by Adam Carter
Then he heard a grinding sound and realised he had made a terrible mistake.
Leaping backwards, Barden saw the mound of rock and grit shift as though there was a gigantic demon mole within. Mullin had, unseen, pulled out the peg holding the cart’s door in place and the entire content was coming his way. Barden cried aloud as black dust obscured his vision and pain shot through him as he felt the weight of the upturned quarry sliding over his legs like a pebbly beach coming in at high tide instead of the water.
As the dust settled, Barden was beset with a wracking cough, and he could see that while he had escaped the worst of the stones, his legs were pinned.
“Now who’s trapped?” Mullin laughed as he came to join him.
“You’re under arrest for whatever I can get you for,” Barden wheezed, a second round of hacking catching in his lungs.
Mullin held out his wrists. “Fair cop, you got me.” Then he laughed once more, although Barden could not see what was especially funny about it. He kicked at the spilled gravel and Barden raised an arm to shield his face. Mullin looked angry, although Barden could not see what he had to be angry about. He wasn’t the one lying on the floor, having dirt kicked in his face.
“That’s assault,” Barden told him.
“You want to see assault?” Mullin drew a knife and Barden smiled. The sight must have disconcerted Mullin because his glee faded somewhat.
“That the same knife you stabbed Tanner with?” Barden asked. “Why bother asking? You’re an idiot: of course it’s the same knife.”
Mullin stared at the blade and straightened his back somewhat. “I cleaned it, obviously.”
“That counts as a confession. It also counts as idiotic, but that’s a given.”
“You really are looking for trouble, Detective.”
Barden knew it was a gamble to make the man even angrier than he was, but he was buying time and so far it was working. “Here,” he said, “have a rock.” And he tossed one at Mullin with such force and accuracy that it struck him on the forehead and knocked him flat.
Scrabbling with his fingers, Barden tore at the detritus pinning his legs, knowing he only had a few seconds before Mullin recovered. He had not even freed one leg before Mullin was upon him, fists flying. Thankfully he seemed to have dropped his knife and in his rage had not thought to pick it back up before attacking. His fist found Barden’s jaw, but the detective managed to catch the other and twisted so Mullin would lose his balance. Mullin fell on him but did not stop his attack, pounding Barden’s face in a furious attempt to get him to let go.
“This was all going fine,” Mullin was saying, “until David went and killed Jodie’s sister. What was he thinking?”
Too busy in saving his face, Barden did not reply. If this was a confession, it could have come a little less painfully. However, he could see now where Mullin’s aggression was coming from. It was never good when you couldn’t rely on your colleagues.
Mullin flew backwards with a pained grunt and Barden lowered his arms. Lees was standing over him, holding onto some form of metal pole she had found by the side of the cart. Twisting the pole, she slammed it into the gravel about Barden’s feet and loosened it enough for him to free himself.
On the floor, Mullin was moaning, blood pouring down the side of his face. Barden knew his lawyer would have a good time with the injury, but he did not mind the pain in his own face when he smiled at the thought of Mullin going to prison.
“Sorry I’m late; I couldn’t find a way up,” Lees said.
“Did you hear him confess to killing Tanner?”
“Sure.”
Barden hesitated. “Did you?”
“It’s handy if I did, so yeah.”
Barden moved across to Mullin and cuffed him before he could regain his senses. “Care to tell us anything you can later deny?” he asked.
“Like what?” Mullin said, some of his anger dissipating now he knew he was caught. “You’re police, you’ve probably figured it all out already.”
“You mean about Jodie hiring you to antagonise Tanner?” Barden asked.
“Exactly.”
“I get most of it,” Barden said, “but there’s still something that’s annoying me. Straw killed Appleton because he lost his rag when he was blackmailing her; but why kill Tanner? Why follow him downriver just to stab him?”
Mullin looked confused. “Tanner knew about Harry.”
Barden could feel Lees tense. “What about Harry?” he asked.
