Dark Justice. Jack Higgins

assigned to London, isn’t it?’

      ‘Quite a lady,’ Dillon said admiringly. He slipped a copy into his breast pocket. ‘Maybe I’ll run into her.’

      Hannah’s mobile rang; she answered and listened. ‘Fine, we’ll be there.’ She turned to Ferguson. ‘Professor Langley, sir. He can give us a preliminary.’

      ‘Excellent,’ Ferguson said. ‘You hang in there, Major. I’ll keep you informed.’

      They filed into Ferguson’s Daimler, and as it moved away Greta Novikova eased out in her Opel and went after them.

      George Langley was a small, grey-haired, energetic man whom they had all met in the pursuance of previous cases. Many people considered him the greatest forensic pathologist in London, and not much escaped him.

      The Peel Street morgue was an old building, some of it Victorian, but the interior was modern enough. A receptionist led them into a white-tiled room with fluorescent lighting and modern steel operating tables. Mrs Morgan lay on one of them. The wounds from her examination had been stitched up.

      ‘My God, I never get used to this part,’ Hannah said softly.

      Langley came in from the preparation room in shirt sleeves, drying his hands on a towel.

      ‘Ah, there you are, Charles.’

      ‘Good of you to be so quick off the mark, George. What have you got for me?’

      ‘Death by drowning. No suggestion of foul play. Strangely enough, no bruising. On the other hand, she was as light as a feather. Very undernourished. Her previous medical history isn’t good. The car accident, which reduced her to the wheelchair, was very grave. I’ve checked the records. I’ve also checked with her GP and she’s being treated for Alzheimer’s.’

      ‘So that’s it?’

      ‘I’d say so. It’s interesting that the man who found her, Patel, speaks of these minor accidents she suffered in the wheelchair. I notice a report by the scene-of-crime sergeant who went to see the imam at Queen Street. Sounded most distressed, said he’d implored her many times not to venture out alone, and usually sent someone to escort her.’

      ‘Which still leaves us wondering what she was doing at the end of the jetty,’ Dillon said.

      ‘I’ve had a quick look. Nothing out of the ordinary. The Alzheimer’s would make her subject to confusion, memory loss, considerable general stress. If she turned right, she’d turn the corner for the Queen Street mosque; if she turned left, she’d find herself on the jetty and only a few yards to the steps.’ He didn’t even frown when he said, ‘Are you looking for suspicious circumstances here, Charles? You usually are.’

      ‘No, no. It’s an unrelated matter.’

      ‘Unrelated, huh? Which brings you hotfoot, plus the Superintendent and Dillon? Highly unlikely, I’d have thought. However, I can’t help you with this one and I’ve other things to do. I’ll be on my way.’

      They left and walked to the Daimler. Ferguson paused, frowning, and said to Dillon, ‘What’s that you usually say? About making it a we-know-that-they-know-and-they-know-that-we-know situation?’

      ‘I’d say you mean you want Dr Ali Selim pushed a little.’

      ‘Exactly. I’ll leave it to you. Blake’s at the American Embassy at the moment. We’ll all catch up later.’

      ‘Don’t you think I should provide a police presence for Selim, sir?’ Hannah asked.

      ‘No. Some things require the Dillon touch, Superintendent.’

      They got in and drove away. Dillon said, ‘You’ve noticed the Opel saloon trailing us?’

      ‘Absolutely. Don’t forget to find out who it is.’

      Ferguson dropped him off. Hannah was not best pleased and Dillon leaned down to her through the open window. ‘Keep the faith, love.’

      ‘Well, you keep your fists in your pockets.’

      The rain increased and Dillon glanced at the Opel and decided to leave it alone. He went inside the mosque and followed a sign that said Office.

      In the Opel, Greta Novikova called Ashimov on his mobile. ‘They were all at this Major Roper’s place in Regency Square – Ferguson, Bernstein and Dillon. They’ve now dropped Dillon at Queen Street. Why?’

      ‘I should imagine because Mrs Morgan has met an untimely accident and Mr Dillon is about to speak to Selim about it.’

      ‘What do you mean, accident?’

      ‘Her wheelchair appears to have deposited her in the Thames. These things happen. Stay there and follow Dillon when he comes out.’

      Dillon found the office, knocked and walked in. There was no one at reception, so he tried the next door and found his quarry working at a desk.

      ‘Dr Ali Selim?’

      Selim recognized him at once from a computer photo Ashimov had left him.

      He managed a smile. ‘Can I help?’

      Dillon decided to let it all hang out. ‘Oh, I think so, me ould son.’ He lit a cigarette.

      ‘Not in here. It is an affront,’ Selim told him.

      ‘I know, a terrible vice, but we all have them. I can see you know who I am, your face twitched, but then a guy like Ashimov would be right on the ball about me and my friends. We have a video of the two of you, by the way. That would go down big at the House of Commons, don’t you think? And I notice his girlfriend, Greta Novikova, is outside.’

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘Well, in broad terms you do, and I could fill in the rest for you. Henry Morgan walks up a Manhattan street in the rain and disappears into oblivion, his mother goes off the jetty in Chandler Street and into the Thames. A very unfortunate family.’

      Selim’s face had turned pale. ‘Get out of here. I’ll call the police.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t think you will, not with Ashimov on your back.’ Dillon dropped his cigarette in a half-filled cup of coffee by Selim’s right hand. ‘Say your prayers, son, you’re going to need them. Oh, and good luck with the Wrath of Allah.’

      It was a long shot, but the shock on Selim’s face was obvious.

      Dillon went out and paused on the pavement, looking across. Greta Novikova was taking a photo and she was badly caught out when he crossed the street quickly, opened the passenger door and got in.

      ‘Now look here…’ she started to say.

      ‘Oh, cut it out, girl. I know who you are and you know who I am.’ He produced a packet of Marlboros and took two out. ‘I bet you smoke, too. Most Russians do.’

      ‘Bastard,’ she said. But she almost looked amused.

      He lit the cigarettes and passed her one. ‘Let’s go.’

      ‘Go? Where to exactly?’

      ‘My place in Stable Mews. Don’t pretend you don’t know where that is.’

      She drove away, half smiling. ‘I bet Selim was messing himself in there.’

      ‘Something like that. I told him we know about Ashimov and you, and who knows? Perhaps Ashimov’s boss, the mysterious Josef Belov.’

      ‘You’re playing with fire, Dillon,’ she said. ‘I’d be very careful.’

      ‘Oh, I always am.’

      She paused at the end of Stable Mews. ‘Can I go now?’

      ‘Of course – unless you’d like to have dinner with me.’

      ‘The great Sean Dillon with a romantic side? I doubt it. Besides,