It took a frustratingly long time for the CCTV of Porthgwidden car park to come back the next day. When it did, it showed Ruçi driving a silver Ford Focus at 19.08 on the Friday evening, then leaving on foot with a backpack over one shoulder.
She had no idea that she’d be dead within a few hours.
The first parking ticket was issued late afternoon on the Saturday, and the second on Sunday evening.
At 01.23 on Monday morning, another car had arrived and dropped off a man with the build of Besnik Domi, although they weren’t able to see his face. If it was him, by then, he’d discarded the distinctive hoodie.
Rego leaned over Mimi Eagling’s shoulder, watching the tape run backwards and forwards as they tried to pick up more clues.
“It looks like the other car is deliberately staying out of sight,” he said, frustration in his voice as they stared at the screen, only able to glimpse the headlights shining a pool of light onto the road.
“Reckon the driver knows that car park has CCTV?” Mimi asked.
“Possibly. It’s the kind of thing a crim would be on the lookout for.”
Rego rubbed his eyes, debating how to prioritise his resources and personnel. Ideally, he’d like to know exactly where Domi – or whoever had been driving Ruçi’s car – had gone next. Maybe it was a long shot, but with the number plates that had probably been cloned, it seemed like one worth pursuing, although he’d already had three of his officers glued to computer screens looking at hours and hours of CCTV footage, and they were still searching for a sighting of Ruçi at other pubs in the area.
Domi could have left Cornwall in Ruçi’s car if he’d been the one to kill her, although that fact was far from being established, so cameras on the A30 might have picked him up. And at that time on a Monday morning, there wouldn’t have been much traffic, so it ought to be fairly quick to check the footage. And maybe it would be worth looking as far as the M5 at Exeter, if Domi had decided to avoid main roads for a while.
He knew that criminals often travelled on FOG’s – Fraudulently Obtained Genuine passports. Crims submitted a passport application with their own photograph but someone else’s details. It was scarily easy to do – all they needed was some willing person who wanted to make a few quid and let them use their details. Which meant that Domi could have left the country and they’d never even know.
But at least they had other leads to follow up.
Jack Forshaw had pulled a late shift and gone to the harbour to interview Jonas Jedna, the night watchman.
“Not that chattiest bloke I’ve ever met,” said Jack, sarcasm lacing his voice. “I thought hell was going to freeze over before I got a whole sentence out of him.”
Rego was interested.
“Boss, no one checks in on him that regular – a night watchman would have plenty of scope to move around the harbour without anyone knowing.”
“What exactly did he say to you?” Rego asked.
Jack pulled out his notebook.
“He said, ‘Awright, boy. Where’s you to?’”
“Pardon?”
Jack grinned. “It’s a Cornish thing – we call everyone ‘boy’ instead of ‘mate’, I guess. And he was asking what I was doing there.”
Rego wondered if he should buy a dictionary of Cornish slang. And good to know that being called ‘boy’ wasn’t a racial thing: he’d wondered.
“Would he have time to take a boat out while he was working?” Rego asked thoughtfully.
Forshaw hesitated.
“Risky, but not impossible.”
“So what do we know about Jedna?”
“Bit of a loner. He’s a local – born and brought up in Mousehole – knows his boats. Did his 22 in the Army in REME, including two tours of Afghanistan; left with the rank of Staff Sergeant. I checked PNC and he’s got two cautions for being drunk and disorderly. But those were both five years ago and nothing since. He’s been working as night watchman for three years now.”
“Okay, I want him in for a formal interview, Jack. Anything else?”
Forshaw nodded then handed over a piece of paper.
“The Harbour Master sent over a list of small craft which were permanently moored there that wouldn’t have made it out in bad weather.”
His tone was strained, and when Rego ran his eyes over the paper, he could see why: Tamsyn’s grandfather’s boat was on the list.
Rego mentally ticked through what he’d learned about the fishing industry since he’d been in Cornwall. When he’d gone to the harbour, Ozzie Poldhu’s boat had been one of the smaller and older boats. Stood to reason that he didn’t make much money from crab and lobster, especially at his age. Was he getting an income from an illicit source?
Rego hoped he was wrong. It was never easy when a copper’s personal life became part of an investigation.
Tom Stevens interrupted his thoughts.
“Boss, we’ve got the CDR from Vodafone on the vic’s number,” he said. “I’ll start going through it all now.”
“About bloody time,” said Rego. “Well done for keeping on them, Tom. Let me know what it flags up asap … or sooner. Start on the burner and then her personal phone. Any data usage that points to online banking? And work with Mimi – I want all that information fed into the analyst charts.”
“On it.”
