A Perfect Likeness

by Roger Gumbrell

  Jackson Clunes was the most unpopular solicitor on the circuit. Loathed by the police, loved by the criminal. He preferred to be addressed as JC and got upset if he wasn’t. In his mid-sixties, the police, and many solicitor colleagues, considered it time for him to take a rest. Retirement. A slight resemblance to Rumpole in stature and looks, but had the most irritating high pitch to his voice when he got over excited. Which was often. He knew the law books as if he had written them himself, but he used his brilliance to the advantage of the criminal. He made a healthy bank balance working with barristers, guiding them in many cases, and getting villains off charges that should have put them inside for years. For some reason, Jackson Clunes had no wish to become a barrister. He never divulged why, not even to his son, also a solicitor.

  ‘You have to wonder what side of the law he sits on, Guv, but at the moment he’s sitting in the outer office. Do you want to see him now or shall I tell him you’ve just popped out for a pie and a pint? He’s had a long session with his Mr Page and now he’s ready to ‘squeak’.

  ‘Yes, best get him in. After which we’ll have another go at Mr Page.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Clunes,’ welcomed Deckman, knowing he’d got the meeting off to the wrong start, ‘sorry you have been kept waiting. It has been pretty hectic here today as you can imagine. Still, it has allowed you to have plenty of time with your client, I understand.’

  ‘It’s JC, Inspector, and it is just as well I can’t charge the police for wasting my time. I would be a wealthy man.’

  Deckman didn’t bite, although he would have liked to and could have bitten deep.

  Fraser, standing by the window, looked down at the car park spaces outside the entrance of the station, in particular the one reserved for the duty solicitor. It was filled, overfilled would be more appropriate, with a new Bentley Continental with personalised number plates. If that’s not wealth, he thought, tell me what is. Tinted windows all round, and probably bullet-proofed as well, no doubt to protect him from the good guys.

  ‘My client,’ Clunes continued, ‘insists he has no case to answer and if drugs were being brought into the country it must have been by his employee, Mr Rawston, without either his or his daughter’s knowledge.’

  ‘How convenient for Mr Page that his employee took his own life,’ said Deckman.

  ‘No doubt police harassment drove him to it, Inspector. I will look at that possibility later and take appropriate action. I suggest, in the meantime, my client and his daughter, who I am also representing, are allowed to be released on bail to allow you more time to reassess your actions so far, in order to try and correct the mistakes you appear to have made.’

  ‘Your clients would love to be released on bail, Mr Clunes, as they would be out of the country within hours,’ said Deckman happy to watch the solicitor redden with anger at his refusal to use JC.

  ‘Why on earth do you say that, Inspector? And why do you insist on using my name incorrectly?’ he squeaked.

  Deckman ignored the second question. ‘I get the impression that your client has been frugal with the facts of this case. Has he explained there is more to it than a simple drug smuggling issue? I doubt it very much.’ Deckman pushed a folder of information across the desk top. ‘It’s all in here. If you had come to me first you would have known.’

  ‘I don’t like your attitude, Inspector, and why do you insist on calling me Mr Clunes? It’s JC.’

  ‘Because, Mr Clunes, Sir, as I understand it, Mr Clunes is your name. Why do you pretend to be someone you could never live up to.’

  Jackson Clunes was now fully primed in ‘squeak mode’. He was excited and angry, but Deckman continued despite Clunes attempting to interrupt.

  ‘Your clients are likely to be charged with many offences and I shall be applying to the Court for an extension of custody to ensure our ‘mistakes’, as you call them, are sorted out. We are now going to interrogate Mr Page and I’m sure you will enjoy learning more about your client, and his daughter .’

  *

  Edward Page sat next to his solicitor, less ruffled than he was at the end of his last interview. Whatever Clunes had said to him had brought about a remarkable change and his confidence had returned.

  ‘Mr Page,’ began Deckman, ‘I don’t know what you have told your solicitor, but I suspect it was far from the truth and mighty short on detail. By the time we’ve finished this interrogation he will be aware of everything and, I hope, feeling a little different towards you. I shall be objecting to any bail request for both you and your daughter, as you say she is. To the contrary, I shall be applying to the Court for an extension of two days before I need to charge you, or release you. The latter will not apply, Mr Page. I know that you will be charged on a number of counts. Retribution will be coming your way, in full.’

