‘Even when we know the guilty party. We can get Rees this time for Garvey, not a chance for Amanda Upton unless he decides to talk.’
‘Lord Shaw?’
‘He was the commissioner of the Met before Davies. He’s a man who’s guided your career,’ Isaac said. ‘He’s also a man who has the right contacts.’
‘Leave it with me,’ Goddard said. ‘Nothing to lose, not now, and I’m damned sure I’m not about to allow our police records to get another black mark against them for failing to solve a crime.’
***
Mary Wilton sat quietly as Wendy updated her. The events of the last few weeks had aged her. Even though she had been in her mid-seventies when they had first met, she had been well-dressed and lively, but Wendy thought the woman now looked terminal, as though she did not have long for this world. The former brothel was cold and austere.
‘I’m selling up,’ the woman said. ‘What with Amanda and the upcoming court case, I’ve just had enough.’
‘We know who killed your daughter,’ Wendy said. ‘Not that we can prove it, not yet.’
‘Gabbi’s former husband?’
‘Yes. You knew or you suspected?’
‘Suspected.’
It didn’t ring true to Wendy; somehow someone had told the woman. It hadn’t been reported yet, not officially, and outside of the police station, few people would have known.
‘The truth.’
‘Gabbi contacted me, told me that Gareth had been arrested and that he was likely to be charged with murder.’
At least that was true, Wendy knew. She had phoned Gabbi herself, told her that her former husband was in custody, yet the case wasn’t watertight, not at that time, and the man had figured out that it had been his former wife who had helped the police.
‘Gareth Rees and your daughter were more than friends. They had, according to Rees, a casual sexual relationship. Also, he was involved in organising the clients for her, ensuring that the monies were paid in advance.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Which brings up the question as to where they met and why Gabbi gravitated to your brothel after Rees had kicked her out.’
‘I always thought it was Analyn who told her about here. It was she that introduced her to me.’
‘A natural, Gabbi?’
‘I had no complaints. She wasn’t here long, though. I liked her, the same as I liked Analyn. None of the coarseness of the others, not like Janice or Cathy.’
‘Men haters, Janice and Cathy?’
‘Not Janice, but Cathy could have been. Janice could be selective about who she went with; Cathy never was.’
‘More money, the more disgusting the act?’
‘If the girls negotiated extra, I’d not know.’
‘Cathy was more desperate?’
‘Always.’
‘Let’s come back to Rees and Amanda,’ Wendy said.
The two women were sat in the sofas that had previously served as platforms for the available women to show their wares when the place had been in business. Back then, scantily-dressed women, voluptuous, bright red lipstick, the suggestion of unbridled passion, the lustful looks of the males. But now, two women discussing the murder of a daughter, and in Mary Wilton’s case, the futility of her life.
‘If Analyn had known Gabbi, she would have told her about this place,’ Mary Wilton repeating what she had said previously.
‘Which means either in England or else in the Philippines. We know that Rees was spending time with Amanda. He was also in the company of Analyn in Godstone.’
Wendy was still concerned that Gabbi Gaffney had hidden secrets; something wasn’t right.
‘I can’t help you,’ the former madam said.
Wendy was sure that she couldn’t. As she left the house, she felt that she would never see the woman again. It was an unsettling feeling, a premonition. It disturbed her.
***
Isaac sat in his office, hunched over his laptop. The worst part of a police officer’s life, the paperwork. The paperless office, the automation of processes that had been promised in the new streamlined police force, hadn’t eventuated.
Apart from the report on the department’s progress in the current murder enquiries, he still had to deal with health and safety, training for his people, preparation of budgets, requests for more personnel; or, more often, a cogent argument as to why he could not manage with fewer people, either as a result of natural attrition or because of the generous retirement packages offered to those approaching the ends of their careers, Wendy, the person most often mentioned as someone who should hand over her badge, receive the customary farewell, a speech from the chief superintendent, a few drinks, and out of the door.
