Carmichael was on the bed inside the ten-by-eight cell. He wasn’t overly worried to be there. He knew that, aside from breaking in, he hadn’t done anything wrong and that there would be no evidence linking him to Lauren’s murder. He had been forced to surrender his clothes for forensic testing and had been given a pair of jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt to wear instead. He looked so undignified but he pushed the thought from his mind.
He had first crossed paths with Jack Vincent in 2011 when he had been hired to prove that a client’s wife had been cheating on him. It had been a relatively quick case for him to solve. The client, a local supermarket manager, had later been arrested for killing his wife and so Vincent had paid Carmichael a visit to understand what he had been hired to do. Vincent had come across as arrogant and seemed to care little about Carmichael’s chosen line of work, as if he had deemed it second-rate. Carmichael had explained that he had used to work in the police, hoping to encourage some camaraderie but it had seemed to do the opposite; Vincent had suggested that Carmichael was probably right to leave if he couldn’t handle the rigours of the force.
He had reluctantly handed over the evidence of the wife’s betrayal, along with D.N.A. evidence that had proved that the client was not the biological father of the couple’s young daughter. It had been such a tragic ending to the case. That said, at least Vincent would have been able to confirm his identity as a private investigator, and that would have gone some way to clearing up this mess.
It worried him that Davies had questioned whether there was a contract in place with Lauren. He had not made her sign such a contract as he hadn’t officially told her that he would take her case on. The point of his visit to her place that night had been to break the good news and to arrange a time for her to come in and sign the contract. He had a suspicion that Davies would go looking for the contract that night and that would mean trouble in the morning when they eventually decided to interview him.
He couldn’t work out whether Pensa had paid Lauren a visit or whether there was another suspect he had yet to encounter. It troubled him as he was not sure how much he should tell Davies in the morning. He had no proof that either man was to blame, and it would potentially sound like he had concocted a story to avoid trouble.
He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come. It had been a long day, but despite his best efforts, sleep would be intermittent that night.
SATURDAY 30 NOVEMBER
30
One of Carmichael’s few pleasures in life was waking late on a Saturday morning, without the pressure of needing to be anywhere or do anything. Saturdays were his; something he rarely compromised. He awoke, after a restless night’s sleep, to the sound of keys jangling in the lock of his cell door was quite a shock to the system.
The nature of his work had meant occasional dealings with the local constabulary, more often than not, of benefit to both parties. There was the odd occasion, however, when the two conflicted, and he had spent an occasional night locked in a cell in the past, but no formal charge had ever been brought against him.
The first such occasion had been three years earlier. He had been hired by a local businessman who was being unfairly victimised by a local racketeer. The hood, an evil man by the name of Grimmy, had set up shop in the Woolston area of the city, near the Itchen Bridge. The client, a retired publisher had set up a small t-shirt printing company along the main stretch of high street, and, whilst profits weren’t high, he was able to balance his books at the end of every month. That was until Grimmy had sent a couple of heavies to each of the local businesses, demanding a cut of the profits in exchange for protection. It was made abundantly clear that said protection would be from Grimmy and his goons.
Unable to defend himself against such brutality, the client had been one of the first to fall into line and hand over his hard-earned cash. Not all the locals had caved so easily, however, and the client had witnessed Grimmy’s lack of protection for himself. After six months of the arrangement, the client was struggling to afford the payments. As local shops began to close under the pressure, fewer consumers flocked to the area and the client began to feel the pinch. When he tried to reason with Grimmy, he was told, in no uncertain terms, that there were no excuses for not paying and that his family would be in danger if he reneged on the contract.
The client approached the police but, after some minor enquiries, they said there was insufficient evidence of Grimmy’s wrongdoing. What they actually meant was they knew what the grubby little bastard was up to, but had no way of proving it. The rest of the local business managers were too afraid to corroborate the client’s story, and so he had eventually turned to Carmichael to achieve the evidence he required. It was an unusual case and when Carmichael had approached a contact, a Police Constable by the name of Alex Young, he had been warned not to meddle.
‘Bastards like that get caught eventually,’ Young had claimed.
Patience had never been one of Carmichael’s virtues and he had paid Grimmy a visit of his own. The villain had been enjoying a lunchtime buffet at a local tandoori when Carmichael approached him. He had been flanked by two of his heavies but Carmichael had incapacitated them with considerable ease, leaving the two men to talk privately. Grimmy had been impressed with Carmichael’s chutzpah and aggression and had proposed he join the organisation. Carmichael had been so appalled by the suggestion that he had grabbed Grimmy by the neck and forced his face down into a plate of Lamb Dhansak until he had practically choked.
It was a brave, if not reckless move, but it did the trick. Although publicly, Grimmy swore he would get revenge, secretly the whole experience had shaken him up and he had left the area, moving to neighbouring Dorset to start over. The police had been called and Carmichael had been hauled in to explain his actions. He had claimed they had merely had a disagreement and that there would be no repetition. Grimmy had decided not to press charges, keen to avoid having the police look into his operation. Young had later told him that, whilst his actions were not condoned, he had earned the respect of the local uniform and they wished they’d had the freedom to take such action.
