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

by Solomon Carter

  Bec gave him a beaming smile.

  “Why not?”

  Bingo. It seemed Gary Grayson was keen to keep up the habit of a lifetime. And to a very limited extent, Bec was happy to oblige. She climbed the few steps to the DJ booth, and Grayson opened the gate to invite her in. He locked the gate behind her then gave her a big leery grin.

  “Welcome to the cockpit,” he said. “This is where the magic happens.”

  There was precious little space in the booth, between the stacked boxes of records, music-mixing decks and record decks and Gary Grayson took full advantage of it. He leaned past Bec, his shoulder brushing her chest twice as he picked up an unopened bottle of white wine.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he said, flashing a grin.

  “Oh, go on then. Just a small one,” said Rawlins. When the drink arrived, she saw he had poured at least a third of a bottle.

  “No girl ever wants a small one really, do they?” Grayson winked. Bec worked very hard to smile back.

  Rawlins played along for twenty minutes, smiling on cue, pretending to drink, pouring some away when the man wasn’t looking and not complaining when he brushed against her. But after a while he couldn’t hold back. She saw him staring at her between his cheesy lines. She knew it was coming.

  “Want to come out back with me?” he said. She saw his mouth twitch. He made her feel sick.

  “Where?” she said, with a laugh. “What for?”

  “For a giggle. You know.”

  Bec didn’t want to things to go too far. What she wanted was a chance to quiz the man. To catch him unawares, but there was also a chance that things could go badly wrong. She found herself hoping he wasn’t the killer. Damn it. She’d never even considered it until now!”

  “But you’re deejaying. You can’t go anywhere.”

  “I can get cover for twenty minutes. Come on, girl. Live dangerously.”

  She smiled thinly. Live dangerously? Bec Rawlins had given herself no choice on that score. She nodded, and Gary Grayson called over one of the younger barmen. He whispered in the guy’s ear and the youth looked at Bec, laughed, and nodded, taking Grayson’s place while the music was still playing.

  “Come on then, sweetheart. Tonight, darling, it’s access all areas…”

  The young barman liked that one. He even laughed out loud. Bec cringed, but walked away with Grayson. She stayed just out of range as his hand reached for her backside. They walked out into the austere white corridor, and she saw what a mess he looked. Bloodshot eyes, sweating booze, the man was a sorry state.

  “Look at you,” he said. “What a beauty…”

  “You said you were going to show me something…”

  He laughed. “Ha. Yeah. Soon enough. Come on then. Come and see my special little room.”

  “You have a room?” said Bec.

  “When I’m running the show, they let me do anything I like.”

  “Why?” said Bec, keeping in character.

  “Because I’m DJ GG. I spin the wheels and get the punters coming in. I’m the star of the show, honey.”

  He opened the door into the office. Bec was less than impressed. It was a poky place that smelled of beer, cleaning chemicals, and damp. The room was cold and dingy. It was hardly a film star’s dressing room. GG made a show of sprawling back over the black leather couch. The thing had seen much better days. He left enough room for her to sit beside him, but Bec intended to play hard to get. Very hard to get. She noticed a leather jacket had been dumped on the back of the office chair and that contents had spilled from the pockets. Grayson reached for the jacket, rolled it into a bundle and tossed it on the desk, giving her another leery smile, but Rawlins’ eyes were on a small square piece of card which tumbled to the floor. The thing seemed to have fallen from the jacket. The card landed face up. It was a photograph showing two round little faces – two young children – seated on a woman’s knees. The picture was distant, but Bec made it out clearly enough. Odd. She didn’t remember that Grayson had children. Maybe they were his sister’s or something. As far as Rawlins was concerned, DJ GG was far too selfish to have any feelings for anyone beside himself.

  “Come and sit down beside me. Tell me about you,” he said.

  He patted the sofa next to him, but Rawlins stayed where she was and perched herself on the edge of the functional black office chair.

  “First, tell me about you…” she said.

  “Why?” he said.

  “Because I want to know all about Southend’s most famous star DJ…”

  For a moment he’d looked spurned, but Rawlins’ reply disarmed him.,

  “What can I say? It’s a very good life. You can see that, right? What more is there to tell, sweetheart?”

  “Oh… but you must see all the things that go on from the other side, don’t you? You see the things we don’t.”

  “True,” he said, nodding. “I get a real inside view of this game. What do you want to know? What celebs I’ve met? I’ve met Bobby Andre. Freddie Nelson. You name them, I’ve met them.”

  “I bet,” said Bec. “And then there’s the other side of it all. Like there was that horrible thing that happened here a few nights back.”

  Grayson stiffened and reached for his drink.

  “That was a bad business. You really don’t want to go there.”

  “But it happened, didn’t it?”

  “It’s not exactly fun to talk about, hun. The bugger deserved what was coming to him, but nobody wants to see that. Not on a night out.”

  “You say he deserved it? Why?”

  “Because he was a nasty piece of work. Honestly, a really vile piece of work.”

