Dying for Justice (DI Angus Henderson 10)

by Iain Cameron

It was the morning briefing and Henderson hoped the team would be just as invigorated by this new lead as he was.

  ‘It’s a lot of money,’ Sally Graham said.

  ‘Enough to kill for,’ Phil Bentley suggested.

  ‘Hammond obviously succeeded in his quest to steal the document as Clare Mitchell found it in Schofield’s safe at his London apartment. The scenario we’re investigating at the moment is whether Hammond failed in his mission to steal the document at his staged appointment. Then, either because he didn’t want to disappoint Schofield, or he was still under his instructions, he went back at night and disturbed the sleeping Martin Turner. According to Schofield, Hammond booked an appointment to see Trevor Robinson a few days prior to the murder. A quick call, Phil,’ he said, with a nod at Phil Bentley, ‘to Robinson should be enough to confirm that part of his story.’

  ‘I’ll sort it.’

  ‘We need to find Pete Hammond. I won’t be issuing a warrant for his arrest, as it’s all conjecture at this stage, but we do need to talk to him all the same. Vicky, I’m tasking you with finding out what you can about him: his background and where we can locate him. If the usual databases don’t provide, try calling the search team at Schofield’s house in Warninglid. You would think Schofield would have his details in his phone, little black book, or a laptop.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll get onto it.’

  ‘Talking of Schofield, you should all be aware he’s now been charged with the murder of Allan Blake. His co-conspirator, Blake’s wife Tracey, has also been arrested. A team headed by DS Vicky Neal, overseen by myself, will take charge of the Blake case.’

  For the next ten minutes they discussed the analysis being done on the list of Alex Vincent’s divorce clients. It had been cross-referenced to the list of Martin Turner’s criminal clients, but Henderson was reluctant to interview anyone yet.

  They had also examined interviews conducted with Alex Vincent’s family and friends. He had a more conventional background than Martin Turner, having gone to a state school. He was the first member of his family to attend university, and indeed, to work as a lawyer. Despite coming from a rougher part of town, his family and relatives were equally as devastated by his death as Martin Turner’s were, and like Turner, no one had a bad word to say about him.

  At the end of the meeting, Henderson returned to his office. He didn’t sit, but scanned through the notes left on his desk and the emails received. He was about to head over to the staff restaurant when his phone rang.

  ‘Henderson.’

  ‘Hello sir, Gerry Thomas here at the Warninglid house.’

  ‘Hi, Gerry, how’s it going?’

  ‘Not bad. Despite it being a big house, most of the rooms don’t contain much furniture. It’s easy to spot any hiding places.’

  ‘It’s very minimalist, at least the rooms I saw, but I take your point, there’s nothing worse than having to search through a house full of junk.’

  ‘Too true. The reason I called is the housekeeper just received a call from the Royal Sussex Hospital. They were looking for relatives of a woman brought in yesterday found with stab wounds in Hove. The call came here as they’d found Raymond Schofield’s business card in her bag.’

  ‘Do you know the woman’s name?’

  ‘Clare Mitchell.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘I was talking to her on Tuesday. She’s Ray Schofield’s girlfriend.’

  ‘Is she? So, can you handle this, sir?’

  ‘Yes, I will. Leave it with me, Gerry.’

  Henderson put the phone down. He felt stunned. It seemed bad things happened to anyone who had any connections to Raymond Schofield: Martin Turner, Alex Vincent, now Clare Mitchell.

  ‘You all right, gov?’

  He looked up to see Carol Walters standing at the door.

  ‘Clare Mitchell is in hospital with stab wounds.’

  ‘Good grief. Is she alive?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Is this Schofield going down and taking everyone he knows with him? It was the reason, after all, he kept those incriminating emails between him and Tracey Blake.’

  ‘You’re right, but he was locked up at the time of her stabbing.’

  ‘Maybe he got someone else to do it.’

  ‘Who, Pete Hammond?’

