The Darkest Deed: A Gripping Detective Crime Mystery (The DI Hogarth Darkest series Book 3)

by Solomon Carter

  “I’ve read it. Those are traces, barely quantifiable, and so small that Quentin hasn’t been able to verify what they are. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Okay, so discount those traces for now… it’s not just about the absence of any sedatives. What about this? Before she left her room, the woman made up a line of coke – top class coke – then just left it there for anyone to steal. Cokeheads, coke junkies, don’t do things like that. She would have snorted it before doing anything else.”

  Melford’s eyes remained dark, steady, and cynical.

  “I’m serious, sir. Either that line was left out for show, or, more likely in my opinion, Aimee Gillen was interrupted before she could snort it.”

  “That’s not a case. That’s an idea, Hogarth. Where’s the thrust of your case?”

  Hogarth sniffed. “Motive, then. I’m looking at that now. These skin flicks are a bitchy business, sir. From what I see, Aimee Gillen had rivals here. She was seen and heard arguing on the phone, and having secret meetings with other staff before she died…”

  Melford waited, but Hogarth had trailed off. “And that’s it? That’s the extent of your evidence?”

  “There will be much more, I promise you that. And what I’d question, sir, is why the Commissioner is interested in this case. What is he after here? I saw he was close with Darryl Regent the day we arrived. How does that work? Regent might provide good money for Johnson’s next campaign but that’s hardly official police business, as he claimed, sir. That’s Johnson’s self-interest.”

  “Self-interest or not, Regent is a serious player in this town, and so is the commissioner – whether you like it or not. Now listen here, Hogarth. I can soak up the commissioner’s pressure for you for a little while, on the basis that you can deliver me a strong case. As it stands at present, I have grave doubts about that.”

  “I’m working on it, sir,” said Hogarth.

  “I heard you the first time. But come on. Motive? You haven’t got that either. Your victim was a woman with no prospects at Harry King Studios. Who would have needed to kill her? She was almost finished as it was. And putting motive aside, where is your evidence? Eh? You say it’s coming. You’d better bloody hope it’s coming. And witnesses? Have you got any? The woman dies in suspicious circumstances, and on a hunch, you say it’s murder?! Who saw her attacker? Who heard her scream? Who saw the murderer fleeing the scene? You can’t answer any of those questions. Can you?”

  Hogarth sniffed and jangled the change in his chino pockets.

  “Not right now, no, sir. But it’s coming.”

  “Yes…” said Melford. “What you’ve got is barely enough to cover your modesty, Hogarth. If this one goes south, after all the bloody shenanigans with James Hartigan and his wife, I don’t know if I’ll be able to save your skin. And, if this turns into the kind of full scale mess it could be like, I’m not sure I’d want to. You better make sure you get this one right.”

  Hogarth sighed. “What do you want me to do, sir? Pull the plug? Say I was wrong?”

  Melford looked Hogarth in the eye and took his time to answer.

  Hogarth waited. Melford gave him a funny look then shifted on his feet.

  “You still think you’re right, don’t you?” said Melford.

  “I hope so, sir.”

  “Then in good conscience, I can’t tell you to sweep it under the carpet. So make it work. By hook or by crook make it work, because otherwise, Roger Johnson won’t just be after your head, he’ll want mine as well.”

  Hogarth grimaced. “He’s just a bloody politician, sir. Does he really have that power?”

  “I didn’t create the system, Hogarth, but I must abide by it. And so do you.”

  “Okay. Anything else, sir?” said Hogarth, wanting to get away before he said anything he would regret.

  “Yes. You may as well know, I’m under pressure to terminate this case or take it in hand myself. I can’t put them off forever. But what I can do is this. You can have 48 hours to turn this investigation into something worthy of a court case. If you can’t do that, I’ll have no choice but to pull the plug myself.”

  Hogarth narrowed his eyes and swallowed on a string of unspoken words.

  “Yes, sir. Are we done?” said Hogarth.

