by Wonny Lea
Catherine froze as she thought of something she should have anticipated before. He wouldn’t have to kill her to satisfy his sadistic ego … She shivered as she remembered stories of rape and torture that had been inflicted on some of the refugees. Ahmed would have been responsible for some of it, and there’d never been any love lost between the two of them …
She thought he was an ignorant lout and he’d made it plain he hated women of her type – ‘rich and toffee-nosed’. Over the years there had been countless times when she’d looked at him disdainfully, spoken to him like a dog. She’d made her contempt for him clear, and she could see from his face how much pleasure he was getting now from watching her cringe in fear. Not even the whisky was taking the edge off.
She desperately tried another tack.
‘I could tell you where it but that would leave me vulnerable …’
Ahmed’s cruel laugh stopped her words.
‘You’re even more of a stupid bitch than I thought if you don’t think you’re already vulnerable. But I’m getting pissed off so let’s move on.’
Moving quickly for a man of his size, he leapt forward, grabbing Catherine’s right forearm with one of his hands and using the other hand to force her wrist back.
The bones cracked.
She screamed, her knees buckling as she fainted. Sadly for her, the oblivion was short-lived, and to her disgust she found as she came to that she’d wet herself. Her humiliation excited Ahmed and he teased her about it.
‘Had a piss, have you, sweetheart? Not very ladylike!’
Catherine stared at her hand, half-expecting it to be detached from her arm. The pain was almost unbearable. She looked towards her whisky bottle, but it had smashed on the floor when she fainted.
Catherine staggered to her feet, but fell back down as Ahmed kicked her in the shin.
‘This time when I ask the question I want you to rethink your answer, get it? Where is it?’
There was no hesitation as Catherine answered quietly.
‘It’s with my solicitor.’
‘Your solicitor? Speak up. Are you saying the document Samatar needs is not here? You’ve given it to your solicitor?’
‘Yes.’ Catherine tried to speak louder but her words were choked by her tears. Maybe if she gave Ahmed a bit more information he would leave her alone. ‘It’s the family solicitor.’
She didn’t know what to expect but something she’d said was making Ahmed think.
‘What does that mean?’
‘William Everton and Sons have been solicitors to Edward’s family for decades, and when we were married I automatically used them.’
‘So they’re your son’s solicitors too?’
Catherine winced as Ahmed pushed past her and made for the door. At first she thought someone else had arrived and he was talking to them. Surely if it was her son he’d forget about the row they’d had and get her out of this mess. Her hand was swelling at an alarming rate, and as the skin stretched the pain increased and was becoming unbearable. She realised that it was only Ahmed’s voice she could hear, so he must be on the phone – but why had he left the room to make the call?
Thoughts of escaping fleetingly crossed Catherine’s mind, but only long enough to be dismissed. She wouldn’t have a hope in hell of getting anywhere. Even if she could have driven one-handed, she didn’t have a car, and Woodcanton Hall was miles from anywhere so even without her leg injury running off was not an option. She’d have to brazen it out and for once in her life try not to wind up someone she detested.
When he returned to the study his sneering smile made new waves of abject fear race through Catherine’s body. She had no idea who he’d spoken to but whatever had been said had pleased him.
‘Didn’t really think the Fergusons’ family firm would stand by you, did you, bitch? Oh, by the way, that was Charley boy.’
‘What? No one has ever called him Charley – he’s always been Charles,’ said Catherine with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘
Ahmed laughed and spat in her face.
‘Think you know your boy, do you – stupid cow! You’ve got a lot to answer for. He was messed up even before he tried it on with one of your refugees. Watching me deal with the situation made him turn the final corner. Believe me when I tell you he’s a bigger psycho than I’ve ever been. It’s amused you to think you’ve been in the same league as Samatar and Omar and thinking your little black book would keep them in order. It would never have been that difficult to get hold of it, but now it couldn’t be easier.’
Catherine used the back of her undamaged hand to wipe her face and despairingly looked down at her bleeding leg.
Ahmed grabbed a handful of Catherine’s hair and yanked her head up so that she was looking directly into his face. His eyes were pure evil, but it was his voice that confused Catherine. He’d always been the silent one – the one who walked a few steps behind the others and spoke when he was spoken to. She’d never heard him say more than a few words and hadn’t expected him to have such a good command of the English language.
‘The replica car you set up for Charley may have started as a bit of fun, given you and him a laugh at your husband’s expense, but it gave your boy a real opportunity to be creative with his dark side. And when I say dark side I mean jet black! We all knew about it. I’ve personally cleared up some of his messes. Not that I mind – each one has put darling Charley more in our debt, and he’s willing to make certain like-minded officials in certain government departments look the other way. Useful when a reputable charity is fronting a drugs distribution network.
Catherine could barely move but her eyes widened at the mention of drugs.
Ahmed laughed at her reaction and let go of her hair.
‘You bloody high and mighty English women! You’re like snakes at the bottom of a pit. It’s OK for you to make money from the misery of poor Africans, but not to soil your manicured hands with drugs. You’ve no idea what hell those people are trying to get away from – you wouldn’t last five minutes.
