by Wonny Lea
Now Charles was really rattled and protested loudly.
‘What the hell for? You’d be wasting your time and theirs. Go back to Wales and find out who killed my father. That’s what you get paid for, isn’t it? Not going off on some wild goose chase into areas way outside your jurisdiction.’
He turned and made his way towards the house with Matt following closely on his heels.
‘Do you need to investigate inside the house as well, or can I be allowed some privacy in my mother’s house?’
‘At this stage of the investigation I don’t need to come inside, sir, but if that position changes I’ll be sure to let you know. It would be helpful to know if your mother is at home – you’ll find me working with my colleague when you’re able to furnish us with that information.’
‘Use your brains, detective! Do you think my mother drives a clapped-out car like that?’ He looked disdainfully at the Mini. ‘Whose car is that anyway, and what’s it doing here?’
‘Your mother’s car isn’t here but your mother may well be. She could have been a passenger, dropped off by someone else.’
Matt smiled as he walked back to where Alex was once again crawling about on all fours. They knew nothing for certain, but Matt felt that Charles Ferguson knew more about the second Jaguar than he was letting on, and he took pleasure in rattling his cage.
‘Some people just get under your skin don’t they? I fancied doing him for offences under the Firearms Act but it would have come to nothing. Have you found anything else of interest?’
Alex looked up. ‘Nothing relating to the cars, but I think these outbuildings have seen some curious activity. The one at the end has been cleaned to a level beyond that of any operating theatre. The door’s been wedged open, but in the corners the smell of bleach is still strong. From that same garage and the one next door there are signs of heavy traffic coming and going. The direction of the traffic is not the way we came but towards the back of the house. I can only assume there must be a second entrance. Come to think of it, Charles Ferguson must have come that way, because we’d have heard him if he’d driven up the front drive.’
‘I’ll take a look,’ said Matt. ‘I can see what you mean – there’s a vague track, but not something I’d associate with the level of traffic you mentioned.’
‘That’s because it’s not recent. I’m talking about comings and goings that happened anything up to a year or more ago. And of course there could be a perfectly innocent explanation – even for the excessive use of bleach!’
Some twenty minutes later Matt returned, having walked about half a mile to the rear entrance of the house and back.
‘There is another way in and out of this place, and if anything the black metal gates back there look more daunting than the ones at the front. The gates were locked and it wasn’t easy to see beyond them but I looked as best I could for a code entrance device and I couldn’t see one. That makes it even more secure than the front entrance – those gates must be operated by remote control only. There’s a CCTV camera discreetly mounted on a tree. It’s excessive security for a family home, wouldn’t you think?’
Alex took in the surroundings. ‘Not necessarily given the size of this place, and we don’t know what works of art they keep inside. I guess they wouldn’t get insured unless their security arrangements were of a certain level. I’m just puzzled by the different arrangements between the two entrances – and then there’s that key safe in the porch. One almighty blow with a hammer would get that off the wall, and the same hammer would easily split open the casing.’
Matt nodded. ‘It seems as if what’s in the grounds is more worthy of protection that what’s in the house.’
‘Your friend Mr Ferguson has been out to say that his mother is not at home, emphasis on the not, and he would appreciate knowing when we’re thinking of leaving. He doesn’t fancy making his way to Cardiff and leaving us in the grounds of his mother’s house. He was not at all happy when I told him I’d spoken to the local CID and they’d agreed to getting their SOC team to help me.’
‘And have they?’
‘Yes, and with more enthusiasm than I would have expected. I spoke to a DCI Mortimer and he said he’d welcome the chance of having a look round this place – seems it’s been on their radar for some time, but he didn’t go into details. They shouldn’t be long.’
‘We should have come in separate cars,’ reflected Matt. ‘I really should be getting back to Cardiff before the chaos DS Shaw is expecting breaks out – but I don’t want to leave you stranded here.’
