Watson looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes, ma’am. Only… we’ve heard that the chief constable isn’t entirely happy with the Haydens’ names being associated with the Nielson murder investigation. I think he would be happier if Fleming followed up on Damien Potts. He was released on parole two weeks ago, but I think he’s a long shot. More to the point, there’s Sarah Nielson’s father, Eric Rainer. He hated Nielson. He’s my bet.’
‘Does Fleming know that Potts is out of prison?’
‘Don’t know. He hasn’t seen my review yet.’
‘All right, Bill. I’ll look at it when I get home. But you’ll let Fleming know that Potts is out and that he ought to pull him in for questioning?’
Watson hesitated. ‘Sure, I think he intended to speak to him anyway, but his focus seems to be on Hayden.’
‘But now that Potts is out of prison he’s a potential suspect. You need to bury the hatchet with Fleming. Have a friendly chat with him. Tell him you’ve given me your review of the case and you’ve recommended he concentrates on Potts and Rainer.’
Watson agreed he would do just that. Maybe a friendly word would do the trick. But somehow Watson felt he had not finished crossing swords with Fleming.
20
The journey from Oxford to Bourne End took about forty-five minutes. Fleming was driving and Logan fiddled with the radio controls. He hit a news channel where a reporter was interviewing Charles Trenchard.
‘Not more about a leadership challenge,’ Logan groaned. He was about to continue scrolling through the channels but Fleming stopped him.
‘Hang on, Harry. Let’s listen to this for a minute.’
Logan looked across at him. ‘You’re not really interested in this stuff, are you?’
‘You should pay attention to things like this, Harry. Could affect us, you know.’
‘Really? How come, boss?’
‘There are senior people in the cabinet who are upset about quite a few things. Europe, austerity measures, policing, immigration, you name it. They think they could lose the next general election.’
Logan frowned. ‘So how does that affect us… if by us you mean the police?’
‘I was coming to that,’ Fleming laughed. ‘The rebels think our budgets are being squeezed too much. They reckon there should be greater funding for the police.’
‘I still don’t see how that affects us minions,’ Logan said. Then it struck him. ‘Ah, we get a pay rise! Missus would be happy if we did.’
Fleming smiled. ‘Maybe, maybe not. But we may get a few more resources. We’re currently one DI short. If we get more funding, you could be in the running for promotion, Harry.’
Logan nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think we should definitely listen to this, boss.’
They listened in silence to the rest of the Trenchard interview. The reporter was pressing him on whether he would stand for election if there was a leadership challenge. Trenchard evaded the question and simply said that he hoped to have a meeting with the PM in the next few days and that Oliver Huxley had his full support.
‘Sounds like the kiss of death to me,’ Logan said.
A few minutes later, they were pulling up outside the small terraced house in Bourne End where Peggy Dobbs lived. The living room was small but the log burner and wooden beams across the ceiling added character. The house was spotless. There wasn’t much furniture to speak of and no clutter, just a few paintings on the walls.
‘Would you like some tea?’ Peggy asked.
‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Dobbs, but no thanks. We don’t want to take up too much of your time.’ Fleming glanced around the room. ‘Nice place you have here. You live on your own?’
‘Oh, yes. Vince… my husband… he died five years ago.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Dobbs.’
‘That’s all right. I’m used to being on my own now. I have Toby to keep me company.’
Logan looked at the black and white cat that had appeared from nowhere to circle round his legs. ‘The cat?’
Peggy smiled. ‘Yes. He’s a bit of a character.’
Fleming cleared his throat. ‘Did Mr Nielson talk to you much when you went to clean his house and boat?’
‘A bit, but we didn’t have long conversations if that’s what you mean. He was a very busy man, you understand.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he was. There was a photograph in the house with Mr Nielson and some army colleagues on it. I presume you saw it?’
‘Yes. Always picking it up to dust the bookcase.’
‘Did you ever see any of the men on the photo in Mr Nielson’s house or on the boat with him?’
‘No, I can’t say that I did.’
‘Did Mr Nielson ever talk to you about his army days?’
