THE WEST LONDON MURDERS an absolutely gripping crime mystery with a massive twist (Detective Rob Miller Mysteries Book 2)

by BIBA PEARCE

  His wife was still in bed when he got back, so he sat in the lounge and watched the tail end of some true-life crime drama on television. He was just dozing off himself when his phone buzzed.

  “Hi, it’s Jo. I hope I’m not calling too late.”

  “No, not at all.” He pressed the mute button on the remote. “What happened with the daughter?”

  “Well, she was a lot more upset than Yousef’s father was. She cried constantly from the minute we told her. It was almost impossible to get anything out of her.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.” He was glad he hadn’t gone now.

  “I said almost.”

  Rob waited, knowing she’d continue.

  “It seems she had an inkling of her father’s illegal activities. She’d been staying with him up until November last year while her mother was away. Her mother, Isabella, has gone back to Ukraine to look after her mother, who’s got cancer. It’s a bit complicated. Anyway, Aisha moved in with her dad.”

  “Hence the box of pink bedding in the spare room.”

  “Yes, but while she was there, she realized her father didn’t work in property anymore. When she asked him about his new job, he said he’d moved into development and was working as a middleman selling new builds to prospective buyers.”

  “But she didn’t believe him?”

  “She said it was odd how many text messages he got every day. He was constantly on his phone.”

  “That ties in with the drug trafficking theory.”

  “She knew better than to ask too many questions, so when her boyfriend proposed, she moved out. They live in Twickenham now.”

  “Any leads on who visited Yousef on Monday afternoon?”

  “Well, that’s the interesting thing. Aisha didn’t know any of his business associates, but she said he did have a man over a few times, went by the name of Mr Fox.”

  “Mr Fox? That’s an alias, surely?”

  “Probably, but we’ll check it out. She said he was a well dressed guy, similar age to Yousef, so early to mid-forties, and he drove a black Porsche SUV. She remembered the car.”

  “Sounds promising. He could be our mystery guest.”

  “Yes, it’s possible.” There was a small pause. “Oh, I’ve managed to get a warrant for Yousef’s bank records, both personal and business. He has several limited companies.”

  “That’s great.” He’d known there would be others. She obviously had more sway than him. “Hopefully they’ll tell us something. Any news on the prepaid phones?”

  “My team are still going through the messages. There are thousands of them. Most will link back to small-time dealers. They’re mapping the lines to give us an indication of the extent of the operation.”

  “I’m only interested in calls made in the days leading up to Yousef’s death. Anything that could shed some light on who he was entertaining that night.” His focus was on finding the killer.

  “We’ll have those for you tomorrow. You can go through them yourself. Anyway, I’ll let you go now. Just thought I’d update you.”

  “Thanks, Jo, appreciate the call.”

  She hung up, and he spent a long time sitting in his chair, staring at the silent TV.

  Chapter 8

  All the messages that Yousef had received on his various burner phones in the days leading up to his death were from buyers placing orders. Location-wise, they’d come in from all over the south-east of England. It was mind-boggling how far the tentacles of the network reached. All the outgoing texts were to dealers or couriers with coded instructions on how to fulfil the orders. Each line had an area-specific code name. None of the numbers were registered to a ‘Mr Fox’, or anyone else for that matter. They were all pay-as-you-go SIM cards and therefore untraceable.

  “It would help if people had to show ID when purchasing a pay-as-you-go SIM,” Mallory complained, staring at a computer graphic of a central hub with ten lines spreading outwards, and then hundreds outward from them. “At least then we could link the numbers with the names.”

  “Except the real criminals would probably use fake IDs and the only names we’d get would be of innocent people who we shouldn’t be spying on anyway,” said Jo, with a sigh. “On the bright side, we’re making progress. There is a whole team of analysts at the NCA who are tracing these numbers. We have some of them under surveillance already, but what we really need is the kingpin, the guy who’s bringing in the drugs and supplying them to Yousef and others like him to distribute to the smaller towns and rural areas.”

  “Mr Fox,” said Rob.

  She shrugged. “Maybe. We don’t know if he’s the guy. And even if he is, we don’t know who he is.”

  “Where are we on those bank statements?” asked Rob. They were standing around Jo’s desk, having an impromptu meeting. It had gone 9 a.m. and everybody was in, except for Superintendent Lawrence, who’d gone to a meeting in the city.

  She was wearing a skirt suit today, which showed off her lovely shapely legs.

  “I’ve had a quick look.”

  “And?” What wasn’t she saying?

  “And there are some leads that warrant following up. Want to grab a coffee and I’ll fill you in?”

  Mallory glanced between the two of them and stood up. “I’ve got to get on. You can fill me in later.”

  There was a split-second hesitation. “Sure. Downstairs?”

  She smiled. “Why not? It’s drinkable.”

  The canteen didn’t do a bad Americano. It wasn’t as good as the fancy new machine in the waiting area on the third floor, but it did the trick. Rob, who hadn’t had breakfast, grabbed a blueberry muffin. They chose a table in the corner, away from everyone else.

  Jo handed him a wad of papers. “These are from one of his company accounts.”

