Over My Dead Body

Chapter 11

‘You should have stayed in New York with me,’ said Beth as they strolled into the bedroom. ‘Ella was fantastic, and we went back to the Met three times...’

‘Although it was only a week, the children missed you terribly, and kept asking where you were,’ said William, as he took off his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe. ‘And it didn’t help that I was roaming around the countryside looking for Christina’s car.’

‘While you somehow managed to lose her husband once again.’

‘But I did find him again,’ protested William.

‘Well, let’s be accurate. You found out which continent he was on, but you can’t even be sure if he’s still there,’ said Beth as she unbuttoned her blouse.

‘I know his name,’ said William as he took off his tie.

‘Ricardo Rossi flew in to Brussels but he may not be the same person who turned up in Barcelona.’

‘Whose side are you on?’ asked William.

‘Yours, caveman,’ said Beth as she slipped off her blouse. ‘But only because I’ll need your help if I’m going to get away with murdering Christina.’

‘That’s the last thing I want you to do. She’s still my best chance of tracking down her late husband.’

‘What can I do to help?’ said Beth eagerly, as William threw his shirt onto a chair.

‘Next time you see her, play innocent. I need you to find out whose side she’s on,’ said William, as Beth slowly unzipped her skirt. ‘You may be surprised.’

‘But she’ll have worked out by now that you know Ralph and Miles are one and the same.’

‘I agree, but is she the jilted bride,’ asked William as he kicked off his shoes, ‘or his partner in crime?’

‘Why should I fall in with your plans, when all I want to do is strangle the damn woman?’ Beth asked, as she undid his belt.

‘Because if I put Faulkner back behind bars, half of his art collection will still be legally hers, so another masterpiece might well find its way onto the walls of the Fitzmolean,’ he said as he fiddled with the clasp of her bra. ‘There’d still be more than enough left over to keep her swimming in champagne for the rest of her life.’

‘Along with endless toy boys to uncork the bottles,’ said Beth, as she ripped off his trousers. ‘While I was away, caveman,’ she asked, as he bent down to kiss her, ‘what did you miss most, my shepherd’s pie or sex?’

‘I’ll need a little time to think about that,’ he said as their lips parted. Beth fell back onto the bed as the door opened and a voice said, ‘Daddy, you promised to read to us when you got home.’

Beth burst out laughing as Artemisia climbed up onto the bed and handed William her book. William quickly slipped on his dressing gown, as Beth jumped off the bed, pulled up her knickers and hurriedly put her blouse back on.

‘Just one chapter,’ said William, as Peter crept in through the open door and joined his sister on the bed. The twins snuggled up close to their father, who opened the book and began to read.

‘PC Plod was a good and kind policeman. He liked to help grandmas and grandpas when they crossed the road, and if he caught a little boy riding a bicycle who wasn’t wearing a helmet, he would tick them off, but not tell their parents, which made him very popular.’

Peter began to clap.

‘But sadly, no one back at headquarters,’ continued William, ‘gave much thought to promoting PC Plod and making him a sergeant.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Artemisia.

‘I expect we’re about to find out,’ said William as he turned the page, although his mind was elsewhere.

‘Plod was, as he’d told his wife Beryl often enough, happy to be one of life’s foot soldiers. Beryl didn’t agree with him. “You’re just as clever as Inspector Watchit, who always takes the credit for your ideas and then gets promoted,” she said. “That’s my job,” explained Plod. “It’s my responsibility to assist the public at all times while passing on any useful information to my superiors. In fact, Beryl, only today...” he said, just as the phone began to ring. Beryl picked it up and listened for a few moments before she said, “But it’s Fred’s day off.”

‘“Not any longer it isn’t,” said Inspector Watchit. “Tell Plod to get himself over to the manor house, sharpish. There’s been a burglary and a valuable pearl necklace has gone missing. Lady Doubtful wants the grounds searched while I question the staff.”’

William glanced up from the book to see that Peter had fallen asleep, but Artemisia was still hanging on his every word.

‘Time for bed, you two,’ said Beth.

‘No, no, no!’ said Artemisia.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said William, before picking them up, one under each arm, and carrying them out of the room. When he reached the doorway he turned and smiled at Beth.

‘I can’t wait for PC Plod to return,’ said Beth, as she once again slipped off her blouse.

‘I’d like to begin this meeting,’ said the commander, ‘by officially welcoming DI Ross Hogan to our ranks.’

The rest of the team banged the palms of their hands on the table.

