‘Of course. She was obviously in a total fizz when she came out and I just happened to be the first person she met. It gave me pause for thought though.’
‘Maybe she was under stress for some personal reason.’
‘That’s what I thought at first. But I asked inside the room when the talk was over. Apparently, she and the speaker had disagreed about some aspect of migrant policy. It had all been courteous, and she’d behaved exactly as Alice has just described, full of empathy and understanding. But it made me wonder if that was all just a mask, and a very different person lurked underneath the surface. She’d held that mask in place until she got through the door, then let it slip. Of course, I might be totally wrong in this. But after she’d gone, the young woman staff member who helped her gather her papers rolled her eyes and said, “typical of her.” What I’m saying is that if my interpretation was right, she isn’t all sweetness and light. There’s a more complex person hidden underneath. She has enough of a temper to make some significant enemies.’
Sophie glanced at her watch as she left the charity office. She was tired and still had to face the long drive back to Dorset. But her hasty visit had been worth it. A simple phone call to Alice would have picked up on her impression of Corinne but not Alan’s, and the latter had been the more insightful.
* * *
That evening, Sophie phoned Paul Baker from home and asked for the latest news, if any, on the investigation into Corinne’s abduction. He was able to supply some additional information. The black BMW, with Corinne inside, had driven some distance northwards on the M1, but had subsequently been identified heading back south sometime later. All trace was then lost until it turned up as a burned-out wreck.
‘It could have gone as far north as Luton or Milton Keynes, but one or two witness observations might have it located as heading towards the Chilterns at one point. We can’t be sure, though. We have a number of search teams in that area just in case.’
‘Okay, thanks. Listen, I’ve been trying to put together a picture of Corinne and what she was like. You’ll have spoken to her work colleagues and her neighbours. So, tell me, what did they think of her?’
‘Why are you doing this? It isn’t in your remit, surely?’
‘Paul, don’t you think I know that? I’m treading on eggshells here. I’ve talked to a couple of people who met her, way back in the past. She was calm, understanding, empathic. Is that what you’ve discovered?’
The pause was slightly longer than normal. ‘Yes, broadly. She was very controlled, always rather guarded. Most people appeared to think a lot of her.’
‘Do I hear a but coming?’
‘Not really. A few people said it was difficult to get below the surface.’
‘Did anyone say that she had a temper or showed intolerance?’
‘Well, yes. One or two people who happened to run into her unexpectedly, but they were a bit vague about it.’
‘That fits in with what I’ve been told. Someone speculated that if she ever let her guard down, she could have made enemies. I can give you my contact’s details if you want. He suggested that might provide a motive for her kidnapping.’
‘You don’t really think that, do you?’
She laughed. ‘No. Not really. Maybe something else, but not kidnapping. Let’s face it, it’s got to be linked to the rest of the case.’
* * *
Later in the evening, Sophie was relaxing in the lounge, her head against Martin’s shoulder and somewhat unsuccessfully trying not to nod off in front of a TV drama. The trill of her mobile phone made her jump.
‘Hello, Paul.’
‘She’s turned up. Corinne Lanston. Dirty, confused, bedraggled and injured. Apparently, she’s been wandering about for hours in the Chilterns woodland after managing to escape this afternoon.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘In hospital, under sedation. Her injuries are only superficial, though the medics don’t think she’s had much to eat for days. Steve hopes to be able to talk to her tomorrow or Sunday. She could be discharged in a couple of days if the tests are positive, so we’ll try to get her in for a full debrief next week, maybe Monday or Tuesday. Do you want to be there as an observer?’
‘Don’t I just.’
