by Ian Robinson
‘They were a mix of breeds. None were Abyssinian though… from the little research I conducted on cats in general,’ JJ said.
‘Conduct the enquiry anyway, and let’s establish where and when these cats were purchased. Maybe... just maybe, Kamal has advertised having cats of any breed for sale on Gumtree or Preloved and used his business as a point of contact for people to visit him,’ said Nash.
‘Do you have a cat, ma’am?’ Sagona spoke up from the depths of the room.
‘Why do you ask, George? Don’t tell me you breed the things too?’ she asked.
‘No, I hate them. I was confused as to how your number entered the investigation, and we seem to have skirted around this.’ He sat back and placed his interlocked fingers on his mountain for a gut.
Nash imagined an empty room save for her and George, where she’d take a swing to eradicate the smart-lipped grimace he’d developed having asked the question. She hadn’t forgotten about her number. She needed to shut a few doors before she could open the one that would resolve that issue.
Nash waited for the voices that had surfaced to diminish beyond an echo.
‘I’m as keen as you all are to nip that in the bud,’ she said. ‘Background enquiries are being conducted to ascertain how my number appeared on each of the victims’ call data. I can only reiterate that I haven’t had any contact with the victims. I’m determined to answer your question as much as you’re determined to get an answer. Until then, we conduct all the new actions I’ve allocated. George will disseminate these after this meeting. They will concentrate on Kamal Ramiz. We now have three victims. Let’s not come back here with a fourth.’
Nash stepped back from the table and, with a fleeting glance around the room, left for her office and the chance to call the DI to arrange the surveillance, and to give herself five minutes alone to interrogate her mind about the unhelpful thorn in her side – the link between her covert telephone number and the victims of murder.
As she entered her office she was conscious of a shadow that wasn’t hers. She turned to see Clarke about to knock and she beckoned her in. Clarke sat in the comfy seat as she removed her headphones. Nash waited the customary period of time she normally did before she’d turn her attention to Clarke.
‘So, how can I help you? You did a great job with the presentation and I’ve made a note for DS Matthews to add it to your annual appraisal,’ said Nash.
Clarke stared at the floor, her cheeks flushed.
‘I didn’t include everything as I wanted to speak to you first. I would’ve spoken to DS Moretti but he said he was too busy. He always says that whenever I ask him anything, and I know he isn’t as he disappears into the filing room and doesn’t come out for at least thirty minutes, and never carries a file.’
She paused, then continued, ‘When I was looking into the crime reports on the computer, nothing was showing up, but then I found a dispatch report that related to an abandoned call traced to Melissa’s flat three months ago. I followed it up with the officer who’d attended. She explained that it was a strange call. The officer said the occupier gave her name as Melissa Phelps and said everything was all right and she’d dialled by mistake. The officer told me there was something the occupier was holding back. She tried to press her for the reason for the call, but then left as she couldn’t stay any longer. It’s bothered me, as Melissa appeared very much in control of all other aspects of her life from what I’ve found. I think a detective needs to follow it up, not with Melissa, obviously, but with her parents or work.’
As Clarke finished speaking, Nash saw Moretti drift past her door. On the way to the filing room no doubt, she thought.
‘Nick,’ Nash shouted.
Moretti stuck his head around the frame of the door. ‘Yes, did you call my name?’
‘I did. Can you contact the parents of Melissa and ask them how she was about three months ago? Had she been in contact, or talked about anything that was troubling her? I’m going to meet with the DI from the HTF, so update me as soon as you’ve made contact.’
Nash thanked Clarke and stood up. Clarke did the same and they both left her office and went their separate ways.
Nash found the DI for the HTF in his office. His dark beard neatly groomed to complement the slickness of his handmade suit. She coughed and he looked up.
‘Pippa, a sight for tired eyes, come on in,’ he said.
He stopped the work he was engaged in.
