A Killing Moon

by Dunne, Steven

  ‘We should call it in. Wait for instructions.’

  Banach put her foot on the first pallet. ‘Our instructions were to investigate, weren’t they? That’s what we’re doing.’

  ‘I don’t think this is what the sarge meant.’ Banach looked down at him from halfway up the column of pallets. ‘Damn it, Angie, be careful.’

  ‘Always,’ grunted Banach, clambering up to the top pallet, where she was able to lever herself on to the ledge of the first-floor window. The glass was broken, so she felt around for a catch, being careful not to cut herself on the jagged pane. A second later, she pushed open the window and swung her legs inside, then popped her head back out to gesture at Ryan.

  ‘Wait there for me,’ he hissed at her as he began to climb, but she was already gone.

  Banach flicked her torch around the bare room. The beam caught something in the adjoining room and she made her way across the corridor, stepping gingerly on the bare boards. She knelt to examine a sleeping bag. It was cleaner than might be expected. There was even a cushion for a pillow, which looked new.

  ‘Odd.’ She moved the light across the floor and found an empty sweet packet, picking it up and discarding it a second later. ‘Someone’s been here.’

  She heard a noise behind her. ‘In here, Mitch,’ she called, flicking the torch briefly over her shoulder. She was standing to continue the search when a footstep crunched on a bare board directly behind her and she turned towards the source. A heavy blow caught her on the side of the head and she gasped in shock and pain, her body crumpling on to the sleeping bag like a sack of potatoes.

  Brook and Laurie drove on in silence, eyes glued to the road. A moment later, Brook became aware of Laurie’s discomfort and stole a glance at her. Following the direction of her gaze, he saw they were passing the Flowerpot and would be hugging the route of Caitlin’s last journey. At the lights by the A38 overpass, she spoke.

  ‘I’ve not been in that pub since. I’ve not even seen it.’

  Brook nodded, still forming questions of his own, practical questions about the case, about the hunt for a killer. He held his tongue. At this moment, any enquiry would be intrusive. But as Markeaton Park loomed large and dark on the left, he felt as though Laurie wanted to talk.

  ‘That night,’ he said. ‘Did Tanner do or say anything while you and Caitlin were in the pub? Anything strange or that struck you as odd.’

  ‘Strange?’

  ‘Did he pay Caitlin any undue attention or give the impression …’

  ‘That he was fixated on her?’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, no. He served drinks like a normal barman.’

  Brook pulled the BMW on to the side road and ground to a halt outside Laurie’s bungalow before turning to her. ‘So you noticed him, then?’

  ‘I noticed him. Caitlin was going at it pretty hard. She hadn’t had a drink for a while. I mean, she’d missed St Patrick’s Day because of the pregnancy. And she’s Irish.’ She lowered her head. ‘She was Irish.’

  ‘Don’t make assumptions until we identify the body,’ insisted Brook. ‘How did Tanner make himself noticed?’

  ‘He saw that she was drinking too fast and suggested she slow down.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘First it was just a look, kind of hesitating before filling her glass, giving her the eyes, like, Are you sure about this? You’ve had plenty. Then he said she could have another if she could read his name tag.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Oh yes, but he knew she was bladdered.’

  ‘But he refilled her glass anyway.’

  ‘The customer is always right,’ said Laurie. ‘Except she wasn’t. And that was her last drink before she ran out to the toilet. She pretended she was fine, but I knew she was going to puke. I didn’t know she would take off like that, though.’ Her voice cracked as the implication hit her, but she retained her poise. ‘I never saw her again.’

  ‘Did you see Tanner after Caitlin left?’

  ‘You mean, did he leave and go after her? I’m not sure. I think he served my boyfriend when he arrived.’ She looked miserable. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember that well, I’d been drinking too …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ soothed Brook. ‘We’re pretty sure he stayed.’

  ‘So maybe he grabbed her later,’ said Laurie. ‘If Caitlin was home alone, he could just as easily have gone along after his shift.’

  ‘But unless he followed her, he wouldn’t know her address,’ said Brook. ‘Unless he asked for ID.’

