Ruthless Crimes

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘I wonder if they’ve got a mole,’ Matt added.

  ‘What I can say is that we’re joining forces with Hampshire on this case. The quick work of Sophie’s squad in hotfooting it across there has given us these two insiders, Cathcart and Zelinski. I’m not implying they’ve done anything seriously wrong either. They’re not the killers. As for interviewing them, you can take Zelinski, Sophie, but not Cathcart. You’ve obviously got too much negative history with him. The Hampshire people want to deal with him and I’m happy with that. Does that seem a fair split? Meanwhile, Karen, you use your contacts to trace the whereabouts of this Lanston woman. Work alongside Sophie’s DS, Rae Gregson. She’s already started on it.’

  Sophie was annoyed at having someone else allocate tasks to the members of her unit but felt it wise not to object at this point. The ACC was having to tread a tightrope without a safety net. Better to let this one go.

  * * *

  Peter Zelinski was as far removed from Gus Cathcart in both appearance and manner as it was possible to be. Controlled and watchful, he peered at them through rimmed glasses. He reminded Sophie of World War Two photos of Himmler — short, slim and in his late fifties. He’d voluntarily agreed to an interview, so Sophie had driven across to Southampton CID and, accompanied by Gwen, set off to see him at his home. He lived alone in a semi-detached house close to the city centre. From the outside the building was nondescript, but the interior was a different matter. Zelinski showed the two detectives into the living room and asked them to wait while he made some tea. Sophie gazed at the very minimalist furnishings. Usually, she took advantage of such moments to look at the photographs on display. Not on this occasion. There were no pictures. Nor were there any shelves to put them on. The room revealed nothing about the personality of the man who lived here. Did he have something to hide, or was he totally self-contained?

  Zelinski came back into the room with a tray of chinaware and deposited it on a low, glass-topped table.

  ‘A few things we should get clear before we start,’ he said, settling himself into a chair. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m doing a special job for the Home Office immigration unit and everything has been agreed by the minister. I’m co-operating because of the murders you’re investigating. I want to make it clear that I’m on your side. I want the killers found. If you in any way imply that I’m some kind of suspect, I will terminate the meeting and ask you to leave.’

  ‘I’m sure we share the same interests, Mr Zelinski,’ Sophie said. ‘So, what can you tell us?’

  The story he told was exactly as the ACC had suspected.

  ‘I’m working for the Home Office in a unit set up to investigate the people traffickers bringing migrants across the Channel.’

  ‘Who heads up this unit?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘I can’t tell you that. I’m sticking to an agenda agreed by my boss, and that isn’t on it. We’ve had a couple of operatives in France, trying to identify the main traffickers. We’re convinced some of them are Brits, out to make a quick buck. We know some routes are run by foreign gangs but not all. Our people were trying to get some of the junior gang members to give us information in exchange for a promise of a future here if they’re from elsewhere. We had someone ready to spill the beans. Then all this happened.’

  ‘So, how did the information about their locations leak out?’ Gwen said. ‘Have you traced that leak?’

  Zelinski shook his head. ‘I haven’t been told and I think I would be if the leak had been identified.’

  ‘But you were told that the address of the safe house this so-called Louise was in had been compromised. That’s why you had to move her in a hurry. Where did that information come from?’ Gwen asked.

  ‘You’ve got that wrong. It didn’t come from above. I got wind of what had happened to Robert Bunting through other channels and the press, so I made the decision to move Louise. I told the powers that be, rather than the other way around.’

  ‘Did you pass on the information about her new location?’ Sophie said.

  ‘Of course. It had to be in the official record in case anything happened to me.’

  ‘Do you know anything more specific about these two, Mr Zelinski?’ asked Sophie. ‘Maybe what the Home Office was hoping to get from them?’

  ‘Nothing more than what I’ve already told you.’

  ‘That’s what I have difficulty in believing, Mr Zelinski,’ Sophie said. ‘From what you’ve told us, you were Louise’s main contact. Surely you found out something about her background?’

