The four men entered the interview room. Griffiths sat facing Isaac, the lawyer sat opposite Donaldson. Donaldson was on edge; Isaac could tell the man was anxious to wrap up the case.
‘My client has come here of his own free will,’ the lawyer said.
‘We are aware of that,’ Isaac said.
With all four men comfortable, Isaac commenced the interview, remembering to follow official procedures. DCS Goddard stood in another room, observing on a monitor.
‘Mr Griffiths, you were a friend of Lord Allerton?’ Isaac asked.
‘A good friend. We were at Eton together.’
‘Along with Keith Codrington and Miles Fortescue.’
‘We were all friends.’
‘According to our enquiries, there was a special bond between the four of you,’ Donaldson said.
‘That’s correct. It has served us well over the years.’
‘My client is here to assist you with your enquiry into the tragic death of his friend,’ the lawyer, Andrew Rushton, said. Isaac studied the man. He was in his early fifties, and he had a formidable reputation, even at Challis Street. It was the first time he had met the man in person, but he knew he would need to be careful in how he phrased his questions.
Griffiths’ face was well known from the constant adverts on the television, proudly proclaiming that his products were the cheapest, his vegetables and fruit the freshest. Len Donaldson knew him from his beaming face on the poster at the local supermarket he frequented every week.
‘We understand that Mr Griffiths is giving us his valuable time.’
‘Can we come back to Lord Allerton?’ Donaldson asked.
‘Tragic,’ Griffiths said.
‘We know that on the day of his death he was coming to this station to confess.’
‘Confess to what?’
‘I received a phone call from him in the morning to say that he would be here,’ Isaac said. ‘And that he’d tell us who was involved in the drug syndicate and who was the person in control.’
‘What drug syndicate?’ Griffiths replied.
‘If you are attempting to find guilt against my client due to a friendship, then you will need to be very careful,’ Rushton said, with steely eyes.
‘We’re trying to ascertain the facts. We do not believe that Lord Allerton was a major player, although we believe one of his friends is.’
‘It’s not me,’ Griffiths protested. Too strongly for Donaldson.
‘Our investigations indicate that Keith Codrington is the ringleader and that Lord Allerton was purely a minor functionary. We are aware that his financial position has dramatically improved in the last twelve to eighteen months, as has yours and that of Miles Fortescue.’
‘I’m an entrepreneur. That’s the definition.’
‘We believe that the scale of the operation required a large cash injection, more than Codrington could manage. Our enquiries confirm that the man was academically brilliant, highly skilled in international trade, and capable of setting up the large-scale importation and distribution of illegal drugs.’
Griffiths was on his feet. ‘Are you accusing me of being involved?’
‘Sit down,’ Rushton said, attempting to grab the man by the arm.
‘We are conducting enquiries. We’re not accusing anyone, but we are aware of some of the shipment dates, and we are correlating monies into your account and others.’
‘My financial records are not for public scrutiny.’
‘They will be,’ Donaldson said, knowing full well that a man such as Griffiths would have many bank accounts, and not all of them would be easy to trace.
‘Without Keith Codrington, we will place charges on those who financed him. Not only is there drug trafficking, there are also the murders of five people. We know the men who killed them, but the person giving the order is also subject to the charge of murder under English law. Believe me, we will continue with our enquiries, including the movements of all those suspected. We will make the connections, we will place charges,’ Isaac said.
Jacob Griffiths was sitting ashen-faced. ‘My client is innocent,’ his lawyer said.
‘We’ve not accused him of any crime,’ Donaldson said.
‘Just one more question,’ Isaac said. ‘Where is Keith Codrington?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Griffiths replied.
‘When did you last see him?’
‘Two weeks ago.’
‘Thank you, Mr Griffiths. We will contact you if we have any further questions.’
The beaming face that confronted Len Donaldson at his supermarket every Saturday was not visible as the master shop owner left Challis Street.
