“Well? Do you recognise him?”
“No. You think I should though. Tell me: who is he?”
“His name is Grigoriev. Greg for short. He was the leader of the group who kidnapped you.”
Alison scowled as she examined the image watching it until it was replaced by a reporter.
“Is Simon alright?”
“Yes. I spoke to him just before you made me spill my coffee. He was asleep when the murder happened in the hospital. He told me Greg had tried to kill him.”
“What’s happened to Greg? Has he been arrested?”
“No. Not yet. He’s disappeared.”
The thought flitted through her brain that Simon may have dealt with him. She really hoped so.
“There’s a meeting tonight at your dad’s house. Do you want to come?”
“Course I do.”
“Well. I’m off to work now. By the way, have I told you how we have solved George Armstrong’s murder?”
A plaintive cry. “No!”
“What about all the serial killings?”
Louder now, “No! What serial killings?”
“Remind me to tell you sometime” and he walked to the front door.
“You bastard.”
“Bye. See you tonight” and he left.
John needed breakfast and was in the canteen earlier than normal. Doreen walked in to John’s amazement. He had never once seen her in the canteen.
“Hello Doreen. What brings you here so early?”
“I wanted to have a private chat.”
“What about?”
“Deborah and Haskland.”
“Go on.”
“I feel it’s my fault they are in hospital.”
John thought he could see slight reddening of her eyes.
“Not at all. What you did was what lots of detectives throughout this country do each day. You used your brain to work out a problem. They have committed at least one serious crime. It was their choice. The way she and her boyfriend reacted was their choice. It was nothing to do with you how they would react. The result was of their own making Doreen.”
The lady from the canteen had seen Doreen: assessed that she had a problem and made a quick pot of tea.
“Here you are dear. I have found that he does have words of wisdom. They have worked for me in the past.”
John didn’t know which way to look.
Doreen said, “Thanks. I suppose now I’m here, I should have some breakfast.”
“What do you want? Healthy or coronary inducing?”
Doreen was slightly shocked and amused.
“Healthy please.”
“Ok. One of each coming up.”
She darted back to her kitchen.
As other early visitors to the canteen arrived, they were surprised to see both John and Doreen already half way through their breakfasts and deep in conversation. Jimmy and Groves were the only two that appeared confident enough to sit with them. Doreen was soon put totally at ease mainly by Groves who could empathise with her. The pair seemed to have a lot in common and were quickly laughing at each other’s problems. John and Jimmy sat quietly listening. Eventually, all four made their way up to the office.
Talk in the canteen and the office revolved around the reported incidents in Birmingham and how it appeared they were apparently incompetent up there. Sussex Police had a guard outside the wards containing Deborah and her boyfriend. No one other than medical staff and identifiable Police Officers were permitted entry. Standard procedure. Every Police Force complies with it: or should do.
There was no briefing scheduled this morning. All the officers had their allotted addresses and had viewed either the video cassettes, CDs or DVDs. It was likely to be another long hard day’s slog for a lot of them who were going to establish harrowing facts. Paul had arranged for two officers from the Littlehampton MIT with knowledge of the Armstrong murder to be available to interview Deborah who was fully compos mentis. She was expected to remain in hospital for some time, so it had been agreed with her lawyer for an interview later in the day.
Paul said to John, “Looks like everything is slotting into place now. All we need to know is why did Deborah do it?”
“She may tell us later.”
“I hope so. Is the CC still insistent on going to court today?”
“Yes. Both him and Prodow. It’s going to be right fun and games. The press will be there en masse. I think they are going to try and upstage Birmingham.”
Both laughed.
Then Paul confided, “Prodow spoke to both PCs guarding Deborah and her boyfriend this morning and told them if they left their posts even to go to the loo, they had to have someone take their place. He threatened to skin them alive if they moved. I think he’s really scared that the murderer from Birmingham might come and do for them.”
John made no comment.
148
Monday 20th June 2011
“Bloody dirty” and she paused, abstaining from using the first word that had come to mind, “rat!”
Graham said, “They located him just before his Ministerial car turned up.”
She interrupted him again.
“Dirty no good rat. I’ve looked after Nicholas for over six years. I dragged him out of the Foreign Office where he seemed to live whenever we have been in power and got him made a Junior Minister and that’s how he repays me. Bastard.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I’m going to have to tell the PM. He’ll probably go mad. He’ll sack him straightaway.”
“That just sends him to the back benches. He hasn’t been doing this for love. He must have been getting well paid. Can’t you put some investigators on to him? If they could trace the money, he could go to prison.”
The Home Secretary said, “Talking of prison. Read this” and she handed a faxed statement to Graham.
“My God!”
“That’s why he wasn’t going to get a second term as CC.”
“This practically proves him complicit in the murder of one of his own officers.”
“I’ve sent the IPCC in already. I know he will be expecting them. It will be interesting to see what he does.”
Graham looked hard at her.
She said, “It’s up to him what he does.”
