Grave Passion

by Phillip Strang

  ‘I told you that.’

  ‘You did not tell us that you had a relationship with Amanda Upton.’

  ‘Whoever she is, I didn’t.’

  Isaac pushed a folder over to Jameson. ‘Your client has failed to tell the truth. You’ll find a report from Forensics. The analysis of the hairs found on the bed in the front bedroom of the house proves that they belong to Amanda Upton and Gareth Rees.’

  Jameson opened the folder, read the front page and pushed it over to his client.

  ‘Maybe I didn’t know her name,’ Rees said. ‘It could just be a coincidence. I live on my own, but sometimes I appreciate the company.’

  ‘There are no hairs from other women in the bedroom,’ Larry said. ‘It’s proof positive that you knew the first woman murdered.’

  ‘My client will not comment,’ Jameson said. The previously confident look on his face had gone.

  ‘There was also a laptop in another bedroom,’ Isaac said.

  ‘That was private property,’ Rees said.

  ‘It’s evidence now. Apart from the normal, websites for guns and porn, it appears that you had an interesting sideline.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jameson asked. ‘Why haven’t I received this advice?’

  Isaac was not in the mood to discuss semantics or police procedure; he was focussed on breaking Rees.

  ‘Mr Rees, your activities overseas, the reason you were court-martialled out of the military. Was it a military action that went wrong, or were you black-market trading, selling weapons, stealing them, giving away secrets?’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Jameson said. Isaac was sure he was speaking for effect, not sure about his position. The man’s hold on the situation in the interview room was shaky.

  ‘Amanda Upton’s fingerprints were on the laptop as well,’ Larry said. ‘The claim that she could have just been a rented woman for an evening doesn’t hold up.’

  ‘Very well. I knew Amanda.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘A club somewhere. If she was related to the brothel owner, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Did you ever visit her place in Marylebone?’

  ‘No. She would never let me go there.’

  ‘And you were aware that she was selling herself?’

  ‘She never made a secret of it, not to me.’

  ‘Were the two of you close?’

  ‘We got on, but it wasn’t love. Not for me, anyway.’

  ‘For her?’

  ‘It’s probable. She was a moral woman, didn’t always like herself for what she did.’

  ‘You were her manager; you set up the clients, which yet again points to places and people you met in the military. We’re still trying to get a record of your court-martial.’

  ‘Okay, I looked after her interests. I knew a few people around the world, high-flyers.’

  ‘Men who used you for your expertise in killing; Amanda for her body. It seems that you and she were destined for each other, a match made in heaven,’ Isaac said.

  Rees leaned over to Jameson, whispered in his ear.

  ‘My client advises you that enquiries about actions committed out of England will run into serious problems.’

  ‘The Official Secrets Act,’ Isaac said. ‘We’ve been there before, and whether Mr Rees has conducted actions for the British government or not, it doesn’t obviate him from murder in this country.’

  ‘Mr Rees, we have obtained a video of you on the fire escape in Canning Town. Software enhancement of the image will show it to be you,’ Larry said.

  ‘I’ve already admitted that I was there.’

  ‘Not with a rifle, you didn’t. It’s visible and pointed towards where Sean Garvey died,’ Isaac said.

  ‘I’ll deny it.’

  ‘Deny all you want, but we have proof. Not only that you were intimately involved with Amanda Upton, but that you were in Canning Town, a rifle at your shoulder, at the time Garvey was shot. Why did you kill Janice Robinson?’

  ‘I didn’t. This is ludicrous.’

  ‘It appears, DCI Cook,’ Jameson said, ‘that you are clutching at straws. I doubt if a video other than professionally made would show the necessary clarity to convince a jury.’

  ‘It wouldn’t,’ Isaac admitted.

  ‘Then my client will leave this police station today.

  ‘Not so fast,’ Larry said as he pushed another folder across the desk. ‘Why, Mr Rees, did you keep the house that you shared with your first wife?’

