Prodow was nearing retirement, and knew that this was likely to be his last major enquiry. Since joining the Police straight after his national service, he had an industrious career climbing the promotions ladder slowly on merit, which endeared him to junior officers and not as some of his counterparts, because of those they knew. That’s not to say he didn’t know the right people: he had mixed with some of the best in the country and had done jobs for them, which had resulted in quiet recognition. Now that this was likely to be his last major enquiry before retirement, he was extremely cheerful that it was an open and shut case. He was going to go out on a high note and he was going to use the press to get his name some prominence so if he did decide to get another job, people would remember him.
The prospect of work did not currently appeal to him as his kids had flown the nest: literally one to America to work and the other to Australia to get married and live in the sun. Joan, his long-suffering wife of the past thirty odd years was the only likely reason for him to seek further employment. He needed to get away from her for a few peaceful days each week. This had already been at the back of his mind, but he could play golf twice a week which would achieve the same result with the benefit of a lower handicap.
Prodow noticed Whiles apparently comatose and smiled to himself at what the others may have thought about him. Opening his murder book at a new page, he wrote the date and time of the office meeting and said in his characteristic booming voice, “Right Mr Groves fill me in.”
18
Monday 6th June 2011
Vilf was one of life’s losers. His Mother’s accent had caused the harried registrar who recorded his birth to write down Vilf instead of Wilf. He’d grown up in Chelsea. Not living in one of the thousands of nice houses that made the place famous, but in a small housing association flat on the Peabody estate occupied by his emigre Mother and a succession of boyfriends. His Father wasn’t known by either of them and neither much cared. The Council seemed to like his Mother and showered her with as much money as she appeared to want, which she quite happily accepted. Most of it went to fuel her Heroin addiction and the rest was mainly spent on drink and cigarettes. Very little was left for food and Vilf suffered in his younger life with rickets, but as he grew older he became a proficient shoplifter. Slowly, he built his strength up until he was fifteen when his Mother overdosed on Heroin and left Vilf with nothing, except a strange name.
The Council didn’t like Vilf as much as his Mother and basically told him not to sponge off the taxpayer and get a job. For some reason the housing association didn’t like him either and kicked him out. Vilf drifted for two years living on the streets by begging and stealing whatever he needed. He met like-minded people who took him under their wing and taught him how to steal cars and sell them to bent dealers for cash in hand. The more money he made from it, the more he wanted. It didn’t take long until he acquired a shotgun.
He was not a competent armed robber. Over the years, he occupied cells in prisons up and down the country. Nearly everyone he trusted shat on him if they could benefit from doing so. On his last excursion as a free man, he was renting, with stolen money, a luxury top floor flat overlooking Tower Bridge when he met a woman who thought he was rich and promptly married him. As soon as she realised her mistake, she started to look for a truly rich man and slept with every potential candidate. When she found the ‘man of her dreams’ it didn’t take her long to get Vilf to rob a small Post Office and let the Police know which one and when. The Police paid her what she considered a derisory sum of £2000 for the information that sent Vilf to Maidstone Prison.
She visited just the once to tell him she was getting a divorce. Vilf told her where he had stashed some £12000 that he’d stolen and said she could take it. Sometimes Vilf could be a real gentleman. Women were his weak spot, and he always tried to do right by them however badly they treated him. When ‘banged up’ he was always a model prisoner showing the officers respect and never getting into any trouble. Then within three years he had been moved to Ford open prison ready for his release two years hence. But since the day the Police put the handcuffs on Vilf, the one thing that had been gnawing at the back of his mind was, who had grassed him up: although in his heart he knew.
Seven weeks at Ford was enough for Vilf. His cell mate was some obnoxious foreigner who had a smuggled phone hidden in his cell and charged fortunes to anyone who wanted to use it. Sometimes when he wanted a secretive conversation he spoke in Russian believing what he said was secure. Vilf saw no reason to dissuade him. He would often find the foreigner’s conversations enthralling, and could occasionally hear parts of the other person’s utterances. Somehow the man had an endless supply of booze for which he charged way over the odds. Vilf soon established from the phone exchanges that it was left by an insecure part of the perimeter security fence. It didn’t seem to matter in an open prison whether the fence was secure or not as lots of the prisoners went outside the main prison during daylight hours.
Vilf believed there were more foreign languages being spoken there than all the other prisons he had been in put together. It was purgatory. All the home grown criminals seemed to be in ‘proper’ prisons and all the foreigners and ‘nonces’ were in the open ones. He walked out of the front gate of the prison in the morning at 9 as though to go to a gardening session across the road. Stealing a car within the hour, he was in Central London by midday. Dumping the car, he walked the half mile to a house where he had previously laid low. There he put the final touches of his plan in place.
As the day’s de-briefing was in progress, Vilf had a stolen car parked for a quick getaway and was burgling the first of three houses in Petworth. It was in the third house that he found what he wanted – a double barrelled shotgun. The unlocked garden shed provided the hacksaw that took the barrel down to the length of the fore stock and removed nearly the whole of the stock. If he had realised that the weapon was an antique Purdy worth a couple of thousand pounds, he didn’t care as he had a plan and wasn’t going to deviate from it. Just because there were no cartridges to go with the gun did not matter because when he had pointed sawn off shotguns at people before, they tended to do what they were told whether it was loaded or not.
