Death Watch

by Deborah Lucy

  ‘Hello, boy, we’ve got some business to do, haven’t we?’ Temple recognized the distinctive voice of Elijah Fortune.

  ‘We’ll have to do this another time,’ said Temple, suddenly tired and in no mood for Fortune.

  ‘I’ll meet you in twenty minutes. Park in the lay-by on the Beckhampton Road and walk out to meet me on the gallops.’ The call ended.

  Temple knew he would have to drive past there to get to Swindon. Aware that Fortune still thought he had the gun in his possession, Temple knew he had to convince him otherwise and get him off his back. If he was lucky and Sophie Twiner had done a good job, the Wiltshire Daily Record would help do this tomorrow.

  Temple drove down the A4 to the wide green expanse of Beckhampton gallops. He approached the lay-by and pulled in next to a tourist information board for the Avebury stone circle, a mile away. Parking head on to a Ford Ranger, he saw a man sitting in the driver’s seat. Looking out across to the gallops, in the distance, he saw a line of racing horses walking slowly in the direction of Morgan’s Hill. In the middle distance, he saw a man standing, hands thrust in a leather coat, looking in his direction, waiting. Temple got out of the car. He walked across the grassy field towards him.

  As he got nearer, Temple recognized him. Elijah Fortune was in his late fifties, a jean-clad, balding, heavy, squat man, with a look of a permanent taste of piss in his mouth. His thick neck was covered in tattoos and draped in chunky gold chains. His hands were thrust so deep into the pockets of a long, tan coloured leather coat that his large knuckles could be seen through the leather. He rocked backwards and forwards on his heels as Temple approached.

  Temple stopped and faced him. Fortune wanted to close the gap between them and took a step closer.

  ‘We’ve been watching you,’ Fortune spoke in a quiet, menacing tone. ‘Know who you are, where you live.’

  ‘How did you get my mobile number?’

  ‘We read the papers. Take an interest in what the local lawmen are up to, log names, log faces. Get intelligence on what you lot are looking at. You’re dealing with a murder so we got your number by saying we wanted to give information. Easy as shit.’ Fortune spat on the ground.

  ‘How did you know I was at the hospital the other night?’

  ‘One of ours was coming out as you was going in.’

  ‘I was investigating a GBH. Know anything about it?’

  ‘I think we both know about Mr Finch.’

  Temple remained silent, looking back at him.

  ‘Right, where’s the gun?’ asked Fortune, staring hard into Temple’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t have a gun. I’ve never had a gun.’ Temple took care to hold his gaze.

  ‘Paul King says he took a gun from your house. He showed it to me. Then, when he got nicked, it disappeared. He thinks either Finch got it back for you, or the arresting officers gave it back to you.’

  ‘Paul King is taking the piss. He may well have shown you a gun, but he didn’t get it from my house.’

  ‘And why would he lie to me?’

  ‘To get you interested in taking up his vendetta with me. Look, I put King away and he threatened to kill me and my family. He comes out and my house catches fire. I say it’s him, he gets nicked on suspicion and they find a letter of mine that was in my house in his belongings. He took the letter to trace my wife, it had her name on it. That’s what put him there. Without the letter, he could have denied it and I couldn’t have proved it. If he hadn’t taken the letter, he’d still be out. This is between me and him, not you and me.’

  ‘Nice story. I saw the gun. He had it when he left me – then – no gun. What is it – you’ve got it and you want money for it? I’ll give you money. I told you, we can cut a deal.’

  ‘And I told you, I don’t do deals and I’m not for sale. Now, I’m not telling you that you didn’t see it, or that he didn’t have it. But I am telling you that the gun didn’t come from me or my house and I don’t have it. Be honest, would you have been interested in coming after me otherwise?’

  Fortune looked at him. Temple was still thinking about Greta and what he had just seen. His distraction made him appear indifferent.

  ‘I’m being straight with you, Elijah. If King had a gun, he didn’t get it from me. Now he’s back inside, I just want my family left alone. What’s between me and King is to resolve when he gets out.’

  ‘So where do you think this gun is then?’

  ‘Perhaps he hid it, Elijah, ready to come and get me when he gets out again. I don’t know, do I? We both know how valuable guns are. You say you saw it, how come you didn’t keep it?’

