by Iain Cameron
‘Nah, I’m only kidding. Finding this guy was easier than I thought as I found a box of his personal stuff under the bed. His name is Martin Cope. Ring any bells?’
‘Well done mate, you’re a genius but no, I’ve never heard of him.’
‘That’s not all. I came across a leaflet and other stuff in there about an apartment complex in Portugal and an email receipt for a flight to Portugal that left last Thursday, coming back this Sunday. When I looked through his clothes, I couldn’t find any summer stuff like shorts and t-shirts and so it doesn’t take the skills of Poirot to deduce that he’s gone off to Portugal on a golfing holiday. There’s also a postcard from him in the kitchen.’
‘What makes you think it was a golfing holiday?’
‘He’s a golfer for sure as there are books and spare balls but no bag, clothes or shoes. He’s staying at a place called the Alto Golf Club Resort which gives you a clue and anyway, what else does anyone go to Portugal for?’
Henderson could think of a few reasons but this wasn’t the time. ‘What was the tone of the postcard, I mean was it boyfriend to boyfriend, tenant to landlord or friend to friend?’
‘I’m no psychologist but I detect a little bit of subservience, you know, such as a line that says, ‘I hope I left everything tidy,’ anyway, it’s all bagged up now and once its back at Sussex House in about an hour, you can mull over it at your leisure.’
‘Cheers Pat.’
Before heading into the Murder Suite and tasking someone with researching Martin Cope, there were some decisions he needed to make. He had been so tied up with Samuels that no was given to release Mike Ferris. He was guilty of nothing more than being a friend to Sarah Robson but his reluctance to furnish details of his movements and revealing all he knew, seriously hampered his defence. He was certainly guilty of wasting police time but Henderson decided not to charge him.
Carol Walters made the arrest and she was the one who was utterly convinced of Mike Ferris’s guilt and it was fitting that she should take the responsibility for securing his release, and after completing the necessary paperwork he called her in and gave her the job. Far from being contrite as a less robust character might have been, she was unruffled, as her fallen star had risen again like Lazarus when she uncovered Cope’s shrine, and she accepted the papers with grace.
Not that he was immune from criticism as he could have said ‘no’ to the Ferris arrest but in every investigation there was always at least one occasion when they had to go backwards before they went forward and he guessed for Operation Jaguar, this was it. If any flak was to be directed at Walters, he would make sure she wasn’t harmed by it.
His next problem was what to do with Samuels. There were signs that the affable film buff was clever and manipulative and he wouldn’t be surprised if Samuels wasn’t pulling the strings, or at the very least, he was the one who had initiated Cope’s killing spree. No, he would not rise to the bullying of Campbell. Samuels would be charged with murder until Cope was taken into custody, then and only then, would he decide the little rich kid’s fate.
THIRTY-FOUR
He followed the arrest of the latest police suspect on the national and local news bulletins as he had done earlier with Mike Ferris. The police were trying to keep a lid on the name of the suspect, but he knew from his own sources that it was David Samuels. There was no real evidence against Ferris and soon they would be forced to release him, and Dominic Green wondered how long it would be before that slime-ball rapist Samuels was out in the sunlight. If his faith in the British justice system was at a low point before this case, it was scraping the bottom of the barrel by now.
They were nothing but idiots if they thought that a fat, ugly Neanderthal like Mike Ferris could have murdered his girls, as that man didn’t have two brain cells to rub together and this killer was smart. Samuels looked a better bet as Green could still recall the original court case and remembered the way he treated the women he raped. He thought at the time Samuels was an evil and heartless bastard and while Green could be cruel and merciless too, it was never against an innocent woman or anyone that didn’t deserve it or owed him something.
Samuels was on his list too as he was another one that still bore a grudge. In fact, he deserved to be higher up the list as his gripe was more genuine than some, but he wasn’t there as nothing had been heard from him for years.
