Knife Edge Read online

  An uneasy silence descended over Golden Square, as dense as the cloud of black smoke which hovered above it like an ethereal shroud.

  1.38 P.M.

  As Doyle pulled the Datsun to a halt he fumbled in his pocket for the piece of paper which Calloway had given him.

  Number fifty-nine Mitre Road, Lambeth.

  He glanced at the door of the building before him.

  This was the place.

  He locked the car, lit a cigarette and strolled up to the door, ringing the bell twice.

  The WPC who answered the door was in her early twenties and she looked quizzically at Doyle, who flipped open the slim leather wallet which held his ID.

  She'd barely had time to glance at the small photo inside and compare it with the craggy-featured individual before her when he shut it and slid it back inside his jacket.

  As the coat parted she saw the butt of the Beretta beneath his left arm.

  'I want to speak to Julie Neville.'

  'I hadn't been told she was going to be questioned again,' the WPC said warily.

  'What's your name?' Doyle demanded.

  'WPC Robertson, sir.'

  'Did they give you a first name, WPC, and you don't have to call me sir.'

  Doyle was looking around as he spoke. The house was small. Clean and immaculately decorated. He could smell coffee from the kitchen to the rear of the building. From a room to his right he could hear a television.

  'Lucy,' the policewoman told him.

  'Well, Lucy, I want to talk to Julie Neville. If you don't trust me, ring Detective Inspector Calloway, he'll clear it.'

  'Would you mind?'

  Doyle frowned.

  'Right, you've proved you're efficient,' he said. 'Now let me see Mrs Neville, I haven't got all bloody day.' He pushed past the policewoman and into the sitting room.

  Julie Neville was seated on the sofa in the room, slender legs drawn up beneath her, both hands cradling a mug of coffee.

  'What do you want?' she said, looking at Doyle dismissively.

  'A chat.'

  'Another one?' she said, sipping her coffee.

  Doyle looked at the WPC.

  'If that coffee's fresh I'd love a cup, please, Lucy.' He smiled.

  He sat down beside Julie Neville who pulled her bare feet closer to her, away from the counter terrorist.

  He ran his finger along the sole of her right foot.

  She glared at him.

  The WPC was still hesitating in the doorway.

  'White, one sugar,' Doyle said, staring at her, his steely grey eyes narrowing. 'Now, please, Lucy.'

  The policewoman glanced at Julie who nodded slowly.

  'I'll be all right,' she said softly.

  'Call if you need me,' said the WPC and stepped outside the room.

  'Very cosy,' Doyle said. 'They seem to be looking after you.'

  'What do you care, Doyle?'

  'I think you read me wrong, Julie. I do care. Where's your daughter?'

  'Lisa's upstairs. Lucy's been keeping her entertained. They seem to be getting on pretty well.'

  'So, not all coppers are bastards then?'

  'I didn't say they were.'

  She took the cigarette he offered, sucking hard on it as he lit it for her.

  Julie blew a stream of smoke in Doyle's direction as she exhaled.

  'I heard about the bombs,' she said quietly.

  Doyle nodded.

  'How many people has he killed?'

  The counter terrorist shrugged. 'Including the second bomb, it must be over twenty now.'

  'Oh, Christ,' she murmured, running a hand through her hair. 'How are you going to stop him?'

  'I'll get him, don't worry about it,' Doyle assured her.

  'You seem very certain of that, Doyle.'

  'I am. But I need your help.'

  She looked quizzically at him.

  'He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants,' Doyle told her. 'And he wants his daughter.'

  Julie sat up, her eyes fixed on Doyle.

  'It's the only way, Julie,' he told her. 'That's why I'm here. I need your daughter.'

  1.46 P.M.

  As Calloway and Mason stepped inside the interview room at New Scotland Yard, Kenneth Baxter hesitated.

  He stood motionless at the threshold, gazing around the room which was empty but for a table, four chairs and a tape recorder, which Calloway sat down next to.

  Mason leaned against the wall behind his superior.

  Baxter finally followed them in, eyeing both policemen warily, pausing again when Calloway gestured towards one of the chairs on the other side of the table.