19
Monday 6th June 2011
Groves expected the question, but to have been put in such a terse and abrupt way shook him slightly. He stuttered as he tried to gather his thoughts and looked anxiously around the room as if seeking succour from one of the sets of eyes that were boring into him.
“Start at the beginning” boomed the gruff voice of Prodow, “it will be easier for all of us.”
Prodow had only met Groves at the start of the enquiry some five weeks earlier, and had come to the quick conclusion that he was only just up to the job and had probably been over promoted.
“Well as we all know on the 3rd May, George Armstrong was found dead at his home as a result of poisoning by one of his neighbours.”
The interruption by Whiles came as yet another blow to Groves, mainly because he thought him to have been asleep,
“I think you mean that a male known as Mr George Armstrong was found dead at his home address in Barnham on 3rd May 2011. Death was caused by poisoning, and Mr Chaplin, who was a neighbour, found the deceased.”
He was livid that a scruffy, unkempt excuse for a detective had the gall to interrupt and correct him while apparently asleep and still making no effort to open his eyes. Groves had been an efficient DC (Detective Constable) and very capable DS. On promotion to DI, his career seemed to have come to an abrupt halt. He had landed in an office behind a desk which was alien to him, and his main priority seemed to have shifted from solving crime to rebuking junior officers, and enforcing discipline. All his credibility was slowly evaporating. Years of meritorious service were slowly going down the tubes, and he could do apparently nothing to stop it.
Prodow let Groves off the hook. Smiling again to himself he said, “OK we know the basics” and then addressin
g Jimmy Green, “How are you doing with the exhibits?”
Jimmy knew the question would be posed at some time and was ready. “We completed the full search of the bungalow on 4th May and among the exhibits I have are the broken pencil and diary, a crumpled tissue, some plaster casts of footprints and tyre marks, some cups and saucers, samples of carpet, tapings, all his clothing and other bits and bobs from around the bungalow.”
Prodow winced visibly at the ‘bits and bobs’ reference but said nothing as he tried to understand the point of all the seized exhibits.
Jimmy was now getting into his stride. “With Mr Groves and DC Tindle, I attended the Post Mortem which was carried out by the Home Office pathologist,” and Jimmy paused checking his note book before continuing, “Mr Stubbins. I took possession of samples and fluids of Mr Armstrong’s internal organs which I submitted for toxicology to the Laboratory at Huntingdon. They have confirmed poison, but they seem reluctant to identify which one and say they want to consult an outside specialist. We still await their written report. I’ve got the pictures of the scene from the photographic department, if you would like to see them?”
Jimmy, without waiting for a reply, gave a thick album of photographs enclosed in a blue bound cover emblazoned with the logo of Sussex Police to Alison who duly passed them forward to the next person in order that they reached Prodow who like everyone else in the room had seen them already.
“I’ve got the finalised video as well if you would like to see it later?”
Prodow nodded his acquiescence, beaten into submission by Jimmy who had hardly paused to draw breath.
“Have you got the bottle of poison?”
Jimmy said, “Oh yes sir, one of the first items, found on the floor in the shed. It’s still at the lab. Fingerprints on it have been identified without doubt as those of Olivia Munroe and I’m expecting full reports and statements within the next couple of days.”
Prodow said, “Good work. As soon as you get the confirmation from the lab, let Mr Groves know and he will tell me.”
Groves was still seething as he realised his name had been used and he hadn’t followed the reason why.
Prodow scowling at him said, “When Munroe was interviewed, did she admit anything at all?”
“Nothing. Carly and Zabroski conducted all three interviews and Munroe had the duty solicitor for all of them who had told her to say nothing.”
Again, the interruption came but not from Whiles, from Paul. “Governor, you’re forgetting the verbal statement she made to the arresting officers in the custody centre when she said she’d put the bottle in the shed.”
Groves could have kicked himself; he’d never have forgotten that when he had been an active detective. The only thing she’d said of note and he had overlooked it because he was flustered.
Prodow looked at him in utter disbelief and then totally ignored him as he asked Paul, “Can you arrange transcripts of all the taped interviews with Munroe?”
“Already in hand sir and they are due back tomorrow with covering statements.”
“Good. I want you to listen to them for anything else that may have been missed.”
“Consider it done sir.”
“Thank you Paul. Anybody else got anything they want to add?”
Someone discussed the statement from Mr Chaplin saying his age and shock had made it difficult and perhaps an additional clarifying statement should be obtained, and then other witness statements were mentioned and run through without incident. Paul was jotting occasional notes on his pad as actions required were identified or sprang to mind. There were still a couple of minor outstanding statements to be obtained, but the majority of the investigation had been completed. Statements from some specialists were still awaited, but required no further work from the MIT officers.