  “Indeed we are…” said Melford. Hogarth walked back towards the X-L building, gnashing his teeth. Behind him, Melford stood by his car and watched the inspector, before ducking back into his gleaming Omega. The car engine started like a song, and Melford glided away from the X-L having dumped every atom of pressure down the line to Hogarth. High above in the left-hand quarter of the X-L building, Hogarth’s eyes trailed to a window above the gym. A larger than life shadow briefly filled the glass before his drifting out of sight. Hogarth stuffed his fists deep into his jacket pockets and marched angrily on his way.

  He breezed through the reception without a word to find Palmer and Simmons standing by the main staircase inside Harry King’s Studios. From the way they looked at him, Hogarth knew they’d been talking about him. Simmons looked caught out. Palmer looked concerned.

  “So, what did Long Melford want this time?” said Palmer.

  “This time?” said Hogarth, with bitter laugh. “What makes you think he wanted anything different to the last time or the time before that? Melford doesn’t change. He’s making us walk on hot coals – again.”

  “What’s going on, guv?”

  “There’s a cascade of shit coming our way because of our good friend the commissioner. And why?” Hogarth looked over his shoulder for eavesdroppers. “Because like you said, Palmer, the commissioner is in bed with the neighbours. Melford’s getting it in the ear, and so are we.”

  “Is the DCI pulling us off the case?” said Palmer.

  “No,” said Hogarth. “He can’t do that in case I’m right, like I was right before. He doesn’t fancy the egg on his face. So instead he’s playing the noble card, indulging my whims. But he has given us a time limit. Forty-eight hours so we need to pull our fingers out. Harry King mentioned a girl here, someone Aimee Gillen got close to… she could be important…”

  “Chrissie Heaton,” said Palmer.

  “How did you know?” said Hogarth.

  “Annabelle Marks mentioned her too.”

  “Interesting…” said Hogarth, eyes narrowing in thought. “Palmer, this could be a sensitive area. Can you take on that angle? Look at this girl closely.”

  “I’m already on it, guv. She’s evasive. Shy and shady.”

  “Sounds promising,” said Hogarth. “If this girl was into the drugs too, then who knows, she could have hurt Gillen by mistake when they were getting high. I think King was suggesting Gillen and the girl were more than just good friends. Who knows how messed up a relationship could get in this place. And Simmons, I really need you to push the phone company harder for access to the RIPA report on Gillen’s phone.”

  “Yes, guv,” said Simmons.

  “Forty-eight hours, and every bugger here is against us. If there was ever a time we needed a breakthrough, it’s now…” said Hogarth.

  Fourteen

  A long time after the knocking had stopped, Chrissie Heaton carefully opened the creaking door of her pokey living quarters. As soon as she saw who was there, her eyes widened. She looked over Palmer’s shoulder as a few of her fellow actresses filed down the dim corridor behind her. Annabelle Marks was among them. Marks gave Palmer and Heaton an unreadable look as she walked by. Palmer gave them a polite nod and noted the stress etched onto Chrissie Heaton’s face.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “I asked you to be discreet.”

  “But you didn’t stop to answer my questions, did you? You ran off.”

  “I didn’t run off. I walked. There’s a difference.” The girl opened the door and let Palmer walk inside. Palmer moved in and closed the door. She looked around and took a brief appraisal of the room. It was dingy and narrow – half the size of Aimee Gillen’s room, and a third of the
size of Annabelle Marks’. The young girl’s status at Harry King couldn’t have been clearer. She was new and she was young. She was on the bottom rung. As life situations went, Chrissie Heaton couldn’t have got much lower.

  “It’s not much, is it? But it’s free. Kind of. And at least it’s mine. I’m better off here than I was next door.”

  “You think?” said Palmer.

  Heaton paused and gave her a look. “You’re judging me, aren’t you?”

  “No, Chrissie. I meant, is it worth it?”

  “It’s not as if I had the world at my feet, is it?” said the girl.