  ‘Not a good idea to make presumptions, Inspector,’ said Clunes. ‘A long way to go yet.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Deckman placed two black notebooks on the desk. ‘This one,’ he said, placing the flat of his hand on top of the smaller of the books, ‘was found in the safe at the Star Boats office. Your office, Mr Page. And this one,’ he moved his hand across to the other book, ‘we removed from the small safe in Sylvia Page’s bedroom. Do you recognise them?’

  ‘No, I have never seen them before.’

  ‘This smaller one, and I’m sure you are aware of it, contains a list of dates, coordinates and times of delivery of your cocaine supplies dating from early 2005 and going up to the end of 2011. This one, however, is a little more special and I’m equally sure you have not seen it before, but stop me if you recognise any of these names, Mr Page.’ He read out all but two of the names as he turned the pages. Page did not interrupt.

  Clunes watched his clients face lose more colour with each name.

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t stop me, Mr Page as all these people were murdered by Miss Page. The first because he would not provide her with more cocaine and the remainder were all killed on the orders of you or your mafia organisation, including the two prostitutes she murdered here, in Draycliffe. And there are two more names, one of whom you would not know about. Victoria Campbell, who was killed for no other reason than she looked like Miss Page. The final name in the book is Trish Lister, who you have met as she works at the marina. She is not dead, but would be if Miss Page had her way. Instead, she attacked another woman, this morning, in this very room. Gabby Gale is one of my staff, a WPC who is now fighting for her life after having a jagged piece of a broken mug thrust deep into her throat. That wet patch there,’ he pointed, ‘was where another colleague removed a lot of Gabby’s blood.’

  Jackson Clunes shut his eyes and his face creased in disbelief.

  Deckman moved the books to one side replacing them with two passports. ‘This one belonged to Hilda Breckstadt, one of the murder victims.’ He turned the pages of the ‘black-book’ translation until reaching her name. ‘You have a copy of this, Mr Clunes, in the information pack I gave you. Let me read part of the entry Miss Page made under this name. “I have been instructed, by Edward Page to terminate Hilda because she has become too much of a problem and causing too many difficulties with our other prostitutes …” And this passport is in the name of Eva Kovacs. Another prostitute who caused you to have her killed. I again quote, “Edward Page thought it very close to the last termination, but if I thought it really necessary I should proceed. I would have done anyway. That feeling has returned and I must feed it.” And now, Victoria Campbell. An innocent Draycliffe housewife, murdered because Miss Page felt she should not be allowed to live. She then used her identity to travel to Spain to arrange the purchase of the six South American prostitutes. But you didn’t know she’d murdered Victoria or used her name to travel, Mr Page. It was her secret. It says so, here.’ Deckman tapped the black note book. ‘And now, Mr Page, this signal arrived a short while ago and its translation completed just in time for this interview.’ He directed his gaze towards Clunes. ‘It’
s from Moscow. From Petrovka 38, the home of the Russian Criminal Investigation Department. I sent your client’s fingerprints over because we believe he was responsible for the recent murder of a Russian politician. Again details are in the folder should you find time to read them. The Russian police have confirmed that your client is not Mr Page as he claims to be, but is Yaroslav Andrekov, a senior mafia operator. He murdered the politician for killing his wife over thirty years ago. The Russian police have requested his extradition. Also in Miss Page’s safe we found the passport belonging to Victoria Campbell, a forged passport in the name of Sylvia Page and a valid one for Natasha Ramirova. The true identity of Sylvia Page, isn’t it Mr Andrekov? We’ve enough on you both to put you away for a very long time. And don’t get any thoughts of being sent back to Russia as we are aware the mafia have their fingers in the running of the prisons and we wouldn’t want to take any chance that you might be released as soon as you get back. Would we, Mr Clunes? Take him back to his cell.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before he was brought in, Inspector?’

  ‘Because, Mr Clunes, you had spoken to and believed your client and were only interested in getting him, and his daughter , out on bail. You were not concerned about knowing the true facts. How do you feel now, Mr Clunes, about these two being allowed out?’

  Deckman’s mobile rang. He read the name of the caller. ‘Hello, Judy. How’s Gabby?’

