Dead Man's Dive, page 26
Finch sighed, patted Rego on the shoulder, then handed him over to the custody sergeant who returned his property with a stony face. Another uniformed officer watched the slow process, then escorted him to the Chief Constable’s office.
Rego followed the officer in silence, thoughts crowding his mind: what would he say to Cassie? How could he explain to the kids? God, what would he say to Tamsyn? Her grandparents?
Police stations never truly sleep, but as it was a Sunday and they were in the administrative office building of Devon & Cornwall Police HQ, there were fewer people around to see Rego’s humiliation, but there were enough.
Rationally, he knew it was unlikely they had any thoughts about him at all; it was too soon for the gossip to have spread. But still, it felt like everyone was looking at him, giving him second and third glances, whispering as he walked past.
Or maybe I’m being paranoid.
Maybe not.
Just because I’m paranoid, it doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get me.
Rego smiled grimly to himself.
Or maybe word had gone around, that and the fact that it was rare for the Chief Constable and Assistant Chief Constable to appear on a weekend, people were definitely staring.
And then Rego saw Tamsyn sitting outside the Chief Constable’s office.
She looked pale and tired, her hair uncombed and her clothes rumpled. He knew that she’d been held in a cell for the same length of time as him, and he could see what that had done to her. And when Rego saw that her knuckles were white with tension, his guilt grew.
As he approached, she looked up, and it nearly killed him to see the relief on her face, the certainty that her belief in him still lived.
“Hello, Tamsyn. How are you?”
“Oh my God, it’s been awful!” she gasped, her voice shaking. “They arrested me! They actually arrested me – for terrorism! I couldn’t believe it! That’s crazy, right? I was questioned for over an hour. I only said ‘no comment’ and that I wanted to talk to you, sir. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was. Well done.” Rego’s throat was dry.
“But it’s all sorted out now, isn’t it?” she asked, her bright blue eyes pleading with him to agree.
“Certainly better than it was a couple of hours ago,” Rego said, managing a half-smile.
Tamsyn’s eyelids fluttered as she took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and smiled.
“Thank you, sir.”
Rego felt like the biggest piece of shit on earth.
“Tamsyn, I…” Rego began again then paused, unable to say the words that would take away her last scrap of hope.
“That’s okay, sir,” she smiled. “At least it will be, now that it’s all been sorted out.”
He grimaced.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think so. I think we’re both about to lose our jobs.”
She stared at him in disbelief, her lips moving but no words coming out.
“No!”
“I’m sorry.”
“No! That can’t be right!”
He had no reply.
“But why?” she begged, her voice breaking. “I don’t understand! We didn’t do anything wrong!”
Rego wanted to reach out to touch her, but she wrapped her arms around herself tightly, seeming to shrink into herself.
“Tamsyn, just breathe.”
Her lips trembled but her gaze was defiant.
“I know you didn’t do anything wrong. I know you didn’t. You were following orders: my orders. And I’m going to tell the Chief Constable that.” He paused. “The problem is, Tamsyn, that I wasn’t following orders; in fact, I explicitly ignored a direct order to cease investigating the dead diver.”
She stared at him, wounded astonishment, disbelief, and hurt in her expression.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I was told not to investigate any further and that all the files should be turned over to the Secret Intelligence Services.”
“Then … why?”
He wished he could tell her about Vikram and the MI6 shenanigans, but he couldn’t. So, he gave her a half-truth.
“At the time, I believed it was the right thing to do.”
“Do you still think that?”
He met her gaze. “Yes, I do.”
If it makes any difference.
She gave him an uncertain smile.
“Okay then.”
Her unswerving belief in him felt like a knife in the gut. He’d have preferred her anger, her disgust, her rage, anything other than her continued trust that he’d make this right.
He promised himself that he would try to reason with the Chief Constable, appeal to the man’s better nature – assuming he had one. He would not leave that office without making sure that Tamsyn’s career was safe. He would do everything in his power to prevent Tamsyn from losing her job or damaging her career.
Although if he was honest, he strongly suspected that nothing he said would make any difference.
I have to try.
This was what he’d risked from the start. He’d walked into it with his eyes open. But Tamsyn hadn’t – he’d kept her in the dark, deliberately limiting what she knew and didn’t know, dragging her into this murky world of secrets and lies, depending on her help, using her.
But all he’d done was to ruin his own career and also the career of a young woman who would have made a great officer. And that was unforgiveable.
And if he was honest with himself, worrying about Tamsyn took his mind off the fact that he could go to prison. Former police officers didn’t do well in prison.
He didn’t even know if he’d be charged with Section 5 of the Official Secrets Act 1989 which made it an offence for him, as a Crown Servant, to disclose information specifically covered by the Act. Other officers in similar circumstances had received heavy fines and even custodial sentences. At the very least, he’d be dismissed for gross misconduct.
There was nothing he could say to her.
Nothing he could do. Almost nothing.
I have to try.
He watched in silence as a uniformed Inspector strode past, spoke in muted tones to the assistant, then knocked on the Chief Constable’s door and walked inside.
