George glanced round the office in which he was sitting. “Nothing much seems to have changed,” he observed.
“There was nothing much to change,” replied Monica Cooper, who was sitting in what used to be his chair behind what used to be his desk. “The furniture is of good quality and there’s no point wasting public money in replacing any of it. There are some certificates of mine on the wall but the books in the bookcase are all the ones you left behind and I’m sure I’ll be leafing through them from time to time.”
She smiled at George and he smiled back. Somehow she looked as though she belonged there. Monica was a short, stocky woman who always gave the impression that no nonsense of whatever type would be allowed to pass her by without receiving the full treatment. Her blonde hair streaked with grey was done up in a bob, which probably required little effort to administer, and her strong face was virtually devoid of make-up. George had always reckoned her to be smart and likely to be on “the fast escalator” as he put it, but her meteoric rise to take over his job had taken even him by surprise. When the announcement was made, he reckoned there were two aspects of Monica which he’d overlooked, one was her ability to deal with the politics and the other was to make sure that no mud ever stuck to her.
DCI Jordan Stuart was occupying the other visitors’ chair while Andy Croft was leaning against the door. They’d all been listening as George had laid out for them the work of the taskforce up to and including the previous day. Monica looked at Jordan Stuart. “Well, Jordan, what do we have which might support George’s theory or otherwise?”
Stuart shifted in his seat. “Nothing on the car at the moment, unfortunately. Plenty of DNA strands from the retired major and his wife and their family, but nobody else, and only their personal possessions. The sample you took from the doorway in the house—it is blood, you were absolutely right. We’ve compared it with Pennington and there are similarities, but not enough to make a complete match.”
“And that specimen wouldn’t be acceptable in a court of law anyhow because of the way it was obtained,” said Monica.
“So you’d need to make a full-scale search of the house,” George came back.
“That would require a search warrant and we would have to have reasonable cause to secure one.”
“Isn’t the attack on Sarah Richardson enough? We’ve proved she’s the owner of that house. I’ve been to the scene of the incident where she was knocked off her bike. That was on private land. There’s no way it could have been an accident and, if you want to launch a random assault on someone, there must be plenty of easier ways to do it. Someone knew her routine and planned it. What could the possible motive have been? She’s a retired lady with a portfolio of properties run for some time by an agency so she’s one step removed and she lives quietly on that estate. The only possible motive has to be connected with the house in Brayfield Road. Someone reported on our visit there and this was the result, to try to ensure she couldn’t talk. And what about the golden lion which was stolen?”
“But these are probabilities we’re talking about—not evidence. As for the lion, you seem to be obsessed with that. We don’t know for sure where it came from, when it got there or indeed what happened to it.”
“Maisie, the daughter confirmed it had always been on the desk.”
Monica waved a hand. “Even so…”
“Oh, come on,” George came back. “We all believe the Grouper Junior is behind this. Why would he take action if we hadn’t alighted on the right house from which at the very least the body was transported and where in all probability the murder took place?”
Monica seemed to be weighing up her options before she reached a decision. “All right, Jordan, make the most convincing case you can and we’ll go for the warrant.”
“I have something else for you which may help,” George went on. “I spent some time early this morning going through court cases involving the Grouper. Prosecutions were brought against him on a number of occasions but none of them was successful. Some of them took place on my watch and they left a permanent mark on me. The last one I found documented was in process by coincidence immediately after Pennington’s body was found. The Grouper was charged with money laundering and tax evasion and we were convinced at the time that we’d finally nailed him. However, vital evidence was lost and as a result the Grouper walked free. The chief prosecutor, Crispin Nightingale, who was very highly regarded, retired after the case and died shortly after that. And on his team as a junior was one Helena Iqbal. She disappeared from the list for those chambers after the case and left the country.” He closed the notebook to which he’d been referring. “That’s all I was able to establish off the internet and from my own memory. I may have some more in my notes at home but they’re in a mess. You have access to the complete file.”
Monica breathed out. “So that’s the link—the Grouper does her a favour by disposing of the body in line with her requirements and she makes sure he escapes justice. It would explain why the Grouper was prepared to help.”
“That’s the way I see it.” George took a last lingering look round the room where he’d held sway. “You’ve a very tough call to make here, Monica. I’m glad it’s not me!”