“He found out Jodie and Harry were together. That’s why Harry set it all up. If Tanner told Flax his fiancée was already having an affair, he’d dump her.”
“And?”
“You seen Flax? The guy’s minted. Jodie’s after his money. When she has it, she’s going to disappear with Harry. That’s why Harry knifed him.”
“Hold on,” Barden said, “you’re saying Harry killed Tanner?”
“Of course he did. Why would I kill him? I’m not a psycho. I just kept the knife because I liked it. Like I said on the phone, Harry’s the one who stood to gain from all of this.” He glanced to Lees. “No one ever told me Harry’s bit on the side was a cop, though.”
Lees frowned. “What was all that other stuff you said on the phone, then?” she asked. “About Harry being your scapegoat, that you wanted him to take the blame?”
“I figured Harry was there with you.”
“He was. So?”
“Guy had already knifed someone who could have grassed on him; you really think I’m stupid enough to put myself in the firing line?”
Barden turned him and gave him a shove before Lees could break down in front of him. He looked aside to see how she was holding up. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m going to have to send uniform to pick up Harry.”
“No,” Lees said. “No you’re not.”
Barden sensed they were going to have a problem here. He could not imagine Lees was still sticking up for Harry Gorman, even if the murder accusation was not true. “Carrie, I …”
“You don’t have to send uniform,” she said flatly, “because I already called them while I was driving around looking for you. And, yes, I did it while I was driving. Shoot me.”
“Carrie, I … I’m sorry it went down like this.”
“I’m not.” She shrugged. “Harry’s a louse. It’s just taken me a long time to realise that. He’s manipulated me since the beginning. That story he told us about his girlfriend plying him with drink and then getting into an argument? Probably true, in case we dug deep enough to find witnesses to it. Which is also why he gave us an accurate description of Jodie Appleton: so the more we investigated, the less we’d suspect him. I reckon he might only have ever been with me at all because he knew I’d cover for him. What better way to foil the law than to have a cop in your pocket?” She was still angry, but was tempering it with logic. “It was probably a back door as well, in case we caught Jodie and she told us all about him. It was a way for us to think she was just lying.”
Barden felt more relieved than he had since the entire mess began. “You know,” he said, “detaching yourself from your emotions is a good start for every detective.”
Lees held up a hand. “Save it, Ray. I did the right thing, I don’t have to like it. Now I have to face up to hiding Harry all this time. Do you think they’ll dismiss me?”
“I don’t know. That’s not up to me. But, when I’m asked, I’ll tell internal affairs the truth. I’ll say you committed yourself admirably to a difficult situation and that when the time came for total honesty and detachment, you did what needed to be done.”
“They’re not going to care, are they?”
“Probably not. But it’s worth trying. We have to stick together, Carrie. I just want you to know I trust you. I trust you to have my back.”
She seemed to smile at this, although he was not certain. “At least I have something left.”
“And you know what? If you somehow get through this, I reckon you’re going to ma
ke a fine detective.”
They walked back to the car in silence. It only emphasised the fact neither of them expected there was even a chance Lees would ever be in a position to fail her detective’s exam a second time.
THE WOMAN WHO CRIED DIAMONDS
CHAPTER ONE
“So, tell me about your day.”
Ralph Watts looked over at me with an expression that could have soured holy water. Watts was the owner of the Teardrop, a diamond so oddly shaped it could have been called nothing else. He was in his late fifties, stocky, with a red face which was down to equal parts alcohol and stress. He was flustering badly by this point but I did not regret my comment. Call me cruel, but I’ve never passed up the chance to see someone almost explode with indignation.
“Mr Blake,” he said from where he was sitting on a crate. “I’ll have you know I don’t appreciate such glibness after everything that’s happened.”
I glanced around. There were many ways to define ‘after everything that’s happened’ and none of them were good. Even the promise that we were all going to die of asphyxiation was not helping me sort out the entire mess the investigation was becoming. One of them was guilty, I knew it. Proving it, however, had become something of a challenge.
