‘Do we know what he was doing there?’
‘Not yet, but I’m on it. He grabs a black cab from outside. I know a DS there. She’s tracking down the cabbie for us, see where he dropped him. Far as we’re concerned though, what matters is that he’s back a little before one.’
‘Which gives him time to get back to his office, take the call and chat with our mystery man,’ Styles finished.
‘Only hole in that is the office CCTV,’ said Kaja. ‘He didn’t appear anywhere when I checked, but then again it’s his own system. He could easily have paused it, slipped in, then set it going again.’
‘We need him back in here,’ said Porter.
‘Glenn and Gus are on their way to bring him in now.’
‘If I hadn’t already done a course on sexual harassment in the workplace, I’d hug you right now.’
Kaja gave him a shrug. ‘If I was into guys, I’d probably let you.’
Porter was toying with the idea of updating Milburn. Nah, that could wait until after they’d grilled Winter. Couldn’t run the risk of him vetoing the whole thing for appearance’s sake. Before he could decide, Dee Williams came bustling through the door.
‘Hey, Dee,’ Styles greeted her. ‘You’re not gonna believe the latest we’ve got on Winter.’
‘Go on then, we can play Top Trumps,’ she said, drawing a deep breath, always a sucker for the stairs than the lift.
‘Wait, what’ve you got? Ladies first.’
‘Just had a nice chat with Penny Trainor,’ she said. ‘Turns out she wasn’t his ex any more.’
‘They were back on then,’ said Porter, not seeing the significance. ‘And?’
‘When she stopped being his ex, she started being somebody else’s.’
‘We doing this twenty questions style, then?’ asked Kaja. ‘Am I a man? Am I an animal?’
‘How about am I Jason McTeague?’ Dee said, with a sly grin.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Jason McTeague looked as guilty as a kid next to a smashed lamp when Porter and Styles walked into the interview room. Dee’s revelation was just the first layer. Turned out she’d wasted no time, doubling back through phone records. His didn’t move from his house, tying in with his alibi. Different story for the second number she’d checked, the one that had made the call to Winter’s office.
‘This,’ said Porter, sharing a photo via tablet to the wall-mounted screen, ‘is footage from Starbucks at Lewisham Shopping Centre. ‘And this,’ he pointed at a figure outside, back to the glass, ‘is you.’
‘Detective,’ the duty solicitor began, ‘I hardly think that’s basis for an identification, and even if it was—’
Porter cut over him, continuing as if he hadn’t said a word. ‘This is from a camera opposite Starbucks. I’d say that’s a pretty good likeness, wouldn’t you? You can continue to deny it, and we can run through the other dozen or so we have of you on your way there.’
McTeague’s eyes were glassy, looking straight through the pictures. He mumbled something Porter didn’t catch.
‘Can you speak up for the recording, please, Mr McTeague?’ asked Styles.
‘I said yes, it’s me, all right.’
‘And that phone in your hand, that’s yours, yes?’
No response this time, just a movement of the head, chin down low towards his chest.
‘For the benefit of the recording, Mr McTeague is nodding,’ said Styles. ‘Except that’s not your usual phone, is it, Jason?’
McTeague didn’t look up. The muscles in his jaw knotted as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. His solicitor, a relative newcomer to the profession, bent in, whispering into his client’s ear. No response.
Styles slipped in a sucker punch, sliding the next picture into view. ‘And she isn’t your girlfriend any more, is she, Jason?’
McTeague swung his head up, and Porter saw the rawness in his eyes as he stared at the image of Penny Trainor.
‘I only wanted to hurt him, like he hurt me,’ he said softly. The solicitor placed a cautionary hand on his arm, but McTeague shrugged it away. ‘He didn’t want her back at school, not for long anyway. Got bored and cheated on her with one of her mates.’
He sat a little straighter, folding his arms, staring at Penny.
‘What happened between you two, Jason?’ Porter mirrored him in voice and posture.