Rego knew that this information was going to be crucial in building up a picture of Ruçi’s movements. The handset itself gave them information about the numbers called, when, and the call’s duration, as well as texts, WhatsApp and Snapchat messages – they’d already been working on that; but the CDR would tell them where Ruçi had been when she’d made those calls and sent those messages. Rego was hoping that this would narrow down the areas to search for CCTV to see who else she’d been meeting.
Most criminals knew about burner phones these days, but they still made mistakes, calling girlfriends and boyfriends, and sometimes even food delivery services. It wasn’t unusual to find Domino’s as one of the most frequently called numbers. Maybe it was weed giving them the munchies? And even if it was a new burner, there was a good chance that there’d be links from their older phones.
The CDR information sent from the phone provider was hundreds of pages of data that all had to be checked, crosschecked and referenced.
Rego had done this job himself and knew how time-consuming it would be. But then again, few complex crimes could be solved quickly; not many people walked into a police station and said, ‘I done it, guv. Send me to prison.’
The method Rego had been taught was to start with the top ten most used numbers, then expand out. There was a lot of information to cull – starting with billing, including where and when top-up vouchers had been bought.
The crims didn’t even have to make a call. Mobile phones worked by constantly hunting for the next cell area where it would lock on. This gave an approximate location for the person with that phone. If another phone that you were interested in ‘mirrored’ the location of the crim’s phone, then it was a reasonable assumption that they were meeting, and that was then evidence.
One of Rego’s colleagues had worked on a case where a group of migrants had been found illegally entering the UK. So they had 27 phones with 27 lots of communication with the people who’d organised their transportation.
It had required a huge amount of patience and concentration, and the translator who’d worked on the case had been overwhelmed, but at least they’d caught and jailed the people-smugglers involved. Some of them.
People smuggling – was that part of the key to this case? Rego spun his chair around and called across to Jack Forshaw.
“Jack, have you found any sign that Ruçi had an online bank account?”
“No, boss. Nothing.”
“Then how were they moving the money around?” he said to himself. “In the lorry?” Then out loud, “Get onto Clint Brady at Newlyn Harbour – I want CCTV of the boats going out after the bad weather on the list of significant dates. I know, more CCTV, but this is how we’re going to catch this killer – good, solid detective work.”
“Sir, there are CCTV volunteers at Launceston – maybe they could help?”
Jack sounded a little desperate. Rego knew how he felt – he’d been craving a cigarette for at least two hours, but he’d promised Cassie he was giving up.
“Yep, great idea. Get onto them to see if they’ve got some resources to help us, but I’ll need you to stay on this yourself, as well. Work with Tom on locations where we know the victim made calls – get CCTV and find who she met. I want to know who she talked to, who she saw.”
Jack gave a resigned nod and picked up the phone.
Rego surveyed his team, pleased with the way they were working together. His DCI had described Tom Stevens as ‘a safe pair of hands’ and Rego was impressed with his calm capability. The man was a good fifteen years older than Rego, and he wondered why his DS had never applied for his Inspector’s exams. One day, when he knew him better, he’d ask him.
They worked solidly for the rest of the day on the victim’s phone and CCTV footage, putting in the long hours, hoping to get a break on the case.
Rego was just thinking about packing it in for the evening and getting those fish and chips that had been calling his name, when Tom Stevens knocked on his door.
“Have you got a minute, boss?”
“Sure, come on in.”
Tellingly, Stevens closed the door for privacy, then took a seat opposite.
“I’ve been looking at CCTV from the harbour during the times when the vic and Moyle had been discussing shortages. Well, we’ve identified several small boats that we’ve seen going out shortly after the bad weather…”
“Okay?”
Stevens grimaced.
“The thing is, boss, there’s one small boat that crops up on every single one of the dates in question.”
“Go on.”
“And it belongs to Ozzie Poldhu, Tamsyn’s grandfather.”
That was not what Rego wanted to hear.
“Are you sure about this?”
Stevens nodded, his face expressing a mixture of concern and sympathy.
Rego sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“Okay, we’ll need to bring him in for questioning. And I’ll need to talk to PC Poldhu. Do we know where she is?”
“Bryn Terwillis is the student’s tutor, he’ll have her timetable.”
Rego decided to walk down and see the sergeant as a courtesy. Besides, Tamsyn was under his supervision, so he needed to be informed if there was a problem.
He found Terwillis eating a sandwich at his desk. He started to stand up when he saw Rego.
“No, it’s okay – finish your sandwich, sergeant. I just wanted to have a word with you about one of your students: Tamsyn Poldhu.”
“Is there a problem, sir?”
Rego closed the office door and pulled up a chair.
“Possibly. What do you make of her?”
