“Shit, Victoria I’m sorry.” He came off the stool and followed her. “I didn’t mean to be flippant.” She was across the lounge closing her bedroom door before he got there.
“There will be a debrief immediately you return from Ipswich tomorrow,” she said from inside. “Goodnight.”
“Bollocks.” Sean whispered the word over and over as he returned to the kitchen. So much for his seduction technique. He began to eat his curry. Bella liked curry, stupid cat.
Sean made the offices of Ipswich CID before 9am. He was met by a woman DC who gave him a coffee from a machine and a desk in a busy office. She placed the Holmes file before him with an access form on top.
"I'm Patricia Biggs," she said. "The boss is out all day but I can answer any questions. I took notes at the interviews and filled in the paperwork."
"I appreciate your help, Patricia," Sean smiled. She was large and solid with a touch of eczema on one cheek and an expression that indicated her abilities were not used or appreciated. He opened the file and looked down at a portrait photograph of John Holmes. In life he looked self-assured, smug, arrogant. "Any suspects?"
"No one as yet."
"How was Mrs Holmes?"
"At the time, devastated. There was no light in her eyes, no animation, nothing. That was last autumn. I went to one of her meetings and she gave a good talk. She showed a sharp brain but there was still no light in her eyes. It's like she's dead inside. It has to be grief or illness, poor woman."
"You don't think she could have been involved?" Sean asked.
"Forensics and crime scene say otherwise. No way was she physically involved in his killing. From all the evidence, Judith Holmes was a side line victim. But whoever did it was certainly a professional. A chance intruder would have got in by the ground floor and set off the alarms. They would have stolen and panicked. This guy knew exactly where he was going and what he was doing. From the manner in which he cut the throat, to leaving the bedroom after Mrs Holmes returned, he was slick silent and undetected. It was also pitch black which suggests he wore night vision equipment. Holmes was taken out professionally, probably for business reasons. On the decision of my boss, that's our current line of enquiry." She tapped the file with a stubby finger. "As Judith Holmes is now also an MP, everything here is classified. You only get a look because it was requested by someone high in NCA but you will still need to sign the access paper." She indicated the form and waited until he had scribbled his signature. "My desk is over there," she pointed. "Call if you need me. The others do."
Sean spent two hours crunching through reams of information, all of it entered or typed by Patricia Biggs' precise hand. Because of it she probably knew more than her boss and the Chief Constable himself. The fact that he had been allowed access meant someone high in the Secret Intelligence Service was taking this operation seriously. Politics and murder made dirty bed partners.
John Holmes was a life MP who produced lots of wind and little result. He obeyed the party line and did exactly what was expected. In return he milked the system, did the rounds and played the game. In other words, Sean thought, a total toss-head freeloading on the state.
He read the autopsy report twice. Holmes had an enlarged liver from too much alcohol. He had also suffered from syphilis, a nice take home present for his wife. Poor Judith, no wonder she looked bitter. And would such bitterness demand revenge?
At eleven o'clock Sean carried the file over to Patricia who sat clattering on the keyboard of her PC. "More paperwork?" he asked.
"I'm the only female team member, that's all the bosses seem interested in, getting the paperwork done."
"How about a cup of coffee? I've some questions, the sort your bosses may not have asked."
She checked her watch and smiled. "How can I refuse a senior officer?
In a canteen, smaller than the one at Leeds but better furnished and less noisy, Sean bought two cups of coffee, one white and a black for himself.
"I've stopped worrying about weight," Patricia said, ladling three spoons of sugar onto the creamy surface of her cup. "I like chocolates too."
"I get my sugar quota in beer," Sean replied.
She smiled. "I can guess your first question. Why are we not looking at Judith Holmes? She has a motive - revenge."
"Spot on."
"First, all Forensics and scene of crime evidence indicate she could not have physically cut his throat. Secondly, her own statement saying the study window stood open rings true. Someone could have entered whilst she lay asleep, then cut his throat when she visited the bathroom; which accounts for her hearing no noise, and left the moment she turned him over. At that point his heart was still pumping, hence the blood on her face. Her scream and confusion would have covered any exit by the intruder."
