The Darkest Lies: A Gripping Crime Mystery Series - Two Novel Boxed Set (The DI Hogarth Darkest Series Boxed Sets Book 1)

by Solomon Carter

  The weariness in Hogarth’s face almost overwhelmed him as he spoke, but then he shook it off. Palmer put on a smile.

  “I think Jake Drummond could have done without the case as well, sir,” said Palmer.

  Hogarth nodded. “I suppose so.”

  Hogarth scanned the room, looking at the trapped club-goers, taking in details before he was forced to drive the people out. He saw one lively conversation. A man with a craggy, weather-beaten face was talking to a man with bleached blond hair who wore a silver-blue party shirt. The guy in the party shirt looked too old for any such attempts at being fashionable or cool. Hogarth decided he had to be the DJ. The man talking to him had an angular, bird-like face with rough red skin and a big nose. As they were talking, Hogarth turned his ear to tune in.

  “…very bloody unlikely, that’s all I’m saying,” said the man with the bleach-blond hair

  “As if I should listen to you. After all you’ve done, you’re no better than vermin! Jake Drummond would have come through with the goods. I told you, we were going to be partners. We would have sorted it out.”

  “Partners? Leave it out. He would have ripped you off, just like everybody else…”

  Hogarth logged as much of what he heard as he could. The conversation could have been nothing, yes, but it could also have been the jackpot. It sounded like the man in the party shirt had known Jake Drummond better than most. It was a chink of light and nothing more. Hogarth knew this case was going to be hard going. And with all their other cases on the go, not to mention the mess of his own private life, Hogarth wasn’t convinced he had any more energy to give. But murder was the most serious part of the business. It was his territory, his task, so he would set about it with whatever he had left. He looked once more at the man in the party shirt and his craggy-faced companion. Whether Hogarth liked it or not, the game had already begun.

  Chapter Three

  “He would have ripped you off, like everybody else,” said Hogarth. “That’s what you said, Gary. I heard you say it.”

  “No I didn’t,” he said. And then, “Did I?”

  Hogarth had been right. The man with the bleached blond hair and loud shirt was none other than Gary Grayson, known on the club circuit as DJ-GG. Grayson was the man behind Club Smart’s ‘Wheels of Steel’ three nights per week. Hogarth had taken the man into the back office for questioning. DS Palmer was with them. The back office was a dirty-walled, sweaty pit of a room which smelt of stale beer, cleaning chemicals, and reused air. There were no windows. Hogarth wanted to leave as soon as he arrived, but reminded himself that he had worked in worse circumstances.

  “I heard you out there, Gary. You were having a go at some poor old fella who looked like he was upset that his friend had been killed. What a nice time to pick on someone.”

  “I wasn’t picking on anyone!” said Grayson.

  Hogarth raised an eyebrow and left it there “Tell me. Who was the man you were arguing with?”

  “That silly old sod? Peter Deal, that’s who. He’s a fool and an old dreamer, that’s all. He’s nobody.”

  “But he’s worth you arguing with. Come on. Why were you quarrelling with him?” said Hogarth. He picked up the chipped mug of coffee the club manager had given him and sipped it. The hot black brew tasted as foul as it looked, but Hogarth needed some caffeine if he was going to push on for the rest of the night.

  “Deal is just an old schmo with too much time and money on his hands. I don’t know why you’re asking me about him. You could ask him yourself,” said Grayson.

  “I’m interested in the conversation you had with him, that’s why… come on, Gary. Tell me more.

  “Whatever. Peter Deal used to own a garage. He was a car mechanic. Then he won some cash on the lottery – not even the jackpot mind – and after that he became a total bore. Kept on telling everyone that he was looking to invest in a new cash-cow business. How stupid is that? Everyone wants an easy life these days, don’t they? If you ask me, it’s dangerous chasing easy money.”

  “Dangerous, Gary? Why dangerous?”

  Gary Grayson looked confused. DS Palmer stepped in to help.

  “What was dangerous about Deal wanting easy money?”

  “It’s not just dangerous for him, is it? Easy money is dangerous for everyone. It’s a pipe dream. Only hard work gets money.”

  “Hard work? Like spinning discs three nights a week in a cheesy nightclub?” said Hogarth.

  “Hey! I work all the hours, I’ll have you know,” said the DJ. “It looks like a party, but this is graft.”

