TWISTED CRIMES a gripping detective mystery full of suspense

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  CHAPTER 36: Foot in the Door

  Thursday Morning, Week 3

  Sophie watched Woodruff stalk out of the building, kicking at a large planter filled with spring-flowering blooms.

  ‘He doesn’t look happy, does he?’ She, Marsh and Rae watched their quarry take out his mobile phone and make a short call. He then got into a shiny, black Mercedes and reversed it out of its parking place, engine revving.

  ‘Shall I follow, ma’am?’ Marsh asked from the driving seat.

  ‘Why not? We’re in no hurry, and he looks as though he’s off to meet someone. I may alert some of the mobile squads that we’re on the move.’

  They followed the big black limousine towards the centre of Bournemouth, where it pulled up in a side street in the commercial district. Marsh drove Sophie’s car close in behind it.

  ‘Follow him, Rae. He hasn’t met you. I want to see what he’s up to.’

  Rae got out of the car and hurried after the striding figure of Woodruff. He walked down the hill and into a bank. Rae followed, pulling her purse out of her shoulder bag as if she was just about to withdraw some cash. Woodruff spoke to a receptionist. Clearly he was demanding to see a manager. A few seconds later, a smartly dressed man appeared and ushered Woodruff into an office. Rae lingered near the door, leafing through some investment brochures. She didn’t have long to wait. The door crashed open and Woodruff stormed out, his face red. He turned to the bank manager, who held his hands out.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do, Mr Woodruff. The accounts have all been frozen by the new board. Your wife phoned in the instruction just ten minutes ago.’

  ‘It’s my fucking money! Mine. Not hers! Christ. What do I have to do to get some cash here?’

  The manager glanced over to a bank security guard who’d started to walk towards them. He stood waiting, a few yards away. Woodruff looked around him at the people queuing for the cashier. They were all staring.

  ‘Ah, fuck the lot of you!’ Wayne marched towards the door, where he hesitated before flinging the door open.

  Rae followed Woodruff out of the building, and returned to Sophie’s car.

  ‘My guess is that he made an attempt to clean out the accounts,’ she reported. ‘But he got nothing. His wife’s blocked him. At least that’s what I think’s happened. He was still arguing with the manager when they came out of his office.’

  Sophie was watching Woodruff. ‘He’s making a phone call. Let’s wait and see what he does next.’

  The Mercedes turned and headed a short distance back along the road before taking a left turn.

  ‘I think we need to update the control centre. He may be up to something. Keep talking about where we are, Barry, while I make the call.’

  ‘This road takes us down past the council chambers,’ Marsh said. ‘Could he have been phoning Blythe?’

  The Mercedes pulled up close to the council offices and waited with its engine still running. Within a few minutes, Councillor Blythe hurried out of a side door and crossed the road. He leaned in the passenger window, seeming to argue with the man in the driving seat. Finally, Blythe got in the car and they drove away. Marsh followed, keeping a safe distance, as Woodruff’s car skirted the town centre and made its way west. Sophie asked the mobile units to remain on alert until needed. They trailed the Mercedes towards Poole, and into the entertainment district. Their quarry finally turned into the car park of a casino club, closed at this time of day. Marsh drew up in the street nearby, and they watched as the two men left their vehicle and walked to a side door which opened to Woodruff’s knock.

  Marsh checked his notes. ‘The Boulevard Casino Club, one of the Woodruff places. The licensee and manager is Terence Barber, nickname Toffee. He has a record for theft and petty crime plus one conviction for intimidation, none of it recent. He’s kept out of trouble for a long time now.’

  ‘Or so it seems,’ Sophie added. ‘I know this is difficult for you Barry, but we don’t know how much Bob Thompson was protecting them.’

  ‘What could they be here for?’ wondered Marsh.

  ‘A panic meeting, I expect. They’re probably talking through their options,’ Sophie replied. ‘From what Rae overheard at the bank, Woodruff’s wife has just frozen all the accounts. What’s her name, Rae?’

  ‘Sue. And Blythe’s married to her sister, Carol.’

