Cold Justice (10 page)

The smart young man stood tall behind his desk.

‘Can we just ask you a few questions about Mr Forbes-Wright?’

‘Of course, sir.’ Tyler already looked slightly nervous but with a bit of cockiness and excitement in the mix.

‘How long have you worked here, Tyler?’

‘About nine months.’

‘And are you always in this apartment block?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do you work shifts?’

‘I work nights from seven thirty each evening until six in the morning.’

‘Did you see a lot of Mr Forbes-Wright?’

‘Yes, I saw him most evenings. He usually came in late.’

‘It looks like he entertained a bit up there?’

‘Yes, he did, quite often. I would say most nights he had company.’

‘And these would be foreign dignitaries, other politicians, that kind of thing?’

Tyler looked at Willis and back to Carter. He looked embarrassed, amused.

‘Sometimes.’

‘But not always.’

‘Mr Forbes-Wright liked company in the evenings – all sorts, if you know what I mean?’

‘What kind are we talking about, Tyler? Don’t worry, you can talk freely.’

‘Escorts, sometimes more than one; men too.’

‘You’re sure that they were escorts?’

‘Positive.’

‘Did you ever talk with them?’

‘Yeah, I talked to them. I knew their names because Mr Forbes-Wright had to leave their names at the desk so I could let them in when they got here without him. I still have a business card from one of his regulars.’ Tyler took out his wallet and the card. ‘I kept it just in case anyone else here ever needed some company.’

He gave it to Carter. It was a smart-looking ivory and gold with
Gentlemen’s Services
written in fancy script. On the other side it had
Top Class Escorts.

‘When was the last time you saw Mr Forbes-Wright?’

‘Just after Christmas.’

‘How did he seem?’

‘I don’t know, he seemed down. But Christmas is a horrible time for lots of people, isn’t it? It’s lonely and he didn’t seem to have any company.’

‘No escorts?’

‘No. It was all very quiet.’

‘I tell you what, Tyler – you’ll go far; can we hang on to this?’ Carter held up the escort card. The concierge nodded. ‘One more thing, have you let anyone else into the flat since he died?’

‘The jacuzzi company needed access for maintenance. The caretaker’s been in and out, but he has his own key. I had to let the window cleaner in. Mr Forbes-Wright’s son, Toby, and his friend also came. They didn’t know the code for the door. I had to let them in. They had keys for the apartment.’

‘They came just the once?’

‘Oh no, they’ve been a few times now in the last two weeks, not always in the evening – I was talking to the day-time concierge and he’s seen them here. They always stay for a few hours every time.’

When they got outside, Carter rang Robbo.

‘There have been a few people in the flat since JFW died. Toby and his mate, for starters, add to that the housekeeper, the jacuzzi man, the maintenance guy. Toby’s been lying about how many times he went there. It seems like he and Gareth liked to hang out there a fair bit.’

‘What did you find in there?’

‘Nothing of interest. Surprisingly little, really. Toby had already been through the correspondence, or we presume it was Toby. We need to look at the CCTV to be sure. JFW looks like he couldn’t curb his habits – he was partial to an escort or two, or eight. We have the number for one of the escorts that used to visit him – a woman called Louisa from Top Class Escorts.’ Carter read out the number. ‘The concierge says she was a regular.’

‘We’re going to get into tricky ground if we start investigating Jeremy Forbes-Wright’s dirty secrets.’

‘We’ve got Bowie on board. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s red tape. He’ll want us to get access to anything we need. We need every angle on it we can get. And, Robbo, it should take us about five and a half hours to get to Cornwall, plus an hour for the stopover at the services, so we expect to get there at lunchtime tomorrow – we’re leaving here at six. Can you dig up everything you have on the retired police sergeant Michael Raymonds for us to read on the way?’

‘Do you want me to ring him and tell him you need to talk to him?’

‘No, that’s okay. We’ll surprise him and the others from the funeral.’

‘Will do. I’ve already spoken to a man who knew Raymonds. I’ll email you across the transcript of the conversation now. You can see for yourself, he’s a character. I’m guessing you saw the lip-reader transcript of the conversation with Toby Forbes-Wright?’

‘I saw it and, strangely enough, Toby can’t seem to remember anything about it.’

