Death Do Us Part (DI Damen Brook 6)

by Steven Dunne

  ‘Maybe they stole something we don’t know about.’

  ‘From both crime scenes? No. There’d be evidence of a search at least, even assuming they didn’t want the cash and other valuables. And I watched the Breadsall video last night. Frazer and Nolan were comfortable, no question, but they weren’t fabulously wealthy, the Gibsons even less so.’

  ‘We should ask Matthew Gibson for an inventory,’ said Noble. ‘Maybe he can shed some light.’

  Brook stood and walked to the window to see the first fingers of dawn stretching above the horizon. ‘If he knew his parents had something worth killing for, he would have told us already.’

  ‘Not if he took it.’

  ‘He’s their son and heir, and with two high-performance cars and a number of tenanted houses, I’m guessing he’s already well-off. With his parents elderly, whatever they owned would come to him soon enough. And what could they possibly have that he’d need to kill them for?’

  ‘I don’t know, but GSR showed he’d fired a weapon recently.’

  ‘He told us that himself, John.’

  ‘A clever way to divert suspicion.’

  ‘Do you really think he’d kill his parents, send his mystery accomplice packing, then come back to discover the bodies a few days later and play the distraught son? Pretty cold. And again, why all the paraphernalia with the champagne and music?’

  ‘To confuse us.’

  ‘It’s working,’ answered Brook. ‘And why handle the cash in the bedroom to implicate himself?’

  ‘Another clever way to imply he’s a bumbling idiot rather than an ice-cold killer.’

  ‘It’s not Gibson, doubly so if his parents are part of a series.’

  ‘Unless he killed Frazer and Nolan to cover up his parents’ murder. Make it look part of a series.’

  ‘No,’ said Brook emphatically. ‘He would have chosen another elderly couple much closer to his parents’ profile. Killing two middle-aged gay men, however devoted, doesn’t fit the bill. And remember, they were difficult. They had to be tied and gagged.’

  Noble shrugged, tiring of playing devil’s advocate. ‘Not so hard with guns and a partner to back you up.’

  ‘But he might think he needs to kill again to make sure his parents’ murder was well hidden.’

  ‘Which he can hardly do now he’s under scrutiny,’ nodded Noble. ‘Plus he wouldn’t need help to kill his parents. Even unarmed, he’s more than a match.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Brook, pouring more tea from his flask and taking a comforting sip. ‘Using a partner increases his exposure, makes him vulnerable. If Gibson had killed his parents he would’ve made it look like a simple robbery/murder. He would have shaken some pills on the floor and thrown the rest away, not complicated matters. The music and champagne personalise the crime and point the finger at him. Why would he do that?’

  ‘He wouldn’t,’ conceded Noble, thoughtful. After a few seconds, he looked up at Brook. ‘Son and heir.’

  ‘What?’

  He scrabbled for a piece of paper on his desk. ‘He may be the son but he’s not the heir.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He doesn’t inherit,’ said Noble, locating the sheet. ‘His younger brother in Australia does.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘According to the solicitor’s email, thirty-five thousand in various accounts and an insurance policy worth a hundred thousand.’

  ‘People have killed for a lot less,’ admitted Brook. ‘What are Gibson’s finances like?’

  ‘Angie’s sifting through them, but he owns two dozen properties – all but three outright.’

  ‘Which would make him a millionaire on paper at least,’ said Brook.

  ‘Even millionaires have cash-flow problems.’

  Brook checked his watch and lapsed into silence, staring out of the window at the pale sky. He shook his head. ‘We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Hold everything until we know this is a series. Anything else is just idle speculation. What about their health?’

  ‘We pulled a pharmacy from the meds. The Gibsons were registered at the Raven Medical Centre in Alvaston. Smee and Read are chasing down their records.’

  ‘Was the same done for Frazer and Nolan?’

  ‘Neither was HIV positive, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘It wasn’t, but that still doesn’t preclude other health problems.’

  ‘If they did have problems and were desperate enough to ask a friend or relative to send them on their way, why would they need tying up?’ asked Noble.

