People ran to their cars and drove to the rear of the other units, and there they waited. Within minutes the van drove in unhindered through the open gate and then reversed up to the workshop. Gary jumped out and opened the roller type door. A DC watched from his hiding place and waited patiently until the door was completely open before giving the signal. That’s when the officers led by Murray drove round to the front blocking the van in.
Gary Simpson saw them coming and knew exactly who they were without being told, and ran inside the workshop hotly pursued, now on foot, by Murray and a couple of the officers from the first vehicle. He had set the door to close behind him but the failsafe mechanism which touched one of his pursuers stopped it still half open. They were all shouting who they were, which was really quite pointless, and called on him to stop. Inside the workshop it was gloomy with the weak rays of the rising morning sun entering via the half open door. Officers who had chased him in were struggling to see in the murky light towards the rear of the unit.
Slowly as their eyes adjusted they could make out benches along one of the sides and across the back of the workshop which were full of antique and modern tools. Electronic equipment and shelves of VHS tapes, CDs and DVDs lined the other side. He’d disappeared: somewhere near what looked like the main workbench for the computer side. Murray went to one end of the bench and an officer moved towards the other side.
Gary burst out from beneath the bench with an antique half inch wooden handled chisel in his hand which he rammed hard into Murray’s stomach and then withdrew it ready for use against others.
Murray went down.
Two officers grabbed for Gary Simpson’s arm but couldn’t hang on as the chisel was swung about and thrust at them in upward stabbing motions. They dodged and danced and an officer backed off with a gash on his face. Others moved forward and a can of pepper spray was discharged fully into Simpson’s eyes and nose with no discernible effect. Some of the officers had extended their batons and advanced cautiously towards him. One officer was already calling for an ambulance as he stood in a protective stance above Murray. Three officers rushed forward striking Simpson as hard as they could on the shoulder and upper body. The chisel slipped slightly from his hand, but was recovered quickly and waved menacingly at any advancing officer.
Prodow ran puffing into the workshop having abandoned his car somewhere in the middle of the units. Groves who had been in the car with him, ran in a few seconds later. Prodow moved to where Murray was on the ground holding his stomach and knew it was serious.
Groves approached the dancing adversaries and told all the officers to move back.
“One chance Gary. Put it down now.”
Gary Simpson looked at him in shock that one person might threaten him. Then he saw the four-foot piece of metal rod that was from the front of his garage that Groves now had in his hand. If he was hit with that, he knew it would hurt and he would not be able to use his small chisel against it.
He dropped the chisel.
“Now, get on the floor, on your belly, and with your hands behind your back.”
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Wednesday 15th June 2011
The paramedic who had been sitting in his marked car with the engine running was there within two minutes and did not like what he saw. The larger ambulance arrived quickly due to the hour of the day and the camaraderie emergency service personnel had for one another. Murray was stabilised by them all as they chatted over him. Still conscious, the pain was excruciating and getting worse. Murray was finding it hard to breath. Desperately, he wanted to curl into a ball because his body was telling him it would be best. The medics were insistent he tried to lay flat and he wanted to do what they said.
No jokes: laughter would do him damage. Paramedics from the ambulance conferred with their colleague and called for the helicopter. They wanted Murray taken to Southampton where there was a specialist working. St Richard’s, although nearer did not have a surgeon available at that time of day.
Shortly after, a helicopter was hovering over the unit and the cars were speedily moved so it could land. A woman of world weary experience wearing a red coat with the word ‘Doctor’ emblazoned across the back was first out. An officer led her into the unit where the paramedics were starting to struggle. Murray had passed out. A small pool of dark blood was already seeping from under him as they tried to stem it’s tide. She dropped her bag next to Murray as she knelt beside him. All his clothing had been cut open showing a small puncture wound in his abdomen, but where the chisel had been withdrawn, it had pulled bits of intestine out of the small hole. What other internal injuries he had they could only guess at. One of the paramedics was holding a drip which had been inserted as they set about stabilising Murray and giving strong pain relief in preparation for his flight.
Both the Doctor and the paramedics were talking to each other in what most of the listening officers thought was probably a foreign language. Gary Simpson was sitting on a work stool, handcuffed, watching the proceedings and being guarded by three of the biggest officers as they waited for a marked Police van from Chichester. On its arrival, he was escorted to the custody centre by the three officers and two additional uniform officers. When the Doctor and paramedics were satisfied with their temporary handiwork, Murray was lifted onto a stretcher by all the medical personnel and loaded into the helicopter, which was gone as soon as the Doctor was helped back on board by the pilot. Prodow and Groves went back to their car and agreed Groves should go to Murray’s side at Southampton Hospital as soon as he could.
They started the search of the unit at 7.25am after the helicopter had left, and kept the temporary exhibits officer busy as they seized and listed all the VHS tapes, CDs and DVDs. Prodow had taken on the mantel of team leader in Murray’s absence and watched all the media being ‘bagged up’ with growing foreboding. Due to the quantity, he could work out it couldn’t all relate to Armstrong and Masters.
