Doreen stopped the tape: then let it play at normal speed, then rewound it and played it exceptionally slowly, rewound it again and played it one frame at a time, and then stopped it.
“The first letter I think is a G and the numbers at positions 3 and 4 are definitely 06.”
Again, the gathered officers stared at the number plate. Some moved to the side, some stood up to look down and others sank in their chairs as if to look up. The image was the same however they looked at it. Not one other person could confirm or disprove Doreen’s identification.
Paul said to John, “Problem. Munroe’s number plate starts with an H and it is 08.”
“Can I watch the rest?”
John told Doreen he had no objection, and she played the tape quickly and soon saw the arrival of Munroe in her green Micra with the number plate fully readable and Munroe easily identifiable. They all saw her leave her vehicle, put the poison inside the shed, knock on the back door and then leave after looking at her watch. Then the arrival of the neighbour and the emergency vehicles. The tape ran till 1.16am and finished.
Paul said, “Anyone got any comments about what we’ve all just seen?” All was quiet in the room.
Then Doreen pronounced, “Well. It’s blatantly obvious to me that the two vehicles are different, and the person who killed him was not Munroe.”
98
Wednesday 15th June 2011
John placed the tape back into its holder and into the correct exhibit bag with the four others. Then taking the fifteen DVDs out of the other bag, he searched for and found the one he was looking for using the date conveniently written on the holder by Gary Simpson. The room had been slowly filling as news of the played DVD and its content was becoming common knowledge among the officers. Putting it into the machine and pressing play brought up the image, again from a height looking down. It was, as John told the gathered audience, a view of Peter Masters’ house showing part of the driveway to the left and all the parking area at the front and side. The front door was the main focus and there was colourful foliage to the right of the house which appeared quite dense. Again, visible in the top right corner of the screen ran the date and time the recording occurred.
Addressing those present, he told them that this was another premises that Gary Simpson had visited. Doreen, who was now in complete charge of the remote control, was whizzing the images through at four time’s normal speed. She was quick, and stopped it to see a mid-morning delivery from the postman, and was into the afternoon before she stopped it again. Sally Simpson had driven her Ford Focus onto the drive and parked at an angle to the camera. Several in the briefing room confirmed it was her as she went to the front door.
Doreen said as if a stage whisper to Paul, “She was definitely not the person in or out of either of the Micras at Armstrong’s place.”
No longer than thirty minutes had elapsed before Sally left the front door, put a thumb up to the direction of the camera, got into her car and drove off.
John said, “That proves she knows about the camera.”
The images started to speed up again as Doreen’s gaze never left the screen, and her fingers automatically seemed to know where each button was on the remote and what they did. At 6.15pm the front door opened and Masters was frozen on the screen as the images stopped dead. Doreen manipulated the controls and enlarged the picture until the front door was filling the screen and then started again frame by frame. Masters was shown on a cordless telephone in the doorway holding on to the door jamb with his spare hand.
In the slow motion of the images, his legs seemed to slowly buckle at the knees, and he lowered himself to the floor. His hand holding the phone gently unfurled letting it fall from his grasp, and it beat him to hit the floor. He lay in a crumpled heap on the tiles of his own porch step.
Doreen held the frame frozen as they took in what they had all just seen. Then it was running again but only at double speed. Eight minutes later, a Police Officer in uniform reached Masters and an ambulance was six minutes behind. He was tenderly lifted onto a trolley, still apparently unconscious, and placed into the back of the ambulance which left the cameras view.
John said, “That’s all that’s relevant on this tape.”
And Doreen ejected the DVD.
A general hub bub ensued in the briefing room as it started to become apparent that there was a lot more about to be uncovered in the ensuing investigations. Paul approached two of the officers and arranged that all the VHS tapes, CDs and DVDs were copied as soon as Jimmy had confirmed their provenance. Another was tasked to list every different address shown on the covers and holders of the recorded material and compile a list with Doreen. Mapping was asked for with every address where recordings had been made.
Paul looked at John and said, “There must be well over a hundred different addresses going back quite a few years. We need an urgent chat with the boss.”
Everyone with a task appointed, set off with a purpose, and John, Paul and Doreen climbed the stairs back to the office. Prodow was sitting behind Paul’s desk with a telephone wedged between his chin and neck like a fiddler holds his fiddle without using hands. He was scribbling on a piece of paper and talking rapidly and kept using the word ‘Sir’. The three waited for him to finish. Before he put the phone down he told them the Chief Constable would be visiting at 11am the following day.
“That’s a whole morning buggered up. Can’t he get up earlier and be here for 8. He’s got a driver for God’s sake. He could sleep in the car if he’s that bloody tired.”
They briefed him on what they’d seen.
“I thought as much. How many do you think there may be?”
Paul said, “When Jimmy was given all the tapes, he reckoned there may be well over a hundred different addresses shown going back up to ten years.”
“Fuck’s sake.”
John said, “The bad news is, I don’t think either of them did for our George.”
“Jesus Christ Oscar. Have we got any good news?”
Doreen said, “Yes. I’ve got a new type of coffee.”
After a brief second or two of laughter, Prodow apologised to her for his bad language.
