Marked men, p.18
Marked Men, page 18
THIRTY-TWO
Sean and Magda took the Ashton Old Road out of the city. Morning traffic was light and, as they neared Higher Openshaw, the eleven o’clock pips were sounding on the radio.
Sean quickly changed stations to Radio Manchester and increased the volume. ‘Let’s see if whoever’s leaking details of the case has been busy this morning.’
But there was no mention of Anthony Brown’s body being found by his cleaning staff.
‘Interesting,’ Sean said, turning it down once coverage moved on to sport. ‘Pretty much everything else has been relayed on.’ As they turned into the side street, he looked around. ‘Bloody hell, it just clicked where we are. That high fencing on our left? The other side of that is the M60 and, beyond it, Audenshaw Reservoirs.’
Magda gave him a blank look.
‘This road we’re on takes us across Fairfield Golf Course before it turns into a track with no vehicle access.’ He nodded to the narrow stretch of water opening up to their right. ‘That’s the top of Gorton Upper Reservoir. It’s separated from the Lower Reservoir by a narrow strip of land.’
Magda’s eyes widened. ‘Where Phil Nordern was found!’
‘Correct – we’re just approaching it from the opposite direction.’
Magda was studying the kinking shoreline that now ran beside their car. ‘A lot of water connects this case, don’t you think?’ Sean asked.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Lee Goodwin: the bottom of a canal. Phil Nordern: floating in a lake. Anthony Brown: his own hot tub.’
‘But Kevin Rowe was lying on his living room floor.’
Sean shrugged. ‘Maybe the killer was disturbed. Perhaps by Carl Parker …’
There was a uniformed officer standing at the mouth of a gravel track. Magda braked and Sean lowered the window, ID at the ready. ‘DC Blake and DS Dragomir, Serious Crimes Unit.’
‘It’s directly ahead. The gates are both open.’
They rounded a gentle corner to see two brick pillars, both topped by CCTV cameras. A notice on one pillar said, This property is protected by Sentinel Watch.
‘Flashy,’ Magda commented. ‘Everything goes to a control room that’s manned twenty-fours a day. It’s not cheap.’
The fence stretching away to either side was ten feet high and topped by an ugly coil of razor wire. ‘Are residential properties allowed that stuff?’ Sean asked.
‘Not sure,’ Magda replied. ‘Maybe if you can convince the council.’
He snorted. ‘You mean: respectable business man with numerous high-value assets living in an isolated location at risk of being kidnapped?’
‘I’m sure that’s exactly how Brown’s lawyer would have argued it.’
They passed through gates that looked thick enough to withstand a tank. The turning circle before the farmhouse was clogged with police vehicles. Closest to the double garage was a bright orange Bentley. Sean took in the registration: ANT 1. ‘Pure class.’
Propped to the side of the front door was a vintage Norton motorbike. Standing by it was another uniform, this one with a clipboard. After signing in, the officer pointed into the property. ‘Head straight along into the main living area. There’s one of those conservatory things to your left: you’ll see everyone there.’
The corridor was lined with paintings that depicted local scenes: the tower of Manchester Cathedral at sunset, the pale dome of the city’s main library shrouded by rain, the Gothic-styled Town Hall. There were other scenes Sean knew to be of Manchester – he just couldn’t say exactly where. Edwardian townhouses lining a quiet square, a cobbled back alley, a brick warehouse with a wrought-iron fire escape that looked straight out of 1920s New York. The paintings, he realized, were all originals.
Shallow steps led them into a vast area; probably what had been three rooms within the old farmhouse. Skylights and exposed beams. Rows of recessed ceiling lights. Thick wall-to-wall oatmeal carpet. Chunky stone walls.
A long counter with bar stools. Beyond it were back-lit shelves crowded with bottles. Huge L-shaped sofas. A dining table large enough to seat thirty people with a massive silver candleholder at its midpoint. Above it, a glittering chandelier. The man had lived in style.
‘Oh, look at that,’ Magda whispered.
