Troubled Waters

by Trevor Burton

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It came in overnight from Oslo, and was on my desk this morning. The man you know as Hans Johansen is a phoney – the real Hans Johansen is a librarian in a place called Bergen up the north-west coast of Norway, and he’s never been out of the country. He doesn’t even have a passport. Somebody has stolen his identity, and has been using it for at least the last eighteen months, presumably to also fudge a curriculum vitae in order to get the job at FrackUK.’

  ‘But how would he get through an interview?’

  ‘Beats me. That is information we are still awaiting from Norway, so watch this space, as they say.’

  ‘That information makes sense, and kind of explains what has been going on here. Have you got the stuff I sent you?’

  ‘Yes, just arrived. I’ll call you back in five. Oh, and yes the golf’s definitely off.’ He hangs up abruptly.

  Back in Carl Benson’s office we are around the table again, with fresh coffee. Carl and Amelia look at me expectantly.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this: Hans Johansen is a phoney. He has stolen someone else’s identity.’ I relate the rest of my conversation with Bill Lambert.

  ‘How could he do it so easily?’ Carl asks.

  ‘I don’t know, but when he first joined FrackUK it had only just started up, so presumably the position was a new one.’

  ‘Yes,’ Carl confirms.

  Having had time to let what Bill told me sink in, I try to explain further. ‘I think he must have a history, both as having knowledge of the oil and gas industry and also as a protester/troublemaker, probably with this Harmony Earth outfit, but more than that we’ll only know once Bill Lambert hears from his counterparts in Norway.’

  We continue to throw thoughts around as to what is likely to happen as the day progresses, some as wild and unlikely as Hans Johansen appearing at the window in the window cleaner’s cradle. Lambert phones back after fifteen minutes.

  ‘I read your stuff, and agree it could mean pretty much anything. I’m waiting on information on two fronts as we speak: one is from Oslo as I mentioned before, and the other is on the murder. Sammy Wang is in Salford right now, rechecking stories from staff at the Lowry Hotel and employees of Salford into Work. When I have that info I’ll come and take a look at FrackUK. Have you checked with your farmer client, by the way, whether the protesters have paid him a visit?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. Good idea, I’ll contact him and see you later?’

  ‘Yes, bye.’

  I make the call to Jamie and briefly explain the situation. He advises that all has been quiet for the last few days. The reason becomes obvious an hour later when we begin to hear chants from the Piccadilly Gardens side of the building. Looking out of the window, it appears that all the Harmony Earth protesters have moved camp from Jamie’s farm to Piccadilly. There is one bunch in the central park area and another blocking the pavement and entrance to the Mall area of our building. Not having sight of the Chinatown side, it is not possible to ascertain whether they have blocked that as well. They must literally have arrived minutes ago, for there is no sign as yet of media or a police presence. I’m sure it won’t be too long before both arrive, because this is now a serious problem. Pedestrians are having to step off the pavement and onto the road, with buses and metro trams zooming past.

  Chapter 33

  Sammy Wang and a female detective constable, Jenny Harris, parked up at the Lowry Hotel, and were making their way towards the front entrance.

  ‘Wait a sec,’ Sammy paused. ‘Let’s go round the back and have another look at the crime scene area again. It might help when we’re talking to this cleaning lady. Did you call to make sure she is in today?’

  ‘Yes, sir, she is in work today, or she was when I made the call,’ Jenny Harris replied.

  ‘I don’t think they would have tipped her off,’ Sammy said.

  After ten minutes’ walking north up stream to Blackfriars Bridge , and back, they gazed around before Sammy instructed, ‘OK, I can’t get any more from this. Let’s go and see what they have got to say.’

  After entering the hotel they walked across to the reception desk and asked for the manager. A smart-suited lady came out to meet them. She did give her name, but Sammy forgot to note it, and she immediately passed them over to another suited lady. The badge stated ‘Head of Housekeeping.’ She led them around the back of the reception area and down a flight of stairs to a small windowless room kitted out as an office – this was probably her domain. In addition to the usual office items, there was a line of shelving along one wall containing cleaning products. Sammy explained that their purpose was to interview the staff member who had been absent on the day of their previous visit, and that the person in question was apparently named Ludmilla.

