Blunt Force

by La Plante, Lynda

  She glanced up at her father with tears in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry I lied, Daddy. I told Mummy I was going to be staying at Julia’s, at her mews house, because one of the other girls had also been chosen and we were going to get dressed together there . . . A friend was doing our hair and make-up.’

  Montgomery remained silent. Jane could see that Annalise appeared to be getting very distressed. So far there had been no reason for this – she had simply lied, as teenagers do. Then Annalise began sobbing, speaking incoherently and repeating over and over that she was very sorry and had not dared tell them because she had lied about the modelling agency.

  Jane leant forward and gently laid her hand on Annalise’s shoulder, drawing her chair closer.

  ‘Listen to me, Annalise, you’re not going to be in any trouble for what happened, but I need to know the truth. I think it will actually be a big relief for you when you don’t have to keep it a secret any longer. And whatever happened, there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.’

  Mr Montgomery handed his daughter his pristine white handkerchief and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She slowly sat upright.

  ‘There was . . . a man at the premiere who gave me champagne and then he asked if I’d like to go to his hotel room. He said he was a producer and was casting for a big Hollywood movie and he thought I might be just what he was looking for.’

  Jane nodded. ‘Do you remember the man’s name?’

  Annalise shook her head.

  ‘Can you describe him to me?’ Jane asked quietly.

  ‘He was late forties, maybe fifty. Not very good-looking and fat.’

  Jane smiled encouragingly. ‘Go on.’

  Annalise began twisting the handkerchief in her lap as she explained that after another glass of champagne – which made her feel dizzy, so maybe the man put something in it – he had sexually assaulted her. It did not get to the point of rape, although he had stripped her clothes off, but Annalise began screaming and he got scared that someone would hear her, so he told her to get dressed and get out.

  She had taken a taxi straight home. She saw Charles Foxley as she was hurrying through the hotel lobby. He saw that her make-up was smudged and she’d been crying, and he hailed a cab for her.

  Before Jane could stop him, Montgomery banged his hand on the desk. ‘Did you tell him what had happened?’ he yelled.

  Annalise shook her head. ‘No, Daddy, I just wanted to get back to Julia’s. I was also worried because my dress had been torn and it cost so much money.’

  Jane could see Montgomery’s anger in his face as he tried to keep it under control.

  ‘When I got back to the mews, Julia was so kind and really looked after me. I told her what happened and she stayed with me until the other girl came home. The other girl, Tanya, had a wonderful night. At least that’s what Julia told me . . .’ She hesitated, chewing her lip.

  Jane kept her voice soft and leant in close to Annalise. ‘You have been really brilliant, Annalise . . . but there is more, isn’t there? Can you just tell me what happened afterwards?’

  ‘If whoever it was dared come after you . . . by God, I’d strangle him!’ Montgomery shouted.

  ‘No . . . No, Daddy . . . NO!’ Annalise shrieked.

  ‘Go on, Annalise,’ Jane soothed.

  ‘Tanya told me that she knew about another girl, and that she had gone into the agency to confront Charles Foxley because she was underage, too.’

  ‘Did you go and see Charles Foxley?’ Jane asked.

  After a lengthy pause, Annalise slowly nodded. ‘He was very upset and asked if I would keep it private and tell no one. If I agreed he had a present for me. He gave me an envelope with fifteen hundred pounds inside it.’

  ‘Dear God!’ Montgomery exclaimed.

  Jane sat back in her chair. There was no need to ask Annalise to make a formal statement because Jane knew now that these sums of money that Charles Foxley had been paying out were to the young girls. She had got what she came for. Even though it had caused the young girl distress, she was certain it was a good thing she’d now told her parents and was hopeful that they’d be understanding.

  Montgomery ushered Jane out of his office and down the hallway. Annalise followed.

  Jane turned. ‘That was a horrible experience for you, Annalise. Thank you for being so honest with me.’

  ‘I’ll no doubt get it from Mother, but I have kept it secret for so long. And,’ she laughed softly, ‘I’ve never been able to wear the Cartier gold bangles I bought with the money.’

