The Darkest Deed_A Gripping Detective Crime Mystery

by Solomon Carter

  What was taking him so long?

  Five minutes had passed, and Palmer could still hear him rifling through papers in the back room. Palmer heard her heart thudding in her chest and felt her throat closing up. She listened closely to the sounds from the gym outside with acute attention. And when she heard a faint clank, clank, clank, Palmer knew exactly what it was. Castleton was coming back. She was climbing the escalator

  “Guv!” she hissed.

  “Guv?” Palmer hissed again, but Hogarth couldn’t hear her. Palmer jumped to her feet as the clanks grew louder. She ran to the back room and leaned through the doorway. She found Hogarth hunched over a cabinet with a sheaf of paper in his hand, and loose stacks set out all around him. Hogarth seemed engrossed but looked up and met her eye.

  “Guv, she’s coming.”

  “Who? Jody Castleton? Oh, bugger.”

  Hogarth stuffed the papers back in the card files and slammed them shut, but then he seemed to think better of it, and grabbed a couple of loose sheets. He stuffed them into his jacket, scrunching them deep into his inside pocket before he followed Palmer out of the room and flicked off the light. They didn’t have time to reach their seats. The footsteps were far too close for that. Palmer and Hogarth looked at each other, trapped awkwardly in the middle of the room as Castleton appeared in the doorway. She stopped and looked at them, with a hint of a frown showing on her face. Hogarth broke the silence before it got unbearable.

  “Oh, there you are, Miss Castleton. We just wanted to say thanks before we left. That’s it. We’re all done, ready to go.”

  “And you got what you wanted?” she asked.

  “Oh yes, I think we did,” said Hogarth. “Be sure to thank Mr Regent for me, won’t you? Ever so kind.”

  Hogarth gave the woman a wink as he passed her in the doorway, and Palmer handed the original, useless folder back into her hand. Palmer gave the woman a strained smile and made her way out.

  “Well, I hope that was worth it, guv. You almost gave me a bloody heart attack up there…” said Palmer as they glided down the escalator. Hogarth looked at her with a grin. Palmer saw something sparkle in his eyes.

  “Oh, it was worth it, Palmer. I’ve got exactly what Mr Regent didn’t want us to see. And I assume some people next door probably didn’t want us to see it either.”

  “But you can’t use it, guv. Whatever you think you’ve got, you stole it from them. It’ll incriminate you before it harms them.”

  “I’m not going to use it, Palmer. Not like that, at any rate. We’re going to use it to flush out our killer.”

  Not for the first time, Palmer was having her doubts about Hogarth. His wild actions had put her at risk and set her on edge. She was an ethical cop, and Hogarth had crossed the line right in front of her eyes. As much as Palmer liked him, if Hogarth was intent on destroying his own career, he wasn’t going to take her down with him…

  Twenty-seven

  At five-fifty am, Hogarth woke up cold and aching. He found himself on his own home sofa, his spine bent out of shape, his body contorted and unwilling to unfold. There were pins and needles in his hands, and his legs felt dead. His sofas were uncomfortable and cheap, hardly good enough for sitting on, let alone for sleeping, yet he had chosen them rather than sharing his bed with Ali. He yawned and wondered why. It was because Ali was compromising him. If she was the woman he loved, then he was already a fool. But if she was the woman Vic Norton had described, then every time he spent a moment near her, feeling for her, needing her, he made what had to happen next that much harder to bear. Avoiding her, hard as it was, was self-preservation. Hogarth tried to be quiet as he unfolded his body. He stood up and his spine clicked. His legs ached. He saw he was still fully dressed in shirt and chinos, crumpled from head to toe. He saw a mostly empty bottle of Scotch on the floor beneath him.

