‘I know my job, ma’am,’ came the reply. ‘Others may blab after their second drink, but not yours truly. It takes at least five with me, and they’d have to be doubles. If you want me to, I can tape up young George’s mouth when he goes off duty tonight. That roll of sticky tape he found needs to be put to some useful purpose, don’t you think?’
Sophie rolled her eyes as she slipped her phone back into her bag. ‘I don’t envy George Warrander. Rose Simons is a brilliant cop, but her humour can get just a bit too much at times.’
* * *
The two detectives returned to Blandford police station and found Rae Gregson entering more details onto the computer system.
‘I went with Sharon Giroux to her parents’ solicitor, ma’am,’ she said. ‘The will is fairly simple, but there was a surprise. She and her brother get fifty percent of the estate each, but that’s after twenty thousand has gone to Pete Armitage, her uncle. Apparently it was in appreciation of his efforts to keep Rod on the straight and narrow, mainly through giving him his apprenticeship ten years or so ago.’
‘Any idea how much will be involved?’ Barry asked.
‘Possibly about three hundred thousand in total. The bungalow should get about a quarter of a million, and they had some bank investments and insurance. Not all the details are in yet, though, so that figure might change.’
‘That’s a lot of money for someone like Rod,’ Rae suggested. ‘A hundred and forty thousand or thereabouts? How did Sharon react?’
‘She wasn’t surprised, if that’s what you mean. I think she already had an idea of the bungalow’s value and the savings were about what most people would expect. I expect it’ll be Rod who’ll be a bit shocked.’
‘Is it enough to kill for, though? And they both knew they’d be getting it at some time.’
Sophie spoke. ‘It might have been whittled down a lot over the coming years, particularly if care bills had come into play. It’s possible that in another decade the amount might have dropped by half. Care homes aren’t cheap. And Sharon would know that. She’d make enough calls on elderly people to know exactly how much it costs.’ She paused. ‘The problem is, if it was Sharon, why would she go to this much bother? It was very elaborately set up. Surely, as a doctor, she’d have access to simpler ways of doing it?’
‘They always get caught, though, don’t they, ma’am?’
‘We don’t know of the ones that don’t, Rae. So we can’t be sure of the extent of it.’
CHAPTER 14: Paranoid
Wednesday, Week 2
Marilyn Mitchell had widened her investigation into the Woodruffs’ business empire. She now had a fairly clear idea of the extent of their reach across south Dorset. They owned pubs, cafes, hotels and massage parlours in most of the major towns in the area, although most were in the Bournemouth-Poole conurbation. She already knew the hierarchy within the organisation, with her husband at number five, below the family members and Tony Sorrento, but she guessed that Gordon’s official status was for official documentation only. In practice he was a mere employee with no direct input into the making of important decisions. Those discussions would be family only, with the addition of Gordon’s boss, Tony Sorrento and the other mainstay, Justin Griffiths. In fact, following the death of Phil Woodruff, it seemed probable to her that Tony would be moving into the top slot, judging by the messages she’d seen coming Gordon’s way.
She sat back and looked at her laptop screen. Mind-mapping software was just wonderful for displaying complex connections like this. There was the whole empire laid out in front of her, businesses and people, assembled slowly over the past couple of days. Her own work as a commercial property specialist had trained her in the methodology of this type of research and she always set password access to her work files. Gordon need never know what she was researching. She sipped her coffee and pondered. She needed to identify a weak point that would allow Gordon some get-out leverage, and at the same time find him another job somewhere. Maybe they’d have to move away from Dorset, but anything was better than staying here and watching her husband slowly lose his self-belief. It was up to her to create an escape route for him before things deteriorated further. She’d seen what he’d spent the previous day working on from his emails. Arranging for Sorrento to visit Ricky Frimwell in prison, apparently to discuss a business deal. Maybe even seeing Charlie Duff as well. Marilyn had no great knowledge of the criminal underworld, but even she had heard those names and was aware that they were in jail for multiple murder, rape and human trafficking. Up to now the Woodruff gang had restricted itself to operating in a shady area just outside the law, and they had steered clear of any serious criminality, as far as she knew. But now? Why would Sorrento want to talk to that evil duo?
