The Secret Dawn

by Solomon Carter

  “But I think you’ll be wanting a chat with Mr Dawn, first.”

  Hogarth gave Heybridge a grim smile and the policeman turned on his heels. “I’ll send the rest of the report in soon as I can, sir.” Hogarth opened the file and started scan-reading the text.

  Five minutes later, Hogarth was back in his car, heading to Longacre Road for one last time.

  ***

  “Detective Inspector Hogarth,” said Grant Dawn. He opened the front door with a bottle of good French white wine in his hand. He held the bottle by the neck, casually, like a teen at a house party. His eyes were bright with alcohol, and he seemed in a very good mood.

  “You’re not on The One Show tonight then,” said Hogarth.

  “What? No. I said I needed a night to recover. We’re on tomorrow night. I could probably get you on there if you like. You might get a promotion off it, who knows?”

  “No thanks, and promotion isn’t going to happen. I’m like a jigsaw puzzle piece no one wants. They’ll slide me around until they lose me. People like me go sideways, never up.”

  “Shame. I think they’re missing out. Because I think you’re a man capable of thinking outside the box.”

  “But in this case there really was no box, was there, Mr Dawn?”

  Dawn’s smile wavered. A happy-drunk Sabine appeared at the man’s side in mid-giggle. She wrapped an arm around Grant’s shoulder and smiled at Hogarth. Drink seemed to be working wonders for the woman once again. The wounds left above and below her eye by Yvette George’s knife were dry, red lines, thin as a pencil mark. Hogarth reckoned it would heal without a scar.

  “Glad to see the happy couple are reunited. May I come in?”

  “Sure,” said Sabine. “You saved our lives.”

  “Actually, you saved yourself, Mrs Dawn,” said Hogarth.

  “But if you hadn’t come along, anything could have happened,” said Dawn.

  Hogarth didn’t contradict them. He walked inside the house, brandishing his file, and they shut the door.

  “There are just one or two matters to deal with, then I can let you get on,” said Hogarth.

  Dawn waved a friendly but dismissive hand.

  “What is it? Gurney? The PI?” Dawn glanced at his wife and chose his words carefully. It seemed she still didn’t know everything. “Don’t worry about him. I’m paying him a little extra to soothe his ego. He’s going to disappear and take it all with him. You’re safe with me, and so is everything else.”

  “A PI?” said Sabine, looking at Grant.

  “Long story,” said Grant. “I’ll fill you in though, don’t worry.”

  Grant Dawn’s words acted as a reminder of something forgotten, something unpleasant. Hogarth’s thin smile flickered as Melford’s face invaded his thinking.

  “No. It’s not Gurney,” said Hogarth. “It’s the sabotage of your Capri, Mr Dawn.”

  Dawn’s face changed in an instant, taking on a look of shock and surprise. “The sabotage! Damn it, I was so relieved about everything else I almost forgot about that…”

  Hogarth nodded and opened Heybridge’s file. He ran his finger down the page, flicked it over and started on the next sheet, and then the next. But there it was. He raised the sheets in front of Dawn’s eyes and pointed to the section of special interest.

  “We had a forensic collisions expert run through what was left of your car with a fine-tooth comb. Virtually all the mechanical parts underneath the car were so damaged by the impact and the silt that forensics almost had to abandon the work. But they pressed on and took the car apart. And do you know what they found when they did, Mr Dawn?”

  Dawn shook his head.

  “It’s all here, but I’ll tell you, shall I? They said the brake pads and discs showed a huge amount of wear and tear and should have been replaced years back. They said the engine was damaged, corroded and leaking oil.”

  “Yeah,” said Dawn. “But that happens with old cars. They always burn oil. I knew about that.”

  “And they said the general state of the car underneath the body wasn’t good. In short, it wouldn’t have passed any MOT. Not even a mickey one from the dodgiest mechanic you know. No one could ever pretend that car was in good nick.”

  “I told you, I was running my lock-up as a secret hobby. It was very low-budget. I was going to get them seen to in better times.”