  ‘It seems unlikely. More chance they were champagne drinkers, though.’

  ‘Dr Petty might have something on their stomach contents this afternoon,’ said Noble.

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Four,’ said Noble. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine. You’ve got the experience, John. I’ll work around you. And take Angie. It’ll be good for her. Is Charlton okay with me taking the afternoons?’

  ‘Fine,’ replied Noble, avoiding Brook’s gaze.

  Brook eyed him doubtfully but didn’t venture a comment. He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got a couple of hours before briefing.’ He drained his tea and headed for the door.

  ‘Bacon sandwich?’ enquired Noble hopefully.

  ‘Where’s the boundary tape?’

  Noble looked around the dark garden. A frond of police tape lay twisted and inert on the drive. ‘It’s broken. It’s been over a month.’

  ‘Maybe Frazer and Nolan’s relatives got a biohazard company in to clean.’

  Noble fumbled with the keys, clumsy in his latex gloves, holding each one up to his face before trying to push it into the lock. He was beginning to get annoyed when he depressed the handle and turned to Brook in surprise. ‘It’s not locked.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’

  ‘Could be looters,’ said Noble, his voice lowered. ‘Or the killer coming back to jerk off.’

  Brook flicked at a switch but the lights didn’t work. ‘Only one way to find out,’ he said, pushing the door open. He stepped inside, puckering his nose. The ripe smell of decay had diminished since the house had been sealed, but the odour of death was still in the air. ‘No bio-clean yet.’ From Noble’s hand, a thin beam of light illuminated the kitchen. ‘You’re well prepared.’

  ‘My iPhone torch,’ explained Noble.

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  Noble sighed and held out a hand. Brook rummaged for his new iPhone and handed it over. Noble shook his head and held down the start button. ‘It’s turned off.’

  ‘Of course it’s turned off. I don’t phone people in the middle of the night.’

  ‘No, you just text them. Do you pull out plugs before you go to bed as well?’

  ‘The off switches do the job,’ said Brook. He could feel amusement emanating from Noble in the darkness. ‘What little sleep I get I don’t want disturbed, John.’

  ‘Disturbed? Last time I looked, you only had two numbers on speed dial and one of those is a daughter you see once a year.’ Brook bridled but said nothing, sensing Noble’s sudden regret. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Forget it. You’re right. I should leave it on.’

  ‘What’s the passcode?’

  ‘Four ones.’

  Noble exhaled disapproval. ‘Don’t you read the circulars about encryption?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  A second later, Noble flicked up the menu and tapped on the torch icon.

  ‘Outstanding,’ said Brook in wonder, wiggling his light around like a child with a bonfire night sparkler.

  The pair moved into the house, their shoes clacking on the stone flags of a large kitchen complete with breakfast bar and stools, adorned by a marble-effect sink, drainer and worktops. The large stainless-steel fridge, oven and hob gave the impression of expense and understated good taste. Noble opened the fridge and a bar of light illuminated him. It was empty.

  ‘The sockets work at least,’ he said, closing t
he heavy door again.

  ‘Maybe a blown fuse.’ Brook shone his torch on the wall above the breakfast bar. Wires hung down from a socket on to an empty bracket that might once have held a TV. ‘Get Uniform to put a body on the house for the next week until we’ve had another look. I assume Ford took their computer to look for contacts.’

  ‘There’s a laptop on the inventory, though I’ve not had a chance to go through their emails. I’ve seen a screen dump of their Hotmail inbox, though.’

  ‘And in English?’

  ‘There was a printout of the inbox email addresses and subjects and hard copies of any useful content.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Gossip with friends, Frazer and Nolan’s plans, online shopping. That sort of stuff. Nothing caught the eye.’

  Brook moved to a stack of magazines on the breakfast bar. He pulled the top one towards him and riffled through to a folded-down page. ‘Any plans involving Thomson Holidays?’

  ‘Come to think of it, there was something from them.’

  Brook held up the magazine, and a sheet of A4 with handwritten calculations. ‘Seems they were pricing up a skiing holiday to Japan.’

