by Deborah Lucy
‘Why would they think Finch was giving me information, Tara?’ Temple pressed, looking at her.
‘They said he was your informant, yours! Is it true?’ she asked.
‘’Course he’s not,’ Temple lied, protecting Finch. ‘But if they think he is, I need to know where he is now. Do you know anything, Tara?’
‘No, they didn’t say anything.’
Tears started to roll down her face as she stared impassively, looking past him. She shook uncontrollably.
‘What else, Tara?’ he asked.
Looking into the middle distance, after a short silence, she spoke, making no effort to stop the tears dripping from her face into her lap.
‘They all stood around me, in the pit. Five or six of them. They had these dogs. They were all looking down on me. Shouting at me. Then Caleb Fortune unzipped his trousers. I thought …’ Her voice trailed off.
Temple looked at her as her head dropped down.
‘I was so fucking scared, I wet myself. He called me loads of names … then they pissed on me …’
‘Who did, Tara?’ asked Temple.
She was barely able to speak. ‘Munt and Caleb Fortune,’ she said, got up and turned away from him to be sick. She sat back down, opposite him.
‘Was that all they did?’ asked Temple.
Avoiding eye contact with him, she hung her head. ‘Then they told me to get out of the pit. They grabbed me and dragged me out, into the back of a van.’
She continued to shake. Temple knew she was in shock.
‘Did Munt or any of the others sexually assault you, Tara? You must tell me,’ he said, gently.
She still couldn’t look at him but she shook her head. ‘I thought they were going to kill me.’
He questioned her further to be satisfied that they hadn’t sexually assaulted her.
‘Look, get yourself home. Ring me if you need to. I’ll see what I can find out about Finch.’
He felt sorry for her, sorry for the situation she was in with Finch. She was bright and he’d had many a conversation with her in the past about leaving Finch and leaving Trowbridge, but she stuck to the low-life like glue.
Temple had given her a lift home one night when she came to the station to give Finch some fresh clothes when he was in custody. She’d said it was the first time a copper had been nice to her. She’d wanted to repay the kindness by giving him snippets of information about Finch’s criminal associates which she gained from working in the pub and pillow talk. She had even been happy to be tasked and had been able to help Temple snare Paul King. Temple figured that after tonight, she wouldn’t be in any rush to contact him again. Temple gave her money for a taxi back to Trowbridge and left. He rang Leigh’s mobile again. There was no answer.
Temple walked down to The Bell Hotel. The lounge bar, with its central stone fireplace, was welcoming and busy. He went to the reception desk off to the left. He asked the receptionist if Leigh and Daisy were back. She made a call to the room.
‘There’s no answer, I’m sorry,’ came the reply.
Temple went back into the lounge and through to the bar area. Ignoring the bustle in the busy bar, he looked out through the large front windows onto the Market Place. Relief flooded through him as, in the dark, he saw Leigh and Daisy, hand in hand, making their way towards The Bell from across the road. He headed towards the door. He held the door open as they approached and tried to temper his concern for Daisy’s sake.
‘Where have you been, Leigh?’ he asked, his voice full of tension. ‘I’ve been trying to ring you but your phone’s been off.’
‘Oh yes, sorry, we’ve been to the pictures, I had to put it on silent,’ she said brightly.
‘You can’t stay here,’ he said, quietly, drawing her into him. ‘You’ll have to come with me.’
She looked back at him. ‘We’ll be fine here, as you said, we’re thinking of it as an adventure. We’ve had a good day today, haven’t we, Dais?’ She looked down at Daisy, who was in between them, looking up at them, her eyes going from face to face.
‘They know you’re here,’ he said quietly.
‘We’re safe here, look at all these people,’ whispered Leigh, refusing to go. ‘There’s safety in numbers. We’re as safe here as anywhere.’
‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with. I do,’ he said.
