bloke, the threat’s still active IMHO. 16:16
Martin Walker
Fine – then let’s only use this group if it’s
absolutely critical. Does that work for you Phil? 16:18
Phil Maddox
Sure. I just want to make sure we’ve got all our
bases covered. Like I always used to . . . 16:19
Chapter 30
Raymond Spinney enjoyed his excursions into London. They were increasingly rare because of the virus of CCTV cameras around the capital. An associate once told him there were over four hundred thousand of them in the city, which worked out roughly at one for every fourteen people. They were everywhere these days – in the streets, on the underground, on the buses, even in the taxis. He wore a long dark coat with usefully long collars, which he wore up. Just another old man, mingling among the throng.
He caught the tube to Tottenham Court Road then made his way to a small coffee shop which sat equidistant between New Oxford Street and the British Museum. The Italian-run cafe was often overlooked by the youngsters who preferred their syrup-filled monstrosities. He was pleased to see Godden already there waiting. He ordered an espresso, then joined him at a small table at the back.
Godden rose to greet him, smiling awkwardly.
‘You could have warned me in advance what you were planning. It’s difficult to help you when I’m finding things out second hand from that idiot Warrender.’
Spinney ignored him and took a sip of his coffee, a flicker of appreciation on his face as it went down. Godden always found him impossible to read. You could never gauge his mood. His voice gave little away either, always even and precise. Spinney fixed him with a lizard-like stare.
‘Just tell me concisely what they know.’
At Chapel Row, Jim Farmer was struggling to find his focus. Sifting through historic paperwork was monotonous work. He’d signed up for the car chases and dawn raids. The material on Erik Whitlock – most of it reams of thick court transcripts – was dry as a bone. But he knew if he missed something important, Warrender would chew him out. Worse still, Godden would be angry at his sloppiness, and he hated the thought of that. Mike Godden was someone whose respect mattered to him. He’d looked out for him, steering him clear of the usual rookie mistakes. In turn Farmer saw the older man as something of a mentor. Today though, he couldn’t shake the feeling something was amiss. The DS was lying about where he was. He was sure of it. For the first time the banter between them hadn’t felt genuine. It was possible he was dealing with a personal issue, but if so, why not simply tell him that? He’d been odd ever since that DC from south London came to visit. On a whim Farmer logged into the PNC. He opened a new search box, and cross-checked the name ‘Erik Whitlock’ with ‘Mike Godden’. He expected nothing, but to his surprise a small list of results appeared. As he began to read them, so his eyes began to widen.
You didn’t actually have a conversation with Ray Spinney, thought Godden. He spoke in short staccato sentences, and you ended up responding with long detailed explanations in return. Your own questions were only answered with a question back. Godden was smart enough to know it was probably a deliberate strategy; in its own way, no different to the techniques you might use in the interview room to break a suspect down.
Try as he might, he never seemed to come away from their meetings feeling anything other than unsettled. It was always a relief when he could get away, and that went beyond the simple concern of being spotted together. The man made you feel uncomfortable. As he made his way on to the concourse at Liverpool Street station, he scanned the departure boards and was grateful to see the next train was only a six-minute wait. By the time he got back to Chapel Row it would have been a three-hour round trip. Long enough to look legit, short enough that a covering lie would keep people at bay if they asked.
He reflected on his conversation in the cafe. Spinney was after information about the fire crew – more specifically, the police investigation into the two murders. It was surprising given they had someone in custody now. It was also unlike the so-called Handyman to show signs of unease. Perhaps after holding such control over the Stansted investigation, the idea of an unknown team digging into his affairs was rattling him. Or maybe it was because his name had come up at the press conference at Cedar House. He’d specifically asked Godden to bring information on the officers leading the inquiry. It was as close to a red line as Godden was prepared to draw, and it certainly hadn’t been part of the original brief. He was fairly certain Spinney would never kill a police officer. The man was smart enough to know it would change the tempo of everything. But he was an inveterate collector of information, and Godden was hoping he just wanted to know who the main players were in south London. Someone must have done the same due diligence on him once upon a time, he realised.
Before leaving for London, Godden found the details of DI Finn, who’d so wound up Warrender earlier, and the young DC – Paulsen – who’d visited Chapel Row. The nature of Spinney’s interest said it all; he’d wanted to know about their personal lives – where they lived, who they lived with. A little digging on the net showed Finn appeared to be in a relationship with a local solicitor. Paulsen’s Facebook profile suggested a gay relationship with a trainee social worker. That’d disappoint Jimmy Farmer if he ever found out. Godden crossed his fingers he was right about Spinney’s motives regarding the pair. He could only care so much though; it was hard enough keeping his own arse out of the fire.
His train of thought was disrupted as he felt a mobile phone vibrate in his pocket. It was the one he used uniquely for Spinney. He read the text and stopped in his tracks.
Someone’s looking into you. Find out who and shut them down.
