Ashes to Ashes

by Margaret Duffy

  ‘And you got rid of Fred’s body by swapping it with Archie’s.’

  ‘That was Jinty’s idea. He thought it was really funny even though it was a hell of a lot of bother.’

  ‘A bit fortunate, wasn’t it, Archie neatly dying just when you needed a way of disposing of a corpse?’

  Marlene Judd set her face stubbornly.

  ‘Tell the truth!’ Patrick shouted.

  She started. ‘OK, OK – he fell over in the bathroom.’

  ‘That’s what you told the medics at the hospital, anyway.’

  After a long silence, she said, ‘Jinty did it.’

  ‘Pushed him over.’

  ‘Yes. He hit his head.’

  Pausing for reflection for a few seconds, Patrick then said, ‘Tell me about the coffins in the shed.’

  ‘That was Jinty too. He wanted to store them there. I didn’t ask any questions.’

  ‘Archie’s body was put in one them?’

  ‘Where else could we have put it?’

  ‘So where is O’Connor?’

  ‘I shall want police protection.’

  ‘You might get it if you’re straight with me.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ she muttered again. ‘How I hate you.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for a bit. All I know is that he’s planning some big job somewhere.’

  ‘D’you know what it is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘All over.’

  ‘You’ll have to do a lot better than that.’

  ‘He moves around to keep one step ahead of you lot.’

  I knew that this could be true as it was precisely what mobsters do, staying with friends, family, employees and in hotels.

  ‘Look,’ Marlene Judd said, ‘Jinty did all these things. He seemed the answer to my problems at the start but then it got a bit out of hand. He likes killing people – sometimes in weird ways too. It took me a while to realize it but he’s actually sick.’

  ‘Did he shoot Hereward Stevens personally?’

  ‘No, that was someone else. I think killing someone like that didn’t give him the right sort of buzz. As I said, sick.’

  ‘Killing someone like that?’ Patrick repeated.

  ‘Oh, this hired guy shot out the tyres and windscreen of the car with one of those rapid firing guns. The car hit a tree, as he hoped it would, and burst into flames.’

  ‘D’you know his name?’

  ‘Collins. Everyone just calls him Randy as he’s always after women. He’s nuts about guns even more than he is women. I’ve never met him, mind. Jinty did all the organizing.’

  But, I told myself, she had hired O’Connor to sort out her life. She had started off this chain of events, these murders. I couldn’t believe that she hadn’t heard through grapevines exactly what he was like and it suited her.

  ‘So in reality, he’s ratted everything up for you,’ Patrick observed grimly. ‘Not content with having his share of Judd’s money he—’

  ‘Sixty per cent – he insisted on it,’ she interrupted.

  ‘He carried on killing people just for kicks. I’m sure the funeral director never gave another thought to the man he caught sight of when he returned to the bungalow. He was angry that he’d missed a football match on TV. He mentioned having to go back for his mobile to his ex-wife but only because of that.’

  ‘I see. Thought of like that …’

  ‘You’re in a far worse mess than you might have been,’ Patrick helpfully finished for her.

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Where is he, Marlene?’

  After agonizing for at least a minute, she said, ‘He might be hanging out with Randy. They’re mates.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘He’s got a flat over a shop in Bath. Waterways, I think the area’s called.’

  ‘What kind of shop?’

  ‘Not sure, but it might be a betting shop.’

  ‘You’ve never met this man, but do you have any idea what he looks like?’

  ‘No, not really, but Jinty did once say that he’d had a chunk of his left ear bitten off by a police dog. He thought that was dead funny too.’

  James Carrick was contacted and immediately organized raids – apparently there were two apartments – to take place very early the following morning at the only betting shop in Waterways, an area to the west of the city consisting of mostly local authority housing. The premises were situated in a small row of other businesses.