* * *
Tony Sorrento sat in the visitors’ room and watched Ricky Frimwell walk towards him. He still had that arrogant swagger, his eyes still darted around the room, observing everyone but giving nothing away. He nodded as he sat down. Tony pushed one of the cartons of coffee across the table. He’d been allowed to bring the two coffees across from the machine after intense checking by the guards, even though he’d already been searched on entry. Remind me never to end up in jail, he thought. Not under any circumstances.
‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Tony,’ Frimwell said, with heavy sarcasm. He swigged from the cardboard carton.
‘It’s business, Ricky, pure and simple. Some of your old premises are sitting empty, gathering dust. They’re not doing anyone any good, ’specially your mum, who’s the main owner now, I guess. We want to do a deal with her ’cause we could use the cafes and clubs. I thought it would be better to see you first to sound you out.’
Frimwell didn’t hurry to answer. He took another sip of coffee and stared coolly across the small table. ‘You did right,’ he finally said. ‘I’d have been fucking angry if I heard you’d seen her without talking to me first. I might be in this fuck of a place, but I’ve still got some influence. I hear what’s going on outside.’
Sorrento nodded. Privately, he thought Frimwell was little more than a violent, sadistic thug with no business acumen whatsoever. That had been plain at his trial a year earlier, where the evidence had shown that the co-leader of the Duff gang was a psychopath with no real grip on reality. And as for his uncle, the even more twisted Charlie Duff, well, maybe there was no need to see him at all if this visit went well. Sorrento knew that the duo had murdered one of his own contacts, Blossom Sourlie. It took all the self-restraint he had to remain calm and appear to be pleased to be in Frimwell’s company when all he really wanted to do was to hit him hard in the face and break his nose.
‘We can both come out on top, Ricky,’ he said. ‘Well, in your case it’ll be your mum, what with you stuck in here for a while yet. But the money could be waiting for you when you get out.’
‘Buy or rent?’ Frimwell asked.
‘We’d only be interested in buying them,’ Sorrento replied. ‘We don’t do renting. And it’s not all your places. I’d need to map them out and see what would work for us. But we wouldn’t cheat you, Ricky. We’d offer a fair sum. Your mum’ll be in clover.’
Frimwell sat brooding, silent. He was powerless and Sorrento knew it. This was all bravado, the pretence that he still had influence over the world outside the prison walls. Even before his arrest, in the last few years of his gang’s existence their self-indulgent ways had put them on a slippery, downward slope. Sorrento knew that his own contact in the Duff gang, Sourlie, had tried to instil some order into their activities, but had failed miserably. It had been impossible to work with such out-and-out psychopaths.
‘I did wonder whether I’d need to speak to Charlie as well as you. What do you think?’
Frimwell shook his head. ‘Don’t even try. As far as I know, he’s hardly spoken a word for a year. He’s in and out of the nutters’ ward like a fucking yoyo. They probably keep him drugged up to the eyeballs.’
‘Okay.’ He hid his relief. He
knew psychopathy wasn’t contagious, like measles, but the fewer murdering thugs he had to mix with, the better. Thank God the Woodruffs had never shown the same addiction to violence that Frimwell and his deranged uncle had displayed. ‘So, do we have a deal?’
‘Yeah. But don’t cheat me, Tony. You’d fucking regret it.’
‘I’m legit, Ricky. I push hard for good prices, but I don’t cheat people. Your mum’ll have no complaints.’
He left after a few minutes more of small talk.
During the three hour drive back to Bournemouth, he considered the various options. If he could get this deal to work and, despite his promise to Frimwell, at a bargain price, then he’d cement his position as the real brains behind the Woodruff operation. Of course he’d need Gordy’s help, but there should be no problems there. The one person he could always rely on was his assistant, Gordon Mitchell.
