114
Friday 17th June 2011
Vilf saw the little man cross the road into the west arm of The Steyne. He was ready and got across the road himself. Following at a respectable distance on the opposite footpath he watched him walk up to a house with a board in the window showing ‘Vacancies’. The little man climbed the three steps to the front door, pushed it open and walked in. Vilf had him. He didn’t know what to do. Should he go for his car and sit in it and watch? That would make him vulnerable to any passing Policeman. Sitting on one of the bench seats in the garden would make him visible to anyone in a front room of the Bed and Breakfast. Why hadn’t he found John?
Sod’s law. A couple of uniform Policemen were in the gardens talking to some vagrants who were taking their first drink of the day. Now he knew what he had to do. It was a risk. His equaliser and stolen car were some way off and couldn’t be attributed to him. He watched the little group. Eventually the Police moved off to the east arm of The Steyne. Vilf followed them until they reached the Esplanade.
“Officer.”
The Policemen looked round as Vilf closed on them.
“I can’t speak for too long. I need you to get hold of DC Whiles. Tell him there is a kidnapping going down. One of them is in The Gardens B&B in The Steyne. I’ll be around here all day and should be able to find the others. He’ll know what to do.”
One of the PC’s was an old sweat and was showing the young new PC the ropes.
“What’s your name?”
Just tell him it’s Vilf.”
The youngster said, “Do I know you?”
“Possibly. I often pass information on. Look, I’ve got to go. I can’t be seen talking to you” and with that Vilf jogged off.
The youngster said, “What do we do?”
“You find out where DC Whiles is and then pass it on to him.”
“Did he look familiar to you?”
“No. That doesn’t mean anything though. You’ll meet millions of people over your career.”
“I’ve seen his picture somewhere.”
“We’ll go back to the station and see what you come up with.”
Both walked onto the prom and strolled back chatting to anyone passing who wanted to. Then they walked through the market at the Regis Centre gossiping to all the stall holders. Ambling through the Arcade and down London Road they were in and out of the shops. They finally made it back to Bognor Police Station at gone noon.
The youngster checked on the Sussex intranet database of employees for DC Whiles and drew a blank.
He said to his colleague, “There’s no trace of any officer in Sussex called Whiles. Do you think he was just taking the mick?”
“Where else have you checked?”
“Well. Nowhere.”
“Have a look on the CAD.”
Instead, he looked in the ‘wanted’ book. That’s where he found the picture of Vilf.
“I’ve found the picture. I knew I’d seen him somewhere before. That guy is an escapee.”
“Just because he’s an escapee doesn’t devalue any information he may have. Think logically. He had to take a chance to approach us. Why would he do that?”
“Just a nut case. I’ll circulate his details. Then he can go back to prison.”
The old PC sat alone in an office at a computer terminal and tapped out DC Whiles in the search box of CAD. Reams of data started to scroll across the screen. Reading the latest reports, the PC picked up the phone and called the temporary incident room at Chichester.
“Incident room.”
“Do you have a DC Whiles working there?”
“Yes. He is in the office now. I’ll pass you over.”
“Whiles.”
“Hello. PC Brady from Bognor. I met a guy this morning who asked me to get in contact with you. Gave the name Vilf. He said there was a kidnapping going down and one of the perpetrators was at The Gardens B & B in The Steyne.”
“Where’s Vilf now?”
“Somewhere near the pier.”
“Can you get into civvies and I’ll pick you up as soon as I can get there.”
“I’ll be at the front of the nick waiting for you.”
John’s Vauxhall drew into the car park in front of the Police Station. Standing by the door was a man who looked about sixty years old, but was just hitting fifty.
“You PC Brady?”
“Yeah.”
“John Whiles. Jump in.”
They were off before he had his seat belt on.
“What’s this all about?”
“This goes no further. A woman was kidnapped some days back. The people who did it may be about to run. If Vilf told you where one was, he would be spot on.”
“Did you know he was an escapee?”
“No, but that does not invalidate his info.”
“My attitude too.”
“We need to find him and quickly.”
They searched the roads around the pier.
“I hope he’s not gone after him.”
Vilf was walking in the gardens of The Steyne. Grigoriev had seen him earlier and was watching him from his first-floor bedroom window concealed behind a net curtain. He knew he wasn’t the Police but it was positively time to move. It was someone paying him too much attention. His Saab was outside. Clearing his room, he took his bag to the reception desk and settled his bill. They could whistle for Petrovski’s because he wasn’t going to pay for it. When Vilf reached the southern end of the gardens, he went to his car. Vilf didn’t see him because he saw John on the Esplanade and signalled him to stop.
“Vilf, get in. What the hell is happening?”
“Hi John. Long story short. I got moved to Ford open and was forced to share a cell with a Russian. He was a ‘wheeler dealer’ and had a mobile. When he wanted a private conversation on it, he spoke in Russian. I never told him I spoke it. He was in for molesting women. I heard him discussing kidnapping a woman and that someone called Petrovski was building a secure room to keep her in.”
