by S J Mantle
“Do you think so?” Harriet moved in to take a closer look.
“Bloody hell, Harriet, tell me again about snake venom, the effects, how does it affect the body? Quick!” Mike was excited.
“Well, snake venom can cause parts of the body to tingle and become numb, or ‘fall asleep’. Victims have difficulty speaking and breathing… Oh, my goodness, are you saying, are you saying, that you think these two men may still be alive?”
“If they are, it’s barely. I’m wondering if someone skilful enough could administer an amount sufficient to paralyse but not kill.” He stood up. “Paramedics! Now!” he shouted.
Several hours later they learnt Mike’s hunch had been correct. The unfortunate males had been administered with a substance that had rendered them unable to move, but it had not been enough to kill them. They remained unwell, but anti-venom had worked and they were being guarded in intensive care.
“We may have just got our first break,” said Derek. “We need to speak to them when they are up to it. I think we should book into a hotel and get some sleep before taking stock.”
Harriet threw him a quizzical look.
“Your husband appears to have thrown in the towel somewhat and made me Deputy Senior Investigating Officer.”
This was the best news she’d had heard in a long time. Harriet had worked with Derek Wynn before, he was an excellent detective: intuitive, honest and tenacious. She trusted him.
CHAPTER 20
They found a large sophisticated business hotel. It was just before 5 a.m. when they went to their respective rooms. Harriet’s head barely hit the pillow before she was asleep. Twelve hours later she awoke with a crushing headache. She rose and wandered into the bathroom to run a bath. As she sank into the bubbles, her aching limbs began to loosen. It was from the bath that she made an important call.
“Ben, it’s Mum. I’m so sorry I’ve not called for a few days, things have been crazy. How are you getting on?”
“We’re fine, it’s actually great here. Annie is lovely and she’s taught me to drive her old tractor. It’s such fun, I love it,” he said excitedly.
“That’s great, but are you actually helping or just having fun?” Harriet was laughing.
“I’ve been really helpful, I move animal feeds and old tree trunks and old sinks, basically anything I can find, and I’ve also used it to clear out the barns and to help move the sheep on the moors.”
“Well, that’s fantastic, and how’s Amelia? Is she around to speak to?”
“Amelia’s fine, Mum. She’s not here, she’s gone shopping with Annie, but she’s been busy too looking after Annie’s old spot pigs. She’s besotted with them, and guess what? One of them has just produced a litter of piglets. She’s named all nine of them.”
“I bet she has. I’m so pleased you are having such a good time.”
“Yeah, we are, it’s a cool way to spend the summer holidays. Annie is so funny; mad, but in a good way. She has this habit of stopping us in the middle of a task. Sometimes she produces a huge tin of chocolates and insists that we sit in the yard and eat as many as we can in three minutes. I always win! Sometimes she creeps up on us to play a trick. Last week while we were taking a break she shot up from behind the wall with the water hose on full pelt, it was the best water fight I’ve ever had.”
“In short then, you’re in your element?”
“Yep, it’s great, don’t worry about us.”
“Okay, well, give my love to Amelia and Annie, and take care. I’m very proud of you, Ben.”
“I’m proud of you too, Mum, love you.”
Relieved, Harriet slid beneath the bubbles. Her son was maturing fast. For the moment, she was reassured her children were safe and well.
That evening, Harriet dressed in a simple white shirt and jeans before meeting Mike in reception. They went to Derek’s room. At the far side of the room stood a large round table overlooking the city, which was lit up like thousands of fairy lights. It was here that the three of them ate, burgers and chips washed down with several lagers each. It had been quite some time since Harriet had eaten and she was hungry. All too soon the meal was over, and it was time to get down to business.
Mike was the first to speak. “Okay, deep breath everyone; we need to pull this fucking thing together, so where to start?”
“Well,” Derek cleared his throat, “there’s lots to discuss. I suggest we take stock of where we are and work out what still needs tackling and in what order. Shall I start with Troy Manning?” Mike and Harriet nodded their approval.
“Last year I dated one of the Detective Constables on Operation Eagle, by the name of Rebecca Wood. Of course, you know her, Harriet. Although no longer together, we remain on good terms, so I approached her and explained what I needed. I emphasised that what I was asking could be dangerous, and I warned her that there was already a female officer whose safety had been compromised because of events apparently linked to Eagle. I impressed upon her the need for absolute discretion.”
Harriet liked Rebecca, but she wasn’t too keen on the thought of Derek dating her.
Derek continued. “The official post-mortem into Troy Manning found that he died from smoke inhalation because of the fire at his home address. There was no evidence of trauma, but there was evidence of burning to the oesophagus. This led the pathologist to conclude that he was most likely alive and breathing when the fire started.”
“Is it possible that the reason for his apparent inability to move away from the seat of the fire could have been snake venom? Or am I just being paranoid?” asked Harriet.
“I was thinking the same thing. I really think we should ask for the original pathologist to look again, to look for venom in the tissue samples he took,” said Mike.