  ‘Oh shit, yeah. I showed him my NUS card.’ She squinted in confusion. ‘But that only has my date of birth.’

  ‘What about Caitlin?’ asked Brook. ‘Did her ID have her address on?’

  ‘It might have. I didn’t really notice.’

  Brook smiled to signal the end of his questions and put a hand out to open his door.

  ‘I don’t live here any more,’ muttered Laurie, looking guiltily at him. ‘I couldn’t. Not after … Sorry, I meant to say. I moved into halls.’

  ‘Not a problem.’ Brook turned the BMW round for the short drive to the main university site. ‘That’s what I love about Derby. Everything’s five minutes away.’

  The rain was starting when Brook pointed the car towards home. Either muscle memory or fatigue induced him to push in the cigarette lighter as he roared along the tight country lane to the north of Markeaton Park to take him to the A52. It was hard to focus on the wet road on so little sleep, so he eased back on the speed and opened his window on to the sweet air of a damp spring night.

  At the junction, before he could swing right towards Ashbourne and the Peaks, his antiquated mobile vibrated in a pocket.

  ‘John.’ He listened for a moment. ‘On my way.’

  Ten minutes later, Brook parked as close to the Cream Bar as possible as an ambulance pulled away for the short journey to the Royal Derby. There were seven police vehicles in attendance, blocking off the traffic island overlooked by the dilapidated hostelry, closed in 2006 after a series of violent incidents.

  Noble stepped away from a small throng of officers, discarding a cigarette, and Brook made a beeline for him. He spotted an officer seated, head down, on the steep, weed-encrusted steps leading to the front entrance of the bar. Another officer stood adjacent, notebook in hand. The front door of the bar was wedged firmly open and the dark interior yawned.

  Noble followed Brook’s eyes. ‘We put the ram to it. To gain ingress,’ he added, a ghost of a smile disappearing as quickly as it arrived. ‘Cooper was right,’ he continued in more sombre vein. ‘Jake must have hung on to the keys. Although we had to force the door, the lock’s been maintained. It was oiled recently. Someone’s been using the place.’

  ‘The perfect spot to hide for a few days,’ said Brook, looking up and down the dilapidated building. ‘Talk me through it.’

  ‘A couple of uniforms went round to check the place out and were ambushed. One’s just gone off to the Royal. Possible fractured skull. We’ve got about sixty bodies pounding the surrounding streets. Nothing so far.’

  ‘How serious?’

  ‘Possible brain injury,’ said Noble. Brook nodded towards the stricken officer sitting on the steps. ‘PC Banach – headache and possible concussion.’

  ‘Why hasn’t she gone to hospital?’

  ‘She insisted on staying to help.’

  The officer taking notes snapped his book closed and moved aside at Brook and Noble’s approach.

  ‘What happened, Constable?’ enquired Brook to the bowed head, hand clutching a wet towel to the neck. He couldn’t see any blood.

  Banach looked up and tried to stand, and Brook recognised the female PC who’d been on crowd control at the Telegraph building. ‘Sir, I …’

  ‘No, stay down,’ said Brook, putting out a hand. ‘What can you tell us about your attacker?’

  Banach shook her head and winced in pain. ‘I didn’t see a face, sir. Constable Ryan and myself were sent to do a reccy. I saw a lig
ht through a first-floor window. A torch, I think. We went to investigate. All the doors were locked so I climbed in through a rear window. There were some old pallets stacked up to reach the first floor and the window pane was broken …’

  ‘Broken?’ interrupted Brook. ‘By whoever was already here?’

  Banach paused. ‘Unknown. It might have been smashed by vandals. It was fastened, though. I had to reach in and open it to get in.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I turned on my torch and I could see the room was clear, so I went into the next room and that was it. I got walloped from behind. I lost consciousness, and when I came round, I went back to find Mitch and …’ her lip wobbled and her eyes sought the floor, ‘he was down too.’ Her eyes glazed over at the memory of her injured colleague.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘No more than fifteen minutes after I was attacked before I called it in.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘The paramedic said Mitch might have brain damage.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ said Noble.

  ‘Get PC Banach off to hospital, John,’ said Brook.