Isaac did not want his sergeant to go, not yet, and on the last three attempts to remove her from Challis Street, he had managed to ensure that she stayed.
Larry spent time with Bill Ross over at Canning Town, attempting to find out more about Ian Naughton, although with three members of the gang that they had paid to kill Hector Robinson dead and gone, the others couldn’t be found.
The two men discussed the case, the reason for Hector Robinson’s murder, as well as the deaths of Waylon Conroy and Sean Garvey. Murder needs a motive, but motives are often obscure. Jealousy, an argument, money, love, hatred, were all motives, but Sean Garvey, who evoked no emotions other than loathing from Ross, had no reason to die. Not that the area wasn’t better off without him, but there were thousands in London living pointless lives.
Ross had admitted to Larry on more than one occasion that even though he had tempered his provocative and racist comments about the majority of the populace in Canning Town, it didn’t come easy. Larry knew that the man’s stay in Dagenham might be shorter than he would like.
Larry felt that he was wasting time with Ross and that he could not admit to liking his fellow inspector; the man carried too much angst, and too much time in his company was negative. He shook the man’s hand, wished him well and returned to Challis Street.
***
It would have required a Herculean effort by Richard Goddard and Lord Charles Shaw, but in the department, a copy of Gareth Rees’s military record, a transcript of the man’s court-martial.
Both documents, while substantially complete, also had large parts blacked out. However, Homicide, and specifically Isaac, were pleased to have the documents in their possession.
Bridget had photocopied them, given copies to each of the team.
‘The salient points,’ Isaac said, knowing that Bridget would have separated the wheat from the chaff, the items of interest from the verbiage of a court-martial.
‘Gareth Rees, an exemplary record of service, had served in Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as other countries, most of them blacked out, although he had been in Africa on a couple of occasions.’
‘To do what?’ Wendy asked.
‘Unspecified.’
‘Which means behind enemy lines, undercover, sanctioned assassinations,’ Isaac said.
‘There is a name.’
‘Of who?’
‘It’s in the transcript of the court-martial,’ Bridget said. ‘The charge against Rees is not to do with collateral damage, nor is it the indiscriminate killing of civilians.’
‘Then what?’ Isaac asked.
‘Rees was charged with selling military equipment.’
‘Arms trading?’
‘That’s what it says.’
‘And yet he gets kicked out of the military, no time served, even though he’s found guilty.’
‘Which means?’ Wendy said.
‘I’d say that favours rendered to a grateful country outweighed the crimes,’ Isaac said.
‘The sale of weapons, which could have been primarily to rebel groups, and approved by the British Government initially, could have given Rees the idea to make extra money on the side.’
‘There’s more,’ Bridget said. ‘It’s a doctored document, a lot left out, some left in.’
> ‘Critical.’
‘It’s in the small print, hidden in the summing up by the prosecution lawyer.’
‘What is it?’ Isaac asked.
‘The man had an accomplice.’
‘A name?’
‘Only initials, VC, and it’s not the medal.’
‘Ian Naughton? That would explain the apparent friendliness between him and Rees,’ Larry said.
‘I’ve gone through names associated with Rees, names on the public record. VC stands for Vincent Cuthbertson.’
‘His service records?’
‘Once I had details as to his postings, his rank, his regiment. The man left the military around the time Rees was sentenced.’
‘A cover-up?’
‘I wouldn’t know. What I can tell you is that Cuthbertson is forty-eight years of age, the son of wealthy parents, the father bankrupted when Cuthbertson was in his twenties.’
‘A picture?’
Bridget reached over to another folder on the desk, took out three photos and handed one to Isaac, another to Larry, and a third to Wendy.
‘It’s Naughton,’ Larry said. ‘Where can we find him?’
‘He’s a man who appears and disappears at regular intervals. He also has a wife from the Philippines.’
‘Analyn?’
