The Fourth Cart Read online

  Chapter Eighteen

  Magee was on a high. He waltzed into his office, triumphantly, whistling in a carefree tone. He caught DS Collins’ attention as he passed and said, ‘Could you contact the Home Secretary for me, please?’

  DS Collins looked at her watch before saying, ‘It’s five forty-five. I have a bus to catch in a few minutes.’

  ‘Two minutes, that’s all.’ DS Collins gave Magee a resigned look and went back to her desk.

  Magee sat in silent contemplation waiting for the call to come through. Life doesn’t get better than this, he purred to himself. He picked up the receiver eager to hear the Home Secretary’s congratulations.

  ‘Magee?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Magee replied on recognizing Rees Smith’s voice. ‘I thought you’d want to be first to hear the news. We made an arrest a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Really? Who?’

  ‘He’s a Thai man, sir, a Mr Somchai Polgeowit.’

  ‘A Thai national, you say?’

  ‘That is correct, sir.’

  There was a momentary pause before the next question was asked. ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Um, thirty-one, I think, according to his driving license.’

  ‘Thirty-one? Are you sure, Magee?’

  ‘Quite sure, sir. Why, is there a problem with that?’

  ‘No, not at all, Magee. I was just trying to get my head round the case. You’re sure you’ve got the right man?’

  ‘Quite sure, sir. There’s no doubt about it following the exploits of last night. We chased a car from the scene of Robert Harrison’s murder in Hove last night. The car was registered to this Somchai Polgeowit at a flat in Sussex Gardens in Kemp Town. From there, we traced the lease to his office in Crawley. There is no doubt, sir.’

  ‘Well, congratulations then, Magee. You’ll keep me informed of progress won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, sir. And I apologize again for disturbing you so early this morning.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Rees Smith murmured. ‘Never mind. The important thing is you’ve got your man.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Right, well, I’m sure this arrest will be seen as a fortuitous occasion, in respect of your promotion prospects, Chief Inspector. Good bye for now.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  As soon as Magee put the receiver down, DS Collins called through, ‘There’s a Mrs Gibson on line two for you, sir.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mrs Gibson. She sounds very distraught. And she wants to talk to you personally.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Magee muttered. He sighed deeply. All he wanted was for two minutes of peace before he commenced interrogation of Polgeowit.

  ‘Hello? Yes, this is Detective Chief Inspector Magee. How can I help you, madam?’

  Through a series of sobs and snuffles, Mrs Gibson said, ‘I demand an explanation, Chief Inspector. I think it's outrageous.’

  ‘I'm sorry, madam, I don't understand you.’

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean, Chief Inspector.’

  Magee could barely make sense out of the wailing woman. ‘Madam, please! I honestly don't know what you're talking about. Please, calm down, and start from the beginning.’ He waited patiently for the woman to settle.

  ‘I had a delivery an hour ago. A special delivery. It was a parcel, Chief Inspector, as if you didn't know. It contained a wreath, and in the centre of the wreath was this horrible, obscene knife. There was a most upsetting card with it as well.’

  Magee sighed. There were far better qualified people than him to deal with these situations. He cursed the system for not being able to filter out such calls. ‘What does it say, madam?’

  ‘Well, the wreath was in my son's name, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘And who is your son, madam?’

  ‘Keith. Keith Gibson. He died five years ago, Chief Inspector, and I get a wreath today. It's most upsetting. I'm eighty-three years old next month and I could do without this sort of nonsense.’

  ‘And what does this card say, Mrs . . . Gibson?’

  ‘The card says, well, it has just got the number four written on it.’

  Magee sighed in despair. He seemed to know instinctively where this conversation was heading. ‘Mrs Gibson, this knife, is the handle carved in the shape of a Buddha?’

  ‘Of course it is, Chief Inspector. As if you don’t know!’

  Magee was bemused by the comment. ‘Mrs Gibson, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand this. Why do you think I should know about this?’

  ‘Because your name and telephone number are on the card, that’s why, Chief Inspector.’

  Magee closed his eyes in dismay. ‘I’m so sorry about this, Mrs Gibson, but someone with an unbalanced mind is playing a very cruel trick on you.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Chief Inspector. Please explain.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to say this, Mrs Gibson, but I am the senior investigating officer in a serial murder case. I think your son was probably the next intended victim. The fourth victim, that is.’