  He shrugged. ‘I can’t discuss anything with you that’s classified. Those are my instructions.’

  ‘You’ve acknowledged that it’s our job to solve these murders, but you don’t seem aware that we can’t do that without an understanding of the bigger picture. So far, it’s all rather minimal, little more than we’d already guessed,’ Sophie said.

  Zelinski shrugged again. ‘I’m telling you only what’s been cleared from above. Nothing else.’

  ‘Who’s your boss?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Where does Corinne Lanston fit into this?’ Sophie asked.

  Zelinski paused. ‘I can’t talk about personnel. It would breach my instructions.’

  ‘Were Louise and Bunting the only ones? Do you have any others?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not permitted to tell you that.’

  Sophie was beginning to find it hard to hold her anger in check. ‘For pity’s sake, Mr Zelinski. This isn’t some kind of game. People’s lives are on the line here.’

  ‘Nevertheless, that’s my answer.’

  Sophie thought hard. Time to change direction. ‘Why was that refuge chosen as a safe location for Louise?’

  ‘It’s got good internal security, and it’s pretty nondescript and below the radar. It seemed a good choice at the time. I was in a hurry to get her somewhere safe, as I said.’

  ‘How did you know about it?’ she asked.

  ‘I phoned Gus Cathcart and asked him for advice. I knew he could be trusted.’

  Sophie thought it wise not to question his assertion, not yet. Even though she had her doubts about Cathcart, they related to him as a person. They had no evidence that he was a security weak link. ‘What’s your relationship with him, Mr Zelinski?’

  ‘I’ve known him for a long time, since he was a Special Branch liaison officer in Sussex. Since he retired, we’ve been meeting fairly regularly for a game of golf.’

  ‘Is that where you learned of Cleo’s links with the refuge?’

  He nodded.

  ‘So, the idea was yours but not the final decision?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘That’s right. Look, don’t you think I feel bad about what happened there? It was my idea and it went spectacularly wrong. That woman died. But if we’d left her where she was, she’d have been killed anyway.’

  ‘I’m glad that makes you feel better,’ Sophie said dryly. ‘So, can you assure me that people are trying to trace the leak?’

  ‘Of course. We’re not amateurs, despite what you obviously think. Again, that’s all I’m allowed to tell you. But we are doing all we can.’

  ‘I need a contact person, Mr Zelinski. I’m running a double murder inquiry, and so much that could help us is tied up with the leak of their whereabouts. We need to work together. I suggest you consult your boss again, and then contact me. You’re a material witness and obviously know a lot more than you’re letting on. I find that reprehensible, and I won’t tolerate it. Let your boss know that and we’ll speak again tomorrow.’

  Though he looked troubled, Zelinski refused to say anything else, so the two detectives rose to leave. As they did so, Zelinski’s phone rang. He listened, his previously impassive face growing tense.

  On their way to the car, Gwen said, ‘We didn’t get very far, did we, ma’am? What do we do now?’

  Sophie made a wry face. ‘Maybe we got more than he intended. The name Corinne Lanston definitely set off a n
erve. It wasn’t just that he clammed up after that, he reacted when I mentioned her by name. So, she’s clearly more important than a mere administrative assistant. Then there’s the fact that they weren’t really prepared for anything to go wrong. I got the feeling that panic might have set in and they’ve been making decisions on the hoof. That’s not good for an important initiative like this one. I think the whole thing was too rushed and badly thought through. Which begs the question, who or what is driving the agenda? And something in that phone call upset him badly. Did you see the way his face went pale? It looked like really bad news. Maybe we’ll hear something from him by tomorrow.’

  ‘That was really useful,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m interviewing Cathcart in an hour or so, with Jack, so I can compare what the two of them say. Exciting times!’

  Sophie pulled out into the traffic. ‘Something else has occurred to me. The so-called nurse knew that Louise’s birthday was the following day. She also knew that Louise was due a dressing change and where the injury was. Interesting, don’t you think?’

