The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14)

by Phillip Strang

  ‘I’ve not eaten so well since I lived in the country, up north,’ Wendy said.

  Buster took his position by the fire, spread himself out, yawned and promptly fell asleep. Larry, who had driven on the way down, could have joined the dog. The tired eyes from driving, cooked breakfast and a warm fire – seductive and inviting.

  Wendy nudged Larry, his eyes drooping. ‘Inspector, we’ve got a job to do.’

  Larry sat on a chair in the other room, more of an alcove, not as solid a structure as the main house, and distinctly colder.

  ‘We’d like to record the interview if that’s acceptable,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Fine by me, no secrets to hide,’ Deb said.

  ‘Deb, are you close to your brother?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Yet, the two of you are opposites.’

  ‘You’re judging me by my appearance, by Mike’s current situation.’

  ‘I’m not trying to, but it’s hard not to form conclusions that others might.’

  ‘Others don’t concern me.’

  ‘Before we start, maybe you could give us a brief encapsulation of your and your brother’s lives,’ Larry said, the coldness and the breeze coming through a gap in the timberwork keeping him awake.

  ‘We grew up in the north, a small town not far from Newcastle. Our father was a successful businessman, fingers in many pies, nothing illegal. Our mother, a farmer’s daughter, had met our father at a church function. Our mother was religious; our father wasn’t, just that church gatherings were a good place to meet with the opposite sex. More innocent times back then, no social media, no online dating sites, meet up, make love and then move on.’

  ‘A generous term for what they are,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Very well, I would have said screwing, but I wasn’t sure if I should. My language isn’t that good, swear like a trooper.’

  ‘Don’t change on our account,’ Larry said. ‘We’ve heard it all before, plus words you wouldn’t even know.’

  ‘I’ll still try to maintain my best behaviour,’ Deb said.

  ‘Your parents?’

  ‘Our father died five years back, a heavy smoker all his life, got to him in the end. Our mother died a few years earlier, both taken before their time. She had grown up during a difficult time in the north. Two bad years and the small farms were feeling the pinch, too many people going hungry. Even when our father met her, she was frail, and even later, when they were married, and in a good house, her health didn’t improve. She always came down with an illness before any of us. Eventually, pneumonia got to her. A blessed relief in some ways, as she was suffering, could barely walk.’

  ‘You didn’t grow up on a farm?’

  ‘We used to visit my grandparents when we were young, and I always loved it there. Out on the farm, there was a sense of freedom. Our father was a stickler for discipline, minding your Ps and Qs. Laughing didn’t come often.

  ‘I was rebellious from puberty. Mike was determined to be out of the house; a job in an office working for our father would have driven him mad.’

  ‘You both left?’

  ‘Mike, at sixteen, a stint in the army, fought overseas. He never returned, went to university on his return, and climbed at the weekends and holidays. You know his story from then on. Google it if you don’t.’

  ‘What about you?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Rebellious, not so much against my parents, never hated them, nothing like that, but my father’s going on about finding myself a decent man and settling down. One day, I’m sitting in a café, not far from the house. A group of bikers come in. I’m sitting there, young and innocent. We get talking, and soon after, I’m on the back of one of the bikes, a biker’s moll, tattoos, all the antics they get up to.’

  ‘Bonnie and Clyde?’

  ‘I wasn’t Bonnie, and the man I latched onto wasn’t a Clyde, nothing gay about him. He was rough, swore, got into fights, but treated me better than the other men treated their women.’

  ‘Your parents?’

  ‘I’d phone them occasionally, never let on what I was getting up to, but I was having a blast, cruising the highway, getting drunk out of my mind, screwing around, and then there were the tattoos. Eventually, I got my own bike, ditched the man, shaved my hair.’

  ‘And bought a farm,’ Larry said.

  ‘In time, I grew out of the lifestyle, but I couldn’t go back to my parents, not even if I conformed, which I had no intention of doing. I like shocking people.’

  ‘You shocked Maddox Timberley, Angus’s girlfriend.’