One arm stayed across his chest, the other reaching up, rubbing at his forehead, as if McTeague could massage it all away. His eyes started to fill as he kept fixated on Penny.
‘I knew she was seeing someone else. Just knew, you know. Late shifts at work all of a sudden, keeping her distance, hiding her phone when I came in the room. I just knew. Then I smelt her on him, the perfume she wears. Borrowed a jacket off him a few months back, and I fucking smelt her.’
Porter had dozens of questions, but instinct told him the floodgates were open. Let him talk and pick through the bones of it when he was done. McTeague sniffed and swallowed hard.
‘I even asked her one night. Just flat out asked her. Denied everything, but what else was she gonna do? I wanted to be wrong, I really did. Thought if I could prove to myself I was just being a dick, I could let it go. That’s when I put the button cam in his jacket. Hers were all too flimsy, would have stood out, but he liked those big puffer jackets. Recorded the two of ’em a few days later. Was all the proof I needed. Too much.’
‘So, he didn’t know it was there?’ Porter asked, thinking back to the Winter footage.
McTeague shook his head.
‘Then how did that micro SD card get in his room?’
‘I put it there the day after he …’ McTeague couldn’t bring himself to say the words. ‘Went round to pay my condolences and said I needed the loo so I could head upstairs. Winter was only supposed to rough him up. I never … They were just … Oh God,’ he said, burying his head in his hands.
‘And it was you that emailed the audio of that call?’
He nodded again. ‘You have to believe me, I had no idea they would go that far. I couldn’t just let them get away with it, but I couldn’t exactly stroll in and tell you what I knew without getting arrested myself, could I?’
‘How did you know where he’d be broadcasting from?’ Styles asked. ‘I thought he kept that secret?’
‘He did. I slipped an old phone in his bag and used Find my iPhone when he first went to scope the place out.’
‘That’s the mystery number we had show up at the court?’
Another nod.
‘But the only one we recovered at the scene belonged to Ross,’ said Styles.
McTeague squeezed his eyes tight shut, bracing for some kind of impact, and Porter realised where Styles was headed.
‘It was you, wasn’t it? Our mystery footsteps after they left and before we found him. You went in and got your phone back.’
McTeague shook his head, but it wasn’t a denial. ‘I can still see him now. Have done every night since.’
‘Have you had any contact with Winter since then?’ Porter asked.
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ said McTeague, in his highest octave yet. ‘After what they did to him, you think I’m going to ring for a chat?’’
‘He’ll be looking for you though, won’t he?’
‘Bloody well hope not.’
‘What about the footage you promised him? Can’t see him hoping for the best that it doesn’t surface, can you?’
‘I put a copy of the micro SD card in Ross’s bag,’ said McTeague. ‘Like you say, figured if they went away empty-handed, they’d keep looking.’
‘Any idea who the three men were, Jason? Did you see them on the way in or out?’
‘They were long gone. I never planned on going inside myself. Would’ve just got the phone back later, or the next day.’
‘Winter has a copy of the micro SD card then?’ Styles said. ‘We get that, we tie him to the scene.’
Porter suspended the interview, leaving McTeague with a thou
sand-yard stare, duty solicitor angrily whispering to him, clearly not happy about being kept in the dark.
Kaja’s was the first face he saw.
‘Any word from Glenn or Gus yet?’
She shook her head, and Porter felt the first twinge of worry. They should have been back by now. An image of the old Greenwich Magistrates’ Court flashed to mind. Blade sawing. Speckled spatter soaking into the carpet. Porter grabbed his keys and bolted for the door.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Styles rode with him up front, Dee and Kaja squeezed into the back. Porter had insisted on stab-proof vests all round, although how much use they’d be against a slashing machete was anyone’s guess. He hit the button to redial Glenn, third time unlucky, ringing out to voicemail. A heavy silence settled over the car as they raced south, over the river. Anything happened to them, it would be on him. Jackson Tyler was more than just a distraction, he was a set of blinkers, blinding Porter to the true level of danger once they got close to their three masked men.
