by Steven Dunne
Noble stared at Brook. ‘What’s going on with you and Caskey?’
‘Not a blessed thing,’ quipped Banach, striding towards them with a tray supporting two steaming hot mugs.
‘Something to contribute, Angie?’ remarked Brook.
Banach offered the tray. ‘Tea and coffee from the locals do?’
Brook accepted his mug and wrapped both hands around the heat, still eyeing the DC.
‘You’re a lifesaver, Angie,’ gushed Noble, taking a hearty sip. ‘You couldn’t rustle up a bacon—’
‘Don’t even go there,’ rebuked Banach.
‘Are you American?’ enquired Noble, grinning at Brook for support. It didn’t arrive.
‘She told you?’ said Brook, eyes glued to Banach.
‘Rachel?’ Banach smiled. ‘She didn’t need to tell me. A girl just knows.’
‘Knows what?’ said Noble, looking from one to the other.
‘She obviously said something to you, though,’ said Banach.
‘I worked it out,’ replied Brook.
‘Worked out what?’ insisted Noble.
‘And there was me picturing you cruising the Gaydar hook-up sites,’ she mocked.
‘I have literally no idea what you just said,’ commented Brook.
‘Someone’s gay?’ queried Noble. Brook and Banach finally broke off to engage him. ‘Caskey?’ No reply. ‘Rachel Caskey’s a lesbian?’
‘Keep it down, John,’ hissed Banach.
‘This stays between us three,’ said Brook. ‘She has a right to privacy.’
‘Caskey’s a lesbian,’ said Noble softly, trying the phrase on for size as though looking for its meaning.
‘You’ve heard of them, then?’ quipped Banach.
Noble winked at her. ‘Explains why she hasn’t hit on me.’
‘Jesus,’ groaned Banach.
Noble grinned at her. ‘What?’
‘You think every woman lusts after you?’
‘Only the ones with eyes.’
‘Jesus,’ repeated Banach. ‘This is why gay officers are reluctant to come out. If I had my way …’
‘Is the canvass finished, Angie?’ said Brook, draining his mug and holding it out for her in a way that told her she ought to be somewhere else. She placed the tray under it and waited for Noble’s mug, giving him a last admonishing glare and placing a finger across her lips as she left.
‘A lesbian,’ repeated Noble.
‘Have you finished your suffragette workshop, John?’
Noble pointed a digit at him. ‘So this George you told me about, this dead partner, was a woman.’
‘Apparently it’s quite common these days,’ remarked Brook drily.
‘Good for her,’ nodded Noble. ‘How did you find out? Station gossip?’
‘The opposite,’ said Brook. ‘There wasn’t any.’
‘Well, there’s not enough love in the world …’
‘That’s what Jason Statham said at Frazer and Nolan’s party, isn’t it?’ Brook turned to the horizon, where the pale light of impending dawn was beginning to bruise the sky. ‘I know it’s hardly news at the moment, but I may have been wrong. Or rather, inadvertently right.’
‘About what?’
‘When I told Charlton there might be a connection between Black Oak Farm and the Champagne Killer, I did it to head him off.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I’m starting to think there is a link,’ said Brook.
‘I’m listening.’
‘Do you trust my instincts, John?’
Noble hesitated. ‘Mostly.’
‘Then trust me when I tell you that the day the Thorogoods were murdered at Black Oak Farm, someone saw something they wished they hadn’t, and I think it triggered an impulse to kill.’
‘Someone meaning on the Force,’ ventured Noble.
Brook waited for him to catch on.
‘Caskey?’ Brook raised an eyebrow. ‘Because she’s a lesbian?’
‘Because she’s in mourning, John. She’s a very troubled young woman who’s suffered a traumatic loss.’
‘She’s a bit twitchy, maybe …’ Noble paused, still wrapping his head around it. ‘Do you have any evidence?’
‘Only circumstantial,’ conceded Brook. ‘She’s an AFO, carries handcuffs and could gain access to people’s homes with a flash of ID. She fits the profile perfectly.’
‘But she created the profile,’ pointed out Noble.
‘And you heard her deliver it from the heart.’