  ‘Do you recall the name of the film that you were due to see?’ Jane asked.

  Annalise shrugged. ‘I think it was called The Slave Trader.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jane couldn’t wait to get back to the station. She had just parked her Mini when Dabs drew up alongside her car. He got out, leaving his Mini estate double-parked and the engine ticking.

  ‘Listen, what time do you get off tonight, Jane? Elliott needs to have a session with you.’

  Jane locked her car. ‘I’m off-duty at six thirty, unless something crops up. But I don’t have my tracksuit.’

  Dabs waved a hand dismissively. ‘You won’t need it. Just get to the rifle club as soon as you get off-duty. He’ll explain everything.’

  Before Jane could ask anything, Dabs had hurried back to his car and driven off. She headed into the incident room, not giving any more thought to the odd interaction she’d just had. Instead, she sat at her desk to begin checking the list of models who had been involved in Foxley’s promotional events. As she had diary notes going back for the past nine months, indicating when the girls were required, it would mean a lot of interviews to determine which girl had suffered the same abuse as Annalise. One of these girls, she thought, could have had a lover, a father or brother who could have been enraged enough to murder Charles Foxley.

  Spencer was finishing his report on the meeting he had had with Michael Langton and was eager to pass on the information he had gained, particularly the fact that they now had a suspect who had been dealing drugs to Charles Foxley. He went over to Jane’s desk and suggested they go have lunch in the canteen. Jane was equally keen to pass on her findings after interviewing Annalise. They both ordered a rather stewed shepherd’s pie and baked beans, and a cup of coffee.

  ‘OK, Spence . . . you go first.’

  As he shovelled down his shepherd’s pie, smothered in HP sauce, he described how much he had admired Langton and how impressed he was with the care home. He went into a lengthy description of how Langton used a typewriter, how he painted using a brush held in his teeth and, for a man with his horrendous disabilities, how he somehow still projected a strong and confident demeanour. Spence had really liked him and understood the importance of his visits to Mandy Pilkington, which in his own words were often the only times he felt normal.

  Spencer heaped sugar into his coffee, as Jane listened.

  ‘Go on . . . What did you get?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this. Langton admitted that on occasion he took cocaine and amphetamines, but insisted that he was not an addict, just an occasional user. And . . .’

  Jane had a mouthful of shepherd’s pie on her fork, holding it inches from her mouth as she waited for him to continue.

  ‘ . . . Ahmed Farook is his dealer.’

  Jane dropped her fork onto her plate. ‘You’re kidding me.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘My God. We never even considered him! But it makes sense. Foxley, a regular client needing a regular supply of coke, or whatever. Did you get anything else?’

  Spencer told her about Langton’s visit to Mandy Pilkington’s on the afternoon of the murder, and how he’d had to wait for Farook to take him home again.

  ‘Langton was dressed and ready to leave. He was expecting Farook to be on the landing to help him down the stairs, but he wasn’t there, which was odd as he was rarely, if ever, late. Eventually
Farook turned up at about quarter to seven p.m. and apologised for keeping him waiting. Langton said he appeared to be agitated and unlike himself. What do you think?’

  ‘Well, we’ve obviously got enough to bring Farook in for questioning regarding the drugs and we could get a warrant to search his house and his car as well. But are you also putting him in the frame for the murder?’ Jane asked.

  Spencer shrugged. ‘I’ve not thought that one through yet. What would be his motive? If Charles Foxley paid him on a regular basis for drugs, why kill the hand that feeds you? However, they could have had a fall-out. Foxley might have got another supplier or refused to pay him.’

  Jane frowned. ‘But Farook had the time, between say five thirty until six p.m., to commit the murder?’

  Spencer nodded. ‘I suppose. But it wasn’t exactly quick: you’ve got the blows to the head, slitting his throat, then the disembowelling, plus the time needed to clean himself up afterwards . . .’ He looked at Jane expectantly. ‘OK . . . your turn.’

