I had thought to frame him for the first attack on Michelle by leaving her handbag at his grandmother’s flat. Provided the ‘mugging’ occurred after he finished his shift at the Vine, I was confident he would have no alibi. Ironically, Michelle’s comings and goings were so unpredictable that I was still struggling to devise a way to keep track of her when by chance I saw her emerging from Marks and Spencer’s in Long Acre and followed her to Marlena’s place. While I waited for her to emerge I scoured the surrounding streets for another bike to steal, then lay in wait. When I slammed my fist into her face as she reached the junction of Theobalds Road, I had no idea Alfonso was so close at hand. Truly, God was with me that night. He stands by my shoulder in all that my adversity has driven me to. And he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever.
While Alfonso toddled off to the hospital with Michelle, I had all the time in the world to plant the evidence that would guarantee his arrest. Not his conviction — not at this stage. If he hadn’t been released from custody as soon as the requisite thirty-six hours had passed, I would have had to defer my plans for Marlena. But no, everything proceeded as He had ordained.
Until Michelle ruined everything with her prying and probing, leaving me no option but to dispose of her at a time when Alfonso, locked up in a police cell, had the most impeccable of alibis.
After disposing of the bag of clothes off Waterloo Bridge I’d gone home and cleaned the place thoroughly, wiping every surface Michelle might have touched. Not that it would have been a disaster if I missed the odd print. After all, we were friends, what could be more natural than Michelle having visited my flat?
There was nothing in my flat to arouse suspicion, nothing to indicate to the police that I was not the man I claimed to be.
For if they were to discover my true identity, even that bumbling Detective Vogel would be capable of piecing it all together.
Twenty
Vogel spent most of the latter part of the afternoon in the evidence room. The teams searching the homes of the friends had seized a considerable selection of items including computer equipment, cameras and assorted paperwork. Specialist officers were in the process of checking the contents of hard drives and memory sticks, but so far nothing of significance to the case had been found.
Tiny and Billy had a penchant for gay porn, nothing heavy duty though. Bob had signed on to a lonely hearts site, but had engaged in little activity, not even arranging a single date. George’s computer contained a considerable number of photographs of attractive young women, but the pictures were innocent enough.
The personal possessions removed from the group in the custody unit had also been bagged and filed. These included phones, wallets, notebooks and even a couple of non-electronic diaries.
Vogel paid particular attention to the contacts directories in the phones and diaries, and the contents of the wallets.
On each phone Vogel picked the first few numbers from the list of numbers most frequently called and checked them out. The recipient of the first call he made from the numbers on Greg’s list sounded most disconcerted to hear from a police officer. That, however, did not surprise Vogel. He’d already checked the number against the police database and discovered that it belonged to an importer of goods whose shipments were often dubious in origin. While distinctly shifty, it seemed unlikely that these dealings had any connection with the case under investigation.
Similarly, Ari’s list of favourites included a well-known drug dealer. That held no interest for Vogel either.
Calls to numbers on the favourites lists of the other five detainees revealed nothing of obvious interest. Vogel planned to put a team onto a more thorough examination of all seven phones and their records, but before handing over had a quick glance down the full contacts directories just in case anything leapt out at him. Something did. It was an entry on Greg’s phone for a Tony K. Vogel realized he might be jumping to conclusions, but there was an 0207 287 prefix, which he knew identified it as a Soho number. He hesitated for a moment then pressed dial. An educated voice with just the hint of an indefinable accent answered on the second ring.
‘Zodiac Enterprises.’
Vogel ended the call. So Greg had Tony Kwan’s office number listed on his phone. It was difficult to imagine what connection Kwan would have with the friends, or, indeed, with all that had befallen them. But Greg knew him well enough, or had at least had sufficient dealings with Kwan, to include him on his contacts list. That might just be the most interesting piece of information so far.
Kwan was a notorious gangland figure, and although nothing had ever been proven he’d been implicated in murders in the past. Even so, Vogel considered him an unlikely suspect. Tony Kwan was ruthless, a deadly adversary who would eliminate a rival or enemy without compunction, but he went about his business efficiently, taking care to ensure that it was conducted without attracting the attention of the authorities. This was not his style. If he’d been behind these killings, the bodies would never have been found.
However, the fact that Kwan was listed on Greg’s phone was enough for Vogel to recall Greg for interview. He asked him how he knew Tony Kwan.
‘I don’t,’ said Greg quickly. Rather too quickly, Vogel thought.
‘Mr Walker, Tony Kwan’s phone number is listed on your phone,’ said Vogel wearily.
‘Is it?’ asked Greg. ‘Oh yes, I remember now. I sold him a few crates of malt whisky a while back. They like their whisky, the Chinese.’
‘And that was enough for you to enter his phone number in your personal contacts list?’
‘More business than personal. I like to be able to keep in touch with my customers, never know when they might want to place another order.’
‘And you have had no other dealings with Mr Kwan?’
‘No. Why would I?’
I have no idea, thought Vogel, but I’d stake this year’s backgammon winnings that you bloody well have, big time.
‘Mr Walker, you do know who Tony Kwan is, don’t you?’ he asked.
‘’Course I do, Chinese businessman, ain’t he?’ said Greg ingenuously.
Too irritated to argue, Vogel sent Greg back to his cell. Then he recalled Karen Walker for interview. This could be interesting, he thought.
‘Mrs Walker, did you know that your husband has an association with a man called Tony Kwan who is believed to be a high-ranking member of the Triad crime organization?’ Vogel asked.
Karen looked shocked to the core.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘No, no, of course I didn’t know.’
Then she burst into tears yet again.
After that Vogel turned his attention to the wallets, diaries, notebooks, and other pocket and bag paraphernalia belonging to the arrested seven. The contents of George’s wallet proved of interest to Vogel. Tucked into the flat section at the back was a photograph of a striking young woman with cropped white-blonde hair. Vogel removed it and studied it carefully. He held it to the light from the window. The face triggered some memory that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She seemed familiar, yet he had no recollection of her name or where he had encountered her. Had he come across her in the course of a police investigation, either as a perpetrator or a victim? Vogel screwed up his eyes and concentrated hard. Try as he might, the answer eluded him. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, trying to create connections where none existed. It had happened in the past, in investigations where the lack of a breakthrough had left him feeling as if he was clutching at straws.