by Alan Fisher
“But what about moving the bodies? Why take the risk? And why a bin? They travelled miles to dump each of the bodies, so there must have been a reason” said Robbie.
“Again, I think that this is partly to do with controlling when the information gets out. Leaving the bodies in a hotel would mean the information would leak almost immediately. Leaving them in remote areas, particularly industrial bins, suggests a probable time delay. But I think there might be another reason and that connects with the CCTV footage from the hotels. When McMillan knocks on the door to the room in the hotel, you can see a startled reaction. But he doesn’t make a run for it, he enters the room. Whether or not he knows the killer is unclear. But I think the killer opened the door already armed. We know McMillan was stabbed, but if the killer had opened the door with a knife in their hands, he could still have run. So I think the killer may have opened the door with a gun in their hands”.
“Then why stab him, why not shoot him? Noise perhaps?” said Robbie.
“Possibly, but think about what happened next. The body was wrapped up and dumped in a bin. McMillan and Robertson were taken from their respective hotels unconscious and dying, but not dead. There is a time lag between each of the victims entering the room and being carried out in the rug. More time than would be needed to stab the victim and wrap up the unconscious body. My guess is there was some history between the victim and the killer, and the killer wanted to make sure the victim was reminded of that. I think that history might be the key. This wasn’t just a simple act of revenge; this was planned so that the killer was in complete control. The killer wanted, no, needed, to get up close and personal with the victim. When they were dumped in a bin and left to die, the killer saw the action as “taking out the trash” as the Americans like to call it. This is how the killer sees the victims, trash. I think this is a highly motivated individual. The murders are revengeful, and deeply personal, the killer wanted to look them in the eye before killing them. As I said it had to be up close and personal, nothing else would do. And I don’t think it’s about money, I think it might be more than that”.
“But you don’t know who?”
“No, not yet. But McMillan and Robertson were involved in something that happened to the killer, something so personal that it drove him or her to seek revenge in a way that made them suffer and made sure that before they died they knew what was about to happen. And they needed to let someone else know that these people had been killed, they needed to send a coded message, a playing card. And the only connection to the playing card message is what’s in this photo. Somehow, there’s a connection between the killer and this photo”.
No-one said a word. Debbie wasn’t even looking at Oliver, she was looking at the doorway where Jack had appeared at some point, out of sight of Oliver.
“Just caught the end of that Oliver, sounds like you have been busy over the week-end, but I’d like to hear the bits I missed. I can confirm that we’ve a third body, and it looks like the same killer. We need to get out to the Kitty Brewster Industrial Estate just outside Blyth town centre, in Cowpen. Oliver, you’re with me. The rest of you know what we need to do and from the little I’ve heard, you’ve a much better idea of who we’re looking for. Bear that in mind as you ask your questions. From what I’ve just heard from Oliver, it sounds plausible, the people in that photo hold the key. And I’m afraid you’ll have to join the rest of the team on their search Debbie, because there’s no need to look for Van der Klerk. I’m afraid it’s his body that’s just been found”.
Chapter 42
The early morning train pulling into Kings Cross Station at 9.02am on Monday morning was less than fifteen minutes late and DS Jason Glover was one of the first passengers to leap from the train when the doors finally opened.
He’d taken the precaution of taking a small overnight bag with him in case he needed to spend more than one day in the capital but, even though he knew how much work lay ahead of him, he’d decided to travel alone and left DC Cuthbert to trace the whereabouts of the Councillors on the Planning Committee from the 90’s so that they could be interviewed later.
Awaking at 4.30 to catch the 5.52am train to London, he’d dressed for the bitter cold of the North East when he’d seen the white frost decorating the roads outside his bedroom window, a decision he now regretted. The white covering of the fields had disappeared before the train had arrived in Darlington, and he noticed passengers boarding the train at Peterborough were dressed more for a Spring morning than a bitterly cold winter’s day.
He quickly made his way to the underground station so that he could join the other ten million people, or so it felt, all trying to get around London at the same time from the same underground station. London was not a place he liked, or felt comfortable. It was just too full.
He eventually made his way through the crowds and found the platform from where a tube would take him to Victoria Station. From there he knew he would have to change trains and find one to take him to East Croydon; a short, but hopefully quick, taxi ride from there would take him to the Land Registry Offices.
He waited, admittedly impatiently, as the platform filled until there was barely any breathing room left and he felt himself being jostled along with everyone else, closer and closer to the platform edge.
Mercifully, a train arrived before he went over the edge. But when the doors opened he felt as if he was almost lifted off his feet and carried onto the train. Before the doors shut with the last few passengers squeezing in, he was rammed up against a window and there was barely a credit card width between his nose and the pane of glass. The smell from a nearby armpit made him gag and he yearned for the fresh sea air of his home on the outskirts of South Shields.
After a forty five minute journey, a change of trains, a short taxi ride, and experiencing some of the worst smells ever to engage his nose, he finally made it to the front doors of the Land Registry Offices.
