Dead at First Sight, page 30
Grace well knew from his own experience just how hard it was to investigate a prison murder.
‘I’ve left a Crime Scene Manager and two search officers there, as they need to get those showers freed up and back into use urgently. I’m going back tomorrow morning with a team and we’ll set up camp, work our way through the bunch of charmers,’ Henderson said. ‘I decided there wasn’t much point trying after lock-in this evening. The Prison Governor agreed.’
Grace thanked him, not envying Henderson his task. The DI told him he would report back later tomorrow, and left.
He then returned to his workstation, logged on and glanced through what was currently happening in Brighton and Hove to see if there was anything that might be connected to this current Operation Lisbon. But he saw nothing relevant to interest him.
An email from Cassian Pewe pinged in, asking for an immediate and urgent update.
But before he could reply, Glenn Branson came over. ‘Just taken a call from Comms, boss. An RPU officer from Polegate, in a plain car, did a sweep of the Kemp Town area and has spotted our Polo parked up outside a block of flats, Marina Heights.’
‘Yes? What else did he see?’
‘He says the car appears to be empty.’
‘Appears to be?’
‘Because of the warning not to get too close and the darkness, he couldn’t be one hundred per cent certain, but he’s pretty sure.’
Grace clenched his fists. Was this the breakthrough he’d been hoping for?
Was it Tooth’s car and, if so, would he be returning to it? ‘Where exactly, Glenn?’
‘In the visitors’ parking area immediately in front of the building.’
‘Where is this officer now?’
‘His name’s PC Trundle. I told him, as you instructed, to sit on it. He’s parked up at a safe distance, keeping eyes on.’
Grace considered this development. Where might Tooth be now, if this was his car? In the building? Lurking nearby? Or had he abandoned it? Was there CCTV of the car park?
‘When’s Trundle’s shift due to end?’
‘Eleven tonight.’
‘OK, either keep him on it or get another officer in a plain car to take over when his shift ends, if we don’t have more resources by then.’
Two minutes later, Branson came back. ‘Boss, the East and West Sussex Road Policing Units are all attending a double fatal near Chichester at the far end of the county. They’ve no resources currently to relieve PC Trundle.’
He told Branson to ask Trundle to hold his position and await further orders. Grace thought hard about everything they had on Tooth, mindful of his officers’ safety. ‘If it is Tooth’s car he’s very likely armed. Tell Comms to instruct Trundle to follow if he appears but not to stop the car, nor pursue him on foot if he leaves the vehicle. Request an Armed Response Vehicle on standby. But ensure it keeps well away and out of sight, we don’t want Tooth doing yet another runner.’
‘What might Tooth be doing at that building?’
‘Waiting for someone to come out? Or inside it?’
‘So who’s in there that’s so interesting to him?’ Branson asked.
‘The same person he’d gone along to see in Withdean Road before a marked car spooked him? The smart money’s on a tall Ghanaian with shiny red shoes.’
‘Yep.’
‘I’ll get a surveillance team in place. We also need some fast research on the building. There’s bound to be a caretaker or concierge in a block of flats that large. Have someone get hold of them, and first thing check the CCTV to see if it is Tooth and in which direction he might have gone. See if they’ve noticed anyone of Copeland’s description. Also find out who the managing agents are and whether they’ve let any of the flats to someone of his description – that will probably have to wait until office hours tomorrow. Likewise, in the morning, if nothing has changed, see what we can find out from the Council’s relevant databases. In the meantime, check the electoral roll.’
‘What about sending a couple of plain-clothes in to start doing door-to-door?’ Branson suggested.
‘I’m concerned that Copeland could be armed, as well as Tooth. We’ve seen what his colleague did. I don’t want to put any of our team in unnecessary danger. Let’s see what the caretaker comes up with first and then take a view.’
As Branson returned to his own workstation, Grace called the duty Gold and Silver Commanders and updated them.
