‘Sir John saved his life? Has he ever said where? In the Falklands perhaps?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I think it was Germany. They were posted in Germany for quite a while.’
‘Not in action, then?’
‘What? Oh. I see what you mean. No, I don’t suppose it could ’ave been in action. Not in Germany.’
‘But he’s never told you any more about it?’
‘No. Only how grateful he was. You see, my Jack, he says real soldiers never talk about stuff. Well you can understand that, can’t you?’
Martha paused. ‘But why are you asking me all these questions? You’ve still not told me.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Kivel. I’m interested, that’s all. Your Jack’s clearly had a very varied life.’
‘You didn’t come all this way to talk to me because you’m interested in Jack’s varied life,’ said Martha. ‘I’m not saying anything else until you tell me what’s going on.’
Martha’s voice was suddenly quite sharp. Her eyes bright with indignation. Vogel cursed himself. He’d been treating the woman like a fool, largely because of her homely manner and her regional accent. He should know better. Martha Kivel was clearly no fool. And there was still a chance that she was aware of her husband’s covert activities. Assuming of course that there were any such covert activities. But the circumstantial evidence, at least, was growing nicely. He needed to rebuild relations with Martha. He just hoped it were still possible.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Kivel,’ he said. ‘I’ve allowed myself to be diverted. I really wanted to ask you and your husband some more questions about George Grey, and what you both know about goings on at the manor after Sir John became ill and removed you and Jack from your positions. I’m not even sure which came first, are you?’
Martha didn’t look totally convinced, but she was, perhaps, a little mollified. Certainly, she answered Vogel in a more normal tone of voice.
‘We’ve never been sure either,’ she began. ‘If he was ill when ’e sacked us, we didn’t know about it.’
Saslow joined in, asking questions neither officer really wanted or needed to know the answer to, or in some cases already did, about Sir John’s behaviour, the nurse who died in the fire, and any other employees.
In fact, by then neither of them could wait to leave Martha Kivel and put the next stage of their investigation into operation. The suddenly executed absence of Jack Kivel from his home made him a far more viable suspect. Either that, or there had been a huge coincidence. And David Vogel, in common with most serving police officers, did not believe in coincidences.
‘Right, Saslow, we need to find Jack Kivel soonest, get his phone pinged straight away, make sure he doesn’t disappear on us,’ he said, once they were outside.
‘You think Martha’s probably already calling him to tell him about our visit, don’t you?’ said Saslow.
‘You’re damned right I do,’ said Vogel.
‘So does that mean she’s in on it, assuming we’re right about Jack?’
‘That he’s at the very least a cold-blooded murderer, and probably some kind of trained assassin?’ queried Vogel. ‘It seems that he may have the military credentials. Fairbrother too. As for Martha, I don’t damned well know. But I’m taking no chances. Get onto district HQ in Taunton. I want surveillance on this cottage right through the night and into tomorrow, until I say so. And then get hold of Micky Palmer. And Polly Jenkins. I need them both back in. Tonight.’
‘Right, boss,’ replied Saslow.
‘I’m going to call Nobby Clarke,’ Vogel continued. ‘Seems likely Kivel’s still in her patch. And I’d very much like the full details of Freddie Fairbrother’s activities, as monitored by her boys and girls before he gave them the slip, on my desk by the time I get back.’
‘Yes, boss,’ said Saslow, who was beginning to look and behave rather more like her old self.
Kivel picked up Freddie without incident, in the genuine black cab he’d hailed as soon as he’d finished so effectively diverting DC Parker. He asked the driver to take them to Victoria Station. There he led Freddie to the Hertz office and hired a car using his own credit card and driving licence. Nobody was looking for Jack Kivel. As far as Jack knew. Not yet anyway.
They were just about to drive away, in a suitably inconspicuous grey Toyota Prius, when Jack’s mobile rang. It was Martha. She had called as soon as Vogel and Saslow left Moorview Cottage, just as Vogel had predicted she would.
‘All right, maid,’ said Jack by way of greeting.
