A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain (the red fox clan .TXT) 📕

source, now that Francine Pearce was out of the picture. And Will Harrison, the right hand puppet master of Charles Baker, and most likely moving on the head of Rattlestone, vying for the top position.

So Kendis had met with Declan, then met with Gladwell and then returned to the cemetery. Had she gained a key from him?

By now Declan was emerging out of Ifield Road onto the Fulham Road, facing a twenty-four-hour service station. Knowing that they would have cameras, Declan hid his face as he turned right, heading westwards along the north side of the road, passing the southern entrance to Brompton Cemetery, a wrought-iron gate flanked by two old style red phone boxes. It was dark, but he could make out the plaque on the other side of the railings, in particular the words at the bottom.

Paid for by the Friends of Brompton Cemetery

Walking on, Declan considered this. Some kind of organisation like that would have ways to enter and exit the park whenever they wanted, and he was sure that the bigger plot holders would likely have a say in the FOBC—

FOB C. The note that Kendis had in her possession when she died. She knew this already, that the person she was hunting was connected. Was that why she met Declan there? Was she, like the night before at The Horse and Guard, using him as a reason to scope the place out?

Talking of The Horse and Guard, Declan realised as he continued his circuit that the bombed out building was only another hundred yards down the road; he hadn’t figured out how close it had been the night before. Anyone there would have been able to walk in or out of the cemetery in moments. Was that why Gladwell had met there? Was he nearby, able to enter and exit Brompton Cemetery as he pleased?

They had boarded the windows over, the external frontage burned away and blackened. Declan had seen on a news report that nobody had been injured in the explosion, which was still being classed as an accident. Declan resisted the urge to shudder. It had definitely been no accident. Neither had the meeting inside been an accident the night before, where Kendis and Malcolm Gladwell had spoken.

Gladwell, again.

Gladwell, who was in the Star Chamber with Charles Baker.

Gladwell, who had been Charles Baker’s boss during the Balkan massacre, even if they didn’t talk during that time.

Gladwell, who was Kendis Taylor’s whistle-blower.

But why?

By now Declan had moved on past the burned out pub, finding his chest tightening as he’d stood there, the moment of the blast striking him again. He continued westwards, towards Stamford Bridge, the legendary home of Chelsea Football Club. Walking past it, he continued along the Fulham Road, passing Fulham Broadway Underground Station and the shopping centre built around it, but he wasn’t paying attention to his location anymore. By now he was re-evaluating everything that he’d been told and shown during the investigation. He was so convinced that Frost, Sutcliffe and Baker were behind it, that he hadn’t considered the alternatives. He’d taken Baker’s arrival after Monroe’s beating as a moment of gloating. But what if it wasn’t?

Now he was heading north, zigzagging along the back streets, making his way back to the Brompton Road. Turning right, he walked back to where his car was parked, climbing back inside, returning to his overnight observation. It was now almost three in the morning, and Declan felt tired enough for a nap. Shutting his eyes, he tried to drown out the noise of the streets, and the gnawing fear inside his stomach.

What if it was a genuine offer of aid?

27

Friends Of The Dead

Will Harrison hadn’t slept well that night.

After retaining Laurie Hooper, Will had sat in on her debrief; well, more of an interrogation, if he was being brutally honest. He’d made his way to the Rattlestone safe house in Pimlico where his man had taken her, and after a couple of hours had allowed her to leave, safe knowing that she wouldn’t be talking to anyone else soon; she’d realised very early in the debrief how easy it was for her to disappear and had been incredibly helpful in her responses.

She’d admitted that she’d seen Donna Baker arguing with Will the day that she died, but Will repeatedly stated that she was mistaken, that this hadn’t happened, and that she’d be destroyed if she ever suggested this to anyone. She claimed she had told no one, even the Indian police officer, and after the first plea, Will had believed her. What he hadn’t known, and what he learned through the debrief, was that Donna had also met with Malcolm Gladwell that same day. Now, Malcolm was a known commodity, and no matter what issues they had with each other he was the trouble-shooter for the Tories right now, but this was several weeks after he’d been trying to push Baker as a leadership contender, a push that had inevitably failed after the Davies Murder case. There was no reason he’d drive out to Charles Baker’s house just to speak to Donna, unless it was…

Yes. It had to be because of what that bloody journalist had said.

Laurie said that Donna had been quite distressed when she’d spoken to Gladwell that day, most likely because of the conversations that she’d had with Kendis Taylor earlier that week.

Will sat at his breakfast table, muttering to himself as he mused through this. Kendis Taylor had a source, someone that was feeding her the information. He’d originally assumed that it was Donna herself, but the conversations had continued after Donna had died. Will couldn’t work out whether this meant that it had been the same person throughout or someone new, continuing when the original whistle-blower had died. And if that was so, there were only a few people who could benefit from this. Only a few people still had guilt from the Balkans incident. Or had any way to profit from it.

Will