Walking back out of the hotel, Simon ambled towards the Audi in the car park. The voice came from the door.
“Hey you. Stop.”
Simon stopped and turned around to see the man was approaching him fast.
“Police. What’s your business here?”
Putting on an Irish twang, Simon said, “I’m a plumber. I’ve a contract in Birmingham.”
The man stood face on to Simon.
“You look like someone I’m looking for.”
“Can I see your ID?”
“No. What have you got in your pockets?”
With the unopened water bottle held in his fisted hand, he hit the man with an uppercut square on the jaw.
He went down in the middle of the car park. The bottle of water which had added impetus to the blow had burst on impact but had prevented any damage to Simon’s hand. No one was about as Simon grasped the man’s jacket and dragged him the remaining distance to the rear of the Audi. Placing his own bags onto the back seat, he contrived to put him in the boot. It was harder than he thought although finally managing it. Then using his plasticuffs, he disabled him completely with his hands wedged behind his back and each side of his plasticuffed legs. For good measure, a strip of duct tape across his mouth. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Simon considered who was looking for him. It could only be one person, but he saw a golden opportunity arising.
139
Sunday 19th June 2011
The crowd was growing larger as they strained to see what was happening. Uniform officers were keeping them back and rolls of blue tape marked ‘Police. Do not cross’ in white were strewn about and ends were fluttering in the breeze. A small ‘Mercedes’ fire engine slightly bigger than a ‘four by four’ had made it onto the beach. The large engine was still on the slipway and firemen were running between the two with odd looking bits of kit. A portable pump was engaged trying to suck the water out of the Micra, but as quickly as it cleared it, another wave rolled in. The ambulances were next to the fire engine and the medical helicopter was on a large part of the promenade. Even some small boats had appeared slightly out at sea.
The Police BMW ‘four by four’ was brusquely dragged off the Micra by use of the winch on the small fire engine and was able to be driven back to the promenade. Sparks were flying as several cutters were being utilised by fireman at the same time. Standing in water to work didn’t seem to fluster them one bit. The paramedics believed both would survive providing the tide could be slowed from pushing water into the vehicle.
King Canute had failed to stem the tide some fifteen miles along the coast and several centuries past. No one else had ever succeeded. The Police were not confident.
They had no need for concern. The fire brigade had the Micra in pieces in minutes. Then with paramedics, they got both occupants out and onto stretchers. Carrying them at walking pace, they took them to the ambulances. It was agreed that the medical helicopter was not needed and the male was taken to Worthing Hospital and Deborah to St Richard’s. Each ambulance was accompanied by Police traffic cars back and front.
The young uniformed PC Robertson waded alone into the ever-rising water to look inside the remnants of the Micra. In the compacted glove box, he found a tea cup that miraculously had not broken. Next to it was the broken fragments of a small glass bottle. Sheets of soggy paper floated about the car. He grabbed as much of it as he could. The water lapped around his knees as he stuck to his self-appointed task. He stuffed the items into his pockets and kept looking.
The roof was completely submerged and was a few feet away from the main section of the Micra. Wading to it, he saw through the water something resting partly concealed by the shifting sand that had already got into it. Feeling about, he found a key. Putting it into a pocket in case a fireman or emergency worker had dropped it, he decided the time had come to retreat and let the rising tide swallow the car.
Come the next low tide would see the Police recover what they could of the wreck.
He squelched his way back up the beach and to the van that had been his transport. Water was dripping from him as he scrambled into the back and was taken to Chichester. Climbing the stairs, he left wet footprints all the way to the temporary incident room.
“Excuse me.”
Paul saw him still dripping water from his sodden uniform trousers.
“What the hell has happened to you?”
“I thought someone should have searched the Micra, so I waded into the sea to do it.”
“I’m impressed. That is remarkable.”
“I found a couple of things that may be of use to you.”
Doreen, John and Jimmy heard, and with Paul, they mustered around him.
Jimmy said, “What have you got?”
He said, “In my top left jacket pocket are some broken fragments of glass that I found in the glove box. I don’t want to touch them any more in case they need examining. I have kept them as dry as I could. The sea has only just touched some of them.”
“Slip your tunic off.”
He did. With a large exhibit bag held in place by Doreen, Jimmy shook the glass fragments out. Then to make sure, he turned the pocket inside out and shook it.
“We are going to have to keep your jacket for a couple of days.”
“Ok. In the lower pocket is a tea cup I found.”
Jimmy put on his gloves, and removed the tea cup.”
John said, “Bingo. That matches the set in the kitchen cupboard at Georges bungalow. What else have you got?”
“A fist full of soggy paper that’s in my right lower pocket.”
Jimmy still with his gloves on pulled the bundle out.
“Doreen. We need blotting paper.”
“We haven’t used that for years.”
Paul said, “We’ll get someone to take you to Staples. They should have some.”
“John asked, “Anything else.”
“Oh. There’s a key that I think someone dropped. I put it in my top right pocket.”
