1911021494

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  She cleaned his face and lips carefully with an antiseptic wipe.

  ‘I would give you a farewell kiss, but I can’t afford to leave any DNA traces.’ She walked to the door, and waved a satin-gloved hand. ‘No fingerprints, either. Would the police bother, I wonder, when they’ve got a mass murderer like you all trussed up and waiting for them? So just relax and enjoy the last few hours of your bondage session. I wish you goodnight.’

  She closed the door quietly behind her.

  Chapter 32: You’re the Boss

  Friday Morning

  Barry Marsh sniffed the air inside the entrance hall.

  ‘What do you smell, Barry?’ Sophie said in a low voice.

  ‘Money. And plenty of it.’

  She nodded and looked around her. ‘Yes. Not a place for the plebs, I’d guess.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  ‘It’s a lot more upmarket than the block I live in. We complain about our maintenance charges, but I hate to think what the costs are here.’

  The lift door opened.

  ‘Even the lift doors are quiet. We don’t have a lift in my place, just stairs. But I suppose that’s good for my fitness,’ he went on.

  There was no reply. She’s still not her normal self, Marsh thought. Hardly a word out of her during the drive over here, and she’d let him make most of the arrangements with the backup squad. They’d decided to leave the armed unit outside in their van, while the two of them carried out an initial check of the apartment block. What was worrying her? He pressed the button for the third floor.

  ‘Has anyone found out who sent us the tipoff?’ he asked.

  ‘No. It came in via a 999 call. All the operator could say was that it was a woman’s voice, describing where we would find Duff. She said the door would be unlocked.’

  So it proved. Marsh rang the bell, but there was no response. He turned the handle and peered in. The interior was in semi-darkness, with just a dim light coming from two doors that were ajar.

  ‘Hello?’ Marsh called. ‘Police! Is anyone in?’

  There was no response so they made their way inside. Marsh checked that his radio was still live. He glanced inside the first set of rooms, a lounge and dining room, tastefully furnished. The curtains were drawn. The next door opened into a kitchen, fitted out with units in a pale lemon colour. The morning sun shone in through the windows. Marsh turned to speak to Sophie, but stopped. She was shaking. She was leaning back against the doorjamb with her eyes closed and a slight tremor running through her body. Should he say something? Just then she opened her eyes and looked at him. She moved back out to the hall.

  Three more doors, all closed. The first led into a bathroom, fitted with bath, separate shower, toilet and his-and-hers basins. The second opened into an empty double bedroom decorated in pale green. They stood in front of the last door. Sophie glanced at Marsh as he turned the handle and pushed. Marsh heard a groan. The air smelled tired and used. The curtains were drawn and the room gloomy, but the detectives could see a figure lying on the bed. The arms were pulled tight up to the bedhead, and a thin duvet covered the lower part of the torso.

  Did he imagine that his boss shuddered? What was wrong with her?

  ‘Exactly as described. Shall I let some light in, ma’am?’

  There was no answer, so he walked over to the window and pulled the curtains apart. He returned to the bedside and stood beside Sophie. She was looking down at the shivering, moaning, barely conscious figure. Marsh couldn’t read the expression on her face. She stood in silence. Her lips were moving but no sound came. He waited for an instruction but there was none.

  ‘Ma’am? We need to cut him free. Shall I do it?’

  He took a knife from his pocket and moved it towards the ropes securing Duff to the bed. He suddenly felt a grip on his wrist and stopped in surprise. He looked round at her. She turned to look into his eyes, and her face was ghost-pale and shining.

  ‘He killed my father.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Charlie Duff. He’s the man who shot my father in Gloucester.’

  ‘Christ.’ Marsh’s arm was stretched out, with her hand clamped to his wrist. Neither of them moved.

  ‘Jesus. That’s why . . .’

  He looked into her eyes and saw desolation there. Her gaze, focused on Duff, was empty of all expression, as if the sight of him had ripped her spirit from her body. An eternity seemed to pass, and finally she blinked, shivered and loosened her grip slightly.

