SECRET CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of suspense

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Jimmy Melsom, in the main incident room, gave a sudden whoop. They hurried to his desk.

  * * *

  ‘Say that again, Jimmy. Maybe I didn’t hear you right.’

  Sophie dropped into the nearest chair. Melsom swallowed hard and repeated his words, reading from notes scribbled on his pad.

  ‘The Barbados authorities have been on the phone. They confirm that Sarah Sheldon arranged a civil wedding two and a half years ago, while she was on a cruise. The ceremony took place because there are records of the wedding and a party afterwards in one of the beachside hotels. But the relevant page from the civil records has been torn out. They had a break-in last month, but hadn’t noticed anything stolen or damaged. It means they can’t tell us who she married.’ He looked up sheepishly. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

  ‘For pity’s sake. What in God’s name is going on here?’ She looked at Marsh. He shook his head. Sophie took a deep breath. ‘Okay, let’s assume there really was a break-in and that the record was taken. It must have been planned. Which means someone probably flew out from Britain. Barry, you check all flights from around that date, looking for the name of anyone on our list. Jimmy, get back to the cruise company and get a list of the other passengers. Someone on that boat must remember who she married, surely? I want them all contacted, and I want their memories prodded so you can get me that name . . . And the crew, the ones who might have mixed with the passengers socially. You know, bar staff, stewards, even the captain. One thing about this news, Barry. It confirms that Sarah’s murder was no sudden crime of passion. Someone had been planning it for a long time.’

  Marsh spoke quietly. ‘I can’t see it being Shapiro, ma’am. He hasn’t been out of the country for years. There’s no evidence that he has the money to fly off to Barbados, and I just feel that this level of planning would be beyond him.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘We’ll keep him in, though. He’s happier downstairs in the cells than out on the streets. He’s convinced he’ll be next on the list. And maybe the food’s better here.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘Rae. Time to contact our Bath colleagues, I think. They ought to be told that we have one of the men who probably raped Brenda Plant in custody. Can I leave that with you? Once you’ve done that, give these two a hand. Help whoever’s looking most under pressure — Jimmy, I expect.’ She looked quickly at Marsh.

  * * *

  Was that a sly wink? Marsh asked himself. She’s managed to calm herself pretty fast, quicker than me. She got herself organised in a few seconds. Could I do that? I’ve got a lot of learning to do if I’m going to cope full-time with the way she works. He walked across to his desk and began. Airports and airlines — he hated them. Why couldn’t people slow down a bit, enjoy their travel and go by train and ship? But at least it made his job easier. Thank goodness for flight records. He drew up a list of organisations and started to phone. An hour later, there it was. John Renton had taken a weekend return flight to Barbados early in September. And how had the ticket been paid for? That very same credit card. Jimmy had been looking into it. Why hadn’t he mentioned it an hour earlier when they’d been talking about Barbados? He’d gone through all of the credit card statements earlier in the week, matching them up against dates. Hadn’t he checked the most recent transactions? It hadn’t been in the file. Barry was more certain than ever. The boss was right. Jimmy was a competent enough detective for routine work, but didn’t have the extra insight for a complex murder investigation like this. She’d spotted it the previous winter during the Charlie Duff case, when Jimmy had needed so much supervision. There had been a huge difference between him and Lydia, and the same was now true where Rae was concerned. She got on and did things, used her initiative and found things out. Jimmy? He always had to double-check with a superior, seek approval. He didn’t have the drive of the two young women. He hadn’t spotted the fact that the most recent purchases on that credit card could be key to their investigation, and he hadn’t asked the bank to send them.

  Marsh put his mind to his task. If there was a flight booking as the ticket system had shown, then there should also be a record of passport use. Maybe that would be the next logical item to check. He looked up to see Rae standing beside his desk.

  ‘I’ve been doing a search on the blue Ford we saw at Lily’s place this morning, Sarge. I know we only got part of the registration, but I thought it was worth a try. And guess what? One of the Portsmouth rental companies hired a Ford out to a John Renton early today, and its registration matches what the boss saw.’

  Barry only just restrained himself from hugging her. The thoughts he’d been having about Melsom were completely justified. Rae had jumped ahead of the game and had come up trumps. They hurried in together to see the DCI.