Graham didn’t pursue it. Any Police Officer would not fare well in prison, and such a high ranking one would be a feather in the cap of any prisoner.
“Getting back to Nicholas, what time does he normally arrive?”
“Any time before nine.”
“He should be here by now. The car left Harrow nearly an hour and a half ago.”
Picking up a phone, she asked if Nicholas had arrived in the building. Slamming it down, she thought for a second or two.
“He got into the building and was coming to see me as he does every morning for a briefing.”
She paused, still fighting to regain her temper. “Kathy told him I was in conference with you and not to be disturbed.”
Graham enquired, “Yes?” as a question.
“He told her he was feeling ill and said he would go home to recover.”
“Damage limitation. He must have something there he needs to get rid of.”
“What the hell am I going to do?”
“He’s got to be stopped. Has his car got a radio?”
“Yes.”
“Call it and find out where he is. He won’t be at home yet with the traffic about at this time of day. Try and delay it. I’ll get some Police there and arrest him for conspiracy to murder.”
“You’d never prove that!”
“I don’t intend to. It will keep him away from his house until we can search it.”
The Home Secretary nearly broke into a run as she dashed to the communications room. The PM was her second call.
Graham called the City of London Police Control Room. Two city cars were dispatched and the Metropolitan Police Information Room was briefed that units were passing through thei
r area at speed. A local car from Harrow was sent to stop anyone entering or leaving the gated houses. All eventualities were covered in minutes.
The Ministerial car was only two miles away when the driver, a retired marine, took the call.
“Home Secretary here. Could you please pop into the constituency office in Harrow as a matter of urgency and pick up a parcel for me. If you could do it on your way to where you are going.”
“Yes. Certainly Minister.”
Nicholas had heard every word and knew that something was afoot. Catherine, to his knowledge, had never once used a radio to pass any message. As Home Secretary, she would have arranged for the radio controller to have sent it. He was fully up to speed via the scrolling news channels on his mobile as to the occurrences in Birmingham. A senior Police Officer was already in her office before he got in to work. There had been no way he was going to wait and find out if he had been rumbled. He needed time to think.
When the call finished, he told the driver that he would be sick in the car if he diverted. It posed the driver a dilemma. The Home Secretary was technically his boss. If Nicholas was ill in the car, he would have to clear up the mess. He decided to continue to Harrow on the Hill and collect the package on the way back.
As the vehicle turned into the road with the ornate gates to one side, both Nicholas and the driver saw the local Met Police car pull into the road from the opposite end. They would both arrive at the gates simultaneously. Nicholas pointed his remote control at the gates and kept jabbing the button willing them to open. When they were in range, an orange light started to flash on one of the pillars and they began to swing leisurely open. The Police vehicle was speeding up to prevent the Ministerial car from entering.
Nicholas flung the door open of the moving vehicle and fell onto the road. As the driver saw him go, he did an emergency stop. He was bruised and his suit was torn, but it was of no consequence. Getting up, he ran through the still sluggishly opening gates leaving his red box in the car. The retired marine could not believe his eyes. The Police Officer jumped out of his car and chased Nicholas towards his house. Weighed down with a ‘utility belt’ laden with odd objects and wearing a stab proof vest, the driver was amazed the PC could stand, let alone run. It was no contest. Nicholas Boon was through his front door and safe.
Once inside, he went into his reception room and sat down. He was shaking from head to toe. The Police would not get in. His house had been adapted when he had been made a Minister. The glass windows could withstand bullets and minor explosions. The doors had been strengthened with steel inserts and metal rods into the jambs. There was even a panic room which could withstand more. As he assessed his situation, he realised that the object of the security was to keep him safe until Police could arrive and rescue him.
Now it was keeping them out. What could he do?
149
Monday 20th June 2011
John, Paul and Doreen sat by Paul’s desk drinking tea and coffee as they awaited news. Jimmy was still running around supplying officers with exhibits and details of where they could view media. All the rooms where the kit was available were being utilised. Copies of death certificates were being obtained and funeral directors were being asked for details of any next of kin. Doctors were being solicited to supply urgent statements. Hospital pathology labs were being harassed to find any specimens of relevance they may have kept. It was organised chaos.
Paul was feeding the press who kept calling as to why the CC and Prodow were both at Chichester Crown Court where the case had been transferred to from Lewes to accommodate all parties. TV crews had been scrambled and journalists were jostling for the best positions. Some managed to get into the public gallery and totally illegally, set tape recorders in motion. Photographers were setting up step ladders behind the journalists still outside to get unobstructed shots of anyone of note entering or leaving the court.
Chris had got to court early and had seen nothing of the press. Sam had bemoaned the fact he had never been called for jury service. He was secretly jealous of his wife who had never shown any interest in having been selected. It would have given him ‘bragging rights’ for a whole year at work or his local pub, whatever the cases he heard. She had so far just heard one which was a case of dangerous driving.
