He groaned. It was Olivia. Couldn’t be anyone else. He’d been manipulated and blackmailed into assisting her. But what if she’d got wind of the sting? On the other hand, what if she decided that he was too dangerous to have on board, or she no longer wanted to share the proceeds? Not that he would ever have accepted any of it. She knew he was going to be there and as she’d blackmailed him, she could easily have done the same with some other witless, love struck unfortunate. Coerced him into staging a murder and setting up Groat.
That’s stupid. She’s a good time girl, not a murderess. You’re being paranoid.
Whatever the details, the truth of the matter, he could not shake off the stark, horrible realisation. It was a set up.
Yes, but why? And who by?
*
He was allowed to get washed and shaved and given a half decent breakfast. He learned later, that the station staff clubbed together and bought it for him from the greasy spoon caff down the road from the nick. They also bought him a jug of tea, which, after the charge room paint stripper, tasted like nectar.
He prepared to do battle with his adversaries.
It turned out to be more of the same, only this time they produced a blood-stained handkerchief with the monogram ‘L.E.G.’ in one corner.
He sighed. “Yes, it’s mine – or at least, it looks like one of mine. My mum bought some for me years ago. I’ve hardly ever used them. In fact, we haven’t used linen handkerchiefs for what – I don’t know – years. Filthy things. Always use tissues nowadays, far more hygienic.” He produced a couple of Kleenex from his trouser pocket. “See?”
The situation was not progressing in any positive fashion at all. They argued and batted the issues backwards and forwards. It was not so turgid whilst the superintendent was asking the questions, but when Bright occupied the chair, it degenerated into pantomime.
“You did it.”
“I didn’t”
“Yes you did.”
“No. I did not.”
“Oh yes you did.”
“Oh no, I didn’t.”
At any moment he expected to hear a shout, “It’s behind you.”
Groat quickly tired of the game. He said, “I can tell that your confession was an exaggeration.”
Bright looked nonplussed, “What?”
“Your confession that you have only ever worked on one murder enquiry. It was an exaggeration. Listen. This so called evidence you have produced, means nothing. All you’re doing is proving that something, that at some point in time has belonged to me, or has been in my possession, has also – allegedly – been found at the scene of a crime. What we professionals look for in situations like these is motive, opportunity, preparatory acts and subsequent actions. Basics, right? What was my motive for murdering this woman? Do I have any connection with her? I think not.”
He looked at his watch. Another concession. If he’d been any run of the mill prisoner, all valuables his would be taken from him for safe keeping. Surprisingly, he was also allowed to keep his shoelaces in his shoes. It was now well past time the first part of the sting would have gone down and Olivia would be in custody herself, probably not far from his present location. He took a chance.
“Motive? Sex? Hardly. For your information, I was with Olivia Di Angelo at number 337 – all night – and very satisfactory it was, too.” He thrust his face closer to Bright’s. “For both of us. That also knocks your ‘opportunity’ on the head. I went to her after work and left her shortly after seven thirty this morning. When she cools down, she will verify that. When was your murder? Between eight p.m. and four a.m? Seems I’m out of the frame. Now then. Preparatory acts? You tell me. Assemble some small items that I’d forgotten I possessed and carelessly leave them conveniently near a dead body? Wow! How likely is that? Subsequent actions? Very suspicious. Where was I when you lot descended? AT FUCKING WORK. You tosser.”
He turned his head away in disgust.
Humble said, “Unfortunately, there’s still the small matter of your alibi.” He paused, looking at Groat thoughtfully, trying to weigh him up. He shook his head. “You cannot get away from the fact that you haven’t got one.”
“Yet. Go and see Olivia.”
Humble shook his head. “You also cannot get away from the fact that we can place you at the scene, your lighter, a blood soaked handkerchief belonging to you and a witness who saw you there – and you cannot prove you were anywhere else.”
“Go and see Olivia.”
“And of course, the court will have to take into account that when first asked about it, you lied.”
“I’ve explained all that.”
“And if you didn’t leave the items that, I would remind you, you have admitted belong to you, at the scene of the crime, who did and how did they come by them? And what reason would anyone have, to take such a peculiar, random course of action? Answer me that. You have given us no plausible explanation of how they came to be there, in fact, no explanation at all. It seems to me, Mr Groat, that you are very far from out of the wood, yet.”
Through gritted teeth, Groat repeated, “Motive, opportunity, preparatory acts and subsequent actions. Go and see Olivia and get me Ted Pearson. Detective Sergeant Ted Pearson. Get him here. As soon as possible.”
FORTY
Ted was discovering the accuracy of another of Groat’s truisms; that the waiting room is often far worse than the dentist’s chair. He’d rehearsed what he was going to say to the DAC, every station of the way on his journey on the underground. He trembled at the thought of even knocking on his door and dared not allow himself to think how much of an ordeal an audience with the great man himself might be.