  At approximately three a.m., the raids took place. A retired couple, in bed in the top flat, were offered profuse apologies with a promise to repair their front door. The other property was uninhabited but yielded a quantity of illegal firearms, plus ammunition. A more extensive search a little later found traces of drugs and bills and other correspondence addressed to Ray Collins.

  There was no trace of him or O’Connor.

  FOURTEEN

  It seemed pointless for Patrick to interview Marlene Judd again, especially as she was, in Janice North’s words, ‘talking practically non-stop now, raking through her memory for every last detail with which she can incriminate O’Connor’. The DI promised to forward any potentially useful information to us.

  Late on Tuesday morning – I had abandoned returning to Hinton Littlemore for the time being – after we had been informed of all this and Patrick had dealt with a few other matters, we had a brainstorming session in his office.

  ‘In case you’re wondering,’ he began by saying, ‘I’m not going to throw the rule book out of the window and go after this man on my own, armed to the hilt with a knife between my teeth.’

  ‘I’m extremely relieved to hear that,’ I told him, the possibility of this having been a real fear.

  ‘Coffee,’ he decided, and got up to drive his new toy.

  A few minutes later, Michael Greenway put his head around the door. ‘That smells good.’

  Patrick made him one.

  ‘Well, you’re nibbling away at this mobster,’ Greenway observed, seating himself.

  I called that damning with faint praise.

  ‘It’s been in my mind to ask you this, but have you thought about going undercover on your own, that kind of thing, to find him?’ the commander went on in casual fashion.

  ‘We were just discussing that,’ Patrick answered. ‘So, yes, I have thought about and no, I’m not.’

  Greenway merely smiled.

  ‘For one thing, if I do I shall probably end up by killing him and I’ve been expressly forbidden to do that.’

  ‘Locate is the name of the game, surely.’

  ‘And then call up support? Please get real. The time between locating and the opposition starting shooting can be seconds. Sorry, but you’ve had no experience of that kind of thing.’

  ‘Daws wanted you hired because of your experience.’

  ‘It’s Daws who’s forbidden me to kill him,’ Patrick retorted.

  ‘Only for publicity reasons, surely – an arrest is good copy for the newly formed NCA.’

  I said, ‘And if O’Connor dies in a hail of bullets that’s not quite so nice because the great British public are so squeamish and spineless these days?’

  The commander nodded sagely. ‘Obviously, I can’t speak for Daws but it might be something like that.’

  ‘I’m not going to handle it like that,’ Patrick said. ‘Although I can’t pretend that if, in the course of this investigation, I come face-to-face with O’Connor I won’t defend myself, but I have no intention of deliberately setting up any kind of one-to-one confrontation.’

  There was a little general conversation and then Greenway finished his coffee. ‘OK, I’ll leave you to get on with it then.’

  When he had gone, Patrick looked at his watch. ‘I’m too hungry to think. Lunch?’

  We went to an Italian restaurant that we have used before where the menu includes ‘light bites’ which suits me fine. My husband
nevertheless chose a pasta dish that came in a very large bowl and proceeded to demolish it.

  ‘No questions?’ he asked between mouthfuls.

  ‘You said not all that long ago that you owed O’Connor a bullet.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So what was that bit of theatre about just now?’

  ‘I found a bug in my office.’

  For a moment I forgot to eat. ‘What?’

  ‘I always check – it’s a habit. He must think I’ve forgotten everything I know.’

  ‘Who, Greenway?’

  ‘No, think. Daws.’

  ‘He’s still checking up on you?’

  ‘I can’t even begin to guess his reasons.’

  ‘Greenway trying to get you to go in undercover was a sting operation then.’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Nothing, and say nothing. I’ll get rid of the bug, though – he’ll expect me to find it.’

  ‘I don’t like it that Daws doesn’t appear to trust you.’

  ‘Have I ever given him grounds to trust me to follow orders to the letter?’

  I shrugged and carried on with my lunch. Perhaps not. But there was another reason Daws had wanted him: because he’s different.