  ‘It’s what he does, sorts out problems that Schofield can’t.’

  ‘We need to find him and ask him.’

  ‘No problem,’ she said, holding up the piece of paper she held in her hand. ‘I have his address.’

  **

  They were driving along the A27 towards Worthing, the town where Pete Hammond lived. The DI didn’t have an arrest warrant as Hammond wasn’t being accused of anything, yet, so if he wasn’t at home when they arrived, they didn’t have due cause to break down the door. By the same token, and despite Hammond’s reputation, it was only himself and Walters. No big cops to back them up if Schofield’s bully-boy turned violent.

  Vicky had checked him out on PNC, The Police National Computer and on the web, and he had a chequered past. A former Marine, he had been drummed out of the service for being drunk and emptying the magazine of his SA80 rifle into the water tower at the army barracks where he was stationed. He had served time in a couple of prisons, for stealing cars and the selling of stolen goods, the most audacious, a container-sized consignment of Samsung laptops.

  He hadn’t been in trouble for about eight years. This mirrored the time when he had become an employee of Schofield. The way Schofield talked about Hammond, they only got together when there was a problem to solve. There must have been plenty for him to do, as Hammond had no other income or employment that his officers could find.

  ‘I’m thinking out loud here,’ Walters said, ‘but is it possible Clare Mitchell was trying to play a smart double-cross game, and lost?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘She digs up this damning information about Schofield, and don’t forget, she might have been sitting on the information for months, as none of the emails between him and Tracey Blake are recent.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘She might have been waiting for the right time, say, when he’d left Raybeck and had sold all his businesses. She brings it to us, we arrest him, and she gets, I don’t know, the house, money, the villa in Portugal. Schofield finds out what she’s done and sends someone after her.’

  ‘I don’t see it, plus there’s the divorce to add to the mix. I’m sure Schofield’s wife, Rebecca, would have something to say about it if Clare started laying claim to portions of Schofield’s estate. Plus, Schofield’s no fool. The house, villas, and all the rest won’t be easy for anyone to take. They’re all owned by off-shore companies that I’m sure only he knows anything about. No, I think her stabbing is in revenge for him landing up in jail. What other reason could there be for someone to stab a businesswoman in a suburban street, in the middle of the day. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like a random stabbing. Hove doesn’t have a gang problem, and most of the drug use is between professional types.’

  ‘The drug issue might be an area worth exploring.’

  ‘Might be. You hear of these high-powered people snorting cocaine in the toilets before going into big meetings. Could be Clare had an argument with her supplier.’

  Brooklyn Avenue in Worthing had a nice ring to it, almost sounding posh. Pete Hammond lived in a squat block of flats, about half-way along. Despite the obvious limited dimensions of his apartment, it wasn’t such a bad place to be. At the end of the road was a sizable parade of shops, and when they got out of the car, he could smell and hear the sea, always a plus point in his book.

  Henderson pressed the bell to Hammond’s flat and waited. No response. He pressed again, and once again, no answer.

  He was about to press the bell of a neighbour when he heard someone walking towards them, an elderly lady carrying two Co-op shopping bags.

/>   ‘Looking for someone?’ she asked.

  She had wispy white hair, skin drawn tight across her face, and stooped as if she had a back problem, or her shopping bags were heavy.

  ‘I am Detective Inspector Henderson and this is Sergeant Walters. We’re from Sussex Police. We were hoping to have a word with Mr Hammond, but I don’t think he’s at home.’

  ‘Oh, the police,’ she said, setting her bags down on the ground. She stared at him intently. ‘Is he in trouble? Has he done something wrong?’

  ‘No, we only want to ask him a few questions.’

  ‘Oh, I know when you say that it’s just before you drag him off to jail. I saw it on EastEnders the other day.’

  So it must be true, he wanted to say. ‘No, I assure you, madam, we’re here to talk to him, nothing more. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘Mr Hammond you say?’

