The Body in the River (10 page)

‘
Great, Fred; are you sure you didn
’
t show out?
’

‘
Positive, boss. I didn
’
t ask Fleming what he was doing Saturday night; figured you
’
d want to follow that up.
’

‘
Good, anything else?
’

‘
I
’
ve done a criminal records check on him; he
’
s clean as a whistle.
’

Brookes gathered his thoughts. Then he said,
‘
OK, we concentrate on him. I want a full background check on him and his company.
’
He turned to Short.
‘
Get onto the Fraud Squad, see if they know anything about them.
’
Then to Middlemiss he said,
‘
Get onto your contact at Telcom, Fred; see if you can get hold of their phone records. And check the mobile companies; see if he has a contract with any of them.
’
Then to Gerrard,
‘
I want a photograph of the BMW, Stumpy. But don
’
t show out whatever you do, I don
’
t want this Fleming spooked. Then show the photo to the neighbour just to make sure we
’
ve got the right model.
’

*

Some hours later, Brookes looked at his watch. It said 8.32pm. He picked up the phone and dialled a number. When it was answered, he said,

‘
Hi, Lynne, sorry I
’
m late phoning, it
’
s the first chance I
’
ve had.
’

‘
That
’
s OK, are you hungry?
’

‘
I could eat a horse.
’

‘
You
’
ll have to make do with a steer. Kitchen closes in an hour, see you soon.
’

Rose drove him to the restaurant and made no comment when he asked her to pick him up there the next morning. She drove home to her flat on the edge of Hampstead Heath. There she put a frozen pizza in the microwave and poured herself a glass of chilled white wine. She ate the pizza whilst listening to one of Brahms
’
piano pieces.

She let the excitement of the day slowly subside. She knew she had made the right decision in joining the job. In just two days, she
’
d caught the buzz and couldn
’
t wait for the next day and what it would bring; she felt alive. Her father had wanted her to become a barrister but she
’
d defied him and gone her own way. She
’
d spent a gap year working in a barrister
’
s office and hated it; she wanted to be where the action was. Having now spent three years doing her apprenticeship on the beat, she was finally exactly where she wanted to be.

*

Back at Lynne
’
s restaurant, Brookes greeted her with a kiss. She sat him at a table near the kitchen and poured him a glass of red wine.

As he sipped it, she gave him an appraising look. He was obviously bone weary and not in the mood for casual conversation. She went off to the kitchen to supervise the cooking of his steak.

He watched her walk away. She was an attractive blonde in her early forties and had a Rubenesque figure. Although she dressed modestly, her generous curves were apparent and he realised that he had more than one kind of hunger, despite his tiredness.

Twenty minutes later, as she cleared his plate away, she said,
‘
Why don
’
t you go up and take a nap. I
’
ll only be another hour or so, then I
’
ll join you.
’

He smiled gratefully and nodded. He followed her into the kitchen, where the stairs leading to her first floor flat were situated. He dragged himself wearily up them and flopped into an armchair.

When Lynne came up some time later, he was sleeping soundly. She brought a blanket, covered him up without disturbing him, and went to bed.

Sometime during the night, she felt him snuggle up to her warm body in the bed. He said, in a stage whisper,
‘
Are you awake?
’

‘
Mmm, I am now, and I can feel that you are.
’

Twenty minutes later, they both fell into a sound sleep. The alarm sounded at 6.30am, signalling the start of a new day.

*

‘
Study the past if you would divine the future.
’

Confucius

Wednesday dawned bright and clear. Brookes
’
mood matched the weather, and he whistled a tuneless ditty as he walked to the car where Jacqui Rose was waiting.

He greeted her;
‘
Good morning, Jacqui, how the devil are you today?
’

She returned his greeting slightly less enthusiastically, noticing that he wore a fresh shirt, was clean-shaven, and had a satisfied expression on his face from which she drew the obvious conclusions. To her surprise, she felt a pang of jealousy. She was however sensible enough not to let her feelings show as she pulled the car away from the kerb.

Instead she said,
‘
What
’
s the agenda for today, sir?
’

He answered her question with one of his own.
‘
What did they teach you on the detective training course?
’

She frowned.
‘
What do you mean, sir?
’

‘
What evidence have we got so far against our suspect?
’

‘
Well, there
’
s the car, sir. And won
’
t we get a match with his DNA from that found at the scene?
’

‘
If it was him then yes, we probably will. But the car? There are thousands of BMW
’
s in London and plenty of those will be black in colour and have tinted windows. So, for a start, there
’
s not enough evidence for us to even ask him for a DNA sample. And if we did and it was a match that would only prove he was at the scene. It won
’
t tell us when, it won
’
t tell us anything about his motive, and what about if he comes up with an alibi? We
’
ve a long way to go before we accuse him of anything.
’

Rose nodded, wisely not telling him that she
’
d worked this out for herself and hadn
’
t suggested they accuse anyone of anything.

