“Are you sure?” Gareth asked. “I don’t mind waiting.”
“None of us do,” Laura added.
“No, it’s fine. You head on home, and I’ll text you when we’re leaving so you can meet us at her house.”
The four of them chatted for a while in the car park before Malcolm excused himself. Gareth reached into his pocket, pulled his wallet out, and took out a twenty pound note.
“Dave,” he said, waving the note at him. “Can you go and grab us three coffees from that van, mate?” Gareth arched his eyebrows at him to make sure he got the message that he wanted a moment with Laura.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.”
Dave grabbed the note and walked off. Gareth turned to Laura and enveloped her in a hug.
“Thank you so much, Laura,” he said in her ear as he held her close to him. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”
“It was more Dave than me, Gareth,” Laura whispered back. “But you’re going to have to put me down.”
“Why?” Gareth replied. “I could stay like this all day.”
“Dave’s coming back.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Really?”
Gareth let go of Laura, grinning when he saw her blushing, and turned to face Dave.
“That was quick, mate,” Gareth said, “but you don’t appear to have any coffee.”
“Sorry boss, but there’s a line of about twenty coppers all queuing up at the van.”
74
Ronnie walked out of the bank and into the heat of the morning. He had been outside it when it opened, keen to get what was sitting in his bank account. He glanced left and right before crossing the road to the taxi rank.
“Denpasar Police Station,” Ronnie said to the young man behind the wheel of a battered old Skoda.
“Sure, sure,” the driver replied, nodding eagerly. He was no doubt already counting his tip from a westerner.
As he stared out of the window at the city beyond, Ronnie realised that he was going to miss Bali. It had a vibrance about it that he’d not experienced anywhere else. But it was time to move on, that much was certain.
When he arrived at the police station, Ronnie tipped the driver and walked in. He went through the same rigmarole as before, and a few moments later was sitting in the same interview room that he had been in previously. Ronnie stared at the blinking red light, waiting for it to turn off. Sure enough, after waiting for about twenty minutes, it did.
“Mr Phelps,” a familiar voice said as the door opened and Sukarba walked in.
“Officer Sukarba,” Ronnie replied, sullenly. He waited for the door to close behind the policeman before reaching into his pocket and extracting the envelope. It wasn’t as thick as the previous one, but it still irritated Ronnie that he had to hand it over. “Are we done now?”
Sukarba nodded and looked inside the envelope.
“Very good.” He turned and Ronnie thought that he was leaving. Instead, when Sukarba reached the door, he tapped on it with his hand before returning to sit down opposite Ronnie. In the corner of the room, the red light on the camera started blinking and a few seconds later, the door opened and two policemen walked in. Ronnie felt the walls of the interview room close in on him. All he wanted to do was leave, go back and get his suitcase, and get to the airport.
“What is this?” Ronnie said, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Mr Phelps,” Sukarba said. “We put your prints and DNA into the system yesterday.”
“What?” Ronnie shouted, and the two policemen took a step toward him. Sukarba raised his hand to stop them. “But we had a deal!”
“A deal, Mr Phelps? Are you trying to bribe me?” The policeman looked at each of his colleagues in turn and laughed. “Now, when your DNA got put into the system, we had a phone call not long afterwards. Turns out that some people in England are ever so keen to speak to you. They have told us exactly who you are.”
“This is bullshit,” Ronnie said, even though he knew that the game was up. “Let me go!” He leapt to his feet but, a few seconds later, he was back in his seat with a firm hand on each shoulder.
“Mr Ronald Phelps, I am arresting you on suspicion of child abuse and blackmail. Our colleagues in England will have to wait some time to speak with you, I’m afraid.”
“You’re arresting me for blackmail?” Ronnie shouted. “That’s a bit fucking rich, coming from you.” He struggled, but all this did was increase the pressure on his shoulders.
“I think I will add having false documents to that list.”
“Add what you want.”
“I would tell my colleagues to handcuff you, but there wouldn’t be much point.” Sukarba’s eyes drifted toward Ronnie’s left hand. To the prosthetic limb where the real one should have been. “Is there, Philip McGuire?”
75
Annette stepped out into the sunlight and took a deep breath. Thank God, she thought. She’d spent the last few days in absolute bits, not sure whether the only glimpse of sunshine she was going to see would be from an exercise yard. She stood on the steps of the police station and waited for a moment until Malcolm pulled up in an unmarked Mondeo. When he drew to a halt, he leapt out of the driver’s side and rushed round to open the door for her.
“So what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?” Malcolm a moment later asked Annette as she put her seatbelt on.
“Oh, that one’s easy,” Annette replied, grinning broadly. “I’m going to have a bloody great big glass of wine. I think there’s still a bottle in the fridge from when I was interrupted drinking the last one.”
“Sorry about that,” Malcolm replied. Annette glanced over at him, unsure if he was being facetious, but he looked genuinely apologetic.
“Don’t be daft,” Annette said. “You’re doing your job, I get that.”
Annette sat back as Malcolm pulled out of the car park and headed toward the A11.
“What a strange day it’s been,” he said.
“You’re telling me,” Annette replied with a laugh. “I can’t believe the bastard’s still alive.”