  “Good for you, Gary,” said Hogarth. “But what about Mr Deal. You told him he would be mugged. Why? He was going to invest in something dodgy, was he? Something with Jake Drummond perhaps?”

  The DJ ran a hand through his greasy bleach-blond hair and looked at Hogarth. It seemed he was struggling to answer. “I put two and two together. I heard you talking, remember.”

  “Yeah, well…” said the man. He pulled his nose between finger and thumb and sniffed. “What happened here tonight saved Deal from losing everything.”

  Hogarth jangled the loose change and keys in his pockets. Palmer looked at him, sensing the familiar hint of his excitement. The DI smelt something in the air.

  “Really now. You seem to know a lot about Jake Drummond, Gary. Or at least, you know most of the bad stuff, shall we say. Care to tell me how you know so much?”

  “How? Because I’m a DJ! I get around. I’m the social butterfly type, like most DJs are. Let’s just say I met a lot of people who have lived through a few things around here.”

  “Anyone you’d care to mention? Any specifics?”

  “Come on. I’m a DJ, Inspector, not Ask Jeeves. You’ve asked me some things, and I’ve told you what I could. Drummond had a rep, and Peter Deal should have known better than to ever get involved with him.”

  “So you were merely looking out for the man’s interests. Very charitable of you, considering what Mr Deal thinks of you.”

  “What?” said Grayson. But Hogarth had moved on.

  “A bad rep. That’s what people keep saying. He had a rep. He was a bad man. But people only ever earn their reputations through the things they do. What did Drummond do to make you think that he would rip off Peter Deal.”

  Gary Grayson shrugged and dragged a hand over his face. “He had form, okay. All I’m saying is that if I had money, I wouldn’t have put it near the man. He was bad news and some people will be very happy he’s gone.”

  “Which people, exactly?” said Hogarth. “You maybe?”

  The man’s mouth was open. His lips glistened with saliva but he didn’t say another word.

  “Are you one of them, Gary? Did he try anything with you?” said Hogarth. “I must say, you don’t seem too devastated that one of your club goers got stabbed to death here tonight.”

  “I just told you. He was a bad man.”

  “And what about you, Gary? Are you a bad man? Peter Deal called you vermin. I heard it.” Hogarth watched the man squirm as he mentioned the word. “Mr Deal doesn’t like you much, does he?”

  “It’s because of the past. That’s got nothing to do with anything.”

  “How about I be the judge of that?”

  “You heard me, Inspector. I’ve got opinions. Peter doesn’t like someone who has opinions and is willing to share them. I’m a man of the world, Inspector. I’ve worked on the scene for twenty years. I’ve lived a lot and seen a lot. I speak my mind. I’ve been in places where punters were shot dead.”

  “Really now?” said Hogarth. His eyes changed from inquisitor to judge. He let the pressure of his gaze sink beneath the DJ’s skin and watched him squirm for a moment until Grayson raised his hands in protest. “I meant I worked in some rough spots, clubs in south London, that’s all. I never hurt anyone.”

  “Never?” said Hogarth.

  “That’s what I said. Why are you looking at me like that? I told you I didn’t like Drummond, I admit that much. Wh
o did like the man? But I would never have picked up a weapon against anyone. I’m a man of peace. Look at me. I’m a pacifist through and through.”

  “Oh yes, I’m sure. You’re Club Smart’s very own Dalai Lama and you’re coming across as very inspirational, I must say,” said Hogarth.

  The DJ ran a hand through his hair and gave Hogarth the sternest look he could muster. “I didn’t do it. I’m innocent. End of story.”

  “But what did you see?”

  “My decks. That’s what I saw. I was deejaying, remember. My job is to keep the party going.”

  “Let’s review your job. You put on a record for three minutes, mix it into another one, say a few cheesy lines over the mic, then drink some more booze until the next one. Hard work, I’ll agree. But it still gives you at least two or three spare minutes between every tune you play. More if you can stack some of those records together, or if you play a pre-made mix. That gives you plenty of time to look around, check out the girls, and enjoy the vibe. You must have seen something.”

  “Enjoy the vibe?” said the DJ, cackling. “Now you’re showing your age, Inspector. What vintage are you, eh? Looking at that hair I’d say you were hitting the dance floor in eighty-six.”

  “I must look rough tonight, Gary. My clubbing days were in the nineties. But I never had much time for dancing. I was too busy nabbing villains. Now come on. What did you see?”

