Never Dead
Page 21
It was time for him to ask for a return favour. He got off the motorway and followed the minor roads and eventually an upgraded farm track that was now suitable for the busloads of schoolchildren that often spent the day at ‘Farmer Giles’s’.
Nick’s number was stored in Ahmed’s phone and although it was still early he made the call.
The reply he got wasn’t what he’d expected.
‘What the hell do you want?’
‘You owe me a favour!’
‘Yes, but you’re in deep shit, and I don’t want to join you if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
‘Well, I was thinking of joining you, and in fact I’m outside. I need somewhere to dump this car, and a place to stay until Samatar sorts out something.’
‘Have you seen the news lately? I’m half-expecting to hear sirens even as we speak.’
‘Then open the fucking doors and let’s get me off the radar.’
With no other option open to him, Nick released the mechanism to the security doors and Ahmed drove through. He wasn’t an animal lover, and hated the underlying smell of the farmyard.
‘Don’t leave the car here! I’ll go through and open the side gates so that it’s out of sight until we decide what to do. I’m hoping at the very least that you’ve got something for me to enjoy in exchange for this hassle.’
Ahmed nodded. He never went anywhere without a supply of drugs, though wasn’t a user in the usual sense of the word. He used drugs to buy himself favours and to get others to do what he wanted them to. He felt pleased as he realised that Nick was low on supplies and that would make things easier for him.
He devoured some chunks of bread and cheese, washing them down with watery coffee as Nick told him of the breaking news on the television. Initially Ahmed though he was referring to the discovery of a body in North Wiltshire, but Nick played around with the remote control to an enormous television screen. He found the news programme he’d watched earlier and replayed it.
An excited reporter introduced herself as Laura Cummings of the BBC, and reminded viewers of a body that had been discovered in Cardiff years earlier. She warned the public that they might find some of the images upsetting but that didn’t stop her showing several shots of Dalmar lying where his body had been found.
Ahmed almost choked as she continued her exposé.
‘Those of you that remember the case will know that my colleagues and I took a personal interest in the plight of this young man and I’m delighted to be able to report some amazing recent progress. Thanks to the insight of DCI Phelps we are at last able to identify the body as Dalmar Shimbir – a Somalian teenager. We are now 100% certain of the validity of this information, and the witness who came forward was also able to tell the police the circumstances surrounding his death.’
After pausing for her information to register with the viewers, Laura Cummings continued.
‘Not only was she able to tell the DCI how Dalmar was murdered, she was able to produce a detailed sketch of his killer.’
At this point the cameras zoomed in on a copy of the full-face drawing that Basra had made. Ahmed blanched as he saw an amazing likeness of himself, even down to the shirt he’d been wearing the day he’d cut the throat of the young Somalian. To his horror there was more to follow.
‘In recent news bulletins viewers have been shown a computer-generated image of the man police are looking for in connection with the murder of an elderly man on a train travelling from Treherbert to Cardiff.’
For maximum dramatic effect the camera showed both images side by side, then filled the whole screen with Basra’s drawing and ended with the man wanted in connection with the latest murder. The effect was startling, and the cider Ahmed had just swallowed was pushed back into his throat by the involuntary contraction of his stomach.
He looked on in abject horror at the satisfied face of Laura Cummings as she put the final nail in his coffin.
‘The wonderfully brave witness who provided this picture of the man wanted in connection with the Roath murder has been able to identify others that were present around the time of his death. We are certain that one such person is a prominent public figure but for the moment we are unable to release any names. Continue watching for more breaking news, and please get in touch if you think you’ve seen this man.’
The news feature ended with the most recent image of Ahmed staring out at him.
Nick knew what he had to say wouldn’t improve Ahmed’s mood but it had to be said.
‘It’s not just on the Welsh news now! The main stations have picked up on this issue of someone who may be in public office being involved. The media love a good scandal, and if it’s a celebrity or a politician or anyone like that they’ll be in their element. Shit! What am I saying? You obviously know who it is, don’t you?’
Ahmed thought back to the murder of the Somali boy, something he’d thought buried long ago. He almost regretted losing his cool. He’d always considered it a waste of time to kill where he wasn’t personally threatened, or not making a profit, but in trying to ingratiate himself with Charles Ferguson he had overstepped the mark. He could have rendered the boy unconscious with one blow, but he’d had the wire in his hand … now his indiscipline was coming back to haunt him.
‘Here’s what you’re going to do.’
Nick was in a euphoric state, thanks to the little present Ahmed had provided. The drug made him feel superior and self-confident, and whereas he would normally pussyfoot around the likes of Ahmed he felt able, for the moment, to take control of the situation.
‘The animals need tending to, and it won’t be long before my staff arrive to feed them and get them ready for the kids that are booked in to visit today. Ever since my little scare – the one you sorted for me – I’ve had an additional wall of security built between the animal houses and the weed. Apart from my wife and my son no one has access to that area, and there’s a small barn at the back for drying and curing the crops. There are times when the plants need constant care and attention and they get more of that from my wife than I do. She practically lives out there and there’s a bed and Portaloo you can use.’