“OK. Let’s try it. I’ve sent Bob out to Tesco’s to pick up four bottles for later. It’s going to be a very long night.”
The young officer knocked on the door of the office.
“Don’t stand on ceremony son, just walk in.”
“Thank you sir. I’ve got the jacket you want from the van.”
Prodow had not been told about the jacket and looked perplexed.
Paul said, “Let’s have a look.”
Doreen said as if to clarify, “I think this officer believes the jacket the murderer was wearing was identical to this one.”
Paul said, “It looks the same. Shit. Look at the pocket.”
He held the jacket so they could all see the pocket with the slight tear.
“How the hell did you see that Doreen?”
Prodow said, “Fill me in for Christ’s sake.”
Paul updated him. Within a couple of minutes Prodow was congratulating both Doreen and the young PC Robertson.
“Paul, get this guy’s details. Any enquiry with a vehicle, he’s your man.”
John added, “Problem is, we don’t think either of them did it, but that’s Gary’s coat. How do we explain that?”
99
Wednesday 15th June 2011
It was a very long day for Alison. She had no food and was given no water. She was on the floor for over an hour drifting in and out of consciousness. Her thumb was throbbing and hurting her badly, her side ached and she felt two teeth were loose and her cheek hurt. Although she hadn’t stood up, she could feel her knee was sore and knew it would not bear any weight being put on it. With an enormous effort, she wrenched the hood off tossing it to one side and then forced herself to crawl to the toilet where she threw up. Kneeling before it, she realised she had to get up and get to the sink. Her knee had been fo
rgotten as she was being sick but soon took over as the predominant pain.
Forcing her legs to straighten, she gingerly stood and gripped the sides of the sink for support. Sliding her hand out of the handcuff and dropping it to the floor, she no longer cared about any pretence of it still being correctly in place. Filling the sink, she let her head drop as far into the water as possible sending some splashing over the edge. It felt invigorating, and she only took her head out when she needed to take a breath. The cold water lingering on her lips tasted disgusting, but she knew she had to drink something. Two mouthfuls were all she could manage before returning to grasp the toilet.
For a person who hadn’t eaten much she was shocked at the amount she expelled.
Pushing herself away from the sink she aimed at the bed and fell onto it. Sleep enveloped her within minutes and when she awoke there was a two-litre bottle of water lying by the hatch with a small bag of sweets. Still no proper food. ‘Who put fucking sweets through? I need substance!’
Resolving not to cry again, she felt her two wobbly teeth and concluded they were likely to fall out. She wasn’t going to hasten them. Her side ached and the only way to stop the pain was to lie on her back and remain still. From her limited knowledge of first aid, she knew she had at least one broken rib. The thumb of her left hand was at a strange angle and swollen at the base which was gradually turning a weird colour of black. Getting to a sitting position with her feet on the floor, she rose as gently as possible and picked up the water and tottered back to the bed.
Simon had watched the search and then the burial, which was not the best he’d seen, but adequate under the circumstances. The two Lithuanians had conducted a supplementary search in the drainage ditch and the area around it, and Petrovski had searched towards the pylon and the mustard field. He walked along the footpath looking into the fields but didn’t leave the firm soil for the ridges and troughs in them. The mustard field attracted him like it would a bee, and he did conduct a detailed search of the first two planted rows.
They were all recalled to the barn by midday via a loud piercing whistle from Grigoriev, and Simon watched the Saab drive towards the rubble bridge with the small Russian driving and Petrovski in the passenger seat. It only stopped for Petrovski to put the camera and monitoring unit into the boot before leaving. The BMW, which didn’t seem to be handling the track as well as the Saab, followed with the two Lithuanians inside. No one bothered with the twigs and cotton.
Staying put under his tarpaulin, Simon was running out of water and was out of food as well, but didn’t have the additional problems that Alison was facing. He was also able to last a lot longer without either thanks to his training with the Army. Because of the way the little Russian had organised the searching of the area, Simon appreciated he was no amateur. The search may have appeared random to an untrained observer, but Simon could see he was conducting it methodically. Had the actual searchers known what they were doing, they would have soon located and identified his original ‘pit’ and eventually have found him. Simon knew what his own next move would be if he was in the little Russian’s position, and he was worried.
He hated big savage dogs.
There was nothing for it. He gathered all his kit and packed it away. It was easier for him to disguise his present position by digging it over and dragging additional earth over it, but he knew a trained dog would identify the spot. If the little man was worth his salt, that was what he would arrange next. His hope was that the handler would assume the dog had found a trace of some animal and move on. Forlorn hope really. Making sure he left no marks, he got on the path, and ran to the barn. Praying he had time, he saw the camera had gone from the bricks and he opened the small hatch.
“Alison.”
No reply.
Louder, “Alison.”
A faint reply, “Yes.”
“Are you OK?”
“No.”
“I’m going to call your Dad and get you some food tonight. Can you hang on?”
“If I have to. Did you leave the water and those stupid sweets?”
“No. I think it must have been the gorilla, he was the only one who I saw come anywhere near you.”
“Get me something nice, I’m desperate. I’m so hungry.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere.”
