“I think she finished getting drunk, and went to bed around nine, probably wasted.”
Dawn nodded, his head downcast. He paused a moment before he started walking for the door. This time his head was up and he strode towards the exit with purpose. Gurney and Simmons looked at one another.
“Mr Dawn, where are you going?” called Simmons. “Mr Dawn?!”
Dawn reached the door and opened it before he looked back. There was an angry grin on his face.
“Where am I going? To get some air. Is that alright with you? I mean, I haven’t got a car that works anymore, it’s not as if I can go anywhere, is it?! Jeez…”
He walked out into the bright afternoon and slammed the door. They heard his feet crunching on the gravel. Simmons drained his tea and kept his ears tuned to the gentle crunching of Dawn’s feet.
“Has he got anything besides tea in this place?” said Gurney.
Simmons gave Gurney a look of disdain. The man came across as a cretin, and a verminous one at that.
“I don’t know. Check the fridge. This whole thing is a total bloody mess,” said Simmons, folding his hands behind his head. “It can’t go on like this.”
“It can’t and it won’t,” said Gurney. “I think we’re getting closer to the truth.” Gurney stepped past Simmons and pulled open the fridge. Simmons watched him. He saw the bottles of pricey foreign beer, and an oversized bar of milk chocolate, purple foil torn open, a corner square missing. Gurney knocked the chocolate bar out of the way as he reached for one of the Portuguese lagers and took it out.
“So, Mr Gurney, what is the truth in all of this?” said Simmons.
“I can see why you’re worried. But that photo right there speaks volumes,” said Gurney. He tapped the image of Brett Reville and Sabine standing behind the glass, their faces intense, the emotion on their faces almost total opposites.
“Tell me, if she was your wife, what would you think?”
Simmons’s eyes fell to Reville’s big hand on Sabine Dawn’s wrist. Simmons realised he could no longer hear the sound of gravel crunching under feet outside. His stomach lurched. He broke past Gurney and made for the door.
“Are there any bottle openers in this place?” said Gurney, calling at his back. Simmons didn’t bother to reply. He yanked the front door open and looked out into the bright day, peering left and right along the gravel but Grant Dawn was nowhere in sight.
“Oh shit…” said Simmons. He walked out and let the door slam behind him. He jogged to the road side of the building, where the aged red brick barn looked out over the empty lane and the barren marshy landscape beyond. Simmons shook his head in disbelief.
“No, please, no. No way,” he said. Simmons kept looking because he couldn’t believe it was possible, but in the end, he saw it was true. In the middle of nowhere, the living dead had disappeared. Grant Dawn was gone. If things were bad before, they were now a hell of a lot worse…
Ten
Hogarth parked alongside the railway line just before Chalkwell Station. He stole a moment to look down at the golden sand and pebbles down below on the other side of the tracks, a place where the long seafront finally ended, giving way to the narrow cinder path which followed the train line all the way to Old Leigh. The estuary water was tranquil and blue, reflecting the sky with its islands of clouds. Families, kids, and teens frolicked along the promenade, stopping to take a selfie, some simply turning back to walk the way they had come. A nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Just a shame it wasn’t him doing the spending. Hogarth put a minty gum into his mouth, and started chewing, and then frowned at himself. It shouldn’t have mattered whether his breath was fresh or not, but Hogarth found himself caring, nonetheless. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and crossed the street, running the last part as a Range Rover hurtled too fast around the bend. He reached the kerb and looked around the faces of the large, neat, white-painted houses, until he caught a glimpse of one brunette silhouette waving at him from a window on the first floor of the nearest house. The silhouette stood in a room behind a small balcony. Hogarth’s chest tightened in anticipation. He dared not think what was coming. He walked up the path and passed the neat white Fiat 500 parked on the driveway. Yes, it was the same car he’d seen outside the Paglesham lock-up. And from the licence plate he saw it was a new model, which meant it cost good money. Miss Flount was doing well for herself. Hogarth waited at the door, turning to the blue sky and estuary views to help keep him calm. He looked back when the door opened, offering a tame smile and saw the same intense flash in the woman’s eyes as he’d seen at the lock-up. He expected her to see the hangover written all over him. One glimpse and she would surely recoil. But she didn’t. And if she was an actress then Emily Flount was one of the good ones.
