‘Why do you require evidence if my niece decided to return to her family? It is our business and nothing to do with you.’
At this moment the officer appeared in the doorway. He gave a small nod for her to join him. In the largest cutlery drawer in the kitchen there was a wooden-framed knife block containing six razor-sharp carving knives, two with a serrated edge, and the blades slightly curved. As if Farah knew what they had found, she came and stood in the hallway and said that they were the property of her husband. He worked in a butcher shop and they were required for his work. Jane ignored her and gave the officer instructions to place all the knives, along with the block, into evidence bags.
Jane had now seen and heard enough. She was seriously concerned for Yasmin Farook.
*
By the time Jane made it to the interrogation room, Farook had already been questioned for an hour by DCI Tyler and Spencer. She was told Farook refused to have a solicitor and had, to all intents and purposes, been exceptionally forthcoming.
Jane had only just completed writing up her report from the visit to his flat when Spencer came into the incident room. She was quite surprised to see him as he went over to his desk to take out some aspirin from his drawer.
‘How’s it going?’ she asked as he took the aspirin with a cold cup of coffee left on his desk.
‘He’s holding nothing back. He’s admitted straightaway to murdering Charles Foxley. He was also determined that we understood Michael Langton had absolutely no idea why he had asked him to lie for him. And Mandy Pilkington was also unaware of his intentions.’ Spencer shrugged his shoulders. ‘He was almost freakily calm and claimed she’d been incredibly kind. She had taken him on years ago, despite his police record; he even went into great detail about his assault charge, which happened when he was working as a bouncer in a club. He insisted that he didn’t intend to hurt the man but had been attempting to refuse him entry when the man had thrown a punch, which then led to a number of men ganging up on him. This was also mentioned by his defense at the time.
Spencer looked at his watch. ‘He’s just having a toilet break now. I’m going to have to go back in. Tyler is very impressive, but he can’t get him to implicate Mandy Pilkington in the drugs. It’s the only time he became a bit agitated, and we both think it’s vital we keep him steady.’
Jane handed Spencer the note in the plastic cover. She quickly described the interior of the flat, and explained that Farook’s wife had not spoken English and his sister-in-law, Farah Fareedi, had dominated their conversation.
A uniformed officer came to the door of the incident room and signaled to Spencer to go back into the interview room.
‘Spence, we really need to talk to him about his daughter, and perhaps have a quick moment with Tyler and show him what I found in the room I believe was her bedroom.’
Spencer had a quick look. ‘I’m not sure what that all means, but I’ll show Tyler anyway.’
Jane wished she could listen in to what was going on in the interview room, but she knew, like everyone else, she would just have to wait for the outcome.
At least they knew they had their killer.
*
Farook had been brought back by two uniformed officers. He remained calm, as if he was actually relieved to have offloaded the burden of his crime. He had accepted only a glass of water and sat facing the two empty chairs, waiting for Tyler and Spencer to return. Outside the door, Spencer showed Tyler the note.
‘Not sure what it adds up to, sir.’
‘So the daughter’s not there,’ Tyler said.
Spencer shook his head. ‘According to Jane, she may have lived in a small box room, but it’s been stripped bare and the note had been tucked into the bottom of a wardrobe.’
Tyler pursed his lips. ‘Right now, the important thing is that he’s admitted he did it. We just need him to tell us why, and to go through what happened in the flat, step by step.’
‘Guv, Jane thinks it’s got to be connected to his daughter.’
Tyler was losing patience. ‘Right now, Spencer, I’m not interested in what she thinks. We have to go with the evidence we have to progress things further.’ With that, he opened the interview room door and they both walked in.
Tyler repeated to Farook that he was still under arrest and read him his rights again. Once again he asked if he required a lawyer and Farook said no, even when Tyler told him that Mandy Pilkington had offered to pay for one. Farook, who rarely lifted his eyes to look either man in the face, stared down, clasping his hands over his belly like a Buddha. Spencer reminded himself that this tubby, congenial-looking man had the strength to carry Michael Langton up and down stairs.
