Authors: Angie Smith
“Have you still got the film?” Woods asked.
“Yes, I think so, but it’s too distressing for me to
watch. I’ll let you take it away.” She gathered her composure, “Sorry. Gerrard
went straight to the home, showed the film to the owners who immediately
terminated the contract of the man and reported him to the police.”
“Was there a prosecution?”
“No, I think he disappeared back to Poland.”
“How’s Gerrard’s mother?” Barnes asked.
“She died in 2008, but she’d regained some of her
former self after the man left.”
“What about the farmer?” Woods asked.
“At the time we were living at Briestfield in West
Yorkshire. We had a Flat Coat Retriever called Lippy; it was short for
Lipstick, he was a lovely obedient dog. Gerrard told me while he’d been walking
Lippy a car pulled up and two guys got out. It was Stephen Porter the local
farmer, and his farmhand. Porter accused Lippy of worrying his sheep and said
if he saw him on his land again he’d shoot him. Gerrard was incensed and tried
to explain that Lippy was a well-trained, obedient gun-dog, always under
control at heel, but Porter wouldn’t listen and made all sorts of threats. Afterwards,
Gerrard was really upset; he asked me to find out where all the public rights
of way were on Porter’s farmland. Then he regularly walked Lippy along the
paths, particularly the ones with sheep in the fields, just to wind Porter up.
Unfortunately one day while out on Porter’s land Gerrard had a seizure and
collapsed; poor Lippy went crazy trying to attract attention and get help. Porter
mistook Lippy’s actions and shot him. It was only when he went to pick up the
body that he spotted Gerrard and called an ambulance.”
Woods noticed Barnes becoming emotional, so he moved
things along. “What about the chauffeur?”
“After the seizure Gerrard couldn’t drive for twelve
months, so he hired a chauffeur, Rebecca García Ramírez; she was supposedly a
very good driver. Then, a few months later he came to me and out of the blue
said she was blackmailing him, saying she would claim he’d slept with her unless
he paid up. I think she wanted £1m. He said it was a complete fabrication and
told me not to worry because he was sorting it out, but he didn’t want the
accusations to become public knowledge… Anyway, she disappeared and we never
saw or heard from her again. Gerrard told me he’d paid her off and sent her
packing.”
Woods scratched his forehead. “I know this will
probably be painful for you, but could we discuss Gerrard’s accident?”
Pauline took a breath. “You know Gerrard had been
diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was terminally ill?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Woods said, looking
surprised at Barnes, who was shaking her head indicating it was news to her.
“He retired to spend the last few months of his life
relaxing doing the things he enjoyed.” Tears started welling up in her eyes; she
took a tissue out of her pocket. “He’d been a diabetic since the age of ten and
was meticulous with his care, always monitoring his blood sugars, adjusting his
food intake or his medication if necessary. One day while out driving the
Ferrari, he crashed into a stone railway bridge, about forty miles from here; he
was killed instantly. They said he was travelling at over 120mph. The post-mortem
said his blood sugar level was 2.0 — which is hypoglycaemic — and that contributed
to him not having quick enough reactions and poor judgement.” She shook her
head. “I know Gerrard, he would never drive with blood sugar that low; he’d
stop and have glucose. And he never broke the speed limit, or took risks, even
though the car was a supercar. He was an advanced driver; he’d numerous
certificates proving how safe he was. But despite saying all this to the police
and standing up at the inquest, no-one listened.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I thought about appealing the verdict, but decided it wasn’t going to bring him
back.”
“Maria, I think we need to look into this,” Woods
said.
“Superintendent, you’re wasting your time,” Plant
said again.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Woods growled.
“Thank you,” Pauline said. “I’ve always thought there
was more to Gerrard’s death.”
“Pauline,” Woods said tentatively. “Was Gerrard the
sort of person who might pay someone to settle a few old scores?”
She shook her head. “He was more likely to sort
things out himself.”
Friday 25
th
May – Saturday
26
th
May.
Woods slept while Barnes drove
back to Wakefield, and although she was concentrating on driving, she was also
analysing, processing and compartmentalising the information in her mind that
Pauline and Plant had provided. As she crossed the border into West Yorkshire
she formulated her own ideas of who was involved and the reasons behind the
killings, but before she gave her thoughts to Woods she needed additional
evidence. Obtaining this would be her next priority.
As the car jolted to a halt in the car park, Woods
woke.
“Feeling any better?” she asked.
He yawned and stretched out his wiry arms. “Yes
thanks, I needed that. Come on, we must go and update the others.” He got out
of the car and sprinted towards the building.
She ran after him and when they reached the Incident
Room Woods spent half an hour bringing the team up to speed. McLean and Jacobs
duly reported not having uncovered any new leads in their interviews with the
named suspects, but qualified this by saying there were still another forty-six
to contact.
“I’ve got something to show you,” West said. “Come
and take a look at this.”
Both Woods and Barnes went over to her desk and
looked down at the monitor.
