Chameleon

by Michael K Foster

  It had to be him!

  Twenty minutes later, after arriving at the old colliery school, Martin had already put the works repair incident to the back of his mind. Now sitting behind an old school desk, he was experiencing what it would have been like to be a ten-year-old boy in Victorian times. Back in those days, teachers were very strict, and young boys and girls were not allowed to talk unless spoken to. There were no pencils or papers, only a small piece of white chalk and a slate board to scribble your classwork on.

  Rucksack in hand, it was time to head home. It had been a wonderful experience, and a day full of surprises – in more ways than one. Standing in the queue for the bus, a woman driver in a straw boater sped past in a beautiful horse and trap. Dressed in Edwardian costumes, the passengers sitting in the back of the open trap all waved across at them.

  Then over the crest of the hill, two buses appeared. One was red with an open top roof, the other blue and closed in. All of his life Martin had dreamt about riding on an old bus, and now his dreams were about to come true. As the red bus screeched to a halt in front of them, the queue surged forward. Not everyone was going to climb on board, of course, that much was obvious. When the conductor finally stuck his arm out to signal it was full, all eyes now turned towards the blue bus.

  Just as the red bus reached the crest of a hill, the boy froze. Panic gripped him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It was the man from the repair works and he was sitting on the upper deck.

  ‘It’s him, Dad,’ Martin called out tugging on his father’s sleeve.

  ‘Who, son?’

  ‘The man from the repair works.’

  Eyes straining through sunlight, his father peered into the distance towards the fast disappearing red bus. But that wasn’t all, there was surely something more sinister in all of this – the man was waving back at them and smiling.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It felt good talking to DS Savage over lunch and following yesterday’s incident at Beamish Museum they both had plenty to talk about. They’d been searching for connections and finding too many – each seemed to cancel the other out. The team was clutching at straws, and the longer this went on, the further they were distancing themselves from the facts. There were too many lose ends, and not enough hard evidence to go on. Having carefully considered his options, the most crucial piece of information they had to work on was the car that Martin Kennedy had spotted in Chopwell Wood. If all the doors were locked and the engine kept running, it meant the vehicle had probably been hot-wired. If not, the suspect had a spare set of keys.

  Had he missed something? He wondered.

  Mason swirled the remains of his coffee and mulled over the facts. All things being equal, he had taken an instant shine to young Martin Kennedy. The fact they’d both come from similar backgrounds meant they could level with one another. He knew how tough it was to live on a rough council estate, especially when money was tight. School kids were highly competitive at Martin’s age, and if you didn’t wear the latest designer shoes and carry a cool backpack to school, you were ostracized. Adolescents could be cruel, and research had shown that bullying ran rife in schools. Maybe society had itself to blame for creating its own social outcasts, as few people gave a damn about those living below the poverty line.

  ‘What’s the Area Commander’s view?’ Mason asked thoughtfully.

  ‘The canteen gossip is that Gregory is siding with DI Gamble, or that’s the impression she gives. The boy’s an unreliable witness in her eyes, and she’s sticking to it.’

  ‘And what about the rest of the team? What do they think?’

  ‘We all agree the boy should be moved to a safe house,’ Savage replied.

  Mason’s plan, such as it was, was to focus on the barrister’s last known movements. It had been a hard slog, and the more he delved into Margaret Coopers past, the more concerned he was that something wasn’t right. Everything was legally tied up in her husband’s name. Their three-million-pound house, their holiday home in Cornwall, even their expensive cars. But why would a well-educated barrister allow her husband to take such control of her life? Things didn’t stack up, and according to the Coopers’ family solicitors, her husband had taken out a one million-pound life insurance plan on his wife’s life.

  With alarm bells ringing in his head, Mason sat back thinking.

  ‘I’m still convinced this was planned.’

  ‘What is your biggest concern?’ asked Savage.

  ‘This life insurance plan that Laurence Cooper took out on his wife.’

  ‘Do you think this could have a bearing on the case?’

  ‘Either he’s a cunning sod, or his wife was a damn fool.’

  ‘I doubt she was a fool. She was a top-class barrister from what I can gather.’

  Mason stared at Savage. ‘As a general rule of thumb, if a life insurance policy is purchased within two years before a suicide takes place, death benefits will not be paid out.’

  ‘So, he won’t receive a penny in other words.’

  ‘That’s my understanding of it.’

  ‘What about his first wife?’ Savage quizzed. ‘Did he take out a policy on her?’

  ‘Not according to his solicitors, although he did manage to retain most of the family assets but only after a long protracted legal battle through the courtrooms.’

  Savage paused in thought. ‘Having lost his first wife under tragic circumstances, he could have genuinely been thinking about his daughters future.’

  ‘Who knows?’ Mason shrugged. ‘But why put everything in your husband’s name?’

  ‘That’s how some people roll, I’m afraid. They trust their partners implicitly.’

  ‘Even so, it still doesn’t account for her walking out on her family as she did.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t.’

  The Chief Inspector pushed back in his seat and sipped his coffee. How a barrister could slip under the radar for three whole days had left him completely baffled. As he flipped through the casefiles in search of clues, he puffed up his cheeks and blew out a long steady breath.

