Blunt Force

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Have you any indication of what time it was when you got home?’

  ‘No idea, sorry. I do know that old Alistair wasn’t around and Farook took me up in the lift and back to my room.’

  ‘Did you see anyone in the care home as you came in?’

  ‘No, nobody was around. Often at that time of night they will be eating in the dining room.’

  ‘What does Farook usually do while you are at Miss Pilkington’s?’

  ‘I don’t know, but he polishes that Mercedes of hers within an inch of its life. It’s always immaculate. He uses this awful room spray in it – probably uses it after he drops me off as I can smell a bit,’ he laughed.

  Like Spencer, Jane was trying hard not to show her frustration. She sipped her coffee, desperately trying to think if there was any means of getting more detail from Michael.

  ‘How well do you know Farook?’ she asked almost nonchalantly.

  ‘I wouldn’t say I know him. Apart from the fact he is exceptionally kind and thoughtful. You have to understand my vulnerability when I need a man like him to carry me like a child, and to obviously know that I’m going there to fuck my brains out . . . Sorry,’ he said, glancing at Jane.

  ‘No need to apologize,’ she said, noticing the flash of anger in Michael’s eyes. Maybe he was angry at having to describe his dependency. ‘You stated that Farook had a beautiful daughter. How did you know that?’

  ‘He had prayer beads – they call them Tasbih – hanging from the rear-view mirror. When I asked him about them he told me they were a present from his beautiful daughter. But apparently Mandy disliked them and so he had to take them off. This was quite some time ago and we never really talked about her again.’

  ‘Did Farook ever discuss Charles Foxley with you?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Did he ever bring up his name with you?’

  ‘I’m trying to remember. I think once he asked me something about him, but I’ve never met him. Ah, I remember now. He asked me if I knew Charles Foxley and if he was a very important film producer. I told him I had no idea, but if he needed to know he should ask Mandy, or better still, ask the old guy who dresses up as a maid. He seems to know everything that goes on in the house. I’m remembering it now because I had a laugh about it. Did you ever see that James Bond film?’

  Spencer grinned. ‘Yeah, I know what you are going to say. He reminds you of that villain, Odd Job.’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. That’s right. I asked Farook if he was after a part in a Bond movie. He got a bit serious and said no, he wasn’t interested in anything like that. That’s all, really. I can’t remember anything else.’

  Spencer flicked through his notebook. ‘I know you won’t like what I’m going to ask you now, and I have no intention of pursuing any kind of criminal charge against you. You admitted to me – and it is very important, Michael, that you tell me the truth – you admitted that on occasions you use cocaine.’

  Michael pressed his body back into the chair and grimaced as if he was in pain.

  ‘You also told me, Michael, that Farook gave you the drugs.’

  ‘He didn’t give them to me,’ Michael said rather tersely.

  ‘But he supplied you with them, didn’t he?’ Spencer said, trying to keep his patience.

  ‘Look, I paid for it. It’s not as if I was a frequent user; it just sort of came out of the blue once. Farook opened the glove compartment as it was a cold day and he often wore leather driving gloves. When he pulled them out of the glove compartment, some small plastic bags fell out. He was driving at the time, but he immediately pulled over. He kept the engine running and reached down to the passenger side. He was very nervous. There was also a large pill bottle that fell out when he picked up the plastic bags. He was apologetic and said they were for one of Miss Pilkington’s clients. I said to him, “Looks like cocaine to me – is it?” Farook turned to me and said that he would appreciate it if I kept this to myself but if I was into stuff like that, he could supply me. He gave me a freebie. He tucked it into my shirt pocket when he carried me out of the car. It was very good quality. If you need to know how I know, I was quite a Jack the lad when I had all my limbs.’

  It all sounded rather pitiful, and Jane could see that Spencer was finding questioning Michael about this uncomfortable.

