Chapter 44
While the Fletcher brothers consult with their solicitors, Lauren gathers the key members of her team in the major crime office.
DI Stratman has brought with him a counter-terrorism intelligence officer, who gives a rapid update on the limited information they have about New Dawn’s forthcoming attack.
‘The group targets individuals they perceive to be immigrants.’ She pushes a pair of black-rimmed glasses on to the top of her head. ‘So we’re prioritizing places of worship, community groups and so on.’
‘We’ve drawn up a list of potential targets,’ DI Stratman says, ‘and we’d like local units to step up patrols in those areas.’
Lauren nods. ‘I’ll speak to the area commander.’
‘We don’t want to cause widespread panic,’ the intelligence officer says, ‘especially given the current concerns around public confidence, but we’ve asked the community and diversity officer to reach out to vulnerable groups. They’ll also be establishing if any of them have events coming up.’
‘I don’t know how big the Pagan community is around here,’ Fraser says, ‘but it’s the Winter Solstice this week. That might be seen as being against Christian values?’
‘We’re also in the middle of Hanukkah right now.’ Matt’s looking at the calendar on his phone. ‘Isn’t there a menorah--lighting ceremony in town?’
‘Leave that with us,’ DI Stratman says. ‘What progress has been made in relation to the purchases made from Costco?’
‘CCTV shows the purchases were made by a white male,’ Matt says.
Kenric gives a dry laugh. ‘Shocker.’
‘He used a cloned card, which fraud investigations are working on now, and it looks like he was picked up by an Uber. We’re trying to get the account details, but they’re a nightmare to deal with, as you know.’
‘Anything more from your source?’ Lauren looks at Whitty.
He nods. ‘As you suspected, your man Golding was taken out because he was about to blow the whistle. It’s shaken them up, and the boss has put a temporary stop on all digital comms, so my source is out of the loop.’
‘“The boss”?’ Lauren asks.
‘New Dawn don’t like to compromise their key players,’ Whitty explains. ‘Each chapter is run by “the boss”.’
The boss . . . Something snags at Lauren’s mind. The boss appreciates you working out of hours . . . ‘Golding’s HR manager sent him a text,’ she says. ‘Something about getting a project across the line . . . proving himself to be a team player. Her message referred to “the boss”.’
‘You think we should talk to Adam Bennington?’ Matt says.
‘No, I think we should talk to Carrie Finder.’ Lauren thinks out loud. ‘I want to know what she meant by Jamie working out of hours, and I’d like to know more about Adam Bennington.’
‘I can go and see her after we interview the Fletchers,’ Fraser says.
‘Great. Don’t spook her – just sound her out.’ Lauren’s phone vibrates with a text message from custody. ‘Damian Fletcher is ready for interview,’ she tells Fraser, then she turns to the others. ‘If he gives us any information about the upcoming attack, I’ll update you right away.’
In the interview room, Fraser presses record.
‘My client has a prepared statement,’ the solicitor says, after Lauren has reminded Damian of the reason for his arrest. He takes out an A4 sheet of paper, with a few lines written in scratchy blue ink.
‘On December 1st I provided private ambulance services following what I believed was the murder of a white male. I was not told his name or the circumstances of his death, and I do not know the names of the police officers I spoke to. I was asked to take the body to a car park, where the body would be transferred to a different private ambulance. I was told the police had requested this, and so I did not question it. I do not recall the details of the other ambulance.’ The solicitor puts the paper on the table.
Lauren is about to say – albeit in more professional terms – that she’s never heard such utter bullshit in her life when she realizes the recording equipment isn’t working. She nudges Fraser and nods towards it. He frowns and presses record again. Damian smirks.
Fraser waits for the red light. ‘Okay, good to go.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Lauren says to the solicitor.
‘I’ll need you to read that again.’ He tuts, then picks up the statement and repeats Damian Fletcher’s bullshit.
The false start has thrown Lauren, and she feels uncharacteristically irritated with Fraser.
The whole team is running on empty, but they can’t afford to make stupid mistakes.
‘Do you have anything to add to your prepared statement?’ she asks Fletcher.
‘No comment.’
‘In that case, I’d like to dig a little into your account.’
‘No comment.’
‘I haven’t asked you anything yet.’
‘No comment.’
Lauren folds her arms across her chest and stares at Damian, who stares back, seemingly untroubled.
‘Your father, Roger Fletcher, tells us that when the police request your attendance at a sudden death you are provided with a URN – a unique reference number. Were you provided with that information?’
‘No comment.’
‘I understand these jobs are entered into a spreadsheet which forms the basis for your company accounts. Correct?’
‘No comment.’ Damian gives an extravagant yawn.