As well as the use of West Country vernacular, Freddie noticed a subtle change in Kivel’s voice, his regional accent just a little stronger, his diction less pronounced.
Jack Kivel’s facial expression changed too as he listened to his wife. For the first time since he had met up with him that day, Freddie could see that Kivel was anxious. He didn’t sound it, though, when he spoke again to his wife.
‘Oh, don’t fret, maid,’ he said. ‘It’ll be some nonsense or other. Nothing to worry about, for sure. Look, I’ll be back in the morning.’
He listened again. ‘No. They ’aven’t phoned me. Not yet anyway. There, that proves it, doesn’t it? Nothing important.’
He exchanged a few more pleasantries with Martha and ended the call, at first without comment.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Freddie nervously. ‘I can tell something’s happened.’
‘It appears the police are taking an interest in my activities,’ said Jack.
‘What does that mean? What happens now?’
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ said Jack. ‘But we both know someone who will know exactly what to do, don’t we?’
Freddie sincerely hoped so.
Jack put his phone in his pocket, and removed a second, pay-as-you go phone to make a call. He quickly related the crux of his conversation with Martha.
‘Look, there’s nothing to incriminate you, is there?’ came the response, soothingly. ‘Nobody can prove anything.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Jack. ‘But the police do seem to be closing in a bit.’
‘They’ve still got no idea. I can’t see any reason why the plan shouldn’t go ahead. Although, I may need to disappear off the radar for a bit. As long as they don’t find me, we’re all pretty much OK. We do need Freddie on side, though. How does he seem?’
Kivel glanced sideways. ‘Not one hundred per cent.’
‘No, I thought not. He’s always needed constant guidance and reassurance, that one. You must get him to me as quickly as possible.’
‘Well, we’ve just picked up a fresh hire car. We’re more or less on our way.’
‘Not here,’ came the swift reply. ‘Let me think a minute.’
There was a brief pause. Then he gave another destination, and suggested a time.
‘I’ll have made arrangements for my disappearance by then. But, don’t worry, I’ll sort Freddie out first. He’s going to be my puppet. I just have to make sure he’s prepared to jump when I pull his strings.’
‘OK,’ said Kivel. ‘See you there.’
‘And don’t forget to ditch your other phone. They’ll be putting a track on it, for sure.’
‘I won’t,’ said Kivel.
Freddie, of course, could only hear one side of the conversation. But he got the gist. And he was, by now, a very frightened man. However, he knew he was in far too deep to do anything other than go along with whatever the new plan might be.
TWENTY-SIX
Vogel asked Saslow to drive straight to Kenneth Steele House. On the way he went over the day’s events again and again in his mind; the shock of Bella Fairbrother’s death, and the almost equally great shock of suspecting that Jack Kivel might be responsible for it.
‘I can’t believe we all missed the possible significance of the military connection,’ he commented to Saslow. ‘It’s not like Micky Palmer, that’s for sure.’
‘Well, we simply didn’t know about Jack Kivel, it isn’t somethin
g that ever came up, and he and his background have no Internet presence at all,’ replied the DC reasonably. ‘Also, as far as Sir John’s military career is concerned, there was nothing to flag it. Eton then Sandhurst and the army seem just so predictable for the kind of young man he must have been when he joined up.’
Like Vogel, and presumably Micky, she had known that much about Sir John, it was part of his Wikipedia entry for a start, but not considered it important.
‘I mean, in his sort of family it’s the obvious alternative to Oxford or Cambridge, isn’t it?’ Saslow continued. ‘Often for the not so bright. Although every indication is that Sir John was a very bright man indeed.’
‘Yes, perhaps too bright,’ responded Vogel. ‘Too much of a maverick anyway. And overconfident, probably. We know he played the banking game pretty fast and loose, and that the Fairbrother ship is lying in very troubled waters. Yet his daughter seemed to believe that without him at the helm it would be an even bigger ask to steer it back on course.’
‘She was prepared to take the job on, though, wasn’t she, boss?’ commented Saslow. ‘Almost eager.’