  ‘John Renton? In both cases? The flight to Barbados and the car hire? That’s wonderful news. But how did he manage it if he was in Afghanistan, as the MoD tell us? The murders were so carefully planned, you’d think he’d put a similar effort into covering his tracks.’

  ‘It was the same with the hotel booking, ma’am,’ Marsh added. ‘He didn’t try to hide that under a false name either.’

  ‘No. Maybe we’re just overestimating him. It puzzles me, all the same. Why would he fly out to Barbados, break into the registrar’s office in order to remove an incriminating page from a log of marriages, but leave his name for us to find on a flight passenger list? What kind of incompetent planning is that?’ She paused. ‘I wonder if he inherits something from Sarah’s death? You know, considering that they’re half-siblings. There’s got to be a motive, after all. We need to go into the family background, Barry. Find out if they inherited something. It could be property, money, shares. Anything that could have caused a dispute between them. He told us yesterday that there was never any love lost between him and Sarah while they were growing up. Maybe that animosity lasted through into their adult lives and her murder is a result. We won’t move on him just yet, though. I want a clear motive before we bring him in. He didn’t seem particularly unnerved when we turned up at Brize Norton yesterday, so he must be feeling confident. Let’s get our facts right before we confront him.’

  Chapter 25: Blood on the Steps

  Monday evening

  It was very dark, but at least the weather was dry. Sophie switched her torch on again: nine thirty-five. Barry had said he needed five minutes to work his way around to the back of the house, look through the French windows, and return to where she was waiting on the front porch. Eight minutes had now passed. A twig snapped, and Marsh’s face followed the dim light from his torch.

  He whispered, ‘there’s a light on in a back room, but there’s no sound. It could just be a security light. There’s also a small window open in one of the upper floor rooms. I’m guessing it’s a bathroom. All the rear doors are locked.’

  Sophie was puzzled. ‘If there is someone in, why aren’t they answering? And if the place is empty, why has that window been left open? He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d go out leaving his house unsecured. All these bushes and shrubs in the garden — the place is too tempting for thieves.’

  ‘And what a place. How does an NCO in the army afford a house like this? How much do you think it’s worth, ma’am?’

  ‘Four hundred thousand? And it was the parents’ house, Barry. Rae did some more background checks on him. He bought out Sarah’s share when their mother died. It’s all totally genuine, as far as she could tell. It corresponds to the time when Sarah bought her flat. She didn’t need a mortgage for it because she’d just sold her share of this house to her half-brother. She paid cash.’ Sophie looked around. ‘Did you see anything else interesting on your little walk?’

  ‘There’s a garage with a car in it. I could see it through the window. I might be wrong but it doesn’t look as though it’s been moved for some time. But that would fit, wouldn’t it? He’s been in Afghanistan for a good length of time and didn’t he say they were going to hire a car? Maybe this one needs a service if it�
��s been sitting for months.’

  Sophie stepped back and stumbled slightly as her heel caught in a groove between the paving stones. She grabbed Barry’s arm to steady herself, then drew her hand back. The skin on her fingers was damp and sticky. She shone her torch on her hand, then onto Marsh’s jacket.

  ‘Barry, why is there blood on your sleeve?’

  He looked down at the damp stain with a grimace and started to wipe it off. Sophie grabbed his arm.

  ‘Don’t. Leave it.’ She radioed through to the uniformed snatch squad waiting in a van parked in the road outside. The vehicle turned into the driveway and came to a halt, disgorging several officers in black.

  ‘Okay, Greg,’ she said to the tall, burly squad leader. ‘Do your thing.’

  He nodded happily, swung his arms back and hurled the heavy-duty ram at the front door lock. It bounced open with a crash and the team spilled into the hallway. The first officer through the entrance turned on the lights. Nothing seemed amiss in the rooms at the front of the house, but there was a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. A bloody trail led to some French windows set in the rear wall of the lounge. They could see streaks across the timber decking towards the lawn, as if someone had crawled out through the doors and into the garden. Sophie tried the doors but they were fastened, the key still in the lock. She put on a pair of thin, latex gloves and opened the door. She peered out into the dark. Barry noticed a switch on the wall behind the curtains. A set of floodlights illuminated the back garden, but nothing moved. Sophie ordered the squad to spread out and search the dense, shadowy mass of shrubs and bushes surrounding the lawn. Minutes later one of the team called out to her. She shone her torch down at a figure lying prostrate under a dense patch of bushes. It was John Renton, with blood smeared over his apparently lifeless features. She reached down and felt gingerly for traces of life at his neck.