  ‘So how often, from that day, did Farook deal to you?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Listen to me: I don’t want to get this man into trouble because I keep on saying he is genuinely a good guy. I don’t know of any other man who would do what he does for me. He’s not just strong, he has a good heart, and I don’t want to get him into trouble or, God forbid, to lose his job.’

  ‘Can you just answer the question, please, Michael?’ Jane said.

  ‘He’d sort me out when he collected me from my treatments.’

  ‘Did he ever tell you about anyone else he was supplying drugs to?’

  Michael shook his head. ‘I have no idea. He never discussed it.’

  ‘Thank you, Michael, you’ve been very helpful. As Detective Sergeant Gibbs said, we have no intention of pressing criminal charges against you. It’s the timeframe we’re interested in.’

  Michael frowned. ‘I can’t for the life of me think I can tell you anything more. My God, you don’t think Odd Job’s got anything to do with it, do you?’

  ‘We aren’t here to joke with you, Michael,’ Jane said firmly. ‘On the Monday, when Farook collected you from Miss Pilkington’s home, did you notice anything different in his behavior?’

  Michael blinked, then winced as if he was in pain.

  ‘Was he more talkative than usual?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘No, he was never what I’d call very chatty; in fact, he hardly spoke at all. There was only one odd thing, now I come to think of it.’ He paused. ‘When he carried me into the car, there was a full black bin liner on the floor beside my seat. He seemed concerned about it and, after he closed the door, he went around to that side of the car and took it out. He then opened the boot and put it in there. When he got back into the driving seat he said he was sorry but Mandy had asked him to dispose of some old towels and sheets. He was going to take them to the dog shelter but hadn’t yet found the time.’

  Spencer looked at Jane and closed his notebook, sliding it into the open file on the desk. ‘Michael, can you recall whether Farook was wearing the same clothes when he collected you later as he was when he picked you up?’

  Michael nodded. ‘As far as I recall he was always wearing a rather ill-fitting suit that was too small for him.’

  Spencer stood up. ‘Do you have a contact number for him?’

  ‘Not for him personally. I always make arrangements with Mandy.’

  ‘I just need to go and have a few words with my guv, Michael, then I can arrange for you to be taken home.’

  Michael laughed and said, ‘How about launching one of those biscuits into my mouth?’

  Spencer took a Bourbon biscuit and held it out like a dart before he gently put it into Michael’s mouth.

  Jane waited with Michael as he tried to move his legs straight, which was obviously a painful process.

  ‘Would you mind helping?’ he asked with a grimace.

  He twisted his body around in the chair and Jane pulled each leg straight. She couldn’t believe the weight of each of the legs. Although they straightened quite simply, the wooden feet, encased in brogue shoes, had no flexibility.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, giving Jane a lovely smile, and like Spencer, she found herself falling for his charm.

  *

  Spencer went into Tyler’s office and gave him an update on the interview.

  ‘He still maintains the same exact time of collection and return to the care home. To be honest, guv, I didn’t go into any depth regarding the murder, because he is obviously concerned about Farook losing his job. And if he was to contact Farook and tip him off that he has been brought here, I’d be concerned for Michael’s safety.’
>
  They walked out of the office together and stood in front of the chalkboard. They looked at the timings and Tyler pointed at the board.

  ‘OK, Wandsworth to Clapham, one-way system, you can do that trip in fifteen minutes. If you go via the High Street, it’s twenty minutes. Then he prepared Michael for his session, another ten minutes or so. From Clapham to Onslow Square, the murder site, you’re looking at twenty-five to twenty-seven minutes. Back from there to Clapham is twenty-five minutes and then pick up Michael from Clapham and back to Wandsworth, we are looking at fifteen to twenty minutes. So, you tell me, where in that timeframe do you think he had enough time to commit the murder and clean up after himself, because after Langton we know we have him at Mandy’s with her next client. At most, he’s got twenty minutes unaccounted for, which isn’t nearly enough.’

  Spencer felt as if the rug was being pulled from under his feet, and he knew Tyler did even more. They already had on the board Farook’s movements for that day. He had been tailed from the Winstanley Estate in Battersea where he traveled by bus to Mandy Pilkington’s.

