The Body on the Shore

by The Body on the Shore (retail) (epub)

‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’ Gillard gave him a meaningful smile. ‘I saw your name and it sparked a recollection.’

  ‘Really?’ Tolling’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Didn’t you stand trial for fraud about 15 years ago? When you were a big commodities trader in the City. If I recall, you were charged with helping create systematic tax losses to minimize tax payable.’

  A wry smiled crossed Tolling’s face. ‘Your memory is a little awry, I’m sorry to say. I’ve never been convicted of any crime.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were convicted. But I did a bit of research. The trial collapsed after the jury had been sitting for two years. The usual thing, I suppose, going googly-eyed over the complex details. Then one juror had a stroke, another had to leave to look after a disabled relative and one of the key witnesses had a heart attack.’

  Tolling ran a hand nervously through his hair. ‘I was always innocent, Detective Chief Inspector, I merely didn’t get the chance to prove it.’ His voice had become even more plummy with self-righteousness.

  Gillard smiled. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ He’d not just looked up the case online, he’d followed up with a colleague at the City of London police who described Mick Tolling, as he was then known, as originally a sharp barrow boy type from Dagenham and a prolific trader, before being moved into the creative side of accountancy. He lost his job before the trial, but once the case died down he was quickly given a new position. ‘Still, it was handy that a former business contact like Clive Gashley of Colsham Manor was able to give you a job.’

  ‘I think it just shows that my honesty inspired loyalty amongst former clients,’ he said smoothly.

  Gillard had no reason to believe that an allegedly tax-dodging former City trader would have anything to do with the bizarre goings-on at Colsham Manor. But he was fascinated at the way this working-class boy from an East End council estate, who according to the papers had failed his eleven-plus exams, had now reinvented himself as a bit of a country squire with an accent to match. It was no surprise to Gillard that someone like Tolling would, after Gashley sold Colsham Manor, attach himself like a limpet to a fresh source of wealth, namely Dag Lund.

  ‘Do Dag and Sophie Lund know about your past?’

  ‘You mean I should have confessed to them? Revealing a shocking past which includes not being convicted of any crime?’

  Gillard shrugged. ‘All right, so they don’t. We’ll leave it at that.’ He then looked down at the documents he had taken from his briefcase. ‘Perhaps a little later on we can go through the statement you gave to PC Kerrigan,’ Gillard said. ‘There is something very fishy going on here, and I’m not sure we have all the details. But for now I certainly would like to look at the CCTV system.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tolling said. ‘I should be delighted to show you.’

  Over the course of the next half an hour Gillard was shown the new security measures that Sophie had installed, and the safe room where the au pair and the children had hidden during last night’s burglary.

  Like Geraldine Hinchcliffe, the estate manager was keen to give his view on the shooting incident, and in particular to emphasize that he had not supplied the shotgun. As before, Gillard told him to save it for the investigation which would start in earnest the next day, when a detective chief superintendent from Sussex Police would arrive.

  ‘I’m really as horrified by this as anyone,’ Tolling said, as they walked around the safe room. ‘I never thought Sophie would do such a thing.’

  ‘So has anyone reviewed the footage from the CCTV last night?’

  ‘Gosh, I really don’t know. I haven’t, because I haven’t even read the instruction manual on how to do it. And of course Sophie won’t have had a chance. She only got out of police custody at seven o’clock this morning, and had to go pretty much straight into town for a meeting.’ Tolling led Gillard to the master terminal, which sat in a corner of the safe room. It was a standard system, and no password had yet been set, so the detective was able to get straight on. There were a dozen cameras, linked to motion-sensor lights. They didn’t quite give full coverage because of the profusion of outbuildings, but there was a fairly sophisticated piece of software which monitored and flagged up suspicious movement in a daily summary report. It was to this that Gillard went first, sorting files by time stamp. The very first file that he opened, stamped 2.19 a.m. showed a man with a longish coat and a torch moving between outbuildings. The image was quite good, and showed a thick head of light-coloured hair, a short beard and moustache. He was carrying a small rucksack. There was some similarity to the man identified on the bus, but he couldn’t be sure it was the same individual.