Chapter 29: Worried Politicians
Saturday morning
Barry had spent several days following up possible links with the murders in Normandy. He’d stayed in touch with the local police there and had received a number of reports from Natalie Bouchet, his counterpart in the French police. CCTV footage had recorded a large dark blue BMW with UK plates driving onto the ferry from Portsmouth to Cherbourg on the previous Saturday night, but the occupants had remained largely out of sight while on the ferry. Natalie told him that several witnesses had noticed a similar vehicle in the area of the murders on the Sunday evening, with what looked to be a man and woman inside. They were both wearing brimmed hats, scarves and sunglasses, so it was difficult to obtain any precise details about them. Maybe middle-aged? Maybe she had fair hair? It was impossible to be sure on either count. They didn’t seem to have returned on the same ferry route, not yet anyway. No vehicle with the same plates had shown up on the ferry’s booking system.
Natalie wondered if they could have returned via a different route as a precaution, so she and Barry had checked the other ferry service, via Le Havre. Sure enough, there was a record for the vehicle, and the CCTV images showed the same couple as on the outward journey to Cherbourg.
The names, of course, had been false. The vehicle had been hired from a Portsmouth agency, and the name used was Charmaine Cookson. A dead end, possibly. But the shadowy figures each had a driving license and passport. Were they false, and if so, how had they managed that? The hire vehicle in question had been taken in for close examination, but it held no useable forensic traces. These people knew what they were doing.
Even so, Barry was moderately pleased. Several days of intense activity had paid off, at least in one respect. He felt that the investigation was yielding small but significant results, and they were beginning to gain an understanding of how these people operated. He looked at his watch. About now Gwen, his partner, should be interviewing Peter Zelinski with her boss. Maybe more would come out of it. Zelinski was the most senior person left from the secret security unit, although that might change given the latest news about Corinne Lanston’s escape. Surely that would result in some useful information?
* * *
Gwen was unimpressed by Zelinski’s continued distant, almost uncooperative manner, although he had clearly been shaken by the report of his boss’s abduction and asked for news of her.
‘She’s been found,’ Jack Dunning said. ‘So far, all we know is that she managed to escape from her captors yesterday afternoon. She’s currently in hospital but doesn’t seem to have any serious injuries. We’ll learn more in a few days.’
Zelinski gave a sigh of relief and visibly relaxed. It was almost as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, which probably reflected reality. Gwen wondered if they might now get more out of him, but it quickly became apparent that the opposite was the case.
‘Corinne might be better placed to answer that,’ became the stock answer to any question about the personnel and decisions made inside the security unit.
‘We think your house had an intruder a couple of nights ago,’ Jack said.
Zelinski stiffened. ‘What?’
‘One of your neighbours reported seeing a flickering light in your back room, as if someone with a torch was inside. The police were called but nothing seemed amiss. There were no signs of a break-in, but the neighbour was adamant that he’d seen it.’ Jack consulted his notebook. ‘A Mr Cassidy? Could that be right?’
Zelinski nodded, frowning. ‘That would be right. The window in the back room looks out onto the garden, but it has a small side window, facing across the drive to his house. But why would anyone be there?’
Jack was exasperated.
‘Get real, Peter. Hasn’t it clicked with you yet? This is a ruthless group of people we’re dealing with here. They’re tidying up the loose ends and eliminating anyone who might finger them. It’s a good job we insisted on moving you out. I’ll go so far as to say you may well owe your life to us. Come on. You must know something.’
‘But I don’t, that’s the thing. I don’t really know any of the details about the smuggling operation. That was Corinne and Louise. I’m an operations person, dealing with the practical side of things.’
Gwen almost held her breath. This was the first time he’d opened up about the roles within the unit.
‘Could you elaborate?’ Jack asked.
‘Corinne’s ferociously well organised. She kept an eye on everything and ran the lot, but it was almost getting to be too much for her. Louise was meant to just deal with the administration but started doing more in-depth work. She was struggling.’
‘Why was she moved into that safe house? Come on, Peter. We need to know.’
‘She received a death threat, a text message from a mobile that we couldn’t identify. It said she’d regret it if she talked. Then she got knocked about by someone as she arrived home one night. It was very suspicious but there was no clue as to who it was or why it happened. Corinne was worried and decided to play safe. That’s why she moved her.’
At last they were getting to the bottom of Louise’s back story.