But he was obviously in an expansive mood and went on,
‘
As Fred would put it: I want whoever did this screwed down tighter than a duck
’
s arse before I bring him in. When I question him I want to know all the answers to my questions before I put them to him. Then I will catch him out when he lies.
’
He glanced at her but she kept her eyes on the road ahead.

He continued,
‘
Fred Middlemiss is a damned good detective. He plays his cards close to his chest; the moment he saw that Fleming might be a suspect he backed off. That gives us time to gather the evidence that will hang him if he is the guilty party; only figuratively speaking, unfortunately. I want enough evidence on him to tie a pretty red ribbon round his neck before I present him to the crown prosecutor. And I
’
ll get it in such a way that even your dear old dad would be happy that I haven
’
t breached any of his precious
‘
Judges
’
Rules.
’

She glanced sideways at him. Then, with a smile, she said,
‘
Not quite the way Sherlock Holmes would have put it, sir. And they
’
re not called the Judges
’
Rules anymore, are they?
’

He laughed.
‘
This is the real world, young Jacqui; you
’
re not tucked up in bed with a detective novel now. And a load of shit by any other name is still a load of shit. Even if it masquerades under the grand title
‘
Police and Criminal Evidence Act
’
. Written by smug lawyers in a quiet room seeking to make sure they can demand a good fee when a case comes to court, tripping honest policemen when they try to leap the hurdles they
’
ve put in our way.
’

Rose frowned.
‘
I thought it was the government who worded the legislation and parliament who approved it, sir. Isn
’
t that the case?
’

‘
Yes it is. And how many of the government are members of the legal profession and who are the people the government turn to when they are wording new legislation?
’

She smiled too, ignoring the question and implied criticism of her father and his colleagues.

Changing the subject, she said,
‘
Do you think Fleming is guilty, sir?
’

‘
On the evidence we have so far, I
’
d say he is our number one suspect; in fact he
’
s the only one we
’
ve got at the moment. But an awful lot of detectives have come a cropper by becoming obsessed with one suspect. Let
’
s keep an open mind and see what today brings.
’

*

At 9am, Detective Inspector Richard Mann of the Met
’
s Fraud Squad walked into the incident room. He was a stocky man of above medium height, aged about forty. His face resembled a piece of worn granite; it had a heavy brow and flattened nose, giving him an almost Neanderthal appearance.

The smart navy blue suit he wore did little to hide the man
’
s bulk
–
he obviously kept himself fit. He
’
d spent twenty years playing rugby for the Met and, despite the fact that he was now confined to the touchline, he still trained hard. Underneath the rough exterior, however, was a shrewd brain that the time spent in the rugby scrum had not addled.

He asked for Detective Superintendent Brookes and was shown into his office. The two had met before on another case and greeted each other as old friends. Mann
’
s handshake was vice-like but was matched by that of the veteran detective, who had known what was coming.

Brookes said,
‘
A personal visit, I
’
m impressed. Something must be up to bring you all this way from The Yard.
’

Mann nodded and smiled.
‘
Yes, sir, you
’
re right; this one has got us interested.
’

‘
Do you mean someone
’
s cooking the books at Luxury Homes Abroad?
’

Mann shook his head.
‘
It
’
s even more interesting than that.
’
He held out a wad of papers.
‘
I haven
’
t had time to put a report together yet but I
’
ve got some information for you to be getting on with. I think you
’
ll find it interesting.
’

‘
Good, let
’
s get some coffee and a few members of my team in; I
’
d like them to hear this.
’

‘
Thank you, sir. Milk, no sugar, please.
’

A few minutes later, with introductions made and coffee fetched, Brookes, DI Short, and his two DS
’
s sat around Brookes
’
desk as Mann told them what he had.

He started,
‘
Your man is an interesting character, sir, born in Jamaica of British parents. He came to the UK five years ago and set up Luxury Homes Abroad. Prior to that, all we know about him is that in his teens he was sent to one of the minor public schools here and then to Bristol University, where he got a first in computer sciences. He then returned to Jamaica; his father was apparently a banker there before he retired.
’