The Killing Club (22 page)

Swift’s nerves tingled as the grim narrative of Christian Hartwell’s death began to fall into place. He was pretty sure who the perpetrator was, but the film had been made at a distance and in half-light, and he needed further clarity. He rang through to Les Patterson, the station’s IT wizard, told him what he was looking at and requested a blow-up and a clarity enhancement as soon as possible.

Whilst he waited, he sat at his desk, trying to work out the detailed planning in the lead-up to Hartwell’s killing, assessing the killer’s motivation, and going on to speculate on the way in which he had chosen to implement his murderous requirements.

Cat made her way back towards King Cross on foot. She went into a smart-looking delicatessen and bought a prawn and avocado sandwich and a black filter coffee. By the time she reached the first access point to the Regents Canal she had already eaten the sandwich and was beginning to wish she had bought some fruit or a pastry to fill her up. She hadn’t eaten so far today and her stomach was beginning to complain. No worries, she would get something on the train. She crunched up the cardboard wrapping which had held her sandwich and put it in a bin. Sipping her coffee, she strolled along the towpath of the Regents Canal, passing the London Canal Museum and heading in the direction of Islington.

It was coming up to five o’clock and the towpath was quiet, apart from the occasional cyclist and one or two dog walkers. There was a slight aroma of vegetables coming off the water, making her keep away from the edge, to avoid any risk of falling in. The canal made its way through scrubby, dusty bushes, punctuated with occasional illustrated information boards giving details of the area, its history and its flora and fauna. Not far from the museum the terrain became richer and more verdant, almost parklike.

It would be no problem at all for an evil-doer to lurk without being seen, waiting for a suitable victim to appear. What could be easier and less detectable than tipping an unsuspecting, befuddled drunk into the canal? The only problem was to be sure you weren’t seen.

She knew she was simply chasing rainbows doing this small piece of informal detective work on the ‘Tipper’ case. It had nothing to do with her, and probably nothing to do with Christian Hartwell’s murder, either. And yet the image of the casual disposal of an unsuspecting victim with the flick of a wrist which had been used on Hartwell and the tipsy tramps was strangely compelling.

She continued her walk. Looking up and ahead she saw a Eurostar train racing away from St Pancras, sending faint vibrations through the ground beneath her feet as its wheels punished the bridge. Her thoughts moved on to returning to Yorkshire, to being met by Ed at the station. And a calm, steady happiness rolled through her.

Swift got a call to go down to Les Patterson’s room. When he got there he saw a remarkably well-defined, recognizable image of the canal killer’s face up on the screen of Les’s wide-screen laptop.

‘Good enough for you?’ Les asked.

‘Brilliant.’ Swift never failed to be impressed by the miracles Les performed.

‘Good looking chap,’ Les said. ‘Is he a villain? Looks like a bit of a toff to me.’

‘Close on both counts. He’s heir to the Roseborough supermarket chain.’

‘We don’t usually attract such exalted company,’ Les commented, not inclined to get overexcited by tales of the rich and famous.

‘Murder knows no social boundaries.’

‘So this guy murdered our Mr Christian Hartwell?’

‘Maybe not with his own hands,’ Swift said thoughtfully.

‘That’s toffs for you,’ Les said. ‘Cute enough to get some lowly minion to do the dirty work.’

‘Quite. And powerful enough to cause a lot of grief. Can you keep all this to yourself, Les? Just for the moment?’

‘I’ll take it to the grave, if you like,’ Les said.

‘I sincerely hope that won’t be necessary.’

Back in his office, Swift sat behind his desk and considered his options for moving forward on the case. But even greater than the need to make the right tactical decisions in gaining a conviction was the awareness that a number of people could be in serious danger and it was imperative to offer them the best protection he could.

It would appear that Julian Roseborough was a cold and calculating murderer, who perhaps regarded killing as some kind of sport. Except his targets were not grouse or foxes or stags, but human beings. David Colburn seemed convinced that Roseborough had been the perpetrator of Hugh Ross’s death. Moreover, the retired ambassador had hinted that not only had Roseborough killed once but that he was capable of more of the same.