“That was a surprise,” Malcolm said. “I was sure he would wash up somewhere. We took some DNA samples from the hand and uploaded them before putting out an Interpol alert. Then when the DNA popped up in Bali, the alert went ‘ding’ to let us know.”
“Well, I’m glad you did,” Annette said.
“Bodies quite often wash up in other countries, and identifying them’s a nightmare. A few years ago one of ours managed to get all the way to Holland.”
“So what’s going to happen to him now?”
“I think your husband is in for a bit of a rough ride, to be honest,” Malcolm said with a grim expression. “We could try to extradite him, but I doubt the NCA, sorry, the National Crime Agency, will bother. I spoke to a mate of mine down there.”
“He can rot in Hell for all I care,” Annette replied.
“In fact, it was my mate who was involved in busting open that dodgy clinic in Ipswich. According to the tapes the Indonesians sent over of Philip’s interview, that’s where he had his hand taken off.”
“It’s a bit bloody extreme,” Annette replied. “If he’d wanted a divorce, all he had to do was ask.”
“You’d be surprised the lengths some people go to, Annette,” Malcolm said with a chuckle. “He’d been planning the whole thing for months. Very elaborate, even down to the blackmail. He’s coughed to a whole load of other stuff as well as the paedophilia.”
“What stuff?”
“There’s a message board somewhere on the dark net where people can buy details of people to blackmail. That’s how he was trying to make some more money.”
“Bloody hell, that’s desperate.”
“Yep, but now that we know about it, we can do something about it,” Malcolm said. “The NCA are all over it. Listening to the tapes, Philip’s wriggling like a fish to get his charges reduced.” Annette started giggling at Malcolm’s choice of words. When he reali
sed what he had said, he started laughing too. “Sorry, I meant singing like a canary.”
“I prefer wriggling like a fish,” Annette replied.
She stared out of the car window at the fields rushing past. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies and not a cloud in the sky. Annette was day-dreaming about sitting in the garden with her glass of wine when she suddenly thought of something.
“Where was he between having his hand taken off and disappearing to Bali?” she asked Malcolm. “His hand would have to have healed up before he could go diving again to put it in that pot.”
“Not sure about that just yet,” Malcolm replied. “He probably holed up somewhere while it healed. He did say he kept it in a freezer, though.”
They sat in silence for a moment, both considering this. Eventually, Annette broke the silence.
“I’ll tell you something, Malcolm,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“I’m not having fish fingers for a while.”
76
As Malcolm walked through the main office of the police station, he was greeted with a round of applause from the policemen and women sitting in it. He waved at one or two of them, embarrassed, and made his way to his desk. On top of his computer keyboard was a printed menu from one of the local restaurants on the North Norfolk coast. The Lobster Pot. Grinning, he screwed up the menu and launched it at the wastepaper bin.
“Afternoon, sir,” Kate said as she walked over to join him. As she passed the bin, she stooped to pick up the ball of paper and put it in the basket. “The ACC wants to see us both now that you’re back.”
“Oh dear,” Malcolm replied. “Do you think we’re in trouble?”
“I don’t think so,” Kate said with a smile. “He probably wants to make sure he’s got his ten grand back.”
“Come in, come in,” Assistant Chief Constable Williams said. Even though he was more politician than policeman, Malcolm liked the man. He was firm but fair, as he described himself to new arrivals to the force in his welcome speech. Malcolm knew he was more firm than fair, but he’d got to the top the hard way, which made him alright in Malcolm’s eyes. “I just wanted to congratulate you both on a significant result today.”
“Thank you, sir,” Malcolm replied, “but I have to say that DC Hunter did most of the hard work.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” the ACC said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at Kate. “But well done, the pair of you.” Kate thanked him as well, and they sat down as the ACC’s assistant brought them in tea.
“Sir, I do have one favour to ask you?” Malcolm said when they were settled.
“You can always ask, Malcolm,” the ACC replied.
“Mrs McGuire, the wife, is concerned about her job. Do you know anyone high up at the council?”
“Where in the council?”
“Children’s services.” Malcolm watched as the ACC thought for a moment.
“Yes, I know the head there. Lovely chap, awful golfer. I’m playing a four ball with him and a couple of people from the board this weekend, in fact.”
“Could you have a word on her behalf, perhaps?”
“Do I have to let him beat me?”
“That’s completely up to you, sir,” Malcolm replied, grinning.
“Leave it with me, Malcolm,” the ACC said. “I’ll speak to him. Tell Mrs McGuire not to worry.”
“Thank you, sir,” Malcolm replied.
“Now, there’s a lot of fallout from this case. The NCA are very happy indeed, but Suffolk Police less so.”
“How come, sir?” Kate asked.
“This clinic of theirs. There’s a big difference between giving out dodgy Botox and cutting people’s limbs off for money.” A smile spread across the ACC’s face. “And to be told about it by Norfolk Police hasn’t gone down particularly well.”
“I can imagine,” Malcolm said, also smiling. The rivalry between the two counties wasn’t confined to their respective football clubs.