‘She did sound like she was talking to a priest, I’ll grant you that. A killer in mourning, celebrating the lives of devoted couples, then shooting them simultaneously so they can spend eternity together.’ He pulled a face. ‘I’m not convinced.’
‘Neither am I,’ agreed Brook. ‘But a glance at her work shows she started going off the rails after Black Oak Farm and she’s been struggling ever since.’
‘So what did she see?’
‘Monty and Patricia Thorogood dead in each other’s arms.’
‘Something that messy could knock anyone back.’
‘Especially if that’s the fate she wishes she’d suffered with the love of her life.’
‘You realise this is a massive leap.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘Who have you told?’
‘Just you.’
‘Good. Charlton would have kittens.’
‘Do you think?’ mocked Brook.
‘What do we do?’
‘Not much we can do except keep an eye on her.’
‘Hard to do if she’s AWOL,’ nodded Noble. His mouth dropped open in shock and he gestured towards the crime scene. ‘Wait a minute. You think … ?’
‘I think if someone else is the killer, then Fry is the ideal fall guy.’
‘But he was here. With a gun.’
‘He doesn’t fit the profile, John. Killing Gibson like that makes little sense.’
‘Then why was he here?’
‘He was camping over in that copse,’ said Brook, indicating the shoulder of land in the distance. ‘I suspect he heard the shots and came to investigate.’
‘Why would he do that? He’s already a murder suspect.’
‘You said it yourself. He’s struggling on all fronts. Maybe he’s had enough. And, of course, he may have had genuine feelings for Gibson.’
Noble was thoughtful. ‘How long have you suspected Caskey?’
‘After she came up with the profile, it offered me a glimpse of her suffering,’ replied Brook. ‘That’s when I started to take a real interest in Black Oak Farm.’
‘Come on,’ said Noble, doubtful. ‘You were all over it before then, and it wasn’t just about Mullen having his say. There’s something you’re not telling me.’
Brook took a deep breath. ‘Reardon Thorogood is in a relationship with my daughter.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘I wish I were. They met at university a couple of years ago.’
‘Terri’s a lesbian too?’ said Noble, with a sharp laugh that turned the heads of detectives and scene-of-crime officers alike.
Brook ushered him further into the darkness. ‘She’s needy and damaged, John. And right now she doesn’t know what she is.’ The helicopter passed overhead as a van carrying a dog-handling unit pulled up at the end of the lane.
Noble’s brow furrowed. ‘I thought Reardon Thorogood was once in a relationship with Jonathan Jemson.’
‘It doesn’t mean a thing. She’s another young woman damaged at the hands of men,’ replied Brook, prompting Noble with a raised eyebrow. ‘And the needy gravitate towards each other.’ Noble wasn’t getting it, so Brook tried again. ‘And Reardon would have been very vulnerable in the days following her parents’ murders.’
Noble’s eyes widened. ‘You think Caskey and Reardon …’
Caskey lowered the binoculars. After half an hour, there was still no movement in the flat and the curtains were still drawn. Then again, the sun
had barely risen. Shivering, she strode briskly back to the car and started the engine to get warm. After five minutes with the fan on full blast, she turned the engine off and checked her tired eyes in the rear-view mirror. Satisfied that the drops had helped dissipate the red rim of sleep deprivation and tears, she got out of the car and marched across the road to the imposing door, unwilling to wait a moment longer.
When five minutes of pounding and buzzing had gone unanswered, a young man crested the park steps carrying a pushbike. He slid a key into the adjacent door of the software company and glanced across at Caskey, who had suspended her hammering until the man entered the building.
‘Morning,’ he said, pushing open his door. ‘Long time no see.’
Caskey turned to face him. He was one of the computer geeks from the ground floor. ‘Yes. Hello.’
‘Lost your key?’
Caskey’s thin smile was a huge effort. ‘Something like that.’ He finally wheeled his bike into the building and closed the door on her, and she promptly took up the pounding again. She pressed the buzzer and barked into the intercom, ‘Open this door, Reardon, or I’m breaking it down. I mean it.’ She waited a few seconds. ‘Have it your way then.’ She hunched a shoulder and prepared to shove against the sturdy door, but at that moment it opened and a pretty young woman stuck her head through the crack, blinking at the daylight.