  Fortune bridled at Temple questioning him.

  ‘Don’t start questioning me, boy. That’s not what you’re here for. I haven’t got no fucking gun. He took it with him. Next thing, there’s no gun but your fucking lot have got him. Finch didn’t have it and now you say you haven’t got it. Well, it’s fucking somewhere.’ Despite Fortune raising his voice, Temple remained calm and shrugged.

  ‘I can’t help you. But I am interested in the fact that you say there is a gun, especially since King must know where it is. He might have it tucked away somewhere waiting for when he comes out – waiting for me, remember.’

  ‘Fuck off, boy. Now fuck off. This ain’t finished. Not ’til I see a gun,’ said Fortune, shaking his head. He looked up at the sky. It had started to rain; Fortune hated rain.

  ‘I want my family left alone, Elijah. I haven’t got a gun. This is between me and King, no one else. Otherwise I’ll have to involve the job.’

  ‘Don’t you threaten me. Don’t you fucking threaten me.’ Fortune’s neck moved forward as he spoke, thrusting his face close to Temple’s. Temple didn’t flinch.

  ‘I want my family left out of this,’ Temple repeated. ‘Do what you like to me, but leave them alone.’

  ‘I might take you up on that, lawman. I’ll speak to Caleb first. Go on, fuck off.’

  Temple took his cue and walked back to his car. Fortune followed a little distance behind. Temple sat facing the driver of the Ford Ranger who was waiting for Fortune to get back in the passenger seat. He rang DS Eaton.

  ‘Charlie, I want you to organize some arrests. Go with Kelly and arrest Jonathan Silvester for the attempted rape of Greta Ashton-Jones on the night of her murder, for starters. Send another team out to arrest Maxwell Ashton-Jones. I want him interviewed about the death of his first wife, Olivia. And then Brett Forrester. I want to know what he has to say about having underage sex with his daughter. Take them all to Swindon nick.’

  Temple pulled out of the lay-by and drove off to Gable Cross Police Station to get back to Turner and await the other detentions. He didn’t know if he’d resolved the situation with the Fortunes until he saw the Daily Record in the morning, but if they showed up again, he’d knew he’d have to call it in and get protection.

  Once at Gable Cross, he rang Leigh and told her to go home. Temple gathered his interview team into a small office and played them the DVD of Greta’s death on a laptop. Turner was in his cell taking a break from interview and they’d scheduled another session in an hour’s time. Temple set about arranging a forensic team to attend Turner’s address at Wroughton and to visit the lock-up at Old Town. While he was on the phone arranging a search of the copse, Harker appeared in the doorway.

  ‘This place is buzzing with the news that you’ve got yourself a snuff murder. You’d better let me see,’ said Harker quietly.

  Temple could see he was visibly calmer than when he had seen him previously; the news was, he had made arrests in Southall on his abduction and recovered the victim.

  Temple played him the DVD.

  ‘Seems like you were right,’ said Harker.

  Temple felt annoyed at Harker’s attitude towards him throughout the inquiry and was trying hard to suppress the urge to say ‘I told you so.’

  ‘Seems like you were wrong,’ said Temple, not able to help himself.

  Harker looked across at him.
His tired, bulging red rimmed eyes took on almost a demonic look.

  ‘Have you written in the policy book as I told you?’ asked Harker.

  ‘No, because the inquiry wasn’t closed.’

  ‘Good,’ said Harker.

  ‘You thought it was the wrong man,’ said Temple, not able to let it go and wanting Harker’s acknowledgement of the fact.

  Harker shot a glance at him. He was tired from his own inquiry and in no mood for an argument, never mind give Temple any kind of apology.

  ‘Don’t write any more decisions, just leave it blank and give it to me. Now, tell me about your inquiry,’ he demanded.

  Temple looked back at him; he was angry. If he’d listened to Harker and took his order to close the inquiry, implicating James, Turner would still be free and an innocent dead lad would have been labelled a murderer. Temple had stopped that happening but looking at Harker now, he knew the only person who was going to profit from his efforts was Harker. Temple would have confronted him but for the now constant nagging matter of Roger and the inevitable consequences which wormed away at his mind, giving him no peace. Resignedly and stage by stage, Temple went through the investigation.

