Find Them Dead

by Peter James

  Primrose Brown addressed her witness. ‘To be sure I have this right, your conclusion, from reviewing the prosecution’s case, is that there is not one shred of evidence that would link Terence Gready to any of the financial transactions?’

  Herring shook her head.

  Jupp leaned forward. ‘Could you please say that aloud, for the benefit of the recording.’

  ‘No,’ Carolyn Herring said, very definitely. ‘I could find no link connecting Terence Gready to any of these transactions or bank accounts.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Brown said. ‘I have no further questions for my witness.’

  Cork stood. ‘Ms Herring, one thing you have not addressed is the Rolex wristwatch, valued at approximately £55,000, purportedly given to the defendant by his wife, Barbara, as – ah – a supposed Christmas present some five years ago. This lady is a renowned worldwide authority on orchids, who regularly performs the function of judge in orchid competitions and had an orchid cultivation business, but is there anything to suggest she could have made sufficient money to make such a purchase?’

  The financial expert answered him with barely a moment’s hesitation. ‘The defendant’s wife, Barbara Gready, from my careful study of the family’s financial affairs – and prudency – had inherited the sum of £284,000 net of tax from the estate of her late mother.’

  ‘Still quite an extravagant amount – close to twenty per cent of her inheritance on a gift for her husband – would you not say?’

  Primrose Brown addressed the judge. ‘Your Honour, this is misleading. A rare watch of the kind Mrs Gready acquired is an investment, with a proven track record of rising in value. I would say, in our uncertain times, perhaps a better investment than having the money in some banks.’

  Jupp nodded. ‘It is a fair point.’

  Cork went on. ‘Ms Herring, in your experience, is it usual to find with this type of investigation that it is hard to connect actual people to these types of overseas bank accounts?’

  Carolyn replied, ‘Yes.’

  ‘When you worked for the Inland Revenue, were you faced with the same issues?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you agree that there are links between these accounts and LH Classics?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So all you can say really is that you have not found the defendant’s name anywhere?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Do you agree that someone has gone to great lengths to hide the origin of the monies in the accounts and the source of the large value deposits? Someone who could be the defendant, Mr Gready?’

  ‘Yes, but I found no trace of the defendant’s details.’

  ‘But then you would not expect to, would you?’

  ‘Not necessarily, no.’

  Cork paused for a moment. ‘You placed great importance in your evidence that all the details Ms Denyer referred to were merely circumstantial evidence. However, circumstantial evidence is still evidence that the court can take into account, is that not true?’

  She replied reluctantly, ‘Yes.’

  He continued. ‘And in this case the court has heard there are substantial amounts of circumstantial evidence from the financial transactions, is that correct, Ms Herring?’

  She muttered a response.

  ‘Sorry I don’t think the court caught your last answer, would you mind repeating it?’

  She replied, ‘Yes, it is fair to say there is substantial circumstantial evidence in this case.’

  ‘Thank you, no further questions.’

  ‘I have no re-examination,’ Brown said.

  The usher escorted Carolyn Herring from the witness stand.

  ‘I would now like to call my next witness,’ Primrose Brown said. ‘Mr Arthur Mason-Taylor.’

  A lean man in his fifties, with brush-cut grey hair and a suit he was clearly unused to wearing, was escorted in, gave his name and took the oath.

  ‘Can you please tell us your profession?’ Brown said to him.

  ‘I’m a mechanical engineer and worked full-time at LH Classics with a couple of part-timers.’

  ‘Do you have a particular speciality?’

  ‘Yes, restoring classic racing cars.’

  ‘Were you employed by LH Classics between the years of 2005 and 2018?’ she asked.

  ‘I was.’

  ‘And what were your duties during that time?’

  ‘Working on preparing cars acquired by the company, for sale.’

  ‘What kind of cars?’

  ‘Ferraris, Aston Martins, Jaguar E-Types, Chevrolet Corvettes, AC Cobras, Austin Healeys – among others.’

