Grave Passion

by Phillip Strang

  Cuthbertson’s last known address was in Suffolk, a county north-east of London. It was five years since the man had been there, and Bridget had been checking bank accounts, looking for credit cards. There were none, which meant, as with Rees, that the man used different names for different occasions.

  Wendy had visited Gabbi Gaffney, still not venturing far from her house, and shown her the photo of Vincent Cuthbertson, asked her why she had lied about her and Analyn in the Philippines. The woman’s reply was obtuse and incoherent.

  Gabbi was frightened, and she wasn’t going to say more, other than Analyn had married the man, although she had only seen him in the Philippines and not in England, and if Analyn knew that he was murdering people indiscriminately, she would be frightened too.

  Wendy wanted to believe her, but too many lies had been told by too many people, and Gabbi Gaffney had exceeded her allowance.

  The All-Points Bulletin for Ian Naughton, also known as Vincent Cuthbertson, had been upgraded, and now there was a photo, even if it had been taken years previously. An artist aged the picture, a representation of what he would look like now, using both Isaac’s and Larry’s training in observation to affect a good likeness.

  All airports and cross-channel ferries had been notified, as well as the train stations, especially St Pancras International, the departure point for the Eurostar and the continent. If Naughton was in the country, it was only a matter of time before he was apprehended, and Analyn’s photo was now available as well.

  One or the other would surface soon enough, if only for provisions.

  A flurry of activity in Homicide, anticipation that it would soon be over. Bridget busied herself with updating her database. Three murders had a murderer’s name against them, although the crimes committed by Naughton weren’t known yet. The man had worked behind enemy lines overseas, which meant that he was probably as adept a killer as Rees.

  Isaac and Larry visited Rees in prison. The man needed to be updated.

  ‘Vincent Cuthbertson,’ Isaac said as Rees sat down.

  ‘I know the name,’ Rees’s reply.

  ‘We met him in Holland Park. He was using the name of Ian Naughton, and we know now that Analyn, the woman we met and you were in Godstone with, is his wife. Her name in the Philippines was Leni Ramos.’

  ‘Cuthbertson liked them Asian and young.’

  ‘As you do,’ Larry said.

  ‘There’s no law against it. We used to go there when we had time off, got drunk, got laid, had a great time.’

  ‘A great time, but both of you married women from there. Why?’

  ‘Love.’

  ‘Mr Rees, from what we know, and we do have a copy of your military record as well as an edited transcript of your court-martial, you are not a sentimental man.’

  ‘Your opinion doesn’t matter. Gabbi was a good person, and no doubt Leni is. Good luck to Cuthbertson, but we weren’t in each other’s pocket.’

  ‘We know from your former wife that you knew Naughton’s wife, or should I say, Vincent Cuthbertson’s wife, in the Philippines.’

  ‘Maybe I did, but where’s this going? I’ve been stitched up for one murder. I’m not likely to see the outside other than from a prison van for a long time. You want my cooperation, although I don’t know what for.’

  ‘You were selling weapons.’

  ‘I was following orders.’

  ‘You probably were initially, but you were taking a little extra on the side. Doesn’t it irk you that Cuthbertson got an honourable discharge, a pension?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is that it? He’s walking free, and yet you have been doing his dirty work. And judging by the house in Holland Park and yours in Kingston upon Thames, you were getting the rough end of the stick. You were being shafted by a master manipulator. And why the cryptic message at the grave where you murdered Amanda Upton?’

  ‘Don’t make it out to be something it wasn’t. We worked together, occasionally screwed each other. It was sex, that’s all.’

  ‘But you liked her?’

  ‘Sure, who wouldn’t. She was a classy woman, but she was hard, the same as her mother. To your face, she was sweet and coy and desirable, but deep down, she was calculating, able to convince a fat lecher that he was taking her to untold heights of delight.’

  ‘A good actor?’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘We had a good time, no need to pretend with me. I’m as hard as she was, and you would be if you had seen what I had when I was in the military.’

