The Accidental Warrior Page 9

  “Today has been a difficult one for all of us. If there is anyone who would like to be excused this afternoon, you are free to go.” Derek paused, but no-one moved. So, he turned to face DS Jones.

  “DS Jones, I’m hoping you have some results for us?”

  “I do. The British Museum have finished studying the gold coin. They are convinced it dates to around 336 BC and is Macedonian. Gold coins were highly valued and comparatively rare during this period. Currency was usually bronze, with only a limited number of silver coins cast. They believe it’s King Philip II who is depicted on the coin and that it was produced for the celebrations held in the Summer that year, the same celebrations at which he was assassinated.”

  “Did they give any indication as to the value of the coin?” Derek took the top off his pen in readiness.

  “Yes, and no; such coins are rare and of historical significance, and as such, are difficult to value. They would not be drawn further than to estimate that each coin could be worth at least several thousand pounds on the open market.”

  “Indeed? Well, we’ve now established that all the deceased possessed a coin, but what does this tell us? Have we discounted that the coins were meant for the afterlife?” Derek turned to Mike who’d been specially invited to the briefing.

  “No, Sir, we’ve not, it’s just not clear what their significance is.”

  “I agree, it’s really difficult to say. I mean, it could be the case that to hold such a coin meant allegiance to a certain group or society,” suggested Harriet.

  “Can you elaborate?” asked Derek.

  “Well, I’m in the middle of some research, it’s early days, but it does seem that the symbol of the sun or star was of fundamental importance to the Macedonian people, particularly at the time of Philip II, appearing everywhere: over doorways, on buildings, walls, and in artwork. I need to see if its importance changed at all following his death. I’ve got some more work to do, but hope to be able to report back soon.”

  “Okay, thanks. To be able to say for sure how and why our victims were linked would help to move this investigation forward.” Derek turned to the note-taker.

  “Note to myself to ensure that an action is raised in relation to exploring this symbol and its significance further. Action to be allocated retrospectively to DS Lacey’s team.”

  Harriet had half expected Steve Smith to jump in. Indeed, she’d only mentioned her research to lure him into a retort, but he’d not taken the bait. He seemed preoccupied.

  “Okay, where are we with the DNA samples?” Derek opened his note book.

  “Some good news: we’ve got a profile, low copy, but it does enable us to say it’s a female of southern Mediterranean heritage. Unfortunately when we ran it against the DNA database, there were no hits. I subsequently spoke to Superintendent Lacey who authorised it to be run against Interpol and all other UK databases including the Police and the Military. There were no hits on the Military or Interpol database, we await to see if anything comes from the police. On the face of it, it doesn’t seem to move us much further forward,” said Paul Jones.

  “Okay, noted, thank you. Keep us updated, will you?”

  Paul nodded.

  “Anyone else want to add anything? No? Well, thank you everyone. The next briefing will be on Monday, have a good weekend.”

  Just as Harriet was tidying up her desk and making ready to leave for the weekend, a hand appeared on her shoulder; it was Derek.

  “Harriet, have you got a second? Join us in Nick’s office, would you?” He pointed to DS Paul Jones.

  Harriet followed him and he shut the door.

  “Harriet, I wasn’t entirely truthful in the briefing. The thing is, we have had the data back from the Police database and it’s thrown something up that is both fascinating but also confusing. Firstly, I should say that when the samples were sent off, I asked the lab to look wider to include any familial or similar pattern DNA. Remember this is low copy DNA so it tends not to be as accurate. What is fascinating is that these samples threw up a handful of unexpected comparisons to your own DNA. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but it’s intriguing,” said Paul Jones.

  “Hang on a minute, are you saying that the DNA samples taken from the scene of Professor Grey’s death match my DNA?” Harriet put her hand to her mouth.

  “No, what I’m saying is that there were some similarities or likenesses that often occur within families.”

  “So, are you saying that it was a relative of mine who was at the scene?”

  “No, just that there are some associations between your DNA and that found. It’s fascinating, but it may not mean anything. I’m going to go back over the samples, to see if we missed anything, to see if we can find anything to help us explain it.”

  “I agree with you, it is both confusing and fascinating,” said Derek.

  “That’s one way of putting it.” Harriet ran her hand through her hair.

  “It really is nothing to worry about, Harriet, it’s a mystery to solve,” said a smiling Paul Jones.

  But Harriet could not stop thinking about it. The logical part of her brain told her similarities often occur in the field of DNA, but what if there was more to it? In the end, she concluded that she had no choice but to wait to see if Paul came up with anything definitive.

  CHAPTER 16

  Harriet turned on the television as she did every morning, but as she jumped out of bed to take a shower, something caught her attention.

  “Good morning, it’s Monday the 7th of August 2017. Today’s top story: the apparent suicide of Chief Superintendent Alec Brown, found at the wheel of his BMW.”

  Harriet froze. In the background, the reporter was explaining a car had been found with a pipe fixed to the exhaust and the engine running. Coming to, Harriet grabbed her mobile.