‘But they still found her, didn’t they? How could that have happened?’
Zelinski looked bemused, almost panic-stricken. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. Don’t you think I’ve asked myself that a thousand times?’
‘What about the first victim, Robert Bunting? Were you overseeing him?’
‘Not really. I think Louise had taken him on.’
* * *
Sophie was in London, in Whitehall. To be more precise, she was in the office of the Junior Immigration Minister, Ken Burke, along with Paul Baker and Steve Lamb. Also present was the minister’s Parliamentary Private Secretary, Yauvani Anand. Sophie was present at the invitation of Paul, the AC, who wanted her insight into the Dorset crimes.
‘Mad’ Ken Burke cut an imposing figure on TV but was less so in the flesh. He had heavy jowls, a blotchy complexion, thinning hair and he wheezed, sounding slightly asthmatic. His clothes were crumpled. A man well past his prime, Sophie thought, living on past rabble-rousing successes.
‘I must offer my congratulations, Assistant Commissioner, on finding Corinne alive.’ He spoke in a theatrical growl. That explains a lot, Sophie thought — a Churchill complex. Too many second-rate politicians thought, mistakenly, that emulating the great man was an easy route to success. He rumbled on. ‘I was beginning to think time was running out, but I should never have doubted you and your people.’
‘Thank you. But I’m not sure that our efforts had much to do with it. She managed to escape by her own efforts. She’s a resourceful woman.’
‘Yes, she is. Which is why she’s in the position she is.’
‘I’m still not sure of the setup of this security unit of yours, nor its raison d’être, Minister. Would you care to enlighten us?’
‘Well, ah, I’m not sure it’s necessary, not now Corinne’s safe.’ Burke was beginning to bluster.
‘Oh, but it is. We have three murders to clear up in the West Country, which is why Detective Superintendent Allen is here. Plus, two murders across the Channel in Normandy, in which she’s liaising with the French police. Add to that Corinne’s abduction, several break-ins and the tragic deaths of those poor people on the boat last week. To put it bluntly, Minister, we at New Scotland Yard need to know what’s going on.’
Ken Burke was watching the AC through narrowed eyes. The silence that followed his words was broken by the silky tones of his PPS. As always, Yauvani Anand looked immaculate. A maroon wraparound dress showed off her figure to perfection and matched the colour of her shoes exactly. Her black hair shone and her skin glowed.
‘Shall I explain, Minister?’ she said, not waiting for his reply. ‘It was thought that we needed a small intelligence unit of our own, with the specific task of monitoring the activity of the gangs who smuggle migrants into the country illegally. Highly focussed on that one task and reporting directly to the minister and me.’
Sophie couldn’t help but interrupt. ‘But you’re a PPS, Ms Anand. You have no direct political responsibility, surely. Or has that code changed? Am I being naïve?’
‘No, of course you’re not. You are technically correct, but this is such a serious crisis that I’m happy to help the minister in any way I can. It is not actually outside the PPS’s remit.’ Yauvani’s tone was smooth. ‘You were on the beach with your chief constable last Saturday, weren’t you?’
Sophie sensed a challenge. ‘That’s right. I’m the SIO for the murders and the migrant deaths.’
‘But not for Corinne’s abduction,’ was the terse reply.
‘No, you’re right. That’s here, with Paul and the Met. But I’m also present today on behalf of Hampshire CID, who are looking into Louise Bennett’s murder. We’re working jointly.’
Sophie really didn’t want to become embroiled in the female equivalent of a pissing contest, but she wasn’t willing to accept being relegated to a mere observer, not after coming all the way from Dorset to attend this meeting. Anyway, she had a certain amount of admiration for Yauvani, even if she didn’t share her political views. The daughter of a poor Asian family, she was hard-working and ambitious, refused to kowtow to the strict gender roles that many from her own community insisted upon, and she was a role model for young women from poor backgrounds wherever they might be. She was bright and forward-looking but could be abrasive. She was clearly destined for higher things within her party and was tipped for promotion at the next ministerial reshuffle. No, she wasn’t a person to be underestimated or to upset without good reason.