How many others? This was starting to turn into a nightmare! He knew the CC (Chief Constable) would have to be told and he was going to have to hold some of the officers back to conduct more enquiries. The CC he knew, would probably be more concerned about Murray. He could not retire so soon now. Then it started to drizzle.
‘Bollocks’.
A young uniformed officer reluctantly approached him. He’d never engaged in conversation with such a senior officer before, other than his Dad. How to start.
“Excuse me sir.” A slight tremble in his voice.
“What?”
Nervously he pressed on.
“Murray deputed me to search the van if it was present here at the briefing this morning.”
“Well, get on and do it.”
“No sir, I mean I have searched it.”
“Then I suggest you go and help the exhibits officer.”
“No sir. I do not seem to have made myself clear.”
Prodow glared at him. “Spit it out.”
“I’ve found a few items.”
“Go on?”
“There’s a bird box with a small camera in it hidden under a toolbox, and a set of index plates hidden in a lid of another equipment box.”
For a few seconds, Prodow glared at him.
“Show me.”
They both walked to the van and the young PC Robertson pointed out the index plates and where he had found them hidden. Then pulling a fixed tool box away from where it had been mounted, he showed Prodow a previously hidden compartment which housed a birdbox.
“I haven’t touched either of them sir.”
“Why did Murray depute you to search the van?”
“I think he knows I am interested in going on traffic sir.”
“When you get back to the office, give Paul your name and contact details.”
“Have I done something wrong sir?”
“No. Any other vehicles that ever need searching: you’re going to be called first. I don’t know how you found these, but Murray had justifiable faith in you. Well done son
.”
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Wednesday 15th June 2011
At the house, the search was relatively easy and the single occupier present, Sally Simpson, was being as co-operative as possible. She had permitted entry to Police knocking on her door at 6.30am and took very little interest at the proffered view of the search warrant or her copy. On being asked, she explained to the officers that the study was shared between her and her husband Gary. He had his paperwork for his business on one side and she had hers on the other. Joint paperwork could be anywhere.
The woman detective asked, “What do you both do?”
“He has an alarm company and I am a social worker at Chichester.”
The officer and two others sat in the study and systematically started to go through all the paperwork. It was to take them over two hours.
In the filing systems, they found paperwork relating to Sally’s previous employment as a chemist at Boots. All Gary’s bills and invoices and customer particulars. Details pertaining to people under the supervision of the social services at Chichester. The detectives knew that the information should never have left the security of the local authority and was also subject to Data protection. The list of names continued to grow as more papers were unearthed. Then they came across the personal papers including individual bank statements and joint bank statements going back just over ten years. Each officer was ‘bagging’ and recording seized items that they considered of note. At the conclusion of the search of the study, there was a two foot high large pile of exhibit bags on the floor.
One of the officers searching the kitchen had come across a large jar in one of the cupboards under the sink that looked like the sort used by brewers. It was over half full with a clear liquid.
He called to one of his female colleagues and asked if she had any idea what it might be. Neither could decide and summoned the SOCO. Paul who was accompanying Sally about the house was called.
The officer who had found it said, “Can you please tell me what this liquid is?”
Sally looked at it and dismissively said, “That’s distilled water. I buy it in bulk and use it in my iron. Tap water is really hard in this area and furs it up. Distilled water makes the iron last longer.”
Both the SOCO and detective nodded slightly, and Paul moved on to another room with Sally.
Once she’d left the room, the officer said, “That’s bollocks. No one would buy distilled water in bulk. Can you take a sample?”
The SOCO who often worked with the officer said, “I knew you were going to ask.”
Before he did, he took several photographs of it in situ.
Sally Simpson was taken to Worthing Police Station at the end of the search of the house at 10.35am. At the workshop, the search, which had commenced a lot later than planned due to Murray’s injuries being treated, concluded at 11.45am.
All the exhibits were taken to the office by the officers who had found them and handed to Jimmy who piled them high on his and the adjacent desks. Each SOCO gave him blue covered exhibit books they had completed relating to each property and went through them with him. They ensured that everything was correctly recorded and that the relevant seized item was sitting on one of the desks. It was all double checked. There could be no mistakes.
People drifted in and out of the office and visited the canteen to stock up on late breakfasts or early lunches. Prodow, who had been shocked, and pleasantly impressed, by Grove’s actions and the manner in which he had resolved the situation, checked with him on Murray’s progress. Then at 2pm, they all reassembled in the briefing room.
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Wednesday 15th June 2011
Prodow started the meeting by giving them the news that Murray would be in hospital for some time as the surgeons had to operate on him to sort out his intestines and some other internal organs. A few of the squeamish squirmed at the thought. Murray’s wife, who was a teacher, had been quickly found and taken to the hospital and the situation was being managed to find his two daughters and take them. Paul was setting up accommodation for them all in a top hotel at Police expense, not authorised by Prodow, but the CC himself. Then he moved on to more mundane matters of who was to conduct first basic interviews, and who was to remain on standby for any enquiries.
