Fifth Member

by Claire Rayner

  ‘Right,’ Gus said, when at last everyone had settled and mouths were emptied. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here. And it had better be good. Because I tell you, I’m getting madder and madder about this case. Five murders in a matter of days, and a clear view of the MO right from the start. And still he managed to do four more. We’ve got a lot of fingers to be pulled out here this morning and if they aren’t, by God, you’ll all be sorry.’

  18

  The first half-hour of the meeting was, from George’s point of view, somewhat tedious. She knew perfectly well that the bulk of police work was painstaking, detailed, dull even. Each victim had to be checked exhaustively: his working practices and colleagues; his family and friends; his tastes, his pleasures; his every activity dug out, listed, collated and compared with the same data from all of the others, as part of the search for a common theme that might just possibly point them in the direction where the murderer might be. That they had been working hard was clear; they all had the drawn look that came from too little sleep and too many sandwich meals snatched on the wing. George caught Julie’s eye at one point as a detective sergeant droned his way through an account of the Committees – there were dozens, it seemed – on which the victims had served, and Julie looked up at the ceiling with the classic look of boredom. George smiled back, comforted. She had been feeling guilty about finding it all so dull.

  Gus seemed to feel that too, because he pushed the sergeant with questions and then shook his head at him. ‘There’s nothing to find down that road. We’ve already considered all this stuff. It’s something new we need, a new lead, anything that’ll get us out of this cul-de-sac. We’ve been at this business for five days now, we’ve got five victims and we’re nowhere near finding ourselves a suspect.’

  ‘Apart from Alice Diamond,’ George murmured as much to herself as to the room at large and Gus turned and glared at her.

  ‘Eh? Alice?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said, very aware of the way everyone was looking at her. ‘She did behave oddly, didn’t she, at the airport? Or that chap who followed her certainly did. And the way she talked about him –’

  Gus cocked his head to one side. ‘Talked about him? When? Who to?’

  George saw the edge of the precipice just in time. She had not told Gus of her visit to Alice’s shop, of course. She had just stored away the information she had collected, sparse as it was, until she could make use of it. Which was certainly not at the moment. ‘Oh,’ she said artlessly. ‘I thought I heard someone saying she didn’t seem all that upset.’

  It was Dudley who saved her. ‘Neither of them were, not the son or her. The son was aggravated at having to come over at all which he had to do for financial reasons, once his father had died, and keeps nagging about when he can go back to Australia, – which he can when he likes, for our part, though I gather the buyers need him here for a while yet – and as for her – well, she talked about her husband as though, I dunno, as though he was just someone she worked with, rather than a husband.’

  George, remembering thinking much the same when she had talked to Alice in her shop, actually smiled at Dudley. ‘Is that so?’ she said. ‘What did she say?’

  Dudley appeared not to hear her. He was looking round the room for one of his people and then pounced. ‘Urquhart, wasn’t it you and Morley who’ve been watching her?’

  Mike Urquhart coughed and sat up rather straighter. ‘That’s right, Guv. But nothing seems to happen. When we talk to her she just says she misses him – Sam, that is – but life has to go on. We’ve had an obbo on her all week, but she just goes to the shop and then goes home again. Maybe we could put out an intercept on her phone?’

  Dudley shook his head. ‘Not justifiable. We’d never get a warrant for that. And I’m not sure it’d tell us much anyway. Those vehicles led nowhere, after all.’

  Mike looked miserable at that. ‘The Volvo turned out to be her own car. No problem there. The van …’ He coughed and looked embarrassed ‘I told you we’d found it registered to a Max Hazell on the Wembley Park Industrial Estate. Well, turned out Hazell was an old bloke, with a small import business, who died three weeks ago. There’s a problem of probate because he left no will and no one seems to know who his relations might be, so the warehouse and office and the gear are all locked and the keys held by the solicitor. The van was part of it, but it was kept parked up outside. We checked, of course, and found it. It was locked, no marks on it, but dirty; so many prints you’d never be able to use any for an ID – so that’s a dead end. It was just used because someone noticed it was available and easy to ride, I’d say.’