A tray of soggy Weetabix and a cup of warm tea were brought in on a tray for him by a fearsome looking woman in uniform. She casually informed him that he should eat quickly as he was likely to be called to interview anytime in the next hour. Sure enough, the cell door was reopened twenty minutes later and he was escorted to an interview room where D.C.I. Mercure and D.S. Davies peppered him with questions about why he had been in Lauren Roper’s house the previous evening. He had decided not to share the full details about his relationship with Lauren and what he had been hired to do. He wasn’t sure if they would believe him, but when he suggested they phone Melissa to confirm his version of events they agreed to do so.
Melissa had been up in her flat when the police had phoned. She had been planning to go into Southampton to do some Christmas shopping but Davies’ call had scuppered those plans. She confirmed that Lauren had approached them to investigate her mother’s assault and said she could fax over copies of Carmichael’s notes on the case. They told her they already had them in evidence, having raided the office at six a.m. that morning.
‘We didn’t find a contract between you and the victim, but your secretary has confirmed that you had several meetings with her, so we are prepared to accept that you had a working relationship with her,’ Mercure offered. ‘But that still doesn’t explain what you were doing in her flat last night when we arrived. It doesn’t explain why you ran either.’
‘I told D.S. Davies last night what I was doing there. I had popped by to share the results of my findings with her.’
‘What were those findings?’ Mercure questioned.
‘That’s between me and my client.’
‘Your client is dead, Mr Carmichael,’ Mercure fired back sharply. ‘Besides, you aren’t a doctor or a solicitor, so there is no legally recognised client privilege. By not telling us what you were going to
share with her, you are being deliberately evasive.’
‘I prefer the term guarded.’
‘Miss Roper hired you to find out who assaulted her mother, right?’ Davies interrupted. ‘Who do you think did it?’
‘I have a number of possible suspects,’ Carmichael replied. ‘As soon as I’ve narrowed it down, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
‘You’re not a policeman anymore, Johnson,’ Mercure said. ‘You need to stop interfering in matters that we should be handling.’
He laughed, ‘You’re not going to investigate a twenty-four year old assault that was never reported. Who are you trying to kid?’
‘Regardless, you have no right to be questioning people as if you still wear the uniform.’
‘Don’t worry, I have my ways.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ Mercure suggested. ‘I’ve heard the stories about you. I don’t think that’s the kind of behaviour I wish to see on my patch.’
‘Where were you between four and six yesterday?’ Davies asked.
‘I was in Winchester, doing some research.’
‘Research into what?’ Davies persisted.
‘That’s my business.’
‘Can anybody corroborate your presence there?’
‘I’m sure you could check the CCTV cameras of the local library, as that’s where I was most of the afternoon. You could also take a look at the two receipts in my wallet. The first will show me purchasing drinks with a potential contact just after four p.m., and the second will show me buying a sandwich and bottle of water just before five. I headed back to Southampton at that point and drove to Lauren’s house, but didn’t make it until just after six o’clock.’
‘Preliminary results from the forensics team suggest she was killed between four and six p.m. so your alibi doesn’t quite rule you out of the equation,’ Mercure stated.
‘Come on,’ Carmichael pleaded. ‘You don’t really think I killed my client, do you? If you test my clothes, you won’t find a single trace that I had anything to do with this. We both know I’m right, so what’s this all about?’
Davies and Mercure exchanged glances before she eventually answered, ‘Okay, Johnson, I’ll level with you. We don’t think you killed her. That doesn’t mean you don’t know who did. At the moment, you’re the only person we have in the frame; why don’t you throw us a name we can take a look at.’
‘Are you serious? You want me to do your job for you?’
‘Don’t be so naïve,’ Mercure chided. ‘You don’t think it’s a little bit coincidental that Lauren Roper hired you to trace who assaulted her mother, and then she winds up dead herself? The two cases are related, right?’
He couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind.
‘Okay,’ he eventually conceded, ‘I’ll give you a name: Stan Pensa.’
‘And who is he?’
‘He was Nathan Green’s former cell mate. He approached and threatened me yesterday morning in a pub in Eastleigh. He said I should stop digging into Green’s background if I knew what was good for me.’
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘Yeah, he told me to warn Lauren to watch her back.’
‘And did you?’
Carmichael sighed, ‘No.’
Davies jotted the name down and added, ‘Any idea where we should begin looking?’
‘His probation officer is a good bet; I think he’s only recently been released.’
With that, the interview was terminated and Mercure advised him he was free to depart. She did add that they may yet call him to book over the method he had used to enter Lauren’s flat the night before. He wasn’t worried; at worst it would be a slap on the wrist.
It felt good to feel fresh air on his face as he left the station. He had been advised that his car had been towed from outside Lauren’s flat, pending further forensic analysis but he declined the offer of a ride home. Instead, he phoned Melissa and told her he was out and doing okay. She asked him if there was anything he wanted her to do, but all he told her was to avoid the office over the weekend and to just keep her eyes peeled for anyone following her or looking suspicious. He had a horrible feeling that there was something far greater going on that his mind had yet to process. The last thing he wanted was to put Melissa in any greater danger.
