“I’ve got an idea on that, sir. I’m going to try and get into the car’s telematics.”
“Tele… what?” Caslin asked.
“Telematics, sir,” Holt explained. “Modern cars are pretty much run by computers now and top end marques are selling assistance packages as part of the deal.”
“Breakdown cover and so on?”
“More than that even. They can track you pretty much like we can an aeroplane. The car’s internal computer sends out a ping, similar to a plane’s transponder, and that gets relayed through cell towers to the manufacturer. That way, they know where you are when you need their assistance.”
“Are you telling me you’ll know where he is?”
“And where he’s been,” Holt added. “Before you get your hopes up though, let me flesh it out first.”
“In case it doesn’t work, Terry?” he asked playfully.
“That’s about it, yes, sir.”
Caslin hung up, “The world is moving forward at pace, Sarah.”
“Sir?” she asked, confused.
He shook his head indicating for her not to worry about it. Turning his eye to the passing landscape, he mulled over the details of what he learned from the conversation with Dade. The CCTV from inside the minicab office was indicative of an inside job. It must have been a member of Fuller’s crew who placed the bomb. No one else would have found the office so accessible. The hacking of the security system would have been possible via an external source but the suspected bomber was clearly known to the occupants. At the very least they were acquaintances and possibly even friends. Dade implied the Fullers had their own internal tug-of-war going on but for that to escalate into bombing one of their own establishments was bordering on lunacy.
“That guy, the one who came in right before we left,” Caslin said. “Where do I know him from?”
“I know,” Hunter agreed. “I had the same feeling but I can’t place him. What was his name… Mark, was it?”
“Yes, that was it,” Caslin said. “It’ll come to me.”
Chapter Ten
There were no skid marks visible on the road. The volume of rainfall overnight left a visible sheen on the surface. Caslin looked back up the road, analysing the curve of the bend as well as the adverse camber. An open stretch of highway such as this would undoubtedly see traffic moving at speed over and above the set limit for the road. They were surrounded on both sides by farmland, flat and fertile, running alongside the River Ouse. The highway was raised above the level of the land to keep the road open should the flood plain ever be required. Looking in the direction of travel, Caslin followed the route of the car. The four trenches gouged into the grass verge denoted where the vehicle left the road, doing so at a sideways angle with the driver having lost control in what must have been a four-wheel drift.
Grateful for the road closure, a police cordon was currently in effect a half-mile to the east and west, Caslin began the short walk back to the impact site. Several officers were walking the length of the road one hundred feet in each direction to try and spot any debris that may indicate the occurrence of a collision leading to the accident. Caslin reached the verge and circumvented the forensics officers, measuring and documenting where the car had left the road. Stepping up on to the bank, he looked down on the activity beneath him. Hunter saw him and offered a wave beckoning him down by way of a short path to his left. He acknowledged her but remained where he was for another moment, surveying the crash site.
The car left the road at a significant speed striking the verge at an angle with enough momentum to lift the car up and over, flipping it into the air before coming to rest on its roof at the foot of the embankment. Pieces of metal, plastic and broken glass were strewn all around them due to the car’s collision with a copse of trees on its way through before coming to rest. The mangled wreckage was such that Caslin knew no one would have stepped from it alive. Checking his footing, he descended the bank to be met by Hunter as he found stable ground.
“Just the one occupant in the vehicle, sir,” she said.
“Brian Jack?”
“Yes, sir,” Hunter confirmed, glancing back at what used to be a prestigious make of car but was now good for nothing apart from scrap. “Early assessment suggests he would have died upon impact. We think he clipped several trees before coming to a stop where you see it now.”
“Any witnesses to the car leaving the road?”
“No, sir,” Hunter confirmed, looking at her notes. “Nor is there anything to indicate what caused him to lose control.”
“Was he on the phone?”
“The car’s bluetooth wasn’t in sync with a mobile phone.”
“Hire car… he might not have bothered. Have we found a handset?”
“No, not yet but we haven’t finished the search. Judging by how fast we think the car was travelling, the area to cover is going to be pretty large.”
“What about the victim?”
Hunter produced an evidence bag and Caslin could see a wallet within it. She passed him a set of latex gloves and he put them on while she opened the bag and removed the contents. Passing it over to him, Caslin inspected them. There were several credit cards, none of which were registered to UK banks. They appeared to be Spanish. There were business cards for a swimming pool cleaning company along with a property maintenance firm. All of them carried the name of Brian Jack.
“Pool cleaning must be quite lucrative,” Caslin said, casting an eye over at the smashed Mercedes.
“We’re in the wrong business, sir,” Hunter said.
“Tell myself that every day,” Caslin smiled. He returned the cards to the folds of the wallet and checked the remaining pockets. Apart from approximately two-hundred pounds in cash there was nothing of interest. Passing the wallet back to Hunter, she resealed the evidence bag. Caslin walked over to inspect the car itself.