  ‘Greta was made vulnerable by the men she was surrounded by,’ Temple explained at the end of his briefing. ‘Both by the psychological effect they had on her and by placing her in danger when they no longer wanted her. Her father abused her, although it’s clear she didn’t recognize it as such and was a willing participant; when he wanted to pass her onto Maxwell, her feelings of rejection started, which gained momentum when she felt she was being rejected again by her husband. He was content to pass her onto Jonathan Silvester – as he had his first wife – and who is associated with her death. So, looking for security, she began a series of affairs. The exception was perhaps James who loved her, but that was doomed to failure. His hormones would have been racing and he would have had no chance of resisting her – the others hadn’t. The strange thing is, it seems he was going back to her that night, he was so close to either seeing her with Jonathan Silvester or Turner. So, along comes Turner, employed by her husband to find some dirt on her for a divorce, to leverage a small divorce payout. Only, no one knows who Turner is; Curtis Coleman farm the work out and lose control over who undertakes the task and in protecting their ‘client’ from getting his hands dirty, even Maxwell has no direct contact with him.’

  Harker sat listening, his face impassive, as Temple continued.

  ‘A loner, Turner preys on Greta, doubtless as he has done on any number of other women he’s been employed to follow. The last employers, Dobson & Byrne, have gone bust, shredding their records. There’s no record of where he’s been. Who knows what will be thrown up now we have his DNA on the database. This won’t be the first time he’s done this – he dealt only with matrimonial cases because he knows it lets him get really close to a woman, legitimately stalk her and get paid for it into the bargain. I suspect his MO is once he knows they’re over the side, he moves in and blackmails them for sex and/or money. In this case, he photographed Greta having sex with Marcus Hussain and blackmailed him as well—’

  ‘But that’s just supposition on your part at this stage, Temple—’ Harker interjected.

  ‘It’s all on his laptop, files of other women, but given his behaviour in this case, yes, I think that’s his MO. Turner didn’t want to give Maxwell what he’d found regarding Cooper because that was in the first month he employed him as I suspect, he did in the other cases. He saw Greta and what she was about – Cooper, Silvester, Hussain and James and must have thought all his Christmases had come at once. He strung it out. He got the keys to her house from the garage, having been led there by Hussain, and set up cameras which he monitored remotely, transferring what he found onto the internet. I think when he saw Silvester leave her that night, he saw his chance to have her at last. He’d watched everyone else having a piece of the action. He didn’t have to do anything; drug her, tie her, all the work had been done for him, all he had to do was help himself. She was left completely vulnerable. But he was a pervert with a predilection for extreme internet porn, a contributor who went by the name of Mr PI, obviously a reference to him being a private investigator. He had an opportunity to carry out a fantasy and he took it. And he nearly got away with it.’ Temple shot Harker a look.

  ‘What do we know about this bloke, this Ian Turner?’ asked Harker, ignoring his inference.

  ‘No more than I’ve told you, at this stage. He’s been off the radar. His DNA wasn’t in the system – perhaps he’d been careful up to now. No one’s reported him so far – out of fear or shame, I should imagine – but given his line of work, the fact he has aliases and he moves around, it’s going to take some time to build a picture, get some idea of the extent of what he’s been doing, if we ever do. Greta may or may not be the first woman he’s killed. There’s another laptop with a hard drive missing at the moment, so who knows what’s on that,’ Temple finished.

  ‘We live in a sex fuelled society, Temple. The internet has taken the place of the soft porn mag found on the top shelf at Smiths. Every dirty, filthy, perverted taste is catered for. The difference is, people in the shop could see and give a disapproving eye as the hand reached up for that top shelf. The internet gives access to a world of filth, virtually without anyone knowing who’s accessing it. It’s creating pervs – you only have to look at what it’s doing to kids.’ He looked at Temple, still unforgiving. ‘Everyone’s saying that you did a good job. Maybe. But there’s a young boy lying in the mortuary and an IPCC investigation. You’re still an arsehole, Temple.’

