by Deborah Lucy
‘Up the A346 and then A419, then onto the motorway.’
‘I can check that with CCTV and if you’re lying to me, I’ll be back to get you. Are you sure it was the early hours of Sunday morning?’
‘Yeah, course I’m sure.’
Sloper started to wander around, going into the kitchen.
‘While I’m here, what do you know about Gemma Harker taking a beating? And don’t say you don’t know who she is, all you scum know who she is. You feed her the shit she takes.’
‘I’ll ask about.’
‘You’ll do better than that, you piece of fucking shit. You’ll find out and then let me know or, see all this, it’ll be gone. Seized. Proceeds of Crime Act. I can make it happen. It’s up to you.’
It wouldn’t do any harm to have Shaun Wheeler under his control – in his experience, you could never have enough dealers. He made his way back to Swindon Police Station.
CHAPTER 17
TEMPLE’S MOBILE BLEEPED. It was Tara texting to say that they were all in the pub together. This was his chance.
Temple drove through the village of Hilperton, on into Trowbridge, the county’s administerial hub. The once prosperous and significant wool and mill town had none of the obvious beauty or charm of Salisbury, or other Wiltshire towns. Its past affluence hadn’t translated into striking architecture; it was a mixture of utilitarian buildings and served little use than as a thoroughfare through the county for all HGVs and cement lorries. The buildings that did exist in Bath stone were darkened by the black grime from weather and diesel emissions.
Temple remembered that it had once featured on an internet website as one of the worst places to live. To him, it was a shithole. He’d done a short stint in CID in Trowbridge as a DC and remembered it for its depressing number of rapes, domestic violence incidents and GBHs. The dark clouded early evening sky mirrored his feelings about the place.
He drove into a cul-de-sac and parked outside some purpose built brick flats. Sitting in his car, he dialled into the local station and spoke to the duty sergeant. He gave instructions for King to be arrested at the pub on suspicion of the arson and for the flat to be searched.
Knowing that this would take time to arrange, he let himself into the foyer of the flats and took the stairs. At Tara’s flat, he quickly felt around the top of the door frame until his gloved fingers found the key. He opened the door, replaced the key and went inside.
Tara was no domestic goddess. The air was stale and smelt of cooking and sweat. Treading across thin stained carpets, he made his way to the bedrooms and went into the smaller of the two. By the side of the bed was the blue holdall she had described. He unzipped it. The gun was there. He quickly put it into his suit pocket and covered the protruding grip with the pocket flap. Folded underneath the gun was the solicitor’s letter with Leigh’s name on it. He left it in the bag, zipped it up and left the flat.
As Temple put the gun in the glove compartment of his car, his phone rang. It was Sloper.
‘Temple, where are you? Hussain’s brief says he’s getting bail. What the fuck’s going on?’
‘I’m on my way back, I’ll be there in about forty minutes. Did you find Wheeler?’
‘Yes, he confirms that he met Hussain that night. I still don’t know what’s going on. Why is Hussain being released?’
‘Hussain’s DNA didn’t match the profile they had. We’ve got nothing new on him, we have to let him go.’
Without replying, Sloper ended the call and rang Harker.
Back at Swindon Police Station, Temple listened as Harker summoned him by tannoy to the management suite. Attempting to avoid him and going down to the parade room, Temple walked straight into him on the main stairs.
‘In here,’ grunted Harker and gesturing with his head to a small room. He shut the door.
Temple looked at him. Whilst he could match him in height, Harker was a broad and heavy man and his six foot frame was as big as his reputation for being a belligerent bastard. His wiry short cut greying hair exposed ears that were gnarled and deformed from past rugby battle, where he’d ground his boot studs into many an opponent’s flesh as a way of neutralising frustrations at work. His thin lipped mouth was now permanently set in a snarl. Temple noticed that his eye bags had eye bags and his large eyes bulged out of a face that was flushed red. Harker’s blood pressure was through the roof and it hadn’t been helped by Sloper telling him the prime suspect in the Ramsbury murder had been released on bail on Temple’s say so.