  ‘But why was I given your telephone number?’

  ‘I’d rather not speculate on that, Mrs Gibson. Look, can I take some details from you. I’ll come round and see you as soon as I can, if I may.’

  ‘By all means, Chief Inspector. This is most upsetting. I would like to get the matter cleared up.’

  ‘If I could just take your address,’ Magee said, beckoning Melissa as she appeared in his doorway. ‘Right, thank you, Mrs Gibson. I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodbye for now.’

  Melissa caught Magee’s attention and asked, ‘Mrs Gibson?’

  ‘Victim number four, Keith Gibson. Well, his mother anyway. She said her son died five years ago, but received a wreath today. There was a knife enclosed in the wreath.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, our Avenging Buddha?’

  ‘So it seems. Come on, let's go and visit our friend downstairs. He's had plenty of time alone to think. Hopefully, he'll be in the mood for talking.’

  Magee walked with Melissa down to an interview room only to find an irate solicitor berating a constable in the corridor. He took in the solicitor’s expensive looking suit and arrogant manner; not good signs, in his books.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir. I’m DCI Magee. May I help you?’

  ‘I hope so, Chief Inspector. I have been kept waiting here for half an hour, and my client has been assaulted. It’s an outrage!’

  ‘Perhaps we could go inside, sir,’ Magee said walking into the interview room alongside Melissa. He sat down opposite Polgeowit and was horrified to see a large red mark on the prisoner's face.

  ‘Chief Inspector,’ the solicitor started, ‘My client wishes to make it clear that he is innocent of all accusations.’

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ Magee muttered. ‘They all do.’

  ‘He is an honest businessman and has never been in trouble with the police in all his life. My client expected better from the British police force. He feels that he is being unduly harassed. His treatment so far has been far from acceptable. My client was under the impression that a man was innocent in this country until proven guilty. My client is a pacifist, a devout Buddhist and he never resorts to violence no matter how much he is provoked. Yet as you've no doubt noticed, my client now has a severely bruised face and a swollen eye.’

  ‘I had noticed that, sir.’

  ‘Well? How do you explain it, Chief Inspector? A self-inflicted wound perhaps?’

  ‘I have no idea, sir. I’m sure there’ll be an investigation, though.’

  ‘I expect more than that, Chief Inspector. Someone should pay for this with their job. It really is quite disgraceful. My client is a well-respected member of the Thai community as you would know if you'd checked beforehand. No doubt the Thai Ambassador will be speaking to you shortly.’

  ‘Is Mr Polgeowit claiming diplomatic immunity?’

  ‘No, of course not, he is not a diplomat. But he is an extremely close friend of the Ambassador.’<
br />
  ‘Fine. Then perhaps we can return to the proceedings. Mr Polgeowit will be treated in the same way as any non-British non-diplomatic resident.’ He turned to face Polgeowit and asked politely, ‘Is that acceptable to you, sir?’

  Polgeowit remained silent. His solicitor responded on his behalf, ‘Does every foreigner receive a black eye in a British police station, then?’

  ‘Could we change the subject, please?’ Magee pleaded. ‘We'll come back to this alleged assault later.’

  ‘We certainly will, Chief Inspector.’

  Magee turned his attention away from the solicitor. ‘Right. Now then, Mr Polgeowit, can you account for your movements last night. The entire night that is, say from nine in the evening?’

  ‘Of course, Chief Inspector,’ Polgeowit answered for himself. ‘From eight o'clock in the evening until two in the morning I was hosting a charity fundraising party at the Savoy, in London, on behalf of the Royal Thai Embassy. There were around one hundred and fifty guests there and I believe I managed to have a few words with almost everyone during the evening. I certainly greeted each guest and bade farewell to most of them at the end.’

  Magee was shocked. Surely such an alibi was not possible? He closed his eyes briefly as the image of a career in ruins flashed through his mind.

  Magee was desperate to regain control. ‘Do you own the flat known as 4C Sussex Gardens in Kemp Town, Brighton, sir?’

  ‘Certainly not, Chief Inspector. My house is in East Grinstead. I am in the telephone book, did you not look?’

  ‘You could have a second home.’

  ‘For what purpose, Chief Inspector? ’

  Magee reflected on the comments Angela had made on the habits of the occupant of Flat 4C. ‘I'd rather not speculate on that, sir.’