Farook stared at his clasped hands in front of him. ‘I’ve already told you that Miss Pilkington has been very kind to me. All I did in return was maintain the property as best as I could and drive her whenever required. And I drove her clients when she asked.’
‘Did you ever drive Mr. Foxley?’ Tyler asked quietly.
Farook remained with his head bent. ‘I only ever drove him the one time and that would be a long time ago, many months now. It was on this occasion that he asked me if I knew where he could acquire certain drugs. From that time on I would get drugs to him when he requested, usually when he had been at Miss Pilkington’s. He would approach me so that on his next visit I would have what he wanted.’
‘So you are saying you only ever went to Charles Foxley’s flat once?’
‘Yes, sir, that is correct, just one time only. And that was because there was an incident outside Miss Pilkington’s house. Mr. Foxley usually ordered a taxi to be waiting for him when his appointment was over, and this was usually lunchtimes—’
Tyler interrupted. ‘Did you know who Mr. Foxley was?’
‘No, sir, I did not. It was one of the rules Miss Pilkington laid down that anyone employed by her should not ask questions of any of her clients. She preferred them to all remain anonymous.’
‘So, on this occasion, Mr. Farook, when you say you drove Mr. Foxley to his flat, what happened?’
Farook shrugged his shoulders. ‘I just drove him to his flat in Kensington.’
Tyler continued, ‘You have admitted to the murder, but we still need to know exactly what happened.’
Farook shrugged again. ‘Nothing. I simply took him home.’
As Spencer made notes he wished Tyler would put some more pressure on Farook. It all seemed to be progressing very slowly and he was becoming exasperated. Then Farook pursed his lips, still remaining with his head bowed.
‘It was about nine months ago, if not more. Mr. Foxley came out of the house and a woman came up to him, screaming and punching him. She was completely hysterical, saying abusive things. This is a residential area and the reason why Miss Pilkington is so particular is because she wants her neighbors to remain unaware of what is going on at her property.’
Spencer didn’t find it credible that the neighbors hadn’t noticed people coming and going all day. He was starting to mistrust everything Farook was saying.
Farook raised his hands. ‘She was a very attractive woman, a blonde woman, but she was frightening because she was accusing him of being a pervert. She was so violent towards him, I intervened. She had actually punched him in the face and he was distressed. He asked me if I could help him get away, which I did. I drove him home and he told me the woman was his ex-wife, who was mentally disturbed. So that is how I knew where Mr. Foxley lived.’
‘Did you ever see this woman again?’ Tyler asked.
‘I’ve only ever seen her one more time.’
It was as if pieces of a jigsaw were beginning to come together as Farook told them the only other time he had seen this woman was when, on the day of the murder, she was coming out of Foxley’s flat and he recognized her. She had seemed agitated.
‘What time was this?’ Tyler asked.
Farook said it was exactly five minutes to five in the afternoon. Tyler and Spencer knew this was close to
the time on the parking ticket that had been found in Justine’s coat. It further supported her version of events when Farook said he saw her driving away and took her parking space. He gave a strange, guttural chuckle.
‘It was lucky because in that area it was always difficult to find somewhere to park.’
Spencer couldn’t believe how unemotional Farook was. If anything, he seemed to almost be enjoying the process. The only sign of nerves was the glistening sheen of sweat on his round face.
He did not raise his voice nor did he lift his head to look either of them in the eye as he began to describe the chilling events that followed.
Farook rang the bell of Foxley’s flat. He heard a dog barking, but he was certain Foxley was at home, not just because he had seen his ex-wife leaving, but that afternoon Foxley had asked him to deliver drugs.
Farook began to gesture with his hands as he described how Foxley seemed dazed and was holding the side of his head. He had said that his ex-wife had just hit him with a cricket bat. He had even shown him the bat. Foxley also seemed drugged because when they walked up the hallway, he lurched against a wall.
