by James Raven
A patrol car was waiting for Temple in front of the station. He sat in the back behind the two uniforms. The moment they were on the move he closed his eyes. But sleep was waiting to draw him under so he opened them again and stared out of the window at the near-empty streets of Southampton.
He wondered if it had been another hectic Saturday night and Sunday morning. The city centre had got much worse over the past five years. More drunks. More fights. More stabbings. More racial tension. He supposed it was no different from any other city in the UK.
‘Much trouble tonight?’ he asked without turning from the window.
‘Oh, the usual stuff,’ the driver answered. ‘Savages on the rampage. A clubber claims she was raped in Mayflower Park. Then we just heard that two youths got beaten to a pulp by a crazy man with an iron bar down St Mary’s. You ask me I reckon the world’s gone mad.’
He wasn’t far wrong, Temple thought. A rape, a vicious assault and a murder. And the government had the temerity to insist that crime was under control.
Temple pushed back against the headrest. It was time to reflect on the case. Already there were lots of questions. Who killed Vince Mayo and why? Had Mayo known his killer and let him or her into the cottage? Was there more than one killer? Would Joe Dessler kill a man who owed him money? Where the hell was Danny Cain and his family and did he know that his best friend had been beaten to death?
He thought about Joe Dessler. Small time escort agency boss and moneylender. An unsavoury character with a criminal record for violent behaviour. But was he a killer?
He had motive – a debt that he wanted paid. But one way to ensure that it would never be paid was to kill Mayo. Not very sensible. Unless he wanted to make an example of him. So maybe he went to the cottage to give Mayo a final warning and things got out of hand.
And what of Danny Cain? There were certainly grounds for suspicion there. Why had Mayo phoned him shortly before he was killed? And why was his house empty even though his car was on the driveway and Angel saw movement through one of the upstairs windows?
Very sus, especially when the car – a blue BMW – matched the description of the one that Bill Nadelson spotted tearing along the lane shortly after the murder was committed.
Temple recalled his one and only meeting with Cain and Mayo together. Cain was the quieter of the two and at the time it was clear that his conscience had been pricked by George Banks’s situation. But he was also a typical journalist, obsessed with what he regarded as a great story and determined to see it in print regardless of the consequences. And those consequences had been tragic. George Banks had been one of the most popular guys in the Hampshire Constabulary. He and Temple had been friends for years. They often went fishing together, had dinner at each other’s homes, shared the same concerns about the state of the modern police service.
Despite what he said to Jennifer Priest there was still a lot of ill feeling towards Mayo and Cain. It was as strong as ever because the officers would frequently come into contact with one or both of them at crime scenes and court sessions. It made it difficult for them to forget what had happened to George.
Temple understood their anger but he didn’t share it. After all, George had committed a crime and had decided he couldn’t live with the consequences. Cain and Mayo were not to blame – although they were guilty of a lack of compassion.
Temple could well remember the day he arrived at George’s house to pick him up. They were on a late shift together and George’s wife had taken the car.
Temple honked the horn and when George didn’t appear he got out of his car and rang the doorbell. There was no answer so he peered through the letterbox and was about to yell for George when he saw a pair of legs dangling in mid air above the stairs.
George had gone to the trouble of getting dressed before hanging himself from the upstairs banisters with an electric cable.
Dessler lived in a penthouse flat overlooking Southampton’s prestigious Ocean Village marina. It had been one of his late wife’s favourite places; he and Erin used to go there to admire the luxury yachts and cruise from the open-air restaurants along the quayside.
As the patrol car turned into the complex Temple could see the white-hulled boats bobbing at their moorings. Around them were a few upmarket blocks of flats and a handful of trendy restaurants, including Erin’s favourite. He could actually recall the last meal they had there. It was to celebrate her promotion at the school where she taught – and it was precisely a year before she succumbed to the cancer that had ravaged her stomach.