  ‘So the locked accounts might have affected both of these two. I’ve been trying to remember their wives from the Frimwell court case two years ago. I think I might have spoken to Sue once. She was with the mother, and they both looked totally devastated. I wonder what’s been going on?’

  ‘Maybe the rest of the family have discovered what those two have been up to,’ Marsh said. ‘Maybe they were happy to go along with a bit of sleaze and bribery, but once they realised that people were getting murdered, they backed off. They are our prime suspects, aren’t they? For the murders, I mean?’

  ‘Woodruff and Blythe? It’s looked that way for some time. This guy Barber is new, though. We haven’t looked at him, have we?’

  Rae shook her head. ‘No. And this is the nearest of their places to Wareham Forest. It’s easy to get to from here, twenty minutes tops.’ ‘Anything else we need to know?’

  Marsh scanned his notes again. ‘You remember the decorating jobs that Pete Armitage did at some of the Woodruff places? Well, this was the first one. From what he told us, I’d guess it was about ten years ago.’

  A mobile phone trilled, making them jump.

  ‘I’ve got Thompson’s mobile in my bag,’ Sophie hissed. ‘Answer it for me, Barry. Keep it to a minimum and try to sound like him.’ She handed the phone over.

  ‘Yeah?’ grunted Marsh. It was Woodruff.

  ‘We’ve got a problem. We need to meet. Just you, me and Toffee.’

  Sophie shook her head.

  ‘No,’ Marsh replied.

  ‘Waddya mean, no? Don’t try to fuck around with me, you creep. You do as I say, or a big, fat dossier lands on your boss’s desk and you’re up shit creek. We’re at the Boulevard club. Get yourself across here now.’ The call ended.

  Marsh shook his head. ‘So Bob was being blackmailed. Now we know.’

  ‘We’d guessed that, Barry. That’s why he seemed so depressed and withdrawn. He couldn’t see a way out. The problem for us is what do we do now? Any ideas?’

  ‘They know both of you, ma’am. They don’t know me,’ said Rae. ‘Can we use that?’

  ‘These men are probably killers, Rae. I’m not sending you in there on some kind of scouting mission.’

  ‘But isn’t there a standby unit waiting just round the corner? I could be wired up.’

  ‘What for? No, absolutely not. I’ve been prevaricating far too long. It’s time to confront them, so let’s do it. You stay here, Rae, and keep an eye on the place. I’ll check that the support units are ready, then Barry and I will go in for a chat.’

  ‘I’m with you, ma’am,’ Marsh said. ‘Let’s stir them up a bit. It’s about time.’

  Sophie’s phone rang with an unknown number, and a woman spoke.

  ‘Is that DCI Allen? It’s Sue Woodruff here. I’ve taken over the business, and I don’t like some of the things that have been happening. Can we talk? Off the record, I mean?’

  * * *

  The two detectives rapped on the door and waited. It was opened by the same man who’d let Woodruff and Blythe in, ten minutes earlier.

  Sophie held out her warrant card. ‘Mr Barber? I’m DCI Allen and this is DS Marsh. We’re responding to a call for police attendance made from this building to a local CID officer a few minutes ago. We have a backup unit just around the corner. May we come in?’

  The man looked puzzled. ‘But there was no . . .’

  Sophie put her foot in the door. ‘The caller was clearly distressed and seemed to know the CID officer personally. We have a duty to check that everyone is safe. Please let us in. I don’t want to have to force an entry, but I am prepared to do so as a resul
t of the call, which gave us significant cause for concern.’

  Barber stood with his mouth open, and the two detectives pushed past him into a clean, well-lit lobby area.

  ‘Thank you for allowing us entry, Mr Barber,’ Sophie said. ‘We’d like to check on the safety of the caller, so if you could point us in his direction please?’

  They walked in. Nice colours, thought Sophie, looking around her. Pete Armitage had been right to praise his own work. They could hear voices coming from an open door to their left, obviously the manager’s office. Woodruff made a lunge for the doorway as Sophie and Marsh entered, but Marsh grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. Sophie slipped her taser from its holster and turned to Barber. 'Don't try anything. It really wouldn't be in your best interests.' She radioed the backup unit, then turned back to the man at the desk.