His request to examine the archive records, made at the reception desk, was clearly not an unusual one because within five minutes he was assigned a young girl called Kim, of Asian extraction he thought, to assist him.
She explained quickly on greeting him that he would never be able to navigate the complexities of the filing system and she would guide him through the process until he’d found what he was looking for.
With some trepidation he followed her through a maze of corridors and down a number of flights of stairs into a basement that looked about the size of a football pitch.
“Are all the records for the country stored here?” he asked Kim, not holding back his amazement at the size of the place.
“Oh no” she replied, “these are just the records for Northumberland and Durham. We have other rooms that hold all the other records”.
“Right then” he said, astonished. “Where do we start?”
Kim had been right about the complexities of the filing system and when he’d completed his task five hours later he knew that, left to his own devices, he’d have taken weeks even to find one file.
The results though had been informative. He now had a full list of all of the owners of the plots of land from 1985 right through to the present day. What was unique, although not a complete surprise, was that every single one of the plots had travelled through the same pathway. Starting with the purchase by Tudor Enterprises, they had all gone through several differing company and corporation ownerships until they finally arrived in the ownership of a company called York Holdings. From there the paths had diverted towards the current owners.
It was clear that someone had put a lot of time and effort into moving these plots through multiple corporations, undoubtedly in an attempt to cover their tracks. But he’d uncovered it all, and his suspicions had been confirmed.
The cherry on the cake had come in a text from DC Debbie Swan around lunchtime. The text had informed him that she’d discovered that the majority of Justice Robertson’s wealth had come from a company called York Enterprises. The same
company that had held ownership of the plots until they were sold to their final and current owners. It was a connection, but not enough. He needed to show that the connection related to all of the dealings, not just the last one.
He checked his watch; it was just after 3pm. He knew the next stage of the process was to find out more about these companies and corporations. He needed to see who was involved. Who might have been the directors or held shares in the companies. There was only one place to get to the bottom of that, Companies House. And that just happened to be in Oxford Street in London.
Time was tight but he didn’t want to leave London until he’d resolved everything, so he thanked Kim for her assistance and left to make his way back to the centre of London and, hopefully, time to go through the records at Companies House.
But the journey back to the centre of London proved more troublesome that the journey out. By the time he arrived at Oxford Circus tube station, it was already 4.30 in the afternoon. He made his way quickly to Companies House and managed to see a middle ranking officer, Karl Newman, and explain his needs to him. But, as he expected, Karl explained that he was going to need more time than was available that day, he’d have to return the following day.
Reluctantly, but grateful he’d had the foresight to anticipate the event, he thanked Karl and made an appointment for the following morning. But with nowhere booked to stay overnight, Jason asked him if there was a hotel nearby, with reasonable rates of course, that would be likely to have a room for the night.
Advised by Karl that the hotel with the best rates, and close by, was the Travelodge London Covent Garden, ten minutes’ walk away, he set off to find the place.
He was hungry, having skipped lunch in favour of trying to compete his work at the Land Registry as early as possible, and he felt tired from all the travelling.
But as he weaved his way through the evening shopping crowd on Oxford Street, he wondered what to do about ringing Jack.
He’d had no contact from anyone that day, other than the text from Debbie Swan. He felt he should call Jack, if nothing else just to find out what was happening back at headquarters. But as he reached the Travelodge, he decided otherwise.
The net was closing on the consortium connected to the fraud and he was the one who would achieve that. No, he would wait until he had all of the information before calling in. Because fully armed with all the facts, he’d make a striking impression.
Chapter 43
The car journey from headquarters to the Kitty Brewster Industrial Estate near Blyth took Jack little more than half an hour to complete and he took full advantage of the time with Oliver to hear a full rendition of Oliver’s thoughts and theories about the two murders.
Unlike the rest of the team, Jack did not ask any questions during the briefing, or make any comment at all. Instead he simply listened to what Oliver had to say, and when he finally pulled up in the car park in front of the small shops on the estate, made his first comment since they’d left the office.
“And you came up with all that lot over the week-end did you?”
“No, of course not sir. I’ve been making notes from the beginning and trying to piece things together as new information appeared on the board or from various briefings. Although I was only instructed to work on small pieces of the case, I was curious and I wanted to make sure that, if I was asked, I had at least some inkling as to what might be going on. I wasn’t even sure if I had all the information available until Friday and when I looked at it all on Saturday, some things fitted but some other things didn’t. It was only when I was out walking on Sunday morning that something hit me that made most of it come together. But just because it fits doesn’t mean it’s accurate. Most of my suppositions are just guesswork at the moment”.
“You were curious” said Jack in a tone of exasperation.
“Of course sir. Wouldn’t you be? Whatever role you had to play”.
“The team seem to be convinced by your hypothesis”.