  ‘I’ll get Ludmilla for you,’ the lady said, leaving the room.

  Sammy and Jenny sat down behind a desk, placing a plastic chair in front.

  ‘What is our objective here?’ Jenny asked Sammy.

  ‘Just information – to establish a timeline for any people from the party going outside. The more people we can rule out of the equation, the fewer we have left to interrogate further. I’ll start things off and you do the follow-up questioning.’

  Ten minutes passed before the head of housekeeping returned, accompanied by Ludmilla, who had no doubt been briefed on the way down. Ludmilla sat in the chair, and the head of housekeeping stood leaning against the door. Ludmilla was a plump lady in her late twenties, with faded blonde hair. Her overalls confirmed her status as a domestic assistant. Sammy asked anyway.

  ‘Yes, I cleaner.’ The accent sounded Polish. ‘I am Polish,’ Ludmilla added.

  ‘Do you know why we are here?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Is about poor lady killed and thrown into river.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sammy confirmed. ‘We need to know what you saw in the corridor close to the river bar area between seven and nine o’clock on that Friday evening, 24th of November.’

  Ludmilla looked at her boss, who remained impassive, before replying. ‘I working upstairs in room 412, on the fourth floor. I just finished bedroom and had bathroom still to do but bathroom cleaner ran out, so I had to come down here to the storeroom for more.’

  ‘Did you see anyone in the corridor?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘No, I saw none,’ Ludmilla replied.

  ‘Did you go outside?’ Sammy asked.

  ‘Yes, but it was only for a minute, and I was very tired. I only had a quick smoke,’ she said meekly, glancing again at her boss.

  ‘Did you see anyone outside?’ Sammy pressed.

  ‘Yes, one man, he was outside. I could see him clearly when I was going outside.’

  ‘Did the man stay outside while you were there?’ Sammy leaned forward.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

  ‘Can you describe the man?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘He was a handsome man – hair colour like mine, but curly,’ she smiled.

  ‘What was he doing?’ Sammy asked.

  ‘Smoking. He was finishing off cigarette,’ Ludmilla said emphatically.

  ‘Did you see anyone else while you were outside?’ Sammy continued.

  ‘Yes, a very pretty girl. She was going out as I was coming back in.’

  ‘Are you saying that the man stayed outside?’ Jenny probed.

  ‘So this man and the pretty girl were outside at the same time?’ Sammy observed.

  ‘Were they speaking together?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘I don’t know about that, because I came back inside straightaway,’ Ludmilla confirmed.

  ‘Can you remember exactly what time it was when you encountered these people?’ Sammy enquired.

  Ludmilla paused. ‘No, not exactly. It was near the end of my shift, though. I finish at nine thirty, so after coming back in, I collected the bathroom cleaner and went back to finish cleaning bathroom of room 412. I then went home.’

  ‘How many minutes would you estimate it took you to finish cleaning t
he room?’

  ‘Well, the bathroom take maybe fifteen minutes. Then I had to put clean sheets on beds, so no more than a half an hour.’

  No more information was forthcoming, so they thanked both Ludmilla and the head of housekeeping and left the hotel. Back in the car they had a short debrief.

  Sammy began. ‘Did the cleaner seem like she was described to you, when you phoned up to check she was in?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jenny. ‘She seemed honest and reliable, and I believe she was genuinely ill first time round.’

  ‘OK,’ Sammy mused. ‘I guess we have to take that at face value. I don’t think she was telling any porkies either.’ He started up the car and headed off up Chapel Street to their next venue, Salford into Work. They had several people to interview, including two who resembled the descriptions given by Ludmilla: namely Phil Biggins and Sophia Peroni.

  ‘Do you think the man and the pretty girl were talking together?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘I would be very surprised if they didn’t have some form of conversation, wouldn’t you?’ Sammy said.

  ‘I bet it wasn’t about the weather, though,’ Jenny fired back.

  ‘It will be interesting to see what they have to say themselves,’ Sammy finished.

  At Salford into Work, their questioning followed the same pattern: Sammy leading and Jenny filling in any gaps.

  Phil Biggins was the first to be interviewed.

  Sammy took the lead, as agreed. ‘Mr Biggins, do you know why we are here today?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m sure I told you all I know the last time you were here.’

