“There are no secrets time does not reveal,” said Hogarth.
Simmons senior raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s from Racine, isn’t it?”
“It could be David Bowie for all I know,” said Hogarth. “The fact is, Mr Simmons, I couldn’t care less whatever you want to keep under wraps. I’ll play along. But if it’s wrong, it’ll come out regardless, because it always does. If your son wants me to leave, I will. Do you want me along, or not, DS Simmons?”
“Along, please guv.”
“Then the ayes have it, Mr Simmons,” said Hogarth. “Now do me a favour and tell me where we’re going.”
“Don’t worry about that. I was going to drive,” said Simmons senior.
“And drive you can. But I’m not one for getting taken for a ride, Mr Simmons. I’ll drive too. I’ll follow you in my car. DS Simmons, I’d like you to accompany me, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yes, guv.”
“There’s no need for all this,” said Simmons senior. “This isn’t even my problem,” said his father, speaking after them as they walked away to Hogarth’s navy saloon. “I’m only trying to help a friend.”
“Same here,” said Hogarth. “We’ll see you on the road.”
They got into Hogarth’s Vauxhall. An old Oasis tune kicked in on the radio as Hogarth started the engine. He turned the volume down and glanced into the rear-view mirror at Simmons senior.
“Why did you want me to come with you, guv?” said Simmons, as he strapped on his seatbelt.
“Looks like you were right on The Chuckle Brothers, Simmons. I could hardly leave you sitting in that car with that moody old beggar, could I? No offence.”
Simmons smirked. “None taken.”
“Good. Now then. Let’s go and see what your old man has gotten himself into. You know, it’s never a good sign when a man says he’s innocent before you’ve even know what he’s done…”
***
They followed Simmons senior into the sticks, out past Rochford station, around the corner into Ashingdon before they left civilisation behind altogether.
“Paglesham? Why all the way out here?” said Hogarth. DC Simmons shrugged, but his vague sense of apprehension grew a little deeper with every passing mile. The hedgerows flew past, giving way to remote shiplap cottages, before the hedges rose up again, only to soon give way to immense rough fields, and patches of broken marshland. Above, the cloud was breaking up, the sun breaking through to warm the tidal mud. The saline stink of the land was rising into the warm air.
“Bloody hell. What is this place? Where are we?” said Hogarth.
“You never been here before?”
“Never. It looks like planet Mars crossed with the Norfolk Broads.”
“It’s a bit like the Fens, guv. I don’t think most people realise this kind of landscape is on their doorstep. It stretches all the way up from here and broadens out when you get up to East Anglia.”
“If you say so. Let’s just see what Daddy Simmons has been doing. If it looks like anything dodgy, I’ll buy you a pint and we’ll talk it through afterwards.”
“I doubt he’s done anything wrong, guv.”
“Why? Is he as stiff as he looks?”
“Stiffer,” said Simmons.
“Then how did he ever come up with you? You must take after the milkman.”
Simmons shook his head as they headed deeper into the landscape of grassy clumps and muddy rivulets. They took a corner past the slipway where a police car, a white van, and a crane were parked by the mud. A battered red car, covered in a thick coating of black mud, was being positioned on the back of a recovery truck. They caught a glimpse of the scene, and then it was gone. Not much more than two minutes later, the Volvo in front began to slow, and pulled in beside the deep ditch on the left of the lane. Ahead of them on the left was a red brick barn building, with a sunken tiled roof. There was a weather-beaten wooden sign mounted on the nearest gable wall “Flowside”. The building was old and non-descript and well past its prime.
Simmons senior got out of his Volvo and walked towards them with an awkward smile fixed on his face. Hogarth got out to join him, studying the man as they spoke.
“Where are we?” said Hogarth.
“Paglesham,” said Simmons senior.
“I got that part. I meant here, by this old barn,” said Hogarth.
“Everything you need to know next – is right in there.”
“Hold up,” said DC Simmons. “I thought we were helping a grieving widow. She can’t be in there, can she?”
