An Urgent Murder

by Alex Winchester

  Doreen struggled to go to sleep, but it was no good. She got up quietly so as not to disturb her truculent Mother and went downstairs turning on only the kitchen light, and made herself a cup of tea.

  She sat in the dark in her usual chair in the sitting room and closed her eyes but didn’t sleep. Sipping her tea with thoughts spilling around in her head she became annoyed with John for planting the seed in her mind. Maybe a hot milky drink would help her sleep. In the dark she bumped into the coffee table as she made her way into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she found the milk and filled a mug. Then putting it into the temperamental six-year-old microwave her Mother refused to let her replace, she set it off for one minute. It whirred as the plate turned and then gave a loud ‘ping’ at the conclusion of the minute.

  Doreen took the hot milk back into the dark sitting room and nearly dropped it at the unanticipated shadowy shape of her Mother sitting in her normal seat.

  “You gave me the shock of my life. What are you doing up?”

  “The noise you have been making would wake the Devil himself.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Nor could I with you clattering about.”

  And then it came to Doreen.

  She gave her Mother the milk.

  “I don’t need this, I’m going to bed” and she was asleep in less time than it had taken the microwave to heat the milk.

  122

  Saturday 18th June 2011

  John was back at his regular seat before 7.am and way before the queue formed. The chef had cleared the table in front of him and they’d engaged in their usual natter. He’d asked how her family was as he knew she had a slightly wayward son. She appreciated his concern and said that the school seemed to be sorting him out. The school’s liaison officer that John had once mentioned to her had had a word with him which seemed to have made a difference to his indifferent attendance record.

  His food soon appeared after the canteen officially opened at 7. It never hurt to be polite.

  In the office, John found Paul and Doreen both working on their own enquiries in a silence broken only by the clacking of keyboard keys.

  Paul said in just above a whisper, “She was in before me today, hasn’t had a tea and hardly spoken.”

  “I’ll have one now. I didn’t realise what the time was.”

  Paul set about brewing drinks for all three of them.

  John enquired, “What are you up to then?”

  “Just an idea I had. I’ll let you know if it works.”

  Paul looked at John and raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s all I’ve got from her all morning.” He passed the tea to her which she took without acknowledging.

  Jimmy burst boisterously into the office at 8.15am in company with one of the younger women detectives and was brought to a sudden halt.

  “What’s happening?”

  “If you must make such a racket would you please go elsewhere.”

  “Sorry Doreen” and then to Paul in a stage type whisper, “What’s happening?”

  Paul just shrugged. Jimmy and his latest lady exaggeratingly tip toed noiselessly to his desk. Then they hid behind his biggest barricade of exhibits where they engaged inaudibly in co-ordinating their social calendar. Eventually they got round to a little Police work. From time to time one of them would glance out from cover and down the office towards the unusually aggressive Doreen.

  She was busy going through the bundle of papers prepared by the arresting officers, and was glowering at them if they weren’t showing her what she wanted. Corroborating as much as she could by visiting web sites and Police indices caused her to huff audibly at them when they disproved what she wanted. There were the pictures of both Gary and Sally, copies of Fingerprints, Antecedents, Social Service records going back years, school reports, copies of phone records (both hard line and mobiles), details of contact with Police going back the ten years that Sussex kept records. Even details of Sally’s work record with Boots the Chemist and her qualifications and Gary’s attendance record at Chichester College with his diplomas, copies of birth and marriage certificates, and the DVLA (Driver and Vehicle Licencing Authority) records of their driving licences and applications made when they applied for their Passports.

  She even had all the Sussex Police confidential information reports relating to both. Hardly anything was on them. The fact that Gary was a burglar alarm engineer and also boarded up insecure premises. Sussex Police would not use him however as he had never been vetted or had a CRB (Criminal Records Bureau) check completed. Gary had his details taken once when he was in a pub that had been raided some six years earlier, but so had some off duty Police officers. Sally had been seen and interviewed when Boots received a visit by the chemists’ officer as restricted substances were held on the premises and proof of security had to be confirmed. Applications made by both for visas to the American Embassy for an extended stay when they wanted to travel around the States. Another visa application for an extended stay in Australia, again to travel the country. Nothing detrimental.

  Doreen was playing on the internet with details from the files that she thought were useful to her. Then when nothing was found she’d do what John thought was a female trait and just say, “Huh” and try something else. She picked up the phone and berated an officer at HQ for full details from their social media sites saying her authority was the Chief Constable himself. It was all e-mailed to her within thirty minutes. When it was printed, it ran to ninety-four pages. She was back on the phone to HQ,

  “Are there any transactions on E-bay or anything with PayPal?” “Please. Within the next half hour” and she hung up.

  She examined everything. John and Paul kept reasonably quiet although they found it hard not to chat. Groves came in after an hour and commented on the calm in the office, and was glared at by Doreen. The three men decided the safest place to go to was the canteen and leave Doreen by herself. Signalling for Jimmy to follow they all sat round a table as Groves got the tea and buns. The Polish pot washer saw the group and knew something was afoot. He had seen the previous evening news and recognised Groves.