‘I’m up to my fucking eyes in ACPO alligators so this better be good. Why are you letting this Hussain bloke go?’ His deep voice had sunk to a growl. Feeling the oppressive heat of the room, Harker hooked his finger at his collar to undo the button at his neck and loosen his tie. He turned his back on Temple, walking over to a window, leaving a desk between them. Being in such close proximity to Temple still made Harker feel as though he wanted to reach out and pound his fist into Temple’s face as he had meant to do all those years ago. The compulsion to do so hadn’t gone away after all this time.
‘His DNA isn’t on the victim. She was pregnant and indications are that there is a mixed profile of DNA found inside her, giving us two DNA profiles for identification. One of the profiles already matches the foetus and Hussain’s wasn’t one of them. We’ve got his account, but there’s no motive. I don’t think he was the one who was with her when she died,’ replied Temple. The room was small and he wanted to get out. He was speaking to Harker’s back and he could see his shoulders twitching.
‘I thought we found her with her hands tied to a fucking bed and she was strangled – sex game gone wrong. There wouldn’t be any fucking motive,’ said Harker, his voice remaining low. A quick outcome with Hussain would have suited him; it would wrap the job up and it would be largely due to Sloper’s inquiries that they’d have such a quick result. It would also start to take the pressure off him a bit, letting him throw it at the chief officers who kept appearing in Swindon, wanting to grab him by the balls to make sure he had a grip on what was going on with the Swindon murder and kidnap.
‘It’s not Hussain,’ Temple repeated, knowing it wasn’t what Harker wanted to hear. ‘I’ve spent time with him and it’s not him. He doesn’t deny seeing her, or that they had sex on occasions, but it wasn’t him she was with that evening. Hussain dropped her off, as she was expecting a visitor. He was one of the last people to see her alive, but he didn’t kill her.’ Harker turned around but remained at the window.
‘So, who was it then?’ Harker asked, his bulging eyes staring back at Temple. He was losing his patience but Temple stood his ground.
‘I don’t know yet. But no one that’s been spoken to so far has mentioned that she was pregnant so I’m guessing she hadn’t made it public. Someone took photographs of Hussain and Greta Ashton-Jones together a few months ago having sex in Savernake Forest and blackmailed them. She was in a sexual relationship with her husband’s best friend, Jonathan Silvester. She was also having a relationship with a local builder, both men we’ve yet to see. Maxwell Ashton-Jones flies in tomorrow morning at 6.30 a.m. We’ve got a reception party waiting for him at Gatwick to bring him here. He’s due a large insurance payment for Greta’s death. I don’t know if he knew about the other men, or if she was pregnant. I need his DNA and the other men that I’ve mentioned to go through a process of elimination,’ Temple explained.
‘You need to get this moving, Temple. The Chief’s had a phone call from the Police and Crime Commissioner, who’s also a friend of Ashton-Jones and lives in Ramsbury. He wants to know what progress we’ve made, says he wants to see the SIO to make sure we’re putting in enough effort. He says there’s a killer on the loose in his local village and he’s not convinced that we’re doing enough. Then he says he’s coming up here to see me.’
‘I didn’t know the Crime Commissioner lived at Ramsbury,’ replied Temple.
Anthony de la Hay was a retired Brigadier and had made himself an active presence
in the force since his election. He’d quickly assimilated the talent of the Chief Officer team; as hirer and firer of the Chief Constable post, both the deputy and assistant chief constable were deciding on just how much they needed to court de la Hay as the Chief was due to retire in a year. De la Hay was carefully managing the relationships as the politics played out between them. With a murder on his doorstep and with many of the local community having elected him, they now looked to him to get involved, much to the annoyance of the Chief.
‘Get hold of the press officer from HQ and sort your holding statement. Keep this contained, Temple, don’t let the press or de la Hay start doing their own fucking inquiry.’ Harker knew that press intrusion into the Swindon inquiry was one of the drivers for the Chief Officer’s concern; the press could whip up community tension in just one headline.