‘Yes, in spite of having walked out of the bank a year or so previously following a row with her father,’ Vogel mused. ‘Or allegedly.’
He was still thoughtful when they arrived at Kenneth Steele. Micky Palmer hurried towards the DI as soon as he and Saslow entered the incident room.
‘Boss, the tech boys have been on. They got a fix on Kivel’s phone. Somewhere around London Victoria Station.’
Vogel whistled long and low. Victoria Station. From there Kivel could be heading almost anywhere, home or abroad.
‘Just the one fix?’ he queried, already pretty sure what the reply would be.
‘Yes. The phone’s not been live since.’
And neither will it be, thought Vogel. He considered Micky Palmer’s choice of words.
‘You said around Victoria Station,’ he queried. ‘Not the station itself?’
‘Apparently not on the concourse, no. Somewhere just outside. They couldn’t be precise. He took a call from Martha’s number, she called just like you said she would, and he was on the phone for a few minutes.’
‘Right, that’s something, but how on earth can we find out where he went next? Assuming he ditched his phone, which he almost certainly would have done after Martha’s call. We know he doesn’t have his own vehicle. He travelled to London by train, according to Martha. Trains from Victoria don’t come this way, but they do go all over, including Gatwick airport, and then there’s the Victoria bus terminus.’
‘If he wasn’t located actually in the station, perhaps he’s hired a vehicle, boss,’ suggested Saslow.
Vogel took a deep breath. ‘Dawn, you’re a genius,’ he said. ‘There aren’t that many hire car pick-up places actually in central London, but most of the big boys operate out of Victoria. It’s worth checking anyway.’
‘Well, yes boss, but even if he has hired a car, would he have used his own driving licence and credit card?’ asked Saslow.
‘I’m hoping he may have done just that, before Martha called him, before he knew we were on to him. Get Polly to check it out straightaway.’
Vogel turned back to Palmer. ‘So, have you got anything else, Micky?’ he asked.
‘Yes, boss. I’ve been focusing on Sir John and Jack Kivel’s military careers. It seems they didn’t just become Paras at the same time, they joined the SAS together in 1982, just before the Falklands War. Kivel was twenty-three, already an NCO, Sir John was a bit older, twenty-six, and a captain. He was promoted to major four years later, aged thirty, young for the rank, in peacetime anyway.
‘Wherever Sir John went, he made sure Kivel did too. The SAS is for elite soldiers, everybody knows that. But apparently Kivel and Fairbrother stood out, even in that company, as shit hot. Tough as old boots, the pair of ’em. They specialised in undercover operations, the least said about the better, which often even other SAS men wouldn’t touch. They quit together too, when Sir John left to take over Fairbrother International, and Kivel’s been in Sir John’s employ ever since. Or he was until a year ago … you know that though, boss.’
‘Yes, but maybe his alleged sacking was camouflage,’ volunteered Saslow, who had returned from briefing Polly Jenkins. ‘Looks like it now, doesn’t it? Kivel was always Fairbrother’s man, and George Grey was hired to take the fall. How’s that for a theory?’
‘It would be a better one if Sir John wasn’t dead,’ commented Micky Palmer.
‘Yes, it would, wouldn’t it,’ responded Vogel. ‘Excuse me a moment. I have a couple of calls to make.’
The first call was to Karen Crow.
The pathologist answered at once. ‘Don’t you ever stop working, Vogel?’ she remarked by way of greeting.
‘Not when I have four murders to solve,’ replied Vogel. ‘Look, you told me you’d formally identified Sir John through his dental records, right?’
‘Yes. There wasn’t enough left of the poor bastard to effectively test for DNA. Not unusual with fire victims, as you know.’
‘But just as indisputable, isn’t that so?’
‘Absolutely. Yes.’
‘OK. All the same, I wouldn’t mind a word with his dentist. Do you have his details handy? A mobile number would be good if you’ve got one. I’d like to talk to him right now, if I can.’
‘Would you indeed? What are you up to, Vogel?’
