by Sally Rigby
Whitney didn’t bristle in the slightest at Clifford asking questions. She must have been expecting it.
What George hadn’t admitted to Whitney, and wasn’t going to because it would only add fuel to her fire, was that she believed she’d been to at least one event in the past that Clifford, or members of his family, had attended. Viscount Worthington was one of the patrons of a private hospital where her father was senior consultant and on the board. They held regular fundraising events. Having HSAM, Clifford would have remembered if they’d actually met, although presumably not if they hadn’t been introduced and there were lots of people there.
‘I sat in my car and parked close so I could observe you together.’
‘Did you take photos?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wish to see them, forward them to us.’
‘Why?’
‘Because DI Clifford told you to,’ Whitney snapped. She pulled out her card from her pocket and slid it over to him. ‘Here’s my card. Send them to the email address on there. Are the photos on your phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do it now. We’ll wait.’
Palmer took out his phone from his pocket and spent the next few minutes forwarding the photos. ‘Done. You have all the pictures I took from both of your meetings. Okay?’ He glared at Whitney.
‘I’ll check.’ She picked her phone up from the table. ‘They’re here.’
‘Did you overhear our conversation?’ Clifford asked, leaning forward slightly.
Palmer jerked backwards and flinched. Was this a tactic Clifford adopted to intimidate? If so, it worked well and appeared cleverly practiced. His body size and presence was a useful asset.
‘No, I wasn’t told to report on conversations. My contact wanted to know where Armstrong went and who he met.’ Palmer’s eyes darted between Clifford and Whitney.
‘Let’s return to this contact of yours. In your previous interview you informed us that you didn’t try to find out who he was.’
‘Yeah. So what? It’s true.’
‘He’s lying. Look at his pursed lips,’ George said.
‘I don’t believe you. I suggest you think again and tell us the truth.’
‘It’s more than my life’s worth to tell you any more than I already have. You don’t mess with these people.’ He threw his hands up in despair.
‘How do you know, if you’ve no idea who they are?’ Whitney challenged.
‘Armstrong’s dead, isn’t he? Do you think it’s a coincidence? Because I don’t.’
‘We can protect you,’ Clifford said, his voice softer than before.
‘What? Like you did Armstrong? No thanks.’ He folded his arms tightly across his chest and sat back in the chair.
‘Some protection is better than none at all,’ Clifford said.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘This is heading nowhere, Whitney. He’ll back himself into a corner and won’t answer any question. Move on,’ George said.
‘You said that you were left cash for your services. Your contact must’ve told you when he was going to leave it, as you wouldn’t want it to be on the floor with the rest of the post, in case someone else picked it up,’ Whitney said.
‘He left it inside the office on my desk.’
‘Who let him in?’
‘Um …’
‘Did you give him a key? This is making no sense.’
‘Look … okay. I’ll tell you. But if anything happens to me it’s on your head. I was there when he came with the money.’
‘So you have actually met this person?’ Whitney said, sighing.
‘Yes,’ he muttered.
‘How many times?’
‘Once when he asked me to do the job and twice more when he paid me.’
‘How much were you paid?’ Clifford asked.
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Try again,’ Clifford said, his voice low but no-nonsense.
‘I got ten grand a week.’
‘Which means you’ve earnt twenty thousand so far?’ Whitney said.
‘Yes.’
‘How long did they employ you for?’
‘They didn’t give a time frame, just that I was to be paid ten thousand a week. Armstrong being shot ended my income.’
‘Did this person give you a name?’
‘Jad.’
‘Describe him?’ Whitney said.
‘Medium height. Medium build. Dark hair. That’s it.’
‘Not helpful. What was he wearing?’
‘Jeans, T-shirt and navy blazer.’
‘Age? Ethnicity? Come on, you’re a PI, give us a proper description.’
‘He’s East Asian. I’d say mid to late thirties.’
‘Did he say how long the job would last?’
‘I’ve already told you, he said they’d pay me ten grand a week until they said to stop.’
‘When you reported that Armstrong had met with DI Clifford, did you give them his name?’
‘No.’ He averted his eyes.
‘Yes, he did,’ George said.
‘Don’t lie to us or you’ll have perverting the course of justice added to your list of charges.’
‘Does that mean I’m being charged for the false documents?’
‘We’re looking into it. So, to recap. You met with Jad who paid you cash and didn’t give you an end date for this job. Does he live locally?’
‘I’ve no idea. He drives a car with a UK plate.’
‘What sort of car is it?’
‘I honestly don’t remember.’ He shook his head vigorously.
‘Don’t give me that crap. I’m betting you got the number plate and checked him out,’ Whitney said.
‘This could get me in so much trouble. All I can tell you is he drives a red BMW. I have a photo on my phone. I didn’t check him out in case he discovered what I’d done. He might not have been big, like you,’ he nodded at Clifford. ‘But the chilling tone in his voice was enough for me to realise I’d be stupid to cross him.’ He picked up his phone and called up the photo. Whitney wrote down the details.
‘Show me your call log. I want Jad’s number.’
‘He probably used a burner.’
‘We’ll check.’