‘I’ve a gut feeling that I’m going to be here for some time, but what comes to light here may have nothing to do with your case. DCI Mortimer sounded excited so he’s raised my professional interest, and it will be interesting to see how the North Wiltshire SOCOs go about their business. Charlie’s got her cousin Enda staying with us at the moment, so they’ll be happy to have a girlie night without me and I’ll find somewhere to stay locally and find my way back to Cardiff tomorrow.’
‘OK, if you’re sure! There’s plenty of room for you to stay here but I can’t see that hospitality being offered. Not even a chance of us setting foot over the doorstep without a warrant.’
If DI Pryor had been allowed inside the house he would have been party to Charles Ferguson warning his mother, in the strongest of terms, to make sure things were watertight her end and to lay off the whisky.
Chapter Twelve
Martin looked back from Charlie’s meticulous presentation of the case to the original notes on Geedi, and realised that even if there had been a suspect, he or she would literally have got away with murder. No half-decent lawyer would have passed up the opportunity to rubbish the police files. There were more crossings-out and impossible to read, half-completed reports, than he would have believed possible.
He smiled as he remembered Charlie’s recent comments about all police officers writing the date in the top right hand corner of everything they wrote. Even in this mess that was still a constant. The date opened the report of the first officer to arrive at the scene. He was a PC Knight, and his was one of the better reports even though it simply listed the time he arrived, the names of the children who had found the body, and the fact that he had handed the case over to a DI Taylor.
Staring at the date Martin realised that the anniversary of the death was in fact this very Thursday. It struck him that if he had been lovingly preserving the memory of someone he knew, and perhaps loved, he would need to mark the day in some way. Thursday would be the twelfth anniversary of the murder and Martin had a sudden jolt of memory. He pushed the pictures on his phone back to the ones he had taken of the shrine.
Yes, there were eleven stones, and he felt excited as he contemplated the possibility that there was one for each year and that stone number twelve could be waiting to be laid on Thursday. Did he have an over-fertile imagination or was it a possibility? He had already organised the setting up of some covert surveillance cameras, in the hope that someone would attend the shrine soon, but now he really believed he was being thrown a lifeline.
He would have to consider that twenty-four hour observation would be required on the Thursday. Could he justify doing that based almost totally on a hunch? Probably not, but he’d convinced himself that there had never been a better opportunity to find the real identity of Geedi and get nearer to the killer.
If necessary, Martin would do the whole twenty-four hours himself but he knew from experience that pairs of people, working short periods of time, was the best way to undertake detailed surveillance. He’d speak to Sergeant Evans and get authorisation for overtime from the chief super if necessary. Martin was having difficulty managing his expectations and was willing time to speed up so that his plans could be put in place – he had to be right! It wasn’t easy to get his mind back on some of the things that needed checking from his visit to Ian Baker’s house. The suggestion had been that he take a look at some Somali charity group, and Martin trawled through the documents a
longside Charlie’s summary to find the references.
There was only the briefest of mentions in the written records, but Charlie had somewhere found a link that Martin was able to follow to the organisation’s website. It was a very professional setup and gave a comprehensive history of the conflicts faced by the people of Somalia. It made sober reading, but Martin had to confess that even after reading it a couple of times he wasn’t sure who was to blame for what.
Martin had, through his job, met a number of asylum seekers and illegal immigrants, and he thought they had one thing in common with the victims of any crime. They had been abused and their sense of self-worth had been stolen. The website confirmed this, concentrating on the ways the organisation had helped people escape the conflicts. In particular they focused on families where the father was in danger of being executed for his religious or political opinions and where even the women and children were in fear of their lives. There was evidence of heart-warming success stories, with pictures of happy children at schools in the UK and short videos of the parents expressing their thanks to people who had donated to the cause.
Martin could see that tens of thousands of people had visited the website, and he wondered how many of them had been sufficiently moved to make a donation. Perhaps if the surveillance went according to plan on Thursday, he would make a donation on behalf of Geedi.
