Never Dead

by Wonny Lea

  She stopped speaking as the focus moved to a figure lying amongst the destruction of the desk and bookshelves that had been torn from the walls. It looked as if the woman had been given some of the same treatment as the furniture. Her leg was bloodied and sore-looking, but it was her hand, bent back in an impossible position, that made her look like a discarded ragdoll.

  ‘Oh, the poor woman. She must have been terrified – what a monster!’

  ‘No one deserves to die like this,’ Matt said, ‘but we’ve got reason to believe Catherine Ferguson wasn’t the angel of mercy that she appeared. This woman has probably been living off the misery of Somalian refugees for years. There’s nothing we can prove as yet, but we’re getting there, aren’t we, guv?’

  Martin nodded. ‘At the moment we’ve got a compelling witness linking my eleven-year-old case to both Edward and Catherine Ferguson: their son Charles. Although he’s not the murderer he knows who is. My witness can categorically place him at the scene of the murder, but as things stand it would be her word against his.

  ‘Matt says he’s got an alibi for his father’s murder, and I’m sure DCI Mortimer will be questioning him closely about where he was when he spoke to his sister and if anyone can corroborate his whereabouts. Of course, he’ll be walking on eggshells with the possibility of a political scandal brewing.

  ‘We need a bit of luck here! The images of the killer are excellent, and thanks to Laura Cummings we couldn’t have got better media coverage, but where has it got us? True, we’ve had the usual sightings, but nothing’s turned out to be of any use so far and –’

  Helen Cook-Watts interrupted. ‘There’s one woman I spoke to on the phone about an hour ago, and she swears she’s seen him before. When I pressed her for more details she became more and more vague, said she simply couldn’t remember where or when she’d seen him – but she’s adamant that she has seen him, and more than once!

  ‘I’m expecting a return call because she’s fairly sure that she was with her husband when she saw him, and she thinks his memory may be better than hers. Her husband’s in a meeting at the moment, but she’ll ring back as soon as she’s spoken to him. It may not be much but it’s the best we’ve had from the public and she’s adamant she’s seen him.’

  ‘Let’s hope her husband’s memory is better than hers,’ said Martin. ‘Alex?’

  ‘Paul was excited at the prospect of getting a good look inside the grounds of Woodcanton Hall. He told me a few investigations in the past had taken his colleagues there – but only as far as that intercom; they’d never managed to get a warrant for the house itself. I asked for help in relation to tracking down the ghost car and he and his colleagues jumped at the chance. Even though they were investigating his father’s death, Charles was furious at their presence.

  ‘Paul took the opportunity to have a good look at the outhouses. He was hoping to find some evidence of drugs and became fixated by the largest of the buildings that had been cleaned out. And when I say cleaned out – I mean cleaned out! It could have been used for a surgical procedure. It was so out of place with the other typical storage sheds and we all agreed that the level of cleaning that had been employed could only be to cover up previous activity that someone wanted to remain hidden. Paul practically took it to pieces – he’s a good bloke.

  ‘The people who did the cleaning probably thought they’d done a good job, but some things are almost impossible to destroy completely. Blood residue is one of them – it can be recovered thousands of years later. The floor had been boarded over, not recently, but all the other buildings have concrete floors so why was this one different? Paul found the reason when he took up the floorboards and found what he was sure was old bloodstaining. Tests proved him right, and he’s been able to produce a DNA profile.’

  ‘Have they tried matching it?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Yes, but no luck other than the general DNA profile matches people from the African continent.

  ‘I doubt there’s any African blood in the Ferguson family history – so if this type of DNA has been isolated from the blood residue, how did it get there and why have such efforts been made to cover it up? We need to show Dalmar and Charles Ferguson in the same place, but until now I hadn’t considered that place could be our politician’s home. Could it really be that the Somalis were being kept there when they’d been brought into the country?’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Matt.’ From what you’ve said, they could never have been sure of the number that would actually get here. They’d need somewhere to sort out the documentation for the survivors and to get them dressed in decent clothes, ready for the British public.’

  ‘But,’ Martin added, ‘Charles Ferguson became involved. I wonder if he’d always known about his mother’s activities? I don’t know but I suspect not. He’s always had serious political ambitions and I don’t see him risking them by allowing people-trafficking in his family home. He didn’t live there, so the only person who might have had suspicions would have been Edward Ferguson.’

  ‘Lizzie told me that her father was always away on business a lot until he retired, and had lost all interest in the estate for years,’ said Helen. ‘She was hoping her decision to finally use it for tennis coaching would reignite his enthusiasm.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s the motive I’m looking for,’ Matt suggested. ‘Lizzie said her father welcomed the creation of a tennis academy in the grounds, but that would have meant work being done on those buildings. Maybe Charles and his mother thought that would have revealed what had been happening there.’

  Alex shook his head. ‘That may well be what they thought, but it would never have happened. If there’d been a body to discover that would’ve been a different story! But builders don’t usually think they’re working on a crime scene, and even if they’d recognised the old blood it’s unlikely they would have realised its importance. If Edward Ferguson was murdered to prevent his plans for future Wimbledon stars then he was killed out of irrational fear.