  The man’s smile fell away as quickly as it had appeared. “Nothing. I heard a noise, saw people scattering away from the bar, and that was it. The big man went down like a felled tree. I was deejaying. Simple as that.”

  “Simple as that, eh Gary…?” said Hogarth.

  The DJ nodded. “Yes. Now, can I go?”

  “Yes, but don’t go too far, will you now?”

  The DJ stood up and nodded at Palmer before he walked out of the room. His eyes stayed on her until he got through the door. Hogarth waited for the man’s footsteps to fade away before he said anything else.

  “What do you think?” said Palmer.

  “He gave you a real once over on his way out. What do I think? I think he’s a slimy sod who sees a lot more than he lets on. It sounds to me like he’s had a run-in with Jake Drummond himself. Ask around, see if you can find out if there’s any history there. What about the management? You spoke to them. Did you get anything there?”

  Palmer shrugged. “Just a few cursory questions. Names, numbers, and addresses, sir. But none of them saw a thing.”

  “Not very keen-eyed this lot, are they?”

  Palmer pulled a notebook from her handbag and squinted at her notes. She started to read.

  “The club is owned by John Milford. He manages the place some nights too. I spoke with him, and the door staff, and bar staff.”

  “I spoke with the bar staff myself,” said Hogarth. “None of them saw a thing either. What about CCTV?”

  “We’ve got the club’s footage. A quick glance shows the tops of the heads of the people at the bar where the murder took place, but the camera position isn’t great and the club uses old kit too, sir. The angle of the shots suggests their main concern is about the dance floor, looking for trouble there. We’ve got one shot of the small bar taken from behind. It shows lots of people with their backs to camera. I’d say it probably won’t show the incident at the bar, but I haven’t been through it yet.”

  “Maybe the camera position was deliberately skewed.”

  “That would make it an inside job?”

  Hogarth shrugged. “Bar staff. DJ. Club manager. Security. Cleaners. Wives and girlfriends of the staff. If you think of all those people alone, it’s a good number.”

  “Someone at that bar must have seen something. It stands to reason. They’re our way in to the case, surely,” said Palmer.

  “But a crowd can be easily deceived. We need to go through that CCTV footage. Use another pair of eyes if you need to. What about PC Dawson?”

  Poor Dawson always seemed to draw Hogarth’s short straw. Palmer recalled what Dawson had said before about the two suspects who could have gotten away. It was the first time she had remembered since. Hogarth needed to be told.

  “We might not have all the suspects in the club after all, sir. I wouldn’t draw any conclusions yet.”

  “It’s far too early for conclusions, Sue.”

  He’d used her first name. Occasionally Hogarth slipped between the familiar and formal. Palmer had never been sure what to make of it, whether it meant anything. So she ignored the changes in mode as a quirk of the DI’s character. Palmer knew the DI’s first name was Joseph, but had never used it. “No conclusions?” Hogarth repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “You knew PC Dawson and PCSO Rawlins were here on a night out tonight?”

  “Yes. I set them to work right away,” said Hogarth with a grin. “The party was over.”

  “Dawson says two of Rawlins friends left the club soon before Drummond was killed. Right before it happened, as a matter of fact. Sounds interesting, don’t you think…?”

  “And Rawlins knows them, does she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I think we’d best have a word with our PCSO Rawlins, don’t you?”

  Palmer followed Hogarth out of the office, down the corridor filled with metal beer kegs, and through the double doors into the austere nightclub. The place had turned freezing cold, and some of the girls were shivering in their skimpy dresses.

  “Can we let them go now, sir?” said Dawson, approaching as Hogarth reached the bar. “Marris has been on at me about jeopardising the evidence.”

  Hogarth sighed. “He’s got a point. You’ve got all the names, any statements, and you’ve had them searched?”

  “All done, sir. We didn’t find a thing.”

  “Then let them go before Marris blows up at us. Beside, we don’t need anyone dying of hypothermia now, do we? Send them home, Dawson. But before you do, where is your better half?”

  Dawson gave Hogarth a look. “Sir?”

  “PCSO Rawlins.”

  “Rawlins is still talking to some of the girls. A couple of them are still in shock from what happened… she’s supporting them, sir.”

  “Yes. Murder is a very shocking thing, Dawson.”

  Dawson gave him a look. “What do you want with Rawlins, sir?”

  “I want to talk to her about those friends of hers you mentioned. The ones who left just before the murder took place.”

  Dawson looked at Palmer. She nodded.

