DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 2

by Phillip Strang

  Handcuffs were applied to Analyn, and she was placed in the back of a police vehicle.

  The armed response team encircled the house, two of them taking positions at the rear, three at the front. The officer in charge shouted out, told anyone in the house to come out with their hands held high.

  Naughton walked out, the same smug look that Isaac had seen on Gareth Rees’s face at the prison. Isaac decided that even though he had wanted to let the constable caution the man, the seriousness of his crimes and the ensuing trial required him to do it.

  ‘It seems, Chief Inspector, that you are determined to miscalculate the situation,’ Naughton said.

  As smooth as a knife through butter, Larry thought. The man was good. He was not going to be easy to crack.

  ‘Why the arrogance?’ Inspector Everton asked Isaac after the two people in custody had left for the police station.

  ‘Trained killer for Her Majesty’s government. Friends in high places, secrets that he knows they’ll not want to be known. He thinks he can get out of this,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Can he?’

  ‘It’s probable. And besides, we can’t prove he committed murder, only that he instigated them.’

  ‘Proof of criminal activity?’

  ‘Not strong. His other nefarious activities we can’t be so sure about. It depends on his offsider and the woman. If either talk, that is.’

  ‘You don’t look confident.’

  ‘We’ve met his type before.’

  ***

  Wendy sat with Gabbi Gaffney, explaining what was happening in Cardiff, the woman’s husband sitting alongside her, holding her hand. It was touching, Wendy thought, but it wasn’t going to help if she continued to hold back the full truth.

  ‘We have Analyn in custody. In the Philippines, what name did she use?’

  ‘Analyn,’ Gabbi’s answer.

  Wendy, tired of the charade, turned to Gabbi’s husband. ‘I suggest you tell your wife to be honest with me. If she was prostituting herself in Manila, I need to know. If she’s not told you the full truth, then it’s too late. You’ll just have to sort it out between the two of you afterwards.’

  ‘I know the whole story,’ Mike Gaffney said, squeezing his wife’s hand harder.

  Wendy wasn’t sure he did. There was a sordid underlife that had not been told. According to Gabbi and Mary Wilton, both Gabbi and Analyn were decent women attempting to make the best in an imperfect world.

  Wendy had no issues with that, but lying to the police was an offence. She had no desire to deprive the woman of her husband and baby, but if she had to, she would.

  ‘Tell her,’ Mike Gaffney said.

  ‘Analyn, although that wasn’t her real name, not in the Philippines,’ Gabbi said.

  ‘Leni Ramos,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Yes, Leni. She had had it rough, a more difficult childhood than mine; poverty, an empty belly. It stunts the brain; makes you do things you’d rather not.’

  ‘Shows for the sex-tourists?’

  ‘Not at first. We came from the same area in the Philippines, although we had not known each other. In Manila, we bonded, dealt with whatever life threw up at us, and, yes, shows, degrading, disgusting. But what option did we have? Our families were suffering.’

  ‘Did they know?’

  ‘It wasn’t something that was ever spoken about. Mike looks after my family now; it’s not a lot of money, and they never cheat him, sit on their backsides waiting for the next cheque. My father is very religious, but not naïve; my mother is. I think my father realised the extent of it more than her.’

  ‘Is any of this a surprise, Mr Gaffney?’ Wendy said.

  ‘The past is the past. I judge the person, not their history, no matter how much it might disturb me.’

  ‘And it does?’

  ‘Man’s inhumanity to man, or in this case, women, is inexhaustible.’

  ‘Gareth and Naughton. In the audience?’

  ‘We met them on our day off. Gareth never saw me perform, nor did Vincent see Leni, or should I say, Analyn?’

  ‘Either will do,’ Wendy said.

  ‘I told Gareth the truth, and he said he’d look after me as long as I didn’t return.’

  ‘Out of love?’

  ‘Not then, not for either of us. He was in the country for a few weeks; he wanted a woman to be there for him.’

  ‘For sex?’

