The Poisoned Rock: A Sullivan and Broderick Murder Investigation (The Rock Murder Mysteries Book 2)

by Robert Daws

  ‘Oh, my God. You think it was me? Me who killed him?’

  ‘Just answer the question, please, Tracy,’ Sullivan said a little more delicately.

  Gavin’s cheeks flushed and her eyes began to dart left and right, her mind racing. She was desperately trying to focus on what to say and do.

  ‘The truth, please, Ms Gavin,’ Broderick insisted.

  The pressure was at last too much. ‘Tuesday afternoon,’ she blurted out. ‘We had our first night-shoot that evening, which went through to the following morning.’

  ‘Your first and last night-shoot,’ Broderick observed.

  ‘Why exactly were you at the apartment?’ Sullivan pressed her. ‘Were you there on business with Mr Cornwallis?’

  ‘No. Josh wasn’t there.’

  ‘Wasn’t there?’ Broderick asked incredulously. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He was in Marbella with Julia. He was flying back with her late in the afternoon.’

  ‘Why were you there then? Do you make a habit of visiting other people’s apartments when they’re not there?’ Broderick questioned.

  ‘It was all a mistake. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Sorry for what, Tracy?’ Sullivan asked patiently.

  ‘It was just stupid. I knew Josh wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t be back till later … The fact is, Josh had left his keys at the production office the day before and then had gone off to Marbella with Julia. I promised him I’d pop them back to the reception desk at the Plaza in time for his return.’

  ‘So why go into his apartment? What were you thinking?’ Broderick asked.

  ‘It wasn’t my idea!’ Gavin replied with alarm.

  ‘You mean there was someone else with you?’ Sullivan asked, keeping a steadying hand on Gavin’s arm.

  ‘Yes. He said we wouldn’t get caught. Said Josh would never know …’ Gavin continued desperately.

  ‘Who said that, Tracy? We need to know,’ Sullivan asked.

  ‘… We’d said we wouldn’t. Not again. There was no future in it. I knew that. But I couldn’t help myself. He’s very persuasive.’

  ‘Who is, Tracy? Who are you talking about?’ Broderick demanded.

  ‘Jerry. Jerry Callum-bloody-Forbes.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus!’ Sullivan let go of Gavin’s arm and stepped back. Half in amazement, half in disgust.

  Gavin continued with her story. ‘We worked together last year on the film Ivanhoe. I knew it was stupid. I just fell for his charm. He said he was going to leave his wife. That we’d move in together. Never happened, of course. I thought it was over. I thought we could just be, you know, professional. But from the first day I knew I wasn’t over him.’

  Broderick looked at her in amazement. ‘But he’s over there with his wife,’ he said, gesturing towards the pub.

  ‘I know. That’s why we went to Josh’s apartment. Jerry’s apartment was on the next floor up. He said it was too good an opportunity to miss and I listened to him. I thought we’d get away with it. I’m sorry. That’s all it was.’

  ‘You should have told us,’ Sullivan reprimanded.

  ‘I thought about it. I even asked Jerry, but he told me to keep quiet. Said we’d be found out and the repercussions would be huge. Personally and professionally. I was scared. Terrified. You have to believe me, though, we had nothing to do with Josh’s death. Nothing.’

  ‘It’s hard to know what to believe at the moment,’ Broderick said. ‘But you’re going to have to come with us and make a statement.’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘All we have is your word for it, Ms Gavin. We’ll have to question both you and Mr Callum-Forbes in greater detail at police HQ to eliminate you from our enquiries.’

  Tracy Gavin swayed once more as Broderick’s words sank in. ‘Jerry? You’re going to bring Jerry in as well?’

  ‘Yes. We are,’ Sullivan told the near-hysterical woman, keeping her words simple.

  ‘We’ll get a car to take him in separately,’ Broderick continued. ‘Don’t want you two getting your stories straight along the way, do we?’

  ‘But everyone will know. Please don’t do this here. Not at the party,’ Gavin pleaded.

  Sullivan took pity on her. ‘We’ll get the patrol car to park out of sight and the officers to remain with it. It’ll be as discreet as possible, Tracy. I promise.’

  ‘But you don’t know Jerry. He won’t come without a fight,’ Gavin told them with real fear in her voice.

