When Evil Wins Read online

  The desk sergeant wasn't happy but he was sure that when he spoke with the Super', Harris would let him know what he wanted him to do.

  “If you could go and sit on one of those seats over there I'll phone him.”

  Janus walked over to the seats the sergeant had indicated and the desk sergeant rang the Superintendent.

  “Morning, sir, I've got a Janus Malik here, says he wants to speak with you.”

  Harris racked his brains; the name did not ring any immediate bells.

  “Did he say what it is about?”

  “He says it's to do with Amanda Strickland,” the desk sergeant answered.

  Harris sighed at the mention of the woman's name. “Okay. Put him in interview room one.”

  “It's already in use, sir.”

  “Okay, put him in a free one then sergeant.” Harris was cross. What on earth could this guy want? Probably an ex-lover or something. “Tell him I'll be down in a few minutes.” Harris put the phone down. This was the last thing he wanted.

  “Sir, Mr Malik,” the desk sergeant called over to Janus, “if you come with me the Super' will see you shortly.” The sergeant took Janus to interview room three.

  Janus sat in the box like room wondering how he would tell Superintendent Harris about what he had found on the roof, and whether he should tell him about what he'd experienced whilst up there. After fifteen minutes the interview room door opened and a uniformed officer entered.

  “Mr Malik, I'm Superintendent Harris, what can I do for you?” Harris extended his hand; Janus got up from the chair and shook it. He certainly hadn't expected the Superintendent to be so amicable. “Please sit down.” Both men took a chair either side of the only table in the room.

  Janus didn't know where to start; the stance the police officer had taken had thrown him. “Er; I know you've decided to close the case on my friend Mandy…”

  “Mandy? Amanda Strickland you mean?” Harris interrupted.

  “Yes, sorry. It's just that I can't believe she committed suicide. She wasn't like that.”

  “Mr Malik, if you knew how many times we're told things like this about suicide victims I doubt that it would surprise you.” Harris relaxed slightly, he'd thought there was going to be more to this than had transpired. “I can assure you that the investigation we undertook was completed thoroughly. Are you aware of her family history?”

  “Yes I am. But it didn't affect her in anyway. I know this.”

  “Mr Malik, depressives can cover, very cleverly, their inner turmoil. If all those who committed suicide moped around beforehand it would be a lot easier for us and for this type of thing to be prevented, but the fact is – they don't.”

  “I know, but I found this note on the roof of Mr Jameson's building.” Janus took the note from his pocket and placed it on the table. Harris sighed to himself. This was the last thing he wanted; a civilian who thought they were skilled enough to be a detective.

  “Mr Malik, I won’t ask you what you were doing up there, I’ll leave that. Did you find anything else on the roof, anything at all?”

  “No, not really,” Janus responded.

  “This was the only piece of paper on the whole of the roof?” Harris pushed.

  “Well, no. There were some crisp packets, things like that.”

  “Do you feel that it's at all possible those crisp packets could have been dumped on the roof by the wind?”

  “I suppose they could.”

  “Isn't it entirely possible that the piece of paper could have been picked up by the wind from some street or another and dumped on the roof in the same manner?”

  “Yes, but look what it says.”

  Harris read out the note; ‘Meet me on the roof at midnight. G.S.’, Harris placed the piece of paper back on the table. “This could have come from anywhere, Mr Malik,” Harris said forcefully. “It’s not even addressed to Amanda Strickland.”

  “I see that,” Janus replied, “but look at the initials; they’re the same as R.J.P’s financial accountant, Gregory Smith.”

  “I'm sorry, Mr Malik, but there are many other people in this world with those exact same initials.”

  Janus felt as if he was fighting a losing battle; how could he convince the Superintendent there was something else going on without mentioning his vision? Then he remembered the note in the restaurant.

  “A few weeks before that Richard Jameson received a threatening note.”

  “Did he? When I spoke with him he didn't mention it.”

  “He thought it was a bad joke,” Janus explained.

  “What did it say?” Harris asked, trying not to lose his temper. If he’d had a pound for every time something like this cropped up in an investigation he would have retired many years ago.

  “It said that if he went on publishing work of this kind there would be an accident in the family.”

  “And what exactly does that mean?”

  “I think it was meant to mean that if he continued to publish books like mine then someone in his family would have an accident.”

  “Fine. And the motive?”

  “I don't know,” Janus conceded.

  “Is he a bad employer? Could one of his employees want to do him harm or his family for any reason?”

  “No, no! Not at all. He's got a reputation for being a good employer.”

  “Mr Malik, I'm having a lot of problems with what you're saying. Amanda Strickland isn't even related to him. Can you understand why I'm having so much trouble with what you're telling me and that, compared with the facts my detectives have ascertained through the course of their thorough investigation, it just does not fit?” Harris knew he was about to close down all avenues that Malik had to keep his silly ideas going, but he needed the note just to make sure there were no loose ends.

