* * *
It was mid-afternoon before Sophie had a chance to phone Jim Metcalfe, the ACC, and tell him what had happened. McCluskie was in a bad way, but stable.
‘He’s assaulted a fellow officer, sir. We need to move quickly.’
They discussed their next course of action. The best option would have been to apprehend the mole at work, but their suspect seemed to have vanished. No one had seen him since midday. Jim Metcalfe was using all of the resources at his disposal but, so far, with little result. Sophie hoped that their quarry would be traced soon. The last thing they could afford was a rogue cop on the loose with a gun, if it had been him who’d taken it years before.
CHAPTER 32: Death at the Waterside
Tuesday Evening, Week 3
Barry Marsh let himself into his small flat in Swanage and dropped his keys onto a shelf. He looked around the apartment that had been his home for the past six years and experienced a pang of nostalgia. It probably wouldn’t be his home for much longer. He and Gwen had already started talking about finding somewhere half way between their two workplaces in Dorset and Hampshire so they could move in together. A different future was looming and Marsh wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
He had just put the kettle on when the doorbell rang. He went to the hall and peered through the spy-hole in the door. Ah! An old friend. He opened the door. ‘Hello, Bob. Long time, no see. What are you doing here?’ He stood aside to admit his colleague from Bournemouth.
Bob Thompson seemed to be disoriented. He shrugged. ‘I just felt like things were getting on top of me, so I went out for a drive. I thought of you, so I came here on the off-chance.’
‘Okay. Do you want a drink? The kettle’s just boiled, but I’ve got beer in the fridge if you want one.’
Thompson stood looking around, as if unsure of where he was. ‘Not sure what I want.’
Marsh had an idea. ‘How about going out for a curry? It’s years since we went out together. It’ll be like the old days in Bournemouth when we flat-shared.’
Thompson smiled at last. ‘Okay. That’d be good.’
* * *
Half an hour later the two detectives were making their way to the local Indian restaurant. It had started raining and the wind was beginning to pick up. Tourists who had been happy to saunter slowly along the seafront were now beginning to hurry to shelter.
They arrived at the restaurant and Marsh pushed open the door. ‘It’s okay in here. The Madras is probably the best choice.’
They sipped at their lagers as they waited for the food to arrive. Marsh was becoming concerned about Thompson. He was jittery and seemed unable to concentrate on anything. ‘Listen, Bob,’ he said. ‘If you’re worried about something, tell me. You ought to be celebrating, after passing your inspector exam. You’ll be in with a chance for the next DI job to come up. You’re a good copper and you’ll do well.’
Underneath, Barry wasn’t so sure about this. He’d been friendly enough with Thompson during their years as rookie cops in Bournemouth, but he’d never been able to get close to his friend. He’d been hurt when, after they’d moved to different parts of the county, Thompson hadn’t bothered to keep in touch. It had begun to look as if, for Thompson, the friendship had just been one of convenience. Ah well, thought Marsh, all water under the bridge. Clearly something was upsetting Thompson just now. The problem was, Thompson was being very uncommunicative, even for him. He answered every one of Marsh’s questions with a single word, or a shrug.
Marsh tried again. ‘C’mon, Bob. You can do better than that. Matt Silver’s taken you round every possible place in the county. You must have some idea of where you’d like to go.’
The food arrived, but Thompson merely picked at it. Marsh had had enough. ‘Okay, Bob. Out with it. What’s bothering you?’
There was a long pause and then Thompson said, ‘I’ve fucked it all up. All of it. It’s all gone down the pan and I don’t know what to do.’
At this, Marsh’s brain began to whir. He started to process the events, clues and hints that he had picked up in recent days. But before he could think how to react, the restaurant door opened. A familiar figure entered and looked him in the eye.
She shook her head gently.
* * *
Sophie was at home in Wareham, waiting restlessly. Bent police officers were her worst nightmare. Her role-models in the force, Harry Turner and Archie Campbell, had both told her that a single rotten police officer could do more damage than a whole gang of crooks. That one person could destroy trust and working relationships that had been built over years, causing people to question the value of upholding the law.