  Brown nodded. ‘Who was your boss during the time you worked for LH Classics?’

  ‘The General Manager, Mr Starr.’

  ‘Would that be Michael – Mickey – Starr? Sometimes known as Lucky?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you tell me, during these thirteen years, did you ever see Terence Gready on the premises?’

  He frowned. ‘Terence Gready?’

  She pointed at the dock. ‘That man, there, the defendant?’

  Mason-Taylor looked at Gready, then shook his head. ‘No, never.’

  ‘Did you see his name on any paperwork? Documentation?’

  ‘Terence Gready?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘You are certain?’

  Mason-Taylor smiled. ‘It’s not the kind of name you’d easily forget. No, I never saw it or heard it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  The prosecutor asked, ‘Mr Mason-Taylor, during your time with LH Classics, were you ever involved in the construction of fake – or rather replica cars?’

  ‘A number of times, yes. There is a very legitimate market for replicas of certain models.’

  ‘A number of times? And did the construction of any of these replicas differ from the originals by having cavities built into them, which would not have been there in the originals?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, positively. ‘Quite regularly.’

  ‘Did you query what the purpose of these were?’

  ‘No, I knew.’

  Cork feigned astonishment. ‘You knew? Really. What exactly did you know?’

  Mason-Taylor shrugged. ‘The motor racing world is full of cheats – it always has been – and the world of classic car racing is one of the worst offenders. I always assumed these cavities were about weight loss, to make the vehicles more competitive in races.’

  ‘Did it ever occur to you,’ Cork continued, ‘that there might be another purpose for these cavities?’

  ‘Why should it?’ Mason-Taylor responded with genuine innocence. ‘What other purpose do you mean?’

  ‘The smuggling of drugs.’

  The mechanic’s astonished expression was all the response he needed. But he went on. ‘I’m sorry, but that really is absurd. My work for LH was to carry out restoration work on cars intended for sale, and to prepare cars for clients for races.’

  ‘Even though you knew you were helping some to cheat?’

  ‘With respect,’ Mason-Taylor replied, ‘you clearly have no understanding about motor racing. All cars go through a rigorous scrutineering before any competitive event. That includes weighing the vehicles. My job was to make cars as competitive as possible – but always within the rules.’

  Realizing he was holding a losing ticket, Cork sat down. Brown rose again.

  ‘So, to your knowledge, Mr Mason-Taylor, none of the cars belonging to LH Classics were ever built or used for the purposes of importing drugs?’ she asked.

  ‘Absolutely no way, madam.’

  ‘No further questions,’ she said.

  The QC was about to call her final defence witness, Barbara Gready, when her junior counsel whispered in her ear.

  Brown turned to the judge. ‘I have a very urgent matter that I need to make you aware of, Your Honour, but without the jury present.’

  Jupp addressed the jury. ‘Members of the jury, I must now ask
you to leave the court while I speak to my learned friend, Ms Brown.’

  After the jury left, Jupp instructed Brown to continue.

  ‘It has just been brought to my attention that my next witness, Barbara Gready, who is at the back of the court, has changed her mind about appearing as a defence witness, Your Honour. I need time to speak to her.’

  Terence Gready looked shell-shocked.

  His wife stepped forward and started shouting at him. She had tears streaming down her face and was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘You, you lying bastard, you’ve broken our family. How could I have been such a fool – you’ve lied to me, you’ve lied to your children, and I’ve been sitting there listening to you lying to the court. If you think I’m going to speak up for you, you are sadly mistaken.’

  Gready looked ashen-faced. ‘Barbara! I’m not lying, they’re making it up. They’ve fitted me up, can’t you see that?’

  ‘It’s lies, Terence, it’s all lies. How did you think your little story could convince anyone – you can’t even convince me?’

  Jupp raised his voice, sternly. ‘This is not the time or the place for this sort of behaviour to continue, this is a court of law. I’m now adjourning this court sitting for this issue to be resolved.’

