Know No Evil

by Hampton Graeme

  Denning read the email.

  ***Spoken to Lance Grady. He rented the house in Foresham Grove because he wanted somewhere to crash whenever he’s in London – seems his sister’s just had a baby so he’ll be spending more time in the UK. He gave a spare set of keys to a friend so he could keep an eye on the place. ***

  When Denning read the friend’s name, it hit him like a punch in the face.

  He took Daniel Placzek’s passport from his desk drawer, opened it and looked again at the photo. His stomach turned a somersault. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing; didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. But he couldn’t avoid what was staring back at him, and suddenly everything fell into place.

  If he allowed for the age difference; the slightly receding hair now expensively cut and dyed blond… If he added a light brushing of stubble and a fake tan, he was looking at a photo of Alan Marsden.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Denning rang Claire’s mobile but it went straight to voicemail.

  Jumping into the Focus, he reversed out of the parking space at the back of the station, turned the car round with a screech of tyres and pulled out onto Stoke Newington Road, narrowly missing an oncoming bus.

  He placed his phone in its holder on the dashboard, turned the speaker on, and kept trying Claire’s number. Each time he got her answering service. On the third attempt he left a message urging her to contact him as soon as she got the message. He remembered her saying something about having split up with Marsden, but he couldn’t remember the details. Cursing when he had to stop the car at a red traffic light, he berated himself for having been stupid enough to let his son and his ex-wife get so close to a man as dangerous as Alan Marsden. He’d had his suspicions about Marsden the first day he’d met him; standing in Claire’s kitchen looking like a dog licking its bollocks.

  When he arrived at Avonbrook Close, he parked against the kerb, jumped out of the car, ran up the driveway and banged on the front door.

  The Lexus wasn’t in the driveway, but Claire’s blue Mini was there.

  There was no answer at the front door. He headed round the back and tried the French windows. They were locked. He peered through the glass: there were clothes lying on the floor and dirty dishes on the table, and he immediately knew something was wrong.

  He spotted a neighbour hanging out washing in her back garden. She looked about the same age as Claire and there were a couple of young children playing at her feet. Denning didn’t recognise her, but assumed she’d moved in after he’d moved out. ‘Excuse me,’ he shouted over the fence.

  The woman looked up. She was pegging a man’s shirt to a rotary drier. ‘Can I help you?’ Her voice wasn’t unfriendly, but tempered with a note of concern at the sight of a sweaty stranger standing on her neighbour’s lawn.

  ‘I’m with the police,’ he flashed his warrant card over the fence; it was easier than trying to explain that he used to be married to the woman who lived there. ‘Have you seen Claire Denning today? Or her son?’

  The neighbour’s face briefly wrinkled with concern. ‘Not today.’ She finished pegging the shirt and stood with her hands on her hips, a young child tugging at her sleeve. ‘I saw her yesterday, around three-ish. She was heading off somewhere with her son and, well, I assume her partner. To be honest, I don’t really know them. We’ve only lived here a few months. I think someone mentioned something about her being divorced.’ She tilted her head at Denning. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Around three o’clock yesterday afternoon,’ he said. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes. They headed off in that big car of his.’

  ‘Did they say where they were going?’

  She shook her head. ‘I only saw them briefly. I was cutting the front lawn at the time.’

  ‘How did they seem?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Where they happy, upset?’

  Her face wrinkled even more. ‘Now you mention it, the little boy seemed a bit upset. He looked like he’d been crying. But then he always seems to be upset about something. He’s a bit highly strung.’

  Denning ignored her remark. He gave her his card and asked her to contact him if Claire came back.

  He raced back to his car. Once inside, he thought about what to do next. If he was playing this by the book, he should phone it in as a potential kidnap situation; arrange for back-up and declare a personal interest. But then it was possible he was overreacting. They still didn’t have any hard evidence confirming Alan Marsden was Daniel Placzek, let alone any real evidence that Placzek was their killer. Everything they had was circumstantial: a tenuous link between Marsden and the man whose garage had been used to store a van which was involved in the murders, and a ten-year-old photograph of Placzek that bore an uncanny resemblance to Alan Marsden. If he called this wrong, McKenna would have his dick on a stick.

