The Danger Within

Thirty-One

As soon as he and Saslow left Helen’s House, Vogel called DI Peters to check on Greg Quinn’s whereabouts.

‘It seems he went straight to work after we let him go,’ she said.

That presumably meant Gill Quinn was alone with Morag Docherty. He called Docherty at once and asked her to try to find out from Gill whose phone she had used to text her son.

‘If she says she can’t remember, don’t let it go,’ he instructed. ‘It’s time to start putting some pressure on her.’

Vogel and Saslow then headed for the NDDH. It seemed more important than ever that they talk again to Jason Patel.

‘I know he’s recovering from serious injury, but we’ve left this long enough now,’ said Vogel, as Saslow turned off the Northam road onto the New Bridge.

‘It does seem that Gill’s alibi probably still stands, certainly if that phone she used to text her son belongs to this Maggie Challis. Although we are still waiting to confirm that. So Greg looks the most likely suspect now. Or he would if his father’s partner hadn’t been shot, and their business premises ransacked, within twenty-four hours of Thomas’ murder.’

‘That could still be a robbery gone wrong, boss.’

‘It could, yes. Though what would burglars expect to find of value in the offices of a North Devon export and import firm, for God’s sake? It’s not the sort of outfit which would carry vast amounts of cash stashed in its safe, is it? Yet the perps attempted to break into it. That’s been confirmed. And they came tooled up too. That’s heavy.’

‘Maybe it was known in certain circles that Q-P Associates were cheating the tax man, and they did stash cash in their safe,’ responded Saslow.

‘Possibly, I suppose, but I would find it easier to accept that it might be a random burglary that went wrong, if it wasn’t for what has happened to the two partners in this firm within such a short period of time. They’ve both been violently attacked. One is dead, and the other is critically injured. That’s one big coincidence—’

‘Yes, and you don’t believe in coincidences, do you, boss?’ interrupted Saslow.

Vogel chuckled. ‘Is there a copper who does?’ he asked.

Nobody at the hospital attempted to stop Vogel and Saslow from interviewing Jason Patel again. Which was all for the best, because Vogel was beginning to feel somewhat frustrated, and was in no mood for any sort of obstruction, however valid the reason for it might be.

Patel was still in ICU, a number of tubes remained attached to his body and various pieces of serious looking medical equipment, but he was sitting up in bed sipping a glass of water when Vogel and Saslow arrived at his bedside. All in all, he looked considerably better than he had the previous day.

Not for the first time, Vogel reflected on the human race’s astonishing capacity for recovery. Certainly in these days of advanced medicine.

He was not sure if Patel would remember them from the previous visit, so he began to introduce himself and Saslow for the second time.

‘I know who you are,’ interrupted Patel. ‘I haven’t been shot in the head. Yet.’

His voice was weak and shaky, but his words were clear. And if it wasn’t for the look in his eyes and the beads of sweat on his forehead, Vogel might have thought he was being sarcastic.

But Patel was afraid. Very afraid. Vogel had seen fear many times in his life. He recognized it at once. Jason Patel could be afraid of his own physical condition, of course. He could be sweating because he was in pain, or had a fever. Vogel didn’t believe that, though.

‘What do you mean by “yet”?’ the DCI asked.

‘I don’t know, I don’t know anything except I’ve been shot,’ Patel replied, a distinct note of desperation in his voice. ‘Twice. I’ve been shot twice. My God. How do I know they won’t come and finish me off? Anyone can walk in here. I want police protection. I should have it. I demand police protection?’

‘I can see that you are afraid, Mr Patel,’ Vogel began. ‘But I need you to tell me why, and why you think you need police protection, before I can take any steps to arrange that. At the moment all we have to go on is that your office was broken into and ransacked. It looks like a burglary, and the burglars wouldn’t have expected you to be in there on a Sunday. They panicked and shot you. That’s the obvious assumption. Unless, of course, you have something else to tell us. Do you, Mr Patel?’

‘Look. I don’t know anything. Just that there are men wandering around with guns.’

‘To start with, we need you to tell us exactly what happened yesterday, when you were shot,’ Vogel continued. ‘Can you remember that, now?’

‘I suppose so. A bit. I remember arriving at the office. I was about to unlock the door, but it opened as I touched it. So I just pushed it and walked in. Stupid really. After that, I still don’t remember much. I think I must have been shot pretty much straight away. Everything since is a blank. Until I woke up in hospital.’

‘Did you see anyone before you were shot?’

‘Well yes, I suppose I did. Men in masks. Surgical masks. And baseball hats. I couldn’t see their faces. I guess I interrupted them. I may have told them to get out. I’m not sure.’

‘Do you know how many men there were?’

‘Two. I s-saw two. I suppose there could have been more. But I definitely saw two. Look, I need police protection. Really I do. I think they’re after me.’

‘But again, why? Why would these men be after you, Mr Patel?’

