by Ellis, Tim
19370
20004
14539
08070
00764
They were the same as the five groups of numbers in the alphanumeric code she’d found hidden away in the Centurion Glass account at the Tynwald Bank in the Isle of Man.
JM19370/20004MC/14539DG/08070TS/SP00764
So, the alphanumeric code wasn’t for a numbered bank account after all, but it begged the question: Why were the numbers from five London Underground tickets, that were locked away in a safe deposit box paid for by Heidi Naseby, in an Isle of Man bank account in the name of Centurion Glass? The other question, of course, was: What did the two initials with each number and on each lock of hair represent?
JM19370
20004MC
14539DG
08070TS
SP00764
She slipped the tickets and locks of hair into her rucksack, put the empty box back in its slot, turned the key anticlockwise and dropped it in her pocket. She pressed the buzzer to be let out.
‘All finished, Madam?’ Miss Chau asked when the door opened.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Are you intending to keep the box, Mrs Naseby?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, there’s the small matter of six months outstanding . . .’
‘How much?’
‘Sixty pounds, and if you’d like to keep . . .’
‘No thanks.’ She put the key into Miss Chau’s open hand.
Once she’d paid the outstanding charge with cash, she made her way out of the bank, found a cafe nearby and ordered a coffee. She had a hunch about the initials in the alphanumeric code, and tested that hunch by keying the first date into the search engine on her tablet.
Then she rang Jerry, but it went to voicemail, so she left a message: ‘Meet me at nine o’clock tomorrow morning in the snack bar at the Ritz Hotel on Piccadilly.’
She made her way back to Leicester Square tube station, travelled the two stops to Green Park and walked up Piccadilly to the Ritz Hotel where she marched up to the reception desk.
‘Yes, Madam?’ a dark-haired woman said.
‘I’d like a room for one night, please.’
The woman looked down her nose. ‘A room, Madam?’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Not at all.’
‘What have you got available?’
‘We only have three rooms left. There’s the Superior King at £614.40; the Executive King at £713.42; and the Junior Suite at £1,050. All prices include breakfast and Value Added Tax.’
‘I’ll take the Junior Suite then.’
‘You will?’
‘Has it got free WiFi?’
‘Of course, Madam.’
‘Good.’
‘Will you be paying by credit card or cash?’
She leaned her elbows on the counter and put her chin in the palms of her hands. ‘Do you get many people coming in here and paying by cash, Phyllis Bond?’ She asked, reading the woman’s name badge.
‘Not usually, Madam.’
‘I won’t be either.’ She passed the woman her credit card. ‘What other facilities have you got here?’
‘There is a fitness centre, massage, you can rent a bicycle should you wish . . .’
‘I don’t wish.’
‘. . . A casino, radio, iPod docking, satellite channels, DVD player, flat-screen television, free WiFi as I have already said, CD player, telephone . . .’
‘What about the massage?’
‘In the Ritz Salon on the basement floor, Miss Gibbs. Opening hours are from 8 a.m. to 7 p.m.’
‘I’d like my haircut as well.’
‘We have a professional stylist available.’
‘And a manicure.’
‘There are qualified staff to look after you nails.’
‘Okay, let’s do it.’
‘Certainly, Madam. That will be £650. Shall I take that amount off your card?’
‘Why not? Say about four o’clock?’
‘Consider it booked and paid for, Madam. Would you like any help with your luggage?’
She pulled a face. The stupid woman could see she only had a baby rucksack. ‘I don’t think so.’
The receptionist handed her the card key to room 407. ‘Have a lovely stay, Miss Gibbs.’
‘Thank you, Phyllis.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Well, Mr Dryden,’ Judge Calthorpe said. ‘Have you had enough time to review the evidence on Voice Stress Analysis introduced by Mrs Ferguson yesterday?’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘Excellent. Shall we proceed?’
‘Of course, my Lord.’
‘Is the defence ready, Mrs Ferguson?’
‘Ready when you are, my Lord.’
‘If there are any surprises today Mrs Ferguson, I won’t be so forgiving.’
‘I understand, my Lord.’
‘Good morning, Sergeant.’
‘Good morning.’
‘I trust you’ve had the opportunity to read the report from Dr Woolf?’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘And you read his conclusion?’
‘Yes.’
‘For the benefit of the jury, let me read what Dr Woolf concluded:
Each deceptive response has been quantified in a range of 90 – 98 percent. It must be noted that protocol dictates that any measurable deceptive stress begins at 80%. The findings are that the measurable deceptive stresses are 10-18% higher than the first point of measurable deceptive stress. It is therefore concluded that the caller is being untruthful.’
‘My Lord?’ Dryden said as he jumped to his feet.
‘Yes, Mr Dryden?’
‘Yesterday you objected to my perceived selection of the available evidence, and yet Mrs Ferguson is doing the same.’
‘In what way?’
‘Like your lordship, I’ve read the report. I also stayed up past midnight last night to speak to Dr Woolf on the phone. He makes it quite clear that the 999 recording is far too short to draw any accurate conclusion. But Mrs Ferguson has failed to divulge that caveat.’