  ‘There’s a faint pulse,’ she said. ‘Get an ambulance here as quick as you can. Tell them we’re dealing with severe blood loss, probably due to a stabbing.’ She turned to the sergeant. ‘Greg, do you keep one of those foil space-blankets in your van? Can you get it? Judging by the amount of blood around, he’s lost far too much and we need to keep him alive.’ She looked down at the white face of the man who had been their prime suspect. What did this latest twist mean? She took off her coat and laid it gently across Renton. She took his wrist to pull his arm down under the coat. And then she stopped. She suddenly realised with icy certainty who Renton’s assailant had been, and who had murdered Sarah Sheldon and Paul Derek. Oh, God. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier? Now it would be a race to catch up with him before he could flee the country. She glanced at her watch again. Still not ten o’clock. Maybe they wouldn’t be too late. Sophie’s mobile phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and looked at the caller display.

  * * *

  The only officer still at work in the incident room, Rae had been doggedly cross-checking the information they’d accumulated during the previous two days, looking for a link that might bring it all together. Surely, if she kept probing, something would give? She found some large sheets of paper and drew a series of interlinked diagrams of the victims and suspects and all their acquaintances that the police knew about. When she started it looked like the simple chart on the incident board, but as she worked it grew into an intricate web.

  The office phone rang. It was an official at Passport Security, responding to a request from Barry. Apparently she too was working late, double-checking John Renton’s passport. Rae opened the original passport.

  ‘So you can confirm that the passport in question is in the name of John Renton and that it’s genuine? . . . And you say that the town of birth matches? Portsmouth? And the date of birth matches the one DS Marsh gave you?’ She listened to the replies. ‘Fine. Can you give me the number? Can you read it out again? Are you sure?’

  Rae paused. What did it mean?

  ‘Look, we’re really grateful for the time you’ve given us, but I really don’t understand. The number you’ve just given me doesn’t correspond to the number the airline has recorded. Could you check the number they gave us? I’d be really grateful.’ She read out the passport number that had taken so long to obtain from the airline. She waited. When the response came, Rae almost stood up in shock.

  ‘What? But it can’t be a mistake, surely? If it was a typo it would be one character wrong, two at the most. But the whole number? So you’re saying it doesn’t exist? Yes, I can wait. Of course I can.’

  Rae drummed her fingers on her desk. Ah. Finally. ‘And there’s no doubt? It is on that list of suspected fake passports? So the man on that flight could have been anyone, even someone posing as John Renton?’ She listened. ‘Well, that’s fantastic. I’m so grateful for your help, and I know that DS Marsh will be too.’ She replaced the phone and sat thinking before writing down the new findings in her notepad. It made sense. Earlier that evening she’d managed to make direct contact with Renton’s immediate superior, and he’d been adamant that Renton had been in Afghanistan throughout August and much of September. He hadn’t left for Europe until two weeks previously, so he couldn’t have made that flight to Barbados. And he couldn’t have used his credit card in the places logged on the bank’s records. Was the credit card a forgery too? She thought for a while. Should she phone the boss immediately? Rae looked at her diagrams. There were only two witnesses who claimed to have seen the supposed John Renton in Swanage on the evening of Sarah’s murder. One was the young man who thought he’d seen someone watching Shapiro and Derek. Timothy Brodie. He’d been interviewed before she joined the team, but she remembered her colleagues’ story about him. But the receptionist at the Ballard View Hotel who had checked this person in was a different matter. She’d have been face-to-face with him. According to the boss, she’d been upset and very anxious when she was interviewed. Could she have overlooked something? Rae phoned the hotel, hoping that Maria was on duty. Her luck was in.

