‘Maybe he expected to get wet and brought a change of clothes with him. In which case his other togs may be back along the coast path somewhere. I’ll keep the search parties out until it gets dark, on the lookout for them. What do you think? Not too far from the landing site?’
She nodded. ‘If it was me, I’d want to get far enough away to reduce the chances of being spotted, which is what he did. Some of the people on the boat said that he jumped out quick and was off like a shot. But he’d be cold and dripping wet, and probably tired. A mile or two at the most before he’d get changed, that’s my guess. If he did chuck any of his wet clothes, they’ll probably be fairly close to the beach where they landed.’ She glanced at her boss again. He looked worried, and with good reason.
‘If it’s the same people, they’ve stepped up a gear, haven’t they, boss?’
He nodded grimly. ‘A gun. And someone knows how to use it. Right through the heart. No one down in the village seems to have heard anything, according to the local unit, so maybe it had a silencer fitted. That means it was almost certainly a professional job. We’re not dealing with a beginner here, Rae.’
‘I don’t think we ever believed that. The murder of that woman across in Southampton was a cold-blooded assassination, carried out very efficiently.’
‘I’d better get on the blower to the boss. She’s not going to like this.’
Chapter 22: Cherbourg
Tuesday morning
Sophie was tired. She seemed to have spent the last twenty-four hours doing little but travel. Trains, cars and now a cross-Channel ferry from Portsmouth. She yawned as she clambered into the car beside Barry and they drove off the boat. They’d managed a hurried breakfast in the half hour before the ferry had docked in Cherbourg, but she still didn’t feel fully awake. She hadn’t slept well — she rarely did when travelling.
‘Maybe I’m getting too old for this,’ she muttered, as Barry took the car through the port area and out onto the city roads.
He laughed. ‘Go on. You love it really, you know you do.’
But for once she wasn’t joking. ‘Maybe at other times, but when we’re dealing with something like this, people who kill so ruthlessly, just as if it’s part of a job, I seem to fill up with all kinds of doubts. I worry that I might not be up to it, that there’s someone out there who’s too clever for us. What happens then? I worry that I’ll end up a gibbering wreck, haunted by a massive failure.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t take it all on your shoulders the way you do. You’ve got a good team around you, and a really supportive boss in Matt Silver.’ He paused, looking out for the turnoff to the local police headquarters. ‘You shouldn’t doubt yourself so much. The others don’t notice it much, but I became aware of it early on, at the time of your father’s funeral, and so did Lydia. We both know the reason, and maybe it’s not a bad thing in our line of work. It means you’re probably the most thorough detective any of us know. But at what cost to yourself? You always aim for perfection and that comes at a price. What I’m trying to say is, don’t beat yourself up so much.’
‘Psychoanalysis over, Mr Professor?’ Sophie said, but she was smiling.
Barry steered the car into an empty parking slot. Sophie took a deep breath of the chilly air as she climbed out. Maybe, being French, the detectives would have access to good coffee in their offices. That would be a blessing. They reached reception.
‘Bonjour,’ Sophie said. ‘Capitaine Henri Dutoit, si’l vous plais. Je suis Detective Superintendent Sophie Allen, d’Angleterre. Mon collègue est Detective Inspector Barry Marsh. Nous sommes attendus.’
Their host was with them within a minute. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You’ve arrived at the perfect time. I’m hoping to set out for the crime scene in a few minutes. Is there anything you’d like first?’
‘Un café?’ Sophie answered immediately.
Henri laughed. ‘Mais bien sûr. For me, it’s any excuse. Let’s go to the canteen and I’ll see what I can do.’
* * *
The two bodies were lying in the sand several hundred metres inland from the beach, obscured by the tall grass that kept the dunes from eroding. Both had been shot neatly in the chest.
‘Were there any witnesses?’ Sophie asked.
Henri shook his head. ‘We haven’t traced anyone. It’s an isolated spot, probably where they launched their boats from. A few local people had seen small groups of travellers making their way here during recent months, and none in the other direction. But this?’ He waved towards the bodies. ‘Nothing like this has happened before.’