‘Mrs Ferguson?’
‘As Mr Dryden has already informed this court – VSA is unproven technology. So, by definition, the conclusions are always subject to a caveat. However, it doesn’t get away from the fact that Dr Woolf was of the considered opinion that the caller was lying. What do you have to say to that, Sergeant Foster?’
‘I suppose it’s possible that the caller was lying, but not in the way you mean.’
‘What are you saying, Sergeant?’
‘The caller could have been acting under the instructions of Mr Naseby.’
‘My Lord!’ Gollum protested.
The judge spoke to the jury. ‘The jury will ignore the Sergeant’s last unsubstantiated statement.’ He peered over his glasses at Foster. ‘Sergeant . . .’
‘If I may, my Lord?’ Gollum said.
‘I don’t want a feeding frenzy in my courtroom, Mrs Ferguson.’
‘I’ll try to restrain myself, my Lord.’
‘You mentioned the possibility that my client might have instructed the caller to make that 999 call?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you mean by that?’
Dryden bobbed up again. ‘My Lord?’
‘What is this time, Mr Dryden?’
Jerry looked around at the rapt faces of the other students and smiled. Observing a court in session was like watching an unfolding drama on the television, but with continuous interruptions.
‘My Lord?’ Gollum said.
‘Yes, you tell him, Mrs Ferguson.’
‘Your client opened the door, Mr Dryden. Judge Calthorpe closed it again, but I’ve decided that it might be useful to open that door and stick our heads through to see what might be lurking there.’
Dryden sat down.
Gollum had out-manoeuvred him again.
‘Explain what you meant by your statement, Sergeant.’
‘Just that,
Naseby could have arranged the whole thing.’
‘In what way?’
‘He could have paid the man to make the call.’
‘I don’t know about the jury, but I am totally confused, Sergeant. Did you consider that as an option at the time of Mr Naseby’s arrest?’
‘No.’
‘No? So, it’s an idea that came to you later, and you followed it through by checking . . .’
‘No.’
‘I see . . .’
Jerry saw people squirming in their seats in anticipation of the mauling that Sergeant Foster was about to get.
‘Isn’t this another example of your appalling police work, Sergeant? Not only am I astounded that your superiors put you in charge of this investigation in the first place, but I’m also flabbergasted that they allowed it to proceed in the negligent way that it did. I’ll be surprised if you still have a job after my client has been set free. And it will be my strong recommendation that he seeks substantial damages for wrongful arrest from the Metropolitan Police Force. There were so many other lines of inquiry that you could have pursued to confirm my client’s innocence, and yet you sat back and did nothing. You have no idea who the 999 caller was, and yet you have the temerity to suggest – without any evidence whatsoever, because you couldn’t be bothered to get any – that my client instructed him to make the call. It’s a mess, Sergeant. The whole case against my client is a mess. In fact, it beggars belief how the CPS thought fit to even bring this mess into your lordship’s courtroom. I’d like to move for a dismissal of all charges against my client, my Lord.’
‘I’m surprised it’s taken you this long, Mrs Ferguson,’ the judge said. ‘On what grounds?’
‘I’m spoilt for choice, my Lord – lack of evidence; conflicting evidence; the lack of diligence shown by the police in the conduct of the investigation . . .’
‘I’ll expect a motion for dismissal in my chambers by two o’clock this afternoon, and I’ll give you my decision at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘Thank you, my Lord.’
‘All rise.’
The judge left the courtroom.
Jerry saw Gollum glance up at the public gallery and wink at her. Yes, she thought, Gollum had it in the bag. Manning Naseby was going to get away with murder. What was Bronwyn doing? Why hadn’t she heard from her?
***
‘You stated at the hospital that you became lost while trying to exit the railway sidings and found Lily Andrews wandering about naked and confused – is that right, Mr Kennedy?’ Xena asked.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
They were in Interview Room 2 with the digital recording running.
‘Are you sure you didn’t enter one of the buildings?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. We found the young woman and took her straight to hospital.’
‘There seems to be a discrepancy of about twenty minutes between the time you should have arrived at the hospital and the time you were recorded as arriving.’
‘Maybe the drive to the hospital took longer than we expected, maybe the staff at the hospital recorded the time wrong, and I know that’s easily done . . .’
‘You took your shotgun into the building with you?’
‘The only reason I take my shotgun out of the cabinet these days is to clean and oil it. I keep meaning to sell it, but . . .’
‘I have five dead bodies in a walk-in freezer, Mr Kennedy.’
‘That’s nothing to do with me.’
‘They were all shot – executed – with a shotgun, and you own a shotgun.’
‘I haven’t fired my shotgun in months.’
‘We know that Lily Andrews was in that walk-in freezer.’
‘As I’ve said many times, Inspector. My wife and I found Miss Andrews wandering around dazed and confused outside.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘Yes, unless you have evidence that contradicts our version of events?’
‘We’ll get the evidence.’