But that was just my detective’s mind thinking through the situation thoroughly and being somewhat optimistic. When we had walked into this room, Ralph Watts had no idea what was going to happen, of course, which only made the torment I was putting him and the others through far sweeter.
“Tell me about the Teardrop,” I said, sitting comfortably on a storage box. “After all, there’s nothing much else we can do.”
My words did not placate him, but nor were they meant to. I knew all about the Teardrop, obviously. But talking would take our minds off our impending deaths so it was hardly a bad idea.
“The Teardrop is the ultimate in diamonds,” Watts said. “It’s 117 carats, with a finish as smooth as an angel’s backside and the shine to match. Women would kill for that diamond, would do anything for it.”
“That’s a mightily low opinion of women you have there.”
He did not look especially happy about my comment, but I’ve never much liked it when people gushed all over me about their weird loves. “The Teardrop,” he continued slowly, with narrowed eyes, “is the most valuable artefact in this museum. Whoever stole it walked away with a fortune.”
“To be fair,” I reminded him, “whoever stole it is likely going to die.”
“Conceded. But it’s of little consolation.”
“Hey,” someone called, not kindly. “Why are you two still going on about that stupid diamond?”
I eyed the newcomer dispassionately. She had certainly seen better days. “Because, Miss Tarin, I am a detective and I’m going to find out who stole it.” I paused. “If it’s the last thing I do.”
“You did not just say that.”
I grinned, looked to where the inside of the door to the museum’s vault prevented any of us from making a run for it. We all knew full well the vault was airtight, that we would all be long dead before the morning staff arrived to open the door. We also – all six of us – knew the thief of the Teardrop diamond was locked in the vault along with five innocent people. It may have been a contender for the greatest botched jewellery theft ever; but if I was going to die, I was certainly going to solve one final mystery before the end.
“If you’ll get comfortable,” I said, enjoying myself far too much to be healthy, “I’ll begin.”
CHAPTER TWO
It all began on poker night. Sally J always put on a great spread, but then Sally J’s a real woman and knows how to look after her interests. She’s also the best poker player I’ve ever known and most nights walks away with the contents of the pot. The rare times she loses, I reckon she does it just to make sure we all come back for a rematch. Sometimes she even sits out the game, because for Sally J it’s all about getting people into her house and around her table. Sure, it’s illegal since she takes a cut and doesn’t have a gambling licence, but Sally J doesn’t overcharge for the use of her house and I’ve always kept my ear to the ground for signs that anyone in the law even knows about her. There are no drugs on her premises, no alcohol is consumed during the game; no one’s even allowed to smoke. It’s a good, clean game where the winner walks away with a small fortune, minus the cut the house takes. And Sally J herself was always wonderful company. I could never quite place her age but there were a thousand quirky little things which made me suspect she was a lot older than the fifty-five I would have put her at.
I took what I liked to think of as a casual glance at the two cards sitting on the table before me, bending them so I could see them before letting them drop once more. There was nothing casual about it, however, since it was the half-dozenth time I’d taken a peek at them. It wasn’t a good hand, but a pair of queens certainly wasn’t a bad one. Nothing showing on the table was helping me, though, so I was all ready to fold just as soon as someone grew confident enough to bet anything. There was nothing special about the table – it was the same round table a million other poker players might use. The lights were always dimmed to create an atmosphere, but Sally J always liked to liven things up with candles or lava lamps or something. One time, at Christmas, she had on one of those annoying pictures with the flashing lights. Presently, she had a new lamp covered by a weird shade which gave off a rainbow effect. It wasn’t putting me off my game as such, but I’m sure Sally J just does these things to annoy the players.