  ‘Done what you had,’ Larry said.

  ‘Someone had to do it.’

  ‘You’ve used that defence before,’ Isaac said.

  A smug look settled on Rees’s face. Isaac didn’t like it, as if the man knew something that he didn’t.

  A curious limbo existed in Homicide; the truth increasingly known but only marginally proved. Larry took the opportunity to catch up on his paperwork, Wendy took the time to rest her weary legs, and Isaac gave more time to Jenny. It was only Bridget who was fully occupied.

  Three days after Rees’s arrest, a phone call. Isaac was at the gynaecologist with Jenny when he answered his phone.

  ‘Sergeant Bill Dyer, Cardiff Police,’ a gruff-voiced man said.

  ‘How can I help you?’ Isaac’s reply, Jenny casting him a sideways glance, understanding on the one hand, scornful on the other.

  ‘It was one of our young constables, keen as mustard. She was in the supermarket, recognised your Asian woman.’

  ‘Under arrest?’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d want that. The constable picked up a plastic container the woman had handled, flashed her warrant card at the cashier and followed her.’

  ‘The prints?’

  ‘You’ll need to get your Forensics to check them out, but we’re certain they are from Leni Ramos.’

  ‘An address?’

  ‘We’ve got it staked out. It’s in a cul-de-sac. No one’s going anywhere.’

  ‘A man?’

  ‘We’ve not got close enough yet, but the constable’s got a team together to make sure that no one leaves the house. They’ve got photos of both the Asian woman and this Ian Naughton or whatever he calls himself. If either moves, we’ll pick them up.’

  ‘You’ve been updated on Naughton?’

  ‘Possibly armed, liable to shoot, handle with extreme caution. We have. We’ve got an armed response team coming, should be in place within an hour. How soon before you get here?’

  ‘Three hours if we drive, sixty minutes if we can get a helicopter. It depends on the chief superintendent.’

  Isaac phoned Goddard, who without hesitation gave his permission. The monthly budget would be blown, but an arrest in Cardiff would outweigh the criticism that the finance department would give him afterwards.

  Fifteen minutes later, Isaac and Larry were flying high over London, a police helicopter seconded for the trip.

  Larry had been to Cardiff, Isaac hadn’t. On arrival, Detective Inspector Everton and the young constable, Catrin Humphreys, met them.

  ‘Constable Humphreys gets the credit for this.’

  Isaac instinctively liked the inspector, a fair-minded man who gave credit where credit was due, not like the insufferable Seth Caddick who was always trying to wheedle his way into Challis Street and Homicide.’

  ‘It’s not far from here,’ Catrin Humphreys said.

  ‘The plan?’ Larry asked.

  ‘We were waiting for you. The armed response will go first. Once it’s secured, you can go in. It’s your arrest,’ Everton said.

  ‘Constable Humphreys can do that,’ Isaac said. ‘Inspector Hill and I have met Naughton and the woman before. The man can charm the birds out of the trees, but his records indicate that he’s not the sort of person to get too close to.’

  The armed response team reached the front door of the house. It wasn’t as impressive as Holland Park, but it was still better than Rees’s house.<
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  The door opened. From a distance, Isaac could see that it was the woman that had been with Ian Naughton: Analyn. Not taking chances this time, the woman was secured by one of the men and taken from her side of the door and out through the front garden. She was handed over to Isaac, who asked the young constable to caution her.

  Handcuffs were applied to Analyn, and she was placed in the back of a police vehicle.

  The armed response team encircled the house, two of them taking positions at the rear, three at the front. The officer in charge shouted out, told anyone in the house to come out with their hands held high.

  Naughton walked out, the same smug look that Isaac had seen on Gareth Rees’s face at the prison. Isaac decided that even though he had wanted to let the constable caution the man, the seriousness of his crimes and the ensuing trial required him to do it.

  ‘It seems, Chief Inspector, that you are determined to miscalculate the situation,’ Naughton said.

  As smooth as a knife through butter, Larry thought. The man was good. He was not going to be easy to crack.

