CXVI The Beginning of the End (Book 1): A Gripping Murder Mystery and Suspense Thriller (CXVI BOOK 1) (17 page)

Woods smiled. “I’m glad you’re on my side,” he said.

Wednesday 30
^th
May –
Thursday 31
^st
May.

Barnes was slightly out of breath
after sprinting up the stairs and back into the Incident Room. Foster, McLean,
Jacobs, West and Dudley were already waiting. Foster had called for everyone to
be back by four o’clock for an impromptu meeting to discuss the allocation of
duties following Woods’ admission to hospital and the likelihood of a long
sickness absence.

“Ah, Maria, glad you made it,” Foster said, looking
concerned. “How was he?”

“Tired; in some pain. He couldn’t remember much of
what happened.”

“Do they know what caused it?” McLean asked.

“They’re doing tests, but stress, long hours and
poor diet haven’t helped.”

“Any idea how long he’s going to be away from work?”
Dudley asked.

“At least three months.”

Foster’s stance softened. “Thanks for going to see
him; I’ll go at the weekend.” He turned to face the others. “The reason I’ve
got you all together is to announce that in Greg’s absence I’ll be taking over
the investigation.” He paused, Barnes presumed to let the gravity of what he’d
said sink in. “I’m just about up to speed with how things are progressing, and
the Chief Constable would like me to take over the reins.” He looked at Barnes,
“Maria, can you report to Hilton and work alongside him for the time being.”

She glanced over and gave Dudley one of her
uncomprehending looks. “That’s fine,” she said calmly.

“Very well, you all know what we need to be focusing
on, so let’s try and turn this complex investigation into a decisive
conclusion.” Foster waited for a few seconds, “Oh, I’ll be using Greg’s office
from now on. If you need anything you know where I am.”

When Foster disappeared into his
new office Barnes went over to Dudley, who’d gone back to his desk and was sitting
looking at the computer. She stood quietly for a moment, slowly scrutinising
him. Finally she spoke. “I’m in the middle of looking into Gerrard Crean’s
missing fortunes. I’ve got the guys from the National Fraud Intelligence Bureau
going through the deals that went so badly wrong, and I was planning visiting
Pauline tomorrow morning and asking about who he’d been dealing with in the
months leading up to his death. I’ve discovered he donated millions to several
big charities and I wanted to check out these contributions and see if anything
untoward happened there. Is that okay with you, or have you got something else
you’d rather I was getting on with?”

Dudley smiled, his perfectly white teeth gleaming.
“No, that’s fine, Maria. I’m busy trying to locate Zielinski; I’ve traced his
parents and spoken to them. . .”

“You can speak Polish as well as Spanish?”
she
said, giving him a resigned look.

“How do you know I can speak Spanish?”

“You’d spoken to Ramírez’s father.”

He nodded succinctly. “Good deduction.”

“So, where did you learn Polish?”

“University.”

She smiled sweetly. “I know a little Polish, but I
can speak Russian fluently.”

“Your talents are wasted here, Maria.”

“I doubt that,” she replied bashfully. “Anyway what
did Zielinski’s parents say?”

“He never returned home and the money he was sending
them suddenly ceased. They’d tried to contact him via the Polish network here
in the UK, but didn’t have any success. They haven’t heard from him since and
he was never reported as a missing person.”

She paused to give the impression she was thinking;
then she pulled a swivel chair over and seated herself nearer to him. “The more
I uncover about Gerrard Crean, the more I believe he wasn’t the monster the
papers claim him to be. I can’t be certain yet, but under normal circumstances,
I doubt he was the type to have either Zielinski or Ramírez killed. I don’t
know, but maybe becoming terminally ill unbalanced his state of mind.”

Dudley nodded in agreement, so she continued. “Therefore,
I believe his intention with both Zielinski and Ramírez was to kick them out of
the country and metaphorically his life. They were both foreign nationals and
sending them packing was probably the least risky option.”