The man opposite me tossed in some chips and I folded, thankful to be out of the hand. Sally J was playing that night, but had not been doing so well herself. There were three other players – two of them folk I’d seen before, with one new face. That was the thing about games at Sally J’s: she always made sure of the credentials of the players she invited, but the rest of us didn’t necessarily know them. They weren’t strangers as such, because Sally J would have been an idiot to have allowed strangers into the game, but if I’d never seen them before I had no idea what their technique was going to be like.
The newcomer was the one who had raised the bet and raked in a small pot. His name was Ralph Watts, which was all I knew about him. That and the fact he was in his fifties and looked like he could have taken better care of himself. He was flustered while he was playing, as though he didn’t expect to be winning as much as he was, and I put this down as a great asset for him since it meant no one would be able to tell whether he truly was holding a bad hand. I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d seen him somewhere before.
“I’d say beginner’s luck,” I ventured, “but I can tell you’ve played before, Watts.”
Watts gave nothing away as the next cards were dealt. It was Sally J’s turn to deal, and she did so silently, keeping a careful eye upon every player. She was good at that – it was one of the things which separated the bad players from the good – but I could not help feel she was watching less for the game and more for the potential fireworks. After all, Sally J knew Watts from somewhere and perhaps he had deeper issues than we wanted revealed when our money was on the table.
“I’ve been around,” Watts said.
“You played a lot of poker dives?”
“A few.” He glanced at his cards. There was the slightest frown to his brow which told me if he had indeed played a lot of live poker he had certainly lost a lot of money. I’ve never played any other venues myself. Sally J’s a friend and since I like poker I play at her place. That’s more than enough for me. The only other time I’ve played poker is with some colleagues at work, but that went down badly. I’d never recommend playing any sort of game with people you have to spend any appreciable time with.
I looked at my own hand but it wasn’t anything to get excited about so I folded outright. It afforded me the opportunity to lean back and think some more about Watts. All I could think of was that he might have been someone from Arlene’s side of the family; but since I had split from
Arlene nearly five years earlier I’d pretty much forgotten the names of her family members, let alone their faces. Arlene and I had been one of those stupid cases of marrying when we weren’t in love. We were both in our late twenties when Arlene got pregnant, so I was young and stupid enough to figure it the honourable thing to ask her to marry me. After Gemma was born, we both realised having children is the most stressful thing anyone can do. Sleepless nights did nothing to ease our agitation and soon enough we were shouting at one another. The separation was soon to follow and Arlene took Gemma and that was that. My temperamental work hours and the fact I’m a man didn’t help me any and I was just lucky Arlene and I didn’t hate each other, so I could still see Gemma.
There was only one person in Arlene’s family I ever cared about and that, of course, was Gemma. I’m not sure I ever counted myself as a part of Arlene’s family, even when we were married.
“Maybe,” Sally J said while she raised the pot, “you recognise Watts from a line-up?”
“I never said I recognised him from anywhere.”
“It’s written all over your face, dearie.”
Watts threw in some chips to meet Sally J’s bet. “You’re a cop then?” he asked me, trying not to sound nervous.
“An off-duty detective.”
“Never much liked cops.”
“Thanks.”
“No offence.”
“That has to be my favourite phrase.”
Sally J tossed in her hand, which was odd considering I’m sure no one had raised the bet after her. “I’m curious now,” she said while the cards were gathered for the next deal. “You ever been arrested, Ralph?”
It took me a moment to remember Ralph was Watts’s first name.
“No,” he said in a tone which indicated a yes.
“What for?” Sally J asked.
“Can we just deal some cards?”
We played in relative silence for the next few hands and knocked out the two players I haven’t bothered to name. They both went home to explain to their wives why they had just lost a lot of money, but I didn’t think much of them after they left the table. If they were stupid enough to gamble what they couldn’t afford to lose, they deserved to go home broke. I wasn’t a family man, and so long as I had enough money to look after Gemma there was nothing in the world I wanted. Gemma, rent, food – in that order. Every other penny I had could be gambled away and I wouldn’t have cared for anything.