  'You haven't told me what the charge is,' said Baxter.

  'There is no charge, Mr Baxter,' the DI told him, watching as the other man finally sat down.

  'What do you think we should be charging you with?' Mason enquired.

  Baxter smiled and leaned back in his chair, clasping his fingers together on his stomach. He wore a large Gold Sovereign ring on the middle finger of his right hand and the light from the fluorescents in the ceiling glinted on the metal as he rocked gently back and forth.

  'We need your help,' Calloway said. 'You know a man called Robert Neville, we need some information about him.'

  'They said that when they arrested me,' Baxter murmured.

  'You're not under arrest,' Calloway assured him. 'We just need some help.'

  'Why pick on me?'

  'As I said, you know Neville.'

  'What makes you think that?'

  'You were in the army together,' Calloway said, as if he needed to refresh Baxter's memory.

  'I was in the army with a lot of blokes, it doesn't mean I can remember all of them,' Baxter said dismissively.

  Calloway regarded Baxter carefully.

  Why so aggressive?

  Baxter was still rocking back and forth on his chair.

  Something bothering you?

  'What can you remember about him?' the DI asked.

  Baxter shrugged. 'He was pretty quiet, kept himself to himself. What do you want to know?'

  'We want to know what you know,' Mason interjected irritably.

  Calloway shot him a warning glance.

  Baxter smiled mockingly again.

  'Was Neville still in your unit when you were thrown out of the army?' the DS persisted.

  Baxter stopped rocking on his chair and allowed it to drop forward. 'What the fuck are you talking about?'

  'We know about the court martial,' Mason said gleefully.

  'It was never proved. None of the charges were,' Baxter growled.

  'They proved enough to throw you out,' Mason chided.

  'Who's on fucking trial here, anyway?' rasped Baxter. 'I thought you wanted to know about Neville.'

  'We do. Why don't you tell us what you know,' Calloway added. 'Have you seen him since you left the army?'

  'No,' Baxter said flatly.

  'He hasn't rung you?' the DI continued. 'Hasn't tried to contact you at work?'

  'No.'

  Baxter began turning the Sovereign ring gently on his finger, his gaze wavering slightly.

  Calloway leaned forward in his seat, both hands clasped on the table before him. 'Did Neville know why you were thrown out of the army?'

  'Everybody knew,' Baxter sneered. 'When the fucking army stitch you up, they make a good job of it.'

  'Why do it?' Calloway enquired. 'Why would the army do it if there was no truth in the charges?'

  'No smoke without fire, eh?' Mason smiled.

  'I never sold guns to anyone,' Baxter told the policemen. 'And, even if I did, that's got fuck all to do with you. I'm not under arrest, you said that.' He pointed an accusing finger in Calloway's direction.

  'Did Neville have anything to do with it?' Calloway persisted.

  'I thought this was about Neville.'

  'It is, but you're not telling us much,' the DI said.

  'We heard you were close,' Mason pressed.

 
; 'And who the hell told you that?' Baxter demanded.

  'Come on, Mr Baxter. You served together, in the same unit, for how long? Seven years? Eight years?' Calloway said. 'The Paras are supposed to be different, aren't they? A team? Everyone counting on everyone else? Neville must have spoken about the way he felt, about what was going on in Ireland. Did he tell you about his family?'

  'He was married with a kid, I know that.'

  'Did you ever meet his family?'

  'No.'

  'How long have you worked for Nemesis Security?' Mason asked.

  'Eighteen months.'

  'Do you enjoy your work?' the DS continued.

  'It's better than drawing the bloody dole.'

  'It must be dangerous sometimes though,' Mason insisted.

  Baxter chuckled.

  'So is being a copper, isn't it?' he said, grinning. 'Especially when you've got some nutter letting off bombs.'

  Baxter leaned back on the two rear legs of his chair and began rocking once more.

  'What do you know about the bombs?' the DI asked.

  'Only what I heard on the news,' Baxter said. 'When's the next one?'

  Calloway looked at his watch.

  'In about forty-five minutes,' he said quietly.

  Baxter got to his feet.