  ‘Is the van still there?’ Gus asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, sir.’ Mike looked pleased with himself. ‘We put a clamp on it so it canna be used.’

  ‘You shoulda left it and put on an obbo,’ Gus growled. ‘See if someone comes to borrow it again. Now, o’ course, whoever it is knows he’s been rumbled.’

  Mike, scarlet with mortification, blinked and said no more. George felt so sorry for him that against her better judgement she joined in. ‘I still think we ought to search Alice’s shop,’ she murmured.

  Dudley looked at her witheringly. ‘No justification. If we tried to get a warrant we’d be turned down. And rightly so. The woman isn’t a suspect, but a victim’s wife. In case you’d forgotten.’

  George caught Julie’s eye and opened her mouth to snap at Dudley and decided not to. No point, and Julie clearly had something to say. She’d wait and see what it was before going further down that road. Instead she said, ‘Well, what about the man you said met her at the airport – not the guy with the van, the other one?’

  Mike had recovered. ‘He kept himself well covered up. There wasn’t much we could do about an ID because he had one of those Barbour coats that cover up everything, and a cap, and he kept his head well down. Isn’t that right, Margaret?’

  Margaret Chalice nodded. ‘I’ve watched for him most particularly while we’ve been on obbo, but there’s been no sign of anyone like him. And I have to say that it’d be impossible to recognize him again, because like Mike said, he made sure he wasn’t really seen.’

  ‘Then there has to be something odd about Alice Diamond.’ George could bear it no longer. ‘A van borrowed from a dead man and returned, and a man who meets her in a sort of disguise; you can’t call that ordinary behaviour, can you?’

  ‘We’re well aware of that,’ Gus said. ‘But as Roop says, there’s not a lot we can do at this stage. We’ll go on watching her, of course. Mike? Margaret? And keep an eye on those premises in Wembley. Further down that road right now, we can’t go. Not till we can get a warrant.’

  Across the room one of the faxes pinged and started to spew out paper and the police constable sitting beside it reached for it, twisting his head to read it as it emerged. And then grinned. ‘Guv!’ he called. ‘Something here from Brussels.’

  Gus moved with alacrity, threading his way through the tables to join the man at the fax machine and began to read aloud the message on it. ‘Edward Caspar-Wynette-Gondor, Officer of the Commission (Agriculture), see photograph attached, has been identified here in Brussels attending meeting in Secretariat General of the European Commission, rue de la Loi, 200 1049 Brussels. Detailed list follows.’

  He waited as patiently as he could as sheet after sheet appeared until at last the machine pinged again and he was able to gather up the pages and go through them properly.

  ‘He’s been there since – let me see – late on Friday.’

  ‘We saw him at that party at the House of Lords,’ George said. ‘So it had to be very late. He went off with his brother, remember?’

  ‘I remember,’ he said, his head still down over his faxes. ‘Here it is. He checked into his hotel, the Prinsenhof, in rue Archimedes, at eleven-thirty p.m., coming direct from the airport in a taxi. By God, they don’t miss much detail – I’ve even got the name of the cab driver here – and since then he’s been at meetings. Hey, look
at this.’ George had come to stand beside him and so had Dudley. ‘He was returning to Brussels! He’d been at the Prinsenhof all week – ever since the previous Monday, and went back to London on the Friday lunchtime. He told the hotel his sister-in-law was sick and he had to go and see her, but asked them to hold his room …’ He read on, page after page, and then shook his head. ‘Well, you have to hand it to them,’ he said. ‘They’ve come up handsome. There was I goin’ spare because I thought they weren’t bothering and then they come up with all this.’