‘Her name is Leni Ramos.’
Chapter 30
There were, Isaac could see, inconsistencies in the documents that had been procured by Lord Shaw. The most glaring one was that it had been relatively simple for Bridget to find out that VC referred to Vincent Cuthbertson. It was as if the police were being given a hand to arrest Ian Naughton, who may well have outlived his usefulness, and was potentially an embarrassment.
Regardless, it appeared that the potential embarrassment to persons unknown outweighed the short-term expediency of arresting both Rees and Naughton. And now Analyn’s part in the sordid affair had been revealed; she was Naughton’s wife, not the family maid, nor the nanny of the children.
Cuthbertson’s last known address was in Suffolk, a county north-east of London. It was five years since the man had been there, and Bridget had been checking bank accounts, looking for credit cards. There were none, which meant, as with Rees, that the man used different names for different occasions.
Wendy had visited Gabbi Gaffney, still not venturing far from her house, and shown her the photo of Vincent Cuthbertson, asked her why she had lied about her and Analyn in the Philippines. The woman’s reply was obtuse and incoherent.
Gabbi was frightened, and she wasn’t going to say more, other than Analyn had married the man, although she had only seen him in the Philippines and not in England, and if Analyn knew that he was murdering people indiscriminately, she would be frightened too.
Wendy wanted to believe her, but too many lies had been told by too many people, and Gabbi Gaffney had exceeded her allowance.
The All-Points Bulletin for Ian Naughton, also known as Vincent Cuthbertson, had been upgraded, and now there was a photo, even if it had been taken years previously. An artist aged the picture, a representation of what he would look like now, using both Isaac’s and Larry’s training in observation to affect a good likeness.
All airports and cross-channel ferries had been notified, as well as the train stations, especially St Pancras International, the departure point for the Eurostar and the continent. If Naughton was in the country, it was only a matter of time before he was apprehended, and Analyn’s photo was now available as well.
One or the other would surface soon enough, if only for provisions.
A flurry of activity in Homicide, anticipation that it would soon be over. Bridget busied herself with updating her database. Three murders had a murderer’s name against them, although the crimes committed by Naughton weren’t known yet. The man had worked behind enemy lines overseas, which meant that he was probably as adept a killer as Rees.
Isaac and Larry visited Rees in prison. The man needed to be updated.
‘Vincent Cuthbertson,’ Isaac said as Rees sat down.
‘I know the name,’ Rees’s reply.
‘We met him in Holland Park. He was using the name of Ian Naughton, and we know now that Analyn, the woman we met and you were in Godstone with, is his wife. Her name in the Philippines was Leni Ramos.’
‘Cuthbertson liked them Asian and young.’
‘As you do,’ Larry said.
‘There’s no law against it. We used to go there when we had time off, got drunk, got laid, had a great time.’
‘A great time, but both of you married women from there. Why?’
‘Love.’
‘Mr Rees, from what we know, and we do have a copy of your military record as well as an edited transcript of your court-martial, you are not a sentimental man.’
‘Your opinion doesn’t matter. Gabbi was a good person, and no doubt Leni is. Good luck to Cuthbertson, but we weren’t in each other’s pocket.’
‘We know from your former wife that you knew Naughton’s wife, or should I say, Vincent Cuthbertson’s wife, in the Philippines.’
‘Maybe I did, but where’s this going? I’ve been stitched up for one murder. I’m not likely to see the outside other than from a prison van for a long time. You want my cooperation, although I don’t know what for.’
‘You were selling weapons.’
‘I was following orders.’
‘You probably were initially, but you were taking a little extra on the side. Doesn’t it irk you that Cuthbertson got an honourable discharge, a pension?’
‘No.’
‘Is that it? He’s walking free, and yet you have been doing his dirty work. And judging by the house in Holland Park and yours in Kingston upon Thames, you were getting the rough end of the stick. You were being shafted by a master manipulator. And why the cryptic message at the grave where you murdered Amanda Upton?’
