Jonathan grabbed the phone from her hand and turned it off. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“What have we got?” Collins put his hand behind his head.
“The telephone company said the call came from a cell in St John’s Wood,” stated DI Doyle. “And guess what? The phone was bought on a credit card that was registered to a K McArdle, who lives in…”
“St John’s Wood.”
“Yes.”
“You said the card ‘was’ registered to?”
“The card has expired, but his account is still going. Kevin Ronan McArdle is his full name.”
“So, he probably has an Irish father and English mother then.”
“Maybe, sir.” But a bit irrelevant, thought Doyle.
“You get round there and check it out. Try and get whoever made the call into an interview room for me. What do you have on this doctor, Chas?”
“He had a misconduct charge thrown out by the British Medical Council nine years ago.”
“Tell me more.”
“It was a mother who brought the complaint. Her fifteen year old daughter went on the pill behind her back. This Dr Askew was accused of being, what should I say, over zealous when checking the girl’s medical welfare.”
“Are you telling me he examined her downstairs?”
“Yes. He argued that because the girl had openly admitted to being sexually active with multiple partners, he thought it wise to check her for STDs. He claimed he sought her consent beforehand. It was his word against her word, and given the complaint was made fourteen months after the alleged incident, he was only warned about his future conduct.”
“Are you telling me the girl was on the pill for fourteen months before the mother found out?”
“I guess so. Prescribing the pill to under-sixteens has always been a bit of a grey area, hasn’t it?”
“Aye, it has, but even so.”
“Are you happy for me to pay him a call?”
“I am, yes, but try to be a bit cute about it. Take a bit of time to watch who goes in and out of the place first. Maybe take the receptionist to one side. Dave, you check out his house. Have a rummage through his bins, that sort of thing. Have a chat with his neighbours, find out if he goes sailing. Run some checks on his car. Who knows, it may have been clocked for speeding along the A1.”
“He has an ex-wife sir,” said Harrington.
“Does he now?”
“She divorced him seven years ago.”
“Are we talking a decree absolute?”
“Yes, we are, sir.”
“So maybe his wife paid more heed to what this schoolgirl said than the BMC did. Let’s hold fire on interviewing her. No point in stirring up a hornets’ nest if the good doctor has cast-iron alibis.”
“It is a murder enquiry sir,” said Doyle.
“Okay then. Heather, can I leave that one with you?”
“The feminine touch sir?” smiled DC Muirhead.
“Well, women don’t like talking to blokes about such things.”
“True.” Muirhead started scribbling into her notepad.
Jasmine opened the door with her customary false smile. It was a smile that evaporated the moment she saw a warrant card staring straight at her.
“Can I help you?” she asked nervously.
Doyle looked at what she was wearing and jumped to the right conclusion. “Have I called at a bad time?”
“No.”
“You looked like you were expecting someone else.”
“Umm… My boyfriend is on his way over.”
“You didn’t telephone the police by any chance, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. Why would I?”
“Do you know a woman called Rashida?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Could I come inside to talk about this?”
Jasmine pulled the door open wider.
As Doyle wiped his feet on the door mat, he asked, “Does Kevin McArdle live here?”
“Yes, he does. He got in about five minutes ago. Should I get him for you?”
“Would you mind telling me your name, madam?”
“Jasmine.”
“Jasmine?” A smirk lurked behind Doyle’s straight face.
“Rovena, my real name is Rovena. I am here visiting Kevin and Sofia. I am hoping to study in England.”
“So you are here on a tourist visa?”
The girl looked sheepish. “Yes.”
“When does it run out?”
“I am not sure.”
“Let me guess, Rovena is an Albanian name, is it not?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Okay miss, I am going to ask you again. Did you speak to me on the telephone this morning about a woman called Rashida? Before you answer, I should tell you that we don’t take too kindly to people who lie to us.”
“I am not lying. I do not know anyone called Rashida. And I certainly did not speak to you on the phone this morning.”
“You don’t look like a woman planning on going out.” And you don’t speak English like a woman on an unexpired tourist visa, he said to himself.
“No, I’m not going out.”
“Good, I may want to speak to you again in a bit. Now, could you let Kevin McArdle know that I am here?”
“As I said, he’s only just got in. I think I heard the bedroom door shut.”
Doyle laughed. “All I want when I get in is a nice cup of tea, a biscuit, and somewhere to put my feet up.”
“I will go and knock on the door.”
“You do that.”
Jasmine walked towards the back of the house. Just as she knocked on a door to the right, the doorbell rang. She looked back at Doyle anxiously.
“I’ll get it,” he smiled. “Hello sir, are you here for Jasmine?”
“Yes,” answered the man in his fifties.
“Do come in. Have you visited us before?”
The man nodded. Only afterwards did he notice Jasmine standing down the hallway. She was staring straight at the bedroom door, not daring to let her eyes engage his.
“Go on up, sir, Jasmine will be with you shortly. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, I’m alright, thank you.”
Jasmine knocked again.