Rego didn’t recognise the man but assumed he was the Chief Constable’s staff officer. The role was seen as a step on the promotion ladder. The staff officer would attend meetings with Evans, write his speeches, and be a link between Evans and other senior officers or outside organisations. It was a demanding role, but a dogsbody one – Rego knew he’d never want to do a job like that … then remembered that he’d never have the chance now.
The telephone on the assistant’s desk rang and the woman who answered it, listened, glanced at Rego, then replaced the receiver.
“You may go in now, Detective Inspector Rego.”
Tamsyn stood up as well, but the woman waved her back into her seat.
“Just DI Rego,” said the assistant.
Tamsyn stared unhappily at Rego. There was nothing he could say that would help, so he just gave her a faint smile.
“See you on the other side, Tamsyn.”
“Good luck, sir,” she said quietly.
Rego took a deep breath, knocked on the Chief Constable’s door, entering when he heard a gruff, “Come!”
Being up against the wall just meant that your back was safe and there was only one good way out. Rego squared his shoulders and mentally prepared to fight his corner and Tamsyn’s. It wouldn’t make any difference, but it would make him feel better.
Taking a deep breath, he walked into the room where the Chief Constable was sitting behind a large mahogany desk with Charters in front of it. The uniformed inspector was leaning across to see the large computer screen, as they murmured quietly to each other.
Neither man spoke to Rego nor invited him to sit.
Rego stood with his hands clasped behind his back and gazed around him, taking in the walls decorated with photographs of the Chief Constable with various politicians and dignitaries, the largest being one of Evans with the late Queen. Rego recognised photos with Joe Biden, Justin Trudeau, Emmanuel Macron and Angela Merkel – presumably all from the G7 summit back in 2021. But there were no photos of the UK’s Prime Minister at the time, Boris Johnson, or Foreign Secretary Liz Truss. Yeah, not strange at all, Rego thought grimly. That’s what it’s like when you’re well out of favour.
Evans and the uniformed officer were still ignoring him, so Rego took the time to study the rest of the room.
There was a glass-fronted bookcase with a number of heavyweight law books, several of which Rego recognised from his inspector’s exams.
To one side, a casual seating area circled a small coffee table for less informal meetings. Rego doubted it would be used for this meeting … or showdown.
The wall by the window was covered with framed foreign law enforcement memorabilia, including mounted wooden Force crests of the different countries Evans had visited or who had visited him. Rego saw certificates showing courses the Chief Constable had attended in the USA, Canada, Australia and New Zealand – all English-speaking countries. A photo of Evans in an FBI jacket had pride of place.
What kind of man are you? Rego wondered. He’d heard mixed things about the Chief Constable, but knew that it was impossible for any boss to be wholly popular. This was the first time Rego was meeting him – in far from ideal circumstances.
The man himself was dressed in an immaculate uniform with a row of colourful service ribbons which denoted good conduct and long service awards, as well as the King’s Police Medal. His epaulettes had crossed tipstaffs in a laurel wreath with one crown, signifying his rank. His dark hair was greying at the temple, and thick glasses had slid down his nose, but his eyes were hard, and chilly waves of disapproval emanated from across the broad desk when he glanced at Rego.
His eyes flicked back down to the screen he was reading, leaving Rego to continue standing in silence.
Rego guessed that Chief Constable Evans and the staff officer were reading his service record.
A moment later, there was another knock on the door and ACC Gray stalked into the room, throwing a withering stare at Rego.
“Ah, Ian! Good to see you,” the Chief Constable said, shaking the other man’s hand warmly, a greeting in stark contrast to how Rego had been received. “Have a seat while John and I finish this. ”
“Good to see you too, sir, John,” Gray responded, glaring at Rego again. “In the circumstances.”
The Chief Constable and the staff officer finished reading whatever was on the screen, then the younger man took a seat next to ACC Gray and pulled out a pen and writing pad, ready to take notes.
Evans steepled his fingers together, peering up at Rego.
“Yes, the circumstances. Very unfortunate circumstances. Well, here it is.” And he paused. “These are the facts of the case: on Friday the 22nd of July, a body was recovered approximately one mile off the coast of Porthoustock in 100 feet of water. The following day, a post-mortem was to be performed by Dr Manners, Home Office Forensic Pathologist. This did not take place, as officers from the Secret Intelligence Services notified me of their interest in the case and their decision to take it over as a matter of National Security, a decision which was conveyed to you by ACC Gray. Am I correct so far, Detective Inspector Rego?”
“Yes, sir,” said Rego crisply.
“This order you then disobeyed by starting your own unauthorised covert operation into the death of the victim. You misled, withheld information from, obfuscated and lied to intelligence officers and Naval officers at Culdrose; you illegally used personnel and resources from Devon & Cornwall Police to continue your activities, endangering the lives of Sergeant Nathan Tregowan and Police Constable Tamsyn Poldhu, a student officer. Further, you illegally shared sensitive information about the security of this country with several civilians. Good God, man!” the Chief Constable shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. “I was called by Culdrose’s base commander to tell me what one of my officers had been up to! He wanted to know what was going on? So do I! What were you thinking? Or were you thinking at all?”