  ‘Which they wouldn’t do if one of them was seriously ill and they were planning an assisted suicide,’ concluded Noble.

  Brook placed the magazine back and wandered away into the large open-plan living space, picking up a framed photograph of Frazer and Nolan from a coffee table. Both wore brightly decorated Christmas cardigans and clutched a flute of champagne apiece. They were arm-in-arm and had streamers in their hair, and Nolan was blowing on a party horn. He replaced the frame and continued his search for a music centre. On an empty shelf he saw more disconnected wires hanging towards the floor. ‘The CD player’s gone,’ he said.

  ‘According to the SOCO photos it was an iPod dock,’ Noble answered. Before Brook could work out what an iPod dock looked like, Noble approached illuminating a heavy green bottle in his gloved hand. It was empty.

  ‘Champagne?’

  ‘There’s another four bottles in the rack. All vintage Laurent Perrier.’

  ‘Unlikely the killer would bring a case,’ ventured Brook.

  ‘Then maybe Frazer and Nolan were drinking it when he arrived,’ said Noble.

  ‘And being the first of a series, he got the idea to use it in subsequent murders,’ said Brook, nodding. ‘Get it off to EMSOU.’

  ‘But why didn’t he leave the empty bottle and glasses on show?’

  ‘Because it wasn’t part of the plan until he saw them drinking it. The first kill he’s careful so he sticks to the MO, but the second time he takes champagne himself because he wants us to see.’

  ‘See what?’

  Brook cast around for an answer. ‘The element of celebration.’

  Noble grunted, unconvinced. A noise from upstairs halted the pair. Noble extinguished his torch but Brook, unsure how to turn off the light, buried the phone in his pocket. He gestured Noble to the foot of the staircase and they crept towards a dark recess from which they could see the bottom step.

  A torch beam from above provoked haste and both men scuttled to hide. The light grew brighter and the stairs pronounced the descending chords of footsteps as a slim figure came down from the upper floor, panting under a burden.

  Once on the ground floor, Brook scrabbled for his torch. ‘Police,’ he barked. There was a crash and a scream.

  ‘Don’t move,’ ordered Noble, snapping on his torch to illuminate a middle-aged woman with her gloved hands held theatrically over her face. She had a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a box lay spilled at her feet.

  ‘Put the bag down,’ commanded Brook.

  She bent to oblige. ‘This isn’t what it looks like,’ she said in a voice tight with tension.

  Brook and Noble approached, fixing their lights on the woman’s face.

  ‘Who are you?’ commanded Brook.

  ‘Maureen McConnell,’ said the woman. ‘I live next door.’

  ‘You found the bodies,’ said Noble.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And you have a key.’

  She nodded. ‘The lads … they had me water their plants whenever they were away. They were lovely lads. Lovely. They didn’t deserve—’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ said Brook, forestalling a possible flood of tears.

  ‘I’m doing what you lot should be doing,’ she snapped, her trepidation forgotten. ‘Safeguarding Stephen and Iain’s property before the scumbags come for it.’

  Next door in Maureen McConnell’s warm kitchen, Brook read the handwritten note while she made tea and Noble emptied the duffle bag and the box of the iPod and dock, chunky watches, expensive sunglasses and items of jewellery and glassware.

  Brook finished reading and handed the note to Noble.

  To the police. Please apply next door to take possession of Stephen and Iain’s belongings. Since you’ve abandoned the place, I’ve seen undesirables casing the joint so I’ve taken it upon myself to protect their property to pass on to loved ones.

  Maureen McConnell (no. 23)

  ‘Say we believe you really were going to leave that note,’ said Brook.

  ‘I don’t care whether you believe me or not,’ she said defiantly as she poured milk into cups. ‘Since you taped off the house and left it to its own devices, I’ve seen all sorts of weirdoes sniffing around. Parasites.’

  ‘They read the obituaries in the paper so they know when a house is empty.’

  ‘Bloody ghouls.’

  ‘So you decided to beat them to it.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You took the TV?’

  ‘It’s in the spare room,’ said McConnell. ‘Look, I complained to your colleague but he was barely interested.’

  ‘DI Ford?’

