Johnny stood behind him, leaning over.
“Er, Sarge?” he muttered.
Johnny glanced at Mike. Mike’s shoulders had tensed but he was still looking at his screen.
Dennis turned to the DC. “What’s wrong, Johnny? Is it your wife?”
Johnny shook his head. “I found something weird on the system.”
“What do you mean, weird?”
Once again, Johnny glanced across at Mike. “Can we go into the DCI’s office?”
Dennis searched Johnny’s face. What was this about?
He shrugged. “Very well.”
He led Johnny into the office. They’d used this space a few times since the DCI had been on Brownsea Island. It was useful to have somewhere quiet away from the hum of the open-plan office.
Dennis closed the door and stood with his back to it, looking at Johnny. Johnny stood opposite him, his hand on the back of one of the chairs.
“What’s the problem, Johnny?”
Johnny licked his lips and looked down at the floor.
“It’s something I found on HOLMES, Sarge.”
“About Simone Browning?”
Johnny looked up and met Dennis’s gaze. He shook his head. “It’s about the DCI. The old DCI.”
Dennis took a step towards him. “Why were you looking up DCI Mackie?”
Johnny looked down again. “Sorry, Sarge. I know I’m s’posed to be working this case. But, well, you don’t need to know why, but I needed to look into the details of one of his cases.”
Dennis narrowed his eyes. “What cases, Johnny?” He tensed. “Is this something to do with Arthur Kelvin?”
Arthur Kelvin was a local organised crime boss. While working on the Harry Nichol murder, Dennis had discovered that he was blackmailing Johnny.
Johnny had said he’d cut all ties with the Kelvin family. But if he had, why was he looking things up on the system behind Dennis’s back?
“What’s going on, Johnny?” Dennis asked.
He gestured for Johnny to take a seat and looked down at him. He flicked his gaze through the glass into the office. Mike hurriedly looked away.
“Make this quick, Johnny,” Dennis said. “It’s Kelvin, isn’t it? Why were you doing work for that man?”
Johnny took a breath. “I’m really sorry, Sarge. It was just one last thing, they wanted me to check whether Kelvin had been a suspect in Harry Nichol’s murder.”
“What’s Kelvin got to do with that?” Dennis asked. “It was his girlfriend, Priscilla.”
Johnny looked up. “I know, Sarge. It’s just they wanted to know if we were looking into them.”
“Of course we were looking into them,” Dennis said. “I went to Kelvin’s house. That’s where I found you, wasn’t it?”
Johnny flushed. “Sorry, Sarge. Like I say. Last job.”
“Is this why you came back from the island?”
“Sarge…”
“What about your wife, Johnny? Is she really having a health scare?”
Dennis had felt sympathy for Johnny. He’d protected him. But now, he felt angry.
Johnny’s eyes widened. “Please don’t tell the DCI, Sarge.”
Dennis leaned towards his friend. “You lied about your own wife’s pregnancy to get off Brownsea Island so you could come back and work for Arthur Kelvin.” He felt heat rise inside his body.
Johnny clenched his teeth. “Sorry, Sarge. They told me they’d let me go if I just checked this last thing for them.”
Dennis wasn’t convinced. A man like Arthur Kelvin didn’t let you go just for getting a piece of information about a police investigation, and a pretty minor piece of information at that.
He sighed. “So what is it you found? This weird thing.”
“It’s a DI in the West Midlands,” Johnny said.
“A DI? Who?”
“Her name’s Zoe Finch, she works in Force CID in Birmingham.”
“That’s where the DCI used to work.”
“I know.”
“So why is she looking into Kelvin?”
“She wasn’t looking into Kelvin, Sarge. She was looking into Mackie. She left a note on the system.”
Dennis scratched his chin. “Why would a DI from the West Midlands be looking at Mackie and making notes on the file?”
“Don’t know, Sarge. It was tucked away where no one would find it. Not unless they were…” Johnny looked away.
Not unless they were sniffing around for organised crime, Dennis thought. He didn’t know what was worse about this. That Johnny had lied to him, or that Johnny was still working for Kelvin.
But now, Lesley seemed to have asked one of her old colleagues to investigate the death of their former DCI.
Why?
Dennis took a step back towards the door. He put a hand on the handle.
“Leave it with me, Johnny. Forget you ever saw it, yes?”
Johnny swallowed. “Yes, Sarge.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Yolanda Harte had gathered her staff in a large, wood-panelled room at the rear of the castle. A line of French windows looked over the gardens and the harbour beyond. Rows of seating had been laid out, but nobody was sitting. Instead, they milled around, groups clumping and separating. A hum permeated the room: speculation and worry. These people wanted to get off the island. They wanted to get as far from this murder investigation as they could.
Tough, thought Lesley.
She waited for Yolanda to introduce her and then stepped onto a low stage while the room fell quiet.
She wondered what this room was normally used for. Weddings? Corporate events? Given that the castle was reserved for John Lewis partners, it was probably the latter. This stage was probably used by local bands. It would be a good spot for a police shindig.