“Permission to speak, sir!”
“Denied.”
“Sergeant Tregowan and Constable Poldhu were following my orders, sir,” Rego said hurriedly. “They shouldn’t be…”
“Do not speak when I am speaking!” the Chief Constable roared. “This subordination, this direct and wilful disobeying of an order pertaining to national security, this is not something I can write up with a stern talking-to or a few days of unpaid leave. And the reason, the only reason that you’re not being kept in custody is because I have been advised that it could lead to this matter becoming more widely known within the force – disclosure of your activities would be prejudicial to national security. The investigation will be undertaken by a specialist team appointed by me. The disobedience was of a most egregious, dangerous, even treasonous nature, and as a minimum you should expect to make a career change immediately, but I will personally ensure that you are prosecuted to the full extent allowable by law.” He leaned back in his chair, making an effort to contain his fury as Rego stared at a space to the left of the Chief Constable’s head. “The serious nature of your offence, conduct which was carried out with a purpose prejudicial to the safety of His Majesty’s government and the United Kingdom, constitutes a clear and serious breach of the Standards of Professional Behaviour – so serious as to justify dismissal. Furthermore…”
The Chief Constable didn’t finish the sentence because he was interrupted when his office door opened without warning and a tall, gangly man in a Barbour jacket strolled into the room.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Good afternoon, Chief Constable Evans,” the man smiled affably. “The name’s Guy Barker. I’ve just popped down from Vauxhall Cross. Oh, and Sir Edward sends his regards.”
Rego tensed. Another spook?
Barker’s eyes roamed around the room, glancing off ACC Gray, and settling on Rego. “Ah, Detective Inspector Rego, how nice to meet the man I’ve been hearing so much about. Our friend Vikram asked to be remembered to you.” He smiled benignly.
Hope roared to life inside Rego’s chest, but he didn’t dare believe what he was hearing – and it seemed as though the Chief Constable felt the same.
“What the hell is going on here?” he bellowed, confusion, annoyance and irritation in his voice.
“Do forgive me interrupting, Chief Constable,” Barker said, his smile still in place but his gaze unwavering. “It has come to our attention that DI Rego might have got into a bit of bother over this unpleasant Ukrainian business, but we feel that it would be better all round if the case were closed as quietly as possible. No one needs an internal investigation or inquiry bringing up the bodies, so to speak.”
He leaned casually against the wall his arms crossed, surveying the room, ensuring he had everyone’s undivided attention before he continued.
“It really wouldn’t be advisable for you to take any course of action that would undermine the public’s belief in our invulnerability, Chief Constable. I’m sure you understand that no one would want to escalate a situation that could cause serious embarrassment to His Majesty’s Government: Semper occultus.” He smiled. “Of course, that’s only my advice and ultimately, it’s your call, but I have to say, Rego here has done a remarkable job. We really are terribly grateful.”
The Chief Constable frowned at the intruder, steepling his fingers together.
“You’re from MI6?”
“Well, technically we’re the Secret Intelligence Service, but what’s a name between friends? After all, we’re all on the same team, wouldn’t you agree, Chief Constable?”
Rego stared at Barker critically. The man was clearly doing his best impression of a ‘rupert’ with his jolly-hockeysticks style of talking, but there was no mistaking the confident coolness of his gaze or the soft threat in his voice.
“The thing is, Chief Constable,” Barker continued amiably, “your officer has done a great service for our country. Of course,” he added, “not that we could ever broadcast the fact, so no medals for you, old chum, although you have won our unceasing gratitude.” His eyes fastened on Rego. “Perhaps there’s something else you’d like?”
Rego’s mind raced as a smile started to spread across his face, but he had to think fast.
“Richard Beckins: I couldn’t have done it without him. He should be immune from prosecution.”
“Of course,” Barker said smoothly. “Already taken care of. Anything else?”
“Nate Tregowan…”
“…will be back on duty with a clean record.”
“Nate Tregowan’s dive boat was badly damaged on the op,” Rego hinted.
“I assume he has insurance,” Barker replied, raising one eyebrow.
“I’m sure he has – but he’ll also have to pay the excess and increased premiums.”
“Noted,” Barker said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “I suppose you think he should be promoted, too.”
Rego realised that Barker was dropping a broad hint. He inclined his head to one side as he thought about it.
“Diving is Nate’s life so I don’t think he’d want to be promoted out of an operational role, but I think he could do with a change from diving in cold, muddy waters. Maybe some training in the Caribbean would be motivational.”
“Novel idea,” Barker said. “I don’t see why not.”
Rego rushed on, hoping his unbelievable luck was going to hold.
“PC Poldhu is waiting outside. I’m told she’s been served with a Regulation 13 – but she’s a good officer and she was only following my orders.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to lose an officer with her potential, but perhaps she’s a little inexperienced to be promoted just yet,” Barker said with a small smile, and Rego had the distinct impression that the man was laughing at him – or at the Chief Constable.
“She’d be very interested in attending a training course with the Underwater Search Unit at Plymouth,” said Rego, ignoring Barker’s quiet sarcasm.