  Hogarth shook his head and jabbed the sheets again. “Your brakes failed, didn’t they, Mr Dawn? That’s what you said.”

  “Yes. You know all that. Someone cut those cables and drained the brake fluid.”

  “Which, as this report says,” Hogarth began to read from the sheet, “a lack of brake fluid could have led to critical failure of the car’s ability to slow and stop and, if the car was driven at the high speeds local witnesses observed, would almost certainly have resulted in a serious accident like which occurred last Friday night.”

  “See?” said Grant. “I was right. Someone did sabotage those brakes.”

  “No, Mr Dawn. You’re wrong. Because this report says those brake fluid cables showed signs of near total failure due to age deterioration. The cables were split, not cut. It wasn’t sabotage, Mr Dawn. A lack of maintenance was the real reason your Capri’s brakes failed. And you almost died because of it…”

  Hogarth let the thought sink in.

  “But… the way they failed… so sudden, so dangerously… it had to be sabotage. That’s the whole reason why I called Max…” Grant Dawn glanced at his wife and his voice trailed off.

  “Yes. I know, Mr Dawn. I know all too well. A word of advice, if I may? After you’ve finished with the publicity and the press, if I were you, I spend a bit of money on those old jalopies of yours, before anything like this happens again. Or maybe, buy a newer one, eh? With Reville and George out of the way, I reckon you’ll be able to afford it.”

  Dawn’s face turned red. “Jeez. I never knew.”

  “So I gather.”

  “Sorry, Inspector. Sorry about everything. You know, I’m still more than willing to offer you something for your trouble.”

  “No way. I thought I’d been clear about that, haven’t I?”

  “You have, yes,” said Dawn.

  “Then thanks all the same, but no. But there is one thing I’m curious about. Well, two actually.”

  “Yes?” said Dawn.

  “It looks like you’ve tidied up in here,” said Hogarth. “Tell me. Did Emily ever find that money?”

  Dawn grinned again. “Well, no she didn’t.”

  “I thought she wouldn’t.”

  “See, Inspector, there’s cash and then there’s cash. Wait there a sec, will you…?”

  Grant Dawn walked into a side room and returned with a large bar of chocolate in purple paper and foil wrapping. The packaging had been torn open on one side, and a corner square was missing.

  “That’s the chocolate bar from the lock-up, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Dawn. He pulled the purple foil open and shook the bar towards his empty palm. A red plastic credit card slipped out and landed in his hand. There was a red and white Post Office logo in the corner.

  “See, I drew the money from the business, as cash. But cash doesn’t have to always stay in paper form, not these days. This is one of those pre-pay cash cards. If say, I went to anywhere in the world, anywhere from Antwerp to Andalucía,” said Dawn with a sparkle in his eye, “this little card contained all the cash I would need to set myself up again. It’s still cash. Plastic cash. The kind I can hide anywhere.”

  Hogarth nodded and gave a thin smile. “What of Emily then? She’s off the Christmas card list, I take it?”

  “What? No way,” said Dawn. “Emily’s just a wild child, same as I am. We’ve been unpredictable and feisty our whole lives. But I think I might get the front door key back off her, mind.”

  “You’re a glutton for punishment, Mr Dawn, you really are.”

  “I am, yes. But are you? It didn’t escape my notice you a
nd Emily had a little bit of chemistry going on…”

  “What? Me? I think your cousin could do a bit better than that. She was having me on.”

  Dawn shook his head. “I know her, Inspector. You don’t. It wasn’t all put on. I could put in a word for you if you like, arrange a date maybe—"

  “No fear!” interrupted Hogarth. “No offence, Mr Dawn, but thrilling as that sounds, I think I prefer to keep my life simple.”

  “Wise move, Inspector,” said Sabine. “You saw what she did to my house? Next thing that would have been your head.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Hogarth, preparing to withdraw.

  “So… am I in trouble for anything?” said Dawn.

  “Not any more than I am,” said Hogarth.

  “What about neglecting my brake cables?”

  “You survived death twice, Mr Dawn. I think we’ll leave matters there, eh?”