She wondered if Martin, her husband, had noticed how edgy she was. Probably, but he knew her too well to make any comment. He just refilled her coffee cup when required.
Her mobile phone rang shortly before eight o’clock. It was Jim Metcalfe. When the call ended, she picked up her keys and was almost out of the door when she stopped in her tracks. She turned, went back to her husband, and hugged him tightly.
‘Martin, I love you so much. I may not say it often, but you are the very best thing in my life. I just wanted you to know that.’
She turned and left, leaving Martin with his mouth open.
Sophie drove to Swanage, and pulled up in the lower end of the High Street, close to an unmarked police car. She spoke to the occupants, and waited. Within ten minutes Greg Buller’s snatch squad arrived in their van, closely followed by Jim Metcalfe. Sophie was determined to try and resolve the situation without resorting to violence, and argued her case forcefully. The area was full of visitors, tourists and locals out for a relaxing evening. Sophie pulled off her fashionable green and gold zipper jacket and put on a bullet-proof vest. She tried to put the jacket back on but couldn’t get the zip all the way up. No matter. It hid most of her protective layer. Then she walked, head held high, to the restaurant door, accompanied by Buller’s reassuring bulk.
‘Where are they sitting?’ she asked.
‘At a table halfway along the back wall. We’ve had someone go inside for a moment, to collect a takeaway menu. He’s just described the layout. Take care, won’t you? We could wait till they come out, like I said just now.’
‘I don’t think it will pan out that way. I think he’s come down here to see Barry for a reason, and it won’t take Barry long to guess what’s been going on. I’m worried that he’ll make some kind of move himself, and I really don’t want to chance losing him. They were friends years ago, Greg. Barry will feel betrayed.’
She turned and opened the restaurant door. Inside, the two detectives were sitting exactly as Buller had described, with Marsh facing her. He looked up in surprise as she entered, and Sophie put a finger to her lips and moved over to their table. Thompson glanced up as she slid into the seat next to his. He had been holding his fork in his right hand, and he lowered it. Sophie grabbed hold of his wrist, keeping it clamped against the top of the table.
‘Let’s be sensible about this, Bob. There are too many people here. Look around you.’
At the table beside theirs sat a family with three children, two chattering away and the third working on a colouring book. On the other side an elderly couple were sitting, about to order dessert.
She felt Thompson’s arm muscles tauten, and then relax. ‘How long have you known?’
‘Known? For a few days. Suspected? Since the middle of last week. But today was something else, Bob. McCluskie’s been working for me, so what you did made it personal. And do you know what the worst part was? I had to keep it all from Barry, something I’ve never had to do before. And you forced that on me.’ While she was speaking, her left hand was feeling in the pockets of his jacket, which hung from the back of his chair. Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Stupid of me,’ Thompson said. ‘I can guess what you’re looking for. It’s out in the car back at Barry’s place, in the glove box, neatly wrapped in a cloth, all ready for you like a pres
ent.’ He laughed. ‘I mean, what would be the point of bringing it out with me when all I was doing was going for a curry with an old mate?’ He turned to face her. ‘I bet Buller’s outside with the heavy mob.’
She nodded and looked across at Marsh. ‘It wasn’t meant to be like this, with Barry here. I knew that he still valued the friendship you had. McCluskie went out on a limb, and what you did to him forced the issue. And you still haven’t asked how he is, by the way.’
‘That’s what the job does to you. Removes all trace of human feeling. I’ve turned into a bloody robot.’
‘So why did you end up nearly killing him?’
‘One of the guys in the pub called me,’ he said. ‘He knew that I used to keep an eye on old Phil Woodruff, so he let me know that McCluskie was poking his nose around. That’s why I messaged him about meeting up. I wanted to warn him to steer clear. But when we met he went at it like a bull in a china shop. He wanted to get even with you and use any information about the Woodruffs he could get his hands on to spike your guns. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and I was running out of patience. I just lost it all of a sudden, and socked him one. He fell heavily. I looked up and saw that kid watching, so I left.’
‘So you were involved with the Woodruffs?’ Sophie asked.