Sean turned to see what, at first glance, appeared to be a greenhouse that extended out from the far end of the room. Palm trees and tropical plants. Above them, trailing fronds that dripped bright red flowers. Bamboo loungers were dotted about and water trickled down a tall stone arrangement in one corner.
‘I think this is called an orangery,’ Magda murmured, wandering towards it. ‘Smell those flowers. How wonderful.’
‘Smell the money, more like,’ Sean muttered, following behind. How much pain and misery had Brown inflicted to amass all this wealth?
The glass end panels had been folded back to give uninterrupted access to a generous expanse of decking. Uniformed officers and forensics were gathered on one side. As they got closer to the group, Sean could see the raised side of a circular hot tub positioned next to an infinity pool. Steps led down to a pristine lawn, which stretched thirty metres directly to the water’s edge. ‘This place must be worth a fortune.’
‘Couldn’t take it with him, though,’ Magda replied, approaching a straggly-haired man in faded jeans, T-shirt and black leather boots. ‘Doctor Miller, you didn’t dally-dilly.’
From the way he smiled back, Sean guessed it was a familiar greeting. ‘My favourite Romanian detective,’ the man said.
‘The only one you know,’ Magda countered. ‘Still.’ He glanced towards the hot tub. ‘When I heard who the dead guy was, I thought it best to get here as soon as I could.’
Magda looked over her shoulder. ‘I take it the wife and child are now somewhere else?’
‘They weren’t here – staying with her relatives, apparently.’
Magda stepped back. ‘This is Sean, who I work with.’
‘Hi there, Sean. Olly Miller, Home Office pathologist.’
As they shook hands, Sean noticed the logo on the man’s T-shirt. Kinder Mountain Rescue. ‘Was it your Norton bike parked out front?’
‘Indeed. You ride?’
‘No, but that thing looks fun.’
‘Oh, it is.’ He turned to Magda. ‘So. He who lives by the sword dies by the sword. Or, in this case, probably by drowning. Want a look? I just had them drain the water out.’
He led them across a line of footplates to the hot tub. Brown was curled up on his side in the central foot well. Lying on the curved shelf that formed the seating was a large iPhone. On the decking itself, a broken glass lay beside a crumpled towel that was lightly stained with blood.
Sean put on gloves and, careful to place only his fingertips on the upper edge, leaned over. ‘He’s got that same tattoo on his shoulder. M18.’
Magda nodded. ‘And have his hands been secured with a plastic tie?’
‘Seems so.’
‘Also, a deep laceration is visible at both sides of his neck,’ announced Miller. ‘There was a fair amount of blood in the water; enough to make it tricky to see him at the bottom.’
‘A knife, you think?’ Magda asked.
‘No. My guess is the wound will extend right round his throat to the other side.’
‘So he was strangled with something?’
‘Yes. But I’m not sure before or after the tie went round his wrists. I’ll check his lungs for water once we get him back to my place.’
My place, Sean thought, picturing the stainless-steel table on which Brown would be dismantled.
‘Interesting,’ Magda said. ‘And how long do you—?’
‘Overnight, at least.’
‘But no longer than that?’
‘No. If I have to give you an estimate, he could have been in there since late yesterday evening.’
‘And the phone was there, beneath the water, when you drained it?’
‘It was.’
‘Shall we have a little wander, Sean?’ Magda was already making her way back across the footplates to the cordon of tape. She trotted down the steps at the edge of the decking and walked out across the smooth grass. Looking back at the property, she said, ‘What I’m wondering is this: how did the killer get in? You saw the security at the front of the house. If the killer was let in through the main gates, Sentinel Watch will have it recorded. And if they weren’t …’ She carried on away from the house. The garden ended at an imposing wall. Security cameras were positioned along its top at regular intervals. They followed it to where the bricks reached the water’s edge. Taut strands of razor wire extended out a good five metres above the still surface to a heavy metal pole.
Sean lifted a hand and slapped the rough bricks. ‘A few hundred metres on the other side of this and we’d get to the spot where Phil Nordern was found.’