"Someone who could see in the dark?" Sean queried.
"With night optics, no problem. And that's further indication of a professional. The flowerbed showed someone used a ladder. Small prints for a man, a size six trainer. Mrs Holmes has large feet for a woman, size eight. What we don't understand is how the window was opened. She said she found it that way. Mr Holmes used the study last, maybe he let some fresh air in then forgot to close it after too many whiskies. Mud from the same size six trainer was also found on the study floor, the hall and bedroom carpet.
"Judith Holmes may have opened the window to aid entry," Sean suggested.
Patricia shook her head. "If you are going to have someone slit your husband's throat, you don't arrange for it to be done while you are in bed with him. That is a primary reason we're not looking at her. I tell you, at the interview she was devastated, almost in shock." Patricia pursed her lips and shook her head.
"So, officially she's out of the equation?"
"Totally," she paused. "And we've been told that from above. She's now a political entity. John Holmes was a Conservative, I can't see the Liberals or Labour murdering the opposition so I would say it had to be business related. He was a property dealer with some very shady deals regarding planning applications. And property developers can be dodgy people."
"What about the DJP murdering their rivals?"
She looked at him, her brow furrowed. "Come on, boss. They're for the police, for law and order. I voted from Judith Holmes myself."
Sean nodded. "The report said other footprints were found between an outbuilding and a boundary hedge."
"Small prints, trainers, female or kid's. The house is on the edge of a village. You could push through the hedge from a public path. A good hiding place for kids playing games."
"Schoolgirls?" Sean asked.
"Possibly."
"Maybe observing the house?"
"Sure, if they had any reason to. More probably they were having a fag or keeping boys hands out their knickers."
"No strangers in the village?"
"Dozens. It was the Council bi-election. All the main parties were leaflet dropping and canvassing. We've been through the locals, boss. Our killer is not there."
"No prints?"
Again she shook her head. "The guy wore thick latex gloves. But somewhere there are bloodstained clothes, a bloodstained car and a folding ladder. This guy was a professional, probably hired for the job."
"By who? Did John Holmes have any business association with a character known as Silverman ex-husband of Laura Manning?"
"The name doesn't come up."
"He and Laura were also into developments, and sex clubs. How about a place called the Black Pad?"
"Sex he was into, hence the transmittable disease," Patricia said. "But I have no knowledge of the Black Pad Club. He was fairly discreet mind, he never got caught by the tabloids."
"The Black Pad fronts as a gentlemen's dining club. Bishops and MPs would have been favoured clients but behind it lay a high-class brothel. If Holmes was linked to that, he was linked to both Norton, Silverman and Portland, all members. Silverman was a highly connected laundryman for organised crime. The removal of Holmes by a profess
ional indicates he may have owed them money, been a danger, or simply upset them. If," Sean raised his finger. "If a link was established then whoever discovered it would certainly get a boost to their career."
Patricia's smile grew wider. "I'll look into it myself, boss. You've just given me a purpose beyond paperwork and chaperoning interviews. Thank you."
Sean slid his card across the table. "Stay in touch, Patricia and I'll send you some chocolates."
Sean entered the bare entrance hall in Belsize Park and went upstairs to the flat. Out of guilt he had previously called Victoria to announce his arrival, not wanting to further blot his copybook. His keys worked in both locks and the door swung open without hindrance. Two suitcases stood in the hall, a sun hat resting on top.
Victoria and Denise sat in the lounge, Denise with a laptop before her as she typed up notes.
"Briefing," Sean said.
"I just want our position straight before we split." Victoria did not smile. "What's your verdict on the Holmes murder?"
"Carried out by a pro. One who was well equipped and informed. Judith Holmes probably caught syphilis from her husband."
"What a lovely man," Denise said and began to type as she spoke.
Sean related all he had learned from Patricia Biggs, along with her unwritten suspicions.
"There are linking factors," he told them. "Particularly small footprints, schoolgirls and sex, amongst others."
"I bet the schoolgirls had American accents," Victoria said, without explaining. "Pretty little things above suspicion. The girl who followed me last night was an ex-US Marine, young neat and sweet. One of those peaches and cream blondes who babysits and goes out with the boy next door. They’re currently looking after Eleanor Baxter, but someone else might run them."
