Friends to Die For

by Hilary Bonner

‘Right, boss. And the blood-spattered trainers could only have been planted by the person who murdered Marlena.’

  Clarke sat pondering this for a moment. ‘You think the same person is guilty of all these crimes involving the Sunday Club people, don’t you, Vogel?’

  Vogel agreed that he did.

  ‘But the killings of Marlena and PC Monahan each followed a very different MO – how do you account for that?’

  ‘Marlena’s murder was premeditated. He had it all planned: drugging the champagne, taking along one of Bertorelli’s trainers to incriminate him, presumably making sure he had a change of clothes because his own would be covered in blood . . . it was all carefully set up to make sure that he would get away with it.’

  The DCI was listening intently, she nodded for him to continue.

  ‘Michelle was killed in broad daylight a short distance from this police station. Not the ideal time or location if you’re planning a murder – far too much risk of being seen. That tells me he was in a hurry. It could be that Michelle had seen something or remembered something that would put him at risk, so he had to act fast to silence her. Maybe she was on the way here, and that’s why he killed her where he did.’

  Clarke did not respond immediately but sat weighing up everything he had told her. Vogel waited in silence, enjoying the novelty of a superior officer who took the time to mull things over.

  ‘There is an alternative scenario,’ she said. ‘This latest killing could just be a terrible coincidence. But it would be so great a coincidence that I don’t think it’s worthy of serious consideration.’

  Vogel was relieved to hear it. ‘So we’re looking for a serial offender, a double murderer. Right now he’s still at large, and we don’t know who he is or why he has done what he’s done. We need to find him, and fast, boss.’

  ‘We’ve made a bad mistake then, over the arrest of Bertorelli, haven’t we?’ she said. ‘If we hadn’t, Michelle Monahan might still be alive.’

  Clarke looked quite bereft. And Vogel noted her use of the word ‘we’. Under Forest’s watch, it was a given that blame would be shifted down the chain of command. Vogel had never been one to pass the buck, not downwards, sideways, or up. If things went wrong he never took the attitude that it wasn’t his fault because he’d only been obeying orders. No. Vogel was a Jew whose immediate family had only just escaped Nazi Germany before the holocaust. There was a great-aunt who had died in the camps, and a number of distant cousins who had suffered unspeakable atrocities at the hands of those whose ultimate excuse had frequently been that they were only obeying orders. Vogel couldn’t accept that. Not for others and not for himself. He felt that the actions of every police officer involved in the Sunday Club investigations had contributed in some degree to the death of Michelle Monahan.

  He was wracked with guilt about the part he’d played. He’d been too busy fretting over discrepancies in her bloody diary, which was all it had amounted to, and as a result he’d failed to see the bigger picture. Worse, he’d allowed Alfonso Bertorelli to be charged with murder and assault even though he doubted the man was guilty of either crime. That was the bitter truth. And Vogel was beside himself with grief and inner fury. However, as was his way, he let none of this show.

  ‘If mistakes were made,’ said Vogel, ‘they were mine more than anybody else’s.’

  Clarke looked him in the eye, holding his gaze for a few seconds before responding. ‘We’re a team here, Vogel. Whatever went wrong is a team responsibility. And it certainly won’t do any good dwelling on it. So let’s move forward, shall we?’

  Vogel nodded his agreement.

  ‘Right, we’ll drop the charges against Bertorelli and release him from custody,’ she said briskly. ‘But I want him told that our inquiries are ongoing and he could be called back in for questioning at any time. OK? Meanwhile let’s get the rest of the Sunday Club bunch picked up. No messing. One of them has probably killed a cop, so I say we arrest the lot of ’em, soon as. Don’t give ’em any warning. And I want their homes turned over.’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ said Vogel.

  He turned and walked stiffly from his superior’s office, keeping those unwelcome emotions locked inside him. In order to maintain his outer calm he made a resolution, something to carry him through until this matter was resolved.

  He would not rest until he had found the man who had killed Marlena and Michelle. He would find the bastard and bring him to justice. He would avenge the deaths of the two women and he would also avenge the injustice that had been inflicted upon Alfonso Bertorelli.

