by OMJ Ryan
‘Did Vicky ever get to the bottom of it?’ asked Phillips.
‘No. Claire dropped off the radar and wouldn’t answer her calls or emails. Vicky even went round to her house to have it out with her, to see if they could work it out and get her her job back, but Claire wouldn’t let her in and told her she couldn’t speak about it for legal reasons. That really hurt Vicky. They’d worked together for a very long time and she’d thought they were close. Anyway, after that final snub, Vicky gave up trying and they hired someone new into the role. I think her name was Shaw.’
‘Cindy Shaw. I’ve met her,’ said Phillips. ‘When I went to see Jennings, she was there.’
‘Vicky hardly ever spoke about her. She was Jennings’s hire, so I don’t think Vicky was all that taken with her, to be honest.’ Townsend stubbed out his cigarette and folded his arms. ‘So where do we go from here?’
‘Well, you should get back to work and I need to get back to Ashton House,’ said Phillips, ‘see what I can find on Jennings.’
31
Back at Ashton House, Phillips strode into the squad room with purpose, but was stopped in her tracks when confronted by her team, slumped at their desks looking sorry for themselves. Jones in particular, with his gaunt features and bloodshot eyes, looked exhausted and mentally drained.
‘Well, you’re a sorry bunch, aren’t you?’ said Phillips as she dropped into the chair at the spare desk.
‘Sorry, Guv, I’m just knackered,’ said Jones. ‘This jet lag is killing me.’
Bovalino rubbed his face with his thick hands, causing the skin to redden. ‘We’re getting nowhere with this case, Guv. This Zhang Shing fella is like a bloody ghost; there’s nothing on him anywhere.’
Phillips rapped her knuckles on the desk. ‘Well, keep looking. He’s involved in Carpenter’s murder, I’m sure of it.’
‘But look where?’ said Bovalino. ‘I’ve tried everywhere.’
‘What about Interpol?’ said Phillips. ‘Have you tried them?’
‘Er, no.’
‘Well you haven’t look everywhere then, have you?’
Bovalino’s cheeks flushed slightly.
Phillips turned her attention to Entwistle. ‘Who do we know at Interpol?’
‘No one currently, Guv. My contact moved on recently, over to Intelligence.’
‘Well, it’s time you made some new friends there, then. Get onto Interpol and get reconnected. And call your mate in Intelligence. You never know, they may have something on Shing that could help us.’
‘Consider it done,’ said Entwistle.
‘Bov and Jonesy, I want you to dig into Eric Jennings’s background.’
‘As in, Jennings from the Council?’ asked Jones.
‘That’s the one. Carpenter’s old boss. I’ve just caught up with Don Townsend, and he claims that Victoria believed he was on the take, accepting bribes to get projects and developments signed off in the city centre.’
‘I can believe that; he seemed like a slippery bugger when we met him,’ said Jones.
‘That’s how Townsend described him too – or words to that effect. If Carpenter was killed because she got in the way of the St John’s development, as the leader of the Planning Department, he could very well be connected to this whole mess. So, let’s see what his life looks like. You know the drill: career history, finances, known associates, etc., and see if you can track down his movements on the night Carpenter was killed. If he drives a car, what is it and where was it that night? The same with his mobile phone.’
Jones and Bovalino nodded in unison as their postures straightened, their focus renewed.
‘Shout up as soon as you have anything,’ said Phillips as she stepped up from the chair and headed for her office.
It was well after 8 p.m. when Bovalino knocked on Phillips’s office door. She glanced up from her laptop. ‘What have you got for me?’
‘You’d better come and have a look at this, Guv,’ he said with a grin as he beckoned her out into the squad room.
Phillips followed him to his desk where he retook his seat, then angled the computer monitor in her direction. ‘I checked the DVLA records as you asked. Jennings is the registered owner of a four-year-old black Volvo XC60, registration Whisky Bravo 66, Tango Charlie November. I ran that through the ANPR database on the night of the 11th of August, and guess where it shows up?’
