Page 95 of The Scene of the Crime

‘Thanks for your help. It’s much appreciated. Can I buy you a drink?’ Chapman asked.

‘Not while I’m working, thanks. I hope Liam’s not in any serious trouble. Like I said, he’s a nice lad, and having worked in this business all my life, I know a wrong ’un when I see one.’

As they walked back to the car, Jessica’s phone rang. It was Guy. They spoke for a few minutes while Chapman waited. In the car, Jessica told Chapman what she’d learned. ‘Guy checked out the stolen games consoles and Palmer’s phone use from Saturday night through to seven a.m. Tuesday when the Range Rover was found.’

‘And . . . ?’ Chapman asked, already guessing what was coming.

‘He was at home using the Xbox and PlayStation from nine p.m. Sunday night until three a.m. Monday. According to the cell mast data, his phone never moved from his house. If the digital data is right, it’s highly unlikely Palmer broke into De Klerk’s house.’

‘He had the burner phone, though,’ Chapman replied.

‘Palmer was playing against other people online throughout the night. On Monday, while he was at work, he used his phone to play games and watch TV shows virtually all night.’

‘He could still have left to torch the car,’ Chapman replied.

‘Maybe, but his phone was linked to the garage’s Wi-Fi all night and was never picked up by the mast nearest Wansteadgolf course. The only movement shown is from his house to work and back.’

Chapman sighed. ‘Shit, it looks like you were right about him being a fall guy. We need to know more about this bloke Wheeler.’ He called DS Wood, who was still in the Barking office, and asked him to do an electoral roll check on both John Welsh and Fred Wigg towers for the names Jim and John Wheeler to try and identify a flat number. They sat patiently in the car, waiting for DS Wood to call back. But Jessica’s phone rang first. It was Taff, and she put the call on speakerphone.

‘The prints on the cistern are from the same Sealskinz gloves. I took Palmer’s old front door lock to bits and did a cursory examination. From the scratch detail and marks inside, I’d say a battery-operated lock pick gun was used to open it. They’re not cheap, the sort of thing a professional locksmith or experienced burglar would use.’

‘OK, good work, Taff. Now go home and get some rest and tell Diane to do the same.’ Shortly after she ended the call, Chapman’s phone rang. He turned on the speakerphone, hoping for good news.

‘No luck with a Wheeler living at John Walsh or Fred Wigg Tower blocks, I’m afraid,’ Wood said.

‘Bollocks, but thanks for trying, Julian. Anyone known to us going by those names?’

‘I got a few possible hits with criminal records. The most likely one is a John Wheeler, white, aged thirty-four, six feet tall with crew-cut brown hair. He’s got form for burglary, handling stolen goods and grievous bodily harm. He’s been inside a couple of times but hasn’t been nicked recently. I’ll send you a photo.’

‘Certainly sounds like the man we are looking for,’ Chapman said.

Wood continued. ‘There was something else that might be of interest in his criminal record file. He’s got a parachute regiment tattoo.’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere. What was his last known address?’ Chapman asked eagerly.

‘Westbourne House, Romford Road, in Forest Gate.’

‘That’s a halfway house for prisoners on parole,’ Jessica said, recalling it from her probation officer days.

‘Correct. Wheeler was released from prison eighteen months ago and sent there to transition back into the community.’

‘That’s not far from here.’ He started the car.

‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Wood said. ‘I rang the manager, who told me Wheeler left in a hurry about a year ago after he beat the shit out of another resident. He’s still wanted for questioning about it and hasn’t been seen since. I’ll carry on digging to see if I can find his current whereabouts.’

‘OK. If Anderson’s still there, don’t say anything. I’ll bring him up to speed when I get back,’ Chapman said.

Wood laughed. ‘He went home ages ago. Now Palmer’s been charged, he’s all cock-a-hoop.’

‘He might not be for much longer,’ Chapman said despondently. ‘It’s looking more likely Palmer is a patsy and had nothing to do with the De Klerk stabbing. The money, the Rolex, it’s all a set-up to put him in the frame.’

‘Jesus Christ, are you serious?’ Wood asked, stunned by the news.

‘Yes. It’s more likely this guy Wheeler might be involved with someone other than Palmer.’

‘I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when you tell Anderson,’ Wood laughed.

Chapman ended the call, sat back and let out a big sigh. ‘So close yet so far. If it was Wheeler who broke into De Klerk’s, stabbed him and fitted up Palmer, he’ll be long gone by now.’