‘Do you know what time it is? What do you want?’ she growled, her voice husky from cigarettes and sleep.
‘Who are you?’ demanded Caskey, although she recognised her face from previous stakeouts.
‘I live here,’ said the young woman haughtily. ‘Why the hell are you threatening to break down our door?’
‘I’m a police officer,’ said Caskey, fumbling for her warrant card.
‘That doesn’t give you the right to break in.’
‘You don’t know a lot about police powers, do you?’
‘I know plenty,’ snarled the girl, not easily cowed. ‘You were here last night shouting and hammering.’
‘So you were in.’
‘Yes, we were, and thanks to you, Reardon was frightened half to death all night. And if you’re really a police officer, you’ll know why.’
‘I’m sorry about that, but I have to speak to her.’
‘About what?’
Caskey hesitated. ‘Police business.’
‘The murder of her parents?’
Caskey was surprised and unable to guard her reply. ‘That’s right.’
‘Newsflash, lady,’ said the young woman. ‘That case is closed and the killer is in prison.’ Caskey raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, I do know all about it. And if you were ever on the case, you’d know Reardon has barely set foot outside since that day, so what you think she can tell you about anything is beyond me. Why aren’t you out looking for her brother?’
‘He’s out of the country,’ replied Caskey.
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Are you going to let me in or not?’
‘No,’ said the young woman defiantly. ‘It’s not convenient.’
Caskey set her jaw. ‘Step out of the way, please, or I’ll arrest you.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she pouted back. ‘Did my dad put you up to this?’
Caskey was wrong-footed for a second. ‘Your dad?’
‘The high-and-mighty Inspector Damen Brook,’ sneered the young woman. Caskey’s jaw dropped. ‘He did, didn’t he? He’s trying to split me up from Reardon and he doesn’t even have the guts to come here himself. I should’ve known he’d try something like this. All that liberal shit about just wanting me to be happy.’
Caskey stood speechless. Brook’s refusal to allow her to speak to Reardon on her own suddenly made a lot more sense. ‘I …’
‘Yeah, you’re busted. And you can tell him from me, it won’t work. Reardon and I are in love and there’s nothing he can do about it. Now go away.’
The door began to close, but Caskey put her foot in to stop it, her face tight with determination. ‘I need to see Reardon,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘Well you can’t …’
Caskey reached for her handcuffs, but a second later the door opened wider and Reardon’s pale face appeared next to Brook’s daughter.
‘Hello, Rachel.’
‘Reardon,’ said Caskey, quietly.
‘It’s okay, Terri. I’ll speak to DS Caskey.’
‘You don’t have to,’ said Terri, looking into her eyes, her expression softening. ‘She’s got absolutely no right.’
Reardon’s pallid smile countermanded. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Terri folded her arms to register disapproval before relenting and stepping behind Reardon. ‘Okay, but I’m staying right here.’
‘You changed the locks,’ remarked Caskey.
‘Given how things ended, I thought it best,’ answered Reardon.
Caskey nodded, slid the key ring from her jacket and held it out. ‘The latch key is useless,’ she said, a half-smile directed at Terri, ‘but I dare say future lodgers can get some use out of the others.’ Terri glared resentfully back at her.
‘Thank you,’ said Reardon, taking the keys. ‘You said you had police business.’
Caskey eyed Terri. ‘On reflection, I think I’ll leave my questions for a later time.’
‘Good,’ said Terri, touching the door on Caskey’s foot to prompt a withdrawal. It didn’t move.
‘My necklace,’ said Caskey softly. ‘I’d like it back.’ Reardon hesitated, then turned. ‘Wait!’ demanded Caskey. She glanced anxiously at Terri. ‘And the other thing. I shouldn’t have given it to you.’
Reardon paused, forming her reply. ‘No, you shouldn’t. That’s why I threw it away.’ Before Caskey could reply, she jogged up the stairs.
‘So you’re her ex,’ said Terri with a smirk.
Caskey didn’t meet her eyes. ‘You’ll get there.’
