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Chapter 33: Family Lunch

Sunday

They were all sitting in the dining area of an old coaching inn in Gloucester. Sophie watched Jade chatting amiably to Florence and James, with her own mother, Susan, occasionally joining in. She felt so tired. It was all she could do to sit upright in her chair. A waitress appeared with the first course.

‘Didn’t you order a starter, Sophie?’ Florence asked.

‘No, Gran. It will be all I can do to get through my main course. But don’t worry. It’s just tiredness. I’ll be fine in a day or two. Martin is driving today, so I can relax and enjoy my beer.’

She took another mouthful, and swirled the liquid around in her mouth. Florence looked at her.

‘Different times, Gran. I picked up the taste for beer before I went to university, and I’ve never lost it. Martin and I visited every real ale pub in Oxford. I could say that it’s all his fault, but it wouldn’t be true. To be honest, I think I was the major culprit. I don’t drink loads of the stuff, but I do enjoy a pint or two.’

Jade wore a look of horror on her face. ‘And there was me blaming Dad. You just stood there, Mum, and let me ramble on last week about his taste in wine and beer, and then I find out you’re just as bad. There’s really no hope for me, is there?’

Florence looked worried but Jade said, ‘Don’t worry, GeeGee. I was only teasing them. They tease me in return. It’s the modern way of parenting, I expect.’ She turned to face her great-grandmother. ‘And do you know that they have spies out secretly watching me? One of the maths teachers at my school gives them monthly reports on what I get up to. Probably with secretly taken photos as well. I have to ask myself, is nothing sacred?’

Martin choked on his final spoonful of soup. ‘Don’t take her seriously, Florence. I just happened to meet her maths teacher a couple of weeks ago while he was on a quick visit to my school.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘How did you find out?’

‘He’s a double agent, and I turned him. It’s just fantastic what you can achieve by fluttering your eyelashes. I thought that teachers would be immune to that kind of thing, but apparently not. Really, it should be added to their training programme.’

* * *

Sophie waited until everyone had finished their starter course before she spoke.

‘I have something important to say to you all. It’s quite difficult, but you deserve to know. You’re all aware that we closed the case on Friday, and that’s why I was able to visit today, and it’s lovely to have a cause for celebration. We’re due to make the final arrest tomorrow, in Bournemouth hospital as it happens, because that’s where the gang leader currently is, under armed guard.’

She paused and felt Martin squeezing her hand.

‘But things are not quite as simple as that. I’ve been keeping you all completely in the dark since the funeral, though Martin and Jade guessed that something was going on. I told Martin last night and we decided that it was time to tell all of you. But I’m finding it very hard.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘I ought to be celebrating, but I’m not. All I feel is a dreadful emptiness. You see, the gang leader, the one we think is behind all the murders in Studland, the man I’ve been hunting down for the past three weeks, is also the man who shot Graham all those years ago. We’re charging him tomorrow.’

Jade finally broke the stunned silence. ‘Was that the morning I found you out on the veranda? Is that when you knew?’

‘Yes. It all fell into place the evening before. I kept it from everybody until I was sure. Even my investigation team.’

‘Are we supposed to know this, Mum?’

‘Yes. You are the immediate family of a murder victim and have the right to know when we plan to charge someone with the crime.’

‘Is there any doubt?’ Susan asked.

‘No. The evidence is clear, and the Gloucester team have found a witness.’

‘Let me get this clear,’ Susan continued. ‘As well as investigating the murders in Studland, you’ve also been tracking down Graham’s killer?’

Sophie nodded.

‘Without telling anyone? By yourself? Separate to the Gloucester enquiry?’

A nod.

‘Is that allowed? I mean . . .’

Martin broke in. ‘Susan, there’s no point in commenting. I’ve already said everything that could be said after she told me last night. Anyway, she told the Gloucester and Midlands lot as soon as she was sure. I was on the phone to Archie Campbell this morning before we set out. He’s over the moon and just laughed at my concerns. His exact words were, “Sod it, Martin. She got the result.”’

James Howard rose to his feet.

‘I need to say something. I have to tell you how much this means to me. Because today I have discovered something unexpected. That even at my advanced age, someone can do something very special that completely restores my faith in human nature. And to discover that this someone is my own granddaughter is just beyond all expectation. Sophie, you have just become the very best person I have ever met in my entire life. To have carried all that on your own shoulders is beyond belief. So, ladies and gentlemen, I want to propose a toast. Raise your glasses please and drink a toast to my very own and very special granddaughter, Sophie.’