Dessler’s block had its own security man at the entrance, who woke from his slumber with a start when Temple rapped on the glass door. He sat up behind his desk and buzzed them in.
‘We’ve come to see Mr Joe Dessler,’ Temple said. ‘Which floor does he live on?’
‘Seventh floor, sir. The top. Number eighty-eight.’
‘Is he in?’
‘I believe so, but I expect he’s in bed. He arrived back here late this evening.’
‘How late?’ Temple asked.
‘About midnight, I think. Do you want me to call up and tell him that you’re here?’
‘No, I’d rather it was a surprise.’
They went up in the lift, walked along a corridor with a sumptuous green carpet and sepia prints of yachts on the Solent. Who says crime doesn’t pay? Temple thought. This was high-end luxury. He could almost smell the money.
They got to the flat and Temple rang the bell. He thought he would have to ring it several times before he got an answer. But not so. The door opened within seconds and a tall, surly-looking man was standing there. He had olive skin and would have been quite handsome if it were not for the scar that ran from one corner of his mouth to just below his ear. It was dark and deep and distorted the side of his face.
Temple was somewhat surprised to see that Dessler was fully dressed in a black polo sweater, jeans and heavy boots. He wondered instinctively if there was any blood on the soles of the boots.
‘Are you Joe Dessler?’ Temple asked.
‘Who wants to know?’ The hint of a northern accent.
Temple flashed his ID. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Jeff Temple, Hampshire Major Crime Department. Mind if we come in for a chat?’
Dessler eyed the two uniforms. His hair was coal-black and short and he had thin colourless lips.
‘I do actually,’ he said. ‘It’s late. What’s this about?’
‘Caught you at a bad time, have we?’ Temple asked.
‘I was just going out.’
Temple looked at his watch. ‘At three in the morning? For your information the shops aren’t open yet.’
‘Very funny.’
Temple shrugged. ‘Look, I know this is a cliché, but we can talk to you here or take you down to the station. What’s it to be?’
Dessler gritted his teeth and stood back to let them in.
The flat was bright, spacious. Two large windows in the living area offered impressive views of the marina and beyond it to the Solent and the Isle of Wight. A long L-shaped sofa and two armchairs surrounded a marble coffee table. There was an Andy Warhol poster on one wall and a top-of-the-range Bang and Olufsen stereo system on another.
The two uniforms stood just inside the door. Temple cast an approving eye over the decor before turning his attention to the owner, or maybe he was merely the tenant.
‘So I take it you are Joe Dessler?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you live here alone?’
‘Most of the time.’
Dessler was in his late thirties and had about him an air of unbridled arrogance. Clearly he worked out and looked as though he could handle himself. He had a thick chest and pronounced biceps.
‘Mind if I sit down?’ Temple asked.
Dessler merely shrugged.
So Temple lowered himself on to an armchair and gestured for Dessler to sit opposite him on the sofa. Dessler did so with obvious reluctance.
&
nbsp; Temple fixed him with a look and said nothing for several seconds. He wanted to get a handle on the man, gauge whether he was nervous and intimidated. But he didn’t show it if he was. He simply sat there, crossed his legs and waited for Temple to break the silence.
‘So why aren’t you in your jimjams, Mr Dessler? Most people are tucked up in bed at this time of the day.’
‘What I do with my time is my business,’ Dessler said.
‘Not if you’re breaking the law it isn’t.’
‘So what law are you accusing me of breaking?’
‘I’m not sure yet, but I expect there’s more than one.’
Dessler rolled his eyes. ‘Look, what the fuck do you want with me? I’m a respectable local businessman and I resent your attitude.’
Temple held it a beat, then said, ‘We’re investigating the murder of Vince Mayo.’
Dessler swallowed and Temple saw the cords in his neck move, but it was impossible to tell whether he was genuinely surprised or putting on an act.
‘Are you serious?’ he said.
