To Make a Killing (6 page)

“Does this murder put the general public at risk?” asked Lambeth

“We cannot yet confirm that a murder has taken place . . .”

“Don’t you have the Coroner’s report?”

“We cannot yet confirm that a murder has taken place, and our only motivation for not revealing any more at this point is to protect the general public.”

“So they are at risk!”

“There is no cause to alarm the general public. It would be fair to say that we are progressing towards a clarification of this case at a more rapid pace than is usual. And that is about as much as I can say right now. I will let you know as soon as we are ready to make an official statement.

“Something tells me that will be around
12 o’clock”. ‘Slam’ paused just long enough to interrupt Keane’s response, “Shortly after our next edition is on the street.”

Keane could feel he was about to lose his tether. He knew that Lambeth’s article would go right to the legal limit in terms of undermining the police’s efforts to solve a crime. He knew that he personally would be made to appear incompetent and callous as to the welfare of the general public. And he knew there was very little he could do about it. He was already regretting that he hadn’t stuck to “No comment” from the moment Lambeth had arrived.

“Syd, you are skating on very thin ice. I suggest you tread carefully.”

“Is that a threat, Superintendent?”

“It’s a metaphor. You know the way out.”

Keane watched him leave; he did not put it past him to try and sneak into the Incident Room. It took him a few minutes to calm himself. He opened the window to clear the air – he would have done so, regardless of whether Lambeth had filled the room with smoke or not. He knew Angus would be on his back within minutes of the paper hitting the streets. He knew he ought to give him a heads up. But he also knew there was one other job he had to do first.

He got the phone number for Symonds’ home address, but on calling was told he could find him at one of his restaurants, “La Belle Cuisine”.

A short while later, Keane stood outside a very stylish French restaurant peering through the locked glass entrance, to see if there was anyone in the dark interior who could hear his knocking. A young girl appeared out of the shadows, and came to the door. She took a careful look at his identification through the glass, and let him in.

“Good morning, I’m Detective Superintendent Keane, and I’d like to have a word with Mr. John Symonds. Is he here?”

“Yes, he’s in the back office with a tradesman. I think he’ll be finished shortly.” Keane chose not to impose himself. “Softly, softly” was generally his motto.

“Could you let him know there’s a gentleman here to see him? No need to mention the badge” he gave her a confidential smile.

She let him inside. A few moments later she returned from the office and continued with her chores.

Keane wandered slowly towards the office, but stopped when the door burst open and a burly man – apparently the tradesman – virtually stormed out of the office, brushing Keane to one side, as if trying to evade Symonds’ parting shot, “. . . and don’t think you’ll get away with it!”

Confrontation seemed to be the order of the day. Keane knocked on the open door. “I’m sorry if this is not an opportune moment, Mr Symonds, but there is an urgent matter I need to inform you about. My name is Keane, Detective Superintendent Keane.”

“Please take a seat, Superintendent.” Symonds’ features bore a remarkable and eerie resemblance to Russell’s mask. He was about 45, 5’10”, stocky, and dressed smartly in an expensive suit. His dark hair receded noticeably over his high forehead. His blue eyes were dwarfed by heavy, dark eyebrows that turned down at the edges and nearly met in the middle. A thick nose, high cheekbones, thin-lipped mouth, pronounced jaw and cleft chin all combined to enforce the overall impression of almost caricature–like features.

“I assure you, I don’t normally treat guests in that fashion,” continued Symonds in his mellow Cornish accent, “but nothing gets my back up like conmen who think they can outsmart you. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“It’s actually more a case of what, if anything, I can do for you”. Keane proceeded to brief Symonds on the circumstances of Russell’s murder, showing him photos as he progressed.

“Well that is extraordinary. I don’t know what to say. Do you really think I could have been the intended target?”

“There are a number of unusual circumstances which indicate that Mr. Russell could well have been the intended victim, even though he was wearing a mask. But until we can be sure of that, we have to consider the possibility that you may have been the intended victim. In which case we need to know: Do you have any reason to believe that anyone would wish to see you dead?”