  * * *

  Gwen looked at Gus Cathcart and smiled. ‘I’m sure this is going to be a much more productive interview than the brief conversation we had a couple of days ago, Mr Cathcart. DCI Dunning and I just want to get to the facts.’

  On the drive over, she and Jack had agreed that, initially, Gwen should take the lead, if only to obtain some recompense for the insults she’d endured during their previous visit.

  ‘You see, I’m a logical kind of person, so I’d like to get the facts straight. All of them. So, shall we start with when and how you first met Peter Zelinski?’

  Cathcart still seemed sullen. ‘A long time ago. I was with Special Branch and liaised with the other security services in the county. That was my role. He was doing some work for MI6 on the terrorist threat. He needed some local knowledge, so I was asked to step in.’

  ‘And you kept in contact with him? How?’

  He shrugged. ‘We played golf a few times a year. It gave us an opportunity to exchange views. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Has he been with MI6 ever since?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ll have to ask him that.’

  ‘No, I’m asking you.’

  Cathcart fidgeted in his chair. He was clearly uneasy about something. ‘No. He went freelance for a while. I don’t know the details, but he did some press work at one time. Look, why don’t you ask him about it?’

  ‘That’s in hand, Gus,’ Jack Dunning said. ‘You know how it works. We crosscheck the fine detail.’

  ‘Yeah, and make me feel like a criminal in the process. He’s alright. He’ll have official protection from someone on high. I feel as if I’m being hung out to dry.’

  ‘There’s no need to feel that way, Mr Cathcart,’ Gwen said. ‘You’re a retired police officer. That carries some standing, certainly with me.’

  ‘Well, that’s reassuring to know. And I’ll tell you why. Because I suddenly feel very alone and very exposed here. And it’s not right.’ Cathcart was almost whining.

  Gwen decided to put the conversation back on track. ‘Are you aware of how this unit he works for has been set up, and who by?’

  Cathcart shook his head. ‘I didn’t meet anyone else. Pete plays his cards close to his chest. I did jobs he asked me to do and he paid in cash.’

  At last he’d let something slip. Gwen kept her voice even. ‘What jobs did he ask you to do, Mr Cathcart?’

  Cathcart shrugged. ‘Information mainly. What was going on in my neck of the woods. Local extremist organisations. Animal rights. Environmental groups that are considered a threat. Anything really.’

  ‘You said mainly. Were there a couple of jobs that weren’t just information?’ Gwen asked.

  ‘He asked me to go along to a couple of meetings of these groups. I think he wanted to know whether some of the threats were real.’

  ‘And?’

  Cathcart laughed. ‘Most of them are just disorganised rabbles. They make a lot of noise but never get much done. The meetings are like that, full of young hotheads who couldn’t organise their way out of a paper bag. He wanted reassurance in that regard, and I supplied it.’

  ‘Do you know what he did with the information?’ Jack said.

  ‘Fed it on up the chain, I guess. Someone wanted it. It was all pretty low level until this latest one, smuggling people in from across the Channel. That’s when it got serious.’

  ‘Have you heard the name Corinne Lanston?’

  There was a pause. ‘I don’t think so. I can’t recall it.’

  Gwen closed her notebook. Interesting. He’d suddenly become more alert on hearing that name but had tried hard not to show it.

  Jack indicated that they should leave. The front door was just shutting behind them when his phone rang. ‘That was the forensic guys,’ he said to Gwen. ‘Something odd. They’ve found a couple of dark hairs on the cakes left in Louise’s room. They’re synthetic, from a wig. It looks as though the killer was in disguise.’

  ‘I think we knew that, boss, didn’t we? We’d already decided she wasn’t a real nurse.’ She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Chapter 12: Ritchie

  Friday morning

  Tommy Carter was puzzled by the activities of the youth he was keeping on his radar, the young man Barry had spotted lurking behind Bunting’s house. There wasn’t the time to spend more than an hour or two catching up on his comings and goings, not with the way the case had recently opened up, but Rae had suggested that he should still try to build up a picture of him and his life.