  ‘Can you show me outside where the camera points?’ Gillard asked.

  ‘Yes. I think it’s just outside the boot room, which is effectively the back door into the Manor through the old servants’ quarters.’ He showed the detective through the boot room and into the narrow pathway which led between the outbuildings towards the hardstanding shared with the pottery. While he was there by the car Gillard collected a blank disc from the boot to download a copy of the CCTV footage.

  Tolling then took Gillard to the kitchen and introduced him to the au pair. Estela d’Souza, a small, dark-haired and shy-looking young woman, couldn’t add much to the story. She said she had stayed with the children all night until the mother returned, and then taken them to school.

  ‘Are you aware of any threats having specifically been made to the family or the children?’ Gillard asked. It was the same question he had asked Tolling.

  ‘I can’t think why anyone would want to hurt these children,’ Estela said. ‘But I do know that Mrs Lund had been getting quite worried.’ It took Gillard less than 20 minutes to realize that the au pair knew little or nothing about Sophie Lund’s fears. However, she was able to give some context. She described a happy home environment for the children, with parents who doted on them.

  ‘They are not without problems,’ Estela said. ‘David is very withdrawn, and he gets bullied and called names at school. The head teacher phoned up a few weeks ago to say that he was found with a knife. He said he brought it into school to defend himself. It was only a little one, but Sophie virtually had to beg for him not to be excluded.’

  ‘What about the little girl?’

  Estela sighed. ‘Poor Amber gets nightmares, and wakes up screaming. It’s very disruptive. Then there was this thing about the angel.’ She described what the little girl claimed to have seen on the lawns, also witnessed by Sophie, and the translation of what was said.

  The account was more detailed than the summary that Gillard had read in PC Kerrigan’s report, and it alarmed him that so many important details had not been recorded. Although he had told Gillard, Kerrigan had made no note in the file of conversations in Albanian, nor indeed the fact that the two children were originally Albanian orphans. With the murder of Peter Young, supposedly a Kosovan orphan, having taken place just 25 miles to the north, it wasn’t impossible that there was some link between the two cases. But anyone coming cold to the cases would struggle to make that connection.

  ‘I will speak to Mrs Lund later on, but just to let you know I’m requesting some DNA samples from everyone who was here last night, including your neighbour at the pottery. Once we match up any traces, we will be able by a process of elimination to discover who else may have been prowling around.’ Gillard didn’t mention that this would also include the chief constable.

  Estela looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go and collect the children now. We can do it in half an hour if you want.’

  Gillard declined the offer. ‘I don’t have enough DNA sample tubes with me, and I’ve got a meeting on another case in 40 minutes.’ He said his goodbyes, picked up the copied disc and left.

  After what happened next, he wished he had stayed.

  Chapter 17

  Sophie Lund was just wrapping up a meeting with the owner of a fine west London house who was about to spend £
2 million renovating the top floors. Gold taps, lava stone worktops, jade fittings, the lot. Sophie had clinched the deal through sheer persistence. The Saudi client kept changing her mind about what she wanted, then flipping between two other competing design firms, before finally coming back to Sophie. The woman had just half an hour ago signed the contract, and arranged for the initial deposit to be paid, when Sophie’s phone rang, the third call in five minutes from the au pair, and the first one she decided to answer.

  ‘Estela, what is it? I’m in a meeting. Can’t it wait?’

  What she heard so shocked her that she wailed in anguish. Her worst fears, her nightmare, had come true.

  * * *

  Estela d’Souza had a few absolute priorities in her job as au pair: to feed the children, to keep an eye on them, to take them to the nearby village school on time and to be there to bring them home at the end of the school day. But today, because of the interview with the detective, she was running a bit late. So when she got to the primary school, all the nearby roadside parking slots were taken. At pick-up time, she normally relied on David finding her car amongst the many, and bringing his little sister along with him. Her snazzy mustard-coloured Fiat 500, with its beautiful alloy wheels, was easily recognised, only two years old and bought for her by Sophie and Dag.

