Fogarty: A City of London Thriller (32 page)

***

“DCI Trevor Griffiths, Mr Derek Clegg and PC Janet Horne present at the commencement of the interview,” Griffiths said for the benefit of the digital voice recorder. He pressed a red backlit button labelled DTI, which stood for Digital Time Imprint. An automated female voice read out “ten sixteen and forty seconds a.m.”

“OK
, Derek. You have chosen to have your federation representative with you for this interview, as is your right. Let me commence the meeting by confirming that this is not only a personnel matter, it may also be a criminal matter. If either you or your representative believe at any time that you may incriminate yourself, you can suspend the interview and seek legal advice. Is that clear?”

Derek looked shocked and scared. He glanced at PC Janet Horne, who nodded and smiled to calm him down.

“If at any time
I believe that a criminal charge is likely to result, I will read you your rights. Is that clear?” Again Janet nodded for her client.

“Derek, on Sunday afternoon you logged a call on the Operation Bilbao hotline from a group of people who claimed to be from Trafalgar House Flats. Is that correct?” Derek remembered the electronic log had been backed up
, and so he said yes for the sake of the recorder.

“You should have notified the duty officer of that call by the end of your shift, in accordance w
ith procedures, is that correct?” Again Derek confirmed that he agreed.

“The notification is usually done by either an electronic receipted email or by a paper transfer form from an NCR, or no carbon required pad, is that correct?” Derek answered yes fo
r the microphone.

“Derek, an old lady died yesterday, and another almost lost her life after making that phone call to the hotline. We need
to understand how that happened. There have already been claims that someone here at New Scotland Yard shared that information with the attackers. If that is true, that person will be charged with a series of crimes, the most serious of which is conspiracy to murder, which potentially carries a life sentence. Is that clear?”

Derek Clegg broke down, sobbing and shaking
, before DCI Griffiths could go on, and the interview was suspended for ten minutes. PC Janet Horne was concerned.

“Sir, I am assuming at this time that you are asking Derek if he has any information that might assist you in finding that person
, because if you are about to accuse him I think we need legal advice.”

“PC Horne, if you listen to the recording you will hear that all I have done so f
ar is explain what has happened. I have asked nothing except whether Derek has understood me. Are you telling me that Derek might implicate himself?”

“No
, sir. Derek has nothing to confess. You can continue.” Derek wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t say so.

“Look, sir, I had nothing to do with any of it. I passed the message on to the duty DCI
, but not the paperwork,” the young man blurted out.

“What time would this be?”

“Around eight o’clock. I wrote it down on the....” Derek realised his mistake.

“On the what, Derek?”

“I wrote it on the transfer log pad
, but I tore it out later, honestly.”

DCI Griffiths handed the pad to PC Horne, indicating where all three copies of a transfer sheet had been removed. He said what he was doing for the microphone
, and PC Horne acknowledged that Derek Clegg was telling the truth and confirmed that the pages were missing.

“Why did you tear it out
, Derek?”

“Because the DCI said I could be charged for recklessly endangering a member of the p
ublic if I didn’t cover it up.”

“Who was this DCI, Derek?
Do you recall?”

“Of course I do.
He scared the shit out of me! It was DCI Radlett.”

T
revor Griffiths wanted to cheer. Instead, he simply said, “Derek, we need to investigate further. Please go home and speak to no-one, especially the officer you have implicated. Do you understand?” Derek nodded.

“PC Horne, you are to speak to no one
about this, either. Is that clear?”

The meeting ended with PC Horne’s crisp “
Yes, sir.”

***

DCI Radlett sent his sergeant back to the station to begin writing up the report whilst he dealt with a personal matter.  It was this ‘personal matter’ which found him sitting in the Riva Sandwich Bar on Borough Road a short time later, eating a hot bacon, sausage and egg roll, when Gavin Mapperley walked in and ordered a tea. The two conversed in whispers as they ate and drank in a corner of the sandwich bar.

“T
he Boss has been picked up for questioning by DCI Coombes; they want to have a word with her about some new evidence that has turned up,” Mapperley revealed.

“First I’
ve heard of any new evidence,” Radlett said, frowning. “I told the Scene of Crimes girl to keep her theories to herself. Are you telling me she needs a talking to?”

“No. W
e’ll have to wait and see how it goes. She’s got Grainger with her. It’s costing me a fortune. He’d better keep her out of trouble.”

“Grainger is probably the best brief in London, don’t worry. When I get back I’ll see what I can find
out. They haven’t got anything. They’re shooting in the dark. The last I heard the Belgian theory was being questioned, but it wasn’t out of the equation.”

“Let’s hope not. Did you hear about the ra
id on Metal Tokens last night?”

“Listen
, Gav, I’ve tipped you off about raids every time so far, haven’t I? I even persuaded that daft bint in charge of the counterfeit currency team to do the last raid during the day. I can’t be held responsible if the firearms boys are called in to a gunfight.”

“I’m not blaming you. I
t’s just that it’s a bit coincidental, with everything that’s going on. I think someone is having a go at us.”

“If they are it
can’t be any of the other teams. I know exactly what they’re all up to. Unless it’s the Romanians, of course. They’re a law unto themselves, that lot.”

“Thank
s for tidying up the Rafe thing. Will the suicide stick?” Mapperley asked as he pushed The Times newspaper across the table.

