‘No mention of Charles Trenchard then?’ Fleming asked.
‘The super said you wanted to question him again because you thought he lied about knowing Nielson.’
‘And?’
Logan shrugged. ‘She was adamant he wasn’t to be questioned again.’
Fleming glanced across the terrace as raucous laughter suddenly broke out at a table at the far end near the river. A man had fallen backwards over his chair as he tried to push it to stand up. The man’s face reddened as he realised he had become the focus of attention. He grinned sheepishly, murmured something and made off towards the toilets in a line that was somewhat less than straight.
‘Hope he’s not driving,’ Logan said with a smile.
Fleming returned the conversation to Trenchard. ‘You can’t switch the TV or radio on these days without hearing something about Charles Trenchard.’ He frowned. ‘There’s something… something that happened in Afghanistan that I wanted to talk to him about. And why he lied about Nielson…’
‘He may not have lied,’ Logan pointed out. ‘Maybe he just couldn’t remember him. Anyway, you needn’t worry about him anymore, boss. Thankfully, neither need we. Orders are orders. Speaking of which…’ Logan raised an empty glass. ‘Who’s for another?’
‘My turn,’ Anderson offered. She took the empty glasses and disappeared into the pub.
Fleming looked at Logan. ‘I went to see Bill Watson last night at The White House pub.’
Logan frowned. ‘I didn’t know you socialised with him, boss.’
‘It wasn’t a social call.’
‘Oh?’
Fleming leaned forwards in his chair. ‘Harry, you didn’t tell anyone else about what Watson had told you… I mean about Calder?’
Logan gasped. ‘Of course not. Why?’
‘Someone set me up for the assault on him. I think it might have been Watson–’
‘What! You’re joking, right?’
Fleming shook his head. ‘I confronted him with it: told him I thought he was behind it. He denied it of course. Said it could have been Potts.’
‘How did he make that out? Potts couldn’t have known about you and Calder.’
‘Watson couldn’t answer that. He said it could have leaked out somehow. But he said it was obvious that Potts wanted me off the Nielson case because I was treating him as a suspect. Getting me suspended would have suited him just fine.’
‘But you’re not buying that?’
‘No, I’m not. Watson also wanted me off the case because I was following up on the lead regarding his old mate, Anthony Hayden. He’s also made it pretty obvious he thinks Frank Jardine should have got my job.’
‘Bloody hell, boss. What are you going to do?’
‘Did Temple, by any chance, mention how many men were involved in Calder’s assault in the meeting with you, Naomi and Watson?’
Logan frowned. ‘No, why?’
‘Watson knew it was three men. How would he know that?’
Logan repeated himself. ‘Bloody hell!’
‘The thing is, I can’t understand why he would go to such lengths to get me suspended. The whole thing’s a bit risky, to say the least.’
Logan looked over Fleming’s shoulder. ‘Naomi’s taking her time. How long does it take to get some–’
She came out with a tray of drinks and a plate of chips. ‘Thought you might like something to eat,’ she said, looking at Logan. ‘I noticed you licking your lips when you saw some fish and chips coming out earlier.’
‘Naomi, you’re a star!’ Logan beamed, helping himself to a chip. ‘No ketchup?’
Anderson fished into a pocket and threw three sachets at Logan. ‘Miss anything interesting?’
Logan ripped open a corner of one of the sachets and squeezed tomato sauce onto the side of the plate. ‘The boss was telling me about a conspiracy theory.’
‘About the Nielson murder?’ Anderson asked.
Fleming helped himself to a chip. ‘I think you and Harry need to be very careful with Watson. He’s up to something. I was telling Harry that I think he set me up to get me suspended.’
‘What! Why?’
‘That’s what I’m not sure about. I think he’s trying to hide something… something he thought I might stumble across while investigating the Nielson case. I thought it was to do with the fact that I was treating his old mate Anthony Hayden as a possible suspect but I’m beginning to think there’s more to it than that. He took a big risk if he was behind Calder’s assault to get me off the case.’