He tried to fully assimilate the implications. Who the hell would be doing that, and why? What could they have discovered? And how did Spinney even know? At least that one he could guess at; there must be another inside man somewhere. How naïve was Godden to think he was the only one? They could be at any station in the country. All it needed was someone with the necessary IT skills to set up an alert if Godden’s name was being run through the system. His mind was racing now; if he was compromised then so was Spinney and his life wouldn’t be worth a thing. He glanced up at the departure board clock, and saw he now only had three minutes to catch his train. The station was starting to fill with rush hour commuters. He sprinted for the barriers with a growing fear his life might just depend on it.
Forty minutes later he arrived back at Chapel Row. He’d almost expected to find anti-corruption officers waiting for him at the front desk, but things seemed fine. As he walked back in, he glanced around carefully. Farmer was where he’d left him, still at his desk, working at his computer. Godden popped his head round the door and produced a casual grin.
‘Everything okay, Jim?’
Farmer looked up, but there was no returning smile.
‘Did you ever meet Erik Whitlock in person?’
The question felt like a steel blade to the guts. Godden raised an eyebrow as if it struck him as odd.
‘Don’t think so. Why do you ask?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I don’t know, mate. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve interviewed this week, let alone way back when. What’s this all about?’
‘I found a report of a meeting you had with him here six years ago.’
Godden felt his stomach heave. Nothing good could possibly come from this.
‘Maybe I did, it’s possible – like I say, I can’t remember every conversation.’
‘And you can’t recall this one, or what it was about?’
‘Nope.’ The word hung there, and Godden knew exactly what Farmer was thinking. That the man he’d met an hour earlier – Raymond Spinney, the Handyman – possessed officers on his payroll; bent police who were derailing the very investigation they were there to pursue, and Mike Godden might very well be one of them.
‘There’s no record of what was discusse
d, just the date and the time. Why wouldn’t it have been recorded?’
Godden knew full well why. Police in north London were investigating the post office raids Spinney was thought to be behind. They’d followed the money and drawn a line between Spinney and Whitlock, one of the first occasions the connection was made. The Handyman hadn’t been prepared to lose his prize launderer and asked for Godden’s help to shield him. Godden had found a pretext to bring Whitlock in for a chat. By feeding back his own version of that interview, he’d been able to temporarily steer the investigating officers away. It was enough for what was needed at the time. Later, when Whitlock’s notoriety grew, nobody questioned that early brief intersection with the law. Godden hadn’t taken to the man though. He was arrogant and seemed to think his very particular skillset made him an underworld celebrity. Or maybe he just knew that when you were protected by men like Ray Spinney you could afford to be confident. He’d treated Godden with disdain that day. Later when it emerged he’d died in the Pacific Square blaze, the policeman hadn’t shed any tears. The real question was how a record of that meeting remained in the system. He thought he’d removed it a long time ago. That was the trouble with the electronic age, nothing’s ever really deleted or destroyed any more.
‘Must have just been an informal chat, mate, so there was no solicitor present. If it was something important I’d have remembered it. And if you’re saying six years ago – that was before Stansted, so not really relevant, eh?’
Farmer looked far from convinced.
‘Look, I better crack on, I’ve wasted enough of the afternoon already. It’s honestly nothing to worry about, Jim. We could have been talking to him about anything. He was constantly on our radar at the time.’
The younger officer’s face relaxed into a smile, and Godden fought the urge to fist pump.
‘Thanks, Mike, I knew it had to be something like that.’
Godden finally allowed himself to breathe out as he walked to his desk. He looked back over at Farmer, now happily engrossed again in his paperwork. This would need watching.
Chapter 31
Nancy Deen stifled a yawn. She’d spent her morning with one of her favourite clients, a young mother who was just finding her feet again after being released from prison. Now she was back at her Shoreditch office ploughing through the paperwork which came with the case. Her flow of concentration was interrupted by a call from reception – there was someone waiting for her downstairs. Nancy was bemused, because her diary was clear for the afternoon. She went down and was greeted by a large, well-set man in builders’ overalls. He smiled pleasantly at her.
‘Nancy Deen?’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious,’ he said, maintaining the smile. ‘DC Paulsen sent me.’
‘She did?’
‘Yeah, she said you needed some work doing at your flat?’
‘Not that I’m aware of . . . ?’
Now it was the man who looked confused. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and read from it.
‘Flat 2, 56 Batsford Road, Tufnell Park? That is your address, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but I honestly have no idea what this is about. What kind of work? Why have you come here?’
The man continued to beam at her.
‘It’s alright – I can see there’s been a misunderstanding. Why don’t you ring Detective Constable Paulsen and tell her I paid you a visit? She’ll explain everything, I’m sure.’
His broad smile extended wider.
‘He said what?’ said Paulsen. She was at her desk in the incident room, phone clamped to her ear as she strained to hear what Nancy was saying.
‘He was adamant. Said you’d know what it meant.’
‘And he had our address?’
‘Yeah – he read it out to me.’
Paulsen digested this then forced a quiet calm into her voice.
