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A Private and Convenient Place

Page 43

by Michael G T Stokes


  ‘If he did, why did he come here by taxi?’

  ‘A good point.’ Hood paused. ‘You don’t think someone’s trying to set him up, do you?’

  ‘Like last time? We decided he wasn’t involved in the kidnapping, didn’t we?’

  ‘The kidnapping? I don’t know, I really don’t. There was always a slim chance it was his idea in the first place. But it’s beginning to look like someone really has it in for him.’

  ‘If he didn’t book that Mercedes, someone else must have and whoever it was had his account details. That would have taken a bit of nerve, wouldn’t it, although Raymond Craddock says it was all done over the phone. They’d done so much business with him in the past they took it on trust. And remember, he didn’t usually pay in cash when he hired cars from this firm. But on this occasion, even the returnable deposit was handed over in cash when the car was delivered. Could it have been Hamilton?’

  ‘Or whoever she’s involved with. She must have been quick off the mark if she’s responsible. She was only freed on Friday afternoon.’ He paused. ‘If only we knew who the father of her son was. Do you think the child’s DNA has been checked? I’ve heard it’s not difficult to arrange, even if a court hasn’t ordered it.’

  A similar thought had already passed through Wendy Knight’s mind.

  ‘Raymond Craddock has been checking on a number of companies which offer DNA services. The problem is they tend to deal in excluding individuals rather than making positive identifications. And they insist on confidentiality. If we knew which firm carried out the scientific examination which excluded Doyle – always assuming such a test has been done - it wouldn’t necessarily tell us who the father is.’

  ‘Just that Doyle isn’t! Is there anything else, something we’ve missed?’

  Wendy Knight shook her head. ‘Nothing’s come in following your appeal for information after Manning was identified?’

  ‘Not yet. I was hoping that mentioning Doyle might have caused him to make contact, but it’s early days. I hope I haven’t frightened him off. Let’s hope our luck changes soon.’

  * * * *

  Julia Hamilton and Michael Grayling were half-way to Portugal and drinking champagne in the privately-hired plane when he gently took hold of her hand and assured her that all would be well. He apologised for the way he had spoken to her in front of Doyle. She still felt the thrill of his touching her but it was accompanied by an increasing amount of trepidation. She suddenly realised she really was afraid of him.

  ‘I had to deal with Doyle. I had no choice. He presented a significant risk to us, especially to you. You do see that don’t you?’

  She dared to disagree. ‘He wouldn’t have done anything to harm me, I’m sure of it.’

  He caressed her fingers.

  ‘Well, I’m not. He’s temperamentally unreliable. My father knew that and so did Duffy. You know it was Doyle who told the police where Duffy could be found? My father went to a lot of trouble organising Duffy’s new identity. And it was definitely Doyle who gave him up. Besides, he’s obviously still obsessed with you or he wouldn’t have come to Barnard’s as he did. Which means he remains a threat to me.’

  He smiled but in a menacing way. ‘Better we leave no loose ends.’

  ‘Can you be sure it was Doyle who told the police about Duffy?’ Julia had no intention of revealing what Doyle had told her. ‘It could have been someone else.’

  ‘Had to be him. No-one else knew. Anyway, my contact in the Home Office confirmed it was definitely Doyle. That’s why he was released. Too many people knew he was a grass. They couldn’t protect him on the inside. And my attempt to put him out of his misery must have been the final straw.’

  ‘So you did try and kill him?’

  ‘I did my best, but he has the luck of the devil, or at least he had.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem that he’s any safer on the outside?’

  He smiled again and looked at his watch.

  ‘I don’t suppose they were too fussed about that. They can’t be held responsible for what happens to him now he’s out of custody. Anyway, it’ll be done with shortly. Maxine will see to that. She’s expensive to maintain, but worth every penny. She’s never let me down yet.’

  Julia hesitated. She didn’t want to think about what was happening to Doyle.

  ‘I still don’t understand why I was told to make that call from the phone box in Thrussington,’ she said, trying to change the subject. ‘That really could have back-fired quite badly.’

  Grayling smiled. ‘That was my father’s idea. We weren’t sure which way you would jump to begin with, so it was done as a sort of insurance.’

