‘I’ve got the details of the shareholdings of Silverwood you wanted. A majority is owned by Silverwood but twenty-six per cent is owned by an offshore company in the Cayman Islands. Just enough to give them effective control.’
When he gave me the name, I fell back in my chair.
Then I reached for the details of the ownership of the flat in Nice where I had read the same name.
Another large piece of the puzzle fell into place.
Chapter 45
A puddle of fluid on the floor of the custody suite near the sergeant’s desk had a very peculiar consistency. An odd smell hung in the air and the light from the fluorescent tubes was grey and depressing. One of them throbbed and it had the hypnotic effect of casting faint shadows across the walls.
‘One of the cleaners is coming to see to that,’ the sergeant told me without explaining what it was.
He flashed his fingers across the keyboard. ‘Henson was due for transfer this afternoon.’
He wasn’t expecting me to reply.
‘I hope this is worth it, John. You won’t believe the paperwork I have to complete if we have a prisoner here longer than we need to.’ The sergeant managed a surly look.
‘For Christ’s sake. He asked to see me.’ This was my investigation and it was my partner that was missing. Henson’s request to talk to me was a surprise after the initial interview.
‘You can use interview room ten down the corridor. Is this on tape?’
‘It’s not an interview under caution.’
He sat back in his chair. ‘So it’s off the record. And what if things go tits-up and you get the flak for not recording the interview. On my shift and then I’m in the shit.’
‘That’s about right.’
He waved me away and returned to the screen.
I walked down to interview room ten and waited. The room hummed from the sound of the air-conditioning unit somewhere nearby. A table in the corner had a cassette machine and underneath it was a small bin full of the discarded plastic wrappings of cassette tapes used to record interviews. I sat down.
I never liked these windowless rooms. They could get stuffy and hot and if the prisoner smelt the odour could stick in my nose for hours. Henson had refused to tell us where he had hidden Lydia. A team was unpicking his background as we sat there. Every friend and every acquaintance established and considered; every house and bedsit where he’d ever lived called at.
The door opened and a young officer entered with Henson. He looked gaunt and needed a shave. The officer left, pulling the door firmly closed behind him.
Silence fell on the room like a damp towel.
‘I didn’t kill Dolman or Turner or—’
‘I haven’t got time to listen to this.’ I straightened my position in the uncomfortable plastic chair. ‘Where is Lydia Flint?’
Henson put his hands behind his head. ‘How many times have I got to tell you? I didn’t take her.’
I stood up.
‘Sit down, Marco.’
‘It’s Detective Inspector Marco to you.’
He eased his body into a relaxed seating position and crossed one foot over the other knee once I had sat down.
‘The messages weren’t sent by me. I didn’t do any of them.’
‘Then how do you account for them matching your printer?’
‘We’ve been fucking set up. It’s a bloody trap…’
He ran out of steam when he realised I wasn’t paying any attention.
‘The printer was a gift from a benefactor.’
He must have read the incredulity in my face. ‘Honestly. We’d made an appeal on the website for office equipment and supplies so that we could continue with the struggle. We got loads of people donating old filing cabinets and shelves. And then one morning the printer arrived. In the box. I thought it had been stolen.’
‘You didn’t report it, of course.’
He bowed his head. ‘No.’
‘What have you done with Lydia?’
He looked over at me. There was real desperation in his eyes. ‘If someone is trying to set me up and destroy the work my group is doing then they’d stop at nothing to implicate me in her death.’
I smarted and moved my chair nearer to his. ‘If you tell me now where she is then it’ll go in your favour in front of the judge.’
‘I didn’t take her. But there are places that they might use to hide her, keep her captive.’
‘Who?’
‘The enemies of the people.’
I snorted my disbelief.
‘We met in a pub in the docks – The Anchor – a few years ago. And I ran a small business for a year from a unit in the industrial park in the old airfield between Cowbridge and Llantwit Major.’
‘What makes you think we don’t know about these already?’
There was a plaintive look in his eye. ‘I haven’t killed anyone. And I haven’t taken Lydia Flint.’
I peered at Henson. Gone was the contempt for authority, replaced by the barest hint of vulnerability, and I wondered for the first time that he might be telling me the truth.
Chapter 46
It was twilight when I parked opposite the boarded-up public house in the docks. Large sheets of plywood had been screwed to every window and door. Some of the creative locals had been spray-painting faces and small scenes from horror movies all over them until they looked like grotesque gargoyles. I imagined the pub alive with customers decades ago when the docks had thrived.
I left the car and walked over to the building. A padlock and a thick chain secured the main door. There was no sign of any recent use so I walked around the back. A gate creaked open as I rammed my shoulder against it. Beyond it was a car park and some outbuildings. Crossing potholed tarmac I stood by the window of the outbuildings and gazed in. Some old metal shelving racks had been discarded on the floor. But there was no sign of recent activity. I turned and walked towards the pub and by the rear entrance noticed old-fashioned outside toilets. I walked over and ventured in, half-expecting the smell of urine to be overpowering. But it was just cold and decrepit.