Now she was waiting with fourteen others for the jury bailiff to collect them and take them to the court room where they were to hear their next trial. They had all been relaxing in a large room where they sat about and chatted amicably between themselves. Eventually, they were all told that they were to deliberate in a case of murder. Only twelve were to be selected and each hoped they were not one of the three rejected.
The Judge and court personnel were all gathered as the fifteen selected random members of the public stood in the well of the court. Chris had her name called first by the court clerk, and she was shown into the jury box. Eleven other people followed her and all had to swear an oath to ‘try the defendant faithfully and give a verdict in accordance with the evidence given’. The three who had not been called left the court dejected.
Then the lawyers fired up.
Chris was fascinated as to the workings of the court. It was all new to her and she listened intently. The Judge told the jury he was the arbiter of the law and it would be him alone that they would defer to for such guidance. Lawyers for the Defence and Prosecution would put the ‘facts’ of the case according to their instructions. However, today there was going to be submissions by the Prosecution that the jury would hear. It didn’t take long.
The Prosecution Counsel stated that they no longer wished to proceed with the case as it transpired that the accused, Olivia Munroe, was innocent of the charge of murder. Facts of the matter being that the Police had arrested another person where the evidence appeared overwhelming. The Defence were fully aware and had insisted on the case being heard in open court so their client could be publicly acquitted.
The Judge asked Chris to stand and instructed that she should speak on behalf of the twelve. He then directed that she should say that Munroe was innocent of murder. Chris was bemused and did what was requested. Munroe watched and listened impassively. She knew that the Police were going to ask her some questions later which she would answer truthfully.
Then the expected bombshell. Munroe had been incarcerated for over six weeks and the Defence Counsel asked for costs.
The Prosecution barrister defended the claim by calling the Chief Constable. From below his wig, the Judge raised his eyes. He’d never seen a CC in a witness box before and believed it to be a first in the Sussex Courts. The CC launched into a verbose and lengthy argument as to why costs should be refused even quoting previous stated cases from memory. The Prosecution Counsel let him speak uninterrupted. He held the court spellbound. The Judge enjoyed it. Even the Defence Counsel was impressed. Chris really enjoyed it, thinking, ‘If this is the calibre of Sussex Police, we can all sleep safely in our beds.’
At the conclusion, some in the court even felt like applauding. The press had never heard such eloquence from a Police Officer in a court room. They would report it verbatim. Leaning back in his chair, the Judge glowered at the Defence Counsel as if challenging him to rise and argue his case. He rose, not to argue, but to capitulate. It was a lost cause and he knew it. Chris and the others in the jury box all sided with the prosecution and could not understand why Munroe had not spoken to the Police when she had the opportunity. It was her own stupid fault she had been locked up: ‘so tough!’
The press ambushed the CC and Prodow as they left court. It was a major scrum as they all jostled for position. Other people leaving the building were knocked over and Chris was sent flying. The CC saw her as she fell and pushed past journalists with tape recorders and helped her to her feet. Cameras clicked and videos whirred. Ensuring she was ok he offered her a lift to wherever she wanted to go.
Embarrassed, she said, “Home.”
A minute later, the CC’s driver was by her side shepherdin
g her to a sleek new jaguar.
After talking to the press for half an hour about Munroe, the incident on the beach with Deborah and the investigation into the serial murders, both the CC and Prodow walked the quarter of a mile back to the Police Station.
The jaguar arrived outside the small house lived in by Chris and Sam. It did not go unnoticed by local residents as the driver assisted her to her front door. Chris could not believe the CC’s kindness and would write a letter of appreciation.
The press had begrudgingly started to admire the frankness and co-operation the Police were providing. The CC had raised the profile of Sussex Police a hundred-fold in just one day.
150
Monday 20th June 2011
Nicholas was a fast thinker. As a Minister of the government, he had to be. Unfortunately, he did not always make the right decision. Outside was one weighted down PC who he could outrun. The chauffeur would not get involved so posed no threat. He knew others must already have been dispatched and would be on their way. Once they arrived he knew the game would be up. Trapped inside his fortress, he could survive no more than two or three days before running out of food. There was nothing for it, he had to get out and promptly.
Running through the connecting door into his garage, he donned a crash helmet and a large motorcycle jacket. Grabbing one of his skeet shotguns from the unlocked gun cabinet, he stuffed a handful of spare cartridges in his pocket, dropping more than he kept. His motorbike was a hybrid road and trail machine and was one of his passions. He ran it once a week and kept it in pristine condition and fully fuelled. When outside he would head up to an old friend in Scotland while he decided what to do. It was all going to rely on timing to get away.
He pressed the gate release and the electric release for his garage door together. The PC heard the gate opening but had his vehicle parked across it. No car could get past. He hadn’t catered for a motorcycle. The noise the motorbike made starting up in the garage was deafening but Nicholas was focused and hardly heard it. With the shotgun wedged in front of him, he roared out once the garage door had lifted sufficiently. The PC saw him coming and realised he was not able to stop him.
An Urgent Murder Page 48