  He needed to speak to Claire before he made this official. But first he needed to find her. And Jake.

  Wherever they were, his gut told him they were with Marsden. He phoned Marsden’s office, but his secretary said he hadn’t been in the office for a couple of days and his mobile was switched off. She wasn’t sure where he was.

  Denning needed to get a trace put on Marsden’s mobile, which meant he’d have to contact the station. He took the phone out of its holder and dialled Neeraj’s number.

  ‘Deep, it’s Denning. Listen, I need you to do me a massive favour, and this needs to be done off the record.’ He heard the hesitancy in Neeraj’s voice, but he gave him Marsden’s number and asked if he could do it ASAP. Even if the phone was switched off, it would still generate enough of a pulse to indicate its location. There was no guarantee Marsden would have his phone with him, but it was a start. Neeraj reluctantly agreed to do this, though he made it clear that he thought McKenna should be informed. Denning spoke quickly, unsure if his phone was going to die any second. He was wasting valuable minutes trying to convince Neeraj not to take this to McKenna, at least not yet.

  He thanked Neeraj, told him he owed him one. This would at least give them a direct lead to Marsden, but it would take time. It was likely that Marsden was holding Claire and Jake against their will. If he was their killer, he would know by now that they were onto him. The papers were full of the fact that they were close to making an arrest. Even if this was an exaggeration to try and reassure the public, it might be enough to make Marsden panic.

  Denning made a decision: he couldn’t wait for Neeraj to trace Marsden’s phone. If Claire and Jake were in danger, he needed to find them now.

  He gripped the steering wheel to try and stop his hand from shaking.

  Where would Marsden take them…? Grady’s house in Foresham Grove had just been searched; Marsden wasn’t at the office; he’d been staying with Claire whilst his own house was being renovated, at least before they’d split up… His own house? Probably one of his developments. He thought back to the time he visited Marsden’s office: the model of the luxury apartment block; the plans for a warehouse development; the church conversion…

  It could be any one of those, or even some other development Denning knew nothing about. Then he remembered something Angela Patterson had said.

  He started the car and pointed it in the direction of north London.

  Chapter Seventy

  Molly hadn’t expected to receive a reply from Denning, but it would have been nice if he’d bothered to acknowledge her email. She suspected the information she’d given him hadn’t been especially relevant, but at this stage in a murder investigation any little detail could prove useful.

  She was heading into work to speak to Broomfield. She’d made up her mind about resigning. Even if she stayed in CID she would have to run the daily gauntlet of everyone knowing she had tried and spectacularly failed to make it in MIT. She could live without the humiliation.

  The car park at the rear of the station was quiet. Molly convinced herself that the situation justified a cigarette, to calm her nerves if
nothing else.

  She opened the packet and saw that there were three left. Once this packet was finished, that was it: she would give up. She would give up the ciggies, the job, and Jon. Move away and start afresh. But then she’d tried that before, after Bex was murdered. It hadn’t worked then. Was there any guarantee it would work now?

  ‘All right, stranger?’

  Molly looked up and saw Trudi approaching from the door to the custody suite.

  ‘So much for giving up.’

  ‘This is it for me, Trudi. I’ve had enough.’

  Trudi’s raucous laugh echoed in her ears. ‘How many times have I heard that?’

  ‘Not just the ciggies.’ She exhaled slowly, enjoying the moment. ‘Everything.’

  Trudi touched Molly’s arm. ‘I know you’ve been through a shit time lately, babe, but the worst is out there now. Just deal with it. It’ll blow over.’

  Molly shook her head. She took another draw on her ciggie; she didn’t even like the taste any more. ‘I’ve fucked up.’ She jerked her head towards the building behind them. ‘And I bet I’m the talk of the locker room in there.’