‘Mr Mayo was killed at his cottage in the New Forest a few hours ago,’ Temple said. ‘He was bludgeoned to death. We know he owed you money and that you’ve been making threats against him. We also know that you went to his cottage this evening. So naturally we’re very suspicious.’
‘I didn’t go to the cottage,’ Dessler said. ‘In fact I’ve never been to his place.’
‘Then why did he tell his girlfriend that he was expecting you there? You were going there to collect some money. He’d even got the cash out ready for when you turned up.’
Dessler gave a finger massage to the bridge of his nose. ‘I did plan to go to his place. The bastard owed me over twenty grand, but I got tied up. I called earlier in the evening to tell him I wouldn’t be showing up and that I’d see him on Monday.’
‘In that case you must have an alibi,’ Temple said. ‘I’m particularly interested to know where you were and what you were doing between eight and ten.’
‘I was at the casino,’ Dessler said. ‘Got back here about midnight. I was just about to leave to go there again. It closes at five and I want to win back some of the money I lost.’
‘Which casino? There are three in Southampton.’
‘The Grand. There were plenty of witnesses, so you can check.’
‘We will,’ Temple said. ‘And you were there all evening?’
‘Correct. I’m a regular. They know me well enough. So you’d better look for someone else to blame for Mayo’s murder. He probably owed money to a string of other people. He had a serious gambling problem.’
‘And you helped him fund it.’
‘I lent him the cash as a one off,’ Dessler said. ‘I don’t make a habit of it. I’m not a loan shark if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
‘Of course you are,’ Temple said. ‘You charge astronomical rates of interest and you prey on the vulnerable.’
‘I lent him the money as a favour. If he was alive he’d tell you that himself.’
Temple pursed his lips. ‘So why don’t you tell me about the threats you made against him.’
‘I didn’t threaten him. I just made it clear I wanted my money.’
‘And you told him you would hurt him if he didn’t give it to you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a businessman, not a thug. I don’t need to go around threatening people.’
Temple almost smiled at that one.
‘So you’re saying that you didn’t go to Mayo’s cottage and beat him to death?’
Dessler’s mouth curled into an unsightly smile, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. ‘Do I look that stupid, Inspector? If the guy owed me money then the last thing I’d want is to see him dead.’
‘What if you knew he was writing a story about you and your nefarious activities? A story that would be published in a Sunday red top and would likely land you in prison.’
Dessler frowned. ‘What are you on about?’
‘As you know, Mr Mayo was a journalist and a partner in a freelance news agency,’ Temple said. ‘We have reason to believe he was writing an article exposing you as a crook.’
Dessler grinned again, this time a little nervously.
‘Firstly I’m not a crook,’ he said. ‘And secondly I know nothing about any article.’
‘Well, I’m sure it’ll make interesting reading,’ Temple said. ‘After all, as well as the loan sharking there are the girls and the brothels and whatever else you’ve got your dirty mitts in.’
‘You’re flailing in the dark, Inspector. You’ve got nothing on me and you know it. I run a legitimate escort agency. I bring people together. It’s all above board. Your friends in Vice have tried to stitch me up often enough and they’ve always wound up looking like the Keystone Kops.’
‘Well I don’t work in Vice,’ Temple said. ‘And I’m not interested in your sleazy business dealings. But I am keen to know if you’ve graduated from pimping to murder.’
Dessler blinked twice. ‘I told you. I had nothing to do with it and I’ve got an alibi. Now if you want to ask any more questions I want my lawyer present.’
‘In that case I’ll have to take you down to the nick.’
Dessler puffed out his cheeks. ‘This is fucking ridiculous. I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Well, if you really are innocent then I’m sure you won’t mind us looking around this flat,’ Temple said.
‘Nice try, Inspector, but unless you’ve got a search warrant you can piss off. I’m not going to let you fit me up.’
‘At least show me the soles of your boots,’ he said.
Dessler’s eyes popped. ‘What for?’