‘No, never.’
‘There was another photograph next to the army one. A wedding photo of Mr Nielson, his wife, the best man and Sarah Nielson’s father, Eric Rainer. Did you ever see him with Mr Nielson?’
Peggy thought for a moment. ‘Well now, that’s a bit strange…’ She frowned, deep in thought.
‘How do you mean, strange?’ Logan prompted.
‘I can’t say I ever saw Mr Rainer with Mr Nielson in all the time I cleaned for him, right up to the divorce last year. Mr Rainer did come to the house, but it always seemed to be when Mr Nielson wasn’t there. I got the impression they didn’t get on.’
Fleming took out the copy photograph of Emma Hayden and her husband and showed it to Peggy. ‘Is that the woman you saw on the boat with Mr Nielson a couple of weeks ago? The woman you thought he called Emma?’
Peggy took the photograph and peered at it closely. ‘Yes. Yes that’s her.’
‘You’re sure, Mrs Dobbs?’
‘Yes, absolutely. No doubt at all.’
21
Charles Trenchard was deep in thought as he sipped on a large gin and tonic. Dressed in slacks and short-sleeved shirt, he was lounging in a deckchair on the lawn of his grand old house in Henley-on-Thames. The river flowed by at the bottom of the garden and a couple drinking from champagne glasses waved at him from a passing river cruiser.
Trenchard smiled and raised his glass in salute before taking another drag on his cigar. He knew he would need to act soon. The prime minister was vulnerable and the opinion polls were not looking good.
Trenchard’s thoughts were interrupted as his wife, Helen, shouted from the kitchen window, ‘Leo’s here, darling.’
‘Hello, Charles!’ Miller shouted as he made his way down the lawn with a gin and tonic in his hand. He was wearing light casual trousers, a white jacket, open-necked shirt and a Panama hat.
‘Your wife is the perfect host,’ Miller announced holding up his glass and thrusting a spare hand towards Trenchard.
Trenchard smiled and shook his hand. ‘Come and have a seat and tell me what you’ve been up to.’
Miller wheezed as he settled into a spare deckchair. He took his hat off and stuck it over a knee. ‘Well now, Charles, things are moving fast. The shit is hitting the fan again on all fronts, especially Europe. The PM’s being attacked right, left and centre in the press and he’s threatening a cabinet reshuffle. He says it’s because he needs to freshen up the front bench, but we all know it’s to deflect attention from his poor rating in the polls. And he wants to get rid of those he thinks are plotting against him.’
Trenchard narrowed his piercing brown eyes and blew cigar smoke into the air. ‘I know all that, Leo, but how are you getting on with drumming up support?’
‘We’re almost there. Bit short of the number we need to force a confidence vote, but almost half the cabinet want a change. One or two of them think they would stand a chance in a ballot if Huxley lost a vote of confidence. They don’t have the balls to come forward though. They’re all waiting to see if you make a move. They’ll only put themselves forward for nomination if you do.’
‘Are you sure I’ll get the support of the majority of the Party if I put myself forward as a candidate for the leadership?’
There was a hint of menace in the question.
‘Leave it to me, Charles. I’m working hard on it. I’m certain we can muster enough support. I think it’s a foregone conclusion that Huxley won’t get the majority he needs to stay in power–’
‘Yes, but how sure are you that I’ll win the subsequent ballot?’
Miller raised his glass. ‘I’m sure, old chap… absolutely sure. We just need to work on a manifesto saying what you stand for.’
Trenchard stubbed out his cigar. ‘I hope you’re right, Leo. I’m not going to be a happy man if this goes wrong. I’m putting my trust in you. You’d better not let me down. Your future depends on this as well.’
Miller grinned, downed the rest of his gin and tonic and rose to leave. ‘Don’t worry, Charles, I’ll let you know as soon as we’re ready to start the ball rolling.’