“What was his name?”
“Dimitri.”
“Go on.”
“You know that isn’t my game, so I just listened. Then I heard him say it was a WPC here in Sussex. I couldn’t let that happen.”
PC Brady said, “Who was it?”
“Someone called Daines. Dimitri was looking forward to making her acquaintance if you get my meaning. John, I couldn’t let that happen.”
“What did you do?”
“I walked out and went back to London to find you, and I was told you were down here. I’ve been trying to find you in all the pubs.”
“So it was you who has been looking for me. I thought it was someone else. Go on.”
“I was on the prom when I heard a snatch of conversation by two people talking in Russian. They mentioned Dimitri. Both got away from me, I’m getting slower.”
“PC Brady said wistfully, “Happens to us all.”
“Today, I was back on the prom and I saw the little guy again. He lobbed something, I think a phone, at the wall and it smashed. Then he picked up a bit and tossed it over the wall. This time I followed him to the B & B.”
“Show me where you first saw him today.”
“Just over there. Level with the arm of The Steyne,” and Vilf pointed.
“Have you got a phone Vilf?”
“A borrowed one if you get my drift.”
John told him his mobile phone number and Vilf rang it to pair them.
“You know you’re now shown as wanted for being an escapee?”
“I couldn’t let it happen John. I had to go.”
John turned to PC Brady.
“What he has just said is extremely valuable. As far as I am concerned, he’s earnt a chance.”
“Fine by me.”
“Vilf. Go back to London and try and keep out of trouble.”
As Vilf was getting out of the car, “Keep in touch John” and then he ran back to the prom.
John gave PC Bra
dy a potted version of what had happened to Alison before dropping him back at Bognor.
Driving back to the seafront, John parked his car close to the pier and got out to walk along the promenade. He soon came across some of the fragments of the phone. He kicked the bits about and saw the battery but no sim card. He went to the sea wall and looked over. The shingle stretched some five yards out before hitting sand. It was a long shot. The tide had not been in. He found a ramp leading down to the beach and walked to the rough area of shingle. No trace of anything.
Strolling back towards the ramp he saw an old man walking towards him with a metal detector.
“How good is that thing?”
“Top of the range. Pick up a pin under a foot of sand.”
John identified himself to the man and asked if it could pick up a sim card from within shingle.
“Show me roughly where and we’ll see.”
It took less than ten minutes.
115
Friday 17th June 2011
Grigoriev had found a phone box.
“I’m coming back.”
“What’s happened?”
“Everyone’s dead.”
“What? How?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“Is the girl dead?”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“Don’t know.”
“How did she get out?”
“She had help.”
“Can any of this be traced back to me?”
“No.”
“Come and see me before you go anywhere else.”
“OK.”
Grigoriev sat in his car and considered the alternatives. He was the best they had and could look after himself. Would they try to eliminate him? Unlikely. Should he run? They would definitely try then. He decided to go back, but would have some kind of insurance.
*
John called Simon.
“Just met a snout. He told me the little man is in a B & B called The Gardens in The Steyne. Can you get there?”
“On way.”
*
The youngster said to PC Brady, “Where have you been?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Had you checked the CAD as I said, you would have met DC Whiles and found out more about Police work in an hour than you could learn in several years.”
Then he went to get his uniform back on. While he was in the locker room, the youngster searched the CAD as the old sweat knew he would. The whippersnapper’s eyes widened as he read. Two offices along, a meeting of the finance group was disturbed by a clearly shouted expletive.
“Shit.”
116
Friday 17th June 2011
Simon parked the Audi in Fitzleet car park, and jogged the couple of hundred yards to The Steyne. His butterfly knife held closed but ready within his hand. Running up the steps and into The Gardens B & B he arrived at the reception. No one was there and a note was beside a bell, ‘Ring for Service.’ By it was a registration book. He swivelled it round and looked at all the names. G Vasiliev and a passport number and below it, P Mikhailov and another number, caught his eye. Rooms three and four respectively. The signature of the first looked like Grigori. Simon noted the room number, and did not concern himself with Petrovski.
Behind the reception was a selection of keys hanging on hooks. The key for room three was there but not for room four. He was too late. Returning the book to its original position, he rang the bell. Mrs. Greenhugh came through from the small dining area.
“Hello dear. Do you want a room?”
“I’m looking for Grigori. Is he still here?”
“Who did you say dear?”
“Grigori.”
“You mean Grigoriev. You’ve just missed him. Left a couple of hours ago. His friend hasn’t come back yet.”
“No, it’s just Grigoriev I’m after. I’ll see him later. Thanks.”
“No problem dear.”
She went back into the dining area as Simon went back to the Audi.
“I was too late John. The bird has flown.”
“Any idea where to?”
“Yes. I’ll see you later. I’m going back to your flat.”
“OK.”