  ‘She’s now in intensive care, Sir. Will be for at least two days. The surgeon says she is out of immediate danger but is not able to guarantee that he has saved her voice, although he’s hopeful.’

  ‘Great news. I’m coming over as soon as I can. If you are able to wait I’ll give you a lift home.’ He returned the phone to his shirt pocket. He made no attempt to conceal the trace of dampness in his eyes.

  Jackson Clunes looked at him. ‘Are you all right, Inspector?’ he asked with genuine concern.

  ‘No, Sir, I’m bloody well not. I am now going to the hospital to see three of my officers, all seriously wounded in rounding up this gang, and a private investigator whose arm was broken when she was taken hostage. I’m just glad they’re alive, Mr Clunes, but I don’t expect you to appreciate my feelings for one moment. Good day, Sir.’

  *

  ‘Hi, Jens. It’s me. Remember?’ shouted Deckman on opening the front door of his detached house. The home and family he wasn’t sure he would see again.

  Jenny Deckman ran to greet him. ‘I need to think about it. Could it be my long lost husband who’s decided to come home?’ She threw her arms around his neck. Her kisses told him how relieved she was. ‘I’ve missed you, darling, so much. I have been so worried about you. The boys kept asking what was going on and I had to tell a few white lies. Even at their age they realised something big was happening. How are the four in hospital?’

  ‘Jens, this has been the worst two days of my working life. The men will be fine, but poor Gabby, I don’t know. May have lost her speech. Trish will probably be allowed home tomorrow.’

  ‘Hey, come on now. You’re home so relax. The boys have not long been in bed; I kept them up as long as I could in the hope you’d make it home at a reasonable time. Suggest you go up and surprise them while I pour you a treat.’

  ‘Hi, boys, you not asleep yet?’

  ‘It’s dad,’ they yelled in unison and threw themselves at him when he sat on Richard’s bed.

  ‘What you been doing, Dad?’ asked Christopher. ‘Mum said she couldn’t not tell us. A special assignment or something. Made you sound like a spy. You’re not a spy, Dad, are you? Wouldn’t it be great if you were. I couldn’t wait to tell my mates at school.’

  ‘No, son. Just an ordinary copper. Tell you all about it when we finally put it to bed. Talking of which, that’s where you both should be. And asleep. Come on, down you get.’ He kissed them both on the forehead. ‘See you at breakfast.’

  ‘Night, Dad,’ said Christopher.

  ‘Glad you’re home, Dad,’ said Richard. ‘Can you do this sort of thing again as Mum lets us stay up late?’

  ‘Me too, son, but I’m not sure about doing it again,’ said Deckman struggling to hold back the tears as he closed the bedroom door.

  He savoured his whisky which was followed by chicken breast in a Spanish sauce. Deckman always appreciated a Spanish connection with his food. He acquired a taste for the Mediterranean diet during the last family holiday together, in the pretty Costa Blanca resort of Moraira.

  ‘Sorry it’s reheated, darling. I had hoped you might have made it a little earlier, but it doesn’t matter, you’re here now.’ She stroked the back of his neck as she walked behind him. ‘And that is the important thing.’

  ‘That was delicious, Jens,’ he said. He had not spoken throughout the meal. His was preoccupied and Jenny knew her husband well enough to appreciate that now he’d eaten he would be desperate to talk.

  ‘Go sit in your chair, Inspector Deckman, while I go and top up your glass. I think we can stretch to two this evening, but this is the last one before I start to wean you off. And then, if it’s of any help you can talk to me about it.’

  He did talk. Jenny Deckman listened, and said all the right things in the right places until the early hours.

  Chapter 25

  ‘Good morning, Inspector, it’s Jackson Clunes. Apologies for the early call, but I wondered whether you wished to speak to either of my clients this morning?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Clunes, Miss Page, in about forty-five minutes, if you can make it.’

  ‘Not a problem, I’m just around the corner in the Courts. I’ll be there, thanks. Sorry to have bothered you.’

  ‘Morning, Guv,’ said DI Fraser. ‘Do you know, I had my best sleep for weeks last night. Must be because the missus is staying at her sisters for a few days. How about you?’

  ‘Fine, up till just now. I think our friend Clunes must have got out of the right side of his bed for the first time in his life. Too polite and didn’t use JC. Could be a danger sign and I am not sure I can manage a nice Jackson Clunes.’