  Jameson looked at the photo inside, looked over at his client and then at the two police officers. ‘What does this mean?’

  ‘Mr Rees, living a quiet life in Kingston upon Thames, the model neighbour, never intended to act in a manner there that could raise suspicion. That’s why he kept his weapons at the old house, not in the bedroom as we expected, but in a concreted pit under the floorboards. As can be seen, there are several weapons: rifles, pistols, and knives. If you look at the photo on the fire escape and the gun that’s displayed in the picture, you’ll see the similarities.

  ‘Our crime scene investigators are on the way there, and the rifle will be with Forensics within the hour. No doubt, a professional would have cleaned it thoroughly after it had been fired, but we have the bullet that killed Garvey. Within hours, we will know that we have indisputable proof, and all the conjecture as to what was coincidental and what wasn’t will be put to rest.’

  Jameson looked over at Isaac. ‘I will take instructions from my client,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Rees will remain in the cells. As far as we are concerned, your client is the murderer of Sean Garvey.’

  ‘I’m innocent,’ Rees protested. Jameson took no notice.

  ‘One last question before we terminate this interview.’ Isaac said. ‘The cells are not the most comfortable. You’ve been sitting down for a long time. That limp, an old war wound?’

  ‘Serving my country, not like you harassing innocent people.’

  ‘Mr Rees, you are not innocent. We can prove Sean Garvey, and the knives at your house will be checked against the knife wounds inflicted on Amanda Upton and Janice Robinson. What did Amanda Upton have on you? Professing love, found out some secrets about you that you wanted to stay that way?’

  ‘My client will say no more,’ Jameson said.

  ***

  Three murders were solved, one of them with enough proof for a conviction.

  Rose Winston and her belief that the man had limped had been proven to be accurate, even though almost everyone had discounted the fact.

  One avenue that would need to be explored was the possibility of Gareth Rees opening up, telling what he knew, looking to reduce his prison sentence.

  Isaac did not feel confident that the man would say much more, and if he had been involved in secret operations overseas, then he might well have people who would prefer him free or dead.

  Wendy, after a good night’s rest, was at Mary Wilton’s. With someone charged with her daughter’s murder, it was time to confront her again. Bridget had examined Rees’s laptop, found the usual, proof of Amanda’s and Rees’s business involvement, but little more. And no encrypted files that would lead to Ian Naughton.

  Isaac laid out a plan to Chief Superintendent Goddard. Both men had a shrewd idea of how politics and secrecy worked, having felt the brunt of them before.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Goddard said.

  ‘If Rees was court-martialled, a mock trial possibly, it’s because of a major transgression. But the man didn’t serve time in a military prison, he acts with impunity afterwards, changing his name at will. And then there are the contacts overseas, the reason he could set up Amanda Upton in business,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Are you suggesting that I make it known that if Rees starts talking, he’s likely to reveal facts that other people don’t want to be known; actions instigated by the British government.’

  ‘We’ve experienced the neuroses of people in power. Anything, no matter
how obscure or trivial that paints them in a bad light, and they're all over it with a veil of secrecy. And as we know, people start to die.’

  ‘We end up with unsolved murders against our record.’

  ‘Even when we know the guilty party. We can get Rees this time for Garvey, not a chance for Amanda Upton unless he decides to talk.’

  ‘Lord Shaw?’

  ‘He was the commissioner of the Met before Davies. He’s a man who’s guided your career,’ Isaac said. ‘He’s also a man who has the right contacts.’

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Goddard said. ‘Nothing to lose, not now, and I’m damned sure I’m not about to allow our police records to get another black mark against them for failing to solve a crime.’

  ***

  Mary Wilton sat quietly as Wendy updated her. The events of the last few weeks had aged her. Even though she had been in her mid-seventies when they had first met, she had been well-dressed and lively, but Wendy thought the woman now looked terminal, as though she did not have long for this world. The former brothel was cold and austere.