*
Vilf had meandered off after the meeting with John and gone back to his own lodgings to collect his things. Dragging them all in a small stolen suitcase on wheels, he walked back onto the prom. The beach walk to where his car was had become an enjoyable daily stroll. He’d come to love Bognor. Understandably, he preferred the bustle of London, but Bognor had the sea. Arriving near his car he decided to have one last lunch in The Waverley pub. Sitting on a bench in the eating area by the front door, he savoured a pint while he waited for his food. The sea was a deep blue again today reflecting the sky.
A couple of cars drifted casually past on their way towards the yacht club.
The driver of one was the little man!
Beer sloshed onto the table from his glass as Vilf leapt to his feet and moved the two yards to the very edge of the pavement to try and get the index number. Going in the opposite direction was a scaffolding lorry with a couple of poles rolling about having broken loose from their tethers. About to pass The Waverley in the same direction as the little man’s car was an old open top Southdown tourist bus. It swerved less than a foot to avoid one of the scaffolding poles poking over the side of the lorry. The bus’s old, protruding, metal nearside mirror hit the side of Vilf’s head.
He would never see London again.
The ambulance was there quick enough but not for Vilf. He was dead. The traffic Police turned up and closed the road while they investigated.
The old sweat said to the youngster, “You are going to have to get used to death” and took him to the scene.
Both saw and recognised Vilf immediately. An ambulance man walking past saw the colour drain from the faces of both of them. The youngster from nausea and Brady’s from sorrow. He could only think that Vilf was just one of life’s unlucky losers.
117
Friday 17th June 2011
By late afternoon, Graham, using his wife’s car, had parked next to the Audi in the visitors’ bay outside the block of flats. When he got to the foyer door, he pushed the buzzer to John’s flat not knowing if it was working or not as there was no inside audible tone. Carol’s voice answered on the speaker.
“Yes?”
“Graham.”
“Come on up. The doors open.”
He climbed the stairs with the effortlessness of a fit man and straight in through the door being held by Carol.
Graham acknowledged Carol with a kiss, and a handshake for Simon.
“Thanks for what you have done,” and turning to Carol, “and thanks for what you’re doing.”
Carol responded, “She’s in there” indicating the spare bedroom.
Graham walked straight in without a thought of knocking. The argument was on from the word go.
“Do you walk into every girl’s room without knocking?”
“What’s the problem? I’ve seen you naked since you were born.”
“I’m bloody older now. It’s not the done thing.”
“Stop swearing. I presume Carol has sorted you out?”
“Thanks for the concern. Yes she has.”
“Good. I have arranged for you to have a fortnight off work to recover.”
“Stop organising my life. You’re nothing to do with my force. I can arrange my own affairs.”
“It’s done now, so don’t worry.”
“I’m not worrying. Where’s Mum?”
“She’s gone to New Zealand to see her relatives. Safer for her there.”
“Did she have a choice?”
“Of course. I’m not an ogre.”
“Debateable.”
There was a loud knocking on the door.
“What?” was the shouted retort.
Simon opened the door enough to put his head round, “Do you want a coffee
Graham?”
“Jesus, it’s like Piccadilly Circus in here. Do I get one? Fat chance. Stuck in this bed and told not to move. Brought clothes by someone with the fashion sense of a slug.”
“I’d love one please Simon, milk and no sugar. Makes people tetchy sugar,” and he nodded towards Alison.
Simon added, “I think she’s recovered.”
“Call yourself a minder” followed him as he closed the door.
Graham stooped forward as though he was about to hug his daughter.
“Was it worth it?”
“We are going to discuss it shortly, but I think so.”
“It hurt Dad, it really hurt” and she burst out crying as they hugged each other.
118
Friday 17th June 2011
Ian had arrived and was in the lounge with Simon, Graham and Carol when John got back. Carol was back and forth to the kitchen looking after a large piece of venison that was cooking slowly. There were a couple of exceptionally good clarets that John produced from his small, but rather exclusively well stocked wine rack to go with it. All relaxed in the sumptuous surroundings cradling their wine glasses. As the discussion was getting under way, Alison, wearing her mismatched clothes walked gingerly into the room. Graham and Carol rose as one as if to go to her assistance which she refused with a slight wave of the flat of her hand.
Before anyone could say anything, “This concerns me as much as you all and I desperately want to eat some proper food.”
They looked at the still standing Graham who was watching his daughter intently before saying, “Alright.”
Alison lowered herself tentatively into a chair which Carol moved from as it was the most suitable for her. Carol sat in a low squashy armchair.
“About a year ago, the Home Secretary sprung a bombshell on the City of London Police Commissioner at short notice. She claimed she wanted to discuss the ‘Ring of Steel’ which has operated quite successfully in the City of London, and has been managed effectively for many years. As his deputy, the Commissioner took great pleasure in passing this request on to me. The Commissioner has never been a fan of hers and she was well aware of that, and also that he would pass the request downwards. That, she knew, would automatically filter down to me.
An Urgent Murder Page 37