I left and then walked around the area, gazed into some derelict shops, and spoke to locals about any activity around the public house that met with shaking heads and reminisces about how things were not the same.
I decided there was nothing more that I could achieve so I called Queen Street. Wyn answered.
‘Any messages?’ I said.
‘Nothing, sir.’
Traffic was light as I drove over to Culverhouse Cross before taking the A48 towards Cowbridge. I passed through the villages surrounded by the lush agricultural land of the Vale of Glamorgan. I’d found the postcode for the site before leaving Queen Street and the sat-nav led me off the dual carriageway into Cowbridge and then on through the town and then left towards Llantwit Major and the coast. Another ten minutes passed until I saw the sign for the Vale Enterprise Zone. It was a fancy name for a dozen or more cheap units that had been created from redundant buildings along the perimeter of an old airfield.
The lights from my car swirled along the tall shutters of a unit advertising prefabricated garden sheds and summerhouses. I parked and scrambled in the glove compartment for my torch. It was cooler now so I dragged a thick fleece from the rear seat of the car and walked over to the first unit. It was two storeys high and I put the torch to the window. The beam caught the grinning face of a garden gnome and I caught my breath. I stepped back and ran the torch over the second-floor windows. The place was secure so I moved on.
I turned the corner and ahead of me were three rows of Nissen-style huts like props from a Second World War film. They looked like small workshops and offices. Suddenly the sky cleared and moonlight lit up the uneven track leading down between the huts. I switched off the torch and walked down the first row, already having decided that I would return with Wyn and Jane.
A fox crossed the path a few metres ahead of me, its tail catching faint wisps of light.
At the end of the first row, I turned and walked to my left. The ground was soft underfoot and my shoes sank into the mud. I stopped and examined the ground ahead. The squawking of a bird of prey broke the silence but then I heard something else. The sound of a door opening, a window being forced ajar. I tightened my grip on the torch and headed along the second row. This time I kept to the shadows along the walls and entrances of each unit, stopping occasionally, straining to hear something. Anything.
I reached the end of the row and stepped into the doorway of the final unit. It was quiet. The heavy pungent smell of creosote hung in the air. I glanced around and then stepped out to make my way towards the final row of Nissen-style units.
I paused by the corner of the gable of the end property and slowly peered down the final row. Nothing. Every door firmly shut and every window closed. I ventured slowly over the path and then over to the gable of the third and final row. It was identical to the other two apart from the faint shard of light coming from the corner of one window in a unit halfway down the row. I could hear nothing.
Looking down the row, I could spot that one of the units had a porch. On impulse I retraced my steps down the second row of buildings . I took small steps, judging every footfall, making certain I was quiet until I arrived at the bottom unit of the second row.
I slowly popped my head around the gable and saw the light more clearly this time.
I darted over the ground, praying that it wasn’t wet and that the sound of my feet on mud wouldn’t be noticed. Breathing heavily now I reached the porch. I was standing one unit away from the open window. I stepped nearer. Only a few feet away.
Suddenly the door was yanked open and it squeaked against the floor.
I almost fell over myself getting back to the nearby porch. I started breathing out slowly, hoping I wouldn’t be heard. Then I heard the spark of a lighter and the bleeping sound of a mobile being used.
Then I heard a voice I recognised. ‘She’s fine.’
A pause. ‘I really don’t know.’
Another pause. It felt like minutes.
‘Okay. Okay. I understand. I’ll call you later.’
Then the call was finished and I heard a sound, a toe grinding a cigarette butt into the soil, and then the door closing again. I had to think. I needed to call operational support and get back-up. It had to be Lydia inside, no question.
Then the door opened again. I heard a fiddling with the lock and then a padlock being snapped into place and the sound of footsteps walking away. Thankfully, my car was tucked away to one side so there was a good chance it wouldn’t be spotted. I tried to estimate how long the walk to the road might take. I heard a car engine start up and drive away.
I rang Wyn and gave him the postcode. Then I waited. But I was never any good at waiting. And I had a strong suspicion that Lydia was inside.
I needed to free her. Now.
I stepped out of the porch and over to the door. I gave the padlock and chain a cursory look.
I stepped back and kicked the door with my right foot. It hurt, really hurt. I tried repeatedly until I could hear the door hinges straining. I walked out into the path and ran at the door with my shoulder. It shook this time and I could see the fastening of the padlock loosen. I tried my foot again. Then my shoulder until the door gave away and I kicked the padlock to one side.
I rushed in, torchlight cutting through the darkness.
I scrambled to find a light switch.
The first room nearest the door was empty apart from a table and some old wooden chairs. I darted through the hallway and into the back room.
I flicked on the switch and a low-wattage bulb came to life.
Lydia was tied to a bed, her eyes wide open. She started crying as I ran over to her. I undid the rope and pulled her close to me.
Chapter 47
‘It was good old-fashioned policing, ma’am.’ Cornock drank heavily from the tumbler full of whisky. The assistant chief constable nodded and gave me a broad smile. ‘I’ll leave you to plan an arrest.’
