The Secret Dawn

by Solomon Carter

  Dawn met their eyes behind the glass and broke into a jog. Something wasn’t right. He raced to the car and Hogarth wound down the window.

  “What’s up?”

  “Sabine’s not there. Where is she? Her car is on the drive and there’s nothing around here for miles… she would have used the car. She would have had to use the car.”

  Dawn’s eyes were filled with bright panic.

  “Steady on, Mr Dawn. Calm down. Your wife had a beef with Brett Reville, and now Reville’s gone, so she has nothing to worry about. And I warned your wife about drink driving. Chances are she’s just walked down the shop to fetch a few more bottles.”

  Dawn shook his head. “No. She doesn’t need to do that. We get all our wine delivered in batches. Got one of those online posh winery accounts.”

  “Well… are you sure she had enough to last? When I saw her, she was drinking like a fish. No offence.”

  “She always did. I’m telling you, something’s wrong here.”

  “Have you called Emily?” said Hogarth, his temples starting to tighten, a queasy feeling stirring in his stomach. “Emily might have seen her.”

  Dawn shook his head. “Emily didn’t answer my call” said Grant.

  Hogarth frowned. “What about Instagram. You can message Miss Flount on that. She’ll answer you there. Probably,” he added.

  Palmer frowned and cast a sideways glance at Hogarth. He pretended not to notice.

  “Sabine would never go anywhere with Emily. They accept one another, yes, tolerate one another, maybe, but they’re like chalk and cheese. Believe me.”

  “I already do. Mr Dawn. Sabine will be fine, we’ll check back here later. But right now we need to get you to a hospital to get you checked over. That can’t be overlooked. It’s an essential part of the process.”

  Palmer shifted in her seat and Hogarth turned to meet her eye and tried to convey something Dawn wouldn’t be able to understand. Palmer nodded. They would address the Sabine situation once Dawn had been entered into the hospital records. Procedure had to be observed to bring the case back under control.

  “I don’t like it,” said Dawn, mumbling. “This isn’t right at all.”

  “Just get in the car, we’ll take you to the hospital, and I’ll start calling around. I’ll drive you back here right after you’ve been seen. By which time your wife will be back in the living room opening a fresh box of Chardonnay, you mark my words. “

  Dawn offered a fraction of a smile, but it faded as fast as it appeared. Almost on autopilot, the man clambered into the back of Hogarth’s car, and slammed the door again. Hogarth started to drive before Dawn got cold feet.

  He glanced back at Dawn as he drove. With every glance, Hogarth began to feel more unsettled, as if Dawn’s fear was contagious.

  Halfway through the journey, Dawn snapped upright. He leaned forward in the car.

  “She’s in danger. I can’t do this. I need to look for her.”

  “I told you, Mr Dawn, we’ll all look for her together. We just need to get the medical box ticked first. Get a quick check over, and we’ll make finding your wife an absolute priority.”

  Dawn leaned back in his seat, but his face stayed pale and drawn. Palmer looked across at Hogarth’s face, and saw he wore a similar look.

  ***

  Dawn walked into Southend Hospital with a blank look on his face with Hogarth staying close by his shoulder. Palmer walked close behind. The Accident and Emergency waiting area was as busy as he’d ever seen it, rows of chairs full of sullen faces, some clearly injured or in pain, others simply looking bored out of their skulls, as if they’d been in their seats for the whole day. Some probably had. Hogarth walked right up to the reception desk and brandished his police ID.

  “Excuse me, but this man needs help. He was in a car accident on Friday and he’s been ill all weekend. I need someone to see him urgently. Urgently as in now.”

  “Now?” said the receptionist, doubtfully. “And he’s serious, is he?”

  “Yes. It’s very important this man gets seen to.”

  Palmer looked around at the sullen faces of the waiting area and quickly looked away again. She felt guilty at stealing their place in the queue, but knew Hogarth was afraid of losing his moment to fix the case. The receptionist looked them over, and Hogarth stared back with equal vigour. The woman stood up from her desk.

  “Just a moment,” she said.

  Hogarth nodded.

  “My wife, Inspector, my wife…” said Dawn, in an almost pitiful moan.