  Primrose Brown turned to Barbara Gready. ‘Let’s go outside where I can talk to you privately.’

  ‘Don’t waste your time. I’m through with this. He’s a loser, he deserves everything he gets. They can throw the book at him for all I care.’ She turned, still crying, and stormed out of the court.

  Well aware that this could be grounds for appeal, the judge looked around sternly at those present in the court and up in the public gallery. ‘I am instructing all of you to disregard what you have just heard. If any of you mentions it in or outside of this court, you are in contempt and you will be dealt with severely.’

  Twenty minutes later the hearing resumed, with the jury back in place, unaware of the drama that had just unfolded in the court. Jupp looked at Ms Brown. ‘Do you have any further defence witnesses?’

  There was a moment of awkward silence.

  Brown got up. ‘No, Your Honour, that concludes the case for the defence.’

  Jupp looked at the clock, which read 4.18 p.m., then turned to the jury. ‘Thank you all for your patience today – you have a lot to consider. We have now heard from all the witnesses for both the prosecution and defence. Tomorrow we will hear the closing speeches from the prosecution followed by the defence. When these are finished, I will sum up for you, after which I will send you out to commence your deliberations. I would like to remind you again that you must speak to no one about what you have heard during this trial, nor must you attempt to look up anything related to it on the internet.’

  Then, addressing the whole room, he said, ‘Court is adjourned. We meet back here at 10 a.m. tomorrow.’

  90

  Thursday 23 May

  Rain was still pelting down an hour after Meg had left the court. She sat in her car in the Hove station car park, engine running, demister on full blast, trying to clear the windscreen. Rain pounded the roof and thoughts pounded her brain. The trial today, how had it really gone?

  The defence counsel had scored some points and all her witnesses had been robust. How much would that prosecutor twist everything in his closing speech tomorrow? How would she respond? How would the judge direct the jury – impartially, she hoped? Richard Jupp had been hard to read all along.

  A text pinged. It was from Ali, suggesting they meet for a coffee or a drink on Saturday and saying they were having a barbecue on Sunday, if the weather was better. Then she noted a WhatsApp had come in from Laura some hours ago – it must have been while her phone was on silent when she had gone into court.

  She opened it immediately, scared what might be there. Scared, suddenly, now the trial was almost at an end, that she might have been abducted and this was going to be yet another threat. To her relief, she saw a happy Laura, in a floppy hat and sunglasses, standing on a rock in front of a massive sea lion that almost dwarfed her.

  Mum, he barks like a dog! XXXXX

  Meg smiled. God, I need to get a message to you. To warn you to disappear if it goes badly tomorrow. How?

  How?

  I love, love, love you so much. My precious angel. I’m going to keep you safe, whatever it takes, somehow, I promise you.

  As she drove home, she continued churning over the day’s events in her mind. It had been a good day for the defence, no question. But how good? Enough to convince the disparate jurors?

  Good enough to save her daughter’s life?

  A quarter of an hour later, entering her house as warily as always now, she was greeted by a stench from Daphne’s litter tray. But there was another, fainter smell. As if someone had been cooking. Meg frowned. She had made herself an omelette and fried tomatoes for breakfast – and burnt some of the tomatoes in the process. But it seemed strange the smell still lingered.

  Daphne suddenly gave a pitiful miaowww. Meg knelt and stroked her neck. ‘You want food, right? Of course you do, when didn’t you?’

  She stuck her umbrella in the Victorian coat stand, hung up her wet cagoule and went through to the kitchen. As she tore open a packet of cat food, Daphne vaulted up onto the work surface and began eating ravenously, once she’d tipped the contents into her bowl.

  She cleaned up the litter tray, then went upstairs to check Laura’s rodents had water. As she reached the landing, she heard the familiar squeak-squeak-squeak of the gerbils on their spinning wheels. She switched on the light and entered her daughter’s bedroom.

  She peered into their cage. They looked up, twitchily, on their hind legs. They had plenty of water. She moved on to Horace.