  Jane briefly described her interaction with the Montgomery family and only went into more detail when she explained that Annalise had been sexually abused by someone connected to the film The Slave Trader.

  ‘She does look older than she is, but when the sexual assault occurred, she was only sixteen. We have Julia Summers as a friend, introducing her to the modelling agency.’

  Spencer nodded. ‘Yeah, I remember when we first went there. I can’t recall who it was, but they mentioned that Julia Summers often brought in her Sloane Ranger girlfriends.’

  ‘Well, I would say Annalise fits that description – they’re very wealthy. But after the incident, she had run off to Julia Summers’ place. When she told her what had happened, another of the girls, Tanya, said that it had happened before and that she should complain to Foxley. Guess what happened then?’

  Spencer grinned. ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘Charles Foxley paid her fifteen hundred pounds to keep her mouth shut. If I go through the diary, how many times did one or other of these young girls get physically abused? I have a feeling that a few of them may have been onto the fact that they could make money, and maybe even exaggerate what had happened. I think that this could be where all that unaccounted-for cash went.’

  ‘My God, he was a sleazebag,’ Spencer said, rubbing his head. ‘Don’t tell me we’re going to have to go through all those girls again?’

  Jane drained her coffee and sighed. ‘We can perhaps cut a few corners by bringing in Julia Summers and maybe putting the frighteners on her. She has to know why she was Tippexing out the information from Foxley’s diary.’ Jane glanced at her watch. It was already 4.30 p.m. ‘I think we both need to go and talk to Tyler.’

  Tyler eventually came out of his office at 5.15 p.m., looking tired and in need of a shave. He was accompanied by an irate-looking DI Miller, who glared at Jane as he returned to his corner desk.

  Tyler glanced over at Jane. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  ‘Yes, sir. DS Gibbs and I would really like to have a briefing with you regarding a few things we’ve come up with today.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Do you want to go into the boardroom? I’m sick of the sight of my office, but I have to be out of here shortly as one of my kids has got an abscess on his tooth. But we could do with some good news after the tests for blood on Justine Harris’s dagger came back negative.’

  ‘I’ll organise some coffee, sir,’ Jane said.

  ‘Good idea,’ Tyler sighed, returning to his office.

  ‘Did you get that, Spencer?’ Jane looked over to Spencer as he was finishing typing his report.

  ‘Yep. And I’ll have a ham sandwich.’

  By the time Jane got back to the boardroom with a tray of coffee and a plate of surprisingly fresh ham sandwiches, Tyler was already glancing through her report. He reached out for a coffee and gave her a grateful smile as she passed him a sandwich.

  ‘What’s your gut feeling, Tennison, after that interview with the Montgomery family?’

  ‘I seriously think, sir, we need to find out how many girls were paid off when they complained about the sexual abuse, and how many were actually fully aware of what was expected of them. Max and Ivor Summers must have known what was going on.’

  Tyler raised his hand. ‘Just a minute, Jane. To put an already depleted team of detectives onto yet another vast investigation into God knows how many young girls . . . I’m not sure it’s moving this inquiry forward.’

  Jane pursed her lips. ‘I hate to disagree with you, sir.’

  ‘OK, I suggest you bring in Julia Summers and hopefully she will give you the names of any other girls who were paid off by Foxley. But we need to tread very carefully. Her father, Max Summers, is a very influential man.’ As he finished his sandwich, he turned to Spencer. ‘Right, Gibbs, let’s hope you’ve got something more solid.’

  ‘Maybe, guv. So far we’ve been unable to identify the drug dealer who was supplying Charles Foxley. But I now have a name – we’ve had him in our sights before as he’s Mandy Pilkington’s driver – Ahmed Farook. I was given his name by one of her regular clients, a Michael Langton. I don’t think he’s a major drug dealer, and I doubt if Foxley owed him enough money to warrant him being considered a suspect in his murder.’

