She looked at her ACC with a puzzled expression. ‘Is that correct?’
‘Yes. I want to suspend him from all duties, pending a full investigation of both events.’
‘ACC Pewe,’ she said in a very formal voice, ‘as I understand, the bomb — a fake as we now know — had a timer activated on it. At the time Detective Superintendent Grace picked it up and ran with it, not knowing whether it was real or not, he made a calculated decision, at great personal risk to himself. Is this not upholding one of the sacrosanct traditions of the police? To serve and protect?’
Pewe looked like he was chewing a wasp.
She went on. ‘I have been told that Roy was correct when he recognized the device had a timer mechanism which informed his decision. Roy not only saved a potentially highly-damaging situation at the Amex, which would have had a serious impact on the future of the stadium and the economy of our city, he went on to risk his life saving a teenage boy. I am going to put forward a recommendation for Roy, with my strongest possible endorsement, for a Queen’s Gallantry medal. I very sincerely trust you will support this?’
‘Yes, well, of course, when you put it like that, ma’am,’ Pewe simpered. ‘I completely concur. Of course, I’ll support it fully.’
‘That’s very generous of you, ma’am,’ Grace said, then turned to the ACC. ‘And of you, sir. Thank you both, thank you very much. I’m honoured.’
‘We are honoured to have you on our force, Roy,’ Lesley said. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Cassian?’
The ACC nodded, his face twitching.
It looked to Roy Grace like the wasp was putting up a pretty good fight. And winning.
117
Monday 14 August
Kipp Brown sat at his office desk, his mind in turmoil. It was just past 10.40 a.m. He stared at the photographs of his family. And especially at Mungo.
God, he loved this kid so much. And yet he was causing him so much grief.
Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds’ worth of grief, to be precise.
Bob Carter, his Chief Operating Officer, had already sent him an email querying the transaction from the client account, checking to see if Kipp was aware of it, and that they weren’t victims of an online fraud over the weekend.
He was trying to think of what to reply, wary that emails were dangerous because of the trail they left that could never be erased. Sometime very soon he would have to go along to Carter’s office and give him an explanation.
But what?
What could he spin him that would extricate him from the very deep shit he was in?
There was no way he would even try to persuade Carter to help him cover up this loss. That could lead to a prison sentence for Carter and the end of his career. Kipp was going to have to take the blame, and the consequences, himself. The price he had paid to try to save his son’s life.
If it came to a prosecution, he could only hope for sympathy from the judge. But his own career would be finished.
Shit.
His mobile phone rang.
‘Kipp Brown,’ he answered, trying to sound brighter than he felt.
‘Kipp, it’s Edi.’
Edi Konstandin, his biggest client. They spoke around this time most mornings, with the Albanian wanting updates on the overnight stock market movements, or on Mondays, those influenced by any weekend events.
‘Hi, Edi, how are you?’
‘More to the point, how are you? You have your son, Mungo, back safely?’
‘I do.’
There was a brief silence before Konstandin spoke again. ‘I owe you an apology, Kipp.’
‘An apology?’
‘I need you to believe me, please, Kipp. I had no knowledge of your son’s kidnap, which was done by my crazy, reckless nephew, Jorgji Dervishi. Please believe me.’
‘Of course I believe you, Edi. You are a trusted friend.’
‘I think I have some nice news for you. Jorgji has gone away and will not be a problem ever again. But before he went, I made him pay the quarter of a million pounds he extorted from you, to me. I’ve arranged for it to be transferred to you this morning. My bank tells me it will arrive in your account before midday.’
Kipp could scarcely believe his ears. ‘That’s amazing, Edi. I–I don’t know what to say.’
‘You don’t need to say anything, Kipp. My mission in my declining years is to show that my countrymen — those over whom I have influence, at any rate — are decent people. I won’t tolerate anyone stepping out of line. Jorgji crossed that line. Now he has made restitution. I hope we are square?’
‘We are square!’ Kipp said, trying to play down the elation he felt. ‘Thank you. I don’t know how I can ever really thank you properly.’
‘I’ll tell you how,’ the old man said. ‘By just keeping doing what you are doing. Keep making me money, OK? Deal?’
Kipp grinned. ‘Deal,’ he said.
118
Monday 14 August
Moments after Kipp ended the call with Edi Konstandin, a text came in from his horse-racing tipster.
Good morning Mr Brown, we have two bets today. The first horse is MUNGO and take the 4/1 with Betfred. Also back KAYLEIGH’S MOTHER and take the 5/1 with Paddy. Both horses should be backed this morning taking the early price and both are WIN bets. Good luck — TONY FORBES.
He stared at the text in disbelief. A horse called Mungo. A horse called Kayleigh’s Mother.
He rang Forbes.
‘Tony, is this some kind of a joke?’
‘Joke, Kipp, what do you mean?’
‘These horses are real?’
‘Absolutely. Both horses are working really well at home and they are strongly fancied. I would be very keen on both of them today.’
Thanking the tipster, he ended the call. Unreal. It had to be a bok. His luck, finally, was on the turn. He had a guardian angel!
He dialled his private bookmaker who placed all his bigger bets for him. ‘Justin, there’s two horses today and I want one hundred thousand on each of them.’
‘Are you sure? Two hundred grand, Kipp?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Can you take it?’
‘That’s some way above your normal range — I’d have to have collateral — and I’d need to lay some off.’
‘I can give you collateral.’
‘How much?’
‘The full amount if you need it. I should be able to get it to you by around 1 p.m.’
‘OK.’
Ending the call, Kipp Brown sat very still. Those two horses had to be a sign, didn’t they?
He emailed his COO back.
Bob, the money will be back in our account later today with massive interest. Used it for an investment opportunity too good to turn down.
Then he sat, very still, deep in thought. Had he just been dug out of one hole only to fall into another?
Shouldn’t he just count his blessings?
Every half-hour throughout the rest of the morning he checked his account. But no money came in. At 12.30 he called Edi Konstandin who apologized profusely, but his computer system was down and he was unable to make any transactions. His geek was on it.
Konstandin’s geek was still on it, two and a half hours later.
Kipp was shaking with frustration. His bookie was unable to place the bets without a major portion of the cash being deposited.
It wasn’t until close to 5 p.m. that the money finally hit his account.
Despondently, he checked the racing results online. In the 3 p.m. at Brighton, Mungo had come under starters orders, but then refused to leave the gate. The moment a horse came under starters orders, the bet on it was valid. He would have lost the entire amount. In the 4.15 at Doncaster, Kayleigh’s Mother had been three lengths clear when a nutter had sprinted, naked, across its path, freaking out the horse, which threw its jockey.