DS Jones gives a light whistle – an acknowledgement of the gravity of his news.
‘I can confirm there’s nothing so far – I was online a couple of minutes ago – and obviously we’ve established a channel of contact with her employer. I’ll get it double-checked as soon as we’re done. Do you want me to mention her disappearance to them? Over.’
‘Happen we should let sleeping dogs lie. Over.’
‘Are you worried, Guv? Over.’
There is a strained note in DS Jones’s voice that conditions his response.
‘What do you mean? Over.’
‘That something sinister has happened to her. You see – the initial pathology report has come back – the Coroner wants to classify Mikal Mital’s death as suspicious.’ She hesitates, as though she might momentarily have suffered a small wave of emotion. ‘Over.’
‘Well – tell us, lass. Over.’
Skelgill hears DS Jones clear her throat, although she has obviously moved the microphone away from her mouth. Then she speaks with renewed composure.
‘The cause of death was cardiac arrest. Obviously – in an elderly man that might not be unexpected – but I’ve contacted his doctor and he’d given him a clean bill of health three months ago – and he had no history of heart problems. But the precursor, Guv – is indicated by the preliminary toxicology. Mikal Mital had ingested a compound called flunitrazepam – it’s a benzodiazepine – a tranquiliser. You know the trade name – Rohypnol?’ (At this Skelgill makes a choked ejaculation, for the compound is notorious as a date rape drug – but he does not interrupt, and DS Jones continues.) ‘Its effects are magnified by alcohol – the patient can slip into a coma and their vital functions shut down. It’s usually prescribed on a very short-term basis for chronic insomnia. Except it wasn’t prescribed – at least, not by his regular GP.’ Again she pauses before passing the baton rather uncertainly. ‘Over?’
It takes Skelgill a moment to respond.
‘How easy is it to get hold of? Over.’
‘I’ve talked to the drugs squad – there’s a thriving black market in all these tranquilisers – or he could have obtained it under the counter from an accommodating pharmacist. Over.’
Now Skelgill’s tone becomes self-reproachful.
‘I was joking when I said Jenny Hackett must have slipped him a Mickey Finn. Over.’
‘The thing is, Guv – the empty blister pack was in his toiletries bag. There are no prints on it – it’s being despatched for analysis for contact DNA. Obviously – it’s possible he obtained the drug privately and self-administered – took an overdose by mistake – especially if he was intoxicated. The amount in his blood was about three times the prescribed dose. The toxicology showed he’d drunk whisky – and possibly other spirits – I guess the guard might recall how much exactly. Over.’
‘Aye – I’ll ask him.’ Skelgill hesitates, as though a little scenario is running through his mind. Then he picks up DS Jones’s main thrust. ‘What if he were intentionally poisoned – are there any other forensics? Over.’
Now it is his sergeant’s turn to produce a sigh of sorts.
‘Sod’s law, Guv. I briefed the team on the possibility of him having been drugged – so they were going to bag any drinks receptacles they could find. Unfortunately, the guard was too efficient. All the glasses served in the lounge car were neatly stacked in a dishwasher in the galley – and the wash cycle had finished before the train’s power was switched off.’ There comes another hiss of vexation from Skelgill, and DS Jones now sounds a little downcast. ‘Also, there was no contamination in the water bottle – remember, the one at the foot of his bed that I thought had been moved? Over.’
‘Aye – but that was after you’d found him dead. Over.’
A moment’s silence ensues – it seems DS Jones is formulating her thoughts.
‘For the record, there are some prints – but pretty much as we’d expect. Mikal Mital’s on the label – and on the screw top Ruairidh McLeod’s thumbprint – he’s on the biometric database – I’ll explain that in a minute. But inside a cupboard in the guard’s van there was a bottle-carrier – like a sports team uses. It had been filled up with ten individual bottles from a shrink-wrapped outer – and they all had similar prints. So it looks like that’s how he distributed the water to the compartments from his central stock. Over.’
‘Aye. That’s more or less what he told me and Leyton.’ Skelgill’s pause hangs heavy with frustration. ‘What else have we got? Over.’
‘From a scientific perspective, Guv – there are unidentified prints from several individuals in and around compartments one and two. But it’s a public space – so it’s only what we would expect to find. Bear in mind there would have been a different set of passengers every day of the week. I mean – we may have swabbed traces of DNA that will prove significant – but only if we can identify someone who shouldn’t have been in either of those cabins. The best we can hope for is alien DNA on the blister pack.’
‘When do we expect the results? Over.’
‘I’ve been quoted twenty-four hours from receipt, Guv – but we’re still working on a way to get the samples to the lab. They’re going to have to travel by helicopter somehow – and the availability is obviously really limited right now. Over.’
Skelgill registers the vexation in his sergeant’s voice. She has within her grasp the tantalising prospect that Mikal Mital may have been poisoned, but cannot deliver the forensic coup de grace. Perhaps inadvertently he makes what is a consolatory remark.
‘Happen we’re not going anywhere in a hurry. Over.’
‘Apart from Jenny Hackett? Over.’
