The Fifth Suspect

by Robert McNeil

  ‘Your lot went over all of that back then. Potts knifed the man when a fight broke out. That’s all I know. Why don’t you go and speak to Potts?’

  ‘We will. Thanks for your time, Mr McBain,’ Fleming said, rising to leave. ‘You have my contact details if you think of anything else.’

  ‘Hope Bonnie and Clyde enjoy their exercise,’ Logan quipped as they left.

  McBain glowered.

  On the train journey back to Oxford, Logan quizzed Fleming, ‘You think there’s some sort of vendetta going on here, boss? Nielson gets even with someone who he believed tried to get his club shut down. Potts takes the rap. Then some unknown party takes out revenge on Nielson?’

  ‘Possible,’ Fleming agreed. ‘But then we also have Anthony Hayden if it was his wife having an affair with Nielson, and Mr Rainer who didn’t hide the fact that he hated the man.’

  17

  Scottie McBain drove down to Brixton soon after Fleming and Logan left the club. The manager of a betting shop there was an old friend of his and had a spare room above the shop. McBain had asked him if an ex-employee of Nielson’s club just released from prison could stay for a short while. The manager had been hesitant at first, but eventually agreed when McBain said the man would be no trouble and it would only be for a short time.

  McBain looked down on the scrawny frame of Damien Potts lounging on an old easy chair with springs that had long since collapsed. His right arm dangled casually over the arm of the chair and a beer can hung loosely from his hand. A half-smoked spliff occupied the other hand.

  Potts frowned and looked up at McBain through dark lifeless eyes. ‘What’re you doing here, boss?’ he mumbled.

  McBain wondered if he had done the right thing helping Potts. He shook his head in disbelief at the state of the man. His shoulder-long brown hair was unkempt, unwashed, and thinning on top. The long pockmarked face with thin lips had an expressionless haunted look. Shallow cheeks on his unshaven face suggested a lack of food. He was wearing soiled jeans with rips in the knees and a grubby sweatshirt. A tattoo showing two crossed daggers was clearly visible on his neck.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Damien, have you seen the state of yourself? If you’re going to come back to work for me you’re going to have to tidy up a bit.’

  Potts tried to suppress a sudden surge of anger. He closed his eyes and imagined plunging a knife into McBain. When he opened them, McBain was leaning over him.

  ‘Damien, you all right?’

  ‘Hell, yes. Never been better.’

  ‘The cops have been to the club snooping around. They were asking about Ronnie, the old drugs investigation, Joe Cobb, and you.’

  ‘What the fuck for? The drugs investigation was dropped and I’ve served time for doing Cobb. What are they asking about me for?’

  ‘Maybe they think you killed Ronnie–’

  Potts sat upright in his chair. His legs went into an involuntary spasm and his heels drummed the floor. ‘Fuck!’

  ‘They’ll want to speak to you.’

  ‘Fuck! I need to disappear–’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot. If you go on the run, they’ll sure as hell think you did it. Take a couple of days to get yourself tidied up and I’ll send someone to bring you to the club. We’ll sort something out. And stop smoking that fucking weed, you moron!’

  18

  Logan and Anderson watched as a stern-looking Liz Temple strode into Fleming’s office. She pulled the door closed behind her and the two detectives could see through the office window that an animated conversation ensued.

  ‘I know I agreed you could go to see Emma Hayden,’ Temple was saying, ‘but the chief constable isn’t happy. When he found out he flipped his lid.’

  ‘How did he know I’d gone to see her?’

  Temple held Fleming’s gaze. ‘Someone told him.’

  ‘Who?

  ‘I don’t know, but if I find out who’s passing information upstairs to Upson behind my back they’ll be for the high jump. He’s getting pressure from Cecil Daubney. You know the score with the police and the crime commissioner. Upson thinks he’s out to make a name for himself. He wants quick results.’

  ‘What does that have to do with me going to see Emma Hayden, ma’am?’

  ‘He heard you went to see Mrs Hayden because you thought she might be the woman who visited Nielson recently. Upson blew a gasket. The last thing he needs is even more grief from Daubney. He’ll not be a happy man if the press gets hold of the fact that a retired detective, who’s just committed suicide, and his wife are involved in a murder enquiry.’