  George was still looking at the faxes, with the times of departure from Brussels airport and occasionally railway stations, arrival at the hotel, departure again followed by arrival at the Secretariat and return to his hotel, sometimes via restaurants, with a frown on her face. ‘Why is there so much detail?’ she asked. ‘It’s amazing –’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘No one knew you were going to want all this information,’ she said. ‘Why on earth do they have it? Why were Interpol following him like this? It’s very strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ Dudley said. ‘The fella worked in the Northern Ireland Office for a while, ages ago. But they go on getting special obbo to protect them after they quit.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Mike Urquhart said in some awe. ‘All of ’em? That must cost us a fair bit of dosh.’

  ‘You get more in the budget if you’ve got politicians who’ve been involved with Ireland on your patch,’ Gus said. ‘You ought to know that, Mike, ambitious bloke like you.’

  Again Mike subsided. He’s not having a good morning, George thought. In sympathy, she chose again to put her oar in. ‘So now what? Do you want to hear my report on Durleigh’s PM?’

  ‘We might as well,’ Gus said. ‘There’s nothing here for us. Edward CWG has to be right out of the frame.’

  ‘I never saw him in it,’ George said and Dudley glared at her.

  ‘Everyone is till we can be sure they’re clean,’ he said. ‘And the first thing you do always, is check family connections.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Gus said hastily, seeing storm clouds coming up. ‘Let’s see what there is to hear about the PM, Dr B. Anything startling?’

  ‘If you mean, anything different from the other four, no.’ She turned her back on Dudley and looked round the room at the rest of them. ‘The same M O entirely. He’d been strangled and then mutilated. I’d say there was a slightly shorter time gap between the two actions on this occasion – perhaps just a few minutes, because there was a heavier blood loss from the cadaver this time. He didn’t want to hang about. But the heart had definitely stopped beating. I’ve taken all the usual samples, of course, but I don’t expect any surprises. All I can say is that if this killer is modelling Jack the Ripper, this should be the end of it.’

  There was a little silence round the room as they contemplated the fact that the Ripper cases never had been solved – or at least not by the police force. It was a dispiriting thought, and after a moment Gus seemed to straighten his shoulders to push it away. ‘So,’ he said very briskly. ‘There’s not a lot more any of us can do at the moment but keep on the usual plod. But we’ll get going tomorrow at top level. It’s going to be difficult to get hold of people for interviews on a Sunday, so I’m inclined to treat this as a breathing day. Clean up your paperwork, make sure every single item we have, however scrappy, is on the computer, and carry on the search for connections amongst the data we’ve already collected. Roop, you go home and get some rest. You look like a dish rag. No, don’t argue, I’ll need you in better nick tomorrow than you are now, so go home and get some food and some sleep. The rest of you …’ And he settled to instructing various members of the force about what he wanted them to do the next day as Dudley, clearly unwillingly, did as he was told.

  George sat there for a while watching Gus and then, catching Julie’s eye across the room, made a gesture with her head in the direction of the door. Julie understood at once, got up and went out towards the door that led to the women’s cloakroom. After a few moments George, very casually, followed her.

  ‘This won’t do, will it?’ George said to Julie, who was waiting for her, perched on the edge of a washbasin.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, sitting around waiting for things to happen. I think we ought to do a bit of work together again.’

  Julie lit up. ‘Oh, yes, please. It was great going to that shop the other day! Where this time?’

  ‘Where do you think?’ George said. ‘I’ve got an idea, but I’m not certain that it’s quite … let’s hear your notions first.’

  Julie bit her lip, her eyes a little glazed as she concentrated. Then she said uncertainly, ‘Well, there is that business of the van. Mike seems to think that it was just sort of accidental that particular van was used by the bloke who picked up the cases. But suppose it wasn’t? I’d like to know more about this chap who died. It may be a long shot, but all the same …’

  ‘Julie!’ George said delightedly. ‘You’re a lady after my own heart. I was thinking the same. So, what do you say? When do you finish today?’

  ‘Well, it could be up to me, in a way, I mean if I just sort of wasn’t here, you know? Roop’s the one who notices stuff like who’s where – and he’s gone off now. So – this afternoon maybe?’

  ‘And it’s my bet that Gus’ll stay here till all hours,’ George said. ‘So that’s OK. Do you know how to get into locked buildings?’