  ‘I’m selling up,’ the woman said. ‘What with Amanda and the upcoming court case, I’ve just had enough.’

  ‘We know who killed your daughter,’ Wendy said. ‘Not that we can prove it, not yet.’

  ‘Gabbi’s former husband?’

  ‘Yes. You knew or you suspected?’

  ‘Suspected.’

  It didn’t ring true to Wendy; somehow someone had told the woman. It hadn’t been reported yet, not officially, and outside of the police station, few people would have known.

  ‘The truth.’

  ‘Gabbi contacted me, told me that Gareth had been arrested and that he was likely to be charged with murder.’

  At least that was true, Wendy knew. She had phoned Gabbi herself, told her that her former husband was in custody, yet the case wasn’t watertight, not at that time, and the man had figured out that it had been his former wife who had helped the police.

  ‘Gareth Rees and your daughter were more than friends. They had, according to Rees, a casual sexual relationship. Also, he was involved in organising the clients for her, ensuring that the monies were paid in advance.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Which brings up the question as to where they met and why Gabbi gravitated to your brothel after Rees had kicked her out.’

  ‘I always thought it was Analyn who told her about here. It was she that introduced her to me.’

  ‘A natural, Gabbi?’

  ‘I had no complaints. She wasn’t here long, though. I liked her, the same as I liked Analyn. None of the coarseness of the others, not like Janice or Cathy.’

  ‘Men haters, Janice and Cathy?’

  ‘Not Janice, but Cathy could have been. Janice could be selective about who she went with; Cathy never was.’

  ‘More money, the more disgusting the act?’

  ‘If the girls negotiated extra, I’d not know.’

  ‘Cathy was more desperate?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Let’s come back to Rees and Amanda,’ Wendy said.

  The two women were sat in the sofas that had previously served as platforms for the available women to show their wares when the place had been in business. Back then, scantily-dressed women, voluptuous, bright red lipstick, the suggestion of unbridled passion, the lustful looks of the males. But now, two women discussing the murder of a daughter, and in Mary Wilton’s case, the futility of her life.

  ‘If Analyn had known Gabbi, she would have told her about this place,’ Mary Wilton repeating what she had said previously.

  ‘Which means either in England or else in the Philippines. We know that Rees was spending time with Amanda. He was also in the company of Analyn in Godstone.’

  Wendy was still concerned that Gabbi Gaffney had hidden secrets; something wasn’t right.

  ‘I can’t help you,’ the former madam said.

  Wendy was sure that she couldn’t. As she left the house, she felt that she would never see the woman again. It was an unsettling feeling, a premonition. It disturbed her.

  ***

  Isaac sat in his office, hunched over his laptop. The worst part of a police officer’s life, the paperwork. The paperless office, the automation of processes that had been promised in the new streamlined police force, hadn’t eventuated.

  Apart from the report on the department’s progress in the current murder enquiries, he still had to deal with health and safety, training for his people, preparation of budgets, requests for more personnel; or, more often, a cogent argument as to why he could not manage with fewer people, either as a result of natural attrition or because of the generous retirement packages offered to those approaching the ends of their careers, Wendy, the person most often mentioned as someone who should hand over her badge, receive the customary farewell, a speech from the chief superintendent, a few drinks, and out of the door.

  Isaac did not want his sergeant to go, not yet, and on the last three attempts to remove her from Challis Street, he had managed to ensure that she stayed.

  Larry spent time with Bill Ross over at Canning Town, attempting to find out more about Ian Naughton, although with three members of the gang that they had paid to kill Hector Robinson dead and gone, the others couldn’t be found.

  The two men discussed the case, the reason for Hector Robinson’s murder, as well as the deaths of Waylon Conroy and Sean Garvey. Murder needs a motive, but motives are often obscure. Jealousy, an argument, money, love, hatred, were all motives, but Sean Garvey, who evoked no emotions other than loathing from Ross, had no reason to die. Not that the area wasn’t better off without him, but there were thousands in London living pointless lives.