  ‘That may be so, Mr Biggins, but last time you stated that you didn’t venture outside to the rear of the hotel. Do you stand by that detail, Mr Biggins?’

  ‘As far as I can recall, I think so.’

  The female detective spoke next. ‘Are you sure? Only we have a statement from a member of the hotel staff that a man fitting your description was outside when she went for a smoke. This man was in the process of stubbing out a cigarette.’

  Phil’s face was flushed with embarrassment. ‘I may have popped out for a fag. It must have slipped my mind, and I was only out there for a minute for a bit of fresh air – trying to get away from Barry, if you know what I mean.’

  Sammy gave a conspiratorial nod. ‘We fully understand, Mr Biggins. May we take it, therefore, that you did go outside for a cigarette?’

  A humbled Phil nodded in agreement.

  Jenny Harris took over. ‘What time do you think it was that you went outside for a smoke, then?’

  ‘I’m not really sure. Maybe about eight fifteen? It could have been eight thirty.’

  ‘One last question,’ Sammy said. ‘Did you see anybody else while you were out having a smoke?’

  ‘I saw a couple strolling along the river bank.’

  ‘No, I mean from your party,’ Sammy emphasised.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Phil confirmed.

  ‘OK, Mr Biggins, that’s all, thank you,’ Sammy ended.

  The beautiful and demure Sophia Peroni was in next. The questioning followed the same pattern as with Phil Biggins, apart from one question.

  ‘Did you happen to go outside at any time during the evening?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘No, I don’t recall going outside at all,’ Sophia answered. When advised that a member of staff at the Lowry Hotel had seen a woman of her description outside, Sophia still maintained that she had remained inside.

  ‘Perhaps you went outside for a smoke?’ Sammy prompted.

  After the slightest pause and the avoidance of any eye contact, Sophia answered. ‘Oh, oh, yes. I did go out for a quick smoke, that’s right.’

  ‘Did you see anyone from your party while you were outside?’

  ‘No, I didn’t see anyone,’ Sophia insisted.

  ‘What time was it that you went outside for this quick smoke?’ Jenny pressed.

  ‘I can’t really remember. Towards the end of the evening, I think. Marian was saying she would have to go soon to catch her train home, and it didn’t seem long after that till it all broke up and people started to go home.’

  ‘OK, Ms Peroni, that’s all, thank you,’ Sammy ended, unsure as to whether they had made any further progress.

  ‘What do you make of that, boss?’ Jenny wondered. ‘Does it point us to a suspect?’

  ‘Well, it gives us the fact that both dozy Biggins and the delightful Miss Peroni were both outside, but his recollection of the time doesn’t fit with the time the cleaner states. Then again, he is an absent-minded character. As regards Miss Peroni, her recollection of the time she was outside does appear to be conveniently vague.’

  ‘Do you think she is as sweet and light as she portrays?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Definitely not,’ Sammy stated. ‘Let’s get back to HQ; we need to have a report filed on this pronto.’

  Chapter 34

  At GMP headquarters in Newton Heath, Manchester, and an e-mail has been received from Oslo. Detective Sergeant Maurice Evans was disseminating it first, before presenting a verbal summary to Inspector Bill Lambert. ‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered to himself every now and then in his Welsh lilt, much to the consternation of his closer colleagues in the open-plan office.

  ‘Keep it to yourself, boyo!’ one wit teased.

  ‘Sorry!’ Evans apologised.

  Finally he jumped up and strode off down the corridor to Lambert’s office. He tapped on the door before popping his head round. Lambert gestured for him to come in and sit down.

  ‘Got it, sir,’ he announced, waving the three-page e-mail in the air.

  ‘In summary, then,’ Lambert demanded.

  ‘Right, well, after we sent them the picture from CCTV footage of Hans Johansen when he landed at Heathrow airport, they were able to circulate it to all major Norwegian towns and cities. As we suggested, they concentrated on left-wing trouble makers, green parties and the oil and gas prospecting industry. They soon came up with a man named Knut Amundsen, an all-out political leftie with a long history of affiliation with protest causes.’

  ‘Sounds like our man. Carry on,’ Lambert ordered.