  ‘Maria, it’s DC Rae Gregson from DCI Allen’s team. Do you have the time to answer a couple of questions? You do? Good. I’d like you to think back to that Friday afternoon when you checked John Renton in. I want you to take me through the few minutes he was there. Describe each step in detail. Is that okay? Start from the first moment you saw him. Where was he, and what were you doing?’ Rae listened intently. ‘Stop for a moment. Was there anyone else at the desk or in the reception area? No? So what did you say? What did you ask and how did he respond?’ She waited. Maria described a man obviously intent on saying as little as possible. ‘What about his face, Maria? What was he wearing? Tell me your impression of him.’ She listened again. ‘Well we all form instant judgements of the people we meet, Maria. We can’t help doing it. What thoughts went through your head when he was so uncommunicative?’

  Maria recounted her impressions during the brief encounter. As she continued, she recalled new details. Rae noted everything down.

  ‘So. He was across the desk from you, Maria. You asked him to sign the check-in form. How did he do that? Did he use his own pen or did you offer him one?’ She waited. ‘So he must have reached across to take the pen from your hand. Which hand did he use? Can you remember?’

  Rae heard a gasp and listened to the words that followed. After a few more questions she ended the call.

  The man Maria had checked in had a small tattoo of a heart on his left wrist. She had completely forgotten about it until she spoke to Rae. Rae checked with the post-mortem report on Sarah Sheldon. Yes! There it was. A small heart-shaped tattoo on her right wrist. In a wedding ceremony, those two tattoos would have touched when the couple held hands. The boss had been right all along. That wedding photo had been the key to it all. And she, Rae, knew who that man was. It all made sense. She reached for the phone but then hesitated. There was one more check she could make. Jimmy Melsom had left the phone number of a couple who had occupied the cabin next to Sarah Sheldon’s on the cruise. Melsom hadn’t been able to get an answer
earlier in the evening. Rae dialled the number. It was answered almost immediately. Rae explained her reason for calling. She asked five questions: had Sarah Sheldon married on the cruise? Had it been in Barbados? Did they recall any photos being taken? Could they remember the name of the groom? Did he have a tattoo of a heart on his wrist that matched hers? Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. She should have spotted it at the beginning. Why would someone wear spectacles with plain lenses? It could only be part of a disguise. Rae pumped the air. Got it!

  Now she was ready to call the boss.

  Chapter 26: Floppy Hat and Sunglasses

  Tuesday morning

  From her vantage point, Sophie looked around at the various members of the team, all trying to blend in with the crowd at Gatwick’s busy terminal. They’d worked until just after midnight checking details and formulating a plan to snare their quarry. None of them had slept much. Sophie glanced down anxiously at the distant figure of Rae, hoping that the young detective would last the morning. She’d insisted on being present at the arrest, almost shedding tears of exasperation when Barry had suggested that she take the day off. Rae deserved to be present. It was her first big case. She had made an enormous contribution to it, and she was being asked to miss the climax? She had to be there. Now Rae was sitting on a plastic seat in the general waiting area. She wore an out-of-season sun hat to cover her bandages, an enormous pair of heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her nose and she was reading a magazine. Sophie smiled. That floppy hat, those sunglasses and the iPod earphones dangling from her neck gave her exactly the right look. She was nothing but a young woman leaving the chilly weather for a holiday in the sun. Amazing to think that Rae had only joined the team a week before. The first day or two, Sophie had had serious misgivings. And now? She’d have to thank Sandie Blake. The head of HR had turned up a true gem. Rae had brought real flair to the team. And she had been through such a difficult time. Just look at her down there, thought Sophie. Who here could possibly guess her background? People criss-crossed the concourse with luggage, shopping bags, snacks, or cartons of drinks, and no one gave Rae a second glance. Sophie could see the person sitting next to Rae make some brief comment, then return to her book. Rae was a natural. And she must have gone through such torment in her previous life as a man. One thing was certain: after her efforts of the previous evening, her place in the team was secure for as long as the young DC wanted to stay. Sophie recalled the pride and excitement in Rae’s voice when she called them the previous evening. Sophie had sensed her triumph as she’d said, ‘I know who it is, ma’am.’ Rae had reasoned it all out without any help. Rae’s conclusions had matched her own perfectly, but the advantage of extra corroborating evidence was with the younger woman. Those other details had clinched it.