Chameleon

by Michael K Foster

  ‘And when is the case due before the courts?’

  Grainger seemed keen to engage. ‘Not until September, I believe.’

  They spent the next twenty-five minutes going over the details. It was a slow, laborious process, but after searching through the barrister’s Outlook calendar, a bigger picture emerged – and one with surprising consequences. On the day Margaret Cooper went missing, she’d called in at a secretary’s office to pick up a bundle of case files that she’d been working on. Nothing out of the ordinary, Mason thought, but an hour later, at 10.00 am, she was last seen leaving the building and heading towards Newcastle city centre. It was this aspect that immediately caught Mason’s attention, and on checking further he noticed a single entry scribbled against Friday 10th at 1:00 pm: must ring “R”.

  ‘Any idea what this could mean?’ Mason quizzed.

  Grainger took a sip of water from a glass and stared up from behind his desk. ‘No, sadly, we don’t. Everyone here at the Chambers has racked their brains ever since. Whatever or whoever “R” refers to, it’s obviously an abbreviation of some sorts.’

  ‘That’s strange,’ Carrington said, shaking her head. ‘How would you describe her general demeanour that day?’

  ‘She seemed anxious.’

  ‘Agitated perhaps?’

  ‘No, more apprehensive than anything.’

  Mason felt his shoulders slump. ‘What about the case files she’d picked up from the secretary’s office that morning, could they have caused her concern?’

  ‘Margaret was a top barrister, Chief Inspector, so I doubt anything of that nature would have worried her.’

  The Chief Inspector took his time before continuing.

  ‘This witness who has gone missing, Stephen Rice. Could he be the “R” that Margaret Cooper was referring to in her Outlook calendar?’

  ‘Definitely not. Rice is a hedge fund auditor who seemingly used his position to make substantial loans to holding companies in the British Virgin Islands that were never repaid. What we do know is, the loans were illegally controlled by a Russian bank according to the Crown Prosecution Service, but the defence continues to deny it.’

  ‘Sounds complicated,’ Mason said, pen posed.

  ‘It is, very!’ Grainger frowned. ‘The case was originally scheduled for the High Court in London but was transferred north with a three-month delay owing to some technical hitches. I don’t have all the details readily at hand, but I do recollect there being some major British household names involved, including a brewing giant, a well-known hotel chain, and several reputable property companies.’

  ‘Quite a range?’

  ‘Indeed. The last I heard the National Fraud Intelligence Bureau was involved, but that’s as much as I can tell you at this point.’

  ‘The NFIB.’ Mason shrugged. ‘It must be serious.’

  ‘I would have thought so.’

  ‘These technical delays, what were they about?’ asked Carrington.

  ‘When the case first came to our attention, it was claimed the extent of these illegal money transactions totalled somewhere in the region of fifty million pounds. The Crown Prosecution Service wasn’t happy about it, and after further investigations were carried out by the NFIB, they uncovered several basic mathematical miscalculations.’ Grainger smiled. ‘The CPS were right, of course. It was closer to half a billion pounds.’

  Mason sucked air through clenched teeth. ‘That’s a sizeable chunk of money.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And this missing witness, Stephen Rice. I take it he was assisting the CPS?’

  ‘He’d turned Queen’s Evidence apparently, which further complicates matters.’

  ‘What do we know about his background?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Detective Chief Inspector. I’m not privy to that kind of information. Although I do recollect that Margaret was heavily involved in trying to establish Rice’s whereabouts.’

  ‘It sounds as if this hedge fund auditor has some vital information to present before the courts,’ Carrington added.

  ‘No doubt he has,’ Grainger replied. ‘But only time will tell.’

  A memory tugged Mason. ‘This recent break-in at the watch repair workshop, what can you tell me about that?’

  ‘The building was broken into over the same weekend that Margaret went missing.’

  ‘Would this be Monday 13th June?’

  ‘Yes, and that’s when the police were notified after the security system had been activated.’