‘Karen, I’m in a hurry.’
‘All right, all right, I’m pretty sure he called me back from his mobile when I originally contacted him, so it should be in my phone. I’ll text you.’
Two minutes later Vogel was speaking to a rather surprised Mark Rowland, Sir John Fairbrother’s Exeter-based dentist, who confirmed that he had seen Sir John just three weeks before his death, and that he had been able to supply a full set of dental records to Karen Crow.
‘His teeth were in a very bad state,’ said Rowland. ‘He was in the advanced stages of Parkinson’s, which can have an extremely damaging effect on a patient’s teeth. We’re not entirely sure whether it’s the drugs or the disease which does the most damage. Several of Sir John’s teeth were crumbling away, and he was suffering quite severe pain. To be honest, there wasn’t a lot that could be done. I just tried to make him as comfortable as possible.’
‘I don’t suppose there could be any doubt about these records, could there, Mr Rowland?’ asked Vogel.
‘Doubt? Certainly not. I’d completed the usual charts, and there were also X-rays.’ The dentist paused. ‘Are you suggesting this surgery may have made some sort of mistake, Mr Vogel?’ he asked sharply.
‘No, no, of course not,’ replied Vogel, quickly changing tack. ‘I just wondered, how long had Sir John been your patient?’
‘Oh, not long. Nine or ten months, I think. If that. I understood he had used a London dentist until he became ill. If you want the exact date he registered with us, my receptionist could check for you in the morning—’
‘No, that won’t be necessary, Mr Rowland,’ interrupted Vogel. ‘One more thing, though, had you ever met Sir John Fairbrother before he became your patient?’
‘No. Never.’
Vogel leaned back in his chair. He was following a train of thought which was surely far too wild to seriously consider. Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to stop until he had fully explored it.
He called up the records of data so far gathered, including interviews made by the team temporarily based at Wellington police station, both door-to-door locally and with any persons of interest who may have been in contact with either Sir John or his nurse Sophia Santos.
An interview with Santos’ sister in the Philippines, conducted by local police, ascertained that Sophia had reported that the demands made of her, particularly in terms of working hours, were exceptionally high. But she had taken the post because the salary offered had also been exceptionally high, apparently two to three times what the nurse would have expected in the UK
. In addition, there was promise of a bonus, to be paid after Sir John’s death, on condition that she continued to care for him until that eventuality.
Santos had, of course, been the only live-in nurse, assisted by Janice Grey. Three agency nurses who had been occasionally employed, were also interviewed. Each gave an almost identical account. They had been called only to work night shift, and Sir John, on high levels of medication, had been asleep most of the time and uncommunicative for the rest.
Paul Preston Evans, the swimming pool man DC Dawson had told Vogel about, had been interviewed as it seemed he’d been one of the last people, outside of those directly caring for Sir John, to see him alive.
Preston Evans had confirmed that he’d caught Sir John unawares in his swimming pool about a month before the fire and been immediately ushered out by Janice Grey.
‘Sir John looked terrible, I was quite shocked by his appearance,’ Preston Evans had said. ‘He’d always been a strong fit man for his age, and I couldn’t believe how he’d deteriorated. It was as if he’d shrunk. And he looked so weak. A shadow of his former self.’
The interviewing DC had then asked how long it had been since Paul Preston Evans had previously seen Sir John.
‘Oh, it was months, maybe a year, I suppose,’ said Preston Evans.
And yes, he confirmed, Sir John had then looked perfectly well and the same as always.
Vogel recalled that Sir John had been treated privately by Bristol neurologist James Timson, a Parkinson’s specialist, who had also been interviewed early in the proceedings. Vogel called up the interview. It seemed that Sir John’s condition had at first improved slightly under the care of Mr Timson, and his estimated life expectancy had increased accordingly.
The neurologist was unsure exactly how long his patient had suffered from the disease. Then came the information Vogel was looking for. It seemed that Mr Timson had only treated Sir John Fairbrother for about eleven months, and had not seen any earlier medical records.
Wheel of Fire Page 26