They discussed a plan. When they had agreed it, together with the authority to continue deployment of armed officers, Grace stood up and called for the attention of everyone in the room. At that moment, Cassian Pewe phoned him.
93
Thursday 11 October
‘Roy,’ said a very irate-sounding ACC. ‘What part of my email asking for an urgent update did you not understand? I expect to be kept informed, otherwise you make me look a bloody idiot to the Chief. The minimal feedback I keep getting from you lacks all granularity.’
Roy decided to give him back as good as he could muster, having recently trawled the internet himself for management gobbledygook with which to retaliate. Childish, he knew, but it gave him pleasure. ‘With respect, sir,’ he said, ‘I appreciate you like to take the helicopter view. From forty thousand feet it may look one way, but it’s very different down here in the weeds.’
For a brief while it seemed as if Pewe was stumped for a reply. ‘What weeds are you talking about?’
‘Sir, I’m in the middle of a fast-time situation, may I get back to you in a while?’
‘Only if you have anything intelligible to say.’ The phone went dead.
Grace concentrated back on his task. ‘OK, for the benefit of all the team including new members, I’m going to provide a detailed update, so everyone knows where we are with the investigation. This is what we have so far on Operation Lisbon, the investigation into the murder of Suzy Driver, linked to the murder of her sister, Lena Welch, in Munich, and linked to the vicious attack on Toby Seward in this city two nights ago. We have two prime suspects for this attack, who are also our prime suspects for the murders of Suzy Driver and Lena Welch. They are linked to an internet romance fraud scamming outfit operating out of Germany, with further links to Ghana. We’ve established they have been operating from rented accommodation here in Brighton and we believe our suspects recently broke away from a much larger organization, possibly masterminded out of the Channel Isles. DS Camping is liaising with the Jersey States Police.’ He paused to swig some water from a bottle.
‘As you’ll know, a major development today is that one of these suspects, Kofi Okonjo, also known as Dunstan Ogwang, who was arrested on Tuesday night shortly after the attack on Toby Seward and was remanded in custody in Lewes Prison yesterday, was found murdered in a shower block there earlier this afternoon.’
‘Is anyone upset about the loss of such a fine, upstanding citizen, chief?’ Norman Potting asked.
Roy Grace was not smiling. ‘Norman!’ he rebuked.
‘Sorry, chief.’
‘Our role is to solve crimes, not to act as vigilante judge and jury, OK, Norman?’
As Potting looked duly chastised, Grace would dearly love to have added, more’s the pity. But he kept his focus.
‘On Tuesday night, our dear long-lost friend, the amazing disappearing American hitman Tooth, was spotted in Withdean Road, close to the house where our two suspects were running their operation. We don’t know what he was doing there, but it seems he may now be parked outside a block of flats in Kemp Town. Knowing what we do about Tooth’s line of work, I suspect he may be linked to the killing of Okonjo in prison. It is extremely unlikely that Okonjo was murdered as a result of a fight, because in my view he’d not been in there long enough to have made enemies.’
Potting interrupted. ‘Chief, we know from past experience that Tooth has Houdini-like qualities – but are you suggesting he somehow got into the prison, stabbed Okonjo and slipped out again?’
‘I’ve no evidence to support that, Norman. But the presence of Tooth is very timely and indicates that he could be involved in some way. My hypothesis is that Okonjo was the victim of a contract killing – he was killed either to silence him or in retribution, or both. If Okonjo was killed to order, it is very possible there is a contract out on his partner, Jules de Copeland, too. We understand they were both working for Steve Barrey and split away from him to start on their own. Barrey’s a ruthless man. It seems so far he’s been like the old Mafia capo John Gotti, nicknamed the Teflon Don, who evaded prosecution and justice for decades.’
He took another swig of water. ‘I’m going to continue with the surveillance team on Marina Heights, but in the meantime I want two of you to back up PC Trundle. Which of you are green permit holders?’
A green permit holder was a police officer with a driving licence that permitted engaging in a pursuit.
DC Wilde and DC Hall raised their hands.
