Marcus Matthews did seem to be unique, and maybe Samantha Matthews was right that he had a kind heart and was a decent man. Isaac knew from his association with villains and his seniors, even politicians in Westminster, that education did not always make a good man, and authority, especially a lot of it, did not always make for an honest person. And give a man an aristocratic title, especially if it was inherited, then villainy, carefully concealed, was always a possibility.
It was not like Isaac to philosophise inordinately about such matters, but the death of Matthews was bizarre and unprecedented. It had even given Jenny cause to comment on a couple of occasions because of her husband’s apparent detachment from her. It was true, Isaac had to admit. He always could come home of a night, late usually, leaving the work both mentally and physically back in the office, but not this time.
Isaac sat at the head of the table in the conference room that adjoined Homicide, Larry over to one side, Wendy to his right.
Bridget was standing. She pressed the key on her laptop for her PowerPoint presentation to commence. ‘You can see that I’ve detailed all investigations into Hamish McIntyre over the years,’ she said.
‘His conviction for the robbery?’ Wendy asked. Her right leg ached, arthritis causing her trouble, not that she’d complain, although at home with Bridget she would; the reason she had drunk more than the usual two glasses of wine the night before.
‘I’ve continued from then. Hamish McIntyre was a minor player back then. Now, he’s an exceptionally wealthy man, almost a pillar of society, although as I intend to show you, he may not hold that elevated position for too long.’
‘What do you mean?’ Isaac said. He had to admit to being impressed by Bridget’s ability to find new avenues to explore when he and the others were floundering. He believed himself to be competent with computers, but Bridget was in a league of her own. He had speculated about what she could have achieved if she had turned to crime. No need for her to rob a bank or break into a house; all she would have to do would be to open her laptop, make sure there was a cup of tea to one side, and hack into wherever she wanted, to access bank accounts and company records. Industrial espionage, blackmail, banking fraud, all from the comfort of a warm room.
‘We have to remember that Hamish McIntyre is a smart person, and he always adopted a hands-off approach when violence was being meted out. The second slide gives a list of suspected acts committed on his behalf, but nothing directly linking back to him.’
‘He ran night clubs, strip joints, there must be something,’ Larry said.
‘Disputes with the licensing authorities, local councils objecting to his activities, competitors; yes, there is. He was tough, and the councils felt the force of his anger and his legal team on more than one occasion. Not necessarily illegal, although a competitor’s night club burnt down mysteriously one night.’
‘Hamish McIntyre?’
‘There’s no direct evidence, but he was the main beneficiary in the upsurge of customers to his place. The local police suspected he was involved, but no proof, no cameras in the street or in the night club, none that worked, anyway. There’s no doubt in the police’s mind that it was all well organised, and the club burnt to the ground almost before the fire brigade could get there.’
‘The owner of the club?’
‘Overseas at the time. He never came back, no need to. The man had plenty of money, and the inconvenience of having to deal with McIntyre was probably deemed not worth the effort. And besides, there was an inference that the club had been a front for underage girls out of Ukraine and Russia.’
‘Sex trafficking?’
‘Prostitution, at least. Nothing was proven.’
‘Any suspicion that McIntyre was involved with running women?’
‘It’s been put forward on various police reports, but never proven.’
‘But you’ve found something.
‘I ran a check on vehicles owned by Marcus Matthews and Hamish McIntyre over the years. I then set up a search of their movements over twenty years. There are an estimated half-a-million surveillance cameras in London alone, although I couldn’t access all of those, and going back twenty years, a lot less. I ran an automatic number plate recognition on all the records I could access. A lot of them are no longer available, but some are, especially if there’s a criminal investigation in the area. There was the murder of a known drug dealer back in 1999. The owner of the night club that burnt down was implicated, and by default Hamish McIntyre. Nothing was proven against either of them, and the case remains open, although long buried in the files.’
‘Where’s this leading, Bridget?’ Larry asked, impatient to be out of the room. He needed a cigarette, and the police station was strictly no smoking.
Bridget moved forward one slide.
‘It was missed at the time, and besides the dates don’t correlate. Twelve days before the drug dealer, a low-life by the name of Devon Toxteth, was dragged out of the river, Marcus Matthews’ car was in the street where the man stashed his merchandise. No connection to Toxteth but where we’re going is more interesting. Two days after Matthews’ car had been in the street, a car owned by Hamish McIntyre was there.’
‘The occupants?’
‘On the second occasion, Hamish McIntyre and Marcus Matthews. The resolution back then was not as good as now, and it’s grainy, probably not good enough to hold up as evidence, but I’m convinced as to the car and the occupants.’
‘They’re in the area, what does that mean?’ Wendy said. She had to admit admiration for