‘Outside Carpenter’s house?’ said Phillips, praying they could be so lucky.
‘Not quite, Guv, no. But it was caught on camera in Didsbury – which is only half a mile away – half an hour before, and again ten minutes after the estimated time of death.’
‘Jesus. That’s bloody brilliant, Bov!’ exclaimed Phillips as she slapped him on the shoulder.
‘Well, that’s no coincidence is it, Guv?’ said Entwistle.
‘No it’s not,’ said Phillips with a knowing smile. The fact she didn’t believe in coincidences, and would constantly remind people of that fact, had become a great source of amusement to the team over the last few years. ‘Is there any footage that might put him near the house at the time Carpenter was killed?’
‘Nothing that I can see,’ said Bovalino. ‘His car was captured on the ANPR cameras on Wilmslow Road, in the heart of the village, heading towards Parrs Wood at 7.45. We don’t see it again for forty minutes, and then it reappears at 8.25, going back towards Withington, before turning left on Barlow Moor Road towards Chorlton. We pick it up again as he goes left down Palatine Road, at which point we lose it.’
‘So where did he go during those forty minutes?’ asked Jones.
‘There are any number of back roads around that area that he could have used to double back towards Withington,’ said Entwistle.
‘What about his phone? Do we know where that was?’ said Phillips.
Jones shook his head. ‘No. I’ve identified his number, but I can’t get access to the mobile-tower records until the morning. There’s nobody in at this time of night that deals with that sort of information.’
‘There’s something else, Guv,’ said Bovalino.
Phillips eyes widened with anticipation. ‘Yeah?’
The big Italian opened a file on the screen. ‘The ANPR database also pulled up a car using plates taken from a SORN vehicle. This red Vauxhall Astra is carrying plates from a Volkswagen Golf.’ He tapped the screen with his pen.
Phillips stepped forwards to take a closer look at the number plate. With the proliferation of CCTV and ANPR cameras actively tracking car registration plates, more and more criminals had resorted to using plates taken from cars with the statutory off road notifications, making it impossible to trace them after the fact.
Bovalino continued, ‘I mean, what are the chances of a car fitted with dodgy plates travelling through Didsbury around the time of Carpenter’s murder, and at the same time as Jennings’s car was seen there?’
‘Slim to very slim,’ said Phillips.
‘Totally,’ said Bovalino.
‘This is great work, Bov, really great.’ Phillips looked at her watch; it was coming up for 9 p.m. ‘It’s late and there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s go home, get some rest, and get back on it tomorrow first thing. Jonesy, I want you to come with me to see Jennings in the morning.’
‘Ok.’ Jones nodded.
Phillips continued, ‘Entwistle, you pick up where Jonesy left off with the mobile phone companies. I want to know where he was during that forty minutes, preferably before we talk to him. So get onto them as soon as they’re operational.’
Entwistle made a note in his pad. ‘Will do.’
‘Bov, you keep digging into Jennings’s background. See what his finances look like. His salary should be a matter of public record. Check his incomings for anything that looks unusual. What’s his mortgage like? Has he bought any fancy toys recently?’
‘On it.’
Phillips clapped her hands together and headed for her office. The case was starting to open up. She could feel it in
her bones. She was back in the squad room a moment later, wearing her jacket. The team had begun to shut down their various laptops and PCs.
‘Well done guys,’ she said with a wide grin. ‘I think we’re finally getting somewhere.’
32
Early next morning, as Phillips and Jones made their way across Albert Square towards Manchester Town Hall, Phillips put a hand on Jones’s arm. He stopped. ‘Before we get any deeper into this whole thing, I just wanted to check how things are with you and Sarah?’
Jones’s shoulders sagged. ‘Not great. I spoke to her last night on the phone and we ended up having a blazing row.’
‘What about?’