  “Please tell me I didn’t drink that,” he whispered, but the fog in his head told him he’d had a few. Hogarth passed the kitchen, flicked the kettle on, then walked to the shower and put himself under the water until he felt human. It took five minutes of being blasted by extremely hot water before he even remembered what he’d done the night before. The X-L gym. Jody Castleton. Stealing the files Darryl Regent had tried to hide. He had risked his neck, but it had to be done. The case had proved near enough impenetrable, and he was committed to finding the killer. Fully committed. But the thrill of his discovery woke him up more than the water ever could. Once again, he knew he had a chance to put a villain behind bars. A chance to set the record straight. Who cared if he broke a few rules here and there to get the thing done? He winced as he remembered Palmer’s face. She didn’t like it, did she? Hogarth had been drafted in to replace an era of corrupt scumbags who used to wring the town for all it was worth. Maybe Palmer was worried he was going to go the same way. DS Palmer, with her big sad eyes, was a lot like his conscience. Hogarth yanked the shower cord. He grabbed a towel, threw it over his head, and rubbed hard like he always did. When he pulled the towel away, he found a sleepy looking Ali standing before him, framed in the light of the hallway. The bathroom was full of steam. The smile of Hogarth’s coming victory was dampened in more ways than one.

  “Ali…” he said.

  “Joe… what time did you come home?”

  “Late. Very late,” he said, feeling like a liar.

  “I stayed up ‘til one.”

  “Yeah,” said Hogarth. “I must have got back after that.”

  Ali stared at him, her big eyes full of questioning.

  “You didn’t come to bed.”

  “It was so late, that I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “That’s stupid. You need the sleep more than I do. What is it? What’s the matter with you?”

  Hogarth sighed and looked away. The feeling of lying and hiding, the soul poisoning bad faith couldn’t go on much longer. He’d had enough of it. But it wasn’t time yet. A lie would have to do.

  “I told you. It’s this case. Melford’s got me under pressure again. I’m having to do things, bend the rules just to get at the truth. The top brass have all thrown their weight against me now. I have to nail this case, Ali. It’s make or break.” At least that was true.

  “And that’s all it is?” she said.

  He saw the doubt in her eyes. She didn’t believe him.

  Hell. How had it come to this already?

  Hogarth stopped towelling his pale body and met her eye evenly.

  “That’s all it is,” he said.

  Lying wasn’t so hard, really it wasn’t. Even when you thought you loved the woman you were lying to.

  Ali folded her arms and walked away into the hallway. He saw his answer wasn’t cutting it. But until he knew the truth, what else was there to say?

  Hogarth took his time getting dry and then shaved. When he knew Ali wasn’t in the bedroom, he went in for fresh clothes. Every moment without her in the room, was a moment without added pressure. But it could only last so long. They lived together. They were lovers. He had to face her.

  He sighed as he buttoned up his shirt and looked at his weary, defeated eyes. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and yet she was a kind of slow-killing poison. He had no idea how to pretend nothing had changed between them. While he was thinking it through, he heard the buzz of his mobile phone. The two-pronged buzz of a text message. He looked around the bedroom and paced out into the hallway to find it. He opened the bathroom door, but his phone wasn’t in there. He left the bathroom and headed for the stairs, when he saw Ali coming up the steps. She looked beautiful, but sad. She looked at him and handed him the phone.

  “It’s a message from Simmons. You lot work too many hours. It’s not even seven o’clock yet.”

  Hogarth nodded and scanned the screen. Below Simmons’ name were the first few words of his text.

  “Tried that number. Yes, number is obsolete, but Red Mobile have call info available back as far as 2008. Lucky it wasn’t Go3. Let me know if you want me to
run the request for you.”

  Red mobile, eh? Hogarth’s heart started to race. Had Ali seen the message? No, she hadn’t. And it didn’t matter if she had. Simmons message was vague yet full of jargon. Even so, Hogarth couldn’t help a jangling of nerves. In every sense, today was a big day. Darryl Regent was going to complain. Johnson would hear of it. Melford would be on the warpath. And his deadline was almost up. Today had to count for something. By the end of the day, Hogarth knew he would either still be a police detective, or he would be on his way out.