‘Because there was a lot of blood at the scene of the murder and quite a few shoeprints.’
Dessler gave a pinched smile. ‘And you think I’d be stupid enough to still be wearing the shoes if it was me who did it?’
Temple shrugged. ‘Even sadistic killers make stupid mistakes.’
Dessler shook his head, then surprised Temple by sitting back and lifting his legs. The soles of his shoes were clean.
‘Happy?’ Dessler said.
Temple was about to respond when his phone rang. He turned his back on Dessler to answer it.
‘It’s me, guv,’ Angel said. ‘Where are you?’
‘Interviewing Joe Dessler at his flat,’ he told her. ‘He claims he didn’t go to the cottage this evening and has an alibi. But I think I’ll bring him in anyway and get a search warrant for the flat.’
‘I don’t think he’s our man, guv,’ she said.
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘We’ve found something that implicates Danny Cain in the murder of Vince Mayo.’
‘Are you positive?’
‘Absolutely, sir. It’s firm evidence.’
‘So you’re saying we can put Dessler on the back burner?’
‘I think so, guv. For now at least.’
‘In that case I’ll come straight back.’
Temple hung up the phone and turned to Dessler, ‘OK, Mr Dessler, we’re done for now, but I will want to talk to you later. So give me your contact numbers and don’t make it difficult for me to reach you.’
‘Why would I do that? I’ve got nothing to hide.’
Temple got to his feet, gave Dessler a contemptuous look. ‘The last smart arse who said that to me ended up going down for five years,’ he said.
16
The incriminating piece of evidence that Angel had referred to on the phone was a pair of shoes with blood on them. They’d been hidden away in a plastic bag that had been placed in a kitchen cupboard at Danny Cain’s house.
Although the blood hadn’t yet been analysed in the lab, the forensic technician who examined it confirmed that it was fresh. He was also convinced that the shoes would match the print found in the pool of Mayo’s blood.
In addition, blood had been found on the front carpet and pedals of Cain’s BMW.
The inve
stigating team, consisting of six detectives and four uniformed officers, had gathered in the CID briefing room. They were all young and ambitious, at least half of them graduates. Average age thirty-three. They were often far too eager to make an impression, but Temple rated them all pretty highly. It meant a lot to him that he had their respect too, even though he knew that some of them thought he was a bit long in the tooth and too set in his ways.
The room smelled of strong coffee, stale sweat and hangovers. Once upon a time you couldn’t breathe for cigarette smoke. Back then Temple was on thirty fags a day and George Banks was never without his pipe. Most of the other officers were smokers too, so the place resembled an opium den.
Angel had kicked off the session by delivering the news about the shoes. It was a significant breakthrough, but it wasn’t by any means the only lead to have emerged.
‘The door-to-door along the road behind the Cain house turned up a resident who said he was out walking his dog after midnight when he saw a man matching Cain’s description run past him.’
And according to Cain’s immediate neighbours the family were in during the afternoon. But no one seemed to know where they were now.
Angel then told the team that a granite pestle might have been used as the murder weapon. She explained about the mortar and said that the matching pestle had not been found in a search of the cottage.
‘So a possible scenario is this,’ Temple said. ‘Cain goes to Mayo’s house for whatever reason and kills him with the pestle. But he makes a mess of it. Then he gets in his car and the neighbour, Mr Nadelson, sees him speeding away from the cottage. Cain drives home, leaving a trail of blood, and then does a runner when we show up.’
‘What about the wife and daughter?’ Brayshaw asked.
Temple looked at him. ‘Good question, but we don’t know the answer. Either they were not at home or they fled with Cain, which seems unlikely since they weren’t spotted by the dog walker.’
Temple turned to Angel. ‘Tell us about the phone calls,’ he said.
Angel nodded. ‘We think that Cain might have gone to the cottage in response to a call that Mayo made at about eight forty-five. The call has shown up on his landline log.’