  Tyler sighed. ‘Farook did a grocery shop, drove her to a hair salon, returned her to the house, then made another trip to a petrol station and car wash. He’s now parked outside the house eating a kebab. Now, I have two guys around the clock on this and I have search warrants for his flat, but if we’re going to get a result, we need to find a connection with Charles Foxley.’

  At that point one of the clerical staff passed Tyler a note confirming the name of Farook’s sister-in-law as Farah Fareedi. Aiyla, Farook’s wife, was her older sister, and according to a neighbor, there had been a young girl living there until four or five months ago. But no one had seen her since.

  Tyler sighed again and continued. ‘We have clarification that her name is Yasmin Farah Farook. They had made inquiries at local GP surgeries and, to date, none of the occupants of the flat are registered. It seems that the four-bedroom council flat was not allocated to Farook but to his brother-in-law.’

  Spencer turned to Tyler. ‘Did you see Jane’s notes, sir? From that American profiler bloke? He said our killer might have some training as a butcher.’

  Tyler put his hands on his hips. ‘Jesus Christ, every time we think we have a break, it requires further investigation.’

  ‘What do you want me to do with Michael Langton?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘Well, if you are concerned he is going to contact Farook and tip him off for dealing drugs, maybe that’s just what we need,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We might need him to do just that. Let’s see what happens.’

  *

  Jane had been trying to keep a conversation going with Michael until Spencer returned, but he seemed eager to leave. He sat, obviously uncomfortably, with his legs outstretched, and when she asked him about his family, he had been dismissive, explaining that his condition was too much for his parents. He looked away as he described his mother as somewhat over-emotional and, although no one could be blamed for his condition, she somehow decided that it was her fault. His father, on the other hand, had simply found it all too difficult to deal with. Neither of them understood his need to be independent. Michael shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I doubt if my parents would have approved of my extracurricular activities. I think their bridge circle would have refused to ever play a game with them again.’

  Jane smiled. ‘Before the illness struck, what did you do?’

  ‘I was hoping to be a graphic designer, but I opted out of uni, did some backpacking in Australia and New Zealand. Then I went to Dubai as I was out of cash and my fiancée wanted to get married and have a family. She tried to persuade me to get back to London to finish my degree. My dad forked out for a flat in Wandsworth, not far from where I am now.’ He laughed softly. ‘Like all plans, mine truly went tits up.’

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Jane replied, feeling this was an inadequate response.

  Michael suddenly became very agitated and started moving from side to side in the chair. ‘I need to stand,’ he said, rocking backwards and forward. He then lurched upwards to stand unsteadily, almost knocking over the table. Jane had to quickly grab the edge to keep it upright. Spencer’s open file slid off, and some of the contents spilled out across the table and onto the floor.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Michael said.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine,’ Jane said as she bent down to pick up Spencer’s notebook. Among the files were photographs of Charles Foxley, the photograph of Yasmin, and some copies of reports – but also pictures of the murder scene. As Jane quickly gathered the scattered papers from the floor, Michael was staring at the photographs spilled out across the table.

  ‘I’m sorry, Michael, you shouldn’t have seen these. They are obviously not meant for public viewing.’

  He frowned. ‘For God’s sake, I’m not a child.’

  Jane had intended to put everything back into the file as quickly as possible, but instead, even though she knew that it was unethical, she placed the horrific crime scene photographs out on the table. She could see that Michael was shocked by what he saw. She started explaining where each photograph had been taken: the bathroom, the bedroom . . . She then took the autopsy reports out of the file.

  ‘We believe Mr. Foxley let his killer in, as we found no forced entry. He was first struck by a cricket bat and was possibly unconscious when he was dragged from the hall to the bathroom.’