Jimmy fished for it. When he pulled it out, he put it on the desk.
All bar the young officer saw the keys likeness to the bungalow’s back door key.
Paul said, “John. Can you take this and see if it opens the back door?”
Picking it up, “On way.” He left the office.
Paul addressed the young officer, “Well done mate. Do you need a lift home to get cleaned up and pick up a new uniform?”
“If it’s at all possible, it would be helpful.”
“Have a seat. I’ll arrange it. Doreen, it must be tea time.”
The young PC Robertson sat on a metal chair proffered and accepted a coffee. Twenty minutes later, the CID car was put at the officer’s disposal. Even the driver knew he was chauffeuring the PC who had, by his own foresight, provided crucial evidence against Deborah. He was happy to do so.
John called Paul from the phone inside the bungalow of George Armstrong.
“Double Bingo.”
140
Sunday 19th June 2011
Simon locked his car and went back to his room. He lay on his bed and thought things through. Slowly a plan formed in his head that seemed reasonable, and had enough leeway for adaptation should the need arise. ‘Plan for the worst and hope for the best.’ Always have a plan B. Going over time and time again what had happened at RD’s was crucial. Timing was not so important to him now, but where he had walked and what he had touched were. By the time he had drifted off into a fitful nap he knew what he had to do.
At 8pm he checked his phone. There was nothing from John, Ian or Graham. That meant he still had use of the Audi.
Calling John, he said, “Things are progressing here quite quickly. I expect to acquire a few mobiles later tonight and will give them to Ian as soon as I can. It’s possible that we will be able to identify the person in question. Once I have them, I will be ruffling some feathers. There is still someone who is looking for me up here. May I suggest that everyone has a cast iron alibi tonig
ht in case it all goes pear shaped.”
“I’ll make sure we are all bullet proof. Take care.”
The line dropped.
John spent some time in his car calling the others. Graham knew who his alibi would be. At 10.30pm he called the Home Secretary.
“I need to meet you tonight. Anywhere you like.”
She was working late at the Home Office and they agreed to meet there. She often stayed the night on a put-u-up bed in her office. It was unlikely that prying eyes would be about. Graham called his official driver and arranged his transport. That would be one alibi. The doormen at the Home Office would also see him and be his second alibi. Then the Home Secretary would be his third. He knew he would be safe. Whatever Simon had planned was going to happen tonight and he was the one who needed the strongest alibi. There was only one person stronger than the Home Secretary.
Simon went to his car and got his spray can out of the glove box. He wiped his number plates dry before spraying them with the liquid. ‘Caution’ tonight was his watch word. As Graham entered the Home Office, Simon was climbing over the wall into RD’s garden. No guard was on station at the sentry box. The house looked unoccupied, but he was ready for Jackie or Greg. He put his gloves and balaclava on and on the top of the wall he made sure there were no marks or fragments of caught clothing. Traversing the garden via his original route, he checked for any signs that he may have inadvertently left. Nothing. He had been chary. Entering the empty summer house, he found the mugs he had filled with water. When he had held them, he had been wearing gloves. He put them back on the small table.
In the bedroom of the summer house, he left the bed by the window. With luck, there would be some fingerprints of Greg’s on the bedframe or even the window itself, and maybe some firearm residue on the bedding. He didn’t believe Greg would have been wearing gloves. Even better, there would be fingerprints of all the guards scattered about the summer house. Having dealt with them all, he was certain their identities would be on Police data bases. Picking up all his cut plasticuffs from the floor, he added them to his collection of the ones he’d gathered from outside and by the sentry box.
He made his way to the kitchen door passing the flower bed that had been Greg’s last firing point. It was obvious that someone had been lying in the middle of it by the shape of the flattened grasses. Simon’s gaze fell to the glinting metal on the ground. Where it had been abandoned in his haste to escape, was Greg’s rifle. Simon picked it up by the barrel, and took it with him to the door.
Struggling to open it with his lock pick set without leaving any tell-tale marks or make any noise was hard. A shrewd investigator, or SOCO would spot the new scratching. Simon hoped the two bullet holes would attract the undivided attention of any sleuth. Pausing once inside, he listened, the house seemed empty of other living souls. If RD was still breathing, he posed no threat to Simon. Jackie was not in the house, and if she had have been earlier, there would have been signs. Even the smell of a different perfume would have been hanging in the still air. The house seemed as he had left it.
In the plaza area around the swimming pool, Simon was sure there were no marks as he’d been wearing gloves. Glancing about, he saw the chair where he had sat and the one where Mercedes had left her clothes. There was no need for him to move anything, and he shut the door behind him before going upstairs.
Entering the bedroom of RD, he was extremely careful where he walked. The first thing he had to do was find the fallen syringe. It was crucial to his main plan. He knew he hadn’t trodden on it when he had left the house to meet Ian, and he didn’t want to tread on it now. Finding it entailed him turning the lights on. There was no one at the rear of the premises who would notice. It was lying in the middle of the floor. His plan was coming together more easily than he had anticipated.