  “I am aware, Mr Dawn. Let’s get you dealt with first.”

  The receptionist muttered to a medic in a blue tunic.

  Both women looked at them, reading their faces, Hogarth saw they were evaluating the degree of need. He stared back, demanding help, and finally the woman in blue made her approach.

  “Detective Inspector….?”

  “Hogarth.”

  “Seeing as this man was in a serious accident…?”

  “Yes,” Hogarth nodded.

  “We’ll see him now. Please bring him around.”

  Dawn moved reluctantly, tense and awkward. Hogarth stayed by his side. “Almost there, Mr Dawn. This really won’t take long.”

  But Dawn didn’t say a word. The medic appeared from a side door and ushered them through to a ward full of curtained cubicles. Nearby, someone was babbling as if mentally unhinged. Elsewhere an old woman was groaning in pain, doctors and nurses walked by with trolleys, and machines beeped. Dawn tensed again. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Yes, you should. Now go with the nurse,”

  “Doctor, actually,” said the woman in the tunic.

  But Hogarth barely acknowledged the comment. “I’ll start the phone calls.”

  “What’s a phone call going to do, man?” snapped Dawn.

  “It depends on who you call,” said Hogarth.

  “Stay with Mr Dawn, Sue. Keep him calm… and I’ll make those calls.”

  Palmer nodded, understanding Hogarth wanted to keep Dawn’s story straight as much as keeping him calm, which was going to prove a task in itself.

  Hogarth made his exit via the front entrance. He blew out a long deep breath and called Simmons on his mobile. From one tight spot to another, he thought. And he had to hope that Sabine Dawn was alive and well. He wondered if he’d made yet another crucial error in determining the level of threat to those involved.

  “Simmons!” said Hogarth.

  “Yes, guv. What is it? You sound—” Hogarth cut across his words.

  “Grant Dawn is out of hiding. It’s all official and hunky dory. I found him at the lock-up, and he made it there somehow after the accident, and was too unwell to ask for help…”

  “What? Oh. I see…” said Simmons, slowly catching on. “That’s what you’re going to say—”

  “That’s what happened, okay. PC Heybridge knows and I’ll tell Melford later. But now we’ve got another problem.”

  Simmons stayed silent. Hogarth felt his panic.

  “Sabine Dawn has gone missing… and it’s well out of character. She’s been locked up in that Rochford house the whole time except when she met Brett Reville. We need some feet on the ground to have a look for her, urgently too. If Reville was murdered, and Dawn’s car sabotaged, we can’t treat this lightly. Make sure whoever you speak to understands – we’ve got to find her.”

  “But where do we start?” said Simmons.

  “Rochford, the vicinity of Longacre Road – let’s hope they find her there with a bottle in her hand and a smile on her face. But if not, GDS’s office would be the next best bet. And while you’re at it, see if you can find Emily Flount too…”

  “Emily Flount?” said Simmons.

  As Hogarth was speaking, Palmer appeared at his side. He glanced her way and found her looking strained and pale, and breathing as if she’d just been running.

  “Hang on, Simmons,” said Hogarth.

  He took his mobile phone away from his ear.


  “Sue? What’s the matter?”

  “The doctor had just started the check-up, but then Dawn just got up and ran, guv.”

  “Ran? You what?! I didn’t see him!”

  “He didn’t come this way. He went out the back into the corridor. It’s a big hospital, plenty of exits. I just couldn’t keep up. I lost him.”

  “Bloody hell,” said Hogarth. He put the phone back to his ear, grinding his teeth as he spoke.

  “We’ve got another big problem, Simmons. Grant Dawn has just done a runner from Southend A and E.”

  “A runner? After what he’s supposed to have been through? That might look a bit unlikely…”

  “Unlikely is the least of our worries. Assuming his Capri was sabotaged, his life might be in danger.”

  Simmons voice became serious.

  “Okay, guv. I’ll put a call out for the patrols to look out for him.”

  “Good. And if you hear anything, contact me right away

  “Yes, guv.”

  Hogarth cut the call and started striding towards his parked Insignia.