‘Right, Velvet and Kevin, take a car and go and remain in the area – but keep well clear and out of direct line of sight from anyone in the building. I’ll get Comms to inform Trundle when you are in position.’
Both detectives immediately left the room.
Grace’s phone rang. Apologizing to his team, he took the call. It was Aiden Gilbert from Digital Forensics.
‘Boss, we have some more detail from Jules de Copeland’s email. It’s come as a result of the continuing monitoring of his email account we’ve been authorized to carry out. We don’t have his present location, but he’s made an RV with someone we’ve identified as a Mrs Lynda Merrill for tomorrow evening at an address near East Grinstead. It seems she is bringing a substantial amount of cash with her. At least £300,000.’
‘What? Hang on, Aiden.’ Grace told his team to stand down and hurried to his workstation. ‘Tell me what you have?’
‘From the email comms, this lady is all loved-up with a gentleman she believes to be called Richie Griffiths,’ Gilbert said. ‘We’ve identified this to be a false name given to her by Jules de Copeland. It looks like they’ve agreed to meet tomorrow evening at an isolated cottage for a romantic weekend.’
‘Do you have the address?’ Grace asked.
‘I do, she’s sent it to him with elaborate directions on finding it.’
‘Nice work!’
Gilbert gave it to him and he wrote it down. Primrose Farm Cottage, Forest Row. Along with the directions.
‘Sounds like they’re planning to meet around 6.30 p.m. tomorrow evening, boss. You wouldn’t want to go and spoil their beautiful tryst, would you?’
‘An old romantic like me? Why would I even think about doing something like that, Aiden?’
‘Glad to hear it, boss! I’d hate to be the one to blunt Cupid’s arrow.’
As soon as he ended the call, Grace rang the Gold Commander, Detective Chief Superintendent Jason Tingley, and updated him.
They met a short while later, looking at a Google Earth map of the cottage and surrounding areas, and discussed a strategy for tomorrow evening, if there were no developments in the interim. Tingley asked Grace whether he’d considered speaking to Lynda Merrill, telling her the situation and replacing her with a police decoy.
Grace responded that he had already considered this, but it seemed from the intercepted emails that Lynda Merrill genuinely believed Richie Griffiths was real. He knew how reluctant victims of romance fraud often were to accept the truth, often going into complete denial. In his view, with the arrest – and now death – of his colleague, Copeland was a definite flight risk. His hypothesis was that Copeland was going to turn up, grab the money, convert it into a cyber currency and disappear. Back to Ghana, most likely, and then probably completely vanish.
Tingley saw his reasoning, but their primary concern was that Lynda Merrill could not be left exposed. Before policies had changed, some years back, they might have been able to consider using her as bait – like a tethered goat – but not now, when safeguarding victims had to be the priority.
The meandering driveway, over half a mile long from the road to the house, looked to be a major asset. If they had that covered, they both agreed, they could arrest Jules de Copeland before he got into the house. The Silver Command room would be set up at HQ, from which the operation would be run. Two CROPS – Covert Rural Surveillance officers – were to be deployed tonight to position themselves, under the cover of darkness, in observation posts covering Primrose Farm Cottage. They would report to a dedicated support team located in a concealed position close by, which would in turn liaise with the Silver Tactical Command. To cover all likely contingencies, a vehicle containing two Armed Response officers would also be stationed close by, as well as additional police resources.
CROPS officers were trained in concealment. They wore combat fatigues made from Disruptive Pattern Material – DPM – selected for the terrain they were going into, with real vegetation attached to their garb and helmets. They carried provisions and equipment enabling them to stay in place motionless for hours and, if need be, days. Because once in situ they could not move for risk of being seen.
As further back-up, Silver would also request Home Office approval for a listening device to be placed in the cottage.
They agreed that the moment the CROPS saw Copeland coming down the drive, one ARV would carry out a high-threat enforced stop and arrest him in his car, with the second ARV coming up behind, both as back-up and to seal off the exit route for Copeland’s car.