‘Ross joins us not only with a formidable reputation as an undercover operative, but he previously served for four years as a Detective Sergeant with the murder squad. Invaluable experience that we can now put to good use.’

‘And can I say,’ interrupted Ross, ‘before I accept my Oscar for best supporting role, how delighted and honoured I am to be joining the team who were responsible for putting Miles Faulkner behind bars.’

‘Only to let him escape again from right under our noses,’ said William ruefully.

‘Not your fault,’ said Ross. ‘Two bent prison officers were involved in that little fiasco. You’ll be glad to hear they’ve both been transferred to Dartmoor, with no chance of an early release.’

‘But the second time Faulkner escaped was my fault,’ said William, ‘and I won’t rest until he’s back in Pentonville on an extended lease, with no break clauses.’

‘It shouldn’t be long before Ricardo Rossi appears on our radar screen,’ said Paul.

‘To that end,’ said The Hawk, ‘I’ve briefed the Spanish police and Interpol, and supplied them with details of Faulkner’s criminal record along with an identikit photo of what Neville would look like with a shaved head. But we’ll have to put Faulkner on one side for now as the time has come for us to concentrate on our new assignments. DCI Warwick, perhaps you can bring us up to date.’

‘As you are all well aware,’ said William, ‘the early stages of any murder inquiry are the most critical. The golden hour, that sixty-minute period immediately after the killing, is the best chance of recovering the evidence necessary to secure a conviction. CCTV, forensics, witnesses, and the likelihood that the murderer is still somewhere in the vicinity are a detective’s best weapons. But in each one of these cases,’ he continued, ‘we didn’t get the golden hour, or for that matter the silver or bronze. Truth is, these particular miscreants not only got clean away, but will now be convinced that their records have been gathering dust, in an unsolved crime cabinet, which they don’t realize we’re about to open.’

‘And I think you should know,’ chipped in The Hawk, ‘the commissioner feels it will send an important message to the underworld if these villains are brought to justice. Not least because if even one of them were to be convicted and sent down, the others will be reminded that the prospect of a life sentence is still hanging over them.’

‘There’s a second, equally important reason to go after them,’ said William. ‘If they’ve got away with murder once, they might well consider doing it a second time.’

The Hawk nodded, before adding, ‘With that in mind, each of you has been given a cold case to follow up, and although we’ll still be working as a team, assisting each other whenever possible, you’ll be the lead officer in your own case, reporting back to DCI Warwick at all times.’

‘So let’s begin by trading information,’ said William. ‘As you’ve been landed with the toughest assignment, DI Hogan, we’ll start with you.’

‘I’ve got two cases to investigate,’ said Ross, ‘which are interrelated. A couple of revenge gang murders, where one killed a member of a rival outfit, and, not long after, the other side retaliated in kind.’

‘I’ve read about the Roach gang and their sworn enemies, the Abbotts, in the press,’ said Rebecca, ‘but I don’t know much more about them beyond that.’

‘There isn’t much more to know,’ said Ross. ‘Two ruthless, highly organized East End gangs, like the Krays and the Richardsons, who’ve been at each other’s throats for years. Between them they control the local drug scene, prostitution and gambling, and run a protection racket that’s more efficient at collecting its weekly payments than the local council is with the rates. And even when we do manage to get one of them convicted and sent down, they’re like cockroaches: stamp on one and two more creep out from under the floorboards to take their place.’

‘Forgive me for being cynical,’ said Paul, ‘but do the public give a damn if these scum go on killing each other? Most people would be perfectly happy if they did our job for us and wiped each other out.’

‘That may well be the case, DS Adaja,’ said William. ‘But if they’re allowed to continue with their criminal activities, it won’t be long before the East End ends up as a no-go area for the police, as well as law-abiding citizens.’

‘I apologize,’ said Paul. ‘I should have thought it through.’

‘No need to apologize, DS Adaja,’ said Ross. ‘Although I was working undercover at the time, I was made aware of your memorable contribution during the Trojan Horse operation.’

The rest of the team burst out laughing, while William recalled that Ross had given him a black eye on that occasion, so that no one other than the commander would know he was still working undercover.

‘Could you brief us on your case, DS Roycroft,’ said William, once the laughter had died down.

‘Clive Pugh couldn’t be more different from the Roaches and the Abbotts,’ said Jackie. ‘Although he’s every bit as ruthless, he’s far more cunning. As far as the outside world is concerned, he was a law-abiding citizen who ticked all the right boxes. Married with two children, both university graduates, deputy manager of his local branch of Barclays Bank, and the local Rotary Club voted him businessman of the year.’