Symonds looked down to his right, and held the tip of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, giving the question a good deal of thought. “I could give you the names of a few critics who I would like to see dead! But I honestly can’t think of anyone who would go to such lengths to be rid of me. What threat do I pose to anyone? I’m a restaurant owner. My business is making people happy!”

“You’re quite sure there is no-one who could possibly gain by your death? Through inheritance, for example. What about your competitors?”

“Inheritance? You see, expansion requires investment and investment requires loans. I can assure you the current balance of my finances is not something many people would wish to inherit. As for competitors, well . . . ‘cut-price’ and ‘cutlery’ are more applicable to our business than ‘cut-throat’.”

“I see. Mr. Symonds, it’s my duty to offer you police protection until we have tied up this case.”

“What would that entail? I mean, can I go about my usual business?”

“Well, you would have an armed officer close by wherever you go, 24 hours a day.”

Symonds did not answer at first. “It all seems ludicrous to me. Superintendent, you look like a man with enough experience to advise me what to do.”

“If you are asking me to make the decision, then I have no alternative but to advise you to accept our protection.”

“What on earth will my wife say to this?” Symonds asked himself. “Very well, Superintendent, I accept. What happens next?”

“I will get a man over here right away.”

Keane stayed with Symonds until he had briefed the armed officer who arrived within the hour, before returning to a warm welcome at the office.

Before he had had a chance to see how far Hayes and the others had got, Angus stepped into Keane’s office and closed the door behind him. Predictably he was carrying a newspaper. Keane rose from his seat, “Good morning, sir.”

“Ay, that would be nice.” replied Angus.

Chief Superintendent McCluskey was a man who commanded respect wherever he went. He had an imposing physique, despite being 52 years of age. He was well over 6 foot tall, had broad shoulders and a barrel-chest, and surprisingly narrow hips in spite of being a good stone overweight. What had once been a fine head of frizzy ginger hair was now thinning and closer to fawn. He kept his full beard trim, yet the bushy eyebrows over his light blue eyes always seemed untamed. It was, however, the intensity of the attention he paid to his surroundings that always gave him a captivated audience.

It was 18 years since Angus had persuaded Keane to leave his job with army intelligence to become a police officer. Keane’s performance and contribution over that time had more than vindicated Angus’ ‘kidnapping’. The rare combination of a methodical approach and an ability to make quantum leaps to see links which others couldn’t, had given Keane an excellent reputation, and a success rate that was unsurpassed by any other detective at the Yard. There were, however, still areas for improvement, and dealing with the press was probably uppermost on the list.

“Do you know about this?” continued Angus, focussing his gaze on Keane as he dropped the paper on the desk.

“I haven’t read it yet, but ‘Slam’ was here this morning and I can guess the gist of it.”

“I’m sure you have a good reason for keeping the press out, Morgan, but we’ve talked about this before. Dealing with the press is not your forte. You have to inform me in cases like this.”

Keane had learnt early on in their relationship that the variation in the pitch of Angus’ voice was a direct reflection of how serious he felt the subject matter to be. Right now he may as well have been singing “Do-re-mi”.

“We look bad. We look incompetent, callous even disdainful. We are going to have to respond to this immediately. I’m calling a press conference right away for
1 o’clock. Between now and then you’re going to fill me in.” Angus sat down, took the phone, made the arrangements, replaced the phone and looked steadily at Keane, ready for him to begin.

“May I make one call to Hayes first, sir?”

“Go ahead.”

Keane informed Hayes about the press conference and that their rendezvous in Kensington would have to be delayed until 3 o’clock. He told him of Symonds’ decision, and asked him only to interrupt his meeting with Angus if one of the flight passengers turned out to be Russell’s shopping companion.