  Fleming held Temple’s gaze. ‘So to be clear, are you telling me for information, or are you trying to say I shouldn’t pursue this line of enquiry?’

  Temple said nothing.

  ‘Ma’am, I can appreciate the chief constable’s concern about the need to tread carefully, but I can’t let internal politics get in the way of the investigation, can I?’

  Temple shook her head.

  ‘Anyway,’ Fleming continued, ‘I didn’t interview her – I just told her that Anderson and I were there to say how sorry we all were in the office to hear about her sad loss. Something the chief constable maybe should have done if he wasn’t preoccupied with watching his back.’

  Temple held up her hands. ‘I don’t need reminding that you have to pursue all lines of enquiry, but be careful, all right? And mind what you say about the chief constable.’

  Fleming shrugged.

  ‘So, are you going to tell me how it went?’ Temple asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The meeting with Mrs Hayden, for God’s sake!’

  Fleming hesitated. ‘She wears the same perfume we found on Nielson’s boat, and the look in her eyes when I told her that Nielson had been found dead was enough to convince me she did know him. How well, I don’t know at this stage.’

  ‘Great!’

  ‘We managed to get a copy of a photograph of her without her knowing. I’ll have to interview her if the cleaner identifies her as the woman she saw on Nielson’s boat.’

  Temple rolled her eyes. ‘That’s all we need.’

  On the way to the briefing room, Logan asked Fleming, ‘What was that all about with Liz Temple, boss?’

  ‘Internal politics,’ Fleming replied without elaborating.

  The whiteboard in the briefing room had more information on it than Nielson’s name. A hush fell over those present when Fleming and Logan arrived.

  ‘All right everyone,’ Fleming announced, ‘let’s get started. Feel free to chip in at any point if you have any thoughts.’ He looked round the room. ‘Anything from the SOCOs so far?’

  One young DC spoke. ‘Nothing to get too excited about, sir. They found a few fingerprints but no matches, except for Mrs Dobbs, the cleaner. Same with the blood samples. No matches on the DNA database. All the photographs taken at the scene are there on the noticeboard. Oh, and they’ve bagged some samples of mud taken off the deck and carpet in the saloon.’

  ‘Thanks. What about door-to-door enquiries?’

  This time it was Anderson. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘And people on other boats that were in the vicinity?’

  Anderson shook her head.

  ‘The local marina?’

  ‘Likewise,’ Anderson said. ‘All drew a blank, sir. No suspicious sightings – nothing out of the ordinary spotted by anyone.’

  ‘Anyone come forward as a result of the notice on the towpath?’ Fleming asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ came the reply from another DC.

  ‘What about local hospitals and medical centres? Did anyone turn up with suspicious injuries?’

  ‘Negative,’ reported one of the team.

  ‘Frogmen completed a search of the river bed yet?’ Fleming asked hopefully.

  ‘They’re still searching, boss,’ Logan said. ‘But they’ve found nothing so far apart from the odd bit of junk thrown overboard from passing boats. They’re not confident they will find anything. If there is a k
nife down there it could be buried under inches of silt by now. Oh, and I haven’t been able to trace the other men in Nielson’s army photo yet.’

  Fleming shook his head. ‘Okay, we don’t seem to have a great deal to go on so far. I’ve got the pathologists report and there isn’t all that much there either. We know Nielson was hit on the head with a blunt instrument before being stabbed to death. Angle of entry of the knife suggests the murderer was right-handed–’

  ‘That narrows it down a lot,’ someone quipped from the back.

  A ripple of laughter broke out.

  ‘Trust DC Gosman to come out with something like that,’ someone else commented.

  More laughter.

  ‘All right, there is a bit more,’ Fleming said, trying to stifle a smile. ‘The pathologist found some skin tissue under Nielson’s fingernails and there are some promising lines of enquiry I want to pursue. I’m now pretty certain that Emma Hayden did know Nielson and had visited him on his boat. I have a copy of a photograph of her. I’m going to see the cleaner again who found Nielson’s body. Hopefully she’ll be able to positively identify Mrs Hayden.’