A colleague arrived to join him.
‘This is my assistant, Lieutenant Natalie Bouchet,’ he said. ‘She says that the forensic doctor estimates their death at between twenty-four and thirty-six hours ago. That makes it sometime on Sunday night. Does that fit in with your timescale?’
‘We think they killed the third man, the one who came across on the boat, on Saturday evening at a rendezvous across on our side of the Channel, in Dorset. It looks like they repeated it here a day later.’
‘Have you given thought as to why they’re doing this?’ Natalie asked, gesturing to the two bodies.
‘Someone made a serious misjudgement about the Friday night trip across,’ Sophie said. ‘The boat was badly overcrowded and was upturned before it beached. You’ll already know that there were four deaths, including two children. That’s put the spotlight on the operation, and maybe they don’t like that. We’ve got a couple of other related murders that we’re investigating, plus an abduction. We’re still trying to make sense of it all, so every bit of information helps.’
‘Can you tell us anything about these two men?’ Barry asked.
Natalie ran her fingers through her dark, curly hair, removed her glasses and polished them. ‘They’re local, from a small fishing village a mile or two along the coast. They worked on the boats for some years but drifted into a life of petty crime when the work dried up. We’ve talked to people who knew them, but no one seems to know what they’ve been up to in recent months.’ She replaced her glasses, which were a bright green, and smiled at Barry.
‘If the killers are the same people who shot the boatman, then they probably came across on the ferry on Saturday night or Sunday morning,’ he said. ‘We’re trying to get the CCTV footage at our end, so maybe you could do the same? They might have gone back immediately afterwards so we need to see if there’s a vehicle that came across and then made the return journey the next day.’
‘Would they have made a simple mistake like that?’ Natalie asked. ‘We’ll check of course, but if these people are as well organised as you seem to think they are, it’s unlikely, isn’t it?’
‘As you say. But we don’t know the pressure they’re under. They might make a simple error if they’re in a panic. We think they’ll have returned to England. We also think they’ve abducted someone important, a government official who was looking for the traffickers. If she’s their prisoner somewhere, they wouldn’t want to leave her for too long.’
‘Unless she’s dead too,’ Henri added.
‘Let’s hope that isn’t the case,’ Sophie said. ‘They may be keeping her hostage in case they need a bargaining chip.’ She paused. ‘Can we agree to keep each other informed of our investigations? My guess is that the organisers have closed down operations as a result of Friday night’s fiasco. We know the group had been infiltrated by a special security unit, and at least one previous crew member had turned witness, before being murdered. I’ll update you as we make progress. Can you do the same?’
‘Of course. Let’s talk on the phone regularly. We can email useful documents to each other.’
Henri led them back to the cars. ‘Have you got time for lunch before your ferry?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I think so,’ Sophie replied. ‘I can always make time for French food. Lead on, Monsieur Gastronome.’
* * *
Back in Dorset, Rae, Stu Blackman and Tommy were out with t
he search units, working their way west along the coast path from Chesil where the tragic events of Friday night had occurred. The team members were fanned out on both sides of the track, searching every thicket, peering behind rocks, poking clumps of heather with poles.
A shout went up. ‘Got something.’
Rae hurried across. The discarded item of clothing had been spotted under a clump of undergrowth — dark blue tracksuit trousers, still slightly damp. She held her face close and sniffed. Did they smell faintly salty? They looked to be in good condition, almost new. She gave Tommy a broad smile.
‘Isn’t this just the perfect end to the day?’
Chapter 23: Puzzles
What was the link between Robert Bunting and Louise Bennett? Or, more fundamentally, was there a link at all? Tommy Carter, the VCU’s recent recruit, had been given these tasks to investigate.
He considered what they knew and constructed a spider diagram on a sheet of paper. Bunting had worked on the local fishing boats for some time until he’d injured his leg and had been forced to retire. He was gay, though there wasn’t any recent history of violent homophobia in the area, so maybe that could be ignored at present. Tommy listed the conjectures: that he’d ended up becoming a crew member for the traffickers. He’d been approached by an investigator for the Home Office special unit and had agreed to talk, so they’d secreted him away in the safe house in Weymouth. Or was it more accurate to call it a ‘supposed’ safe house? So, what was missing?