  ‘I’ve no time for people like her, sticking their nose in the air, thinking that just because they’ve got a boob job and straight teeth, they’re better than me.’

  ‘You realise that your appearance is disarming,’ Larry said.

  ‘I do. Kate, you do want to know about her?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Kate never liked me, not that I worried. I kept out of the way, although I had met her down here at the farm.’

  ‘Polite to each other?’

  ‘For Mike’s sake. Not sure what he said about me to her, but I’m sure it was complimentary, even if he acknowledged my shortcomings. We’re very close, always were, always will be. In time, the two of them are married, and I received an invite to the marital home, not that it excited me that much, but Mike’s my brother, and she’s his wife. We get along well enough, talking about this and that, my lifestyle, my running with bikers, the shaven head, the tattoos. Kate’s a bit of a prude, old-fashioned ideas, not that it stopped her screwing Justin Skinner or sucking up to Angus.’

  ‘You knew Angus?’

  ‘Best friend of Mike, how couldn’t I? I liked him back then, although he wasn’t what he seemed.’

  ‘Bisexual?’ Larry said.

  ‘Not that. Who cares, not these days, but as I said, Kate’s a prude. She cared, not that it stopped her sleeping with Angus on one occasion.’

  ‘Some people believe Simmons to be innocent of all crimes.’

  ‘Some might, but I’m not one of them. When I was younger, I fancied Angus, that’s before I found motorbikes.’

  ‘You have somebody?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Jock lives a couple of miles from here, has a farm, not as good as this; not too smart either, but he’s fun. Once a week, sometimes twice, he’ll come over here, or I’ll go over there. No talk of love or marriage, none of that.’

  ‘You were married?’

  ‘A biker’s wedding, vow to love and honour, to make myself available, to be traded for whatever.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘No, but they have strange ideas about fidelity. Most of the time trying to be anarchistic, to make sense of a crazy world, making a complete hash of it.’

  ‘Yet, you stayed?’

  ‘I’d been educated, good family values. I could see it for what it was, but I enjoyed the lifestyle for a few years, no intention of staying forever.’

  ‘The tattoos?’

  ‘They’re there now, nothing I can do about it, not that I want to, and as for the shaven head, get down here during the winter, mucking out stables, giving the animals their feed, wading through knee-deep mud to rescue a newly-born lamb, and you’ll realise the nonsense of what’s important. Put that Maddox down here, and she’d be in tears for a week, dead within two. Vapid, brainless, flat as a pancake without a couple of plastic bags shoved up her front.’

  ‘Silicone implants,’ Wendy corrected the woman.

  ‘I know what they’re called. A fancy name, charge twice the price to have them put in than they’re worth, three times to take them out.’

  Deb got up from her chair, rushed into the other room. She came back a few minutes later.

  ‘I had to let the dog out; incontinent, never know when he’s going to leave a calling card on the carpet. One day, sooner than later, I’ll have to do the right thing by him; not today, not tomorrow, never if I could.’

  ‘You’re fond of the animal?’ Larry asked.


  ‘You know what they say – if you want a friend, get a dog.’

  ‘We do,’ Wendy said.

  ‘I’ve not had much success with friends, let you down, but not with Buster. He’s always there for me, rain or shine. You can’t say that about people.’

  Bitter, almost as if she was feeling sorry for herself. Larry noticed the signs, not sure if there was more behind that exterior: a vulnerability, a history of abuse, events recessed in the depths of her mind.

  ‘Mike’s your brother; you’re close. Doesn’t that make him a friend?’

  ‘I love the man dearly, but when he was making a name for himself, he was arrogant, and now, damaged goods after Angus let him fall. He’s a miserable so-and-so. One I could deal with, tell him to shut up and act normal, and the other, I can’t take, or only in short doses.’

  ‘Don’t you think Kate feels the same way?’

  ‘I’m not begrudging her finding another man, not now. Mike’s abrogated his responsibility. He used to be the more positive of the two of us, but now, sitting there, blaming everyone, especially Angus, what’s the point?’

