SHADOW CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘That’s me. I’m the boss. Everyone does what I say. Well, they ought to.’ Rose winked at Kerry, who gave her a weak smile in return.

  The two police officers left the house, while the boy watched, his eyes wide.

  ‘Do you know a detective superintendent?’ he asked just before closing the door on them. ‘She was here yesterday morning. She talked to me out at the front gate.’

  * * *

  They sat in the car. ‘Is something going on, boss? It’s just what that lad said. Has the super really been here?’

  Rose grimaced. ‘The ways of the high and mighty are beyond normal human comprehension. But I’ll check it with her. If she’s been here talking to that lad, she’ll want to know about our visit.’

  ‘There’s something else, boss. The father. Well, he was in that group of nasty-looking blokes on Saturday night, up on our patch in Dorchester. The ones I thought were up to something in the local pubs. I’m not saying he was the ringleader just that he was there.’

  ‘Maybe you need to spend some serious time on photofits. We’ll see what her ladyship says. And we need to make sure this is followed up. That bruise on the girl’s face looks as if she’s been clouted. It might have been Dad. He looks nasty enough.’

  Chapter 20: Operation Shadow

  Thursday Evening

  ‘So let me sum up. And chip in if you think I’ve got it wrong.’ Jim Metcalfe, Dorset’s assistant chief constable, sat back in his chair and looked at the three senior detectives ranged in front of him. Matt Silver, Sophie Allen and Kevin McGreedie occupied the other three sides of a table in a small meeting room at police headquarters.

  ‘We have two sets of serious crimes that, at first, didn’t seem connected, plus a couple of suspicions. The first crime was the prison smuggling, and your unit has been investigating it, Kevin, with Lydia Pillay taking the lead. The second was the murder of Tony Quigley, investigated by Sophie’s team, quickly followed by the disappearance and death of Andrea Ford, one of our own people. Then there’s the possibility that a shadowy group of racist thugs are somehow involved, first trying to intimidate Lydia in Dorchester at a supposedly undercover meet, then seen there later on the same day, although we don’t know what they were up to. Now we think at least some of them are Weymouth based. Lastly, there’s this suggestion from Lydia that the prison smuggling may be more organised than the powers that be have previously thought, although this is little more than a hunch at this stage. But all three of you think there’s a good chance that the same people are involved? This gang that seems to have operated below our radar until now. Have I got it right?’

  ‘That’s about it,’ Matt replied. ‘But it’s very worrying, Jim. If it’s true, we can’t go after Andrea’s killers, all guns blazing, if it means we might frighten off the prison smuggling people or cause them to close down before we’ve got a good lead on them.’

  ‘Why does Lydia think the smuggling is more organised than anyone previously thought?’

  ‘The procedures are similar in every case she’s reviewed,’ Kevin explained. ‘She’s looked at what happens in most of the prisons across the south west, and she says that it’s all extremely systematic. It’s like a complex supplies operation. She wants permission to get an army logistics expert in once she’s got all the details together, and to work with Hampshire and Wiltshire. She’s been speculating that the whole thing might be masterminded by some ex-army logistics corps people that are using their knowledge to make themselves rich this way.’

  Metcalfe frowned. ‘That’s worrying. But it might explain why they acted so ruthlessly with Quigley and Andrea. Squaddies gone bad can be brutal.’

  The door opened and the chief constable poked her head in. ‘I’m off, Jim. Everything okay?’

  Metcalfe grimaced. ‘I’ll need a meeting with you as soon as we can manage it, ma’am. You need to know about this.’

  She looked at the small group, and then at Metcalfe. ‘I can be in at seven thirty tomorrow morning if that helps?’ She disappeared.

  Metcalfe turned back to the others. ‘At present, we’ll act as the co-ordinating group, the four of us. You three run the operations and make routine decisions as usual. But nothing must happen that could shut down any other part of the chain. Let’s call it Operation Shadow for now. Agreed? Your people can be told what’s going on, but only on a need to know basis. We need to be careful with the crews in Weymouth and Dorchester. We don’t know how far the influence of this unknown group has spread. Keep in touch and we’ll meet again in a day or two, once I’ve discussed it with the boss. I’ll be in touch.’