Keane’s pride was hurt that his senior (once again) had found it necessary to come to his aid to save his blushes. Nevertheless, it was Angus’ unswerving loyalty and unquestioning support that meant most to him. And after all, it was Keane’s job to catch the criminals, and Angus’ job to take care of PR. He would have felt much worse if he had let the side down in terms of the investigation.

Keane began to tell Angus “the story so far”, and it did not take Angus long to grasp the situation and its delicate aspects.

Fortunately for Keane and his crew, they succeeded in contacting all 6 of the look-alikes by the time the conference began. Angus was therefore not only able to confirm the identity of the victim, and the fact that it was a murder case, he was also in a position to provide details (photos) of the victim’s mask, and convincingly explain the reason for the cautious and secretive approach taken in the investigation. Going by the book, he appealed for anyone to come forward who could assist police, etc., etc..

The tables had been turned. The police had not only “coughed up”, they had provided the press with an intriguing case which could only help their circulation.

An emotionally and mentally exhausted Keane returned to his office after the press conference. It was 2:21. He gave himself five minutes to close his eyes, and to reflect over the day’s events. It was therapeutic. It had been a traumatic day, but he realized now that a lot of his attention had been tied up in putting off informing the press. True, it had given him some peace to work while it lasted, but it had also deceptively robbed him of his full attention. That was now sorted out. He could focus once again. He called everyone in to the Incident Room.

Chapter 6

Friday, 18th September, afternoon

The atmosphere was noticeably lighter and Connolly seemed to want to underline the fact. He stood up with his arms folded and with a broad gesture, put in words the latest turn of events, “Big Chief Passing Wind, he speak with silver fork tongue. White men go away! He save Sitting Duck! Now we pow-wow.” Everyone laughed.

“Very witty, Connolly” smiled Keane. “Did you come up with that all yourself?”

“Well the ‘Passing Wind’ was Hassan’s idea, sir, but . . .”

“Like Hell it was . . .“ objected Hassan.

“Right, good one anyway.” concluded Keane. “Let the pow-wow begin. Hayes?”

“Well the good news is we have a photo fit of the woman”, said Hayes as he handed it out, “The bad news is there are no distinguishing features whatsoever, and none of the female passengers match her description.

The passengers’ statements have come in and they all confirm the information we got from Helen McSheffrey of Qantas. There was one interesting thing though. The passenger who sat next to Russell, a man named Alan Hill, had asked him if he’d be seeing the sights, and Russell answered that he was travelling strictly on business. He was going to introduce a new wine which his vineyard had made, and he was excited about it because he thought they’d make a killing on it. Now that does not fit with what Penrith told me on Wednesday.”

“Probably just trying to impress”, figured Jenkins, “It sounds better than saying he was coming here to sample the Boddingtons!”

“Well, I don’t think he would need to buy an attaché case to get into ‘The Red Lion’.” countered Keane. “No, the questions are: What business was he really on here? Why did he keep it secret from Penrith – was he in bed with a rival company? Any why did he come to
London? It’s about 2 in the morning in Adelaide now, so, Hayes, give Penrith another call this evening, and make sure you talk to the top dog, alright?”

“Right.”

“Now did any of our look-alikes react peculiarly or ask for protection?” Before anyone could answer Keane looked at Jenkins and added, “I suppose Parker’s on his way back to us?”

“Yes sir, but he did say that Dougherty thought he was ‘on a wild goose chase’ and that he ‘wouldn’t dream of wasting any more of the taxpayer’s money’.

“That was pretty much what Swindlehurst had to say, too” added Hassan.

“Llewellyn had a more ‘goes with the territory’–attitude. He said he would ask for an increase in the measures that are usually taken to protect high profile politicians” said Connolly

“And Lustrinelli said he didn’t care.” continued Jenkins, “as he’s got a new posting in Canada – he’s flying out on Sunday.”

“That leaves Castle. Hassan?”

“He wants protection . . .” Keane raised his eyebrows, “. . . so he can make a documentary on police protection!”

