Chapter Twenty-one
How many murders?

‘You’re a fraud, a total fraud!’ Martin confronted Matt who was relaxing on pillows just plumped up by one of the two nurses who had been helping him recover from the anaesthetic. ‘I’ve been sitting out there for hours worried sick while you’ve been fraternising with the nursing staff.’

‘Sorry, guv,’ Matt grinned. ‘I don’t get many opportunities like this, so I’m making the most of it. But seriously, I have to admit I thought I was for the wooden overcoat back there, and I was worried I’d let you down big time.’

‘Nothing could be further from the truth,’ interrupted Martin, and he went on to explain what had happened at the house as Matt had limited memory of the events. ‘Now, what did they say about your injury? I got some information but not the whole picture.’

‘Well, when I kicked the knife out of Thompson’s right hand it flew into the air and as my leg was moving back down the tip of the blade must have caught a big bleeder in my groin area.’ Matt grinned again. ‘Considering the area the knife was moving towards it could have been worse, in which case there would have been no point in me chatting up the nurses!

‘Anyway, there’s no permanent damage, and the blood vessel has been stitched and patched or whatever they do, and I have had six or seven pints of the red stuff so it’s just a few days off and then back to work for me.’

Not for the first time in his life, Martin wished he was a woman, for one reason only. They were able to hug friends and family and even complete strangers with no one batting an eyelid. Martin wanted to hug Matt and embrace his sense of humour and optimism but grinned to himself as he imagined the look on his sergeant’s face if he took that step.

Instead he just said. ‘You gave me one hell of a fright back there, and I’m so glad you pulled through, but any more talk of getting back to work in a couple of days and you’ll wish you hadn’t. I understand we’ve arranged ambulance transport to get you back to Cardiff, but that’s not until tomorrow, so I’m going to leave you with the knowledge that two of your sisters have just arrived with arms full of food and drink – I hope you’re not nil by mouth!’

‘No chance, I’ve been told that there are no gastro-intestinal complications and the anaesthetic hasn’t made me sick so whatever goodies they have will be well taken care of as I feel like I haven’t eaten for a week.’

‘They’re waiting impatiently for me to finish talking to you and before you ask – yes I will keep you up to speed on what’s happening with the murder in Cardiff. From the information that’s been fed to me it appears that things have got no further than when we left and there’s nothing I can contribute to at the moment so I’m off home to get some sleep.’

Martin turned to leave and Matt made one last comment. ‘Thanks Martin, I think I knew you were with me all the time. It was a good feeling and I really did appreciate it, so just wanted to tell you that.’

Again that ‘I wish I was a woman’ feeling came over Martin, but he just smiled and walked out, passing two anxious-looking women who would soon be giving Matt a generous helping of hugs.

Martin drove down the M4 and tried to orientate himself with time and space. Was it really 5 a.m. on a Thursday, and was it only four clear days since Mark Wilson had been murdered? He doubted if the news of Jack Thompson’s arrest would have been in time for the early morning papers, but the radio and television news programmes would surely be running with it.

He refrained from putting on the car radio and instead concentrated on getting himself home and into bed before the day really woke up and shattered any chance of him getting some sleep.

Fighting an overwhelming urge to call earlier, Alex left it until almost half-past nine before ringing Martin. He almost regretted ringing then, as it was obvious from the time it took Martin to answer that he was still asleep.

‘Sorry to wake you, mate,’ said a far too-wide awake and enthusiastic Alex. ‘I left it as long as I could, but there have been some amazing developments and I can’t wait to share them with you.’

‘Steady on.’ Martin spoke in a voice that was deep and still heavy with sleep. ‘Give me a minute to wake up, and then you can share all you like.’

‘It’s all a bit complicated,’ replied Alex. ‘It would be better if you were here to see some of the stuff we’ve put together. Oh, and the most important thing of all is that we’ve been in contact with Bristol Royal Infirmary and Matt is making a seemingly record-breaking recovery.’

‘Yes, he was already doing well when I left him,’ said Martin, now in a recognisable voice and well and truly awake. ‘Look, Alex, I hadn’t really intended sleeping this long, but nature kicked in and if you hadn’t called I might have slept until tomorrow. Give me ten minutes to shower and grab a piece of toast and I’ll be on my way, so see you about ten or just after.’

In less than ten minutes, Martin had showered, shaved, and dressed, and made himself sit down to eat some toast and honey and drink his coffee. Alex had sounded excited, and ‘Brains’ was not one to show that level of feeling without good reason. What could it be? Well, there was only one way to find out.

