Kill Shot: A Cavendish & Walker Novel - Book 10

by Sally Rigby

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, grinning, as he picked up his bag and left her office.

  She took her coat from the back of the door, left the campus and drove to the station.

  On arrival, she headed straight for Whitney’s office and knocked on the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  She opened the door and walked in. ‘Hello.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Whitney said, as she stood and came over to where George was standing. ‘William Palmer has just arrived. To get you up to speed, he’s the person who’d been following Ryan Armstrong. He hired a car, using a fake driving licence. He paid by cash, and because the woman he dealt with was new she didn’t run his credit card through the system to put a hold on it. It turns out he’s a private eye and, according to Frank, he’s dodgy. He has a record. Let’s go and grab Brian and we’ll interview him.’

  ‘Do we have time for a quick word before we go?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. What is it?’

  ‘One of my students has asked to do some work experience here with me. He’s thinking of joining the force through the fast-track scheme. Is it possible?’

  ‘We don’t offer work placements, because of the sensitive and dangerous nature of the work. But we do have Force Insight Days, which give anyone interested in joining the chance to find out more about us and what goes on in the different departments. I don’t mind chatting to him, too, if you’d like me to.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d hoped he’d stay on and do his masters and PhD. Students like him don’t come along very often. He has an exceptional, analytical mind and could make a huge contribution to the discipline, internationally.’

  ‘Do you want me to try to put him off? I could introduce him to Dickhead. That ought to scare anyone away.’ She laughed.

  ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but that wouldn’t be fair. It’s his decision to make. I’ll just have to hope he decides to stay with me. Not that there’s anything wrong with him becoming a police officer, I have the utmost respect for what you do here.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain. I totally understand. Right now, though, we don’t have time to discuss this further.’

  They collected Brian from the incident room and headed to the ground floor and the interview room where Palmer was being held.

  George slipped into the observation room and sat on one of the stools. She scrutinised the overweight, balding man who was obviously uncomfortable as he fidgeted in his seat. He was in his fifties and wore a casual brown leather bomber jacket with a dark-green T-shirt underneath. His fingers drummed erratically on the table. Definitely nervous.

  ‘Why am I here?’ he asked as soon as Whitney and Brian entered the room.

  ‘Because we wish to talk to you,’ Whitney answered as she started the recording equipment.

  ‘Ask some non-contentious questions to give me a baseline from which to assess his body language,’ George said into the mic, conscious that, as a PI, he might be familiar with interrogation techniques and body language, using them to his advantage.

  ‘What’s your occupation?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said.

  ‘You know what I am.’

  ‘I’d like you to tell me for the recording.’

  ‘I’m a private investigator.’

  ‘How long have you been doing that job?’

  ‘Twenty-five years.’

  ‘What is your marital status?’

  ‘Divorced and much happier because of it. Now can we get to the point?’ He scowled at Whitney.

  ‘Thanks,’ George said. ‘Ask what you like, now.’

  ‘Do you use your own car for work?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why did you hire a car from Rent Me Car Hire for two weeks, dropping it off last night.’

  His eyes widened. ‘I … I …’ He faltered. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because we went through their records.’

  ‘B-but …’ His fists clenched into balls on the table.

  ‘Were you going to add that we couldn’t know because you’d falsified your documents?’ Whitney asked, interrupting him. ‘That doesn’t mean we can’t track you down. We used the photo on your fake licence and found you that way. I’m surprised you hadn’t thought of that. A rookie mistake, if you ask me. Now perhaps you could give us an explanation regarding what you were doing and why?’

  ‘It’s confidential.’

  ‘Notice how every time you ask a question he looks at Brian to give his answer? He doesn’t like being questioned by a woman,’ George said. ‘You can use it to unnerve him further. He’s already struggling.’

  ‘No, it’s not, if you know what’s good for you,’ Whitney said, her tone even more aggressive than before. George approved.

  ‘It’s still confidential.’

  ‘We’re investigating the murder of Ryan Armstrong and we know you’ve been following him because you were picked up on the CCTV footage on several occasions. We want to know why.’ Whitney said.

  ‘I was working for a client.’

  ‘Who is this client?’

  ‘I don’t know as I didn’t deal directly with them.’

  ‘And you expect us to believe you? This isn’t a B-movie.’

  ‘It’s the truth. I was contacted by a go-between. And before you ask I don’t know their name, either. I was paid to follow Armstrong and report his movements back to my contact.’

  ‘How did they pay you?’

  ‘They left cash in an envelope at my office.’

  ‘Where? Under the mat? Or did you give them a key, and they left it on your desk?’

  ‘It was posted through the letter box in a brown envelope.’

  ‘Of course, it was.’ Whitney arched her eyebrow. ‘Surely you can see this doesn’t add up.’

  ‘I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘Let’s suppose I believe you. Why did you hire a car and fake your documents? What was the point in that?’

  ‘Because they told me to.’

  George shook her head at the childish response.

  ‘Who’s they?’

  ‘My contact. Part of the contract was for me not to be traced.’ He let out a sigh.