  “Derek, have you seen the news this morning?”

  “No, why?”

  “Turn it on.”

  “Okay… Bloody Hell, not for one minute do I think this was suicide… Leave it with me, I’ll call you later. Make Mike aware, will you?”

  It was late afternoon when Derek managed to catch up with Harriet and Mike. They met at a transport café on the edge of town.

  “How did you get on?” asked Harriet.

  “Well, I’ve had a very interesting day. I went to see the officer in charge of the case, who just happens to be an old friend of mine, Detective Inspector Gary Lamsden. I learnt that on police arrival the garage door was shut but not locked. The BMW’s engine was running. The pipe taped to the exhaust ran through the boot of the car into the back seat area. The boot door was closed onto the pipe. Alec was slumped over the steering wheel. Next to him on the passenger seat was a typed letter in a plain envelope, not addressed to anyone. There was also an empty bottle of Russian vodka on the seat. Alec was cold to the touch; his skin had a grey tinge to it. That was the first anomaly for me. In my experience, victims of carbon monoxide poisoning look routinely rosy in complexion. I think it’s entirely possible that Alec was already dead when he was placed in the car. The second anomaly was the empty bottle of vodka. Alec famously drank Southern Comfort and rather too much of it, or so I’m led to believe. It will be interesting to discover his blood alcohol level. And, thirdly, Alec did not type, he had a secretary to do that for him. At work, he only ever sent hand-written, notes which his secretary scanned and sent by email. So, if he was going to leave a suicide note, it would absolutely have been a handwritten one.”

  “I presume you let DI Lamsden know your concerns?” said Mike.

  “I did, and what’s interesting is he confided that the Deputy Chief Constable has been making a pain of himself all day. He appears exceptionally keen to get the investigation done and dusted.”

  “Did you discover what Alec’s note said?” asked Harriet.

  “No, we were interrupted, but I’m due to catch up with Gary again tomorrow, at the post-mortem.”

  Harriet got to her feet.

  “Be
fore you go, there’s something else I need to talk to you about,” said Derek.

  Harriet sat back down.

  “I went to see Nick this morning, concerned that you may still be a target and to see what measures have been put in place to protect you. This is really difficult Harriet, but I’m not sure you are top of the priority list…”

  “It’s fine, I’m fully aware of my husband’s shortcomings. The truth is that he’s currently out of sorts; sullen, preoccupied and distracted by a young DC. There’s been some blatant flirting going on. I’m afraid Nick Lacey has only one priority, and that’s Nick Lacey himself.” Harriet was staring at the floor.

  “Thank you for making that so much less awkward than it could have been. Anyway, be assured that Mike and I are working on a plan to secure your safety.”

  “Thank you both, I appreciate it.”

  “You’re most welcome. Shall we say same place, same time tomorrow for an update?”

  Both Mike and Harriet nodded in agreement.

  It was about five the next day when they got together. Harriet thought Derek looked drawn.

  “It’s no secret that I detest post-mortems, always have, so I had to resort to the old chewing gum trick to deal with the odour. As usual, there were two parts to the procedure: the physical, external and internal inspection of the body and the tests, toxicology, and biochemical analysis etc. If you don’t mind, I’ll read from my notes.

  “Body photographed, clothing noted, position of clothing noted. Clothing removed. Body searched for evidence of residues, samples of hair and nails taken. Body cleaned and weighed. Personal details recorded: male, forty-six years of age, strawberry blond hair, collar length, blue eyes, old appendix scar visible. Shears selected to open chest cavity. Organs removed one by one and weighed. Many and varied blood samples taken. Use of magnifying glass by pathologist to search for unusual marks. Puncture mark found with associated bruising on left arm, photographed and swabbed, requires further investigation. Stomach contents sent for analysis.”

  “Sounds as if there could have been foul play,” said Mike.

  “Quite.”

  “And the suicide note, did you learn anything?” asked Harriet.

  “I did, but you are not going to like it. I cannot reveal officially that I know what it says without compromising DI Lamsden. And before I tell you I feel I need to state for the record that I believe it to be a complete fabrication.”

  “Stop playing for time, what does it say?” said a frowning Harriet.

  Derek sighed. “In summary, it suggests that Alec has been sexually involved with you, Harriet, and that you recently moved onto a younger man but not without blackmailing Alec for huge sums of money he couldn’t afford. Apparently, you are in possession of sensitive photographs of him with prostitutes.”

  Harriet put her head in her hands.

  “You should know that I told Gary that this was a complete invention. I said you are the most loyal and dedicated officer I know. Wholly committed to your family.”

  “Thank you.” Harriet placed her hand on Derek’s.

  “This is a bloody serious mess, a concerted attempt to frame Harriet, to get her out of the way. We are dealing with some fucking powerful and well-connected individuals.” Mike’s nostrils were flared.