‘Looks like I’ve arrived just in time. What’s going on?’

‘Hannah! I thought you said you couldn’t make it?’ Martin said, rising from his seat.

‘I managed to get someone to stand in for me at the last minute. Jade texted me with the name of this place, and I got a taxi as soon as I got off the train. Mum, you’re crying. I think you and I need to visit the loo.’

‘Yes, Hannah. I do too. And I need one of your special hugs. A big one please. Probably the biggest one you’ve ever given me.’

Chapter 34: The Arrest

Monday

The morning was bright. Occasional bursts of sunlight glinted down on the hospital grounds. Charlie Duff was propped up on his bed, his bandaged wrists lying on the coverlet. He was looking out of the window. A nurse popped her head inside the door and he turned to look at her. Duff could just make out the shape of the policeman on guard outside his door.

‘Just to warn you. You have some important-looking visitors. They’ve just arrived at reception. Are you okay?’

‘You’re joking. What do you think?’ He held his heavily bandaged wrists up. ‘Is this the best you lot could do?’

‘Do you need the loo?’

Duff shook his head, and the nurse disappeared. He heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside, followed by the sound of quiet voices. He guessed that they were talking to the policeman outside.

The door opened. Four police officers entered, all in full formal uniform, along with a woman in a business suit.

‘Mr Duff, you may recall that we have already met. I am Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen, of Dorset police. I’d like to introduce these officers. Here on my right is Sir William Black, the chief constable for Dorset. The officer beyond him is Assistant Chief Constable Archie Campbell from the West Midlands force. He is also representing the Gloucestershire Constabulary. Here on my left is Detective Superintendent Matt Silver, also from Dorset police. I understand that Mrs Julia Bellringer has been acting as your lawyer so we asked her to accompany us here.’

Duff’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’

‘I’ll hand over to Superintendent Silver.’

Matt Silver held up the charge sheet.

‘Charles Wilfred Duff. You are hereby charged with the murder of Stefan Bratianu on the morning of Monday the sixteenth of January this year. You are also charged with the assault and rape of Nadia Ripanu on the previous day. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. In both cases you are being charged along with your nephew, Richard Nelson Frimwell.’ He paused. ‘We are also continuing our investigation into the deaths of two young Romanian women whose bodies have been found buried at Ridgeway Farm near Studland. We are close to completing those investigations, and expect charges to follow soon. The same applies to the deaths of Andrew Thompson, whose body was found buried at your company warehouse and offices near Poole quayside, and Benjamin Sourlie who was murdered last week in Bournemouth’s central gardens.’

The chief constable continued. ‘Mr Duff, evidence has come to light of a vicious murder committed some forty-three years ago in Gloucester city centre. A young man was murdered for no reason other than the fact that he chanced to walk by as a gang, of which you were a member, was carrying out a jewellery robbery late at night. That young man was shot dead and his body disposed of down a disused mine shaft. I will now ask ACC Campbell to take over.’

‘Charles Wilfred Duff. You are hereby charged with the murder of Graham Thomas Howard in the early hours of the morning of Saturday the twelfth of December 1969 in central Gloucester. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

Duff tried to speak, but he seemed to be finding it difficult to form words.

‘What?’

‘He was my father,’ Sophie said simply. ‘You murdered my father.’

‘You’re mad.’

‘No, Mr Duff. You buried the gun in the waste ground at the back of your warehouse in Poole many years later, near the body of Andy Thompson. The bullet was still lodged inside my father’s ribcage. Forensic tests have shown that the bullet was fired from that gun.’ She took a breath. ‘We also have a witness who has identified you. By the way, Billy Thompson and his family send their regards.’

They turned to leave. As they reached the door, Sophie turned back to the bed and leaned over to whisper quietly in Duff’s ear.

‘I say again, you stole my father from me. You deserve everything that’s happened to you. I wish you could rot in hell for what you’ve done, not only to me but to all the other mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, partners and children of your victims. You’re a sick blot on humanity, and whatever has happened to you, and will happen to you as a result of your trial, can never be enough.’

* * *

‘But I’m worried, Barry. Can’t you see how it all fits? And it was you that found her searching for him on the database. Someone did that to him. Someone tied him up, scarred his chest and arms and did that to his wrists. And it was a woman, he’s adamant about it. Who else would have the motive?’

‘Look. I’m as uneasy as you. But if you think I’m going to march in and arrest her on these flimsy suppositions, then you’re mad. There’s plenty of other women with enough motive to torture Duff. What about the girls he raped over the years? What about the families of those murder victims? What about members of the Thompson family in Birmingham?’