His gut told him Winter hadn’t been one of them. More of a general up on a hill, than front-line, hands dirty. Plenty who’d do it for him. These last few days he had seen an uglier side surface in people, some just scared, others revelling in the permission to act as they thought this gave them.
Fourth time lucky, as Waters answered his phone.
‘Glenn, I’m on my way to you now. What’s happening?’
‘Just about to go in, boss.’
‘No, stand down till we get there. Where the bloody hell have you been anyway? You’ve had time to drive there and back twice by now.’
Waters sounded more than a little defensive. ‘Not our fault, boss. It was all kicking off when we came through Bermondsey. Couple of right-wing wankers harassing a bunch of teenagers, the usual go-back-to-your-own-country bullshit. Didn’t go down well with everyone and a few blokes stepped in, punches thrown, you know the drill. Anyway, kicked off as we came past, so we ended up getting involved. Had to wait for a van to come and take a few of ’em away. What’s up? You sound stressed.’
Porter got him to switch to speaker, filling both him and Gus in, getting an update in return. Gates closed, couple of cars in the lot, no eyes on anyone. They pulled up behind Waters and Tessier ten minutes later. Winter’s lie about York, together with McTeague’s statement, might not be solid enough for Milburn, but Porter’s mind was set. No way Winter would come willingly, not after last time. Leaving him to drift in under his own head of steam would give him time to dispose of the micro SD card, if he hadn’t already, as well as concoct an excuse about the York trip. No, this was happening now, today, hastily obtained arrest warrant in hand. He’d deal with Milburn later.
‘Aim of the game is Winter,’ said Porter, as they gathered between two cars. ‘We don’t have enough to bring anyone else along with him, unless they try anything stupid.’
‘What about Finch, boss?’ asked Tessier.
‘Not even him, not yet. Extra brownie points for whoever finds me that micro SD card though.’
They advanced on the gates, three pairs. Porter had checked Winter with the DVLA and recognised a silver Mercedes GLA by the front door as his. Williams and Waters went left, Tessier and Sucheka right, with Porter and Styles approaching the front door directly.
The door opened with ten feet left to cover. The man who poked his head out looked like he hadn’t been within five miles of a gym, dark fleece with even darker stains, flabby half-inch ring of flesh poking out from underneath.
‘Ah, Jimmy,’ said Styles, like he was greeting an old friend. ‘No need to have gotten all dolled up for me.’
‘You two know each other?’ said Porter with a half-smile.
‘Jimmy here was kind enough to deny me entry and ask me to go back to my own country a few days back, weren’t you, Jimmy?’
Jimmy couldn’t have looked less amused if Styles had unzipped his fly and peed all over his shoes.
‘Answer’s the same today,’ Jimmy said, crossing his arms, chin tilting up, aiming for his best bouncer pose. ‘Boss man ain’t in, and you ain’t welcome. Don’t care if you brought a mate neither. Don’t change the fact the likes of you don’t belong here.’
Jimmy hadn’t ventured past the threshold, and Porter doubted he could see either of the other pairs who’d fanned out to the left and right. Might as well have had a neon sign saying ‘Racist’ around his neck the way he spat out those words at Nick.
‘What about the likes of Gus here?’ said Styles, nodding at Tessier as the big man lumbered into view. Jimmy took a half-step back, eyes widening as Tessier folded arms that could squeeze most men like a tube of toothpaste. ‘You want to tell him he needs to leave the country too?’
‘Don’t care how many you bring,’ Jimmy said, all conviction leeched from his voice now, ‘you still can’t just walk in here, not without a warrant.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Jimmy,’ said Porter. ‘We’ve got an arrest warrant for your gaffer, and that’s his car over there, so we have reasonable suspicion to believe he’s on the premises. Now, I suggest you step back and let us past before Gus here has to move you.’
Jimmy huffed and puffed, jaw working overtime, but he stepped back a few seconds later, waddling off down a corridor faster than Porter would have expected him to move.
‘Mr Winter, sir,’ he called, glancing over his shoulder as he pushed through a door. ‘Police are here.’