‘Maybe he didn’t catch it,’ said Robbo. ‘He looked spaced out to me. Are you headed back to look at your flat now, by the way? We did the best we could with it. Two officers went round and made it secure. We’ve opened a file on it, taken some prints. You need to make a list for your insurance.’

‘Cabrina will do it tomorrow. There’s no chance of me having a day off. Any match for fingerprints?’

‘No, sorry. Bad timing, huh?’

‘Is there ever a good time? I’ve got a meeting with the boss now.’

‘Archway Tavern?’

‘How did you guess? What about the mittens found at the services?’ asked Carter.

‘They’re definitely Samuel’s,’ answered Robbo. ‘There’s no visible blood. We’re running tests on the fibres found on them. It’s lucky that it didn’t rain on them overnight. They look in good condition.’

Carter finished the call. On the way to drop Willis back at her place, she read out the details Robbo had already sent on Raymonds.

‘Nicknamed “the Sheriff”. He was well thought of, kept local crime rates down. He was pretty “old school” in his approach by the looks of it. A couple of complaints on record for excessive use of force in restraining suspects. Charges dropped in all cases.’

‘Personally speaking,’ said Carter, ‘that’s whetted my appetite for getting up at five to head off to Cornwall in February. I’m looking forward to meeting him.’

He drove up Holloway Road and parked as near as he could get to the pub. He didn’t feel enthusiastic. He checked his watch. He wished he’d made Chief Inspector Bowie agree to meet at Fletcher House, but Bowie had been desperate for a drink. True to form, Bowie was necking back a large Scotch when he found him at the bar. Carter ordered a glass of white wine and they moved to a table out of earshot of the few punters.

‘Haven’t we got anything else? The media are going to get wind of you down in Cornwall pretty quick,’ Bowie said, shaking his head.

‘No. It’s been over twenty-four hours and we haven’t found Samuel. We’ve had a thousand officers searching door to door, bin to bin, searching nonstop. He isn’t here. Whoever took him left Greenwich pretty quick. We have the mittens outside Bristol en route.’

‘But to Cornwall?’

‘There is no way he could be headed for a port – we have them all covered. He didn’t get on the Eurostar. This is narrowing it down now for us. He is headed somewhere specific in the UK. If he just wanted to kill or abuse he would have done it and dumped the body,’ replied Carter.

‘Could still have done that.’

‘Yes, but we have sniffer dogs all round the services. We have search teams looking for any more of Samuel’s clothing, but so far it’s just the mittens.’

‘Why those?’ asked Bowie.

‘I don’t know. The idea must have been to disguise his identity. But, why go to that trouble if you mean to kill him quickly? We know they can’t leave the UK now,’ said Carter.

‘Except by private plane or boat,’ Bowie cautioned.

‘Granted, but we have small airfields alerted to any out of the ordinary activity or requests to use.’

‘There are so many loose ends here, Carter. Did Jeremy Forbes-Wright have some sort of relationship with the village of Penhal? Seems unlikely.’

‘Yes, I think there was a hint of a threat coming Toby’s way at the funeral. It’s like this village came up to remind Toby of some commitment he had to them. More a show of strength than sympathy. He seems unable to remember most of the funeral.’

‘Even though he doesn’t know them, and didn’t know his father from Adam?’ replied Bowie.

‘Yes, even though,’ answered Carter. ‘And now we hear that Samuel seems to have been taken in that direction.’

‘What’s the truth about JFW’s finances?’ asked Bowie.

‘We’ve got access to all his bank statements. Basically, he was broke. All he had was this big house in Cornwall. He spent a fortune living the high life on a politician’s wages.’

‘What’s the house in Cornwall worth?’

‘Close to a million.’

‘Why didn’t he sell the house if he needed the money?’ asked Bowie.

‘That’s the question, isn’t it? I’m hoping to find that out,’ said Carter. ‘Did you hear specifics about him?’

Bowie nodded. ‘Back in the day, when I infiltrated the paedophile ring that made money from supplying kids from care homes to prominent politicians – he was on the edge of that inner circle. It was never enough to open a case against him. Helping to bring down one part of the operation felt like a massive achievement at the time, ten years ago,’ said Bowie. ‘Just a shame that all we did was pick off the scab.’ He picked up his drink and swirled the last of the Scotch round the glass. He smiled ruefully. ‘Disappointing to have him top himself – he took the coward’s way out.’