  ‘Yes, Pete Hammond.’

  ‘Peter is a nice man, although I must admit, he sounds a bit gruffer than he really is, on account of his regional accent. He’s from Newcastle, you know.’

  ‘Yes, we did.’

  ‘He came back here last night in a bit of a hurry.’

  ‘Did he? Around what time was this?’

  ‘Ten-thirty-five.’

  ‘You sound very sure.’

  ‘I have a seat near the window and if I see anything unusual, I write it down in my notebook. My son told me if I need to remember something, I should write it down.’

  Henderson imagined this helpful guidance didn’t stretch to spying on her neighbours. ‘Good advice.’

  ‘Peter came out twenty minutes later, carrying a holdall. He threw it into the back of his car and drove off very fast, like a cat with its tail on fire.’

  ‘Do you know anything about the car he drives, the colour maybe?’

  ‘I can do better than that. In my book I have all the cars of everyone who parks around here, so I know if a stranger is using one of our parking places. Come up with me to my flat and I’ll show you.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, could you bring my shopping bags? I must be getting old, the walk from the shops has worn me out.’

  THIRTY-SIX

  Saturday morning, and for once Henderson wasn’t going into the office today. He needed a break and until they had located Pete Hammond there wasn’t much that couldn’t wait until Monday. There was also something else he needed to do. He left his apartment and walked towards St George’s Road.

  In one of the shops he passed, the DI bought flowers, a newspaper, and a bottle of sparkling water infused with lime. He carried on walking up the slope of College Place until he reached Eastern Road. He crossed it, quiet at this time of the morning, and headed towards the entrance of the Royal Sussex Hospital.

  The search for Pete Hammond was ongoing. Daisy Hardcastle, the elderly lady who lived in the same block of flats as he did, had not only supplied them with the make of his car, but also the colour and registration number. Henderson wouldn’t be surprised to hear, if she was more able, that she had snuck out in the middle of the night and noted down the vehicle’s VIN number.

  For all the sniggering and the tut-tutting this story generated in the office, the world would be a much poorer place without the action of its nosey parkers and interfering busybodies. Where would Crimestoppers, Neighbourhood Watch, and a host of abused women and children’s charities be without the information they provided? He had lost count of the number of crimes he had investigated, which had been uncovered as a result of a phone call from a concerned neighbour, a passer-by crossing the road to see what was going on, or someone concerned because they hadn’t heard from their friend for a while.

  The details of Hammond’s car were now up on ANPR, but he stressed to all the patrol crews, that the object of the exercise wasn’t to arrest him. He was a bit higher up the scale than a person they wanted to question, as the DI had intimated to Ms Hardcastle, but the answers he gave to their questions, along with any evidence they could produce, would determine if he faced any charges or not.

  Henderson had been in the Royal Sussex so many times he knew the direction board off by heart. He made his way to Surgical 2 with some trepidation as to what he would find. He had called ahead and received agreement from the staff nurse that he could visit Clare Mitchell. However, he was instructed not to go in, or to come out if already in, if it was during a meal-time, she was being given a bed bath, or the doctor was doing the rounds.

  He was aiming to arrive after breakfast had been served, but as anyone who had stayed overnight in a hospital could testify, this could stretch over a two-hour window. What he couldn’t plan for was the presence of the doctor; in fact, not only him, but eight medical students in tow. He heard the youngsters being asked a question about suturing, and the benefits and drawbacks of dissolving stitches, before he backed out and took a seat outside.

  He pulled out his newspaper and waited. From the information he had gleaned about Clare’s injuries. and his limited clinical knowledge, he imagined her case was an archetypical stab wound, not much different from the numerous knife injuries the surgical team faced on a typical Friday or Saturday night. In order for a doctor to stop at her bed, there had to be something more interesting about her condition, or was it purely because she was extremely attractive? Either way, the students would learn something.