After writing down the number, Whitney turned off the recording equipment. ‘We may wish to speak to you again, so don’t go anywhere without checking with us first. I want to know immediately if this Jad person contacts you again.’
Chapter 18
After returning to the incident room, Whitney headed straight for Ellie’s desk. ‘We’re looking for a man called Jad who drives a red BMW, and this is the registration number.’ She held out her notebook for Ellie to copy it down. ‘He’s the one who met with Palmer and paid him. See what you can find out about him.’
‘Yes, guv,’ Ellie said, turning her head back to the screen, her fingers speeding over the keyboard.
Whitney returned to where George and Clifford were waiting. ‘Let’s go to my office and we’ll discuss the case further.’
For the moment, she was prepared not to talk in front of the others until she had Clifford’s assurance that it was okay. She knew he’d want to keep some things close to his chest, and if she was to be privy to what they were, then she’d play his game. She’d already got the measure of him. He seemed a genuine guy, but she didn’t trust him not to attempt to take over if he was unhappy with the way things were progressing.
Once they were seated around the coffee table, she looked at Clifford.
‘Tell me more about this syndicate you’re investigating.’
‘There’s not a lot I can share with you other a substantial number of hours have been spent investigating them. I understand how frustrating it is for you, but you have to accept that I’m not at liberty to disclose everything we have on our files. It really is on a need-to-know basis. I don’t make the rules.’
He was right, and she accepted that he had no choice, but that didn’t make it any less anno
ying.
‘Have you come across a person called Jad before?’
‘Jad is a very common name in eastern Asia, in particular Singapore.’
Was he giving her a clue?
‘This syndicate you’re centring on, are they based in Singapore?’
He leant back in his chair and stretched out his legs.
‘You didn’t hear it from me,’ Clifford said.
‘Thank you. Now we’ve established that Singapore is where your squad is focusing their efforts, should we assume this Jad is part of their organisation?’
‘That much, I’ll tell you.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’
‘There’s—’
A knock at the door interrupted him and Ellie walked in. ‘I’ve found your man, guv. His name’s Jad Tan and the car’s registered in his name. He rents a flat in Clapham, London, and he comes from Singapore.’
‘Excellent work.’ Whitney said, not even bothering to suppress her grin. Maybe they wouldn’t need Clifford’s input, after all.
‘I’ve also got other things to share with you regarding Armstrong.’
‘We’ll be out in a minute so everyone can hear.’
‘Thanks, guv,’ Ellie said, turning and leaving the office.
‘Now we know our go-between is Jad Tan from Singapore, can you confirm whether he’s on your radar or not?’
‘His name has come up, but he hasn’t been at the forefront of the investigation. We believed him to be on the periphery. With him in the frame, it’s definitely pointing to this shooting being directly linked to the Singaporean syndicate.’
‘Not so fast. I accept that Armstrong was being targeted by them, but we don’t know yet whether they were the ones who authorised the shooting. It could be a coincidence.’ She glanced at George, fully expecting to be blasted for using the word, but the psychologist remained silent. ‘Until such time as we can be sure of a link, the case remains with us.’
He leant back in his chair and hooked his hands behind his head, keeping his eyes fixed on Whitney. ‘I do have to report in, but I’ll wait a while longer and see what we turn up.’
She nodded her assent. ‘We should bring Jad Tan in for questioning.’
‘No, that’s not possible. We can’t alert him or we run the risk of him fleeing the country. If he’s more involved than we’d first assumed it could jeopardise our whole operation.’
She gave an exasperated sigh. Talk about one step forward and two steps back. ‘We’ll try to manage without him for the moment but, for the record, I’m not happy about it.’
‘That much is obvious,’ Clifford said in a dry tone.
George laughed and Whitney turned, surprised. ‘What?’
‘I was amused by the altercation between the two of you.’
‘I’m glad someone finds it funny.’
George looked at Clifford. ‘Whitney won’t stand for people blocking her.’
‘I consider myself warned.’ He grinned.
‘If you two have quite finished, let’s see what Ellie has for us,’ Whitney snapped, which she followed with a grin as she didn’t want Clifford to think she took George’s comments seriously. In fact, she enjoyed it when the psychologist cracked the occasional joke. ‘Hopefully we’ll find something else we can use to progress the investigation.’
Clifford’s phone rang and he looked at the screen. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to answer this. Hello, Jill. Is everything okay?’ He nodded. ‘Keep an eye on her and if she’s still lethargic tomorrow let me know and we’ll take it from there. You know what she’s like, she could’ve eaten something dodgy in the park.’
Might he have to return to London?
‘Is everything okay?’ Whitney asked, once he’d ended the call.
‘It’s my dog Elsa, she’s not well. My neighbour looks after her when I’m away. Hopefully she’ll be fine by the morning.’
‘Sorry to hear that. What sort of dog is she?’
‘A yellow Labrador. I’m sure she’ll be fine, this isn’t the first time it’s happened. Labs are dustbins and will eat anything.’
‘Are you okay to go into the incident room, now?’
‘Of course.’