Anderson suddenly looked worried and glanced from Logan to Fleming. ‘What do we do?’
‘You keep all of this to yourselves for now. Get on with the investigation, but keep me informed. I want to know Watson’s every move.’
‘You’ve got it, boss,’ Logan confirmed.
‘Speak to DS Crowe in Reading CID. Ask him to let you know if they make any progress in tracking down Calder’s assailants.’
Logan’s mobile rang. ‘Better get this,’ he said, fishing it out of his jacket pocket. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘DS Crowe,’ he whispered. He listened intently, then exclaimed, ‘What! Okay, well thanks for letting me know.’ Logan snapped his phone shut, slipped it back into his pocket and looked gravely at Fleming.
‘Well?’ Fleming asked.
‘Calder’s had a heart attack. He’s in intensive care.’
60
Damien Potts pulled grimy net curtains apart and peered nervously out of the window to the street below. McBain had moved him from the flat to a room above a pub in Brixton where the landlord owed him a favour. It was only a temporary hiding place McBain had told Potts, who was waiting for Tommy Tyler to pick him up in the black Audi that had driven him to the club a couple of weeks earlier.
Tyler was late. McBain had said that he would pick him up at eleven that night. ‘Where the fuck are you?’ Potts muttered.
There was little traffic on the street, but as Potts let the net curtains drop back into place the Audi pulled up at the end of the road. The lights flashed three times before Tyler dowsed them.
Potts grabbed his bag containing the few possessions he had and hurried down the stairs and out of the pub. A few seconds later, he pulled the passenger door of the car open. ‘Took your fucking time, Tommy,’ he grumbled as he threw his bag onto the back seat and jumped in.
Tyler shrugged. ‘Traffic. You bring the money?’
McBain had told Potts to bring two grand in cash. He’d told him that an old friend up in Glasgow wanted money up front for hiding a fugitive: especially one who was a suspect in a murder case. Potts nodded. ‘Who’s this guy McBain knows in Glasgow?’
Tyler turned the ignition on and slipped the car into gear. ‘Fucked if I know. I just drive.’ Tyler eased the car forwards and headed north.
‘So where are we going?’ Potts asked.
‘Somewhere near Vauxhall. There’s an old empty warehouse. McBain will be waiting there with the friend who’ll drive you up to Glasgow. That’s all I know.’
Potts grunted and stared ahead. Neither man spoke again.
A few minutes later, Tyler took a right hand turn down a narrow side street, then turned left into a potholed road that ran down the side of an old building with boarded-up windows. He turned at the far end of the building and drove through open doors into a large empty area with a concrete floor. Rows of rusting steel joists supported the roof. The car screeched to a halt and clouds of dust settled round the car as Tyler extinguished the lights.
Potts heard the roller doors sliding down with a grating of steel as he got out of the car. A large flashlight suddenly switched on by the door of an office. He couldn’t make out the dark figure from behind the light. He narrowed his eyes against the glare. ‘That you, Scottie?’
‘Sure. Come and join me in the office,’ McBain said. The flashlight turned inwards to show a small empty room apart from one chair. McBain hung the flashlight on a hook on the wall and motioned towards th
e chair. ‘Take a seat, Damien.’
Potts approached cautiously and looked nervously around him. Something wasn’t right about this. ‘Where’s your Glaswegian friend?’ he asked anxiously.
‘He’ll be here presently,’ McBain said. ‘I just want to have a little chat while we’re waiting.’ He tapped the chair with his foot. ‘Sit down.’
Potts knew something was wrong. He turned around but Tyler was blocking the open door, arms folded. ‘What’s the matter, Scottie? What do you want to talk about? I’ve brought the money if that’s it. It’s in the bag in the car. I’ll go and get it for–’
McBain grabbed Potts by his coat lapels and shoved him down onto the chair.
‘Fuck, Scottie. What is this? What’s wrong?’ Potts asked, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
McBain thrust his face in front of Potts. ‘I was doing you a favour, you fucking idiot! I found somewhere for you to stay when you got out of prison. I gave you some work. And what do you do to repay me? You screw everything up!’
