by Mike Craven
‘Nor mine. We’re too close to Skiddaw. I don’t know of any network that gets more than one bar. I have to go all the way past the Sun Inn to get any signal at all. Price you pay to live here, I suppose. It’s okay, you send someone when you can. I’m not going anywhere,’ he said with an element of melancholy. The first Fluke had seen from him.
‘Thanks. I’ll have someone up as soon as possible, but I’ll make sure it’s convenient. And Gibson?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can call me, Avison.’ Fluke stretched out his hand and the two men shook.
Fluke stayed to finish his coffee and Tait told him that he’d been able to afford to live in Bassenthwaite because the school paid out an extortionate sum after his accident. He didn’t really have to work but liked to feel useful. They spoke about his passion for rugby and Fluke’s own passion for cricket until his stomach growled loudly. He decided that if he didn’t leave he’d miss the chef at the local pub. They shook hands again and, by way of an apology, Fluke said he’d buy him a pint when the case was finished.
The Pheasant was on the other side of the lake and as Fluke drove, he smiled. He’d been planning to arrest Tait for conspiracy to murder half an hour ago, now he was planning to meet him for a drink. He’d send Towler out to take his statement and wouldn’t be surprised if he bagged himself an invite as well. Towler loved rugby nearly as much as Tait did.
The Pheasant was quiet when he got there, but the kitchen was still open. He ordered a pint of Jennings Cumberland Ale and a game pie from the specials board. He sipped his drink and waited for his food.
‘Bollocks,’ he mumbled to himself when it arrived. He’d forgotten to order the side salad.
The drive back was even more treacherous than the journey out, and Fluke’s BMW was buffeted by strong side winds over some of the higher ground. He was intending to ring the duty officer from his car and get that evening’s interview logged but he thought better of it. He needed both hands on the wheel.
The wind hadn’t relented when he arrived home and some of the taller, thinner trees in his wood were bent almost sideways as the wind tested their roots. One of them was actually touching his cabin roof. Something for him to deal with next time he got a chance. Fluke carefully navigated his wet, muddy drive and eventually, found somewhere he felt was as safe from anywhere from falling branches. He parked up and ran to the front door, using his case file to shield his head from the heavy rain. He rang HQ as soon as the door was shut behind him.
There was no immediate answer and he filled the time scraping the congealed pasta into the bin. Eventually, it was answered. Alan Vaughn had drawn the night shift again. Fluke brought him up to date.
‘Seems anyone in that department could have done it. We’ll take Tait’s statement but I think we need to think of another way to get what we need. We can’t prove who it was through the databases, according to Tait. He’s gonna help us but he’s not back from leave for a few days.’
‘He won’t come in?’
‘To be honest, Al, he probably would have. He seems like a nice bloke. But he’s taken leave while he has these leg tingle things and I didn’t have the heart to ask him to.’
‘Shit,’ he said. ‘What’s next then, boss?’
Good question. What next? Ten hours’ sleep is what he needed. He’d settle for six. ‘Call everyone and tell them to take Sunday off. We’ll start again Monday.’ he said, ‘I’m assuming there are no hits on Dalton Cross yet?’ The name was unusual. If it was in the system, he was betting he would be the only one, although Fluke doubted it would be easily found. Someone that good didn’t leave breadcrumbs.
‘Nope, but the ballistic test on Diamond is back. As we thought, it’s a match with Farrar’s. Sowerby did the PM this afternoon and Matt got the bullet down to Manchester as a priority. The report should be with us early next week.’
No surprises there but it was reassuring that there weren’t two murderers out there.
‘Right, cheers, Al,’ he said. ‘I’m off to kip and suggest you try and get an hour or two later.’