  ‘Well, if that proves to be the case,’ Broderick replied, ‘it’ll be a pleasure to see Mr Callum-Forbes biting off more than he can chew.’

  Broderick didn’t have to wait long for the pleasure to begin.

  The director’s third mistake was to throw a wild punch at Broderick’s head. That it failed to make contact compounded Jerry Callum-Forbes’ misery. His second mistake had been to tell the chief inspector to fuck off. This, on top of his first miscalculation – to laugh derisively in Broderick’s face – had led to Callum-Forbes being pinned face down on the deck outside the pub and handcuffed like a common criminal.

  Gavin had left with Sullivan a few minutes before and been placed in a patrol car with two uniformed officers. On returning to O’Reilly’s, Sullivan tried to control the crowd of outraged film personnel, none of whom understood the reason for their director’s sudden and dramatic arrest. On top of this, the event had been infiltrated by several news reporters. They were quick to film the arrest with their phone cameras and even quicker to fire off a tirade of questions, none of which Sullivan or Broderick were prepared to answer. An explanation would have to wait until the images had been played across the news networks for all the world to see. For now, the two detectives led the still-protesting Callum-Forbes away from the throng.

  87

  With Gavin and Callum-Forbes awaiting interview in separate rooms, Sullivan and Broderick returned to the incident room. Calbot was on them as soon as they walked through the door, insisting they sit down and listen to what he had to say.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this!’ he informed them excitedly.

  ‘Try me,’ Broderick replied, wearily leaning back in his chair.

  ‘Diana Ackerman moved to Nairobi with her daughter in 1948 and worked as a helper at the All Saints Christian Missionary in the city for nearly three years. I spoke to someone there who agreed to check their records. It seems they both left Kenya in 1951, giving the mission a rather large financial donation as a parting gift. In fact, it still has an Ackerman Wing.’

  ‘Fascinating, Calbot,’ Broderick replied flatly. ‘Did they have any idea where they went?’

  ‘The woman at the mission did. It seems Diana and Rosia Ackerman left Nairobi and moved back to Gibraltar.’

  ‘Holy shit,’ Broderick responded, nearly falling off his chair.

  ‘It gets better,’ Calbot continued, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘I checked with the main records office. Matilda Ramón actually stayed on there for an extra hour to help me –’

  ‘Get on with it, Calbot,’ Broderick interjected roughly.

  ‘Matilda dug up a marriage certificate. In 1953, Diana Ackerman married a Gibraltarian called Paul Ruiz.’

  ‘Paul Ruiz?’ Broderick interrupted. ‘As in Sir Paul Ruiz, the shipping millionaire?’

  ‘He wasn’t a “sir” then, guv, but that’s the guy, yeah,’ Calbot confirmed triumphantly.

  ‘Dear God!’ Broderick exclaimed.

  Sullivan looked on in bewilderment. ‘Someone famous, I take it?’

  ‘Just a bit by the sounds of it,’ Calbot told her.

  ‘More than just a bit, Calbot,’ Broderick said. ‘But Rosia Martínez … Ackerman … did she …?’

  Calbot jumped in. ‘Rosia Ackerman took the name Ruiz, and she and her mother moved into the Ruiz residence here on the Rock. But here’s the thing. Five years later, at the age of sixteen, Rosia joined an order of Carmelite nuns in London. The name she took there was Clara.’

  ‘Are you telling me
…?’ Broderick was now standing, a look of utter disbelief on his face. ‘Are you telling me that Sister Clara … my friend … is Rosia Martínez?’

  Calbot paused for a moment as he realised just how shocking his news was for Broderick. ‘Yes, guv. It seems that way.’

  Broderick turned away from his fellow detectives and stared out of the window.

  Sullivan stepped in with a question of her own. ‘How the hell have you found out about all this so quickly, Calbot?’ she asked.

  ‘I struck lucky with Matilda Ramón. It seems her mother had been at school with Rosia here on the Rock, in the years before she left for London. She’s known the Ruiz family all her life. She told me how Paul and Diana set up the Rock of Ages Foundation and how Rosia – Sister Clara, that is – left the Carmelites and joined her mother in running the charity in the late Sixties.’

  Broderick turned back to his colleagues. ‘“Ruiz” is new to me. I’ve only ever known her as Sister Clara. That’s what everyone calls her.’