‘Well handled,’ DCS Goddard said to the two police officers afterwards.
‘What do you reckon, sir?’ Donaldson asked.
‘Can you prove it?’
‘In time, but without Codrington it’s going to be difficult.’
‘Time is the one luxury you don’t have.’
***
Jacob Griffiths and Miles Fortescue, fearful of being seen together, kept in contact by phone.
‘There’s no way out,’ Fortescue admitted. A quick phone call to Alwyn Davies to register an official complaint had been easy to do, but if there was any hint of his guilt, Fortescue knew the commissioner would pull back.
‘What are you planning to do?’ Griffiths asked. For once, he was at a loss on how to proceed. In the past, whether it was a takeover of another business or facing financial ruin, there were always options: favours to pull in, pressure to be applied. But now, with an impending arrest due to his involvement in drug trafficking, as well as the crime of murder, he knew full well who would give him support – nobody. And there were some who would put the boot in, try to grab his assets. Even if he was willing to accept a prison term, Griffiths knew there was no way his business empire would survive.
‘I’ve no answer,’ Fortescue replied. ‘We’re damned whatever we do. Codrington landed us with his dirty work. We’ll be the ones in prison while he’s swanning around the world.’
‘Any idea where he’s gone?’
‘Somewhere that has no extradition policy and is willing to take bribes.’
‘That could be anywhere. In the meantime, what do we do?’
‘We wait and see. And besides, what proof do the police have? We’ve admitted to our friendship with the man, although I lied that I had seen Allerton that day.’
‘So did I,’ Griffiths replied.
‘Look, I’m certain the police have nothing on us.’
‘If they do?’
‘It’ll be easy to confess to lesser crimes. What did we really do? We loaned Codrington money. It’s not as if we were actively involved.’
‘But the money we received? There’s no way they’ll believe it was the proceeds of honest graft.’
‘You can doctor your financial records, I can’t,’ Fortescue said. A smart political animal, he had a way out, but it was risky, and he would not consider it until the optimum moment. He needed to find Codrington, but failing that, he needed to move the blame from himself. He wouldn’t be the first politician to be convicted of a crime; he wouldn’t be the last. He knew that his political career would not survive, and his constituency would not endorse his re-election, but that was not important. He had enough money, and if he had to follow Codrington into exile, so be it. All he had to do was to make the case against him go cold while firming the blame on Jacob Griffiths. He knew it would not be too difficult.
***
The team stayed late that night at Challis Street. The conclusion to the case that had seemed so strong was falling apart. Apart from a watertight case against O’Shaughnessy, they had little else to show for their efforts. And although Isaac was still hoping to rekindle his romance with Jess O’Neil, every time they tried along came another twist and turn with the current case and any arrangements to meet up were scuttled.
The death of Lord Allerton was big news, and the media were clamour
ing for an arrest. Lady Allerton had been on the television, as stoic as when Isaac and Len Donaldson had met her. Isaac, an emotional man, could not understand how she did it, but he realised that his ancestry, Jamaican and black, was very different from being white and privileged. Bridget had found out that not only was Laura Allerton the daughter of a Duke, but that she could also claim descent through a succession of ancestors from a former Tudor ruler of England.
‘We need another conviction,’ Larry said.
‘Steve Walters, anything on him?’ Isaac asked.
‘We’ve got an APW out on him. If he’s caught, we’ll be able to charge him.’
‘What do you think has happened to him?’
‘Think or know?’
‘Either.’
‘He can’t hide out in England indefinitely. His best bet is to skip the country.’
‘All airports, Eurostar, ferries being monitored?’
‘Standard procedure.’
‘There’s not a lot more we can do there. It’s no use looking for him in his old haunts. He’s not likely to be at any of them.’
‘Probably not, but he’s not a smart man. O’Shaughnessy is, supposedly, and we nabbed him not far from here.’