  “Guv?” called Palmer. “Where are you going?”

  “Dawn’s gone, Palmer. Long gone. If he had any money in his pocket, he’ll be in a cab, no doubt already looking for his wife.”

  “Do you think he knows where she is?” said Palmer, following Hogarth’s lead.

  “I’ve got no idea, but I reckon he’d be guessing, just like us. Either way it’s no good us wasting time looking for him. Leave that to the uniforms. The best thing we can do is track down the killer. That way we can mitigate the danger.”

  “You’ve been chewing on something for ages,” said Palmer. “What is it? Where are we going?” she called.

  “We need to check something – something very important.”

  “Check what exactly?”

  “Brett Reville’s preference in chocolate, for a start. From what I’ve seen I thought it was Mars bars all the way. But I’m beginning to think he wasn’t all that fussy. I was always more of a Yorkie man, myself.”

  Palmer was speechless but gave up protesting and followed Hogarth to the car. They got in, and Hogarth started the engine. As he turned the car, he looked into Palmer’s eyes.

  “I know,” he said.

  “Know what?” said Palmer.

  “You’re a Galaxy girl. I’m right aren’t I?” said Hogarth. Hogarth’s car bounded out of the hospital car park onto the tree-lined dual carriageway of Prittlewell Chase, and they headed for Southend.

  ***

  They were back at Beach Road, back in the heart of gentrified seediness, among flaking paint and bright beach colours. But the rubbish bags were still gathered at the edges, and the rats wouldn’t be too far behind. Hogarth parked his car outside the house of one deceased rat and strode up to the front door. He ducked down and opened the letter box, just as he had done on their very first visit.

  “It just kept coming to me,” said Hogarth, peering up at Palmer from his crouching position by the door.

  “There was the big chocolate bar in Grant Dawn’s lock-up. The chocolate wrappers in Brett Reville’s pickup truck, the chocolate goo all around his big dead mush. It kept coming up, but I didn’t notice it at first. Even though it wanted my attention. I didn’t see it.”

  “I didn’t see it at all, guv. I’m still not sure what you’re on about.”

  Hogarth stood up and nodded at the letterbox.

  “Take a look for yourself”

  Palmer crouched low and peered through the letterbox. She saw the bright, ugly flowers on the living room floor. Further on, in the living room was the purple chocolate box, lid ajar, resting on the arm of the sofa.

  “The purple box, just like the big purple bar in Grant Dawn’s fridge. The colour doesn’t mean anything of course. Nor the brand. It was just a reminder. Like it was staring me in the face the whole time.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “The chocolates were there on Saturday, when Brett Reville tried to buy off Sabine Dawn off with some tacky flowers and cheap chocs and she sent him packing. She already knew what he was about… The girl likes a drink, but she’s always been the smartest of the lot of them.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It’s a hunch. Just another hunch, but this one’s got me tingling, Palmer. I’m sure there’s something in it. Stand clear of the door.”

  “What?”

  “Grant Dawn and his missus are off the reservation and there’s been a murder. I don’t need pathology to tell me, I know it. I think we can break one more little protocol to ensure we don’t face any more disasters.”

  “Breaking protocol is all we’ve been doing, lately.”

  “DCI Melford… Everything I know, I learned from him” Hogarth took a few steps back up the garden path before he charged at the door. He slammed his shoulder hard into the door, which rocked in the frame but didn’t give. Hogarth groaned and rubbed his shoulder, wincing in pain. “Why don’t they ever open like in the movies?”

  “We could call in some help.”

  “I’m knocking on, but I’m not a complete write-off yet,” said Hogarth.

  He stood back, raised his heel and kicked hard at the lock. He kicked once, twice, three times, the third with added brute force, and finally the door gave way, swinging in hard to clatter against the wall. A wall mirror shuddered and shook, but it stayed where it was. Hogarth wheezed and his body ached. He tried to hide his discomfort but Palmer saw it all the same.