  ‘That’s him. Nasty little man with his insinuations. Bumboys, he called them. He didn’t think I’d heard him, but I did. They were lovely lads, devoted, and that nasty man …’ She broke off to stifle her emotions, took a sip of weak tea and gestured to the valuables unpacked on the kitchen table. ‘Stephen and Iain had nice things. Very good taste. Expensive. Well, you know what the gays are like. Always well turned out.’ She ran a swift eye over Brook’s shapeless jacket and trousers, shiny with wear, and Noble had to look away. ‘I couldn’t let thieves help themselves. That glassware is Lalique. They collected it. They’ve got family up in Carlisle and they’ll want keepsakes.’

  ‘Then why the gloves?’

  She shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to leave prints. In case you lot did more tests.’

  ‘Any prints would have been found by now,’ said Noble.

  ‘How was I to know?’ she complained. Her features softened and she rubbed away a tear. ‘It’s bad enough finding the boys like that …’ She gazed off into the middle distance, an expression Brook had seen many times on the faces of stunned witnesses, their cosy worlds sullied by one brutal event. ‘You haven’t arrested anyone?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘That’s it then, isn’t it? You’re not going to catch them now, are you?’

  ‘Them?’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, they were fit boys, Stephen and Iain. Always jogging or going for long walks. They took care of their bodies, you know, like the gays do. They were fit and strong, so whoever killed them … well.’

  ‘Were they bodybuilders?’ asked Noble.

  ‘Not to that extent, but they exercised and ate right. They were toned and muscular. You could see that in summer when they were doing the garden.’ She sighed. ‘They loved that garden. Now what’s to become of it?’

  ‘You mentioned suspicious characters,’ said Brook. ‘Did you get a look?’

  ‘Not really. They usually poked around at night. Young men mostly. I mean, they weren’t all thieves. I expect a lot of them just wanted the thrill of seeing a murder house. I left a light on in their kitchen but there seems to be a blown fuse.’

  ‘Any of them in cars?’

  ‘So
me.’ Her face lit up. ‘I jotted down a few number plates if that’ll help.’

  ‘Yes please,’ said Brook with a glance at Noble.

  ‘Did you give these numbers to DI Ford?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said McConnell. ‘Most of them.’ When Brook raised an eyebrow, she continued, ‘Well he didn’t seem all that interested because it was after the …’

  ‘After the fact,’ suggested Brook.

  ‘That’s it,’ said McConnell. ‘Reckoned it was just looters.’ She shrugged again. ‘Well the killers are hardly likely to come back now, are they?’

  ‘No,’ said Noble, not wishing to alarm her with the propensity of some killers to fetishise a crime scene.

  ‘Can I ask you a question about the day you discovered the bodies?’ said Brook.

  Ten

  In the incident room an hour later, Brook gazed blearily at colleagues fiddling with papers or rushing around putting last-minute touches to their contributions. When activity dipped, he gave Noble the nod and the DS flicked a remote control and loaded the first crime-scene photograph on to the screen. It was the death shot of Mr and Mrs Gibson, slumped side by side in their separate chairs.

  ‘Albert and Edith Gibson, shot to death in their home over the weekend. Exact time unknown and we’re waiting on the PM for a guide.’ Noble clicked on his mouse to load another image of death on to a split screen. ‘Stephen Frazer and Iain Nolan shot to death last month in their Breadsall home. All four victims succumbed to a single gunshot and both couples were killed at home, seated beside their partner. Because of similarities in presentation and method, for the moment we work both cases together while we wait for ballistics to match the bullets. Or not. But for now, we have enough markers at both scenes to suggest a connection.’ He enlarged the photo of the two dead men. ‘There are, however, some differences.’

  ‘Frazer and Nolan are tied,’ said DC Cooper.

  ‘We assume that’s a control issue,’ said Noble. ‘Both men were fit and active and would need to be pacified. Hence the gag, too. The Gibsons were elderly and both partners had health issues, which made them easier to manage. Cause of death and victim presentation are identical, even down to both couples holding hands as they died, and we think that too is no accident.’