‘Okay,’ Isaac said. ‘Let’s focus on Fortescue and Griffiths. What do we reckon?’
Len Donaldson, who was also present, answered. ‘They’re guilty.’
‘Of what?’
‘They’ve not been involved with the murders, but they must know something.’
‘If they won’t talk?’ Isaac asked.
‘We apply pressure. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘Our careers,’ Isaac replied.
‘You’re not saying we back off?’
‘Not at all. Wendy and Larry are in trouble as it is. It can’t get much worse.’
‘It can, but we still go on.’
Wendy shifted uncomfortably on her chair, anxious to get home. If her time as a police officer were to end, she would not be too disappointed. Larry still harboured hopes of promotion, and suspension with a disciplinary warning was not to his taste. He had not liked Fortescue, and the man had been too eager to take offence. A seasoned politician would have handled an aspersion about his character better than he had. He intended to maintain the heat although he would need to be subtle.
‘We’ll keep the heat on Griffiths,’ Isaac said when Larry elucidated his plan regarding Fortescue. ‘Bridget, what do we have on Griffiths that we can use?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Any dirt, dodgy dealings, financial irregularities.’
‘I’m checking, but so far the man’s clean.’
Chapter 24
An unexpected phone call at Challis Street. ‘Manchester Airport. We’ve picked up someone you know.’
Bridget had taken the phone call. ‘Who?’ she asked.
‘Someone trying to board a flight to Bangkok. He tried to slip through immigration using a forged passport. Our people picked it up straight away.’
‘But who?’ Bridget had to ask again. The lady on the other end was obviously more interested in the diligence of her people than who they had detained.
‘Steven Walters. We have your name as the person to contact.’
‘Is he secure?’
‘He’s not going anywhere.’
‘Then make sure he doesn’t. No smart-arse lawyer getting him bail. My people will be there soon enough.’
Isaac, who was in his office, had come over to Bridget’s desk in response to her waving. ‘It’s Walters,’ she whispered, her hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone while the woman in Manchester continued to talk.
‘Secure?’ Isaac asked.
‘That’s what she says.’
Isaac phoned Larry. ‘I need you up in Manchester. They’ve picked up Walters.’
‘I could drive. I’m out with Wendy, checking addresses, trying to get an angle on Griffiths and Fortescue. I believe we’ve enough to push Fortescue again.’
‘How long to Manchester?’
‘Three hours. Where to?’ Larry asked.
‘The airport. Bridget will give you the contact once you’re on your way. By the way, what do you have on Fortescue?’
‘We’ve proved that Griffiths was at Fortescue’s house in Belgravia.’
‘At the same time as Allerton?’
‘Yes. The times match.’
It was a sorry looking man who confronted Wendy and Larry on their arrival at Manchester Airport. The police cells had been strengthened for terrorists after the attacks on the city in the past. As it turned out, Walters was their inaugural client since the work had completed.
‘That bastard,’
‘Which bastard?’ Wendy asked later when the formalities had been dealt with.
‘The bastard who sold me the passport. If ever I get my hands on him…’
‘It depends whether he ends up in the same prison as you.’
‘O’Shaughnessy’s the one you want,’ Walters said. Larry recognised the signs: blame someone else, blame life, blame anyone and anything.
‘We’ve already got him, you know that.’
‘He killed Stewart.’
‘What about Pinto, Fuentes?’
‘I know he killed Fuentes. You can’t pin that on me.’
‘Are you saying that you were involved in the death of Pinto?’ Larry knew the truth, but if Walters would give details about Fuentes, it may wrap up that murder as well.
‘I didn’t kill him,’ Walters said, but that was already known by the team at Challis Street. The garage where Pinto had been hidden showed only proof of O’Shaughnessy, although the victim had probably been murdered elsewhere.
The holding cells at Manchester Airport were not the ideal location to conduct an interrogation, but if the apprehended villain wanted to talk, then neither Wendy nor Larry were going to stop him. A local DI was also present to corroborate that all was in accordance with regulations.