  Fleming continued in a sombre voice. ‘No doubt you will all have heard by now of the tragic death of her husband yesterday. We need to find out what the relationship was between Mrs Hayden and Nielson. Anthony Hayden would have had a motive to kill Nielson if his wife was having an affair with him. And, just after Nielson’s murder, Hayden commits suicide.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ one of the detective constables exclaimed. ‘That’s all we need.’

  ‘I know,’ Fleming said. ‘And I believe the chief constable isn’t entirely happy with this line of enquiry.’

  Fleming noticed the anxious looks on the faces in front of him. ‘Don’t worry. It’s down to me to take any flak on this. I’ve asked Dr Kumar to check whether there are any scratch marks on Hayden’s face and to take his fingerprints so we can check if they match anything on Nielson’s boat. He’s also taking a DNA sample so we can check it against the skin found under Nielson’s fingernails.’ Fleming tapped Eric Rainer’s name on the whiteboard. ‘Which reminds me – this is Sarah Nielson’s father. He knew Nielson had knocked his daughter about on more than one occasion, and he hated the man. He had scratch marks on his face–’

  ‘So, we’re scratching around looking for clues?’ It was another witticism from DC Gosman.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ someone groaned, ‘please help us.’

  Fleming looked up at the ceiling. ‘Please do let us know when you have something useful to contribute to this discussion, DC Gosman,’ Fleming said jovially.

  Smiling faces turned towards Gosman whose face had reddened.

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ Fleming added, ‘the Met suspected Nielson was using his club to front a drugs operation about ten years ago. They couldn’t prove anything and never brought any charges. The club manager reckons a rival set them up. Two years later, a man was stabbed to death in Reading. A man called Potts, who worked for Nielson, was charged with murder. At first, he claimed Nielson had put him up to it, but later retracted his statement. He eventually pleaded guilty to manslaughter. Nielson was off the hook again.’

  ‘So, what’s your thinking, sir?’ someone asked.

  ‘Maybe the man Potts killed was responsible for putting the Met onto Nielson and Nielson did get Potts to kill him when he found out. Then maybe someone killed Nielson in revenge–’

  ‘Sir?’ It was Gosman. ‘If Nielson’s murder was a vengeance killing, why would whoever did it wait all this time?’

  ‘Good point. That’s the most constructive observation you’ve made so far, DC Gosman.’

  ‘Aye, good on you, Gosman,’ someone shouted. ‘You’ll make DS one day!’

  Fleming laughed. ‘He has a point though. It’s something we need to bear in mind, but it is still worth pursuing the line of enquiry.’

  Later in his office, Fleming was going through everything in his head again. He had two suspects: Hayden and Rainer. Or maybe there was a third – an unknown assassin out for revenge.

  19

  DCI Watson stood in the empty briefing room. The smell of sweat and coffee still lingered in the air. He’d made sure all of Fleming’s team, and Fleming, had gone home.

  He was cursing under his breath when DI Jardine limped in to join him. ‘You don’t look exactly happy, boss,’ he observed.

  ‘You seen this?’ Watson exploded, waving a hand at the whiteboard. ‘Bloody Fleming!’ Watson stabbed a podgy finger at Emma Hayden’s name and then Anthony Hayden’s. ‘I don’t know what the fuck Fleming’s up to, but I’m going to put a stop to it.’

  ‘How do you intend to do that, boss? It’s not your case… and Temple seems to think Fleming’s up to it.’

  ‘Peer review, Frank. Temple asked me to do the peer review. I’ve just finished it. And I’d be careful what you say in here. You never know when she might be nearby. Works round the bloody clock.’

  ‘Yeah, don’t we all these days,’ Jardine grumbled. ‘What have you put in your review of Fleming’s investigative strategy?’

  Watson thumped a hand against the whiteboard. ‘All this stuff about Hayden and his wife. It’s crap. He seems determined to pin this on Anthony.’ Watson’s face reddened. ‘And this! The last thing we need is Fleming raking over old ground on the Nielson cases.’