  ‘According to the law register,’ Mason explained, ‘Margaret Cooper had spent the past five years working at the Sanderson Law Chambers. I’ve been there on several occasions in the past and can vouch they’re a reputable organisation. They don’t come cheap.’ Mason gave a shrug. ‘Cooper’s specialisms were prosecuting on all aspects of crime and she was no mug. Educated at Bristol University, she worked as a level 4 prosecutor and mostly for the CPS. Appointed Recorder in 2010, she sat in the County Courts throughout the North-East circuit and in London. A highly respected barrister in her field, she dealt mainly with criminal and regulatory cases including murder, manslaughter, death by dangerous driving and fraud. According to work colleagues, she never avoided awkward issues. What is of interest, though, is that she’d dealt with civil actions against the police on several occasions.’

  ‘What exactly is a level 4 barrister?’ Savage asked.

  ‘Level 4 advocates will have established a reputation for excellence among court users, including the bench. They also deal with rape and serious sexual abuse casework – that type of offending.’

  Savage raised his eyebrows a fraction. There was no mistaking the sergeant’s interest levels had heightened. ‘An experienced advocate and woman of standing by the sounds.’

  Mason closed the case files in front of him. ‘Has anyone else on the team spoken to the Sanderson Law Chambers lately?’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours that DI Gamble paid them a cursory visit, but nothing untoward came of it. She was delving into Cooper’s personal background, I’m told. Who she mixed with, who she socialised with after work. . .’

  ‘Looking for a seedier side no doubt.’

  ‘If she was, she didn’t find one.’

  Mason leaned over the table and lowered his voice. ‘What about past and current cases that Cooper was working on? Did Gamble mention anything about those to you?’

  ‘
Not to me she didn’t. If she did raise the question with the law clerks, then she never mentioned it at any of her team briefings.’

  Mason drew back. ‘That’s odd. What if Margaret Cooper had been threatened in her line of work?’

  ‘Even if she had, Gamble would never have mentioned the likes of that to us.’ Savage screwed his face up. ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’

  ‘No. Not at this stage of my investigations.’

  ‘Oh! Is there something I don’t know?’

  Mason brushed the sergeant’s comments aside. ‘Perhaps I should pay Sanderson Law Chambers a visit.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘If Cooper worked mainly for the CPS, she’s bound to have locked more people up than she ever set free.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘And there’s some nasty people out there.’

  ‘It’s highly unlikely that someone would threaten a barrister, don’t you think?’

  Mason shrugged. ‘Those bastards give us plenty of grief, Rob.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Savage said, pointing down at the case files. ‘She was a highly successful barrister in her field, so there must be plenty of angry prisoners behind bars.’

  Savage was a good honest copper. He wasn’t a specialist at anything, more a jack of all trades. A dapper man, late thirties and former boxing champion who knew how to handle himself. Mason liked him, and they always got on well together. Some words were best left unsaid, though, especially where DI Gamble was concerned. He would need to tread carefully, work around the fringes and see what he could uncover.

  ‘Okay, it’s agreed. I’ll talk to Sanderson’s.’

  ‘It’s a strange one, boss.’

  Mason cocked his head to one side as he spoke. ‘My money would be on some other dark secret the barrister was holding. Someone close to her.’

  ‘A legal colleague perhaps?’

  ‘Could be––’

  Savage thought a moment. ‘What about this black vehicle the boy spotted?

  ‘There’s nothing on the Police National Computer’s stolen vehicles register.’

  ‘That’s odd.’

  Mason made a little sweeping hand gesture. ‘I’ve heard that Sanderson Law Chambers were broken into recently.’

  ‘Really. DI Gamble never mentioned anything about that at her briefings.’

  ‘They targeted a watch repair workshop next door, apparently, but nothing of any value was taken – which seems rather odd when it’s in the same building.’

  Savage chewed on a biscuit in thought. ‘Has the boy said anything more to you?’

  ‘I’m still not convinced the man he saw at Beamish Museum is the person from Chopwell Wood.’

  ‘Having read his father’s statement, he was ninety percent convinced.’

  Mason laughed. ‘Do you know what a jury would call that. . . reasonable doubt. Martin’s a bright kid, and I really like him, but he does tend to live in his own little fantasy world at times.’

  ‘Tell me a ten-year-old boy who doesn’t.’

  ‘You’re right, and that worries me.’

  ‘Gamble believes he’s an unreliable witness.’

  ‘Really?’

  Savage looked at him oddly. ‘Mind, she does seem to be spending an awful lot of her time in Gregory’s office these days.’

  Mason thought about it, but not for long. Maybe there was a plot to oust him from his current position as head of serious crime after all. Carrington had a point, and a good one at that. What if he failed his fitness test? What then? He was leaving himself wide open for failure instead of tackling the real issues. He would need to get himself back to full fitness again, clear his head of negative thoughts. If ever he was going to make a comeback, he would need to give Gregory good reason to think differently.

  Mason looked at his watch. ‘Anything back from forensics?’

  ‘Nothing to write home about.’

  Mason stood to leave.