Prodow closed his murder book having written various notes within it. He brought the proceedings to an end by telling everyone that because nearly everything had been done, he was just keeping Paul and Doreen the typist to run the office with Jimmy as the exhibits officer and John and Alison as the enquiry team. He confirmed he still wanted the HOLMES (Home Office Large Major Enquiry System) operator at Brighton to continue to liaise daily with Paul and visit the Chichester office once a week. The civilian operator was not best pleased but held her counsel. Thanking everyone profusely for their professionalism and efficiency, he told them once all their paperwork was completed they could all return to their respective duties in three days’ time. Although he had no authority to do so, in effect, he was giving them all a day off without actually saying so.
Groves could not understand why John and Alison were being kept on the enquiry when there were so many better detectives there in his opinion. He didn’t know that Alison’s father was a personal friend of Prodow and some months prior to the outset of the enquiry had contacted him with a problem. Because of this, Prodow arranged for his daughter to be assigned to what would be her first major enquiry, and John to be attached to it instead of returning to his duties with the Met.
As the officers again began to chat amongst themselves, Prodow called above the rising din to Jimmy, “Can you set the video up?”
But the answer came straight away from Paul that it was all ready to go in the conference suite and briefing room on the first floor directly below the office they were in. Prodow was always impressed with Paul, and had often seen him as the office manager on various major enquiries in Sussex. Paul had been appointed to the Armstrong murder enquiry as soon as Prodow knew he was to lead the investigation and he knew that the temporary office would be set up and running in no time.
“Good man. Let’s go and look at it. Anyone else who wants to see it: downstairs conference room in 5 minutes.”
20
Monday 6th June 2011
The sunken, recovering eyes of Whiles snapped open, looked around and latched onto Alison. She had her auburn hair neatly cut and short enough not to get in her way. Her eyes were clear and vibrant green whereas his were bloodshot and dull brown. Her lips were thin and had a hint of lipstick and looked as though they were about to burst into a smile, and her eyebrows were enhanced with fine ‘pencil’ strokes. His eyebrows were bushy and needed thinning and his tight chapped thicker lips had a slight gloss applied via a stick when he remembered. Her cheeks were prominent with a very slight blush as opposed to his puffy ones. Her nose was small and slightly upturned and his was roman, broken and reddish. Alison had clear and smooth skin with a perfect tan obtained from the sun and John just had weather-beaten features from time spent outdoors. His face was host to a couple of scars which when he exerted himself, showed up redder than the rest of his face. John could see she was very pretty, about five feet six inches and of an athletic stature with honed features from regular visits to a gym but not what women’s magazines would refer to as beautiful. On the other hand: John was just over six feet tall and had gone slightly to seed and if commented on, claimed he had ‘passed a gym in the car but was too busy to stop’. Her clothes were neat and stylish and suited her. John knew he was no style setter as when shopping for clothes he always bought the first item that fitted. He knew that Prodow would have had a reason to keep them both on the enquiry and he guessed that Alison’s Father, who he also knew, had a hand in it.
In the late sixties, both Whiles and Graham Daines had been Police cadets together at Ashford Cadet School prior to joining the Metropolitan Police. They had become firm friends and joined the Police proper on the same day, but after initial training at Hendon, went to different inner London Police Stations. During their service, they had met on various occasions, and at one time worked together on the RCS (Regional Crime Squad) for seven years in a team of ten travelling all over the country doing jobs relating to enquiries emanating in the Met. Due to their successes, they were called upon quite regularly to conduct covert enquiries for the Home Office. The team had all kept in touch and they often met up somewhere for a reminisce with a pint or two.
Bo
th had attended each other’s wedding, although due to his work, Whiles soon parted from his wife, while Daines went up the promotions ladder with his wife by his side who gave birth early in the marriage to their daughter. Whiles was aware that Graham was a deputy to the City of London Police Commissioner, and having spoken quite recently to him, knew that he had an application in, and was likely to be promoted to Chief Constable of a Midlands Police Force.
Alison also wondered why she had been retained on the enquiry, as she was not yet a confirmed detective, but then she didn’t know Prodow and her Father knew each other, and she was definitely not privy to their original discussion. Her sharp eyes latched onto John’s sunken bloodshot ones and she thought to herself, ‘Why on earth am I going to have to work with him.’
As if in response, John said to her, “That’s us; we need to see this video.”
Paul, John, Alison and Jimmy ambled down to the conference room on the first floor, where on arrival, Paul went to the VCR player, picked up the remote control and then joined the others seated a few feet from the drop down large white screen. Some of the officers from the MIT sat about at the back more out of curiosity than to learn anything new. Everyone had already watched the video at least once before. Prodow and Groves came in together and sat directly in front of the screen as the others shuffled their seats so they could see it unhindered.
“OK Paul, start it when you’re ready.”
Paul, as a precursor said, “This was taken by the photographer approximately one hour after the body had been discovered. The Doctor had already attended and pronounced life extinct, and he may have moved the corpse when he examined it, but he is adamant he hardly touched it and returned it to how he first found it. Both statements from the Doctor and Photographer are already on the file.” The image burst into life as Paul set the video in motion.
An Urgent Murder Page 5