  She showed him the photograph of the disembowelment. Michael licked his lips and asked if she would help him sit down. It was at this point Spencer walked in. He quickly took in the fact the interview table was covered with items from his own file, and Jane was flushed as she said, ‘I’m afraid that when Michael stood up the table almost fell over and your file tipped out. I tried to replace them as quickly as possible, but Michael insisted I show them to him.’

  Spencer turned his back on Jane and rested his hands on Michael’s shoulders. ‘Are you all right, son?’

  Michael nodded. ‘Could you remove my legs? I’m not used to wearing them for so long, and sitting’s difficult as the straps cut into my groin.’

  Spencer turned to Jane. ‘I think Michael would like another cup of coffee and I would too. Would you mind? Are you hungry, Michael?’

  ‘I’ll have a sandwich, anything going.’

  By the time Jane returned to the interview room, the prosthetic legs were resting against a cabinet and Spencer had carefully folded Michael’s trousers under his knees. He had a jacket around his shoulders with both arms pinned up and seemed far more relaxed.

  Spencer stood up as Jane entered with the tray.

  ‘Ah good, we have straws, Michael.’ He put the coffee mug down in front of him. ‘If you fancy me holding a sandwich out for you, just let me know,’ Spencer said.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Jane sat down beside Spencer. Michael watched Spencer demolish one of the sandwiches, then he took a sip of his coffee through a straw. ‘I would appreciate it if you would treat me as an adult and tell me the real reason you brought me to the station,’ he said quietly. ‘This isn’t about Farook giving me the odd snort or two, is it? And I don’t think it’s even about the fact he may have been acquiring drugs for Mandy. I reckon I’m not the only occasional user and I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the girls did too. Mandy’s always been a bit two-faced about her business being legitimate and her abhorrence of narcotics.’

  Spencer opened his notebook. ‘OK, I’ll level with you, Michael. This investigation has been going on for a long time without us being able to identify a suspect – or even a motive. But recently we think we may have uncovered one.’

  Michael glanced at Jane and then back to Spencer. ‘You’d need quite a motive to do what was done to that man.’

  ‘Yes,’ Spencer agreed.

  ‘Are you telling me Farook is a suspect? Because you keep asking me how well I know him. And what I know about his daughter. And you keep asking a
bout his movements on that Monday. Is this why you are so interested about the times I was with Farook on the day of the murder?’

  Jane leaned forward. ‘We obviously questioned everyone who was associated with Miss Pilkington, which included all her employees. Mr. Farook gave you as an alibi for the time we believe the murder occurred. We also had witnesses saying that he was at Miss Pilkington’s directly after he had taken you back to your care home.’

  Jane was worried they were revealing more than they should about the investigation, but they had no choice now but to continue down the path they’d started on.

  ‘Mr. Langton, we know that Charles Foxley ran a modeling agency and on his books were a number of young, impressionable teenage girls. Not only desperate to work as models, but willing to attend film premieres and other events where directors, producers and, in some cases, stars would be present. We know that in some instances these girls were underage. A few girls were aware that they would be asked for sexual favors and in some cases they were eager to please for the chance of stardom. Those girls who were willing to provide extra services were compensated by Mr. Foxley. I’ve talked to one of these young girls and I believe she was just one of many. Michael, have you ever heard any mention that Foxley was procuring young girls for older men?’

  Jane sat back. Michael was listening intently but showed no reaction. Spencer opened his file and sorted through the various photos and documents before bringing out the picture of Yasmin. He pushed it across the table.

  ‘Have you seen this girl before?’

  Michael looked at the photograph, but made no answer. Eventually, after a lengthy pause, he bowed his head.

  ‘I think that’s Farook’s daughter. I didn’t lie to you before, because I have never met her, but he used to talk about her a lot. He said she was the jewel in his crown as she was stunningly beautiful. He told me that she had hair that shone like jet and felt like silk when he brushed it for her. You remember I told you about the amber beads hanging on the mirror and he told me they had been given to him by his daughter? I think I said to you that some months later they were no longer hanging and I told you that Miss Pilkington had asked him to remove them. That was a lie.’ He chewed his lip.