Pillay and Marsh were standing on the pavement of Kings Road, looking over the bridge of the small brook. They had decided that this conversation needed to take place out of earshot of the police station.

‘It’s the cold-bloodedness of it, Barry. It must have been planned meticulously, that’s what makes it so unusual. Family members looking for vengeance don’t go to those lengths. They pay a visit and beat someone up, or even kill someone. And how would they know about his visits to that S&M club? Think about it. It was almost unbelievable. He was groomed into that visit, with the text messages reminding him of the upcoming evening, and promising him something special. Yet the club say they didn’t send them. So who did? And how come Bob Thompson can’t trace them? How did whoever did it know the evening was coming up? How did they get his mobile number? And you know what struck me? It was when Duff said that the woman seemed so totally in control, so assured, so confident in what she was doing. And I thought, there’s only one woman I know who fits that description.’

‘But the point is, Lydia, there’s not one scrap of evidence. Not a trace. Not the slightest little bit of a clue left for forensics to find, except for that hair. And what did it turn out to be? Acrylic. She was wearing a wig. And a facemask. Even contact lenses. All of the glasses used for drinks that night have been through the dishwasher several times, so there’s no chance of any DNA from them. CCTV only shows a few shadowy images of the woman. She was careful to stay out of any camera hotspots, almost as if she knew where they were focused. Bob has interviewed the staff on duty on Friday night. They reckon she could only have been there a short while. She must have waited in the ladies loo before she made her second appearance.’

‘But isn’t it a private members club? Doesn’t there have to be a sign-in register or something?’

‘Formally, yes. But this is not your average club, Lydia. A lot of the people there want to remain unidentified, and the staff understandably don’t push them too hard. Even so, the door staff can’t remember her coming in. They think she slipped in quietly at some point without signing in. As for Duff’s mobile phone number, he might have given it to any number of women over the past couple of years since his wife died. For all we know she had it quite legitimately. The only neighbour of Duff’s who saw anything remembers that she was a middle-aged, dark-haired and heavily made-up woman with a single bag and that she didn’t speak as they passed on the stairs. She had no car with her, of course, so Bob doesn’t know how she left. None of the local cab companies remember a client that matches her description. She probably had it all planned in advance, and had left her car nearby. But how did she get to the bondage venue? Again, no taxi driver remembers giving a woman a lift there. Look, I know what you’re saying, but there really is nothing to go on. And I don’t think we’ll ever find anything. We just have to leave it. None of it makes sense unless she had help of some kind and that rules the boss out, surely?’

‘Shouldn’t we at least tell Matt Silver?’

‘I already have. We had a quiet chat about it yesterday, and came to no conclusion. The boss’s name was mentioned as someone with a motive. But we went no further.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘He’d already thought of it. I could see it in his eyes. But there is one other problem, Lydia. Whoever did it knew exactly how to sever those nerves in Duff’s wrists. How would she have got that knowledge?’

‘A quick look at the internet will give you pages that show the wrist nerves in fine detail. I know, I’ve googled it to see. And she’s good with her fingers. She does embroidery and fine needlework for a hobby. She gave me a small tapestry for my birthday last month that she’d embroidered herself.’

‘That may be the case, but it’s very different from carrying out what was a surgical procedure. Look, Lydia, this is mad. We’re going nowhere, and we’ll continue to go nowhere. In the end, it’s not our problem. Bob Thompson over in Bournemouth is in charge of it, so let’s just leave it to him.’

‘If you say so, but I had to get it off my chest. It’s been keeping me awake at night, and few things do that.’

Marsh turned to face her. ‘If something else comes to light, then I promise I’ll bring it up again. For what it’s worth, I don’t think it was her. It would go against her whole being, her whole reason for existing. Justice and the law are so central to her character that I find it impossible to match her against what that woman did to Duff, however strong the boss’s motives might have been.’

He thought of the two occasions when he’d seen a different side to his boss. On the previous Wednesday, when she’d been so furious that she’d almost hit him. Then he’d had a momentary glimpse into a very different person, someone who was plumbing the depths of a desperate, personal anguish that she was unable to share. And just three days previously when they’d found Duff semiconscious and mutilated, she’d seemed lost in a dream world. He pushed the memories into a dim recess of his mind. Above all else he valued loyalty and Sophie Allen, his complex boss, deserved it.

‘No, it wasn’t her. Trust me.’

Pillay looked at him and turned back to the police station. Marsh watched her go. He knew that he’d failed to convince her.