Hogarth paused, his words had been an awkward ordeal, a struggle between an accusation and the need to make things right. The two men looked at each other a moment before Melford curled his lip.
“You seriously think you can talk to me like that? You’re only here because I agreed to take you on, man! I already knew your reputation as a flaky bloody policeman. But they said you still managed to get the job done. And that’s been true on both counts. Your old boss was a friend of mine, Hogarth. He gave me a detailed low-down on you before I took you on. About your past, your little misdemeanours. About how you like to rock the boat. About how you’ve got a big ego, and how you coast some investigations and then show up at others. I’d have to say he was right about all of it. You’re a very good detective when you want to be, Hogarth. But the rest of the time you’re a self-indulgent, arrogant, lazy prig. And now you have the audacity to challenge my authority as if we’re on the same standing!”
“I’m not challenging anything, sir. I’m trying to help you. And like you said, sir, I always get the job done, flaky or not,” said Hogarth, returning Melford’s fire.
“Yes,” said Melford. His voice settled and he stared into Hogarth’s eyes. “That you do. But here and now, please don’t make another seriously bad mistake. Stop trying to push me around.”
“Sir, this is about you. I don’t want you to make a mistake.”
“Don’t you dare push me any further. There’s enough question marks on your record as it is for me to have you removed.”
“I’m sure there are, sir. But removing me like that, making those kinds of judgement calls in retrospect, sir. Well, don’t you think that might seem… unethical?”
Hogarth’s eyes gleamed as he rolled the word on his tongue.
Melford’s eyes narrowed.
“You really don’t know what you’re doing, Inspector. You’re out of order, and you need to get your nose out of my business and keep it out. For good.”
Melford bustled past Hogarth, barging right through his shoulder.
“I might have read that as a threat, sir,” said Hogarth, turning to face his superior’s back. Melford carried on his brisk march, fists balled at his side.
“Read it anyway you damn well please, Hogarth. I mean what I say.” He turned back once more and fixed Hogarth with a stare.
“Keep out of my business!” he barked, and then he strode away.
Hogarth let him walk. If Melford meant to get rid of him, Hogarth knew the DCI would probably have even more ammunition by the end of the day. But there was little he could do in terms of damage control. The investigation was moving away from him. But Melford didn’t know how much Hogarth had heard.
“Flaky, am I?” muttered Hogarth. “Bloody good thing I always get the job done.”
Hogarth had now offered Melford a way out of trouble twice, and the DCI had thrown it back in his face. Which meant helping the man was longer Hogarth’s priority.
Melford had chosen to make an enemy of him.
Bad move.
Hogarth gave Melford ten seconds to get a head start before he marched up the corridor with the bit between his teeth. Far from beaten into obedience, Melford had just given him the shot in the arm he had badly needed. When the rules were against you, when brass like the DCI were already breaking those rules, then what did they matter?
Hogarth felt the freedom in that – it was time to get the job done.
By the time Hogarth had made it past Melford’s door and walked into the main office, PCSO Kaplan was long gone, and so were half the PCSO team.
“Kaplan’s gone out has she?” Hogarth called to Yarrow. The tall PC nodded from his desk.
“She has to do some work for us sometimes, you know,” he said with a grin.
Hogarth nodded. “I don’t think that girl is as green as she looks.”
“Then we’ll have you to thank for that, won’t we, sir?”
Yarrow didn’t know how right he was.
Nineteen
Hogarth checked his messages for new reasons to panic and was relieved to find nothing waiting. He left both phones aside and opened his work emails, ignoring the usual hotchpotch of standard-issue bulletins, police station round-robins, and the very latest rules on abuse of tea breaks, before he found one from Sabine Dawn. So, the woman had finally made it past the morning glass of wine. He saw the paperclip attachment alongside the heading and opened the spreadsheet. The damn thing took a good while to load, but as soon as the spreadsheet file popped up on his screen, Hogarth pressed print for the whole first tab of the most recent accounts, and again for the last unnamed tab. A moment later half a ream of paper started to spew from the noisy printer behind them. Hogarth picked up the few sheets he needed before the printer finished its task.