‘Aye – I don’t know what to think there.’ Skelgill seems wrong-footed by his sergeant’s quick rejoinder. His is vaguely aware that he ought to commend her efforts – frankly she has worked wonders in galvanising pathology and forensics departments, when there is a regional crisis underway and many staff will not even have reached their places of employment. But she has not even hinted that a word of praise would be appreciated. And there is limited airtime before he must return to recharge his battery. ‘Anything new on the other folk? Over.’
‘Guv – I’ve been concentrating on liaising with Dr Herdwick – but the team have come up with a smattering of information.’ It sounds like she is sifting through some notes. ‘I’ll be brief – I’m afraid there’s no smoking gun –’ She breaks off for a moment’s mirth. ‘Hah – although, on that note, Bill Faulkner – we have nothing more from a professional perspective as far as his London job is concerned – but there are some personal details. After college he served with distinction in the US military – and subsequently as a civilian he won prizes for shooting in Louisiana state competitions. A pretty impressive achievement, by all accounts – looks like he could have made the American Olympic skeet team, but didn’t take it further.’
‘He weren’t so hot at darts.’ There might be a small element of envy in Skelgill’s impulsive reaction. DS Jones opts to proceed without comment.
‘Richard Bond. The MOD have confirmed he served as he claims, and his record was exemplary, too – they won’t release any details, given the nature of the regiment. It appears, however, that for two years after discharge he worked in the Middle East as a private security expert. That can be a euphemism for mercenary. And it’s just possible there’s some link between the bankrolling of his business and contacts he made out there – and clearly petrochemicals has been a major source of laundered funds.’
Skelgill seems to have settled into listening mode, so DS Jones continues.
‘This is in no particular order, Guv – I don’t want to give the idea there’s some theory developing here, or connections between either these new findings or what we know already. Concerning Mikal Mital, then. His early background behind the Iron Curtain seems fairly anonymous – it appears he was an academic, an economist, until after the fall of the Berlin Wall – then the first official notice is as a visi
ting professor at Harvard Business School. It seems from there he moved into professional consultancy and stayed under the radar until relatively recently – when the anti money laundering movement gathered pace after the 2008 financial crisis. He acted as an advisor to a consortium of European governments about property dealings around the Mediterranean – on the face of it that looks like suspected dirty money coming out of Russia and the former Soviet republics. I guess he would have had access to networks he built up during his time on the communist side of the fence. It corresponds with what Jenny Hackett suggested.
‘Staying on the Russian theme – one small point of interest is that VoxNews hasn’t reported that two of its key staff are trapped in the snow. Obviously we let them know around this time yesterday. You would think given Sir Ewart Cameron-Kinloch’s profile they would have made a feature of it. Last night they played out a repeat of his current affairs show. Neither is there any reference on the VoxNews website.
‘We’ve been in touch with City of London Police’s money laundering investigation unit. They have passed on all the names of the non-British citizens on the train to Europol and Interpol – that includes Ivanna Karenina, Egor Volkov, François Mouton, Wiktoria Adamska and Bill Faulkner – so we’re waiting for feedback – but we did get an immediate notification that Wiktoria Adamska’s husband, Artur Adamski has companies on a watch-list for cross-border financial transactions.
‘Then – Mr Harris, Guv.’ DS Jones makes a curious cough, as though she is reminded of the improbability of his existence. ‘I still think we’re some way off from identifying him. We’ve contacted the ticketing operators – they’ve been able to tell us that the booking was made online – as they generally are – and the payment transacted in US dollars with a foreign charge card from a business account. The company name doesn’t seem to mean anything – we’re trying to establish where it’s incorporated – but the bank appears to be domiciled in the Virgin Islands.’
Skelgill utters what must sound like an expletive to DS Jones – for she gives a nervous laugh.
‘I know, Guv – it does rather stir the pot. If he’d been plain Mr Harris from Hampstead it would be easier to put him to one side. As it is, I checked the latest status and the American Virgin Islands – if that’s where the account proves to be based – are still on the EU blacklist of tax havens. My concern is that when we approach the card operator they’ll simply hide behind the defence of client confidentiality.’
Skelgill scoffs contemptuously.
‘So what do we do, send a gunboat?’
DS Jones treats his question as rhetorical.
‘We have some limited information on the railway employees.’ She gives a little chuckle. ‘I thought I’d better make sure they’re who they claim to be! Laura Wilson the driver is from Penrith – I realised I know her younger sister, Jackie, she works in the probation service – so there’s no question there. Laura left school to become a firefighter, but just over four years ago she received a serious spinal injury attending a blaze in the Whinlatter, and after she recovered she retrained as a train driver. The guard, Ruairidh McLeod – his employment on the railways dates back to the nationalised days of British Rail. Prior to that he was a steel worker at the Ravenscraig plant in Motherwell. He gained a reputation as a trades union firebrand – and a criminal record – that’s why we have his prints on file. During the 1980 steelworkers’ strike he served four weeks on remand for secondary picketing at Sheffield – an incident that culminated in some considerable violence. Ironically he and his union comrades were cleared of the picketing charge but were given fines and suspended sentences for affray. Then for a period at British Rail he held a position as a convenor and was considered to be on the militant side – but after privatisation in 1997 and the break up into franchises he relinquished his union role and seems to have kept his head down – maybe with an eye to his pension. He’s currently rated as a reliable employee with a good disciplinary and attendance record. Over.’
