A Perfect Likeness (33 page)

Trish, being led to an ambulance by a WPC, had reached the relative safety of the ‘fixed’ pontoons, but it didn’t stop her from getting soaked.

As Rawston negotiated the inner entrance at near maximum speed he kicked over the fuel container and its contents ran towards the stern of the fishing boat. He fired one of the Very pistols skyward, hoping the red flare would divert eyes and the second flare went directly into the now petrol soaked sleeping bags providing the coloured smokescreen he had hoped for. Blue Star was locked on course and sliced in half a small training dinghy moored on the edge of Training Beach a fraction of a second before crashing into the western breakwater.

Trish screamed at the sound of the impact and covered her eyes with her good hand as Blue Star exploded spreading debris over a wide area.

*

Deckman thought of his wife and the boys and dialled home as he had promised. ‘Hi, Jens. How’s things?’

‘Darling, I’ve been so worried, but I’m fine now that you’ve phoned. Didn’t sleep at all, hoping the phone would ring, but praying it wouldn’t, if you know what I mean. More importantly though, what about you? You don’t sound that good.’

‘It didn’t go quite as I’d planned. Got the father and daughter, or whoever they really are, in custody but the boyfriend didn’t want to join them. Crashed one of the boats into the marina wall at high speed.’

‘Killed himself?’

‘Afraid so. Blew himself to bits, but surprisingly nothing has been found of him yet. Still searching the area. He’d already put two officers in hospital. Smashed the jaw of one and shot Bob Kensit in the shoulder. They’ll be alright in a few weeks. And poor Trish has a broken arm for all her trouble. Thought I’d best let you know I’ll be needing a bite to eat tonight. Going back to the Page’s house now to see if the search has come up with anything. Love you, Jens, call you later.’

Jenny Deckman replaced the receiver, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Love you too, Terry, but there are times I wish you weren’t a copper,’ she said aloud. She went straight upstairs to the bedroom and knelt by the bed. Looking up at the crucifix, with tears streaming, she said how grateful she was that her husband had got through this difficult moment and that his injured colleagues would quickly recover. She sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the wedding photo from the bedside table, kissed it and held it to her chest.

*

‘What’s the news on the two men, Sir?’ asked the sergeant in charge of the search of the Page’s house. ‘Been listening in.’

‘They’ll be fine, Sergeant. Thanks. Nothing life threatening. What about here? Come up with anything?’

‘As you suspected, Sir. We have found a few traces of cocaine in the scuba store. Nothing else outside. Same goes for downstairs in the house. Strange one, Sir, this place. Lovely house with quality furniture but it’s not a home. No photos, ornaments or other personal effects it would be usual to have lying around. Nothing to speak of in the kitchen cupboards, I reckon they must eat out most of the time. Not complaining though, it makes our job that much easier. Upstairs, we have gone through Mr Page’s room and that is clean. Not even a passport. One of the small bedrooms is being used as an office. So far all we have got from there relates to Blue Tree Properties, but no accounts or other bank details. My colleague is playing with their safe and once we get inside we might find items of greater interest. It is possible the more important items are in the Star Boats office or with their accountant. His office is currently being searched by a colleague.’

‘What about Miss Page’s bedroom?’ asked Deckman.

‘We’ve just started. Why don’t you join us, Sir?’

The sergeant was right, thought Deckman. Not a single photo or picture on the wall. Nothing to make it look, or feel, like a home. But there has to be something. The room had been beautifully decorated and the furniture, what there was of it, was modern and expensive. The ‘faded’ gold, full length velvet curtains matched well with the oatmeal painted walls. The parquet floor was quality .

‘Where are you, Guv?’ shouted Fraser from the stairs.

‘In Miss Page’s room.’ He waited for his sergeant to enter. ‘We’ve found nothing, Colin. I felt sure we would.’