“Tidy up the printer will you, Simmons. There’s a good man,” said Hogarth, as he got his sheets in order.
“What’s all that?” said Simmons.
“Evidence. I hope. It’ll come in handy sooner or later. Sooner is my preference.” He turned for the door. Palmer watched him, trying to read his inscrutable, craggy face.
“Spoken to Kaplan, have we?” said Hogarth, eyeing the DC. Simmons looked up.
“No. Why?” he said, defensively.
“No reason, Simmons. Young love, eh. You youngsters barely come up for air. I’m sure you soon will. Hold the fort, will you? And if you hear anything from crime scene, Heybridge, or pathology call me right away, will you?”
“Yes, guv,” said Simmons. Hogarth noticed any mention of Kaplan still bothered him.
“Palmer,” said Hogarth, opening the door. “You’re with me.”
Palmer got up and grabbed her bag. “Where are we going?”
“To deal with our problem children, Grant Dawn and Emily Flount.”
“What? You don’t need me, guv?” said Simmons.
“Yes. I need you as the man in the chair, ready to take all actions necessary at this end,” said Hogarth.
Simmons sighed.
“And this will help, will it?” said Palmer, eyeing the spreadsheets in Hogarth’s hand.
“That depends on what Mr Dawn tells us next. Come on, let’s get out. Before anything else happens in this bloody madhouse.”
Hogarth marched out towards the car park and was relieved to find the back corridor empty. Palmer had to up her pace to join him.
“Why do you need me with you this time?” said Palmer.
“Because I want your enchanting company, of course,” said Hogarth. He looked at Palmer with a wry smile and saw Palmer didn’t buy a word of it. “I want you as a witness for what might become the substance of the case.”
“You think we’re nearing the end of the investigation? It doesn’t feel that way to me.”
“It doesn’t matter what it feels like. We’re running out of road on this one, just like our dear friend Mr Dawn. There were only ever five faces in this business.”
Palmer named them. “Grant Dawn, his wife, the late Brett Reville, Yvette George and Emily Flount.”
“Ah, dear Emily,” said Hogarth, eyes misting with a mixture of feelings – suspicion, irritation, and one or two other sensations he wouldn’t care to admit. “One of these buggers has to have done it.”
“Sabotaged the Capri, you mean?” said Palmer as Hogarth opened the back door.
“Tampered with the Capri, killed Brett Reville or both.”
“But the thing is none of those women strike me as grease monkeys. I doubt they’d know a gasket from a spark plug, let alone anything else.”
“You ever looked at a Haynes manual, Palmer? They tell you everything you need to know about any car you like.” He looked at Palmer’s blank face. “I guess not.”
“And for all we know Reville may not have been killed. He could well have had a heart attack,” said Palmer.
Hogarth raised an eyebrow and shot her a look as he stepped outside.
“Come on. You don’t really believe that,” said Hogarth. “I know he
looked the triple-fried type, but even so.
“But there was no obvious sign of foul play, was there?”
“Nothing obvious no, but that only means our killer was smart – or at least, thought they were smart. Haynes manuals included.”
Palmer narrowed her eyes.
“You know something, don’t you?” she said. “Something you’re not saying. Again.”
“Do I?” said Hogarth, with a shrug.
“I know you, guv. I’ve worked with you a good couple of years now.”
“I have a hunch. That’s all, so don’t get excited.”
“A hunch is better than nothing,” she said, but Hogarth didn’t say another word.
Palmer shook her head, knowing Hogarth wouldn’t say anymore until he was sure he was right. Hogarth pressed his key fob and his Vauxhall Insignia chirped and the locks opened. They got into the car, shut the doors and fastened their seatbelts.
“Come on. How did you arrive at this hunch?”