He moved on to work with the hypothesis that Hartwell had had his suspicions aroused by Roseborough during his last visit to London. It seemed likely the two had been at the lap-dancing club together, and that Hartwell had been enjoying his hobby of recording interesting events on camera. Had Roseborough spotted this and objected? Or spotted it and been entertained? Was it possible Roseborough had dropped his guard and given Hartwell and Brunswick hints about his liking for flying near the sun. They had both known him in the past, would presumably both have had their suspicions about his role in the Hugh Ross incident. And were the three of them on an arranged boys’ night out, or had Hartwell and Brunswick simply bumped into Roseborough at the club?

If Roseborough had a network of henchmen and informers then he would be aware of the progress in finding the incriminating video on Christian Hartwell’s phone. Ruth Hartwell, as Christian’s named next of kin, had been first in the firing line, the one who had, perhaps, been kept under surveillance and had been seen visiting her solicitor and emerging from the interview carrying a large envelope. After which Mac the Knife had stepped in.

He made a mental note of the names of those currently in the line of fire regarding Roseborough’s need to get hold of the video, and also dispose of anyone who might talk in the future.

His list of targets ran as follows:

He laid down his pen for a moment. When he took it up again, he wrote:

Oh, definitely both of them were at risk. They were probably under the surveillance of one of Roseborough’s minions right now. Cat had been talking to Brunswick. And he, Swift, had been talking with Sir David Colburn and even worse was in possession of the vital information Roseborough was desperate to get his hands on. He put a ring round the word ‘Me’ and pencilled in a question mark and then words ‘target number one’.

After talking to David Colburn and before seeing the disturbing video starring Roseborough, it had been in Swift’s mind to phone Cat and ask her to go back to see Brunswick and press him on the issue of his and Harriet’s silence regarding Roseborough’s being a member of the field trip in Algeria.

But now the pressing issue was to get Cat back home and safe.

He rang her mobile.

‘Ed?’

‘Where are you?’

‘On the concourse at Kings Cross. Looking at the departure board along with a few thousand other people. My train’s listed as on time.’

It struck Swift that if Cat were one of his next of kin, he would be gripped with the dilemma as to whether or not to tell them of the possible danger they were in. And basically he felt exactly the same dilemma regarding Cat. But Cat was his colleague. She was an experienced officer. She was on the Hartwell case. He needed to brief her. He gave her a quick run-down on his interview with Sir David Colburn and of Craig’s appearance at the station in Thirsk. And then he apprised her of the contents of the mobile phone which Craig had been carrying since the previous morning.

There was an intake of breath and a brief silence. The noise coming from the concourse came down the connection as a low, constant roar. ‘Did you get all that, Cat?’

‘You’re saying you have video footage of our rich friend tipping an old drunk into a canal?’

‘Correct.’

‘Have you a date for it?’

‘Five days before Hartwell was killed.’

‘Well, he’s sent at least one further drunk to his watery grave since then,’ she said. ‘In the Regents Canal just minutes away from where I am now. Same MO.’

‘What?’ He was stunned. He rapidly thought through all the implications surrounding Cat’s statement. ‘Look, Cat. I think we should finish this conversation. I think we’re both at risk. Possibly being followed. I just want you back here,’ he said. Sweat was dampening the back of his shirt.

‘OK.’ She matched his briskness. ‘You need to contact DI Wilton. He’s at the nick in Snowdon Place. I have to go. They’ve put the platform number up; there’s a stampede. If I don’t run like hell I’ll have to stand all the way to Wakefield. I’ll take care – and you make sure you do too.’

She was gone.

He went to Ravi Stratton’s office, but she had already left. Which, on balance, he was glad about. It gave him the freedom to authorize whatever he thought necessary. And to keep the explosive revelations of the last few hours between himself and Cat for a little longer.

Hoping to find DI Wilton still at work, he called up Snowdon Place station.

When he got through to Wilton, the inspector’s tones were curt and clipped. ‘How can I help, Chief Inspector?’

‘I think we might be able to help each other,’ Swift told him. He outlined the Hartwell case and gave a short but comprehensive account of the recent discoveries.

‘Let me just recap, sir,’ Wilton said, his tone now enlivened. ‘Basically you’re thinking that the guy who killed Hartwell is involved in the “Tipper” case.’

‘I’m thinking that Hartwell’s killer was in the employ of the “Tipper”.’

