Benold nodded in her direction, but his glance quickly returned to the blonde.
‘You ladies out for a catch up or are you prowling for men to snare in your net?’ he asked.
Audrey shrugged her shoulders playfully, ‘Maybe a little of both. What brings you to this bar so early on a Sunday?’
‘I am in need of sustenance,’ he declared. ‘I haven’t had a decent meal in good company for far too long. If only I could find someone pleasant to dine with…’ he added with a smile.
‘Alas, we’ve already eaten…but that doesn’t mean we would be offended if you ate.’
Maggie shot her friend a look of disdain: always the same! Maggie was fed up of agreeing to meet with Audrey, only for her friend to wind up going off with some guy.
‘We’re only staying for a single drink,’ Maggie reminded her, ‘then we’re moving on. Remember?’
Audrey mouthed ‘W.T.F. while Benold was looking away. Maggie glared back at her, before excusing herself to go and powder her nose.
‘Your friend doesn’t seem to approve of me,’ he said, taking a sip of wine.
‘You’ll have to excuse her…I don’t think she’s been laid in at least a year. I’ll have a word with her when she gets back and then maybe you and I can…you know…get to know each other better.’
‘I’d like that…a lot.’
‘Wait a minute, you’re not married are you? The last guy who chatted me up turned out to have a wife hidden away at home. She thought he was on a business trip if you can believe that?’
Benold laughed.
‘I’m widowed,’ he replied sorrowfully, for her benefit.
‘Oh that’s good…sorry…I mean…I’m so sorry to hear that.’
He waved off her faux pas nonchalantly, ‘It’s okay. She passed away some years ago…I’ve just been waiting for the right woman who just gets me. Do you know what I mean?’
She nodded but then looked behind him as a dark shadow fell across the table.
‘Can we help you with something?’ she asked the man who was standing there.
‘James Benold,’ Carmichael’s voice boomed. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
Benold’s eyes closed and his head dropped as he realised who it was.
‘Do you know this man?’ Audrey whispered.
‘Oh yes, Miss,’ Carmichael responded in a loud voice. ‘I am very familiar with this man. Isn’t that right, James?’
Benold ignored the question, hopeful that the irritation would disappear.
‘But just how well do you know our mutual friend?’ Carmichael continued, taking Maggie’s vacant seat and sipping from her wine glass. ‘He certainly has shit taste in wine,’ he grimaced. ‘This shit is disgusting! You still being a skinflint, James?’
Benold had had enough and turned to face his nemesis, ‘Just fuck off will you?’ he sneered. ‘Unless you want me to call the police…in fact, what the fuck are you doing out?’ he added as he suddenly realised Carmichael was no longer in custody.
‘What am I doing out?’ Carmichael repeated, louder so that the whole bar could hear. ‘You mean why I am I not being held for the murder of your wife?’
He left the question hanging so that he could be certain he had everybody’s attention.
‘Well it turns out I couldn’t have killed your wife, James, as I had a rock solid alibi! Even stronger than yours apparently. Excuse me, Miss, what is your name?’
‘Audrey,’ she whispered, suddenly unnerved about who she had been chatting to for the last five minutes.
‘Well, Audrey, just how long have you known your date?’
‘We just met,’ she said, blushing.
‘You just met? Lucky for you, I sense. Did he tell you that somebody murdered his wife yesterday? In their marital home? You’d expect a normal person to be upset by that, but not our friend here, no. He is out wining and dining the first bimbo he can find; no offence intended. What does that tell you about him?’
The sound of silence in the bar was obvious as everyone followed the conversation.
‘Did he tell you that he enjoys S&M as well? That’s right, isn’t it James? You like to bind your women up, don’t you? You like to whip them. It turns you on, doesn’t it?’
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Benold demanded in a loud whisper. ‘If you want to talk, we should take this outside.’
‘If I want to talk?’ Carmichael bellowed. ‘Talk about what? The fact that you strangled your wife yesterday morning and then ransacked your house, so it would look like a burglary gone wrong? We could talk about that, I suppose. We could talk about how you seduced Lauren Roper before raping and killing her. Or, we could talk about the fact that you broke into my office yesterday morning and destroyed my computers and made a mess. You want to discuss that in more detail?’
The barman was getting nervous about how this very public conversation was going to end. He was considering phoning the police when Benold stood up and stormed from the bar. The big black man followed on his tail.
‘You’ve got no right to harass me like this,’ Benold shouted when the two men were outside.
‘You had no right to frame me for Frankie’s death.’
‘How was she? Hmm? A good fuck?’
‘You really are a low-life,’ Carmichael said, shaking his head.
‘No I’m not, I’m just a man who doesn’t bother with other people’s shit. Yeah, so what if I like to fuck other women. Why is that any of your business? So what if I like to indulge in a bit of S&M? That’s nobody’s business but my own! You should try it some time, you know? You might even enjoy yourself!’
Carmichael could not believe his audacity.
‘Why did you kill Frankie? Huh? If you didn’t love her anymore, why not just grant her the divorce? It makes no sense.’
