The Pedlar

By Mike Crowson

The Pedlar

Ron (Aaron) Spencer has been charged with the murder of his wife Alison in Southampton, but the police case is really flimsy and the evidence entirely circumstantial, while his defence council, Montague Pryce-Wilcox, says he's going to lose the case. Unfortunately he mentions this to Sir George Compton, an enigmatic Home Office civil servant with ties to Special Branch, the Anti-Terrorist Branch and very probably to MI 5, and who is quiety interested in other activities of Pryce-Wilcox.

Sir George sets his 'consultants' – Derek Welch, His Swedish girlfriend and hacker extraordinaire, Ike, and undercover policeman Paul Davis - investigating this potential miscarriage of justice, hoping that their hacking and digging will turn up what he really wants to know – who is 'peddling' influence and trying to get close friends of Vladmir Putin quite quite legally into parliament and even the government.

Paul has no trouble proving the police timetable hopelessly wrong but manages to have a serious run-in with some of those Russians and three times narrowly escapes potentially fatal tight spots – just as well, because the 'consultants' are entirely disposable and deniable – that's why Sir George uses them!.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Crowson
• Release date: Jan 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005892128

Mike Crowson

Former teacher, former national secretary of what became the UK Green Party and for 40 years a student of things esoteric and occult. Now an occult and esoteric consultant offering free and unconditional help to those in serious and genuine psychic or occult trouble

Book preview

The Pedlar

Mike Crowson

Dragonfire Books

© Mike Crowson 2021

Prologue

The Director of Ceremonies banged his staff of office on the floor and announced, The brethren will be upstanding while the Worshipful Master, accompanied by his Wardens and guests leave the temple.

Once the procession had formally left the lodge room, the other members filtered out to the ante room. We don't see you much these days, Mortimer, Sir George remarked conversationally to a similarly dressed, middle aged man taking off his apron. How is your legal practice?

I moved down into Southampton late last year. That's why I have been too busy to attend lodge so often.

And how is the law in Southampton? Still managing trust funds and UK Visas? He was being amiable but had serious reservations about the other. 'That,' a rather disdainful but unspoken thought suggested, 'Would not appear to make heavy demands on a law degree.'

Mostly the establishment of trusts and similar business matters of course Pryce-Wilcox agreed, But I find myself the Counsel for the Defence in a murder case at the moment, and very likely to lose.

Not a very glorious career move, Sir George observed, carefully laying his apron and collar into his his rather nice black leather case. What caused this event?

Well, Mortimer Pryce-Wilcox responded, though the question itself had been no more than polite conversation, rather than genuine curiosity, A client of mine in a matter of trusts and investments was accused of murdering his wife and he particularly asked for me as Counsel for the Defence. Lord know why me; after all I have no reputation in criminal cases.

And why do you think you are doomed to fail? There was a mild though genuine curiosity in his voice now, partly triggered by a general unease about the other's motives.

The police case is a bit speculative in places, Pryce-Wilcox explained. Moreover, it is based entirely on circumstantial evidence, with nothing forensic to tie my client directly to the crime, but it's all in the local press amd they're going ahead with court case.

And what does your client say in his defence? Sir George enquired with still more interest.

He claims to be innocent, of course, but I believe all guilty criminals claim their innocence, don't they?

Sir George sounded a little cautious: That is certainly a tendency, he agreed, "But what do you think?"

Personally, I don't think he did it, but I do think there's a good chance he'll go down for it. The jury won't believe him. Even the local paper seems to think he's a dodgy character to start with and I think he's a rather a poor witness on top of that.

Sir George looked slightly puzzled – he thought Pryce-Wilcox more than a little 'dodgy' himself. In what way 'dodgy', he asked, picking up his case and draping an expensive black raincoat over his arm.

The local police seem to be convinced he is up to something.

Such as? Sir George sounded sceptical.

Probably to do with handling stolen high value cars. Something shady anyway, but nothing they can put a handle on.

Sir George nodded, more to himself than anything. To what motive do the police attribute your client for his alleged crime?

It was his wife. Then he claims to have spent the evening and night with someone but won't say who. He just says 'with a friend'. I told you he was a poor witness. If he won't say and either can't or won't explain himself coherently, I can't help him, can I?