Ahmed scowled at the thought of such primitive living conditions but he didn’t argue. He was dog-tired, and allowed himself to be led through the security gates and into another world. It was November and extremely cold as they walked through the farmyard, but after entering a few codes and unlocking a steel door they stepped through into summer-like warmth.
Ahmed was shocked by the scale of the operation.
‘Why some are some bits in darkness and some in that light?’
‘Don’t ask me – I’m not the expert. It’s what the plants need at different stages of growth. My wife’s got it down to a fine art, and all I care about is that the leaves she produces are top quality and bring in big bucks. Here’s where you can get your head down.’
Nick pointed to the corner that had been turned into a mini-bedsit. Ahmed walked over, manoeuvred his heavy body onto the low bed, and watched Nick walk away.
Although Ahmed wanted his brain to stop thinking and allow him to sleep, it wasn’t happening. He’d told Samatar a hundred times that the Fergusons were a liability but it had fallen on deaf ears. His boss was bewitched by anything to do with English society, and saw Charles and Catherine as a ticket to being accepted.
Well, they were all in one hell of a hole now. It was his face being splashed all over the place, but from what that woman on the news had said the net was closing in around Charley boy too. One way out would be to make sure Charles didn’t talk – but someone else would have to do the deed. Ahmed couldn’t risk being spotted by some crime-busting member of the public. He remembered that he’d been told to keep his phone on, and struggled between his need to know if any plans had been made and his need for sleep.
Habit took over and he turned the phone on. No signal. What the hell was he doing here? Miles from anywhere and the whole country was looking for him.
Chapter Twenty-four
‘What the hell do you mean? Why don’t you know where he is? He takes orders from you, doesn’t he?’
Samatar held the phone some distance away from his ear, to avoid the loud, sardonic abuse that was being aimed at him.
‘If you can’t calm down and think this through you might just as well hand yourself in to the police. They’ve got nothing on you.’
Charles started to interrupt but Samatar continued. ‘People may have seen Ahmed with me and with Omar, but never with you – think about it. He never attended any of the dinners or meetings, for the most part stayed he in the background. I realise that it was a mistake to allow him to stay in the same hotels as we did, but you’ve got to admit he’s been bloody useful – and he is part of my extended family.’
‘Every bloody Somalian is part of your extended family!’
Charles Ferguson paced up and down the lounge of his London flat and thought about the scene he’d been called to just after Lizzie had found their mother’s body.
‘He made a hell of a mess, and I need to ask him exactly what my mother said in relation to the stuff we want to get hold of. It didn’t occur to me at the time but it may not be as easy as I’d thought.’
Now it was Samatar’s turn to shout down the phone.
‘Why the hell not – I thought you had the family solicitors in your pocket? What’s the problem?’
‘My mother’s bloody murder, of course! I rang the solicitors as soon as I got back from the Hall, but that bastard DCI Mortimer had already been on to them and they’ve been instructed not to release any family documents until he’s seen them. If my mother really did write everything down, then we’re all done for. That bloody crime reporter also suggested that Dalmar’s sister is able to identify others in connection with his killing.’
‘I’m surprised you remember his name,’ sneered Samatar.
‘He was a beautiful boy.’
Something about the way Charles’s voice caressed the words made Samatar slightly queasy, and he offered up a prayer of thanks that there was a very big ocean between the two of them.
‘Charles, you need to get a grip. Even if the little bitch has told the police that you were involved with her brother’s murder, it would come down to her word against yours. Your lawyers would tear her to pieces. Where’s her evidence? There’s no way she could know where the murder actually happened. You’ve got to keep your nerve, and at least in the case of your mother you can really act like the bereaved son. Even I thought you had some feelings for her!’
‘She had her uses. Anyway, what are you going to do about Ahmed?’
‘Ideally I’d like to get him back to Somalia, but as I said, I’m having no luck contacting him.’
‘Well, he’d better not turn up here!’
‘Hardly likely – he hates your guts!’
‘Look, just make sure you let me know when it’s been sorted. And I do mean sorted … permanently.’
After their meeting Martin had left Matt and got in touch with Laura Cummings. He’d never had such a positive response from the press; she’d practically bitten his hand off. In return for the sort of coverage Martin was requesting, he promised that she’d be the first to know of any breakthroughs in the case.
Matt had moved his team up to the top floor of Goleudy and was determined that a joint effort was going to solve three murders. Charlie mentioned that some emails had been received from North Wiltshire. Just before 10.30 Martin returned with Alex in tow and they all waited for the call from DCI Mortimer, which came through exactly when promised.
‘Have you got the videos my people sent?’
Matt looked around, and Charlie winked as with the press of a button the grounds of the Hall sprang to life on the screen.
‘We’re looking at them now.’
‘You and Alex know the setup here, but I thought this would be the easiest way to refresh your memories and for the others to get the picture. Before I forget, Paul from our SOC team wants a word with Alex when I’m finished.