  ‘I presume the watch repair workshop is part of the building?’

  ‘It’s an old storeroom at the back of the premises, but it does have its own access.’

  Mason made a few notes and tapped his pen against the side of his notebook in thought. ‘And when did the police first arrive on the scene?’

  ‘Around nine o’clock that morning – a Detective Inspector Swan from Police Headquarters in Ponteland was heading up the case.’

  ‘Do you know if anything was stolen?’

  ‘Not as far as we know.’

  ‘The alarm system is linked, I presume?’

  ‘Not to the watch repair workshops it isn’t.’

  ‘So how was the alarm system activated in the first place?’ asked Carrington.

  ‘The person responsible had obviously opened an adjoining door according to DI Swan, which automatically triggered the alarm.’

  Mason felt they were onto something. ‘Do you happen to have the crime report number handy?’

  Grainger read it out to them, and Mason jotted it down.

  ‘Anything else, Chief Inspector?’ Grainger said, looking at his watch.

  There was nothing more to be gained, Mason thought. Not now, at least. Pleased with their findings, the two detectives stood to leave.

  ‘You’ve been most helpful,’ Mason said, holding out a hand.

  Grainger shook it, and then said, ‘I’m only too pleased to be of assistance.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Carrington replied with a smile.

  They left into bright sunshine, much the wiser.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Northumbria Police Headquarters July 2016

  DI Archie Swan was a former Military Police officer who had served two years in Afghanistan with the NATO-led International Security Force (ISAF). A tall man, standing six feet two, he still carried that untrusting look in his glances as though a bad guy was lurking around every street corner. Swan was old school and had worked with Jack Mason on several occasions in the past. Not one for mincing his words, he was typical ex-military and never flinched away from the action.

  ‘How are the old war wounds doing nowadays?’ asked Swan.

  ‘I’m in front of the medical board next Friday,’ Mason replied. ‘Fingers crossed, I’ll pass with flying colours.’

  ‘You’re not walking very straight.’ Swan grinned. ‘You look all lopsided from where I’m standing.’

  ‘By the time I fill myself full of painkillers, I’ll be jumping through hoops on the day of the examination.’

  ‘Tread carefully, Jack. Those bastards know what to look out for. After I broke my leg in a motorbike accident, they put me through my paces before declaring me fully fit for duty again. It was a right old carry on, and they had me crawling around on all fours in the end.’

  ‘If they try doing that to me, I’ll probably end up barking at the bastards.’

  Swan roared with laughter.

  ‘Sounds about right coming from you.’

  ‘Better than being stuck in an office twenty-four-seven.’

  Swan remained silent for a minute, but Mason sensed another useful nugget of information was about to come his way. ‘This robbery at the law chambers you asked me about, it wasn’t highly organised in my view. Whoever broke into the building was obviously an opportunist.’

  ‘What about fingerprints?’ Mason asked.

  ‘No, nothing. We did manage to lift a set of footprints close to the watch repair workshops though.’


  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘He didn’t wear forensic overshoes that’s for sure.’

  ‘Did he steal anything?’

  ‘That’s a strange one,’ Swan replied, shaking his head. ‘If it was jewellery he was after, then he left all the expensive stuff behind. It’s my guess he was specifically targeting something and didn’t find what he was looking for. There again, once he’d triggered the security alarm he probably left in a hurry.’

  ‘Could it have been made to look like a robbery, do you think?’

  ‘In what respect?’

  ‘Staged.’

  ‘Why would a bungler want to do that?’

  ‘What if he was using the watch repair workshops as a diversionary tactic, whilst targeting the law chambers next door?’

  ‘I very much doubt it. According to the barristers’ clerks nothing was stolen.’

  ‘What about CCTV footage?’

  ‘It was disarmed.’

  Mason thought about it, still not convinced that this was an opportunist thief. Okay, so nothing was taken in the way of material goods, but what if vital information had been stolen? He knew it was a long shot, but during his ten years working with the Metropolitan Police he’d come up against that sort of scenario before. Some perpetrators would attempt to confuse forensic investigators by staging a crime scene and disguising what really took place.

