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.