“It’ll stick like glue
, old friend. Has this got the supplement with it?”

“It has ten thousand supplem
ents with it. It had to be cash; banking issues.” Mapperley paused to deliver the bad news. “We might need your help on something else. Connall’s gone AWOL, and by now he must have heard about Rafe.”

“Will he accept the suicide thing and turn
up for work as normal tonight?”

“Maybe. But we’
ve been around his usual haunts and we can’t find him anywhere. He’s disappeared, just like that.” He clicked his fingers. “If he turns Queen’s evidence we’re well and truly stuffed. If you could help, our mutual friends in the Caymans will have the final payment on your mother in law’s house settled.”

“That’s very good of you,” Radlett acknowledged.
“If Conn does show his face, I’ll make sure you get to talk to him first.”

Chapter
47

New Scotland Yard, London.

Tuesday 23
rd
August 2011; 11am.

Ashley Morgan sat with her arms resting on the grey-blue laminated table top. Her lawyer was sitting beside her, leaning back in his chair, spectacles halfway along his nose, making notes on a yellow legal pad. The interview room was the usual spartan space. The dull grey walls matched the laminate table and the thin carpet was mid blue, the same colour as the chair upholstery. Someone obviously thought that this colour scheme would be calming.

Ashley was dressed in a navy blue trouser suit which hugged her enviable figure, over a pale yellow blouse with lace trim. Her lawyer, the eminent Kelvin Grainger, was as grey as the room. His dark hair was flecked with white and it was longer than it should have been. His sallow skin suggested that he didn’t ta
ke advantage of the summer sun.

DCI Coombes and DS Scott had completed the preliminaries and had read out Ashley’s initial statement, taken in the hospit
al.

“Do you stand by your statement?” DCI Coombes asked pointedly. Grainger looked over the top of his gl
asses and spoke for his client.

“Chief Inspector, my client remembers no more than she did then and so we can take the statement as read, and as it was signed earlier there is no need for further attestation. Can we mo
ve on?”  Ashley smiled sweetly.

DS Scott then ran through all of the concerns that had been raised by the Scene of Crimes team and the forensic lab. Ashley’s smile faded as she heard that the story she had told about the Belgians being in the Rectory had b
een comprehensively discounted.

DS Scott then disclosed the blood test and the analysis of her stomach contents, sharing the paper reports with Mr Grainger, who held his glasses up and read
as DS Scott continued speaking.

“The blood tests suggest that the GHB that you had taken had not properly metabolised, and so it should not have had the effect on you that was alleged in your statement. The stomach contents confirm the blood test results in this respect. However, the hospital report suggests that you had traces of recreational Class C drugs in your system. Cocaine is the term lay peop
le tend to use for that drug.”

DS Scott passed the analysis over to Grainger, who remained calm and asked, “Presumably you have samples available for us
to have tested independently?”

“We do,” Scott responded confidently, “but of course the samples will have metabolised to a different extent after this length of time. That is why we took the liberty of sending out a second sample immediately to an independent lab, who
reached the same conclusions.”

Grainger looked over his glasses at Scott, the lawyer’s face an impenetrable mask. “If I understand your position as it stands today, you have now moved away from your original position of seeing my client as a victim
and now see her as a suspect.”

Grainger was about to go o
n when DCI Coombes interjected.

“Actually, as there were only two survivors in the premises at the time of the deaths, we considered both to be suspects. It was only out of concern for the frailty of your client’s mental health that we chose to keep our concerns to ourselves until th
e test results were available.”

“I see. So you view both Ashley an
d Ben Fogarty as suspects now?”

“At present, that seems to be the only sensible expl
anation,” DCI Coombes answered.

“Perhaps to you, Chief Inspector, but not to those of us with an open mind.” The lawyer smiled nastily, and Coombes bristled silently. DS Scott broke the uncomfortable silence. “We also have this lab re
port, which came in recently.”

DS Scott handed the final report to the smirking lawyer, who stopped smirking as he read the lab’s conclusions. Scott continued. “In short, Ashley, the crime scene techs lifted two palm prints from the side of the bath
. They were a match for yours.”

“Hardly surprising when you consider I was in the bath when
I was found,” Ashley countered.

“According to your statement you were lifted into the bath by others, and we know the paramedics lifted you out. But these palm prints are consistent with someone lowering themselves into the bath with their hands like this.” DS Scott role played someone lowering themselves into a bath by placing their
hands on the rims of the bath.

“My client has used that bath in the past. Those prints could have been old ones. Come on, Chief Inspector, this is very tenuous. It is certainly not enough to impugn a woman whose character is unimpeachable and who was abused and drugged during the commission of a multiple murder.”

“We believe that the final finding will be enough to convince a jury that Mrs Morgan is not an innocent in these events. You will see on page 2 at the top of the page under the heading; ‘Phlebotomy’. Within the palm prints were microscopic traces of blood.”

Ashley’s fac
e looked ashen. There was more.

“The blood was that of Dennis
Grierson and Lawrence Garner.”

The lawyer tried to hide his concern, but the effort pinched hi
s face and his lips tightened.

The two detectives saw the signs and knew that they had unsettled Ashley Morgan’s defence. What they didn’t expec
t was the outburst from Ashley.

“I can’t live with this any more. I have a confession to make. I lied before, but
now I’ll tell you the truth.”

She broke down in tears as her lawyer looked on, open mouthed.

Chapter 48