‘Oh God, don’t tell me you were in love with her! You think she saw you as anything more than a quick fuck? She just wanted to get her own back on me and you were a willing participant. Was it good? I bet you couldn’t resist banging her, could you?’
‘Fuck you!’
‘No, fuck you, Carmichael! You’re no better than I am. So I cheated on my wife; you slept with a married woman! We are both guilty of adultery!’
‘I made a mistake; your act was malicious and you did it over and over again and then you killed her.’
Benold laughed. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it. As far as the police are concerned, I have an alibi: I was at the gym when she died.’
‘We both know that is bullshit. I saw you there.’
‘It’s your word against mine, Carmichael!’
‘What about Lauren Roper? Did you kill her too?’
Benold frowned, ‘I don’t know who that is.’
‘She is the woman you saw running from my office crying on Friday.’
‘Her?’ Benold exclaimed, remembering the exchange at the office.
‘Someone tied her up, beat, raped and killed her on Friday afternoon. Where were you?’
‘You can fuck off if you think I had anything to do with that!’
‘Really? You killed Frankie, why not Lauren too?’
‘I didn’t know the woman! I may be many things, Carmichael, but I’m no killer.’
‘What about Frankie? You killed her in cold blood.’
‘That was different!’
‘So you admit you killed her?’
Benold considered him for a moment, ‘Yes.’ The smile returned, ‘It’s a pity you’re the only one who knows the truth.’
‘I’ve already told the police you did it. They’ll be confiscating your computer soon and then they’ll see your internet history.’
‘That won’t prove anything. So what if I like looking at S & M sites? That proves nothing.’
‘It gives you a credible motive. You were witnessed on the premises by me, which gives you opportunity too.’
‘But it’s your word against mine.’
‘They’ll believe me.’
‘You? I don�
�t think so.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, you see. The difference between you and me is that when I want to fit somebody up, I do it right. See, I’m experienced at it. How do you think I used to get rock-solid cases when I was a copper? You think all that evidence just presented itself?’
‘What are you saying?’ Benold asked, his tone suddenly not so confident.
‘I’m saying I will give the police exactly what they need to link you to the crime. I’ll find a witness to declare they saw you entering the property when you should have been at the gym. I’ll forge an email from you to me offering a bribe for keeping quiet. I’ll put together such a puzzle of evidence that the Magistrate won’t even grant you bail!’
‘You can’t; you wouldn’t!’
‘Oh no? Just watch me!’
‘Why? Why ruin things for me?’
‘Because you’re scum! Because you deserve it! Because you thought you could get away with it! Because I don’t like you!’
‘I’ll deny everything!’
‘Go ahead. It won’t make a difference. You can deny it all and still be convicted of murder. Or…’
‘Or what?’
‘Or, you can go to the station now and confess everything. In my experience the courts tend to be more lenient with defendants who plead guilty to their charges. If you’re lucky, you might only get fourteen years.’
‘Fourteen years?’
‘It’s better than a life sentence.’
*
‘How the hell did you convince him to confess?’ Mercure asked him when they were in her office.
‘Nothing to do with me,’ he said shrugging his shoulders. ‘I guess he had a change of heart.’
She eyed him cautiously and then smiled, ‘Well, whatever you said, thank you. It saves us a bit of time. The gym are due to give us all their CCTV footage in the morning so hopefully we will get images of him leaving in case he decides to change his statement during the trial.’
‘Have you had any luck identifying Lauren’s killer yet?’
Mercure shook her head, ‘Whoever did it knew what they were doing. There were no fingerprints on her body, as if the killer cleaned her before sticking the knife in. The forensics team are still studying the sheets, looking for other traces but they are not holding their breath.’
‘She didn’t deserve to die like that.’
‘Nobody does, Johnson. That’s why we do what we do: to bring killers like this one to justice. My team are shaking down known sexual offenders but so far nothing of use has been discovered.’
‘Well, I’m not giving up. I’m still convinced that her murder has something to do with the attack on her mother all those years ago.’
‘Have you got a name for me yet?’
He thought for a moment, not sure whether to reveal his hand.
‘Matthew Green,’ he eventually said.
‘And he is?’
‘The brother of the man Lauren believed attacked her mother.’
‘Good luck proving it.’
‘I have my ways.’
‘Listen, Johnson, I know about your ways. Don’t do anything that is going to get you into trouble! You’ve done a good thing today, and I will admit that you’ve impressed me. Would you ever think of coming back?’
‘Re-joining the police? I don’t think so.’
‘It wouldn’t have to be the Met. I’d welcome an application from you to join us here in Hampshire. The recruitment process would be a lot swifter this time around.’
‘Thank you, but no. There is still too much red tape for my liking. I like to work outside of the rules.’
MONDAY 02 DECEMBER
40
There had been a telecommunications presence in Southampton for several decades, although this presence had been significantly diminished by the migration of certain processes overseas and the centralisation of others. That said, there was only one place Carmichael could think of to look for Matthew Green at two p.m. on a Monday afternoon and that was why he pulled into the public car park at the rear of the Friary House building in the city centre and marched in. The security guard behind the reception desk had a full head of silver hair and a paunch delicately grown with years of local ale. Carmichael explained that he was looking for one of the company’s engineers and wanted some guidance on how to find him. The guard eyed him suspiciously and said he could not give out that kind of information. Unlike most people he met, the guard did not suspect that he was a police officer so it wasn’t like he could even bluff the information out of the old codger. Frustrated, he left the building and walked into the city and bought a coffee.