“From the little I’ve seen, I’d say she’s sharp, observant, hard-working … a little lacking in confidence, but that’ll come with experience. I’d say she has the makings of a good copper. So, what’s the problem?”
“I need to bring her grandfather in for questioning on the Saemira Ruçi case.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.”
Rego went on to explain why he wanted to talk to Tamsyn’s grandfather, and how the CCTV clearly showed his boat going out at the times when they suspected smuggling was taking place.
“I will be interviewing a couple of other fishermen, but so far, Ozzie Poldhu is the only one who fits all three of the time slots that we’re looking at.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not. I’m going to keep the interview as informal as possible but there’s a chance that it might become more formal. I want to tell PC Poldhu myself rather than her hear about it after the fact.”
“And she won’t be able to have anything to do with the case either.”
“No.”
“Sir, cards on the table: is there any suspicion that PC Poldhu is involved in any illegal activity?”
“No,” Rego said, then paused. “Not at this moment. But I do need to talk to her.”
Terwillis nodded. “Let me check the duty roster. Okay, she’s on nights today and tomorrow, so she’ll be in for the briefing handover but I’ll ask her to come in early and…”
“Unfortunately, I need to interview her grandfather this afternoon.”
Terwillis grimaced. “Well, I could call her – ask her to come in now.”
“Thanks,” Rego said as he stood up. “Don’t tell her why I want to speak to her – and if you could just keep this between us for now. Once I’ve interviewed Mr Poldhu, well, it’ll be entered into HOLMES and then it will be common knowledge, but as I said, I will be interviewing other fishermen from Newlyn, so hopefully we can keep this low-key and need-to-know for now.”
“Of course, sir. And could I ask to be kept informed of how the interview goes with her grandfather?”
“Yes, I’ll do that. Thank you, sergeant.”
Rego was heading back to his own office when his phone rang with a call from DS Stevens.
“Boss, Ruçi’s car has been found.”
“That’s great news! Where?”
Rego was expecting to hear that it had been found in London or Dover or Calais – somewhere Domi would have dumped it prior to heading back to Albania.
“Marazion, in the car park for the community centre.”
For a moment, Rego was speechless, and he had to revise his thoughts quickly. The murder victim’s car had been found a stone’s throw from St Michael’s Mount – a favourite destination for tourists and members of the National Trust looking for a cream tea.
But then again, just because somewhere was scenic, it didn’t mean there was no crime. As he was learning.
“Any CCTV?”
“Nope. Sorry, boss.”
Rego was disappointed but he was fairly sure his team would be relieved not to have to sit through even more hours of blurry digital images.
“Okay then, let’s get over there to retrieve the vehicle: full forensic lift, a secure garage, samples and photographs – the works. And because we believe it’s on false plates, look at the VIN number to identify its correct number and where it was stolen from.”
“Yes, boss.”
“As soon as there’s any news, I want to know it.”
Before he’d even finished the call, he heard Mimi Eagling trying to get his attention and looking more animated than he’d seen her for a few days.
“Boss! I’ve got something, too.”
Probably a new pair of glasses because you’ve been scanning CCTV for three days non-stop.
He looked over her shoulder at the computer screen.
“I’ve got footage of the victim’s car,” she said, excitedly.
“Where and when?”
“Newlyn Harbour, Saturday 24th March. Look at the time-stamp: 02.23.”
“Just a few hours after she was killed!”
“Yes, and look at this…”
She clicked on fast forward, then paused over an image of a man bending over the boot of the car. He’d parked in a deep pool of shadow and his face was hidden by a baseball cap.
Rego squinted at the image. It didn’t look like Domi who was short and wiry; this was someone tall and thick-set. Rego watched the screen as the man pulled out something bulky and heavy that he struggled to carry. It was wrapped in bin bags and tied with a piece of rope.
“That could be a body, sir,” Mimi pointed out.
Although the video had no sound, Rego could see the ends of the rope whipping around in a strong wind. Their theory had been that poor weather had kept the murderer from disposing of the body – it looked like they were bang on with that.
Then he remembered that had been Tamsyn’s theory – a theory that could possibly implicate her own grandfather. And he didn’t know what to make of that.
“Can you see which boat he goes to?”
“No, sir. He goes out of screen … then we pick him up again six minutes later heading back to the car. It’s dark and he keeps his head down, so we don’t have much to go on. He gets in the car and drives away – we can’t see the number plate or which direction he went either. He’s avoided all the CCTV and night vision security.” She paused. “If that was the vic, it’s a pretty ballsy move to leave a dead body on a boat like that.”
“Agreed. Get the Harbour Master to give us a list of all the boats that were in the harbour that night – small ones are the priority, but I want to know everyone who was there.”