  Chapter 21: Horror

  Friday

  On Friday morning, Sophie met with Barry and Rae and told them of the meeting with the ACC and the plan to merge their investigation with Lydia’s.

  ‘I’m worried that we’ve had to take our foot off the accelerator a bit on the Tony Quigley angle because of what’s happened to Andrea. How has that side of things progressed? Have we made any headway?’

  ‘We haven’t taken our foot off at all, ma’am,’ Barry said. ‘It’s just because you’ve been so focussed on Andrea. But the squads are still out on the streets in Dorchester, and the local CID have been hard at it. We’ve got a much clearer picture of him now, and how he operated before he stopped work. He was on the make, no doubt about it, and it wasn’t just cash he was getting. He made two or three visits a year to a luxury villa in Spain, but no money ever left his bank accounts. He drove top-notch cars, but we can’t find any trace of him paying for them. It looks as if they were all gifts for services rendered while he was a prison officer. They stopped when he retired.’

  ‘Can we get a name for whoever he was working for? Is that possible?’

  Barry made a face. ‘They were too clever. Nothing yet, but we live in hope.’

  ‘Spain, Barry, Spain. There was a lot of Spanish stuff in Andrea’s flat. Is there any chance it might have been the same people? The same villa even? I don’t suppose their visits ever overlapped, but there might be something in common. Rae, could you match up the details of their visits — flights, destination airports and the like? Perhaps another quiet chat with Laura Quigley is in order. She’s had an easy ride from us so far. Maybe it’s time to turn the screw a bit and find out what she knew about those Spanish holidays. For goodness sake, didn’t she ever check where the money was coming from?’

  ‘Apparently not. But I was just thinking, ma’am,’ Rae said. ‘They might have met someone while they were in Spain. Whoever was paying him to turn a blind eye to the smuggling might not have wanted to meet him back here, but in Spain they’d have had time to discuss their plans to their hearts’ content. The merry widow might remember a face or two.’

  ‘It’s worth a try. Leave that one to me. I can’t let you two do all the work while I swan around doing sod all. By the way, Lydia may be arriving later this morning. She’s bringing all of her investigation stuff across with her. It’s possible that Jimmy might be with her, if he can be spared. It’ll be just like old times, won’t it, Barry?’

  She looked at her watch. ‘Time to be off to the hospital for Andrea’s post mortem. Coming, Barry?’

  * * *

  Usually when Sophie appeared for a post mortem examination she and Benny Goodall would indulge in a bit of light-hearted banter, just to relieve the tension, but this morning Sophie was too tired to even think of a suitable comment to make. She and Benny had been friends since they’d shared a house at university, so he was able to discern her moods better than most. He noticed that Barry Marsh seemed even more muted than normal, if that was possible.

  ‘What’s turned up, Benny?’ Sophie asked.

  He gently lifted the corpse’s left hand. ‘The damage to these fingers was done just prior to her death. She had her hands forcibly held down and the fingers spread out. Do you see the slight bruising on her wrist and the back of her hand? Those are from whoever held her down. Then they struck her little finger with a heavy o
bject, most likely a mallet or hammer. This one’s worse than the one on her right hand. She was hit so hard on this side that the bone splintered. We’ve extracted a few fragments of wood from the underside of the wound, and Dave Nash has them for analysis. My guess is that it’s boat timber of some type, but it’s just conjecture at the moment.’

  Sophie frowned. ‘So they smashed both her pinkies and then tipped her into the water?’

  Benny shrugged. ‘It looks like it. It was definitely done before death occurred.’

  ‘That’s just foul. How needless, to torture her before killing her. Why would they do that?’

  ‘Could they have been trying to get information from her?’ Barry said.

  ‘It’s possible, I suppose. But would it have been necessary to go to that length? Surely if that were the case, the threat of having her finger broken would have been enough? And why both hands? She’d have been a screaming mess after the first one, and told them anything they wanted to hear. So why the second?’ Sophie paused. ‘No, you know what this is, Barry? We have a psychopath doing this.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I thought I might never have to deal with another one after Frimwell and Duff. How wrong could I be?’