  So she sat in the car, with the radio on, waiting as all the other children streamed out to waiting parents. After ten minutes there were only a few cars left, so she nosed up into one of the vacant slots nearer the school gates, and got out to find out where the children were. The lollipop lady, a charming retired woman in her 70s called Irene, was still there, holding her traffic stop sign and shepherding the last gaggles of children across the not-very-busy residential road that bordered the school.

  ‘Forgotten something?’ Irene asked.

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Back a second time, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Have you seen David and Amber?’

  ‘You picked them up ten minutes ago,’ Irene said. ‘Or did Sophie borrow your car?’

  ‘Sophie is in London. Are you saying somebody else picked up the children?’

  ‘If you didn’t, I don’t know who it was. It was a car just like yours.’

  Estela’s hands flew up to her face and she covered her mouth in case she screamed. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! It’s all because I was late.’

  One of the teachers emerged and asked what the matter was.

  ‘Amber and David have been taken,’ Estela said. ‘Please, I have to call the police.’

  ‘Whoa, hold on a moment,’ the teacher said, a reassuring smile on her face. ‘I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. A friend of Sophie’s, or another parent perhaps?’

  Estela fumbled in her bag for her phone, found it, then immediately dropped it on the pavement, beginning to cry.

  ‘It’ll be all right, dear,’ the lollipop lady said, resting a hand on Estela’s trembling shoulder. ‘This is a small village, everyone looks out for each other.’

  ‘No, no, you don’t understand. You don’t begin to understand. If only I had been on time, it’s all my fault!’ She fumbled again with the phone, swiping pointlessly, all fingers and thumbs. ‘They are Albanian orphans, these children. Someone wants to murder them!’

  * * *

  Gillard was on his way back to police HQ in Guildford for a meeting on the Peter Young case when the call came through from operations. ‘Is she certain that no other parent has taken them? They’ve only been missing an hour.’

  Having heard the details, Gillard conceded that this was not a false alarm. ‘All right, I’m going back. Get ports and airports to check for children who match the description of David and Amber Lund – I’ll get you some pics. Put out a nationwide alert for that model and colour of Fiat. Find out if anyone at the school got a registration number, and get Rob Townsend to look over the ANPR in the area.’ Townsend was the response intelligence officer, an expert at getting the best out of the many police databases and information resources. ‘One more thing. Send someone with a full DNA kit to Colsham Manor – I don’t think we can wait until tomorrow. We’ll also need a liaison officer. PC Gabby Underwood would be ideal if she is available. She’ll have her hands full with the mother and the au pair.’

  Fifteen minutes later Gillard was back at Colsham Manor. Dealing with a tearful Estela d’Souza kept him from the urgent task of scanning through all the CCTV footage that had been accumulated the previous night. D’Souza was soon joined by Michael Tolling, the estate manager. The next to arrive was Detective Constable Michelle Tsu, who Gillard wanted because she had proved her worth on the notorious Knight murder case a couple of years previously. Walking in behind her was Geraldine Hinchcliffe.

  ‘This lady is a neighbour and says she may have some information,’ Tsu said. The group fell silent.

  ‘I heard the terrible news and wondered if I could do anything to help,’ Geraldine said, with a smile. Gillard knew exactly who would have given her such up-to-date information.

  ‘Actually, Geraldine, Mrs Lund is expected from London at any time. I don’t think she would want to find you here,’ Tolling said.

  ‘Well, really! I was only trying to be neighbourly. I would have thought that Sophie would need all the help she could get,’ Geraldine said, turning to leave. ‘But if you don’t need my help, then I shall go.’

  ‘I’ll come and see you later on, Ms Hinchcliffe,’ Gillard said to her.

