Troubled Waters (19 page)

At GMP headquarters in Newton Heath, Manchester, and an e-mail has been received from Oslo. Detective Sergeant Maurice Evans was disseminating it first, before presenting a verbal summary to Inspector Bill Lambert. ‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered to himself every now and then in his Welsh lilt, much to the consternation of his closer colleagues in the open-plan office.

‘Keep it to yourself, boyo!’ one wit teased.

‘Sorry!’ Evans apologised.

Finally he jumped up and strode off down the corridor to Lambert’s office. He tapped on the door before popping his head round. Lambert gestured for him to come in and sit down.

‘Got it, sir,’ he announced, waving the three-page e-mail in the air.

‘In summary, then,’ Lambert demanded.

‘Right, well, after we sent them the picture from CCTV footage of Hans Johansen when he landed at Heathrow airport, they were able to circulate it to all major Norwegian towns and cities. As we suggested, they concentrated on left-wing trouble
makers, green parties and the oil and gas prospecting industry. They soon came up with a man named Knut Amundsen, an all-out political leftie with a long history of affiliation with protest causes.’

‘Sounds like our man. Carry on,’ Lambert ordered.

‘OK, Knut has worked in the north-sea oil industry for fifteen years and has long been suspected of being the brains behind a number of protest organisations. But although arrested three times, he has always managed to get off. Norwegian secret police had been keeping a close eye on him until it all went quiet about eighteen months ago.’

‘So they’re basically saying he’s our man? But what about involvement in violence. Anything there?’

‘Not involving him personally so far, although there are signs of him becoming more irrational.’

‘Definitely our man,’ confirmed Lambert.

‘Are you off to FrackUK then, sir, to see your mate the Gent?’

‘Well, I was originally supposed to be playing golf with him, but that went out of the window, as you know, when we got word of the threats to FrackUK. I was hoping Sammy Wang would have completed his interviews at the Lowry Hotel and Salford into Work by now, so that I could discuss the murder at the same time. He wanted to run something by me on that score.’

‘No word from Sammy as yet, I’m afraid, sir.’

‘OK. You still driving that big Vauxhall Insignia?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Come on, then, let’s go. You can drive. I much prefer it to the new BMWs they’ve drafted in.’

There was much general discussion on the way, with Lambert asking whether uniformed officers had arrived at Piccadilly to take control of the blockage of the pavement area outside the building, and the sit-in in the gardens. All was currently under control, Evans had confirmed. They arrived to find that the pavement protesters had been moved across the road to the edge of the gardens, with six policemen standing between them and the roadway. The sit-in was ringed by another dozen policemen. Before going in, advice was received that a dog unit was on the way and that mounted police were ready on stand-by if the need arose.

They signed in with the security desk at FrackUK, the man on duty standing to attention when he overheard one of the uniformed officers now guarding the foyer greet the new visitors.

***

I have been advised of the police officers’ arrival and am waiting outside the lift to greet them as they alight at the eighth floor.

‘Pleased to see you,’ I greet them sarcastically. ‘Come through.’ I guide them through to Carl Benson’s office, where he and Amelia have a bird’s-eye view of the show going on below us in Piccadilly.

Greetings undertaken, Bill walks to the window and views the scene for himself. ‘A right Fred Karno’s this is turning out to be,’ he states grimly.

‘A right Fred Karno’s it is, sir,’ Evans echoes.

‘Well, I’ve more or less got the picture on the outside. Can someone describe the set-up of the logistics in the building?’

I take the lead and run through the layout of the floors and the walk through security checks that I had made earlier. Carl fills in with more details where appropriate.

Bill takes it all in quickly, and looking thoughtful asks, ‘Apart from the obvious entry point to the building, which is how we came in from the mall area, is there any other way in which an intruder could enter the premises without forcing an emergency exit door?’

‘No,’ Carl confirms.

‘And after passing security an intruder would either have to use the lift or stairs to get up here?’

‘Yes,’ Carl nods.

‘If he’s going to mount any kind of attack against the building or FrackUK employees, then it’s a waiting game. It would be nice to think that the protest and sit-in outside is the whole gambit, but that would be naïve.’

Evans chips in. ‘The problem is we know that Johansen is in the UK somewhere, but we don’t know exactly where. With that lot out there it would be safe to assume he is in Manchester somewhere, orchestrating the scenario.’

There are nods of agreement all round.

‘About Hans Johansen himself, then?’ I ask.

‘Yes indeed,’ Lambert begins, gesturing towards Evans. ‘We received an e-mail two hours ago today from Norway, which Evans has already briefed me on, so if I miss out anything, he will fill in the gaps. The man you know as Hans Johansen is an imposter. His real name is Knut Amundsen, a man with a long history of trouble-making, going back as far as his days at University in Oslo, where he was a member of a number of anti-establishment organisations, notably Greenpeace. At that time you might remember they were more interested in saving whales. With a degree in chemical engineering he worked in the north-sea oil industry for many years, and was active in several subversive organisations, but always managed to stay under the radar until now. He quit his job in 2013 and nothing has been heard about him until now. It was wondered how he was financing himself and his activities. It appears he stole the identity of one Hans Johansen, who of course is mortified and can’t quite believe it, and then went on to help himself to a large amount of cash, courtesy of FrackUK. There is a lot more, but I won’t bore you all with the details for now. Evans can copy you if you require.’

‘I think you covered all the important stuff there, sir,’ Evans said, somewhat obsequiously.

We all sit dumbfounded, staring at each other for a second or two, until Carl rallies. ‘It seems all so easy, like an everyday occurrence.’