“My name is DCI Clarke,” she said. “I’m the senior investigating officer into the murder of Simone Browning, who was found on a beach just along from here on Tuesday night. I’m assuming you all know about that.”
More muttering accompanied by nods.
“We’ve spoken to a witness who overheard an argument between two women on Monday night, which is around the time we believe Simone was killed. But we don’t know who these two women were and we want to know if any of you witnessed anything. We also want you to tell us if you saw the National Trust boat being taken out to sea late on Monday night, or early on Tuesday morning. I’ll be in this room for the next hour with my two uniformed colleagues.”
She pointed to two of the uniformed constables, who’d paused their task of interviewing National Trust staff and taken up positions behind small tables at the side of the room.
“If you have anything to tell us, please do so as soon as possible. I know you’re all planning on leaving the island today, which is why it’s all the more urgent that we speak to each of you before you leave.”
More muttering, raised voices. People turned to each other, their faces full of uncertainty.
Yolanda walked past Lesley, her heels clipping on the wooden stage.
“Thank you everybody,” she said over the sound of voices.
The room fell quiet.
“I understand that you’re all concerned about what’s happened here and I know that none of this is our fault. The police are working with the National Trust to investigate this crime and to find who committed such an atrocious act right on our doorstep. You’re scared, we’re all scared. But if you have anything to share with the police, please do so, and then we can all get off this island and to safety.”
She turned to Lesley. “That good enough for you?”
Lesley nodded. “Thank you. So you’re blaming the National Trust for all this?”
Yolanda shrugged. “It’s one of their women who died, stands to reason it’s one of their people who did it.”
“There’s no way of knowing that. How much contact was there between your staff and theirs?”
“I don’t have staff,” Yolanda said, her voice harsh. “We have p
artners here at John Lewis, and our people have very little to do with the National Trust. We keep ourselves to ourselves.”
It was difficult to believe that in such a small community, there weren’t bonds formed between the two teams.
Lesley looked towards the two PCs stationed behind their tables. A few people had wandered over towards them, either through curiosity or because they had something to say. PC McGuigan was talking to a man, making notes in his notepad.
Lesley threaded her way through the crowd and approached them.
“And then one of them screamed at the other and ran off,” the man said.
Lesley stepped forward. “Excuse me,” she said to the man. “Did you witness an argument on Monday night?”
The man turned to her. “I did,” he said. “Two women. Yelling at each other, they were. I could see them from my bedroom window.”
“You saw them arguing?” Lesley asked.
“Heard them as well. I opened my window, I was about to tell them to shut up, then I realised they wouldn’t hear me. They were too far away and they were shouting too much. That peacock was shrieking as well, I guess they disturbed it. Poor bugger.”
“Can you describe these women?” Lesley said.
“I can,” he told her. “I videoed it.”
Lesley felt hope fill her body for the first time since she’d started on this case.
“Have you got that video with you?” she asked him.
He nodded. “It’s on my phone.” He pulled the phone out of his back pocket and held it up.
“Would you email that to me please?” she asked him. “Right now.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“DI Finch.”
“You don’t know me, my name is Detective Sergeant Frampton. I work in the major crimes investigation team in Dorset Police.”
There was a pause.
“Hello, DS Frampton. How can I help you?”
“I believe you used to work with my new DCI, Lesley Clarke.”
“I did.” DI Finch sounded wary.
“I’m hoping you can clear something up for me.”
“I’ll try my best.”
Dennis was in Lesley’s office sitting in one of the chairs opposite her desk. He hadn’t gone so far as to take over her chair.
Johnny had retreated to the outer office and Mike was still at his desk. The two DCs kept glancing at each other, but Johnny was saying nothing.
“I was looking through some files on a case that we’re working on down here,” Dennis said to DI Finch, “And I spotted that you’d accessed them as well.”
“Which files might those be?”
“The records on an Arthur Kelvin.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Can I ask what it was you were researching them in connection with?” Dennis asked.
He didn’t want to accuse this woman of anything. He also didn’t want to accuse the DCI of anything. There could be an innocent explanation for what she was doing. It could be a coincidence that this woman had worked with the DCI.
If so, it was quite a coincidence.
“Yes,” she said. “We believed he might have connections to a man that we’ve been investigating up here, a Trevor Hamm.”
Dennis had never heard of Trevor Hamm. “What kind of connections?” he asked.
“Trevor Hamm runs a particularly nasty organised crime ring up here in Birmingham. He was involved in the terror attack on New Street Station and Birmingham Airport last October. Lesley’s probably told you about it.”
Dennis raised an eyebrow. So this DI was on first name terms with his DCI. He wondered what their relationship had been, if they were still in contact. He suspected they were.
“That’s quite a coincidence,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied. “You’ve got an organised crime boss, so have we. I’m afraid ours is a bigger bastard than yours is.”
Dennis winced at the language. “I think that’s for us to judge.”
“Terror attacks. Multiple murder attempts. People trafficking. Does your Arthur Kelvin do that sort of thing?”
