by Angie Smith
“Spend a lot of time in Asia do we?”
“Sorry, Superintendent, I can’t say.” He was being cocky.
“You must have an official telephone number I can ring to check what little information you’ve given me.”
“Yes,” Plant replied. “I’ll let you have it before you leave.”
Pauline cleared her throat, “I was here until 11.30 a.m. then I had a luncheon engagement in town. I arrived home about 3.00 p.m. I can let you have the name of the person I met if you need to check.”
“Yes please,” Wood said. “Finally, the morning of Monday the 30th January?”
“Asia?” Barnes queried, smiling at Plant.
“No, actually we were together in the Canaries.”
“Does the Official Secrets Act allow you to divulge where exactly you were in the Canaries?”
Plant laughed. “We were at Pauline’s villa in Gran Canaria.”
“Can you remember what you were doing on that day?”
“Sunbathing and swimming,” Pauline replied.
“Did you visit any of the other islands?”
Both Pauline and Plant shook their heads.
“Right Maria, will you show Pauline the e-fit, and the photographs of the suspect?”
Barnes passed the images over and after viewing each one Pauline handed them to Plant; both said they did not recognise anyone. Woods then handed Pauline an A4 sheet of paper with the sets of numerals associated with each of the four deaths.
Pauline looked blank. “What have these to do with the murders?” she asked, handing the sheet to Plant.
Woods explained where they had been discovered.
Suddenly Plant looked concerned. “Have you worked out what these are?” he asked quickly.
“1516, 1316, 1116, and 916,” Woods replied sarcastically.
Pauline’s expression remained blank.
“I know that Plato; I was meaning their relevance… which has obviously slipped you by.” Now Plant was being sarcastic. “These are 15:16, 13:16, 11:16 and 9:16 they are a descending sequence of numbers from 16:16 down to 1:16.”
“How do you know that?”
“That doesn’t matter, what does is that you’re probably looking at up to sixteen deaths.”
“Who owns the black Range Rover outside?” Barnes asked, her mind going into overdrive.
Pauline held up a finger.
“The registration number is CXV1, the Roman numerals for 116, or in your case,” looking at Plant, “1:16.”
“I’d already worked that out,” Plant said. “Pauline, I think you might be in danger.”
“You’re frightening me,” she said. “I’ve never thought of it as being Roman numerals. Honest… Gerrard bought me it when I became Chief Executive of Vee; that’s my riding clothes company he bought for my fortieth. He knew I loved their brand; everything I’m wearing today is from Vee. You see the reg is CX of Vee, one.”
Barnes pondered and looked at Woods who was already moving on to the next question.
“How many other people have you had unpleasantness or disputes with?” Woods asked, staring at Pauline.
“Only the four I’ve told you about.”
“What about Gerrard?”
“Err… I need time to think. You’re rushing me… If you mean major unpleasantness, err, probably… another three people.”
“Would you care to elaborate?” Woods asked.
Pauline looked first at Plant and then at Woods. “The care worker who mistreated his mother, the farmer who shot his Flat Coated Retriever, and the chauffeur who tried to blackmail him.”
“Are you sure there’s no-one else?”
“I don’t think so, Don’t you think that’s enough?”
“That makes a total of seven.”
“Get an O level in maths did we?” Plant quipped.
“But with your friend’s theory we’re looking for sixteen. So far we’ve only got four: all odd numbers, and three possibilities.”
“Oh my goodness,” Pauline said, going ashen. “I think I might have figured it out.”
“What is it darling?” Plant asked.
“When Gerrard died he bequeathed £1m to each of the eight people who had inspired him during his lifetime. Don’t you see? They must be the even numbers and the eight people who caused him unpleasantness must be the odd numbers.”
“Is this the point where you tell us we’re still missing one?” Plant said, glaring at Woods. “Because I think Pauline’s CXVI.”
“Stop it, Jonathan. You’re upsetting me.”