‘Oh, and by the way, it wasn’t to please you that your husband was sorted out, although we were happy to let you think that.’ He smirked. ‘We’d found out that your husband had been making enquiries about his granddaughter, and passed on the information to Charley. It wasn’t in Charley’s best interest to have family skeletons brought out of the cupboard, and he didn’t want to share his family home with his niece – so we had to put a stop to him finding her. He’s under the impression that he can make his father’s will disappear. So much so that he’s already got the removal van sorted to move into this place.
‘Your daughter won’t be happy either, because her precious tennis academy is no longer on the cards. I’m sure you remember why your son will want to burn down all those outbuildings and bury his memories in the ashes. No, Mrs Ferguson, nobody but your precious Charley will be benefitting from your husband’s arranged death. And you’ll be joining him much sooner than you’d have imagined.’
Catherine had already been trembling from a mixture of cold, fear, and the need for more whisky, but Ahmed’s last words caused a more erratic surge of the shakes. She was petrified, and although she knew it was useless she had one final desperate try at using her insurance policy.
‘My little black book –’
‘You stupid fucking cow! Didn’t I just tell you I was talking to Charley boy on the phone? Your family solicitors would have handed over your husband’s stuff to you as the next of kin, wouldn’t they?’
Catherine nodded.
‘In the same way they’ll hand over your stuff to Charley, as your next of kin … get it?’
Even in her current state of mind Ahmed’s words left her in no doubt about her fate. She would never know how long he would have played with her before her execution, because, unexpectedly, his hand was forced. The intercom to the main gates picked up the sound of an approaching car and he knew he had to act fast.
With his hands around her thr
oat he squeezed until her eyes were ready to pop. Her tongue protruded in search of air. With his brute strength the whole thing was over quickly. He threw her to the floor in a final act of disgust.
Ahmed thought that luck was on his side as he could hear the voices being transmitted from outside the main gates.
‘Mother, are you there?’ asked Lizzie. ‘Sorry it’s so late. Has the access code been changed, or are the gates jammed? Nothing’s working and I can’t get in!’
Ahmed smiled. He’d been given the new code by Charles Ferguson and was delighted that Charles hadn’t shared it with his sister. There was no need for him to rush now and he took a last look at his handiwork. Catherine Ferguson looked much prettier dead than alive, and just for the fun of it he picked up the broken bottle and poured what remained in the bottom over her head.
There was no need for him to cover his tracks as he knew for certain that neither his DNA nor fingerprints were on record. Not in the UK or anywhere else. He ambled out to his car and before getting in he made a phone call as he’d promised.
‘All done. You can expect a call from your sister soon as she’s looking for someone to give her the code for Woodcanton Hall.’
‘It looks like she’s already ringing me. Are you still on the premises? How long do you need?’
‘In less than a minute I’ll be out through the rear entrance, and then I plan on being out of the country for some time.’
Charles ended the call and accepted the one that was waiting.
‘What’s the panic, Lizzie?’
‘I can’t open the gates at the Hall!’
‘I thought you’d be staying in Cardiff tonight – catching up with your darling daughter. That was a bit of a turn-up. Not sure Mother fancies herself as a granny!’
‘Neither you nor Mother wanted to know about her when I had her so I’m not expecting any family bonding now. Look, Charles, I’m not in the mood for small talk – I couldn’t sleep and I’ve come back to get some things together. I just want to know if you can help with the code.’
‘The code had to be changed because too many people knew it – but I gave it to Mother and she should be there to let you in. She must be there because I dropped her off earlier and her car’s in Cardiff.’
‘Well, either she’s not here or she’s asleep or drunk. Whichever it is, she’s not answering the intercom, and all I want from you is the new number.’
‘Hold on. The number’s on a pad in the car.’
He kept Lizzie hanging on while he pretended to get it for her. She was getting frustrated with the delay, and so Basil got out and stood next to the keypad, waiting to punch in the numbers as Lizzie called them out. Della was asleep in the back. Who would have thought, when he and their young protégée arrived that morning, that they’d end up having had one of the strangest days of their lives? Lizzie looked done in, and he’d make it his business to see she had something to eat before going to bed. She needed a good night’s sleep and even this hiccup with the code was more hassle than she should have to deal with – enough was enough.
Finally, believing he’d given Ahmed more than enough time to exit via the rear gate, Charles told his sister the number. Realising that her friends were still with her, he acted the caring brother and told her she should try to get some sleep.
In reality he knew that wasn’t going to happen and just for a second he wondered how she would react to finding their mother. She was definitely at home. Not drunk or asleep … but dead.
Chapter Twenty-two
Sorry to drag you back, guv, but I know DCI Mortimer very well and he seems to think you’d want to hear first-hand what he’s got to say. It’s not often that he sounds animated but he was! I’ll get his office to put you through to him.’
Maggie Shaw spoke to a few people she knew from the Wiltshire force, and when she was through to DCI Mortimer she handed the receiver to Matt.
‘Matt Pryor here – how can I help?’
‘Hello, Matt – this is Graham Mortimer. I’ve got some news from Woodcanton Hall. I don’t quite know how it links with your investigation but there has to be a connection.’