Dennis clutched his phone tighter. “Mainly money laundering and drug supply,” he said.
“Exactly,” she replied. “We thought that Hamm might have recruited him, got his help bringing drugs into the country via Poole Harbour. Turned out he didn’t.”
Dennis nodded slowly. Should he ask about DCI Mackie, or not?
No, he thought. He didn’t want to draw attention to that.
“Very well,” he said, “Thanks for your time.”
“No problem,” she replied. “If there’s anything I can do to help in the future, just give me a call. Oh, and give my best to Lesley, won’t you?”
“I will,” he replied, his tone curt.
He hung up, still suspicious of why this woman had been looking into Kelvin and Mackie.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Sorry to bother you, Dennis,” Lesley said as he picked up the phone. “How’s it going back there?”
“Oh. Er, boss…”
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“No, it’s alright. I just, um…Yes, what can I do for you?”
Lesley frowned. This wasn’t like Dennis. Still, he might be worried about Johnny.
“Have you heard anything from Johnny?” she asked him.
“He’s here,” Dennis replied. “He came in late this morning.”
“How’s his wife?”
“He didn’t want to talk about it.”
Lesley nodded. She was in the office in the café building, Gail at the opposite end of the table. It made her feel like they were the Lord and Lady of the Manor at each end of the banqueting table. Her laptop was open in front of her, the video paused onscreen.
“I’m about to send you an email,” she told Dennis. “It’s got a video attached. Watch it, tell me what you think.”
“Yes, boss.”
She hit send and waited. “You got it?”
“I have. Wait a moment.”
There was the sound of movement. “Where are you?” Lesley asked.
“Just walking to my desk,” he said.
So Dennis was in the office, but not at his desk. Had he taken over her own office in her absence? She looked along the table to see Gail watching her. Lesley gave her a smile. Gail had been trying to contact her team in Poole for the last half hour, but the line had been consistently engaged. They both hoped that was because they were getting closer to finding usable forensic evidence.
“Sorry, boss.” Dennis’s voice came down the line. “I’m in front of my screen now, with the video. Give me a moment to watch it.”
“OK,” Lesley said. She drummed her fingers on the desk as she waited.
“Who are these women?” Dennis asked.
“Two of Simone’s colleagues,” Lesley replied. “Anya Davinski and Natasha Williams.”
“Which is which?”
“Anya’s the short thin one with the blonde hair, Natasha’s taller with dark hair.”
“It’s difficult to see in the dusk,” Dennis replied.
“I’m hoping you can get it enhanced,” she said.
At the other end of the table Gail gestured to get Lesley’s attention. “You want me to make a call?” she whispered.
Lesley shook her head. Gail had enough to do and Lesley knew she wanted to be off the island as soon as possible. Dennis could handle this.
“Is this the argument that you were told about?” Dennis asked.
“It certainly is,” Lesley replied. “We assumed that Simone was one of the women involved, but it seems she wasn’t.”
“They’re very angry with each other,” he said.
Lesley smiled. Angry wasn’t the word she would have used.
“They certainly are,” she told him. “I need you to get that video enhanced, see if we can get clearer sound. I want to know what those two women were arguing about. Meanwhile, I’m going to be talking to them again.”
Chapter F
orty
Elsa took a moment to compose herself before unlocking the door to the flat. After a moment, she squared her shoulders, lifted her key to the lock and pushed the door open.
“Hello?” she called as she closed the door behind her.
“In here,” came the reply.
Elsa pushed down her unease at having Lesley’s daughter staying in her flat and walked into the living room. She pasted a smile on her face.
“Hi, Sharon,” she said. “Have you spoken to your mum yet?”
Sharon was on the sofa facing away from Elsa, phone in hand.
“I tried to call her,” she said.
“How many times?” Elsa asked, knowing she sounded like a nag. She wasn’t the girl’s mum and it wasn’t her job to do this.
Sharon shrugged. “A couple of times. I don’t think she’s got a signal over there.”
Elsa knew that Lesley had problems with the signal in the cottage where she was staying, but she also knew that there was a signal elsewhere on the island. Otherwise, how could Lesley conduct her investigation and keep in touch with her team back at HQ? And Elsa had managed to speak to Lesley herself.
“Try her again,” Elsa said.
She walked through to the kitchen where she filled the coffeemaker and left it bubbling. When she returned to the living room, Sharon was on the phone.
Elsa watched her, waiting. After a moment, she turned away and started rearranging things on a sideboard, knowing how false her movements were.
This flat didn’t have many rooms. A large open-plan living-diner, separated from the kitchen by a half wall, and then two bedrooms. It had windows front and back. There wasn’t quite a view of the sea, although it wasn’t far off. But the openness of the flat, while being so attractive to Elsa when she’d bought it, meant that she and Sharon had little privacy. Elsa had been encouraging Lesley to move in with her, but now she was beginning to rethink.
Sharon slammed her phone onto the coffee table. “She’s pissed off with me.”
The Island Murders (Dorset Crime Book 3) Page 13