“I’ve finally managed to identify the female
passenger in the Volkswagen, the one that visited Cliff Crest on the morning
Broadbent died; but don’t get too excited… It’s a mannequin, dressed to
resemble Dawn Thompson, the vehicle owner’s wife.”
Barnes squinted at the screen. “Who goes to that
much trouble?” she said.
“I’ve watched the footage over and over again, and
finally realised the passenger’s gaze never changes and her eyes never blink.
It’s obvious now. Take a look at these.” West handed over several stills taken
from different points on the footage; all showing the female passenger with
exactly the same pose and expression. “And this is a recent picture of Dawn
Thompson that her husband e-mailed me after I’d spoken to him this morning.”
“You’re right,” Woods said, rubbing his chin. “Well
done, Sharron.”
“I thought it strange, the killer using an
accomplice,” Barnes said. “It would’ve increased the risk, but using a
mannequin dressed as the vehicle owner’s wife must be a first.”
“Where do we go from here?” West asked.
“Right,” Woods spun round to face the others. “Pete
and Chris, carry on interviewing the named suspects. I need you to get through
the list ASAP.”
“At the risk of sounding like Jonathan Plant, I
think we’re wasting time interviewing named suspects,” Barnes said quietly. “In
my view the link is the Creans; think about it, Pauline’s twin sister hanged
herself and Hussain was hanged; Gerrard smashed Mateland’s face into his
windscreen, and Mateland had a drain cover smashed through his windscreen; and
Pauline said Bulmer spent all his time fishing and drinking and he died while
out drinking and fishing.”
“What about Broadbent?” Woods asked.
“I figured you’d say that; but honestly, what could
you do to a sick and dying man, apart from write numerals on the hand that he
used to molest Pauline?”
“I hear what you’re saying, Maria, but if it turns
out one of the named suspects is the killer, then it’s me that ends up with egg
on my face; I want the interviews completed.”
Barnes’ expression conveyed she was unconvinced, but
Woods continued speaking to her. “Can you start checking out the Creans? I’d
like to know everything about them: who they associated with, what they did or,
in Pauline’s case, does, and I’d like Pauline’s telephones tapped. I also want
to know who she’s been in contact with over the past six months; and take a
close look at what’s known about Gerrard’s death. I’ll sort out the warrant.”
Bingo
Barnes thought. “No problem, I’m
on it,” she said smiling.
“Sharron, I need you to find Stephen Porter, Rebecca
Ramírez, Mark Gilroy and the care worker who maltreated Gerrard’s mother. Oh,
and I nearly forgot,” Woods said, reaching in his pocket and fishing out the
DVD that Pauline had given him. “We need to view this.”
West immediately loaded the disc in her computer and
the others gathered round. After ten gruelling minutes Woods spoke, “I think
I’ve seen enough; you can turn it off, Sharron.”
“What would you do if someone did that to your
mother?” Barnes asked looking straight at Woods.
“The same as Gerrard, report it to the police.” He
turned to West, “Sharron, dig out the police file, and let’s see what’s in it.”
“What are you doing?” Barnes asked matter-of-factly.
Woods raised his eyebrows. “You’re pushing your luck
again; if you must know, after I’ve seen Foster and sorted out the warrant, I’m
going to check out Plant.”
“I was asking purely out of my own interest,” Barnes
replied indignantly. “pushing luck had nothing to do with it.”
Woods ran up two floors and into
the lobby outside Foster’s office. He looked through the door’s vision panel.
Damn
,
he thought, noticing there was someone with Foster. He turned away, but Foster
spotted him and shouted, “Come in, Greg.”
“That’s good timing,” Foster said as Woods entered.
“I was just going to telephone you and ask you to come up. Can I introduce you
to Detective Inspector Hilton Dudley?”
“Nice to meet you,” Woods said, appraising the
Inspector while shaking his hand. He noted Dudley was smartly dressed in a
clean cut, dark grey suit, crisp white shirt and crimson necktie in a Half Windsor
knot. His shoes, which were worn over scarlet red socks, were highly polished
black brogues. Woods thought he might have just come straight from being fitted
out in Savile Row.
“I’m assigning Hilton to your team. I thought the
extra pair of hands would come in useful.”
Woods breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, we’re
struggling with the volume of work and the investigation’s expanding all the
time. Additional help is exactly what we need.” He rounded on Dudley. “Where
have you been working?”
“I am originally from Greenwich,” Dudley replied in
a public school accent. “I’ve been on special operations with the Met, but they
have been scaled down and I was offered up to West Yorkshire. Now I’m here at
your disposal, and happy to help in any way I can.”
“Great, it’s good to have you on board.” Woods
looked at Foster. “I need to have a quick word with you.” he said, his tone
indicating he wanted the discussion to be private.
“Okay. Hilton, go grab a drink from the canteen and
Greg will take you to meet the team when he’s finished here with me.”
Dudley left the room.
“He seems like a good guy,” Woods said. “Bit posh
for up here though; go to Eton did we?”
