by Ken McCoy
‘That’s because he wasn’t killed by a prostitute – didn’t you do any work on the Santiago job?’
‘I did a bit of legwork, that’s all. I believe DCI Wood put that case down to suicide, but handed it over to you all the same.’
‘Suicide was a bit too convenient. What did you put it down to?’
‘Sir, I’m a lowly sergeant. I wasn’t party to all the available information. I was on another job.’
‘Anyway,’ said Sep, ‘the Boswell killing was four months ago. The Santiago killing was over a year ago. Exactly how much work did you do on that one?’
‘Not much.’
‘I’d like us to meet up, Fiona.’
‘Oh dear.’
They met later that day in Sep’s local pub. Fiona was amazed at how much Sep knew about both cases.
‘James had a possible mistress called Julie Rogerson who was employed by a news agency he did some work for. Her husband might well be a suspect and I’m also not happy with the man who owns the hotel. His ninety-odd-year-old grandmother works there and she practically runs the place.’
‘What’s a possible mistress?’
‘She might be, or she might be just a business colleague passing on information.’
‘What’s your take on that?’
‘I don’t have one,’ he said.
‘So you think the hotel might have some connection with the Santiago killing?’
‘Actually, no. It’s the Santiago connection that lets the hotel off the hook.’
‘I’ll tell you something that might put them back on the hook.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A ninety-odd-year-old woman was found dead in there this morning.’
‘That must be Agnes? How did she die?’
‘It seems she just stopped breathing. There’ll be a post mortem which will tell us exactly why she died.’
‘She was murdered,’ said Sep, ‘no question.’
‘It’s possible but she might simply have run out of life – it happens.’
‘No, it doesn’t. Everyone dies for a reason, no matter how old they are.’
‘The odd thing about it was that a registered envelope containing fifty quid cash and addressed to her arrived this morning as well.’
‘Can the sender be traced?’
‘I doubt it, sir. Whoever sent it will have been very careful. Gloved hands and no DNA, I’m guessing.’
‘Trouble is, that could be two people who wanted to keep her quiet – one by bribery, one by murder.’
‘Most likely one and the same person, sir.’
‘Yeah, poor old Agnes. I reckon she’d have seen the century out had she been allowed to live. That’s three murders. Fiona, are you up to helping me?’
She shrugged, dismally, then said, ‘I’m a detective sergeant who does what she’s told by her bosses and that that doesn’t include you right now … sir.’
‘Excellent, what do you have for me?’
‘Why would I have anything?’
‘Because I know you, Fiona. Once you found we’d taken the case on you wouldn’t be able to resist doing a bit of checking on the police computer.’
‘I did some background work on Santiago. It wasn’t very successful but I found a few notes that pointed to something that might be of interest to you.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, it was to do with one of these dot-com companies and something to do with share dealing.’
‘What have you got?’
‘Just a name, really.’
‘What name?’
‘Snowball dot com. I checked with Companies House. The company was registered but it was declared dormant not long after it started trading, which was just after Santiago’s murder.’
‘What were its aims and objectives?’
‘Pretty standard for that sort of company, but they often are with new companies. They like to keep their options open until they’re up and running. All I can say is that it seems to be some sort of share-dealing company.’
Sep took a long drink of his beer as he gave the matter some thought. ‘You know,’ he said, at some length, ‘it could be that I’m going way off track here.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Well, it’s not actually Santiago’s murder I’m investigating. Trouble is, I’m struggling to believe that the murders of Charlie Santiago and James Boswell are unconnected. Who’s in charge of his firm now that he’s gone?’
‘Well, his wife’s the sole shareholder.’
‘And is she a grieving widow?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You mean you’ve never met her?’
‘I was never asked to interview her.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a word with her. Do you have an address?’
‘I do, but not one you can ever say you got from me.’
‘You know you can trust me, Fiona.’
Fiona gave him a look that placed a big question mark over that statement.
SEVEN
‘Mrs Santiago?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name is DI Black. I’m investigating a murder that might well be connected to your husband’s death.’
‘You mean you’re Sep Black the detective?’
‘I am, yes.’
‘I think I have enough problems without the likes of you adding to them, Mr Sep Black.’ She clicked her phone off. Sep gave a mild curse. What he needed was a tempter, something she wouldn’t be able to resist. He dialled her number again and spoke without introducing himself.
‘Did the police ask you about Snowball?’
‘What? Is that you again, Black?’
‘It is. Sorry to be so troublesome, but I may have a lead that the police didn’t follow.’
‘Mr Black. I haven’t heard from the police for well over a year and they didn’t follow any damned leads then! Right now I’m just getting my life back on track.’
‘I’m sorry about that, but I assume you’d like to see his killer brought to justice.’
‘His killer? The police seem to think he threw himself out of that window, when I know he didn’t.’
‘I believe that also, Mrs Santiago.’
‘Do you really?’
‘Yes, I do and it’ll cost you nothing to tell me what you know – and what you know might be of great assistance to me.’
‘You’d better come round in the morning. Do you know where I live?’