“Come in. So, this is my place” she said.
Flount’s words seemed almost apologetic, but Hogarth didn’t see any need to be humble. The whole house looked fancy down to the last fashionable detail. From the immaculate living room, to the large wooden floored kitchen diner, it looked like being an Instagram influencer had to be one of the best paying gigs around. Emily Flount led him into the kitchen, her bare arms folded as she walked. She turned and drew to a halt in front of him, framing herself in the big kitchen window overlooking a manicured garden. Today Flount was wearing another kind of gypsy summer top with lacy bits at the shoulders, and big bangles on her wrists. She wore royal blue denim jeans and wore them well. He saw she had the look, poise, and movements of someone famous, like a trendy singer. As much as Hogarth kept fighting the urge to admire her, he couldn’t help stealing a look at the tanned skin of her shoulders. A moment later he looked up and was met with a knowing gaze. He coughed and tried to bluff his way out of it.
“You said it was urgent, Miss Flount.”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” she said, then changed tack. “So, what do you think of the place?” she said, gesturing to the walls and furniture.
“Very nice,” he said. “Though it does make me question how much you people earn.”
“Us people? You mean the social media types. Influencers like me?”
“Maybe,” said Hogarth, with a shrug.
“I do alright. But I should be doing better. Not all of this is mine.”
“Oh?” said Hogarth.
The girl sparkled at him. Her eyes seemed to be saying things even when she wasn’t talking. He watched the sparkle, following it, trying to read her intention.
“This is a house share. There are one or two here like me, plus a guy who works in the city and a student.”
“I see,” said Hogarth.
“But, as you can see” she said, shaking her long mane of brown hair. “There’s really no one here but us. No one at all, actually. And the rest of them won’t be back here for hours yet.”
Hogarth swallowed on his tightening throat. He worked to break free of Flount’s gaze. Images of the woman’s ‘colourful’ Instagram feed flashed through his mind. Figure-hugging dresses, stringy bikinis on tropical beaches… oversized sunglasses and far too much flesh to be seemly. But that wasn’t all he remembered. He recalled the young men standing at her side, the twenty and thirty-something athletic gents with sunglasses, tousled hair, and chiselled cheekbones. Hogarth had been a staunch realist for most of his life. He knew he was no oil painting. If anything, he was more of a rustic wood cut, or a prosaic clay sculpture. And as much as the woman’s eyes and words tugged at him, he wasn’t about to let himself get mugged twice by this caper. The first con had been steered by Simmons senior, the one intended to secure his son’s help. The second con? Well she was as pretty as a picture. But who knew where that dangerous path led? All the same, it looked like a pleasant journey along the way.
“There’s no one else here…” said Hogarth.
“No one,” said Flount, stretching the words to imply a host of nuances. She leaned back on the edge of the dining table, purposefully making a statuesque figure of her body. “Not a soul but you and
me in this whole, big old house.” The tension in Hogarth’s aching head was coming back and with a new impetus.
“What is all this about, Miss Flount?” said Hogarth.
“This is all about what’s possible, Inspector, don’t you see?” she said, her eyes shining. “I think lots of things could be possible between you and me.”
“What’s possible? I think a lot of things might be possible where you and Mr Dawn are concerned.”
Emily Flount shook her head. “No, it’s really not like that. Grant and I are family. Just good friends. And we’re both very good at business.”
“And is that what this is? Business? From all the cash flow problems I’m hearing about, I’m not sure I believe anyone is much good at business at GDS.”