He then tried the same for Louise but didn’t get very far, realising that they knew nothing about her. Weren’t the Southampton CID investigating her? Maybe he should get in contact, but he’d need to tread cautiously. Wasn’t the detective sergeant on the case Barry Marsh’s fiancé? If he took a wrong step, or even asked a stupid question, it would get back to the DI right away, and he’d end up with egg on his face and his future in doubt. Oh God. Why were things so complicated? Maybe he should go back to Rae about that part of the task and get her opinion. Meanwhile, he’d just concentrate on Bunting.
The missing item from Bunting’s diagram was glaringly obvious. Who had infiltrated the people-trafficking gang and talked him into giving evidence? But the people in the know were all dead or abducted, so how was he, Tommy Carter, meant to find out? Unless, of course . . .
He went to find Rae.
‘Boss, what if it was Louise who infiltrated the gang and helped Bunting to escape from them? I can’t think of any other possible link.’
Rae pondered this for a few moments. ‘It’s worth thinking about. But how would it work? She was a woman in late middle age. Have you found out anything new about her?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure if I should contact the Hampshire lot, to be honest. Isn’t the DI’s partner on their team? Suppose I ask some stupid questions and it gets back to him?’
‘Well, Tommy, even that’s better than asking no questions at all, isn’t it? If you must know, Gwen is really nice and very approachable. I don’t think she’d knowingly drop you in the soup. Look, shall I contact her and fix up a time for us to go across and see her? I’ll try for this afternoon, which gives you the rest of the morning to find out all you can about Bunting. We can then exchange information with her. How about you visiting the docks this morning? See if anyone remembers Bunting from when he worked on the boats.’
* * *
Tommy made his way down to the quayside. He was in luck: several fishing boats had just returned after a night out in the Channel, although it looked as though the catch had been sparse. He tried speaking to several of the men unloading their catch, but they were all too busy to reply. He ended up leaning against a barrier and watching the scene. Maybe someone would talk to him after the work was done. An old man, also watching the catch being landed, shook his head.
‘Changed days,’ he growled, chewing the end of his pipe. ‘It weren’t like this in my day. There were three times as many boats and each one of us would land the same catch as this lot all together.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Bloody over-fishing. Those big boats hoover up everything and process the lot. Shouldn’t ever have been allowed, if you ask me.’
‘You might be able to help me,’ Tommy said. ‘I’m looking for information on someone who worked on a fishing boat ten years or so ago.’
‘Dunno about that. It’s been nigh on twelve years since I stopped. Anyways, what’s your reason?’
‘I’m with the local police, DC Tommy Carter. I’m trying to find out about a Robert Bunting.’
The man looked at him warily. ‘Oh aye, Bobby Bunting. We all kent him. Like a fish out of water, he was. I kent him from when he were a lad and he were always in trouble. What’s he gone and done now?’
‘He hasn’t done anything. He was stabbed at the train station ten days ago. Didn’t you read about it in the local paper?’
‘Naw. Must ’ave missed that. Stabbed, eh? He were a sorry lad. Had no luck, see. You get these people who always come up smellin’ o’ roses. Well, Bobby were the opposite. Everythin’ he did turned to shit. He never lasted more than a few months on any boat. He just weren’t cut out for the fishing lark, not him. Wasn’t strong enough. He were a scrawny lad. Some of them can be really tough even though they’re skinny, but not Bobby.’
‘Any reason for that?’ Tommy asked.
‘Oh, aye. His heart wasn’t in it. He only got a job on the boats ’cause of his dad. He were a bully, that man. He worked the boats and wanted Bobby to do the same, even though it were obvious to anyone that the lad weren’t suited to it. How is he? After the stabbing, I mean?’
‘He’s dead, so this is a murder investigation. I don’t understand why you didn’t know. It was on the front page of the local paper last week.’