‘That’s just it,’ said Jones. ‘It was over something and nothing. One minute we were fine, and the next thing I know, she said something about how many hours I’ve been working lately…and I lost my temper.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘The reality is, what she was saying was right, but I couldn’t control my anger.’
Phillips nodded. ‘Look, I’m not gonna get all Dr Phil on you, but what we saw in Hong Kong when Wong was murdered, that was incredibly traumatic. It might have affected you more than you realise.’
Jones ran his hand through his hair and exhaled loudly. ‘To be honest, Guv, I don’t know what the fuck’s going on in my head at the minute. I can’t seem to get anything straight. My moods are up and down like a yo-yo.’
Up close, Phillips could smell last night’s alcohol on Jones’s breath. ‘Are you drinking?’
‘More than I should, yeah. It’s the only way I can get to sleep at the minute.’
After her own battles with anxiety and high levels of stress, Phillips recognised that kind of relationship with alcohol only too well. ‘Maybe you should take that time off that we talked about?’
‘There’s no point.,’ said Jones. ‘All I’d be doing is sitting at home stewing or drowning my sorrows. I’m better off at work; at least there I can keep busy.’
Phillips watched him for a moment as she pondered the best way forwards. She was conscious of him being exposed to too much stress, but at the same time she knew how dangerous it could be to send him home where he would be alone with his demons. ‘Ok. But if you get to the point where you’re feeling overwhelmed or things are becoming too much, you’ve gotta tell me, right?’
Jones nodded. ‘I will, Guv. I promise.’
At that moment Phillips’s phone began to vibrate in her coat pocket. She fished it out. ‘What have you got, Entwistle?’
‘I’ve spoken to Jennings’s phone provider. The last time it registered on the network as being used was at 6 p.m. on the day Carpenter died. It connected with the city centre transmitter on the top of the CIS building at 5.58, then disappeared.’
‘What do you mean it disappeared?’ Phillips asked as she walked slowly towards the Town Hall.
‘It stopped transmitting a signal, Guv, so it was either switched off or it ran out of battery.’
Phillips stopped, and Jones followed suit. ‘That’s convenient, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Entwistle.
‘So when did it reappear on the grid?’
‘Seven a.m. the following morning, at his home in Northenden.’
Phillips took a moment to process the information. ‘There’s no way any of this is coincidental. Jennings is involved. I can feel it in my bones.’
‘I think you may be right,’ said Entwistle.
‘Is there anything else I need to know before we go in and see him?’
‘One more thing, Guv. My mate in Intelligence came back to me. Sadly for us, Zhang Shing is not a person of interest. In fact, my mate had never even heard of him.’
Phillips blew through her lips. ‘Bugger, that’s disappointing.’
‘Sorry, Guv,’ said Entwistle.
‘Don’t worry about it. It was always going to be a long shot. Just make sure you get onto Interpol as a matter of urgency, ok?’
‘It’s my next call, Guv.’
Phillips rang off, and brought Jones up to speed as they continued walking towards the Town Hall. As they reached the main entrance, she placed a firm hand on Jones’s shoulder. ‘Right, Jonesy. I think it’s time to get in there and scare the shit out of Jennings, don’t you? Let’s see what information we can shake out of the slimy bugger.’
Jones grinned and followed her as she stepped inside the old building.
Jennings looked less than pleased to see them as his PA, Cindy Shaw, ushered Phillips and Jones into his office. His thin face twisted with disdain as he cleaned his glasses with a cloth. ‘So what can I do for you?’ he asked without getting up from his desk.
Phillips wasted no time in getting to the point as she took a seat opposite him. Jones pulled out his notepad as he took the seat to her right. ‘What were you doing in Didsbury on the evening of the 11th of August?’
Jennings stuck out his chin, barely masking his sneer. ‘The 11th of August? I don’t remember. Why, should I?’
‘It was the night Victoria Carpenter died, so yes, I’d say you should.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Oh yes. Of course.’
‘So, what were you doing in Didsbury?’
