Saunders was a good boss: he gave his men the freedom they needed to carry out their duties. Whilst violence against the criminal fraternity was not encouraged, it was not formally discouraged, and Carmichael soon developed a reputation for using force to get what he needed.
Two months into the operation, the body of Janus Stratovsky had been found in the burnt out shell of a black London Taxi near Brixton. The victim’s hands, feet, teeth, eyes and tongue had been removed post mortem, and the body had been burnt beyond recognition, suggesting that the victim’s clothes had had an accelerant applied to them. The body would have remained unclaimed but for a small metal plate in the victim’s arm. Janus had badly broken his left fibula as a toddler and a metal plate had been fitted to hold the bone in place. This plate had included a serial number, which was tracked back to a small hospital outside of Minsk, and so the identification had been made. Whoever had killed Janus had gone to great lengths to hide the true identity of the victim, and had the left arm been severed too, the victim’s identity would never have been discovered.
Victor Stratovsky was distraught and openly vowed to get revenge on the perpetrator, offering significant bounties for any information that led to the killer’s identity. It was suspected initially that the hit was a revenge-killing from one of the other families, and Victor focused his attention on working out who had done it and why. Eventually, Uncle Nikolai had arrived on U.K. soil, determined to take over operations.
Because Saunders’ team had been working an open case against the Stratovskys, an internal investigation had been launched into the team’s activity and soon questions were being asked about the level of force being exerted to gather evidence and tip-offs. Fingers started to be subtly pointed at Carmichael’s level of involvement in the case, and when someone suggested to the Complaints Investigation Bureau that Carmichael had a real dislike of Janus, he soon became the focus of the investigation.
He was formally suspended while the investigation was carried out and Senior Met Officials began to tell the press that Carmichael had received and adhered to warnings about his conduct. It was a witch-hunt of the worst kind. Convinced that he was to be used as a scapegoat, he did what anyone else in his position would do: he shifted the focus to somebody else. At the time, he used to run regularly at night around the back streets of Hammersmith, near his home. This had brought him into contact with various homeless addicts and vagrants. One night, while out running, he found the body of one such vagrant and removed one of the man’s hairs, planting it on Janus’ body at the morgue where it was being stored, and placed it in the mouth of the victim.
An anonymous tip-off encouraged the forensics team to re-examine the body where the stray hair was located. A D.N.A. match was found on the P.N.C. database and the vagrant’s body was located. Unfortunately, the man, in his late forties, was not dead and began to plead his innocence of any such crime, however, due to his lack of alibi, the case against him continued.
Carmichael was invited back to work with sincere apologies, but he soon resigned, citing the lack of support he had received during the investigation, as the cause of his resignation. Six months later, he successfully took the Metropolitan Police to a tribunal for constructive dismissal, claiming the task force had been rife with racism, and he had received a rather handsome redress. It was at this point that he had decided to move away from London and to go into business by himself. Choosing Hampshire as his base location, he soon settled in his chosen vocation: private investigator. At the time, he had imagined a glamorous lifestyle, solving the crimes the police couldn’t or didn’t have the resources to crack. However, the truth was: the only jobs he tended to get were wives looking for him to prove that their husbands had strayed from the marital bed. That was why he was pointing his camera in the direction of Mr James Benold and the attractive young blond with whom he was eating lunch.
Benold was typical of the kind of man that Carmichael was asked to track: tall, handsome, rich and with an unnerving belief that he was above the rules. Benold was an international trader by profession. Having spent long hours setting up the business in his younger days, he was now CEO of Benold Trading and so had the time to indulge his fancies. An average day now was two to three hours of email management and the occasional site visit. Benold Trading had offices in London, Plymouth and Hampshire and the CEO lived in Southampton, about as central as he could be to the operation.
Mrs Francesca Benold, Frankie to her friends, was a stay-at-home mum but with her two teenage children now in secondary school and in the throes of adolescence, she had found she had more free time on her hands than she had been used to. Sure, she could still go to the tennis club, yoga lessons and the occasional coffee morning, but she still found herself sitting at home on the sofa for large portions of the day whilst her husband was off gallivanting. She had begun to suspect that his affections had wandered, but she was not aware of just how far her husband had strayed, or how many times.
The services of Johnson Carmichael had been brought to her attention by a tennis club friend who had used him to secure a very generous divorce settlement. She had told Frankie that he was very discreet, yet uncompromising, in his approach to the work. When he had told Frankie his fee, she had waved her hand dismissively.
‘Money is not an issue, Mr Carmichael,’ she had added for good measure. ‘Just catch the bastard!’
He had done his research, following Benold for the past three weeks, learning his routine, getting inside the man’s head, understanding the type of woman he was attracted to. It was simple: short, blonde and slim; quite the opposite to his spouse, who was tall, brunette and athletic. It amazed him how Benold could even be tempted to stray when he had the strikingly beautiful Frankie at home waiting for him.
He began to take photographs with the Canon. The lens was zoomed in on Benold’s face, and even though he was with a beautiful companion, even now his eyes would wander as other ladies walked past the table. His companion didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t demonstrate that it bothered her.