“No. But you’ll still be helping her a great deal, believe me. I’ve done my part. The rest is over to you.”
“Mr Simmons,” said Hogarth, with a firm and cynical air. “I don’t go in for all this mysterious quest stuff. You asked for a favour and here we are. What exactly are you setting us up for here?”
“Setting you up? Me? Nothing at all. A friend is in crisis, so I said I would see if I could help. My way of helping is to bring in the experts. And by experts, I meant my son, Mark. But so long as you’re willing – maybe you too. But whatever you do, Inspector, be considerate. Please don’t make things worse.”
“Worse? You haven’t told us a thing,” said Hogarth. Simmons senior turned away and walked back to his car.
“Where are they? Which building do we go to?” said DC Simmons.
“There’s only one. You’ll find it,” said his father.
“Oi. And where are you going?” said Hogarth, his mood turning sour.
“Take a look,” said the older man. “I’ve done my part. It’s over to you now. I’ve got a busy weekend ahead.” Simmons senior nodded a goodbye to his son, his face betraying his keenness to get away.
“I had a busy weekend ahead too. A weekend of doing nothing,” said Hogarth.
Simmons senior got into his car and started the engine. Hogarth stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at Simmons senior through the car window as he turned the car and drove away back to Southend.
“Sorry to say, I’m not a fan of your old man, so far,” said Hogarth. “Not a fan at all. And I won’t make any promises to help anyone. If I find any sign of wrongdoing in there, I don’t exactly feel very inclined to let him off the hook.”
Simmons sighed and shook his head.
“You won’t be the only one, guv. Let’s just get this over with,” said Simmons.
“Agreed.”
They left Hogarth’s Vauxhall parked on the edge of the lane and walked onto the wide gravel patch around the outskirts of the old brick buildings. Reaching the far side, hidden from the road they found a wall with three old sliding wooden doors, garage-sized doors, which looked as if they had once been functional, but were now no more than rustic decorations. There was a smaller heavy wooden door to one side. The old sliding wooden doors had been painted successive shades of green, red, and blue. Layers of paint had flaked away in places to reveal the prior coats. The smaller door looked much newer. The patch of gravel became a wide driveway on this side, which petered out at the edge of a marshy field. The building faced the rising banks of the grasses and marshes in the distance. Not much further on were the river inlets of the Roach. Gulls wheeled overhead. Hogarth scanned the gravel and saw a set of at least two different tyre ruts. One looked fresher than the other – the moisture from the earlier rain wasn’t to be seen in the ruts. A car had been there recently. He looked on towards the end of the building and saw the curved back end of a small white hatchback. The distinctive shape of a modern Fiat 500. Hogarth scratched his eyebrow. “Someone’s definitely here, then… and they should be able to hear us…”
“But they might not know who we are,” said Simmons.
“No. But what I don’t like most is that I don’t know who they are. Let’s give ‘em a knock and get going. I saw a sign for a pub back up that way somewhere.”
Simmons nodded. “One of the pubs out here is owned by the Oliver family.”
“Oh. Which one? Hardy or Twis
t?” said Hogarth. He knocked at the door and looked at Simmons as they waited. They heard a hint of movement and scraping from within.
“Sounds like that pint will have to wait,” muttered Hogarth. They stepped back instinctively as a bolt was slid on the other side of the door. Then a latch clicked. As the door opened, they were surprised to see a well made-up, well presented woman in her early thirties standing in the gap. She had long dark hair with a bleached blonde streak on one side. The woman had piercing brown eyes, a pretty face, and big hoop earrings. Her demeanour, her eyes, even her body language seemed to offer a challenge. But alongside the challenge was a smile. A bright, zesty, disarming smile. Simmons blinked at her smile like a rabbit in the headlights.
“Yes?” said the woman, as if they were passing visitors. Hogarth narrowed his eyes. He peered passed her well-sculpted bare shoulder, to see the building’s surprisingly neat interior. The place had been fitted out and dry-lined, not that you would have known from the outside. Next he appraised the woman’s attire, which was colourful and well put together. She wore a bohemian style baggy, armless, vest top with a flimsy scarf set around her neck. Her top hung over skin-tight denim leggings.
