Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
Within an hour of the plane going down, the Command had been contacted by the US Secret Service to confirm what already appeared on the passenger manifest: that potential US presidential candidate Dale Victor, his wife Susan and several members of his campaign staff were on board when the plane went down.
The mere fact of Victor’s death meant little to Bull. Sure, he had heard of the man, but to SO15 he was another victim among hundreds. The same could not be said of the Secret Service. The death of a man almost certain to have become a presidential candidate? On what they would no doubt regard as their watch? They would want direct involvement in the investigation. Every step of the way.
And when it was the White House asking, nothing was really a request.
It was this thought that returned to Bull as he climbed out of the warmth of his car, into the sub-zero cold of Stoke Newington Police Station’s secure parking area. The fact that – whatever his superiors might claim – the involvement of the US Secret Service meant he had already lost control of his case.
Or at least I had, he thought. Up till an hour ago.
‘Who else knows about this?’
Bull had been inside Stoke Newington Police Station for less than five minutes. In that time he had already dispensed with the police constable who had escorted him in, satisfied the young man lacked any useful knowledge.
Now he was speaking to two more senior officers.
‘By now? The whole station, probably.’
At almost 3 a.m., Sergeant Richard Langley was the de facto officer in charge. And he was not about to lie to a DCI from Scotland Yard.
He continued.
‘There’s no way we were keeping this quiet, guv. Not among ourselves, anyway.’
Bull nodded. The answer was as expected.
‘What about anyone from outside the station?’
‘There was one member of the public present when the suspect surrendered himself.’
This time it was the desk sergeant, Andy Nelham, who spoke. Unlike Langley, he had been present when Mansour had burst through the station’s front doors almost five hours ago.
Bull nodded again as Nelham spoke. The man seemed oddly uncomfortable, even considering the unique situation they were in. It was nothing Bull hadn’t encountered before. It was becoming rarer, but some of the older officers could still be thrown by the sight of a black DCI.
Bull chose to ignore it. It hardly mattered tonight.
‘Anyone else?’ he asked.
‘A civilian worker, but she won’t say a word outside of this building.’ Nelham seemed to be warming up. ‘She’s as discreet as any copper.’
And that’s supposed to be reassuring, is it?
Bull kept the thought to himself and continued.
‘What about the member of the public?’
‘Whatever he was in here for got lost in the mix, guv.’ Nelham again. ‘By the time we had the suspect sorted and taken in, he’d long gone.’
‘But I presume he heard everything?’