“Pauline,” Woods hesitated.
“What he’s going to ask.” Plant interjected. “Is, did anything happen between you and Gerrard that may have resulted in him wanting to harm you?”
Now Barnes intervened. “That’s enough; can’t you see Pauline’s distressed?”
Pauline stood up. “Thank you, Maria; I need a minute to gather my thoughts. Would you come outside with me please?”
Barnes looked at Woods who nodded. He remained seated, staring at Plant, so she got up and followed Pauline out of the house across to the stables.
“Do you like horses, Maria?” Pauline asked, stroking Huntford’s muzzle.
“Yes, I love all animals; they don’t hurt you like humans do.”
“You were upset in there too.”
“Yes,” Barnes replied, running her fingers through the horse’s mane, “but it’s not about me. It’s about you. How are you feeling?” she asked.
“This is Crozier,” Pauline said, moving to the next stable box, and ignoring the question. “He was Gerrard’s horse; kind, gentle and loyal, just like his owner.”
“What do you think about what Jonathan has just said?” Barnes asked.
Pauline looked into the horse’s eye. “I did betray him.”
Barnes stayed silent.
“It was a fling, a one night stand. Not that that’s an excuse, a betrayal is a betrayal.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Barnes said.
“I can’t justify my actions, Maria, but as far as I know Gerrard knew nothing about it. He was away and I was in the depths of depression. I’d had too much to drink, and as soon as I’d done it, I regretted it. I ended the relationship there and then, but it was too late. I’d been unfaithful, and I never did it again.”
“You’re human and fallible.”
Pauline smiled. “You sound like my psychologist.”
“Can you give me the name of the person involved?”
“Why?”
“They may be the potential victim, not you.”
“Mark Gilroy, he was the gardener when we first moved here.”
“Did Gerrard ever discuss getting even with any of the other people?”
Pauline shook her head.
“Was he the type to bear grudges?”
“No, he was the type to move on; he didn’t have time for revenge.”
While Pauline and Barnes were at the stables Woods and Plant were having a different kind of discussion.
“I get the distinct impression you don’t like me, Superintendent, but that doesn’t matter. What does is we’re on the same side, and protecting Pauline is our main priority. Do you agree?”
“What are you keeping from me? Because from where I’m sitting, I’ve got two murders and two suspicious deaths linked by Roman numerals and Pauline having issues with all the deceased.”
“The suspicious deaths are murders, you’ll have to trust me on that, and you’ll eventually uncover the evidence. What you need to do now is organise 24/7 protection for Pauline, otherwise I’ll do it.”
“What, you’ll organise a few Diplomats to come round and have cocktails with her? You must think I just sailed in on the banana boat - you don’t work for the Diplomatic Service; you work for MI6.”
“Look, we can continue to keep trying to score points off one another, or we can act like the professionals we both know we are. Can we agree to work together?”
&nbs
p; “If, and it’s a big if, what you’re saying is correct, then it’s not only Pauline that needs 24/7 protection. What about the other three?”
“Yes, I agree.”
“I’ll need more evidence. I can’t justify providing protection to four individuals without something more credible than your hunch. Unless you can show me a direct link between Gerrard and the numerals, or tell me what you know.”
“Trust me, there won’t be a link between Gerrard and the numerals. You’ll need to concentrate on the four people at risk and that way you might catch the killer.”
“Tell me what you know,” Woods insisted.
“Not possible.”
“Then neither is me being able to organise the protection. Have you any idea what it’s like in the police service? I need four pages to justify buying a paper clip. Wake up and smell the coffee!”
The sound of Pauline and Barnes returning to the house curtailed the discussion.
“Hello, is it safe to return?” Pauline said, as they came back into the room.
“Are you alright?” Plant asked.
“I think so; Maria and I have had a little heart to heart.”
“Listen, Pauline, I’m going to organise some protection for you, just while we figure out what’s going on. I know some people who do that sort of thing, and you’ll hardly know they’re around. Then while I’m away I don’t need to worry,” Plant said.