  Ritchie Finn lived with his ageing parents in a large semi-detached house in one of Weymouth’s leafier districts. Except that they weren’t his birth parents. A childless couple, they’d adopted Ritchie when he was young and they were already in their late middle age. This had puzzled Tommy when he’d first discovered it, until he found that they were blood relatives, his aunt and uncle on his father’s side. Ritchie spent some time in the middle of each day out on his bicycle, meeting with various friends. He didn’t seem to have a job, nor did he attend college. This was a puzzle. Surely a young person like him should be doing one or the other? Tommy knew that some young people took a year off between school and university to do voluntary work of some kind, but Ritchie didn’t seem to be involved with any charity work. So, what did he do with his time, and why had he been watching Robert Bunting’s house?

  Tommy had yet again spent a fruitless hour keeping an eye on Ritchie Finn’s house before returning to the incident room to get on with other tasks. Surely there were more important things to do. He decided to speak to his boss about it.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Rae said. ‘We need to speak to the lad. Keeping him under surveillance is going nowhere. I’ll check with the DI and then we’ll go and see him.’

  ‘Do we need a parent there?’

  Rae shook her head. ‘No. We would if this were a formal interview, but it isn’t. Anyway, if we catch him at home, one or the other of them might be around. Didn’t you say they were quite elderly?’

  The two detectives drove to the Finn house, knocked on the door and waited. It was opened by a petite, grey-haired woman in her sixties.

  Rae introduced them. ‘Good morning, Mrs Finn. I’m DS Rae Gregson and this is DC Tommy Carter. We’d like to speak to Ritchie, if he’s in. He isn’t in any trouble, but we have reason to believe he may have witnessed something suspicious and might be able to offer us some help.’

  ‘Come in,’ said Ritchie’s mother, looking anxious. ‘He’s up in his room. I’ll get him.’

  They followed her into a sitting room and, while she went to call Ritchie, studied the few photos on display. All featured Mrs Finn with a man of similar age, presumably her husband. In a few, Ritchie was with them.

  The woman returned with Ritchie. ‘Do you want me to stay?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s entirely up to Ritchie,’ Rae answered, with a questioning look at the
youth. ‘As I said, he isn’t in any trouble — at least we don’t think so.’

  ‘No, I’ll see them on my own, thanks.’

  ‘Well, call if you need me.’ Mrs Finn retreated from the lounge, still looking worried.

  ‘Shall we sit down?’ Rae said.

  They seated themselves on the couch and Ritchie sat in an armchair facing them, looking anxious.

  ‘Ritchie, we’re following up on an observation a colleague of ours made last weekend. We believe that you were outside the back of Robert Bunting’s house last weekend. You appeared to be watching it. Robert had just been found dead in suspicious circumstances and we’re investigating his death. We want to know why you were there.’

  Ritchie shrugged. ‘I dunno. I just was.’

  ‘He was murdered, Ritchie. We have to follow up every lead, if only to eliminate people. We think you were there for a reason. Did you know him?’

  Ritchie looked at the floor. The penny dropped. Rae told herself to be extra delicate.

  ‘I think you did know him, Ritchie. It’s possible that you knew him better than anyone else in Weymouth. He was in hiding, living in a safe house. He should have been out of harm’s way, but someone got to him on Friday night, at the railway station. So why were you hanging around the back of his house on Saturday?’

  Ritchie, silent, kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

  ‘Look, Ritchie. We promise to be discreet. I’m transgender, and I do voluntary support work for the LGBT community here in Dorset. Am I likely to blab about you? And DC Carter here knows that his career will be on the line if he talks about either of us, you or me. Isn’t that right, Tommy?’

  Tommy nodded vigorously but couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘Sure, boss.’

  ‘We were due to meet for lunch,’ Ritchie began slowly, ‘but he didn’t turn up. I was worried about him.’