  “Yes, I saw them, sir. One is called Andy Cruddas, that’s PCSO Rawlins’ friend. The other man is called Dan Picton. He came into the club the same time as the victim. I saw some kind of argy-bargy between them and it was obvious that Jake Drummond had the upper hand. It looked to me as if he was bullying the pair of them.”

  “Bullying?”

  “Yes. It’s hard to think of another word to describe it. He prodded the Picton man in the chest and gave him a proper talking to. I couldn’t hear what was said because of the music, but I saw it alright.”

  “And the other man?”

  “Andy Cruddas was here with me all night until just before the incident. We were drinking by the dance floor while PCSO Rawlins and her friends had a dance. As soon as Cruddas’ mate Picton turned up, he walked over to greet them, and I saw Jake Drummond give them both some verbal. Then they both came over here, and Drummond went to the bar. Picton and Cruddas left together. Less than a minute later – Jake Drummond dropped down dead.”

  “You saw all that?”

  “I was bored, sir. Cruddas was no company at all. He was very quiet and very tense, and acting very odd.”

  “Like a murderer before the kill?” said Hogarth.

  “I don’t know about that. He left before it happened. I don’t see how it could be him.”

  “The timing is remarkable, though. You’ve said as much yourself. We need to know more about these two. I’ll have to have chat with PCSO Rawlins about the company she keeps.”
/>   “Not all the company she keeps is bad, sir,” said DS Palmer, tilting her head at Dawson.

  “That is a matter of opinion,” said Hogarth. He gave Dawson a breezy smile, and turned away. Palmer rolled her eyes.

  “Ignore him. He’s tired so he’s prickly tonight,” said Palmer. “He was only joking.”

  “You don’t have to be his diplomat, DS Palmer. After what I’ve been through tonight, I couldn’t care less what jokes Hogarth concocts.”

  “Don’t take it to heart. He means well.”

  Dawson sighed. “Really? Now I think that is a matter of opinion.”

  Dawson called one of the other uniforms to his side, then walked to the centre of the nightclub. As Dawson made a loud announcement that the club goers could leave, Palmer moved off in pursuit of DI Hogarth.

  “PCSO Rawlins! My my! You do look very fetching tonight. The lady in red,” said Hogarth. Rawlins had her hair tied back with a fancy flourish at the back, and the figure-hugging dress she wore sparkled under the harsh lights. The PCSO blushed at Hogarth’s words.

  “Sir,” said Palmer.

  “Are we not allowed to pay anyone a compliment these days, Palmer?” said Hogarth. She saw his eyes were full of mischief.

  Bec Rawlins changed the subject. “We’ve spoken to them all.”

  “Actually, Rawlins, I wanted to talk to you about your two friends. The ones who left just before the main event…”

  “Then you’ve spoken to PC Dawson?” she said with a hint of a frown. “But they couldn’t have had anything to do with it, sir. Especially Andy Cruddas. He’s a soft little thing.”

  “Be that as it may, I have to be interested. I need you to tell me all about them.”

  A look of concern showed on Rawlins’ face. Palmer offered her a comforting nod. Slowly, Rawlins did as she was asked.

  “I’ve known Andy for years, sir… ever since before the tragedy hit his family…”

  “Tragedy, eh…?” said Hogarth. “Do tell…”

  Chapter Four

  What if? Yes, what if? The man’s nerves felt raw as he watched the club doors open and a horde of sad, tired-looking faces trickled out into the darkness. They were silent as they went, walking in twos and threes, peering over their shoulders at the scene around them. Some of them had called cabs. Meanwhile, a small army of parents were parked up along the square by the library, just beyond the edge of the police cordon. He felt their eyes pass over him, as though he was invisible. Omnipotent even. It was a strange feeling to be so detached. He knew why of course. He now knew a power most of them would never have because most people never opted for it. The power to act. To experience a negative feeling, and then to do something about it. Most people lived lives of creeping fear. But for him those awful days had come to an end. Even so, the police had surprised him. They had swooped down onto the club as if it really mattered that some despicable leeching scumbag had been wiped off the map. As if it mattered! The man was scum. He had done everyone a favour. Some of them knew it. But the police seemed to be serious, as if they actually wanted to catch the man who had done the job they should have done themselves. It was a mad, twisted world. And it made him angry. Not just angry… upset. Concerned about his future. Maybe he’d been naïve, but he’d never thought the police would try this hard.