* * *
Back at the Rising Moon pub, Wayne Woodruff was sprawled in an armchair, a tumbler of scotch in his hand. They were seated in Justin Griffiths’s office. Griffiths attempted to smooth down his hair with his hand, forgetting once again that he was almost completely bald.
‘So you don’t think much of Tony’s plan?’ Griffiths said.
‘It’s not the plan, Griffy. He always comes up with good plans and this one is probably as good as his others. It’s just that I can’t help thinking he’s up to something. With Phil only buried last month, the right thing to do is to let things calm down for a while. Stop and take stock. But no, not Tony. He has to push on with everything at top speed. There’s no let up. Today Bournemouth, tomorrow the world. I mean, do we really want to nearly double the size of the operation?’
‘More dosh for us all, Wayne, if it works well. And Tony’s ideas usually do.’ He sipped his drink slowly. He couldn’t see the problem. ‘You’re worrying over nothing, Wayne. Tony’s never let us down. He’s the hardest grafter here.’
‘I just wonder if he’s getting too ambitious.’
‘Okay. You think he’s making a move on your role?’
Woodruff nodded.
‘Well, with your dad gone, that does just leave the three of us working the business, doesn’t it? I s’pose someone has to be top dog, and it sure ain’t me. I kind of assumed it’d be you, and I’m sure Tony feels the same. Aren’t you being a bit paranoid?’
‘I told him to keep a low profile, yet he’s off up to Long Lartin to visit Ricky Frimwell like a shot. Won’t that set off a few alarms?’
Griffiths shook his head. ‘No reason to. He knew Ricky and his mum. Could be totally legit as far as the clink’s concerned. And we’re not on anyone’s radar, are we? So why worry?’
Woodruff finished his drink. ‘Okay, if you say so. I was just a bit worried, that’s all. Don’t breathe a word of this to Tony.’ He got up and left Griffiths’s office.
Griffiths ran his hand over his head again and leaned back in his chair. That had gone well. He’d let Sorrento know of the meeting once he returned. Tony’s plan was beginning to come together, judging by the text message he’d received from him just a few minutes ago. He, Justin, had suspected for some time that Wayne was far more unpleasant than anyone supposed and might even be involved with some recent cases of intimidation and violence. If Tony had really found a way to oust their new leader, then he was all for it, but it wouldn’t be easy. After the death of Phil, Wayne was the majority shareholder now, surely?
CHAPTER 15: A Blessing in Disguise
Wednesday Night, Week 2
Bournemouth’s central gardens is a long ribbon of lawns and flower beds that runs south towards the beach area and cuts through the centre of the town, following the bubbling water of the Bourne Stream as it flows towards the sea. On a warm, bright evening the paths are used by a large number of people as they make their way towards the bars and clubs near the waterfront. Not so tonight. A chilly wind had set in from the east. Tony Sorrento, sitting on a secluded park bench set amid shrubbery, yawned and stretched out his legs. He looked up as a dark figure approached and sat down beside him.
‘Why the need for this?’ Sorrento asked. ‘I bloody hate having to come out at night. It makes me feel like a fucking criminal. It had better be important.’
‘It is,’ came the gruff reply. ‘You’ve cropped up on the radar.’
‘What?’
‘You heard what I said. Woodruff Holdings is now on the official investigation list. I hope you’re squeaky clean.’
‘How the hell did that happen? Jesus. This is unbelievable.’
‘A black Range Rover was parked near Wareham Forest on Saturday, and there was some kind of mix-up at a funeral last month. Neither by themselves would be worth a second thought, but when they generate the same name someone’s likely to show an interest, particularly when a double murder is involved.’
Sorrento looked angry. ‘It was never meant to be murder, that’s what I was led to believe. It was meant to be some kind of weird suicide pact. I only found out about it when it reached the papers.’
The visitor shook his head. ‘It was murder alright. They were drugged, then driven to that spot. It showed up during the post mortem. And some clever-clogs taped the hosepipe to the exhaust and pushed it through the window, but then took the tape away with them. How stupid can you get? The crazy thing is, it got put back Monday night after I got a message to Wayne about it. Who did that? What’s going on here, Tony?’