Denise stopped her typing. "Last year I ventured on a girls' night out. The theme was schoolgirls. A whole group of us dressed the part and went on the razzle. Now, I'm twenty-eight years old, but in three pubs I was asked for proof of age. And pub security wasn’t kidding. I'm saying while very young girls can pass as much older, in the right outfits, older girls can pass much younger."
"And push a judge under a car?" Sean said. "Or hang a drunk who thinks he's picked up two kids?"
"Speculative." Victoria pressed fingers together. "But if true, it means Ms Eleanor Baxter, potential American President for the ultra-right, is backed by a bunch of female killers."
"So who's Mafia and who's political?" Sean asked.
"My guess, it's a mix. The Mafia is close to Russian politics. Was, or is, close to American politics. Under the guise of feminine equality with peace and justice for all, there is no reason why it shouldn't do the same in Britain. Enter the Black Rose Mafia and with twenty billion from Silverman's missing fortune, they would have more than enough to bribe and buy their way into Parliament. Stand up for the grannies of Britain."
"Is that the plot?" Sean asked.
"Part of it. By intent or not, our widows are playing a very sinister game. By coincidence, Eleanor Baxter is also a widow."
"The Black Rose Conspiracy," Sean said. "Except it's all speculation and without proof." He looked to Victoria. She had that little enigmatic smile which he had come to love.
“That’s our job, to find proof. One proof leads to another. So for the moment let’s bypass submittable evidence and concentrate on the probable place that proof might come from. Sean, in Paxos you concentrate on surveillance and finding Joe Carver. Denise and I will stay with the political side and the right wing. While in Paxos you link with Pug and observe from a distance." Victoria raised her eyebrows. "As it’s primarily a female gathering, Denise and I will go in close and get cosy. Vasco Aguzzi will be there along with Gjon Krata, they also want the twenty billion. I’m informed Pug has set up observation posts from where we hope to watch both their yachts. If we see contact between either man and the DJP, then our speculation comes closer to the truth. Once we’ve infiltrated, we look to search deeper. If we can establish proof of dealings between the DJP, the far right and the mafia, then we can create a scandal. Job done.”
“If,” Sean said, and pursed his lips. “Come to that, how will I know Pug?”
“He knows you. He’ll have his means of introduction. Mix in the tavernas and get yourself known.”
“What if we three meet?”
“We will show indifference to you.” She exchanged smiles with Denise and checked her watch. “We have two hours to reach the airport.” She rose.
Denise kept tapping until finished then closed the laptop down. “We can’t hide this here,” she said. “Not if the flat is compromised.”
“Sean, my dear,” Victoria smiled at him. “You take it to Alice at Thames House. Your plane doesn’t leave until 11am. I’m sure the Wicked Witch will be delighted to see you.”
After Victoria and Denise had left for Paxos, Sean typed his own report and burnt a copy of all information on the laptop onto a data stick. He placed this in his pocket ready for Cobbart. He didn’t see why the Box should be the sole recipient of information. He had left National Crime Squad and the police for a civil service rank in the Organised Crime Agency. He put OCA on a par with MI5. He wanted to know what was happening and also why. As a member of CAT, he had licence to make his own decisions.
CHAPTER 13
Sean made contact through Alice Sibree’s secretary and emphasised his information was only for her boss. The Witch kept him waiting six minutes before answering.
“I have a laptop to deliver,” he said. “If I bring it now, will you be in?”
“Not here. Your operation is still off record. Go to Garrick Street, keep walking up and down, I’ll meet you in thirty minutes.” She hung up.
Sean felt her precautions were excessive but did as she requested, the laptop case gripped firmly in his right hand.
During his second stroll along Garrick Street, Alice brushed his arm while passing. She carried an identical black laptop to his own.
“Turn left into Rose Street, Inspector,” she said, without looking. “There’s a pub at the top with a passage running alongside. We exchange by the pub’s side entrance.”