The nightmare was about to become reality. Mr Van Lesseps’s secretary, Mrs Isaacs was a middle aged woman of vast competence and forbidding aspect.
“Yes.” She said in her most intimidating manner, in response to Ted’s hesitant knock. When he made a tremulous entrance, she demanded imperiously, “You have an appointment?”
Thus stripped of his usual self-composure, Ted stammered out an explanation of his mission.
The iceberg melted. She smiled and battle-axe suddenly became everyone’s auntie.
“Mr Van Lesseps is in a meeting, love.” She consulted her wristwatch. “And he won’t be finished for another twenty minutes or so. He said I was to look after you and make sure you were comfortable. He also said I was to make absolutely certain that you have the book with you.”
Ted shook his head in wonderment; patted his jacket where the package formed a comforting bulge in his pocket. “Yes, I have.”
She continued, “Would you like some coffee? Mr Van Lesseps has specially ground beans brought round from the city – and I’m sure he won’t miss a chocolate biscuit or two.”
When, after nearly half an hour the DAC buzzed the intercom, Ted was part way down the second cup of the best coffee he had ever tasted. A universe away from the Gold Blend they drank at home.
Mrs Isaacs said, “He can see you now.”
Ted stuffed the remaining biscuit into his mouth and gazed longingly at his cup of coffee.
“Take it with you.” She reassured him, “I’m sure he won’t mind.”
Ted tottered into the DAC’s office. Large enough for a big business boardroom, he thought. He was bade sit at the meeting table and the DAC picked up his cup of coffee from his desk and came to join him. After securing possession of the all important black book, Mr Van Lesseps quizzed him about the progress of the sting. Ted told him that Olivia was in custody, the first batch of drops were safe after being successfully recovered and the next tranche were scheduled for tonight.
The DAC waved the book at Ted. “And you are certain this is the only copy?”
“As far as we know, sir.”
“And you have arranged to have the flat searched?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And there is no information held anywhere else?”
“Only D/S, sorry, DCI Groat’s notes, sir.”
The DAC’s eyes narrowed, “What’s that?”
“Well, when Mr Groat was first alerted to what was going on, I believe, well, he told me that he made some notes about some of the people… I’m sorry sir, I’m not quite sure…”
“Blast.” The DAC struck the table with his fist. “Damn and blast. Where is the man, anyway?”
Ted looked at him unhappily, “I was coming to that sir.”
“Well?”
“He…” Ted gulped, braced himself, “He’s been arrested.”
“Arrested?” Van Lesseps bellowed, “Arrested? What the hell for? Don’t tell me; we’ve got another one that’s cracked under the strain. Another shoplifter? All right, what’s he been stealing? Let me guess – red salmon. It’s always a tin of red salmon, never the pink, or a tin of tuna. No, I know, an electric drill.” He could see from Ted’s expression that he was nowhere near. “All right, I give in. What’s the fool been arrested for? Please don’t tell me he’s been caught flashing…”
“No sir, he’s not been caught flashing.”
“Well, what then?”
Ted grimaced, “Murder, sir.”
“Murder?” The DAC rapidly raised his voice in pitch and volume, his eyes starting from their sockets.
“Er, it’s all right… sir…”
“All right?” Van Lesseps yelled, “How can being arrested for murder be all right?”
Ted became more agitated, “I didn’t mean that murder was all right, I simply meant that DCI Groat was all right… In that he has not committed murder…”
He went on to explain that Groat had been to see Olivia to iron out a couple of last minute wrinkles and a witness saw him coming away from her flat, which was a few doors down from where a murder had allegedly taken place. Complaints and Discipline jumped straight on it, added two to two and made approximately four hundred and twenty seven.
“Well you’d better get straight onto it.” The DAC was calming down a fraction and spoke at a more normal level. “Get that flat searched, make sure all the drops are secured and most important of all get Groat – and his notes – out of wherever he is and over here, to me A.S.A.P.”
FORTY ONE
From having – for once in his career – a relatively light workload, Ted found himself juggling more than was strictly comfortable. He was now, at least temporarily, in charge of the sting. One of the highest value blackmail attempts in recent times, he was to manage the rest of the drops being picked up and ensure the safe recovery of many thousands of pounds. Onerous enough without the overtones of national security and whatever else it was (he was pretty sure) they were not telling him. It would have been bad enough if Groat was on hand to direct and advise, but now he did not have that cushion, plus he had the added complication of trying to get his friend out of custody. To add to his stress, Commander Morrison was pressurising him to get on with the day job, as another two post office burglaries had been committed – the last again ending in tragedy, with the sub-postmaster being shot dead.