Skelgill mutters something unintelligible. But it seems there is a hint of sympathy in his tone.
‘Happen he’d make a half-decent union rep – bolshie type like him. Probably drives him crackers seeing all these rich folk lording it in first class. Over.’
DS Jones does not respond directly to her superior’s observation, and instead presses on with her account.
‘The financial conference in Edinburgh, Guv – it’s actually still taking place – the majority of attendees flew in ahead of the storm and are lodging within walking distance of the convention centre. Although it must be scaled down – and obviously they’ve lost the likes of Mikal Mital’s slot. We got hold of the delegates’ list – Richard Bond is on it,’ (Skelgill makes a grunt of acknowledgement – it was as he expected) ‘VoxNews are sending a reporter, although no mention of Sir Ewart Cameron-Kinloch or Ivanna Karenina. But the one delegate that did stand out, Guv, is described as “Representative, Adamski Corporation” – it doesn’t say who by name – so it could be anyone right up to the top man – in other words, Wiktoria Adamska’s husband. Which might explain why she was so determined to get to Edinburgh. Over.’
Skelgill makes a disdainful grunt. He is thinking that ‘husband’ may be jumping to conclusions. But he offers an alternative justification.
‘She told Leyton she’s showing off her latest undies at some fancy shop. Her luggage is packed with fur coats and frilly knickers. Over.’
DS Jones gives an appreciative laugh.
‘All a girl needs, Guv. Especially in this weather. But, seriously – on the conference – we’ve looked back at the pre-publicity – the general tenor seemed above board and quite altruistic. I’ve got the headline here – I’ll read it: “Wealth of Nations – an executive-level symposium to promote international money flows, and the benefits of relaxing exchange controls for world trade and global prosperity.” I know what Jenny Hackett said about Mikal Mital – that he was supposedly going to drop a bombshell – but assuming that was true, then I don’t think the conference organisers knew it was coming. Over.’
‘Except Jenny Hackett had wind of it. And others, maybe –’
Skelgill is evidently sidetracked by some thought, for he does not formally hand back. After a short while DS Jones again takes the initiative.
‘Guv, the national grid are predicting tomorrow evening for power and communications to begin to be restored. I briefed the Chief first thing this morning and she wanted me to review any findings before I updated you. I’ve just come off a Skype call. Now we’ve got evidence that points to a potentially suspicious death, I asked about extracting everyone from the hotel and interviewing them under caution. What do you think? Over?’
Skelgill is not expecting to be put on the spot like this. His sergeant’s account implies that the decision is in his hands – that he has only to say the word and they will all be whisked off to a mixture of Christmas and captivity – despite there being many more deserving calls upon the rescue services. On the face of it the idea is appealing, but he is reminded that this is a high-ranking group of wealthy individuals – there is no way they would tolerate voluntary detention, when expensive lawyers will tell them they can simply walk away unless charged (and whom would they charge?). As things stand, he has them in a somewhat less contestable confinement, trapped by an act of God. Here the only downsides are an outbreak of cabin fever and the risk of some precipitate action – witness the latest Jenny Hackett episode. So whatever logical arguments play out in his mind, his gut feel is less equivocal.
‘As you just put it – I reckon we need a smoking gun. Over.’
There is a pause while DS Jones reads between the lines of her superior’s reply.
‘Ah – that’s interesting, Guv. I mean – to be honest, I wouldn’t say the Chief was enthusiastic about the idea of an evacuation – I think she could be swayed if you were vehement. But if you’re happy to sit tight –’
‘Jones – when am I happy to sit tight – unle
ss it’s me day off on Bass Lake?’ Skelgill makes a scathing “tcha” – as though this sudden notion is so far away from the present reality as to be a pipe dream. However, his words gainsay his cynicism. ‘But something tells me I should – and if you need twenty-four hours to get those results. What day is it tomorrow? Over.’
‘Christmas Eve, Guv. Obviously it would be good to get you all out then.’ DS Jones sounds apologetic, a sentimental note creeping into her voice. Then she brightens, although in a somewhat conspiratorial manner. ‘To be frank – you know how when you ask the Chief something that must have ramifications, she’s got this way of not blinking –?’
‘Jones – I’ve never seen her blink.’
DS Jones chuckles at his intervention.
‘Guv – I feel she knows something – not so much the fine detail of this case – but the bigger picture – something that she’s not inclined to reveal. Over.’
Skelgill does not sound fazed.
‘Happen we shouldn’t be surprised. We know all about her and the corridors of power. And we know first hand the national press are sniffing about. Over.’
‘Guv – if you can live with it – I think she’d consider that a good outcome. While we wait for Forensics I’ll marshal any resources that I can in relation to Jenny Hackett. Obviously if we can pick her up it might provide us with some answers. Over.’
‘Aye – well, you’ve got about three hours’ daylight – you’ll need to get your skates on. Over.’
Detective Inspector Skelgill Boxset 4 Page 71