Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(30)

‘Did you know that Carmichael speaks Spanish, Ebb?’ Ebony didn’t even ask what had prompted his question. She had become used to the way Carter’s brain worked by now. He liked to think and talk at the same time, throw the ideas out in the air and see what they sounded like; his thoughts didn’t always follow one another. ‘Why did he move his daughter – do you know?’

‘He said he didn’t see it as a crime scene, more personal. He admits he lost control: broke down. But he didn’t move the other women. He also admits the affair, a short-lived thing, and puts it down to being self-destructive.’

Robbo came into the ETO and walked across. ‘You survived a night in the wild then, Ebb?’ He pulled up a chair between Ebony and Carter. ‘Why didn’t he show up that night, Ebb? What did he say?’

‘He got drunk . . . alone.’

‘Well . . .’ Robbo chipped in. ‘The killers can’t have known he wouldn’t turn up . . . so Louise and Sophie were never meant to be the target: they were never meant to be there. Chrissie was. She rented the cottage. She chose her guests. What did he say about Chrissie?’

‘He said he didn’t know her well. She was his wife’s friend. She was a very private person, nervous around men. They were never in a position where she would think of opening up.’

‘He said that, did he? That’s not what I heard,’ said Robbo. ‘I heard Louise and Chrissie became friends via Carmichael. Chrissie was someone he met when he was in the SBS. She was called out to an emergency and they met then, kept in touch. Maybe her father James Martingale will know. Although I doubt it. I don’t think Chrissie Newton got on with her dad.’

Ebony was thinking things through; she had that horrible feeling that she’d been lied to.

Robbo enlarged a photo on the PC screen.

‘How would you like to look like that at sixty-eight? This is James Martingale.’

‘Very Pierce Brosnan,’ said Carter.

Robbo scrolled down the screen:

‘I’ve been finding out about him. He donates huge amounts to research facilities in universities around the UK. He’s a very wealthy man. I’ve found pages and pages on Google; none of which says anything personal. I haven’t come across any angry clients or court cases but, I did see an interesting guest list for the last annual dinner party for the top brass of Martingale’s Mansfield Group. Guess who was on the top table?’

Carter shook his head.

Robbo’s eyes opened wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He mouthed, ‘Davidson.’

‘Shit. You’re joking.’

Robbo shook his head, grinning. ‘I would say he’s been offered a very lucrative deal to sit on the board when he retires. Any trouble, he’s going to be able to sort it with his old pals he’s made over the years in the Force. When it comes to licensing or planning permission, for instance. If you’re an ex-chief superintendent in the MET people are going to listen to you.’

‘No shit . . .’

‘He’s not the only one that Martingale is courting. Harding has received quite a bit over the years from Martingale and the Chrissie Newton Foundation.’ Robbo brought up a Google search. Top surgeon donates new dialysis machine to NHS hospital. ‘He gives a lot of laboratory equipment to Doctor Harding and her Pathology unit.’

‘No wonder Davidson’s not so keen on reopening the case . . . embarrassing to haul your prospective boss over the coals,’ said Carter. ‘But what’s happening about the surveillance on Digger’s club . . . any news about Sonny?’

‘We’re hoping to move cameras into the flat opposite: it’ll take two days to get permission and set up. We should have a good chance of finding Sonny. I’ve managed to get quite a lot of info on him from various UCs working on drugs seizures in the last two years. He has a big coke habit. Sonny’s a party animal. He does the circuit of all the clubs almost every night. Sometimes see him with a woman . . . different one every time.’

‘What about in his organization?’

Robbo shook his head. ‘He works alone at this end but he relies on a network of agents and couriers and sub-lieutenants around here and Eastern Europe. He finds a safe house to bring the girls in, stays in it for a few months, then finds somewhere else.’ Robbo handed round photos of Sonny taken from surveillance cameras and CCTV footage. His black leather jacket and broad shoulders were recognizable in most of the photos. ‘He’s a big fish in a small pond: a creature of habit. Sonny goes to see Digger most evenings as he makes his rounds of the dealers and the lap dancing clubs. Over the years he’s built up a close relationship with Digger. Plus Digger was a great pal of Sonny’s father.’

‘Maybe there’s a father-son relationship going on there?’ said Jeanie.

‘Maybe, but I doubt either of them goes so far as to actually feel affection. Both of them have been linked to violent crimes in the past. Here’s a picture of Digger.’

Robbo gave them a photo of a slim, dark-haired man in his sixties coming out of Cain’s.

‘Smart-looking guy.’ said Carter, ‘he’s got the same look as Martingale.’

‘Yeah, definitely. In his early days Digger could have given Tony Curtis a run for his money in the looks department – now he’s more of an ageing Dirk Bogarde. An immaculate dresser. His suits are made in Savile Row; his shoes handmade in Italy. Digger has pretensions of being a tumble-down-toff but it had never been proven. His mother was a colourful figure in Soho. She ran one of the first high-class call girl rings. She supplied London’s rich and famous with girls. She made enough money to send Digger to private school and he went on to Oxford to study English, but he came back to his roots in the end.’