  Vogel walked straight through the MIT room, pausing only to pass on his superior’s instructions to arrest the remaining members of Sunday Club. Having assigned a team of officers to carry out each arrest, he turned his attention to Wagstaff and Carlisle, who looked suitably ashamed when confronted with Timpson’s evidence and immediately set off for the Dunster Arms to confirm it. Finally Vogel proceeded through the lobby to the back door which led onto Chandos Place, the one that was almost opposite Brydges Place, where Michelle had been killed. He looked the other way.

  Within a couple of hours there would be an endless succession of interviews to conduct, but first he needed some fresh air and a few minutes alone. He walked briskly down Agar Street and across the Strand, heading for Embankment Gardens. There he found a park bench, amongst beds of tulips and daffodils now in full April glory. Making sure he was alone, he bowed his head, and allowed the tears to flow freely down his pale cheeks.

  eighteen

  A pair of City of London coppers apprehended Billy at his place of work. Tiny and George were arrested at their homes. They picked up Greg in his lock-up over at Waterloo loading cases of dodgy whisky into the back of his van, and they tracked down Bob to the luxury block of flats at Clerkenwell where he regularly attended to both the plants in the public areas and several of the privately owned terraces and balconies. Karen was apprehended as she returned home with shopping for that evening’s supper. Ari was found in the lobby of the Dorchester where, with his father, he was entertaining a Swiss Banker and a Saudi sheikh to a light lunch.

  Their arrests had been executed so quickly that all seven of them claimed to be unaware of Michelle’s murder until this was revealed to them by their arresting officers, and each appeared shocked to the core.

  They were taken to Charing Cross police station where they were to be interviewed separately, waiting in between times in individual cells. First they were processed in the custody unit. Their clothes and personal possessions were removed and they were fingerprinted and DNA-tested according to procedure. A small amount of cocaine was found in a pocket of Ari Kabul’s jacket. That held no interest, in itself, for Vogel, but it was possible that its presence might prove useful.

  By the time all seven were brought in Vogel was once again looking his usual cool, calm self, and concentrating his legendary brain on the matter in hand instead of dwelling on the consequences of earlier failings.

  The question that was bugging him most was why Marlena and Michelle had been murdered, rather than by whom. He was quite sure that if he could only find the answer to the former, the latter would automatically fall into place.

  Vogel, once more accompanied by DC Jones, conducted the first interview with Ari. Before he could get a question in, Ari had one for him. He was no longer as self-assured or amenable as he’d been the previous time they’d met, but then nobody had died when Vogel had last spoken to Ari Kabul, and he hadn’t been arrested and hauled into a police station.

  ‘I suppose you think I’m guilty of murdering Marlena and Michelle as well as everything else that’s been going on because nothing’s happened to me,’ Ari blurted out. ‘Because I’m not one of the poor bloody victims.’

  Vogel was very quiet, his manner more in keeping with an inquisitive schoolteacher than a police detective.

  ‘I can assure you, Mr Kabul, that I have drawn no such conclusion. You are here to help us with our inquiries, that’s all.�
�

  ‘I thought I’d been arrested.’

  ‘A technicality, at this stage,’ said Vogel. ‘After Michelle’s body was found we wanted to get you all here as—’

  ‘At least we know Alfonso didn’t do it.’

  ‘Mr Kabul, I cannot divulge information about an investigation which is still ongoing.’

  ‘No,’ Ari interrupted again. ‘But it’s damned obvious Alfonso couldn’t have killed Michelle if he was banged up in here. Which he was.’

  Vogel ignored the remark.

  ‘Mr Kabul, could you tell me where you were between the hours of eight and ten this morning please?’ he enquired.

  ‘I was with my dad at the Dorchester, where you damn well picked me up in front of everybody.’ Ari’s voice rose. ‘Can you imagine the bad time my dad’s going to give me?’

  ‘I think that may be the least of your concerns,’ said Vogel. ‘What time exactly did you arrive at the Dorchester?’

  ‘I’m not sure. About twenty past eight I think.’

