Going Underground (Jonathan Roper Investigates Book 1)

by Michael Leese

  She grimaced. “Actually I’d love to. But one of us needs to go to a briefing with the forensic accountants. They want to give us an update on what they’ve found in Sir James’s affairs. I gather it’s all pretty technical but it needs to be done.”

  “Do I need to come along?” said Hooley; his lack of enthusiasm evident in the quiet tone of voice he used.

  She shook her head. “No need to worry. I know you hate that kind of thing. Anyway there is one advantage of rank. I can listen politely while most of it goes over my head, and then insist on a detailed report with the all important ‘idiot’s guide’, or summary, as they like to call it.”

  “Very wise, Ma’am, very wise.” Hooley checked his watch. “If you don’t mind I can put a call into the forensic team. I’m not sure if they will have anything yet, but they are promising that if it’s not ready now they can give us an estimate on when it will be.”

  As he walked back into his office he looked over at Roper’s desk. Although he’d only been sitting there for a couple of days, it seemed strange not to have him around, glued to his computer screen and demolishing whatever food was to hand.

  Given how much progress they’d already made, thanks to Roper’s astonishing insights, he knew he was going to have to resist the temptation to rush him back. Then he caught himself. What he would need to do is make sure that Jonathan didn’t rush himself back. That would be much easier said than done.

  He put his call into forensics and learned he would have to wait until tomorrow. He could come in or they would email the details. He hated the mortuary so if there was a chance of avoiding it then he’d take it. He asked them to email it.

  22

  Hooley was trying to look casual as he made his way towards Roper’s room, but he couldn’t help walking on tip-toes as he thought about the ward Sister. He froze as he heard her speaking from right behind him. Damn, the woman was as light on her feet as Mayweather.

  “Good of you to appear at official visiting times.” she had one eyebrow raised and was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

  “Hello again Sister,” he said with forced joviality. “I must say you’ve put in a long day. It’s nearly 8pm.”

  “Well you’re not doing too shabbily yourself on that front.” Her eyes flicked up and down as she checked his appearance, leaving Hooley hoping he hadn’t got stains on his clothes.

  “Your Mr. Roper tells me you are a Detective Chief Inspector. I suppose that’s quite impressive.”

  Then she turned on her heel. To his surprise he was sweating. Had she just been flirting with him? After 30 years of marriage he had no point of reference. His mouth felt dry and he looked around for a water fountain. Feeling more composed after a drink he set off to see Roper. Walking into the room he thought he looked brighter, although it was clear he was going to have some cracking bruises emerging over the next few days.

  Roper was staring at his phone but looked up as he heard Hooley walk in.

  “I knew you were close by,” said Roper.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Hush Puppies sound very distinctive especially on the type of flooring they use in hospitals. Leather soled shoes sound quite different.”

  Despite himself Hooley was fascinated. “Can you tell who anyone is by the sound of their shoes?”

  “So long as I have heard them walking before, then of course. Even if people are wearing the same type of shoes, everyone walks slightly differently. Some people sort of scuff their feet, some favour one foot and others march about. You’re a marcher.”

  Hooley was surprised at how pleased he was by this. He’d have been disappointed if he’d turned out to be a scuffler.

  Roper clearly wanted to talk some more so Hooley decided that since Roper had raised the topic he’d ask him some more about his acute sense of hearing. He still hadn’t got over his surprise at Roper discovering the hidden room.

  He said: “Have you always had very good hearing or is it something you had to teach yourself?”

  Roper shifted in his bed. He looked far more comfortable than this morning. “I’ve never really thought about it, but it is something that has always been there. When I lived with my grandmother in Kent, her house backed onto the track for the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch light railway. When the trains approached a crossing about half-a-mile from her house they whistled to warn motorists. I could always tell which whistle belonged to which engine, even though I couldn’t see it.”

  Hooley shook his head and grinned. “I’m quite keen on steam trains myself but hadn’t realised that all steam whistles sound different.”

  Roper shrugged. “If you think about it, they are hand-made so it’s obvious they will make different sounds.”

  “Well it may be obvious to you but I’m not sure I would be able to tell the difference. In fact I know I wouldn’t. Anyway, on to health matters; how are you feeling now and what do the doctors say?”

  Roper shuffled up against the pillows.

  “Very sore, but it has given me a chance to practise using meditation techniques to relieve pain. It’s been working well and I haven’t had any drugs since this morning. The consultant was here an hour ago and said I was making good progress, although I do have a mild concussion. If I have a good night they might send me home after rounds tomorrow.”

  Hooley nodded and then decided that what he said next might sound better if he made out it was Mayweather’s idea. He sat down on the chair next to the bed.

  “Now, about going home. Julie and I were talking about you and she feels it might be better if you were with someone for a couple of days. Especially if we’re talking about concussion.”

  Roper looked doubtful.

  “I haven’t got anyone that could come and stay with me.”

  “Yes, we realised that so why don’t you stay with me for a couple of days? Just to make sure you’re making a good recovery, then you can go back home.”