Two paces in front, she turned into Rose Street then the enclosed passageway, stopping at the door when other people came by. In the brief seconds of her apparent hesitation, Sean switched laptops.
“When in the spotlight be careful, Inspector. Don’t get caught. These people are dangerous.” She grimaced with dry lips in an effort to smile and was gone.
Sean turned into the pub and eased his way through drinkers as he made for the front door and a return to Rose Street. Her warning left a sense of unease. Get caught by whom? The enemy as yet had no face and no name. Both mafia and the ultra-right were shadows in darkness and possibly female, with DJP connections.
An hour later he entered Cobbart’s office. The place was in its usual state of organised chaos, Cobbart in his customary pinstriped suit with dandruff on the collar and chalk dust on the cuffs from where he had written on a board. He waved Sean to an uncluttered chair and settled behind his desk.
“All our information and summaries, boss.” Sean handed him the data stick. “No one knows we have a copy.”
The troll produced his smile. “Excellent. There is no harm in staying level with the Wicked Witch. It will also be interesting to see what information she passes on.”
“She did warn me to be careful when in the spotlight. Just who else knows of Operation Black Rose?”
“A couple of heavenly bodies too high up for naming. Their concern is that members of staff, both senior and junior, may inadvertently leak information back to the DJP. A lot of policemen and members of security are very pro DJP policies. They like the idea of no tolerance to crime, of hard sentencing and maximum terms. These people are open, card-carrying supporters of the DJP. They love their country and believe in it. If you or Victoria were recognised as undercover agents while playing as allies, one of our own might mistakenly blow your cover. Bu
t if you do it openly, you are accepted by them. Least that’s the theory. As a detective chief inspector, you make a prime catch. They want you, but they'll check your authenticity. And that’s what the Witch means by being in the spotlight, you and Victoria, both. It’s also why Black Rose is off record.” He paused. “The elements of danger are as yet unknown, but they’re real. What’s your assessment so far?”
“I have no real proof of anything, but I reckon someone is being very clever,” Sean said. “Victoria is dealing with the political issues, but on the criminal side, it’s feasible that not only John Holmes was murdered but also Judge Portland and Bernie Norton. Our four candidates are running on a law and order ticket, yet all funds to start the DJP possibly came through Elaine Baxter, the Mafia or Jerak, Silverman’s son. Whoever he is. Somewhere in the equation there is also a professional hit man or woman. I think our grannies are up to their necks in shit, also plotting with the Mafia to gain political power.”
Cobbart pursed his lips. “A cloak of respectability can hide many evils,” he said, and nodded at his own philosophic words. “Use of the Mafia could be a shield to hide the real enemy whom Alice believes is the extreme right-wing neo-conservatives looking to influence British and American politics. But they also need money which is why they are using Aguzzi and searching for Silverman's twenty billion. He's the fund raiser for all of them. If, for whatever reason, the widows allowed the murder of their husbands then, as you say, they are compromised. They stay respectable by pushing law and order and eradicating surface crime that keeps Joe Public ignorant and happy.”
“So what of the right wing? They wouldn’t be in this unless there was a positive outcome for them,” Sean said.
“True, and that's because the extreme element of the neo-cons no longer commands the euphoria of old. Since the messy outcome of the Afghan, Iraq and Syrian wars, popular support in America for military objectives and its subsequent funding has declined. The coalition of American and Britain is fragile, so elements of the far-right organised murder and money for our widows, thinking they will have influence on future DJP voting. Senator Elaine Baxter has banking links with Vasco Aguzzi. He will provide initial funding for the British election this year, at least till the DJP find Silverman's billions. The forecast is for a hung parliament with the DJP winning a hundred plus seats on a law, order and equal rights for women package. They also have many sleepers in other parties. If they hold the balance of power, then by corruption, intimidation and greed, Baxter will also have influence in British foreign policy. She’ll push for British support on continuing aggression against any who oppose America. That will please a lot of American conservatives. It will also give Baxter ability to take the right-wing extreme into the centre of American politics. She’ll be rich and powerful and looking to the presidency. And she’ll do that with a promise to safeguard American interests by using American military wherever needed.”
The Black Rose Conspiracy Page 9