“What the fuck is it?” Sofia shouted loud enough for Doyle to hear.
“Sofia, it’s a policeman. He wants to speak to Kevin.”
“Fuck.”
“Tell him I will be out in a minute,” shouted Kevin. “Park him in the sitting room.”
“I heard, you go on up miss. I can take it from here.”
Doyle stood to one side as Jasmine went past him. He watched as she started to ascend the stairs, but quickly looked away when her bare bum cheeks came into view. He stayed by the front door, just in case Kevin had ideas about trying to postpone their conversation.
Kevin emerged from the bedroom. “Ah, hello there.”
“Kevin McArdle?”
“That’s right. And you are?”
“DI Doyle, Metropolitan Police.” He held open his warrant card.
“Go on through.” He gestured for Doyle to go through to the front reception room.
“After you sir.”
“Oh, okay then. Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess I’m afraid.”
Doyle had heard that said many, many times, but this time it was true.
Kevin picked up two pairs of knickers off the sofa. “We had a bit of a spontaneous party last night.” He stooped to brush crisp fragments off the cushion with his hand and stood on a peanut as he did so. “There you go. I think that should be okay. I thought my wife might have at least hoovered in here by now.”
Doyle sat down, and waited for Kevin to do the same.
“What’s all this about then officer?”
“I’m a detective, a Detective Inspector.”
“Oh, right you are. That means it’s serious, doesn’t it?”
“Do you recognise this number?” He passed him a slip of paper with Anna
’s mobile number on it.
“I can’t say that I do, no.”
“You bought the phone with this SIM card in.”
“Did I? My mobile number ends in the Southend arterial road, one-two-seven, not four-two-nine.” He passed the slip of paper back. “Try ringing it if you like. My phone is in this room somewhere, but I couldn’t find it this morning, and I had a bus to catch.”
“It is turned off sir.”
“Well, there you go. Mine is definitely on. The last time I saw it was when I gave it to a girl to key-in her number. I then saved it and put the phone down somewhere.”
Doyle judged that Kevin was telling the truth, but also deliberately staying on safe ground for as long as possible. “How do you explain the fact that you purchased this phone?”
“I’ve purchased a lot of mobiles over the years. I change mine most years, and so does Angie. I pay for Angie’s as well you see.”
“Your wife is called Sofia?”
“She is, but I call her Angie.”
“Could this be her number?”
“No, I know her number, and that is not it.”
“Would you go and get your wife for me?”
“I’m here.” The sitting room door opened and she stepped through it. “I was listening. Show me.”
Doyle passed it her way.
“That is one of my old numbers. I gave that phone away.”
“Before I pick up on that, do you know a woman called Rashida?”
“No, I don’t. Should I?”
“And you did not phone the police this morning?”
“Why should I phone the police?”
Doyle always got suspicious when people replied to a question with a question. “Who did you give the phone to?”
“A guy called Anton. He has gone back to Latvia now. I know what you will be thinking, and you are right, he was here as an illegal immigrant. I encouraged him to return home, but he wouldn’t listen. He eventually got arrested and taken to Tinsley House at Gatwick. You will find I am on record as visiting him there.”
More red herrings, thought Doyle. This woman is hiding something. “I am more interested in the phone than this Latvian man.
“I am telling you, Anton has the phone.”
“It was used in London this morning.”
“Oh, well maybe he gave it to his girlfriend. A woman called Anna.”
“Does Anna work… sorry. Does Anna live here?” The look on both their faces told him his deliberate mistake had had the desired effect.
“No, certainly not,” insisted Sofia. Anton brought her to a party here one night. That is the only time I have met her.”
Doyle decided to go around the houses a bit. “How did you meet Anton?”
Sofia gulped. “I have a couple of friends who waitress at a restaurant in Shepherd’s Bush. He was working in the kitchens there illegally. Anton, that is.”
“How did you become friends with Anton?” He deliberately turned his head Kevin’s way.
“I would describe Anton as an acquaintance, not a friend.”
“An acquaintance? Would you like to reconsider that answer?”
“No,” she replied bluntly.
“Do you often give quite expensive mobiles to acquaintances?”
“I felt sorry for him. He did not have much money and I was going to throw it away anyway.”
“So why did you visit him at Tinsley House?”
“I wanted to encourage him not to fight his deportation.”
“You told him he would be better off in Latvia did you? Better off than getting out on immigration bail and disappearing into the woodwork.”
“I just thought it was better for him to do the right thing. He was quite depressed. I don’t think staying here was helping him.”
“Why so much concern for an acquaintance?”
“I umm…”
Kevin stepped in. “Tell him the truth Angie.” The squeeze he gave her hand did not go unnoticed by Doyle.
“What do you mean, Kevin?”
“Look detective. Angie and I have a fairly open relationship. Anton is quite a good looking chap. Do you get my drift?”
“I am not here to get your drift.”
“I had sex with him.” She shuffled on the arm of Kevin’s chair, and added, “Twice.”
