White Corridor

“Mum, can’t breathe, you’re squashing me,” he called from within the folds.

“Don’t worry,” she said, convincing herself, “everything’s going to be all right.”

“Where’s Joha

She closed her eyes and tried to avoid imagining the dangers that might lay in wait for them both.

“We ain’t going anywhere in this.” The van driver smelled of rolling tobacco and cabbages. His name was Da

Da

“I’ve never seen weather like this, man.” Da

“Don’t worry about it,” Joha

“But I didn’t get you there,” Da

“You got me as far as I needed to go,” Joha

“They’re stranded in a blizzard somewhere at the southern edge of Dartmoor,” said Longbright. “April, try to get an update on conditions from the Devon and Cornwall police. Tell them we’ve got a couple of senior officers snowed in, see if we can get them out and brought back here. Colin, you’d better try and track down Raymond Land. We’ll have to tell him what’s happened. Dan, you come with me to Bayham Street and give me a walk-through.”

“What about me?” asked Giles Kershaw, rising from his seat.

“You stay here, Giles. You had both motive and opportunity. Out of all of us, you’re most under suspicion of murder. Meera, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere and remember you’re under suspicion as well. Neither of you are to use a phone or a computer until I return. You’re on your honour. Don’t make me have to enforce this by calling in the Met.”

My God, she thought, ru

21

As a child, young Oskar Kasavian had shopped his mother to the police for smoking a joint at a Belgravia embassy party held for King Zog of Albania. This had been a serious matter because his parents both worked in the Foreign Office, and the family were in the middle of delicate negotiations with the Italians. It was only his father’s status as a politically appointed diplomat that prevented severe repercussions. Relations soured between Kasavian and his mother, to the point where she disowned him on her deathbed, but Oskar didn’t care. By then he knew how to operate within the complex ecosystem of interdepartmental government politics, and used it to his full advantage.

By the time he had been promoted within the Home Office to handling matters of national security, he knew how to step on time-serving ministers like Leslie Faraday and gently squash them until they carried out his instructions without ever realising they had lost control of their own departments. The middle managers of Whitehall lived in fear of him, and even his superiors felt a sense of relief when he left the room.

Only Arthur Bryant had managed to bloody his nose over the investigation of the prankster-murderer newspapers had nicknamed the Highwayman. Kasavian’s relationship with a married tabloid editor had been exposed, and the PCU had blackmailed him into dropping his assault on unit funding in return for their continued silence about his affair.

Now, he felt, it was time to take revenge.

Her Royal Highness Princess Beatrice of Co

Kasavian’s plan in arranging the trip was ostensibly co

When the Princess’s office confirmed that the conductor of the Vie

“He can’t do this,” Land murmured. “He can’t send a royal visitor around at such short notice, not here, not now-not her.”‘ He had always known that the unit’s victory over Kasavian would be temporary, and that he would come back fighting, but this was more underhand than he had imagined. “They’re heading here for an inspection in less than two days’ time. Our computer system is down, there are cables and equipment boxes and God knows what all over the floor and our two chief detectives are away on some kind of bizarre winter holiday.” Well, the last part was perhaps a blessing, as Mr. Bryant could not be trusted to avoid controversial topics, and had expressed his cynicism about certain members of the royal family a number of times in the past. “Hullo, Janice, what do you want?” Land eyed the strangely garbed sergeant with suspicion. Why is she sporting that outlandish hairstyle and wearing a pencil skirt? he wondered. Would it kill her to dress normally?

“Sorry to be the bearer of more bad news, Raymond. Oswald Finch has been found dead in the Bayham Street Morgue, a heart attack brought on by blows to the neck and the chest, and our lads think it looks like murder.”