The woman moved away from the dining table and took a step towards him. She seemed to be looking at him, and at the same time he saw her eyes had grown distant. She was thinking. She moved closer and Hogarth got ready to protest, got ready to fend her off… but he watched her change her mind. She breezed past him towards the wooden kitchen worktop, leaving Hogarth feeling strangely spurned. He frowned, following her with his eyes. She pulled a tin down from a shelf and opened a drawer.
“Can I get you anything? Tea… or maybe something stronger?”
She cast an eye back across her bare shoulder, the suggestion being that he should admire both. Hogarth glanced at her shoulder and scratched the side of his head.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” he said shifting on his feet.
“Really?” she said with a smile. “That’s a shame.”
“Water. That’s what I need,” said Hogarth.
The woman nodded and filled a tall glass from the tap. As she passed it to him, her fingers grazed over his. Hogarth took the water and gulped it half down.
“Take a seat. There’s a nice view of the garden. We call it our little zen garden.”
“You said this was urgent, Miss Flount. And we were talking about the business.”
“No, Inspector. You were. But to be honest I find the business rather dull. All businesses in fact. I’m really the creative type. I look for opportunities where I can, and I let business take care of itself.”
“And that works for you, does it?”
Flount turned and gave him the full force of her smile.
“It tends to most of the time,” she said.
Hogarth blinked.
“But you do know something of Grant’s business affairs. You must do. He seems to trust you a lot.”
“He does. And I know a few other things because I look and listen.”
“Such as?”
“That Grant’s not paying enough attention to the things that matter in his business. The bottom line. Money in, money out. Cash flow, as they say. But not just that. It’s about personnel. Everything’s related, isn’t it? Business isn’t my bag, but if you run one like Grant does, then you have to be absolutely on top of it.”
“And what wasn’t Grant on top of?”
“His personnel.”
The kettle boiled and the woman made herself a cup of tea. She stirred vigorously, left the bag in and didn’t add milk. Instead, she walked towards Hogarth and indicated he should take a seat on the bench at the table in front of the patio doors. Hogarth did as he was bid. For now it was easier not to resist.
She sat down close beside him and glanced outside. He followed her eyes.
“Pretty, don’t you think?”
Hogarth turned to find her looking at him, and his eyes lingered on her face. He blinked and forced his tired eyes away, looking out over the neat garden of stones and elegantly pruned trees. “It looks… good…” he said, his words trailing away. He reached for his water. “Personnel, Miss Flount. You not being staff, that would seem to take you off the list.”
“I am off the list, Inspector. I would never harm Grant. I wouldn’t hurt a hair on his impulsive little head. But I still see threats in his business.”
“Such as?”
“Brett is a shark. A greedy one, you might have noticed.”
“Greedy? You don’t just mean he’s overweight.”
“He’s greedy in all ways.”
“He wants the business, you mean?”
“Have you met Brett?”
“I’ve heard him. Seen him, I’ve not met the man.
“And do you agree?”
Hogarth didn’t reply. It was dangerous to share confidences.
“I’m reserving my judgement – on everyone – until I can be sure what’s going on.”
The woman sipped her tea and nodded her head. She slid a little closer and Hogarth felt the proximity of her body heat on his left-hand side. He sipped his water. He had the feeling of a man on a rollercoaster which was about to set off. He felt the need to hold on tight.
“Do you think you know who tried to sabotage Grant Dawn’s car, Miss Flount?”
“No. I have opinions, but no firm view.”
“Then what was so urgent that you needed me to come here?”
“I needed to talk to you, and I wasn’t sure you’d come unless you had sufficient reason.”
“Talk to me? Why?”
“You contacted me on Instagram, then you went a little quiet. But you did contact me. Which counts for something, I think.”
“I didn’t have your contacts details. If I’d had your number, I would have called.”
“No. You could have tried to contact Grant. But you messaged me.”
“I knew you were on social media. I remembered that.”
“So you looked for me. And then you found me… But you never answered my question, Inspector.”
“What question?” said Hogarth, finishing his water.
“Did you like what you saw?”