“I might accept that in the case of Ramírez, where
there is a record of her going back to Spain, but Zielinski never left the UK,
unless it was under a new identity.”

Barnes, who was unconvinced, shook her head. “What
if Crean’s plan was to rough up Zielinski — similar to what he’d done to
Mateland — and then send him packing? Let’s say, just as he’d done with Ramírez,
but something went wrong and Zielinski was accidentally killed. Crean’s only
option would then have been to dispose of the body and clear up the mess; that’s
why there’s no trace of him. If he’d left under a new identity he’d have
contacted his parents, even if it was a postcard or a quick call to let them
know he was alive.”

Dudley smiled. “So why can’t we find Ramírez?”

“Because we’re not looking hard enough. She’ll be in
contact with her parents and, for whatever reason, they’ll be protecting her
identity. Ask yourself why they acted so strangely when Chris Jacobs showed up
yesterday. Is that normal behaviour of parents who supposedly haven’t seen or
heard from their only daughter for the past twenty years?”

“That’s not a bad deduction either, Maria. Perhaps I
should come with you to see Pauline and look at who Gerrard was associating
with at the time Zielinski disappeared.”

That crooked smile materialised on her face again. “Why
don’t you stay here and assist Jacobs with the search for Ramírez? I’ll ask
Pauline for you. That way we’re not wasting time.”

Dudley nodded. “Sounds good.”

Barnes got up from the chair. “Great, can I get you
a coffee?” she asked, and without waiting for an answer she walked away towards
her desk.

Thursday 31
^st
May.

As she drove out of Leyburn and
headed along the A684 towards Hawes, Barnes was awestruck with the twisting
narrow roads, the crumbling stone walls, the lush rolling green fields and the
beautiful countryside. She drove past the signpost to Aysgarth Falls and thought
how picturesque and idyllic it all was.
How lucky are people who live here?
she mused, missing the turning towards the farmhouse, and having to drive through
and back around Hawes, with its quirky one-way system, tiny shops and bustling streets.

It was therefore 9.15 a.m. when she drove up the
lane towards Pauline’s farmhouse, and she was surprised to see a smartly
dressed dark-suited man standing guard at the entrance gates. She pressed the
button and the driver’s door window descended; the man stepped forward to
address her.

“Good morning,” Barnes said, holding out her ID.
“Mrs Crean’s expecting me.” She’d telephoned before leaving Wakefield;
explained that Woods was in hospital and no longer in charge of the
investigation, and said she needed to speak with Pauline.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” the man replied in
a friendly welcoming voice. He spoke into the two-way radio announcing her
arrival and the gates opened immediately. “You can drive in now. Please park
adjacent to the stable block.”

Barnes complied and as she stepped from the vehicle
she spotted two more smartly dressed men patrolling the grounds and another one
down by the lake.

Pauline was waiting to greet her at the entrance
doors and the three dogs came running out. As they all went indoors Barnes was
introduced to Inwood and Simonstone who both made themselves busy elsewhere
leaving her and Pauline alone in the living room.

“You certainly are well protected, Pauline. How many
guys have you watching the farmhouse and the grounds?”

“Eight bodyguards and two police officers,” Pauline
replied, looking embarrassed. “I know it’s over the top, but I need to feel
safe.”

Barnes nodded briefly, as Pauline continued. “It’s
ridiculous; I couldn’t imagine Gerrard ever harming a single hair on my body;
it’s the hype and anxiety that have forced me into this. I bet you think I’m
crazy.”

Barnes shook her head. “It must be costing a fortune
though.”

Pauline appeared unfazed. “The money’s not
important,” she said, but quickly added, “I didn’t mean that to sound how it
did. Of course it’s important; I’d rather be safe and poor than wealthy and
living in fear.” She gave a sad smile, “I understand you would like to ask me
some more questions about Gerrard.”

