Rope Enough (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 1)

by Oliver Tidy

  ‘Your point being?’ said Romney.

  ‘The point being that my client does have a life to lead. He has better things to be doing than trailing down to the police station every day.’

  ‘Well, if your client will be forthright and candid in assisting us with our enquiries, we can all get back on with our lives.’

  ‘I’m sure that you can count on it, Inspector,’ said the solicitor, without a hint of sarcasm.

  That necessity over with, Romney began, ‘Carl, can you tell me where you went after you left the police station yesterday evening?’

  ‘You’ve no need to answer that,’ said the solicitor.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Park. ‘I want to help. I want the police to see that I’ve got nothing to hide and then they might leave me in peace to grieve. I walked, Inspector.’

  ‘What are you grieving for?’

  ‘Not what, who? I’m grieving for the loss of Claire Stamp. As I told you before, we were lovers and we were close. I think that we might have had a future.’

  Romney let the few long moments of silence that filled the room speak for his obvious disdain for this statement. ‘Where did you walk?’

  ‘Just around Dover. I wasn’t really paying that much attention.’

  ‘How long did you walk for?’

  ‘All night.’

  Again there was a prolonged silence. ‘You walked around Dover all night?’

  ‘Yes. Well, I found some sanctuary in a bus shelter. I think that I must have fallen asleep for a while.’

  ‘In this weather?’

  ‘It was very cold.’

  ‘Where was that?’

  ‘On London road.’

  ‘Did anyone see you?’

  ‘I would imagine they did. I saw several people.’

  ‘Anyone you know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A pity and very convenient,’ said Romney. ‘Do you know that while you were walking around Dover, we had reason to visit your home last night with a search warrant?’

  ‘My mother mentioned it, when I called her to let her know where I was.’

  ‘Yes, why was your phone turned off last night?’

  ‘I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m deep in thought. Mobile phones are quite intrusive like that.’

  ‘So you turned your phone on this morning after spending the night on the streets thinking and grieving and when your mother told you that we were looking for you, you came straight here to help us with our enquiries?’

  ‘That’s what happened.’

  ‘How many phones have you got?’

  Park smiled, as at a realised irony. ‘I did have two, up until last night that is. I think that I lost one of them in the bus shelter.’

  ‘Why have two phones, Carl?’

  ‘It’s just the fashion, Inspector. To be honest I hardly ever used it. It was just an accessory.’

  ‘Do you have a record of the number?’

  Park hesitated, then tried to cover himself with an impression of a thoughtful frown. ‘It didn’t have a SIM card in it. Like I said it was just an accessory.’

  ‘But you also just said that you hardly ever used it. If you used it at all you must have had a SIM card in it.’

  ‘Sometimes I’d switch the SIM card from my normal phone into the one that I’ve lost. Just for a change. I get bored with the same thing all the time.’

  ‘Did your mother tell you that we took away your computer?’

  Park’s face darkened. ‘No, she didn’t. Why did you do that?’

  ‘You know why, Carl.’

  Park squirmed a little and Romney got what satisfaction he could from it. ‘You know what we found on your hard-drive, Carl?’ The youth didn’t answer. ‘We found some very disturbing, sick and perverted pornography.’

  ‘That’s objectionable, Inspector,’ said the solicitor. ‘That is just your subjective opinion.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell him, Carl, tell him what’s on your hard-drive – what we found?’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ said the solicitor.

  Park couldn’t.

  Romney shrugged. ‘There is one particular video that we need to discuss with you, Carl, because of its close resemblance to the two serious sexual assaults that we are investigating. You know the one I’m referring to, don’t you?’ Romney ploughed on, not waiting for responses. ‘It’s the one of the woman being tortured and raped by four men. Do you have anything to say about that?’

  Regaining some of his confidence, Park said, ‘It’s just Internet porn. Everyone who has the Internet looks at porn.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Romney. ‘Do you?’ he asked the solicitor He just stared blankly back at the policeman. ‘When was the last time you saw Peter Roper?’

  ‘I told you, a couple of months ago.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I told you, the job agency.’

  ‘What sort of contact did you have with him after that?’

  ‘We had swapped email addresses and phone numbers. We exchanged a few messages.’

  ‘But you didn’t actually see him?’

  ‘I might have done, on the street, just around town. But I didn’t meet up with him by arrangement. He struck me as a bit odd actually. He kept sending me this stuff over the Internet, links to websites, in fact, I’m sure that he sent me that video that you were talking about. Yes, that’s right, I looked at it, but it didn’t interest me much. Not my kind of thing.’

  ‘What is your kind of thing, Carl?’

  ‘Don’t answer that,’ said the solicitor, finding his voice again.

  ‘It must have interested you enough to download it to your hard-drive.’

  The solicitor said, ‘Inspector, do you have anything in particular that you wish to discuss with my client? I’m having a job seeing the point of all this?’

  Romney stared at the priggish little man. He found himself making a mental note to make his life difficult the first opportunity he got. He turned back to Park. ‘Did you see Peter Roper last night?’

  ‘My client has just told you that he hasn’t seen him for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Carl?’