  Ross had admitted to Larry on more than one occasion that even though he had tempered his provocative and racist comments about the majority of the populace in Canning Town, it didn’t come easy. Larry knew that the man’s stay in Dagenham might be shorter than he would like.

  Larry felt that he was wasting time with Ross and that he could not admit to liking his fellow inspector; the man carried too much angst, and too much time in his company was negative. He shook the man’s hand, wished him well and returned to Challis Street.

  ***

  It would have required a Herculean effort by Richard Goddard and Lord Charles Shaw, but in the department, a copy of Gareth Rees’s military record, a transcript of the man’s court-martial.

  Both documents, while substantially complete, also had large parts blacked out. However, Homicide, and specifically Isaac, were pleased to have the documents in their possession.

  Bridget had photocopied them, given copies to each of the team.

  ‘The salient points,’ Isaac said, knowing that Bridget would have separated the wheat from the chaff, the items of interest from the verbiage of a court-martial.

  ‘Gareth Rees, an exemplary record of service, had served in Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as other countries, most of them blacked out, although he had been in Africa on a couple of occasions.’

  ‘To do what?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Unspecified.’

  ‘Which means behind enemy lines, undercover, sanctioned assassinations,’ Isaac said.

  ‘There is a name.’

  ‘Of who?’

  ‘It’s in the transcript of the court-martial,’ Bridget said. ‘The charge against Rees is not to do with collateral damage, nor is it the indiscriminate killing of civilians.’

  ‘Then what?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Rees was charged with selling military equipment.’

  ‘Arms trading?’

  ‘That’s what it says.’

  ‘And yet he gets kicked out of the military, no time served, even though he’s found guilty.’

  ‘Which means?’ Wendy said.

  ‘I’d say that favours rendered to a grateful country outweighed the crimes,’ Isaac said.

  ‘The sale of weapons, which could have been primarily to rebel groups, and a
pproved by the British Government initially, could have given Rees the idea to make extra money on the side.’

  ‘There’s more,’ Bridget said. ‘It’s a doctored document, a lot left out, some left in.’

  ‘Critical.’

  ‘It’s in the small print, hidden in the summing up by the prosecution lawyer.’

  ‘What is it?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘The man had an accomplice.’

  ‘A name?’

  ‘Only initials, VC, and it’s not the medal.’

  ‘Ian Naughton? That would explain the apparent friendliness between him and Rees,’ Larry said.

  ‘I’ve gone through names associated with Rees, names on the public record. VC stands for Vincent Cuthbertson.’

  ‘His service records?’

  ‘Once I had details as to his postings, his rank, his regiment. The man left the military around the time Rees was sentenced.’

  ‘A cover-up?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. What I can tell you is that Cuthbertson is forty-eight years of age, the son of wealthy parents, the father bankrupted when Cuthbertson was in his twenties.’

  ‘A picture?’

  Bridget reached over to another folder on the desk, took out three photos and handed one to Isaac, another to Larry, and a third to Wendy.

  ‘It’s Naughton,’ Larry said. ‘Where can we find him?’

  ‘He’s a man who appears and disappears at regular intervals. He also has a wife from the Philippines.’

  ‘Analyn?’

  ‘Her name is Leni Ramos.’

  Chapter 30

  There were, Isaac could see, inconsistencies in the documents that had been procured by Lord Shaw. The most glaring one was that it had been relatively simple for Bridget to find out that VC referred to Vincent Cuthbertson. It was as if the police were being given a hand to arrest Ian Naughton, who may well have outlived his usefulness, and was potentially an embarrassment.

  Regardless, it appeared that the potential embarrassment to persons unknown outweighed the short-term expediency of arresting both Rees and Naughton. And now Analyn’s part in the sordid affair had been revealed; she was Naughton’s wife, not the family maid, nor the nanny of the children.