“That’s not on.” answered Keane. “Are you sure he wasn’t actually scared, and was trying to cover it up with the documentary suggestion?”

“I couldn’t say, sir”

“If he maintains that’s his reason, then explain to him politely that our resources are limited, and so on. Let me know if he gives you any trouble.” Keane paused. “Well, let’s have a look at our loose ends:

- we have a murder committed very close to the location to which the victim drove by taxi on his arrival

- we have no usual suspects because the MO seems to be unique – we have in fact no suspects at all!

- we have no explanation for the mask

- we have no motive

- we have a conflict between Russell’s and Penrith’s explanation as to the reason for his being here

- we have an unidentified female companion to Russell – who has yet to come forward

- we still don’t know where he was staying – perhaps with the lady?

Now, while Hayes, Jenkins and I are in Kensington, I want you two and Parker (when he gets back) to get your thinking caps on. I want you to come up with a dozen theories that could possibly explain everything we know so far. And I want you to get on to Interpol again and . . .“ The phone interrupted Keane; Hayes took it.

“Aha. Yeah. Yeah. Yes! And about bloody time!” Hayes lit up like a firework, “Devon Park Hotel, Argyle Street. Got it.” Hayes looked up, beaming. “Russell’s hotel. At least, that’s to say, the hotel manager says he recognized his picture on the news, and he can confirm Russell was last seen there on Tuesday morning.”

“Are his belongings there?” asked Hassan

“They say they haven’t opened the door since he left on Tuesday. He’d paid in advance for the whole week, so they didn’t care!”

Thrilled though he was about this new opportunity for a breakthrough, Keane couldn’t help but wonder if he was ever going to get to Lexington Gardens.

*********

Devon Park Hotel was inconspicuous to put it mildly and kindly. At first glance Keane could not see how it had gained its single star. As Keane, Hayes and Jenkins entered the hotel ahead of the forensics team, the manager came over, laying down his electric razor with one hand and trying to tighten the knot of his tie with the other. He was in his mid-thirties, about 5’9”, and in Keane’s eyes his overall demeanour stamped him as an archetypal bachelor. His short-to-medium brown hair had dyed blonde streaks, his brown eyes were narrow-set, and his mouth was small and tight. He tilted his head slightly to his right as if he had a slight crick in his neck.

“You’re Detective Keane. I saw you on telly. My name’s Krapolsky. Terrible business this” he said, though his smile still remained. No doubt he eyed a commercial potential in the tragic circumstances. “It’s this way.”

As Keane made his way up the stairs, he wondered why Russell would voluntarily have stayed here. Krapolsky unlocked the door, stepped back and the forensics team moved in. Keane and the others peered in through the doorway, until forensics had finished their preliminary work. There was disappointingly little to see. Not because their view was blocked, but because the spartan room was so small. A single unmade bed, two opened cases on the floor, apparently containing nothing but clothes; no holdall.

“You can come in now. There’s no sign of any crime having been committed here.” said Jones the head of the forensic crew.

Jones was right, thought Keane. There was hardly any sign of anything at all having happened here. It took next to no time to confirm that the only items of interest were the cases and their contents. “May we?” asked Keane. Jones nodded. Hayes and Keane placed the cases on the bed. Their gloved hands were soon removing items of clothing. Eventually the cases were empty. All they had found of interest were two books about wine, ‘Bordeaux’ finest vintages’ and ‘Pauillac for Kings’.

“Look at this” said Jenkins and she read aloud a hand-written dedication at the front of ‘Pauillac for Kings’: “To Brett from Mike – in case you get stumped!”

“And there’s more here” said Hayes, having leafed through the other book, “An address: 16, Lexington Gardens, SW7 and a word, ‘en . . . it’s not English, I think it says . . .”

“Enchanté” said Keane looking over Hayes shoulder. “Anything else in there? Loose papers? Anything on the inside of the dust cover?”

“No, sir.” replied Jenkins and Hayes in unison.