Farook chuckled horribly again as he described watching Foxley slide down the wall in the hall. Farook had picked up the dog and put it in the kitchen because it wouldn’t stop barking. Then he had gone into the bedroom and taken his clothes off, even removing his socks. When he came out of the bedroom Foxley was conscious, staring in horror as he tried to stand up and get out of the flat. That was when he had struck Foxley on the back of the head, then swung the bat again and given him an equally hard blow on the left side of his skull. Foxley had fallen to the ground and he had dragged him to the bathroom.
Tyler and Spencer sat listening as Farook seemed to take pleasure in describing every detail of the brutal act and its aftermath, even down to showering and dressing himself afterwards. The one mistake he had made was leaving the cut-throat razor.
Spencer slid his notebook over to Tyler. He had written the word: handcuffs. Tyler glanced at the note and looked back to Farook.
‘Mr. Farook, did you bring the cut-throat razor and the knife to Mr. Foxley’s?’
‘Yes, sir, I did.’
‘Did you also bring handcuffs?’
He grimaced and then shook his head, beads of sweat falling down his face. ‘No, I did not. If I recall correctly, he was wearing one attached to his wrist, but I did not bring them. I only brought the razor and a large serrated butcher’s knife.’
Spencer wondered if Justine Harris might have brought the handcuffs, but the important point was that by admitting he had brought the weapons with him, Farook had told them the murder was premeditated. What he still hadn’t given any indication of was why he had planned it.
Tyler looked at him for a moment before resuming his questioning. ‘Mr. Farook, you have admitted killing Mr. Foxley, but you haven’t told us why. You were supplying him with drugs. Did he owe you money? Is that why you did it?’
Farook shook his head. ‘No, he did not. And he was not a heavy user. He told me he was a very busy man and needed the amphetamines and the cocaine as he was sometimes putting in lengthy hours at his office.’ Again, there was that unpleasant gurgle of a laugh. ‘Perhaps he also needed help with his sessions at Miss Pilkington’s.’
‘Did you find it amusing that Mr. Foxley preferred a certain type of woman?’ Tyler asked.
Farook rubbed the end of his nose. ‘That was not my business. Some of them were nice and they were only doing it to earn a few quid.’
‘Were you aware of any other immoral activities that Mr. Foxley had been involved with? We have discovered that he was using young girls to entertain film producers and movie stars.’
Farook showed no reaction.
Tyler shook his head. ‘Personally, I find what he was doing despicable. Some of those girls were underage, you know. Innocent young girls.’
Farook still didn’t react, but Spencer could feel a shift in atmosphere as Tyler continued.
‘I mean, to be honest, if I had discovered that my daughter had been involved with Foxley’s so-called “escorts”, I would have taken serious action.’
Tyler now slowly removed the photograph they had taken from the KatWalk agency from a file in front of him. He laid the photograph flat and moved it closer to Farook.
‘What about this girl? Does she have any connection to the way you killed Mr. Foxley?’
Farook refused to even look at the photograph but it seemed to trigger a blinding rage. With surprising agility, Farook exploded out of his chair with a cry of rage and swung a fist at Tyler’s face. Tyler ducked the worst of the blow, simultaneously hitting the alarm button, and two uniformed officers rushed in. They each grabbed an arm and managed to pull Farook away from Tyler before he could land another blow, but he continued to struggle and it took some time before they could handcuff him and drag him down to the cells.
As Tyler went in search of a medic to tend to his face, where a bruise was already showing, Spencer came and explained to Jane what had just occurred.
‘You were right, Jane. It must be his daughter. When Tyler showed him the photograph, he went berserk.’
Jane nodded. ‘We showed the photograph to a number of neighbors, but none of them could positively identify her as Yasmin Farook. However, I have the name of Farook’s brother-in-law’s daughter, and the school she is attending, so if Farah Fareedi and Aiyla Farook refuse to tell me Yasmin’s whereabouts, I’m going to see if I can question Midilah Fareedi.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jane was just packing up her desk when there was a call from Dabs asking if she could meet him at the labs in the ballistic section where he was doing some testing while waiting for Elliott.
When she didn’t reply right away, he asked if she was all right.
‘I’m fine, Dabs. I can be there in three quarters of an hour.’