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  ‘Were you on, or anywhere near Dover cliffs last night?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  Romney let the quiet gradually fill the room.

  ‘Do you have any further questions, Inspector?’ said the solicitor.

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  Park barely suppressed a smirk.

  ‘In that case, we will leave you to your investigation.’

  ‘You can do what you like,’ said Romney, not gracefully. ‘Carl Park, I’m detaining you on suspicion of being involved in the death of Peter Roper. You do not need to answer any questions at this time, if you so choose. Your detention period will start, now.’

  ‘What?’ said Park. ‘You can’t be serious?’

  ‘Indeed I am,’ said Romney. ‘I have good reason to believe that you are involved in Peter Roper’s death.’

  ’What reason?’

  ‘You’ll find out in due course. I don’t think that you are as clever as you think you are. Your detention period will be twelve hours in the first instance, after that we can get an extension without much difficulty for another twelve. I’m pretty sure though that we’ll find what we’re looking for in that time. My superintendent has offered to draft in all the help that we need.’ Park was simmering and silent. Romney said, ‘Take him back to the cells, Constable, please.’

  As Park was being led away, Romney said, ‘You made another mistake, Carl.’ Park stopped and turned to face him. ‘You showed no surprise to the news that Peter Roper is dead.’ And then remembering something that DI Crow had said he added, ‘Sometimes it’s hard to see the wood for the trees, Carl.’ Park stared back impassively. His legal representation struck by Romney’s comment turned to look with barely concealed suspicion at his client. ‘We both know you killed him and we both know why. We found
you and you were afraid that we’d find him. You teamed up with him to rape those two women. You were lucky with Claire Stamp’s death because that was your first mistake: you left evidence of your involvement behind. Roper was the only other person alive who knew the details of your dirty secret and you had to shut him up. Why, Carl? Were you afraid he wasn’t as strong as you?’ Park showed nothing. ‘If you can make two mistakes, Carl, you can make three. I’m positively encouraged that we will find what we’re looking for when we take your house apart.’ Romney nodded at the constable and Park was guided out of the room without another word.

  ‘So, what are we looking for, sir?’ said Marsh, when they were alone.

  ‘Come and have a coffee on me, and I’ll tell you all about it,’ said Romney, trying to exude a confidence that he suddenly didn’t particularly feel.

  *

  It was well into evening by the time they returned to the squad room. Because of the hour it was too dark for anything to be done to follow Romney’s greatest hope. He satisfied himself with organising a search warrant for Park’s flat. First thing in the morning they were going to take it apart. The only time concern was the constraint of the detention order. While it would run for twelve hours as standard Romney had already had assurances that a further and final twelve hours would not be a problem to obtain. He had to hope that that would be enough.

  All that could be done was being done. Final parts of the information jigsaw fell into place. A communication from forensics confirmed what Romney was already certain about: Peter Roper was the rapist of Jane Goddard. The officer charged with tracking phone records of the primary numbers of Park and Roper was able to report that while they had exchanged calls some months before there had been no communication through those numbers since.

  Superintendent Falkner made one of his infrequent visits to the CID squad room on his way home. After Romney had briefed him on the parts of the puzzle, Falkner said, ‘Looks like you are right about everything so far, Tom. You’ve played a good hand. Let’s hope that you’re right about your trump card or none of us is going to come out of this smelling very sweet.’

  ‘It’s Hobson’s choice, sir,’ said Romney. ‘We’ve got nothing solid on him. If we don’t push our luck, he’s going to walk.’

  ‘We still have the suicide text to fall back on,’ said Falkner.

  ‘With respect, sir, I’ve never been much of one for the convenient statistical aspect of crime solving as policing. I’d always rather get the guilty party. I’m old fashioned like that.’

  ‘Try having the kind of people on your back that I have, Tom. See how long you keep your old-fashioned values. I know, I know, it’s a terrible state of affairs, what’s it all coming to and all those time-worn phrases. Go home and get a good night’s sleep. I have a feeling that you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.’

  Romney sent his team home with similar predictions about the following day ringing in their ears and reminders about what time they should be showing their faces in the morning. They were going to need every minute of daylight.

  *

  Romney hadn’t seen Julie Carpenter for nearly forty-eight hours. It felt longer. As the work day wound down, the activities, excitements and exertions of the previous night and the strain of the investigation were taking its toll on his energy reserves. As the office gradually emptied and the workplace bustle died away his energy seemed to drain away with it. It was with some effort that he roused himself from his chair, pulled on his coat and left the comfortable warmth and agreeable silence of his office for the wind and wet of the winter world outside.

  He was grateful to Providence for setting aside Julie Carpenter for his enjoyment, temporary of otherwise. The short time that he had snatched from life with her had reopened his eyes to what lay outside of work. It had impressed upon him the necessity of the distraction, without which he would gently slide down into that sterile pit, void of emotion that it would be so difficult to climb back out of. That acknowledged, Romney was not sorry that she had a prior social engagement for the evening, unused as he was to juggling a professional life with a private one, especially one with such an energetic and insatiable woman.

  *

  In the morning he made his way to work with the kind of excitement fermenting in his gut that he associated with first dates. He’d been right about everything regarding Park and his involvement, he was certain of it. He’d read the youth like a favourite comic, and now he needed to be able to tie it all up. Being right meant nothing without convictions.