  ‘Not only that. He was interested in the culture, wanted me to show him around.’

  ‘And you had no problems with this?’

  ‘It was better than what I had been doing. A good hotel, plenty to eat, clean sheets on the bed. To me, it was a paradise.’

  ‘He married you.’

  ‘He used to have these terrible nightmares; he said that I calmed him. In time and another couple of visits, he asked me to marry him and to go and live in England.’

  ‘The shows, prostituting yourself?’

  ‘Not after I met Gareth. He used to send me money regularly, enough to rent a small place to live and I got a job in a shop selling souvenirs. Life was good; I had a benefactor, and we were married.’

  ‘But he changed?’

  ‘Later, in England. The nightmares never went away, and then he was away more often, and then, one day, I was no longer in the house.’

  ‘He holds you responsible for leading us to him.’

  ‘And you say he kills people.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which means he could kill me, or Mike or our baby?’

  ‘Not now, he can’t. Let’s get back to Analyn.’

  ‘Her story is similar to mine. Gareth and Vincent, or Ian, as you call him, were firm friends, inseparable. I went with Gareth; she went with Ian. Ian was better educated than Gareth, and he always seemed to have plenty of money. She fell for him in a big way, and he married her, love at the time for both of them. But...’

  ‘But what does that mean?’

  ‘Both men were secretive, both men had a dark side, but, Ian, sometimes he seemed distant. As though he was calculating the odds, deep thinking. I don’t know what it was, but sometimes I felt uncomfortable around him.’

  ‘Analyn?’

  ‘She never saw it, not until she was in England.’

  ‘Mary Wilton’s?’

  ‘She had managed to get away from him.’

  ‘Violent?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘He’s a charming man, so I’m told,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Mike believes it’s all a pretence, and that the man’s cold and calculating and dangerous.’

  ‘Your husband is right.’

  ‘Is she in trouble?’

  ‘She is probably guilty of a crime, but she may have acted under duress, a fear of her husband.’

  ‘She would have.’

  ‘Then there would be mitigating circumstances. If she’s honest with us, then it will go in her favour. She may not know the full extent of what has happened.’

  ‘She would, but fear is a powerful force. So many people have died; she would be frightened for her life.’

  ‘Ian Naughton. Possessive?’

  ‘Not in Manila, and I haven’t seen him for a long time. He could have changed. Analyn said he had.’

  ***

  Analyn, although her correct name was Leni Ramos, sat in the interview room. She had been supplied a legal aid lawyer at her request.

  Isaac and Larry sat opposite the woman and her lawyer, a man in his fifties, shabbily dressed, a two-day growth of beard. He was, Isaac thought, a poor example of the legal profession. Naughton had organised a top-flight lawyer who was travelling from London.

  ‘Why didn’t you take your husband’s lawyer?’ Isaac asked.

  The woman was as he remembered: short, attractive, and easy on the eye.

  ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘We’ve spoken to Gabbi. She’s updated us on your life in the Philippines, and your subsequent time in England. Is it, as has been said by her, difficult in this co
untry?’

  ‘No. We have been happy. I have a good husband, a good life.’

  ‘According to your friend, your husband controls you. Is that true?’

  ‘No, not Ian.’

  ‘What other names does he use?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s self-employed. I don’t enquire, not a wife’s prerogative.’

  ‘There are many who would disagree with you on that,’ Larry said.

  ‘They never grew up hungry, barely enough money for shoes.’

  ‘But now, your husband makes sure that you have both food and footwear.’

  ‘He does.’

  ‘In the Philippines, you did things that you’re not proud of.’

  ‘I survived.’

  The woman was proving difficult, putting up an impenetrable barrier between her and the truth.

  ‘Why were you at Mary Wilton’s? We know that you sold yourself there.’

  ‘Then why ask? I did what was necessary.’

  ‘Your husband?’

  ‘We had had an argument. I was doing it to spite him.’

  ‘A drastic action.’