Back in the day, he came to him driving a flash car, sporting a smart watch and wearing a nice suit. It was obvious he had money to burn and to a man with finely tuned business instincts and an antenna for money, how could he refuse? Together, they bought a shopping parade in Worthing with plans to turn it into a shopping centre, but to everyone’s surprise the council turned the scheme down and eventually redeveloped the site themselves, the greedy bastards. Losses were put at over six hundred thousand but following a bit of financial jiggery-pokery by his accountants, he made sure Samuels shouldered most of the bill.
He switched the television off. The next candidate on his list certainly looked a better bet. His name was George Rudd, the brother of a caretaker who died when fire destroyed a derelict hotel. The hotel was his, recently bought with the intention of demolishing it and building a block of flats and he told the stubborn old scroat to get out, but when he refused, he instructed two of his close associates to hasten his departure.
The daft bastards were so engrossed in their work, beating him up and wrecking his stuff that they failed to notice a paraffin heater had been upended, used by the man to keep warm after his new landlord had shut off all the utilities. By the time flames were spotted, the fire was an inferno and they had no choice but to get the hell out.
In the weeks that followed, he found himself in the position that Samuels was in now, defended by that fat balloon Campbell who did bugger-all to get him off, aside from telling him to plead guilty to a lesser charge that meant he would spend five years in jail, as if. He was finally freed when the sole witness, a young man that lived nearby and who spotted two men legging it from the burning building and subsequently identified them at an identity parade, wisely retracted his statement after he was dangled upside down from the roof of a car park in Worthing.
On the steps of Lewes Crown Court, Rudd’s brother George charmed the waiting media morass with a rousing speech in which he denounced Green as a vile and contemptible monster and vowed to get even. Ever since, Greene had received a steady stream of anonymous and threatening letters, which he assumed could only have come from him. In addition, due to the time Rudd devoted to the trial; in discussions with lawyers in preparing the case, attending the trial, lobbying for an appeal and so on, he lost a good job selling medical equipment to hospitals. Ever since then, he worked in a variety of low-paid jobs and currently, was a lab assistant in the Chemistry Department at Lewes University.
A car rumbled over the drive. He shouted ‘goodbye’ to his wife and girls who were all sitting in the lounge watching a rom-com movie, and headed outside. It was not unusual for him to go out in the evening as he owned many late-night businesses; a chain of pubs, two nightclubs and a casino, and a few off-radar enterprises engaged in drug dealing, prostitution and high-stakes gambling, and therefore his departure raised fewer domestic enquiries than it would in many other households.
John was using his wife’s car again and as soon as he opened the door, he was assailed by a mixture of lime, lemon and mandarin from the hand, body and face lotions that were stored in the boot. This was overlaid with a hideous mix of sweat and garlic from Spike in the back, a man who possessed the appetite of an elephant and the taste buds of a rhino and couldn’t eat anything unless it was drenched in chilli or curry.
‘Evening Mr Green.’ Lester said, as he climbed inside and shut the door.
‘Evening John, evening Spike.’
‘Evening Mr Green,’ Spike said without looking up from his smartphone, so called, as in Spike’s case, it was smarter than its owner.
Lester drove around the fountain in th
e centre of the drive and slowly past the new Mercedes sports car belonging to Mrs Green, careful not to pepper the gleaming deep-blue paintwork with stone chips and only put his foot down when he was out through the gates and heading back to civilisation.
‘Did you sort out that little problem at the Hope and Anchor, John?’ he asked.
‘Yep that little shit Alex Lake was helping himself to whatever he fancied from the till.’
‘Is that what it was?’
‘Bingo and me took him round the back of the pub and gave him the once over. No one will give him a bar job with a face like that for a while and if they do, he won’t be able to tea-leaf from the tills with ten broken fingers.’
‘Maybe,’ Green said, ‘we should be like these Middle Eastern potentates...’
‘What’s that, something to scoff?’ Spike asked.
‘They’re rulers Spike, like kings.’
‘Aw, right.’
‘As I was saying, maybe we should be more like them and cut off the fingers of thieves, you know one finger for nicking a couple of hundred, three if they nick more than ten grand.’
‘Christ that would make it hard to have a smoke or eat,’ Spike said.