  After a final briefing, Marsh was put in charge of the execution of the warrant to search Park’s home and common areas of the small block in which he and his mother lived. She left with four other officers to make herself unpopular and with little expectation that anything pertinent to the investigation would be recovered. But appearances must be maintained. As far as the operation was concerned her remit was to give the impression that the police had taken the place apart searching for that crucial piece of evidence that Romney was almost certain wouldn’t be there.

  At the last moment and to his obvious disappointment, Romney held the seasoned DC Grimes back from the search. ‘How do you fancy a nice stroll on the cliffs?’

  ‘In this weather, gov? What on earth for?’

  ‘Grab your coat and check out some wellies. I’ll tell you on the way.’

  Grimes made a face to no one. ‘You’re the boss, gov.’

  ‘I know,’ said Romney, smiling. ‘See you in the car park in ten minutes.’

  *

  They stopped at a take-away patisserie and Romney treated them both to coffee and a pastry. It seemed to take the edge off Grimes’ apprehension at being singled out by his DI with no explanation, although the mystery of their outing appeared to still disconcert the long serving officer.

  At nine o’clock in the morning their vehicle brought the total number of cars in the White Cliffs car park to one. The cafeteria behind them was boarded up for the season. The only people attracted to the bleak and open landscape at that time of year were hardy ramblers, the occasional joy-rider and the odd couple engaged in something mucky. As they sat looking out over the heaving brown expanse of the English Channel, sipping their drinks from Styrofoam beakers and chewing on their food, Grimes wondered what Romney had in mind for them. He hoped it was just a walk.

  ‘I want what we’re doing up here to remain between us for the time being, OK?’

  Grimes didn’t find that encouraging. ‘OK, gov,’ he said, slowly.

  ‘The super knows and DS Marsh but that’s all.’ Romney offered Grimes a cigarette. ‘You still regularly walk up here?’ Romney had chosen Grimes for his well known knowledge and experience of the area as well as his experience as a copper.

  ‘Yes, gov. I still do the walk to St Margaret’s Bay a few times a year.’

  ‘Good. I need someone with some local knowledge. I want you to think about places where someone could conceal a pistol.’

  Grimes breathed out a lungful of smoke as the penny dropped. ‘From the rapes?’

  ‘Yes. I’m working on the idea that Park gave Roper his send off from here the night before last. The pistol hasn’t been recovered and it’s the only thing I can think of that would persuade someone to the cliff edge.’

  ‘That would make it not a fake weapon then,’ said Grimes.

  Romney nodded as he cracked his window. The wind howled in the narrow opening as the smoke was whipped away. ‘If Park is as guilty as I’m sure he is, that makes him a particularly nasty piece of work. And particularly nasty pieces of work don’t get rid of that sort of hardware once they’ve got it, especially as it was probably hard to come by.’

  ‘Where the hell would he have got a real gun from?’

  ‘I hope to be able to ask him that, but first I need it.’

  ‘What makes you think that it’s up here somewhere?’

  ‘It’s just a hunch. A long shot. I think that they might have spent the time we were looking
for them hiding out up here in one of the old World War Two anti-aircraft emplacements.’ Grimes nodded. ‘If I’m right, and Park did see Roper off the cliff at the point of the gun, why not keep it hidden up here? If it does get found, so long as it’s clean, Park’s got nothing to worry about. It can’t be connected to him. If he’s hidden it well enough, then it’ll be secure for him for when he needs it next.’

  Grimes, thought it through, ‘But if you find it and it’s clean how can you tie it to Park?’

  The DI smiled. ‘Let’s find it first.’

  Romney produced and opened up a detailed OS map of the area. He spread what he needed of it on the dashboard between them.

  ‘Roper went off here,’ he said, indicating a crude red ink cross. ‘This is the closest structure marked on the map.’ He pointed to a symbol that indicated the location was an historic monument. ‘You know it?’

  Grimes studied it for a moment. ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll try there first.’

  ‘It’s a needle in a haystack, gov. I mean, if it is up here, it doesn’t have to be in one of the derelict structures. He could have buried it anywhere.’

  ‘I know,’ said Romney. ‘But Roper went off about midnight. It would have been dark and wet and cold up here. And lonely. My guess is that Park wouldn’t have had the tools to go digging a hole. And he probably wouldn’t have wanted to hang about in the weather. In the dark he would just have wanted to find somewhere recognisable, somewhere that he could easily find his way back to in a day or so. I doubt that he’d have imagined the police would be up here looking for it less than forty-eight hours later.’

  ‘With respect, gov, that’s a lot of what ifs and maybes. Then again,’ he added with a resigned tone, ‘that’s police work for you. Don’t you think that we could have done with a few more in the search party?’

  Romney shook his head. ‘If we find it, we’re leaving it.’ Grimes gave Romney a strange look. ‘At the moment I don’t have anything to convict him with. We find the gun, we leave it here and let our boy go. Keep an eye on him and sooner or later he’ll be back, especially if he’s worried that he didn’t hide it very well in his rush.’