The Body on the Island

by Nick Louth

  ‘I am,’ Gillard said.

  ‘It’s delicious,’ Sam said hurriedly.

  ‘How was your oxtail?’ Ceejay asked. ‘Don’t you think it’s amazing that poor man’s food has got so damn trendy?’

  ‘It was always neglected. Unjustly – unlike lungs or tongue,’ Gillard said.

  Ceejay laughed. ‘I’m not a fan of those either. I hope you will accept a complimentary dessert with me, and perhaps a brandy on the house too?’

  Gillard knew that taking freebies from anyone, let alone suspects, was bureaucratically a tricky area. Even trivial and genuine acts of generosity could be misinterpreted in the black-and-white of an expenses claim or, worse, a courtroom. But now was not the time to demur. They plumped for brown-sugar cookies and crêpes à l’orange. Sam accepted a double brandy, while the detective ordered a coffee.

  ‘So is this your restaurant?’ Gillard asked.

  ‘No, no. It was set up by my good friend Anton.’ He turned and called loudly for Anton across the dining room, a faux pas which had other diners looking up.

  Anton emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands, and approached the table. ‘I’d like to introduce you to Detective Chief Inspector Craig Gillard,’ Ceejay proclaimed loudly, before turning to the detective and asking: ‘Are you here on business?’

  ‘No,’ lied Gillard. ‘This is my wife Sam. I just heard great things about this place.’

  ‘I’m sure you did,’ Ceejay boomed. ‘Delighted to meet you, Mrs Gillard.’ He rested his hand briefly on her shoulder.

  Anton St Jeanne looked embarrassed, as did Sam. Gillard could see other diners staring at them, no doubt discussing the fact that a senior policeman was among them. The desserts arrived, and Ceejay and Anton left them to it. Sam’s fork was shaking in her hand over her crêpes, and Gillard now regretted having brought her here so soon after her trauma. Even this mild piece of intimidation was too much for her at this stage.

  Gillard called for the bill but when the waitress approached she was empty-handed. ‘I’m afraid your bill has already been settled, sir.’

  Gillard shook his head. ‘I don’t want to be given a free meal because of who I am.’

  ‘I completely understand, sir. But your bill was settled by another guest, not by the restaurant, so I’m afraid there’s nothing that we can do.’

  ‘Which other guest?’

  ‘I apologise but I’m not at liberty to say.’

  Gillard looked up and could no longer see Leroy Ceejay. ‘Was it Mr Ceejay?’ he asked.

  The waitress shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, that’s all I was told.’

  ‘Okay, thank you.’

  The waitress walked away to another table.

  ‘You can always leave a big tip,’ Sam whispered.

  ‘I will,’ he replied. ‘But they know full well that I can’t show an audit trail. And they only have to say I was given a free meal, and I’ll have questions to answer.’

  ‘It seems that Leroy Ceejay is a pretty clever guy,’ Sam said.

  ‘Yes, he certainly is.’ Gillard considered that further research might be a good idea. Cracking Ceejay’s amphetamine business was definitely on the National Crime Agency’s agenda, but if he could find a connection with the dead body in the Thames, that would help. As they got up to go, Gillard spotted Anton peeking out at him through the little glass window in the kitchen door. No doubt he was a subject of extended conversation in that private enclave.

  * * *

  Anton St Jeanne watched as the detective and his wife left the restaurant. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked Ceejay.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ came the reply. ‘But it’s useful to have a heads-up when the fuzz are after you.’

  ‘Do you think someone on the island dropped you in it?’

  He turned to Anton. ‘It would be pretty stupid if they did, wouldn’t it? I think I need your help, Anton.’

  The restaurateur shrugged. ‘I’ve got five covers that still haven’t had their dessert.’

  ‘It’s not just them that haven’t had their just deserts.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Can I have your car keys?’

  Anton rolled his eyes. ‘Why can’t you use your own car, Leroy?’

  ‘Because the police know all about it, don’t they?’

  ‘They know all about mine too, remember? I only got it back this morning.’