‘No chance,’ said Terri, with a mixture of defiance and pride. ‘We’re in love.’
‘You might be, but Reardon isn’t. She’s not capable.’
‘We’re working through her issues,’ said Terri haughtily. ‘Together.’
‘Bully for you,’ scowled Caskey.
The descending notes of the staircase announced Reardon’s return, and her pale arm extended towards Caskey, a silver necklace with a chunky letter R clutched in her fingers.
‘Thank you,’ said Caskey, removing her foot from the door and showing the pendant to Terri. ‘R for Rachel,’ she said, pointing to the letter.
‘Skank,’ hissed Terri, and slammed the door.
Caskey’s savage amusement dissipated and she returned to the car deep in thought, patting herself down for her mobile. It was still on the passenger seat from the previous evening. She turned it on and was assailed by a dozen messages and missed calls from Noble. Instead she flicked at the solitary text from Donald Crump and read the message.
‘That’s impossible,’ she mumbled, sinking back in the driver’s seat to think it through. ‘Impossible.’ She flicked at an icon and Crump picked up on the third ring. ‘It’s Caskey. Are you sure about the blood?’ She listened, eyes blank. ‘I see. No, don’t worry. Like you said, the case is closed. There’s no rush. I’ll inform DI Brook and you can send him an updated blood plan in due course.’
She rang off, her expression mutating from confusion to realisation to bitterness. ‘You bloody fool, Rachel.’
Twenty-Eight
Outside Ticknall Community Centre later that morning, Brook peeled the plastic lid from a Styrofoam cup and sipped at the welcome tea. He warmed his hands on the hot vessel and stared up into the pale winter sun, glad of a clear sky for the helicopter. A major manhunt was under way, and it had been a busy morning co-ordinating roadblocks with the RPUs and organising search teams and dog handlers with the Force Incident Manager, now in the helicopter, criss-crossing the surrounding countryside grid by grid.
Brook loathed the administrative minutiae of suc
h an operation, but on the upside, the involvement of firearms meant that much of the strategic work had been taken out of his hands by specialist officers. Even Charlton was in the field, though thankfully he’d taken himself off to Matthew Gibson’s house to inspect the latest crime scene.
Brook extracted his mobile from a pocket to check the signal. It had gone again. He couldn’t answer his daughter’s text, sent earlier that morning, so he settled for rereading it.
Real classy, Dad. NOT! Please don’t send over that skanky bitch to drive a wedge between me and Reardon. We’re in love. Deal with it!!!!!!!!
‘Skanky bitch,’ he repeated, convinced that Terri must be referring to Caskey. Who else would be banging on Reardon’s door? And if Caskey had been to Nottingham, against his direct instructions, chances were she knew Terri’s identity.
‘Theresa May call you?’ quipped Noble, nodding at the tablet in his hand.
‘It’s a bit early for levity, John,’ muttered Brook. ‘Any developments?’
‘Nope. But local radio are all over it. TV, too. We might be about to get swamped, but the RPUs are ready.’
‘The media will get in somehow. They always do.’
Caskey’s car pulled up and she jumped out, making her way towards Brook and Noble, her face a mixture of emotions – all strong.
‘Where’ve you been?’ demanded Brook.
She did her best to smile. ‘I got here as fast as I could.’
‘You look terrible,’ said Noble. ‘Where were you?’
‘Home,’ she said, not meeting their eyes. It seemed to be an effort to speak, but she roused herself, affecting normality. ‘My phone was switched off. I didn’t realise.’
‘We sent a patrol car round,’ said Noble, suspiciously. ‘They said there was no sign of life.’
She processed the information for a few seconds. ‘They must’ve got the wrong address.’ Noble recited her address from memory. ‘That’s my place all right. Wait, I took a sleeping pill,’ she replied with finality, comfortable in her lie.
‘And Reardon Thorogood?’ said Brook.
‘What about her?’ Caskey’s eyes bored into Brook’s, her expression daring him to enquire further.
‘Never mind.’
With an attempt at engagement, she added, ‘So, David Fry. Is it definite?’
‘He was at Gibson’s house last night,’ said Brook. ‘With a gun.’