At a quarter past ten, as many of the team that were available were gathered in Interview Room One waiting for Martin’s arrival. He got a round of applause as he walked in and then readily responded to all the questions of concern regarding DS Pryor. The local Bristol force had been in touch throughout the night and morning and apparently had described the actions of DCI Phelps and DS Pryor as nothing short of heroic.

Waving all that aside, Martin quickly briefed the gathering on what had happened when Paula Williams had seen Amy Wilson at the hospital, and outlined the events at the Thompsons’ house. He then asked Alex to take centre stage and tell everyone the results of his communication with the SOC team in Bristol. Charlie got into position in front of the main computer and clicked through a number of programmes before indicating to Alex that she was ready whenever he was.

‘Some of you have not been involved with the Mark Wilson murder, and will be wondering why I have asked you to join this briefing, but you will understand by the end.’ Alex signalled to Charlie who projected the first of a set of images from the computer to the front screen.

‘DCI Phelps will recognise this place,’ he informed the meeting. ‘It’s a house in Bristol. More specifically, it’s the bedroom of Jack Thompson. For the most part, it’s like any other bedroom, but it had an extra-strong lock on the door and a wardrobe that would make the Chronicles of Narnia weep.

‘According to Thompson’s mother it was built by his father as a birthday present and kitted out to store his son’s collection of blades they had bought from all over the world.’ Images of the exterior and the interior of the wardrobe were then shown, and Martin was now able to have a good look at what he had briefly seen last night.

Alex continued. ‘As you can see, the interior is divided into sections, mainly to separate the different types of blades. So, for example, he has stored all the dagger-type blades together, all the sword-type blades together, and so on. All of the blades hanging in these categories are spotless and shining, as if hours have been spent cleaning and polishing them.’

The screen showed image after image, all proving what Alex was saying, until the camera shots carefully rested on the back wall of the wardrobe. A close-up showed hinges on the back wall and the next shot demonstrated the back wall to be a false wall, usually hiding a very different selection of blades.

Martin went nearer the screen as the images of the newly exposed false interior showed a set of seven blades. These were not highly polished. All showed signs of being used in the most deadly way. Old bloodstains were present on all of them and even what looked like pieces of tissue and some strands of material.

Alex took them through each weapon, explaining how four of them at least, had been used. ‘You will remember we were looking for four different weapons in connection with the murder of Mark Wilson, and I believe that the four you now see on the screen are those weapons. Professor Moore told us that Mark’s right arm had been hacked off with some kind of chopper and the top-right picture shows a hatchet with a longish cutting edge. The top left picture is of a small machete – exactly what we were looking for in connection with the amputation of Mark’s left arm.’

The room was spellbound as Alex continued. ‘Likewise we were looking for some sort of scythe for the removal of the left leg, and there on the bottom right of the screen we have a Japanese-style double-edged curved blade. Again, it fits the bill. And, finally, we knew that some type of saw was used on the right leg, and there it is – a fine-toothed, extremely sharp saw – more like a serrated knife, really.

‘As well as matching the weapons, we are able to match the material from Mark’s trousers to some pieces on the saw and there is a lot of other blood and tissue that is being processed at this moment in time.

‘We also believe that a knife hanging in this section of the wardrobe, but somewhat distant from the murder weapons, is the one used to destroy the sofa, and we are checking that out too.’

‘Fantastic! Absolutely bloody fantastic!’ Martin shouted. ‘So we have all the evidence we need to secure the conviction of Jack Thompson for the murder of Mark Wilson, and to prove Amy Wilson conspired in her brother’s murder.’

‘Indisputable evidence,’ replied Alex with a smile.

A second round of applause accompanied by a few spontaneous cheers circled the room, and general conversation erupted. Martin let this continue for a few minutes before banging on the table and looking at Alex said ‘Judging from the smug expression still on your face, I guess you haven’t told us everything, Mr Griffiths.’

‘No,’ Alex teased. ‘To paraphrase the song, I’ve saved the best till last.’

‘What could be better than solving a murder?’ asked PC Mullen.

‘Solving two murders – or possibly three murders – or maybe even five or six murders.’ Alex responded quickly and with obvious excitement.

Knowing beyond doubt that he was holding the whole room in the palm of his hand, he enjoyed every minute. He nodded to Charlie, who was obviously in the know too, and she projected some more images onto the screen.

