by P. F. Ford
‘Now I understand why he was so pissed off. I suppose I’ve been there enough times,’ said Slater. ‘Tell him I’m sorry, next time you speak to him.’
‘That’s not the only reason I’m calling,’ said Robbins. ‘I thought it might be worth having a look at the CCTV cameras around the car parks at Gatwick on the night you came back from Thailand.’
‘How does that help? We already know Watson took my car home that night,’ said Slater.
‘Yes, we do, but now we also know our friend Lenkov came out of the car park at the same time and followed her all the way out of the airport and onto the M23 motorway.’
‘He followed her all the way to London?’
‘I have a friend in traffic. She has other friends in other traffic centres. We have both cars tracked, on ANPR, driving all the way up to, and into, London, and he’s never very far behind her. It would be an amazing coincidence if he wasn’t following her.’
‘So that photograph wasn’t doctored. He was in the airport lounge, but he was following Watson and not me. Somehow, he knew she was in Thailand with me, and my photograph led him to her.’
‘My guess is he knew she was out there, and he must have had some idea when she was coming back, but he didn’t know what the man she was with looked like, and that’s why he had your photo on his phone. It meant he had two faces to look for instead of one. I bet he was hanging around the airport terminal all day, checking every flight back to the UK until he found her.’
‘And I suppose if he had my photo and got stopped, anyone would think he was looking for me, and not her.’
‘It certainly muddied the waters for our investigation, didn’t it?’
‘Do you think she knew he had followed her?’ asked Slater.
‘If she was working for who we think, and she worked undercover, she would have been trained in all this surveillance stuff. I’m sure she would have known.’
‘If he followed her, he would have known my registration number. Do you think they drove the decoy car down knowing he would follow?’
‘I think that’s a perfectly reasonable assumption,’ said Robbins. ‘But I can’t figure out why they came all the way down to Winchester. If it was a trap, why not do it in London?’
‘Why blow the bloke up?’ asked Slater. ‘Why not just take him alive?’
‘Ah, now you’re getting into territory mere mortals like us aren’t clever enough to understand. That’s why they take all our evidence away and stop us investigating further.’
‘That rankles a bit, doesn’t it?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘it rankles a lot, and irritates the hell out of me. I don’t think it’s right they can go around murdering people at will and then hide all the evidence, so we can’t prove what happened.’
‘Isn’t that what they call “for the greater good”?’
‘Greater good, my arse,’ she said. ‘If we went around killing people we believed were crooks, there would be a public outcry! We can’t get away with it, so why should they?’
‘You want to be careful,’ said Slater. ‘That’s the sort of passionate stuff that gets you into hot water with the powers that be.’
‘If that’s the case, then so be it,’ she said, vehemently. ‘I can’t be someone I’m not.’
‘Hey, you’re preaching to the converted here. I am on your side. I’m just saying be careful, that’s all.’
He listened to Robbins’ breathing over the phone, and he wondered if that was going to be the end of the conversation or if she had anything else to say.
‘You asked me if I had ever heard of a guy called Scott Mulvaney,’ she said.
Slater had almost forgotten about that. ‘Yes, but there’s no need to worry, we’ll find him eventually.’
‘No, you won’t.’
‘You seem very sure about that. What do you know that I don’t?’
‘People like Scott Mulvaney are easy to find on the police database because they have extensive records. In this case, violent crime was his speciality, so there were all sorts of markers against his name, making him easy to find.’
‘I suppose he’s inside again, is he?’
‘The Scott Mulvaneys of this world are habitual criminals, so it was only a matter of time before he got involved in more violence. In his case, it took six months, only this time he was the victim, not the perpetrator.’
‘You’re telling me someone bumped him off, right?’
‘I can see why you made it all the way to DI,’ she said.
‘Crap,’ said Slater. ‘That’s another potential witness down the drain.’
‘Another?’
‘It seems everyone who could have helped our guy is dead. That’s five now.’
‘That seems a pretty high rate of attrition,’ said Robbins. ‘My suspicion radar would be going berserk if that was my case.’
‘It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’ said Slater. ‘But two died from natural causes.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘One had terminal cancer, the other was old and had a weak heart. We’ve got no grounds to doubt them.’
‘Well, anyway, you now know you don’t need to waste your time looking for Scott Mulvaney.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s true. I owe you.’
‘Maybe you can buy me breakfast again sometime.’
Chapter 30
After their long journey to Wales and back, Norman and Slater had decided to take it easy on Thursday morning and not start work until the afternoon. They were in the office now, Norman hunched over his laptop and Slater sifting through assorted paperwork related to the case.
Debbie Thomas had amassed quite a collection of newspaper cuttings relating to her brother’s conviction. The crime had been committed two hundred miles away, but it wasn’t every day a local woman was murdered by her husband, so the story had been big news, especially for the local newspaper. Over the following months leading up to the trial, there had been weekly updates to the story, and after the trial there had been a series of stories that had lasted several more weeks.