He turned his attention to the opposite shore. A cluster of large office-like buildings were away to the left. Beside them, the green fencing of sports pitches. ‘That, I’m guessing, is Wright Robinson College. It specializes in sport.’ His eyes swept the shoreline to the right of the buildings. Nothing until the top end of the reservoir where a cluster of masts obscured the view of a low prefab building. Fairfield Sailing Club. ‘Could the killer have come across the water?’
Magda considered his comment. ‘How wide do you think it is?’
‘I don’t know. Five hundred metres to the college? The sailing club, I’d say, is at least a mile. Maybe more.’
‘Someone could row that pretty easily.’
Sean nodded. ‘I bet the college will have cameras all over the place. Sailing club should have some coverage, too.’
THIRTY-THREE
DCI Ransford started beckoning them into his office before they even had a chance to reach their desks.
‘What’s it looking like?’ he demanded as he retook his seat. ‘Same MO as for Goodwin and Nordern?’
‘It is,’ Magda replied.
Ransford sent a despairing look to the ceiling. ‘Hands bound with a plastic tie?’
‘Correct.’
‘And then he was drowned in his own swimming pool?’
‘Well, a hot tub, beside the pool. There’s a chance that, initially, he was strangled to the point of unconsciousness. Then his hands were restrained and he was forced beneath the water.’
‘You mean while he was alive?’
‘Could be. Goodwin and Nordern were both still breathing when they went in, so it seems likely. The pathologist can confirm if that was the case with Brown soon enough.’
‘He was a big man, Brown. Did it appear that he was he taken by surprise?’
‘There were certainly signs of a struggle. A broken glass by the hot tub. Whoever killed him would have had to creep up on him from behind. That, I imagine, is when the cord or wire went round his neck. Once it was in place, there wasn’t much Brown could do. The surface of the hot tub is smooth; he would have been sliding about as he struggled.’
‘Thank Christ we issued him with an Osman warning yesterday evening. How about security? Surely there was plenty in place?’
‘No expense spared. The CCTV system is Sentinel Watch. We’ve been on to them and they’re happy to cooperate. What they were able to immediately say was that no one entered or left by the main gates after seven fifty yesterday evening. That’s when Brown’s personal chef headed home.’
‘Personal bloody chef.’ Ransford shook his head. ‘That’s a crime in itself. Have you spoken to the person?’
‘Yes. She says Brown was on his own when she departed.’
‘How did the killer make their surprise visit, then?’
‘Well,’ Magda said, ‘considering the perimeter wall and rolls of razor wire, they might have had to be a bit crafty. Sean wondered if they could have come across the reservoir itself.’
‘An amphibious landing? That’s a bit James Bond, isn’t it?’
‘Actually, sir,’ Magda responded a little testily, ‘it’s not such a wild thought.’
Sean stepped forward. ‘Almost opposite is the sports college, Wright Robinson. With it being school grounds, all access to the reservoir is barred by a quite formidable stretch of fencing. The CCTV coverage is – as you’d expect – excellent. A likely access point is the sailing club at the very top end. It’s about a mile and a quarter from Brown’s residence.’
‘A fair distance,’ Ransford replied.
‘Not if you’re in a canoe, or similar,’ Sean countered. ‘No noise, either. At the sailing club, access to the water is by a large slipway.’
‘So you’ve already paid this place a visit?’
‘We did. Last night, they were having a social function in the club house – so the gates were open. Things went on until almost one o’clock in the morning. The pathologist’s rough guess is that Brown died late yesterday evening.’
‘And do they have CCTV?’
‘It’s limited, but copies of what they do have are on their way.’
‘Good work.’ Ransford sat up straighter. ‘Before the call about Brown came in this morning, weren’t you trying to trace Nick McGhee?’
Magda looked at Sean. ‘You carry on.’
He nodded. ‘There are dozens of people with that surname in the Greater Manchester area. But his former head teacher mentioned that he’d aspired to photography, so I contacted all art colleges in the region to see if a Nick McGhee had ever enrolled there. One result: Manchester Metropolitan University, 2004. He did the art foundation course before concentrating on photography in his final years. Graduated with a first. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any record of him on their alumni database. That’s as far as I got, but I’ll now start trawling for photographers with that name.’