‘Unfortunately that what it is becoming,’ Lambert affirms. ‘With the internet and mobile phone technology, it is now commonplace for fraudsters to make themselves out to be some innocent person, often from foreign countries. Until a situation occurs to trigger suspicion, no one is any the wiser. Obviously it is less common on a scale such as this, but vulnerable and elderly people face the daily threat of being scammed by outfits professing to be charitable organisations but are anything but, not to mention false prizes and hard-luck stories that are pure fantasy.’

At this point Evans takes a call, speaks briefly, and then reports back to us. ‘It’s about the action outside, sir. Apparently there are now two TV crews in addition to the other media out there, and they are wanting a statement from you.’

‘Bugger!’ Lambert exclaims. ‘OK, we’ll have to be getting back to HQ soon, so we can give them a few words on the way out.’

‘Anything on the murder, before you go?’ Amelia enquires tentatively.

I make eye contact with her, not at all sure if this is the right time to reveal the darker side of Sophia’s temperament to the police. She obviously gets the message and says no more.

Evans takes up the conversation. ‘Yes, we’ve had Sammy Wang over at both the Lowry Hotel and Salford into Work today. He’ll be working on a report as we speak, and is hopefully finished, in fact, by the time we drive over there, so we can get back to you on that.’

‘Excellent,’ I congratulate.

‘Right, we had better be off, then,’ Lambert says, standing up and glancing at Amelia, Carl and me. ‘I assume you guys wouldn’t mind staying around a bit longer, in view of the circumstances?’

‘Not at all,’ we all agree.

The policemen gone, we all go to the window and watch the scene below. The media have made their own camp across the road. The traffic is still moving, albeit slowly, due to the valiant efforts of the police. There are no mounted police as yet. We see Lambert and Evans cross the road to the gardens side and speak to the press for a few minutes before being driven away in Evan’s big Vauxhall Insignia, now with a uniformed driver.

There is a bit of a lull as afternoon rolls into evening, and the darkness seems to quieten everything down outside in Piccadilly Gardens. Carl wanders off to check on staff who are finishing for the weekend, leaving Amelia and me to our discussions.

‘Do you think we should have told Lambert about Sophia’s behaviour?’ she asks.

‘No, not at this stage. Policemen are suspicious enough, without putting ideas in their heads.’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ she agrees.

‘I’ve been having a few thoughts, though. Once we hear back about Sammy Wang’s report, it might be a good idea to have a word with Carlo Peroni, see if he’ll reveal anything about Sophia’s general health and state of mind, you know. I’m sure you get the general idea.’

Amelia frowns. ‘I think I know where you’re heading with this, and agree it would be better to wait until we know what else the police have discovered during their re-interviews before we possibly mess things up.’

Carl has returned after sorting out his staff, and he tells us that two have volunteered to stay overnight with him to keep an eye on the premises.

‘I’ve just thought: it never occurred to me at the time when Lambert was leaving and said could we stay around a bit that he actually meant overnight,’ I say.

‘I guess that is what he had in mind,’ Carl replies.

‘I’m afraid I agree,’ Amelia says. ‘Sounds like a takeaway dinner.’

‘It’s on me, then,’ Carl offers.

My mobile rings, and its Lambert to bring me up to date on the re-interviews. I listen intently for a few minutes, before letting him know that we are staying overnight and that we will let him know if we find out any more information about Sophia.

‘Well?’ Amelia looks at me expectantly.

‘The re-interviews, whilst not conclusive in any way, do cast suspicion on both Phil Biggins and Sophia Peroni, in that neither were totally forthcoming in their first interviews.’

‘In what way?’

‘At first they denied they had been outside of the bar area on the evening of the murder. It was only when told that hotel staff had seen persons of their description outside that they remembered. In fact, Sophia needed a little prompting before agreeing that she had been outside for a smoke.’

‘I didn’t know she smoked!’ Amelia exclaims.

‘Maybe it was a one-off with drinking,’ I suggest. ‘He also confirmed that the time scales stated by both were sufficiently vague as to not rule them out from being outside at nine o’clock.’

‘Umm!’

‘Just a thought,’ I add. ‘We can do better than a takeaway. Why don’t we take a walk over to Peroni restaurant for a pizza or something, and have a chat with Carlo. We can see if we can get him to voice any concerns about Sophia.’

‘Now that is a great idea,’ she approves.

We offer to bring a pizza back for Carl and his volunteer staff, but he declines saying that he is too hungry to wait. Fifteen minutes later we are the bar at Peroni, sipping Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic with lime and waiting to be seated. Carlo welcomes us in his inimitable manner.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?’

‘It’s Amelia’s birthday, and we have been doing business in town,’ I lie, not wishing to divulge the real reason of our visit at this point.

The place is busy, so we figure we had better wait until it appears all diners have been seated and served. An hour later there is pleasant buzz and the waiters have everything under control. Our pizzas are long gone, and we are dawdling over the last dregs of wine left in the one glass each we had allowed ourselves. Carlo comes over to our table, hoping we’ll go for more food and drinks, but we decline and he sits down to join us for a drink. His raised eyebrows in disappointment are barely noticeable when we opt for coffee.

We had agreed that at the signal from me, Amelia would introduce the subject of his daughter. The usual politics and football are discussed until I make the signal.

‘Carlo, there is also an ulterior motive for our visit. We wanted to speak to you alone.’

‘Yes, and what would that ulterior motive be?’ he asks guardedly.

Amelia states the facts bluntly. ‘It’s about Sophia. You know she has been worried about something, saying she has someone stalking her, and that she asked us if we could help.’

‘That is true,’ he answers. ‘But I thought she was also worried about the situation at her work, the frauds and so on.’

‘That is also true,’ I confirm. ‘But we can find no evidence of a stalker, and feel she is using that as an excuse. Could there be some other reason?’