  ‘What about Leticia’s car? That’s not on the list.’

  ‘Jesus, Leroy.’ Anton heard his own tone of voice, a supplicating whine rather than a firm refusal. ‘Can’t you borrow one from one of your own guys? I’m serious, she could lose her job.’

  ‘No one is going to find out, Anton. Not even her. I’ll come around in an hour, you leave me the keys under the mat outside. She’ll be in bed asleep, she won’t even know it’s gone, I’ll be back in an hour.’

  Anton shook his head as he prepared a serving of pecan pralines with whipped cream. After arranging the three biscuit-like confections on a large white plate he drizzled a semaphore of raspberry sauce back and forth across the plate. He used the tip of a damp cloth to remove a couple of specks that were in the wrong place, before passing the dish across to the serving hatch.

  ‘Okay, but it better not be longer than an hour,’ he said. The fig-leaf demand that barely covered his abject surrender.

  * * *

  Two hours later Leticia’s car made its way slowly across the bridge to Tagg’s Island. Leroy Ceejay was behind the wheel. He parked in a small pull-in just by the houseboat, left the car and went and knocked on the door. Kletz opened it. He seemed surprised, but invited Leroy in with grudging acquiescence.

  ‘Juliette,’ he called. ‘It’s for you.’

  She emerged from the bedroom, her kimono loosely tied. ‘I’ve got it,’ she said. ‘Hold on a minute.’ She disappeared back into the room and re-emerged with a fat brown envelope. ‘Mine and Matt’s. It’s all there.’

  ‘Need any more gear?’ Leroy asked.

  Juliette’s glance strayed to Kletz, who looked tense. ‘No. Thank you, that’s fine.’

  The big man nodded, looked Juliette up and down deliberately and slowly, and let his gaze wander to Kletz and back again. You and him, really? his look seemed to be saying. He said a brief goodbye and slipped out of the door, back to the borrowed car.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thursday

  First thing Gillard went to see Chief Constable Alison Rigby and told her about the previous night’s experience. She listened carefully, her powerful blue eyes focused on his.

  ‘I can see why you did it, Craig,’ she said. ‘But you don’t need me to tell you what an awkward piece of potential evidence you have created for a defence team should Mr Ceejay be brought to court.’

  ‘Yes ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘So what did you learn as a result of this rather foolhardy reconnaissance?’

  ‘Well it’s clear that the restaurant is controlled by Ceejay. You can see it in the body language between the two principal shareholders. Filings at Companies House show that Anton St Jeanne is the majority owner, but on the ground it looks the other way round. Ceejay was confident enough to be able to offer me and Sam a complimentary dessert without having to check it with anyone.’

  ‘Are we thinking money-laundering?’

  ‘That’s my guess, but of course it’s so hard to prove.’

  Rigby sighed, and looked out of the window. ‘Any link to our mystery body?’

  ‘None whatever. I had intended to casually ask a waitress about recent staff turnover, but once my cover was blown there was no point. I wouldn’t have got a straight answer. So I think we are now waiting for the mitochondrial DNA results, which I have been promised for this afternoon. Stable isotope analysis, which tells us exactly where this person has lived, is going to take another couple of weeks.’

  ‘Okay. Are there any leads coming from overseas?’

  ‘No, ma’am. As you know, there is no international missing persons database, exce
pt for those concerning war, human rights violations and natural disasters. Interpol has a few cases notified, but there is no apparatus to pursue them. If we knew the country he came from, we’d be able to narrow it down. That’s why I’m putting my hope in the stable isotope analysis.’

  ‘Good, that should get us a definite answer.’

  ‘On another subject, ma’am. It’s about Anton St Jeanne’s girlfriend Leticia Mountjoy, who has the Special Branch contact.’

  ‘Yes, Craig,’ she said wearily.

  ‘It’s come to my attention ma’am that she is a probation officer. She wouldn’t by any chance be working on the Neville Rollason false identity, would she? He is due to be released on Tuesday. Rumour has it he’s in our area.’