‘Or wipe your arse.’ Lester said, and everybody laughed.
A few minutes later they left the twisting and dipping B-roads around Langley Manor, scenic in daylight but black as coal without street lights and no moon in a dark and dismal night like tonight, and joined the A275 heading south.
‘Is the shipment still on for Wednesday?’
‘Yep. We rendezvous with Boris’s yacht two miles off Beachy Head.’
Green laughed. ‘That not his real name is it? ‘Boris’? It makes him sound like a comic book character or a villain from a Bond movie.’
‘His real name is Vladislav, or something but everybody calls him Boris.’
‘Are we out going again on that fucking rust tub, The Daisy May?’
‘Afraid so, Len’s the only captain I can trust.’
‘I hope it’s a calmer night than last time as that bloody thing tossed us about like a fairground attraction and gave me a right dickey stomach. It’s not fitted with the things that keep it level. That old sea dog of a skipper only told me that after I paid him.’
‘Stabilisers,’ said a voice from the back.
‘What?’
‘Stabilisers, that’s what they’re called, ship’s stabilisers. It’s the two big fins that stick out from the bottom of the hull to stop the boat rolling around in the water.’
‘Bloody hell, listen to Long John Silver at the back of the boat,’ Green said. ‘Is that what you’re doing on that phone, searching the web for stuff you can use in a pub quiz?’
They arrived in Brighton after a windy drive along the seafront and turned into Chichester Place. Green couldn’t see the attraction of Kemptown with its narrow streets, twee eateries and authentic coffee shops. Many regarded it as the heart of art in the City as it was home to many artists, poets and actors but it included too many gays for Green’s liking and he resolved long ago, never to own any property there.
They turned off Eastern Road into Upper Sudeley Street and parked close to the pub where George Rudd drank, three evenings a week, The St George’s Inn. Green rarely ventured inside such places, as he was a well-known figure in the town and if he wasn’t being bothered by gays, attracted by his thin frame, keen sense of dress and bald head, it was chancers looking to make a quick buck or two by taking a ‘selfie’ and publishing it on the web.
‘I went in there once,’ Lester said.
‘Where?’
‘That place, the St George’s Inn.’
‘When?’
‘A few months back.’
‘Is it a nice pub? Even if it is, I still wouldn’t buy it, not in Kemptown.’
‘Its not bad but I did get involved in a bit of aggro. See, there were two birds, one a blond with great tits and wearing a really short skirt and we just got talking. How was I to know her fella was just around the corner in another part of the bar playing pool? He comes back and gets all leery with me so we end up outside. We fight and his mate joins in and I get angry and bust their faces. But there was a happy ending.’
‘What is it, ` as I can’t see it?’
‘They didn’t have far to walk to A&E, it's only up the road.’
They all howled with laughter, so much so that Green almost failed to notice the shambling figure of George Rudd coming out the pub and walking right past them. He motioned to Spike to get out of the car, while Lester made a sharp U-turn and accelerated hard to catch up.
Spike moved behind him and pulled out a small club from his jacket pocket and whacked Rudd over the head with it. In just a few seconds, the back door of the Mondeo opened, Rudd was bundled in, Spike jumped in the other door, and they took off. There was no panic, no squealing of tyres to alert some old biddy looking out of the window, everything was calm, the world kept turning and Kemptown returned to the serious business of watching telly, eating their take-away meals and downing another tin of beer.
THIRTY-FIVE
The drive to Shoreham was uneventful and George Rudd, lying on the floor at the back and making gurgling noises like a partially blocked drain, didn’t give them any trouble either. In a small industrial estate near Shoreham Airport, Dominic Green owned a warehouse that he used to store illicit booze, cigarettes and drugs, sourced from contacts on the Continent and brought over by Boris in his boat or John Lester in a private plane owned by one of his friends.
At the back of the warehouse there was a small lab that they used for testing the purity of cocaine and diluting it with whatever harmless white substance that was available, although he drew the line at using any of Lester’s wife’s stuff as he didn’t know anyone who wanted to sniff coke or smoke dope that reeked of mandarins or aloe vera. This was an industrial part of town alongside car breakers, scrap yards and lumber merchants and it meant they weren’t overlooked and the area was quiet at night, so they could come and go as they pleased and make as much noise as they wanted.
