‘Believe me,’ he reassured her, ‘Hellier’s our man.’
‘Then why don’t we compare the samples to the ones we’ve already taken off Hellier?’ She referred to those taken in Belgravia police station at the beginning of the investigation into the murder of Daniel Graydon. ‘Then before we even arrest him we’d know he killed Linda Kotler.’
‘You know we can’t use them,’ Sean shouted above the noise inside the car. ‘That was a different murder. We’d be slaughtered if we were ever found out.’ It was true. They couldn’t use elimination samples taken from a suspect or witness for one crime to prove they were involved in another. The suspect would have to be told specifically what investigation their samples were being used in, or they would be deemed to have been taken illegally.
‘Maybe we could do it so no one would know?’ Sally continued. ‘Just do it so we would know for sure it was Hellier. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t mention it in his initial interview, keep it to ourselves, then do it legally. Take new samples, whatever we have to, but at least we would know it was him. Interview him and let him hang himself with lies.’
‘No.’ Sean shook his head. ‘I can’t risk that. We do it properly. It’s Hellier, I know it. There’s no need to take shortcuts.’
Sally gripped the steering wheel harder and said nothing.
Sean tapped the number of the surveillance team leader into his mobile.
‘DS Handy.’ Sean could hear the radio chatter in the background.
‘Don – Sean. Where’s my man?’
‘He’s on the move,’ said DS Handy. ‘Just left his office on foot.’
‘Heading home?’ Sean asked.
‘Heading to the Tube station.’
‘We’re on our way to you,’ Sean told him. ‘We’re gonna take him out.’
‘Wait a minute,’ DS Handy said, ‘he’s hailing a cab.’ There was a pause. ‘Want us to take him out for you?’
‘No,’ Sean said. ‘Can you follow the cab?’
‘Shouldn’t be too difficult. Given that it’s lime green with a giant packet of Skittles on its side.’
‘Follow it.’ Sean made the decision. ‘But keep me up to date. You follow him and we’ll follow you.’
‘No problem.’
Sean could feel Sally looking between him and the road as she drove fast through the traffic.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing, sir,’ she said.
‘There’s more out there for us, Sally. This could be our last chance to let Hellier lead us to something.’
‘What more do we need? We have his hair. His DNA will match.’ She was nervous for both of them. Sean was taking a risk. Maybe one he didn’t have to take.
‘We have hairs,’ Sean pointed out. ‘Not necessarily Hellier’s. And they bother me. Too easy. All of a sudden he drops two rooted hairs right where we can find them. Hellier’s smart. Certainly smart enough to plant someone else’s hair at the scene. Imagine what that would do to any case against him. His defence would have a fucking field day. We’d never even get it to court. If I think I can get more, I’ll take the chance.’
‘Just because it was easy doesn’t mean it’s not right.’
Sean didn’t answer her. She tried again.
‘The law says that when we have evidence to arrest, we should arrest.’ Sally quoted the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. She was right and Sean knew it.
‘Only until he goes home.’ Sean sought to assure her. ‘If he doesn’t lead us to something before then we arrest him.’
Sally exhaled and tried to concentrate on the road ahead.
‘Bryanston Street. Marble Arch,’ Hellier calmly told the cab driver, who gave a nod and pulled away without speaking. Hellier tried to relax in the back, but he knew he was being followed again and there were more of them this time − he’d already counted fourteen. He could run around the Tube system, but there was a chance they would have enough bodies to stay with him. He would try something else.
The cab drove into Bryanston Street. Hellier tapped on the glass screen designed to keep the drunks and psychotics at bay. ‘Here’s fine,’ he said. The taxi pulled into the kerb. Hellier poked a ten-pound note through the screen, got out and walked away without waiting for change. He entered the Avis car rental shop. He knew they were still watching.
Sean’s phone rang, startling him. He was walking a tightrope that left him feeling wired.
‘DS Handy, guv. Looks like your boy’s about to hire a car.’
‘Problem?’ Sean asked.
‘No. I’d rather he was in a car than running around on foot.’
‘Fine. We stay with him until I say otherwise.’ Sean hung up. Sally said nothing.
Hellier rented the largest and fastest car they had. He used the driving licence in the name of James Hellier and paid with an American Express Black Card in the same name. He would miss James Hellier.
The black Vauxhall slipped into Bryanston Street. The threelitre V-6 engine gave a reassuring growl. Hellier began to relax a little as he listened to the engine’s cylinders gently thudding above the low revs.
At the end of the road he turned left into Gloucester Place and joined the three lanes of traffic all heading north. He kept pace with the traffic, but no more. He stopped carefully at traffic lights and showed no hurry to pull away. He didn’t need to check his mirrors. He knew they would be following, running parallels along the adjacent streets, leap-frogging to the junctions ahead, changing the cars immediately behind him as often as they could.
He turned left into the Marylebone Road and headed west. The traffic was lighter than he had expected. That was unfortunate. He drove carefully.
He headed up and on to the Marylebone Flyover and joined the Westway, a small motorway raised above the heart of West London designed to speed commuters to the traffic jams of the M4 and M40 that inevitably awaited.
He began checking his mirrors constantly. They couldn’t run parallels to him now. As he drove above Paddington and Notting Hill, they had only one way of staying with him: follow him along the Westway.
He began to make a mental note of all the cars ahead and behind him. Any one of them could be the police: best to remember them all and assume the worst. Effective counter-surveillance relied on the target assuming the worst.
He drove for about ten minutes before reaching his exit. The sign read Shepherd’s Bush and Hammersmith. He moved into the exit lane. He glanced in his mirror. He saw several cars’ indicators blinking, signalling they too would be leaving the Westway. Any police cars that had been ahead of him were already out of the chase. They would have to stay on the motorway until they could exit at Acton, another four miles along. By the time they rejoined their colleagues, he would be gone.
He left the Westway and followed the large slip road, the West Cross Route, that took him to a major roundabout. Only at the roundabout did he make the final decision where he would go. He could turn left along Holland Park, back towards central London. Or straight over towards Earl’s Court, along Holland Road. No. He needed traffic. He turned right at the roundabout and drove past Shepherd’s Bush Green on his right and then turned left into Shepherd’s Bush Road, heading towards Hammersmith.
The three cars of the arrest team waited in Hyde Park for an update. Alone in the middle car, Sean and Sally listened to the surveillance team’s coded chatter on the radio. It made little sense to them.