‘So who did he murder?’ asked Rebecca.

‘His wife of twenty-seven years, and just months after he’d taken out a million-pound insurance policy on her life, with himself as the sole beneficiary.’

‘How did he get away with it?’ asked Paul.

‘His story was that after he returned home from a Rotary Club meeting he found his wife hanging from a beam in the bathroom. He immediately called the police, who found a typewritten letter apologizing for what she’d done. It looked like an open-and-shut case of suicide, until the pathologist pointed out at the inquest that she’d been killed by a single blow to the head some time before she was strung up. The jury couldn’t make up their minds if he was guilty, and ended up hung, which was somewhat ironic.’

‘The judge was clearly convinced of Pugh’s guilt,’ said William, ‘because he immediately ordered a retrial. But it ended up being thrown out of court on a technicality long before the jury had a chance to deliver a verdict, so Pugh got away with it a second time. The investigating officer announced from the courtroom steps later that afternoon that the case was closed and the police wouldn’t be looking for any other suspects.

‘The only good thing that came out of it,’ said Jackie, ‘was that the insurance company refused to pay up.’

‘So he ended up penniless,’ said Paul.

‘Not quite. Pugh sued the insurance company, and they finally settled out of court for a quarter of a million.’

‘I’ve known people who’ve been murdered for far less than that,’ said Ross.

‘When I checked through the evidence,’ continued William, ‘I noticed a couple of anomalies that might be worth following up. Pugh’s brother-in-law gave a statement a few days after the murder took place that makes interesting reading.’

‘But he backed down at the last minute,’ Jackie reminded him, ‘and refused to give evidence at the trial.’

‘I’d still follow it up,’ said William. ‘Who knows how he might feel a year later?’

‘And the other thing?’ pressed Jackie.

‘The suicide note was found on the floor below the wife’s body, not on her writing desk. And it was unsigned, although we found a pen on her desk.’

‘But the law of double jeopardy means that if Pugh was found not guilty,’ said Jackie, ‘he can’t be tried again.’

‘He wasn’t found not guilty,’ William reminded her. ‘The first trial ended with a hung jury, and the second was thrown out of court on a technicality.’

‘A fine legal point that Booth Watson would have a field day arguing in front of a judge,’ suggested Ross.

‘I’m sure Sir Julian Warwick would be up to the challenge,’ said The Hawk.

‘Let’s move on to your case, Paul,’ said William, ‘which involves one of the most egregious individuals I’ve ever come across.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Paul, as he opened a thick file in front of him. ‘Max Sleeman is an unprincipled loan shark who lends cash at exorbitant rates, sometimes as high as ten per cent.’

‘Per annum?’ enquired the commander. ‘That doesn’t sound unreasonable.’

‘Per month,’ came back Paul. ‘He also imposes unwritten penalties should his borrowers fail to pay up: a broken leg for the first offence, an arm for the second and, after a third, you simply disappear. A warning to his other customers of the consequences of not paying up on time. We’re pretty sure that the three victims who went missing were murdered,’ he added. ‘But until we come up with even one body, we can’t arrest Sleeman, let alone charge him.’

‘How does he get away with it?’ asked Rebecca.

‘At the time the person goes missing, Sleeman always has an unimpeachable alibi. On the first occasion, he was attending the last night of the Proms, and was even seen on television for a brief moment waving a Union Jack. The second time, he was at centre court at Wimbledon watching the women’s semi-final. During a break between matches, he dropped some cream on a woman seated at the next table. He paid to have her dress cleaned, and produced the bill as evidence.’

‘And on the third occasion?’

‘Sleeman was caught on a speed camera in Manchester doing forty-three miles an hour in a built-up area. He produced a photo of himself behind the wheel, along with a receipt from Manchester City Council.’

‘Then someone else must have carried out the killings on his behalf,’ said Ross.

‘We think he employs a professional hitman, but I haven’t come up with a name yet.’

‘There still have to be three bodies out there somewhere.’

‘I know,’ said Paul. ‘But where?’

‘Find one of them,’ said William, ‘and you can be sure the other two will turn up.’

‘Any leads?’ asked the commander.

‘The wife of one of the missing victims recorded a telephone conversation between her husband and Sleeman, in which he more than hints at what will happen to him if he misses another payment. I’m seeing her later this week.’

‘Courageous lady,’ said William. ‘But will she be willing to appear in court?’ he added, before turning his attention to DC Pankhurst. ‘What have you got for us, Rebecca?’