Coming to the driver’s side, he found the door open. The angle, along with the severe warping of the shape, indicated a forceful impact. Iain Robertson, clad in his forensic coveralls, was knelt by the door analysing the interior. The body of Brian Jack was visible beyond him, suspended upside down and still sitting in the driver’s seat. As he approached, Caslin could see the deceased man was held in position by more than merely the seatbelt. Coming to stand behind Robertson, Caslin knelt and looked up. The branch of the tree had been torn from the trunk by the force of the collision but not before punching through the windscreen and piercing the body of the driver. The branch now protruded through the body and also the rear of the seat. Easily measuring four inches in thickness, it had punctured Jack’s right-hand side, travelling in a diagonal direction upwards and exiting the body just below the left shoulder blade. The windscreen itself had shattered but the glass was held in place, sprayed with blood spatter, as was the roof of the cabin.
“That had to hurt,” he said aloud, drawing Robertson’s attention.
“How much he would have known about it is another matter entirely,” Robertson replied, greeting Caslin.
“Let’s hope so,” Caslin said with a frown. “It certainly made a mess of him.”
“Yes, it did,” Robertson sighed. “His right hand has been partially severed at the wrist. Cause of death will probably be penetrating force trauma but I’ll leave that to Alison to confirm.”
“Any idea how long it will take you to free him up?” Caslin asked, considering when the body could be shipped to pathology for Dr Taylor to begin her examination.
“You got somewhere you need to be?”
Caslin laughed, “Any early thoughts?”
“A few,” Robertson said, standing up. “I think the car was travelling in excess of seventy miles per hour when it left the road. Judging from the impact on the verge, I’d suggest before he lost control he was going even faster. The speed would have declined as the car lost grip and the driver lost control but there was no way he would have made the bend in the road, not at that speed. I’ll put a proper calculation toge
ther later.”
“Have you got a cause?”
“I can rule things out rather than in at this point,” Robertson explained. “Once we can get what’s left of the car back to the workshop, we’ll strip it down and analyse the mechanicals. It’s virtually brand new though, barely ten thousand miles on the clock if I had to guess. I haven’t been able to reinitialise the digital dash but the index has it as registered this year. Tyre treads show minimal wear and a cursory inspection of the brake disks hasn’t thrown up anything to make me think they are faulty. I’ll caveat that by saying you’ll have to wait before I will go definitive on that.”
“Could we be looking at something non-mechanical?”
Robertson eyed him warily, “You’re expecting foul play?”
“Wouldn’t rule it out,” Caslin said, scanning the length of the car.
“I’ll check out the obvious, brake lines, fuel lines and so on. Likewise, once I’m able to download the files from the engine management system, I’ll run the diagnostics. There’s always the possibility of a power steering failure. Should that happen at high speed or any speed above forty, for that matter, keeping the car on the road could become problematic. There is also this,” Robertson said, pointing to the rear and indicating for Caslin to join him.
They walked to the back and then around to the nearside of the car. The ground was wet and slippery and both men took care with their footing. Caslin took in the damage to the bodywork, it was substantial. Robertson pointed out a specific section of the rear-quarter panel, just behind the wheel. The body of the car was scuffed from the edge of the arch back to and including the moulded bumper. Caslin questioned the finding with a flick of his eyes. Robertson produced a powerful Maglite and aimed the beam on the paintwork. Caslin looked closer.
“What am I looking at?” he asked.
“Red paint,” Robertson said.
“The car is red, Iain.”
“Look closer,” Robertson pointed out, inclining his head to where he was focusing the beam. “It’s a different shade of red.” Caslin moved closer and at first, he couldn’t make it out but as his eyes adjusted, he saw the scrape. Roughly half an inch wide with a couple of smaller scuffs running above the largest, the paint here appeared to be of a darker shade. “More of a burgundy, I would suggest.”
“Agreed,” Caslin said. “A collision with another vehicle?”
Robertson shrugged, “I wouldn’t jump to a conclusion. You’ll need to contact the hire company. There’s every possibility it’s historic and unrelated to the accident. This could easily be the result of poor driving in a car park somewhere.”
“It could also be a PIT manoeuvre?” Caslin suggested, referring to the pursuit intervention technique where a fleeing vehicle is tagged at that specific point of the bodywork, causing the car to shift abruptly sideways and out of control. To carry out such an action at speeds in excess of seventy miles per hour on this type of road would lead to a catastrophic outcome. Casting an eye across the scene, Caslin figured that this description was certainly apt.
“The thought had occurred,” Robertson said. “Have you identified any reason why he would be a target?”
“Not yet but there’s quite a lot of movement around this guy and I’m yet to figure it out.”
***
“What do we have on Brian Jack?”
“Not a lot, sir,” Hunter said. “I’ve checked with both Europol and Interpol and he isn’t on either of their radars.”
“I’ve also made some discreet inquiries about his business interests in southern Spain, sir,” Holt said. “He has a number of low-key contracts with the ex-pat communities located in and around the city of Alicante and further along the coast as far as Torrevieja.”
“What kind of contracts?” Caslin said, staring at their information board and almost willing a connection to reveal itself.
“Principally in property management and maintenance,” Holt confirmed. “Smaller apartment complexes rather than your large hotel chains.”