  ‘Good morning, Councillor. And to you, Mr Woodruff. We met briefly last week at your pub over in Pokesdown, if you remember.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Woodruff spluttered, his face contorted with anger and his arm still held in a lock by Marsh.

  ‘Responding to the call you made for a CID officer. I explained this to Mr Barber at the door. I know you requested a specific officer — DS Thompson — but he’s unable to make it.’ She waited.

  ‘It wasn’t a 999 call. I called his mobile.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Why did you need him here? It sounded extremely urgent. I’ve brought a five-man snatch squad with me because the phone message sounded so desperate. They’re parked just around the corner, kitted out in all the gear. Raring to go. Ready to tear limb from limb, as it were. Do you mean there isn’t an emergency?’

  Blythe looked at Woodruff blankly.

  ‘In that case why did you make that call to DS Thompson’s phone? How did you get his number? Why was he known to you? It was you, wasn’t it, Mr Woodruff? Can you answer me, please?’

  Woodruff was silent. She walked across to the desk and glanced at the documents spread across its surface. A shredding machine sat beside the desk, unplugged.

  ‘Mr Woodruff, you are aware that we are investigating the suspicious death of your business manager, Tony Sorrento. I expressly forbade the shredding of any of your organisation’s documentation. We assumed that everything of importance would be at your head office in Pokesdown, but clearly that isn’t the case. I can see some planning documents here, with council stamps on them.’ She pulled them towards her. ‘And the signing-off initials are TB. Would they be yours, Councillor, by any chance?’ She looked at the three men, her face expressionless. ‘Let me explain the situation. We’ve had three murders. The elderly couple found at Morden Bog and Tony Sorrento a mile away, in Wareham Forest. These places are only twenty minutes’ drive from here. In both cases there’s a link to you, Mr Woodruff, and to you, Councillor Blythe. This stuff,’ she waved her hand across the spread documents, ‘Reinforces that connection.’

  They heard the sound of a van drawing up outside the window. Marsh looked at Barber. ‘Better be quick and let them in, otherwise your door will be flattened. They love using the ram, those guys.’

  Barber hurried out of the room and they heard the sound of heavy footfalls approaching.

  Sophie looked at Woodruff. ‘I am arresting you for the murders of Edward Armitage, Sylvia Armitage and Tony Sorrento. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ She then turned to Blythe and repeated the words, just as the uniformed police officers entered the room.

  She turned to Barber. ‘Is that your vehicle? The green Land Rover in the manager’s slot?’

  ‘Yes,’ Barber said.

  ‘The one with several weeks’ worth of accumulated mud in the wheel arches?’

  He glared at Sophie.

  ‘Wonderful stuff, dried gunk. Forensic analysis can pinpoint its origins down to the exact mud patch it came from. Barry, over to you this time.’

  Marsh read Barber his rights and he, too, was led out.

  ‘I think we got here just in time, ma’am. Another hour and all this stuff would have been shredded.’

  CHAPTER 37: Balaclava and Baseball Bats

  Thursday Afternoon, Week 3

  A young Asian woman rapped on the glass door of Sophie’s office. She waved and started to rise from her seat. Lydia!

  ‘Hello, ma’am, I’m a bit confused. My boss only spoke to me late yesterday about coming on loan to you for a day or two. It’s great to be with you again, but what’s it all about?’

  Sophie gave her a hug. ‘First, I hear congratulations are due. You’ve passed your sergeant exams. That’s great news! And I love the new hairstyle. That short, spiky look really suits you. Listen, would you like to stay until the weekend? Our spare room’s always ready, and Jade would love to have you around for a few evenings.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful, ma’am, but I’m not sure . . .’

  Sophie elaborated. ‘Barry’s got engaged to Gwen. He proposed last weekend. We’re having a celebration on Saturday night.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘Well, that changes everything! Count me in, though I haven’t bought any party clothes with me.’

  ‘Not a problem. We’ll go out on a celebration shopathon with Jade on Saturday morning. She’s always telling me I need new clothes.’ She paused. ‘That’s if we can get this all wrapped up before then. That’s why you’re here. We need an expert in licensing and planning fraud, and also someone who can spot discrepancies in accounts. And then there’s the other thing.’