“How? Because I’ve got a very suspicious mind, DS Palmer. And because we’ve got to shut this one down, sharpish. There’s only so many bloody fires I can fight against the clock.”
“Speaking of which… DCI Melford? What happened with him”
“Oh. That,” said Hogarth, putting on an airy voice. “DCI Melford told me it was a misunderstanding, offered me a hug, told me he loved me, and said I’m due for a rise in the next pay round.”
Palmer arched her eyebrow and waited for the truth. Hogarth started the engine and selected reverse gear. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”
“What really happened?”
“Let’s just say, bad things, Palmer. Some very bad things.”
He saw Palmer still wasn’t satisfied, so Hogarth took a long, deep breath. He dawdled the Insignia towards the gate, reached out through the window and swiped his card through the reader and the security gate began to slide across the back wall.
“I wanted to keep you out of this.”
“I’m not Simmons, guv. It might be a good idea if you told someone. If this does turn into a corruption investigation, you’ll need someone to vouch that you were always in the clear.”
Hogarth nodded. “Yeah. I can see that… Melford’s into something, alright. I saw him pootling off by himself again so I followed him to the back of the station, and I caught him on the phone, talking to some guy called Glasson. It seemed to me this Glasson has him over a barrel. It could well be he was the guy Simmons and Kaplan saw him with last night. And it wasn’t a friendly chat, either. It was back-biting, argumentative. But I’ve seen a couple of bent cops up close in my time in London. They act all smooth, but when the crap hits the fan, they go into meltdown. I hope I’m wrong, but that’s what I think I’m seeing. But you know the weird thing about all this? Melford mentioned his wife.”
“His wife?” said Palmer.
The gate finally opened, and Hogarth pulled away into the exit lane.
“Yeah. And it’s not the first time either. Her name was on that note I found in his office. It doesn’t make sense to me. Surely, he’d have kept her well out of it. Dear old Eleanor wouldn’t want to think her knight in antique armour was bent as a nine bob note. I’ve met the woman. She’s just an old-fashioned housewife, boring, and butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-the-mouth. Very Hyacinth Bouquet.”
“The quiet ones, guv. Aren’t they the ones to watch?”
“Like you, you mean?” said Hogarth. Palmer kept a straight face. Hogarth continued “You could be right. Anyway. Melford’s due to meet this Glasson character tonight, over by the old MoD area. He must have meant Shoebury Garrison.”
“What for?”
“I’m not sure. But it sounded important. Maybe new instructions, or a bung.”
“And you’re going along, are you?”
“Me? Gatecrashing? Bet your bloody house on it. After what Melford just called me, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
Palmer gave him another questioning look.
“I’m a very flaky copper, but I still get the job done.”
“One out of two isn’t bad, guv.”
“Flaky? Just call me the Pillsbury dough boy. On second thoughts, don’t call me that, ever.”
“I still can’t believe you confronted him on it,” said Palmer.
“You two didn’t exactly give me any choice. I was always going to confront him, Sue. I just didn’t reckon on it being today. It’s going to be a very long day.”
Palmer nodded in agreement.
“Oh, and one other thing,” said Hogarth.
“What?” she said.
“We need to watch PCSO Kaplan. I caught her playing I-spy when I was after Melford. She nearly blew the whole caper and landed me right in it. I can’t have any more rogue players around. Keep an eye on her will you, we need to keep this under control.”
Palmer looked out of the window, staring through her own reflection.
When was the job going to get easier?
Twenty
“I wondered if you were going to let us in,” said Hogarth. He walked into the lock-up with his hands in his pockets, the spreadsheets tucked away ready for use whenever he felt the need. Palmer followed him inside, her eyes roaming around the concrete floor and across the dimly lit interior with a vague appreciation.
“She likes it,” said Dawn, grinning as he shut the door.
“It’s better than most knackered old garages,” said Palmer.
“It’s been three days already, Mr Dawn,” said Hogarth. “I think it’s high time you rose again, don’t you?”