‘One thing de la Hay is right to pick up on is that I need more resources. I need a few more statement takers and a Holmes inputter.’ Temple returned Harker’s gaze. Harker struggled to contain his contempt for Temple and felt his face grow redder.
‘Yeah well, de la Hay will need to understand about priorities. A dead boy and an abducted girl are where the resources are focussed, just keep on top of it, Temple. I’ll give you one Holmes inputter—’
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Graham Mellor came into the room, with a paper in his hand. He had gone to Swindon to enlist the help of his colleagues.
‘Thought you might like this.’ He handed Temple a list. ‘We’ve been going through the bank accounts of the Ashton-Joneses. I’ve highlighted those unusual transactions. In the joint one, there’s the usual activity of direct debits coming out and salary going in, shopping and so on. There are four cash withdrawals of £500 over four days in February. But in the last six months, every month, there is a withdrawal of £2,400. Four withdrawals are in cash but there are two cheques for the same amount, last one last month. When I made inquiries with the bank, they said the cheques were made payable to Curtis Coleman Ltd.’
‘Who or what are Curtis Coleman?’ asked Temple.
‘It’s a London based security agency. I looked them up on the internet and they supply security services, body guards and anti-hostage trained chauffeurs.’
CHAPTER 18
TEMPLE HAD TAKEN Jane up on her offer to stay with her until the fire damage was sorted. His initial thought was that he could sleep in his car, but even he could see the sense in accepting the offer of comfort with everything that was going on. On the way back to Jane’s, Temple called in the custody suite where Paul King was being held. King had finished being interviewed and was in his cell, awaiting recall to prison when Temple arrived. He spoke to the custody sergeant.
‘We’re just waiting for the prison van to come and get him. He’s got an alibi for the time of the fire, but can’t account for having a letter of yours in his possession. So he’s going back on receiving stolen goods.’
‘Who’s his alibi?’
‘Zac Finch.’
‘Finch?’ As Temple said his name, Finch appeared through the security doors with a detective constable, showing him the way out. Short and lean, Finch was no match for the likes of Paul King.
‘Mr Finch, could I have a word?’ Temple gestured to a small anti-room. Zac Finch went inside and Temple closed the door, just about keeping his anger under control.
‘What’s this about you giving King an alibi for setting fire to my house?’
‘He didn’t do it. He was with me and Tara in the flat that night. It wasn’t him. Tara’s making a statement now. I’m just waiting for her.’
‘Are you fucking mad?’ Temple asked.
‘Honest, Mr Temple …’
‘Don’t make me laugh, Finch.’ Temple could see he was lying.
‘He was with us, with us both, watching the telly. I bought some porn films. He’s not long been out, so we were on the sofa watching telly and Tara was doing the ironing behind us. He took one phone call all evening, went to the door of a caller at one point, but he didn’t leave the flat.’
‘You fucking liar, Finch. You tell me what’s going on. Now,’ Temple demanded.
‘He didn’t do it. He didn’t torch your house. He didn’t go out that night.’
‘Who called at the door then?’ asked Temple.
‘I don’t know. Didn’t see them.’
‘You’re a liar. You didn’t see them because nobody called. This is serious, Finch, so I suggest you think about what you’ve just done. Your business would soon go downhill if it was known that you like giving information to the police and that would be the least of your worries.’
Finch lost his temper.
‘What could I do? He’s a fucking psycho and I can’t rely on your lot keeping him under lock and key. What if they release him again and he comes back to me?’
‘You shouldn’t associate with scum like him. Since you do, I want to know if he comes to you again. When he gets out again, I’ll expect a phone call and for you to tell me everything he does.’
Watching Finch leave the room, Temple was faintly pleased with the fact that although both Finch and Tara lived together, neither had any idea that the other gave him information. There was heavy procedure and legislation around Covert Human Intelligence Sources (CHIS) with information given to police being strictly controlled between only a handful of specialist officers. But both Tara and Finch refused to speak with anyone but Temple.