They headed out of the office and she called the team to attention. ‘Ellie’s going to share what she’s managed to discover about our victim.’
‘Thanks, guv. I’ve been looking into Armstrong’s finances and his money came from a variety of sources. He had tournament winnings, and he gave exhibition matches. Also, he endorsed products and was used in advertisements. The snooker club was profitable, too. Not hugely but enough for him not to have to invest further money into it.’
‘So, nothing to ring any alarm bells, then?’ Whitney said. ‘Do you have anything to add?’ she asked, nodding at Clifford.
‘We did a thorough investigation into Armstrong before we got him on board. We discovered no financial irregularities.’
‘Guv,’ Brian called out. ‘Scott Marshall’s arrived, and he’s waiting in one of the interview rooms. How do you want to play this?’
She glanced from Clifford to Brian, debating which one to take. Probably best if it was the former.
‘Thanks, Brian. I’ll go with DI Clifford and take Dr Cavendish to observe.’
A shadow crossed Brian’s face. He’d understand it was nothing personal. And she didn’t have time to dwell on it. Her time was better spent focusing on the case and dealing with Armstrong’s partner.
Scott Marshall smiled as they walked into the interview room, a relaxed expression on his face. Had he got over the death of his best friend so soon?
‘How may I help?’ Marshall said, as they sat opposite him.
‘We’d like to talk to you about your relationship with Ryan Armstrong,’ Whitney said, after she’d set the recording equipment and gone through the usual protocol.
‘He was my best friend and business partner. I’m devastated that he’s dead.’ The smile on his face vanished and hurt shone from his eyes.
Was it an act?
‘Was the snooker club your first business together?’
‘Yes, it was. We’d been talking about finding a joint venture for a while, preferably snooker related, and when this club came up for sale we snapped it up.’
‘How is the business structured?’
‘We formed a limited company. Fifty per cent of the shares each. We employ a manager to run the club and have joint overall responsibility.’
‘Meaning Ryan’s shares go to his estate,’ Clifford said.
‘That’s correct. It’s the same as for me.’
‘With a joint share, how did you deal with any business disagreements? Did one of you have a deciding vote?’ Clifford asked.
‘We trusted each other’s judgement and rarely had business disputes. But if the occasion arose when we did, we each had a deciding vote on certain aspects of the business. My areas were suppliers and staff, and Ryan’s were members and marketing. It worked well. We also agreed, before taking on the business, that we wouldn’t allow our partnership to impact our personal lives.’
‘Regarding your personal relationship, would you say that you and Ryan argued much?’ Whitney asked, following up on what he’d said.
‘No more than any friends do. We’d been friends for years, so of course we disagreed sometimes.’
‘On the night he was shot, is it true you lost two thousand pounds in a bet over a game of snooker you were playing?’
He rubbed his temple. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s a lot of money?’ Whitney asked.
‘I know people who bet ten times that without batting an eyelid. I wouldn’t call it a lot.’
‘It is to me. I understand the bet was larger than usual. Why?’
‘No reason in particular. I just felt like it.’
‘Did you lose your temper when Ryan and his partner beat you?’
Was he going to admit what she’d already been told?
He paled. ‘I was cro
ss with myself for playing badly and missing easy shots. I’ve beaten Ryan hundreds of times in the past. He wasn’t invincible, even if he was one of the world’s top players.’
‘There’s more to this than he’s letting on. I believe there’s a deep-seated feeling of inadequacy when he compares himself with the victim,’ George said.
She’d been sensing that, too.
‘Is it right that you lose your temper when things don’t go your way?’
He couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Sometimes.’
‘We’ve heard that it’s more than sometimes. That your temper is well known.’
He balled his fist and cupped it in his other hand. ‘Look, I’m not like Ryan. I won’t put up with shit. If that means speaking my mind, then I will. Where’s the harm in that?’
‘Do you ever get violent when losing your temper?’
‘No.’
She arched her eyebrows. ‘So, you don’t lash out in a fit of rage when, for example, Ryan beats you?’
‘What are you accusing me of? I’d never have harmed Ryan. I wasn’t anywhere near the club when he was shot.’
‘Yes, you’ve already told us you were at home, yet there’s no one who can vouch for you.’
‘It’s not my fault I was alone.’
‘You live in a lovely house … it must have cost a fortune. More than you’d earn from the snooker circuit, or from the snooker club.’
‘If you’ve been checking me out, then you know our money comes from my wife’s trust fund. That’s not a crime.’
‘No one said it was. How does it feel, being a kept man?’ Whitney taunted.
‘I’m not a kept man,’ he snarled. ‘How dare you suggest it? Do you think being a professional snooker player happens without putting in hours and hours of practice? And then there’s my snooker club. Do you think the manager does everything? He operates under my guidance. So, you can stop with your snide comments or …’ His fists clenched on the table and he leant forward, fury in his eyes.
‘Enough,’ Clifford said, his voice cold and flat. ‘Keep your temper in check.’
‘Good job,’ George said in her ear. ‘A clear indication of how he struggles to control himself.’
‘Sorry,’ Marshall said, sucking in a breath and bowing his head.