‘We have worked all night with our counterparts from Bristol and they have been brilliant. Look at the gallery of knives on the inside wall of the wardrobe,’ he instructed the room. ‘There are seven of them, and we believe that each one has been used to commit a murder. We can account for four of them in relation to the murder of Mark Wilson, but that still leaves us with three more.

‘CID in Bristol has, over the past few months, been struggling with two unsolved murders and in both cases they have not discovered the murder weapon. Two of the remaining knives fit the pattern of execution in these cases, and overnight they have examined the knives and got additional forensic evidence that definitely matches two of the remaining knives to those crimes.

‘They are also investigating the very recent murder of a woman who was the wife of a prisoner at Bristol Prison. In the case of her murder, the killer used a long thin steel blade and would probably not have left it behind but they think it is likely that the woman’s dog attempted to defend his mistress.

‘There is a gap on the new weapons side of Jack’s wardrobe, and if that weapon had previously been hanging there it will be easy to prove. Apparently, some of the other prisoners are talking, and they are saying that Jack was available to his father Leo’s inmates as the ultimate disposal machine – for a price!’

Without waiting for any reaction from his gripped audience, Alex went on to produce another rabbit from his hat.

‘Finally, we have the seventh knife, and without any further theatricals I will just tell you that it positively matches the one we have been looking for since the killing of Daniel Philips.’

Martin stopped him there. ‘That’s incredible, and if it’s true, then the man we have been tracking in Cardiff for the Ely murders is Jack Thompson!’

‘Before you and DS Pryor went to Bristol yesterday, you set in motion the tracking of Jack Thompson from the time he left Bristol Prison. The team traced him to Bristol Airport, where he got a plane to Malaga. His return flight wasn’t back to Bristol, though; in fact he landed at Cardiff airport yesterday.’

‘From there we have CCTV evidence of him getting into a taxi, and interviews with the taxi company have led to the same garden centre from which we tracked the killer of Ali Addula – result or what?’

Martin slapped Alex on the back. ‘What a team!’ he shouted. ‘What a team. Everyone here deserves a medal but the best I can do for the moment is to suggest that if anyone wants a coffee then the drinks are on me.’

The room cleared quickly, but very noisily, as everyone expressed their own opinions and commented on the evils of human nature. Charlie, Alex, and Martin remained, along with DC Davies who was standing in for Matt and who told the others the latest news about his DS.

‘About half an hour ago DS Pryor was transferred safely to the University Hospital of Wales and is making an excellent recovery. Since he arrived there, he’s phoned six times and my guess is that we will continue to get a call every five minutes or so until someone tells him what’s going on.’

‘That’s a pretty fair guess,’ laughed Martin. ‘I promised to keep him informed of progress so that will be down to me – thank heavens he’s been transferred and a visit won’t mean another trip to Bristol. No offence, but I’ve seen enough of that city for a while.’

Martin turned to DC Davies. ‘I’m just tidying things up in my mind, and no doubt the clothes Jack Thompson had on at his house can be traced to his purchases in Cardiff so can you make sure that we have that sorted. I’ll spend all day tomorrow putting everything together and then be very pleased to hand the whole thing over to the Crown Prosecution Services. But for now I have three house calls to make, and then I’ll be taking myself home.’

Martin chose to make his three calls alone, although he asked DC Davies to let the relevant people know he was coming. His first call was on Elaine Philips and was the one he was most concerned about.

She invited him into her home and he was pleased to see her daughter there. Over a cup of tea, he told her that they had arrested a man for killing her husband. He went on to tell her that her husband’s killer had been charged with the second murder at the shop, and with the murder last Saturday of Mark Wilson. Martin told her a bit more. ‘In addition to that, the police in Bristol now have proof that the same man killed two other people in their area.’

‘Why? But why? Is he crazy?’ Mrs Philips had every reason to be shocked, and Martin felt he had to answer her questions as honestly as he could.

‘To answer the second part of your question first – no, I don’t believe he is crazy, in that I believe that he is totally aware of everything he has done, but there are those that will always put forward the mental health argument. As to why, we believe that most of his murders were pre-arranged, and may be revenge or punishment killings linked to his father and his father’s associates. His father is serving life for murder in Bristol Prison, and the only murder that wasn’t pre-arranged was that of your husband. We believe on that occasion it was Mr Addula who should have been killed – he was the original target – but your husband intervened.’