  ‘The facial bruising was caused at about the same time. There’s nothing else of major importance. Her liver was a bit ropey, so I’d guess she liked her booze, but don’t we all?’

  ‘No signs of recent sexual activity?’ Barry asked.

  Benny pursed his lips. ‘That’s a hard one. There’s nothing obvious but she was in the water for a long time. What I can tell you is that there are no signs of forceful rape. No abrasions or tears.’

  Sophie walked towards a small window and looked out, deep in thought. ‘There must have been two or more men involved. She’d have had to have been held down while her fingers were hammered. What do you reckon, Barry? Three? One to hold her hand still, one to use the hammer and one to control the boat.’

  Barry nodded. ‘Sounds about right. There’ll be superficial damage to the timber surface where it was carried out, ma’am, probably the gunwale. If she got splinters of wood in the wound, then it will have left traces. If it was dark at the time, would they have noticed? Can we get a search started? Maybe the harbourmaster’s office has a record of boat movements for Tuesday and Wednesday. It’s about time we had some luck, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath, Barry. They’d have slipped out to sea, hoping not to be noticed, that’s my guess. But it’s worth a try, and your idea of looking for the damage is sheer genius. There might still be some tissue residue from her wounds and, if so, that will nail them. You get a search organised and I’ll contact Dave Nash for confirmation.’

  They returned to the incident room to plan the next day’s activities. Sophie would be attending her mother’s wedding. She should have been relaxed and happy, looking forward to the following day’s joyful occasion. Instead, she felt sick with tension.

  Chapter 22: The Wedding

  Saturday Afternoon

  The Cliff Castle Hotel, high above the Avon Gorge in Bristol, has stunning views in all directions. From it, a visitor may look across the rocky gorge to the tree-clad southern cliffs as well as the wide, grassy Clifton Downs. Best of all, the large conservatory faces directly towards Brunel’s famous suspension bridge, majestically bestriding the sheer sides of the river valley. It was in this room that the wedding ceremony for Susan Carswell and Bill Parker was to take place. Sophie was waiting in a room off to the side, along with her two daughters, while Susan’s hairdresser made some final adjustments. Everything was ready. Sophie glanced again at Hannah and Jade, beautiful in their mottled-green and yellow bridesmaids’ dresses. Sophie, too, wore this outfit and the same gold hairpiece. She took a quick look in the mirror. She’d do. She looked as good as she ever would, but could never compete with Hannah and Jade. Of course she couldn’t. The years start to take their toll in the end, and a forty-five-year-old in a high-stress job can’t expect to match the looks of two glamorous young women.

  The outfits, first spotted by Hannah in a London store, were perfect. Sophie’s mother, Susan, had heartily approved the dress and jacket combinations. The three Allen women looked very spring-like, just as well on this drab, grey morning. Where was the sunshine that had been forecast?

  She looked up as her mother came towards her. ‘Ready?’ Susan asked. She looked stunning in an ivory-coloured silk skirt suit and matching hat.

  Sophie gave her a gentle hug and a smile. ‘I can’t speak, Mum. I’m too choked up.’

  ‘Oh, get a grip, Sophie. It’s only a bloody wedding. It’s not as if it’s life or death, is it?’

  ‘Okay, I feel suitably chastised. I think it’s time we got moving.’

  The four women left the dressing room, and were joined by Sophie’s grandfather, James Howard, who was to escort the bride down the short aisle. He looked both distinguished and exhilarated, and was smiling broadly. As the group made its way into the main room, Sophie realised that James was a little wobbly on his feet, and Susan was holding him steady rather than the other way around. She smiled, calm now. The sun, finally emerging from behind the bank of grey clouds, illuminated the room.

  The short ceremony began, and Susan Carswell, at the tender age of sixty-one, was married for the first time. Her middle-aged daughter, Sophie Allen, couldn’t help but shed a tear for the lost years of her mother’s life and the thought of her long-dead father, a man she’d never met.