‘I’m saying nothing more, not now.’
Sophie looked around her. ‘Enough of this. Let’s go, and let these people get on with their meals.’
She kept her arm on his as they got up. Could she breathe a sigh of relief? She wasn’t sure. She could still feel the tension in Thompson’s body. Should she have tried to cuff him? Surely he’d realise there was no escape?
A fraction of a second before Thompson acted, she knew she’d misjudged. But she had no time to make a move. He suddenly lunged sideways to break her grip, twisted around and crashed through the doorway to the kitchen, colliding with a waiter carrying a tray of food. Sophie and Marsh hurried after him, treading broken crockery, as Thompson made for the delivery door at the rear. The door slammed back against the wall and Thompson tussled briefly with the cop stationed at the entrance, who lost his footing on the wet, cobbled surface. Thompson disappeared along a narrow alley, with Sophie and Marsh in hot pursuit. More booted feet followed behind them. She and Marsh heard other unit members hurrying along the High Street, parallel to the alleyway.
‘He can’t get anywhere,’ Marsh gasped. ‘He’s cut off, but he doesn’t know it.’
They took a left turn, following Thompson’s shadowy form as he burst across the High Street, just in front of Buller. Thompson slowed as he approached the seafront, hesitated then turned left. He was trapped. He ran onto a nearby boating jetty and then stopped, looking around him. He moved slowly to the edge of the timber platform.
‘Don’t be stupid, Bob!’ Marsh shouted. He and Sophie had stopped a few yards short of their quarry. ‘The water’s bloody freezing at this time of year and it’s only three feet deep. You’ll get cold and wet, and I’ll have to get cold and wet coming in after you. What good would that do anyone?’
They watched in horror as Thompson shrugged his jacket aside, pulled a handgun from his waistband and held it to his head.
‘Fooled you though, didn’t I? Fuck the lot of you!’
He pulled the trigger, and the explosive crack echoed across the water. Thompson toppled sideways into the dark sea.
* * *
The local police premises had been temporarily taken over for the debriefing. The atmosphere was subdued. Barry Marsh was silent and pale, shaking his head occasionally as if the whole event had been a bad dream.
Jim Metcalfe, the ACC, listened to their accounts. ‘I think he had some kind of plan for this evening. I don’t know what it was, but it probably involved you, Barry. He had the gun with him and to me, that suggests he was up to something serious. We’ll never know what it was. What I will say is this. We brought things to a conclusion that may not have been satisfactory from our point of view, but the important thing is that public safety was not threatened. It could have developed into a hostage situation, but it didn’t. We must be grateful for that. I’ll speak to the chief and tell her what’s happened. Let’s all go home and try to get some sleep, then we’ll work on it tomorrow. We have to think where we go from here.’
The group dispersed and made their way out of the building.
‘I still can’t get my head round it,’ Marsh said to Sophie. ‘I keep thinking it can’t be true. How did it come to this? Why would he do it? Why would he ruin his career by getting involved with an outfit like the Woodruffs? It just doesn’t make sense.’
‘It didn’t start just in the past couple of years, Barry. My guess is that it had its origins all those years ago when you were both young cops and came into contact with the old guy, Phil Woodruff.’
‘But why didn’t I know? No one ever came near me.’
‘They spotted a weakness in him, that’s why. He’s always been a bit full of his own importance — in my opinion anyway. The way they work is as old as the hills. Start small, then work up. They’d have slipped him a tenner, or done him a favour. Anything to get a young, inexperienced cop hooked. And then, slowly, it gets more serious. And before you know it, you can’t escape. I’ve seen it before. By the time he realised what was really going on, it was too late. You weren’t approached because they didn’t see that same weakness in you. And, let’s face it, he hasn’t been the most loyal of friends from what you’ve said. There was a superficiality about him, a self-obsession. Why else would he take that gun and hide it unused for four years? What does that tell you?’
‘I don’t want to hear this,’ Marsh said.