  “Come on,” said Palmer, failing to hide her irritation. “How old are you? Eighteen? A pretty girl, an eighteen-year-old full of potential and you’re here stripping for Harry King’s porno camera? Just so some dirty old men can—”

  “Hey, I get the picture. I’m young, but I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing. It’s better here, trust me. I’ll take whatever break I can, and make the best of it.”

  “And, what does your mother think about it?”

  “You think she gets a say?” said Chrissie Heaton, with a frown. “Her opinion doesn’t count. It never did. And with due respect, neither does yours. What we do here isn’t illegal, you know.”

  “No one said it is, Chrissie. It’s about how you value yourself.”

  “Yeah, well I value myself more than the gym ever did.”

  A gripe about the wages, or something more, she wasn’t sure. But Palmer felt herself being dragged into a dead-end street. Arguing with Chrissie Heaton was going to get her nowhere and Hogarth had made it plain he needed something soon.

  “When you walked away, I was asking you about Aimee Gillen,” said Palmer.

  “We already went over that, didn’t we?” said Heaton. Her eyes turned evasive as she spoke. “I liked Aimee. We were friends. But she’s gone. End of story. What else is there to say?”

  “We need to find out how and why she died. That’s crucial.”

  “Is it?” said Chrissie.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because most people around here act like they don’t give a shit about her. Aimee Gillen was getting flushed away and no one gave a damn. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. People are always flushing women away like that. We’re disposable, aren’t we?”

  “They say things are changing,” said Palmer, though she didn’t buy it herself. But she carried on regardless. “There’s the equal pay row, and that MeToo business in the States.”

  The look on Chrissie Heaton’s face said she didn’t buy it either.

  Those haunted eyes caught her. And there was something in the way the girl spoke those words. A history maybe. Or maybe her politics was coming through. Maybe both. But Palmer couldn’t press too hard too soon or she would risk losing the girl altogether. She left the background feeling aside for a moment and returned to the same blunt questions she had used before.

  “I need to talk about Aimee Gillen, Chrissie,” said Palmer. “Do you know how she died?”

  “Drugs… isn’t that what you think?”

  “But I asked you, Chrissie. What do you think?”

  Chrissie Heaton sighed.

  “Okay… Aimee was hurting big-style, that’s what I think. I also know she was the kind of person who wouldn’t take no for an answer If you told Aimee not to headbutt a wall, she’d do it all the more. She was the type of woman who wouldn’t stop picking at a scab, even if it she knew it was going to get infected.”

  “That’s a vivid description, Chrissie. Sounds like you knew her well. And what was the scab she couldn’t leave alone?”

  “Come on,” said Chrissie, with more than a hint of bluster. The girl looked away from Palmer’s eyes again. “You must have seen she was the type. The coke. The drugs. She wouldn’t stop, would she? Even when it was ruining her career and the rest of her life, she just wouldn’t stop.”

  The girl was hiding something. She had said too much and now she was in retreat. Palmer didn’t chase. She encircled the girl with another question.

  “A career? Is that how you see this place? As providing a career?”

  “Maybe. If I play my cards right. I could even end up as big a star as Annabelle Marks.”

  “Really? As big as that?” said Palmer, barely hiding her sarcasm.

  Chrissie Heaton picked it up and replied in kind. “Yeah. As big as that…”

  “How many of these movies have you been in so far?”

  “Two. But I’m booked in for another one. A much bigger role, too. Harry says he wants to interview me for that one first. Just to make sure I can handle the pressure.”

  “Harry King wants to interview you? One on one? Oh please, Chrissie, I think you’re smarter than that.”

  “And so what if I am?! I know how the world works, right? If I’ve worked anything out by now, it’s that. I know what I have to do if I’m going to get what I want.”

  Palmer stopped herself from launching into a rant. Instead she swallowed her moral words and nodded. She couldn’t play mother to Chrissie Heaton. She had to play the cop. A very, very different role.

  “Okay, you’re old enough to make up your own mind.”

  “Too right, I am. I’m eighteen. I’ve seen more than most already.”

  Palmer paused to let the girl have a moment to feel victorious.

  “Tell me more about Aimee Gillen,” said Palmer.