  ‘Anyway, there’s only one way to find out if this speculation and hope is justified and that’s to compare the DNA that Paul has obtained with what you’ve got on file for Dalmar and hope –’

  Charlie interrupted her husband. ‘I’m way ahead of you on that. I’ve called up the relevant section of Martin’s case file but there’s no DNA record. There’s a note on the post-mortem summary listing the various tests that were requested. DNA is one of them but there’s no results on file.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me!’ Martin looked furious. ‘The bloody idiots who looked at this case initially were either totally incompetent or corrupt – or both.’

  It was Matt who suggested what to everyone but Martin seemed obvious.

  ‘We can test his sister! Her DNA profile will give us the proof we need.’

  Martin smiled sadly. ‘It would, normally – but then she’s not actually his sister!’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ‘Yes, of course it’s OK for you to exhume Dalmar’s body, you have my full blessing. My fiancé has been brilliant in all of this, and Dalmar’s final resting place is something we’ve talked a lot about. Craig’s family has a plot in the grounds of a small chapel, and there’s space for two more bodies to be interred. It sounds a bit macabre, but Craig asked his family about the possibility of Dalmar being buried there and they’ve all agreed.

  ‘The problem is, we’ve hit a brick wall when it comes to getting the right permission for Dalmar’s body to be relocated, and Craig didn’t think I should be bothering you – so your phone call was an answer to my prayers. What happens now?’

  ‘I spoke to Professor Moore, our forensic pathologist, before coming here and he’s certain that he can persuade the relevant authorities of the need to move quickly. He’s making arrangements for the exhumation as we speak. I wanted to make sure you knew, because these things aren’t that common and so they inevitably attract the media.’

  Basra thanked Martin and asked about the actual
procedure and what would happen to Dalmar’s remains.

  ‘Professor Moore has suggested that Dalmar is brought back to his examination rooms for DNA profiling and kept there until you are ready to proceed with the final burial arrangements. The whole process won’t take that long, and I can’t tell you how pleased we all are that at last you’ll be able to do the right thing for your brother.’

  ‘Thank you, DCI Phelps, thank you for everything. I just have to ask you one thing. Why is Dalmar’s DNA suddenly so significant? Craig says you must be looking to link it to his killer, or to Charles Ferguson, but we can’t figure out how you’d do that.’

  Martin smiled. ‘Perhaps that’s just as well, or you and Craig could be after my job! I’ll let you know everything in the fullness of time, but for now I have to admit we are processing theories rather than hard facts and I don’t want to give you any false hopes.’

  Martin got up to leave and to his surprise Basra threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. He stood back and smiled as Basra’s face turned pink.

  ‘Well, that’s not something I get very often during a murder investigation – but very welcome nevertheless.’

  ‘Even if all of this doesn’t lead to you finding my brother’s killer, or even arresting Ferguson, I’m just grateful that Dalmar will finally be laid to rest in peace.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as there’s anything I can share with you. You can go ahead with organising the re-burial for Dalmar as soon as you like. I suspect the professor will be ready either later today or tomorrow – there’s no stopping him when he’s on a mission.’

  When he left the house Martin called the Prof’s department and spoke to Mrs Williams.

  ‘It’s all arranged,’ she said. ‘Professor Moore has asked Alex Griffiths to attend the exhumation, and they’re just waiting for your agreement to go ahead. I’m preparing for the body to be returned here for examination and storage. I’ve seen a few of these during the time I’ve worked here, DCI Phelps, but I can’t say I look forward to them. I’ve heard the Prof give a number of lectures on the reasons why decomposition is unpredictable, and each one makes me more certain that I’ll choose cremation as my preferred mode of transport out of this world.’

  ‘I’ll second that,’ replied Martin.

  ‘I’ve been asked to ring Alex Griffiths as soon as I’ve heard from you so that they can go ahead. Oh and just one other thing. Professor Moore has asked if you’d like to attend the examination session when he gets the body back here.’

  Martin grinned as he got a mental picture of the Prof making the suggestion with a twinkle in his eye but this time Martin had a trump card.

  ‘May as well put the new technology to use so when you’re ready just give me the nod and I’ll watch from the relative safety of the fifth floor.’

  Immediately after his conversation with Mrs Williams Martin made another call.

  ‘This is DCI Martin Phelps. I’d like to speak to Laura Cummings, please – she’s expecting my call.’

  Seconds later she was on the line.

  ‘Thanks for the coverage. We’re not at the arrest stage yet, but cages are being rattled and we’re pretty certain we’ll get there soon.’

  ‘That’s fine, but I’m running out of new things to say and in spite of my best pleading the news editors will drop the story if I can’t keep it fresh.’

  Martin sensed the frustration in the crime-reporter’s voice. He told her about the planned exhumation and she was instantly back on-board.

  ‘And it’s OK for me to take a camera crew there – I won’t be sent away with a flea in my ear? I’ve been on the receiving end of Dafydd Moore’s acid tongue more times than I care to remember.’

