.

He smiled as he watched it dissolve into the burger, at the fact it just looked like a bit of added salt on the chips.

Definitely not good for you.

Ten minutes later he drew up behind the unmarked car he knew all about, climbed off the moped and carried his rucksack across. He tapped on the window, then stepped back as the copper in the driver’s seat opened the door and got out.

‘Here you go . . . ’ He lifted the brown bag from his rucksack. ‘Large cheeseburger, fries and a Diet Coke. Still nice and hot.’

The copper nodded but said nothing as he took the bag.

‘Smells seriously bloody lovely, that does. Actually, I quite fancy a burger myself now.’ He waited for a reaction, but the copper was stony-faced. He said, ‘You’re welcome,’ and turned back towards the moped . . .

. . . to find himself staring at two men and a woman pointing guns, while behind him the other copper scrambled out of the car and the one who was still holding the cheeseburger began shouting, telling him to raise his hands.

By the time Thorne and Tanner had got out of the car from where they’d been watching and run across the road, the man who’d delivered the food had been searched and was now down on his knees, his fingers laced behind his head.

‘He’s all yours.’ The copper to whom the food had been handed had already put it into a large evidence bag. He stepped forward and passed it across to Tanner. ‘He was right, though, it does smell good.’

Thorne walked up to the man kneeling on the pavement. ‘Take the helmet off,’ he said.

‘There’s been a mistake.’

‘Take it off. Slowly . . . ’

The man on the ground did as he was told, setting the helmet down on the ground next to him.

‘Hands back behind your head.’ Thorne waited until the man obeyed, then leaned down, good and close. ‘Hello, Alex.’

‘Sorry, who ?’

Thorne peered at the face he’d seen daily for almost a fortnight, in innumerable photographs and CCTV stills.

The face that stared down from the wall of the incident room, instantly recognisable despite the various attempts to disguise it.

‘You look better without the beard.’ He turned to Tanner. ‘You think?’

‘I can’t make my mind up,’ she said.

‘I don’t know who you think I am, but—’

‘I know exactly who you are,’ Thorne said. ‘And as of a couple of hours ago, I knew exactly where to find you.’

Thorne had known, back in Brigstocke’s garden, as soon as he’d felt that terrible itch taking hold; its tell-tale creep. He’d known there was a flaw in the security protocol and exactly how it could be exploited.

He’d stood there as the laughter and conversation had faded around him, wondering if that information leak had extended to Emily Mead’s home-delivery rota.

If Alex Brightwell had used up all his arsenic . . .

Now, he let Tanner do the honours.

‘Alex Brightwell, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Christopher Tully and several others we will be talking to you about at a later time.’

Brightwell was shaking his head and muttering. ‘This is ridiculous—’

‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned—’

‘You’ve got the wrong bloke—’

‘—something which you later rely on in court.’ Tanner began to speed up as the suspect grew more agitated. ‘Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ She looked at Thorne. ‘Got there in the end.’

‘I can prove it.’

‘Well, obviously if we have made a mistake I can only apologise,’ Thorne said. ‘We’d best get you down to the station, hadn’t we, see if we can get to the bottom of this.’

‘I can prove I’m not Alex Brightwell.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I’ve got ID.’

‘Course you have,’ Tanner said. ‘ “Richard Silcox”, is it? Or is that just one of many?’

Thorne was trying hard to keep a straight face.

‘There’s really no need to get worked up,’ he said.

‘We can settle the confusion easily enough. Once we’re at the station, all we need to do is take a few samples.

Won’t take five minutes, just a quick swab and then, thanks to the miracle of DNA, we can get this little mix-up well and truly sorted out. ’

Brightwell lowered his head and laughed, but when he looked up again, the fury was clear enough. ‘Have you any idea how fucking ironic that is?’

Thorne was happy to let the smirk come as he took out the handcuffs, then moved quickly to apply them. ‘I never really thought about it.’