  Hogarth half limped into the living room and teased the lid of the chocolate box open with the edge of his fingernail. He looked inside and counted empty odd-shaped gaps in the black plastic tray where the missing chocolates had been. Five were missing – the contents card indicated they would have been two caramels, two truffles, and a praline. Hogarth nodded to himself, then hesitated before picking up one of the foil-wrapped chocolates. He lifted it to his face and turned it over and over in his hand, running a finger over the foil. His finger traced over something. He lifted the chocolate closer to his eye and he rolled it again. He stopped abruptly and handed the thing to Palmer and picked up another instead.

  “Here. Look at that.”

  “What are we doing here?” said Palmer. “Apart from tampering with evidence?”

  “Proving a theory.” Hogarth spun the second chocolate over in his fingers and found what he was looking for, but much more quickly this time. A tiny pinprick puncture in the foil – only made obvious by the foil dipping into the hole.

  “Pinpricks, Palmer. Did you spot it? This chocolate’s got one too. I bet they’ve all bloody got one”

  “Pinholes?” said Palmer, suddenly spotting the hole in the chocolate in her hand. It took her a moment to register before she looked up at Hogarth.

  “The syringe?”

  Hogarth nodded. “A syringe. And who do we know who could well be an expert in syringes? My good friend Lady Flount…”

  “But how would she have had access to the chocolates?”

  “It’s a link, Palmer. It’s a link. We have to explore it…”

  Hogarth looked at the chocolate box, his eyes narrowing in thought. He took his mobile from his pocket and dialled, turning to the window to look through the net curtains at the flotsam and jetsam wandering down the street, probably on their way to the homeless centre.

  “Dickens? Yes, afraid so. You were bound to get a call from me some time, eh?” Hogarth smiled, but didn’t bother wasting further time on witty asides. “Brett Reville’s Ford Ranger. I know cause of death might still be up for grabs, but what do you think?”

  Hogarth nodded as he listened and Palmer heard Dickens’ faint hard voice, unable to make out a single word. She had to use Hogarth’s face as an interpreter. The DI shrugged and scratched his brow.

  “Listen, you’ll have seen the chocolate mess all over the dead man’s face, and his car,” said Hogarth. “But did you notice anything besides Mars bars and pie wrappers? Specifica
lly, how about some purple foil wrappers. Like ones from a box of chocolates. They screw up very, very small, you know.”

  Hogarth’s eyes snapped onto Palmer, narrowing and accompanied by a cunning smile.

  “You found some? Good. Good man. Do me a favour, John. Make sure Marris looks at those wrappers. I’ve got some chocolates for forensics to look at too. A whole bloody box of them… I’ll be in touch.”

  Hogarth thumbed the end-call button and started to dial again.

  “You think Dickens found the missing wrappers from this box – in Reville’s car?”

  “Sounds like it. Which means there’s a chance of some answers coming our way…” Hogarth turned away as his call was answered.

  “Ed?” The name alone told Palmer Hogarth was speaking to Ed Quentin, forensic pathologist. “How’s life at the sharp end? Droll is only a matter of opinion, as well you know. Listen, Brett Reville. What have you got on him?”

  Hogarth frowned, shook his head and stared down at his shoes. “That can’t be right. Cardiac arrest? Then what caused it? I mean, the fella was porky, but he was hardly a butter mountain…”

  Hogarth fell quiet and nodded as he listened.

  “Ed. Age, weight, lifestyle… yeah, I get all that. But this man chose a very specific and strange moment to drop down dead, and not just because he couldn’t wait until the end of his last Mars bar. This man was in the middle of a choreographed attempt to take over his boss’s business. His deceased boss – who’s actually now alive again. Don’t worry, Ed. All will become clear… Just do me a favour. I know you’re saying heart attack, but I think our man could have been poisoned. I’m looking at evidence in the form of a box of milk chocolates – I’m in the dead man’s house right now – and I’m telling you, Ed, these chocolates have definitely been tampered with. Humour me, will you? One more check. These chocolates will have to be checked too… Good man. Thanks. You’ll let me know, eh?”

  Hogarth ended the call and looked around the room, biting his lip.

  “Emily Flount…” he muttered. “Emily Flount… she has the needles and she’s sharper than any syringe. It could have been her.”

  “But I still don’t see a direct link to the murder, do you?” said Palmer.