When Slater had begun to read through them an hour ago, he quickly realised he was learning very little new information with each additional story. He marvelled at the invention employed by the journalists and found he couldn’t help but develop a grudging admiration for their ability to shamelessly rewrite the same story again, and again. The simple trick of illustrating each new version of the story with different photographs served to further disguise the fact that there was no new information.
Slater had no idea what exactly he was looking for. He was convinced Rhodri Evans was a key piece of the jigsaw, but quite how he fitted in he couldn’t decide. He was hoping something in the newspaper stories might provide the clue they needed, but so far nothing had grabbed his attention.
He sighed, leaned back in his chair to stretch his back, and stared up at the ceiling, where a small spider was exploring the edge of the light fitting. He watched the spider for a minute or two until it disappeared around the far side of the light, then went back to his newspaper cuttings.
Slater had almost reached the bottom of the pile when the door opened, and Norman appeared with two mugs of tea. He tutted as he realised Slater had almost reached the last cutting.
‘Are you telling me that if I’d waited five more minutes you would have made the tea?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Slater. ‘Besides, you know you’re the best tea-maker around here.’
‘I guess I can’t argue with that. At least if I make it myself I know it’s going to be drinkable.’
He placed the two mugs on Slater’s makeshift desk, carelessly spilling a few drops, making Slater tut back at him. ‘I prefer it in the mug,’ he said.
Norman grinned. ‘Yeah, well, there’s a price that has to be paid for being lazy,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘You want neat and tidy tea, you’ll have to make it yourself. Anyway, the reason I made it is because Vinnie called.’
‘About the bank acco
unt? Has he got a name? Is it someone we’ve interviewed?’
Norman took a folded sheet of paper from under his arm, unfolded, it and placed it in front of his colleague.
Slater studied the sheet of paper. ‘Joseph Linden, solicitor, Winchester,’ he read. ‘Is he sure about this?’
Norman looked down his nose at Slater. ‘Look, I know you don’t like Vinnie, but has he ever given us anything but accurate information?’
Slater was disappointed with the news, but he had to concede Norman’s point. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I suppose I was expecting it to be someone we already had as a suspect, not someone totally new.’
‘He’s just a one-man band who does small stuff, from what I can see,’ said Norman. ‘He has the office in Winchester, but he doesn’t seem to have a website.’
‘He’s a bit behind the times, isn’t he? I thought every business had a website these days.’
‘We don’t,’ said Norman, pointedly.
‘Well, not yet, but we will,’ said Slater. ‘Don’t forget, we’re just getting started.’ He looked at the name again. ‘Hang on a minute.’ He started sifting through the newspaper cuttings. ‘I’m sure I’ve just seen that name somewhere. Yeah, here it is.’
He picked a cutting from the pile and handed it to Norman. ‘Look at the photo,’ he told Norman. ‘The smaller one that shows Steve Harris with another guy.’
Norman stared at the photograph and read out the caption. ‘Murder suspect Steve Harris and his solicitor, Mr Joseph Linden. Wow! I think we can safely say there’s a connection there, don’t you?’
‘But why the hell would he be paying Rhodri Evans to lie about Steve Harris?’
‘Why don’t we go and ask him?’ suggested Norman.
‘Let’s see what we can learn about him first. He might not have a website, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find information about him.’
‘I’ll go see what I can find online.’
‘I’ll have another look through this stuff Debbie gave us,’ said Slater.
‘This guy didn’t actually defend Steve in court,’ Norman reminded him.
‘I realise that, but if he was Steve’s solicitor, he should be in this folder somewhere.’
Norman was heading for the door. ‘I’ll give Debbie a call and see if she can tell us anything about him.’
As Norman pulled the door closed, Slater reached for the folder Debbie Thomas had been given by the defence team.
* * *
An hour later, Norman reappeared. ‘I’ve just been on the phone,’ he said. ‘Get this: according to Debbie, Joe Linden was recommended to Steve Harris by Pritchard and Harkness. But she says Linden didn’t seem to do much except hand Steve’s case on to the defence team. He told Steve he would be out of his depth trying to defend him, and it was his duty to stand aside and let the experts handle it.’
‘That would seem to tie in with what’s in this folder,’ said Slater. ‘He hardly gets a mention, but he would have known what was going on, right? If he was Steve’s solicitor, I’m sure he would have been kept informed of any developments in his defence, wouldn’t he?’
‘I’m thinking he would have known enough,’ agreed Norman.
‘Exactly! I’ve been doing some digging of my own. Our new friend Joe Linden might not have his own website, but it’s almost impossible to be completely invisible these days, even if you want to be. It didn’t take me long to find a website that does mention him.’
‘What was it? Some sort of directory?’
‘He seems to avoid most of those, which is why I get the impression he doesn’t want to be found.’
‘That makes it difficult to earn a living, doesn’t it?’
‘Not if you’ve been made a director and shareholder in a money-spinning company.’ Slater handed Norman another of the newspaper cuttings. It was a story entitled ‘Local Man Convicted of Wife’s Murder’.
‘Take a good look at the photograph. Not the wagon driving Harris away, but the figures in the background to the left.’
A man and two women could be seen in the background of the photograph.