  ‘Yes, guv,’ Sullivan agreed. ‘But we now know that she was also Rosia Ackerman, and before that Rosia Martínez. Eduardo’s niece.’

  Sullivan had another question: ‘Does Sister Clara know that she was adopted, guv?’

  Broderick shrugged. ‘No idea. I’ve never heard of anything being mentioned about her past.’

  ‘Well, I think we’d better find out more about it pretty smartly,’ Sullivan replied.

  The ringing of her mobile interrupted any further thoughts. ‘It’s your sister, guv,’ she informed Broderick. ‘She’s FaceTiming me.’

  Before Broderick could ask what exactly FaceTiming was, Sullivan had pushed the ‘Accept call’ button on her mobile and Cath’s face appeared on the screen.

  Sullivan had to admit that Cath’s smile was the only thing she recognised from the image in front of her. Broderick’s sister was sporting a short-cropped grey wig and a pair of dark sunglasses. She also wore a raincoat with its collar up and held a revolver in her hand.

  ‘Hello there, Tamara,’ Cath began. ‘As the two of you seem unlikely to get up here for the jollities, we thought we’d give you a preview of our Hollywood alter egos.’

  ‘Wow,’ Sullivan replied, rather lamely. ‘You look … extraordinary.’

  ‘I’m Judi Dench as M,’ Cathy informed her with a laugh. ‘Not a brilliantly accurate replica of the spy mistress from the Bond movies, but the best I could manage. Some cheeky bugger just told me I look more like Danger Mouse.’

  ‘You look great,’ Sullivan lied. ‘Let me show your brother.’ Sullivan turned and handed the iPhone to Broderick.

  ‘Erm,’ he murmured. ‘Yeah. How are the girls?’

  ‘Penny is here. Have a look, Gus.’ Immediately Broderick’s eldest daughter appeared on the screen dressed as Katniss Everdeen.

  ‘What do you think, Dad?’

  ‘You look great. Who the hell are you?’

  ‘Duh. No point telling you, Dad. You’ve no idea who she is any way. Wait till you see Daisy and Sister Clara.’

  Once again the screen image whipped around, this time revealing Daisy in her Sound of Music costume.

  ‘Hi, Dad!’ Daisy yelled. ‘I’m Julie Andrews.’

  Much to Broderick’s discomfort, both Sullivan and Calbot had stepped behind him for a better view.

  ‘So you are, sweet-pea,’ he told his youngest.

  ‘I can sing as well, Daddy,’ Daisy announced and promptly launched into a rendition of ‘Do-Re-Mi’.

  ‘Very good, sweet-pea,’ Broderick said, ‘but I think I’m going to have to go now. Have fun.’

  ‘You haven’t seen Sister Clara yet,’ Daisy pointed out. ‘She’s been promoted. She’s Mother Superior now.’

  Once more the image on the screen whirled around to reveal Sister Clara. She stood smiling at the camera wearing a full nun’s habit.

  ‘Hello, Gus,’ she said. ‘Sorry you and Tamara aren’t here. Don’t the girls look good? All three of them!’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ Broderick replied. ‘Look, we may come up shortly anyway, Sister Clara. I don’t want to spoil the fun, but we need to have a talk with you.’

  ‘Gosh, how intriguing. What about?’

  ‘Oh, just some things you may be able to help us with.’

  Cath’s face suddenly replaced Sister Clara’s on the screen.

  ‘Well, that’s just charming, Gus. We’re supposed to be having fun up here,’ she admonished.

  ‘Sorry Cath. Can’t be helped.’

  ‘Well, you can tell Tamara that she’s not getting in if she’s not wearing her Princess Leia costume. And if you think you’re going to get away with turning up as a plain-clothes detective for the second year in a row, think again, brother of mine.’

  With that, the screen went blank.

  Broderick looked up to see Calbot smiling down at him. ‘That told you, guv,’ the young man said.

  ‘And now I’m telling you, Detective Constable,’ Broderick replied, his eyes narrowing. ‘Two statements from Gavin and Callum-Forbes and as quick as you like. I think they’re just opportunists guilty of nothing more than a spot of sexual squatting, but if there are any discrepancies between their stories, let me know straight away.’

  With a resigned nod, Calbot headed off towards the interview rooms. Meanwhile, Broderick glanced around to see where Sullivan had got to. He found her at a desk on the far side of the incident room directing her full attention to the computer screen in front of her. Broderick called across to her.