Porter strode in with Styles, closely followed by Gus and Kaja, Dee and Glenn working their way around the sides to cover the rear of the building. Gus and Kaja started worked their way through a series of rooms either side, while Porter and Styles followed in Jimmy’s footsteps. The door opened out into a gaudy office, Winter seated behind an old-fashioned leather-topped desk that put Porter in mind of the one in Ross Henderson’s room. Bookshelves either side of the desk, mostly older leather-bound ones that Porter would bet were for effect. Photo frames acted as bookends. Winter with a handful of politicians and sportsmen. Winter speaking at an event, hands gripping either side of the podium. All about vanity and validation.
Jimmy was leaning over the desk, talking low and fast. Winter rose to his feet as they entered, chest puffed out, eyes blazing with indignation.
‘This is harassment, plain and simple,’ he said in a haughty voice, picking up his phone. ‘Wait till my solicitor gets through with you.’ He started tapping away at the screen.
‘You were in Peterborough, not York,’ Porter snapped. ‘You were back in London in time to take that call. We’ve got you on camera.’
Winter paused, phone halfway to his ear. ‘What …? How did …? I’m not saying another word without my solicitor.’ His bravado faded, giving way to what Porter was pretty sure was fear.
‘Have it your way. Damien Winter, you’re under arrest.’
Porter rattled through his rights, seeing Winter’s eyes flick nervously around the room, as the others set about searching the office.
‘What the bloody hell do you expect to find?’ Winter spat as Styles worked his way along a bookshelf, running his hands around the edges, opening some up and riffling the pages.
‘Let you know when we find it,’ said Styles with a wink.
Porter cuffed Winter’s hands in front, manoeuvring him towards the door. Behind them, desk drawers rattled open and closed, and Winter twisted around. Porter thought for a second he was trying to break loose, but there was no move to run.
‘You damage any of my stuff, I’ll be going to the papers about this harassment. Probably will anyway.’
‘Somehow I doubt that, Damien.’
Sucheka had finished with the drawers now, crouching on her hands and knees, contorting to look under the desktop, running gloved hands into dark corners. Porter saw her expression change, brief pause, then she reached further under, going shoulder-deep. A scraping sound as something, whatever she’d got her hands on, came away. She held up her find like a trophy.
‘What the h
ell is that?’ said Winter.
‘That, Mr Winter, is a memory card, and you, sir, are well and truly buggered.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Winter scowled as Porter entered the interview room. What with the railway footage and the memory card, not to mention the taxi driver’s input from Peterborough that had come through, Winter looked and felt like a fish in a barrel ready for the taking. Porter relished the thought of popping Peterborough on the record in particular. The driver had given them an address, which had given them a name. One that was already known to the local coppers, but one Winter would want kept between these four walls.
Don’t get lazy, Jake. Assume nothing.
Gene Rafferty sat in to represent Winter again for a touch of déjà vu, but the ten minutes he’d had with his client hadn’t exactly left him looking brimming with confidence.
Porter wasted no time, quickly rattling through the footage from both stations, laying out the timeline, the glaring window of opportunity Winter had to be back in the office to take the call from McTeague. Cherry on the cake was the micro SD card, already cued up and ready to play. Porter ignored the screen, studying Winter as the footage rolled. Curious at first as he watched himself appear, flicker of recognition as the conversation sparked a memory, turning to grim determination as he whispered something to Gene Rafferty.
‘How about we start there then Damien?’ asked Porter, friendly, unassuming. ‘What did you mean by that? “Taking a short walk off a long pier”?’
‘Look,’ Winter began, holding up a hand, ‘that’s not what it looks like.’
‘Really?’ said Styles. ‘Looks to me like you’re making a threat against a man who was murdered three days ago. How would you describe it?’
‘It’s a figure of speech for God’s sake. Doesn’t mean I’m actually going to do it. I’m not a savage.’
‘Any reason you gave my DS here a once up and down when you said that?’ said Porter.
End of the Line Page 24