“I think we’ll get some excellent publicity out of this. Kate, are you media trained?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. You’ll be doing the press conference, then. Malcolm, you can sit next to her but for God’s sake don’t say anything. Let Kate do the talking.”
“What do you think will happen to McGuire next, sir?” Malcolm asked, grinning at having his leg pulled by the senior officer. Malcolm had done a press conference years ago and got stage fright—his blank, open-mouthed face staring at the cameras had been printed out and put all round the station for weeks afterward, and he’d never been put forward for a speaking role since.
“Well, it’ll be up to the Foreign Secretary whether he wants to try to extradite him, but I doubt he will.”
“Why not, sir?” Kate asked. “He is a British citizen, even if he’s a wrong ‘un.” Malcolm winced at her choice of words, but the ACC didn’t seem to notice.
“The offences were all committed over there, as far as we can tell. Besides, it’s an important message to anyone thinking about being naughty overseas. We won’t automatically come and get you.”
“Mrs McGuire’s quite happy for him to stay over there,” Malcolm said, “especially now she’s not getting any life insurance money.”
“I can imagine she is,” the ACC replied. “Poor woman. You will make sure she’s put in touch with some counsellors, won’t you, Malcolm?”
“Already done, sir.” Malcolm had given Annette some contact numbers as he had dropped her off at her house.
“Good lad,” the ACC said. “Right then, chaps. If you’ll excuse me, there’s an Excel spreadsheet with my name on it over there.” He nodded at the computer on his desk. “But an absolutely cracking result. Well done.”
77
Gareth relaxed back in his canvas chair, enjoying the sunshine on his face. He was sitting in Annette’s back garden and, next to him, she was doing exactly the same thing. A few feet away, Laura was on the phone. Gareth watched as she spoke. She was animated, using her free hand to push her hair out of her eyes as she laughed.
“What on earth does she see in a big lump like you?” Annette muttered.
“That’s nice, little sis,” Gareth replied with a grin. “Maybe she can see me for who I really am?”
“I guess we’re even now, you and me.”
“How d’you mean?”
“Well, we’ve both been arrested for crimes we didn’t commit.”
Gareth looked at Annette. Her face was serene, and he’d not seen her looking as relaxed as she did in years.
“I guess so.”
“But you didn’t get arrested for a load you did commit, back in the old days. So maybe we’re not.” Gareth was just trying to think of a pithy reply when Laura came over to them.
“Sorry about that,” she said, her voice bright. When Gareth looked at her, she was beaming. “I just had to make a couple of calls, but I’ve got some great news.”
“So, spill the beans,” Gareth replied, leaning forward.
“First, Paul’s come through the operation unscathed. Well, not completely unscathed but he’s doing fine. I’m going up there later to see him, whether he wants me to or not.”
“Excellent,” Gareth replied. He knew how worried Laura had been about Paul, even though she had tried really hard to hide it.
“The other thing is that the police have got your money back, Annette.”
“Seriously?” Annette replied, her eyes wide. “How?”
“They arrested a policeman in Bali who was on the take. You weren’t the only one being blackmailed.” She paused for a couple of seconds. “So was Philip.”
Gareth started laughing at the news, and before long they all were. Earlier that day, when Laura had nipped back to her office for a while, Annette had confided in Gareth that the one thing that really pissed her off about Philip still being alive was that she wouldn’t get his life insurance. There’d been nothing he could say at the time, other than to reassure Annette t
hat he would help her out if she needed him to. At least now she would get her original money back, which was something.
“So is this where the party is?” Dave’s voice interrupted their laughter. He walked out of the kitchen door with two magnums of champagne in his hand. Behind him was Charlotte, who was carrying five champagne flutes. She approached Annette and threw her arms around her, winking over her shoulder at Gareth.
“Get them open, son,” Gareth said, nodding at the champagne. As Dave started working the foil from one of the bottles, Gareth reached for his wallet. “How much were they, Dave?” he asked him. “I’ll get these.”
Dave didn’t reply, but Charlotte started giggling. She waved something at Gareth, and he saw that it was his company credit card.
“I think you already did, Gareth,” Laura said before they all started laughing.
Even Gareth.
78
EASTERN DAILY NEWS - EXCLUSIVE
ADDITIONAL REPORTING BY DANIEL CHRISTIN, STAFF REPORTER
In a shocking twist on the now infamous case of Philip McGuire, the paedophile from Norwich who had his own hand removed to attempt to fake his own death, Indonesian authorities have confirmed that McGuire has been killed in the infamous Indonesian prison known as ‘Hotel K’.
McGuire hired a team of medical personnel operating an illegal clinic in Ipswich to surgically remove his left hand, as reported exclusively by the Eastern Daily News last month. The scuba diving instructor then placed his own hand in a lobster pot off Cley-next-the-Sea after keeping it in a freezer while his wounds healed.
With Norfolk Police searching for his body, McGuire left the bedsit in Great Yarmouth he had been hiding in and travelled to Bali using a false passport purchased from the deep net. He then abused a string of children, even attempting to blackmail his own wife in order to fund his rampage across the idyllic island.
Single Handed (Gareth Dawson Series Book 3) Page 27