  ‘This flat in Sussex Gardens,’ the solicitor said, ‘have you been there, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, of course I have.’

  ‘And it is relevant to this murder charge?’

  ‘Very much so, sir.’

  ‘You have taken fingerprints from this flat?’

  Magee winced. ‘Yes,’

  ‘And you have compared them to those of my client?’

  ‘I am still awaiting the results on that, sir.’ It was the best, and worst, comment that Magee could come up with.

  ‘Really? That is most interesting, Chief Inspector. Or rather most surprising, I should say. Forgive my ignorance, but I thought modern detective techniques involved things like matching fingerprints before making accusations? Or is your mind-set still stuck in the sixties?’

  Magee chose to ignore the jibe and said, ‘We had sufficient evidence to make an arrest, even without fingerprints.’

  ‘Indeed? Would you care to share that information with us?’

  Magee looked the solicitor in the eye. ‘There was a murder last night, in Hove. The assailant got away in a hired car, but we got the number. The car hire company had a copy of the driving license which we traced to a flat in Sussex Gardens. The flat and the driving license are both in Mr Polgeowit's name.’

  ‘Did you consider the possibility of another man with the same name?’

  ‘That was irrelevant,’ Magee shot back. ‘The lease agreement for the flat gave Mr Polgeowit's business address in Crawley as well as his position in the company. Are you going to tell me there are two men called Somchai Polgeowit who are both managing directors of Mekong Enterprises Limited?’

  ‘Of course not, Chief Inspector. But what about the possibility of someone using my client's identity as a cover, as I believe you call it?’

  Magee blinked at the solicitor’s comment and knew immediately he’d been duped. He turned to Polgeowit and asked politely, ‘Would you mind standing in an identity parade, sir.’

  ‘Can I go home afterwards, Chief Inspector? I think I have tolerated enough abuse for one day. My wife and children will be most concerned by my absence.’

  Magee was stuck. All he had was circumstantial evidence. If the alibi proved sound, and if the identity parade failed, then he knew his case would collapse. He cleared his throat. ‘Were there any photos taken at last night's party, sir?’

  ‘Several hundred I would imagine. As host, I think I would appear in the odd one or two.’

  Magee caught Melissa’s eye and nodded his agreement. ‘Very well, Mr Polgeowit. If this identity parade fails, then you're free to go. As long as I can also get corroboration that you were at the party last night.’

  ‘Telephone the Embassy, Chief Inspector,’ Polgeowit offered, ‘I believe most of the senior staff were there last night.’

  ‘If you’d care to wait here, sir, we’ll be as quick as we can,’ Magee said leaving the room.

  Outside, Magee stared at the ground in horror. ‘What the hell’s gone wrong, Melissa? I thought this was a cast iron case?’

  ‘It could be a bluff.’

  ‘I wish!’ Magee muttered. ‘Christ, I hope you’re right, it doesn’t bear thinking about. How the hell could I get it so wrong?’

  ‘I think we were led astray, sir.’

  Magee nodded. ‘Let’s just hope we can salvage something. Look, will you telephone Angela? Ask her to pop over as quick as she can. Arrange a lift for her if she hasn’t got transport. Then contact The Savoy in London, see if the party was held there last night. I’ll phone the Embassy. Be careful with what you say, though, there’s likely to be a heap of trouble coming this way.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  ‘And see if you can get someone to string together some Orientals from the local restaurants for an ID parade.’

  ‘Right you are. And cheer up,’ Melissa said, walking off, ‘it’s not the end of the world.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Magee responded, ‘but it might be soon, if what Polgeowit said is true.’

  Five minutes later, Magee collapsed into his office chair, rubbed his eyes and exhaled deeply. He really wasn’t looking forward to the next conversation. He picked up the telephone gingerly and dialled the number of the Royal Thai Embassy. Within moments of explaining who he was, and the purpose of his call, he was transferred straight through to the Ambassador himself. He sat patiently, listening, more than talking, as the Ambassador convinced him of Polgeowit’s innocence.

  Magee was in a deeply depressed mood as he made his way down to the ID room. Angela, the blonde bombshell, had arrived dressed to kill. He led her up and down a line of six men, twice, but she failed to pick anyone out.

  ‘Are you sure, Angela?’

  ‘Absolutely sure, Jack. Sorry.’