‘Of course you don’t. What you need is some company. I’m going to phone Gwen. You need her with you tonight.’ She sighed. ‘And then I’ve got to phone Kevin McGreedie. He’ll be devastated. He was Thompson’s boss for the last three years.’
CHAPTER 33: Poaching Plans
Wednesday Morning, Week 3
Sophie sipped at her coffee. She was sitting in the Assistant Chief Constable’s office at police headquarters, discussing the latest developments with Jim Metcalfe. He asked for her thoughts.
‘I think Blythe’s been oiling some cogs in the casino licensing process, and he gets cash in return. He went to Phil Woodruff’s funeral for a purpose, maybe to collect the money. After all, it should have been totally safe, with only close family and friends there. But the Armitage couple wandered in by mistake. My guess is that that they didn’t see anything suspicious, but Blythe and Woodruff didn’t know that. So the old couple were tracked down and killed.’
‘Seems extreme, doesn’t it?’
‘Woodruff has applications in for several casino developments with a total value of ten million. If it got out that bribes were involved, the whole scheme would be scuppered. They wouldn’t want to chance that.’
‘Where’s the money coming from?’ Metcalfe asked.
‘It’s Frimwell cash. Blythe’s wife and Woodruff’s wife are twin sisters. Ricky Frimwell is their half-brother.’
The ACC looked shocked. ‘Are you the right person to be dealing with this? With the Frimwell connection, I mean?’
‘I don’t have a problem with Frimwell,’ Sophie replied. ‘It’s his uncle, Charlie Duff. Him, I never want to see again or even think about. I wonder if Frimwell has been running all this from his prison cell in Long Lartin. His sister Carol, Blythe’s wife, has been visiting him regularly. Sorrento, whose body we found last week, also went to see him. You know what Frimwell’s like. He doesn’t pussyfoot around. Anyone who crosses him gets chopped. We know that. It explains why we’ve got these dead bodies on our hands, two of them innocent of anything at all.’
‘How did the gang identify the old couple? They couldn’t have been there more than a minute or two. Whoever killed them went to a lot of trouble.’
Sophie shrugged. ‘If they watched them getting into their car, then they might have used the registration. It’s
possible that Thompson played a part, using the PNC. If so, we should be able to trace his activity. But there are another couple of issues that are muddying the water for us, so we’re not ready to move yet.’
The ACC stroked his chin. ‘How’s your DS taking last night’s events? He was close to Thompson at one time, wasn’t he?’
‘Barry will be fine, sir. I got his fiancé to come over last night. She’s a DS in Southampton. She’ll have looked after him.’
‘What about the Armitage daughter? The doctor? How’s she coping?’
‘I’m seeing her now, on my way back to Blandford. She likes to be kept up to date, but I’ll give her the abridged version.’
The ACC looked at his watch. ‘Time for me to set off for Poole Hospital to check on McCluskie. I phoned earlier and they told me he was in a medically induced coma. They plan to keep him that way for a couple of days. But I need to show my face. What was he up to, Sophie?’
She rose, deciding not to tell him everything she’d gleaned from Thompson the previous night. With McCluskie still critically ill, the right thing to do was give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘God knows,’ she finally said. ‘Some scheme of his own. Blackman is adamant that McCluskie was acting alone. Apparently he was asking his old cronies what they knew about the Woodruffs. We’re assuming that someone didn’t like it and somehow let Thompson know. But the attack followed so fast. To my mind, that means one of those men McCluskie met for lunch knew about the Thompson-Woodruff deal. Whoever it was called Thompson right away. And they were all ex-cops, which makes it a bit worrying. Well, it’s your problem, sir, not mine. Thank goodness.’
* * *
Barry Marsh and Rae Gregson were back at the council chambers. They were scrutinising every commercial planning and licensing decision that had involved Councillor Blythe, and had spotted a sequence that would have benefitted the Woodruffs or the Frimwells. There was little doubt — these two family-based businesses seemed to have received favourable treatment for several of their club and casino developments. The two detectives took away copies of some of the planning application documents and minutes of the planning meetings. Councillor Blythe had played a prominent role in all of them.
TWISTED CRIMES a gripping detective mystery full of suspense Page 20