‘And you’ve a video of a drunk on our patch being pushed into the Regents Canal?’

‘Yes, we seem to have a picture of the “Tipper” at work – whether he’s linked with our victim or not.’

There was a beat of tension. ‘That is amazing, sir. Totally unbelievable news.’ He paused. ‘So do you know who this guy is?’

‘We’re pretty confident he’s Julian Roseborough. Heir to the Roseborough supermarket chain.’

‘WHAT? Are you sure?’

‘Unless he has a double, yes.’

‘Is the footage clear?’

‘It’s very good. Our IT man worked wonders on it.’

‘Admissible in court?’

‘I haven’t run it by the CPS so far, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t use it.’

‘Have you passed it up the command chain yet?’

‘No. There are just me, Cat Fallon our IT guy and you who know about it.’ He chose not to expand further, if Wilton had any detective acumen he’d read what he needed into his silence.

‘This just gets better,’ Wilton said. ‘What do you want my help with?’

‘I’d like you to go and see Christian’s putative half-sister, Harriet, and her husband Charles. I’m going to e-mail some extracts from our files, which will explain the background to my request. I want you to find out why Brunswick lied to Cat Fallon earlier today. And I want to find out what they know about Roseborough. Charles Brunswick was caught on camera in the same club with Roseborough just a couple of weeks back, so there’s no point his pleading ignorance.’

‘I’m trying to keep up,’ said Wilton.

‘The material I’m mailing you will tell you what you want to know, plus addresses and contact numbers. Also one of the stills from the video. And I’m on the end of the phone.’

‘Right! So, even though I’ve been taken off the case, I get to do some further investigation on our local killer which is all above board because it’s a request from your team regarding your case?’

‘Correct.’

Swift expected Wilton to come back at him with some quip about his good luck. Instead, he simply said: ‘Thank you, sir, for this. I’ll give it my very best shot.’ There was a short pause. ‘Why aren’t you sending Inspector Fallon back to see the Brunswicks?’

‘Because she said you were a man of granite, and I know you’re very keen to go forward with this case.’

‘Right, sir.’ Wilton sounded like a changed man from the one who had answered the phone.

‘And I want Inspector Fallon back here,’ Swift said, cutting the connection and letting Wilton have the pleasure of working out the possible nuances in that statement. Smiling to himself, he rang the local hospital and ascertained that Ruth Hartwell had been discharged some hours before. He arranged for two uniformed PCs to do a home visit, check on her welfare, and reassure her that Craig was safe and well. He also arranged for the two officers to remain in the house for the night.

He phoned Thirsk station to be told that following their investigations Craig Titmus had been cleared of any criminal offences and was about to be discharged to a local bed and breakfast regularly used by the Probation Service. Swift thought fast. ‘Titmus is in a potentially dangerous situation,’ he said. ‘It’s connected with a murder case I’m leading which is suddenly hotting up. I’ll e-mail you relevant information to put you in the picture. In the meantime, I’d like one of your officers to go and get him and tell him that I’ve asked for him to stay overnight at the station as a precautionary measure. Let him know he’s done nothing wrong, it’s simply that we are concerned for his safety regarding a man who calls himself Mac the Knife. I want you to tell him that he can call me personally at any time. Let him have access to a police phone when he wants to make a call and put him in the visitors’ suite overnight and give him some breakfast tomorrow morning. Got that?’

‘Got it, sir. Shall I ask him which newspaper he takes?’ The tone was impeccably polite.

Swift had to smile. ‘Watch it!’

Cat took a seat beside the door of her coach. In this way she could see all the way down the coach in which she was sitting and also, by turning around, through into the carriage coupling area and into the coach beyond.

She kept a careful watch, ready for action should anyone approach her. They were nearly at Doncaster and only the ticket collector and the snack trolley service had shown any interest in her. She reminded herself that although they were nearly at their destination it was not yet safe to relax. At Doncaster the doors opened and a trickle of passengers got off and another trickle got on and settled themselves down. After seven minutes, the train was still waiting in the station, and one or two passengers began looking at their watches and frowning. After ten minutes, a steward’s announcement apologized to the passengers for the delay in leaving the station. No reason was offered, but there was a caution given regarding any passenger trying to leave the train, and it was pointed out that all the doors were sealed.