  ‘And yet you failed. You do know it’s illegal to falsify official documents. Did you ask why it was to be kept off the radar?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. They were paying me good money to follow Armstrong, that’s all I cared about.’

  ‘Did they specify how long you were to watch him?’

  ‘No, but after Armstrong was killed I stopped. I haven’t heard from them since then. They still owe me for last week, so they’d better get in touch.’

  ‘What were you doing between the hours of one and three early Sunday morning?’

  He looked daggers at Whitney. ‘You’re not pinning his murder on me. I went out to the pub on Saturday night, had a skinful, came home and fell asleep on the sofa.’

  ‘Weren’t you meant to be following Armstrong then?’

  ‘I knew he was at home as I saw him greet all his friends when they arrived. I assumed he wouldn’t be going out again.’

  ‘How were you able to see that?’

  ‘I was positioned across the street from his house using high-powered binoculars.’

  ‘Can anyone vouch for you during the times in question?’

  ‘No, I live on my own.’

  ‘Where were you drinking?’

  ‘I went to The Crown on Lawrence Street. They called a taxi for me around midnight, maybe a bit later. Ask them, they’ll be my alibi. I could hardly stand, so certainly couldn’t drive to the snooker club, murder the bloke and then scarper.’

  ‘I’m inclined to believe him,’ George said. ‘None of his body language indicates he’s lying.’

  ‘We’ll be getting in touch with the pub to confirm your story. Let’s go back to this mysterious client. How did they contact you in the first place to offer you the job?’

  ‘They found me online.’

&
nbsp; ‘And why did they choose you? Was it because they knew you skirt on the wrong side of the law most of the time and would do things other PIs wouldn’t consider?’

  ‘I resent those assumptions. Okay, so I have a record. That doesn’t mean I break the law all the time.’

  ‘Doesn’t it? What about the fake documents you used?’

  ‘That’s different. I don’t know why they chose me. You’ll have to ask them.’

  ‘How do you suggest we do that, seeing as we don’t know who they are? Are you sure the go-between didn’t tell you their name?’

  ‘The first time he called he said he had a client from overseas who wanted me to follow Ryan Armstrong and report back daily on what he did.’

  ‘Ah … so we’ve gone from they to he. That’s progress. Do you have a phone number for this go-between so you could give your report?’

  ‘I don’t. He phoned me each evening at nine o’clock.’

  Whitney gave an exasperated sigh. ‘You’re really not helping yourself. Let’s try something else. During the time you followed Armstrong, where did he go?’

  ‘My notes are on my phone. May I?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ Whitney said.

  He pulled out his phone from his pocket and stared at the screen for a few seconds. ‘He went to his snooker club regularly. He met his friends at various pubs. He also went to the gym. Twice he drove to Watford Gap service station and met an officer from the Metropolitan Police Force. A DI Clifford.’

  Whitney sat upright in her chair. ‘How do you know that’s who he was?’

  ‘I took a note of his car registration and used my contacts to find out who it was registered to. I also took photos of the DI and checked him out online. I’m a private investigator. Finding out who people are is like bread and butter to me.’

  ‘Apart from discovering who the people are who hired you,’ Whitney retorted.

  ‘I didn’t even try.’ He shrugged and sat back in his chair.

  ‘He’s getting complacent, Whitney. He thinks he’s getting the better of you,’ she said.

  ‘When you informed the go-between who Armstrong had been meeting, what was his reaction?’

  ‘There was none.’

  ‘Have you had any contact with him since Armstrong’s death?’

  ‘I’ve already told you I haven’t and that I’m still owed money.’

  ‘Returning to when you hired the car with fake credentials. What would you have done if they had insisted on putting a hold on the credit card?’

  ‘I would have gone elsewhere to rent the car. There’s always somewhere you can do a deal.’

  ‘We are going to be further investigating your use of false documentation and will be looking to press charges. DS Chapman will escort you out of the station and we will be in touch. Interview suspended.’

  George left the observation room after Brian had walked past with Palmer, then she went into the corridor and waited for Whitney, who came out holding a folder.

  ‘He possibly knew more than he told you,’ she said to Whitney.

  ‘Regarding what?’

  ‘Who the go-between was. He said he didn’t try to find out but, by the very nature of his work, I believe he tried. It was the way he dismissed it so quickly. Either he found out and was scared off, or he tried and wasn’t able to discover his name, which would also have rung warning bells with him.’

  ‘We’ll question him again, but more important for now is that we know Armstrong had been meeting with this detective from the Met. I’m going to contact him and see what he knows.’

  ‘I’m going back to work to finish off some admin, do you need me tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, please. First thing in the morning, if you can make it.’

  ‘I’ve arranged to see my head of department, but he can wait.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s such a high-profile case, we really need all hands on deck to get it solved before the likes of Douglas interfere and want to take the investigation away from me.’

  Chapter 14

  Whitney opened the police database and found the contact details for DI Sebastian Clifford from the Met. She called the number listed.

  ‘Clifford,’ he answered, after it had been ringing for a while and she was just about to hang up.

  ‘This is DCI Whitney Walker from the Lenchester force.’