  ‘He reminded me of what I had once been. I regret it.’

  ‘Or you had no money.’

  Isaac changed tack. ‘We know that you were in Kensal Green Cemetery by the grave where Amanda Upton died.’

  ‘I often visit cemeteries, look at the dedications on the headstones.’

  The woman, friendly at the house in Holland Park, was anything but in Cardiff.

  The legal aid said nothing, just took notes in pencil on a notepad he carried. Isaac could see that he was going to be close to useless for his client.

  ‘Do you prefer Analyn or Leni?’ Larry asked.

  ‘Analyn is fine.’

  ‘Analyn,’ Isaac said, ‘you are either frightened or incredibly naïve. I’m not sure which, but I suspect the first. Am I correct?’

  ‘I didn’t kill anyone, nor did I do anything criminal.’

  ‘That is probably true. The house in Godstone, the BMW. Why were you there with Gareth Rees, Gabbi’s first husband?’

  ‘He’s a friend of Ian’s. He asked me to check it out with him.’

  ‘It was you that took the BMW and drove it back to London.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘That car was subsequently used by Gareth Rees and your husband to meet with a gang of young criminals. Your husband paid them to kill Hector Robinson, Janice’s father. Why?’

  ‘Why I drove the car?’

  ‘The car is not the question. Janice Robinson’s father, why was he killed?’

  ‘I never knew him, barely knew her. I can’t say I liked her much.’

  ‘Why? She wasn’t doing anything that you weren’t doing. And according to Gabbi, you and she did much worse in Manila.’

  ‘That’s the past. Neither of us intended to do it forever, but Janice did.’

  The legal aid looked up. ‘You have no evidence against my client. You are putting words into her mouth.’

  Isaac ignored the man; he had no time for poorly performing professionals.

  ‘Let’s be honest here,’ Isaac said. ‘We know that Gareth Rees is violent and that he had killed in the military and in Canning Town. We can prove Canning Town, but we can’t prove that he killed Amanda Upton and probably Janice Robinson. What we believe is that your husband and Rees are involved in the selling of weapons overseas. Some of those trades may be approved by the government, some might not. The case against Rees is watertight for murder, but against your husband, we don’t have a lot. He may still walk free.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  Isaac knew it to be true, what he had just said. What crime could they pin on Naughton? The man had organised Hector Robinson’s death, but who would give evidence. Certainly not Gareth Rees, not unless he was placed in an impossible position. And definitely not Conroy’s gang of hoodies. Even if one could be found to testify, what creditability would he have? A competent defence lawyer would have the evidence thrown out in an instance. Naughton was the organiser; Rees was the doer.

  ‘If Rees is free, what do you think he will do about Gabbi?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘If he is capable of violence, although he never touched her when they were married, he might do something,’ Analyn said.

  ‘And if we manage to prove that your husband has been manipulating the murders, removing those who could possibly jeopardise his freedom, what would he do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You are married to Naughton; you know him better than anyone else. You may even love him.’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Love or like, hatred, whatever. It doesn’t matter. What is of more importance is what will happen to you and Gabbi. Think about it. Janice Robinson is killed because she had heard something at Mary Wilton’s. We are certain that Rees killed her, but we can’t prove it. Cathy Parkinson, we’re not sure about. And then there’s Janice’s father. What’s he got to do with it? Someone who might start causing trouble. And then three gang members. One of them because of Gareth Rees, the other two through a word in the right ear, a rival gang.’

  ‘But why did they kill so many people?’ Analyn asked.

  ‘The military mind, trained to kill silently in difficult and dangerous countries. Discretion, paying someone off to keep quiet, doesn’t work as well as ensuring the person is dead. If Gabbi gets up in a court and damns her husband, if the woman with the video in Canning Town testifies, what then? What will happen to them? What will happen to you? We can’t protect you indefinitely. If either of them goes free, then it’s on your own head.’

  Analyn sat still for some time before she nodded over to her left. ‘I’ll need someone better than this man,’ she said to both Isaac and Larry.