Barnes leaned forward and spent a few moments
reinforcing the impression she was building up of Gerrard, together with her
view that he was unlikely to want to harm anyone.

“That’s very kind, Maria. I appreciate you saying
that,” Pauline responded affectionately. “If you read the papers you could be
forgiven for thinking he was a nasty vindictive person who went around killing
people, which is so far off-piste it’s laughable.”

Barnes smiled in agreement and took the opportunity
to ask about Gerrard’s charity donations.

“He was a very modest person who generally tried to
keep his generosity out of the public gaze. Unfortunately sometimes his wishes
were compromised, but he supported most of the main charities: Cancer Research,
Heart Foundation, Breast Cancer, Epilepsy Research, Macmillan, Alzheimer’s,
Help the Aged, Dogs Trust, Barnardo’s, UNICEF, RSPCA, etc., etc., etc.”

“I understand he also supported smaller charities,”
Barnes added.

“Yes, he’d never say exactly how much he donated,
but over the years it totalled tens if not hundreds of millions.”

“What is Blueberry Woods?”

Pauline smiled. “That was one of Gerrard’s
favourites. It provided support to people and families whose loved ones had
suffered brain injuries. I can’t remember how he first came across them, but he
bought the land and partly funded the building of their fantastic new centre on
the outskirts of Barrow-in-Furness.”

Barnes, who’d been busy scribbling down notes, now
looked up. “Can I move on and ask you who Gerrard was associating with in the months
leading up to his death?”

“Mainly family and close friends. He’d reduced his
contact with work colleagues to an absolute minimum.”

“But he was still bringing deals to the table.”

Pauline smiled ruefully. “You mean the ones he lost
all the money on.”

Barnes affirmed.

“It didn’t bother him, he just shrugged it off and
said we’d not to worry about it. Obviously he’d other things on his mind, and
as time went by he became withdrawn. He was desperately trying to sort things
out before he died; the last thing he wanted was to leave any loose ends.”

“Was there anyone new who appeared around that time,
or were there any unusual characters, people out of the norm?”

Pauline huffed, “Albion Bedford.”

Barnes wrote down the name. “Who’s he?” she asked.

“Gerrard employed him through the business and used
him when sorting out awkward people. Don’t get me wrong, there was nothing
unsavoury about it, everything was legal and above board, but I suppose you’d
refer to him as someone who’d persuade people to be more reasonable.”

Barnes raised one eyebrow.

“It sounds worse than it actually was,” Pauline
said. “You see, in business you always get the ones who are after trying it on,
the ones who won’t accept the fair offer and who want to hold you over a barrel
and take your very last penny. Do you know what I mean?”

Barnes nodded even though she was unconvinced.

“Well, when Gerrard had tried everything he could to
get these people on board, and they were still being difficult, he’d turn to
Albion Bedford - who’d have a friendly chat with them and resolve any
difficulties.”

“Yes, I bet he did,” Barnes said, chewing the top of
her pen. “Was Albion Bedford around when Gerrard had the trouble with Victor
Zielinski?”

Pauline looked puzzled.

“The care worker mistreating his mother,” Barnes
clarified.

“Yes, he’d been around for years; he was good at
tracking people down and keeping tabs on them.”

“The home say Gerrard never contacted them about the
abuse, so they hadn’t sacked Zielinski, or reported him to the police; they say
he just disappeared.”

Pauline scowled. “I’m sure Gerrard said he’d been
sacked.”

“Is it possible that Gerrard turned to Bedford for
help with Zielinski?”

Pauline paused, looked up at the ceiling and
shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose so…” she said. “You’d have to ask him.”

“Was he around when Ramírez tried to blackmail
Gerrard?”

Pauline nodded. “I think he first started working
for Gerrard around the early 90s, so he may have assisted with her too.”

“Do you have a contact number?”

“Are you thinking he might be the killer?”

“I’m looking into all possibilities.”