In such circumstances, that would appear to be the case! Where do the police claim he was?

They allege he was with his secretary, The woman bookeeper at his car sales place is quite a spectacular looker and the police think they're lovers and she's covering for him. That is only speculation, of course, but their speculation goes as far as the press, so I'm close to breaking client confidentiality if I say more.

I see. So he regards her good name as being more important than his innocence? That hardly sounds like a romantic attachment, He paused briefly. And do you agree with the police?

He was certainly evasive and up to something but I think he is hiding something criminal, rather than an affair.

You are dining with the lodge tonight? Sir George asked, as they strolled out into the corridor.

I think so. And you?

I was intending to, but I have an urgent telephone call I must make first. You go ahead. He turnd towards the washroom, checking his watch and said to himself, Five thirty. There is just time to have a quiet word with him.

Sir George turned into the washroom and took out his phone, while Pryce-Wilcox strolled through the connecting door to the dining rooms with the main group of lodge members.

CHAPTER 1 - Tuesday

Come in, Sir George invited, indicating the three chairs, Do sit down.

I know Derek and Ike have been working for this guy for quite a few years but I'm a newcomer to the team he euphemistically refers to as his 'consultants' which, as Derek points out from time to time, means we're entirely disposable and can be disowned in the event of a problem, leaving his public innocence and us holding the can. All three of us were still in motorcycle gear of course, and I wondered whether Sir George had ever seen the real Ike, in the idiosyncratic fashions she usually wears.

Derek was a mate of mine back in the days in the police, when we worked out of the Met's Stratford nick, him in computer fraud and me a newly appointed Detective Sergeant. That was before he was caught hacking where the Civil Liberties lot thought he shouldn't be and had to resign. It was before he met Ike as well – she's a good looking woman in her late thirties, if you can cope with her weird fashion sense, tattoos and piercings. She is Swedish and one hell of a hacker: if it can be hacked she can hack it, if it can't be hacked it just takes her a little longer.

I'm Paul, by the way. I was working as an undercover policeman when I first got involved with Derek and Ike. I think – but I'm not quite sure – that I'm still an undercover Metropolitan or Special Branch Police Officer, but working for Sir George at whatever he asks us to do. He's some kind of senior Civil Servant, tied into either Special Branch or the Anti-Terrorist Branch. Or to MI5. Or to all three. Whatever, he has the ear of a ridiculous number of senior police officers.

On this occasion, Sir George began, I would like you to investigate what may be, or may become, a miscarriage of justice.There are some possible ramifications which I have every hope your research may uncover, but I will not be explicit about these.

'Typical' I thought. 'He either tells us nothing or he deliberately misleads us'.

Tell us about the miscarriage of justice, Derek said. I was mildly interested myself but I didn't say anything.

The details are in a file, he said, tapping a small stack of folders on his desk. Which I'm going to give you in a moment but, in summary, Aaron Spencer is accused of murdering his wife Alison. He reported her missing and her body was found several days later in the boot of her car, stabbed several times. He has been charged with the murder and remanded in custody.

Sounds very ordinary, Derek remarked, while I thought that the 'very ordinary' was unlikely to catch the attention of Sir George. There must be more to come, though we might have to dig for it by sound of things.

According to his defence counsel, Sir George continued, "The evidence against him is entirely circumstantial and he claims innocence, but he may well be convicted nevertheless.

And that is what you wish us to investigate? Ike asked in her too perfect English. Funny how a lot of Germans and Scandinavians speak better English than we do ourselves. On this occasion she was sounding like she considered this matter less than challenging and, therefore, beneath her.

I am not in favour of an avoidable injustice, Sir George said, But investigating this one thoroughly will require accessing computer records not normally available and it is entirely possible – probable even - that searching through all that data may uncover what I am really interested in.

'Aha!' I thought. "What you mean is that an 'avoidable injustice' was just an excuse. He's usually on the side of the angels, as long as it's in the national interest, but he does tend to put the national interest pretty ruthlessly in first place.