Don’t worry, Sir,’ said the search sergeant, ‘we’ve only been checking the obvious so far. Then we check the not so obvious and then, if we still have found nothing, up come the floorboards. If anything is here, we’ll get it.’ He stood in the centre of the room and looked around. Ceiling, walls, fixtures and fittings. A single light, chandelier style, in the centre of the ceiling. Two bedside lights plugged into wall sockets and operated by dimmer switches on the headboard. A single light switch on the wall by the door to the en-suite bathroom. A cluster of four switches by the bedroom door. He checked them. The top two turned on and dimmed the mini chandelier and bedside lights. The lower two closed and opened the curtains to both windows. He picked up a remote control from the bedside table and threw it at Fraser. ‘Here, Colin, amuse yourself with this. No television in the room so must be curtains and lights.’

While Fraser confirmed the use of the remote control, the sergeant continued his closer look at the room. He stopped again under the chandelier light and allowed his eyes to carry out a second circuit of Sylvia Page’s bedroom.

Deckman watched his eyes and his expression. He noticed the slightest of nods as if he had confirmed his suspicions. ‘What are you thinking, Sergeant?’

‘I’m thinking that’s a strange place and an unusual height to locate a group of light switches, Sir.’ He pointed at the cluster of four switches in the small gap between the side of the wardrobe and the outer wall. ‘And they don’t match the others in the room either.’

Fraser went over and turned the knobs. Nothing happened.

‘Don’t be frightened, Colin, try pushing a couple of knobs. They won’t bite, it’s only a simple wall-safe. I should have picked it up sooner, must have had my eyes closed, it’s so bloody obvious.’

Fraser pressed. Nothing. ‘It might be simple to you, but it’s giving me the run-around.’

‘Don’t give up so easily, what about the other two, and press a little harder. You won’t be disappointed, I promise.’

Again, and a little harder. A faint click. He released the pressure and the switch plate opened, like a small drawer.

‘You little beauty,’ said Fraser as he stepped back. ‘Come on, Guv, you do the honours and let’s hope it contains the answer to your prayers.’

Deckman withdrew the drawer and placed it on the bed. It was small, but large enough for what Sylvia Page needed it for. He removed five passports, a driving licence belonging to Victoria Campbell, a black covered note book and a cut down photograph of a young family. The two British passports were in the names of Sylvia Page and Victoria Campbell. One East German in the name of Hilda Breckstadt and a Rumanian in the name of Eva Kovacs. The final passport was Russian, Natasha Ramirova. The same photograph as Sylvia Page and, almost, identical to that of Victoria Campbell.

‘Prayers answered, we’ve got it, Colin,’ shouted a delighted Deckman, ‘we’ve got it.’

He picked up the black book and turned to the first page. Handwritten, in Russian, he assumed. A name, underlined, and followed by a date, in brackets. At least that is what it appeared to be. Underneath, a script. It continued the same. Name, date and script. The scripts were varied in length but around three pages. Then he read the names of Victoria Campbell, Hilda Breckstadt and Eva Kovacs. For some reason they were written in English. He gave a shiver as he read the last name in the book. Just the name, underlined and the brackets already in place but without a date. And only five lines of script. The name was Trish Lister. Realisation hit him. Sylvia Page’s, or using what he now thought was her real name, Natasha Ramirova’s murder diary. It was clear to him that Trish was to have been her next victim. ‘We’re there, Colin.’ Deckman was unable to hold back on his delight.

‘Good to see you smile again, Guv. Not seen it for a while.’

‘And this little book,’ said Deckman waving the black note book. ‘I think, means a definite life sentence for our Miss Page. Her confession to all her murders, I’m sure. Let’s get it translated.’

The two men shook hands. Their relationship was seen to be light-hearted, even flippant at times, but was professional and full of mutual respect.

‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ said Deckman to the search officer, ‘you’ve made my day.’

‘What we’re here for, Sir. We’ll continue looking, but I suspect you’ve got the big one.’

Fraser returned to the safe cavity and stooped to peer inside. ‘Might get one of these myself, it’ll stop the missus nicking all the loose change from my trousers when I’m asleep.’
Very well finished,
he thought. As he drew away he noticed what looked like a small opening on the right, at the back. He didn’t know why,
unless is was poorly fitted,
he thought. He managed to poke a chubby finger into the gap and felt a piece of plastic. He pinched it between thumb and forefinger and eased it out.