“Already done it, sir,” she grinned at him. “There were eleven boats under 12 metres that night. Nine of them were local fishermen, and two were visiting yachts which took refuge from the storm: Coleraine Queen owned by a Kevin Coyle from Northern Ireland; and Magio de Machico, owned by a Portuguese national living in Madeira named Aderito de Jeles.” She paused. “Madeira is off the coast of Africa.”
Vikram had mentioned drug routes coming to Europe from North Africa – was this a possible link?
“Find out if either of those yachts have visited Falmouth, Newquay or…” Rego struggled to think of any more Cornish fishing ports, “…or anywhere else relevant.”
“I’ll check with the harbour masters.”
“And find out if either of those yachtsman are on our databases.”
“Boss.”
“And Mimi – well done.”
She gave a pleased smile as she headed back to her digital searches.
Rego’s phone alarm reminded him that Tamsyn would be in shortly. He needed a moment to put his thoughts in order, but when he returned to his office, she was already waiting for him with the same eager and alert expression he already associated with her. And looking so very, very young.
She wasn’t in uniform as her shift didn’t begin until that night, and he regretted that he’d had to deny her a lie-in after a late shift, but that was the nature of policing: birthdays missed, anniversaries forgotten; hell, most relationships ended up taking second place once you were on a case. Of course, it wasn’t always like that … just mostly.
She smiled as she sat down, and he felt like a shit for doing this to her, especially as the connection between ‘product’ shortages and bad weather had been her idea.
Unfortunately, he now had to consider the possibility that she had some ulterior motive for mentioning it, maybe even deliberate misdirection. Maybe not, but he had to at least consider that she might not be as entirely squeaky-clean as she seemed. And he hated that.
“Tamsyn, thank you for coming in early. Again.”
She smiled.
“No problem, sir.”
“The thing is,” he said, choosing his words with care, “your suggestion about a possible link between bad weather and the shortages mentioned on the victim’s burner phone, it’s thrown up several avenues of inquiry that we’ll need to follow up.”
“Oh, that’s great!” she said, looking pleased. “I mean, it was just an idea, so I’m really glad that … I’m really glad.”
Rego withheld a wince.
“Yes, so we have a list from the Harbour Master of smaller craft with moorings at Newlyn, and we also have CCTV which shows the boats heading out after the severe weather, as discussed.”
She nodded, still looking interested and engaged, still not recognising that she was about to hear bad news.
“We’ll be talking to all the owners of those boats.” Rego looked down, as if checking his notes. “And one of the people we’ll be interviewing is your grandfather.”
He could see the exact moment that she understood what he was saying.
“You … you want to interview Grandad?”
“Yes. I’m going to invite him to come in for questioning this afternoon.”
“But … he didn’t do anything. He wouldn’t. Not drugs. No way.”
“At this point, it’s just an informal interview.”
Her expression cleared a little. “You want to eliminate him from your inquiries.”
“That’s a good place to start,” he said.
She seemed to take what he was saying at face value, which made him feel worse.
“DC Forshaw already talked to him at the harbour,” she said, as if he needed reminding.
“Yes, but now I need to talk to him about specific times and dates – now that we have them.”
“Oh, okay.” She paused. “Grandad can be a bit … difficult … especially with strangers. But he doesn’t mean anything by it – it’s just his way.”
“Noted,” said Rego. “But until we have eliminated him from our inquiries, you can’t have any active role in this murder investigation. I’m sure you understand.”
“But, sir…”
He met her gaze, his own expression unyielding.
“You’re not allowed to have anything to do with this case, and you can’t talk to your grandfather about it. If we find out that you’ve been talking to him, then as a minimum, you will be investigated for gross misconduct, but the likelihood is that you would be arrested and interviewed for perverting the course of justice. If you’re found guilty, you’ll be looking at a lifetime ban from the police. Do you understand, Tamsyn?”
Her mouth fell open and she blinked several times.
Rego hoped she wasn’t going to do anything awkward like cry. But she simply stood up from her chair.
“Thank you for telling me, sir. Can I go now?”
“Yes. Thank you for coming in.”
She gave him a terse nod and left the room.
Rego watched her for a moment, then picked up his phone to call her grandfather.
He was not looking forward to this interview with Ozzie Poldhu. Forshaw said that the old guy had been grumpy and bad tempered when he’d talked to him at the Harbour Master’s office, and even Tamsyn had warned him that her grandfather could be ‘difficult’, so asking him to come and be interviewed in a custody suite would be like asking a Manchester United fan to cheer for City.
He debated briefly whether or not to have a more informal chat in Penzance, but then he thought that it wasn’t fair to bring him to Tamsyn’s workplace – so Camborne it would be.