‘We were called here last night when Elizabeth Ferguson returned from Cardiff. Fortunately she was with two friends, and it was the man who discovered her mother’s body. Sorry! I’ve jumped the gun on something significant. When they arrived at the Hall the security code for the front gates had been changed and she couldn’t get in. She had to call her brother to get the code.’
‘Why do you think that’s important?’
‘I just had a gut feeling that there was some sort of delaying strategy in place – but when I heard that the murder probably happened just minutes before the body was found I was convinced of it. My own reading of the crime is that the killer was given the time needed to drive down the track that leads to the rear gates.’
‘So some sort of accomplice – is that what you’re suggesting?’ questioned Matt.
‘When Lizzie – and she insists we call her that – phoned her brother, he told her that he’d kept her hanging on because he was taking another call. When she asked him for the new code he kept her waiting again, supposedly to get the paper he’d written it on was in his car. But given that the new code is his own date of birth I don’t see him having to check that out!’
‘Do you think Charles Ferguson had something to do with his own mother’s death?’ Matt looked around for some sign that others were getting the same message.
‘I’ve got absolutely no evidence to suggest he had. I think the man’s despicable, but unfortunately that won’t satisfy the CPS, and with his political connections I know I’m going to have to come up with something that really sticks. What I’ve got doesn’t even come into the parameters of circumstantial evidence.’
Martin asked if his counterpart had seen the news regarding a possible connection between a cold case he was investigating and Matt’s train murder. ‘You may remember that the reporter said my witness knew the identity of a man who was present when her brother was killed.’
‘Yes, I wasn’t sure if that meant she could describe him or if she actually knew him.’
‘She doesn’t actually know him, but she does know who he is – and I agree with you, he’s despicable!’
There was silence at the other end of the phone, but everyone could metaphorically hear DCI Mortimer’s brain clicking the pieces into place.
‘I was going to ask so why haven’t you arrested him for perverting the course of justice at the very least, but hell, wasn’t it me just talking about evidence! Still, we’re stacking up enough to bring him in for questioning, aren’t we? I need to get hold of his phone but he’s not going to let me have it without a warrant. If I let him see we think he’s anything other than just a grieving son I’ll have the best criminal lawyers in the country on my back. Not to mention a political situation that won’t go down well with my superiors.
‘When we’re finished here I’m going to have a good think about what action to take. I’m not normally one to pussyfoot around, but this case could go badly wrong if we don’t take a united approach.’
Martin explained that his actions with the media were in the hope of getting Charles Ferguson to run scared and do something stupid that would incriminate him. ‘Laura Cummings will be drip-feeding snippets of information over the next twenty-four hours, so if you’ve got anything at all I’d be happy to share it with her.’
‘Well, as you can imagine, the murder of Catherine Ferguson has created a lot of media coverage in its own right. You could give your reporter the nod that both Cardiff police and the locals are looking at it as a joint investigation: both Ferguson murders in fact. That should ruffle a few feathers and make Charles Ferguson realise that life is going to get difficult for him. I’m sure he’s not a murderer, not personally, but he knows someone who is and has om
itted to pass on that information to the appropriate authorities. Not what we’d expect from a man in his position … or is it? Sorry, I’m getting more cynical by the day!’
The call was about to be ended when Matt reminded the DCI that one of his team wanted to speak to Alex and handed the phone over.
‘Hi, Paul. Did you find anything from the tyre marks after I left you?
Realising the phone was still on speaker Alex turned it off and started to jot down some of the information he was being fed. Ten minutes later he put the phone down and pondered over what he’d written.
‘Penny for them,’ suggested Martin.
‘With any luck, this’ll be worth more than a penny. I take it we’ve got the DNA profile on all our victims?’
‘Yes, of course – why?’
‘As Matt knows, I stayed the night near Woodcanton Hall on the day we went down to look at a car that wasn’t there! There was tyre tread activity but nothing conclusive. The local SOCOs were more interested in the garages and the outbuildings, as they’d suspected criminal activity in the past but never had enough to act on their suspicions. Most of the buildings contained the items you’d expect to find, broken tools, garden furniture that was falling to pieces, paintbrushes soaking in jam jars – you know what I mean …’
Matt nodded, thinking that if he and Sarah did look for a house together he’d have years’ worth of similar junk to clear from his own shed.
‘Anyway, let’s watch this first,’ Alex suggested, ‘and then I’ll brief you on Paul’s find.’
The video was comprehensive, starting at the main gate with a shot of the intercom system that Elizabeth Ferguson would have used when she attempted to speak to her mother. Some of the officers made comments about the size of the property and its beautiful setting as the camera scanned the grounds before focusing on the front door.
What came next was anything but beautiful.
‘Wow! Somebody’s really lost it there!’ said Helen Cook-Watts. ‘And not a weakling either. That looks like a solid oak desk – I couldn’t move that one inch, never mind pick it up and throw it.’