Fogarty: A City of London Thriller (21 page)

You would have to ask Ashley what was due to happen next, but my guess was that eventually
Blackheath Voss Properties, now owned by the Garners, would be obliged to sell their share of the Rectory to Dennis Grierson for a low price, probably less than Lawrence invested, leaving the husband and wife high and dry.”

Ben nodded, but still did not see
where this was going.

“Listen, Max, this is very interesting and, off the record, I am liquidating the assets for Ashley and
Blackheath Voss, but I don’t see why this places me in any danger. Grierson is dead, and his little team of gangsters are scrambling around in disarray, wondering if the Belgians are going to take them out next.”

“That’s just it, Ben. The reason you are in danger is that the Belgians didn’t take Den Grierson out, his silent partner did, and as the man who is dissolving Den’s estate, you are almost certainly next on their list.”

Chapter 28

Vine Street Crescent, Tower Hill, London.

Saturday 20
th
August 2011; 10am.

Ben was perplexed, but as his mind cleared he began to realise that some of the things that had been loitering in the recesses of his mind were related to the scene he had found when he escaped from his locked basement room in the rectory.

“Max, I’m sure that you’ve done the necessary research but how can you be sure that the Belgians didn’t kill Dennis, Lawrence and Lenny?”

“Ben, if I show you something do you promise that it will remain between you and me and go no further?”

“It depends what it is, Max. I can’t give a carte blanche promise.”

“What I have here, Ben, is a preliminary Scene of Crime Report, shared with me by a contact in the Met. If it is ever discovered that she provided me with the data, she loses her job and I lose a great contact.”

Ben thought that perhaps she ought to lose her job if she couldn’t keep confidential information to herself,
but kept that thought to himself.

“All right
, Max, I’ll go along with you.”

Max reached into his pocket and withdrew two sheets of folded A4 paper stapled together
by the left hand top corners. He unfolded them and handed them to Ben, expecting him to read them to himself.

The sheet was headed “Conflicting Evi
dence Summary” and was clearly part of a more detailed report. It read:

“
As discussed in Section 1 of this report, it appears that not everything found at the Rectory killing crime scene was as it appeared at the time. More importantly, there are several crucial pieces of evidence that do not support the witness statement of Ashley Garner. I list my concerns in order of finding, not priority, and request that the full report be considered and that this list is not viewed in isolation:

•      
  The gun used in the killing of Lawrence Garner and Leonard Catterall (see Ballistics report page 4) bore no fingerprints, and was left with its suppressor still attached on the kitchen table, as if an exiting killer who did not want to be found carrying an illegal firearm had left it. However, the kitchen door had been locked from the inside. The grip of the gun contained minute traces of sterile pharmaceutical oils, commonly used in the manufacture of latex medical gloves.
  
•      
  The knife used to kill Dennis was jammed into the bedstead. It bore no fingerprints and the knife itself was from a vicious looking set of Japanese steak knives kept in the kitchen. It too bore signs of the sterile oil noted previously.
  
•      
  The organised dinner appears to have been a fabrication because there were no dishes prepared or used, there was no record of any food orders, and there was very little food in the house, none of it fresh. In fact, the only food in the house was in tins. In confirmation of this finding we note that (Forensics report page 3) the stomach contents of the dead men, and of the witness Ashley Garner, when her stomach was pumped at the hospital, revealed that their last meal in each case was consumed from a can or sealed pack. Dennis Grierson had eaten a Fray Bentos steak pie with peas, Leonard Catterall had consumed a tin of beans and sausages and the married couple had shared chilli and rice. The refuse removed from the property included the said cans and containers.
  
•      
  There was no sign of forced entry and all of the doors were secured when the police arrived. The only door that could have been used to exit the Rectory and which was subsequently capable of being locked from the outside was in the French window overlooking the garden. Only two sets of footprints were found in the vicinity of the door, those of Leonard Catterall and Benjamin Ambrose Fogarty.
  
•      
  The foil that had contained the GHB/Rohypnol?? (chemical analysis pending) held only one set of fingerprints and they were from the right hand of witness Ashley Garner.
  
•      
  Finally, a partial latex glove was found in the foul water manhole of the Rectory, snagged on a concrete channel. The glove may have previously been flushed down a WC.”
  

Ben uttered a foul expletive and turned to Max. There was anger and fear in his eyes.
“And what, my investigative reporter friend, am I to make of this?” he demanded sarcastically as he held the papers aloft. Max held his palms up towards the oversized All Blacks rugby player, in the universal expression of submission.

“Ben, I’m saying nothing. I’m just repeating that the facts as observed by the forensic people in the police force suggest that the most likely culprit was Ashley herself. I understand that the investigating officer is working on the premise that Ashley could have eliminated all contenders
, for the fortunes they expected to make from the sale of the house, and to inherit the estate of Dennis Grierson. That’s their theory, not mine. I have an open mind.”

Ben had an open mind, too, but it was closing rapidly and he felt ashamed of himself. He was sitting here almost convinced that his twin sister was some kind of Mata Hari who was capable of killing wantonly, yet could still calmly set about creating a crime scen
e which apparently absolved her from suspicion. He shook his head and tried to remove the thought from his mind, picturing the frail young woman lying in the hospital bed, pleading for his help. Surely he hadn’t been played for a fool, hardnosed lawyer that he was?

Max interrupted his thoughts.
“Ben, I haven’t told the police this, and its possible I never will, but, posing as a well known local hood, I spent twenty four hours in Brussels, where I spoke to the drug dealers. They convinced me that they had nothing to do with the Rectory murders and that it was not in their interests to kill Grierson. You already know that the police couldn’t find Grierson because the Rectory is in the name of the property development company. Likewise, there was no way for the Belgians to know where Dennis Grierson was hiding out unless he told them himself, and he had been in the house less than eighteen hours when the murders took place. Most of that time he’d spent in a painkiller induced haze. Logistically, the Belgians could not have heard of the loss of the drugs, organised a trip to London, found Grierson and his cronies, and killed them inside twenty four hours.”