Chapter 35
By the time Fluke woke on Sunday morning, he’d pressed the alarm’s snooze button half a dozen times. The long hours were doing him no good and he knew his blood would extract a price at some point. He’d planned to stay in bed until noon and then go and meet Towler for Sunday lunch; a tradition they had, and one that Abi loved. She was always allowed an adult portion and whatever she ordered had better come with a Yorkshire pudding or there’d be hell to pay.
By ten o’clock, he was restless. Everyone had needed a day off, himself included, but he couldn’t help feeling that the killer was being allowed twenty-four additional hours to get away. Fluke had a shower, made a drink and got out the case file. It was raining so he sat at his kitchen table and spread out the papers.
He didn’t have the post-mortem report on Diamond but something was troubling him about the murder. It wasn’t until he stopped comparing it with Samantha’s that he knew what it was. Samantha’s had been a clean kill. She’d probably not known anything about it. At best she may have heard something the split second before the bullet shredded her brains. Diamond’s had been anything but clean. The troubling thing about both murders was the fact that they’d only been able to link them by accident. If there hadn’t been a witness, Samantha would never have been found. Her body had been too well hidden. Diamond’s hadn’t been.
With the forensic report on the bullets confirming they were after the same gun, Fluke wondered why they were so different. One was professional, one was brutal. The two together made no sense. Even if Diamond’s had been to extract information, it was completely over the top. It looked like a punishment beating but professional killers didn’t do that sort of thing. He briefly entertained the idea they were after two killers sharing one gun but that made no sense.
Okay, pretend we didn’t know about Samantha.
There’d been no attempt to hide Diamond.
Why not?
Because we were supposed to find him.
Without Samantha’s murder, what conclusions would we have jumped to about Diamond?
Given his alleged links to the criminal underworld, Fluke have probably assumed it was a drug-related murder, a warning to other Cumbrians on what to expect when the big boys are crossed. They’d have thought Diamond was finding out what it was like to swim in the big pond. No way would they have suspected a professional hit.
When he thought about the murder that way, the more he thought the crime scene had been staged. He had no doubt that Diamond had information the killer needed about Samantha’s whereabouts, but to go on to mutilate the body was mindless violence. Fluke didn’t think their killer was prone to mindless violence. Extreme violence, yes. But mindless? Without Samantha, they would have looked at Diamond’s mutilated corpse completely differently. As a way of disguising the true motivation for the murder, it was perfect.
Towler had once told him about a serial killer who’d operated in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. His victims were killed in the same way as the sectarian murders. When a Black Watch patrol caught him red-handed shooting a young Catholic in the back of the head, something didn’t quite add up. The killer was a respectable man, a dentist with a large private practice without known affiliations to any paramilitary organisation. Although it was never proven, he was suspected in the killing of a dozen young men, on both sides of the religious fence. Because of the way he dispatched his victims, no one had ever considered they were anything other than sectarian murders.
He’d been hiding in the carnage of Belfast, and Fluke wondered if their killer had been doing the same with Diamond; hiding a murder in the carnage of the drug wars.
A car pulled up and the sound of small footsteps on his front porch told him his Sunday ruminations were over. He put everything back in the file and went to greet his friend and goddaughter.
He was still feeling tired when he entered HQ on the Monday morning. Most
of the team were already working. He asked Alan Vaughn when he could expect the PM report and was told later that day.
‘Has Longy taken today off?’ Fluke asked, to no one in particular as he looked round for him. Fluke had calmed down since Saturday night and he hoped he wasn’t avoiding him because of his error with Gibson Tait. The man had been awake virtually non-stop since he got back.
‘No, boss,’ Vaughn replied. ‘He went off somewhere. Said he’ll be in later.’
Fluke allowed his team to manage themselves as much as he could. It wasn’t a pissing contest. The one who worked the longest hours didn’t win a prize. He expected them to be able to function when they came in. He was only strict on everyone being in when the investigation was either in the very early stages or a big break had been made, the rest of the time he expected them to manage their downtime. If they needed rest, he didn’t expect to be asked permission. Fluke would take Jiao-long to one side later and make sure the error with Tait hadn’t been caused by fatigue. If it had been, it was Fluke’s fault.