Mrs Santiago lived in a fine house in a small, select village ten miles north of Leeds. Sep pulled up his Jaguar – an XKR sports job that he’d bought from the proceeds of a lucrative private investigation he’d done while on suspension from the force.
She was in her late forties and well-preserved. Not Sep’s type at all. Back in her shop Winnie would be wearing torn jeans and a faded Celtic top – the football team of her choice – probably the O’Toole Irish in her. She might well have an ink mark on her nose where she’d been scratching an itch with a biro. Here was a woman as fragile as a Ming vase. Squeeze her and you might break her. Squeeze Winnie and she squeezed you back.
‘Mrs Santiago?’
‘Mr Black, I assume.’
‘Yes.’
‘Please come in.’
He followed her into a room as flawless as its owner. Sep was glad he’d got changed into his one and only suit before he came and was not in the casual gear he usually wore. It was a dark suit with a faint pinstripe, Marks & Spencer’s finest. His shoes were well-polished, black Oxfords that he’d had for ten years and worn no more than a dozen times. His shirt was crisp and white and had been in a drawer for three months, wrapped in cellophane until he’d taken it out that morning. She sat down in a blue velvet easy chair and, with a wave of her hand, invited him to do the same in the chair’s partner.
‘Do you have a list of questions you wish to ask me about Charles’s business?’
He noticed she called Charlie by his unabbreviated name, the only person he’d heard do this.
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‘Did you always call him Charles?’
‘I did, on account of my name being Lilian. Had I called him Charlie he’d have called me Lil. Do I look like a Lil?’
‘No, you look like a Mrs Santiago.’
‘Then that’s the name I’ll accept from you.’
‘You can call me Sep and yes, I do have a few questions … question one: what do you know about Snowball?’
‘Not much. I declared it a dormant company after Charles died. I’ve tried to pick up the reins of Santiago TechSys since he died, which is over a year ago. I do have some professional qualifications in that area and I seem to be getting the hang of it.’
‘Snowball is actually a company in its own right as far as I can tell,’ said Sep. ‘I wouldn’t mind taking a look at its memorandum and articles of association. Would they be here or in his office? I’d like to know who the directors are … or were.’
‘Well, there were just two directors, me and Charles. I’m now the only director and with it being a dormant company I don’t need another director or a company secretary until it starts to trade again – if it ever does, which is unlikely. I’ve got enough on my hands with Santiago TechSys.’
‘So Snowball’s not trading?’
‘Not since Charles died and even then it didn’t do much trading. If you want to see the memo and articles you’re free to have a look at them, but they’re pretty standard. Do you want to see them?’
‘Maybe not, if it hasn’t traded for sixteen months.’
‘Do you think Snowball had something to do with Charles’s death? The police never mentioned it to me.’
‘I think it’s possible, but right now it’s just one avenue of investigation. In fact, the crime I’m investigating is the murder of a young journalist who was murdered four months ago and who, I believe, was investigating your husband’s death.’
‘And you believe one might lead you to the other?’
‘Yes. There again, my man might have been killed by mistake, or by a jealous husband or for some reason I haven’t thought of yet. What I’m doing right now is investigating what’s staring me in the face.’
‘What’s staring you in the face, Mr Black, is me. I suppose you’ve got to start somewhere and I’m that somewhere, am I?’
‘You are. I often find that following one lead can bring to light all sorts of other information that can eventually send me down the right road. Or it may well be that my first lead is the right one. In a way, I’m hoping it isn’t – I know very little about computers, or the stock market for that matter.’
‘Is Snowball legal?’
‘Would your husband dabble in anything that wasn’t?’
‘Only if there was no chance of him being found out.’
Sep looked at her with raised eyebrows.
‘Why so surprised?’ she asked him. ‘He was a successful businessman. Many successful businessmen find it necessary to step over the line from time to time. Charles was a sharp operator, but I don’t think he did anything too illegal.’
Sep’s look of surprise turned to one of disbelief. Mrs Santiago smiled. ‘Look, he has an office in this house with a filing cabinet. A safe as well.’
‘Mind if I have a browse?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Did the police have a browse?’
‘I found their man a bit objectionable and told him if he wanted to search the house to get a warrant. He said a search wouldn’t be necessary.’
‘This would be Detective Chief Inspector Wood, would it?’
‘I think that was his name, yes.’
‘And did you tell him about the filing cabinet and the safe?’
‘No, I didn’t. I know I should have been more helpful, with him searching for my husband’s killer but he got on my nerves, whereas you have an amiable manner. I like amiable men. I just wanted Wood out of my house,’ she said. Then added, ‘Are you married, DI Black?’
‘Engaged,’ said Sep.
EIGHT
Sep sat back in his chair and put his feet on his coffee table. He and Winnie were in his house – a modest semi-detached in a good area of North Leeds. He’d lived there on his own since his divorce. Marriage had done him no favours, which made him disinclined to try it again. Winnie, the widow of an iniquitous man, who had died a drunken death beneath the wheels of a bus, didn’t share his distrust of marriage.