At 8.30 p.m., Grace decided that if his hypothesis was right and it was Jules de Copeland who Tooth was watching for, then nothing was likely to happen until later tomorrow, when Copeland made his next move. Grace set a rota of a skeleton team of his crew to stay during the night, and told the rest to go home and get some rest.
He left to go home, also, with instructions to the officers staying on to call him, no matter how late, if there were any developments.
He had a feeling that tomorrow was going to be a big and long day. In the meantime he had a serious discussion ahead with Cleo, about his job offer from Alison Vosper. He was flattered to be offered it, but he really didn’t know how he felt about it, nor what Cleo’s views would be.
But when he arrived home, Kaitlynn’s car was outside and Cleo’s was gone. The nanny was dozing on the sofa in the living room in front of the television. There was a note on the kitchen table, confirming an earlier text from Cleo.
Just been called out to recover a body that’s been washed up on the beach near the pier. Kaitlynn came over. Back as soon as I can, maybe with some fresh prawns and a lobster or two! Chicken casserole in the fridge – microwave four mins on full power and there are peas in the freezer. Love you. XXX
He loved her gallows humour. Opening the fridge, he put his food in the microwave and then chatted for a short while to Kaitlynn after she’d woken up apologetically. He was fast asleep long before Cleo came back home.
94
Friday 12 October
One lesson Tooth had learned during his many years in his chosen profession was how to remain invisible. In plain sight was often the best way.
Like wearing a yellow high-viz tabard. You were even more invisible if, wearing one, you carried a clipboard, and even more so if you held a surveyor’s scope. You were invisible, too, if you drove a taxi – cabs could be anywhere, at any hour, without arousing suspicion. But you couldn’t park up a taxi any place for too long.
A van was different.
You could park a van for hours and no one would take any notice. Which was why, at 3.02 a.m., Tooth was stationed across the road in a lay-by, two hundred metres east of Marina Heights, in a small white Renault van he had rented from a local company. He had a clear view of the garage entrance.
According to his phone, sunrise would be at 6.51 a.m. It had taken him less than an hour last night to cab it to the company’s depot, rent the vehicle and return. Not enough time, for sure, for Copeland to have had his tyre fixed and depart.
During the long hours of the night, no one came in or out of the building – not through the front door, nor out of the garage.
He nibbled through a series of chocolate bars to give him energy, and they helped to quell the constant rising queasiness inside him. His temperature rose and fell between boiling hot and icy cold.
He needed a doctor. He needed to get back to Munich to see him. But that was not an option. Not right now.
What snake or scorpion or spider venom was still coursing through his system all these months on, he wondered, shaking a Lucky Strike out of the crumpled pack in his pocket and clicking his lighter, shielding the flame with his hand. Sucking in the smoke made him feel a little better.
Rain fell and then stopped. Wind blew for a while, rocking the car. An ambulance screamed past.
Tooth stared through the windscreen, occasionally switching on the wipers to clear his view. He was fine waiting. He’d waited days in way more hostile environments than this. At least no insects were biting him here, there were no landmines to be wary of and no enemies with AK-47s lurking. The cab of this Renault was close to luxury by comparison.
Five floors above, unable to sleep, Jules de Copeland peered through the blinds and down through the window towards the weakly lit parking bays. The Polo was still there. The darkness, rain and coating of salt on the window made it hard to see clearly. Was that the shape of the short man behind the wheel or just a shadow from one of the parking area lights?
Should he make his run for it now under the cover of darkness, he wondered? Hole up somewhere and wait until tomorrow afternoon, before heading towards Primrose Farm Cottage?
Or just stay put?
He checked his watch: 3.30 a.m. Maybe wait an hour or so till 4.30 a.m. That was the witching hour. He’d recently watched a television documentary about the human body clock. It seemed this was the time when people were at their lowest ebb. When sick people were most likely to die. Maybe the man in the Polo would be asleep then.
