(Jonathan Roper Investigates Boxset Page 2

  Hooley was surprised his backside wasn’t imprinted on the faux-leather seat of the right-hand chair of the pair placed in front of Mayweather’s desk. He’d spent enough time sitting there over the years. His boss watched as he settled in and then absent-mindedly took off her reading glasses as she leaned forward. She was wearing her usual outfit of formal white blouse, a black tie and her light-weight dress uniform.

  “What do you think?” she said, placing her small hands on the desk.

  He noted she looked fit and focussed and it reminded him that he’d let things slip a little since his wife had thrown him out. Maybe he should start walking up the stairs again. It was five floors to the incident room, near Victoria Station, so that would help. And maybe stick to white wine rather than pints of lager.

  He brought himself back to the moment. They’d worked together long enough not to rush each other. Both operated best when they had time to think.

  “Between us,” he shrugged. “I think this may turn out to be a hospital pass. The investigation so far looks first rate; the chances of us finding something new are pretty slim. I fear we might end up looking like hapless plods.”

  He scratched the tip of his nose. “For public consumption; the identification of the body is the perfect moment for a new team to take over, review the excellent work already done and make significant progress in resolving what has proved to be a frustrating case.”

  This time there was more than the hint of a smile in her eyes as she nodded her appreciation of his comments.

  “I think you should write down that ‘perfect moment’ stuff and send it to the press people. It might help them spin this into a success story.”

  Mayweather steepled her hands under her chin as she shook her head slightly.

  “The trouble is it’s our hospital pass. Once the ID came in about the body, Sir James’ friends were able to get to the PM. He called the Home Secretary to ask what was going on; the Home Secretary called the Commissioner to put the squeeze on, whom in turn passed responsibility to his Chief of Staff. Then I got the call. To be fair to Hugh Robertson, even though he was steaming, he only shouted at me briefly and then apologised and admitted he was being ridiculous. But it is our case. If I remember correctly the actual phrase used was ‘You’re the Special Investigation Unit - so do something special and find out what’s happened.’”

  Despite his opening remarks Hooley understood this was always going to be the case and was already thinking about what they would need to do which probably meant doing everything all over again, if he was any judge. At least now they had a body and a location to work with.

  “We need to treat this as a new case so we can start re-interviewing everyone, beginning with the chauffeur and housekeeper. Let’s see if anything has shaken loose since they were last spoken to.” He was gently clicking his fingers as he counted off the tasks. “I think I might go and talk to the guy who found the body again. I’m not saying he did it, but what was he up to in there? That warehouse was, as far as he knew, empty. All he was supposed to do was check the locks but said he could smell something so got his hands on the keys and went back”.

  “William’s team says it is a solid old structure and the body was in a deep cellar at the very back. Our man must have an acute sense of smell to have picked something up from outside and through a locked door. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was looking for a little out of the way place to store items that have fallen off the back of a lorry”.

  “The reports say it took twenty minutes before he stopped throwing up enough to complete the 999 call. They’ve got call records of him trying three times and breaking off to be sick. That’ll teach him to go around opening body bags he stumbles over in dark cellars in the East End.”

  That thought clearly pleased him as he grinned before adding. “It’s got to be worth putting the squeeze on him to see if anything pops. If we get all that going and put DS Toni Barton on drawing up a detailed case plan, at least we’ll be covering all the bases. But my concern is that we will have very slim pickings to choose from.”

  Mayweather put her glasses back on then carefully pushed them down her nose. She had a habit of looking over the top of the frames and making eye contact while she was thinking.

  “You’re right about that and in fact the warehouse is an oddity, the way ownership is hidden behind layers of off-shore companies. Maybe it’s somebody waiting to cash in on property prices, but I don’t like it when things are secret.”

  She paused and gave him another of those over the top of the glasses looks before adding. “What’s your take on his head, hands and feet being missing?”

  Hooley took a breath. It was one of the issues that most troubled him. “It’s certainly slowed things down from the point of view of identifying him. I suppose it’s lucky he had his DNA sampled, or whatever they call it. The initial report says the cuts were very clean and precise. I might be persuaded to speculate that this indicates a very high level of care was taken; which might suggest this was a professional killing, rather than a crime of passion, or spur of the moment.

  “I also wonder if we will ever find the other bits of the body. One of my mates has been looking into a horrible idea. He was investigating a whisper that some undertakers turn a blind eye to the odd bit of extra baggage in a coffin, especially for a cremation. He didn’t get anywhere with it, but, in the world we live in, who knows? It’s a sort of ‘here are the remains of Tom, Dick and Harry.’”

  Mayweather suppressed a shudder. She wasn’t an especially religious woman but she had long-ago learnt that respect for the dead was vital. Police officers often deployed black humour to help keep the awful things at bay, but in any murder, you were looking at a human being with all the relationships that entailed.

  She looked out through her office door and across to the large incident room, her gaze drawn to the digital wall clock that showed it was past 7pm; they needed to wrap up for the day. They were going to have a lot to do tomorrow.