‘I want to stay here,’ she insisted. Turning away from Daisy, she continued. ‘I’ve spoken to Daisy,’ she whispered. ‘He hit her but she says he didn’t touch her in any other way.’
‘Do you believe her?’ he asked, relieved.
‘Yes, I do. She knew what I meant and I picked my words and moment carefully.’
Temple’s mobile interrupted their conversation. It was Crayling.
‘I’ve got something for you, boss, at the house. You’ll find it interesting,’ he said.
‘OK, I’m coming over.’
Temple left Leigh at The Bell with instructions to ring him first thing in the morning and drove over to Ramsbury. Crayling met him outside.
‘There’s a bit of a complication.’
‘What is it?’ asked Temple, wanting to go inside. Crayling barred his way.
‘Well, we did as you asked. We went into the bedroom, saw what you had explained about the chandelier and took one of our devices in. After a bit of fiddling about, yes, it’s possible that a device had been put there, given what had been removed from the chandelier. It would have been held in a small cradle.’
‘So, what’s complicated?’ said Temple, impatiently.
‘Given what you’d said about there being a covert camera, I started looking around. You know I said that covert cameras could be disguised, well, I think there’s a live one still in there. They’ve got passive infrared sensors as a security system all over the house. There’s one in every room downstairs and I was walking around checking these when I noticed that the one in the hallway was flashing amber. The others are red and only flash when it senses motion or when the alarm is on and when there is an intruder in the room,’ explained Crayling.
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that I think the security camera in the hallway has been converted to a covert camera and I think it’s still running. It’s a motion sensor camera. It appears to be recording.’ Fit and slim built, Crayling relished the opportunity to demonstrate his knowledge. ‘No one would even notice, as it looks just the same as all the other remote sensors used around the house for the burglar alarm system, only amber. It’s also completely noiseless.’
‘Is there one of these in the bedroom?’ asked Temple, still taking in what Crayling was saying to him.
‘No. As the householder, if you wanted to put the alarm on during the night, you’d trigger it if there was one in the bedroom and you got up in the night. Which would mean if someone wanted to covertly watch someone in there they would need to put up a hidden camera. The chandelier is central in the room and a good disguise. These cameras can be transmitted to a mobile phone or computer for remote monitoring. Anyway, the crux of the matter is, that whoever put it in, the one in the hallway could still be monitoring now.’
‘How sure are you that it’s a covert camera?’
‘Pretty sure. I’ve seen them before.’
‘If it’s still live, do you think whoever’s monitoring it knows we’re onto them? How obvious were you when you were looking at it?’
‘Hopefully, I haven’t made it obvious. It was the flashing light that drew my eye and to be honest, you have to know what you’re looking at, it is subtle or else there wouldn’t be any point,’ Crayling explained.
‘So, could I have a situation whereby the equipment in the bedroom has been removed but this camera has been left behind – say, if someone was in a hurry?’ Temple suggested.
‘Yes, that’s possible – and of course, as we don’t know what else was removed, there could have been any number of devices. Here’s the keys, do you want us to change the locks on the house, just i
n case someone feels the need to come back and get what they left behind?’
‘No, don’t do that,’ Temple said, as Crayling had given him an idea.
‘There doesn’t seem to be any cameras on the outside of the house,’ Crayling went on.
‘Put one up outside, would you, as discreet as possible, with a recording device. Front and back,’ said Temple.
Given what Crayling had told him, he realized the prospect that far more evidence might exist of Greta’s activities. He had to find out who was monitoring the cameras. If Crayling was right and a camera in the bedroom had been removed, there was every possibility the camera in the hallway might yet be retrieved. Temple was also left considering the possibility of Greta’s murder having been recorded.