‘Ah… Yes, ma’am,’ I said.
She left the conference room having finished her whisky in one gulp.
I sipped the plastic water bottle someone had shoved in my hand. ‘I need twenty-four hours.’
Cornock stared at me. ‘What the hell do you mean?’
‘I need time. We’ve got direct evidence against Greg Jones. I recognised his voice after all. He won’t know about us finding Lydia unless he goes back there and I suggest we have two officers there if they do.’
‘And you expect me to agree that Greg Jones has free rein until then? You must be mad.’
‘I know it’s unusual, sir, but—’
‘Unusual!’
‘He’s got an accomplice. And I need to work out who that was.’
‘It’s obviously Youlden or one of the other extremists. Greg Jones has been leading you a merry dance. Go and arrest him. Tonight. I’ll get a full team organised within an hour. An armed response team – the works. Then we’ll see what they think about policing in Wales.’
I sat down by the table and Cornock gave me a wary, uncertain look.
‘It’s not that simple, sir.’
Cornock sat open-mouthed as I explained about Tracy and Charlotte. He leant forward unblinking as I confirmed that the same limited company owned the flat in Nice and the shares in Silverwood Limited. And that they shared the same registered office in the Cayman Islands as the company that won the electrification contract.
‘So you think that Dolman, Turner and Harper plotted together to make certain that Frost Enterprises failed in its bid to win the railway electrification contract.’
‘Looks that way.’
‘And Frost’s daughter is implicated but you’re not certain if it’s Tracy Jones or Charlotte Parkinson?’
I nodded. Occasionally he challenged some of my logic but he had always been supportive enough to hear me out and that evening, despite the aching tiredness in my body, I managed a clear, detailed explanation. I hadn’t kept track of time but once I’d finished Cornock grasped the whisky bottle again and poured himself two fingers.
He savoured a mouthful and replaced the glass carefully in front of him.
He drummed two fingers on the table. ‘Twenty-four hours, John. No more.’
*
Lydia looked peaceful as I sat by her bedside in a small private room at the end of a ward in the hospital. I reached out and let my fingertips brush her arm. I recalled the night at Dean’s bedside when I turned his fingers through mine and I realised that it had been over a week since I had seen him. An intravenous drip led into her arm as she slept. My chair was one of those upright varieties with a plastic covering and a high back. I kept recalling the decision to press ahead with the surveillance and I knew that it had been unwise, stupid even, and looking at Lydia’s face I blinked away tears of relief.
A nurse came in so I averted my eyes. She made to say something but I’d found my mobile and pretended to send some message. After she left I glanced at my watch wondering if the surveillance teams had made any progress finding Greg – three teams of three men meant an enormous hole in the budget. It was six am when I woke up; my neck was stiff and I was twisted into an uncomfortable shape in the chair. I had been dreaming about Tracy and our nights together. I wanted to believe that she wasn’t involved.
Then a nurse came into the room and glowered at me. ‘You have to leave now.’
Lydia was still sleeping, her head rolled to one side.
‘You’ll call me once she’s awake.’
She nodded unconvincingly.
Back at my flat I showered and found clean clothes. I decided on a pair of black moleskin trousers with a pale denim shirt and then I left the flat. The car park was quiet but as I strode over to the Mondeo I noticed someone emerge from a nearby car. I slowed and then realised that it was Terry.
‘What do you want?’
‘You could at least thank me for putting you onto B
ert. Was your sergeant at that property then? I thought it would have been all over the newspapers by now.’
‘I need to get to work.’
Terry didn’t move. From a pocket he extracted a small sheet of paper that he held in the air. ‘Last chance, Marco. I need Doreen’s case to go away.’
I said nothing. He thrust the paper in my direction.
‘Cardiff City are playing in Bristol this Saturday and the Soul Crew are planning to trash a pub. Here are some names and the address.’
I read the details.
‘Just see me right, Marco.’ For the first time since I knew him Terry managed a simple pleading tone to his voice.
On the drive into Queen Street I pondered whether I should really bother telling Hobbs. He’d probably ignore the information. After punching in the security code, I headed straight for Hobbs’ office. He was on the telephone when I entered. I stared at him until he realised the urgency and finished the call.
‘I’ve got some intelligence for you.’
‘It’s not from—’
‘Yes. And you can do with it what you like. But if you ignore it and it turns out to be accurate then you’re in the shit. If it’s wrong then you’ve not lost anything. And you can blame my source. Win-win for you, Dave.’
He scribbled down the details as I left.
Wyn and Jane scrambled to their feet when I strode into the Incident Room. The atmosphere was different from the day before. Now we were making progress and there was excitement in their eyes.
‘How’s Lydia?’ Jane said.
‘She’ll be all right,’ I said. ‘My office, both of you.’
Wyn closed the door behind them and they both sat down in front of my desk.
‘Not a word of this gets out to anyone else.’
Another Good Killing Page 25