  He slit the ropes, and Duff’s arms fell onto the pillows. Marsh spoke into his radio. ‘Team up here now. No danger.’

  ‘I don’t want to touch him, Barry. If I touch him I don’t know what I’ll end up doing to him.’ She spoke in a whispered sob.

  Marsh checked again that there were no weapons under the covers and then removed the gag from Duff’s mouth.

  ‘He needs some water.’

  Sophie made no move.

  ‘I’m not leaving you alone in here with him. Please, get some water for him, ma’am.’

  She looked at her sergeant. Her forehead shone with tiny drops of sweat, like miniscule pinpricks of light. Her eyes searched his as if she was lost, and looking for direction.

  ‘Sophie, this is a time for celebration. Don’t let it become something else.’

  She touched his arm again, this time gently.

  ‘You’re right. Yes.’

  She went out and returned with a tumbler of water which she handed to Marsh. He poured some of the liquid into Duff’s mouth. Duff swallowed greedily as the rest of the police team entered the room. Thank God, thought Marsh. He had the feeling that some dreadful catastrophe had just been averted.

  ‘Is the place secure?’ he asked.

  The leading uniformed officer nodded.

  ‘Call an ambulance.’ Marsh looked at the dried bloodstains that covered Duff’s chest and wrists and spattered the bedclothes.

  Charlie Duff was beginning to come round.

  ‘She slit nerves in my wrists,’ he croaked. ‘Fucking bitch cut me up.’

  Marsh looked at Sophie. She shook her head slightly.

  ‘Get him to hospital,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll do the other stuff there on Monday. I want him fully conscious, and there’s a queue of people who will want to be there.’

  ‘Whatever you say, ma’am. You’re the boss.’

  Chapter 33: Family Lunch

  Sunday

  They were all sitting in the dining area of an old coaching inn in Gloucester. Sophie watched Jade chatting amiably to Florence and James, with her own mother, Susan, occasionally joining in. She felt so tired. It was all she could do to sit upright in her chair. A waitress appeared with the first course.

  ‘Didn’t you order a starter, Sophie?’ Florence asked.

  ‘No, Gran. It will be all I can do to get through my main course. But don’t worry. It’s just tiredness. I’ll be fine in a day or two. Martin is driving today, so I can relax and enjoy my beer.’

  She took another mouthful, and swirled the liquid around in her mouth. Florence looked at her.

  ‘Different times, Gran. I picked up the taste for beer before I went to university, and I’ve never lost it. Martin and I visited every real ale pub in Oxford. I could say that it’s all his fault, but it wouldn’t be true. To be honest, I think I was the major culprit. I don’t drink loads of the stuff, but I do enjoy a pint or two.’

  Jade wore a look of horror on her face. ‘And there was me blaming Dad. You just stood there, Mum, and let me ramble on last week about his taste in wine and beer, and then I find out you’re just as bad. There’s really no hope for me, is there?’

  Florence looked worried but Jade said, ‘Don’t worry, GeeGee. I was only teasing them. They tease me in return. It’s the modern way of parenting, I expect.’ She turned to face her great-grandmother. ‘And do you know that they have spies out secretly watching me? One of the maths teachers at my school gives them monthly reports on what I get up to. Probably wi
th secretly taken photos as well. I have to ask myself, is nothing sacred?’

  Martin choked on his final spoonful of soup. ‘Don’t take her seriously, Florence. I just happened to meet her maths teacher a couple of weeks ago while he was on a quick visit to my school.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘He’s a double agent, and I turned him. It’s just fantastic what you can achieve by fluttering your eyelashes. I thought that teachers would be immune to that kind of thing, but apparently not. Really, it should be added to their training programme.’

  * * *

  Sophie waited until everyone had finished their starter course before she spoke.