‘I don’t know, do I?’

‘I think you do, Mr Patel. Your partner was also violently attacked over the weekend, and he died. You don’t think that was coincidence, do you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Patel again.

Vogel stood up. ‘In that case, I can’t help you,’ he said. ‘C’mon Saslow, let’s go.’

He turned towards the door, with Saslow following.

‘No,’ Patel called out, his voice high-pitched and even more desperate. ‘Don’t go. Please. I’ll tell you what I can. But you have to protect me. These are people who live outside the law. I’m terrified of them. I have no idea how to deal with this sort of thing. I never realized...’

He paused, his breath coming in short sharp gasps.

Vogel and Saslow turned back and sat down again by his bedside.

‘It’s all right, Mr Patel, we can help you, if you will just be honest with us,’ said Vogel. ‘Who are these people, and what is your connection with them?’

‘It was Quinn, he got me into it, I didn’t realize what he was like, you see,’ Patel began. ‘He’s a manipulative bastard. He came to me for my accounting skills. And he offered me the world. I knew he sailed close to the wind, and I should have guessed it was all too good to be true. Maybe the truth is that I did know that, but I didn’t have a clue what he was really into, or what he was going to expect me to do for him. Honestly I didn’t. Not to begin with, that’s for sure. Anyway, I was desperate. I was in big financial trouble, you see.’

‘Why was that, Mr Patel?’ asked Saslow. ‘We know that you inherited a thriving business, which had a very good reputation locally. What went wrong? It was way before Covid that you joined up with Thomas Quinn, wasn’t it?’

Patel nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was all my own fault. I never wanted to be an accountant. I always thought it was the most boring job in the world. My father pressurized me into it, and when he died, way before his time, I found myself running the show, and I hated it. I looked for excitement. That’s my excuse anyway. I started to gamble. It became an obsession almost at once. I spent everything I could get my hands on. I ended up mortgaging not only my business premises, but also my house. To the hilt. When Thomas approached me I was about to go bankrupt.’

‘Did your family know?’ asked Saslow.

Patel shook his head. ‘How could I tell my wife that we were about to lose our home? I mean, what about our kids?’

He paused, his breathing laboured. ‘I saw Thomas as a way out. It was as simple as that. He lent me enough money to at least buy myself breathing space. I didn’t ask too many questions. Like where that money had come from.’

‘He lent you money?’ Saslow queried. ‘So presumably you were having to pay it back, weren’t you?’

‘Not exactly. I was supposed to be working off the debt. It was my job to juggle everything, move money around, at least on paper, keep all our balls up in the air. I never liked accounting, but I’m actually rather good at it, you see. I can work magic with numbers. Nobody can do it for ever, though. That’s always the problem. I couldn’t do it for myself for goodness sake. I’ve ended up with nothing. I don’t even have a lease on the flat Thomas let me live in, and I don’t know who really owns it, except it’s some sort of scam, for sure.’

‘What sort of scam? What exactly was it that Thomas Quinn was involved in?’ asked Vogel.

‘I never knew the whole of it, I just did what I was told. I kidded myself I was such a small part of everything, that I would be all right.’

‘Yes, but a small part of what?’ Vogel asked.

‘Thomas’ business dealings. Property was the front, mostly. They were... uh, very varied.’

‘Indeed. Were they also a little illegal, perhaps, Mr Patel?’

‘No. Uh. Well, perhaps. We were moving money around day and night all over the world. I guessed it was probably what is known as money laundering, but I never asked, and I was never told. I maybe turned a blind eye. But I had nothing to do with that side of things. Honestly I didn’t. Or at least not until everything started to go wrong. We were both being threatened, you see. I realized then that I’d got myself into an even bigger mess than I was in before...’

‘Who exactly was threatening you?’ asked Vogel.

‘Thomas called them his “international business associates”.’ Patel managed a strangled mirthless laugh. ‘International business associates?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘They’re thugs. Nothing but thugs. And crooks.’

‘Yes, but who are they?’

‘Who are they? They operate under many different names, and form companies which both appear and disappear at speed. They don’t exactly give you a business card. Not one which means anything, anyway. I’ve always tried to have nothing to do with them.’

‘Well, presumably if you’ve been Thomas Quinn’s business partner for nearly three years you must have had dealings with them, email and phone surely, even if you didn’t meet them. Isn’t that so?’

‘I told you, they’re not local. I’ve no idea where they’re based even. I don’t think it’s in this country. And no human contact. Not even phone calls. Not with me anyway. Everything was electronic. Email. And portals. WhatsApp. Sometimes texts. That was all.’

‘And yet you seem to believe that they came all the way to Bideford to break into your offices and do you harm. C’mon, Mr Patel. You must have some idea who they are and where they are from, do you not?’

‘All I know for certain is that they do what the hell they like. They’re ruthless, ruthless...’