‘Tell us about Dougal Stewart,’ Wendy asked.
‘That was Devlin’s idea.’
‘Devlin?’ Larry preferred full names to save any confusion later on.
‘Devlin O’Shaughnessy. I thought we were going to rough him up, frighten him. We knew he was stealing, but that’s hardly a reason to kill the man.’
‘But you were willing to tie him up to a beam with a rope?’
‘I’m a hard case, violence comes easily to me. I had no issue with giving him and Pinto a good thrashing.’
‘That’s been your life, hasn’t it?’ Larry said.
Walters sat calmly on his side of the cell. Wendy could see that the man had made an attempt at altering his appearance. They had been looking for a smallish, well-muscled man with tattooed arms and straggly hair. The man they were interviewing was certainly on the short side, even shorter than Wendy. She estimated his height at five feet seven inches. He wore a suit with a tie, and his hair had been cut short. He also sported a pair of glasses. They looked prescription, but Wendy thought they were the style that you could buy in any pharmacy.
‘I’ve always looked out for myself.’
‘We have your prison record. We know of your convictions for crimes of violence.’
‘I’ve not killed anyone, at least not in this country.’
‘Fuentes. What can you tell us about him?’
‘I knew what O’Shaughnessy was planning to do. Fuentes had been undercutting us.’
‘Why are you telling us?’ Wendy asked. ‘You’re admitting to your involvement in the importation and distribution of Class A drugs.’
‘What’s the sentence for that? Ten years, out in seven for good behaviour.’
‘It’s more than that, but you’ll get out at some stage.’
‘That’s how I see it.’
‘With sufficient money in your pocket,’ Larry added.
‘If you say so. I didn’t kill anyone. I’m not going to jail for that.’
‘We need details about Fu
entes. Unless we can prove that you were not involved in any murders, you’ll be convicted for the killings of Stewart and Fuentes.’
‘And Pinto?’
‘We’ve charged O’Shaughnessy with that murder. However, if you want to confess to your involvement…’
‘Not a chance.’
Wendy looked over at Larry. He shook his head imperceptibly. He knew that she wanted to tell him that he had forgotten about the death of Alex Hughenden. He had not.
‘O’Shaughnessy told me he needed me to deal with Rodrigo Fuentes,’ Walters said.
‘Will you testify to that?’ Wendy asked.
‘If I get a reduction in my sentence.’
‘That will depend on the judge.’
‘He’ll go for it; they always do.’
‘You’re very confident.’
‘I’ve been there before.’
‘They don’t like people who grass, on the inside,’ Wendy reminded Walters.
‘I can handle myself.’
‘Coming back to Fuentes,’ Larry said. ‘What happened?’
‘O’Shaughnessy had received instruction that Fuentes had to disappear; give a warning to anyone else who fancied their chances.’
‘Where were you the night of his murder?’
‘I was shacked up with a woman.’
‘Will she give you an alibi?’
‘It’s hardly likely.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know her name. We met down the pub. By the time we got back to her place, we were both drunk. I can’t even remember if I screwed her, although she said I did and she was demanding money.’
‘What happened?’
‘I told her to shut up and gave her a couple of hundred pounds.’
‘And O’Shaughnessy killed Fuentes. Did he tell you afterwards?’
‘After a few beers.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He told me that he took him down the river for a few miles, tied chains around his ankles and tossed him over the side. O’Shaughnessy said the man cried like a baby.’
‘What was your reaction?’
‘Nothing. I just ordered another pint.’
‘No sorrow for the man O’Shaughnessy had murdered?’
‘I’m a violent person. Maybe I’ll end up one day dead in a ditch. I’ve got no strong views either way on Fuentes or anyone else. I’ve killed plenty of men in my time.’
The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 4 - 6: Murder (The DCI Isaac Cook Thrillers Series Boxset) Page 21