CHAPTER 39
GEORGIE MUNT STOPPED the 4x4 along the Hilperton Road. At 2 a.m. in the morning, it was dark and the middle class residents were asleep behind their lightless windows. He got out of the driver’s seat and noiselessly opened the low rear door of the flat bed area. He put his hands under the armpits of Zac Finch who was lying on the flat metal floor of the truck and pulled him out. His lifeless legs hit the tarmac as Munt yanked at him. Moving quickly, all the while Munt looked about him, making sure no one was watching. Bearing Finch’s weight, Munt dragged him across to the centre of the road. Once he’d dropped his beaten, bloodied and unconscious body down, he had a final look around and went back to his 4x4. He hoped some unsuspecting motorist might miss seeing Finch’s body in the dark and finish him off. He drove away.
Temple woke at 4 a.m. Two generous measures of Jane’s whisky had had the desired effect on his tired and almost foodless body, dulling his mind just long enough to snatch three hours’ sleep. As he lay in the dark, he started to think through the last few days. They’d found the t-shirt. He allowed himself to go back in time, thirty years ago. Like thousands of other times, he relived the same moments in the caravan, with his mother dead and the noise of the blue bottles. Then a hand grabbing at his throat taking a handful of his t-shirt. A hand he had tried to hold in his mind a thousand times for any identifying marks. He wouldn’t give up. He’d have to see Harker and ensure they examined the t-shirt for DNA, perhaps re-open the case. They had to do it now, surely?
Then his mind shifted back to Greta. He went back over everything, sifting, remembering faces, conversations, intelligence, recalling the facts and trying to make sense of what he was faced with. He needed more evidence. He needed to make some progress on the covert camera missing from the bedroom.
He remembered Maxwell’s face when he confessed to having Greta followed. He seemed to genuinely regret having engaged a private detective, even though he’d paid heavily for the evidence it had given him. But perhaps his regret was due to him knowing Turner had set up recording equipment on her, thought Temple. He already knew Turner had withheld from Maxwell the graphic photos of Greta and Marcus Hussain at Savernake; he must have been responsible for setting up the surveillance in the bedroom but had Maxwell instructed him to do that too? What was it that the woman from Dobson and Byrne had said – he only accepted matrimonials. Temple was convinced Turner was his prime suspect – but he was unsure as to how much Maxwell knew. All he had to do now was find Turner.
Temple drove off early to meet with the Hi Tech Crime team at Gable Cross Police Station at Swindon. He needed their particular expertise to advise him on what the possibilities were for the products gained from covert monitoring. If Turner had been recording Greta, he would be doing it for a reason, to do something with it.
Torrential rain from a flash early summer downpour slowed up the traffic along the A345, causing gridlock at the roundabout for the two lines of traffic. He approached Junction 15 on his way to Swindon. Looking through the windscreen across at the line of cars that had stopped at the traffic lights, out of the corner of his eye, Temple saw a black Chrysler 300 queuing to his right. It looked like Roger’s car. As he pushed the button, the descent of his door window revealed Roger sitting in the driver’s seat, barely two yards away from him. The sight of him and the thought of him inflicting pain on Daisy caused a rush of anger. Temple looked around, put his window up and yanked on his handbrake. He got out of his car, oblivious to the rain and queuing cars and just focusing on what he had to do. He made his way quickly over to the Chrysler 300 while it was still static and pulled the door open, surprising Roger in the process.
‘What the hell …’
Roger turned, startled by the sudden movement of the door being opened. He looked up and saw Temple standing over him. Temple reached through, grabbing Roger by the throat, pushing him over and pinning him down across the front passenger seat. Kneeling on him on the driver’s seat, Temple’s punches rained down on his head and body, and caught unawares at the swiftness of Temple’s actions, Roger was helpless to defend himself. In his rage and frustrated at the restrictions of the confined space, Temple pulled Roger back towards him, holding him by the throat. Standing back on the road by the open door, Temple continued to pull Roger towards him.