*
Groat and Ted sat opposite each other in a cramped interview room at Cannon Row police station. The fact that they were both police officers at least earned them the privilege of privacy. A scrote or any other prisoner would have the door left open, or a uniformed police presence guarding them, listening to every word. They updated each other. Ted with news of the sting and his interview with the DAC, Groat with his fencing bouts with Complaints and Discipline and the planted evidence.
“I’ve been set up, but I can’t think why, or who by.”
“Everyone makes enemies, if they’re doing the job right. Can’t be helped.”
“Yes, but not to the extent they’d try to frame you for murder.”
“Well, who have you upset? Who could possibly want you put away, or disadvantaged big style?”
“Well, I’ve had enough opportunity to think that over, the last day or so.” He sighed, “The obvious candidate, really the only person that could ever have it in for me to this extent, is Bonehead Bulstrode. He sees me as having stolen his girl and now, of course, for helping to put him away for so long. But he’s inside. It couldn’t be him. The only other scenario I can think of is one of Olivia’s clients, or something to do with her.”
Groat outlined his theories to Ted.
He continued, “She’s got some pretty heavy names on her list, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them would have enough clout to arrange something like this, but why? We, that is originally me, are doing them a big favour. In any case, I’m not aware that she ever talks to any of them about any of the others. What I’m getting at is that I’m pretty sure no one apart from Olivia amongst that lot knows about me.” He frowned, “The only thing I can think of, is if one of her gentlemen does know about my part in all this, perhaps they’re worried that now I have the information, I will attempt some sort of blackmail on my own account. I don’t know.” He was so engrossed in his discourse that he did not notice the concerned look that furrowed his friend’s forehead.
“I’ve been thinking about it too, ever since you were arrested. And when I found out they reckoned they’d got some hard evidence, I started making enquiries too. Bonehead was the only one who I thought might have the reason, drive, wherewithal, nouse, knowledge, technical expertise…” He faltered as he realised that Groat was staring at him in wonderment, “…What?”
“Thought you’d swallowed a dictionary for a moment – go on.”
“Well, basically there can only be Bonehead in the frame for something like this. I don’t think Olivia would have the wherewithal, time or the inclination.”
“So he’s organising it from the inside, is he? He only had passing acquaintance with the Johnsons, you know, he never was a member of the gang. He wouldn’t be able to pull something like this from his prison cell.”
“No, I know. I checked.” Ted paused, then dropped his bombshell. “He was released a couple of months ago.”
“Oh, my giddy aunt.”
They hurriedly racked up a council of war. If it was Bonehead they were up against, they would have to be exceptionally cautious. There was little doubt he would be skilled at planting evidence and stitching up innocent folk. He would also be aware of what they could and could not do, and although now he would be out of date with policing matters, they both knew that he still possessed friends and contacts in the job, so they would have to tread extremely carefully.
Groat said, “Thinking about it, Complaints and Discipline still got to me bloody quick. How did they know that lighter was mine – there’s got to be enough people in the country with the initials L.EG.”
“Every police officer’s fingerprints are on record, you know that. They were taken as soon as you joined up, remember? – for elimination purposes.”
“I know that, but how did they cotton on to the police connection? I reckon he’s got a mole in the department.”
Ted laughed. “Bonehead and C and D? Don’t exactly go together you know.”
“I know, but he’s still definitely got contacts in the job – and personnel changes over the years… Nothing’s impossible. Tell you what, you’d better let Mr Van Lesseps know. See if he knows anything, any connections.” He sighed, “See if he can get me out of here.”
Ted thought, Don’t want much, do you? He said, “Anything else?”
“Yes. You better see if Gloria’s home yet.” He sighed again, heavily this time. Until now, it had been convenient for him that Gloria had chosen this time to be away. Otherwise he could have a lot more explaining to do than he undoubtedly would, already. “She’ll be getting worried.”
*
Ted was back with Groat before seventeen thirty hours.
“Do you want the good news, or the bad news?”
“Chrissake, Ted, I don’t like those sort of games at the best of times.”
He glared at his friend, saw the hurt expression on his face, at the same time realised that the poor bloke must have done some pretty h
ard work on his behalf to have any news at all and, that he was acting like an ungrateful grouch.
“I’m sorry mate, the last day or so has really been getting to me. You know, getting bloody arrested, dealing with those goons, being in a stinking cell all this time, waiting.”
Ted looked only slightly appeased, “That’s OK.”
“So what’s the bad news?”
Ted hesitated. “I suppose it could also be good news. Gloria’s still not home.”
“Right…” He paused, “So what’s the good news?”
“It’s looking more and more like Bonehead.”
“OK, give.”
“Well, He was released from Pentonville, NFA.”
“What’s good about that? No fixed abode means we don’t know where he went.”
“Ah, but we do. Well, some idea, anyway. An off duty officer saw him getting off a Piccadilly line train at Holborn and onto an eastbound train on the Central line, towards – ”
The Perfect Crime Page 15