  Hogarth walked into the kitchen, wearing a faltering smile, and he looked Ali in the eye. There was still hope. There was hope for his case, hope for his career, hope that Ali was exactly the person he wanted her to be. The truth was out there – just a click away. And knowing that, threw everything into stark relief. His life with Ali was make or break too, just like his job. He didn’t want to lose her.

  “Want a coffee?” he said.

  Ali had turned her back to him. She put a slice of bread in the toaster. If everything she said she had been through was true, then he was only making her suffering worse. He accepted being blanked. He deserved it. But he wanted to believe in Ali more than he did Vic Norton. He slid his hands around her waist and nestled in close behind her. She stopped fussing with the bread, and turned stiff for a moment, before she slowly leaned back against him.

  “I said,” Hogarth started to speak. “Would you like a coffee?”

  Ali turned her head back towards him. Even without make-up she managed to look wonderful.

  “Yes, I’ll have a coffee. But what I really want, is to have you back. When is this going to end, Joe?”

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “You – being so hard to handle and distant. When is this case of yours going to end?”

  Hogarth looked her in the eye.

  “It ends today,” he said. One way or another, it certainly would.

  “That’s good to hear,” said Ali. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck and looked him in the eye. Hogarth kissed her, but couldn’t help hold something back. But by tonight, all being well, their troubles would be over.

  They drank their coffee side by side on the sofa, and when his cup was empty, Hogarth grabbed his jacket. As he picked it up, his eyes traced some movement in the street. The mornings were getting lighter outside. He saw something and felt a raw, nervous feeling in his gut. He didn’t want to alarm Ali. Today there would be peace – at least until he knew the truth.

  “Time to go?” she asked.

  Hogarth nodded, his mind on the street outside. He tried not to hurry. He tried to offer her a parting smile.

  “Yeah. One last push and this case will be put to bed. Then we can celebrate, I promise.”

  He felt her scanning his eyes, as if she could see something else in them.

  “You promise?” she said. “Joe?”

  “I do.”

  “Then you’d better go.”

  They kissed. Hogarth took one long look towards the street, but saw no sign of anyone. He left Ali with a wave and opened the front door. He looked out through a narrow crack to the half-light of morning as a rush of cars passed by. There. He saw a hint of movement in a parked dark car a few houses down the street. Behind the car window a man turned his head and pressed his face to the glass. He looked directly at Hogarth’s house. He seemed to be looking at the front room window. Hogarth blinked. The man behind the glass didn’t look anything like the man before – the stalker. It didn’t make any sense. Hogarth shut the door behind him, then bolted out like an athlete. He shot across the road towards the car and got a decent glimpse of a man he’d never seen before. A pale faced man in his thirties or forties. Neat looking. Professional. Hogarth kept running. The man started his car engine and started to thread the car out onto the street.

  “No you don’t, sunshine,” said Hogarth. He reached the driver’s door of the car and pulled the car handle. It didn’t budge. The man inside tried to hide his face by turning away. But Hogarth had an eye for details. Pocked skin, a history of acne. The lines suggested he was in his forties. The hair thinning but still present. And sharp eyes.

  “Listen!” said Hogarth. “I want to talk to you. I want to know what’s going on,” said Hogarth. But the man put his palm to the glass to block his view and started to pull away.

  “You’ll talk to me or I swear I’ll smash this bloody window…”

  The car continued to turn, it’s metal body bumping Hogarth back into the street.

  “What do you want?”

  The car pulled out and Hogarth hammered a flat palm against the glass.

  “Listen to me!”

  The man glanced up at him and shook his head. But their eyes met for a moment.

  “What do you want with her? What has she done?”

  The man stared at Hogarth for a second but said nothing. Then the car growled and pulled away. Hogarth swung his foot back. By the time his shoe struck the car, he hit the back wing. He stared after the car and recited the plate number over in his head. He watched it disappear at the end of the street. Thankfully, Ali wasn’t looking from the window.

  Hogarth trudged to his car and took a deep breath.

  It was just past seven am. No peace for the wicked. It was time for work.