  'Well, I hope you find it,' he said, smiling. 'Now, if there's nothing else, I've got work to do.'

  'Sit down, Mr Baxter,' Calloway said.

  'Why? You said I wasn't under arrest. If that's true I must be free to go. I came here of my own free will and now I want to leave.'

  'Before you do, there's someone else I'd like you to speak to,' said Calloway softly.

  1.53 P.M.

  'You're crazy,' said Julie Neville, a note of incredulity in her voice.

  Doyle took another drag on his cigarette and held her gaze.

  'You want to use my daughter as bait to catch Bob?' she said, shaking her head. 'I can't believe that.'

  'It's Lisa he wants,' Doyle said. 'That's all he wants. Not money. Not some political bullshit and no plane to fucking Cuba. He wants his daughter, pure and simple.'

  'No wonder they sent you after him. You're crazier than he is. Do you honestly believe I'd let you give Lisa to him?'

  'I'm not talking about giving her to him, I'm talking about using her to tempt him out into the open.'

  'You're talking about using her as bait. You can call it what you like but that's what you want to do.'

  'A lot of people are going to die if I don't get him soon. All I want is a little help. She wouldn't be in any danger. I'd be there.'

  'And that's supposed to make me feel better? Forget it.'

  'He's not going to hurt her, is he? Be logical. She's the only thing he wants. He won't harm her.'

  'Doyle, she's my daughter too.'

  'I'm not going to give her to him.'

  'So what are you going to do?'

  'Tell him he can have her. When he turns up to get her, I'll kill him.'

  Julie swallowed hard.

  'Just like that?' she said softly.

  Doyle nodded.

  'And if something goes wrong? What if he kills you? What happens to Lisa then?'

  The sitting-room door opened and Doyle looked up to see WPC Robertson standing there.

  'There's a phone call for you, Mr Doyle,' she said. 'It's DI Calloway. He says it's important.'

  Doyle nodded and got to his feet, following the policewoman out into the hall and through to the kitchen where she nodded towards the phone.

  ***

  In the sitting-room, Julie Neville got to her feet and crossed to the TV set. She stood staring blankly at the screen for a moment then switched the set off. She could see her own reflection in the blank eye of the television.

  She moved to the sitting-room window and peered out. A number of cars were parked in the street, but only one of them had an occupant.

  A uniformed policeman was sitting in an Astra about fifteen yards from the front door of number fifty-nine Mitre Road. He was yawning, she noticed, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, occasionally glancing around at the few people who passed by.

  Julie watched him for a few seconds longer, then made her way out to the hall and up the stairs.

  As she climbed she could hear Doyle's voice coming from the kitchen but she took no notice of what he was saying.

  She reached the landing and headed for the first door on her left.

  Lisa Neville didn't look up as her mother entered, she seemed more concerned with the dolls which were scattered around her. Julie watched as the little girl carefully dressed one in a red swimsuit, using a tiny plastic comb to untangle the knotted synthetic hair.

  Julie felt an almost uncontrollable urge to rush across to her daughter and sweep her up in her arms. Anything just to feel the warmth of her body, but instead she knelt down on the floor beside her child and reached out one hand, stroking the little girl's hair.

  'Mum, do you think Cindy is beautiful?' Lisa held up the swimsuit-clad doll for inspection.

  'Nearly as beautiful as you,' Julie said, smiling.

  'I think I like Barbi better but she hasn't got as many clothes,' Lisa observed, reaching for another of the dolls. 'That's a shame, isn't it?'

  Julie nodded and manoeuvred herself into a cross-legged position beside her daughter.

  'How much longer do we have to stay here, Mum?'

  'Not long, darling,' Julie said, none too convincingly.

  'Is Daddy coming here to see us?'

  I hope not.

  'No, darling, he's not,' Julie told her daughter. 'I don't know where Daddy is.'

  'When will we see him again?'

  Julie could only shake her head.

  She reached for one of the dolls and held it before her, smoothing the long hair into place.

  'Use this,' Lisa advised, handing her the tiny plastic comb.

  Julie did as she was instructed, getting to her feet when she heard voices in the hallway downstairs.