“I’ll be with you tonight.”
She couldn’t be asked to reply; it was hurting to just talk. Slamming the hatch shut made her jump slightly, and Simon was gone.
There were tyre marks and footprints all over the parking area which sped up his departure. No need to cover his imprints now. Running flat out in the middle of the track with his bag on his back, he passed the broken cotton and reached the wattle covered gate. Expecting a trap, he opened the gate slightly so he could squeeze through with his butterfly knife open and in his good hand. The road was empty! Fear for Alison spurred him on as he ran as fast as he could back to his car. Tossing his bag into the boot of the Lexus, he found a ‘trembler’, jumped into the driver’s seat and took off.
Throwing caution to the wind, he drove to the rubble bridge and stopped, blocking the road. Jumping out he scrambled into the ditch by the side of the rubble and found a small fissure and drove the ‘trembler’ into it. Still no one attacked him. Getting back into his car he drove away. He decided to wait till a little later in the night before visiting Alison just in case the cautious little Russian should make a surprise visit. No dog handler would still be about after midnight, so he hoped he’d be safe.
Evening meal time did not happen for Alison which was a problem. She’d thrown up several times, and the lack of quality food had only made it bile. The little Russian may have missed it deliberately to see if anyone else took her food or water.
Simon drove on to the Nuffield hospital car park where he got out of his camouflage kit. Tidying the boot of his car, he reorganised his bag. His camouflage gear stank. The clothes he wore stank. He stank. He decided to take all his gear to Alison’s flat to wash. It was only the ground sheet and tarpaulin that he left in the car. Her washing machine would have given up the ghost if he tried to put them in it. The smell from them he knew would soon permeate to every corner of his car. Couldn’t be helped. Locking it, he slowly jogged back cautious in case there were different eyes watching. Carefully stepping over the cotton, he went into Alison’s flat. Still no attack.
Wedging a chair under the front door handle, he stripped and threw his clothes into her washing machine before heading for the shower. Longing to linger awhile under the steaming water, he was soon out and wearing a clean set of clothes. A swift check with his scanner confirmed the absence of any bugs. Barry had cleared his but Simon knew other people could have left some. Sitting on the settee with his mobile in hand he started to dial Graham’s number.
Then he froze for a second before picking up his knife. A faint noise at the front door had put him on edge. It sounded like scratching. Slowly, he went to the door and quietly moved the chair out of the way and gently took hold of the handle. Not knowing what to expect, he rapidly opened it.
Hannibal walked nonchalantly into the flat.
100
Wednesday 15th June 2011
to
Thursday 16th June 2011
Simon hung up. Graham had utilised aspects of the City of London Police Force, and the unit run by an acquaintance from within GCHQ at Cheltenham. They had heard ‘chatter’ but it was so fast that they couldn’t locate the source, other than the general areas. Birmingham and London. Both were obvious considering the threats and his information, so it was no surprise. They could only narrow the radio masts down to one of three in Birmingham. The Metropolitan Police who ran a large unit specialising in tracking and locating mobile phones via the masts were unable to assist. Ian had spent a few days living in Graham’s house and exploited every bit of equipment he had or could think of. As he often sold his inventions to the Government, Graham held out more expectation that he
would solve the puzzle. They were all getting nowhere fast.
He called John. They discussed options. Graham had told him he wanted to leave Alison where she was. John wasn’t happy and said he would speak to Graham himself. It did not get him anywhere. Graham was adamant, she had to be left where she was for a little longer. Simon knew she was hurt but not how much. John was in his car and turned on his Sat Nav when Simon told him he had set the ‘trembler’.
“It’s sleeping.”
“That’s what I am going to do. I’ll be back there tonight and I’ll let Alison know what’s happening.”
“I’ll phone you if I see any movement.”
“Cheers. They are monitoring it from Kent as well.”
Hannibal was not hungry when Simon put down some food.
“You little tinker, where have you been?”
The cat looked at him with unadulterated contempt. Then walked off towards Alison’s bedroom. He was soon back, and appeared to glare at Simon as he walked into the spare bedroom and jumped onto the bed. Both slept soundly for six hours. On waking, he phoned Kent just to confirm there had been no movement at the ‘trembler’.
“Well Hannibal. Your mistress is going to be peckish. What do you reckon she would like?”
The cat looked at him and then with an aloofness that most cats possessed, went to the food and ate it.
On leaving the flat, Simon was going to put Hannibal out, but the cat knew and looked disdainfully at him, then with a superior air, walked out unassisted. Leaving the cotton in place, Simon soon reached his Lexus, and was nearly overcome by the stink from his dirty tarpaulin. Driving with all the windows open into Chichester, he parked and walked the short distance into North and then East Street and stocked up with various items of confectionary. He would buy some hamburgers later. Sitting in his car with the windows still wide open, he watched the world go by. The bugs on Alison had long since died, but his ‘trembler’ was giving off a small bleep every minute. Still in sleep mode. He saw John’s signal pulsing. Opening his map wider, he saw Ian and Graham were also in their vehicles. It had been a busy day for all of them.
An Urgent Murder Page 32