Benold took a mouthful of his baguette and must have cracked a joke as the woman at the table giggled hysterically. Benold watched her as she laughed, probably imagining what it would be like to get her into bed. A waitress brought fresh drinks to the table, and Carmichael got some great photos of Benold staring at her bottom as she walked away. There was an arrogance to the man that made Carmichael’s skin crawl: it reminded him that whilst this work wasn’t saintly in nature, at least it saw some kind of justice served.
17
The blonde woman wiped her face with the corner of a paper serviette.
‘You do make me laugh, James,’ she said, stretching a hand across the table, hoping he would embrace it. Noticing the gesture, he reached out and their fingers entwined. ‘I wish today didn’t have to end,’ she added.
Benold put his baguette down on his plate and swallowed.
‘It doesn’t have to end just yet, you know,’ he said, a broad grin growing across his face.
The blond woman blushed slightly. She knew he was married, but right now that just didn’t matter.
‘What are you suggesting, Mr Benold?’ she asked playfully.
He leaned in conspiratorially, ‘I know somewhere we could go: a bit more intimate. We could, you know, talk.’
He winked as he said this and the blonde woman blushed again.
‘It is the middle of the day,’ she whispered. ‘What would my boss say?’
‘Call him. Tell him you’re not feeling well and won’t be going back to the office this afternoon.’
‘I couldn’t do that,’ she said pretending to be hurt by the suggestion that she would be prepared to risk her job for a fling.
‘Melissa, you know I like you, right? I want to take you away from this place and show you a good time. Just call your boss.’
The way he was staring into her eyes made it clear what his intentions were, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She looked ar
ound to make sure nobody was watching them.
‘Just what did you have in mind, James?’ she asked coquettishly.
He leaned in closer, ‘There is a hotel I know, not two minutes’ walk away. I know the Manager so I’m sure he will give us one of the luxury suites. I want to take you there, open a bottle of champagne and make love to you for the rest of the afternoon. The room comes equipped with a hot tub and a sensational view of the city. Can your arm be twisted?’
She had to admit, it did sound appealing, but one thing still bothered her.
‘And what about your wife? How would she react if she knew what you were planning?’
‘I told you before, Melissa: My wife doesn’t understand me, she never has. She is probably off shagging her tennis coach as we speak. You don’t need to feel bad…I don’t do this kind of thing usually…it’s just I’m bewitched by your beauty and I need to have you in my arms. I’m the kind of person who usually gets what he wants.’
She didn’t doubt the last statement but she was pretty sure that this certainly wasn’t the first time he had propositioned a young woman in the middle of the day.
She weighed up the proposal for a moment before saying, ‘Okay, I’ll call my boss. You go pay the bill and meet me back here in two minutes.’
He grinned broadly again. He lifted her hand and gently kissed it, before rising and heading to the till to settle the bill. The blonde woman removed the mobile phone from her handbag and dialled her boss’ number. He answered after one ring.
‘Yeah?’
‘We’re on,’ she said in hushed tones.
‘When? Where?’
‘He’s taking me to the hotel around the corner for champagne and sex. Give me ten minutes to get him naked and then come in snapping.’
*
Carmichael hung up the phone. Melissa Elkridge had worked for him for the last three years, initially as a secretary to help manage his contracts and appointments, but more recently as a honey trap. The blonde wig she was wearing to cover her own red hair, had been specifically created for this job, but had been carefully clipped on so that it wouldn’t fly off in a sudden gust of wind or heated moment.
When Frankie had first come to see him he had asked her just how far she wanted him to go in order to catch her philandering husband in the act. She had said to go as far as was necessary to get a quick divorce and substantial pay out. He had told her the premium package they offered was to get an employee to take the subject to bed so that he could be caught in the act. She had seemed quite pleased with this proposal and so the trap had been carefully set.
Once he had established where Benold liked to meet his women and where he liked to take them afterwards, it had been easy to plan his downfall: all he needed was for Melissa to catch his eye.
He had phoned Benold a week before, posing as a possible new client looking to use the trading company to ship some goods in from Holland. He had arranged to meet Benold at a bar in Southampton’s Ocean Village but had deliberately missed the appointment. Melissa had been carefully positioned at a nearby table in the bar. When Benold was about to leave the bar, she pretended to have a loud argument with a boyfriend on the phone, knowing that he would be able to hear. Of course, the presence of a newly single, short blonde woman, caught Benold’s eye and he was at her table within two minutes, flirting and ogling her rather ample chest. They had arranged to meet when he was next in town and had gone out for dinner the night before but she had told him that she never slept with men before a third date. Date three was today.
The morality of the job was something that Carmichael tried to ignore and he did this by reminding himself that if the philanderer wasn’t a cheat, he wouldn’t be in the position to be caught. That, and the fee he would receive, was enough to keep the voice in the back of his mind quiet. Business in the last twelve months had been pretty steady and he had managed to build up a decent nest-egg of savings and was planning to blow most of it on a well-deserved holiday. He was currently toying with the idea of going somewhere tropical for three months and just forgetting about normality. He had always dreamed of going travelling one day, and he certainly wasn’t getting any younger: now was as good a time as any he figured.