“Agreed. By all accounts, Troy Manning was a skilful accountant employed by the rich and famous, but also by high profile syndicates in the city. He specialised in tax savings, if you know what I mean?” The other two nodded.
“It seems Troy kept an overt client list, but rumour has it that there may also have been a covert list, the location of which remains a mystery. It’s not clear if it survived the fire. The big question for me is why all our victims had his number? Rebecca made a search of the database for our deceased, to see if she could find any common links between them.” Derek paused for effect; this was too much for Mike and Harriet who shouted together, “And?”
“And, it appears that all our deceased invested heavily in a property development scheme in London; to be exact, in Canary Wharf. Troy Manning was the accountant overseeing the scheme. It was difficult, but with the help of an informant, Rebecca managed to ascertain that their individual investments were hefty, more than £10 million each. Which begs the question, where did they get that kind of money from? It also appears that the scheme was not progressing as promised. Despite high profile assurances there had been no return. Yet it had been sold to investors as a certainty. Various well respected and high-profile individuals staked their reputations on a healthy return. Unfortunately, we have no idea who these individuals are. I’m guessing their identities lie in Troy’s covert list. At this stage, it’s impossible to guess the extent of his involvement in the scam. You will not be surprised to hear that the investor’s money has disappeared.” Derek turned to Harriet.
“I’m just wondering if you can recall exactly what it was you were looking at when you were so unceremoniously pulled from Eagle?”
She frowned. “There were several lines of enquiry, I’ll need to consult my notes and get back to you.” Harriet didn’t want to admit that she was having difficulty focussing.
“OK, so let’s move on. Following the shoddy investigation into your assault, Harriet, I had DS Steve Smith put under surveillance. Not via the usual channels, I’m slightly embarrassed to say, but using the old boy network, which of course means it’s inadmissible in any court proceedings.”
Harriet knew this was out of character for Derek. Desperate times, desperate
measures?
“This is bringing back fond memories of my old CID days: the fug of tobacco, aroma of old spice, stale alcohol, and last night’s curry. The days when our business with informants, or snouts as we used to refer to them, took place in the pub. The farting competitions, fuelled by the consumption of beer, whisky and bacon butties.” Mike grinned at Harriet.
“Very classy,” said Harriet. Mike rolled his eyes at her.
“Steve Smith is a clever man, but he’s also hungry for power. We were lucky to get two breaks. First, Poppy’s friend Janice remembered that on the day you went to see Professor Grey’s housekeeper, Steve Smith was in the incident room. Chances are he overheard your plans. And, as it happens one of the other detectives recalls bumping into him in the car park. He was on his mobile as you drove past. Our second break came when Alec Brown was found dead. Smith’s behaviour became openly agitated, I’m pretty sure he had no idea Alec was going to be taken out. Anyway, we followed him to a pub in the town centre where he met with the Deputy Chief Constable. Indeed, they met on no less than four occasions in the week following Alec’s death. We managed to record parts of their conversations, which saw Smith freaking out. The DCC on the other hand remained very much in control and reassured him things would soon settle down. Frustratingly, however, the DCC did not fully implicate himself. He did, though, instruct Smith to find your whereabouts, Harriet. It was after this last conversation that Smith began to pester Mike with questions about you.” Mike nodded in agreement.
“The truth is there is not yet enough evidence to take any meaningful action against Smith and Jack Peters. We will have to bide our time.”
“What concerns me is why the DCC was so resolute that Harriet should be arrested. Why be so involved at that level, why be so insistent? Unless of course you have a personal interest or stake?” said Mike.
“What do you mean exactly?” asked Derek.
“Well, his complete refusal to even consider that Harriet might have been set up, for a start. Then, the sense of urgency. Why not wait until the results of the forensic tests? Why the necessity to close the case? I think it was because he wasn’t keen on there being any bloody forensic tests. The quicker the matter could be wrapped up as suicide and the car and body disposed of the better, as far as he was concerned. For then it would be almost impossible to prove Harriet’s innocence and she would no longer pose a threat. What he didn’t bet on was your interference, DCI Wynn.”
“Mike, I think you make a good point. Peters was not interested in the questions I posed, luckily for us, and especially for you Harriet, DI Lamsden was.”
“You know, I think it’s time I had a confidential word with the Chief Constable, Mark Jones. We joined together… sorry Harriet, I know you disapprove of this way of working, but I really don’t think we have a choice,” said Derek.
“No, I’m all for making use of contacts and tapping associates, so long as it doesn’t disadvantage others.” Yawning, Harriet got to her feet.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. The hotel manager entered grasping a large brown envelope.
“This has just been hand-delivered to reception for you, Mr Wynn.”
“May I ask by whom?”
“No name was given, but she was a smartly dressed young woman.”
“Can you be more specific?” Derek examined the envelope.
Harriet was mesmerised by the manager’s French accent.
“I would guess she was in her early twenties, with long dark, straight hair. Maybe 6ft tall, slim, wearing jeans and long black knee length boots and an expensive-looking long black jacket. And she wore a striking gold coloured pendant on a thick gold chain, with a jewel at its centre.”