  ‘Let’s get up to the Rock Hotel, Sullivan.’

  ‘Do you mind if I don’t come with you, guv?’ Sullivan replied, her eyes not moving from the screen.

  ‘Why not? What are you up to?’

  ‘I don’t really know, sir,’ Sullivan replied, sitting back in her chair and shaking her head. ‘I’ve just got this niggling feeling that I’ve missed something. I can’t explain why, but I think I need to go over everything again. Do you mind?’

  ‘Sure this isn’t just you getting out of wearing your Star Wars costume?’

  Sullivan smiled. ‘That’s a bonus, I guess. Are you really going to tell Sister Clara who she really is, guv?’

  ‘Not sure,’ Broderick replied. ‘It’s not really an appropriate occasion to pass on such news. I think I’ll just find out how much she knows. If she’s ignorant of it all, I’ll probably wait till the morning. Her knowing or not knowing doesn’t really help us proceed with the investigation, does it?’

  ‘Not really, guv.’

  Sergeant Aldarino popped his head around the door.

  ‘The chief super is rather keen to see you, sir. She’s a bit concerned with the news stories coming in about us arresting a Hollywood film director.’

  ‘Tell her you just missed me, will you, Sergeant? I’ve got other things to get on with.’

  Aldarino nodded and left. Broderick followed a few moments later, leaving his detective sergeant to focus on her computer screen.

  Once again, Sullivan had been drawn back to the CCTV recording of the Atlantic Marina Plaza reception on the afternoon of Josh Cornwallis’s murder. The black and white images played out in front of her, showing the busy reception area packed with minimally costumed porn artistes, visiting buyers and other attendees at the Blue Job X launch party. Once more, she saw Isolde’s arrival and his journey across the foyer to the lifts to the apartments, hidden out of sight behind the porn channel’s large ‘Welcome’ stand, full of public relations staff.

  Sullivan had viewed these images many times before: Isolde weaving his way through the throng of artistes dressed as Flash Gordons, Barbarellas, gladiators, US Navy Seals, bishops, nurses and a host of other glamorous and kitsch porn fantasy characters. After the first three or four viewings, Sullivan had tended to fast forward to Isolde’s departure from the building later in the afternoon. Now she decided to view the recording all the way through again.

  Within minutes, she was glad she had. On the screen before her was something sh
e had noted previously but had considered unimportant. A few fleeting images on the periphery of the screen that now made Sullivan’s mouth turn dry and her heart pound. Again and again, she checked the screen, isolating and magnifying the image as best she could. The picture was not as clear as she would have liked, but in her gut, she knew exactly what she was seeing.

  With her mind racing, she now reached for her mobile and leapt to her feet. If her suspicions were accurate, she had identified the murderer. If they were wrong, she would be derided as a fool and an incompetent. Her niggling feeling had quickly developed into the strongest lead they had. Sullivan knew she had no choice but to run with it.

  88

  Higher up the Rock, on Europa Road, Broderick arrived at the Rock Hotel. The large white art deco building, with over a hundred rooms and suites, stood majestically above him. Getting out of his car, he quickly crossed the road to the hotel’s large outside swimming pool and bar. Next to these luxury amenities stood a huge banqueting marquee called the Khaima. This giant tent, decorated in a rich Moroccan style, was the venue for the evening’s charity fundraiser.

  Guests, dressed in an array of costumes, were arriving in large numbers by taxi and mini-bus. From what he could see, Marilyn Monroe and Darth Vader were particularly well represented, as were Superman, Laurel and Hardy, and Miss Piggy. Looking down at his well-worn light grey suit, Broderick felt a tinge of guilt for letting down his sister yet again. That he was there at all was entirely down to his profession. Although everyone around him seemed to be pleasure bent, Broderick was here on business.

  The people checking tickets at the entrance to the Khaima were from the charity, knew Broderick and let him pass freely into the marquee. The inside was laid out with immaculately set white-clothed tables, and ornate Arabic lanterns dangled from the ceiling, creating flickering light and adding warmth to the atmosphere. In the far corner, a small quartet was playing movie theme tunes, while a buffet table, heaving with food, took up the best part of an entire side of the marquee. Broderick estimated that there were already over a hundred people in the room and more were arriving all the time. It was a good turn out; Cath would be pleased.