  She wandered out onto the landing and saw Doyle standing down there, one hand on the front door handle.

  He looked up at her.

  'Got to go,' he said.

  'What a shame,' Julie answered.

  'Think about what I said,' Doyle repeated. 'She wouldn't be harmed. I'd see to that.'

  'I'm supposed to trust you?'

  'Who else have you got?' He opened the door. 'Well, think about it anyway. Because if that's the only way I can get him, then the next time I come back, I'm not asking. I'm taking your daughter.'

  And he was gone.

  2.17 P.M.

  Calloway was standing in the corridor outside the interview room when Doyle stepped out of the lift.

  The counter terrorist headed towards the DI, dropping his cigarette butt on to the polished floor, swiftly grinding it out beneath his boot.

  'Well?' Doyle said. 'Has he said much?'

  'Nothing worth a toss,' Calloway told him.

  'How did he take to being pulled in?'

  'How do you think? He's pissed off. He wants to know what's going on.'

  As Doyle put his hand on the doorknob, Calloway gripped his arm, holding him back.

  'For what it's worth, I think you could be right,' the DI said. 'I think he knows something. I'm fucked if I know what, but he's hiding something.'

  'What makes you say that?'

  'Copper's instinct?'

  Doyle smiled.

  As he entered the room both Mason and Baxter looked up.

  'Mr Baxter, this is Sean Doyle,' Calloway said. 'He'd like to ask you some questions too.'

  'Who's next? The fucking tea lady?' snapped Baxter, turning his back on Doyle, who moved around to sit opposite him, reaching inside his jacket for his ID. He flipped open the wallet and pushed it across the table towards Baxter.

  'Counter Terrorist Unit,' he mumbled then leaned back on his chair, a smile hovering on his lips. 'I've heard of your lot.'

  'Only good things I hope,' sai
d Doyle mockingly, retrieving the ID.

  'The real tough guys. Harder than the SAS.' Baxter chuckled.

  'I thought the Paras were the real glory boys,' Doyle prompted.

  'We did what we had to do in uniforms. We didn't have to hide.'

  'Is that what Neville thought?'

  'How the fuck do I know?'

  'You were in his unit. You knew him.'

  'I've already answered these questions,' Baxter protested.

  'Not for me you haven't,' Doyle reminded him sharply.

  The two men regarded each other coldly for a moment then Doyle looked up at Calloway. 'I'll speak to Mr Baxter alone if that's all right?'

  Calloway hesitated a second then nodded, gesturing to Mason to follow him out of the room.

  The DS followed reluctantly, closing the door.

  Doyle pulled out his cigarettes, lit one then offered the pack to Baxter who declined.

  'Look, I'm not going to bullshit you, Baxter,' Doyle said. 'I know you served with Neville, I know you and he were close, I know you've been in contact with him since you left the army.'

  Don't push it too early.

  Baxter looked surprised.

  'I don't give a fuck about you; Neville's the one I'm interested in and I'm going to find him with or without your help, but I want to know if he got his equipment from you. The equipment he's using now.'

  Careful. One step at a time.

  'I don't know what you're talking about,' Baxter said dismissively but not too convincingly.

  'Neville's got enough weapons and explosives to fight a fucking war, I just want to know if he got them from you.'

  Baxter cracked out laughing.

  'Did I say something funny?' Doyle hissed.

  'The army said I supplied weapons to the IRA and the UVF,' Baxter said, smiling.

  'And did you?'

  'Maybe I did. Who fucking cares? It's all over now, isn't it? In ten years nobody's even going to remember anything that happened in Ireland. It's history already.'

  'Tell me about it, I was there too, you know,' Doyle snapped.

  'Yeah, you were there,' Baxter murmured, his tone lower but still venomous. 'Not on the fucking streets you weren't. Not being gobbed at by women and kids. The people we were supposed to be out there helping. No. Not the fucking Counter Terrorist Unit, creeping around undercover somewhere. We were the ones out in the open. Target practice for any cunt with an Armalite. One day they'd talk to you, the next they'd be throwing fucking bricks. None of us knew who was on our side.'