He knew he could rely on Tara. Tara hated King because he put the fear of God into her. She hated to feel afraid of anyone, so she would always go to Temple with any information that would keep him locked up. She also hated to see how he manipulated Finch. Temple didn’t mind her making a statement with Finch, all the better, she had to look after herself; she’d done him a service and he wouldn’t forget it. Finch, it seemed, was a different matter and he needed to make it quite clear to him where his loyalties should lie.
With King heading back to a cell at Horfield, Temple drove back to Jane’s.
Back at Marlborough Police Station first thing in the morning, Temple was called to say that the eagerly awaited arrival of Maxwell Ashton-Jones would be delayed until later that afternoon due to delays in departure at Singapore. He was being brought straight from the airport to the station by PC Carrie Smith, a family liaison officer that Harker had released to the team.
Armed with some further detail around the death of Olivia Ashton-Jones, Temple hoped that the meeting with Maxwell would move the inquiry forward. Olivia Ashton-Jones’s death certificate cited ‘accidental death by drowning’ and a coroner’s report provided the detail.
During a stop-over in Riyadh, Olivia, Maxwell and Jonathan Silvester were on the same British Airways flight, Maxwell and Jonathan co-piloting and Olivia one of the hostesses. On landing at King Khalid International Airport, they checked into the Hilton Hotel. They met up with other employees and a discreet party ensued, involving some illicit drinking of duty frees bought from Gatwick. The party continued around the hotel pool. Later that evening, Olivia Ashton-Jones was found floating face down in the pool. The party goers had described leaving the pool at various stages, going back to their rooms, leaving dwindling numbers at the poolside.
Maxwell Ashton-Jones had confessed to sleeping with a fellow hostess in her room at the time of his wife’s death – corroborated by the hostess. Jonathan Silvester had also been indulging himself elsewhere, although witnesses did say that they had seen Olivia and Jonathan together in the pool, talking by themselves. Olivia was found by hotel staff who tried unsuccessfully to revive her. She was taken by ambulance to the Green Crescent Hospital in Riyadh where she was pronounced dead. The initial examination at the hospital showed there were traces of alcohol in her bloodstream. It was decided that she had simply had too much to drink and had either become tired in the pool whilst swimming and had drowned due to the effects of alcohol, or had simply fallen into an alcoholic sleep.
The body was embalmed and repatriated.
However, back in England, a subsequent post mortem revealed a trauma to the back of her head, consistent with it hitting a hard surface. The coroner gathered statements from those present and recorded that in all probability death was caused by accidental drowning. He concluded the amount of alcohol in the bloodstream may well have caused the deceased to have slipped or caused herself some injury prior to death, but he did not believe it to have been sufficient to have played a part in her death, hence the verdict.
As Temple read the file, Temple wondered how the case had not prompted further investigation. Now, Maxwell Ashton-Jones had two dead wives; one had been murdered, the other an accidental death. Maybe he’d got away with the first one and decided to have another go? But how could he have done it when he wasn’t even in the country? The other common denominator was Jonathan Silvester – were these two working in tandem? Or was it simply a case that Maxwell had been tragically unlucky?
Temple would ask Kelly to make further inquiries with the coroner and authorities in the Foreign Office and in Riyadh. Saudi Arabia had strict anti-drinking laws and the case must have involved the British Consulate’s diplomatic skills during the repatriation of Olivia Ashton-Jones.
Kelly watched Jonathan Silvester standing in the foyer of Gable Cross Police Station. She observed him through the door without him knowing, as he waited for her to collect him. She was intrigued after her meeting with Caroline Black as to what he would look like, so she took a few moments before she made herself known to him to weigh him up.
He was tall and broad shouldered and had a thick head of blond hair which made him look younger than his fifty-nine years. He had disarmingly vivid blue eyes and a sickeningly white and broad smile. She also noticed that he was casually, but expensively dressed, from his tweed jacket with fashionable leather elbow patches, down to his brown leather brogue shoes. To her, he was the archetypal slime ball, but as she stood and watched him turn on the charm to two female police officers entering the foyer, she could easily see how he would attract women.