  ‘You’ve forgiven Simmons?’

  ‘No, but life goes on. If Jock weren’t such a dolt, I’d marry him and have a couple of kids, unsure if I can. No point complaining.’

  ‘Medical?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Self-induced. Not that I mean a dodgy backyard abortion. A biker’s moll, and sometimes the men can be rough, see a woman as no more than a piece of meat.’

  ‘The man you were with?’

  ‘Died, duelling with another biker, me as the prize. He came around a corner too fast, skidded on oil and slammed straight into a tree. It took them two hours to peel him off.’

  ‘The other man won?’

  ‘By default. I wasn’t too keen on being traded in the first place. The next day, after I had smashed a fist into the other man, I shaved my hair, got myself a motorbike, told the gang they could either accept me as I was or they could shove it.’

  ‘What did they do?’

  ‘They accepted me after I had gone through their rite of passage, initiation into the tribe, silly and childish.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Larry asked.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Deb said. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  Larry did, but he wasn’t willing to pursue it.

  ‘I rode that bike for two years, getting tattoos and speeding tickets along the way. Then one day, I pulled up at the side of the road, saw the sign for this place. I drove down the track, stopped at the front door, got off my bike, scared the people living here witless and asked how much.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘After they figured that I wasn’t stuffing around, they gave me a price. Three weeks later, I moved in. I gave them cash, my parents’ inheritance. Mike wasn’t the only one with money.’

  ‘Could Mike have killed Angus?’ Larry asked.

  ‘In his condition, not a chance.’

  ‘Deborah Hampton?’ Larry asked.

  ‘It needs to be asked,’ Wendy said. ‘Could you have killed Simmons?’

  ‘When I first heard about the accident, but not now. I’d have Mike down here if he weren’t such a pain; the fresh air would do him good. He could feed the chickens, help out around the place, but he won’t come.’

  ‘We believe that Angus wasn’t having an affair with Kate when they went to Patagonia. We’ve got that from two sources now, but that Kate, in anger, mentioned Angus, knowing that Mike would be distraught that his wife was cheating with his best friend.’

  ‘If that’s true, it doesn’t affect the outcome. Mike’s sitting in that miserable house while she’s out doing whatever and whoever, and Angus is dead.’

  ‘We need to understand the background to solve the murder,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Talk to Justin Skinner. He’s handy with a gun.’

  ‘You’ve been?’

  ‘Mike had. Kate’s a bitch, but she’s no murderer. I could be, but Angus wasn’t worth the effort,’ Deb said.

  Chapter 14

  After meeting with the police, the one night in the hotel had stretched into two, a friend covering for her if Mike phoned, not that he would, Kate Hampton knew that much.

  She had loved Mike back when they first met. A man with determination, an easy manner about him, considerate.

  It was Mike who she still preferred, although since the accident, even before, he had been burdensome, impossible at times, and Justin Skinner had become an irresistible diversion.

  The truth of the accident she didn’t know, only that she had never known Angus to be angry, whereas Mike blew hot and cold, forgot soon after, but she had told him she was sleeping with his best friend.

  It was her fault that Angus had died and why Mike was unable to fend for himself, the reason why she had spent two nights in a hotel room in Hammersmith with a man who would maltreat her, a man who would be unfaithful and uncaring.

  Even when her husband was away climbing, he’d attempt to phone once a day.

  As Skinner slept, Kate Hampton dressed, picked up her handbag and the travelling case she had come with, and left the room, closing the door quietly.

  She felt dirty, the dirt that comes from sin. She knew that Justin Skinner, once he saw her gone, would continue to pursue her.

  To make it work with Mike, Skinner’s persistence couldn’t be tolerated, a diversion that she didn’t want to or couldn’t deal with.

  Confused, she got into her car and headed west. There was only one person who could help her.