Green filled the kettle and switched it on while Lester threw a rope over one of the rafters. When it was secure, Spike tied Rudd to the rope with his hands above his head. Pulling the loose end, he gradually hauled him higher, like a stuffed puppet made to perform for his master as he jerked and flopped before finally standing upright. He stopped pulling when Rudd’s feet were barely touching the ground and secured the rope to a metal post.
If Green was in less of a hurry or didn’t care how much damage he caused, he would have put him in a chair and let Spike do what he was good at, but he wanted Rudd talking not lying comatose on the floor.
He seemed to have made a full recovery after his short journey and was demanding to know why he was there, at least that was what he thought he was saying as he was gently spinning and his arms were blocking the sound coming out from his mouth. That was another benefit of putting a suspect in such a position, it stopped them shouting and being abusive. He couldn’t stand that.
When the kettle boiled, Lester made a mug of coffee for himself and Green. Spike wouldn’t touch the stuff as he was a dedicated bodybuilder and while he was happy chucking whey and Creatine powders down his gullet, dropping steroid pills like there was no tomorrow and smoking weed, he wouldn’t pollute his body with ‘artificial stimulants,’ as he haughtily called coffee and tea, the stupid toss-pot.
Lester picked up a couple of chairs in his big mitts and moved them into the middle of the room. Green sat down and took a sip of coffee, milky with a little coffee kick but not enough to keep him awake at night. Good.
He put the mug down and looked at his prisoner. ‘So Mr Rudd, how are you?’
‘I’m ‘fortable.’
‘I think he said he’s enjoying the view boss,’ Lester said, smiling.
‘Ha. George, if you give me honest answers to the questions that I’m going to ask you, we’ll all be home in time for a cocoa and the late movie
on Sky or in Spike’s case, the start of some good sex films on the nookie channels. So listen up and listen good. I’m a partner in a web site where beautiful young ladies display their wares and have sex with handsome guys with big cocks. Are you with me so far?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know it, it’s called academic-babes.com?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t lie to me Mr Rudd.’
‘I... don’t do porn. I’m fifty-seven for God’s sake. A hard-on’s a cause for celebration.’
‘Ah, right. Shame really, you don’t know what you’re missing. Ok, now for the rest of my little story. Two of the young girls that have appeared on the said web site, who also happened to be students at Lewes University, a place where you currently work as a lab assistant, were murdered. Did you hear about that?’
‘Of course I bloody did, everybody’s been talking about it. Look, get me down from this bloody contraption, I can hardly breathe never mind talk.’
‘We will, Mr Rudd, all in good time. Now, I’m thinking you’re a man that bore me ill-fortune on the steps of Lewes Crown Court and I’m thinking you’re still bearing that grudge.’
‘That’s all water under the bridge. I’m over it.’
‘I don’t believe you. I think you’re the bastard who’s being sending me these anonymous threatening letters.’
‘What threatening letters? Why would I do that? You’ve got more enemies than Saddam Hussein.’
With a nod from Green, Spike walked over and punched him in the stomach. Rudd coughed and spluttered, made twice as painful as he couldn’t double up and relax his muscles. While waiting for him to recover, Green made sure there was no dirt trapped beneath his fingernails as he hated that, while Lester went through to the kitchen to make another brew.
A few minutes later, he was handed a steaming mug, which he placed in on the floor to cool.
‘Now Mr Rudd let me explain how this evening will progress if you do not cooperate. My man here will next make a start on your face and while you may not win any prizes for good looks as your fizzer has seen better days, a curry will be harder to eat with no teeth and even then you probably won’t be able to smell it with a disfigured nose. If that doesn’t scare you, he also carries a small blade in his pocket and if I tell him to, he will use it to carve little bits from your body, bits I assure you, no man should do without. Now, do you understand how serious we are taking this, and the deep shit you could be in if you don’t cooperate?’