Before leaving the site Martin checked out the chairman, chief executive, and the named trustees of the organisation. He couldn’t see the names of the people who had been interviewed eleven years ago but maybe they were no longer involved. Nevertheless there would be records of their previous participation and it shouldn’t be too difficult to find them.
Nowhere in any information was there reference to a Tory MP being interviewed – maybe it was just the local MP at the time being asked questions about immigration or about crime in general. Yet Martin racked his brain to remember the politics of the time and he couldn’t think of a single Tory MP in Cardiff back then. 1997 had seen a Labour landslide and everything had turned red. Surely it would have been a Labour MP whose views had been sought? In any case, there was no evidence of him in the investigation notes.
His phone rang suddenly.
‘Martin, it’s John Evans. Just a call to say I spoke to my niece regarding Pat Waring, as promised. Not much to go on, I’m afraid. Menna was quite friendly with Pat’s sister Vicky and all she remembers is going to school one day and being told that Vicky and her family had moved away. Menna was upset at the time and couldn’t understand why her friend had never said anything about moving. The rumours were that it was something to do with Pat’s job, which tallies with Pat leaving like she did, but Menna’s never heard from Vicky since she left. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.’
‘Don’t worry, John, I don’t think Pat Waring would be all that useful anyway – quite the opposite if she was involved with our old friend Austin. Thanks for trying.’
No sooner had Martin put the phone down than it rang again. It was Alex.
‘Sorry, Martin, it looks as if I’m stuck in Wiltshire for tonight at least, so do you want to talk through anything further on the Roath case – or will it keep?’
‘It’ll keep. You answered my main question and thanks to Charlie and Meg I’ve got state-of-the-art monitoring set up exactly as I want. All I need now is several sets of human eyes to constantly look at it over a twenty-four hour period. Any offers?’
Alex laughed. ‘I’m here for the duration. Matt’s on his way back, preparing himself to introduce a mother to the twenty-year-old daughter she has never met. Trauma in itself, but put it on top of their father/grandfather being murdered yesterday and it’s more than a bit of a powder keg! Poor Matt, he’s getting a solo baptism by fire.’
‘But he’s OK, isn’t he?’
‘Oh, sure, I think he’s enjoying the challenge. There’s something going on with him and Sarah and he hasn’t said what, but I guess he will when he’s ready. I hope they’ll have sorted it out by the twenty-seventh because Charlie’s got something lined up for the six of us. With it being your birthday on the twenty-third and hers on the thirty-first she’s hoping we can all get together on the Saturday that’s between the two. I don’t know what the plans are, but I’m pretty sure Shelley’s in on the scheming and probably Sarah as well. I did suggest to Charlie that it should be me arranging something for her, as it’s her birthday as well as yours, but judging by the look I got she’s not got a lot of faith in my social planning skills.
‘Hold the line a minute, Martin, I’ve got a caller trying to get through and it might be my Wiltshire opposite numbers.’
Seconds later Alex reconnected and confirmed he had been able to give the Wiltshire team the entrance code to Woodcanton Hall, allowing access to a car and two vans.
‘I don’t know what’s going on here but this is not the level of support I was expecting. I guess these local guys have been looking for an excuse to get inside this place and they’re using me as their reason to do so. Whatever! It promises to be interesting so let’s see what I can find out.’ Alex signalled to the driver of the car and the small convoy parked between the front of the house and the garages. and
Everything was being closely watched from an upstairs window. Charles Ferguson had met DCI Mortimer before and he wasn’t pleased to recognise the car and the short, grey-haired man that got out of it. Their first meeting had been several years ago and Charles was still able to feel the grip of fear as he remembered how close the man had got to discovering parts of his life that he chose to keep hidden. Different forms of sexual orientation were becoming more socially tolerated, but for someone aspiring to reach the top of his political career there were definite limits.