‘He was kind enough to show me December’s spreadsheet.’ Lauren pauses. ‘There is no entry for Cedar Walk; in fact, there’s no entry for December 1st at all. How can you explain that?’
‘No comment.’
‘Can you describe any of the police officers who were at the crime scene when you collected the body?’ Fraser asks.
‘No comment.’
‘Male? Female? White? Black? Tall? Short?’ Fraser’s voice grows louder with each question, his patience clearly evaporating.
‘No comment.’
‘I’d like to point out,’ Lauren says, ‘that this may be your only opportunity to put across your side of the story. The next time you’re asked questions about this, you may very well be in court, where the judge won’t take kindly to a defence appearing from nowhere.’
Fletcher’s solicitor clears his throat. ‘My client has provided you with an explanation for the events of December 1st.’ Even he doesn’t sound convincing, Lauren thinks.
‘You claim you were asked to transfer the body to a different vehicle,’ Fraser says. ‘What can you tell me about that second vehicle?’
‘No comment.’
‘Is that standard practice?’ Lauren twiddles her pen between two fingers. ‘Swapping a body between ambulances? Granted, my mum and her sister used to pass Granny over in a service station car park, but she wasn’t dead.’ This time, the solicitor’s cough sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
‘No comment.’
‘At least, not then,’ Lauren adds, and now the solicitor’s lips twitch.
‘Look, if you’re not going to give us the full story, I’m going to have to fill in the blanks.
’ She leans back, appraising Damian for a few seconds.
‘I think you knew full well when you collected the body of Jamie Golding from 10, Cedar Walk that this wasn’t a legitimate police request. I think you knew the “officers” you spoke with weren’t warranted officers.
I think you drove to the drop-off point you mention in your statement, but, instead of transferring the body to another vehicle, you and your brother carried it into the woods, where you buried it. ’
‘This is pure supposition on your part, officer,’ the solicitor says.
‘And I think you did all that because you’re part of an extremist organization called New Dawn.’
Until now, Damian’s expression hasn’t changed. He’s answered Lauren’s questions – albeit without substance – with a laconic, almost sarcastic boredom, meeting her gaze without hesitation. But, when Lauren mentions New Dawn, he frowns. It’s fleeting, but she’s pretty sure it’s genuine.
‘Do you know what New Dawn is?’ Fraser must have seen it too.
Damian looks at his solicitor. ‘No comment?’ he offers, but he seems thrown.
The solicitor closes his laptop. ‘I’d like to speak with my client, please.’
‘What do you reckon that’s about?’ Lauren says, once Damian and his lawyer have been shown to a consultation room.
‘I don’t know,’ Fraser says grimly, ‘but I don’t like our chances of getting it out of him.’
They’re heading out of custody when Kenric appears at the top of the stairs. ‘Ah, just the person, boss. I’ve got an update from the costume company I went to see.’
‘A good one?’
‘That depends on your perspective.’ Kenric walks towards them. ‘First off, the hire place doesn’t do one-off rentals – they deal with big production companies they’ve known for years. He’s not had any randoms phoning up for a single copper’s outfit.’
‘I guess it was a long shot,’ Lauren says.
Kenric produces the still image of the young uniformed ‘officer’ who had been guarding Nadeeka’s house when she returned home.
‘But when I showed him this, he pointed out this badge.’ He indicates the sew-on patch on the breast of the officer’s stab vest: a black and white version of the Union Jack, but with a cobalt line across the centre.
‘So what?’ Lauren says. ‘The thin blue line. For colleagues who’ve lost their life. Loads of coppers have those – you can buy them online.’
‘Not like this.’ Kenric is zooming in on the patch. ‘None of us noticed because we’re so used to seeing them around the nick . . . but look.’ At the bottom of the emblem, below the blue stitching, are three stars.
‘Oh, my God.’ Lauren’s eyes widen. ‘I’ve got this badge.’ She turns to Fraser, who looks as stunned as she feels. ‘You’ve got one.’
‘We’ve all got one,’ Kenric says. ‘At least, those of us who were in the job back then.’
‘When was it?’ Lauren tries to remember. ‘2018?’ It had been a bleak year: a promising probationer hit by a stolen car, an officer who dropped dead from a heart attack during briefing, and finally a much-loved sergeant who died by suicide.
‘2019,’ Kenric says. ‘I was on team two at the time.’
The badges had been commissioned by the sergeant’s team and sold to raise money for the charity Care of Police -Survivors. They’d been so popular they’d had to order more, the small fabric patches soon so much a part of the force uniform, it was rare to see a frontline copper without one.
‘There’s literally only one explanation,’ Kenric says. ‘That stab vest could only have been issued to a copper in our force who was serving in 2019.’ He looks up and down the corridor, making sure no one can overhear them. ‘Which means they could still be in the job now.’