  ‘But,’ Jardine argued, ‘if you want to steer Fleming away from Hayden you could point him in the direction of Potts. He’s just been released on parole and had it in for Nielson.’

  Watson thought for a minute. ‘Yeah, that’s true, but if Fleming speaks to Potts, he’ll blab on about being persuaded to plead manslaughter in the Cobb case to avoid being charged for murder as he would have been if he’d stuck to his story that Nielson had put him up to it.’

  ‘But Fleming will speak to Potts anyway,’ Jardine persisted. ‘And he’ll reiterate what he said at the time. His original claim that Nielson got him to kill Cobb was never proven so why should that worry us?’

  ‘True, but Fleming’s already asking why there was never enough evidence to charge Nielson. Fleming might stumble across something that suggests Potts was acting on Nielson’s orders. That would make us look rather fucking silly, wouldn’t it, Frank?’

  ‘How come?’

  Watson grunted. ‘Because if Fleming can prove Nielson did get Potts to kill Cobb it would come out that we should have done him for murder and not manslaughter. And that Nielson should have been charged as well. But you’re right; Fleming will speak to Potts anyway. It’s a chance we’ll have to take.’

  Jardine shrugged. ‘Word is that Upson isn’t exactly happy that Hayden’s wife has been named in the Nielson investigation. Might score some points with Temple and him if you trash Fleming’s thinking about Hayden and suggest he concentrates on Potts and Eric Rainer.’ Jardine looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Any idea how Upson might have found out about Hayden’s wife anyway?’

  Watson looked at him and smiled.

  A light was on in Temple’s office. Good, she was still at work. Watson wanted to get this over. He knocked on the door and poked his head round. ‘Working late again, ma’am?’

  ‘Hello, Bill. Yes, afraid so. Wanted to tie up a few loose ends. What are you doing here so late?’

  He waved a brown folder in his hand. ‘Just finished the peer review on Fleming’s strategy on the Nielson case. Saw you were still here, so thought I’d drop it in. Time for a quick word about it?’

  Temple sat back in her chair and clasped her hands behind her head. She looked tired. ‘Okay, Bill. But don’t take too long. I could read it or is there something specific you want to bring to my attention?’

  Watson put the folder on Temple’s desk. ‘It’s a bit delicate, ma’am. I wanted to speak to you about it rather than put it in writing in the review.’

  Temple sat forward with a puzzled look. ‘All right, Bill, you have my attention. Go ahead.’

  Watson cleared his throat.
‘It’s Fleming, I think he’s going about this all the wrong way. He’s got a bee in his bonnet about Anthony Hayden and his wife. He’s got Anthony down as a bloody suspect, for fuck’s sake. Sorry, excuse my French, ma’am. That aside, he seems to think it’s worth digging into the old drugs and murder cases involving Ronnie Nielson. God knows why–’

  ‘Maybe he thinks they’re relevant in some way.’

  ‘I doubt it very much.’ Watson hesitated. ‘Can I be honest with you, ma’am?’

  Temple laughed. ‘Since when were you anything other than frank, Bill? You always speak your mind. Go on, let’s have it.’

  ‘You know I was one of the investigating officers on the drugs investigation when I worked with the Met?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I was the SIO on the Reading murder case that Nielson was accused of being behind?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t know why, but I’m sure Fleming is out to try to undermine me, and poor old Hayden, for that matter. Fleming seems to be questioning my integrity because we never found enough evidence to charge Nielson.’

  Temple looked thoughtful. ‘It’s not like you to be paranoid, Bill. Why on earth would Fleming want to do that?’

  ‘He knows what I think about young relatively inexperienced detectives getting promoted too soon. I think he’s out to prove he’s better than old hands like Hayden and me. Just to make a point…’ Watson hesitated. ‘The thing is, he’s in danger of rocking the boat here and bringing the whole unit into disrepute. Frankly, I don’t think he’s up to the job, if you want my opinion.’

  Temple sat forwards and folded her arms across her desk. ‘Bill, I don’t want personal feuds to get in the way of our work. You need to put your prejudices to one side and get on with it. Understand?’