  ‘OK, Knut has worked in the north-sea oil industry for fifteen years and has long been suspected of being the brains behind a number of protest organisations. But although arrested three times, he has always managed to get off. Norwegian secret police had been keeping a close eye on him until it all went quiet about eighteen months ago.’

  ‘So they’re basically saying he’s our man? But what about involvement in violence. Anything there?’

  ‘Not involving him personally so far, although there are signs of him becoming more irrational.’

  ‘Definitely our man,’ confirmed Lambert.

  ‘Are you off to FrackUK then, sir, to see your mate the Gent?’

  ‘Well, I was originally supposed to be playing golf with him, but that went out of the window, as you know, when we got word of the threats to FrackUK. I was hoping Sammy Wang would have completed his interviews at the Lowry Hotel and Salford into Work by now, so that I could discuss the murder at the same time. He wanted to run something by me on that score.’

  ‘No word from Sammy as yet, I’m afraid, sir.’

  ‘OK. You still driving that big Vauxhall Insignia?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Come on, then, let’s go. You can drive. I much prefer it to the new BMWs they’ve drafted in.’

  There was much general discussion on the way, with Lambert asking whether uniformed officers had arrived at Piccadilly to take control of the blockage of the pavement area outside the building, and the sit-in in the gardens. All was currently under control, Evans had confirmed. They arrived to find that the pavement protesters had been moved across the road to the edge of the gardens, with six policemen standing between them and the roadway. The sit-in was ringed by another dozen policemen. Before going in, advice was received that a dog unit was on the way and that mounted police were ready on stand-by if the need arose.
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br />   They signed in with the security desk at FrackUK, the man on duty standing to attention when he overheard one of the uniformed officers now guarding the foyer greet the new visitors.

  ***

  I have been advised of the police officers’ arrival and am waiting outside the lift to greet them as they alight at the eighth floor.

  ‘Pleased to see you,’ I greet them sarcastically. ‘Come through.’ I guide them through to Carl Benson’s office, where he and Amelia have a bird’s-eye view of the show going on below us in Piccadilly.

  Greetings undertaken, Bill walks to the window and views the scene for himself. ‘A right Fred Karno’s this is turning out to be,’ he states grimly.

  ‘A right Fred Karno’s it is, sir,’ Evans echoes.

  ‘Well, I’ve more or less got the picture on the outside. Can someone describe the set-up of the logistics in the building?’

  I take the lead and run through the layout of the floors and the walk through security checks that I had made earlier. Carl fills in with more details where appropriate.

  Bill takes it all in quickly, and looking thoughtful asks, ‘Apart from the obvious entry point to the building, which is how we came in from the mall area, is there any other way in which an intruder could enter the premises without forcing an emergency exit door?’

  ‘No,’ Carl confirms.

  ‘And after passing security an intruder would either have to use the lift or stairs to get up here?’

  ‘Yes,’ Carl nods.

  ‘If he’s going to mount any kind of attack against the building or FrackUK employees, then it’s a waiting game. It would be nice to think that the protest and sit-in outside is the whole gambit, but that would be naïve.’

  Evans chips in. ‘The problem is we know that Johansen is in the UK somewhere, but we don’t know exactly where. With that lot out there it would be safe to assume he is in Manchester somewhere, orchestrating the scenario.’

  There are nods of agreement all round.

  ‘About Hans Johansen himself, then?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Lambert begins, gesturing towards Evans. ‘We received an e-mail two hours ago today from Norway, which Evans has already briefed me on, so if I miss out anything, he will fill in the gaps. The man you know as Hans Johansen is an imposter. His real name is Knut Amundsen, a man with a long history of trouble-making, going back as far as his days at University in Oslo, where he was a member of a number of anti-establishment organisations, notably Greenpeace. At that time you might remember they were more interested in saving whales. With a degree in chemical engineering he worked in the north-sea oil industry for many years, and was active in several subversive organisations, but always managed to stay under the radar until now. He quit his job in 2013 and nothing has been heard about him until now. It was wondered how he was financing himself and his activities. It appears he stole the identity of one Hans Johansen, who of course is mortified and can’t quite believe it, and then went on to help himself to a large amount of cash, courtesy of FrackUK. There is a lot more, but I won’t bore you all with the details for now. Evans can copy you if you require.’