  Ten minutes later he put the newspaper away and, with a nod to the nurse behind the desk, walked into the ward. At first glance, Clare looked better than he expected. Someone had clearly applied a little make-up, and she was propped up on pillows, the swelling of a bulky dressing noticeable under the sheets.

  ‘Hello Clare.’

  ‘Morning, Inspector,’ she said in a slow, deliberate voice. ‘I didn’t expect a detective to be my first visitor.’

  ‘I get special privileges, I suspect as I’ve been here so often.’

  ‘I apologise if I don’t seem too compos mentis. I’ve been given so much medication lately, I’m not sure what day of the week it is.’

  Henderson placed his purchases on the side table. She didn’t look to see what he was up to, either because she couldn’t easily turn around due to the strapping, or the drugs were slowing her reactions.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m putting a couple of things I brought for you on the table.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Some flavoured water, and flowers.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Suddenly, her face melted and she burst into tears.

  Like most men, Henderson was pretty hopeless when it came to situations like this, made especially awkward as he didn’t know her well. Where was Walters when he needed her? He found a box of tissues, pulled one out and handed it to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, dabbing her eyes and then blowing her nose. ‘I don’t normally cry. I suspect it’s something to do with the medication, but thanks for bringing the flowers; I love receiving flowers.’

  Henderson lifted over a spare seat, sat down, and left her a minute or so to compose herself.

  ‘How are you feeling? I assume the operation was successful.’

  ‘No complications, according to the surgeon. Luckily, it was a small knife, and both wounds are in my stomach. They’ve stitched it up, hence the lump here,’ she said indicating her abdomen. ‘Barring any setbacks, I should be back to normal in about three weeks.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, although I imagine eating might be a problem for a while.’

  ‘True, but as I’m not a big foodie, it won’t bother me much. Grabbing snacks in between meetings has been my style for so many years, it will take some time before I can eat like a normal person.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘There’s not much to tell. I was walking back to my apartment in Hove after shopping in Tesco when Pete Hammond called me over. This was beside the old Hove Town Hall. Do you know it?’

  ‘I do. Pete Hammond, you’re sure?’
/>   ‘Yes, without doubt. He’s been to the house in Warninglid many times. He works for Ray.’

  ‘Okay, go on.’

  ‘He’d just found out about Ray’s arrest, and accused me of setting him up.’

  ‘I was afraid something like that would happen.’

  ‘How did he know I was behind it? Is there a leak in your department?’

  ‘Did he say anything to suggest he had inside information?’

  ‘No, he made it sound like, if Ray had been arrested, then I had to be behind it, as neither he nor Ray trusted me. He seemed so sure of his facts, but he’s not a bright guy, and asking him to make his own assumptions would break him out in hives.’

  ‘Are you suggesting Schofield’s behind it.’

  ‘Without doubt.’

  ‘We issued a press statement following Mr Schofield’s arrest. This isn’t unusual, but we felt it was imperative in this case due to Schofield’s high profile in the community. In it, we said new information had come to light and we would be petitioning the CPS for a retrial. At no point did we hint or imply who had supplied it.’

  ‘Well, someone did, and I ended up in here. I suggest you find the leak and plug it, Inspector, before someone gets killed.’

  **

  Radio 4 was playing in the car as Henderson drove to East Hoathly, but he wasn’t listening. All members of the murder team knew the origins of the email traffic which had resulted in Ray Schofield being charged with the same murder he had been acquitted of three years before. Clare’s assertion that her stabbing had to be the result of a leak in the murder team didn’t hold water. No newspaper had published Clare’s name, and even if one of his team was in the pay of a journalist, it was clear they hadn’t sold the story. No, it had to be as Hammond had said to Clare before stabbing her; he didn’t trust her, and it was because of her that Schofield was now in jail.

  The Caribbean banking schedule, and the emails between Schofield and Tracey Blake used to snare him, came from Schofield’s safe and office. Only Clare had access to both, and Henderson had warned her at the time that Schofield could easily work it out and she needed to be careful.