  “Yes, I can see why you've reached your conclusions.” No matter what Harris said Janus would not be convinced.

  “Having said all this, Mr Malik, I do understand your concerns. If you would like, I'll have the note you found on the roof properly examined. Would this help?”

  “Yes, Superintendent, that would put my mind at ease.” Janus handed Harris the note. “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Will you let me know the findings on the note?”

  “Of course. As soon as it's been processed you will be informed.” Harris had no intention of letting Malik know, let alone having the note processed, there was no point.

  Harris left the interview room. “Sergeant, Mr Malik and I have finished. Can you give him a card so that he has a number to call should he find out anything else?”

  “Of course,” the desk sergeant said.

  Janus went back over to the desk and collected the card, feeling a little better about the situation. Perhaps the police were not as dismissive as he had thought.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  After his unexpected meeting with his former Super' the day before, Detective Inspector Davis had left the scene of the fire and returned to his office to update the police computer with the sketchy details he had.

  When he arrived at the office he was handed the fire investigation officer's report about the incident.

  Sitting down in his chair he opened the file and read it. The fire investigation team had found two bodies, one of a child and the other of a young woman. Both had been at the center of the explosion when the gas had ignited. No accelerants had been found and the report’s conclusion remained with the initial view that the cause of the fire had been a gas leak. The duty pathologist would report on the identities of the bodies once the post mortems had been completed.

  Davis put the file back on his desk, picked up the phone and called Chief Superintendent Harris.

  “Harris,” the superintendent answered.

  “Super', it's Davis, I've got the preliminary report.”

  “Good, what does it say?”

  “It says that the explosion was a gas lea
k and there were no signs of accelerant use. It also says that there were two bodies found, a girl, and a young woman.”

  Harris sighed inwardly. “But the explosion was an accident?”

  “There's nothing to say otherwise, sir.”

  “When will you know about the bodies?”

  “I expect the autopsy will be taking place today.”

  “Well at least it's not Richard Jameson and the whole thing looks like it was an unfortunate accident. Let me know when you get the identity of the bodies, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Please remember, Davis, this is an accident, just as the report says,” Harris reaffirmed.

  “Okay,” Davis said, still uncomfortable at the way his former Super' was pushing hard for the accident verdict, but everything he'd read in the reports so far, and his own notes was going to make the delivery of the accident conclusion a whole lot easier.

  After what had happened in his last year in the Met and the easy way he had transferred into the Thames Valley force, he certainly didn't want anything negative about him coming to light.

  “The bodies, Davis,” his former Super' continued, “I need to know ASAP.”

  “You will.”

  With the answer received, the phone cut off.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  The British Airways flight touched down at London City airport on time. Richard and Liz were back from Edinburgh. They disembarked and collected their suitcases from the baggage collection area.

  As they left arrivals, their chauffeur, the one Mandy had booked to collect them on their arrival, was waiting for them holding up the customary sign with their names on.

  “It's a real loss,” Richard said to Liz.

  “What is, darling?”

  “Amanda, I don't know what I'm going to do without her.”

  “I know it is, but why do you say that now?” Liz asked. Sometimes, even after all the time they had been married, she still couldn’t fathom the whys and wherefores of the way her husband thought about things.

  Richard indicated to the man holding up the sign with their names on. “We wouldn’t have this guy waiting for us if it wasn’t for her.”

  “Amanda was a good person and very professional,” Liz said. Richard and his wife made their way to the waiting man.

  “Good afternoon, sir. I expect you're the Jameson party.”

  “We are,” Richard answered.

  “May I take your luggage?” their driver said.

  “Without a doubt,” Richard answered handing the chauffeur their trolley. The chauffeur wheeled the Jameson's luggage trolley out of arrivals and to the car.

  “I expect you'll be wanting to go to Wyverny House, in Penman's Green Lane, Belsize.”

  “Of course,” Richard said.

  The Jamesons got into the car and relaxed. Liz was happy to be home and couldn't wait to see her daughter, even though it may be a little after the time they got back to the house, because Stephanie and her nanny were obviously out for the day.

  After a swift journey through London, and an unusually straightforward afternoon trip along the M25 motorway, the chauffeur eventually turned out of Chorleywood towards Belsize, the Jamesons’ house was now only minutes away.

  As they turned into Penman's Green Lane Richard spotted a police car that seemed to be parked outside his property and although the trees that lined the private road always obscured the houses, as they were set back from the lane at the end of substantial gravel driveways, the police car certainly looked like it was parked at the entrance to their driveway, at the very least.

  Frowning curiously he turned to his wife, “I wonder what's going on,” Richard said

  “What do you mean?” his wife asked.

  “Look for yourself,” Richard said pointing at the official vehicles parked in the private road. “There's a police car. And they seem to be outside our house.” Before they could travel any further up the lane a policeman stepped out in front of their car and indicated to their chauffeur that he should stop.