  Trudi kept her hand on Molly’s arm. ‘Who cares what people are saying? Fuck ’em!’

  ‘It’s not just that, though, is it?’

  ‘Jon?’ Trudi stared at her cigarette for a moment or two, as though it would provide the answers to all their problems. ‘I thought you two were on your way to sorting things out? Now you know he’s not some serial, psycho pervert.’

  Molly tried not to laugh. ‘You make it seem so simple when you put it like that.’

  ‘Well, there is one piece of good news,’ Trudi said, smiling. ‘Gregor Kane’s screwed. Word is, it was Kane who put Daryl Bailey in hospital.’

  ‘Why?’

  Trudi shrugged. ‘Looks like our boy had stronger feelings for Leanne Wyatt than he cared to admit to. We don’t know if he actually did it himself or got one of his grubby mates to do it, but either way he’s going down for GBH.’ She smiled at Molly. ‘And that’s not all. A witness has come forward claiming Kane knew the batch of Ecstasy that killed Adam Sloane was dodgy. He’d been warned about it but still went ahead and sold it.’

  ‘Where did all this come from?’

  ‘Apparently he’s had a major falling out with his gang of little boys. Seems there’s some new piece of scum trying to muscle in on Kane’s patch and loyalties are being bought. And now that Daddy’s disowned him, the vultures are circling and someone wants Kane off the scene.’

  Molly tilted her head towards the sky and blew out a plume of smoke. A thick bank of cloud had appeared from nowhere, shielding them from the sun. ‘So we’ve got enough to charge him with Adam Sloane’s manslaughter now?’

  Trudi nodded. ‘And that’s down to you, babe. You can’t seriously think about chucking all this away.’ She looked imploringly at Molly. ‘You’re a good copper. Hang on in there. Keep your nose clean and reapply once the dust settles.’

  Molly finished her cigarette, popping the stub in the metal bin on the wall beside the door to the custody suite. She threw a weary smile at Trudi. ‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate this, but you’re wasting your time. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to go in there and hand in my notice. My mind’s made up. Oh, and I might throw a few choice words in Denning’s direction. It was me who gave him the link to the Ferguson case, and he thanks me by wrongly accusing me of leaking a story to the press, then he throws me off the case.’

  ‘That’s the other thing,’ Trudi said. ‘Denning’s disappeared.’

  Chapter Seventy-One

  The church was boarded up and looked semi-derelict. It was built from mellow brick and had a late-Victorian pseudo-Gothic look about it. There was scaffolding running along one of the walls and a triangular ‘For Sale’ sign with the word ‘Sold’ plastered over it hung precariously above the main door. The building seemed abandoned, as though somebody had started work on it but had stopped before they’d got round to finishing it.

  Denning parked his car in a nearby side street. He looked around, but couldn’t see any sign of the Lexus.

  This was where the taxi driver had dropped off Leanne Wyatt and her killer. A typically suburban street in north London with nothing out of the ordinary, except for the disused church standing incongruously at one end. It was the same church he’d spotted in a glossy picture on the wall in Marsden’s office: one of the planned development projects he’d boasted about. The church in the photo had been CGI enhanced to give an indication of how it would look after the conversion, but Denning knew he’d seen it somewhere.

  He approached the front door with caution and turned the ancient square handle. Nothing. The door refused to budge even when he put his shoulder to it. It probably hadn’t been used for years.

  There was a side door under the scaffolding, partially obscured by weeds and an untamed magnolia shrub, which he thought might be worth a try. He fought his way through the greenery and reached the door. It looked slightly newer than the one he’d just tried at the front of the building, probably a later addition. There was a brass knob, faded and green round the edges, but it turned when he twisted it, opening the door with a faint click.

  Beyond lay an eerie darkness and the distant sound of rustling.