“That depends, doesn’t it?” said Dawn, looking somewhere between smug and coy.
“Yes. It does,” said Hogarth. “It depends on whether you want to come up with a decent excuse for why you disappeared for three days, or if you want to face criminal charges for faking your own death.”
“No way. I’m staying out of the picture until I know who sabotaged me.”
“You suspect your wife, right?” said Hogarth. “You probably suspected Brett too, though that looks unlikely now, wouldn’t you say?”
“How was Brett to know he was going die? People like Brett and me, we think we’re going to live forever. Well, I used to at any rate. Brett might still have been responsible for my Capri. I’m waiting for you to prove it. Or Gurney. Whoever gets there first.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Hogarth. “You can’t stay hidden much longer.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“There are people looking for your dead body, Mr Dawn, including my subordinate officers who would have very good reason to put a serious complaint against me for wasting the public resources of not just the police, but the coastguard, the fire service, and every agency involved in your accident. Today – if you get found alive, that process stops. There’ll be no escalation. No further trouble. But if you’re not found, and your car does turn out to have been tampered with – then your death becomes suspected murder—”
“That’s what it is, damn it! That’s exactly why you’re here.”
“—then you end up as presumed dead. Effectively dead.”
“Well, bully for me,” said Dawn. “And whoever tried to kill me.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“I get it. You’ll end up in trouble, Hogarth. I know you’re worried. Which should give you all the motivation you need to find my killer.”
Hogarth jabbed a finger at Dawn’s face. “Listen to me you self-centred blowhard. Your wife thinks you’re dead. Your colleagues think you’re dead. The only people who don’t are your beloved cousin, who’s been busily looking for your cash ever since you vacated—”
“My cash?”
“The one hundred and fifty grand you drew down for whatever secret reason you had. Which I think I’m now beginning to understand.”
“You’re saying Emily is after that?” said Dawn, frowning
Hogarth sighed and nodded. His emotions had got the better of him.
&
nbsp; Dawn shook his head, but his grimace soon cracked into a smile. He chuckled.
“You think that’s funny, do you?” said Hogarth. “That the only people who know you’re alive are weirdos like Gurney and cut-throats like your cousin?”
“I really have no illusions about Emily, believe me. I know what she’s like. We were very close as kids. Competitive as hell, but close.”
“So you knew she’d look for the money? But doesn’t that cash give her a possible reason to want you dead?” said Hogarth frowning, his face full of disbelief. “Think about it.”
“No,” said Dawn. “I’m much more of a cash cow to my cousin alive than I ever would be dead. Her whole Instagram influencer schtick, she’s good, I know that, but like ninety per cent of those self-promoters on the web, it’s mostly just talk. She looks the part, doesn’t she? She’s got the body, the make-up, the eyebrows, I know all that. And don’t think I haven’t seen you looking, Inspector. It’s actually been quite amusing seeing her get to you…”
“What did she tell you?” said Hogarth.
“Nothing. Why?” said Grant, smiling more broadly. “Is there something to tell. Oh, you haven’t… have you?”
“No, I bloody well haven’t!” said Hogarth. He looked back at Palmer shaking his head, red faced and indignant. Palmer remained tight-lipped, but he saw she’d understood what Dawn had implied.
“You knew she was a shark, but you didn’t warn me. You say you even know she’s a fake. You’ve hidden information at every turn.”
“They’re all fakes, Inspector. That’s why the media call it Instasham. She has thousands of followers. All that stuff. But it doesn’t actually mean anything. I work in the business. I know. We tell other businesses it means something. But of course it doesn’t. It’s just leverage. The only thing that means anything is cash. Cold hard cash.”
“Leverage,” spat Hogarth. “Just like you leveraged police cooperation by persuading Simmons into this through his father? You’re devious as hell.”
“No. I’m not. I’m just a man who wanted to know the truth. This started with someone trying to kill me, remember.”
The Secret Dawn Page 24