‘Aren’t they a cosy little group?’ said Norman.
‘I’d say they were congratulating each other, wouldn’t you?’
‘I wonder if this is about the time he became the fourth director.’
‘Yeah, I reckon that would be interesting to know, don’t you? Give me half an hour and I’ll see if I can find out when that happened.’
Chapter 31
‘Right,’ said Slater, rubbing his hands together. ‘I think we’ve got it.’
‘You found what you were looking for?’
‘I think so. It looks as if our new friend, Joe Linden, became a director of Pritchard and Harkness around the same time Rhodri Evans was buying his house.’
‘What’s your theory?’ asked Norman.
‘It looks to me as if Steve Harris has been framed. I believe he was telling the truth when he said he was at home with Eddie Smith’s wife, Jackie. I also believe his car was off the road, so Rhodri Evans couldn’t have seen it on that caravan site.’
‘So, who killed Julie Harris? D’you think it was Rhodri?’
‘I can’t see it, Norm, can you? A guy like that would be too unreliable. There’s too much risk he would be in a drug-fuelled stupor when he was needed.’
‘In that case, you think he was being paid because he saw something?’
‘That’s got to be it. I think he saw the murderer at the site that weekend, and when Julie’s body was found he told them what it would cost to keep him quiet.’
‘So, if Linden was the go-between and we can prove the money came from Pritchard and Harkness, that narrows it down to what, four people?’
‘Four people with alibis,’ said Slater, ‘but I’m not sure those alibis were ever tested, because the original investigation focused on Steve right from the start. No one else was ever in the frame.’
‘Okay, so let’s go through them,’ said Norman. ‘James and Sandra Harkness were both at home and vouch for each other. If they stick to their stories, that’s going to be a hard one to crack.’
‘Yeah, we’re going to have to think about how we can test that one.’
‘I guess they could have done it together.’
‘Good luck with finding a motive for that,’ said Slater.
‘How about Amy Pritchard? At home on her own is a bit of a hard one to prove, but I can’t see her murdering anyone, can you?’
‘I would think she’s the least likely,’ agreed Slater. ‘So, that just leaves John Pritchard. The others say he was up in Scotland, but what if they’re covering for him? Suppose he killed Julie and they wanted to keep it quiet to protect the business.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Norman, doubtfully.
‘Don’t forget his suicide note. Maybe Amy was wrong, and he was actually feeling guilty about Julie’s death.’
‘It’s not exactly cut and dried, is it? If they all stick to their stories, all we can prove is that they paid a lot of money to a guy in Wales, but they could invent any number of reasons for that, and the only guy who could tell us the truth is dead.’
‘We need to find the weak link,’ said Slater. ‘Are we doing anything tomorrow?’
‘What have you got in mind?’
‘I was thinking maybe Sandra Harkness might care to answer some more questions first thing in the morning. Maybe I’ll throw in a couple of bluffs as a surprise.’
Chapter 32
Sandra Harkness was not impressed to find Slater and Norman on her doorstep before 10 a.m. on a Friday morning.
‘Oh, you two again. I thought I answered all your questions when you were here the other day.’
‘Yes, we’re sorry to bother you again, but we’ve got one or two more questions.’
She heaved a sigh. ‘I hope this won’t take long.’
Norman gave her his best understanding smile. ‘I don’t think it will,’ he said.
&nb
sp; ‘You’d better come in.’
They followed her into the lounge.
‘Did you ever meet Julie Harris’s husband, Steve?’ asked Slater.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘We know for a fact he attended at least one of the company Christmas parties. Amy Pritchard was kind enough to lend us a photo album. He’s there in one photo, chatting to you at the bar.’
‘A lot of men used to chat with me at those parties.’
‘Steve Harris had a reputation as a ladies’ man, did you know that?’
‘I’m not even sure I can remember him.’
‘Really? Only I spoke to him on the phone earlier, and he certainly remembers you.’
She sniffed. ‘He must be mistaken.’
‘Is he mistaken about the mole on the inside of your right thigh, just—’
‘What the hell is this?’ she snapped. ‘How dare you come here and make these accusations? What makes you think I would risk everything I had for such a man?’
‘When we spoke to you the other day, you admitted you would have been happy to risk it all for John Pritchard if he had been just a bit more of a man,’ said Slater.
‘Maybe you wanted to get even with your husband,’ suggested Norman.
‘What on earth—’
‘He was sleeping with Julie, wasn’t he?’ asked Slater. ‘Or, at least, he wanted to. That must have got under your skin. I would think sleeping with her husband would be the perfect response for a vengeful wife.’
‘Don’t forget the photo we showed you before, Mrs Harkness,’ said Norman. ‘It looked to me like you had revenge written all over your face.’
Sandra looked daggers at Norman but again seemed at a loss for words.
‘Are you really going to claim you don’t know Steve Harris?’ asked Norman.
She let out a long breath. ‘Oh, alright. So, I saw him a couple of times. What of it?’
‘Did you like him?’
‘He had a certain charm, but any woman getting involved with a man like that knows what she’s getting into.’