  Maybe I did a good job, thought Temple. He knew that was as close as he was ever going to get to an acknowledgement of good work from Clive Harker. But he knew he was right about James. Temple knew he should have gone himself that day to take the DNA and fingerprints instead of Sloper. He would have taken James to one side. He would have got him to talk to him, to open up, tell him what happened. He would have got him access to professional support. He sensed James had been close to wanting to tell him something when he went to see him initially. He had missed an opportunity, he could have perhaps saved him. He should have done more, Harker was right. He’d failed James. He should still be alive.

  ‘Before you go, Op Acre – I hear you’ve got an exhibit, a blue t-shirt. My blue t-shirt.’

  ‘Yes,’ Harker mumbled. ‘I’ll be meeting with ACC Buller, tell him what we’ve got and see whether or not the case will be re-opened. I’ll see that the t-shirt is sent to forensics. You’ll be updated.’ Harker left the room.

  Temple’s mobile rang. It was Graham Mellor.

  ‘Boss, we’ve had a result on Turner’s bank details. He’s got an address in Staines. I street viewed it with Google, it’s a grubby looking maisonette so I rang the local station and asked them to go round and gain entry. They’re continuing to search the place for us as we speak.’

  ‘They found anything yet?’

  ‘More computer equipment, which they’re seizing for us. I’ll send a couple of mine up to get it but it’s definitely his home. No sign of any other occupants, no female stuff at the house, seems like he lived alone,’ said Mellor.

  ‘Great, we need to find out who he is, what he’s been up to. Take a video camera up with you, will you, and make another search when you get there.’

  Over the internal tannoy system, a call went out for Temple to contact the front foyer. As he went to respond, Leigh called him to tell him she was home and looking forward to him joining them later. It felt good to hear her voice after his conversation with Harker. He needed her comfort, needed to go home, see Daisy, think about the last week, about what to do next.

  ‘I’ll be there, don’t worry,’ he reassured her.

  He knew he had to put things right between them and he couldn’t fuck it up. He couldn’t afford to – he had a feeling his chances were running out with Leigh. She knew he never set out to hurt her but he had. He’d hated the last e
ight months living apart, it had been a half existence, a shock to his system he hadn’t come to terms with. He felt an overwhelming desire to hurry home to them.

  ‘Just one thing,’ she said. ‘I told Daisy that you were coming home and she’s really happy. Thing is, she felt able to tell me that she’d told a lie. She said Roger hadn’t hit her after all. She’d made it up to try and get us living together again. Are you still there?’

  Temple was silent. He remembered how he’d rained punches down on Roger a few days ago. He remembered how he’d left him. He’d wanted to kill him. He looked at his hands. He forced the words out.

  ‘It’s OK. It’s fine,’ he lied, resting his head in his hand. Leigh filled the silence between them.

  ‘I just want us all back together. Here, where we should be,’ she replied.

  ‘Me, too,’ he said. Relief should have flooded through him; he’d wanted to hear Leigh say that for months but he couldn’t escape what he’d done to Roger and now it seemed, with no justification.

  ‘I’ve called the solicitor too, called off the divorce. I’ll see you later,’ she said. ‘I love you.’

  He wondered if she’d still say that if she knew what he’d done, if she knew he would lose his job – perhaps go to prison. She would know soon. Fuck, he thought, he should have spoken to Daisy himself, he would have got the truth out of her. A sense of gloom enveloped him which stopped him sharing Leigh’s happiness with the new situation. All thoughts of a happy reunion dissolved.

  He sighed deeply, knowing he had no one to blame but himself. He felt as though he was on a precipice, with Roger deciding his fate. A familiar dead weight of dread embedded itself deep in his guts. Maybe he could sort it, somehow. He suddenly felt as if he just wanted to shut his eyes and sleep but he knew he had to carry on.

  Temple went down to the cells to meet the interview teams who were preparing for the hours ahead. With both Turner and Jonathan Silvester in custody and Forrester and Maxwell in transit, they were all in for a long stint of interviews and Temple decided to focus all his remaining energy on them. Coordinating the teams, they went long into the night. He texted Leigh to say he’d see them both tomorrow evening due to the inquiry and at 2 a.m., when the interview teams finished and went home, he sat in an office and continued on.