  Soon the Chef knew.

  They were joined after half an hour by Prodow.

  “I’ve just been kicked out of the office by Doreen. What’s she up to?”

  Paul said, “We’ve no idea, but we’re safer down here.”

  Groves told them that Gary had been charged with the assaults on Murray and the other detective, but not with the murders as yet, and had resigned himself to a life in prison. Sally was still staying quiet, although her solicitor was ‘making noises’ that she would probably put her hands up to manslaughter.

  “What! On the grounds of insanity more likely” came Jimmy’s surprisingly cogent reply.

  The canteen had gradually filled and was full of early lunch time visitors, and at 1pm the men agreed to go back into the office and Prodow, as senior officer present, was elected to ask Doreen what she was doing. When they walked in, Doreen was reading her book.

  123

  Saturday 18th June 2011

  On arrival at the station and even before his morning canteen visit, John had completed a search on the PNC for the Audi. Telephoning his home phone, he told Simon that it had not been reported stolen. He knew Petrovski would not report it, but he could not be sure about Grigoriev or even the hire company. If questioned as to why he had done the search, he would say it had been seen near Birdham which was true. While he was on the terminal, he also put a marker on the PNC that if seen, not to stop the vehicle, but report its position to the murder team at Chichester. It had two effects: if it was reported stolen, he would be informed immediately and he could warn Simon. If it was seen in Birmingham, he again could warn Simon that it had been noted, and he could abandon it. Paul was made aware of the Audi as a suspect vehicle but knew it was not worth questioning John further.

  The vehicle was actually registered to a local Chichester company that only had a portakabin
as an office which was at the rear of a small forecourt for cheap second hand and hire vehicles. It had a reputation for sharp practices in the area as some of the hire cars were not in a good or even road worthy condition. It’s owner had convictions for fraud and other motoring offences and was well known to, and often visited by Police. Most likely thought John, the vehicle was hired using false details which weren’t verified, and a substantially large cash deposit paid, probably more than the vehicle’s worth.

  Simon had his new ‘pay as you go’ mobile provided by Ian with just one number stored which was another ‘pay as you go’ phone belonging to him. Both were untraceable. Contact from John and the others would be via Ian unless urgent. Ian had already been in touch with the florist and got the two addresses which were reasonably well known by people who liked to keep their fingers on the pulse. He had added the additional information that Davies was apparently not a nice person and definitely someone to be avoided unless you wanted to visit a hospital.

  He was at the Audi by 9am and checked that it hadn’t been tampered with. In the glove box, he found a screwed up hire agreement which he smoothed out and then folded twice before replacing after noting the name shown on it. From the bag supplied by Ian, he took out and connected a small Sat Nav into a power socket, stuck the screen to the dash board with the two rubber suckers and punched in the address of Davies. The Sat Nav took a while to locate satellites and identify its own location and then the location sought. Once the Sat Nav confirmed it had downloaded all fixed speed camera locations within the country, and had checked for traffic hold ups it played a few melodious notes.

  Taking a spray can marked as ‘glass cleaner’ from the bag, he threw it into the glove box. The bag and its remaining contents were placed in the boot with a similar bag of his own containing personal items. He was wearing heavy soft soled shoes, jeans, a checked work shirt and an old worn leather jacket. Making sure no one was watching, he removed Petrovski’s mobile from one of his inside jacket pockets and left it visible on the passenger seat, but turned off. Picking up his new phone, he made sure it was working with Wi Fi turned on and in silent mode before placing it in his now empty pocket.

  Still verifying he wasn’t being watched, he took the MP-443 automatic gun he had used to shoot the Lithuanian from his waistband and wedged it under the driving seat. The unfired gun from the shot man he stuffed under the passenger seat. Both guns had been cleaned and checked and Simon was confident that if needed, they would both perform well. He had established the ammunition to be a form of hollow point bullet which breaks up into fragments when they enter a body. Now they were out of his waistband, he felt lighter and took his jacket off and draped it over the back of the passenger seat as many workmen tend to do.

  He set off for Birmingham. There was no hurry. As long as he arrived by early afternoon he would be happy. No point in drawing attention to one’s self by speeding. ANPRs would be no problem as the vehicle was legitimate. Before leaving the flat, he’d said goodbye to Carol, but not Alison who was still fast asleep due to mixing excessive amounts of alcohol with medication. Simon knew when she found out he’d gone without saying goodbye, she’d be ratty.

  It amused him for some reason.

  124

  Saturday 18th June 2011

  The Sat Nav sent him across country to link up to the motorway network and he stopped when he judged he was nearly half way at a service station for a comfort break. Buying a pre-packed sandwich, he struggled at first to open it wishing he could use his butterfly knife which would have made short shrift of it. Then he encountered more difficulty trying to eat it. Not that it was wholly inedible (although close) it was tasteless. Giving up after just three bites of it, he discarded the rest, and continued his journey. It was a boring road as most motorways in England are, and the radio in the Audi did not work.