Spencer looked over and asked if she would like to come for a quick drink.
‘Sorry,’ she called across. ‘I’ve got a date.’
‘Who’s the lucky—’ Spencer started saying, but Jane was out of the door before he could finish.
*
Dabs was waiting for her in the small reception area of the lab. He gave her a shy smile.
‘I’m sorry about the subterfuge, Jane, but Elliott swore me to secrecy.’
They walked through the glass double doors, heading past the various labs.
‘Elliott told me you were doing some ballistics work for him,’ Jane said. ‘But to be honest, I’m still trying to fathom out what the hell is going on.’
‘If Elliott’s hunch is right, you’re going to find out a lot more, Jane. And it’s pretty sickening.’
The ballistic testing area was empty and Dabs went to a secure lock-up section and brought out a twelve-by-twelve-inch green metal box with a secure lock. He carried it to a trestle table and unlocked it, removing a handgun with walnut inlay handgrips and a separate magazine with bullets in it. The gun looked familiar, but she’d seen many different firearms during her career, especially during her short time on the Flying Squad.
‘This is a Smith & Wesson .39 automatic pistol made in the US in the late 1950s, capable of firing eight nine-mill rounds before you need to reload the magazine. It was originally seized by the Flying Squad in 1976 when it was left in a stolen car by the fleeing suspects after robbing a Securicor payroll van outside the Daily Express head office.’
‘Was Murphy part of the investigation?’
Dabs nodded. ‘The suspects got away, but it was Murphy who found this weapon in the stolen car. He was a DI on the squad at the time.’
Dabs put the magazine into the gun then walked over to a large grey metal water tank about three feet wide, ten feet long and three feet high. Jane followed him.
‘We need to test-fire the gun. Friction from passing through the water slows the bullets down and they end up on the bottom of the tank in good condition to examine them on a comparison microscope.
’ He held the pistol out to her. ‘Do you want to fire it?’
‘No thanks, I’ll leave that to you,’ she said, worried something might go wrong if she fired it.
Dabs placed the muzzle of the pistol in an open tube at the end of the tank and fired three rounds, which he then removed from the water using a soft rubber grabber, so as not to make any scratch marks on the bullets. Wearing soft white cloth gloves he delicately dried the bullets with non-abrasive tissue paper, took one and placed it on one of two microscopes mounted side by side and connected by an optical bridge. He then removed three small tagged cardboard exhibit boxes from the pistol case, which Jane knew were used to store bullets fired at crime scenes. He opened a box with a tag marked Daily Express Robbery 1976, removed a slightly damaged-looking bullet and placed it on the other microscope and started to look for any similarities in the striation marks between the two bullets. Dabs took his time comparing the two bullets while making notes, and nearly five minutes had elapsed when Elliott walked in.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked Dabs, who looked up from the microscope.
‘Bloody hell, you were right. The bullet I just test-fired is a match to the one recovered from the Daily Express robbery.’
Elliott looked cautiously pleased. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Take a look for yourself. I’ve got the groove marks lined up perfectly.’
Elliott spent a minute looking at the two bullets in the microscope. ‘That’s brilliant work, Dabs. What about the bullets from the other two robberies?’
‘I’m just about to check them. It’ll take me ten or fifteen minutes. If you want a coffee while I do it, my office is down the corridor.’
Jane went with Elliott to Dabs’s office. She flicked the kettle on.
‘If the gun Dabs just test-fired was lawfully seized in 1976 by Murphy and matches to a bullet recovered back then, I don’t see how that’s evidence of corruption.’
‘The gun was booked out of the lab in early 1977 by the then Detective Inspector Murphy. He said he needed it for the interview of a suspect believed to have been involved in the Express robbery. The suspect was never charged and the gun was never returned to the lab. I believe Murphy threatened the man he arrested and said he’d fit him up unless he got a cut of the proceeds. From information I’ve received, I think Murphy then provided his suspect with what he thought was a now untraceable gun, which was then used in the September 1977 Williams & Glyn’s Bank payroll robbery and the Daily Mirror robbery in 1978.’
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