  ‘And was anyone else with you up until ten o’clock or thereabouts, or were you just in the company of your father?’ asked DC Jones.

  ‘You have to be joking,’ said Ari. ‘You think my dad would choose to while away the morning with me? We had a breakfast meeting with some City people at eight thirty, followed by a couple of other meetings over coffee, and then the lunch – which you guys know about because you interrupted it, didn’t you? It’s something Dad does. Intensive entertaining, he calls it. Gets a lot of stuff over with all at once.’

  ‘I see. And before eight twenty?’

  ‘What do you think? We were travelling to the Dorchester from home, weren’t we? In Dad’s car. So his chauffeur can back me up on that, though if you think my dad would give me a false alibi then you just don’t know him.’

  Vogel stared at Ari. How he wished he could read minds. Sometimes he almost felt he could when he was really concentrating on interviewing a suspect. But not with this guy. He was unable to get beyond Ari’s chippy responses. The difference in the man since their last encounter was so marked that Vogel couldn’t help wondering whether the personality change was a sign of guilt. He noticed that Ari’s hands were trembling. Was it just a case of nerves, or was it an indicator of dependency on the substance found on him, or any other substances he might be addicted to?

  Vogel decided on a two-pronged attack.

  ‘Mr Kabul, are you aware that when you were searched this morning on entering police custody we found a considerable quantity of cocaine in the pocket of your suit jacket?’

  ‘Oh yeah, yeah,’ said Ari.

  ‘Mr Kabul, are you also aware that we could charge you with possession of an illegal drug?’

  ‘I thought you were investigating a murder – two murders now,’ said Ari.

  ‘Indeed. However, your attitude leads me to believe, Mr Kabul, that you are not cooperating with us fully. It is possible that you need time to reflect upon your position. Were I to charge you with possession of an illegal substance, that would give me the opportunity to detain you here for considerably longer than otherwise. Do you understand?’

  Ari bowed his head. When he spoke again it was without any of his earlier attitude.

  ‘Detective Inspector, I am all sorts of things – a spoiled rich boy, probably, a bit of a druggy, definitely, and sometimes a bloody fool – but I am not a violent man. I’ve never knowingly hurt anyone in my life and I certainly didn’t kill Marlena or Michelle. Why would I?’

  And that, thought Vogel, was the crux of the matter. Why would Ari Kabul or any of the friends have committed double murder?

  None of the initial interviews lasted long. Vogel had one immediate aim, which was to check alibis and therefore hopefully narrow down the list of suspects. He was also aware that the homes of all seven of those arrested were being searched while they were detained at Charing Cross. Vogel wanted evidence. He had no time at all for guesswork and inspired hunches which turned out to be anything but.

  Karen was the next to be questioned. She cried through most of her interview. When she was asked who might be able to pick her children up if she were still detained by the time school was out, the crying turned into gut-wrenching sobs. She did, however, manage to say that her mother would look after the kids and to supply contact details.

  She was also quite clear about her own whereabouts at the time of Michelle’s murder. And she stopped crying for long enough to make sure Vogel was clear on that too.

  ‘Same as always,’ she said. ‘I took the kids to school. There are loads of other mums who will have seen me. Afterwards I went straight to Tesco. Nine till one, every day, I do a shift on the till.’

  Then she started crying again and her words became jumbled. Vogel could only just make out what she was saying.

  ‘Greg . . . my Greg . . . is he here?’

  Vogel told her that he was.

  Karen looked up at him, both fear and pleading in her swollen red eyes.

  ‘He’s a good man, my Greg,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t mean no harm, honestly. Don’t be too hard on him, will you?’

  Vogel stared at her.

  ‘Mrs Walker, I am conducting a murder inquiry,’ he said. ‘My only immediate consideration is to find out who killed PC Michelle Monahan. We have also reopened our inquiries into the murder of Marleen McTavish. Now you are beginning to sound as if you are afraid that your husband had something to do with one, or both, of these murders. Is that the case?’

  Karen’s eyes widened. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. How could you think that? How could anyone think that of my Greg?’

  And then she burst into tears again.