“Bloody hell, Max!
How do you expect me to react? You’re telling me that my twin sister is a serial killer!” Ben spat the words out.

“Ben, I don’t know Ashley, and the evidence is damning, but I have campaigned on behalf of too many innocent people to jump to any premature conclusions. If we work together we could find the real killer, and maybe clear your sister’s good name.”

Ben brightened slightly, but the seeds of doubt had been planted, and fear was gnawing at his soul.

New Scotland Yard Security Gate, Dacre Street, London.

Saturday 20
th
August 2011; 10am.

Tilly Morgan hated working weekends. To begin with, it meant she had to make child minding arrangements or call on her mother. If she relied on her mother, as she had to do today, she could expect a lecture about how couples should work through their problems, and how it was wrong of Tilly to give Jordan his marching orders. Tilly had closed her ears to the familiar lecture and kissed goodbye to Francesca, who looked so much like her father it broke Tilly’s heart. Her mother would never understand that Jordan’s serial infidelity had destroyed their relationship. Her mother knew about Jordan’s affairs, but she simply spouted the dictum she herself had lived by; “Men need distractions, dear. As long as it’s you they come home to each evening, that’s as good as it gets.”

Depressed by her mother’s fatalistic view of marriage, she left her apartment and walked to work. It was nearly two miles, but she was wearing trainers with her business suit and would change into a pair of flats
when she arrived at the office.

Tilly’s initial scene of crime report had sent shockwaves through the ranks of detectives investigating the rectory murders, all of whom seemed to be sweet on the alleged victim, Ashley Morgan. Men - they were gullible, so easily manipulate
d by a pretty and needy female.

Tilly had just turned into Dacre Street,
and was walking towards the William Hill Betting Shop, when she caught sight of Detective Superintendant Bob Radlett passing through the security turnstiles leading out of New Scotland Yard. The high tech entry system was a godsend on a Saturday, as it prevented long security check queues, and one rarely encountered other employees.

Radlett saw her and slowed his pace so that she would have to pass him. Tilly Morgan was an accomplished and highly skilled officer whose reports had saved the Met from embarrassment on more than one occasion. She had a nose for a suspicious crime scene and knew instinctively when something was not right. It was that instinct which had brought her into conten
tion with Radlett when he had been a Detective Sergeant and then later, after he had progressed through the ranks to the level of Inspector. In her view, Radlett was corrupt and evil; he made her skin crawl. She had no trouble believing the rumours that he had been taking bribes from criminal gangs for years. Her suspicions were confirmed when her scene of crime colleagues caught him covering for a career criminal a few years back by tampering with evidence, and arranging a false alibi for the perpetrator. How he had managed to talk his way out of that one no-one knew, but what was well known was that he was the first partner of the recently departed Chief Constable, a great friend to the then Prime Minister.

“Miss Morgan. H
ow fortuitous,” Radlett smiled nastily, and Tilly was reminded of a variety of smiling predators until she considered an alligator to be the closest match.

“Superintendent, I have been Doctor Morgan for as long as we have been acquainted
, and married for longer than that, so maybe you need to revise your formal greeting.” Radlett winced. He was the superior officer but she knew far more than she should about his past and also, he suspected, about his present.

“Ah yes. Doctor, Mrs Morgan,” he continued, with layers of sarcasm being laid one upon another. “How is Jordan these days? Still fighting for the poor oppressed criminal classes, getting drug dealers and prostitutes off and not getting paid?” He paused for effect. “Well, not paid in cash, any
way.” The nasty smile was back.

Tilly did not rise to the bait. Radlett knew that Jordan had
left the marital home long ago.

“Listen Mrs, Doctor Morgan, you mix with a lot of strange men. First you marry a defence lawyer
, and now you have an ex News of the World reporter in your bed. I suggest you keep a low profile if you don’t want an internal investigation into your personal relationships, especially concerning the Rectory murders. It was a drug related killing, and your suggestion that it was anything else is a slur on the poor victim. Understand?”

“I understand that your annual family holiday to Belize may be off now that Grierson’s contributions have come to an end. Are there any brown envelopes in your pocket you would like me to fingerprint?”

The venomous look on Radlett’s face let her know she had gone too far. “I don’t know how you know about my private holiday arrangements, but if a word of any of it gets to the Press or the Yard’s water cooler gossipmongers you will regret it. That boyfriend of yours nearly cost me my job in 2008 when he said I wasn’t doing my job on the ‘boiler room’ scams. As it was, I was denied promotion for two years. So, think carefully before you make an enemy of me, missy!” He paused to regain his composure. “And do give my love to little Francesca. You need to take good care of her, living in a high crime area like yours.”

The threat was implicit and she knew that Radlett had won this verbal battle. He probably always would
, whilst he had influence over the police and the criminals they sought.

***

Radlett watched Tilly Morgan pass through the security gate before he entered the barber’s shop next to William Hill. “Gentlemen’s hair designs”, the window of ‘Clipper of the Yard’ proclaimed, but to Radlett it would always be a barber’s shop.

After a shampoo, colour and trim, Superintendent Radlett paid his money and told the owner that he was going into the back yard for a smoke, and that if a man in a Crombie coat should come in he was to be directed to Radlett; it was police business. The owner smiled and, whilst he was uncomfortable with the arrangement, it was not the first time Radlett had pressured him into allowing him to use his pr
emises for ‘off site’ meetings.