  He waited while Roper thought about this.

  “Actually that is a good idea.” Hooley covered his surprise. He had been anticipating more of a discussion. Roper carried on. “Have you spoken to your wife about me staying? Is she happy?”

  “Ah well, the thing is we’re having what you might call a trial separation.”

  “A trial separation?”

  “She kicked me out, might be more to the point.”

  Roper was clearly about to launch into a series of questions which Hooley stopped by holding his hands up, palm outwards.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure I quite understand it myself, and I don’t really want to talk about it. The point is my brother Tony is a property developer and quite a good one, which is why he has lent me a two-bedroomed flat in Pimlico. It’s one of those big old Georgian buildings so you would have your own bedroom and bathroom. There’s plenty of space so we wouldn’t get on top of each other.”

  Roper thought for a moment.

  “Is this also something to do with me being attacked? Do you think it might happen again?”

  Hooley shrugged. “We don’t know. Until we do it doesn’t hurt to take a few precautions. If it is connected to the case then I take that to be a positive thing in the sense that we, or you, must be doing something right. At the same time I would always prefer to be careful.”

  Roper shifted around in the bed than asked if there had been any developments while he was in hospital.

  “Well you’ve only been here for a day, so nothing yet, but we do get the new analysis of what they found in the warehouse tomorrow. I spent most of today talking to the housekeeper and driver but they haven’t added anything new. I think they are quite genuine, they were both very distressed that Sir James was dead.”

  He noticed that Roper was starting to look tired and decided to leave him to rest. He stood up.

  “If they do let you out tomorrow call me and we can arrange for the policeman on duty here to take you home and get some stuff. I’m assuming that with your iris recognition sys
tem only you can get through the door. Make sure you get everything you need for about a week. I’ll come down to Pimlico to let you in.”

  23

  Brian Hooley was carefully shifting piles of documentation as he searched for his phone. He knew it was hidden somewhere on his desk because he had just heard it ping to announce an incoming email. After a laborious morning spent ploughing through details of Sir James’ financial affairs he was desperate to find something to distract him. That email might be just the ticket, if only he could find his mobile.

  Finally locating it he saw that the message was from the Home Office Pathologist, Kirsty Goodchild. She was in charge of the lab and always took an interest in the biggest cases. He was delighted to read that she wanted to talk to him urgently; just the excuse he needed to abandon what he was doing. He decided to call her without reading any of the attached details. They’d worked together long enough to know that he preferred a verbal heads-up before the written details.

  The pathologist answered on the third ring. If she didn’t answer by then she was carrying out an autopsy. Goodchild brushed aside his attempts to apologise for not looking at her report. “No worries DCI Hooley. I’d much rather talk to you anyway. At least I know you pay attention to what I tell you.”

  “Thanks Doc.” One of the reasons they got on was because she shared a similar outlook which meant he could dive in straight away. “Am I right in hoping that you have something interesting for me?” Despite his best efforts he couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice.

  She laughed again. “You are, but I’m not entirely sure what you will make of it.”

  Hooley sat a little straighter in his chair; it looked like this case was going to bring one surprise after another. “OK, try me.”

  “We’ve found traces of animal blood. For this second sweep I widened the search area, and we found the new blood trace about 10 feet from the original site. I’ve spoken to colleagues at the Royal Veterinary College and they should be getting back to me soon to tell me if they can identify the animal.”

  Hooley was glad that she couldn’t see his face as he had gone red with embarrassment that he hadn’t got round to telling her lab about the video file that Roper had discovered. He tried to find a way out and realised he just had to front-up.

  “Actually, I owe you an apology. Jonathan found a video on the black internet. It shows someone was holding a series of dog fights at the warehouse and Sir James was killed when he was tossed into a cage with a couple of monster dogs.”

  He braced for a justified bollocking but she surprised him by staying calm.

  “I have to admit that is a pretty good excuse. Quite a variation on the dog ate my homework excuse. You seem to be saying that a dog ate your victim. Anyway that fits with another finding. There is one area on the ground floor which is saturated in Sir James’s blood and that is most likely the spot where he bled out. Your information also confirms that he was dead before he was chopped up.

  “From my findings I also agree that whoever made the cuts to his head, hands and feet knew what they were doing. The cuts were very precise and expert. While I’m not saying it was a surgeon they were clean and not the sort of thing that would be done by an amateur. That would suggest someone like an abattoir worker or a butcher, but I can’t rule out a doctor.”

  Hooley shook his head. Gruesome as it was this was the detail that backed up Roper’s theory. He ended the call and decided fresh air from a coffee run would do him good. A short while later he was sitting at his desk with his Americano. He stretched to pick up a file and winced at a sudden pain in his back. He rubbed at the spot, wishing he hadn’t fallen asleep at the hospital. It felt like he had pulled a muscle. Opening his desk drawer he searched around to find some painkillers. Faced with hot coffee or cold tea to wash them down he grimaced and chose the tea. The pills were just starting to take the edge off the pain when Julie Mayweather walked in. She had a face like thunder.

