‘Is that your best chat-up line?’
‘That’s not a chat up, it’s a fact. If it’s not this weekend, then I can’t guarantee I’ll be around for the next.’
‘It’s still sexual harassment.’
‘Lighten up, Clare. You’re dealing with the big boys. Your country bashfulness doesn’t cut the mustard with the gangsters or with us. If they grab you…’
‘You don’t need to spell it out, and no, I will not be meeting you this weekend or at any other time, other than in a professional capacity.’
‘Apologies, no offence intended.’
‘None taken this time.’
‘One more thing. Cosford’s daughter-in-law, check her out.’
‘We’ve met the granddaughter. We asked you to keep tabs on her and Paul Rudd.’
‘She’s the younger version of Selwyn. Her father’s not much chop, but she is. We’re monitoring their movements, their phone conversations, their internet usage. Old man Cosford’s in his eighties, and he’s still checking out sites that are too young for him, liable to give him a heart attack.’
‘What is it with the daughter-in-law?’
‘You’ll figure it out. If I’m not here the next time, put a flower on my grave, that’s if there’s enough left of me. It may be best to keep off fish for a few weeks afterwards. I don’t want you chewing on me, not in that way.’
‘I should report you.’
‘You won’t. And besides, phone me up, let me know if what I’ve just told you was worth it.’
***
Tremayne could sympathise with Clare when she told him of her conversation with Johnson. If it had happened in Bemerton Road Police Station, he would have taken it further, but he had met men like Johnson before. Brave men who had been out in the field for years, detached from family and friends, always looking over their shoulder in case the group they had infiltrated would figure out who they were, or whether they would be a tip-off.
He remembered a young constable at Bemerton Road, one of those he had shared a house with. He had been ambitious, willing to get down in the dirt. Idealistic, wanting to stamp his mark. After three years in the north of the country, in Newcastle, he was number three in an extremely violent gang that controlled most of the serious crime in the city.
Two weeks after he and Tremayne had spoken by phone, a released prisoner that he and Tremayne had arrested but who was out on parole, and unbeknown was a cousin of the number two in the gang, had recognised the constable. A police-dredging operation after a tip-off, four weeks after he had last dialled a secure number, and his remains were dragged up from just off the pier.
Men such as Johnson, Tremayne knew, needed to be given some leeway.
‘Apart from that, he said we should check out Cosford’s daughter-in-law. Have you met her?’ Clare said.
‘I remember Cosford telling me the son was a waste of space, but there was no mention of the man’s wife. Drugs when he was younger, doing nothing when he got older. Maggie is his daughter.’
‘It’s the mother we need to see.’
‘Why didn’t Johnson tell you what he meant?’
‘He reckons he’s got a chance with me. He thinks if I’m suitably impressed, I’ll agree.’
‘What are his chances?’
‘He’s a snivelling little toad. What do you think?’
‘Not good.’
‘Okay, so much for Johnson. It’s a ninety-minute drive,’ Clare said.
‘Great, time for me to check my punter’s bible.’
‘More like a mug’s bible.’
‘It keeps me out of trouble.’
If Selwyn Cosford’s son had not amounted to much, where he lived did not indicate it. On arrival, in front of the police officers, stood a large two-storey red-brick monster.
‘Big enough for me,’ Tremayne said.
‘Too big if Jean expects you to help her clean it.’
Tremayne knocked at the door. Maggie answered it. ‘We’re down here visiting,’ she said. She was dressed casually: a pair of shorts and a loose blouse. Her feet were bare. ‘No shoes in here.’
Clare removed her shoes and placed them on a rack to one side. Tremayne removed his to reveal odd socks. Clare said nothing, the young woman sniggered.
‘I was in a hurry,’ Tremayne said, not bothered whether they were odd or not; they served their purpose.
‘Max Cosford.’ A hand stretched forward and grasped Tremayne’s. A bear-like grip. The body behind the grip was tall, well-built, muscular more than fat. ‘We met once, a long time ago.’