  ‘Craig, you know better than to try to get confirmation from me.’ She smiled, which seemed to be a recognition of his powers of deduction.

  ‘You do know that it was me that apprehended him, don’t you?’ Gillard said.

  ‘I had no idea, Craig. Weren’t you a little young?’

  ‘I was twenty-one. It was 1988 and I was a uniform working in the Met Police in Croydon, on my first week. I was standing by a police public information caravan near the Whitgift Centre handing out leaflets as part of the public information campaign on drink-driving. I spotted a registration plate that matched a nationally notified vehicle of interest. It was a car stolen in Newcastle, which was where Rollason’s family originally came from, and had been seen near the place where one of the missing teenagers up there had vanished. I phoned it in, but before anyone arrived I saw a guy coming back to the car. It was Rollason. I approached, and he ran off. I was pretty fit in those days, and caught up with him in an alleyway. It was quite a ding-dong battle before I subdued him. He’s a wiry little bugger, well he was. I got a commendation for it.’

  Rigby looked at her subordinate with amazement. ‘The most surprising thing about that, Craig, is that you remembered the registration number.’

  ‘Well, ma’am, I’ve always had that kind of memory, I suppose. And of course it’s only the new recruits that ever read all the circulars.’

  ‘Okay. Stay away from the probation officer and from DI Morgan, who is handling her. They both have a job to do. I don’t suppose for a minute that Leticia Mountjoy is involved in anything criminal herself, but if you have suspicions come to me in the first instance, okay?’

  ‘Yes ma’am.’

  ‘And one more thing Craig, given what you’ve just told me. I shouldn’t have to remind you of course, but I think you should keep a careful eye on your home. I don’t imagine for a minute that Rollason is going to be a serious threat to you, but I know Sam is still going through a rough time, so it’s up to you to take care of her.’

  ‘Absolutely. Thank you for your concern, ma’am.’

  ‘Well it’s more that I’m trying to kick-start your concern, Craig.’

  ‘If it was down to me, ma’am, I’d not let her out of my sight. But then I couldn’t do my job.’

  Rigby nodded. ‘Well, we certainly don’t want to stop you doing that, do we.’

  * * *

  Leticia Mountjoy was running a little late. Too many appointments, not enough time. She slotted her Mini into the car park outside Swan House and hurried into the building with a cheery wave to the ground-floor security guy. She was beginning to understand why Verity never made it anywhere on time.

  She had only just got to her desk when she saw at the far end of the office a uniformed police officer talking to the receptionist. Ah, that’s why a patrol car was parked right outside. There was something familiar about the man, which was immediately apparent the moment he turned towards her. Shit! PC Wickens, one of the cops who had interviewed her about being in the car last Friday. She ducked down into her cubicle, her back to him, and picked up the phone. Face close to her screen, she pretended to make a call, while praying he wouldn’t see her. She felt her face go hot with embarrassment as she heard the approaching sound of heavy male feet. He can’t be here for me, can he?

  Wickens walked past and spoke to Tina in the cubicle opposite. ‘I’m looking for Verity Winter’s office,’ he said. Tina pointed out Verity’s glass-fronted office a few yards further on but added. ‘I’m not sure she’s here yet. I’ve not seen her.’

  Leticia blew an enormous sigh of relief. The palpitations she was suffering began to lessen, although she still didn’t want to risk being seen or be caught up in any embarrassing conversation.

  ‘I’ll just go in and wait for her,’ Wickens said and, opening Verity’s door, went and sat in the room.

  Tina caught Leticia’s eye and they exchanged helpless shrugs about the effrontery of the officer. ‘I’m going to ring Jill,’ Tina said. It was only one minute after the admin officer had put the phone down when Jill Allsop, only five-five even in her heels, marched into Verity’s office and asked PC Wickens to leave and wait in the reception area. The constable meekly followed as the probation manager politely but loudly put him in his place. ‘The receptionist asked you to wait there for Verity, and police officer or no police officer that is where you will stay. Is that understood?’

  Tina and Leticia shared a delicious moment of giggles.