  ‘Why the arrogance?’ Inspector Everton asked Isaac after the two people in custody had left for the police station.

  ‘Trained killer for Her Majesty’s government. Friends in high places, secrets that he knows they’ll not want to be known. He thinks he can get out of this,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Can he?’

  ‘It’s probable. And besides, we can’t prove he committed murder, only that he instigated them.’

  ‘Proof of criminal activity?’

  ‘Not strong. His other nefarious activities we can’t be so sure about. It depends on his offsider and the woman. If either talk, that is.’

  ‘You don’t look confident.’

  ‘We’ve met his type before.’

  ***

  Wendy sat with Gabbi Gaffney, explaining what was happening in Cardiff, the woman’s husband sitting alongside her, holding her hand. It was touching, Wendy thought, but it wasn’t going to help if she continued to hold back the full truth.

  ‘We have Analyn in custody. In the Philippines, what name did she use?’

  ‘Analyn,’ Gabbi’s answer.

  Wendy, tired of the charade, turned to Gabbi’s husband. ‘I suggest you tell your wife to be honest with me. If she was prostituting herself in Manila, I need to know. If she’s not told you the full truth, then it’s too late. You’ll just have to sort it out between the two of you afterwards.’

  ‘I know the whole story,’ Mike Gaffney said, squeezing his wife’s hand harder.

  Wendy wasn’t sure he did. There was a sordid underlife that had not been told. According to Gabbi and Mary Wilton, both Gabbi and Analyn were decent women attempting to make the best in an imperfect world.

  Wendy had no issues with that, but lying to the police was an offence. She had no desire to deprive the woman of her husband and baby, but if she had to, she would.

  ‘Tell her,’ Mike Gaffney said.

  ‘Analyn, although that wasn’t her real name, not in the Philippines,’ Gabbi said.

  ‘Leni Ramos,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Yes, Leni. She had had it rough, a more difficult childhood than mine; poverty, an empty belly. It stunts the brain; makes you do things you’d rather not.’

  ‘Shows for the sex-tourists?’

  ‘Not at first. We came from the same area in the Philippines, although we had not known each other. In Manila, we bonded, dealt with whatever life threw up at us, and, yes, shows, degrading, disgusting. But what option did we have? Our families were suffering.’

  ‘Did they know?’

  ‘It wasn’t something that was ever spoken about. Mike looks after my family now; it’s not a lot of money, and they never cheat him, sit on their backsides waiting for the next cheque. My father is very religious, but not naïve; my mother is. I think my father realised the extent of it more than her.’

  ‘Is any of this a surprise, Mr Gaffney?’ Wendy said.

  ‘The past is the past. I judge the person, not their history, no matter how much it might disturb me.’

  ‘And it does?’

  ‘Man’s inhumanity to man, or in this case, women, is inexhaustible.’

  ‘Gareth and Naughton. In the audience?’

  ‘We met them on our day off. Gareth never saw me perform, nor did Vincent see Leni, or should I say, Analyn?’

  ‘Either will do,’ Wendy said.

  ‘I told Gareth the truth, and he said he’d look after me as long as I didn’t return.’

  ‘Out of love?’

  ‘Not then, not for either of us. He was in the country for a few weeks; he wanted a woman to be there for him.’

  ‘For sex?’

  ‘Not only that. He was interested in the culture, wanted me to show him around.’

  ‘And you had no problems with this?’

  ‘It was better than what I had been doing. A good hotel, plenty to eat, clean sheets on the bed. To me, it was a paradise.’

  ‘He married you.’

  ‘He used to have these terrible nightmares; he said that I calmed him. In time and another couple of visits, he asked me to marry him and to go and live in England.’

  ‘The shows, prostituting yourself?’

  ‘Not after I met Gareth. He used to send me money regularly, enough to rent a small place to live and I got a job in a shop selling souvenirs. Life was good; I had a benefactor, and we were married.’

  ‘But he changed?’