  He took out his notebook and flipped through the pages. ‘Those footprints you recovered,’ Mason said. ‘Can you e-mail the details?’

  ‘Yes, of course. What are you hoping to find exactly?’

  ‘It may not be much, but something tells me this break-in could be linked to the barrister’s suspicious suicide.’

  ‘Tampering with the evidence––’ Swan pondered his statement.

  ‘It’s highly unlikely, I know, but you need to cover every avenue in this game.’

  ‘Hmmm. What gave you that idea?’

  ‘One of the cases listed for September has come up against difficulties. A key Crown Prosecution Service witness has gone missing, apparently.’

  ‘Cold feet, do you think?’

  ‘Probably.’ Mason nodded. ‘But it’s strange that two people involved in the same trial and representing the CPS are either dead or have gone missing!’

  Swan thought a moment. ‘What other arrangements had the barrister made?’

  ‘The day she went missing, scribbled against her Outlook calendar for 1:00 pm, were the words: must ring R.’

  ‘Who the hell is R?’

  ‘That’s the million-dollar question, and nobody at the Chambers has the foggiest idea. Whatever and whoever “R” stands for, it’s the last known point of contact we have to go on.’

  Swan frowned. ‘What about her court listings that day?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  Mason gave DI Swan a brief overview of what he knew so far – the money laundering scam, the people involved, and the details about the missing hedge fund auditor, Stephen Rice. Sadly, little else was known about the man. If there was a connection to be had, and Mason believed there was, he would need to find Rice. . . and fast.

  Sweeteners, Mason thought. What if someone had got at Rice and bribed him to steer clear of the case? He knew those kind of deals took place, and that some prosecution witnesses could be open to intimidation. No, Mason thought. The problem the CPS were faced with, was that Rice was a key witness. Without him, they were treading on thin ice.

  It wasn’t looking good suddenly, and there were far too many grey areas for his liking. When DI Swan had finished his story about his views on the law chambers break-in, it sort of backed his thinking up. If the perpetrator was trying to steal or even copy vital case evidence, it would clearly strengthen their hand against the CPS.

  His mind clearly made up, Mason was convinced the break-in at the law chambers had been staged. It had to be. This case wasn’t as easy as he first thought; no wonder they were struggling.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jack Mason stood in front of DI Gamble’s crime board in Gateshead Police Station and cringed. Four weeks into the case, and not a lot to write home about. A few new post-its, several spider strings leading to a few potential suspects of interest, but nothing to send his adrenaline racing. He wished he could be more involved, liven things up, but knew that was impossible in the current situation. Despite all his efforts, DI Gamble was deliberately turning her nose up at him and complaining about his lack of cooperation. She had a point, of course, but he was damned if he was going to give up his position without a fight. He was the senior officer, after all, but that didn’t mean a thing in the grand scheme of things.

  The case had taken a turn for the worse, and now the media had got its teeth into the barrister’s suspicious suicide, they were making life extremely difficult for everyone.

  ‘Morning, boss,’ DC Carrington said, looking up at him from behind a cluttered desk.

  ‘Updates on the Chopwell Wood suspected suicide?’ Mason asked.

  ‘Funny you should mention that. The desk sergeant has just received a phone call from one of Cooper’s neighbours claiming to have seen a blue Ford Kuga parked outside the barrister’s house on the day she went missing.’

  ‘I thought we’d already interviewed neighbours? What time was this?’

  ‘Around three o’clock––’

  ‘Do we have a registration number?’

  ‘According to DVLA it belongs to Richard Drummond, a senior lecturer at Newcastle University,’ Carrington replied.

  Mason held her gaze. ‘Why come forward at this late stage in the proceedings?’

  ‘The witness sounds a bit doolally if you ask me. What she perceived she saw and what actually took place could be two different things, of course.’