  It was only a moment later when Verity herself arrived, saw the constable in reception and, in a brief exchange, seemingly gave him short shrift. He didn’t follow her when she strode up the corridor towards her office, but instead headed off to the gents’.

  ‘He went into your office. I tried to stop him,’ Tina said to her.

  ‘Thank you. The case he was asking about isn’t even mine any more, it’s been transferred to Reading, something he could have discovered for himself if he’d read all the documents.’

  It was only a few minutes later when Verity called Leticia into her office. She seemed to be in a good mood, and the young probation officer couldn’t help but link it to the incident with PC Wickens.

  ‘Take a seat. Can I get you a coffee?’ Leticia watched her boss head off to the kitchen. It was quite unlike Verity to offer coffee to a subordinate. Although she was only one rung above Leticia, Verity radiated self-importance. But it was certainly true that she had an enormous caseload of her own, in addition to supervising her three direct reports.

  ‘I just wanted to check that everything has gone according to plan with Wright,’ she went on as she brought in two mugs and closed the door.

  ‘Yes, everything went fine. DI Morgan has got him a house, rather better than I think he deserves. All the practical arrangements seem to be in hand.’

  ‘You met Wright yesterday, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. He seemed quite ordinary, at first.’

  Verity nodded. ‘They often do. We always assume we can spot evil, but we can’t. I’ve no need to remind you how important it is that we keep him on a short leash. I want you to continue to make it clear to him that every part of the conditions of his release under licence must be observed without exception. A single violation will result in him being sent straight back to a category A prison, not the cushy number he is on now.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’ Her pale green eyes locked on to Leticia’s, alert.

  ‘Why didn’t you take the Rollason case yourself? You’ve got all the experience.’

  ‘Jill offered it to me. But there were organisational reasons. You’ll know soon enough why.’ Verity put a reassuring hand on her arm. But even when the hand was gone, it felt like it was still there, chilling her blood, an image delineated in goosebumps.

  ‘Now, I understand that DI Morgan has arranged for him to have a dumb phone, without Internet. They’ll give it to him at the gatehouse as he leaves Spring Hill.’

  ‘Morgan did mention that, yes.’

  ‘The Parole Board approved stringent licence conditions, which include the monitoring of his call records. Morgan will oversee that on behalf of the Home Office, though I can’t see how we can be sure that he isn’t just using the Internet at th
e library or buying himself a burner phone. Our job is principally to oversee his rehabilitation and reintegration into society. However, Morgan has asked if you would make sure that he shows you the phone every time you meet him. Attendance of the weekly sexual offender treatment programme is also mandatory, and proof will be emailed to you separately by the organisers. Of course, because this is being run by a private sector rehabilitation company that does not yet have full Home Office security clearance, he will be registered to those classes under his new identity. I have to emphasise to you that you must be very careful not to disclose to them his real name.’

  ‘But if he is undergoing SOTP under a fictitious criminal record, it won’t do him any good, will it? The false record would surely have a much milder version of what he actually did.’

  Verity Winter barked a short laugh. ‘It’s true. But with this particular offender, it would never do any good. Sometimes you just have to tick a box.’

  Leticia looked shocked. Verity had a reputation of being even more principled than Jill Allsop.

  ‘Leticia, you have to understand we can never achieve everything that we want to. The public want them all castrated or hanged, or both, while the government looks at the cost of keeping them all locked up and would rather they were dealt with quietly in the community. We can’t win.’

  ‘That’s true I suppose.’

  ‘There’s something else I need you to see,’ Verity said. She clicked on her computer screen, and brought up BBC iPlayer. ‘Have you seen Monday’s Panorama?’ she asked.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to watch it yet.’

  ‘There’s just one bit I want to show you.’ Verity pressed fast-forward until she reached the scene with the vigilante and the threat of violence. They both watched it in silence.

  ‘These are the people we are dealing with,’ Verity said, then switched her screen to a website marked AVENGE. ‘The Association of Vigilant Enforcers Getting Even. That’s what it stands for.’