  ‘Don’t worry, they’re expecting you. I know you don’t appreciate being told how to report a story, but I’d like it to be known that the body is being exhumed for the purpose of obtaining DNA evidence. You can reveal that we are hoping to match Dalmar’s DNA with a sample found at a key location in the enquiry. Such a match would lead to the identification of people present at the time he was murdered.’

  ‘Where was it found? What people?’

  ‘That’s as much as I can give you until we get the DNA results.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell – that’s like showing a kid an ice-cream and not letting them have a lick!’

  ‘You’ll get the news before anyone else, and there’s always the human interest story of a sister who will now be able to say a dignified goodbye to her brother.’

  ‘Yes, yes, people love that sort of thing but it’s not really my area. I’m much more interested in being first to get the name of the killer – speak later!’

  She rang off, and Martin could imagine her being photographed at the entrance to the cemetery as she broke the news of the exhumation. He hadn’t always seen eye to eye with Laura Cummings, and had good personal reason to remember that she was like a terrier when trying to find out information. It felt good to have her on his side on this occasion.

  Having made the two calls Martin started the engine of his Alfa Romeo and drove back to the Bay. He’d barely turned the engine off in the car park of Goleudy when Matt walked towards him.

  ‘I’m in need of some fresh air so I’m going for a walk. Fancy joining me?

  The two men walked with no particular destination in mind, but there was a keen wind and the temperature was plummeting.

  ‘Good God, it’s freezing,’ complained Matt. ‘I wouldn’t have suggested a walk if I’d realised it was this cold. I haven’t got my head around it being so close to Christmas yet, but there’s plenty of evidence around here. Mince pie with your coffee?’ he asked as they sat down in one of the many coffee shops.

  ‘It always sneaks up on me – first it’s my birthday, then in a blink it’s Christmas and then it’s all over!’

  ‘I haven’t even given it a thought,’ confessed Matt ‘but now I know I’ll be spending it with Sarah I’m going to make it a Christmas to remember.’

  ‘Good for you – so turkey and chips for everyone at yours, is it?’ Martin teased.

  ‘Watch this space! But don’t make any plans of your own, and pass the message on to Alex and Charlie.’

  Their relaxation was soon interrupted as Laura Cummings’ face appeared on the television screen above the cake counter. The sound wasn’t on, but subtitles were showing and Martin was pleased with what was being transmitted.

  ‘Remember when she gave you such a hard time over the Austin murders? And that press conference when she was after your scalp! What made you bring her in on your case?’

  ‘She offered! And when I went back and looked at her reporting of the case at the time I could see I had a ready-made ally. It was she who got the public to dignify the body with a name, and even Dalmar’s sister thinks the name Geedi was respectful and relevant. I think Laura may have got her wrists slapped when she asked political questions about Britain’s immigration policy and the role of some charities that were getting government funding. I think she took it as far as she could back then, and she jumped at the opportunity to be part of getting at the real story behind Dalmar’s death. I just hope we can give it to her!’

  ‘Well, she looks quite pleased with herself in the absence of any other reporters – and I take it the words she’s using may have been prompted by you?’

  Martin smiled. ‘It’s almost word for word what I told her. All I wish now was that DNA analysis was instant – I hate this waiting game.’

  ‘Not much hanging about so far though – I can almost picture the Prof with a spade in his hand when he was waiting for your phone call!’

  Both men laughed. ‘They’ve obviously moved quickly and it’s probably best we don’t know if all the requisite paperwork is in order!’ Matt said. The technicians don’t hang about with results if Professor Moore is waiting for them, and I bet you’ll have them by this time tomorrow.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’ Martin paid for their refreshments and they wa
lked back to the station. ‘I think we should put another call through to your friend DCI Mortimer and decide how we want to proceed in the event of a positive match.’

  ‘I’ll do that as soon as we get back and have you thought about what you’ll do if it isn’t a match?’

  ‘Yes – I’ll cry!’

  ‘Me too!’

  The two detectives weren’t the only ones to see the news item, but their impatience was inconsequential compared to the fear it had instilled in Charles Ferguson.

  He sat in his London flat vainly trying to foresee the future. He’d already ignored a three-line whip on an important government policy decision, but that wouldn’t matter as his absence would be seen as perfectly acceptable considering both his parents had been murdered. He’d even had a condolence message from the PM himself and the flat was full of flowers and sympathy cards.

  Charles had a really bad feeling about the news item, but there was always an outside chance that the whole thing had been set up to cause anyone with a guilty conscience to show their hand. He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t a politician for nothing, and manipulating situations was something he did rather well.

  His first appeal to the family solicitors for his mother’s papers had failed. The jobsworth office manager told him that the firm was under strict orders from DCI Mortimer not to release anything they were holding on Mrs Ferguson’s behalf. Luckily for him, Charles was an expert in making use of the old boys’ network, and contacted the eldest son of the company, who was known to have political aspirations of his own. Later that day they’d met at the golf course, and in exchange for nothing more than some vague promises of future political help he handed over the documents Charles needed.

  Part of him had wanted to read what his mother had written but he suspected it would make him angry and there was already enough going on to fuel his anger. So he put them in a drawer to be read and then destroyed when things were back to normal. It was a measure of the man’s arrogance that he still believed he was untouchable.