  “Anything else of immediate interest, Brian?”

  This time he took a deep breath.

  “I think we should get Roper back in.”

  His remark led to her taking her glasses off. She held his gaze for several seconds.

  “Are you sure? I can still vividly remember what happened last time. That was almost a disaster.”

  “I know, and I’m not defending him for that. But he has paid a price and learned some very tough lessons.”

  Mayweather still looked doubtful.

  Before she could say anymore he jumped in. “You don’t need to decide tonight. Let’s talk again tomorrow once things are underway. Maybe I can go and see how he is. If I have any doubts I will tell you straight away.”

  He looked away for a moment and she wondered if he was apprehensive. Was he more concerned about bringing Roper back than he was letting on? She knew that he felt a sense of unfinished business there and hoped that wasn’t his main motivation.

  Hooley made his way out, turning in the doorway for a final plea. “I really think we might need his help.”

  Chapter 4

  “How can you tell what someone’s thinking?” Jonathan Roper stared at Hooley expectantly. He was wearing his trademark outfit of black suit, white shirt and black tie. His curly, black hair was as unruly as ever and looked as though he had just walked through a wind tunnel, even though there was no breeze at all. He had large brown eyes that could shine with energy and a pale complexion.

  The DCI smiled. Typical opening from Roper; no time wasted on social niceties.

  “Lovely to see you again Jonathan, I must say you’re looking well.”

  Roper thought for a moment. “Sorry,” his gaze drifted down to his super-shiny black shoes. “I am trying to remember all that stuff. It’s been 92 days since we last met in person. I am feeling well although you seem to have put on a bit of weight.”

  This statement was accompanied by him staring at Hooley’s stomach, which the DCI had to a
dmit had expanded. He waited until Roper was looking up again.

  “Can you tell what I’m thinking now?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

  Roper was oblivious.

  “Of course not,” he said with a shake of his head. “That’s why I was asking you just now if you could tell me how to do it.”

  Hooley sighed and told himself to get on with it. He replied. “You can never know what people are really thinking. But there are clues. For example, if you tell someone they look fat and then stare at their stomach, you may notice they get cross.”

  Roper looked perplexed.

  “But if I started piling on the pounds I would want to know straight away and then I could do something about it. When I saw how fat you were looking I had to say something.”

  Hooley just stopped himself producing a death-stare. Trying to explain human emotions to Roper was a complex exercise. They were standing outside the building on the South bank of the River Thames where Roper lived in a three-bedroomed penthouse with wonderful views.

  Tower Bridge was to the left and the financial district of Canary Wharf over to the right. The area looked spectacular at night with all the buildings’ lights. Now it was just after 6pm and crowds of home-going commuters were dodging around them. Mostly pedestrians, but also a good sprinkling of runners and the odd cyclist using the pavement as a by-pass.

  Hooley had called earlier that day to fix the meeting after Mayweather, a little reluctantly, had agreed that he should see Roper. Ignoring the predictable lack of social skills, first impressions were positive. He looked well and had replaced the weight that dropped alarmingly before the incident took place. For a man once described as having the physique of a pipe cleaner that was a good thing. But it was the bigger picture that was reassuring. A few months back he had started looking a little wild eyed. But today he was calm and relaxed; no sign of the agitation that had, with the benefit of hindsight, hit him so hard. He knew that Roper had been working with a support group for autistic people and it seemed to be paying off.

  “Come on, let’s get inside and you can tell me what you’ve been up to for the last 92 days,” he said, thinking only someone like Roper would know exactly how many days it was.

  They stepped out of the lift and Roper bounded ahead. Stopping at his door he turned with an expectant expression. Hooley realised there had to be something new and it took him a moment before he spotted it.

  “Iris recognition system. I’m seriously impressed. Are you storing gold bars in there?”

  Roper was already bending slightly to line his eye up with the lens. There was a bit of flashing light and then a click. He pushed the door open and walked inside. Hooley grinned to himself, in the same circumstances many people would have mimed a flourish to encourage their guests inside. Not Roper. See open door, walk through open door.

  “Never have to worry about losing my keys, or forgetting to take them with me.” Roper was obviously delighted with his new toy. The older man decided that whatever the cost it was a good investment. He’d lost track of the times Roper had needed to call in a locksmith to get into his own flat. Leaving a spare key under the mat wasn’t really an option round here unless you wanted all and sundry popping in. He thought it was one of life’s mysteries: how could a man who seemed so organised manage to constantly lose things?

  Roper headed straight for the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Hooley’s favourite lager, plus a bottle of white wine. “I went shopping as soon as you rang so which one of these would you like?”

  The DCI noted the beguiling frosting effect on the beer, thought about the wine, dismissed the idea of a coffee then took in the warm sunshine bathing the balcony and looked at the beer again. He bowed to the inevitable, lightly dismissing his weakness as appropriate behaviour in the circumstances. It would have been rude not to accept a beer after Roper had gone to the effort of buying it. The DCI poured his drink into a glass then held it up to the light to appreciate the colour. Only then did he take a sip.

  “You not having one?”