“Well, as we’ve seen all there is to see here, and we know exactly where our next destination is, I think we’ll leave this to the experts. May we take these?” asked Keane. Jones placed each book in a plastic bag before he handed them over to Keane.

Once back down in the reception, Keane asked Krapolsky his questions, “Did Russell say anything to you about what he was doing here?”

Krapolsky had a habit of starting and stifling a laugh whenever anyone spoke to him and it soon got on Keane’s nerves.

“Never spoke to him, apart from when he checked in, and that was only about the room.”

“Had he stayed here before?”

“No, never”.

“You say he paid in advance for a week. Was that in cash?”

“Yeah.” remembered Krapolsky

“What name did he use?”

Krapolsky looked in his register, “Pete Townsend, I think . . . no, hang on, Paul Tower.”

“Did he receive any visitors?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Has this woman been here in the last 2-3 weeks?” Keane showed Krapolsky the photo fit picture.

“Hmm. That could be anybody. No. No-one looking just like that.”

“Well, thank you Mr. Krapolsky. If you do remember anything, please call us at this number right away” Keane handed him his card, and they left the building.

*********

Keane usually preferred not to be driven by others, but there were advantages to being driven in Hayes’ car: Hayes was quieter when he was doing the driving and he knew how to get around London better than Keane did. Furthermore, Keane would be able to concentrate on the case, and in Hayes’ car there was room for three passengers.

After a while, Keane broke the silence: “You know, Hayes, I have to admit I haven’t given enough credence to your idea that Russell was involved in some criminal act. All this cloak and dagger behaviour, the choice of this hotel, using cash only; it’s very suspicious. It’s just what you would do if you didn’t want anyone tracing your tracks.” Hayes smiled. “Jenkins, give Jones a call. Tell him to come over with his team and meet us at Lexington Gardens as soon as possible. I have a feeling we’ll need them whatever we find there.” Jenkins flipped open her mobile phone and duly obliged.

There was another pause for thought and again Keane spoke first, “Hayes, Jenkins, you both have your witness statements from Tuesday, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who lives at number 16?”

“There are four tenants as such, who own a flat on each floor. On the ground floor there’s a retired Colonel Cross, on the first floor there’s a middle-aged married couple, the Eastmans (though they were away on holiday on Tuesday). On the second floor there’s a French woman, Marie Passant, and on the third floor four students. Do you want their names?”

“No, that’s fine.” Keane paused. “’Enchanté’.” mused Keane. “Jenkins. Could Marie Passant fit the description of Russell’s companion?”

Jenkins took a deep breath, “Well, let me just think, sir. She was small, petite really. Wore her hair up, pinned up at the back, dark brown hair, small ears, neither pretty nor ugly, thick glasses, must have been quite short-sighted. Probably in her late thirties. Her English was good, but the accent was clearly French; quite a high pitched almost girlish voice.”

Keane held the photo fit picture up to Jenkins.

“It’s possible. It’s not impossible, but that was not what she looked like when I saw her, if that is her.”

“Here we are.” announced Hayes. He pulled in to the street and started to look for a place to park. He had to pass number 16 before he found a space further down the street. They walked back towards number 16 and Keane stopped as they approached number 18. He moved out to the middle of the road. “It was here wasn’t it?” he said pointing at a patch of anonymous tarmac between the two rows of parked cars.

Hayes and Jenkins looked around to get their bearings and confirmed Keane’s opinion. “Why did no-one see anything?” he wondered aloud. “Right. Let’s go and ‘cherchez la femme’.”

There was no answer when they buzzed the flat on the second floor. They tried the ground floor and Colonel Cross let them in. Keane entered and walked over to the doorway of the Colonel’s flat where he was standing. “Thank you, Colonel Cross. I’m Detective Superintendent Keane and these are my colleagues DC Jenkins and DS Hayes. We would like to ask you a few questions about the murder that took place on Tuesday, but first of all we would like to speak to the tenant who lives on the second floor.”