‘Guv, I reckon you are going to love this, it’s getting even better.’ He turned and handed Deckman a clear plastic bag containing a flick-knife with a wooden handle. ‘And I tell what, Guv, even though I’m not a betting man I’m prepared to gamble everything I own that it’s got a defect in the blade.’

Chapter 24

‘Right, Mr Page, I trust you are not in any hurry because I think we could well be talking for quite some time. In case you do not remember, I’m Detective Inspector Deckman and my colleague is Detective Sergeant Fraser. You have been arrested as it is our belief that you are involved in bringing an illegal drug, in this case cocaine, into Britain using your company, Star Boats, as a cover business. There are various other activities we need to discuss with you, any of which may result in charges being brought against you. You have already received your official caution, but let me remind you of your right to have a solicitor present at all times when we talk with you. Do you understand, Mr Page?’

‘Of course I understand, but firstly, Inspector, I take great exception at being brought in here when I have done nothing wrong. I’m an honest person trying hard to make a reasonable living under difficult circumstances. Secondly, your method of arrest was, to say the least, rather dramatic and unnecessary. Finally,
as
I have done nothing wrong and have nothing to hide, I will listen to what you have to say before I decide on whether there is a need for me to bother my solicitor. I’m sure I can provide you with satisfactory explanations for all your questions including why I find it necessary to carry a gun.’

‘That’s fine, Sir. Nothing to hide, nothing to fear. I am very happy with that. You have stated that you consider the way we detained you was dramatic. Let me explain why we decided on doing it that way. It is our experience that people who deal with drugs, more often than not, carry weapons. The last thing we wanted to do was to endanger the public, the very people we are trying to protect. To make our point, both you and Mr Rawston were carrying a gun and Rawston used it against one of my officers who had to have lengthy surgery.’

‘You have got Tom here as well? Where is he? Can I speak with him?’

‘After shooting an officer and having previously broken the jaw of another, he took a female employee at the marina hostage on Blue Star and tried to make his escape. Unfortunately for him we had blocked the marina exit, leaving Rawston trapped. The hostage, despite having her arm broken due to Rawston’s wreckless actions, persuaded him to hand over his gun and give himself up, but as soon as she stepped ashore he took off and crashed the boat into the marina breakwater at full throttle. The boat exploded on impact and Rawston was killed instantly. I’m sorry, Mr Page, it was his choice.’

Page rested an elbow on the arm of his chair and held his head in his hand. His eyes were closed. ‘Tom was a wonderful man. This is terrible news, may I have some water please?’

Deckman nodded to the officer guarding the door.

‘Right away, Sir.’

‘Is my daughter, Sylvia, aware of Tom’s death and my arrest?’

‘Miss Page is also in custody but, as yet, is unaware of Rawston’s death.’

‘Why is she here?’

‘Same reasons as you, Mr Page, including murder,’ said Fraser.

‘This is becoming even more ridiculous. She wouldn’t hurt anyone, Inspector. You have arrested the wrong people. I trusted Tom, but maybe
he
was involved with some bad people. It was quite possible, you know. He had the use of our boats all hours of the day and night so he could well have been up to something we were not aware of. Quite clearly his actions must confirm he was not an honest man.’

‘Oh yes, Sir, he was involved with bad people alright. Yourself and Miss Page, to name but two, but I believe it’s much bigger than that, Mr Page,’ said Deckman.

‘I think you’d better tell me what else I’m supposed to be guilty of, Inspector.’

‘I’ve mentioned the cocaine smuggling and in connection with that we are soon to arrest your three main distributors and their dealers. We believe you are operating a prostitute ring using women illegally brought into the country from Eastern Europe and South America. The South Americans being purchased in Spain and transported over here in Red Star. We know all of your girls, where they work and where they, very conveniently, live. We have photographs of their meetings with Miss Page. We also believe you were involved in the murder of two prostitutes although you did not do the killings yourself. That was Miss Page’s job wasn’t it, but you were fully aware? Then there are the more technical offences such as illegal documentation to establish a business, money laundering and owning a gun without an appropriate licence. We even have you down for arranging the ‘death’ of an already dead man; one of your distributors. The list seems endless, Mr Page. Is it necessary for me to continue?’