‘It’s nothing to worry about, Nance. It’s like he says, a misunderstanding. I just wanted to get a quote. We’ve always talked about getting the kitchen done, I rang someone this morning – they must have got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘But why come here? Why would you give them my work address?’
‘Just as a point of contact. I’ll explain later. Listen, I’ve got to go. It’s really nothing to worry about. We’ll speak later – love you.’ She ended the call and looked up to see Finn waiting for her.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
‘For what?’
‘Kevin Pender’s interview. His brief’s here.’
He turned to leave but she hesitated.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s my partner – she’s just had a visit. At her office. Some bloke claiming to be a builder – said I’d rung him, which is bollocks, I haven’t rung anyone.’
‘What happened?’
‘This guy told her to check with me . . . said I’d know all about it.’
‘So what was it – some sort of mix-up?’
‘Not exactly. When she asked who he worked for, he said “the Handyman” . . .’
Chapter 32
Kevin Pender gave a ‘no comment’ interview. It was no more than Finn expected given the lack of hard evidence against him. When he returned to the incident room, he held a quick briefing to update the team and focus minds. He was well aware – as he’d been from the start – that their biggest problem was the method of death. Fire was every investigation’s worst enemy. If he was planning a murder, it would be his weapon of choice. Fire destroyed everything. It was the ultimate cleanser. Now the clock was ticking – and they needed to find something or they’d have to turn Pender loose. The appeal they’d made at the press conference was generating calls, albeit none of the particularly helpful kind so far. Work was continuing at Pender’s home and the two crime scenes and they’d just have to hope an apple would fall from the tree.
Finn found something else waiting for him after they’d emerged from the interview room; a message from the firm of solicitors where Karin used to work. As it turned out they’d received a remarkably similar message to Nancy Deen. A phone call in their case, asking to speak to Karin, also casually mentioning ‘a handyman’. Finn and Paulsen were now in Skegman’s office bringing him up to speed with developments.
‘It’s a warning shot – nothing more. The fact they called Karin’s old office shows their information’s out of date. They clearly weren’t aware she . . . doesn’t work there any more,’ said Finn, checking himself.
‘They found Nancy easily enough,’ said Paulsen.
‘Don’t let it unnerve you. The press conference probably ruffled some feathers, that’s all,’ said Skegman.
‘But I thought the Handyman didn’t exist?’ she said, looking at Finn.
‘I said the tabloid cliché didn’t exist, I never said there wasn’t someone fitting the profile. The Handyman – whoever he actually is – wouldn’t have liked seeing his name back in the headlines. I’m willing to bet this is just a message, but it’s very old school,’ said Finn. Paulsen looked unconvinced.
‘The timing of this is interesting. Right after we’ve made an arrest, especially of somebody with no links to organised crime.’ Skegman realised what he was saying as he said it. ‘I take it Pender doesn’t have any links to organised crime?’
Finn shook his head. ‘None as far as we’re aware. But everything’s still on the table right now. Pender’s got a decent motive, that’s for sure. But we still need to find something solid before we can charge him.’
‘The appeal hasn’t produced anything?’ said Skegman.
‘Just time-wasters so far, but nothing else.’
‘With respect, you’re all making a lot of assumptions, aren’t you? What if it’s exactly what it looks like – that the Handyman’s making threats because he is behind Kaul and Elder’s deaths? Because they took his money,’ said Paulsen.
‘You’re not convinced by Pender?’ asked Skegman.
�
�Whoever committed those murders knew what they were doing. I spoke to the fire investigator earlier. He thought the toilet at the hotel might well have been a deliberate choice of location. The cubicle kept the blaze contained. The sprinklers and the alarm system made it difficult for the fire to spread. Elder was killed in his car. Odd as it sounds, it’s like the killer was being careful, as if he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.’
‘I’m not sure I understand?’ said Skegman.
‘The point I’m making is these were carefully planned. I’m not sure Pender’s that man. He’s emotional, and a bit broken. Is it credible his reaction to his wife’s suicide is to work up such a detailed plan of revenge? Does he even have the skillset?’ Her voice was raised to make the point, just about the right side of passionate. She looked at them both as if it was obvious.
‘If it’s the Handyman going after these firefighters, why draw attention to yourself by making clumsy threats – to your partner, my wife?’ said Finn. ‘It’s not how people like that work. If anything, it feels like a protest – their way of saying this has nothing to do with us.’
‘But why Nancy – how did they even know about me?’
‘Maybe the jungle drums were beating after your trip to see Kenny Fuller? We know he’s got links to Ray Spinney. I’m willing to bet he relayed the details of your little chat.’
The memory made Paulsen shiver. The idea of someone of a similar ilk to Fuller paying Nancy a visit turned her stomach.
‘Doesn’t it worry you how they managed to get hold of our details?’ she persisted.
‘There’s any number of ways. I’d recommend getting off social media though – or changing your privacy settings,’ said Finn. ‘It’s not that hard to find out information these days.’ Paulsen looked ready to argue, and Finn held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. ‘You can’t allow yourself to be knocked out of your stride – that’s what these people want.’
The Burning Men Page 15