Jo Skelton entered the incident room, holding a document. She caught Fluke’s eye and grinned. ‘Got it, boss.’
Fluke knew she could only be talking about one thing, and he was genuinely surprised. He thought she’d have about as much chance of finding a one-ended stick. ‘The warrants?’
‘Yep, both of them. Signed, sealed and delivered. Everything we need. Dalton Cross’s file and any CCTV relating to him or the investigation.’
It was exactly what Fluke had asked for, but with no evidence to back it up, he couldn’t see how she’d achieved it. He thought he’d sent her on a fool’s errand. ‘How?’ he finally managed.
‘Longy,’ she said simply. ‘Boy’s a genius. We’ve got the warrant but that’s not the only thing.’
Frustrated with his lack of success tracking down the name of Dalton Cross, Jiao-long had decided he was working his Sunday. He’d come in and fed the name into every database he had legal access to and, when that didn’t work, he went home and tried databases he didn’t have legal access to. Still, he drew a blank. In desperation, he rang home and spoke to someone who knew someone who knew someone. Eventually, he was put through to someone in Chinese intelligence.
An hour later, an email had arrived. Dalton Cross was known to them, as he was to all security services apparently.
‘I’m surprised the Chinese were okay with helping a British investigation,’ Fluke said. ‘I know we have a Beijing boy on the team but it seems a bit too helpful.’
‘Yeah, I thought that,’ she replied. ‘But Longy reckons there’s one overriding thing that would make them share.’
Fluke thought about it. It was possible that Cross was wanted in China for something. Possible but unlikely. Contract killers tended to work in their own ethnic groups. He wouldn’t be able to hide in China. He was the wrong colour, the wrong size and, in all likelihood, didn’t speak the language. No, it was something different. He tried to think of it from the Chinese perspective. What would make them share something they had no reason to? What would be in it for them?
When he thought of it like that, the answer was obvious. ‘It’s to embarrass the US isn’t it? What do they know about him?’
‘He was US Army,’ she answered. ‘He was a United States Ranger, whatever that is.’
‘Yank version of the Paras. Matt’s worked with them before, I think,’ Fluke replied automatically.
Towler confirmed he had, and that they were good. ‘Still a bunch of fucking crap hats though,’ he added, just in case anyone may have thought he was being disloyal to the maroon beret.
A ranger? He hadn’t needed Towler to tell him that they were one of the world’s elite forces. Tough, resourceful and fearless. Exactly what you needed for special-forces soldiers and exactly what Fluke had been dreading. Part of the file Jiao-long had printed was in Chinese but there was enough in English. It was purposefully incomplete. Some years were blank and Fluke knew that wasn’t because he’d been at the beach. It was because there were things in his record that were classified. So, in all likelihood a US Ranger with spook training. Perfect. Part of Fluke, the part that cared deeply for Cumbria and its inhabitants, hoped that Cross was already out of the country. That no one else was going to get hurt.
‘According to Longy’s contact, he went bad a few years ago. He was caught having an affair with an officer’s wife. Before he could be court-martialled, he slaughtered the entire family: the wife, the officer, even their three-year-old daughter. Set up someone else for it. He’d left no trace forensics; he was wearing bags on his feet, gloves on his hands and a hairnet and had used an unregistered weapon. He knew what he was doing. He was only discovered because the wife had set up a secret camera as she thought their maid was stealing from them. The whole thing had been caught on tape. By the time they found the cameras, he’d disappeared. His name kept cropping up in some contract killings but nothing was ever proven. The Yanks are desperate to get their hands on him as you can imagine. China only know about him as he was photographed in North Korea a few years ago.’
‘Christ, no wonder they were keen to share the intel,’ Fluke said. ‘A Yank working for the Koreans? No way they gonna pass that up.’