‘Don’t make it out to be something it wasn’t. We worked together, occasionally screwed each other. It was sex, that’s all.’
‘But you liked her?’
‘Sure, who wouldn’t. She was a classy woman, but she was hard, the same as her mother. To your face, she was sweet and coy and desirable, but deep down, she was calculating, able to convince a fat lecher that he was taking her to untold heights of delight.’
‘A good actor?’
‘She was.’
‘With you?’
‘We had a good time, no need to pretend with me. I’m as hard as she was, and you would be if you had seen what I had when I was in the military.’
‘Done what you had,’ Larry said.
‘Someone had to do it.’
‘You’ve used that defence before,’ Isaac said.
A smug look settled on Rees’s face. Isaac didn’t like it, as if the man knew something that he didn’t.
A curious limbo existed in Homicide; the truth increasingly known but only marginally proved. Larry took the opportunity to catch up on his paperwork, Wendy took the time to rest her weary legs, and Isaac gave more time to Jenny. It was only Bridget who was fully occupied.
Three days after Rees’s arrest, a phone call. Isaac was at the gynaecologist with Jenny when he answered his phone.
‘Sergeant Bill Dyer, Cardiff Police,’ a gruff-voiced man said.
‘How can I help you?’ Isaac’s reply, Jenny casting him a sideways glance, understanding on the one hand, scornful on the other.
‘It was one of our young constables, keen as mustard. She was in the supermarket, recognised your Asian woman.’
‘Under arrest?’
‘I didn’t think you’d want that. The constable picked up a plastic container the woman had handled, flashed her warrant card at the cashier and followed her.’
‘The prints?’
‘You’ll need to get your Forensics to check them out, but we’re certain they are from Leni Ramos.’
‘An address?’
‘We’ve got it staked out. It’s in a cul-de-sac. No one’s going an
ywhere.’
‘A man?’
‘We’ve not got close enough yet, but the constable’s got a team together to make sure that no one leaves the house. They’ve got photos of both the Asian woman and this Ian Naughton or whatever he calls himself. If either moves, we’ll pick them up.’
‘You’ve been updated on Naughton?’
‘Possibly armed, liable to shoot, handle with extreme caution. We have. We’ve got an armed response team coming, should be in place within an hour. How soon before you get here?’
‘Three hours if we drive, sixty minutes if we can get a helicopter. It depends on the chief superintendent.’
Isaac phoned Goddard, who without hesitation gave his permission. The monthly budget would be blown, but an arrest in Cardiff would outweigh the criticism that the finance department would give him afterwards.
Fifteen minutes later, Isaac and Larry were flying high over London, a police helicopter seconded for the trip.
Larry had been to Cardiff, Isaac hadn’t. On arrival, Detective Inspector Everton and the young constable, Catrin Humphreys, met them.
‘Constable Humphreys gets the credit for this.’
Isaac instinctively liked the inspector, a fair-minded man who gave credit where credit was due, not like the insufferable Seth Caddick who was always trying to wheedle his way into Challis Street and Homicide.’
‘It’s not far from here,’ Catrin Humphreys said.
‘The plan?’ Larry asked.
‘We were waiting for you. The armed response will go first. Once it’s secured, you can go in. It’s your arrest,’ Everton said.
‘Constable Humphreys can do that,’ Isaac said. ‘Inspector Hill and I have met Naughton and the woman before. The man can charm the birds out of the trees, but his records indicate that he’s not the sort of person to get too close to.’
The armed response team reached the front door of the house. It wasn’t as impressive as Holland Park, but it was still better than Rees’s house.
The door opened. From a distance, Isaac could see that it was the woman that had been with Ian Naughton: Analyn. Not taking chances this time, the woman was secured by one of the men and taken from her side of the door and out through the front garden. She was handed over to Isaac, who asked the young constable to caution her.
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 2 Page 148