He watched as Benold helped Melissa to her feet and exited the café. The hotel where they were headed was a small but rather exclusive place, undoubtedly paid for by the company. The manager of the hotel understood his guests’ requirements for privacy and his discretion was guaranteed by the handsome cost of a room.
He placed the Canon in its bag and was about to get out of the car when his mobile phone started to ring. He looked at the display but did not recognise the telephone number. He could see Melissa and Benold were about to walk away and whilst he was eager to pursue them, he knew he couldn’t turn down potential new business. He accepted the call and held the phone to his ear.
‘Johnson Carmichael, Private Investigator, no job is too big.’
‘Mr Carmichael, I need your help,’ said a frightened voice.
‘Okay,’ he replied, eager to end the call as quickly as possible. ‘Can I suggest you phone my office and make an appointment with my secretary? I’m in the middle of something right now.’
‘Please, Mr Carmichael, I’m desperate. I need your help.’
‘That’s fine, Miss. I’m sure I’ll be able to help, but now isn’t a great time. Please, just phone my office.’
‘I did that, there was nobody there.’
It was a fair point: Melissa was clearly busy on other tasks.
‘Please, phone the office and leave an answerphone message. I promise, I will call you back,’ he said as he watched Melissa and Benold turn a corner.
‘You don’t understand, Mr Carmichael,’ persisted the voice. ‘I need your help…today. I’m willing to pay you fifty thousand pounds if you will agree to take my case.’
Carmichael froze, nearly dropping the phone.
‘Say that again.’
‘I said I’ll give you fifty thousand pounds if you’ll meet me today and take on my case.’
The lure of the money was too good to say no outright. Fifty thousand pounds was plenty of reason to postpone his holiday.
‘Okay, Miss…wait...what’s your name?’
‘It’s Lauren.’
‘Right, Lauren,’ he said, quickly looking at his watch to confirm the time. ‘I’ll be back in my office by three o’clock. Can you meet me then?’
There was a pause on the end of the line before the woman spoke, ‘Yes, okay, I can meet you at three.’
With that the line went dead. He wondered what kind of ‘case’ warranted payment of fifty thousand pounds, but, before he had time to consider just what he would be prepared to do for such a sum, he remembered his existing case. Slamming the door, he ran across the road and jogged down the street to try and catch up with the couple.
18
Melissa followed Benold up the front stairs of the building and swiftly through the lobby. He seemed to wave in the direction of the front desk but did not stop to collect a key, suggesting that he had already planned the details of this tryst.
So he always intended to take me to bed, she thought as his tight grip on her arm whisked her towards the elevator block.
It seemed like he was in quite a hurry to get upstairs. The lift doors opened and they boarded, exiting on the third floor. The elevator ride had been quiet, with neither person speaking but a nervous energy enveloping them both.
Melissa had completed a business studies course while at college six years ago but had soon discovered that her future did not lie in a classroom, and opted out of going to University. She had told her parents the reason was that she didn’t want to get lumbered with debt so soon in her fledgling life. They had accepted her argument with the relief that they would not have to fund such a course. She had taken the first job she could find, working in a local supermarket in the Lordshill area of Southampton, and she had managed to stick it out for nearly a year before growi
ng bored with serving customers on the store’s cigarette kiosk. She had left the supermarket when she managed to secure a job doing filing and administrative work in a small solicitor’s office but this only lasted three months before boredom kicked in once again. Her next job had been working in a florist near to her parents’ home, where she was still living at the time. She found she had an aptitude for creating colourful bouquets but the pay had been poor and she had grown frustrated with still living with her parents and had needed to find a place of her own.
She had come across Carmichael’s job advertisement by chance when she had got lost on the way to yet another job interview. She had noticed a small leaflet in the window stating that the private investigator was looking for a personal assistant to perform minimal administrative duties. She had gone in and caught him midway through a sandwich. They had chatted about the nature of the role for ten minutes and then he told her that the pay was not great but that the successful candidate would have the opportunity to live rent-free in the small flat above the premises. She had practically bitten his hand off to accept the role. She had started a week later and it had taken her just as long to get the office organised and Carmichael on track.
They had become an effective team. Although the hours could be a little unsociable at times, she was free from her overbearing parents and earning a little bit of cash on the side. She had eventually taken over the role of balancing the firm’s books each month and had been surprised by the size of some of the deposits clients would make for the work undertaken. He had explained that it was the nature of the business: at times things were lean but when business was good, profits were extremely high. She had seen an opportunity to make some extra cash herself, and had suggested that she could help him out on some of the cases. She accepted that his police experience was what made him good at his job, but she was more than able to follow simple instructions and that was how she had become his honey trap. Her hourly rate and free accommodation remained, but she would receive a bonus payment in cash when a job was successfully completed. She had been saving these bonuses up for a deposit on a property of her own; not that she wasn’t enjoying the flat.
Trespass (P.I. Johnson Carmichael Series - Book 2) Page 10