‘I… I don’t know what you mean, Scottie. What have I done?’
‘You thought this detective guy, DCI Fleming, was going to nail you for Ronnie’s murder, right?’
‘Yes. I’m sure he thinks I did it.’
‘And I agreed to help you out yet again, right?’
‘Yes, but–’
‘Fleming came to see me, looking for you. I covered up for you. Said I didn’t have a clue where you were.’ McBain glared at Potts who was cowering in the chair. ‘Then I find out you went to the press making all sorts of claims about police corruption–’
‘I… I can explain that,’ Potts started to say, but McBain didn’t wait for the explanation.
‘You told the reporter that you didn’t have any names, right?’
Potts was panicking. ‘No… no I don’t–’
‘You sure about that?’ McBain’s voice had lowered to a threatening whisper.
‘No. I haven’t. But why are you bothered about that? I’d have thought anything against the police would be music to your ears.’
‘Is that so? Shall I tell you how you’ve fucked up, you drugged-up moron? The cops that Ronnie had in his pocket are now looking after me in return for a few favours and backhanders. Where do you think I get all my inside information from and how we manage to keep them off our backs at the club?’
‘Oh, shit! I’m sorry, Scottie. I didn’t know… honest! I’ll keep quiet. I won’t speak to the press again.’
‘Damned right you won’t!’
Potts was confused. ‘Hang on, why did you have to cover up for me when Fleming came to see you if he’s on the take?’
‘You’re not getting it, Damien, are you? Fleming isn’t one of them. He’s after you because you’re a suspect. But you’ve now put the bent cops into a difficult position.’
‘How… how do you mean?’
‘They don’t want you to be found. It’s too risky. They might think you know who they are. See what I mean?’
‘Oh, God! I swear I won’t say anything!’
McBain shrugged. ‘Too late, Damien. They want me to make sure. I need to keep them on my side so–’
Potts jumped out of the chair and kicked it into McBain. He pulled a flick knife out of his jeans back pocket, pressed a button on the side of the handle and a short silver blade shot out. He turned and lunged at Tyler standing by the door. The blade sliced across his face as he staggered backwards.
Potts raced past him, making for the roller doors. He dropped the knife and used both hands to try and open them. He heard the Audi engine roar into life and turned to see Tyler behind the wheel. The car lurched forward with tyres squealing. The headlights flicked on and shone at Potts. He froze for a second. Putting an arm up against the glare, he tried to run from the car bearing down on him but slipped and fell. He groaned and pulled himself to his feet, but it was too late. Tyler slammed the car into Potts and pinned him against a wall. Potts screamed in agony as Tyler revved the engine and eased the car forwards until Potts’s broken body slumped over the bonnet. Tyler got out of the car and picked up the knife Potts had dropped on the floor. He stood over Potts. Blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Potts tried to speak, but his voice was barely a whisper. ‘Please…’
Tyler grinned and plunged the blade into Potts’s back.
‘Think that just about does it, boss,’ Tyler said to McBain, standing beside him. ‘He won’t be saying anything to anyone.’
McBain looked at Potts’s lifeless body. ‘Guess not.’
Tyler dabbed at the cut on his face with a handkerchief before reversing the car away from Potts, whose lifeless body slid to the ground. Tyler looked at the front of the car. ‘Not much damage.’
‘Get the tarpaulin out of the boot,’ McBain ordered tersely, ‘and make sure the money’s in the bag.’
The two men wrapped Potts up in the tarpaulin and tied it securely with rope.
Five minutes later, they were heading towards the river. Turning into a small road with a row of warehouses on one side and the Thames on the other, they checked no one was in sight before getting out of the car and dragging the tarpaulin out of the boot. They tipped it over the wall into the Thames, jumped back into the car and accelerated away with a screech of tyres.
Doug Harper, managing director of Harper Haulage, had been working late into the night. He left his office and crossed the warehouse yard to his car. He was about to get in when he heard a loud splash. Walking to the entrance of the yard, he saw two men jump into an Audi and speed off. Curious, Doug crossed the road and looked over the wall. The river was flowing fast at high tide. He could just make out a half-submerged object drifting up the river.