“And you accepted this, did you Mr McArdle?”
“As I said, jealousy is not our thing.”
“Did you have sex with his girlfriend?”
“No, I didn’t.” said Kevin emphatically.
“Where is she now?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
“Is she upstairs in one of your rooms?”
“No.”
“Okay Mr and Mrs McArdle, let me explain something. Well, first let me summarise where we are.”
“Please do, because this all seems incredibly intense for a lousy mobile phone.”
“Yes, sir, I can understand your perspective on that. You see, I am not naive, I have witnessed with my own eyes what is going on here, but that is not my concern, at the moment that is. However, I do need to know if one of your girls upstairs has this mobile phone.” He tapped his finger on the slip of paper.
“What do you mean by that statement, one of my girls?”
“Not now Mr McArdle, not now. I have more important things to worry about than your immoral earnings.”
“I just rent a few rooms out, that’s all. I have started to worry about that Jasmine though.”
“Is there a girl upstairs with this phone?”
“No, definitely not,” said Sofia.
“We can play this one of two ways. The first is for you to take me on a totally unobstructed tour of this house. The second is that I have uniforms posted front and back, and they speak to anyone that leaves, or arrives. And they will stay there until I am granted a search warrant.”
“Why do you want to search this house?”
“Okay, do you know about mobile telephone masts?”
“I think so.”
“Each one covers a cell. You may have heard the term cell-net. So when a mobile phone is used, the mobile company know which cell it was in at that time. If the mobile phone is switched on, they can even triangulate the approximate location in live-time. Now, this mobile phone was switched off immediately after a youngish sounding woman with an accent phoned me on it. The phone was bought by you, and the call came from this mobile cell.”
“Shit, I would love to be able to help, but it’s got me beat.”
“But you are starting to understand why I suspect the phone is here?”
“I am, yes.”
“Can I have that tour then?”
“Yes,” replied Kevin, somewhat reluctantly.
“Hello, sir.” Doyle was sitting in his car outside Kevin McArdle’s house.
“Hello, Stuart, what do you have?”
“Not a lot. Kevin McArdle bought the phone for his wife, but she claims to have given it away to an illegal immigrant. I have been all over the house. There are a few women in there but I don’t think any of them were the woman I spoke to.”
“But…”
“I know, sir. It’s got me a bit baffled as well. They are definitely a suspicious pair, and I won’t be surprised if the trail leads back here somehow, but I think I should move on for now. I have another lead from the mobile I would like to follow.”
“I was convinced everything was going to open up before our very eyes.”
“As I say, at the moment this is a cul-de-sac I need to reverse out of. Maybe immigration and vice should turn the place over in a couple of month’s time once the occupants think it is safe to go back to business as usual.”
“Are you suggesting it’s a knocking shop, with illegal immigrant Toms?”
“Not the usual type of knocking shop we drop across on occasions, but in essence, yes.”
“Ah well, there you go. Prostitution, illegal immigrants, the dots have got to be joining up to form a picture.”<
br />
“I can’t see it yet, sir.”
“We’ll have another meeting when Chas and Dave get back.”
“You’ve done it again, sir. We agreed to stop calling them that.”
“Oh yes, gertcha, DS Harrington and DS Cusack then.”
The moment Doyle ended the call, his mobile rang. The screen told him who was calling. “Hello, Sue, this is DI Doyle.”
“Hello.”
“Where are you?” He was already looking up to the bedroom windows, to see if anyone was looking down on him with a phone in their hand. Jasmine was looking, but both her hands were on the windowsill.
“I cannot say.”
Doyle looked at Jonathan and Anna, leaning against the end of a house at the bottom of the road, but they just looked like a couple with their arms around each other, having a chat, maybe waiting for someone else. A woman sitting in a car parked at the other end of the road had a mobile to her ear. He zoomed his sight in on her. She appeared to be talking, he was not hearing anything.
“We need to talk face to face,” he said.
“I have a question for you.”
“Fire away.” A woman with a laptop bag in one hand and a mobile to her ear, turned the corner.
“I am an illegal immigrant.”
“You do not need to worry about that.”
“If I help you, will you arrest me?”
“No, you could come into the station as Sue. You would leave as Sue. All I would want is a contact number, and preferably an address.”
“You have my number.”
“I do, yes.”
“I cannot give you my address. I want to go home.”
“Are they different then?”
“My address is in London. My home is in Riga.”
“No problem then. So long as you tell us what we need to know, you can go home to Riga.” He knew that would not be the case if she was needed as a witness, but was not about to mention that.
“You will not arrest me.”
“No. You would have to spend perhaps a morning at the police station while we completed the paperwork, but then I would have you released on bail. All you are likely to have to do is report in once a week.”
“I am hoping to go back to Riga this week.”
“Please talk to us first.”
“I will talk. Goodbye.”
“Shit.” Doyle thumped the steering wheel.
Anna and Jonathan looked at his car when they heard the horn sound. They quickly disappeared around the corner.
Down in the Woods Page 24