  “I couldn’t agree more, and I’ve had the heads-up that tomorrow morning Jack Peters will personally order Harriet’s arrest on suspicion of blackmail. By late morning, you will be circulated on PNC as ‘Wanted’.”

  “Bloody Hell! What am I going to do?”

  “Do you trust Mike and me?” Harriet nodded. “Okay then, you just need to disappear for a bit while we try to sort this mess out,” said Derek.

  “I strongly suggest you don’t go back to the house, they may already be looking for you. Jack Peters doesn’t like to leave anything to chance, he will want to locate you before making his announcement tomorrow. Also, I wouldn’t put it past him to put surveillance on Derek and me. For now, you’ll have to buy what you need. I’ll organise a rental car for tomorrow. It will be parked in row E of the retail park on the edge of town. The keys will be under the front offside wheel arch,” said Mike.

  Harriet left her car at the transport café and took a taxi to a nearby town. Here she booked into a Travelodge under her mother’s maiden name of Robinson. Exhausted by events she went to bed, but sleep did not come easy and was fitful.

  Waking early, Harriet showered, dressed and made for the nearest coffee shop. A large cup of black coffee and a couple of slices of toast later, she was ready to face the local shopping centre. Here, she purchased a travel bag, clothes, make-up, a dark brown collar-length wig and a large pair of sunglasses. Making a conscious effort to dress down, she bought jeans, T-shirts, and flip flops.

  A little after eleven, Harriet picked up the hire car. A grey Mondeo. She drove just shy of thirty miles to a small market town and booked into an old coaching inn.

  Feeling disconnected and lost, she decided to apply herself to something. She sent a text to Mike to ask him to post her father’s note books, along with her CID diaries. In the meantime, she’d concentrate on the only notes she had with her, the ones she’d made when she first started Operation Chapel. As she read, she spotted a telephone number in the paperwork of one of the victims. It contained an unusual combination of numbers, which included the sequence 8888. She’d seen it somewhere before, but where? She read on until the same number appeared in the belongings of another victim, and another. Excited, she had an idea.

  “Mike, it’s Harriet. I know I’m not supposed to call, but I really need a favour.”

  “Okay, got your text, package posted first class. What can I do?”

  “Thank you. Do you by any chance have any contacts with HOLMES in this force?”

  “Yes, I know a couple of the trainers quite well.”

  “I need a search of a telephone number, is that possible do you think?”

  “Under the radar, I take it?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I think that might be possible.”

  “Okay, thank you. I’ll text you the number.”

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  “Thanks Mike, I’m much obliged.”

  While she waited for Mike to come back to her, she napped. Her dreams were of her children, for she hadn’t been able to speak to them for a few days. On waking, she texted Annie to pass on her love, and promised to ring in a day or so.

  A few hours passed.

  “Harriet, it’s Mike, I have a result.”

  “You do?” she said sleepily.

  “Yes, and you’re not going to believe it.”

  “Go on, try me.” She jumped off the bed.

  “That number was a mobile number for a man called Troy Manning.”

  “Troy Manning, Troy Manning, don’t tell me, don’t tell me… Oh my God, he was the accountant found in his burnt-out house. He was part of Operation Eagle!”

  “Yep, you are absolutely right.”

  “That must be the link that was referred to, it must, but what the hell does it mean?”

  “That Operation Eagle is connected to Operation Chapel?”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm. Yes, no, there must be more to it than that, whilst we can’t yet prove that our victims knew each other, we may be able to prove they knew Troy Manning or at least knew of him.”

  “They did?”

  “Yes, I was going through my notes and I recognised the number. It’s unusual, so I checked and each victim had the same number either on a scrap of paper or in an address book, a diary, or in a mobile. Just the number, no name. Mike, we need to find out more about Troy. We need to establish when and how he died, compared to our victims.”

  “What if it was fucking snake venom?”

  “Well, then it’s most likely the same murderer.”

  “You’re right. I tell you what, I’ll ask Derek Wynn, I bet he knows someone who can look for us.”

  “Thanks Mike, th
at would be really useful. Will you let me know what he says?”

  “Of course, I’ll ring you back as soon as I know something.”

  “Mike, before you go, has anyone approached you about my disappearance yet?”

  “Yes, both Derek and I have had visits from Professional Standards; we were asked a few questions but not under caution, which was handy.”

  “I’m really sorry, they didn’t waste any time.”

  “No, it’s clearly being driven by Mr Peters, who seems in a particularly poor mood.”

  “Am I in really serious trouble?”

  “I’d say no, Derek has already pointed out numerous flaws with the official version of events. I don’t think it will be long before the evidence will speak for itself, just hang in there.”

  “What did Professional Standards ask you?”

  “Well, it was fucking good luck the way they worded the questions. They asked if I knew where you were, and I said I did not, because at that time I didn’t. Secondly, they asked if I knew where you might go and I told them I didn’t have a fucking clue. They asked me if you had been in touch. I told them you had called me, and when they asked what we had talked about, I told them.”