  He knew he should phone this in, but the last thing he needed was CO19 charging in boots first and making a three-course meal of everything. He switched his phone to silent as a precaution, even though this would result in a rap on the knuckles from Betty Taggart.

  Inside the old church there was a musty, damp smell, like an old pair of shoes that had been left out in the rain. The rustling sound seemed to be all around him. Probably rodents, or bats. Bats in the belfry, he thought. But didn’t bats only come out at night…?

  Other than the incessant rustling noise, the church seemed ghostly quiet. Denning began to think he’d got it wrong: they weren’t here. Perhaps he’d got it all wrong. Maybe Claire had taken Jake away somewhere, to her parents, or to Alton Towers. But she’d have told him. And then there was what Claire’s neighbour had said about seeing Jake looking distressed.

  Gradually his eyes adjusted to the dark, helped by thin beads of light that filtered in through the boarded-up windows. He could make out a few discernible shapes: planks of wood and bags of cement that were no doubt part of the planned conversion. To his right was what looked like the framework of a wooden-studded partition wall. Loose electric wires dangled overhead like coloured spaghetti. Denning hoped they weren’t live.

  The rustling noise had now subsided; whatever was causing it had been driven back into the dark shadows that pooled around the silent corners of the building.

  Then he heard what sounded like a muffled cry coming from somewhere above. He wasn’t sure if it was human in origin, or if it was a bird trapped somewhere inside the building.

  He could make out a door to the left of him that looked like it might lead somewhere. Edging slowly forwards, and using the cool brickwork of the wall on his left as a guide, he headed in the direction of the door. When he reached it he was relieved to discover it wasn’t locked. Carefully, he pushed it open. In front of him was a staircase. Getting his bearings, he realised this must lead to the steeple.

  Again he heard the same noise as before. He couldn’t be sure, but it definitely sounded like a cry. He began to climb the staircase, as slowly and silently as he could. He grabbed an ancient metal handrail hoping it wasn’t going to come away from the crumbling wall, and cautiously edged his way up, feeling his way; all the time following the direction the muffled sound was coming from somewhere overhead.

  Roughly a third of the way up the staircase there was another door that opened onto a small, windowless room. There was a light in the ceiling: a 40-watt bulb dimly illuminated a sorry scene. Claire and Jake were sitting on the floor, hands tied behind their backs. Jake was whimpering, and Claire looked like she’d been crying. There was no sign of Marsden.

  Claire gave a
slight gasp when she saw Denning approach, her eyes squinting at him in the dim light. After a couple of seconds, recognition clicked in. ‘Matt.’ She blinked back tears as she struggled to try and free herself, but in vain. He could see she was shaking.

  He ran over to them, telling them it would be OK, lying that help was on its way. They had both been tied to an ancient radiator that looked like it would come away from the crumbling brickwork with one sharp tug, but it held firm when he pulled at it.

  Apart from being shaken and clearly distressed, his ex-wife and son seemed unhurt. It looked like he’d got to them in time. He untied Jake, trying to calm him with a reassuring smile and squeeze of his shoulders. Jake backed away, squirming slightly at his touch.

  ‘It’s all right, little fella, Daddy’s here. You’re safe now.’

  His son looked at him like he was a stranger. As soon as he was free he threw his arms around Claire and held on to her as though his life depended on it.

  ‘Jakey, you need to be a brave boy for Daddy.’

  His son looked at him with heavy eyes.

  ‘Matt,’ Claire’s face was wet with snot and tears as she spoke. ‘It’s Alan…’

  Denning started untying Claire. ‘I know. I know all about Alan Marsden.’

  Jake was crying now and still clinging onto Claire. Denning struggled to untie the rope round Claire’s wrists, but Marsden clearly knew what he was doing when it came to tying knots: it wouldn’t budge. Denning burnt his fingers as he tore at it, but the best he could manage was to loosen it slightly. He needed a knife. It was possible the builders had left something that he could use, but it would take time to look for it, assuming he could find anything in the dark.