  Rob glanced down at the bank statement for Ferdon Ltd.

  “It’s a standard off-the-shelf corporation.”

  He nodded and let his eyes roam down the list of transactions. “Woah,” he exclaimed, as the totals grew. There weren’t any big deposits, but there were a lot of small ones. £200, then £500, then £300, and several of these in one day. All cash deposits. By the end of the month of December, Yousef had in excess of £500,000 in his company account.

  He looked up.

  “Keep going,” she said.

  He read on. On 1 January, Yousef had made a large outgoing payment of almost £375,000. He poked the outgoing account name — also a limited company by the looks of things — Apex Holdings. “That’s your guy.”

  Jo was grinning. “Yep, although at this stage it’s just a corporation name. We’re getting a warrant to access the details. The Commissioner is prepared to do whatever it takes to take down this network.”

  “That’s great, but is the owner of Apex Holdings the person who murdered Yousef?” He studied Jo over his coffee. “Why take out your main distributor? Yousef is making this guy a lot of money.”

  “Maybe they fell out,” Jo suggested. She wrapped her hands around the paper cup. “Or maybe Yousef was skimming off the top.”

  Rob scratched his chin. “It’s possible,” he acknowledged, but something didn’t feel right. From the bank statements it didn’t appear Yousef was holding back. £375,000 was roughly seventy-five per cent of his year’s earnings. It sounded like a fair deal, especially considering Yousef was doing all the grunt work.

  “We’re building a strong picture of the various county lines, each with their own distributor at the top. Before this breaks, we’re going to conduct a massive raid, along with the local police in the affected areas.” Her voice quivered with excitement. “We can bring the whole network down, Rob.”

  “That’s great,” he said, but he couldn’t share her enthusiasm. Bringing down a complex drug smuggling network was fantastic, but would it solve his murder? Would the person who stabbed Aadam Yousef be brought to justice? He had the awful feeling this case was slipping away from him.

  * * *

  “I don’t want to lo
se sight of our objective, which is to see the killer of Aadam Yousef prosecuted,” Rob told the DSI later that day in his bubble. “While I understand the county lines drug bust is important, it’s not my remit. We still don’t have any proof that the two are linked.”

  “You think Yousef’s death was unrelated?” Lawrence asked incredulously.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Rob hastened to explain. “I’m worried if the NCA crack down on this county lines gang, we may lose the opportunity to convict Yousef’s killer. He may well be charged with drug dealing offences, but not murder. He’ll get five to ten years, if that.”

  Lawrence was silent for a moment. “So, what do you suggest, Rob? I can’t tell the NCA to hold off until you have the proof you need. This is a nationwide operation. It will happen when it happens, and we have no say over that.”

  Rob felt in his pocket for his box of ciggies. He needed more time. “I have to find out who the main supplier is and whether he was the man Yousef met the afternoon he died.”

  Lawrence regarded him seriously. “Well, I suggest you do it fast, because once this crackdown happens, he’ll either be in custody or in the wind. Either way, we will have lost him.”

  “Do we know when it’s happening?” Rob asked.

  Lawrence grimaced. “It’s need-to-know, for obvious reasons, but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say before the end of the week. We can’t keep a lid on Yousef’s murder for much longer.”

  He left the office and spotted Jo heading out, phone glued to her ear. Things were clearly hotting up because she’d been on her mobile most of the afternoon. He followed her. Reception in the elevator was dodgy at best, so she took the stairs. Lucky for him. He slunk after her, hoping to overhear what she was saying.

  She didn’t go far. Instead of going outside, she hovered in the stairwell one flight down. Her voice resonated clearly in the confined space. It was hardly private, but then she thought she was alone.

  “Great. Do we have a name?”

  A pause as she listened to the caller.

  “Is he our man?”

  He knew she meant the head of the supply chain. The man who was receiving the shipments of heroin and cocaine that had been smuggled into the country.

  “Okay, keep me posted. He may be a person of interest in a homicide.”

  The person on the other end spoke for a long time. Eventually, Jo said, “The Putney Major Crime Team. The senior investigating officer is DI Miller.”

  Another pause. “I understand the raid is our priority. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She hung up.

  Rob, who’d been hanging over the banister at the top of the stairs, straightened up. He didn’t bother to go back into the squad room. Jo’s heels got louder as she climbed the stairs. She stopped short when she saw him standing there, waiting for her.

  “When were you going to tell me?” he asked.

  “You’ve resorted to eavesdropping now, have you?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “I thought we were a team? I let you in on this investigation, shared our information with you, but you don’t see fit to do the same.”

  She sighed. “It’s complicated, Rob.”

  He didn’t move. She couldn’t get up the stairs without brushing past him. It was an intimidating stance, and he knew it. “What happened to inter-agency cooperation?”

  “For Christ’s sake, it’s the NCA. You know how they operate. Everything is kept under wraps until we have enough evidence to act.”

  “And do you have it? Enough evidence?”

  She didn’t meet his gaze. “So it seems. They’re still digging into our mystery man, but it looks like he might be the head of the organization.”