What these files contain is the entire police case against Spencer and details of one or two witnesses, whose statements are in the file. I must say these witnesses do not appear – to me at any rate – to have witnessed very much. There are also copies of some CCTV footage. I acquired all this detail as a result of a quiet word with the Chief Constable of the Hampshire force, and the local Public Prosecution Department, so I have no doubt as to its veracity and accuracy. I would like you to begin by researching the crime from a miscarriage of justice point of view and follow up anything else of interest you uncover. This last point is of considerable importance as it my belief you will uncover quite a lot of data of interest to me.

I nodded. In addition to being well informed, Sir George is a devious bastard and I have encountered a couple of times before his willingness to be helpful to someone else if it gets him where he wants to go himself. I should: he's helped me before when I was undercover, because it suited his purposes.

Sir George rose from behind his desk and came round to hand us each a file – a lot thicker than the last one he gave us. You will find the full details of this case, but I trust it will not stop there. he remarked.

We'll take these back to my office and go through them this afternoon, Derek said.

And when do you anticipate the investigation will commence?

I presumed that was mostly directed at me. I'll motor down to wherever it is first thing tomorrow, I said. I reckon we'll need a detailed discussion of where to start or I'll just be chasing my tail.

That will be quite satisfactory, Sir George agreed. "Ms. Axelhammer can decide where to start her own investigations too.

Sir George is the only person I've heard use Ike's real name. She says English speakers find Inge Axelhammer too difficult say, so she uses 'Ike' instead: it's short for IKEA which is Swedish like her. Anyway, the briefing was clearly over, so I picked up my helmet from the floor beside my chair and we all left in the direction of the lift.

Sir George has two offices in Millbank, the stretch of the Thames embankment upriver from the Houses of Parliament towards the Tate Britain. His official office is in the Home Office building, but we were next door in Thames House, which is the Northern Ireland Office and the analysis unit of MI5. The lift descended to the basement car park and we rode in convoy, but quite sedately, back to Derek and Ike's office in the Stratford Broadway.

* * *

We left the bikes round the rear of Derek's office in the Broadway. Derek and Ike have a flat above their first floor office above Olympic IT services and the security is enough to tell you that they're not just the 'consultants' they claim to be. The front entrance, in the Broadway itself, has a metal roller door that can only be taken up from the office above, and even then the door itself can only opens from above as well. - there's no handle! We went in by the back stairs, but even the rear is covered by CCTV and the door has a fingerprint lock, rather than using a key.

Both Derek and I took off out helmets and leather jackets in his office but, when Ike came into the office, with three bottles of the low alcohol beer they seem live on, she was back in her magenta skirt and tights and a green T-shirt with some nondescript mountains and the message 'There is no planet B'. It's a message I could agree with – and a clash of colours I didn't like much! Ike also has Celtic knots tatooed round her neck a variety of piercings, and a head shaved at the sides and a long single plait in the middle, along with but cleverly unobtrusive make up.

OK, Derek said, Let's go through the file and see where we start.

And try to figure out what Sir George really wants from us, Ike added.

We sat around Derek's desk and opened our files while sipping at the low alcohol beer, or swigging it in the case of Ike.

The file began with a detailed summary of the prosecution case and I will tell you the basic facts so you can follow the debate. According to the file, the police story, put together by a Detective Inspector Warriner, was that Alison Spencer caught the 09.05 train from Swaythling railway station in Bassett Green, Southampton to Southampton Central where she was Senior Accountant for Mortimer Pryce-Wilcox and Co, legal advisors on visa, immigration and overseas investment matters, whose office is ten or fifteen minutes walk from the station. It so happened that Pryce-Wilcox himself was at a meeting in Amsterdam and, according to his wife Anthea, he flew 09.35 from Southampton Airport on that day, returning the next day at around 9.30 am, when he went straight to his office. This was an alibi that had seemed complete.

Alison had left the office around quarter to five and caught the 17.25 from Southampton Central back to Swaythling – CCTV from both stations confirmed these times – carrying a file of some sort from the office, subject and contents unknown but well attested and seen on CCTV. There was no CCTV at the car park alongside Swaythling station, but a bank on the main road a few yards from the car park entrance had recorded several important movements.

The police case against Aaron Spencer was a circumstantial one. According to Debbie James, his quite stunning looking assistant at his car sales business, he left in a dark red Range Rover at around 17.15. An unidentified Range Rover of a similar year and colour but no readable registration number passed the CCTV camera around 17.25 and Alison Spencer's car