Matthew Green was out there somewhere but he had no idea how to find him, short of pestering the man’s father, but that would just be fruitless. He whipped out his phone and dialled Melissa at the office. She sounded breathless when she answered the phone.
‘What have you been doing?’ he asked.
‘I was just coming in from lunch when I heard the phone so I ran up the stairs,’ she apologised.
‘I need you to find Matthew Green for me.’
‘He wasn’t at Friary House then?’
‘He could be, but I couldn’t get any information out of the old boy on security there. Have you managed to find his address yet?’
‘He wasn’t listed on the electoral register, but I’ve asked my friend at the council to sift through recent records to see if he is listed for paying council tax. I’m expecting her phone call in the next half an hour or so. I can call you back then.’
‘Good,’ he said before hanging up.
He was still drinking his coffee when the phone rang again. He answered it without checking who it was, assuming it would be Melissa.
‘Talk to me,’ he said.
‘Is that Johnson Carmichael?’ said an unfamiliar voice.
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘My name is Detective Constable Rashid Patel. I’m calling from the Metropolitan Police’s Sapphire Cold Case Squad.’
Carmichael’s pulse quickened.
‘I see. And how can I help you?’
‘We have reopened the Janus Stratovsky murder case. I understand you were serving on the task force investigating the Stratovsky family six years ago. I wondered if we could meet later today to discuss what you remember of the case.’
‘Um…today is a bit difficult to be honest. Can we meet later in the week when my diary is a bit clearer?’
‘I’d rather it be today Mr Carmichael. You see, I’m already on my way down to Southampton to see you. I don’t mind waiting until later this afternoon but it really is vital that I speak to you today.’
Carmichael tried to think of any reason he could offer why today was too inconvenient.
‘The thing is, I’m in the middle of a case right now and I have several meetings booked in as well that I cannot simply cancel.’
‘I appreciate your dilemma, but if it is easier for you I can arrest you and bring you in. I don’t mind.’
Carmichael couldn’t tell if he was joking but decided not to push it.
‘Where and when?’ he eventually demanded.
‘How about in an hour at your office? I have the address.’
‘Fine,’ he conceded reluctantly.
The phone line went dead. He had been dreading this call since Benold’s journalist friend had first confronted him about the story. A lot of time had passed since that fateful night when he had run into Stratovsky at one of the Russian’s Soho clubs. He could still remember every detail.
It had been a Thursday night and he had been on duty. One of his snitches had hinted that a large shipment of weapons had been due to arrive in the capital over the weekend. Carmichael had shared the intelligence with his D.C.I., Martin Saunders, but Saunders had said the source wasn’t strong enough. Carmichael knew in his gut that his snitch was telling the truth but, unless he could find a way to corroborate the testimony, his bosses would not sanction them to make a move.
He had
been on duty with a recently demoted Detective Constable by the name of Hoffman. Hoffman was a seasoned detective but his excessive drinking had led to a number of key procedural errors and eventually disciplinary action. Saunders had offered him a second chance by inviting him to join the task force, but it had done little to quell his appetite. Carmichael had left Hoffman at the station, already half way into a bottle of scotch that was hidden in his suit jacket. It was as if he had thought that Carmichael hadn’t noticed the number of times he had sloped off to the toilets or the smell of his breath.
He had driven to the club knowing that Stratovsky was likely to show up at some point and collect the takings. The club was open to members-only but an open invitation was extended to local police officers, who might enjoy watching the nude dancers. He had never been in during opening hours and it had looked starkly different with neon lights shining and seedy music playing. He had wanted to feel sorry for the dancers, being made to strip off in front of drooling old men, but he knew they were well paid for what they did and that most made double the minimum wage.
He had remained at the bar for two hours when he had eventually spotted Stratovsky arrive. The Russian had made his way around the room, shaking hands with some of the more recognised punters: politicians, civil servant officials and bankers. He had oozed charm as he had had a quiet word in each of their ears, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
The bouncer must have had a quiet word in his ear on the way in as he had eventually made his way over to Carmichael and extended a hand of greeting. Carmichael had shaken the hand, even as it had made his skin crawl. Stratovsky had ordered a double whisky for him and had added that he could have his pick of the girls on stage: for a ‘private session’, he had called it. Carmichael had known exactly what the Russian was proposing: a mutually beneficial partnership where he would slip Carmichael occasional tip-offs if the kindness was reciprocated. Saunders had warned each of the team that members of the Stratovsky organisation would attempt to bribe them and that they should be on their guard. Carmichael had had no interest in accepting Stratovsky’s offer but had suggested they go somewhere more private to discuss it. Stratovsky had agreed and led them through to a back room at the rear of the club.
Trespass (P.I. Johnson Carmichael Series - Book 2) Page 24