‘Great. DS Fuller is preparing a follow-up interview with Carl Parker, who’s due to arrive any minute. Seems yesterday evening’s indifference went out the window when Fuller rang him this morning to tell him all about Anthony Brown’s sudden demise.’
‘I bet,’ Magda replied. ‘What did Parker say?’
‘Shat his pants, to put it bluntly. He now wants us to protect him. In fact, he insisted on coming here for the interview: he’s probably bringing a sleeping bag with him.’
‘I love it when they suddenly decide the police have their uses after all,’ Magda smiled.
Ransford pointed to his monitor. ‘I’ll give you a shout when the interview starts. We can watch in here.’
‘He’s happy to give a formal statement, is he?’ Sean asked.
‘Ready to reveal all, apparently. By the way, when is this Super Recognizer arriving?’
‘Due around now, sir. I asked Katie May to pool all the CCTV files we’ve gathered so far, including DS Fuller’s.’
‘Ah. She might be a bit behind on that. I believe DS Fuller commandeered her earlier to help him look into Anthony Brown’s financial arrangements.’
‘Excuse me,’ Magda said. ‘Why is DS Fuller concerning himself with looking into—?’
Ransford raised a hand. ‘I asked him to, DS Dragomir. While you were at Brown’s residence, I sent him to Cindy’s Casino.’
Magda looked nonplussed. ‘Why?’
‘Because we know he has an office there. Brown’s death gave us a brief opportunity. I don’t need to point out that murder enquiries open doors – literally. And I didn’t want to give Brown’s people the chance to start disposing of anything useful to us.’
‘So did he find anything?’
‘He’s said some items were potentially significant; and he requested that Katie May begin accessing certain bank records.’ He stared at Magda for a moment. ‘And I’ll remind you there are no personal territories in this case. And no ownership of Civilian Support resources, either.’
Sean sat forward. ‘That’s fine, sir. I can pull it all together and add in whatever Fairfield Sailing Club and Wright Robinson college send.’
Ransford continued to stare at Magda who, eventually, looked down. ‘Good. If we can locate McGhee and ensure he’s safe, I’ll feel a heck of a lot happier.’
‘We’ll keep on that, sir,’ Sean replied.
THIRTY-FOUR
‘They were only CCTV files,’ Sean said, pouring a sachet of sugar into his coffee. ‘Gathering them together took me half an hour.’
Magda was in the opposite chair, glowering at her drink. ‘I just don’t like the way he treats Katie like she’s his servant. And I really hate the way he notes down everything we say in the briefings with Ransford. What do we get back from him? Nothing, if he can help it.’
‘You need to be careful. I think Ransford’s getting pissed off with all this.’
‘Then he should have a word with Fuller!’
‘I agree. But I’m not sure he thinks Fuller is the only person at fault.’
Magda’s eyes locked on him. ‘Meaning?’
‘Come on, Magda. You’ve deliberately wound up Fuller, too.’
She seemed about to deny it, but smiled suddenly instead. ‘Yes. But at least I’m subtle about it.’
Sean was shaking his head when he spotted Katie May come through the doors. Her brown hair looked like it had been hurriedly tied back. Clearly flustered, she made her way straight to the vending machines on the far side of the room.
‘Hey,’ Sean said. ‘You OK?’
She glanced blankly at him for a moment then went back to scanning the panel of buttons. ‘Oh, Sean – I’m really sorry. That CCTV folder—’
‘Don’t be. It’s sorted.’
‘It is?’
‘I did it just now. You’re getting pulled in all sorts of directions here. Maggie should have someone helping you.’
She pressed a couple of buttons and a muesli bar toppled from its ledge and plummeted from sight. ‘But you asked me first thing if I could—’
‘And DS Fuller trumped me. It’s not your fault.’
‘Fuller.’ She groaned quietly. ‘He’s been badgering me all morning. The financial accounts of Anthony Brown …’ Now crouching, she scrabbled a hand in the tray. ‘I’ve not even had breakfast.’