  Later, in the reception, after several glasses of champagne, and when they thought no one was looking, the four women came together for a hug. As they broke apart they realised that the room had fallen silent. A loud burst of applause erupted, which, of course, led to another round of champagne toasts.

  It turned into a truly wonderful day, one that would live long in Sophie’s memory. Later that night, as she and Martin climbed into bed, she burst into tears again.

  ‘I’m just so happy,’ she said. ‘It was all so perfect, and Mum deserved it. And you kept everything ticking over. I could see you moving around, talking to everyone. I love you so much, sweetheart.’

  And with that, she turned over and fell asleep at once. Martin sighed. Ah well. Probably a good thing after all that food and wine.

  Chapter 23: All Solved?

  Sunday Morning

  The following day, Sophie appeared in the incident room, still a little disoriented from all the emotion of the day before.

  ‘Wedding went off okay, ma’am?’ Rae asked.

  ‘Hmm, yes, great thanks. How are things here? Everything alright yesterday?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Rae said nonchalantly. ‘We solved everything while you were away.’

  Sophie opened her eyes wide.

  ‘Only kidding, ma’am.’

  Lydia assumed a shocked look. ‘That was a very dangerous thing to say, Rae, particularly when you’re just a mere DC and the boss is now a superintendent. Are you feeling suicidal today for some reason?’

  Rae giggled. ‘Maybe I should go and sit in the naughty corner.’ She glanced sideways at Sophie. ‘Can we see the photos sometime soon? Please?’

  Sophie laughed. ‘Of course, once I get myself organised. Seriously, have there been any developments?’

  ‘I’m even more certain that it’s the same bunch of guys behind everything,’ Lydia said. ‘George Warrander came in at the end of his shift yesterday and we sat down and had a good look at that gang of thugs. We’re pretty sure that three or four of them at least were in both groups. We concentrated on the apparent ringleaders and compared what we remembered of them.’

  Sophie looked puzzled. ‘We can guess why they were in Dorchester that lunchtime. To intimidate you. We think they come from Weymouth, and we know that at least a couple of them work at the docks. But why were they in Dorchester that night? What were they up to?’

  Lydia shrugged. ‘We don’t know. George couldn’t work out what they were up to. I’ve been thinking back to my encounter with them l
ast weekend, ma’am, particularly the ringleader. At the time, I thought that he was a bit thrown when I told him who I was, and he hesitated because he thought he was in danger of being arrested. But it might not have been down to that at all. Jimmy arrived at that very moment, and it could have been seeing him that put the guy off.’

  ‘Which ties in with the idea that they knew full well who you were, and why you were there.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Have you got a name for him? The ringleader, I mean?’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘No. We’ve worked out who the other two are, the ones that pulled him away. Luke Boulden and your man, Liam Fenners. But as to Mr Confrontation . . .’ She shrugged.

  ‘So he becomes a priority. Get a photofit made up, if you haven’t already done so — George can add his bit. Then we look for this guy. Agreed?’ Sophie turned to Barry. ‘Have you made any progress on that phone number? The one Andrea was calling on Wednesdays?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We think whoever it belongs to is based in this area. But it’s an unregistered SIM, so we can’t get a name. All we can tell is where it’s been used, from the mast data. So we know it’s mainly in Weymouth, but occasionally in other places in Dorset.’

  ‘Such as? I can see there’s more, Barry. You have that look on your face.’

  ‘Dorchester, eight days ago, just before the confrontation with Lydia. And the same that night, just as George Warrander observed. But whoever he is, he’s playing things really carefully. He’s no fool.’

  ‘But that doesn’t match with Lydia’s observations of his behaviour. Creating a confrontation in a pub like he did was totally stupid. What on earth was he thinking? Unless his only previous interaction with a woman detective was Andrea Ford. Maybe he knew her and found her easy to intimidate, and so he tried the same trick on you, Lydia. I really can’t think of any other explanation.’ She looked away, apparently lost in thought.