“She clearly made quite an impression on you,” said Mike.
“She was most memorable.”
Harriet turned to Derek. “The mystery woman?”
“Possibly, but I’m not sure that really makes sense, does it?”
“No, not really. I suppose it depends on what’s in the envelope.”
The envelope contained a mobile phone. Attached to the phone was a handwritten note, which simply said, ‘Listen to this.’ So, they did. No-one said anything for minute or two.
“Well, I’ll be dammed, it’s the recording Alec played to me in the park,” said a frowning Derek.
“Yes, how could I forget?” said Harriet. “It’s maddening, I recognise the other voice, but I can’t put a face to it.”
“I think I know who it is.” Mike mouthed something to Derek, but Harriet didn’t catch it. She saw Derek nod.
“What if I were to say Deputy Chief Constable Jack Peters?” said Derek.
“Oh, my God, yes!” said Harriet. “Oh, crikey, shit.”
“Yes, exactly. I really do need to speak to the Chief Constable and urgently. For we have no idea who else may be involved. We are in the unenviable position of needing to treat everyone outside this room as a potential suspect.”
Harriet glanced across at Mike who was chewing his lip.
“OK, we need to come up with a plan of action. Nick is back in the incident room overseeing the enquiries there and the surveillance of DS Smith. I will update him later. But if it’s ok with you, Harriet, I don’t want to tell him too much at this stage. I really think we should hold our cards close to our chests until we are sure who we can trust.”
“I absolutely agree. To be honest with you, I’m really worried about Nick. I don’t want to say too much, but I think he may have a drink problem. Quite apart from the obvious concerns of drink-driving and being fit for duty, I’m not sure his judgement is sound. I just need to figure out what to do about it.”
Mike was the first to speak. “Harriet, it’s an open secret on the room and staff have been looking out for him for some time, but it is probably time to do more.”
“I’ll take this to my boss and persuade him to organise an Occupational Health referral. He won’t like it one bit, so before I do, I think you should speak to him,” said Derek.
“I know, it’s going to be a hard conversation to have. I’ve been putting it off.”
“Mike, can you do some detailed work into Troy Manning, specifically around his death.’ Liaise with Rebecca Wood, would you? I want you to oversee the re-testing of his tissue samples for the possibility of snake venom.” Derek was going through his list of actions.
“As soon as possible, preferably tomorrow morning, I’d like you both to go to the hospital and speak to the two characters we found at the university. See if they will speak to us. The longer we leave it, the more time they’ll have to get a story together. I don’t want to miss this opportunity. Get as much detail as you can and then ask Nick to allocate any enquiries that come out to officers. I’ll attend Professor Hudson’s post-mortem. Are you up to this, Harriet? I completely understand if you need some time to grieve,” he said softly.
“No, I want to help, but I won’t lie to you both, it’s hard. If you’re happy to bear with me, I’ll do my best.”
Then, without warning, Harriet made for the door.
“Sorry, won’t be a minute, please excuse me,” she shouted over her shoulder as she left the room. She ran downstairs to the lobby area. It was now the early hours of the morning. The Night Manager was in his office.
“Sorry to disturb you, but do you mind if I ask again about the lady who delivered the envelope about an hour ago?”
Looking slightly surprised, the manager nodded.
“Can you describe her face at all, add any other details?”
“She was stunningly beautiful, large oval deep green luminous eyes. There was almost an olive tinge to her complexion; she had presence, if you know what I mean? She moved gracefully too and spoke in an educated way.”
“Can you recall what she said?”
“She greeted me, said she understood we had a guest by the name of Mr Derek Wynn, she wondered if I would be kind enough to hand-deliver an envelope to him.”
“Did you ask for he
r name?”
“I did ask her who I should say had left the envelope but I can’t recall what she said.”
“Is there by any chance any CCTV of the reception area?”
“Yes.”
“Could I have a copy of it?”
“I’ll bring it up to Mr Wynn’s room as soon as I’ve copied it.”
“Don’t you want to see any form of identification?”
“Oh, no Madam, for I’ve just recalled what the lady said. When I asked her who I should say had called, she replied, ‘All you need to know is that Mr Wynn is a police officer working on a very important case. I think he might find this useful’.”
“Useful?”
“That’s what she said.”
Harriet sprinted back upstairs to the others.
Approximately ten minutes later, the Night Manager arrived with a copy of the CCTV footage. They sat and watched it in silence. It was frustrating as there was no clear image of the girl.
“I don’t think she’s the mystery woman,” said Mike.
“No?” said Harriet.
“Although the description of the mystery woman and the lady at reception are similar, the mystery woman described by your attackers had a north London or Essex-tinged accent. The manager has described the lady at reception as ‘well educated’. I take that to mean she spoke in a kind of BBC presenter way. Also, we know the mystery woman has a tattoo on her left wrist. If you look closely at the footage, there is a watch, but no tattoo.”