The man looked astonished. He shook his head slowly. ‘That’s a shock. No. I were away until yesterday at me daughter’s place in Manchester. I dunno if I should be a-talkin’ to you now.’
‘It’s a murder enquiry, Mr . . ?’
‘Coates. Andy Coates.’
‘Well, Mr Coates, that means if you do know something you must let us know. There is something you could help with. How did Mr Bunting get his leg injury?’
‘Oh, that were on his last job. It were a bit stormy and he didn’t get out of the way quick enough when a loaded crate shifted and it crushed his leg. He had ops on it, but it were never right after that. It were a blessing in a way. He couldn’t work the fishing boats anymore, see.’ Andy Coates paused. ‘He had a stutter, did Bobby. It were that bully of a father. Never give him a chance. Used to mock the lad.’
That would explain the cab driver mentioning that Bunting had a slight accent. If he was trying to control a stutter, his voice might well sound stilted. Tommy handed the old sailor his contact card.
‘Get in touch if you remember anything else, please.’
Coates studied the card. ‘There were this other thing I heard. Dunno if it were true, though. There was rumours that he was, you know, gay. Is that the word?’
‘Would that explain why he didn’t fit in with the other men on the boats?’
Coates nodded. ‘Aye. We’re slow to change, us fishermen. God-fearing, that’s what a lot of them is. And some of them can be vicious too.’
‘And what about you?’
Coates looked at him coolly. ‘My youngest daughter’s living with another woman now. Talkin’ about getting married once her divorce comes through. And she’s got the kids. I don’t know what to make of it all. She just laughs. What does she say? It’s all part of life’s rich tapestry, Dad. I just don’t get it.’
He shook his head, looking bemused.
‘How did you get to know Mr Bunting so well?’
‘The Buntings lived along the street from us. Bobby were the youngest and by a long way. His old man never hid the fact that young Bobby was a mistake. There’s some that see a late kiddie as a blessing, but not them.’
‘Do you know anyone with the name Louise Bennett?’
‘No. Who’s she?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Thanks for your help, Mr Coates. I may be back in touch.’
* * *
Tommy felt that he could easily have fallen in love with Gwen Davies, if it wasn’t for the obvious problem. She was very pretty, with soft, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders, and her figure, particularly in those tight-fitting trousers, was perfect. Her voice was seductive, slightly husky, with a beautiful Welsh sing-song lilt. And that smile — mischievous, soft and musical, all at the same time. Along with big brown eyes that hinted at a warm personality underneath. To Tommy, she represented the perfect woman. But she was an experienced detective sergeant, he knew, and he’d heard she was really good at her job. And here he was, a novice detective trying to keep his head above water in a unit where everyone seemed to work a lot faster than him. How come he’d never managed to land a woman like this? He only emerged from his confused thoughts when Rae kicked him under the table.
‘Tommy’s found out some interesting information about our victim, Robert Bunting. But we need to find out if there was a link between him and your Louise Bennett. We wonder if it was her he’d been to see that Friday night. His ticket was a return to Southampton. Over to you, Tommy.’
‘Umm, yes. Robert had been in that house for about four weeks. He had a long-term injury to his right leg, picked up in an accident while he was working on a fishing boat. It seems he didn’t fit in very well among the local fishermen. He was gay, for one thing. But even before that became clear, he was quite a small, thin man and he didn’t take easily to the strenuous work. He’d started seeing a young gay guy. This was the man that our DI spotted watching the back of the house.’ Tommy’s face coloured as he realised that he was referring to Gwen’s partner. She’d already know this fact, although she gave no sign. ‘He had a stammer. It’s possible that was due to his father bullying him when he was young. People say he was a bit of a nervous wreck, growing up. Anyway, he lost his job on the fishing boats after getting his leg injury, so he did casual work, but still on local boats mainly. He dropped out of that about a year ago. We wonder if that’s when he was recruited by the traffickers.’
RUTHLESS CRIMES a totally captivating crime mystery (Detective Sophie Allen Book 9) Page 14