“Foster rolled his eyes. “Give him a chance.”
Woods grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Would I do
anything other?” He then updated Foster on the investigation and made sure he
had his approval for the formal request of a warrant, which would be required
to tap Pauline Crean’s phones. He also raised his concerns about Plant. “I’m
going to start checking him out,” he said. “I don’t believe for one second he
works for the Diplomatic Service and I want to know who he is and what he’s
holding back. He’s cocky, confident, and even more self-assured than me.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Foster said.
Woods sniggered, “Very funny.”
“A word of warning; if he works for the Secret
Intelligence Service you’ll not be able to uncover much about him; it’ll be
classified and out of bounds.”
Woods nodded, “I know. He’s given me a number I can
ring, so I’ll start there.”
As if prompted by the discussion, Foster’s phone
rang. Woods sat back and watched as he answered it; he knew by his tone and
language it was someone important.
Foster replaced the receiver. “As of now, you’ve to
stop all investigations into Jonathan Plant. Any information you currently hold
has to be destroyed and or deleted off the system.”
“On whose orders?” Woods asked, infuriated.
“That was the Chief Constable; your guess is as good
as mine as to where he took his orders from.”
“I was right; he must work for the security services.
And he definitely knows something; if it turns out they withheld information it
won’t be us that has some explaining to do.”
“Maybe we need to heed his advice and start
protecting those who might be in danger,” Foster suggested.
“We’re tracing them as we speak and Plant’s
organising protection for Pauline. If you can justify funding 24/7 protection
of four potential victims, I’m happy to comply.”
“Let me speak to the Chief Constable; I’ll come back
to you. In the meantime interview them and see what light they can throw on any
of this.”
The Incident Room fell silent
when Woods returned with Hilton Dudley standing at his side. It was late
afternoon, and everyone appeared friendly and welcoming as Woods went round the
office introducing the new detective.
Woods informed them about the order to stop all
investigations into Plant, which was met with puzzlement and dismay,
particularly from Barnes, and as soon as Woods returned to his office she was
knocking on his door. He motioned for her to enter.
“Do you know anything else about Inspector Dudley?”
she asked.
“Nothing, other than what I’ve told you. Why?”
“When you were introducing him his eyes were all
over the room, checking every minute detail, flicking from desk to desk.”
“He was only checking out where he was going to be
working.”
“Believe me, he was more than innocently checking
out where he’d be working.”
“Maria,” Woods said scowling. “Don’t you think
you’re being a little paranoid? And before you say anything, I already know the
definition of paranoia.”
She was deadpan. “There’s something strange going on
here; on the very day we’re told to drop all investigations on Plant some posh
southern guy arrives in a flash suit to help with the investigation. Come on,
there’s got to be more to this.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
They were interrupted by West knocking on the door. Woods
waved her in.
“There’s never been a police investigation into a
care worker at Lakeside Residential Home,” she said. “I’ve also checked with
the current owners, who have talked to the longest serving staff and they say
they can’t ever remember anyone being sacked, or any trouble concerning the
care of residents.”
“What about the owners who were there at the time?
Perhaps it was kept quiet and the police weren’t involved,” Woods proposed.
“I’m trying to contact them, but they appear to move
house fairly regularly and I haven’t managed to track them down yet.”
“When you do, ask Hilton to go out and see them.”
“I’m also having trouble finding Rebecca Ramírez;
she appears to have fallen off the face of the earth. Could Hilton help there?”
“Yes. Have you found Stephen Porter?”
“Yep, he’s still living on the same farm, but Mark
Gilroy is another one who’s proving difficult to trace.”
“Right, get Hilton to take over the search for Gilroy,
Ramírez and the care worker, and ask him to interview Porter; that should give
him plenty to be getting on with. And you assist Maria with looking into the
Creans; in the meantime I’ve got some work to do below the radar.”
Pauline stood beside him and
watched anxiously as Plant loaded up his Mercedes and prepared to leave. She
smiled as he effortlessly threw the heavy suitcase in the back of the vehicle;
but in reality she was quite sad; the protective influence he provided was once
again to disappear.
“Stop worrying, they’ll be here shortly and I’ll
brief them on what to do. You’ll be perfectly safe and well looked after;
you’ll hardly notice they’re around.”
“How long are you going to be away?” she asked
anxiously.
“Two to three weeks and I’m only in Europe, so it’s
not as though I’m on the other side of the world.”
“Do you think Gerrard is behind this?”
“There are too many coincidences for there not to be
some connection.”
“I’m interested to hear what Woods finds out about
his death. I’ve always thought there was something strange about it.”
“I’m not sure it will uncover anything new.
Although…” he paused.
“Although what?”
“Could Gerrard have faked his own death?”
She feigned a laugh and shook her head. “Don’t be
silly, I identified his body; it was definitely him. But I don’t think his
death was an accident.”
Plant was distracted by a car pulling up at the
gates. “They’re here,” he said, pressing the button to let them in. “Good, I
know them. They’re perfect for the job.”