  Lydia waited. ‘I’m not a mind reader, ma’am.’

  Sophie told her about Bob Thompson.

  Lydia shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it! How’s Barry coping?’

  ‘He’s okay. It’s hit him hard, though, I can tell. But he’ll get over it. The two of them hadn’t been close for years, apparently.’

  ‘So . . . what you’re saying is, there’ll be a vacancy for a DS in Kevin McGreedie’s unit?’

  Sophie nodded.

  ‘And you want me to apply?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve done two years in the financial unit, and it’s been good experience for you. But don’t you think it’s time for a change? Anyway, I’ve missed having you around, Lydia. Not that you’d be working for me, because I’ve got Rae. You’d be Kevin’s second, and that means you’ll be Jimmy Melsom’s boss.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘I don’t know whether that would be a good or bad thing. But the idea is very tempting. I’ll definitely consider it. And thanks for thinking of me.’

  ‘We don’t have anyone in the force with your specialist auditing skills, Lydia. You could train up Rae, she’s got the right mindset.’ Sophie looked at her. ‘And I hope you’ve got over your doubts about me.’

  Lydia was silent for a few moments. ‘Rae’s your transgender person, isn’t she? Things must be hard for her. I can sympathise, being from a minority myself. You can see people’s response, even if they don’t say anything, but in her case it’ll be worse.’

  Sophie saw that she wasn’t going to get a response. ‘She’s a really good detective and she works hard. She’s out on a search at the moment, but you can have a chat with her at Barry’s do at the weekend.’

  ‘Okay. Well I’d better start looking at these accounts, hadn’t I?’

  They went through to the main incident room, where Barry Marsh was sorting through the pile of folders retrieved from the Rising Moon and the Boulevard club. Sophie left them working, and made her way to the interview room to confront Toffee Barber, the club manager. They needed more information about Rod Armitage’s connection with the club. But Barber refused to speak. Sophie looked out of the window at the pouring rain. I must be losing my touch, she thought wearily.

  * * *

  Barry Marsh felt as though his emotions had been squeezed through a mangle. The events of Tuesday evening, when his erstwhile friend Bob Thompson had been re
vealed as crooked and had then taken his own life, were still resonating in his brain. Some of the tension had dissipated, but Marsh couldn’t relax. Aspects of the case just didn’t ring true. Exactly how had they murdered the Armitage couple? Okay, it was meant to remove two people who’d witnessed the handing of a large backhander to Blythe, but what of the actual sequence of events? Marsh was having trouble concentrating on the files in front of him, whereas Lydia seemed to relish the task. Well, he could leave her to it now she was here. Maybe some fresh air was the answer.

  He left the police station and walked south, soon reaching the green waters of the River Stour. He looked about him, seeing swans and ducks. Parents with toddlers were throwing bread to the birds. He shaded his eyes from the sun’s glare and looked along the course of the flowing river. There would be a long-distance footpath along the riverbank as it meandered towards the coast. Dorset had countless miles of footpaths, heading in all directions, crossing farmland, moors, woodland, coastal cliffs, and bogs.

  Of course! You could walk from here to Morden Bog. You’d need to go about three miles south-west by the river, then turn due south for five miles. Eight miles in total. Someone without a vehicle, someone fit, healthy and used to walking would be able to complete the journey both ways in less than six hours. There would have been no need for a car. That’s why no tyre tracks had been found.

  Who knew about Morden Bog? Who stood to gain from the deaths? Who would know the footpath network? Who was fit and healthy enough to manage a sixteen mile walk overnight? Who’d known all about the Woodruff setup? And finally, who owned surprisingly high-quality walking boots and waterproofs? Marsh punched the air, then looked around, embarrassed. Nobody had seen him, thank goodness. Suddenly he was feeling a whole lot better.

  * * *

  Sophie picked at an errant strand of her short, blonde hair. ‘The problem is, Barry, his flat’s been searched, thoroughly. Blackman and McCluskie did a really good job on it, and found nothing. If he did gain something for his trouble, where would he have hidden it?’