  ‘There is one other thing,’ said Savage. ‘When are you in front of the Police Medical Board?’

  ‘Twelve days’ time – Friday the fifteenth.’

  ‘Fingers crossed they pass you fit for duty and you take back control of the case.’

  ‘Let’s see what the medical board say first.’

  Savage looked at him oddly. ‘Why, is there a problem?’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sanderson Law Chambers was housed in a grade 2 listed building close to the River Tyne, and the medieval All Saints Church. For those lucky enough to live and work in this part of the city, it was easy to take for granted the sheer architectural scope and historical range of the buildings that graced the area. Newcastle has a proud architectural heritage, including the 12th century Norman castle which gave the city its name, through to the Jacobean buildings and modern development of the twenty-first century that graced the Quayside.

  The barrister’s clerk room was rectangular, with a low ceiling, customised furnishings, and a large Georgian central window overlooking the River Tyne. From where he was standing, Mason could see the Tyne Bridge foundations but not the upper structure. Expensive glass fronted bookcases ran the full length of one wall, and a meeting table occupied a central position. On closer inspection, tasteful period framed portraits of bewigged judges and legal advocates filled the walls, giving the room a distinct professional feel.

  ‘Thank you,’ the barrister’s clerk said, staring down at their warrant cards with an element of theatrical panache. ‘What brings you here today?’

  ‘The late Margaret Cooper,’ Mason began. ‘I believe she was part of this practice?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Grainger replied. ‘I presume your presence here today is in follow-up to Detective Inspector Gamble’s call earlier this week?’

  One of the more prominent clerks who worked in the building, John Grainger was a medium built man, with a high forehead and sharp swarthy features. Mason detected a soft American accent, but finally settled for Canadian. Pleasantries exchanged, the two detectives took up seats opposite and made themselves comfortable. He would have preferred to attend alone, but DC Carrington had prearranged the appointment and he was more than happy to tag along with her.

  ‘The fact is,’ Mason began, ‘Margaret Cooper died under suspicious circumstances, and we’ve been instructed by a coroner to carry out further enquiries.’

  Grainger shook his head in sympathy. ‘Such a tragic loss, and so young!’

  ‘I’m surprised DI Gamble never mentioned anything to you about a possible suspicious suicide?’

  ‘Not in as many words, Chief Inspector,’ Grainger admitted. ‘If anything, we talked more about Margaret’s position here at the Chambers. Who she mixed with, that sort of thing.’

  Mason smiled but did not push the matter further.

  ‘I take it you have some important questions to ask me?’

  ‘We do,’ Mason replied. ‘How much do you actually know about the case?’

  The barrister’s clerk raised his eyebrows a fraction. ‘That’s always a difficult one.’

  Mason considered this and opened his notebook at the desired page. ‘In which case let’s begin with Friday 10th June.’ He smiled then looked serious for a moment. ‘After Margaret failed to return home from work that evening, her husband was naturally concerned. He made a few frantic telephone calls to family and friends and when she still hadn’t returned home the following morning, he reported her missing to the police. Where Margaret spent the next few days we have yet to establish, but on Tuesday 14th June, we discovered her body in Chopwell Wood. Found hanging from a branch with a cord wrapped around her neck, she had lain dead there for twenty-four hours according to the Coroner’s report.’

  The barrister’s clerk clasped his hands on the desk in front of him, as if to jog a memory. ‘Such a tragic ending.’

  ‘I understand that Margaret was a ‘level 4’ prosecutor and was involved in a number of high-profile cases here in the North-East,’ said Carrington. ‘What typ
e of cases was she involved in?’

  ‘That shouldn’t be too difficult,’ Grainger replied. ‘May I ask why you would need such information as it’s not normal practice to discuss forthcoming cases openly.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Carrington confided in her notes. ‘The people she was dealing with, her so called clientele, could have been involved in her disappearance.’

  ‘You’re not ruling out foul play then?’

  ‘Let’s just say we’re looking into every avenue at this stage.’

  Grainger pushed back in his seat. ‘In all the years I’ve worked in the courts, I’ve never come across anything like that before.’

  ‘There’s always a first time,’ Mason interrupted.

  ‘Indeed.’ Grainer leaned forward and wrote something down on a notepad. ‘Leave it with me, I’ll pull a few case files together including the ones that Margaret was working on.’

  ‘That would be helpful.’ Mason nodded.

  ‘The one thing that has always puzzled me about Margaret’s death, was her mobile phone.’

  Carrington shot Mason a glance. ‘What about it?’

  ‘After her disappearance we tried ringing it on several occasions, but it was always dead.’

  ‘It’s our view it went missing at the same time as her handbag did. Neither have been recovered.’

  ‘Ah, that would explain. We thought her phone battery may have gone flat,’ Grainger replied.

  Mason thought a moment. ‘The listed cases that Margaret was working on. What can you tell us about them?’

  ‘Not a lot. I do know she experienced difficulties contacting one of the key witnesses in a major fraud case she was working on. A hedge fund auditor, called Stephen Rice. Other than that, I would need to check through the case files.’

  ‘What kind of difficulties?’ asked Mason.

  ‘Nobody knew where the witness was, apparently.’