  ‘How may I help you?’ His voice was deep, yet had a warmth about it. But that aside, he sounded as posh as George, if not more so. Is that even possible?

  ‘I’d like to speak to you about Ryan Armstrong, the snooker player who was shot and killed in the early hours of Sunday morning.’

  ‘I am aware of his death.’

  ‘We’ve been informed that the victim met with you on two occasions recently.’

  There was silence for a few seconds, during which time she heard him suck in a breath. ‘Who made this claim?’

  ‘A private investigator from Lenchester who’d been employed, by sources as yet unknown to us, to follow Armstrong. He’d been working for them for the last two weeks. He’s not in the frame for the shooting as he’s got an alibi. He was paid in cash and claims not to know who his employers were. He only had conversations on the phone with a go-between and his payment was left at his office. He maintains that you met Armstrong twice at Watford Gap service station. Firstly, do you confirm that these meetings took place? And, secondly, what were they about?’

  ‘I’m unable to comment.’

  For goodness’ sake. Suspects played the no comment card she didn’t expect it from a fellow officer.

  ‘You have got to be kidding me. Your answer is not acceptable. I’m the senior investigating officer on this case, as well as your superior officer.’

  ‘Are you pulling rank?’ he asked.

  He didn’t sound angry. If anything, there was a dry, almost humorous, edge to his voice.

  ‘Rank has nothing to do with it. I would like to find out about your meeting with Armstrong. It could be an important factor in apprehending his killer, as I’m sure you can appreciate.’

  ‘I am unable to discuss this with you. It’s confidential.’

  ‘Guv.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘It’s confidential, guv.’

  Okay, she was being petty, but she didn’t like being given the runaround, especially by an officer of a lower rank. Though, one thing she could imply from their conversation was that he did actually meet with the victim, or he would have denied it. It would have been pointless not to.

  ‘My mistake. It’s confidential, guv.’ Again with the dry tone.

  ‘Well, it can’t remain so if it’s integral to my investigation. I’ll have to take this further if you’re not prepared to answer my questions.’

  ‘That’s your prerogative, but for now I can’t comment without first consulting with my superior officer.’

  ‘I am your superior officer.’ She forced herself to remain calm, despite wanting to take the phone and bash him over the head with it.

  ‘In the special squad of which I’m a member we follow a specific chain of command.’

  She was getting absolutely nowhere with this infuriating man. Her fists were clenched and her body tense. But he hardly seemed ruffled.

  ‘So, just to be crystal clear, are you refusing to assist me?’

  ‘If you wish to put it in those words—’

  ‘Yes, I do, and rest assured I will be taking this further.’ She ended the call without giving him a chance to reply.

  Fuming, she left her office and went straight to see the super. She knocked on the door which was slightly ajar.

  ‘Enter,’ Clyde called out.

  ‘Do you have a moment, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, come and sit down.’ Clyde placed the pen she was holding on her desk and gave Whitney her full attention.

  ‘We’ve got a lead regarding the killing of Ryan Armstrong. It involves a private investigator who was being paid to follow him. He informed us that the victim had twice met with
a DI Clifford from the Met. I’ve contacted Clifford who’s part of some special squad and he point blank refused to give me any information whatsoever regarding his liaison with Armstrong, despite me being his superior officer.’

  She was about to mention that he sounded really posh, then thought better of it as it had no bearing on the case.

  ‘I see. We don’t wish to tread on their toes if they’re in the middle of an investigation, but—’

  ‘But this is a murder enquiry and should take precedence over anything they’re doing,’ Whitney said, interrupting.

  ‘Not necessarily. Leave it with me and I will contact the Met and let you know how we’re going to proceed.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. I hope you have better luck than I did.’

  She returned to the incident room and stood in front of the board. ‘Listen up, everyone. I want to give you an update on where we are. William Palmer, the PI, was paid to follow Armstrong. He has an alibi for the shooting but, more importantly, he informed us that the victim had twice met up with a DI from the Met at Watford Gap service station. I got in touch with this DI and got zip. It’s unacceptable, and I’ve now passed it on to the super to sort out.’ She picked up the board pen and wrote up Palmer’s name.

  ‘Who was the officer you spoke to?’ Brian asked, as she was about to add Clifford’s name. She’d forgotten Brian had trained there. Maybe he would have a way in, if the super failed. Though that was hardly likely. If anyone could get Clifford to comply, it was Clyde.

  ‘DI Clifford,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘Do you know him by any chance?’

  ‘You mean, the viscount?’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘He’s a real viscount, as in an aristocrat.’ He smirked as Whitney looked in his direction, open-mouthed.

  ‘Come on, Sarge. We’re not that gullible,’ Frank said. ‘Since when do any of that lot work for the police. Can you imagine it? We’d be spending our entire life bowing and curtseying every time we saw them.’

  ‘I’d love to see you curtsey with your bad knees. You’d fall arse over tit,’ Doug said, laughing.

  ‘I can curtsey, just watch.’ Frank stood, put one foot behind the other and dipped down about six inches.

  ‘You call that a curtsey, you barely moved.’