  The driver brought the car to a halt and wound down his window.

  “Can I be of help, officer?” the driver queried.

  “Sir,” the police officer responded, “what is your business here?”

  “I'm dropping off Mr and Mrs Jameson.”

  “Ah,” the policeman sighed, knowing he'd have to be the one to break the news to Mr and Mrs Jameson and explain the details of the awful accident and the identities of the explosion's victims, to them. The news of who the victims were had just been announced on his police radio not half an hour before.

  Leaning into the car, through the window, and looking at Richard Jameson, the office said; “Can I have a word, sir?”

  “Yes, officer, what's this all about?” A queasy déjà vu feeling struck Richard as he spoke.

  “Richard,” Liz started, “what's going on?”

  “I don't know, dear, just give me a few moments with the officer and I'll find out.” Richard stepped out of the car and the policeman took him to one side, out of earshot.

  As the policeman explained the circumstances to Richard, Liz noticed her husband physically sag. There was something really wrong. After the officer had finished Richard turned to face the car and his wife.

  Liz saw her husband's ashen face and suddenly felt very sick; every single nerve on edge, taut and screaming.

  Richard walked, almost as if drunk, back towards the car, his legs now incredibly weak from the shock of the news the police officer had given him. He looked at his petrified wife gazing back at him through the cab’s window.

  “Can you please wait a minute?” Richard said to the chauffeur, barely able to be coherent. The driver just nodded seeing the look in his passenger's eye; he turned the car’s engine off.

  “Liz,” Richard stammered, trying to form his words, “please come here.”

  Liz got out of the car slowly and reluctantly, walking around the back to her husband; she knew something was very, very, wrong.

  “Liz,” Richard started, almost losing control, “we can't go home.”

  Tears were already forming in Liz's eyes; “Why Richard?”

  “There's been an accident, the house has been destroyed.” Richard caught his wife as her knees gave way.

  “What accident?” she asked feebly. Richard propped her up.

  “It was a gas leak, there's nothing left of the house.”

  “It is just the house, isn't it Richard? That's all?” Liz implored.

  There was no best way for Richard to answer the question and however much he wanted to protect his wife he knew he had to tell the truth. “No, my dear,” Richard said, halting a moment, catching his breath as he attempted to think of a way to lessen the body blow. At all costs he wanted to avoid continuing but there were no other options and the fact there'd never been any secrets between them, for good or bad, didn't leave him any choices at all. “That's not all Liz, it's Stephanie and Natasha as well. They were in the house at the time.”

  “Not Stephanie, Richard, not Stephanie?”

  There was nothing else her husband could say. Richard was completely pole-axed, this felt like the most terrible of nightmares, but as he looked around and saw the police officers, the chauffeur and the ruins of his house. He knew this was reality in its worst form.

  He helped his wife back into the car. Once she was seated, shock took over and rendered her incapable of anything.

  Richard, struggling to contain his emotions, leant over to the chauffeur and asked him if he could arrange a hotel room for them somewhere in London near to his office.

  Although this request was outside of his normal remit, the chauffeur saw and understood the pain his passengers were going through. He had felt this exact same pain when his wife had passed away a few years before.

  The chauffeur knew a few people, and after a short amount of time on the car phone he'd organised the Jamesons a luxury suite in one of the more prestigious hotels in London. He wished he coul
d do more but there wasn’t anything else he could do, apart from taking them to their hotel.

  The chauffeur sighed despondently, he hoped to God that his next job only required him to pick up and drop off passengers at a house which hadn’t been blown to smithereens. It wasn’t in his remit to do runs like this; runs which put him in touch, once again, with the feelings he’d felt when his wife had passed on.

  The thought dissipated quickly as he glanced at the passengers in the back of his car through his rear view mirror; they had to deal with the here and now, and most of his pain had been tempered by time.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  After the journey from the police station back to his flat Janus walked up his stairs even more determined to discover the origins of the note he had picked up on the roof of the R.J.P building.

  The last contact with his guide had enabled him to communicate with a spirit, namely the spirit of Arthur Conan Doyle, who had defined how he ought to approach discovering the facts surrounding Mandy’s death. What he had to do now was determine all the events that had preceded her tragic demise.

  Certainly Gregory Smith had something to do with Mandy's untimely exit from the world; the note from the roof had told him this much. He walked into his study area, which was no more than a small alcove in his bay window, sure that somewhere within his shambolic filing system Gregory Smith's phone number existed, or at the very least, his address.

  If there was anyone who could shed further light on the circumstances surrounding Mandy's death it could only be Gregory Smith; his initials were on the note and there was no doubt about that, no matter what the Superintendent had said to him.

  Janus rooted through his filing system eventually finding a contact number for the man. He retrieved the paper and sat down in the chair, in his study, moving the phone onto his desk.

  Janus dialled the number. The phone burred for a few seconds and then Gregory Smith picked up the receiver.