‘I gave what I had to my super,’ he told her, ‘and she’s given me the go-ahead to work the Boswell case on my own. The unit’s pretty tied up right now. If I need troops to help me, they’ll be made available.’
‘Are you OK with that?’
‘I think so. It gives me a free rein to come and go as I please, with no one to worry about but myself, only reporting in every other day or whenever necessary.’
‘Did you get anything useful from Mrs Santiago?’
‘She’s the only living director of Snowball and that the police didn’t impress her too much with their investigation, especially DCI Wood. I had a browse through a lot of company documents which Woody never asked to see.’
‘Did you get any names?’
‘Not in the documents – just found some in note form in a folder. Two people who I assume are employees of Santiago TechSys Ltd and have something to do with Snowball. I asked Mrs Santiago about the employees. One is a brilliant IT expert and the other is his brother who has mental health issues and is employed in some low-level capacity.’
‘Mental health issues?’
‘It’s the term Mrs Santiago used, although I think she was trying to be kind. He’s good at what he does, but what he does isn’t all that important. The IT expert is called Adam Piper and his brother’s called Simeon. Both of them completely harmless, according to the CID boys.’
‘I’ve already spoken to them both. Adam got on his high horse and told me I had no right asking him questions. Simeon was scared to death of me.’
‘Do you think they know anything that might give you a lead?’
Sep left her question unanswered for a while, then said, ‘To be honest, I’m seriously thinking of knocking the whole thing on the head. Telling the super I’m up against a brick wall.’
‘That’s not very professional, Sep. You’ve taken the job and there’s a woman out there relying on you to restore her husband’s reputation from being a man killed by a prostitute he was said to be having it off with.’
‘That’s the problem. I’m working for two bosses, one of which would sack me on the spot of they knew I was also working privately.’
‘How would they ever find out?’
‘Dunno. How do I find stuff out?’
‘Yeah, I suppose you have a point.’
‘Winnie, did I by any chance tell you that Mrs Boswell offered me fifty grand from her insurance money if I solved the case to her satisfaction. I told her I couldn’t take the money with me being a copper so she said she’d give it to you. Did I tell you that?’
‘No, you didn’t tell me that! Are you saying that’s why I want you to stay with the case?’
‘Just wondering if she’d mentioned it to you, that’s all.’
‘Well, she hasn’t and I’m bloody insulted!’
‘OK, OK, I’ll stay with it. As far as the job’s concerned she’s just a useful witness and there’s no money coming my way.’
‘Good and you can tell Mrs Boswell that I’m not too proud to take her money.’
‘I’ll tell her no such thing. By the way, her James was probably having it off with another man’s wife. Do I tell her that?’
‘Not if it has nothing to do with the case.’
‘Good point. There are three deaths connected to these cases and I haven’t got a clue who’s done what to whom. I could be the next when they find out I’m on the case and I hate it when people try to kill me.’
‘Do you think Wood was threatened?’ Winnie asked. ‘He seems to have dropped the two cases like hot bricks.’
‘You could be right. He�
�s definitely a man who can be scared off and I’ve been surprised at how little he’s done on both cases. I think I’ll run that one past Fiona … what?’
She was giving him a funny look.
‘I hope that’s the only thing you run past Fiona.’
‘Winnie, Fiona would be more interested in you than me.’
The professional killer who called himself Mr Wolf gave a grunt of satisfaction and started the engine when his mark appeared. This was to be a dangerous hit on a man who’d be aware of such danger; a hit on a busy road with any number of unknowns hampering a clean getaway. He’d asked for four grand and finally agreed on three, plus expenses which included the cost of the van he was driving. He felt he was selling his services too cheaply. The sun was behind him and low in the sky, which was to his advantage. If the cop turned and saw him coming he’d be blinded momentarily by the sun and blinded for one second was enough for Wolf. At forty miles an hour the van would travel twenty yards in one second. Wolf didn’t know much but he knew that.
He knew the copper would have to cross the road to get to where his red Jaguar was parked. Stupid bastard, driving around in a flash car like that, advertising his whereabouts to anyone wanting to do him a mischief – anyone such as Wolf.
It was a busy road and these jobs don’t work too well on busy roads, unless you could slip off down a side road that took you well away from the scene. He had that very side road in mind as he watched his mark dart out into the middle of the road and wait until the traffic on Wolf’s side had cleared. Wolf was the last in that line of traffic. He gave himself a decent gap between him and a car in front, then picked up speed as he approached the copper standing in the middle of the road, awaiting a gap in the traffic on the other side; it was a gap which had closed by the time Wolf arrived. With two turns of the steering wheel the job was done. The copper flew clean over the van roof and landed in a heap on the road behind it. The killer caught a glance in his wing mirror of the man landing in the road and what he saw pleased him. He swung left down a side road and was a quarter of a mile away before anyone reached Sep Black, who wasn’t looking good. Winnie had heard the commotion and dashed outside, knowing immediately who it was lying there with blood pooling around his head. She slid to her knees beside him.