Trenchard lit another cigar and blew smoke into the air after Miller had gone. He wondered how much trust he could place in him, and worried that the press might start delving into his own past. Things seemed to have a habit of coming back to haunt you…
22
The streets of Oxford were busy and it was hot. Men in short-sleeved shirts hurried on their way to where they worked. Women were dressed in summer clothes. Sweating students cycled up and down the streets, and shoppers looked as though they’d walked for miles. Some probably had.
Fleming had brought Logan and Anderson out for lunch. There were things he wanted to discuss out of the office. Logan had suggested a burger bar he knew in George Street. He’d ordered a double cheeseburger and large portion of chips with a Coke.
‘How can you eat all that at lunchtime and in this heat?’ Anderson asked with a smile.
‘Boss is paying,’ Logan quipped. ‘You should have a bit more. Looks as though you need building up.’
‘I need to look after my figure. Need to stay slim and fit for my football,’ Anderson replied, thrusting her head forwards as though heading an invisible ball.
Logan was impressed. ‘I didn’t know you played football, Naomi.’ He thought for a second then added, ‘Bet you play left back… left back in the dressing room.’ He laughed at his own joke.
Anderson thumped him on the arm. ‘Very funny, Sarge!’
‘Just a joke, Naomi.’
Fleming was shaking his head. ‘If you two have finished messing about, can we talk about work please?’ He’d asked Anderson to talk to the Met and check the old case files on Nielson, and Bill Watson’s files on the Reading killing. ‘Did you come up with anything with the Met, Naomi?’
‘There’s not a lot to add to what we already know, sir. Seems a man by the name of Doherty had it in for Nielson. He owned a rival club and claimed Nielson was using his club to front a drugs operation. In fact, the Met had already been watching Nielson. They suspected that Damien Potts was pushing drugs for him. DCI Watson was on the case as an inspector at the time. He pulled Nielson and Potts in for questioning and called in at the club regularly to keep Nielson on edge. He wasn’t getting anywhere so he organised a raid on the club one night. They found nothing. The guy I spoke to at the Met reckoned someone had tipped Nielson off. Watson then filed a report saying that there was no real evidence to support Doherty’s allegations. He said further investigation would be a waste of police time. The case was closed.’
‘Doherty wasn’t the man Potts killed two years later by any chance?’ Logan asked while chewing on a mouthful of chips.
Anderson shook her head.
Logan shrugged and washed down his chips with Coke. ‘Just a thought.’
Fleming had been listening intently to what Anderson was saying. ‘Did you find out why this Doherty guy had it in for Nielson?’
Anderson nodded while trying to swallow a mouthful of salad. ‘The Met reckoned Doherty thought Nielson was trying to put him out of business and accused him of having an affair with his wife.’
‘We need to speak to Doherty,’ Fleming said.
‘Ah, I don’t think that will do us any good, sir,’ Anderson said. ‘He sold his club and moved to America shortly after Watson shelved the case against Nielson. My contact in the Met reckoned Doherty was frightened Nielson would come after him so Doherty packed up and left–’
‘After which,’ Logan broke in, ‘he finds a man who will kill Nielson for him. Only Potts gets to his man before he gets to Nielson.’
‘Nice theory, Harry, but that was eight years ago. And two years after the drugs investigation,’ Fleming reminded him.
‘So, Doherty’s first attempt to get even with Nielson failed. What’s to stop him finding another killer to have one more go now?’
Fleming groaned. ‘You have a point, Harry. We’re back to the possibility that an assassin, hired by Doherty, is the killer. Temple’s going to throw a fit if we have to go to America to see Doherty.’
‘Doherty didn’t hire anyone,’ Anderson said. ‘And we don’t need to go to America.’
Fleming and Logan looked at her in surprise.
‘Doherty was killed in a car crash in America three years ago,’ she explained.
‘Why didn’t you say so?’ Logan demanded.
‘I was about to before you interrupted me.’
‘Okay,’ Fleming said, trying to restore peace. ‘What about Watson’s files on Potts and the Reading killing, Naomi? Come up with anything there?’