  ‘I have something important to say to you all. It’s quite difficult, but you deserve to know. You’re all aware that we closed the case on Friday, and that’s why I was able to visit today, and it’s lovely to have a cause for celebration. We’re due to make the final arrest tomorrow, in Bournemouth hospital as it happens, because that’s where the gang leader currently is, under armed guard.’

  She paused and felt Martin squeezing her hand.

  ‘But things are not quite as simple as that. I’ve been keeping you all completely in the dark since the funeral, though Martin and Jade guessed that something was going on. I told Martin last night and we decided that it was time to tell all of you. But I’m finding it very hard.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘I ought to be celebrating, but I’m not. All I feel is a dreadful emptiness. You see, the gang leader, the one we think is behind all the murders in Studland, the man I’ve been hunting down for the past three weeks, is also the man who shot Graham all those years ago. We’re charging him tomorrow.’

  Jade finally broke the stunned silence. ‘Was that the morning I found you out on the veranda? Is that when you knew?’

  ‘Yes. It all fell into place the evening before. I kept it from everybody until I was sure. Even my investigation team.’

  ‘Are we supposed to know this, Mum?’

  ‘Yes. You are the immediate family of a murder victim and have the right to know when we plan to charge someone with the crime.’

  ‘Is there any doubt?’ Susan asked.

  ‘No. The evidence is clear, and the Gloucester team have found a witness.’

  ‘Let me get this clear,’ Susan continued. ‘As well as investigating the murders in Studland, you’ve also been tracking down Graham’s killer?’

  Sophie nodded.

  ‘Without telling anyone? By yourself? Separate to the Gloucester enquiry?’

  A nod.

  ‘Is that allowed? I mean . . .’

  Martin broke in. ‘Susan, there’s no point in commenting. I’ve already said everything that could be said after she told me last night. Anyway, she told the Gloucester and Midlands lot as soon as she was sure. I was on the phone to Archie Campbell this morning before we set out. He’s over the moon and just laughed at my concerns. His exact words were, “Sod it, Martin. She got the result.”’

  James Howard rose to his feet.

  ‘I need to say something. I have to tell you how much this means to me. Because today I have discovered something unexpected. That even at my advanced age, someone can do something very special that completely restores my faith in human nature. And to discover that this someone is my own granddaughter is just beyond all expectation. Sophie, you have just become the very best person I have ever met in my entire life. To have carried all that on your own shoulders is beyond belief. So, ladies and gentlemen, I want to propose a toast. Raise your glasses please and drink a toast to my very own and very special granddaughter, Sophie.’

  ‘Looks like I’ve arrived just in time. What’s going on?’

  ‘Hannah! I thought you said you couldn’t make it?’ Martin said, rising from his seat.

  ‘I managed to get someone to stand in for me at the last minute. Jade texted me with the name of this place, and I got a taxi as soon as I got off the train. Mum, you’re crying. I think you and I need to visit the loo.’

  ‘Yes, Hannah. I do too. And I need one of your special hugs. A big one please. Probably the biggest one you’ve ever given me.’

  Chapter 34: The Arrest

  Monday

  The morning was bright. Occasional bursts of sunlight glinted down on the hospital grounds. Charlie Duff was propped up on his bed, his bandaged wrists lying on the coverlet. He was looking out of the window. A nurse popped her head inside the door and he turned to look at her. Duff could just make out the shape of the policeman on guard outside his door.

  ‘Just to warn you. You have some important-looking visitors. They’ve just arrived at reception. Are you okay?’

  ‘You’re joking. What do you think?’ He held his heavily bandaged wrists up. ‘Is this the best you lot could do?’

  ‘Do you need the loo?’

  Duff shook his head, and the nurse disappeared. He heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside, followed by the sound of quiet voices. He guessed that they were talking to the policeman outside.

  The door opened. Four police officers entered, all in full formal uniform, along with a woman in a business suit.

