Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(35)

‘As you are all well aware,’ said William, ‘the early stages of any murder inquiry are the most critical. The golden hour, that sixty-minute period immediately after the killing, is the best chance of recovering the evidence necessary to secure a conviction. CCTV, forensics, witnesses, and the likelihood that the murderer is still somewhere in the vicinity are a detective’s best weapons. But in each one of these cases,’ he continued, ‘we didn’t get the golden hour, or for that matter the silver or bronze. Truth is, these particular miscreants not only got clean away, but will now be convinced that their records have been gathering dust, in an unsolved crime cabinet, which they don’t realize we’re about to open.’

‘And I think you should know,’ chipped in The Hawk, ‘the commissioner feels it will send an important message to the underworld if these villains are brought to justice. Not least because if even one of them were to be convicted and sent down, the others will be reminded that the prospect of a life sentence is still hanging over them.’

‘There’s a second, equally important reason to go after them,’ said William. ‘If they’ve got away with murder once, they might well consider doing it a second time.’

The Hawk nodded, before adding, ‘With that in mind, each of you has been given a cold case to follow up, and although we’ll still be working as a team, assisting each other whenever possible, you’ll be the lead officer in your own case, reporting back to DCI Warwick at all times.’

‘So let’s begin by trading information,’ said William. ‘As you’ve been landed with the toughest assignment, DI Hogan, we’ll start with you.’

‘I’ve got two cases to investigate,’ said Ross, ‘which are interrelated. A couple of revenge gang murders, where one killed a member of a rival outfit, and, not long after, the other side retaliated in kind.’

‘I’ve read about the Roach gang and their sworn enemies, the Abbotts, in the press,’ said Rebecca, ‘but I don’t know much more about them beyond that.’

‘There isn’t much more to know,’ said Ross. ‘Two ruthless, highly organized East End gangs, like the Krays and the Richardsons, who’ve been at each other’s throats for years. Between them they control the local drug scene, prostitution and gambling, and run a protection racket that’s more efficient at collecting its weekly payments than the local council is with the rates. And even when we do manage to get one of them convicted and sent down, they’re like cockroaches: stamp on one and two more creep out from under the floorboards to take their place.’

‘Forgive me for being cynical,’ said Paul, ‘but do the public give a damn if these scum go on killing each other? Most people would be perfectly happy if they did our job for us and wiped each other out.’

‘That may well be the case, DS Adaja,’ said William. ‘But if they’re allowed to continue with their criminal activities, it won’t be long before the East End ends up as a no-go area for the police, as well as law-abiding citizens.’

‘I apologize,’ said Paul. ‘I should have thought it through.’

‘No need to apologize, DS Adaja,’ said Ross. ‘Although I was working undercover at the time, I was made aware of your memorable contribution during the Trojan Horse operation.’

The rest of the team burst out laughing, while William recalled that Ross had given him a black eye on that occasion, so that no one other than the commander would know he was still working undercover.

‘Could you brief us on your case, DS Roycroft,’ said William, once the laughter had died down.

‘Clive Pugh couldn’t be more different from the Roaches and the Abbotts,’ said Jackie. ‘Although he’s every bit as ruthless, he’s far more cunning. As far as the outside world is concerned, he was a law-abiding citizen who ticked all the right boxes. Married with two children, both university graduates, deputy manager of his local branch of Barclays Bank, and the local Rotary Club voted him businessman of the year.’

‘So who did he murder?’ asked Rebecca.

‘His wife of twenty-seven years, and just months after he’d taken out a million-pound insurance policy on her life, with himself as the sole beneficiary.’

‘How did he get away with it?’ asked Paul.

‘His story was that after he returned home from a Rotary Club meeting he found his wife hanging from a beam in the bathroom. He immediately called the police, who found a typewritten letter apologizing for what she’d done. It looked like an open-and-shut case of suicide, until the pathologist pointed out at the inquest that she’d been killed by a single blow to the head some time before she was strung up. The jury couldn’t make up their minds if he was guilty, and ended up hung, which was somewhat ironic.’

‘The judge was clearly convinced of Pugh’s guilt,’ said William, ‘because he immediately ordered a retrial. But it ended up being thrown out of court on a technicality long before the jury had a chance to deliver a verdict, so Pugh got away with it a second time. The investigating officer announced from the courtroom steps later that afternoon that the case was closed and the police wouldn’t be looking for any other suspects.

‘The only good thing that came out of it,’ said Jackie, ‘was that the insurance company refused to pay up.’