  “What’s his name?”

  She hesitated. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not.”

  He glared at her. “When is the raid?”

  She sighed. “I can’t tell you that, either.”

  Rob put his hand on the banister and looked down at her. “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  “I can’t jeopardize the operation, you know that. This department isn’t involved in the crackdown, so therefore I can’t tell you when it is. Not even Lawrence knows.”

  Rob’s heart sank. “How long have I got, Jo?”

  “You can’t go near him, Rob. Not now.”

  “He’s a suspect in a homicide investigation, he could even be our killer. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Of course it does.” Her cheeks flushed a bright pink, and he should have known better than to question her integrity. Her single-minded pursuit for the truth matched his, which was one of the things he loved about her. “But this is a major operation. You could risk months of hard work if you question this guy now. He’ll know we’re on to him. He’ll shut down the network and all his distributors and couriers will scarper. It will all have been for nothing.”

  Rob was silent. He knew that — he was just being difficult. This guy was their main murder suspect and they had to leave him alone. Hands off.

  He exhaled noisily. “So, Yousef’s murderer gets done on drug charges and he’s out in a couple of years. Is that how this is going to go down?”

  “You can question him once we bring him in.”

  “By then he would have lawyered up and any evidence we may have found at his house will have been compromised by the raid, if he hasn’t got rid of it by then.”

  Jo walked up to the top step. Her face was inches away from his. “I’m sorry, Rob. There’s nothing I can do. This is the way it has to be.”

  He could feel the warmth from her body, the faint vanilla smell that he’d forgotten but now came flooding back. Suddenly, he was hit with an overpowering urge to kiss her. His eyes dropped to her lips as his pulse quickened. It was always like this with her. He remembered when they’d first met, the urge to touch her had been so strong, he’d been unable to resist.

  “Please, let me pass.” She put a hand on his chest. Without meaning to, he reached up and covered it with his own.

  “I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” he murmured.

  Her gaze softened, but she removed her hand. “Me too.”

  She walked back into the squad room.

  * * *

  “Guv, come and look at this,” said Mallory.

  “What’s up?”

  “Mike and Jeff have made some headway with the ANPR cameras on the A4.” Rob followed him into the warren, where the two constables were huddled over a spreadsheet.

  Mike straightened his back. “We’ve narrowed down the cars that could have gone to Yousef’s house on Monday afternoon.”

  Rob perked up. This was good news. “Really? How many?”

  “Fifty-three.” Jeff grinned.

  “Fifty-three? What, all between 4 and 8 p.m.?” That was the window of the time of death.

  Jeff’s face fell and Rob felt bad for raining on his parade. It was good detective work. “Yeah, we added an extra hour to account for the killer getting to the house, so from 3 p.m. onwards.”

  “Smart thinking.” He forced a smile.

  “Camera W4652 covers the section of the A4 before Haslemere Avenue and camera W5934 covers the section immediately afterwards,” Mike explained. “So we looked for vehicles that appeared on the first camera but not the second. That’s how we figured out which turned off.”

  “Yousef’s road is part of a one-way system,” Jeff explained. “Which means there isn’t another way in other than via this route. They would have had to have turned in there.”

  Rob clapped him on the back. “Great work, guys. I presume you’re looking up the vehicle owners on the DVLA database?”

  They nodded.

  “Ask for a valid reason why they were in the area,” said Mallory. “We’ll need to check their alibis.”

  Rob nodded. “Yep, one of those vehicles must belong to our killer.”

  He wished he had a name that they could cross-reference. It woul
d either help eliminate the drug kingpin from their enquiries and get the NCA off their backs, or it would confirm that he was their killer. Either way, it would beat not knowing.

  “Keep it up, lads. We’re getting there,” he said. But with Jo keeping secrets, he wasn’t sure they would get there fast enough to make a difference.

  Chapter 9

  Dennis Patterson was looking forward to this afternoon. He hadn’t had a day off in months. His weekends were taken up with trips to the park, ballet lessons, ice skating and countless kids’ parties and playdates.

  His wife never seemed to tire of being around their two young daughters — she was amazing like that — but he felt frazzled and worn out. It was almost a relief to go back to work on a Monday, particularly when he was going out of town on a sales trip.

  “Where are you off to?” Michelle had asked.

  “West London,” he’d told her. “There’s a private clinic that’s interested in a Legacy 5 Swivel Turbine handset.” But she’d already zoned out. He was away one week out of every month, had been for years, so she was used to it. Her mother came over and helped out with the kids.

  Dennis loved the feel of his Toyota RAV4 on the open road, country music playing on the car radio instead of the soundtrack to the latest Disney movie. He could eat what he liked when he liked and didn’t have to chop carrots and cucumber into a hundred tiny pieces.

  This afternoon, he thought, I’m going to kick back and watch the football with a six-pack of cold ones, and no one is going to tell me to bathe the kids, make supper or not to drink too much. Another bonus of these week-long sales trips was that he got to sleep through the night. No bad dreams of dragons or monsters to wake him up. No “Daddy, I need a wee,” or “Can you read me a story?” It was bliss.