The woman pulled a lock of hair from the side of her face and looked him in the eye. She held his gaze and slid closer towards him, setting down her cup in the process. She shifted close so her shoulder touched his. Hogarth knew he should have moved away, but he waited. He told himself he would choose his moment. She edged closer and Hogarth tensed. He battled with temptation and knew he was being a stupid old fool.
“Well?” said Flount.
Her perfume invaded his senses. He tried to look away from her eyes and found himself struggling to resist.
“Miss Flount.”
“I think you did. I think that’s why you messaged me and not Grant. And I think that’s why you answered my call and came here today. You must know why you came here. Can you see why it’s so very urgent…?”
Hogarth leaned back as she turned and leaned towards him.
“You gave me the impression you had something to tell me.”
“And I do,” she said, looking between his eyes. “Afterwards.”
She leaned closer. Hogarth pulled back and shifted away, his heart pounding, his head ringing with self-condemnation for his stupidity.
“Miss Flount!”
“Now call me Emily,” she said. She laid a hand on his shoulder and tugged at his arm, pulling him towards her. The woman shifted up on the bench seat and moved towards him, as if she was going to lean over him for a kiss. Hogarth backed away. He remembered his heated goodbye with Liz Burns on the steps of Southend Central. One stupid risk here, and Liv Burns would be no more than another what if, and his police career would be over. He shrugged Flount’s hand away from his shoulder and slid back, half stumbling off the bench seat.
“Come on! What is this about?” he said, swiping a hand across his face, and through his hair.
“About? I thought that part was quite obvious,” she said.
“Not really, Emily. But we both know I’m not really your type or your age range.”
“Then maybe you have me wrong.”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t see too many middle-aged men in blazers on your Instagram feed.”
“You were thorough, weren’t you?”
Hogarth’s eyes narrowed.
“I mean, Miss Flount.
You’re wasting my time.”
“Now, now. Don’t be such a cynic, Inspector.”
“Always been my trouble, that, I’m afraid.”
“I actually think you’re rather charming, in your own way. But there was something I wanted to discuss. A little bit of business.”
“Business? I thought you didn’t like business.”
“Think of it as an opportunity then. A creative opportunity.”
Hogarth frowned.
“We both know you’ve got involved in a situation you shouldn’t have.”
Here it came. Hogarth felt a new dark curtain about to descend. But he waited and hoped. Emily Flount smiled on. “And it’s too late to back out now, isn’t it? So you’re going to have to see it through. I can see that.”
“Things have changed, Miss Flount. This is now official police business. Of course I’ll see it through. And if someone did try to kill Grant Dawn, then I’m going to find them.”
“I’m sure you will. But seeing as you’ve been placed in an awkward position, I don’t see why you shouldn’t benefit from all the risks you’ve taken.”
“What are you suggesting? This is a clean investigation.”
“Then you wouldn’t get into trouble if your superiors found out that you knew Grant wasn’t dead?”
Hogarth grimaced. “What is this?”
“Don’t worry, Inspector. I’m not blackmailing you. I said this was an opportunity. Somewhere in all this mess there is one hundred and fifty thousand pounds in cash hanging around like an unclaimed lottery prize. The way I see it, that money is going to disappear. It’s up for grabs. If Brett knew where it was, it would be gone in a heartbeat.”
“The cash? I thought you were on Grant’s side?”
“And I am. But I’m also on my side, and while things look good in my profession, there’s always a need for more. And once Grant starts clearing cheques from his clients again, this little sum will be forgotten. And who knows, he might think Brett took it from him. Not us.”
“Us?” Hogarth shook his head. “I thought I’d made it clear. I’m not into bribes.”
“This isn’t a bribe. This cash is waiting to be claimed. It’s been drawn from the bank. And dear Grant will just as likely lose it as spend it. So we may as well take it off his hands. You’ve already shown you’re more than willing to bend a few rules. All we need you to do is help and take half of the money for your trouble.”
The Secret Dawn Page 13