Patel’s voice had risen again, his breathing even more troubled. Suddenly he stopped trying to speak, let out a cry of anguish and slumped back on the pillow. His eyes rolled back in his head.

‘Shit,’ said Vogel. ‘Saslow, get a nurse. Fast.’

One of the machines by Jason Patel’s bed began to bleep furiously. He looked as if he had lost consciousness. Had he also stopped breathing? Vogel wasn’t sure.

Saslow didn’t need to fetch anyone. Two nurses, a man and a woman, arrived almost at once. Vogel realized Patel must be linked to an alarm system which had alerted the nursing station of what Vogel feared might be a potentially cataclysmic change in the man’s heart function.

He and Saslow were immediately asked to leave. Within seconds, it seemed, a Resus unit had arrived. For a moment or two Saslow and Vogel watched from the doorway as the team sprang into operation, each individual clearly knowing exactly what he or she had to do and yet all working smoothly together. Then a nurse, hurrying past, told them in no uncertain terms to get out of the way.

The two officers retreated to the row of orange chairs positioned just outside ICU where they had encountered Patel’s ex-wife the previous day. Perhaps mercifully under the circumstances, thought Vogel, she was not there today.

The sounds of emergency resuscitation continued to resonate from inside the ward. Then suddenly, there was silence.

Vogel looked at Saslow. Saslow looked at Vogel. They sat quietly for another minute or two. Then they approached the entrance to the unit. The same nurse who had earlier moved them on was just inside the double doors.

She approached them at once.

‘I’m afraid we’ve lost him,’ she said, without prevarication.

The strain showed in her face. Vogel felt for her. In all his many years in the force, and his many confrontations with death in all manner of situations, Vogel had never known a health professional, any first responder or emergency worker, or indeed a police officer, who did not suffer enormous shock and distress when losing a soul they had fought to save.

More often than not, certainly now as a senior officer, Vogel found himself standing by, watching others on the front line. He too never failed to be deeply moved. It was the human condition, he considered. And the passing of Jason Patel was no exception.

‘What happened, nurse?’ he asked. ‘I thought Mr Patel was recovering.’

The nurse shrugged almost imperceptibly.

As she began to speak again she brushed away a strand of hair which had fallen across her face. Vogel noticed that her fingers were trembling.

‘A heart attack of some sort,’ she said. ‘His heart just stopped. It’s not unusual in cases of extreme trauma like this. A patient seems to be recovering but their body cannot ultimately cope with the shock it’s received. That’s why we keep trauma patients in ICU. Resus did their best. But in the case of Mr Patel, we just couldn’t save him.’

It was pretty much as Vogel had suspected. He hoped he and Saslow had played no part in the instigation of the attack.

‘I’m sorry, nurse,’ said Vogel.

The nurse stared at him levelly for a few seconds. ‘Yes,’ she said eventually. ‘I believe you are. Even though I probably wouldn’t have let you in if I’d seen you arrive. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to contact Mr Patel’s next of kin.’

Vogel watched her walking away, glad that was one death call he wasn’t going to have to make.

His first thoughts had been simply sadness at the man’s quite unnecessary passing. Then he experienced just a fleeting concern that he may have inadvertently played a part in it. But Jason Patel had been shot. Twice. That’s why he died. And no doubt that heart attack could have happened at any time.

It was only as he and Saslow were leaving the hospital that he allowed himself to consider the full significance of Patel’s death. He and the team would now be investigating two murders. And Jason Patel would never finish telling his story, a story which, Vogel felt, could eventually have gone a long way towards solving the mystery of the two attacks, one leading to Patel’s own death and one to the death of his business partner. Now any information that he might have imparted might never be fully learned.

Saslow, who Vogel invariably considered to be far tougher than him, had already got there.

‘Christ, where does this leave us now, boss,’ she asked, her facial expression showing very little other than professional irritation. ‘When Patel started blabbing I reckoned we were really going to get somewhere. Now we’re left with two murders and bugger all else.’

‘That’s a very accurate assessment of exactly what Mr Patel’s death means to us,’ remarked Vogel mildly.

‘Sorry, boss,’ muttered Saslow.

‘Don’t be,’ said Vogel. ‘It’s a good job one of us is focusing on nothing but the job in hand. And you’re so right about us having bugger all else. Every time we get a new lead it seems to be ripped away from us.’

He called Detective Superintendent Clarke to tell her about Patel’s death. She said she would send additional back-up from Exeter.

‘Two murders in Bideford and Northam, within twenty-four hours,’ she muttered. ‘For God’s sake, Vogel, what’s going on?’

The truth was that Vogel didn’t know. But he was determined to find out. And fast.

‘Right, Saslow,’ he said. ‘Let’s head back to Bideford nick and call a team meeting. We need to put together a broader picture of these murders and find out how they fit together. If indeed they do at all.’

‘Yes, boss,’ said Saslow.