The police arrived within three minutes and suddenly the place was awash with uniforms and blue flashing lights. First on the scene were two marked police cars that blockaded the road fifty metres either side of Hart’s entrance gates. Moments later the armed response vehicle pulled up behind one of the marked patrol cars, and six black-clad figures jumped out of the side door and rushed to take up position. Each carried a Heckler & Koch MP5 assault rifle and Glock 9mm automatic pistols in their side holsters. At the same time, a silver Lexus IS250d saloon squealed to a holt and two plain-clothed detectives got out and went straight over to the armed officers. One of them spoke to the senior officer in charge, and the next moment one of the detectives moved in a low crouch towards the closed gates and the intercom panel. Before he could push the button, one of the security men ran up to join him, flashed an identity card and said, “I think you’ll find this is a false alarm. We’ve had this property under constant surveillance. Nobody has gone in and no one has come out. Now, do you think you could call your uniforms off and tell the armed response unit to stand down?”
The plain-clothed officer resented the interference and replied curtly, “No, I bloody well can’t. It’s not just the alarm that’s gone off at the local nick — we’ve also had a phone call informing us that there have been screams and gun shots coming from this property as well.”
At that precise moment, Dillon was making his entrance two doors away from Charlie Hart’s property. He had gained access to the neighbour’s home by flashing a fake police identity warrant card, he had acquired whilst hired out by the partners of Ferran & Cardini to work undercover with the internal affairs squad on a police corruption assignment. For obvious reasons, he very rarely used it.
He smoothly explained to the owner of the multi-million pound residence that he was an undercover police officer and urgently needed the use of their small dinghy to get around to Hart’s private berth. Two minutes later he was in the water, rowing towards Charlie Hart’s sixty-five foot power cruiser that was moored up at the bottom of his garden. The police and security men were still arguing amongst themselves at the front gate. Hart had kept his head down and was sitting in his living room drinking a large gin and tonic from a cut glass tumbler — just as Dillon had instructed him to do.
Dillon let himself into the luxury residence by the back door that had been left deliberately unlocked. He went up the stairs two at a time, and headed straight to the living room. Hart was sitting on one of the leather sofas, watching the plasma screen on the wall in front of him. The high-definition camera positioned over the front gate was being fed back through Hart’s elaborate system and onto the plasma.
Outside the detective and the security man were still arguing the toss as to whether the alarm was a hoax or genuine. Hart used the intercom to settle the argument. A moment later, he met the detective and the spook at the front door, and immediately demanded to know who they were and what was going on. It was the young plain-clothed detective who spoke first.
“Would you mind explaining what is going on here, sir? We’ve been led to believe that there is a problem. Is there a problem or not?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s all been a bit of a mistake, officer. My housekeeper set the alarm off accidentally — she still hasn’t got the hang of the security system and must have touched the panic alarm by mistake. I’m ever so sorry for having dragged you all out on a fool’s errand.”
“I see, sir. Well, can you explain the telephone call we received just before the alarm started to sound at the station? The caller clearly stated that he had heard gunshots and screaming.”
Hart looked surprised. “Not from here. For a start, there are no firearms on the property and I’m sure that my neighbours will verify that there have been no gunshots or screams, as you say. There are of course those dubious-looking men who have been sitting in that van out in the road for the last few days.”
Hart looked directly at the spook whilst he was talking. “I was going to call the police myself first thing in the morning to report it.”
“So it has all been a mistake, then?”
“I feel such an utter fool for not calling you immediately myself and explaining that it was a false alarm.”
“If I may say, sir, I suggest that you ensure your housekeeper is made completely familiar with your alarm system. Perhaps then this costly mistake won’t happen again.”
“Of course, officer. Point taken. I will of course phone the Chief Constable and explain that this was all a silly mistake. I will also send a donation to the police fund, as a way of making amends for wasting your time.”
“That’s very generous, Mr. Hart. But you really don’t have to go to all that trouble.” The detective looked embarrassed.
“It’s no trouble. The Chief Constable and I have known each other for many years and I will make sure he hears about the exemplary way that you and your men have handled this matter. Goodnight, officer.”
Hart closed the door before either the detective or the spook could say another word. Outside the police cars disappeared along with the ambulance and the armed response unit, and minutes later the scene reverted back to one of quiet and calm. Apart from the security service surveillance team in the van parked in the road opposite — they remained.
Dillon felt pleased. He had achieved what he had set out to do. He had got into Hart’s house completely unobserved and under the noses of those who did not want him anywhere near the property. He had also made the local force fully aware that there was a security service operation on their patch. This would raise a few eyebrows in certain high ranking quarters. The two men shook hands and went back upstairs to the living room.
“I hope I don’t have to do that again in a hurry. Playing out a situation without a script or any idea where it’s going is dangerous,” Hart complained.
“I know. But you did it well, Charlie. You see, it had to be that way and it was all based on one thing that is certain. The police hate being pushed around by the security service. Luckily, it worked on all counts and I could now use a stiff drink.”
Whilst Hart poured the drinks, he said, “Now that you’re in, how do you propose to get out?”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Charlie. It’s already taken care of. I’m surprised you even asked.”
Dillon gazed out towards the harbour.
Hart smiled weakly. “Perhaps I just wanted your reassurance.”
Dillon took his drink and when he was seated opposite Hart, he raised his glass and toasted, “Here’s to Rosie Poulter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“How long have you known?” asked Hart.
“Since earlier this afternoon.”
“How did you find out?”
“I followed you on a couple of occasions, observed you watching her from the window seat of that café opposite, and was intrigued — especially when you went through exactly the same motions on both occasions. From that moment on, I’ve tried to guess what the connection was. But I must admit, Charlie, one thing that never crossed my mind was that Rosie Poulter was your half sister.”
He studied Hart’s reaction for a moment, before continuing.
“Talking to her was something I hadn’t contemplated initially, but my curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know what it was that connected and drew you to her.”
“I drove down from London early this morning with every intention of seeing her. But it was her daughter who opened the front door of that old rundown building they live in, just as I was about to ring Rosie’s doorbell. She was as wary as hell at first, but eventually believed that I wasn’t some pervert trying to pick her up with a weird angle on chat up lines. I didn’t spend much time with her, but she was a really nice girl. That’s when I found out, Charlie. I must say that even now I’m still confused and even more intrigued about why you go over there.”