“Some of it sir. I think they found the proposition that McMillan and Roberson had nicknames of the Jack of Diamonds and the Jack of Hearts a bit of a stretch. And it probably is, but it was all I could think of. If there’s some other reason for leaving a card in the victim’s mouth, I just can’t see it”.
“Nothing to do with gambling then”.
“Not for me sir. Even from the discovery of the first body on day 1, I doubted it. If someone held gambling debts for a politician and a judge, wouldn’t they keep that as possible future leverage rather than kill them? No, these murders are just too personal, and there does not appear to have been any attempt to extort or recover any money, which you would expect if the motive was gambling related”.
“I follow your thinking; it makes perfect sense. But we can’t ignore the allegations in Campbell’s file, and I need to justify the fact that I’ve got DS Glover running around London looking into the land fraud aspects”.
“And I’m sure if there is something to find, he’ll find it. I’m just not sure that anything he may find will be connected to the murders”.
“Well for what it’s worth, I think you might be right. And to be fair, your hypothesis on the methodology of the murders is sound. It certainly explains all the nuances of the case, but we still lack a motive, and more importantly, a suspect”.
“Not unusual is it sir,? At this stage I mean”
“No, but Superintendent Fox is getting twitchy. The high profile nature of the victims is bringing pressure from on high and you know what that means. We need to show we’re making progress, some names or something would help to alleviate the pressure”.
“We’re a bit off that yet sir, is he not satisfied that we have a number of leads to follow?”
“Not really, he was already anxious before the week-end, but this third body has started the “cover my back” syndrome. It’s all on me and we’ve sat here long enough. Grateful as I am for your input, we’d better crack on. Let’s see if Gordon has anything different for us”.
The pair headed across the car park to the end of the buildings where a cordon had been created around the industrial bins on the corner. Jack ducked under the tape and moved to where Dr Gordon Crosby was kneeling beside the body of a large man laid out on a sheet of plastic over a rug. Oliver kept close behind, but before anyone spoke he could clearly see that this latest victim was the work of the killer they were chasing.
He looked down at the body of an elderly man, probably in his sixties he thought. Slightly tanned skin and short grey hair revealing a receding hair line, the victim was dressed in a leather jacket, jeans, white t-shirt and black shoes. The deep red stain on the t-shirt told everyone looking, exactly how he’d died.
“Morning, or is it afternoon already?” said Gordon without looking away from the body. “And young Cole graces us with his presence. Called in the big guns eh Jack?”
Jack ignored the jocular barb and moved into Gordon’s eyeline. Oliver stayed where he was, he didn’t need a better look. But he thought it polite to acknowledge that he was there.
“Morning Dr Crosby, it’s good to see you too. And it is still morning, just”.
Gordon turned his head and nodded an informal greeting to Oliver.
“Not want a better look?”
“No thank you sir, unless there’s something different about the body you’d like me to look at” said Oliver.
“There isn’t, but something tells me you knew that already” said Gordon returning to face the victim.
“Anything on the body?” asked Jack.
“If you’re asking if he was robbed, then the answer is no. His wallet and his jewellery, including his watch, are still with him. But there’s no phone, although it’s possible he didn’t carry one”.
Jack glanced across at Oliver, they both knew what that statement meant.
“Nothing new at all then Gordon?” asked Jack from the edge of the rug.
“Sorry Jack. It all looks identical to the first two bodies
I looked at. I have no doubt it’s the same murderer but I’m afraid the only thing different in this case is the playing card left in the victim’s mouth” said Gordon, leaning over to his case to extract the transparent evidence bag with the card in it.
Jack took the bag in his hand and looked at the unrolled playing card.
“The Jack of Clubs” he said, and he looked directly at Oliver almost knowing what he was thinking.
“Juste Van der Klerk, owner of a string of night clubs in the late 80’s and early 90’s. The Jack of clubs? It was beginning to look as if his initial wild theory could be closer to the truth than he’d first imagined” thought Oliver
“Well if there’s nothing new” sighed Jack.
“Sorry” said Gordon, “bit of a wasted journey I suppose. For you anyway”.
“No matter. Reports?”
“Will be with you tomorrow morning, photos will be available before you get back to headquarters” said Gordon as he peeled off his gloves. “Any nearer to catching whoever did this, or can I expect more of the same?”
“We’re following a couple of leads, but I rather think there will be more victims if we don’t find him soon” said Jack almost apologetically.
“I’m sure you’ll catch him Jack, you always do. And now you have young Cole back on the team, shouldn’t be too long either by my reckoning” smiled Gordon.
“Cheers Gordon, ever the optimist. Thanks for your help, see you later”.
“Let’s make it much later Jack, if we can”.
Jack turned and left the scene with Oliver a few paces behind him.
As they drove back towards headquarters both Jack and Oliver were unusually quiet. Oliver was processing the revelation of yet another playing card and looking for other options as to what it might mean. But the coincidence of Van der Klerk having been left with the Jack of Clubs in his mouth was too strong.