Catherine Ferguson had always known that her son had a Jekyll and Hyde personality, and when he was young it excited her to see how far she could push the Hyde side of his nature. He was so like her. He put on a coat of kindness and respectability but his true character was never far from the surface and as he got older he was finding it increasingly difficult to hide.
He cursed the way he’d dealt with DI Pryor and his colleague earlier. What he should have done was played the part of the grieving son, offered them some refreshment, and sent them on their way. But he’d panicked and seeing them looking around the garages had brought back the same terror he’d experienced with DCI Mortimer.
It was probably just as well that the only thing he’d had to threaten them with was an air rifle. If he’d had something with more of an automatic action there could well have been two dead men in the grounds. Charles tried to control his breathing as one half of his brain told him that he wouldn’t have shot them while the other half laughed knowing that he most certainly would have done.
Well the Jaguar wasn’t in the garages now so that was one thing at least that his mother had taken care of. He must find out what she had done with it. It would be no use just hiding it away this time – it would have to be completely destroyed. For him the loss of that car would be more intense than the loss of his father. The car bound him and his mother together in that secret part of his life known only to the two of them.
She was the only woman of any consequence in his life, and although he was not openly gay there were few people who doubted that was his sexual preference. Only Catherine knew what he really liked, and lately even she had become disturbed by the lengths he was prepared to go to satisfy his desires. Charles had a preference for males, yes, but it was youth that really turned him on. He had a predilection for underage teenage boys.
The use of his father’s car had started out as a bit of a joke and happened when Charles still lived at home. Charles had used it to kerb-crawl around some of the less salubrious parts of his home county. He was careful and most evenings went back to Woodcanton Hall with Mr Hyde’s desires unfulfilled. There was no way he could satisfy his needs with anyone who didn’t bear at least a vague resemblance to the boy who had introduced him to a sort of love that one m
an could have for another.
Sometimes the need to discharge his cravings clashed with his father’s need to use the Jaguar himself. Charles had his own car, of course, but the added excitement he got from putting his father at risk by using his car had risen to unbelievable heights with ‘Mr Hyde’. The Jaguar had become an essential part of the foreplay he needed, and things came to a head one evening when he was desperate to use the car and his father had already driven off in it.
Catherine couldn’t bear seeing her son so distraught and first of all as a joke and then very seriously they put a plan in place. It wasn’t that difficult to find a car that was the same make, model, and colour as his father’s and Catherine had connections that made the acquisition of false numberplates an expensive dawdle. It was yet another secret they shared. Nothing like the biggest one that would have seen them both locked up but the one concerning the car gave Catherine some personal pleasure.
She had come to hate the man she had married and loved the idea of making a fool of him behind his back. When Charles’s Jaguar was ready for delivery she ensured that the furthest of the garages in the grounds had acquired a new padlock and that there were only two keys. Charles used the car but initially there was not the same thrill. That came when he had put one of his father’s old wallets embellished with his sister’s silly logo, together with one of his father’s coats, with nametag, on the passenger seat of the car. The first night that he used it after that saw him handing out more than a hundred pounds but getting the sort of young, lean body that satisfied him.
It was a long time since Charles had felt so disturbed. He made his way to his mother’s side of the house where there would inevitably be a good supply of whisky. Her lounge was one of the largest rooms in the house and, like the rest of her side of things, the interior design was ultramodern and sophisticated.
It looked as if his mother had been entertaining, as there were a number of plates and glasses dotted around. Charles and looked at his watch. In about half an hour Avril and Tom Shepherd would be arriving and he didn’t want that to happen. Avril spent a couple of hours each weekday cleaning the house and her husband worked in the grounds. They did their respective jobs well, but Charles knew they were inclined to gossip and didn’t want them going back to the village with stories of police crawling all over Woodcanton Hall. Their phone number was alongside the telephone and Charles rang and told them of the death of his father. He suggested they take a week off unless his mother called them with different arrangements.