  ‘O’Connor,’ I prompted when we were having coffee. I was relieved that Patrick appeared to be more measured in his approach to this mobster, for at one time …

  Patrick drained his cup. ‘Although Marlene described them as mates, I don’t reckon Ray Collins is part of O’Connor’s outfit. He’s ex-army, has a list of previous convictions as long as your arm and reckoned to be dangerous. But he’s always been a loner, just for hire to do one-offs. This means O’Connor could be left with a load of thickoes now his brother’s dead. He might have to put on hold the big job Marlene Judd mentioned while—’ He stopped speaking as his mobile rang. ‘Result!’ he said succinctly after the call. ‘That was Carrick. Remember the man you shot in the shoulder? Someone’s turned up in A&E at the Royal United Hospital in Bath with a seriously infected bullet wound. No details yet as to exactly where but it has to be him.’

  Following a 999 call the man had been found at an address just off the Lower Bristol Road in Bath. He was delirious and when admitted to hospital was found to be suffering from blood poisoning. This was treated with strong antibiotics, the doctors hoping that twenty-four hours later when he was a little stronger he would be able to have an operation to remove the bullet. They dared not wait any longer.

  James Carrick asked DI Campbell, with suitable backup, to investigate where the ‘shooting victim’ had been found but when they arrived the house was locked up and seemingly deserted. A neighbour revealed that the young woman who lived there had taken her children and gone, possibly to her mother’s, she had added ‘maliciously’, as Campbell put it. The neighbour even knew where the mother lived, three streets away. Campbell went round there and was met with a pair of shrieking harridans who hurled obscenities at him and tried to scratch his eyes out, and ended up by arresting the pair of them for obstructing a police officer in the course of his duty. Shortly afterwards, three filthy and obviously malnourished children at the property were taken into care by Social Services.

  While it seemed unlikely that we would be able to interview the wounded man for several days, it was vital that we spoke to him as soon as he was deemed well enough. While we waited Patrick stayed in London to work on other matters and I took the train home. Much police work involves waiting but that did not mean I did nothing in connection with the case in the meantime.

  I went to see Sandra Stevens, who was still in hospital although much stronger. I found her in a patients’ lounge, reading, her watchful minder by the door. I had brought with me a photograph, taken at Feltham police station, of Marlene Judd. I also had a photofit of her with the short blonde hair replaced by the nearest I could find on the system to the tatty grey-brown locks we had seen at the rectory and also at her bungalow. After a little conversation I showed them to her, the latter first.

  Sandra slowly shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think I’ve seen her before.’

  I gave her the photograph.

  ‘Oh. Is this to do with my dream then?’

  ‘It might be,’ I replied, deliberately vague.

  ‘It could be the woman who opened the door of the house in the spooky little wood.’

  ‘The different woman.’

  ‘Yes. But hang on …’

  I waited.

  ‘It’s the same woman, isn’t it? Only in the photo she’s wearing a blonde wig.’

  ‘No, that’s her own hair. As she appears in the other picture she’s wearing a wig to make herself look older. She could have removed it by the time Hereward went back for his phone.’

  ‘Gosh. I see. Is she a criminal?’

  ‘You could say that. Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.’

  ‘And Mr Gillard? Is his head better? It would be awful if he was scarred for life.’

  ‘He heals well,’ I told her. ‘His mother’s worried about that too but he made a joke of it and said he’d grow a fringe.’

  ‘I had another dream, a silly one like the bit about that black cat, Henry. I dreamed you and he were married and had children.’

  ‘How many children?’ This was truly fascinating.

  ‘Five!’ She uttered a little shriek of laughter.

  I took one of her hands. ‘I really must tell you something.’

  ‘What?’ she asked a trifle nervously.

  ‘That’s not quite right, as although Henry’s a real cat, he doesn’t say a lot. And only three of the children are ours – we adopted the other two.’