  And stared, puzzled. The cage was empty.

  She opened the door, put her hand in and lifted up the tiny little covered area at the back where he sometimes slept on his bed of straw. It was empty.

  Had the little bugger escaped? How? She felt panic.

  ‘Horace!’ she called out. ‘Horace!’

  Useless, she knew, he had never responded to his name. She checked all around the room, looking under the bed, Laura’s chair and in every other nook and cranny where he might possibly be. Then she returned to the cage, checking it carefully.

  Could she have left the door open this morning, after feeding him and filling up his water, she wondered? And had she left the bedroom door open or closed? If closed, he must be in here. If not, he could be anywhere in the house. What would she tell Laura if she couldn’t find him? She doted on this dumb little creature above all her other pets.

  Exhausting every possible hiding place in the room, and feeling increasingly anxious, she searched every room in the house. Had he gone through a hole into one of the cavities? Or out of the house somehow? Her best hope, she thought, was that he would get hungry and head back to what he knew as his food source. And, despite all her anxieties, she was hungry too, she realized.

  She propped his cage door open and went back down into the kitchen, trying to remember what quick meals she had in the freezer. Bending down, she opened the door of the freezer compartment and pulled the top drawer out.

  And stared in numb horror at what lay there, with a handwritten note beside it.

  91

  Thursday 23 May

  Brown in parts, blackened in others, shrivelled and covered in flecks of ice, was a skinned, cooked creature the size of Horace.

  Her worst fears were confirmed as she shakily picked up the note and read it.

  A welcome home gift for Laura – you can surprise her with the national dish of Ecuador, roasted guinea pig! Or not, of course, if the next time you see her is on a tray pulled out of a mortuary freezer. The choice is yours, Meg.

  She turned away, staggered over to the sink and retched into it. The burner, which she’d left on the kitchen table, rang.

  ‘Hello?’ she answered. And heard the calm, horribly familiar man’s voice.

  �
��Big day tomorrow, Meg.’

  ‘You bastard,’ she said. ‘You fucking bastard.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Meg,’ he said with infuriating calm and charm. ‘I just thought you’d like to surprise Laura with a little taste of Ecuador when she and Cassie come home – of course, that is, if they come home.’

  ‘You are sick.’

  ‘They are very tasty, I’m told. A bit like chicken, but sweeter and more tender.’

  ‘Laura is a vegetarian, in case you weren’t aware,’ she snapped. ‘You seem to know everything else about her.’

  ‘Pop it in the microwave, two minutes on full power, and it’ll make a tasty supper for you tonight. Help you build up your strength for tomorrow.’

  ‘Fuck you. Seriously. FUCK YOU.’ She killed the call and stood, shaking.

  The phone rang again. She hesitated, debating whether to answer or not. But she had to speak to him, try to talk reason with him. She answered.

  ‘Meg, hanging up on me isn’t going to save your daughter’s life. There is only one thing that will, and you know what that is, don’t you?’

  He let the question hang in the air, then went on. ‘Now, don’t panic if you don’t hear from Laura for the next day or two. Very unfortunately she and her friend Cassie were pickpocketed earlier today. They’ve lost their phones and all their money. But don’t worry, my friend Jorge – Laura may have mentioned his name – he’s going to take care of them. You won’t hear from Laura again until after the verdict – after you have gone into the court and said those two words. Repeatedly. On each charge. You do know what they are, don’t you? You haven’t forgotten? Shall I remind you?’

  She held the phone to her ear, stonily saying nothing. Daphne jumped onto the table and walked towards her. Almost unconsciously, she stroked her.

  ‘Beautiful cat,’ he said. ‘So affectionate.’

  His words hit her like an electric shock. Her eyes darted around the room, up at the ceiling, into all corners, desperately wondering where the cameras were. She felt utterly helpless. There didn’t seem anything she could do without jeopardizing the girls’ safety in Ecuador. Sadly, she had no other choice.