  ***

  Jim Breslaw watched the press conference, listened to Jerome Jaden’s disparaging comments about him, knew that his removal from the station had been strategic. With a lifetime of experience, he had known that change was inevitable. Reality shows, with a group of people, supposedly picked at random but heavily screened and their banality scripted, irritated him. And he knew that cooking shows, once a staple, cheap to produce, had had their day and that programmes that had a pretty host at the forefront, an excess of cleavage, a tight skirt riding high, were doomed.

  He had to agree that Tricia Warburton was the last best hope, the programme well thought out, and with initial success, the result of more money spent on promotion and production costs than recouped from advertising revenue, the viewing figures would be guaranteed. But when the programme needed to be turned into a cash cow and with less money spent, the quality would suffer. Tricia Warburton, no longer staying in five-star hotels, relegated to four, flying economy instead of business class.

  Vindication was his. He gloated, gained satisfaction, worried about his garden and life, saw no point in either. Grabbing a coat from a hook in the hallway, wrapping a scarf around his neck, and picking up the keys to his car, he left the house.

  After driving around for what to him seemed hours but was no more than one, he found himself outside the television station.

  It was calm, the time before the majority of those who worked in the building arrived. Parking next to a Mercedes, Jaden’s car, Breslaw entered the building, flashed his magnetic card at the sensor on the front door, not expecting it to open, but it did. A fear came over him, not sure if what he was doing was right, knowing there was no going back.

  On the fifth floor, Jaden appeared startled when Breslaw walked in. ‘Jim, how?’ he said.

  ‘We need a word,’ Breslaw said as he pulled up a seat opposite Jaden. ‘You and me.’

  Unsure what to do, aware that there was no one else in the building he could call on, security having failed to do their job – he’d deal with them later – Jaden adopted a relaxed pose.

  ‘How’s life been treating you? Good to be away from here? It’s no fun having to deal with the current situation, what with Simmons’s death and the new programme. Tricia will make a go of it, and I could do with you here to help out. How about coming back on a contract basis, paid by the hour or the day?’

  Breslaw could see that Jaden was nervous. He was pleased, not
yet appeased.

  ‘Why now? Why not when you had the opportunity? I’d always played fair by you. I could have taken a lesser role, given the snotty-nosed kid a hand.’

  ‘Not you, Jim. You’re not the sort of person to let go, no more than I am. I’ve still got people I need to answer to. You were regarded as a liability, a legacy of the past.’

  ‘The same as you, Jerome, or don’t you believe it? After all, we were friends once.’

  ‘Friends, but this is about the survival of the fittest. And you, Jim, aren’t. Time will tell if I am.’

  ‘With your money, you’ll survive.’

  ‘Money is not the motivator, never was. It was what I did, set up television stations, invest, speculate. You programmed, did a great job, but time moves on, the future is for the young, not for us.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you deal with my departure better? Why did I get the rough-hand treatment?’

  ‘Hardly that. We paid all monies outstanding, and I personally wrote a reference for you.’

  Breslaw felt calmer talking to Jaden, reminded of the early days when they had worked hand-in-hand, pleased to make a small profit, but then Jaden had been the owner, and he, Breslaw, an employee.

  ‘The new programme, it’s not going to fly, you know that,’ Breslaw said.

  ‘The last roll of the dice? The Titanic has sailed, an iceberg looming?’

  ‘Poetic, but true.’

  ‘It may be, but I won’t go down without a fight.’

  Platitudes, metaphors, neither did much for Breslaw. He had liked Jaden, the tenacity of the man, his generosity, and regardless of what had happened, he still did.

  Jaden pulled himself up from his chair and went over to a desk in the corner. He withdrew a file of papers. He handed them over to Breslaw.

  ‘Read these,’ he said.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Projections of the new programme’s revenue, operating costs, how much we’re going to pay Tricia.’

  ‘Why show me?’

  ‘Eyes and ears.’

  ‘You want me to spy, but how?’

  ‘I want your advice. The station’s going down, and yes, it’s inevitable; believe me, you got out in time. But for me, it’s not so easy, too much money tied up in stocks and shares, and they’re heading south. I’ll be cleaned out if we don’t lift the share price, allow me to offload enough, use a middle man, someone to cover for me.’