  Dawn put out his hand and Hogarth took it. “We’ll be in touch, Mr Dawn. Until then… see you on TV.”

  He walked away into the early evening air, a hint of excitement prickling his chest and stomach. He turned back to catch Grant Dawn just before the door closed.

  “Just one last favour,” said Hogarth. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and jangled his keys.

  “Yes?”

  “Max Simmons. Have you got his number? I’d love to have a little word.”

  “Max? You know him, do you?” said Sabine.

  Hogarth nodded but said nothing. “Wait right there, I’ll fetch it for you,” said Sabine. She staggered away towards the distant kitchen.

  “Not on the wagon yet, then,” said Hogarth.

  “She’s got an excuse today,” said Dawn. “What do you want with Max? I’m sure you could have asked his son, DC Simmons, instead.”

  “What DC Simmons doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, Mr Dawn.”

  “Oh. What are you going to do?”

  “Have a chat. That’s all. Just a friendly little chat.”

  Sabine Dawn returned with a post-it note. There was a number and the name Max scrawled across it. “There you go. Say hi to Max from me, won’t you?”

  “Oh, I certainly will, Mrs Dawn,” said Hogarth. He raised a hand of goodbye and turned away and the door finally closed behind him. His day was almost over. But one of the most difficult tasks was yet to be done…

  Twenty-five

  Hogarth bought himself his reward ahead of time. He went to the big convenience store at the end of Thorpe Bay Boulevard – the road where the other half lived, shopped, ate, and drank. Not really the other half, Hogarth mused, more like the other tenth. The big money people. But the local convenience store wasn’t much of a showy place. Like all the other convenience stores, a shop of last resort, of failed dinner plans rather than shopping lists. Even those with money wouldn’t have blasted it here. But then again this wasn’t just a shopping trip. It was reconnaissance and it was a venue for a meeting. Hogarth walked into the big shop, strolled to the counter and pointed to the row of expensive bottles of single malt. They were racked up on the top shelf beside the overpriced champagne and the Courvoisier. The young shop worker behind the counter seemed to recognise him, giving Hogarth the doubtful squint of a man he couldn’t yet place. Hogarth didn’t yet remind him. As the young man processed his payment, Hogarth looked down the counter, towards where the older manager was either busy doing some admin work on his laptop or was browsing the web to pass the time. After paying, Hogarth took his credit card back and looked at the receipt. He hadn’t been listening when the young man mentioned the price, so the numbers on the receipt disturbed him. “How much? That’s a fiver more than anywhere else?”

  The young man shrugged. “We’re a convenience store. No one ever said we were the cheapest.”

  “A convenience store? Well, I find that price inconvenient.”

  “Want a refund? Or maybe something cheaper?”

  Hogarth eyed the blended whiskies; the staple Christmas present which whisky drinkers always drank last “No thanks. I’ll suffer it this time…” No one had queued behind him, so Hogarth lingered and looked the young man in the eye.

  “You had any trouble with that man in the baseball cap since last time?”

  “Excuse me?” said the young man, frowning in confusion, until the manager sitting by the computer revealed himself as sharper than he appeared.

  The older man stood up, tilting his head back and looked at Hogarth with a frown. “Can I help you at all?”

  “Let’s find out, shall we? I was wondering if you’d had any trouble from the master criminal who forgot to strike. The thief who didn’t steal from your shop. You had a whole squad of police officers here because of him. Remember?”

  “What? Oh. You. I remember you, alright. You came here with Melford.”

  Melford? It was odd to describe anyone only by their surname, thought Hogarth. Unless they were in the army or knocking around the school playground. But this man was neither. Yes, the man seemed familiar with the DCI… just like the car salesman, Gerber. But why were they familiar? What was the connection?

  “You didn’t want to help at all, as I remember,” said the man.

  “I couldn’t see anything to help with, sir. And seeing as I was already in the middle of a murder investigation at the time…” said Hogarth, letting his words trail off. “But have you had any more trouble since then?”

  “No,” said the man, regarding Hogarth thoughtfully. “I think DCI Melford must have scared them off.”