Jimmy had commandeered three ‘hot desks’ in the office and he had put all the exhibits from the house on one, the workshop on another and the van on the third. The items from the workshop being the majority, were spilling onto the ‘van’s’ desk. He was sorting through the property seized from the house and located the small sample of liquid. This was his passport to get him back to the lab and his latest muse. John was rifling through the exhibits from the workshop and eventually discovered what he was looking for. Clearing it first with Jimmy, he took the two bags he wanted.
He interrupted Paul who was in a deep discussion with one of the interviewing officers and told him he had found the tapes. The conversation was put on hold as all three flew back down to the conference room where some of the officers on standby were sitting about chatting and nibbling snacks. Paul rudely hustled them away from the viewing equipment and John took five DVDs from the first bag and found the one marked with the relevant date, and tried to insert it into the machine. Only Paul and John were aware of what was likely on it. Paul yanked the screen down as John realised the machine was not switched on.
“Bloody technology.”
The machine took a few seconds to warm up before it accepted the DVD and started to play it. An image appeared on the screen with a day and date shown in the top right corner. All those in the room saw the date on the screen and stopped their chatter, and those furthest away lifted, or dragged their chairs to a better viewing point. All saw, and recognised, a picture of Armstrong’s property from a height looking down showing the front of the bungalow towards the conservatory. To the left of the screen, part of the drive leading towards, and then past the front door and onto the garage was visible as was a part view of the short path leading towards the front door. On the right of the screen and of the bungalow could be seen the paved area from the rear of the garage to the back door and the wooden shed. Everyone in the room had instantly realised the value of the tape.
John sped the playing speed up and slowed it when he saw the morning nurse and the postman. Nothing attracted their attention and it sped up again. Then he saw the green Micra approaching the bungalow along the drive and stopped the images. Everyone drew slightly closer, but no one present could make out the number plate. Paul spun round and asked one of the officers to go and get Doreen who seemed to have a way of reading the undecipherable.
She was soon at the controls of the machine going slowly backwards and forwards.
“The only letter I can make out is an ‘E’ which is second from the end. They all stared at the index plate and not one could get close to seeing it. Doreen played the tape at half speed at John’s request.
The car stopped just at the limit of the cameras view, and a person got out wearing indistinguishable clothing and a hood pulled down over their face.
Doreen said, “That’s a woman.”
John said, “How on earth do you know that?”
“Look at the shoes. The way the walk is trying to be disguised. There’s hair pushed up under the hood and it’s sitting slightly too high at the back. The hand holding the front of the hood is using two fingers daintily where most men would probably grasp it.”
The female officer in the room said, “Yeah. I see that.”
All the men present accepted without question Doreen’s assumption.
Slowly the tape continued as the person moved out of view and then reappeared on the right of the screen walking past the shed and to the back door and then inside without knocking or hesitating more than a couple of seconds. It seemed obvious to everyone that the person was aware of the camera and the number plate had been deliberately obscured. As the tape continued at normal speed, there were moments when a human form could be glimpsed as if a sha
dow in the lounge, but was unidentifiable. Then, as the person left the back door, they appeared to hesitate as though locking the door. Doreen slowed the tape again, and stopped it immediately as the person began to walk away from the camera.
“See the shoes? Look at the way that coat hangs. It looks like a man’s.”
A voice at the back of the assembled group shouted, “Wait” and they turned as one to look who had spoken.
The young officer, PC Robertson who had searched the van was lifting himself out of his chair, and walked to the front of the room within a few feet of the screen. He examined the image held still on the monitor
“When I was going through the van, I saw a jacket identical to that in one of the lockers.”
Paul said, “I presume you brought the van in?”
He confirmed he had and said he’d go and get the coat. Doreen, who had only been distracted by the shout for the time it took her to turn to see who had uttered it was again examining the image.
“It looks like there is a little tear at the edge of the right pocket.”
John and the others returned to view the screen searching for the tear on the pocket.
Paul said, “How do you see things like that?”
“Elementary. The day you lot can learn to write will stop me seeing things. So I think I’m safe.”
She let the recording continue, and the person walked back past the shed bending down once. Doreen stopped the tape.
John said, “Yeah. We can all make that out. Doreen, what’s written on the side?”
“Now you’re just taking the micky.”
Paul said, “I think it says poison.”
A couple of others in the room added their jibes.
“Not to be taken orally.”
“Wash hands after use.”
“Keep away from children.”
Doreen said, “Anymore and I’m leaving” which provoked raucous laughter.
The tape continued and the person seemed to rush back and into the car, turn it round and start back down the drive still holding a hand over their face. The glare of the sun did not seem so pronounced on a large screen.
An Urgent Murder Page 31