‘Man called Joe Cobb. Bit of history with various convictions. Did time for manslaughter some years ago. The Met suspected him of being behind a protection racket and gangland killings in London since his release. They never got close enough to him to bring charges. Potts stabbed Cobb to death outside a nightclub in Reading. Watson was the SIO and did Potts for murder. At first, Potts claimed Nielson had put him up to it. He said Nielson had told him Cobb had attempted to extort protection money from him and he was going to burn Nielson’s Cellar to the ground if he didn’t pay up. Potts later changed his statement and said he was acting in self-defence when he realised the charge could be reduced to manslaughter. Nielson was never done for incitement to murder. Potts pleaded guilty to manslaughter and got ten years.’
Fleming was beginning to feel uneasy. Watson was one of the Met officers on the Nielson drugs investigation. Nielson was never charged. Two years later, Watson’s the SIO for the murder case in Reading. Nielson was cleared of incitement to kill.
‘You okay, boss?’ Logan asked. ‘You’ve gone a bit quiet.’
‘Yeah, sure, just thinking. Temple told me Watson thought the Reading killing was drugs related. Why would he think that if Potts came out with this story about Cobb trying to extort protection money from Nielson?’
Logan shrugged. ‘But Potts changed his statement, and if his plea of manslaughter was valid, the killing was nothing to do with drugs, vengeance killing, or extortion. Watson might have settled for a plea of manslaughter to get a conviction even though he still believed it to be drugs related.’
Fleming frowned. ‘So why would Potts claim he was acting on Nielson’s instructions at first?’
‘Maybe,’ Anderson offered, ‘Potts wasn’t lying. Maybe Nielson did get him to kill Cobb, and Potts thought Nielson had shopped him. Maybe he wanted to get even and bring Nielson down with him. He then thinks better of it to get a lesser sentence.’
‘If that’s the case,’ Fleming said, ‘we’re not dealing with a drugs-related vendetta.’
‘No,’ Logan agreed, ‘but Nielson’s killer could still have been someone known to Cobb who believed Nielson was behind his death and wanted revenge.’
‘After all this time?’ Anderson queried.
‘That,’ Fleming said, ‘remains a complete mystery.’
‘Where does that get us, boss?’ Logan asked.
‘We need to speak to Potts. Changing the subject though, what about our Mr Rainer, Naomi? Any previous convictions?’ Fleming asked wearily.
‘He had a previous for assault but that was over twenty years ago, soon after he left the army. Bar room brawl g
ot out of hand. He got a suspended sentence. Nothing since.’
‘What does he do?’ The question came from Logan before taking the last bite of his cheeseburger.
‘When he left the army, Rainer went to work as a boxing instructor for a club in Maidenhead.’
‘Told you!’ Logan exclaimed. ‘I win the bet.’
‘We didn’t bet,’ Naomi reminded him. ‘He’s sixty-five but still working there. His wife died four years ago. Lives on his own in a terraced house in Maidenhead. That’s about it.’
‘Thanks for all of that, Naomi. Not sure it gets us any further forward though. We still can’t discount the theory that an assassin killed Nielson for revenge for whatever reason. But we do know that, if it was a hired killer, he wasn’t hired by Doherty.’
On the way back to the office, Anderson remembered something. ‘Oh, DCI Watson came to see you this morning, sir. You were out at Mrs Dobbs’s at the time. Said he would pop in this afternoon if you were around.’
‘Thanks.’ Fleming wondered what he wanted. His last meeting with Watson had been less than friendly. Maybe he wanted to apologise for his behaviour. Somehow Fleming doubted it. He knew Temple had asked Watson to do the first peer review of his investigative strategy. Fleming dreaded to think what might be in it.
23
Fleming’s desk was covered in papers. He had rough notes to type up, interviews to record, and Logan kept reminding him to sign off the overtime claim forms. Freya had been on the phone reminding him of his four o’clock appointment. She wasn’t taking any chances after he’d missed the last one.
Fleming was looking at the list of Ronnie Nielson’s business contacts that McBain had emailed him when Anderson popped her head round the door to warn him. ‘DCI Watson’s on his way to see you now, sir.’
The Fifth Suspect Page 8