  Julie looked scornful. ‘I should hope so. Mind you, we’re not supposed to break in, but …’

  ‘But – but – but. You’re beginning to sound like Roop.’

  ‘Oh, Gawd!’ Julie said. ‘I can’t have that, can I? I’ll see you later then?’

  ‘Meet you at the nearest underground station,’ George said. ‘It’ll be more anonymous, I think, than turning up in a car. Can you get the details about exactly where?’

  ‘I’ll give you a note,’ Julie promised. ‘And –’ The door opened and another woman constable came in and Julie went on as smoothly as a placid stream. ‘Thank you for your advice, doctor. I was feeling a bit worried about it, but it’s fine now. But I’ll pop in to my GP like you said. Ta ever so.’ She smiled widely at her colleague and went tripping away, leaving George to wash her hands in a casual manner before wandering back to the incident room.

  Gus greeted her return with gratitude. ‘Here, Dr B., would you be able to write your report on the PM here and now? Then we can get it into the computer and that’ll complete that section. I know Tim was there and I ought to wait for his report as well, but it helps if I could have yours now, written and not just verbal.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ she said cordially, and found herself a vacant computer screen and settled down happily to transcribe her notes. This felt right, like really being part of the investigation team, and she laboured away contentedly, even taking extra care over her spelling and punctuation, which didn’t usually concern her too much.

  Gus disappeared into his office and stayed there, his head down over his own paperwork, and George watched over the top of her VDU as Julie slipped away from her desk, leaving an old jacket over the back of her chair to make it seem she’d just gone to the ladies room. She felt a stab of guilt about the way they were deceiving Gus; it was a shame really, to use his good heart so; after they’d solved the case, she promised herself, she’d be sure he knew just how valuable young Julie was and how worthy of transfer to the CID, and also how necessary it had been to be a little less than honest with him. And it was a promise she renewed to herself for Julie’s sake when another woman PC, passing her desk on her way back to her own, dropped a scrap of paper on it. ‘Message I was asked to give you,’ the girl said. ‘Quietly, like,’ and winked.

  Wembley Park Station, Metropolitan Line or Bakerloo. Two-thirty sharp. I have full address. See you.

  19

  Wembley Park station at half past two on a Sunday afternoon was, George decided, a good place to be anonymous. Clearly there was an event o
n at the Stadium or in some part of the complex, because the trains coming in were full to the point of standing room only, and the small and shabby concourse was buzzing with people. She had worried for a moment that she and Julie would not be able to find each other in the hubbub, but as she reached the top of the stairs from the platforms she saw her standing in front of a map of the London Underground system and staring earnestly at it as though she were trying to learn it by heart.

  Julie greeted her warmly when George tapped her shoulder and said loudly, ‘Lovely to see you! I’m so glad your mum gave you the message in time.’ George grinned. Julie playing detective was rather touching.

  ‘Of course she did. Come on then, let’s go.’ They linked arms and walked out of the station and across the road to the Stadium side.

  ‘Well,’ George said. ‘OK, we’re just a pair of women out on the razzle for the afternoon. What is it we’re supposed to be coming here for? A football match?’

  Julie giggled. ‘You should be so lucky! No, it’s a choral-singing thing at the Conference Centre that’s bringing ’em in. Lots of hey nonny nos and so forth.’

  ‘I’ll prefer a bit of breaking and entering. Have you got the right gear to get us in there?’

  ‘Would I go equipped? You can get a stiff sentence for that! I’ve got a couple of skeleton keys, I don’t deny, but I hope we won’t need them. There are other ways.’

  ‘Go equipped?’

  ‘Police term. Going equipped to commit burglary. If you find jemmies and diamond cutters and so forth on a chap in the small hours it’s enough to make a charge even if he hasn’t done anything. So you have to be careful what you’re caught carrying. My keys don’t look all that unusual, fortunately. I got them in the States and they’re fixed up to look like ordinary keys. If anyone at work knew I had them I’d be in big trouble. So not a word.’