‘Darren Carter, a bouncer at the Eve Club, a sleazy establishment in Soho. He killed a customer with a single blow. Claimed it was the victim who threw the first punch. When it came to court he produced several witnesses to back up his story. It later turned out that the dead man was having an affair with the wife of the club’s owner. However, that piece of evidence wasn’t even raised during the trial. The defence counsel argued in camera that it was prejudicial and circumstantial, and the judge agreed. Carter pleaded guilty to manslaughter, served one year of a two-year sentence, and is now back working at the club.’

‘I want that club closed down,’ said The Hawk, ‘and Carter locked up for life, so we send out a clear message to every other sleazy club owner in Soho.’

‘I’ve got one lead,’ said Rebecca, ‘but I can’t pretend I’m optimistic about my source’s evidence being substantial, reliable or compelling.’

‘What a right bunch of villains,’ said William. ‘And with one exception, they were all defended by our old adversary, Mr Booth Watson, QC.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Paul. ‘For professional reasons he felt unable to represent both the Roaches and the Abbotts.’

‘The Abbotts keep him on retainer,’ said William.

‘Perhaps someone should kill Booth Watson and solve all our problems,’ suggested Ross.

The banging of palms on the table lasted for some time.

‘What can I get you, Ross?’ asked William.

‘Half a pint of bitter please, guv. Any more and I’ll fall asleep and be unable to keep up with your bright young turks.’

‘I’m very fortunate,’ said William, looking across at the rest of his team, who were sharing a joke. ‘They’re the new breed of professional coppers who don’t believe in cutting corners or winging it. They prefer to rely on solid evidence before making an arrest, rather than jumping to conclusions that won’t later stand up in court.’

‘I look forward to working with them,’ said Ross, ‘though I’ve already experienced what they’re like first-hand when I was working undercover. You included.’

‘Creepy,’ said William. He took a sip of beer before saying, ‘You mentioned during the morning session that you might be able to help me with my unpaid overtime job of attempting to track down Faulkner and put him back in jail.’

‘Yes, I’ve come up with one or two ideas. I’m now certain that ex-Superintendent Lamont is working as a consultant for both Booth Watson and Christina Faulkner.’

‘A servant of two masters,’ said William. ‘But on this occasion, it’s not a comedy.’

‘Jackie tells me she sees Lamont socially from time to time, and reports any information she picks up back to you.’

‘Along with stuffed brown envelopes she never opens.’

‘Remembering that money is now Lamont’s sole interest in life, I think I may have come up with a way of trapping both him and Booth Watson at the same time.’

William listened with interest to Ross’s ideas while throwing in the occasional question. He ended with, ‘I’m all for the idea, but we’d need to get The Hawk’s approval.’

‘I’ll leave that to you,’ said Ross, as he glanced over William’s shoulder and became distracted by a young woman standing at the bar. She was elegantly dressed, her white pleated skirt falling just below the knee, and her blouse buttoned at the neck. No jewellery and just a hint of make-up. So understated, yet so alluring. He couldn’t believe she was on her own. Their eyes met for a moment and she shyly turned away.

‘The Hawk hasn’t exactly given us the easiest of tasks,’ William was saying.

‘You should consider it a compliment,’ said Ross, as he tried to concentrate on William’s words, although his thoughts were elsewhere.

‘But if we don’t deliver, it won’t be long before we’re back investigating domestics, suicides and false confessions.’

Ross smiled before taking another sip of beer.

The woman returned his smile.

‘Let’s go and join the others,’ said William, as he picked up his glass.

Ross reluctantly followed his boss across to the far side of the room. By the time he sat down the woman was no longer looking in his direction.

He paid little attention to the team’s banter, making only the occasional bland comment. Jackie glanced across at the bar, and didn’t need to be told why Ross was so uncommunicative. It crossed her mind that the woman was a younger version of herself. Men!

‘We ought to get back to the Yard,’ said William, looking at his watch.

‘Must just go to the little boys’ room,’ said Ross. ‘I’ll catch you up.’

Once he was in the basement, he opened the lavatory door and grabbed a piece of toilet paper. He scribbled down his telephone number, folded the paper several times and hid it in the palm of his hand.

He walked quickly back upstairs, relieved to find the woman hadn’t left.

‘Hi,’ he said, as he brushed past her and left the little square of paper on the bar. Out on the street, he soon caught up with the others. Only Jackie noticed that he hadn’t been gone long enough to have a pee.