  Simon was at the southern outskirts of Birmingham by 1pm and the Sat Nav was showing him the shortest route to Davies’s address which was in an exclusive suburb well to the North of the city. He ignored the Sat Nav’s preferred option and skirted the conurbation by keeping to the motorway on the east side passing the turnings for the international airport and the conference centre. The Sat Nav kept altering its instructions as the satellites in conjunction with the computer realised that the vehicle was ignoring the course proffered. Like all Sat Navs, it never quibbled but just got on with its job. As he travelled across the north of the city, he again took up the directions dictated to him and followed the Sat Nav route.

  Turning off at the junction indicated, he soon found himself driving through a street of independent shops all slightly set back from the road and fronted with well-established trees. Expensive cars, some with chauffeurs were parked on faded double yellow lines ignoring the free car park indicated by unobtrusive but clear sign posts. There was no traffic warden or parking attendant to be seen. Simon pulled into the side of the road and stopped. Looking about, he could see no traffic cameras, but a few shops had CCTV cameras mounted high on their outside walls pointing down at front doors. People were scurrying about on the pavements darting in and out of shops, and some carrying bags bearing inscribed logos. The pedestrians were mainly Asian and all appeared affluent in their appearance.

  Simon travelled on a few hundred yards and drove into the indicated car park. According to the sign there was room for only fifty cars, but it wasn’t even a quarter full. The spaces marked were so big that they could quite happily have accommodated panel vans. No chance of getting a door hitting the side of an adjacently parked car. There was a large pole in the middle which had four downlighters resembling a strange mushroom. He hadn’t been in a civic car park that was free for about the last five years and it was mainly empty. No security cameras were evident and he could not believe they were hidden. He locked the Audi leaving the mobile still on the passenger seat in clear view and his jacket on the back of the seat.

  Walking back slowly along the street, he window shopped for nothing he wanted. Arriving at a small bakery he saw that there were two tables nestling close together on the pavement outside which were bathed in the afternoon sun.

  Stepping inside, he saw three more small tables alongside the wall opposite the display counter. They were all unoccupied. Cakes of various colours, shapes and sizes filled the display. Against the wall behind the display were trays containing a huge range of breads. Choosing a simple, but rather expensive Danish pastry and a coffee, he was told to take a seat and await its delivery. Moving back outside, he sat with his back against the window and sipped his freshly ground coffee as he watched the world go by for half an hour. Numerous women rushed into the bakery and then rushed out again with cakes in boxes or bread in paper bags. No one else stopped to have afternoon tea and cake on the premises.

  The only thing of note were two, newish and surprisingly clean, marked Police cars, which cruised slowly along the road with one uniformed occupant in each. No one in the street took a blind bit of notice of them. All the vehicles parked on the yellow lines which were restricting traffic flow were left by their drivers with impunity. Simon could only marvel at the temerity of the drivers and considered those in Sussex who were fined for stopping just long enough to let someone out of the passenger door.

  Wandering into a small, empty independent bookshop, he engaged the owner in casual conversation and quickly established that the area was relatively crime free. Obtaining a map of the area and the local newspaper, he determined that there were a few local up market B & B’s but no hotels.

  He walked further along the road and went into a small ‘tea rooms’ where he was the only patron, ordered a coffee and sat by the window and skimmed the local paper. Prominent people were reported doing charitable things, and adverts of local up market establishments filled half of it. His attention was drawn to one of the original Police cars that cruised slowly along the road weaving to avoid illegally parked obstructive vehicles. Minor traffic collisions which would not have warranted a mention in a lo
cal Sussex paper were reported fully. The court reports were about the occasional drunk and minor offenders. Simon started to chat to the young lady who had served him and again established how crime free the area was.

  She became more forthcoming than the bookshop owner and vociferously poisonous as she confided that the area housed some aggressively vicious criminals that did not ‘shit on their own doorsteps’ and took a very dim view if anyone else did. People like her had to live in a different part of Birmingham because they couldn’t afford the local property prices. Her and her ilk commuted in to work only because it was worth it due to the wages in the locale being so very high. Whittling on, she claimed the local residents treated shop owners and staff like pariahs and second class citizens. Simon tried to lighten the mood and quipped he’d never seen such neat streets and clean Police cars.

  Although she knew they were the only people in the place, she still patently glanced about the premises to check. Then quite freely, she told him the local Police and council were in the pocket of one of the resident villains.

  “Who?”

  For a few seconds, she became a little recalcitrant then “I don’t know that I should say.”

  “Go on. It must be common knowledge round here.”

  “It is. He uses his initials. RD. Richard Davies.”

  “How are they in his pocket?”

  “He tells the Police how often he wants them to cruise this area. Every fifteen minutes during the day and thirty minutes during the night. You could set your watch by them. He won’t let the council put up any cameras anywhere, says it ‘downgrades an area’. They’d probably see what he’s up to.”