‘Looks like it. DC Willis and I will drive down first thing tomorrow. If it leads nowhere, I’ll be back soon as. The fact remains that several people travelled up from Cornwall to come to a funeral of a man that most of them should have despised – second-home owner and probably a posh paedophile,’ said Carter.

‘I doubt the reason has anything to do with the missing child,’ said Bowie, visibly wilting from the whisky. ‘More about country folk wanting a day out and maybe hoping the rich guy in the village would leave them something in his will. Willis is a good one to cut through the bullshit.’

‘What about Willis? She passed her sergeant’s exams over a year ago. Is it going to happen for her?’

‘She’d stand a better chance if she went out into the sticks. She’s going to have to wait a long time to get a promotion in an MIT team.’

‘She has her whole career in the Met mapped out,’ said Carter. ‘She’s already beginning to think she’s failed because she hasn’t been promoted to sergeant. If the force loses someone like Ebony they lose a precious resource. No one understands life like her. Willis is one of the best.’ Carter breathed deeply. He suddenly felt the need to get home; the drink had begun to dull Bowie’s senses. He wasn’t looking forward to going to the flat, but he wanted to see the mess for himself; then he’d head over to Cabrina’s parents’ place before it got too late.

Bowie tapped the side of Carter’s empty glass and raised an eyebrow with a nod towards the bar.

‘No, sorry. I need to get going.’

‘You’re kidding me – the night is young.’

‘Yeah, but I’m feeling old tonight. I’ve a lot to get right. Tomorrow it’s a long drive and a lot waiting for us. I need all my wits.’

Carter realized that Bowie wasn’t listening any more – his mind had wandered to a pretty brunette sitting at the bar on her own. Carter smiled to himself.

Time to go.

He reached his flat at ten thirty and let himself in. The inner door was still intact. Whoever had broken in had walked calmly out afterwards. Carter pushed the door open and stood for a few minutes to take it in. There was debris on the stairs. The window halfway on the landing was boarded up. The glass had been pushed into a pile. No way were Cabrina and Archie coming back to this, thought Carter. As he reached the first floor and the kitchen he stopped. The place was ransacked. Pictures were off walls, plants were tipped upside down. He didn’t bother to go into the lounge; he could see the mess from where he was. His feet crunched on the stairs as he went up to the bedrooms. He stood in Archie’s room and wanted to cry. Somehow, the defacing of his son’s room meant so much. His rational side said to take it on the chin; his heart told him he wanted to kill whoever had done it. He went into his own bedroom and the mattress had been turned up and slashed from end to end. The wardrobe doors were open and his and Cabrina’s clothes were out, all over the floor.

He picked up a bag and packed what he could see hadn’t been trodden on. He still had to go to Cornwall tomorrow. He had to leave Cabrina to deal with all this. She’d do it, of course, but it didn’t make him feel any less like shit.

Wednesday 5 February

The next morning Carter picked Willis up from outside her house at five forty-five and they drove in silence through London, where the refuse lorries were making their overnight collections and the market traders were getting set up for the day. A few bleary-eyed people were trying to get home after a heavy night out. Willis rested her head on the window and dozed while Carter enjoyed the peace and quiet to think. He didn’t often get to drive through the sunrise. The few hours’ sleep he’d spent with Cabrina had been enough to make him feel refreshed and looking forward to getting down the motorway. Somehow it felt right to him. He felt renewed with the hope and belief that, against all the odds, this one little boy was still alive.

After just over two hours they pulled into the car park at the Gordano services. Willis opened her eyes as they came to a stop. She wiped her mouth and stretched.

‘Wake up, sleeping beauty, you were snoring like a pig,’ Carter said as he switched off the engine.

‘I wasn’t, was I?’ she replied, horrified.

‘No, of course not – you did dribble, though, I looked over and you had it all down your chin.’

‘Shit.’ Willis wiped her face with her sleeve.

Carter laughed and she thumped him on the arm.

‘Ow, watch it,’ Carter muttered under his breath. They could see a member of the local CID waiting for them on the steps by the entrance. He recognized their car and gave a small lift of his hand rather than a wave.