‘How’s tricks?’ he asked, as he pointed at a freshly percolated coffee pot he’d lifted from the heated base it inhabited.
Nash nodded at the mug and he filled two. He handed her the cleanest one and she sat opposite him as she placed her mug on a small low coffee table.
‘I need your team for some lifestyle work on a potential subject in my murder investigations,’ Nash said. She came to the point without being blunt. She could see he was busy.
‘I’d love to help, Pip, but they’re all assigned on another manhunt and I can’t pull them away. If I could, I would. You know that,’ he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
Adam Sharpe was his name. Sharpe with an ‘e’ and his mind matched his surname. Nash was on the same DI course as him and they’d got on exceptionally well. She was glad when they’d both been posted to the Homicide Command and had hoped they’d see more of each other outside of work, but their roles were such that death didn’t stop to make things easier for them.
‘Why don’t we do it?’ Sharpe said.
Nash mused on the proposition. She wasn’t an ideal candidate for surveillance as Kamal knew her by sight, but he didn’t know Sharpe and right now she was running out of options. She needed Moretti at the helm while she kept the plates in the air.
‘Very well. I drive and you observe. Let’s see where it takes us. What time are you free?’ she asked.
‘Get all the written authorities in place and call me. Give me what you have on the target and we’ll use one of my cars,’ Sharpe said, lifting his mug in salute.
Nash got up and as she wandered back to her office, she stopped off at the filing room and entered. Moretti was sat reading a magazine. His eyes as wide as his mouth, as though he was blowing out a smoke ring.
‘This all looks very comfortable, Detective Sergeant. Any pastries on offer or were you about to leave the office on the action I’d requested and bring some back once you’d made the call to the parents?’ she enquired as she leaned against the steel cabinets.
‘I’ve put the call in. It went straight to answer machine, but I left a message for them to call me back as soon as they can,’ he blustered, as he searched for where to place his magazine, and settled for chucking it under his seat.
‘Nice space you’ve got here,’ Nash remarked as she surveyed Moretti’s lair.
‘Look, Pip – ma’am…’
‘Relax. I’m not here for a fight. I don’t blame you seeking solace at times. I have my own space too as it goes.’
‘Oh yeah, where’s that then?’
‘I’m not telling you. I’d turn up to find half your shit moved in,’ she said as she turned and left him to it.
Before the door closed, she looked back. ‘I’m going out with DI Sharpe, so hold the fort. Call me when you hear from Melissa’s parents,’ she said.
Moretti jumped up and grabbed the door before it shut.
‘Do I not get an invite or is it not work-related?’ he asked, his mouth now downturned at the edges as though his mother had scolded him.
‘It’s work, and no, you don’t get to come out to play. I need you here. Ensure the actions from the last scene get allocated and followed up. I’m on the phone should you need me, and stay out of that room. I need you where you can be contacted.’
With that she smiled and waved, and entered the main incident room. She found a detective on the Intelligence Desk and tasked her to write up the surveillance authority and send it back to her to get authorised. Nash would speak to her DCI in the meantime and, provided he
was winning at whatever course he was on, he’d happily sign off the authorities for her and Sharpe to start their surveillance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sharpe parked away from Kamal’s home address but kept them within a safe distance so they could observe the front of Kamal’s property. It was a modest semi in a residential London street. Nash had called Harris who’d informed her that Kamal wasn’t at the phone shop. He’d offered to put a call in to Kamal to try and establish where he was, but she’d declined the offer. Nash preferred to keep Harris out of this hunt, for now. They’d taken a gamble that Kamal would be at the address they’d established was his home. The street was serene for the time of day.
Trees lined the edge of the pavement like a parade of skeletons who sought new skin. Nash gathered her coat around her neck and pulled up a plain grey scarf over her chin. She sunk deeper into the leather passenger seat of Sharpe’s fleet vehicle. An Audi estate with blacked-out rear windows.
He’d killed the engine and sat back as he comfortably glanced over at Kamal’s front garden.