  “I might do later, but I was thinking that I could read your mind just now. I knew you were going to go for the beer.” He pulled a face that showed his frustration. “I can do things like that with you but not with other people.”

  “Well you do know me very well; and I take it the look on my face, and the way I stared at the bottle, gave me away.”

  Hooley swiftly finished his beer and accepted a second as they moved outside. He leaned on the balcony railing and watched a large commuter boat swish past heading down river towards Greenwich. Inside he had kept the conversation light, but now he wanted to probe a little deeper.

  “So, tell me why guessing what people are thinking has moved top of your agenda?”

  “Because the counsellor told me I needed to work on body language and being empathetic, which means I have to try and put myself in the other person’s position.”

  The DCI allowed himself to think about that. After things went tits-up last time, the HR people at Scotland Yard had insisted that if Roper was going to work for them again he needed to go on several courses and undergo counselling.

  “I’m not sure that advice is very helpful for you. I really don’t think empathy is your thing. I don’t mean that in a bad way, you do try to get on with people, but for you it’s a bit different. Or at least that’s what I think.

  “I know plenty of decent coppers who have the empathy of a house brick and no one is telling them to go around reading peoples’ minds, so I don’t see why you should have to. And, like I said outside, if I could read minds there would be no more crime.”

  He’d always had a soft-spot for the enigmatic Roper and a bond of mutual trust had grown between them. To be honest he had missed the younger man’s idiosyncratic approach following his suspension.

  “Have you done all the courses they asked you to do?”

  A quick nod of the head. “I finished those a month ago and the counsellor says he’s taken things as far as he can. He said I should only see him again if I really need him. He said that several times.”

  Now Hooley was grinning. He could imagine the counsellor was hoping he’d seen the back of his new client, especially if each session turned into a brain stretching discussion about empathy and how it worked.

  “For what it’s worth I never thought you needed any of that. You know my view; you need to be patient with people when they can’t keep up; try saying hello when you answer the phone; do remember to say please and thank you when people do things for you and try to notice when people are talking to you or asking questions.”

  They were both silent as they watched all the activity on the river, then Hooley turned to Roper and said: “Two more questions then I’m done. First question, what are you going to do if you get carried away again?”

  “Talk to you first before I do anything.”

  Hooley extended his hand.

  “Excellent. When do you want to come back to work?”

  There was a pause. “Was that the second question?”

  “It was.”

  “Then I’d like to start straight away.”

  Chapter 5

  “So, you’re convinced.” Mayweather tapped one of the files in front of her with a perfectly manicured but unvarnished index finger. “I see he got top marks in the courses we sent him on. I suppose that’s a good thing.”

  Hooley looked sceptical. “I think they were a waste of time. He hasn’t got a racist, sexist or anything-ist bone in his body. It’s that literal brain of his. You introduce him to someone and all he sees is the human being, not their gender or colour.”

  Realising she was about to interject he pressed on. “What impressed me is that he really has learnt his lesson. He knows he screwed up and I believe him when he says it won’t be happening again. Once he gets the point, he doesn’t need telling twice.”

  He’d been looking at Mayweather while he was talking. Long experience told him she was not yet convinced and what she sa
id next confirmed he had a little persuading to do yet.

  “I still get flashbacks of when he tried to arrest that gang leader. He was incredibly lucky we had one of our more sensible people on the observation team and he was able to stop him.”

  Hooley held his hands up.

  “There’s no way I’m defending him for that. It was a silly thing to do but I made mistakes in the run up to the incident. I should have realised that the hours he was putting in were warping his judgement. I found out later that he was regularly going without sleep.”

  “I don’t think you should take the blame, Brian.”

  “I’m big enough and ugly enough,” he smiled. “The point is, there were lessons to be learnt and I think we have all done that. He brings something different and I need to make sure I keep more of an eye on him. My new office is big enough for another desk. He can work alongside me, which also has the benefit of keeping him from under other people’s feet.”

  Mayweather raised her eyebrows at that last comment. “He can certainly rub people up the wrong way. So, I guess you keeping an eye on him is a win for everyone. Just be careful he doesn’t drive you mad. Get him to come and see me before he starts.”

  As Hooley made his way out of her office she called out: “You know the rest of the team started calling him Clouseau after his failed citizen’s arrest?” He smiled; it could have been worse.

  Sitting back at his own desk he admitted to himself that he was taking a gamble, but it was one where he felt the odds were in his favour. The man was the most extraordinary investigator he had ever worked with. Every instinct was telling him that Roper’s skills were going to be needed on this case.

  He considered the practical problems. The biggest concern was the moment Roper came back to the incident room. The younger man found it very difficult if he had to act like a “normal person” all day long. Giving him a space in his office took that pressure away. That thought made him wonder if he was as bad as Roper. He shrugged. As he’d said to Mayweather, he was too long in the tooth to worry about such things. He leaned forward and gently rubbed his temples. Why was it, he wondered, that life had to be so complicated? Then he grinned. The answer was obvious. Life would be bloody boring if it always made sense.