  ‘Later, in England. The nightmares never went away, and then he was away more often, and then, one day, I was no longer in the house.’

  ‘He holds you responsible for leading us to him.’

  ‘And you say he kills people.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which means he could kill me, or Mike or our baby?’

  ‘Not now, he can’t. Let’s get back to Analyn.’

  ‘Her story is similar to mine. Gareth and Vincent, or Ian, as you call him, were firm friends, inseparable. I went with Gareth; she went with Ian. Ian was better educated than Gareth, and he always seemed to have plenty of money. She fell for him in a big way, and he married her, love at the time for both of them. But...’

  ‘But what does that mean?’

  ‘Both men were secretive, both men had a dark side, but, Ian, sometimes he seemed distant. As though he was calculating the odds, deep thinking. I don’t know what it was, but sometimes I felt uncomfortable around him.’

  ‘Analyn?’

  ‘She never saw it, not until she was in England.’

  ‘Mary Wilton’s?’

  ‘She had managed to get away from him.’

  ‘Violent?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘He’s a charming man, so I’m told,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Mike believes it’s all a pretence, and that the man’s cold and calculating and dangerous.’

  ‘Your husband is right.’

  ‘Is she in trouble?’

  ‘She is probably guilty of a crime, but she may have acted under duress, a fear of her husband.’

  ‘She would have.’

  ‘Then there would be mitigating circumstances. If she’s honest with us, then it will go in her favour. She may not know the full extent of what has happened.’

  ‘She would, but fear is a powerful force. So many people have died; she would be frightened for her life.’

  ‘Ian Naughton. Possessive?’

  ‘Not in Manila, and I haven’t seen him for a long time. He could have changed. Analyn said he had.’

  ***

  Analyn, although her correct name was Leni Ramos, sat in the interview room. She had been supplied a legal aid lawyer at her request.

  Isaac and Larry sat opposite the woman and her lawyer, a man in his fifties, shabbily dressed, a two-day growth of beard. He was, Isaac thought, a poor example of the legal profession. Naughton had organised a top-flight lawyer who was travelling from London.

  ‘Why didn’t you take your husband’s lawyer?�
�� Isaac asked.

  The woman was as he remembered: short, attractive, and easy on the eye.

  ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘We’ve spoken to Gabbi. She’s updated us on your life in the Philippines, and your subsequent time in England. Is it, as has been said by her, difficult in this country?’

  ‘No. We have been happy. I have a good husband, a good life.’

  ‘According to your friend, your husband controls you. Is that true?’

  ‘No, not Ian.’

  ‘What other names does he use?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s self-employed. I don’t enquire, not a wife’s prerogative.’

  ‘There are many who would disagree with you on that,’ Larry said.

  ‘They never grew up hungry, barely enough money for shoes.’

  ‘But now, your husband makes sure that you have both food and footwear.’

  ‘He does.’

  ‘In the Philippines, you did things that you’re not proud of.’

  ‘I survived.’

  The woman was proving difficult, putting up an impenetrable barrier between her and the truth.

  ‘Why were you at Mary Wilton’s? We know that you sold yourself there.’

  ‘Then why ask? I did what was necessary.’

  ‘Your husband?’

  ‘We had had an argument. I was doing it to spite him.’

  ‘A drastic action.’

  ‘He reminded me of what I had once been. I regret it.’

  ‘Or you had no money.’

  Isaac changed tack. ‘We know that you were in Kensal Green Cemetery by the grave where Amanda Upton died.’

  ‘I often visit cemeteries, look at the dedications on the headstones.’

  The woman, friendly at the house in Holland Park, was anything but in Cardiff.

  The legal aid said nothing, just took notes in pencil on a notepad he carried. Isaac could see that he was going to be close to useless for his client.

  ‘Do you prefer Analyn or Leni?’ Larry asked.

  ‘Analyn is fine.’

  ‘Analyn,’ Isaac said, ‘you are either frightened or incredibly naïve. I’m not sure which, but I suspect the first. Am I correct?’