Research had established nothing of concern. A satellite image revealed an alleyway that ran behind the houses and the gardens at the back.
Kamal could choose to leave that way and if he did, they’d miss him. Sharpe turned to Nash who looked as though she was being devoured by the seat.
‘Cold?’ Sharpe enquired.
‘You’re not a DI for nothing, are you,’ she replied, as she blew into her hands. The vapour from her breath filled the space in front of her and briefly misted the windscreen.
‘How come you aren’t?’ she asked.
‘Heated seat. Same as you, but you haven’t bothered to activate it,’ he said with a show of perfect teeth.
Nash shuffled to upright as she leaned forwards and ran her index finger along the base of the dashboard until she found the button for her seat. She pressed it three times and sat back and waited for the warmth to radiate through.
Sharpe chuckled to himself as he clapped his hands together and moved them as though he was starting a fire using rubbed sticks.
‘Do you think he’s in?’ Nash asked.
‘My guess is as good as yours. There’s no vehicle outside and from the reports on our systems, he doesn’t have access to a car. I do find that difficult to believe though,’ Sharpe said.
Sharpe nodded in the direction of the front window. A curtain moved. All the windows were closed. It was a pet or a person. It could also mean Kamal had left by the backdoor and a gust of air had moved them.
As Nash and Sharpe watched the front door to Kamal’s house, the sound of an engine disrupted their attention. They both turned to look to their right. The engine sounded like it needed a good tune-up, as the car rolled stealthily over the tarmac towards the junction where Nash and Sharpe were parked. Sharpe reached forwards, and his index finger hovered over the ignition button. The vehicle crawled opposite Kamal’s address and stopped. Plumes of exhaust smoke continued to emit from the rear of the car.
‘I hope this isn’t a hit,’ Sharpe mumbled into his chest.
Nash dropped the internal visor as though she was going to apply makeup and continued to observe. She looked up into the vanity mirror and hovered a used lip gloss over her lips. She rarely wore makeup and tended to carry anything of that nature for this purpose only.
They remained as unobtrusive as they could. The attention of the distant vehicle’s occupants was directed towards the front door to Kamal’s house. A door that was now open. Nash recognised Vesa. He looked left and right before he stepped out of the house and sauntered towards the car. The meet was swift. Nash and Sharpe recognised the hand actions indicative of an exchange masked as a greeting. Vesa was back inside in a flash, and the car drove away leaving a fog in its wake. Nash noted the index plate of the vehicle and was already on her mobile making a call to her inside team to check the index on the Police National Computer. The response was swift – no registered keeper. Nash held the screen of her phone low as she showed Sharpe the reply.
No sooner had the vehicle left than another arrived. The driver displayed the same clandestine tactics as the previous one. Vesa appeared at the door, moved his head in the same way, then, once he was satisfied his path was clear, he approached the vehicle with the same casual air as before. This time Sharpe was on his phone and leaned down as he spoke. He knew many of the borough crime squad DSs well. He spoke with an assured confidence as he conveyed exactly what he required to the person at the end of the line. Once Vesa was back inside, he sat back up.
‘That was Barney Coles. He’s a DS on a crime squad that covers this area. He’s got a team out at the moment and they’re close by. If he sees the car, they’ll stop it and turn it over. Let’s see if we can flush out what Vesa is so keen to offload. May as well, as my gut tells me Kamal isn’t in,’ Sharpe said.
There were no other cars after the last one.
Nash wasn’t impressed.
‘This is my operation. As much as I appreciate the help, you’re my driver for this outing and I will take all the operational decisions, Adam,’ Nash said.
Sharpe raised his hands from the steering wheel.
‘You’re right, Pip, I’m sorry. I got carried away. I’m so used to taking the lead. I can’t promise it won’t happen again though. If my gut reacts, I don’t ignore it, but I will talk before taking action,’ he replied, his face now relaxed.