  Billy claimed to have been at work at the offices of Geering Brothers, and told Vogel he had arrived just after 8 a.m., as usual.

  ‘Your guys picked me up there, for God’s sake,’ he said. ‘Did they think I’d just popped in for coffee and a chat? Ten hours a day I’m in that place, minimum. Sometimes I get out at lunchtime, that’s all, and not for long.’

  ‘I am just trying to eliminate you from our inquiries, Mr Wiseman,’ said Vogel. ‘You must see how important that is both for you and for us.’

  ‘And now I suppose you’re going back to Geering’s to check whether I’m telling the truth?’ demanded Billy.

  ‘We will do whatever is necessary to confirm your whereabouts at the time in question, yes, sir,’ said Vogel.

  ‘In which case I might as well kiss my fucking job good-fucking-bye, mightn’t I?’ said Billy. ‘Mind you, I suppose the damage has already been done – two fucking great plods coming to get me. You could have phoned. I’d have come in. I’m not a criminal.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not, sir,’ said Vogel, deadpan. ‘We have certain procedures to follow in a murder investigation, that’s all.’

  Tiny claimed to have left home soon after Billy had departed for work, and taken the tube to Uxbridge at the end of the Bakerloo line.

  ‘I was checking out a litter of cockerpoos we found on the net,’ he said. ‘Billy and I are thinking about getting another dog. We’re trying to move on.’ He paused. ‘Or we were, ’til this happened.’

  Once Vogel had learned what a cockerpoo was – the progeny of a cocker spaniel and a poodle – he began to establish the timing and logistics of Tiny’s professed journey.

  ‘It’s about fifty minutes each way on the tube,’ said Tiny. ‘And I guess I spent a couple of hours at the other end, time I’d walked to and from the house where the puppies are. It was twenty minutes or so from the station.’

  ‘Do you know what the time was when you arrived at the house?’

  ‘Yes. Nine o’clock. Well, actually it was a few minutes before. My appointment was for nine o’clock. I was early. I just waited around for a bit outside.’

  ‘And what time did you get back to central London?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Around noon, I think. I did some food shopping in Marks on the way home. I guess I’d been in about an hour
when the heavy brigade arrived.’

  Vogel nodded. He mulled this over for a moment before putting his next question.

  ‘Mr Stephens, as members of a group of friends who have been the victims of an increasingly nasty succession of crimes culminating in murder, you and your partner had been through a very traumatic time. You had lost your dog in most distressing circumstances and, as you say, you were trying to move on, so you were looking for another dog, and you were going to perhaps choose one. I understand that. But I find it rather odd that your partner did not accompany you on such an important mission.’

  Tiny was no longer meeting Vogel’s steady gaze. The big man looked down at his hands.

  ‘Billy’s always busy,’ he said. ‘He works very long hours. So it makes sense for me to check things out. I found those dogs advertised on the net. I didn’t know anything about the people who’d bred them, or about the dogs, ’til I went out to Uxbridge to see them. If I hadn’t liked the set-up, if it had turned out to be a puppy farm or something, then I wouldn’t have needed to waste Billy’s time. I wasn’t planning to actually buy a dog without him seeing it first, without his say-so.’

  Vogel was silent for a moment. He had an idea forming.

  ‘Mr Stephens, did your partner know that you were going to Uxbridge to look for a new dog?’

  Tiny wriggled in his seat.

  ‘Well, not exactly, no,’ he said eventually. ‘I mean, we’d talked about it, but he didn’t know I was actually looking.’

  ‘So Billy thought you were at home this morning. He didn’t know you had gone to Uxbridge?’

  ‘No – you see, he didn’t think he was ready for a new dog. He didn’t think either of us was—’

  Vogel interrupted. ‘Mr Stephens, I’m not interested in whether or not you and your partner acquire a dog, I just need to establish your whereabouts at the time of Michelle Monahan’s death.’

  ‘I told—’

  ‘Yes, and you’ve also told me that your partner, the man you share your life with, thinks you were somewhere else entirely. You had better give me the details of the people you visited in Uxbridge and you’d better hope they back your story up.’