  Tyler leant back in his chair and stretched his legs out. ‘Not much of a motive, though. I mean, Justine Harris admitted bringing in drugs to give to her husband. Christ, she even admitted to hitting him over the head with a cricket bat! And this had to have been around five thirty p.m., so your window for Farook to commit this murder is even narrower. But we’ve got fuck all else, so let’s bring him in tomorrow. And bring in Julia Summers as well.’ Tyler stood up. ‘Right, that’s it for tonight. Thank you both, and see you in the morning.’ He walked out, yawning.

  Spencer scribbled in his notebook then turned to Jane. ‘I didn’t actually have Farook down as the fucking killer. I just thought he might have dealt Foxley some drugs. I’d forgotten about Justine Harris saying she took them to him.’

  Jane stood up, suddenly exhausted. ‘Listen, I don’t know about you but I’m going to take off. In the meantime, you’d better do some homework on Farook.’

  Spencer nodded. Jane had already left when he started flicking through his notes. He had a habit of not writing things down when he was interviewing as he found it distracted the person he was talking to. But he always wrote things down afterwards and he had trained himself to have excellent recall. As he flicked through his notes of the entire interaction with Langton, he suddenly stopped. Scrawled halfway up a page was Langton’s reference to Farook being a very kind man with a religious wife and a beautiful daughter. Spencer snapped the notebook shut and hurried out of the boardroom to see if he could catch Jane, but she was gone.

  *

  Jane arrived at the rifle club at 6.45 p.m. She used the code to open the garage gate, drove in a few yards and then got out and closed the gate. There were a few vehicles in the car park, but she didn’t see Dabs’s car. She rang for the entry door into the club to be opened as she still didn’t have the code. She had to wait a few minutes before the locks were electronically drawn back and the heavy iron door was opened. Elliott was wearing another one of his tracksuits and had a woollen hat pulled down low on his face.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, stepping aside for her to pass him. She followed him down the corridor and then entered the club where Vera was serving coffee to a handful of members, but Elliott had his hand in the small of Jane’s back, ushering her immediately to the shooting range. He opened the door, gesturing for Jane to go ahead. He then clicked on the red light for no admittance. She was beginning to feel tense as well as slightly annoyed.

  ‘Well, this is all very confusing,’ she said as she placed her handbag down on a shelf in one of the stalls.

  He gave a small shrug and smiled. ‘I will keep this as brief as possible, but the most important element is I need to know if I can trus
t you.’

  Jane needed to take a deep breath because she found the situation so uncomfortable, particularly when Elliott put his hand against her diaphragm and told her quietly to breathe deeply.

  ‘Get your fucking hand off me. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’ve had enough,’ Jane snapped.

  ‘No, you have not,’ he said, firmly. He nodded to a hardback chair against the stone wall at the end of the stalls. ‘Sit down.’

  Jane was wary, but she did as he asked. He then picked up another straight-backed chair and placed it in front of her, sitting astride.

  ‘You must be aware of Operation Countryman.’

  Jane nodded. ‘Of course. I doubt there’s a Met officer who isn’t.’

  ‘So, you know since 1978 there’s been an investigation into corruption targeting the Flying Squad. Although there have been major arrests for corruption, fraud and bribery, not one Flying Squad officer has as yet been charged and convicted.’

  ‘Well, maybe that’s because there wasn’t enough evidence, or the allegations were false,’ Jane retorted.

  ‘No, it’s because Countryman has faced massive obstruction from the Met’s senior management as well as the lower ranks. Their offices at Camberwell police station were broken into in an attempt to steal incriminating documents and evidence, forcing them to move to Godalming police station in Surrey, outside the Metropolitan Police District.’

  Jane leant forward. ‘You said you wanted to find out if you could trust me. Well, I don’t trust you. I want to know exactly what is going on.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’m a Dorset detective working undercover on Operation Countryman.’ He reached into his pocket and showed her his police ID.

  She had to control her breathing just as he had taught her. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

  Elliott smiled, shaking his head. ‘Absolutely not, Jane. On the contrary, I’m hoping that you are going to be able to assist me in arresting a senior Flying Squad officer who had, until recently, remained under the radar.’