  ‘Well, you certainly kept him tied down yesterday, Guv. Great to watch.’

  ‘Thanks, but right this moment we have a more serious internal problem to resolve.’

  Fraser put on his well practiced concerned look and sat opposite Deckman. ‘Got to be something to do with Rexton.’

  ‘Actually, no it isn’t. Look, I have to say I’m missing Bob’s coffee.’

  ‘Strewth, Guv. You mean to say the coffee you’re getting now is no better than Bob’s?’

  ‘Truth of the matter is, Colin, I’m not getting any coffee. Better or worse.’

  ‘I’ll go kick arses, Guv.’

  ‘Later, we’ve no time now. It’s only thirty minutes before Clunes arrives so you’d better come with me and I’ll treat you, again, to a real coffee across the road.’

  ‘If I may say so, Guv, it really is about time you did. I can’t afford to keep buying you elevenses. I told the missus the other day I needed more than the £1 a day spending money she allows me. Now she thinks I’ve got another woman. By the way, Guv, would you be able to add a fresh, succulent, cheese and tomato roll to my treat?’ Fraser was already wiping his hands on his handkerchief in anticipation.

  ‘Are you trying to confuse me, Colin?’

  ‘Of course not, Guv, certainly not at feeding time. Why do yo ask?’

  ‘Well, the other day you were waving about a hanky with the letter ‘V’ on it, but today you’ve one with ‘L’.’

  ‘Well observed, Guv. I could say it’s to prove I’ve more than one hanky, but the real reason is that they were the only two boxes left on special offer, and you know the missus, can’t miss a bargain, so she bought them both.’

  *

  ‘First of all, Inspector,’ said Jackson Clunes. ‘My client wishes it to be placed on record how apologetic she is for her outburst at her last interview.’

  ‘I haven’t heard any
apology, Mr Clunes,’ said Deckman looking across the table at a scowling Sylvia Page.

  ‘She just has, through me.’

  ‘We all have angry moments, Mr Clunes, but we don’t all thrust jagged pieces of pottery into someone’s throat in an attempt to kill them.’

  ‘Be careful with your words, Inspector, my client had no intention of killing the WPC.’

  ‘You have a full copy of the last interview with Miss Page and if you had taken the time to read it you would have known her true intentions, Mr Clunes.’

  ‘I’m a very busy man, Inspector. Only had time to glance through it at this stage and I don’t have it with me this morning.’

  ‘That is a pity. It would have saved time. I suggest you read this to refresh your memory.’ Deckman slid the translated text over the table. ‘Your client had every intention of killing Trish Lister and because she was not here poor Gabby became the target.’

  Sylvia Page flew into another rage, pummelling the table top with clenched fists. ‘I should have killed her on the boat. Tom warned me and I’m not sorry at all it’s not that Trish Lister. Hope the copper dies, just like my Tom. You murdered him, I murdered her,’ she screamed and continued her drumming of the table.

  Deckman had expected further outbursts and was prepared, but it took two PC’s and a WPC nearly three minutes to restrain her.

  ‘Miss Page,’ squeaked Clunes. He was excited, even frightened. ‘How do you expect me to look after your best interests if you behave like this?’

  Sylvia Page spat in his face. ‘You’re no better than the rest of them. You all killed my Tom.’ She sat heavily, catching the handcuffs on the back of the chair and twisting her shoulder. She grimaced and looked directly at Deckman. She calmed down and spoke in her, too perfect, English. ‘You have done your job well, Inspector. You found out things my employer never knew, including the need to satisfy my need to kill. It’s all true.’ She was pale, her hair matted and her eyes red and puffed, but within those eyes the ultimate evil was forever present. The hatred, the loathing she had for her fellow beings was clear. ‘The only time I’ve ever been happy was when I became Victoria. I felt different, just like I thought I would. I was a nice person for the only time in my adult life. I knew I couldn’t have allowed her to live, it would not have been fair. As soon as I first set eyes on her, I realised I had to kill her. I felt better, after I’d done it. I always did. The power I’ve had to end someone’s life has always been a big turn on. Better than drugs. Better than sex. I can’t help myself, Inspector. Only my Tom was good for me and now he’s gone.’