  “Is that all you wanted?” said Hogarth, reading the man’s eyes. “To scare the man off?” The manager seemed to consider his response.

  “I didn’t want anything apart from avoiding trouble.”

  “Avoiding trouble. I see…” said Hogarth. “But that’s what everybody wants, isn’t it? Even the man who you were so worried about. Know him, did you?”

  The man shook his head. “I already told Melford all of this.”

  “Yeah. You probably did. But I like to double-check things. It’s in my nature. I might pop back again, just to see if your man’s come back. You know, just to be sure.”

  Hogarth conveyed more with his eyes, and the man closed his mouth. “Very good of you,” he mumbled, but he didn’t look happy about it.

  “Don’t mention it,” said Hogarth. “Friends of Melford, are you?”

  “What? No. I’m a local resident, a local businessman, that’s all. I needed help.”

  Hogarth nodded. “Right. I’ll send my regards anyway,” He turned away with a thin smile spreading across his face. Hogarth had no idea what kind of wasp’s nest he was poking, but he was pleased to poke it all the same.

  Hogarth went to his car and dumped the bottle of malt in the passenger seat beside him. The single malt and Hogarth sat together and waited, like two friends comfortably silent in each other’s company. Hogarth watched the shop window. Above the colourful window displays and shop signage, he saw the manager’s head appear. The man scanned the car park until he met his eye and Hogarth flicked a little wave. The shop manager disappeared. A moment later Hogarth saw him again, this time a cordless phone was pressed to his ear.

  Hogarth’s mobile rang – he guessed it was more than a slightly jarring coincidence. Hogarth picked it up and answered the phone call, no name on screen. A soft male voice answered the call. “I’m here,” said the voice. “Where are you? Oh, hang on… I think I can see your car.”

  “Well remembered, Mr Simmons. Just pop over and get in. The passenger door’s open.”

  Hogarth took his bottle and dropped it gently into the back seat. A half minute later, the passenger door opened, and silver-haired Max Simmons climbed into the car beside him and shut the door. The man seemed nervous, his face flicking from a smile to a guarded grimace. Hogarth let him squirm.

  “Why did you want to meet? And why here?”

  Hogarth shrugged and looked at the shop and smiled. “It’s… convenient.”

  Max Simmons didn
’t see any humour in Hogarth’s words.

  “What’s this about? My son? Has he done anything wrong?”

  Hogarth shook his head. “No, Max. You don’t mind if I call you Max?” But he didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Your lad’s still learning the ropes, but he’s a couple of years into the job. I think he’s doing pretty well. Could be better, could be worse. But he’s about where he should be.”

  “A very glowing report indeed,” said Simmons.

  “More glowing than any report I’d do on you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, Max. Your boy is trying to do some good in the world. He wears his heart on his sleeve and he gets things wrong sometimes. But most of the time he does good, and I know where his heart lies. The boy thinks he’s like you, Max, I know he does. But they say a man shall be known by his actions, Max. So in my experience, the two of you couldn’t be any more different.”

  “You can say that again. We’re chalk and cheese.”

  Hogarth shook his head. “No. It’s much starker than that. One’s good, the other’s bad. You Max, called us into a situation you barely had any idea about, didn’t you? I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on that score, because if I thought for one second that you’d actually known what you’d landed us in with Grant Dawn, I would have knocked you out sparko as soon as you arrived.”

  “What?!”

  Hogarth blinked at him. Max Simmons’s expression darkened.

  “You called us for help, Max. You called us for help.”

  “I didn’t call you. I called my son.”

  “And that’s even worse. Because me, you don’t know me from Adam, old chum. Who cares if you ruined my career? I’m nobody to you.”

  Max Simmons frowned and shook his head.

  “But your son… you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to help his dear old dad. Tell me you didn’t know what was going on, Max. Come on. Let me hear it. I need to know you aren’t the total bastard I think you might be.”

  “I… I…”

  “You threw your son’s career under a bus just to curry favour with Grant. For what? For a chance of a possible few quid in the future? Come on, Max! Tell me you didn’t know what you were doing!”