  ‘Your husband’s lawyer?’ Isaac said.

  ‘I’m not guilty of any crime. Whatever the outcome, you will have the truth. And yes, I’m frightened for myself and Gabbi. Gareth is a dangerous man, not that I ever knew about him killing people here, but I knew something of what he and Ian had done when they were soldiers.’

  ‘You never suspected when Amanda Upton died?’

  ‘I put it to the back of my mind. I never thought it was Gareth. And I knew it wasn’t Ian.’

  ‘Why not your husband?’

  ‘Not on the day she died. He was with me.’

  ‘Why the cryptic message?’

  ‘It was a test for someone else. Ian might tell you, but I doubt if he will. He was surprised when you turned up at the door, calm as he was, but afterwards he downed a few too many stiff drinks, fell asleep in an armchair.’

  ‘Who do you think it was for?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. One of his devious friends, a test to prove that the man was worthy of being trusted. What you have said about him makes some sense. He scares me, the way he took me back after Mary Wilton’s, as if I was a possession, there for his pleasure. I was to him an object, nothing more.’

  ‘The future?’

  ‘If I survive?’

  ‘You will,’ Larry said.

  ‘Who else is there? People you don’t know of.’

  It was true, Isaac knew. It was the tip of an iceberg, a brief sojourn into a world that Naughton and Rees traded weapons to, killed for, and sold Amanda to.

  Analyn and Gabbi Gaffney were about to be thrust into the limelight from where there was no coming back.

  ***

  The interview of Ian Naughton was, as expected, of little value. With no need to hide behind a pretence, Jacob Jameson, who represented Gareth Rees, also represented Naughton.

  Naughton stated that he and Rees had acted in the past under orders and their current business activities were legal. The only comment of note from Naughton was that if Rees had committed a criminal activity, he had not and that the man would be on his own.

  Gareth Rees, two weeks after Naughton’s arrest, and on hearing that his long-time friend was willing to sell him down the river if push came to shove, informed Isaac tha
t on instructions from Naughton, his commanding officer in the military, he had committed actions in Iraq that he regretted. And as a result of post-traumatic stress disorder, he might have committed other crimes in England, including murder.

  It was a pathetic attempt at absolving himself from criminal responsibility, the chance to be confined to a mental institution until he was deemed safe to re-enter society. There was nothing wrong with the man, but Isaac knew it would form a good defence strategy.

  ***

  Amanda, it had been concluded, after Mary Wilton had told Wendy of a phone conversation she had had with her daughter, had died of love.

  Whatever the reason, the woman had fallen for the emotionally-fractured Gareth Rees. And the man, pathologically disturbed as a result of spending time behind enemy lines and emotionally cold, had reacted: he had killed her. Janice Robinson had heard or been told something, although how much would never be known, as had Hector Robinson. The hoodies were collateral damage.

  If Rees didn’t succeed with the defence of PTSD, it was clear that he still suffered from a mental condition. He deserved to be locked up.

  As for Naughton, tests were conducted, showing evident sociopathic traits. The man could be charming, but he was cold, the ideal killing machine. The documents that Lord Shaw had procured were enough to convince Isaac that Naughton and Rees were to be thrown to the wolves.

  Only one murder remained unaccounted for, that of Cathy Parkinson. It had been messy, and Gareth Rees could not have committed it. As a professional, his pride would not allow it. One bullet, one knife, no more, and definitely no sex with the victim.

  Homicide discussed the murder for over a week, continually drawing a blank. In the end, Wendy and Larry met with Meredith Temple. A model student, she was on her way to a degree, and the boyfriend had been told and had accepted her past.

  ‘Meredith,’ Wendy said, as the three of them sat in a pub near to the university. ‘Cathy Parkinson, tell us about her?’

  ‘Not much more than I’ve told you before. She was in a bad way.’

  ‘Did she talk much, threaten to tell wives about husbands, get some extra money?’