  ‘Sir, I’m fine,’ interrupted Banach, struggling to her feet.

  ‘That’s heartening, but we’ll take it from here.’

  ‘I want to help …’

  ‘When you’ve had a check-up,’ said Brook, motioning Noble towards the building.

  ‘No,’ she insisted. ‘I owe it to Mitch …’

  Brook turned, irritated now. ‘Stop talking, Constable,’ he barked. ‘If this is guilt because you messed up in some way, it’s misplaced. You’re no use to me in this condition. You’re going to hospital and you’re going now.’

  ‘But sir …’

  ‘And please accept my apologies if it sounded like a request before.’ He held her gaze to confirm compliance before turning to the other officer. Surprisingly, he knew his name. ‘PC Stone. You take her. While you’re there, get PC Banach’s uniform bagged for Forensics …’ He rolled his eyes, not wanting to add in case this really turns sour in front of Banach.

  ‘Will do, sir. Come on, Angie,’ said Stone as though to a child, gently taking hold of her arm to guide her. Banach walked compliantly but her gaze was fixed malevolently on Brook, unable to form any of the sentences trying to jostle their way into her speech centre.

  Brook approached a group of half a dozen uniformed officers, some fiddling with unlit cigarettes, some checking watches to see how far over their shift they were working. But all faces were set hard against the perpetrators. ‘I only want two officers at the front entrance to secure the building. The rest of you I want patrolling the neighbourhood. Be vigilant. If our suspects are out there, they’re on foot and desperate, so take care.

  ‘Gardens and garages. Any lights on, knock on doors and get residents to unlock their outbuildings. Anybody walking the street at this ungodly hour, I want stopped and questioned.’ He paused for emphasis. ‘I don’t want unrelated arrests if someone’s had a drink and backchats you; I want eyewitnesses who’ve seen something or I want whoever assaulted Ryan and Banach.’ He waited to ensure his point was made. ‘And tell everyone to be on the watch for jittery residents. A home invasion is a hostage situation, and the last thing we need is more lives under threat.’

  ‘And for God’s sake, people,’ added Noble, ‘two of our own are hurting, but that excuses nothing. If you hit the jackpot, don’t get overenthusiastic and hand their brief the wiggle room to get them off.’

  ‘And tell everyone over their hours that they should book it in as overtime,’ said Brook finally to a low murmur of approval, and despite injuries to colleagues, smiles broke out.

  ‘Better be careful,’ said Noble as the officers dispersed quickly. ‘You might become popular.’

  ‘That’ll be a great comfort when Charlton sees the dent in his budget,’ replied Brook, setting off for the building’s entrance. About to disappear into the interior, he was distracted by the noise of a low-flying helicopter and looked to the grey sky to follow the beam of light shining down on the surrounding streets. ‘Ours?’

  ‘I thought it best,’ said Noble. ‘Dog handlers on the way as well.’

  Brook nodded. ‘And since we’re going for broke, divert more patrol cars to the area for the next few hours, then get on to traffic to throw up some roadblocks. If they haven’t already, our suspects may feel the need to steal a car. All major routes until rush hour.’

  ‘If this is Jake and Nick, they’re in the big time now,’ said Noble.

  ‘Let’s hope they can handle it,’ said Brook. ‘Or this could turn into a spree.’

  With no arc lights yet in place, the two detectives had to rely on torches to examine each of the rooms in turn. The downstairs bar area was a sea of broken glass that complained at each step taken. Without a major clean-up, it was effectively uninhabitable. A toilet leading off the bar seemed to be in working order, with bowl and cistern intact and water supply still available.

  ‘En suite,’ quipped Noble, eliciting an answering grunt from Brook.

  Upstairs was more hospitable, if littered with detritus. Empty cans and bottles, some of them blackened by the burning of crack cocaine, were strewn across the floor. There was a pile of dusty clothes and a pair of worn boots, twisted and covered in mildew. A metal bucket with holes punched in it had been used as a makeshift brazier, and the smell of damp ash invaded the nostrils.