  The noise of slamming doors marked her departure. She had only been gone five minutes when the echo of quick, hard footsteps and sobbing along the wood-panelled hallway announced the arrival of Sophie Lund. Ignoring the gathered group, Sophie and the au pair threw themselves into each other’s arms.

  Five minutes later Gabby Underwood arrived and, after briefing her, Gillard beckoned for Michelle Tsu to follow him. ‘We’ll leave them to it,’ he told her as they ascended the grand staircase to the first floor. ‘I want elimination samples of hair from the children’s bedrooms – toothbrushes, that kind of thing – and then when they’ve calmed down, cheek swabs from Sophie Lund and the au pair. Make sure the lab checks familial connections. Don’t forget the estate manager. I know this will slow things down a little, but for the children I want mitochondrial DNA analysis too.’

  Tsu’s perplexed expression did not surprise Gillard. ‘Just a little theory I have. It will help clarify family connections,’ he said. ‘I’ll do the swab for the awkward neighbour.’

  ‘Yes, what is it about her?’ Tsu asked

  Gillard blew a long sigh. ‘It’s a bit of a long-running feud. Let’s just say it’s best not to invite her in again.’

  ‘Okay,’ the young detective said. ‘Before I left the office I did some Googling on the Lund family.’

  ‘Anything of interest?’ Gillard was glad to have Michelle on the team. Her petite, girlish frame and soft features attracted patronizing comments and worse from male officers, but an apparent shyness concealed a keen intelligence and first-rate organizational ability.

  ‘Lots about Dag Lund’s oil rig businesses, and quite a bit about his wealth,’ she replied. ‘He’s on the Sunday Times rich list, did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘I had wondered whether this could put them in the frame for a conventional kidnapping. There are other indicators too.’

  ‘Very good. Tell me more,’ Gillard said.

  ‘The Lunds were a little careless. There was an article about the family in the local newspaper a couple of years ago, something along the lines of “Surrey Mum adopts Albanian orphans”. There were pictures of the kids too, in front of this quite palatial home.’

  Gillard was impressed. The woman had been on the case less than an hour, and had already managed to open a new and intriguing line of inquiry. He himself had been thinking more about an Albanian family connection, but that might be wrong. It could simply be a good old-fashioned kidnapping, albeit there had to be
some Albanian involvement from what the child had heard. Either way, it wasn’t going to be easy. According to Meadows, trying to get a joint investigation going in Albania was always a nightmare. The country may have signed an extradition treaty with Britain in 2017, but simply getting your suspect into custody was a major problem. The Albanian judiciary, who were responsible for keeping them there, were ‘enormously amenable to inducements’, as Meadows had put it.

  Bent judges, wary cops and powerful organized crime syndicates. Perfect.

  ‘Okay, Michelle, keep digging on that.’

  Gillard’s next phone call came from the chief constable. ‘Craig, I’ve just heard,’ Rigby said. ‘I probably don’t need to tell you, but the kidnap of young children is going to generate huge national coverage. I want you to be senior investigating officer and don’t want you distracted by anything else, so I’m getting Claire Mulholland to take over as SIO on the Peter Young case. I need you to liaise closely, given the possible links.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Another thing, Craig. I’ve noticed you have just ordered a budget-busting package of express DNA tests. You’re very lucky your line manager is off sick. DCS Dobbs would have you write reams of justification for such a comprehensive array, but I want you to know that for this case I share your sense of urgency. I’m happy to trust you and approved them immediately.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ The tone of her voice hinted at a quid pro quo coming down the line.

  ‘Now, Craig. I realize you have to forensically eliminate Geraldine and me following the break-in, but I’d like to emphasize that when our DNA samples and test results come back, they are for your eyes only. They should be marked for removal from the database once the case is concluded.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, understood.’

  ‘Craig. Find those children quickly, and I will recommend you for promotion.’ She hung up.

  Gillard stared at his phone. He needed no reminder that Rigby was several levels of political skill above him, but this message was clear: he’d been discreet about the chief constable’s private life, and a reward for that was being dangled.