“No issues with the local police?”
“None reported, sir,” Holt said, tossing his pen onto the file before him. “His businesses started up from scratch three years ago. I spoke with a very helpful lady who is chair of a group representing the interests of UK citizens abroad.”
“Sounds political,” Caslin said, frowning.
“You would think, wouldn’t you?” Holt said with a grin. “They are more of a social club from what I can gather. Organising the lawn bowls competition and barbecues.”
“And she knew him?”
“Well enough. She said he was popular and had rapidly established a presence over there.”
“And business was good?”
“She thought so. Although, she did voice her bewilderment at why a man of his age was so driven to launch a business at his time of life. I got the impression most of them were keen to focus on leisure time more than anything else.”
“He was a bit of a workaholic?”
“That’s not how I took it, sir. She raised his health as being a particular issue.”
“What about it?”
Holt shook his head, “Didn’t give me the specifics. I don’t think she knew. Could have been gossip.”
“Have any links to MacEwan surfaced or other known contacts?” Caslin said, looking to Hunter. She shook her head in the negative.
“Nothing.”
“Keep digging. Brian Jack came back to the UK for a reason and we need to know what it was. The last time we saw him he was looking decidedly unhappy. Why?”
“We’ll keep at it, sir,” Hunter stated. Caslin stood up and reached for his coat.
“Alison Taylor has the pathology report on Jody Wyer’s death ready for us and I’ll see if I can draw the preliminaries out of her regarding Jack’s demise while I’m there.”
Caslin stepped out of the office and almost bumped into Kyle Broadfoot who was coming the other way. He stopped him in his tracks glancing over his shoulder in such a way that lead Caslin to assume he didn’t wish to be overheard.
“Sir,” Caslin said by way of greeting.
“Where are we with the Wyer case?” he asked. Caslin was momentarily thrown. The more pressing case was surely the bombing in central York.
“Progressing, sir,” Caslin said. “But at this stage we are still short of any motive although we have several lines of inquiry to follow up on. I’m just heading over to pathology to discuss the manner of his death with Alison.”
“I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind?” Broadfoot said, gesturing with an open hand for Caslin to come alongside. The two men set off and Caslin felt a little awkward. His superior was taking such an interest in this particular case that he sensed there was more going on than he knew. He chose to test the waters.
“What can you tell me about Jody Wyer, sir?” Caslin asked as they walked.
“A fine young man.”
“You knew him well?”
“Well enough, yes.”
“In what capacity?” Caslin asked. Broadfoot stopped, turning to face him. “Sir,” Caslin added as an afterthought.
“Why do I get the sense that you are investigating me, Nathaniel?” Caslin raised his eyebrows and exhaled heavily.
“Probably because I am, sir,” he said, seeing little sense in dressing it up. “Figuratively speaking. I wouldn’t say you’re not being straight with me but let’s be clear, you’re not telling me everything that you know.”
Broadfoot drew breath, glancing along the corridor as a uniformed officer came into view before passing through a doorway and disappearing once again. “I knew Jody,” he said under his breath. “I have a relationship with him beyond his use to Major Crimes.”
“I see,” Caslin said. That wasn’t the response he’d anticipated. “What’s the nature of it?”
“Personal,” Broadfoot explained. “I knew Jody’s father, Keith, quite well. He was my mentor when I came through the ranks.”
“I did
n’t realise you came through the ranks, sir?” Caslin said honestly. He’d always figured Broadfoot to be what the rank and file referred to as a ‘plastic’ – a policeman recruited from university and advanced up the chain as swiftly as possible having never actually seen any front-line action. If Broadfoot was offended, he didn’t show it.
“It was a short-lived period,” he explained, “but one that shaped my views of the service. Keith Wyer was a top detective and when he asked me to be Godfather to his son, I wouldn’t have dreamed of saying no.” Caslin did some mental arithmetic.
“I understand that he lost his father relatively recently.”
“That’s right.”
“Bearing in mind Jody’s age…”
“I know where you’re going, Nathaniel. He was a surprise to both his parents. A welcome one, I assure you. I think Keith and Sandra found it difficult… having a child so late in life. Sandra passed away some years ago. She never even got to see him graduate from school.”
“Is that why you want us on this case, sir?” Caslin asked. “I’d understand. I mean… I don’t need to tell you it’s probably not something you should be involved in… but I understand.”
Broadfoot shook his head, “I’m not using your resource to settle a personal outrage, Nathaniel. Jody contacted me a few weeks ago and said he’d come across something he thought I should know.”
“And that was?”
“Genuinely, I don’t know,” Broadfoot said, lowering his voice. “But he wouldn’t have come to me without being sure I would be interested. That’s not his way.”
“He must have said something.”
“Only that he was gathering information and once he had it straight in his own head, he would bring it to me. I asked if I could help but he declined.”
“How did he sound?”
“Looking back, I would say stressed. Agitated,” Broadfoot said. “He has always been quite an anxious chap. Therefore, his mannerisms often reflected that. I didn’t think too much of it at the time but now…”
Fear the Past Page 8