31
A free bus, train journey and then a paid bus ride meant Carmichael was back at the industrial estate in just over forty minutes. It wasn’t his preferred method of transport, as a taxi journey would have been far quicker, but until Frankie Benold’s cheque was paid in, his liquid assets were limited. It gave him the space and time he needed to think things through. There was something troubling at the back of his mind and he simply could not pinpoint what it was. One thing was sure: he needed a plan.
He had hoped to speak to Lauren about her biological father again last night. Although she had claimed that she had never met the guy, there was one photograph hanging in a frame on her wall that showed her as a baby with her mother and a man. He had no idea what this Darren Watkins looked like, but there was a possibility the man in the photograph was Watkins. It was a theory based on nothing but gut instinct, but what if it had been Watkins who had burst into Beth Roper’s flat that evening and carried out the act? It would explain why Beth refused to allow him to spend any time with Lauren in the years that followed. At the very least, Watkins deserved to know that his daughter had been killed last night. He decided he would leave a note for Melissa that she would see first thing on Monday: he would ask her to do some digging and try and find Darren Watkins. If he was lucky Watkins would still be in the area.
He was surprised by the state of the office when he entered it. The filing cabinets were wide open, there were papers scattered haphazardly across the floor and even the houseplant in the corner had been knocked over. Whoever had been in there had clearly performed a thorough search of the premises. It would take at least an hour to tidy the mess and probably the best part of a day to reorganise the filing system. He would have to get Melissa to work her magic, maybe even ask her to do some overtime on Sunday. He felt bad to delegate the laborious task to her but, put simply, she was far better at sorting the office than he was.
It wasn’t right. Even if the police had a warrant to search the property, they had no right to leave it in such a state. He decided to phone Davies and put in a complaint about the state of the office. Davies answered the phone on the second ring.
‘You owe me for a cleaner,’ he bellowed into the phone.
‘Excuse me?’ came Davies startled surprise. ‘Who is this?’
‘It’s Johnson Carmichael, the unfortunate victim of your search goons. My office is in a right state. It really is taking the piss!’
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa. We left your office in a pretty decent state actually. We entered it just after six this morning, found the paper folder with Lauren Roper’s case notes in it on your P.A.’s desk and left.’
‘Bull shit! There is paperwork all over the floor, my plant pot has been broken and the filing cabinet is wide open.’
‘We never opened your filing cabinet,’ Davies protested. ‘It was locked and we didn’t have anything we could use to crack the lock open. As I said, we grabbed the file and left. We were out in under a minute. If your place is in the state you describe, you must have…’
‘Been burgled,’ Carmichael finished, hanging up the phone.
Son of a bitch!
He began scouring the place for clues. Why would anyone break into his office? There wasn’t anything of value. He started picking up case files and looked at the names to see if any were missing. It was impossible to tell without comparing the names to a list of clients. He was about to turn the computer on to do just that when he saw his ash tray sticking out of the monitor on his desk.
Son of a bitch!
Not only had someone broken in and raided his filing, they had broken both his and Melissa’s computers. This would prove costly. He sat down in his chair an
d surveyed the damage to the room. It was as if someone had let a firework off in it. Who could be so…
Two names leapt to mind: Stan Pensa and James Benold.
Both men had threatened him in the past week; both had motive for trashing the office.
If it had been Pensa, he would have been looking for Lauren’s case file, which was thankfully in Davies’ possession. If it had been Benold, he would have been looking for…
Carmichael quickly flicked through the case files he had collected up. The Benold file was not there. He checked again and eventually got down on his hands and knees and searched all the paperwork on the floor for any reference to Benold. There was none. No file and no cheque.
He was angry and decided there was only one place he would get answers. He ran from the room and up the stairs to Melissa’s flat. He banged on the door and was pleased when she answered it.
‘I need to borrow your car,’ he said to her barging in. ‘Where are your keys?’
‘Morning to you too, boss,’ she said flippantly but then saw he was in no mood to be messed with. She fished the keys out of her trouser pocket and threw them towards him. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘No, not really,’ he said catching the keys. ‘We’ve been burgled and I think I know who did it.’
‘Oh God, really? Did they make a mess? What are you going to do?’
‘I’ll teach the bastard some manners!’
*
Carmichael was still fuming when he pulled up outside of the Benold bungalow. He was hoping he would find the man of the house inside and would release the rage onto his face. At the very least, he would ask Frankie Benold to cancel the previous cheque and rewrite him one for the final fee instalment.
He knew something wasn’t right as he walked up the gravel driveway. Frankie’s car was there but there was no sign of James’. The front door was ajar. It was possible that she had just forgotten to close it, but that seemed unlikely. He reached into his pocket for gloves and then recalled that they were still at the station and he hadn’t thought about buying any new ones in town earlier. He would just have to be careful with what he touched. He pulled the sleeve down on his jacket and nudged the door open gently; listening for any evidence that Frankie was home. There was silence.
Trespass (P.I. Johnson Carmichael Series - Book 2) Page 18