Hogarth appraised the woman with surprise. The woman didn’t fit rustic, wind-beaten Paglesham. She didn’t fit the old barn either. As Hogarth was quiet, Simmons decided he needed to do the introduction.
“Max Simmons asked us to come here.”
“Max Simmons?” said the woman. She offered an enigmatic smile and shook her head. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke. “Never heard of him. Sorry.”
“Max Simmons? But he’s a family friend,” said Simmons. “A friend of the deceased. You are Sabine Dawn, I take it?”
“Actually, you’re one hundred per cent wrong,” said the woman. She swished her hair. “But you’re not altogether wrong You say Max Simmons sent you. Why?”
“Because of what happened to Grant Dawn. He said you wanted us to help.”
“Look,” said Hogarth. He shrugged and plaintively threw up his hands. “No problem at all. If there’s been a mix-up, don’t you worry, we’ll get on our merry way.”
The woman turned to Hogarth and gave him a look up and down. She raised an eyebrow.
“Hang on,” she said. “Let’s find out if there’s been a mix-up, shall we? Wait here one moment…”
The woman walked away and let the door swing shut. Simmons and Hogarth looked at one another in confused silence. A moment later, the woman pulled the door wide open, swished her hair and stood back.
“You can come in now,” she said.
“You’re sure?” said Simmons, blinking in the face of the woman’s good looks.
“Yes, yes,” she replied. “Come in.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” said Hogarth. “Come into what exactly?”
“I was told we would be helping the family of Mr Grant Dawn – the man who had an accident last night.”
The woman cracked a wider smile, as if she was privy to a private joke which they would never see. She looked towards the shadows over her shoulder and they saw a man emerge into the light. Hogarth squinted at him. Simmons stared. There were fresh dark red scratches over his nose and forehead and a gouge on his cheeks. He had a cut lip. The man looked as if he’d been on the receiving end of a fight with a cat. But Hogarth cottoned on first.
“You? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” said Hogarth
The man chuckled and ran a gentle hand over his facial wounds.
“Most people seem to think I am. Including, I hope, the one who counts most of all.”
“And that would be?”
“The person who tried to kill me, of course.”
“Come again?” said Hogarth. He looked at the woman, hardly needing to note her glamour, and then back at Grant Dawn. The woman sniggered again like she was one step ahead of them on the in-jokes. Despite the magnetic good looks which Hogarth couldn’t ignore, the woman’s attitude was already beginning to grate.
“What’s she on?” said Hogarth and the woman’s smile flickered. She stopped chuckling.
“Emily? Why she’s just high on life. And so am I. Apart from the attempted murder part, that is. Now are you going to come in, or what?”
Hogarth and Simmons looked at one another. Hogarth gave a hint of a shrug, and Simmons led the way inside. Once inside, Simmons began to emerge from a state of shock to a phase of curiosity. Emily was difficult to ignore. Whenever his gaze landed directly on hers, he felt the dare in her eyes. It was an unspoken dare – but he felt it all the same. Her eyes were as bright as a candle flame.
“Seeing as you’re not dead, I hope you don’t mind me asking…” said Simmons.
“Don’t tie yourself in knots, man, just ask,” said Grant Dawn.
“Your wife’s name is Sabine, isn’t it? Not Emily…”
“Max Simmons said his son was a police detective, but he never told me he was a genius as well Of course Emily isn’t my wife. This is Emily Flount. She’s my cousin. Emily here is what they call a social influencer rather than a proper member of staff, but she’s still on the payroll. She helps me a great deal, and she’s here because she’s helping me again. The answer to your question, Mr Simmons, is no. Emily is not my wife, and before your get the wrong idea, she’s certainly not my mistress, either.”
“Then what’s she doing holed up with you here, Mr Dawn?” said Hogarth. “Funny old set-up if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Suspicious, you mean?” said Grant Dawn. Dawn’s smile started to slip away.