‘We need to talk to you,’ Tremayne said, shaking his hand free of the man. ‘This is Sergeant Yarwood. We’re investigating the murder of several people, Tony Mitchell included.’
‘My father’s army buddy.’
‘Was he?’
‘According to my father, not that I met the man that often.’
‘He liked to keep to his own,’ Clare said. ‘Your wife?’
‘She’s out for a while. Not sure when she’ll be back.’
‘Do you have a photo of her?’
‘We’re not into photos.’
Tremayne noticed the man spoke fast, monopolising the conversation. ‘Mr Cosford, Tony Mitchell has been murdered, so have two of his relatives. The matter is serious, and while we appreciate your civility, some questions must be asked.’
‘Fire away, I’m all ears.’
Clare could see in Maggie, the daughter, an attractive, well-balanced young woman. She looked at the father and could only see a buffoon. She assumed the daughter’s innate good sense came from her mother and her grandfather.
‘We really need to talk to your wife as well.’
‘She’ll not be back today, maybe tomorrow. She has friends in London. They’ll be up chatting for half the night, no doubt they’ll drink a few bottles of wine as well.’
‘Where in London?’
‘Somewhere in Chelsea, not sure.’ Tremayne was not convinced by the ‘I’m a blithering idiot’ routine.
‘She must carry a mobile phone,’ Clare said.
‘I can give you the number. She’s not good at answering, always diverting to voicemail. Damned annoying sometimes.’ Cosford looked out of the window as he spoke. ‘Looks like rain.’
Clare took the wife’s phone number and went into the other room. She called Sergeant Johnson, a capable man, she knew, even if he was obnoxious.
‘Interested in this weekend, is that it?’ Johnson said.
‘Not a chance. I’ve got a number for you. If I go through the official process, it’ll take time. No doubt you’ve got contacts who can fast-track the search.’
‘What do you want us to do?’
‘Locate the owner of the phone, take her in, assisting the police in their enquiries. Don’t use your pathetic chatter with her. I don’t want her getting off on a technicality. Let me know when you’ve got her. We’ll be up there within two and a half hours.’
‘Professional is professional. I’ll do what is right.’
‘I knew you would.’
Clare walked back into where Tremayne and Max Cosford were sitting. Maggie was upstairs with Rudd.
‘A meeting at Bemerton Road, we need to go,’ Clare said.
Tremayne knew the code for let’s go and now.
‘What is it?’ Tremayne said once they were outside the house.
‘Have you packed an overnight bag?’
‘Do I need one?’
‘You might.’
‘If it’s important, I can always pick up some clothes on the way, change of underwear, a toothbrush.’
‘Socks come in matching colours.’
‘Very funny. Is this a secret or does everyone get to know?’
‘I saw a photo in the other room. I’ve phoned Serious and Organised Crime, Johnson. They’ll find Max Cosford’s wife if she’s in London and bring her in for questioning.’
‘Is she involved?’
‘Describe Eileen Bleakes.’
‘Brunette, five feet seven inches, blue eyes, short hair. That’s the description we got, not sure how accurate it was.’
‘How about blonde, five feet seven inches, blue eyes, long hair.’
‘Cosford’s wife?’
‘Max Cosford may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but his daughter is. And what’s the bet that Max’s wife is sharp?’
‘Better odds than my current run on the horses?’
‘Much better.’
Clare pointed the car in the direction of London, hoping that they would receive a call before arriving.
Chapter 30
‘Some people take it calmly, others just stand their ground, protest that they’ve done nothing wrong,’ Gwyneth Ashcroft said on Tremayne and Clare’s arrival at Serious and Organised Crime.
‘Katherine Cosford?’
‘Calm. We traced her to an address in Tottenham. Not much of a place, considering who her father-in-law is. Have you met him?’
‘I’ve known him for a long time,’ Tremayne said.
‘Have you ever taken his advice?’
‘Never watched his programme, never sought his advice.’