  Julia looked concerned.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We knew the police were listening in and probably recording the calls. If you’d stuck with Doyle, it would have been used to drop you in it. Simple as that. As it was, it proved very useful in undermining Duffy. He didn’t know the phone was being bugged. Worked a treat didn’t it?’

  Julia did not reply. She took another gulp of champagne and thought of her son. Little Michael would be in her arms soon. That at least was something she could look forward to.

  * * * *

  Elizabeth Duston had recognised Dudley Manning’s photograph on the television news. She could hardly believe it. After the shock had subsided, she had picked up her telephone then replaced it. If I tell the police about Dudley’s visit, I could get myself in trouble for not reporting it earlier. Then again, if he had got himself involved with such desperate individuals who were prepared to kill him, she might be at risk too? He must have told them of my reaction to his request. Not that she had been influenced in any way by what he had said. She was one of the majority in favour of acquittal. Although she thought that Julia Hamilton was probably guilty, she couldn’t be sure. Only the retired accountant and, surprisingly, young Jimmy, had eventually voted to convict.

  It was after eight-thirty on Sunday evening that she finally plucked up sufficient courage to try and speak to Chief Inspector Hood. He was the officer in charge. She knew that from the trial. She would speak with him, but to no-one else. She had revealed nothing to the officer who had taken her call. She simply insisted on speaking to Hood. When he told her that the chief inspector was not on duty she revealed that she was the foreman of the jury in the trial of Julia Hamilton.

  Hood received the message at home just before ten o’clock. The duty officer had risked ringing him despite his instructions that he was not to be further disturbed.

  Hood called Miss Duston and thanked her, making arrangements to visit her the following morning. He assured her he would not –could not – ask her any questions about the jury’s deliberations.

  ‘Thank you Chief Inspector,’ she said to him, obviously relieved. ‘That makes me feel a lot better. It really does.’

  Chapter fifty-six

  Maxine Kruger turned off the A1 and headed towards the bridge which crossed over the old Great North Road. She paused briefly at the unlit junction then turned the Mercedes along the narrow unnamed lane that led to the River Trent. She was deliberately driving only on sidelights but as she reached the river bank, just north of Cromwell Weir, there was a sharp right hand bend which she misjudged in the darkness. Braking hard, she brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt causing Doyle’s head to fall forward and almost strike the dashboard. He’s still unconscious. Good! This location was perfect. Her intention was to place Doyle in the driver’s seat, engage the automatic gearbox, and watch as the car plunged into the Trent. He would hopefully drown within minutes. Her motorcycle was hidden nearby, ready for her to make her escape. She had visited the area the morning before and assessed its suitability for what she and Grayling had in mind. She, of course, had a personal interest in leading the police astray. After all, she had murdered Dudley Manning in cold blood. How ironic that his ‘killer�
� should be found, dead, in the same river.

  But first she had to prepare Doyle, place his fingerprints on the gun and secure it in the inside pocket of his waterproof coat. She had already placed the car hire documents in the glove compartment, bearing his name and apparent signature.