  After expressing utter amazement she looked quite sad as I wished her a quick recovery, said goodbye and left.

  Nobody was underestimating O’Connor, which meant that the man with the gunshot wound, which was indeed in his right shoulder, who was still unidentified as he refused to give his name, was under police guard as well. Someone thought of asking the mother of the young woman, who were both also refusing to give their names, if she knew who he was. Both women had been charged notwithstanding and released on police bail, mainly because Sergeant Derek Woods, in charge of the custody suite, had flatly refused to house them for a moment longer. Nobody argued with Woods; he had been at Manvers Street, as James Carrick had once jokingly remarked, since the last Ice Age.

  The elder woman had calmed down on arrival at home and gave whoever the someone was who had subsequently spoken to her – I never found out but guessed it was Lynn Outhwaite – her name and all the information that was needed. She admitted that the state of her grandchildren, whom she had not been permitted to see for quite a while on account of ‘his’ presence in her daughter’s home, had shocked her terribly. The man, one Billy Efford, was not the children’s father; in fact, she had no idea who was – ‘several blokes probably’, she had said on an afterthought. In her opinion, it had been her daughter who had called the ambulance as she herself had no knowledge of Efford having been injured in a shooting. Not that she was surprised, ‘the lout’.

  ‘All we need is a DNA match between Efford and one of the bloodstains on the carpet at Sandra Stevens’s flat,’ Patrick commented on hearing this when he came home for the weekend. ‘I hope Carrick’s asked for a fast-track result. But strangely, he has no previous convictions other than getting involved in fights after football matches.’

  ‘James also told me Efford’s had the bullet removed and might be fit enough to be interviewed on Monday, but we won’t know until then,’ I finished by saying.

  ‘Good. I hope the lady who put it there isn’t feeling guilty.’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘He could have killed you in the next second.’

  ‘I know.’

  Patrick was engaged in his usual Friday evening just-come-through-the-door activity of absentmindedly spreading his belongings around the living room as he spoke. Cars keys in a china
dish on a side table, briefcase and the one holding his laptop on different armchairs, leather jacket hitched on one corner of the back of the sofa. My suggestions on several occasions along the lines of that was what hallways were for, where there were coat hooks and other useful parking places, had had no effect. When he had a shower, in a couple of minutes’ time, I’d usually relocate everything. He never appeared to notice.

  ‘I interviewed Will Gibbs again,’ he said as he went out of the door.

  ‘And?’ I enquired half an hour later when he reappeared and as though there had been no break in the conversation.

  ‘Glass of wine?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘He’d been brought back from Feltham nick for more questioning – and decided to carry on being helpful.’ Patrick went off in the direction of the kitchen and, coming back with my wine, continued, ‘He’d known for a little while that O’Connor was lying low on account of someone having shot a gun out of his grasp, doing unknown damage to his hand. Was he holding the gun on me with his right hand?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Gibbs doesn’t reckon he has any plans to move his criminal activities down here, which will be a relief to James, but said he’d rented some kind of pad for six months in this area as a bolthole while they waited for poor old Archie to die, so they had a handy and fun way of getting rid of Judd’s body when they killed him. As we now know, they hastened things along a bit. Gibbs reckons he’s obsessed about how he disposes of, or deals with, the bodies of his murder victims. It has to be different every time – it’s entertainment to him.’

  I instantly had a vivid mental picture of O’Connor poring over a computer, or even pen and paper, writing ‘scripts’ and then being producer, director and leading actor in the ‘action’. I said, ‘But there were several coffins in that shed.’

  Patrick shrugged. ‘Just for storage purposes, perhaps – corpses, I mean.’

  ‘I take it human remains weren’t found in the ashes there.’

  ‘No one’s said anything about that, so no.’

  He rummaged in the cupboard where we keep drinks – some people have cocktail cabinets, which personally I think really naff – found an opened bottle of single malt and poured himself a tot.