As he reached the sitting position, his body was pulled awkwardly to the side, through the open door, towards the road surface. Temple’s movements were now unrestricted. He continued to land blows to Roger’s head and body, as he laid half out of the car, both of them becoming drenched with rain. Suddenly, Temple was brought out of the moment by the sound of a blasting horn from an HGV immediately behind. The traffic lights had turned green and both Temple’s and Roger’s cars were now blocking the road. Letting go, he left Roger hanging out of the driver’s seat, his face covered in blood, struggling to lever himself upright after the onslaught.
Calmly, Temple walked back to his car. With one hand, he wiped the rain from his face and looked at his bloodied and grazed knuckles as they clenched the wheel. Roger was sure to drive straight to the police station and complain of assault. As he exhaled, he knew he now faced the prospect of waiting for the Professional Standards team to come for him and charge him. Temple knew his career would be over. While feeling strangely at peace with himself about it and feeling totally justified in his action, he knew he shouldn’t have done it. He released the handbrake and drove off.
At the station, he let himself in through the back door to the men’s toilets where he washed his hands and checked his damp suit for any of Roger’s blood. When he was satisfied that he was clean, keeping his hands in his trouser pockets, he went into the office of the Hi Tech Crime team. Knocking on the door of the locked office, he waited. The door was opened by DS Ceri Lambert.
‘You’ve been caught in the rain,’ she said, inviting him in.
Hi Tech Crime were responsible for retrieving evidence from computers and other devices which made them experts not only in software and encryption, but familiar with many of the worst depravities of internet sites available to those who populated them and the voyeurs who knew where to look for them. As a result of the sensitive nature of their business, they worked behind locked doors, ensuring only those who needed to be in the office were allowed entry. Temple needed their expertise, he needed to know the extent of what he thought he might be dealing with. Ceri Lambert showed him inside and took him to her desk in the far corner of a large room, stacked with laptops and computers, all waiting to be divested of their hard drives.
‘During the course of your internet trawls, have you come across sites with adult sexual content that seems to be covertly filmed?’ asked Temple, stepping through the door.
‘We mainly see child exploitation sites as you can imagine, but obviously, we come across all manner of linked sites as a result. There are loads of adult sites where people appear to have been covertly recorded. These are particularly evident where they have been drugged, mainly women but some men, where the drug Rohypnol and the like has been administered. You can clearly see these women and men have no control over what’s happening to them. Then there are the sites where they go even further,’ Ceri Lambert explained.
‘What do y
ou mean?’
‘Well, some are drugged as I say, and then there are some where the women are obviously being coerced, beaten and raped. The propensity for this stuff to be filmed and sites to accommodate it are vast, we can’t keep up with it. In the most extreme cases, serious harm and even death are shown, the so-called ‘snuff’ sites. In some cases, just like the child exploitation sites, they don’t show the faces, so they go unidentified, but they are getting bolder. Such is the confidence of these people that they will never be caught, they film the faces of their victims in the knowledge that because of the sheer volume of stuff on the internet, which of course, weighs against our resources, we’ll probably never identify them. Some of this content is years old but once it’s out there, it’s out there.’
‘What about new content?’
‘Oh, they’re always looking for new stuff,’ said Ceri, matter of factly. ‘At least, it’s advertised as new stuff. The people who look at this stuff are insatiable. They might start off on Level 1 classed content but then their perversion escalates; fuelled by the chat sites where they exchange views and swap thoughts, many quickly escalate to Levels 4 and 5. There is a constant need for them to advertise fresh content. It’s big business.’
‘I need some help,’ said Temple, as he explained the case. ‘In light of what you’ve said, I’ve got a theory that the private investigator I’m looking at is somehow involved in the murder. I’ve considered the prospect that, because of the equipment left at the scene, the act of her death, her murder, may have been filmed. As I see it, there’s only one reason it would be filmed and that’s for online distribution. The thing is, I don’t yet have the evidence to prove it.’
‘Look, we’re up to our necks in computers, as you can see.’ Ceri glanced over her shoulder at a stack of computers. ‘There’s twenty-eight computers over there, they all have to be looked at and I have three staff to do it. The Swindon job takes priority at the moment.’