‘I’m only interested in solving these murders. That’s my job,’ Sophie went on, still looking at Yauvani. ‘I have to get under the skin of the people involved, the victims, the perpetrators and those who are connected to them. I think the two murders in Dorset might revolve around Louise Bennett, who worked for your unit during the last two years or so. I am aware that I could wait until the middle of next week to get answers from Corinne herself, but that could be five days away, which is a long time in an inquiry as pressing as this. Things are changing by the day, even by the hour, so anything you can tell us about the operation of this security unit and the personnel within it would be very helpful.’
‘There has to be a mole,’ Paul added. ‘Someone has been giving information to the traffickers and they’ve been acting on the tip-offs. Ruthlessly. So, let me get this right. The plan was to establish contact with gang members who were perceived as weak links, then to entice them to break ranks and slip away. They’d be given a new identity and a safe location in exchange for inside information. Is that right, Minister?’
‘Exactly. And it was working so well. We had our first trafficker across here. In Weymouth, I believe. Then it all seemed to go wrong.’
‘Whose idea was it?’
‘The three of us, I think,’ Ken Burke said. He was beginning to look worried.
‘You must understand, it didn’t happen at any one particular time,’ Yauvani added. ‘The idea evolved. We massaged it into a workable plan and Corinne’s job at that point was to put it into practice.’
Sophie frowned in concentration. ‘So, Corinne wasn’t just appointed to run the unit, she was involved at the planning stage? Or even earlier, at its inception?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I take it one stage further? Was it, if truth be told, Corinne’s plan in the first place? Please think back to those initial discussions.’
Burke was showing signs of confusion. Clearly, he couldn’t remember. Either that or he could see the political benefit of shifting the responsibility for the recent fiasco onto someone else, and was weighin
g up the pros and cons. He was saved from the need to decide by his PPS, who broke in once again.
‘Corinne and I were out for a meal together a few years ago, after a Commons debate on the refugee crisis. We were wondering if the scenes in the Mediterranean would ever be repeated in the Channel. It seemed to me at the time to be idle talk over slightly too much wine. I think Corinne saw the future more clearly than I and made the initial suggestion.’
Sophie was genuinely puzzled. ‘You knew Corinne before the unit was set up? Well enough to be out for a meal together?’
‘Oh, yes. We were at the same university. We’ve been friends since those days.’
‘Was she working in the department at that time?’
Yauvani shook her head. ‘Not directly. She was heading up a think tank looking into the politics of migration. She was the ideal person to bring in and head up the unit.’
Sophie sat back and left Paul to ask the rest of the questions. There was just too much to think about.
Chapter 30: Hospital Discharge
It was strange to be saying a last goodbye to this place. Kamal looked around the ward that his mother had occupied for the past few days, since being transferred from intensive care. He and Arshi had visited every day, brought in either by their aunt and uncle or by Rose and George, the police sergeant and her partner. Back in Iran, he’d always been scared of the police and other authority figures. They seemed to wield an arbitrary power, ignoring wrongdoing committed by their own family and friends but tough on other people’s minor misdemeanours. Until they fell out of favour themselves, that was, and then their whole family might be punished. But these two, Rose and George, seemed just like anyone else. They were here today, come to check that all went well during the discharge.
Their mother had lost weight during her stay in hospital. She’d never been a big woman, but now she looked even thinner than usual. Though she managed to smile when she saw them, her eyes were still sad. She was dressed, sitting in a small waiting room, bags at her feet. It took little more than ten minutes to complete the paperwork and then they were ready to leave. Several of the nurses and doctors came out to say goodbye and wish them luck. Kamal was pleased that his mother was joining them in his aunt and uncle’s home, but still he watched everybody and listened to what they said. Most people at home in Iran could be just like this, helpful and friendly. But they were still wary, nervous even. You just never knew. He picked up his mum’s small bag.
Ruthless Crimes Page 18