For a moment Matt cursed the man for dragging him back to work and away from an evening with Sarah and his friends. Surely what he had to say could have waited until the morning?
‘Did you find something in the garages or those out-buildings?’
‘To be honest, we didn’t expect to find anything because the people we want to lay our hands on are experts in their field. People trafficking and drugs are on their list of activities but so far they’ve kept ahead of us.’
‘So how do you think I can help?’
‘I understand from Maggie Shaw that Catherine Ferguson was interviewed by you earlier today.’
‘I wouldn’t call it an interview – she was here because, as you know, her husband was found murdered in Cardiff. She’s not a suspect, and it was her daughter who identified the body.’
‘Yes I’ve heard all about it, including the fact that Lizzie Ferguson has been reunited with the daughter she gave up for adoption. Lizzie had a rollercoaster ride with you, Matt, but it was nothing when compared with what she came home to.’
‘Did she go home? I was under the impression she was taking her friends back to collect their car that was left at Woodcanton Hall.’
‘Sorry, I was talking about the family home, not her flat. It’s a good job her two tennis friends were still with her when she got there. She found her mother dead, and this time the murder wasn’t even made to look like a natural death – it was quite brutal.’
‘Bloody hell! So both her parents have been murdered – and her daughter’s just come back into her life. You’ve obviously seen her – how is she?’
There was a moment of hesitation before the DCI responded.
‘I’ve known the Ferguson family for many years and Edward was well-respected and will be mourned. His wife … is a different matter. Catherine Morris was something of a local beauty, but she was always selfish to the core and as a young woman she was frequently found on the edge of trouble. She had all the men in Wiltshire eating out of her hand, but she had her eyes set on being the mistress of Woodcanton Hall. It’s rumoured that when she became pregnant there were a few men in the pipeline, but she claimed that Edward was the father and they were married.
‘I have no idea if Charles is really Edward’s son but he is certainly Catherine’s. You probably know that the man is earmarked for a bright future in politics but I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him.’
‘Quite a family!’
‘Yes, and the only reason I’m telling you this is to explain that Elizabeth may be shocked by her mother’s death – and in particular by the nature of her death – but she won’t be heartbroken. I’m not at all sure how Charles will react other than that he’ll get all the political mileage possible from the situation.’
‘How was she killed?’ questioned Matt.
‘We think it’s likely that she was knocked about a bit before being strangled, and our thinking is that someone was after something she had. Possibly money or jewellery, possibly drugs, but an initial check shows the safe hasn’t been tampered with and there are a lot of valuable things still on show.
‘I’m not a great believer in coincidences, Matt, and in my mind there has to be a connection between the two murders.’
Matt gave a short laugh. ‘You remind me of someone I know, and he absolutely doesn’t believe in coincidences! How do you want to proceed?’
‘There’s no rush as far as I’m concerned. I’m going home to my bed. My people will be turning this whole place over and looking at all the CCTV footage they can lay their hands on. There are obvious routes in and out of the county and traffic cameras may be helpful. The one positive thing is that we know the time of death, probably to within five minutes.
‘My suggestion is that we both sleep on it. I’ll give you a ring mid-morning tomorrow and see if we can make some s
ort of picture if we put our pieces together. Meanwhile, give my regards to DS Shaw. If you want to know more about Mrs Ferguson and her son Charles, Maggie will tell you why we’ve been interested in them for some time.’
Matt sat down and rubbed his face. He was tired and more than a bit emotionally drained. He gratefully accepted the coffee handed to him by Maggie Shaw, and really noticed her for the first time. She was quite a looker, and he was amused as he realised that her eyes were flirting with him and probably had been since her arrival. He hadn’t even picked up on her signals! Not like him at all. It could have been the case, but he was focussed on Sarah, and struggled to think of anything else.
DS Shaw interrupted his thoughts and brought him back to reality.
‘I only heard your end of the conversation with DCI Mortimer, but do I take it that someone’s been killed at Woodcanton Hall?’
‘Yes. I’m told you know the setup there quite well. What about Catherine Ferguson? You must have seen her when she was here earlier. What did you make of her then?’
‘Well, I’ve seen her many times before and she’s always looked like someone that’s just stepped out of the pages of Vogue, but today I thought she looked rough. She reminded me of times when I’ve used extra makeup to hide my hangover from the public. I’m sure that most people thought she was shaky because of her husband’s murder, but I think the woman’s got a serious drink problem.’
‘Had a serious drink problem.’
‘Good God! You mean she’s the one that’s been murdered? Now that does surprise me. I always had her down as a member of some sort of self-preservation society. We’ve been close to investigating her charity for years, there’s definitely something dodgy there, but she’s always seemed invincible and I’m pretty certain that people higher up the command chain have protected her. What happened?’
Driving home to Pontprennau Matt thought about families and how complicated they could be. The place he called home was where he and his sisters had been brought up. They’d all married and left, and so he’d re-mortgaged it and given his sisters their due shares. His sisters, their partners, and their daughters were the biggest part of his life outside of work but things were changing and for the first time he was thinking about creating a family of his own. Were men supposed to feel broody?