  Twenty-eight

  As planned, Hogarth arrived early to find the office empty. Perfect. To start, Hogarth needed to scratch an itch. Something Palmer said had been bothering him since the X-L, so he set to work on it, typing quickfire phrases into the search engine on the hunch that had been bothering him. He knew the information wasn’t going to come quickly, and yet he didn’t have time to waste. In the end it took him twenty minutes to find what he was looking for. Hogarth supposed he should have been happy, but discoveries like this were never worth celebrating. Hogarth printed off his findings and slid the printout under his keyboard for later. Hogarth had to be grateful - the good old internet never forgot a thing. He checked the clock and saw he had at least another hour before the office would get busy. Now he needed to attend to personal matters. He grabbed a second coffee from the vending machine and started to run a DVLA check on the registration plate on the car he’d seen outside his house. The search would leave a footprint, for sure, but Hogarth knew he could explain it away as relating to one of Harry King’s employees. He typed in the full number of the 63 plate he’d seen pulling away from his house and hit the enter key. He blinked at the screen as the computer worked on his request, his eyelid twitching as he waited. The information was returned with a click.

  Vehicle: Renault Espace, black. 1.8 petrol

  Registered owner: Rachel Sonia Teresa Jones, dob 14/3/1974. Address 135 Owen Lane, Purbeck, Dorset.

  Hogarth grimaced. It was all wrong. The vehicle outside his house was black, but in every other aspect it was wrong. A Renault Espace was a family vehicle, and the car outside his house was almost certainly an Audi saloon. The address was totally wrong too. No one who lived in Dorset was going to drive to Southend for a spot of spying. Which meant the plates had been cloned. It was a dead end. Hogarth looked up at the clock. It was still early, but he fully expected either of the others to show early. And the next part was the risky bit.

  Hogarth had asked Simmons to run the RIPA request on Ali, but had access to the software himself. Every use of the system was logged, and was available to scrutiny if the time came. He doubted an audit would ever take place. To have his RIPA request checked would have been a needle in a haystack job, a million to one shot, but it wasn’t unknown to happen. But if Hogarth didn’t get the answers he needed, he would never have peace. He entered his password into the database and typed the mobile number from the business card into the field. The network was revealed as Red, just as Simmons had said. He clicked the box to say he had authority and permission to request the information and clicked send.

  A new box flashed on screen. It said the data he was seeking was out of date, so the request could not
be granted.

  Hogarth grunted and struck the desk. Simmons said it could be possible. Maybe Simmons could do better. Hogarth jotted down the code number returned with the service refusal message and opened an email box. He considered who to write to. RIPA requests were almost entirely automated and for most networks the process had become almost as efficient as withdrawing cash from a hole in the wall. Even so, he was sure the networks still had staff paid to assist with back up on more difficult requests. Hogarth was staring at his screen, stuck and frustrated, when the door opened behind him. He minimized the screen and looked round. It was Simmons.

  “Simmons, it’s you.”

  “Morning, guv,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  “You’re keen this morning.”

  “It’s deadline day,” said Simmons. “I thought you’d want to hit the ground running this morning.”

  “It just so happens I do,” Hogarth paused. It wasn’t wise, but he needed to know. It was a stupid risk, but he saw no other way.

  “Remember that RIPA request, Simmons?”

  “The cold case?” said Simmons.

  “That’s the one. The system isn’t going to give me what I’m looking for.”

  “Oh? Why not?” said Simmons.

  Trusting Simmons with his private matters was a huge risk. But Hogarth saw it was too late to step back from the brink. He knew Ali’s number. They had communicated about it. Simmons was already involved. Hogarth bit the bullet.

  “I need something from 2008, or thereabouts. The database only returns information from the last year.”

  “That’s all they are obliged to give, but you might get lucky.”

  Hogarth gave Simmons a blank look. “Is this really a cold case, guv?”

  Hogarth sidestepped the question.

  “You chased up Go3 on the other RIPA and got a result. Any chance you can do the same here?”

  Simmons sat down in his seat. He looked at Hogarth with confusion.

  “What’s this about, guv?”