Pauline looked expectantly at Woods. “What do you think, Superintendent?”
“If Mr Plant wants to do that, I’m okay with it, but before I can organise protection I’ll need more evidence.”
Pauline looked back at Plant, then at Barnes and finally at Woods.
“Can I ask you about Gerrard’s Will?” Woods said. “Were Roman numerals used in connection with the eight beneficiaries?”
Pauline shook her head. “You can have a copy if you like.”
“You’re wasting time,” Plant said, clearly annoyed.
“Can you stay out of this please? If you won’t cooperate, go away and leave us alone.”
Plant stayed put. Woods looked at Pauline. “Can you tell us a bit more about the care worker who mistreated Gerrard’s mother, the farmer who shot your dog and his chauffeur?”
Pauline nodded. “I don’t know the name of the care worker, but Gerrard’s mother was in Lakeside Residential Home, here in Hawes. It was back in 2001. When his mother had Alzheimer’s disease, she needed constant care. Lakeside was run by a lovely couple and, after visiting, Gerrard was convinced it was the place that best suited his mother’s requirements. At first everything was fine, but after a few months he noticed a change in his mother’s behaviour. It wasn’t as if he could ask her what the problem was because by then she couldn’t communicate, she was permanently in a flux. Gerrard therefore decided to install hidden cameras in her room to see if anything untoward was happening. He was horrified at what he discovered; it was always on the nightshift and this particular guy, I think he was Polish, was. . .”
“Have you still got the film?” Woods asked.
“Yes, I think so, but it’s too distressing for me to watch. I’ll let you take it away.” She gathered her composure, “Sorry. Gerrard went straight to the home, showed the film to the owners who immediately terminated the contract of the man and reported him to the police.”
“Was there a prosecution?”
“No, I think he disappeared back to Poland.”
“How’s Gerrard’s mother?” Barnes asked.
“She died in 2008, but she’d regained some of her former self after the man left.”
“What about the farmer?” Woods asked.
“At the time we were living at Briestfield in West Yorkshire. We had a Flat Coat Retriever called Lippy; it was short for Lipstick, he was a lovely obedient dog. Gerrard told me while he’d been walking Lippy a car pulled up and two guys got out. It was Stephen Porter the local farmer, and his farmhand. Porter accused Lippy of worrying his sheep and said if he saw him on his land again he’d shoot him. Gerrard was incensed and tried to explain that Lippy was a well-trained, obedient gun-dog, always under control at heel, but Porter wouldn’t listen and made all sorts of threats. Afterwards, Gerrard was really upset; he asked me to find out where all the public rights of way were on Porter’s farmland. Then he regularly walked Lippy along the paths, particularly the ones with sheep in the fields, just to wind Porter up. Unfortunately one day while out on Porter’s land Gerrard had a seizure and collapsed; poor Lippy went crazy trying to attract attention and get help. Porter mistook Lippy’s actions and shot him. It was only when he went to pick up the body that he spotted Gerrard and called an ambulance.”
Woods noticed Barnes becoming emotional, so he moved things along. “What about the chauffeur?”
“After the seizure Gerrard couldn’t drive for twelve months, so he hired a chauffeur, Rebecca García Ramírez; she was supposedly a very good driver. Then, a few months later he came to me and out of the blue said she was blackmailing him, saying she would claim he’d slept with her unless he paid up. I think she wanted £1m. He said it was a complete fabrication and told me not to worry because he was sorting it out, but he didn’t want the accusations to become public knowledge… Anyway, she disappeared and we never saw or heard from her again. Gerrard told me he’d paid her off and sent her packing.”
Woods scratched his forehead. “I know this will probably be painful for you, but could we discuss Gerrard’s accident?”
Pauline took a breath. “You know Gerrard had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was terminally ill?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Woods said, looking surprised at Barnes, who was shaking her head indicating it was news to her.