“I had to tell someone I could trust and I needed help for what had to happen next. Emily here happens to be detached from the business, and even though she knows all the main parties, she isn’t involved in the day to day. Which makes her independent, which is valuable right now. There’s a serious chance that what happened to me happened because of the business. Emily’s got insights and opinions about each member of the team. In fact she has some very strong opinions on some of them. I happen to know she has her own well-formed opinions on me too, but seeing as she’s family she doesn’t moan too much, do you, Em? And at least I can trust her to help me. And she’s unflinchingly honest. Where I’m at right now, that counts for a lot.”
Hogarth and Simmons glanced at the woman. Her wide dark eyes beamed back at both of them.
“Are you going to trust them?” she said.
“Trust us?” said Hogarth. “It feels like I just wandered into a set-up from candid camera, and you’re asking him if you can trust us?”
Grant Dawn ignored Hogarth’s comments, and turned to his cousin. “It’s a bit late not to, don’t you think?” said Dawn.
“Just because they’ve seen you doesn’t mean a thing,” said Emily Flount. “And Max Simmons didn’t tell you there would be more than one,” she said.
“That’s because I didn’t give him the chance to tell you,” said Simmons. “I thought I might need some help. So I asked my superior, DI Hogarth, to come along.”
“A DI? He’s a detective inspector? Now that’s really not good,” said Emily.
“Why? Because you’re up to no good? What is this about? An insurance fraud? Faked your own death for a pay-out? It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with something like that.”
“Come on! I’m hardly the kind of man to go for a caper like that,” said Grant Dawn with a sneer. “I’m not desperate, Inspector. What Emily is referring to, I think, is that we’d rather not have my current status broadcast until we’ve worked out which one of the rats tried to bump me off.”
“You’re convinced it was a murder attempt?” said Hogarth, checking the man’s eyes for the lie.
“One hundred per cent. Look at me. I wouldn’t have carved up my own face like this for kicks. And I would never have sacrificed any of my cars for a lousy insurance job. I thought I’d kept most of my car hobby a secret, but it wouldn’t have been hard for the people who knew me best to find out if they looked hard enough. And from there, I supp
ose it wouldn’t have been too hard for one of them to access my Capri…”
“The Capri was the car from the accident?” said Hogarth.
“Correct. But it was no accident,” said Dawn. “The Capri was the only car I ever drove home. These other two always stay here – because they are supposed to be my little secret and this lock-up was my other little secret. I knew that if I ever let on to the others exactly what cars I had, they’d have been after liquidating them to fix all our usual cash flow problems.”
“You’ve got a cash flow problem? So your business is in trouble…” said Simmons.
“I promise you, this isn’t an insurance job. You’re supposed to be here to help me, not to try and trip me up,” said Dawn, frowning. “No. My business hasn’t got a problem. Not anything fundamental, anyway. It’s fine. But cash flow is a real issue in my world. Some of our clients are absolutely huge, some very big names – while some are tiny – but it’s always the larger clients who pay whenever they feel like it. The mobile networks, the big names behind some very famous cleaning brands, the big energy suppliers, they all use us. They love what we do. But do they ever pay us on time? Not on your life! Pay late is the name of the game. And how late is late, might you ask? Think late then multiply it by a factor of ten. We always have to play the waiting game. The business is sound, but we’re always waiting for payments. Now does that satisfy you that this isn’t some lurid scam?”
“I’m never satisfied until I know exactly what’s going on,” said Hogarth.
Dawn shook his head and looked at his cousin. Emily Flount folded her shapely arms and looked at Hogarth. “Are you going to help or are you going to cause us a problem?” said the woman with the smouldering looks. Hogarth struggled to answer.
“All we need is a spot of time to explain,” said Grant Dawn. “You’ll soon see we’re not the ones in the wrong. I’m the one who was wronged.”
“Time to explain?” said Hogarth. “Fine. You’ve got ten minutes to persuade me that I shouldn’t call my colleagues down here before this mess gets any worse. I really don’t know what your father was playing at, Simmons…”
The Secret Dawn Page 3