‘From what you’re saying, the people that this man killed, with the exception of my Daniel and Mark Wilson, were all involved in some sort of criminal activity.’ Martin nodded and Elaine Philips continued. ‘So my kind and gentle husband, who was a wonderful father and a truly special man, was killed by what amounts to a paid assassin who was out to teach some villains a lesson?’

This was exactly why Martin had dreaded this meeting, as he knew from their past sessions that Mrs Philips had the knack of hitting the nail right on the head. He said nothing but took her hands and she allowed him to sit with her for a few minutes while the awful truth sank in.

It was her daughter Lucy who broke the silence. ‘Look, Chief Inspector Phelps, I know I’ve have given you a hard time over the lack of progress about my father’s murder, but my mother has found your support to be of enormous benefit. We thank you for coming here today. We had to find out the truth and it was best coming from you, so again thank you for that.

‘My father taught us a lot, and even if he had realised that Mr Addula was not all he appeared to be he would still have intervened. We all know that – it was his selfless nature that made us all love him so much. Now that we know the truth, we can work it through as a family.’

She sat down next to her mother and took her hands from Martin’s, allowing him to stand up and take his leave.

The image of the two women sobbing together would not go away as he drove towards his second visit and shortly afterwards pulled into the drive of the Hardings’ home.

As arranged, Paula and Suzanne were there, as was Helen Cook-Watts, and it was she who opened the door. She had been fully briefed and told to answer as many questions as she could, and to allow Paula to tell Norman, Sandy, and Suzanne about her meeting with Amy Wilson.

‘They can’t take it in,’ Helen said as she greeted DCI Phelps. ‘It’s hardly surprising, when someone they knew as Anne, and had befriended for years, turns out to be Mark’s sister Amy. And although we know she didn’t actually murder her brother, they have all come to the conclusion that she set it up.’

‘They almost certainly right,’ responded Martin as he followed her into the lounge. The first person he saw was Paula, and he asked her if she had recovered from her shock of recognising Amy Wilson as being Anne.

‘It’s not something I’ll ever forget,’ she told him. ‘It was that twitch she did with her eyebrow that did it – we’ve all seen her do it a thousand times. I think I would have recognised her anyway but that was certainly the trigger.’

Sandy invited Martin to sit down and he did, remaining there for the next hour and a half while the four people who had been closest to Mark talked and talked and talked.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and between them they came up with lots of clues that Amy had given them over the years, and wondered that if they had been more observant they could have realised who she was. They were all aware that she was still a patient at the BRI and Sandy asked what would become of her.

‘At present there is nothing for us to do, as she has been transferred back to the ICU and they are very concerned about her condition. If she recovers, she may be arrested for conspiracy to murder, but even that will depend on her mental health and that’s a very big question.’

‘The poor girl,’ said Sandy, much to everyone’s surprise, and an indignant Paula responded heatedly.

‘You can’t mean that, Sandy – she duped us for years, all the time hating us and wanting Mark dead. And you were always so good to her.’

‘Yes, but to live your life like that! She must have been filled to the brim with jealousy and hatred. If only she could have let us know who she was from the beginning, perhaps we could have turned all that around and helped her build a more meaningful life.’

There it was again: that willingness to help others, and for a moment Martin returned to an image of Helen Philips.

He took his leave of Mark’s family and friends and suggested to Helen Cook-Watts that she stay for just a while longer and then head for home herself. ‘You’ve done a great job with this family,’ he told her, and was rewarded by a beaming smile as she closed the door behind him.

Grateful that the first two of his meetings were behind him, Martin headed for the hospital. He was pleased to be going to visit Matt Pryor – it could have been so different.

‘At last, guv!’ Matt complained. ‘I thought I’d been forgotten, what’s going on so that it’s taken you all day to get here?’

‘Shut up and just listen for once,’ said Martin, as he pulled up a chair and went systematically through the investigation as it had unravelled that day. For once, Matt actually did just listen, and he didn’t even ask any questions until Martin had finished.

‘What a result,’ he said finally. ‘What a boost for the crime figures! Could be a gong in there somewhere for you, guv!’ He grinned at Martin.

‘Not for me,’ replied his boss. ‘But if they are giving them away for team efforts, then we should be in with a shout.’

Both men laughed, and then the conversation turned to Matt’s injury, and then to rugby – and then to women. It seemed to normalise the world, and that’s what the people who investigate such horrors need in order to keep themselves sane. Martin laughed as he heard how many female visitors had already been through the doors of Matt’s side room. There was only one female visitor that Martin wanted to welcome – and he found himself hoping that her second visit to the cottage would be pretty soon …