Jennings reached inside his suit jacket pocket and produced a small diary. He took a moment to flick through to the relevant page, then peered over the top of his glasses as he inspected the contents. A look of recognition flashed across his face. ‘Oh, yes. I was picking up some wine from the specialist wine merchant, Bartholomew’s. I go there once every couple of months.’
‘You live in Northenden, don’t you?’ asked Phillips.
Jennings’s eyes narrowed. ‘Er, yes.’
‘So why shop in Didsbury for your wine?’
‘Well, it’s hardly a million miles away from Northenden, Chief Inspector, and besides, as the name suggests, they’re specialists.’ His tone was more than a little patronising. ‘I happen to be very fond of their Croatian wines; in particular their Dingač from Pelješac. I buy a case of twelve each time.’
‘And they can vouch for you, can they?’ said Phillips.
‘Vouch for me? I’m sorry. Have I done something wrong?’
Phillips ignored his question. ‘Can they vouch for you?’
‘I’m sure they can, but why would they need to? What is it you think I’ve done?’
Again Phillips ignored his question. ‘How long were you in the wine merchant’s?’
Jennings shifted in his seat. ‘Er, I don’t know. About twenty minutes, maybe half an hour.’
‘That’s a long time to buy just one case, isn’t it?’ said Jones.
‘They were busy, and I like to browse whilst I’m there. They have a lot of guest wines that come in each month, and I enjoy seeing what’s new.’
‘Do you have the receipt for the wine?’ asked Phillips.
‘No. I pre-order online, so I just go in and pick it up.’ Jennings was clearly getting agitated. ‘Look, are you going to tell me what this is about?’
Refusing to answer his questions was part of Phillips’s strategy to unnerve him. She changed tack now. ‘Why was your phone switched off that night?’
Jennings recoiled. ‘My what?’
‘Your phone? It was switched off at exactly 5.58 p.m. that evening. Why?’
‘How do you even know that? And why on Earth do you want to know about my phone?’
‘Answer the question, Mr Jennings,’ said Phillips.
‘I have no idea. It probably ran out of battery. It’s ancient.’
‘Don’t you have a charger?’ asked Jones, playing his part in their carefully planned strategy to put Jennings on the back foot.
‘Yes, but it’s at home.’
‘Do you have your phone with you now?’ asked Phillips.
Jennings swallowed hard as a bead of sweat appeared on his large forehead. ‘Yes, it’s in my coat pocket.’ He stood and retrieved it, then handed it to Phillips.
Inspecting it, she cou
ld see it was indeed ancient – a gold and grey Nokia 6310i.
‘Jesus,’ said Jones, ‘did you get that on the Ark?’
Jennings appeared affronted. ‘I’m not interested in technology. A phone is for making calls, and that does it just fine for me.’
Phillips handed it back and changed tack again. ‘Do you know why anyone would want to kill Victoria Carpenter?’
Jennings’s mouth fell open. ‘Kill her? She committed suicide, didn’t she?’
‘We believe she was murdered – around the time your car was seen in the area,’ said Phillips.
Jennings protested. ‘Now wait a minute—’
Phillips didn’t let him finish. ‘Did anyone ever try to bribe you or Victoria in order to pass planning or rezoning applications?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Phillips pressed on. ‘In particular, around the rezoning of St John’s Gardens to facilitate a twin tower development worth £700 million?’
Jennings’s face flushed. ‘If you’re accusing me of taking bribes, you’d better have evidence Chief Inspector.’
Phillips remained stoic and stared into Jennings’s eyes. ‘And let me assure you, Mr Jennings, if you have been taking bribes, I’ll find it.’
Jennings’s eyes bulged. ‘Am I under arrest?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Then I think you’d better leave.’
Phillips stared at Jennings in silence for a long moment, then flashed a thin smile. ‘Very well,’ she said as she stood. ‘Bribery is a very serious crime, Mr Jennings, and murder? Well, the consequences are very grave indeed.’