‘Do you want to see her?’ Ashcroft said.
‘Has she said anything?’
‘We’ve not asked her anything. She’s all yours. On the way here, she made a phone call. After that, not a word out of her.’
‘Who did she phone?’
‘Selwyn Cosford.’
Tremayne moved away and over to Constanza. ‘Thanks for acting so quickly. What do you reckon?’
The two men were standing in a small cafeteria. It was complete with chairs, tables, brewed coffee, and biscuits in a glass container. Tremayne could only reflect on what they had in Homicide at Bemerton Road: a small alcove, the coffee in a tin, the milk in an old fridge that needed defrosting.
‘Johnson found her. He’s the one who should take the credit.’ Tremayne liked a person who didn’t hog the credit. He knew a few too many, some in Bemerton Road, who’d let their people do the legwork, and then would proudly stand up and say it was due to them. Not Constanza, though. The son of Italians who had come over to England when the economy back home was going through the floor, that was as much as he knew about him.
‘Good man?’
‘Rough around the edges. He was giving your sergeant a bit of lip. I could hear him on the phone to her, had to call him in here for a few words.’
‘Any point?’
‘Probably not, but the rules are clear.’
‘The rules can be a pain sometimes. And besides, Yarwood’s tough. Johnson wouldn’t stand a chance with her, and if he tries it on up here, she’ll have him on a charge.’
‘He’ll not cause trouble. He was undercover for a few years, not many can do that. I can admire the man, even if he can be a pig. Katherine Cosford is waiting for her lawyer to come. Until then, you’d be wasting your time.’
‘We’ll wait. Is it Barker?’
‘You know him?’
‘We’ve met.’
‘Not a pleasant encounter?’
‘Last time I gave him as good as he gave me. He’ll not want me to break him again. We’ll need to be on our toes when he arrives.’
‘Do you want Yarwood in the interview room with you?’
‘She knows the history of this case, and it was her who made the connection.’
‘I only hope you’re right. Men like Selwyn Cosford are apt to cause trouble if you’re wrong.’
‘He’ll be here as well, mark my words.’
Tremayne found Clare talking to Johnny Johnson. ‘We’ve got thirty minutes, not much more. We should grab something to eat. Do you want to join us, Johnson?’ Tremayne said.
‘Don’t mind if I do. There’s a place not five minutes from here. They’re quick and cheap.’
Why do police officers always want to eat Italian? Clare thought. She was trying to cut back on the calories, and pasta was not what she needed, but in the spirit of teamwork she ordered a plate of spaghetti Bolognese, the same as the other two.
‘Johnson was telling me about being undercover,’ Clare said.
‘We had this idiot, bragging down the pub about how he was a big-time gangster, and what he would do if he were running the show. Little did he know that he was shouting off to an off-duty policeman having a quiet pint. I’m in deep cover. I’ve been there a long time, and it gets to you. There are some days when you’re not sure whether you're on the side of law and order, or whether you’re a villain. It plays hell with the mind. Not many ever come back to regular policing. A few of us end up with psychological problems, a few end up turning to crime.’
‘And you?’
‘I was hyper for a while. In the end, I took three months special leave and went and spent time with a brother in Australia. After four weeks of sun, surf, and whatever else, I’m back on a plane to England, and straight into Serious and Organised Crime. I was one of the lucky ones.’
‘You were telling us about this informer,’ Tremayne said. The food had arrived promptly, as Johnson said it would. Clare could imagine the packet it had come out of, the microwave it had been heated in. Regardless, she had to admit it was tasty.
‘It’s not a pretty story, and I can’t say I’m proud, but Clare wanted the truth,’ Johnson said. ‘The police start snooping on account of this foolish drunk, not that they’ve got anything to go with. Once the police are paid off…’
‘Paid off?’
‘Some were on the take, some were my contacts. If you’re dealing with serious quantities of drugs, you’ve got to be willing to pay people.’