‘Jesus, I knew nothing about any of this until they discovered the bodies. I just got a message a couple of weeks ago that the problem had been sorted and the old couple wouldn’t talk. I had no idea they were dead. I thought they’d just taken a sweetener of a couple of grand. Then I got word that they’d killed themselves, but that all changed when it hit the papers so I went for a look-see on Saturday. That’s when my car must have been spotted.’
‘It was yours, was it?’
Sorrento nodded. ‘But it’s registered to the company. I parked a mile away, way over west. And there were other cars there. Why mine, for God’s sake? Who reported it?’
‘Only the bloody SIO. She was there that morning, snooping around, and you must have set some alarm bells ringing in that suspicious mind of hers.’
Sorrento cast his mind back a few days, trying to remember the scene. ‘Blonde? Middle-aged?’
His visitor nodded. ‘That’s her. Allen. Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen. She whistles and everyone dances to her tune.’
An awful realisation hit Sorrento. ‘Christ. Isn’t she the one that nailed Frimwell and Duff?’
‘That’s right. Why are you so interested in them?’
‘I visited Frimwell today in prison. I drove up to Evesham with a business proposition for him.’
‘As long as you didn’t use the name Woodruff you should be okay. It’s that name that’s surfaced, not yours.’
Sorrento calmed down. ‘And the other link was the funeral?’
‘Apparently the oldies went to Phil’s funeral by mistake. Is that right? They must have told someone in the family about it, which is how we got to know.’
Sorrento nodded.
‘Why was that a problem? Why weren’t they just left to forget the whole thing? They were probably half senile, for God’s sake.’
‘That’s what I told Wayne. But he’d handed over a wodge of cash to our friendly, bent councillor right slap-bang in front of them. I bet they didn’t even notice, but someone obviously got paranoid about it. Christ, talk about over-reaction.’ He remained silent for a few moments, thinking fast. ‘You know, this might not be a disaster after all. As long as it’s Woodruff’s name that’s hit the lights, it might all work out in our favour.’
His visitor looked at him shrewdly. ‘Do I sense some devious plotting going on, Tony? Are you up to something?’
‘No need for you to know too much. You’ll be well looked after if it all turns out okay. Try and deflect any interest, but if things do start to go pear-shaped, make sure it’s all direct
ed at Wayne. If you must know, we’re planning a bit of a coup, and this could help it on its way. In fact the whole episode might be a bit of a blessing in disguise.’
‘I’m hanging fire on the whole thing, Tony, because I don’t really know what my position is now that Phil’s dead. I had a deal with him that stretched way back. I don’t like Wayne, which is why I contacted you rather than him. He’s too unpredictable and I can’t afford that, not in my position. The last thing I can afford at this stage in my career is to get involved with an impulsive thug like Woodruff Junior. The deal I had going with Phil was fairly low level, and it was never going to be noticed. But with Wayne? Who knows what direction he’ll eventually head off in. And Phil would never have got himself mixed up in murder. What you’re saying about taking over makes me feel a wee bit better, but I still need time to think about it. I’ll do what I can, but with her tenacious ladyship in charge we might all have to ease off until this mess gets sorted. I’ll be back in touch after that, okay?’
He got up and disappeared into the night.
* * *
Marilyn Mitchell waited for Gordon to come off the phone before tackling him.
‘Was that Tony Sorrento?’ she asked.
He nodded.
‘Listen, Gordon, it’s time you got a completely different job and severed links with that crew. I know what they’re like and I know the type of work you do for them. If you don’t do it soon you’ll become more and more embroiled, and it’ll get harder to make a clean break. Are you in debt to them still? Do they have any hold over you?’
Gordon shook his head and sat down beside her. ‘No. I finished paying them what I owed a couple of years ago.’
‘In that case, what’s holding you back?’
‘It’s the money. I couldn’t make anywhere close to what I earn now, not if I shifted elsewhere. I never got any proper qualifications for my line of work, even though I’m good at it. That means no one would take me on, not at my age. I’d have to pay my way through a couple of college courses and get some certificates.’
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