  She checked him again before she got out of the car, turning on the interior light and pinching his face. There was no reaction. She smiled to herself and released the seat belt before starting to pull him over to the driver’s seat. It proved more difficult than she had anticipated. His legs got caught up with the centre console and she had to lift them over, one at a time, with her gloved hands. She was a strong woman but it took real effort on her part before he was seated upright in the driver’s seat, his head still slumping forward. She got out of the car, leaving the driver’s door ajar. Opening the boot, she removed her motorcycle leathers and helmet. She looked about her. The immediate area was deserted. All she could hear as she quickly changed her clothing was the rush of water over the nearby weir. Still breathing heavily from her earlier exertions, she removed the gun from her zipped side-pocket and screwed on the silencer. She decided not to secure Doyle in the driver’s seat with the safety belt. The more he moved about inside the vehicle as it was tossed around in the water, the greater the chance of the police accepting his injuries were caused in the ‘accident’. That was her first and only mistake. As she placed the pistol grip into Doyle’s right hand, forcing his index finger onto the trigger, she felt a sudden movement. Doyle opened his eyes and lashed out, forcing her out of the vehicle and onto the grass. He’d struck her with some force in the face causing her considerable pain. She could taste the blood seeping into her mouth. Before she could respond, Doyle dived on top of her and the two of them grappled on the ground, fighting for control of the gun. Only the interior light from the Mercedes illuminated the struggle taking place on the grass verge. Doyle was taken aback by her strength. He was no weakling and much heavier than her, but he was still woozy from the blow to his head and unable to dominate. She twisted and wriggled and quickly started to gain the upper hand. But he maintained his grip on the gun. She cursed him loudly and punched him hard in the face but he held on to the weapon, knowing full well what would happen if he let go. He gradually felt himself weakening, his fingers slipping from the pistol grip as she wrestled for the gun. He made one last supreme effort and punched out at her forcefully with his free hand before feeling a sharp blow as she thrust her elbow into his stomach. He grabbed her hair and pulled it as hard as he could, causing her to scream as her head was yanked back. Then it happened. Her increasingly fearsome grip on his right hand forced the trigger back and a single, almost silent, shot was discharged. All he heard was a dull thud. The struggling ceased. She groaned. Her body went limp. He could feel the life going out of her as he released his hold. He slowly got to his feet, breathing heavily. He looked down at her then dropped on his knees and turned her on to her side and checked her pulse. Nothing. She was dead. He sighed, mainly out of relief, as he considered what he should do. He searched her pockets, anxious to discover who she was. There was nothing to identify her, but he knew she had to be an associate of Grayling. He removed her mobile phone and slipped it into his jacket then stood up and looked about him. He was seemingly alone. Glancing at the Mercedes and noticing the keys were still in the ignition, he quickly came to a decision. He dismissed any idea of contacting the police. He would not be able to explain satisfactorily what had happened and he didn’t fancy a further period in custody. Any account he gave them would necessarily involve exposing Michael Grayling. If he told them the truth about him, it would inevitably put Jules at risk. He had no alternative. He would have to disappear and deal with Grayling himself. He’d overheard that he and Jules were going to Portugal. He would go there too.

  He looked down again at the inert and lifeless body. What about her? He had no intention of taking the body with him. That was a risk he could not run. Then he remembered how Dudley Manning had been recovered from the Trent. He smiled to himself and put his right foot against her torso, rolling her down the bank and easing her gently into the river. Her body hardly made a sound as she slipped into the water. He watched as she was borne downstream, half-submerged, before disappearing in the darkness. He felt no guilt. After all, that was where she had intended to dump him. Having carefully wiped his fingerprints from the gun with his handkerchief, he threw it into the water along with the motorcycle helmet which he had picked up from the ground. He stood silently for a few seconds, gently examining the swelling to his head and the cut to his lip which he had only just noticed. Then, after closing the boot, he climbed into the Mercedes, turned the key in the ignition and slowly drove away.

  Thirteen hours later, Maxine Kruger’s body was fished out of the River Trent, only a hundred and fifty yards downstream.

  Reviews of “Blackmail”

  “A real page turner of a crime novel… the plot absorbing and the characters credible and interesting. More please.’ - Julia Mountain

  “An absorbing and riveting read.” - Peter M.

  “Absolutely gripping book, superbly written and kept me glued to its pages from start to finish.” - David Osborne

  “This book is a real find. Having spent 47 years in the practice of criminal law both as an advocate and a judge, I have nothing but admiration for the detail, avoidance of cliché and the fine drawing of real characters… the style is nuanced and avoids sensationalism.”Bruce Houlder, QC

  “Stokes tells a good story backed by a detailed knowledge of how things work within the criminal justice system. A wonderfully engrossing first novel. More please.”- Christopher Goodchild.

  “An unputdownable romp through the intricacies of an armed robbery investigation… a joy to read.’ - Felicity Gerry, QC

  “…a sophisticated and beautifully written police/legal thriller. Meticulous plotting is combined with forensically detailed accounts of the workings of the law and legal process to makes this one of those rare books where the quality of the thinking matches the content and pace of the narrative.” - Ros McCulloch

 

 

 


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