‘Yep, that’s what Longy said.’
‘And he’s sure he’s our man?’ Fluke asked. ‘He was the one that sent me out in the rain to see a man in a wheelchair on Saturday night, don’t forget. He’s been wrong before.’ If he wasn’t careful he could be at the epicentre of a diplomatic incident. He’d take Jiao-long to one side and make sure nothing was going to come back on them. He didn’t want either of them subject to rendition to the States on espionage charges. He didn’t want to be the new Julian Assange.
‘He’s sure, boss. You want to know how we got the warrants or not?’
Fluke nodded.
Skelton explained that as well as the summary of Cross’s heavily redacted service history, the information emailed across also included his fingerprints. All US military personnel are fingerprinted when they join, and Cross was no exception. She and Jiao-long had spent all Sunday night with the duty SOCO team and the charity box Fluke had grabbed from the coffee stall at the hospital. There was a clear match on two of the coins.
It was exceptional work, and Fluke told her so. He’d asked if there had been a photograph on the printout, and she confirmed there was but the face had been pixelated out. More evidence of classified operations. She handed Fluke a copy of the printout.
Fluke would have liked a face to go with the name so he knew he who was looking for, but just getting the warrants had been worth them losing a night’s sleep. Because Skelton had been able to link the coin at the hospital with the name of the suspect, she’d got her warrant as soon as the court sat that morning. She’d neglected to put in the application that the name Dalton Cross had originated from the hospital but that was just creative paperwork as far as he was concerned.
The latest development seemed to clear the Monday morning blues. Fluke could feel his fatigue wash away. He quickly handed out a few urgent tasks. Jiao-long was to go and speak to Gibson Tait as soon as he’d been home and rested. Together, they could devise a strategy to identify who the IT leak was. He followed the adage ‘if you wanted something done quickly, give it to someone who’s already busy’.
Although Fluke had already read the file, he’d travel to the hospital and speak to Doctor Weighman. Having legal authorisation to do so now, he was going to be a massive source of information. He’d wanted to help before, Fluke had been acutely aware of that.
The general noise of an office gearing up gradually stopped. Fluke looked up. The Chief Constable had entered the incident room.
‘DI Fluke, can I have a word?’
Chapter 36
Although Fluke was firmly of the opinion you were either a police officer or a bureaucrat, he’d always liked Travis ‘Action’ Jackson, Cumbria’s Chief Constable.
He hadn’t always been a senior manage
r. He’d once been a tough, no-nonsense copper. He’d been part of the unflinching thin blue line in the darkest days of football hooliganism and stood toe-to-toe with the rest of them when Millwall fans had marauded along Botchergate, smashing pubs and shops. His role had changed but the man hadn’t.
The Chief took the seat opposite Fluke’s.
‘I gather the investigation is progressing?’
Fluke told him it was and updated him on the morning’s developments.
‘Good, Cameron Chamber’s showed me the HOLMES summary. This has been an excellent investigation, Avison. Absolutely top-class.’
Fluke said nothing.
‘I’m paying you a compliment, Avison.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘You know it’s going to be taken from us, don’t you?’
The initial excitement Fluke had felt that morning had worn off. As soon as he found out who Cross was the investigation going higher up the food chain was inevitable. They might get some local arrests. The IT leak. Whoever supplied Cross’s weapon, that type of thing. But Cross himself would be hunted by people who only seemed to have first names. People who worked in offices where the floors weren’t numbered and secrets were traded like commodities.
The Chief sighed. ‘Did you know Cameron closed the robbery this morning as well?’
The lucky prick. He wondered who’d actually done the real work. ‘No, sir, I didn’t.’
‘Do you know why you weren’t involved in the investigation?’
Fluke shrugged. He knew why. It was because Chambers didn’t want to be upstaged by a subordinate. He wasn’t about to say that though.
‘It’s because you’re not playing well with others at the minute, Avison.’