Replacing the chairs that had been moved was not difficult. They had been in position for so long they had left indents in the carpet. He lifted them back as opposed to dragging them when they would leave flagrant marks. The bullet hole in the window was in line with the dead body of Mercedes. Very helpful. Where he had fired his five rounds at the murderous doctor he was going to cover later. Checking where his four unaccounted bullets had ended up shocked him.
Three were embedded in the plaster of the ceiling and one had gone through the carpet, and deep into the wooden flooring beneath. He assumed correctly that as he was weakening and his arm dropped, the fourth was the bullet that had done for her. Luck had been with him.
Everything was ready. He had sanitised as much as was possible but again knew that DNA might pick something of his up. It was to be expected.
His next visit was going to be interesting.
141
Monday 20th June 2011
Back at the car he unloaded the second Lithuanian’s gun, and removed all the ammunition from the magazine. Taking two bullets, he put them back into the clip, and reloaded the gun. There was still a round in the chamber ready to fire as soon as the safety was disabled. Three bullets in total which he thought would be ample, providing the weapon worked. He slipped the gun back under the seat.
Taking the trusted MP-443 automatic out of his waistband, he released the magazine and leaving one round still chambered, emptied it. There were only five rounds left. He wanted them at the top of the clip, so filled the bottom up with ten of the bullets from the gun under the seat and topped it up with the five. There were still five rounds loose which he put in his pocket.
He was parked in a different side road to previously. Never be predictable was what he’d been taught and tonight it was imperative he wasn’t. The occasional vehicle drove by as a late worker or reveller made their way home. Putting his balaclava on, Simon went to the boot and opened it. The man was without a doubt conscious and not well pleased. His back was hurting where he was twisted into the confined space, and he couldn’t feel either leg or one arm. Snot had been forced down his nose when he had tried to sneeze and had congealed on his cheek and chin. He’d wet himself due to the length of time he’d been incarcerated. His eyes were bloodshot and it looked like he wanted to puke. If he did, he would probably have died choking in his own vomit.
Simon said, “I gave you the chance to walk away. Because you didn’t, you suffer the consequences. I don’t know who’s looking for me and I don’t really care. In another hour or two, I’ll come and get you out” and with that, he slammed the boot shut.
Whipping off his balaclava, he stuffed it into his pocket with a new pair of latex gloves and walked to Yusef’s house.
Wandering around the streets surrounding the house, he checked there hadn’t been any additional security employed. Simon could see nothing to trouble him. It didn’t mean there wasn’t any one behind a twitching curtain in a neighbour’s room watching out for him or if anyone else, like Greg, may be inside waiting for him. Tonight, he was going in come what may. It was part of his master plan. He was over the wall and crouched down in the garden in seconds. His gloves and balaclava on. No patrolling security. His trip to the store room’s window avoided the CCTV cameras. He still did not know if they worked or not, but he saw no reason to place himself in their view to check.
Easing the window quietly open, he put his jute bag inside and climbed in after it. His small torch showed him nothing had changed in the room. The door was still unlocked. Opening it a few inches by standing to one side was just a precaution. Bullets could go clean through doors but not often walls. No gunfire. He peered into the hallway. It all appeared the same as when he was there previously. The light was shining in the same room as before, and there was a game of cricket reaching some kind of crescendo on the television. Tonight, there was an additional noise: someone was shouting encouragement to players on one of the teams. Simon never understood the logic of shouting at someone who would never hear.
He crept silently across the hall looking for a security alarm control box or a CCTV monitoring unit. There was nothing that he could see. It was strange that
there were outward signs of security, but nothing inside to say they worked. Simon came to the conclusion that they were dummies, but he wasn’t sure. A big house without working security was boarding on the reckless. Time was approaching 1am and he had a lot to do. Looking through the open door, he could see a man was sitting in a large leather armchair facing the TV. He was alone.
“Good evening. Yusuf, I presume?”
The man jumped out of his chair, “Who the hell are you?”
He was a casually dressed dumpy Asian man about mid-fifties and some five feet seven inches tall with slicked back greasy black hair.
“I’ve come to ask you a couple of questions. Please turn the TV off. I’d hate for you to mishear me.”
The seventy-two-inch plasma TV was filling the wall it had been mounted on. Yusuf had regained his composure from his initial shock.
“You obviously do not know who I am. The Police will deal with you” and he moved to a phone next to his chair.
Simon picked up a half sized decorative bowling ball from a mounted stand on a side cabinet and threw it at the TV.
There was a strange noise as the screen smashed but remained within the confines of its frame and the TV stopped, holding a gradually fading stuttering image.
“Now perhaps you can hear me better. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”
Yusuf could not believe what he had just witnessed. The phone was in his hand and he had dialled the second of the three nines. He scrutinised Simon.
“You are new round here or you would not have done that.”
An Urgent Murder Page 45