“He retired to spend the last few months of his life relaxing doing the things he enjoyed.” Tears started welling up in her eyes; she took a tissue out of her pocket. “He’d been a diabetic since the age of ten and was meticulous with his care, always monitoring his blood sugars, adjusting his food intake or his medication if necessary. One day while out driving the Ferrari, he crashed into a stone railway bridge, about forty miles from here; he was killed instantly. They said he was travelling at over 120mph. The post-mortem said his blood sugar level was 2.0 — which is hypoglycaemic — and that contributed to him not having quick enough reactions and poor judgement.” She shook her head. “I know Gerrard, he would never drive with blood sugar that low; he’d stop and have glucose. And he never broke the speed limit, or took risks, even though the car was a supercar. He was an advanced driver; he’d numerous certificates proving how safe he was. But despite saying all this to the police and standing up at the inquest, no-one listened.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I thought about appealing the verdict, but decided it wasn’t going to bring him back.”
“Maria, I think we need to look into this,” Woods said.
“Superintendent, you’re wasting your time,” Plant said again.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Woods growled.
“Thank you,” Pauline said. “I’ve always thought there was more to Gerrard’s death.”
“Pauline,” Woods said tentatively. “Was Gerrard the sort of person who might pay someone to settle a few old scores?”
She shook her head. “He was more likely to sort things out himself.”
Chapter 8
Friday 25th May – Saturday 26th May.
Woods slept while Barnes drove back to Wakefield, and although she was concentrating on driving, she was also analysing, processing and compartmentalising the information in her mind that Pauline and Plant had provided. As she crossed the border into West Yorkshire she formulated her own ideas of who was involved and the reasons behind the killings, but before she gave her thoughts to Woods she needed additional evidence. Obtaining this would be her next priority.
As the car jolted to a halt in the car park, Woods woke.
“Feeling any better?” she asked.
He yawned and stretched out his
wiry arms. “Yes thanks, I needed that. Come on, we must go and update the others.” He got out of the car and sprinted towards the building.
She ran after him and when they reached the Incident Room Woods spent half an hour bringing the team up to speed. McLean and Jacobs duly reported not having uncovered any new leads in their interviews with the named suspects, but qualified this by saying there were still another forty-six to contact.
“I’ve got something to show you,” West said. “Come and take a look at this.”
Both Woods and Barnes went over to her desk and looked down at the monitor.
“I’ve finally managed to identify the female passenger in the Volkswagen, the one that visited Cliff Crest on the morning Broadbent died; but don’t get too excited… It’s a mannequin, dressed to resemble Dawn Thompson, the vehicle owner’s wife.”
Barnes squinted at the screen. “Who goes to that much trouble?” she said.
“I’ve watched the footage over and over again, and finally realised the passenger’s gaze never changes and her eyes never blink. It’s obvious now. Take a look at these.” West handed over several stills taken from different points on the footage; all showing the female passenger with exactly the same pose and expression. “And this is a recent picture of Dawn Thompson that her husband e-mailed me after I’d spoken to him this morning.”
“You’re right,” Woods said, rubbing his chin. “Well done, Sharron.”
“I thought it strange, the killer using an accomplice,” Barnes said. “It would’ve increased the risk, but using a mannequin dressed as the vehicle owner’s wife must be a first.”
“Where do we go from here?” West asked.
“Right,” Woods spun round to face the others. “Pete and Chris, carry on interviewing the named suspects. I need you to get through the list ASAP.”
“At the risk of sounding like Jonathan Plant, I think we’re wasting time interviewing named suspects,” Barnes said quietly. “In my view the link is the Creans; think about it, Pauline’s twin sister hanged herself and Hussain was hanged; Gerrard smashed Mateland’s face into his windscreen, and Mateland had a drain cover smashed through his windscreen; and Pauline said Bulmer spent all his time fishing and drinking and he died while out drinking and fishing.”