  In the penultimate room, a sleeping bag with a cushion for a pillow lay in the corner, both artefacts relatively unsoiled. An empty sweet packet lay on the sleeping bag. The two detectives crossed the corridor to the room with the broken window. Brook leaned out to look down on to the enclosure below, being careful not to touch the wooden frame. Adjusting his eyes to the faint moonlight, he saw a small black puddle staining the concrete.

  ‘See the blood,’ said Noble, joining him at the window. He indicated the pallets stacked below. ‘And that’s where Banach climbed up – quite a feat in the dark.’

  ‘What happened to Ryan?’

  ‘Not sure. Banach says she was attacked over by the door and knocked out. Ryan must have followed her up to the window …’

  ‘And someone pushed him off,’ concluded Brook.

  ‘Looks that way,’ nodded Noble.

  ‘Yet you had to force the front door.’

  ‘No choice. It was locked when we arrived.’

  ‘So Banach called it in, then climbed down the way she came in to tend to Ryan.’

  ‘That’s what she said.’

  ‘Because she couldn’t unlock the door,’ mumbled Brook.

  Noble was curious now. ‘I’m not sure she even tried, but it was locked and impossible to budge without keys.’

  ‘Did you see Ryan?’

  ‘Briefly. He didn’t look good, but then it always looks worse when there’s blood. The paramedics said there was some swelling, which could indicate internal bleeding and pressure on the brain. On the other hand, they said they’d seen worse injuries survived with a full recovery.’

  ‘That’s something,’ murmured Brook. ‘Get on to Cooper and give him the new timeline for any film. Alert Smee and Read. If this was the Tanners, they might make a run for transport out of the city and we need to contain them.’

  ‘Already done,’ said Noble. ‘They should be easier to catch out in the open. Is there any doubt this is the Tanners?’

  ‘There’s always doubt until there’s certainty, John,’ answered Brook.

  ‘It all points to them,’ said Noble. ‘They torched the van, they’re on the run, they live close and Jake used to work here.’

  ‘Sounds viable,’ conceded Brook.

  Noble detected a doubt. ‘But?’

  ‘Something doesn’t add up. If Jake had keys and was hiding here with Nick, why attack two police officers gaining entry to the first floor when all you have to do is unlock the front door and run?’

  ‘Maybe that’s what they did after they attacked Banach and Ryan.’

  ‘But why attack
them at all?’ said Brook. ‘If they had a key, they weren’t cornered and the assault makes no sense.’

  ‘Maybe they were asleep. They were surprised and reacted. If they’ve killed once, an assault comes easy.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ conceded Brook. ‘But why attack Ryan when he’s not even in the building?’

  ‘All right, maybe they weren’t surprised,’ said Noble, exasperated. ‘But since when did ex-cons need a reason to attack the police?’

  Brook nodded, deep in thought. ‘So they attack Banach and push Ryan off the pallets. Then what?’

  ‘They run out the front door.’

  ‘Locking it behind them,’ said Brook. ‘Why? The place is blown.’

  Noble was stymied for a moment. ‘I don’t know.’

  Brook poked a toe at an ancient rusted can. ‘Another thing. Where are the artefacts to suggest recent occupation?’

  ‘They can’t have been here more than twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Exactly,’ replied Brook. ‘If they were going to hole up here, everything they took the trouble to bring over from the flat should still be here. So where is it? Where’s the canned food?’

  ‘Maybe they hid it.’

  ‘Where?’ demanded Brook. ‘And why?’

  ‘All right, they took it with them.’

  Brook pulled a face. ‘Having attacked two police officers?’

  ‘Then maybe they didn’t bring cans from the flat.’

  Brook shook his head. ‘Jake knew they’d have a few hours’ grace after setting fire to the van. They didn’t have a car, and they didn’t steal one as far as we know. They left in a hurry but Jake knew they couldn’t make it on foot in the middle of the night. But he knows a place. It’s close. So they packed what they could for a short hop before they go to ground. That means food. If they had any foodstuffs in the flat, they had to bring them. They brought the can opener, so where are the cans?’

  Noble thought it through before conceding and switching to Brook’s wavelength. ‘And if you’re discovered and seriously assault two police officers, your window of opportunity closes fast. You panic. The place might be overrun with officers at any moment …’