Clare checked her messages. ‘We’ve got another twenty-five minutes. Cosford’s coming, so are Barker and Maggie.’
‘The idiot with the big mouth,’ Johnson continues. ‘He’s trussed up tighter than a Christmas ham. He’s panicking, not that he can do much about it. I’m there as one of the trusted lieutenants. I can’t be seen to be weak with the man.’
‘If you are?’
‘They’ll suspect, and then I’ll be the ham.’
‘What happened after that?’
‘We start going to work on the man.’
‘Hitting him?’
‘And the rest. He’s squealing, protesting his innocence. I know he is, but I can’t let on. In the end, the boss is satisfied that the man was just an idiot and nothing more would be gained.’
‘He was released?’
‘Sort of.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I wasn’t involved, but six weeks later he was found where he had been trussed up, hanging from a beam.’
‘Would you have killed him to protect your identity?’ Clare said.
‘That’s what I was telling you before. You get messed up, a little crazy.’
‘You would have?’
‘I’m not sure. The line between right and wrong has blurred. It can never be that clear again.’
***
There was none of Selwyn Cosford’s easy charm that was apparent on the television as he waited for Tremayne and Clare to return. The man was livid, and he was in reception.
Tremayne had seen his car outside. ‘We’re in for it,’ he said.
‘Tremayne, what is this? What right have you? I’ll have you hung out to dry for this,’ Cosford bellowed across the distance separating the two men as Tremayne walked in the door.
‘I’m sorry, but this is a murder enquiry. Your daughter-in-law is a person of interest.’
‘Are you intending to arrest my entire family to bolster your pathetic case?’
‘Katherine Cosford is not under arrest. She is assisting us with our enquiries.’
‘It may be best if I deal with this,’ Barker said.
Tremayne could see that the man was ready for a fight. He was willing to give him one in return.
Maggie Cosford stood to one side, saying nothing. Rudd had his arm around her shoulders.
‘I suggest we move somewhere
else,’ Tremayne said.
‘I want to see my daughter-in-law,’ Cosford demanded.
‘We will interview her first. Mr Barker will, I assume, be present.’
‘He will be.’
Tremayne and Clare left them and headed up the stairs to the interview room, and Katherine Cosford and her lawyer. The Serious and Organised Crime team were watching on a monitor in another room.
‘Mrs Cosford, we believe that you used the name of Eileen Bleakes in the past.’
‘I did not.’
Clare studied the woman’s features close up. The descriptions of a 23-year-old woman and the woman who sat opposite were very similar, but not conclusive.
‘On the day that we visited your house, you were not present. Why?’
‘My client is here to answer sensible questions,’ Barker said. ‘There was no appointment scheduled with my client at her house. Do you expect her to be waiting there on the off-chance?’
‘Not at all. Selwyn Cosford knew that we were getting close to bursting this case wide open, so did Mrs Cosford’s daughter. How old is she?’
‘She’s twenty-four,’ Katherine Cosford said. ‘We were married young, Max and I.’
‘Which means that you would have been a married woman with a child when you called yourself Eileen Bleakes, and when you seduced Aidan Farrell.’
‘I did not seduce anyone. I have always been faithful to my husband.’
Clare wouldn’t want to play poker with the woman, she knew that. She was attractive, but there was a hardness in her face, as if she was impervious to her surroundings.
‘Your daughter has recently become engaged,’ Clare said.
‘To Paul, a good man. We are very pleased.’
‘Your father-in-law approves of Paul. Is that what’s important?’
‘Are you implying that she has chosen Paul because of that?’
‘Your husband, Selwyn’s son, is not a capable man, is he?’
‘He makes me happy.’
‘Maybe he does, but he’s not his father, whereas your daughter is Selwyn.’
‘Are you insinuating that Maggie is her grandfather’s daughter?’
‘No, but she has his characteristics, his charm, his drive, his ability to bring in people as he needs them, to spit them out when he doesn’t.’
The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set Page 114