  “Exciting morning with the Commissioner?” he asked, keeping a straight face. He knew that look.

  “That bloody man can be incredibly patronising. When I told him about Roper being attacked and our worries that it was connected to the murder he as good as laughed at me. I was reminded that I needed to stay ‘objective’ and ‘not let my emotions get in the way’.”

  She shook her head angrily. “I bet he wouldn’t have said that to a man but he feels he can get away with it with me. I nearly lost my temper but fortunately Hugh Robertson was there and stepped in before I could say anything. So now the ‘official’ line is that Jonathan was the victim of a random mugging.”

  Mayweather took a deep breath, making a determined effort to get her temper back under control. She looked around and sat on the edge of Roper’s desk. “The Commissioner had his new PR man there again. He’s nearly as bad as the Commissioner. When I showed them that video Jonathan found, the bloody man told me we had to be careful how we used it. What does he think we are going to do, release it so the public can watch in the comfort of their homes?”

  She picked up the Evening Standard which was carrying a carefully selected range of mug shots lifted from the video clip. The paper had not been informed that they were taken from a film that showed Sir James’ death, just that they were potential witnesses who were among the last to see him alive. If the paper ever found out there would be likely complaints about withholding information but she calculated it was a risk that had to be taken to avoid causing a media frenzy.

  Holding the paper up so that Hooley could see it she said. “Any joy in finding out who these people are?”

  Hooley shook his head. “It looks like Jonathan was right; again, they’re all non-residents.”

  Mayweather picked up a scrap of paper and savagely crushed it in her hand. It was clearly going to take more than deep breathing to calm her down. She made to leave the office. “Give me five minutes and then come in. I want to go through all the details with you. I just need to stick a few pins in my Commissioner doll.”

  24

  “They’re letting me go home and I can get back to work tomorrow.” Roper had called Hooley at lunchtime. He said his police guard was going to run him home then take him to Pimlico. “When we get to my flat I’m going to treat myself to a long, hot shower followed by one of my special teas.”

  Roper had once read that strong sweet tea was a natural remedy for shock. He had tried it out and found it really effective so now he seized on any opportunity to drink it. Hooley shuddered as he recalled his one experience of this so-called miracle cure. Roper had made him a cup when he was suffering the lingering after effects of a heavy cold. He’d presented the drink with great ceremony and been very disappointed when Hooley spat out his first sip. It was so sweet it made his mouth dry and his teeth ache. He’d been surprised it hadn’t induced instant diabetes.

  He swapped his phone from his right to left hand. “Apart from the tea I’m delighted to hear you’re being allowed home. Take your time then call me when you are ready to leave your place for the journey to mine. It takes me fifteen minutes to walk back to Pimlico so if we leave at the same time I will get there ahead of you. Don’t forget to bring enough clothes with you.”

  He put the phone down and smiled as he imagined the look on the PC’s face when he saw how many suits, shirts, ties and shoes that Roper was likely to bring with him. To those who like to say death and taxes were the two great certainties, you could add a third; Roper would appear every day in a freshly laundered version of his work outfit. He walked in to Mayweather’s office to share the news about Roper being sent home, only to find her staring in disgust at her computer terminal.

  “The HR department has come up with another brilliant initiative.”

  Hooley lowered himself into his seat and waited.

  “This time they are asking me to get all the members of the unit to contribute their thoughts towards establishing new guidelines on, and I quote, ‘the challenges faced in policing London in the di
gital age.”

  Hooley nodded gravely.

  “Almost philosophical for them.”

  “Ha.” Mayweather snorted. “I think the best thing to do is ignore it. If I start asking people for their views about theoretical policing when they are already carrying huge workloads I will have a riot on my hands. I bet this is a scheme dreamed up by the new PR team the Commissioner has brought in.”

  Hooley nodded. “I heard through the grapevine that they are claiming their ideas will make sure the Commissioner avoids any more scrapes with politicians or journalists. Well all I can say is good luck with that. Some of our colleagues are already muttering about ‘Facebook Plod’.”

  Hooley rubbed at his temples then straightened up in his chair. “Back in the real world we have some good news. Jonathan has been discharged and is going home to get cleaned up and then should be at mine in a few hours time.

  “On the investigation front we are still ploughing through all the people who need re-interviewing and I’d like to put the security guard on police bail. We could charge him, but I’m not sure what it would achieve. It seems to me that he’s a prat who has managed to get himself involved in a major murder investigation through his own bad luck. So far the Press hasn’t cottoned on to him and I think it might be better that way. We just warn him that if anyone approaches him he keeps quiet or he will be in big trouble.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Good idea. We don’t need him sidetracking us. Is there anything else we need to talk about now?”

  “Just the one thing,” said Hooley. “On the assumption Jonathan is at work tomorrow, I want him back on the bio-tech companies named in the files on Sir James’s lap top. He clearly thinks they are going to be pretty important.”

  “The other priority, as I see things, is finding out who attacked him. It seems pretty clear it is related to the investigation and the work he’s doing.”