  ‘Mr Duff, you may recall that we have already met. I am Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen, of Dorset police. I’d like to introduce these officers. Here on my right is Sir William Black, the chief constable for Dorset. The officer beyond him is Assistant Chief Constable Archie Campbell from the West Midlands force. He is also representing the Gloucestershire Constabulary. Here on my left is Detective Superintendent Matt Silver, also from Dorset police. I understand that Mrs Julia Bellringer has been acting as your lawyer so we asked her to accompany us here.’

  Duff’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll hand over to Superintendent Silver.’

  Matt Silver held up the charge sheet.

  ‘Charles Wilfred Duff. You are hereby charged with the murder of Stefan Bratianu on the morning of Monday the sixteenth of January this year. You are also charged with the assault and rape of Nadia Ripanu on the previous day. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. In both cases you are being charged along with your nephew, Richard Nelson Frimwell.’ He paused. ‘We are also continuing our investigation into the deaths of two young Romanian women whose bodies have been found buried at Ridgeway Farm near Studland. We are close to completing those investigations, and expect charges to follow soon. The same applies to the deaths of Andrew Thompson, whose body was found buried at your company warehouse and offices near Poole quayside, and Benjamin Sourlie who was murdered last week in Bournemouth’s central gardens.’

  The chief constable continued. ‘Mr Duff, evidence has come to light of a vicious murder committed some forty-three years ago in Gloucester city centre. A young man was murdered for no reason other than the fact that he chanced to walk by as a gang, of which you were a member, was carrying out a jewellery robbery late at night. That young man was shot dead and his body disposed of down a disused mine shaft. I will now ask ACC Campbell to take over.’

  ‘Charles Wilfred Duff. You are hereby charged with the murder of Graham Thomas Howard in the early hours of the morning of Saturday the twelfth of December 1969 in central Gloucester. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  Duff tried to speak, but he seemed to be finding it difficult to form words.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was my father,’ Sophie said simply. ‘You murdered my father.’

  ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘No, Mr Duff. You buried the gun in the waste ground at the back of your warehouse in Poole many years later, near the body of Andy Thompson. The bullet was still lodged inside my father’s ribcage. Forensic tests have shown that the bullet was fired from that gun.’ She took a
breath. ‘We also have a witness who has identified you. By the way, Billy Thompson and his family send their regards.’

  They turned to leave. As they reached the door, Sophie turned back to the bed and leaned over to whisper quietly in Duff’s ear.

  ‘I say again, you stole my father from me. You deserve everything that’s happened to you. I wish you could rot in hell for what you’ve done, not only to me but to all the other mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, partners and children of your victims. You’re a sick blot on humanity, and whatever has happened to you, and will happen to you as a result of your trial, can never be enough.’

  * * *

  ‘But I’m worried, Barry. Can’t you see how it all fits? And it was you that found her searching for him on the database. Someone did that to him. Someone tied him up, scarred his chest and arms and did that to his wrists. And it was a woman, he’s adamant about it. Who else would have the motive?’

  ‘Look. I’m as uneasy as you. But if you think I’m going to march in and arrest her on these flimsy suppositions, then you’re mad. There’s plenty of other women with enough motive to torture Duff. What about the girls he raped over the years? What about the families of those murder victims? What about members of the Thompson family in Birmingham?’

  Pillay and Marsh were standing on the pavement of Kings Road, looking over the bridge of the small brook. They had decided that this conversation needed to take place out of earshot of the police station.

  ‘It’s the cold-bloodedness of it, Barry. It must have been planned meticulously, that’s what makes it so unusual. Family members looking for vengeance don’t go to those lengths. They pay a visit and beat someone up, or even kill someone. And how would they know about his visits to that S&M club? Think about it. It was almost unbelievable. He was groomed into that visit, with the text messages reminding him of the upcoming evening, and promising him something special. Yet the club say they didn’t send them. So who did? And how come Bob Thompson can’t trace them? How did whoever did it know the evening was coming up? How did they get his mobile number? And you know what struck me? It was when Duff said that the woman seemed so totally in control, so assured, so confident in what she was doing. And I thought, there’s only one woman I know who fits that description.’