  “What else is there to say?” said Chrissie. But Palmer saw the sheepish look in her eyes for the third time. Again, the girl looked away.

  “Chrissie. I am not your enemy. I am here because we have to work out whether Aimee was murdered or not, and if she was, we’re going to find her killer.”

  “Why would anyone think she was murdered? That’s just stupid. She was a junkie. She had a ton of problems.”

  Palmer narrowed her eyes. She caught sight of something there. A glimmer of something awkward, painful and true. What was it?

  “If you know something Chrissie – no matter how small – then, you’ve got to tell me. If you are withholding any information, that would be a very serious matter.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re too suspicious, you coppers.”

  “I mean it, Chrissie. I think you’re withholding something. And if you are, I won’t hesitate to arrest you.”

  “On what grounds?”

  Palmer shook her head as she racked her brains for an appropriate sounding charge. “Obstruction of justice,” she said quickly. The girl seemed perturbed. She picked a lock of hair from her face and looked down at her feet.

  “I am going to have to ask you a personal question, Chrissie,” said Palmer. “You might wonder why I am asking this, but I’m asking only because it could prove relevant to the case.”

  Chrissie looked up at her with wide eyes. She looked afraid.

  “What?”

  “How close were you and Aimee Gillen?”

  “What do you mean, close?”

  Palmer blinked.

  “Were you in a relationship?”

  “Eh? You mean…? What? Do I look like a bloomin’ lesbian…” But Palmer tried to read her. Palmer saw the girl’s mind whirring, her eyes busy, but what was she thinking? It was as if she’d remembered something. Chrissie Heaton looked back at her, this time full in the eye. It was a look of defiance. A challenge.

  “But you were close.”

  “It didn’t stop Aimee hassling me, did it? She was always on at me for this or that.”

  Palmer frowned. “About what?”

  “What do you think. Aimee was lonely. I didn’t realise how lonely until she started trying it on. I thought we were friends, but after a few lines and a couple of drinks, she made a pass at me. She wanted to get me into bed with her. I never knew she was like that… I mean, she seemed as straight as anyone else here. I told her to leave me alone, but… she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Aimee Gillen put pressure on you for sex?”

  “Yea
h… if you want to call it that…” said the girl. Her voice trailed away again. Her face clouded with something. Palmer couldn’t make sense of the girl at all. She probably needed counselling, therapy, or something.

  “And you spurned those advances?”

  “What?” said Chrissie, snapping out of it.

  “You declined? You told her you didn’t want to sleep with her.”

  “Of course I did!”

  “And how did that go?”

  “It didn’t go well, obviously.”

  “Did you argue?”

  “Sometimes.”

  The girl’s demeanour confused her. Palmer sensed lies and obfuscation – but how much was nerves or fear of authority? Even so, Palmer still sensed she was getting closer to the truth.

  “Chrissie… this is very important. Think hard and tell me the truth. Where were you on the night Aimee Gillen died?”

  The girl looked at her and blinked.

  “What?”

  “Just answer the question, please, Chrissie. And tell me the truth.”

  Palmer waited.

  “Chrissie, do you have an alibi for Sunday night between the hours of ten pm and seven am Monday morning.”

  The girl nodded. “I suppose I do.”

  “And what is that, please.”

  “Aimee was freaking me out, wasn’t she? That night she was pushing me, more than she’d pushed me ever before. Aimee almost begged me to do it. I ran out and left her. And I had to confide in someone, didn’t I?”

  “Chrissie. I’m asking you about your whereabouts on Sunday night.”

  “And I’m telling you. The MD lady, Lana Aubrey. Lana Aubrey had been through the system and I heard she knew the game inside out, so I went to see her. I’d already told her about it once before but it was really bad this time. I was afraid. I didn’t know who else to turn to…” Palmer tried to decode the truth from the girl’s eyes.

  “And?”

  “I spent the night with Lana Aubrey – and before you ask, no, definitely not like that – Lana Aubrey has an apartment here. I was scared, so I stayed there. I slept on the sofa. Lana said no one would bother me there…”