  Magee blushed at the use of his Christian name. ‘Please double-check, Angela,’ he begged in desperation.

  ‘Numbers one and two are far too old; they must be sixty at least. Number three is far too young. Number four is too tall, by at least six inches. Numbers five and six are too ugly. He’s not there, Jack. I'm good on faces, it's my job.’ Angela gave Magee a knowing look. ‘If I forgot a face it could be very embarrassing in my position.’

  Magee felt a cloud of despair settle over him. Not only did Polgeowit seem to have a cast iron alibi, but now his star witness had crushed his last hope. The events of the day came sharply into focus. He’d rushed, he’d jumped the gun. He hadn't checked his facts properly. He could so easily have made a few basic, discrete enquiries beforehand. It was no consolation, but he put his negligence down to being too tired, or under too much pressure. Oh dear god, he cursed inwardly, please let this be a dream.

  Melissa entered the room wearing a long face. She didn't have to speak; Magee could see by her expression that all was not well. He turned his attention to Polgeowit who was waiting impatiently nearby with his solicitor.

  ‘Mr Polgeowit,’ Magee said politely, ‘you are free to go. The fingerprints and photographs we've taken here today will be destroyed. The reference to your arrest will be deleted from our records. I will start an immediate inquiry into your alleged assault. Please accept my sincerest apologies, sir, for your grief. I have no excuse
s to offer. I have been taken in by the deviousness of a killer who has steered me in the wrong direction, to you. For that, I am most humbly sorry.’ Magee’s face was beetroot red with embarrassment. He'd never felt so humiliated in his life.

  ‘It is not good enough, Chief Inspector,’ Polgeowit responded icily. ‘I cannot accept your apologies. My solicitor will be corresponding with you in due course. I shall be making a very big issue about this. The whole episode has been disgraceful and I shall sue for compensation. Good day to you, Chief Inspector.’ Polgeowit turned and left the room with his solicitor.

  Magee slumped into a plastic chair in a dimly lit corner of the ID parade room, and everyone left him to his tortured thoughts. He wished for the earth to open and swallow him whole, to rid him of the disgrace he knew was coming his way. The case had blown up in his face. Everything that had gone wrong would be dumped on him. That fate was inevitable. It was how responsibility worked in the Force; everyone would distance themselves from him, everyone would fight their own corner citing him as the man who masterminded the disastrous case.

  He sat in silence contemplating his career to date, and how it was likely to be terminated, dishonourably, in the coming weeks; he would be disciplined, made a laughing stock in the press, sued then sacked following a tribunal. His head sank into his hands and he wept openly in the solitary confines of the immediate and darkened four walls.

  After thirty minutes of purgatory, he became aware of a presence in the room. He looked up to find Melissa trying to get his attention with a polite cough.

  ‘We've just received an official complaint from the Thai Ambassador, sir,’ Melissa said. ‘He would like you to go to the Embassy tomorrow at eleven in the morning to give your explanation. Superintendent Vaughan has said you're to go.’

  Magee nodded.

  ‘The Super would like a word with you before you go home.’

  He nodded again.

  ‘So would the Home Secretary,’ Melissa added. ‘Judging by the tone of his voice, I reckon the Ambassador lodged a complaint about Polgeowit’s treatment.’

  ‘All right, Melissa. I'll see to it,’ Magee responded in total defeat.

  ‘I'll be on my way then, sir,’ Melissa said quietly, turning to go.

  ‘Sure. It’s been nice knowing you, Melissa. I hope this doesn't screw up your career as well.’

  ‘You'll be back, sir.’ Melissa’s response sounded unconvincing.

  Magee sat for another half hour deep in thought. In other countries, he reflected, he would have been up against the wall already. Lucky for some, he thought; a bullet would be an easy way out. Eventually, he got up. It was time to face the music.

  Within the hour, Superintendent Vaughan had confiscated his warrant card and ordered him to take gardening leave whilst an investigation into Polgeowit’s complaint was undertaken. The Home Secretary was downright rude to him, implying that he was unlikely ever to see a penny of his pension thanks to the political embarrassment the government was likely to suffer. Finally, on his way out of the station, he was mauled by a horde of reporters who had been briefed by Polgeowit’s solicitor.

  By the time Magee reached home, he was an emotional wreck. By bedtime, he was drunk and near-suicidal.