Nash maintained her gaze on his.
‘Good,’ she said, as they returned their attention to the job in hand.
Ten minutes passed. Sharpe’s phone vibrated. It was his contact, Coles.
‘We’ve stopped the car,’ Coles said.
‘Go on,’ replied Sharpe, keen to know the result. No matter how big or small the target of the surveillance, he loved a result. It justified the work he was deployed on, and the authorised level of collateral intrusion in the public’s life that was unavoidable. ‘Don’t leave me in suspense, what did you find?’
Sharpe turned the phone onto speaker so Nash could hear.
Sharpe waited. He could hear Coles was still connected as a rustle of clothing could be heard, then his voice was clear.
‘Sorry, I was getting back into my car before I explained more,’ he offered. ‘The driver had a wedge of SIM cards on him. All of them clean-looking. I would say they are cloned.’
Sharpe thanked him and looked at Nash.
‘Lift him,’ she said.
Coles was happy to oblige as his job had gone quiet and his team were bored.
Nash leaned away from Sharpe. He noticed her face had taken on a pallid appearance. Her once bright eyes appeared dull and she blinked as though caught in a blizzard.
‘Everything all right?’ Sharpe asked as he set his mobile back in the charging cradle.
‘He’s certain they were SIM cards?’
She’d heard Sharpe’s contact as clearly as he had, but her brain buzzed and wouldn’t relax until she’d had it confirmed.
‘Yeah, you heard him yourself, and there’s no mistaking what a SIM card looks like. Why, what’s the problem? I appreciate it isn’t exactly the most exciting discovery but hey, needs must,’ he replied. Sharpe spoke evenly and with an air of empathy.
‘Let’s go,’ Nash said as she drew the seatbelt across her chest and clicked it home.
Sharpe shrugged and pressed the ignition. The engine sparked to life and they moved away from their spot.
‘Are you going to share with me the sudden change of heart?’ Sharpe asked as he palmed the steering wheel and steadied their course. He was quite happy to call it quits.
Nash rummaged in her bag that she’d dumped in her footwell. As she placed the bag on her knees, her feet felt the benefit of the car’s heater. She produced the phone she used to communicate with DS Harris.
‘I can’t say too much, but this outing has been very beneficial, thanks,’ she said.
Sharpe remained silent.
She placed the UC phone
back in her bag. DS Harris didn’t need to know this aspect of her investigation, yet.
‘So, where to now? Office, or do you have anywhere else I can drop you?’ Sharpe said.
‘The office would be great. I’ll need to get my team together,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the help.’
‘Anytime,’ Sharpe replied.
They drove back in silence save for a few stilted conversations about nothing in particular, job politics and recent over-promotions. Once they were back at Hendon, Sharpe dropped Nash outside the gates and left. Nash walked across the parade square and back to her office. As she walked, she noticed the light in her own office was on.
* * *
As Nash entered her domain, Moretti looked up from her computer screen. He brushed crumbs of biscuit from her keyboard.
‘I’ll be out of your hair in just a minute,’ he said.
Nash’s glare was enough to tell him his actions weren’t appreciated.
‘No rush. I have something I need to run by you, so I’ll get us a couple of coffees while you run the hoover over my floor,’ she said.
The coffee made, they sat in her comfy chairs. The hoover hadn’t been located but Nash wasn’t as concerned about office hygiene as she’d made out.
‘Any news from Melissa’s parents?’ Nash asked.
‘Yes, but you go first. How was the surveillance? Any result?’ Moretti replied.
Nash let the seat take the strain and brought her mug with her.
‘We had a great result as it happens,’ she offered.
‘Wow! That’s a shock. I thought it would be the usual; no show and what a waste of time that was,’ Moretti said.
‘A car turned up. Vesa was seen to conduct an exchange. Sharpe had the car stopped away from the area. The driver was searched. He had a collection of SIM cards on him, all appeared to be cloned.’