  ‘Mmm! She must have her suspicions about something. If not, why write down the car’s registration number, colour, make, and model.’

  ‘Fancy a ride out to Darras Hall to revisit the Coopers?’

  ‘Thanks all the same, but I’m meeting the Area Commander in ten minutes’ time.’ Mason was quick to signal his thoughts. ‘There’s an awful lot of expensive properties over in Darras Hall, and most of them are covered by private security companies. It might be worth running it past the tech boys first. You never know, you might save yourself an awful lot of legwork.’

  ‘Thanks, boss.’

  Mason nodded. ‘Let me know how you get on?’

  Plans were shaping up, and Mason was really looking forward to Friday’s appointment with the police medical board. His strategy, so much as it was, was to ease back on the drink for a couple of weeks and spend more time in the gym. His physio had warned against rushing back into the thick of the action, which was easier said than done. Stuck in an office pushing paperwork around all day wasn’t good for his morale.

  Despite all the recent setbacks, there was a new spring in his step as he strolled towards the Area Commander’s office that morning. God, he felt good. The moment he poked his head around the office door, he winced. Like a gallery of achievements, Gregory’s walls were graced with certificate awards, photographs of major events, and pictures of him meeting the Queen. Mason hated celebrity status, believing it a self-indulgent act of pomposity.

  ‘How are you these days, Detective Chief Inspector?’ Gregory said, barely lifting his head.

  ‘Couldn’t be better, sir. I’m before the medical board on Friday.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I’d almost forgotten about that.’

  Charming, Mason thought. It seemed the Area Commander had more important matters on his mind. It was time to make his presence felt.

  ‘I can’t wait to get my teeth back into real crime again,’ Mason smiled.

  ‘Let’s see what the medical examiners have to say first.’ Gregory put his pen down and stared across at him. ‘Any more thoughts on taking a short holiday break?’

  ‘Nothing planned.’ Mason shrugged.

  ‘You’re missing a golden opportunity, Chief Inspector. You’
ll never get a better chance to take time off. A few weeks in the sun and you’ll feel a different man.’

  ‘It’s not my scene. Besides, I’ve got far better things to do with my time.’

  Gregory stared at the open case file in front of him. ‘So, you think this barrister’s death could be linked to the fraud case she was working on. What’s the rationale behind your thinking?’

  ‘Something’s not right. First a key prosecution witness goes missing, then the law chambers are broken into on Newcastle Quayside. If that wasn’t bad enough, the lead barrister involved in the Crown Prosecution’s case commits suicide in suspicious circumstances.’

  ‘I’m not sure DI Gamble would agree with you on that.’

  Mason pulled his chair up.

  ‘Oh. And why not, sir?’

  ‘No doubt you’ll have read her latest report.’

  ‘With all due respect, I’m not at all happy with the way DI Gamble is conducting the operation.’

  Gregory thought for a moment. ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘I’ve asked her on several occasions to consider transferring the boy to a safe house, especially after the Beamish open-air museum incident.’ Mason took stock. ‘The problem is, if the Chopwell Wood suspect turns out to be connected to this hedge fund auditor’s sudden disappearance, the boy could be in grave danger.’

  Gregory’s eyes were drawn to a stack of papers on his desk. He picked them up, thumbing them through with a flurry. ‘I had considered the option of moving the boy to a safe house, but having discussed the matter with DI Gamble, I fear that Martin’s not a credible witness.’

  ‘He’s a ten-year-old child for God’s sake.’ Mason huffed.

  ‘That’s the point.’

  ‘Let’s not forget it was Martin who initiated the case in the first place.’

  Gregory looked puzzled, then affronted. ‘Yes, but according to child psychology experts, Martin is prone to exaggeration and habitually overstates the truth. Even after a team of trained child support specialists spent hours working with the boy on suspect facial recognition, his account of what took place in Chopwell Wood was all over the place.’

  Mason raised his hands as in surrender. ‘I’m obviously missing a trick here.’