61
‘You’re looking pensive, darling. Is everything all right?’ Charles Trenchard’s wife Helen asked, handing him a gin and tonic.
He was sitting in his back garden, enjoying the evening sun in his favourite place on the lawn overlooking the Thames. A laptop computer was open in front of him on a small circular white table. He was working on a speech he was to make the next day at the Conservative Club in Henley. He knew he would be on home ground, but reporters would be there so he needed to be prepared for any awkward questions and how to deal with them.
‘Fine. Working on my speech for tomorrow. I need to choose every word carefully. The press are good at putting words into your mouth.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine, darling. You always give a good speech.’
Trenchard smiled. ‘What time’s dinner?’
‘I’ll put it on in an hour. DCI Fleming won’t stay with you too long, will he?’
‘No, I’m sure he’ll only be a few minutes. I told him to be here for six.’
Helen went back inside and Trenchard returned to his thoughts as he watched a passenger boat coast by. Loud music and laughter suggested it was a party cruise. Some people looked across and waved. Waving back, Trenchard took a sip of his gin and wondered why Fleming wanted to speak to him again. He’d seemed to accept that he couldn’t remember the other men on the photograph he’d shown him.
Helen calling from the house interrupted his thoughts. ‘DCI Fleming’s here, darling.’
On his drive down to Henley-On-Thames, Fleming was going over things in his mind. Calder’s heart attack was bad news. He had no desire for the man to live other than the fact that it would make his situation much worse if he died. Maybe Logan will have managed to find out from DS Crowe if he’d made any progress in finding the men who had assaulted Calder. Watson was behind it. Of that Fleming was sure. But if he was, he was taking a massive risk. Why?
Then there was the big risk he was taking himself, having arranged to meet Charles Trenchard again despite Temple warning him off. And he had no authority since she’d suspended him. His whole career could be at stake, but his gut instinct told him it was a risk worth taking. From what Logan had told him, no one else was going to go anywhere near the man.
Fleming put his thoughts to one side as he parked his Porsche on the gravel driveway in front of Trenchard’s house. His wife showed Fleming through the house to the lawn at the back where he could see Trenchard sitting looking out towards the river. She shouted to him to let him know his visitor had arrived.
Trenchard rose from his seat and turned to face Fleming. He offered a hand and smiled. ‘Chief Inspector Fleming, how nice to see you again. Do come and have a seat. Enjoy the view.’
Fleming shook hands and joined Trenchard at his table.
Trenchard lifted his gin and tonic. ‘Can I get Helen to get you one? Or perhaps something without alcohol?’
‘That’s very kind, but no thanks. I won’t take up much of your time.’ He nodded at the open laptop. ‘I can see you’re busy.’
Trenchard smiled. ‘Afraid so. Preparing a speech for tomorrow.’ He tilted his head. ‘I must say I was somewhat surprised you wanted to speak to me again. I wasn’t able to help you with the people on your photograph and don’t see how I can be of further assistance.’
Fleming chose his words carefully. ‘I went to see Giles Bonner…’
‘Who?’ Trenchard asked innocently without taking his eyes off Fleming.
‘He was one of the men in the photograph I showed you a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Ah, yes, of course he was. Sorry, I forgot. Name doesn’t mean anything to me.’
‘No worries.’ Fleming hesitated before speaking again. ‘The only thing is… he remembers you.’
Trenchard’s eyes narrowed and he met Fleming’s steady gaze. ‘Really? I’m sorry, I still don’t–’
‘From your army service in Afghanistan,’ Fleming prompted.
‘Yes, quite, you’ve just reminded me he was in the photograph. But as I explained to you before, I don’t remember him. Nor could I possibly remember the names of all the other people in Afghanistan who appear in photographs with me. I didn’t know half of them very well. This chap… Bonner, you say… must have a better memory than me.’
The Fifth Suspect Page 22