‘I find that hard to believe, DI Blake. You should be out there looking for the real killer instead of harassing two grieving parents. Although, to be honest, if somebody did shoot those five men and rescue Lily Andrews, then maybe he deserves a medal instead of being hunted down like a criminal.’
‘The person is a criminal, Mr Kennedy. Vigilante justice is criminal justice and against the law.’
‘Maybe for certain crimes it shouldn’t be.’
‘Is there anything else either of my clients can help you with, Inspector?’ Mr Kennedy’s solicitor – Mrs Dawn Dunne – said. ‘Mr and Mrs Kennedy have been more than helpful in answering your questions, but as you’re well aware they are still grieving the horrific loss of their daughter. So, if you’re not going to charge either of them, then I suggest you let them go home.’
Xena and Stick stood up. ‘You and your wife are free to go, Mr Kennedy. Please don’t attempt to leave the country.’
‘Innocent people have no reason to run away, Inspector. All my wife and I want to do now is bury our daughter, and make a start in putting our lives back together.’
‘We’re not going to prove they did it, are we?’ Stick said, once Mr and Mrs Kennedy – accompanied by their solicitor – had been escorted out of the station.
‘You’re glad, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who’d have thought they would have destroyed all the evidence.’
The corner of his mouth creased up. ‘Who’d have thought they’d have known how to destroy all the evidence.’
‘Lily Andrews knows what happened.’
‘She maintains that she can’t remember anything that happened in that room. Loss of memory after a traumatic experience is fairly common.’
‘You believe her.’
‘It doesn’t matter whether I believe her or not. Even if she’s lying, you can’t do anything about it. The Kennedys rescued her from weeks of torture and certain death, and killed her attackers. Lily Andrews will never turn them in. They gave her justice, most victims don’t ever get that. If I was Lily, I wouldn’t turn them in.’
‘I expected more from you?’
‘More what?’
‘More everything.’
‘If you were in Lily’s shoes, would you turn the Kennedys in?’
‘It makes no difference what I’d do, you still have a mountain of computer-generated forms to complete.’
‘You wouldn’t. I know . . . Me? You’ll do your share though, won’t you?’
‘No, I don’t think I will. I think I’ll go home.’
‘But . . .’
‘Now, if you’d have taken my side instead of their side I might have been more inclined to help you. The thing is, Stickamundo – we didn’t catch anybody. We began this investigation with a dead body and the expectation of our superiors that we would solve the crime and bring the killer to justice, but the Kennedys pieced the whole thing together before us and then executed the perpetrators. We know that the Kennedys killed those five men, but we can’t prove it – they’re going to get away with mass murder. So, you and I didn’t catch anybody. We’ve been wasting our time for three days. I feel a relapse coming on, so I need to go home and lie down.’
‘Are you going to use that as an excuse to go home every time there’s some work to be done?’
‘Or . . . as the DI, I could just order the DS to do all the work and go home.’
‘Yes, you could do that.’
‘But instead, I’m making you feel good about yourself by helping your superior officer in her hour of need.’
‘I forgot how caring you can be.’
‘It’s a good job that I reminded you then, isn’t it?’
***
‘Well?’ he said to Richards, as he joined her outside the bungalow and began stripping off the forensic suit.
‘They used to work together on Accident and Emergency.’
‘And?’
‘A boy called Michael Higgins died
in their care. The mother – Mrs Sandra Higgins – was devastated and blamed the nurses . . .’
‘What did he die of?’
‘Anaphylactic shock after being given a penicillin injection.’
Parish shook his head. ‘How could he have died when he was already in the A&E?’
‘Apparently, they were inundated with casualties from a multiple vehicle pile-up on the A12 that day, which also involved a coach full of schoolchildren and an overturned chemical tanker. After giving Michael the penicillin injection, the two nurses were called away to deal with the incoming casualties from the RTA. His mother had to go to the toilet shortly after they’d left. When she came back she thought her son was asleep, so she dozed off in the cubicle herself. It was an hour and a half before Mrs Gifford returned to find the boy cold and dead.’
‘I can understand why the mother might feel aggrieved.’
‘There was an internal investigation into Michael Higgins’ death, but no blame was attributed to either Sheila Flack or Annette Gifford. Sheila Flack apparently asked the mother whether her son was allergic to penicillin – she said no, and that’s what was recorded on the notes. The mother, of course, said she was never asked about any penicillin allergy, and even if she had have been she wouldn’t have known because he’d never had penicillin before.’
‘How old was the boy?’
‘Three.’
‘So the hospital blamed the mother for her own son’s death?’
‘Yes, and they also suggested that if Mrs Higgins hadn’t left her son alone, he might still be alive.’
‘Dear me. Not a good outcome for the mother. You can understand why she might want revenge.’
‘If she is the killer.’
‘Of course. What do we know about Mrs Higgins?’
‘She lives alone.’
‘No husband?’
‘He was a coach driver, and died in an accident in Germany six months before she lost her son.’
You’ve sent a squad car?’
‘I have.’
‘Let’s go then.’