  “How come?”

  Gary Grayson scratched his head through his thinning bleach-blond hair.

  “Because he liked to bully and blackmail and upset people. There. Is that enough gossip for you?” he snapped.

  Bec tried for a meek and mild face.

  “Sorry, hun. It wasn’t a nice thing. I told you.”

  “But you knew the man then?”

  “I knew he was scum. I’d seen it first-hand. In fact, I saw it just a few nights before he was topped.” Grayson’s eyes glazed, and he gulped his beer. Rawlins’ eyes flashed with intrigue before she could mask it. Grayson’s eyes narrowed.

  “Hey! We didn’t come in here to talk about this crap. We came in here for some fun. Come over here and keep me company. Let me give you a little hug to keep you warm…”

  “But there’s no hurry,” said Rawlins. “Can I have a drink?”

  Grayson thought about it before he nodded. “Sure.” He picked up an open bottle from the desk and poured a large measure of wine into an office mug. He gave it to her and swigged some himself from the bottle.

  “How did you know him?”

  Grayson snorted. “What is this? Twenty questions. Come on! Killers turn you on, do they? Is that it? I’ve seen it all in my time, sweetheart, believe me.”

  Rawlins did believe him. In her brief time with the police she’d seen it all too.

  “No. I’m just curious. You said you’d seen him being nasty. You knew him. Why someone would want to kill him?”

  “You what?” he said quietly. Grayson looked at her carefully.

  “I wondered if you knew why someone would want to kill him? That’s all.”

  “Because let me tell you, that man hurt people for fun…”

  “Even so… who would want a man dead so much that they’d actually go and do it?”

  Grayson stood up. He strode the short distance towards Bec, and leaned down into her space. The man’s wild eyes were close to hers. His hot, sour, beer breath washed over her face. She saw the veins and sinews protrude in tight pulled cords all over his neck. For the very first time, Gary Grayson wasn’t a pathetic joke. The man was menacing. Rawlins worked hard to keep her cool.

  “You! I remember you!” said Grayson. “You were here that night – wearing your little red dress. You’re a copper! Look at you! Tar
ted yourself up. What is this, a bloody honeytrap? You think I’m guilty, do you? I told your boss, I didn’t kill the man. I wouldn’t do it. None of it. This is harassment! It’s a sting.” Grayson turned away from her and flung the door open.

  “You better get out of here before I do something I’ll regret. Do you hear me?”

  Rawlins face was hot and red. But she was as angry as she was embarrassed.

  “You know everybody, Grayson, don’t you? You watch it all. I bet you know who killed him, don’t you? Eh?”

  “I heard it was Dan Picton. Maybe his buddy, Cruddas, too.”

  Rawlins shook her head. “You know that’s not true. You know, don’t you? Or you think you know…”

  “Now you’re just clutching at straws.”

  Bec Rawlins forced herself to be brave. She stepped into Grayson’s space and stared at the darkness in his bleary eyes. She saw the emptiness and wondered just how deep it went.

  “To be honest with you, Mr Grayson, I really don’t think I am.”

  He backed away from her. “Get out! Get out now!”

  “Gladly. Say hello to your girlfriend for me, won’t you, Gary?”

  Her eyes flicked to the photograph of the kids on the floor before she turned away. Rawlins moved fast, in case she had just made a very bad move. What if she had just riled a killer? With her heart pounding, Bec Rawlins walked out of Club Smart certain Grayson knew something. But she couldn’t prove it. She walked away down cold Luker Close with propositions from the bouncers ringing in her ears. She walked quickly with her arms folded over her chest, until she reached the local taxi rank and then she waited. For some reason she felt a low level, rising panic. She looked around the street but didn’t see anyone. When the first taxi finally appeared, Rawlins was only too glad to climb inside. She looked at the cab’s licence number, ID badge, and meter, and felt relieved to see it was kosher. What was up with her.

  “Where to love?” said the cabbie.

  The taxi made a U-turn across the street and pulled away. When the taillight s faded by the roundabout, the man who had been watching stepped out of the shadows.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Day Seven: Thursday

  “That’s it. We’ve got confirmation from the technical boys,” said Hogarth. “The photograph Rawlins found in The Record is almost certainly an image of George Cruddas, almost six months after his supposed demise in the M25 pile-up. It’s him. Which means we’ve opened yet another can of worms in this case…” said Hogarth.

  “But the photograph was from a while back,” said Rawlins. Hogarth was about to reply, when he noticed how rough Rawlins looked. And she’d been more quiet than usual. Sheepish even. Maybe the lovers had had a barney. But if so, Dawson didn’t seem to be suffering.

  “Who confirmed it?”

  “I asked the Met E-fit boys to run their face recognition software. They had a ninety-five per cent hit that he’s our man. That’s enough for me.”

  “And me,” said Palmer.

  “So where does that leave us?” said Dawson.

  “The truth?” said Hogarth. He began to count the case’s problems off on his fingers one by one. “We’ve got no weapon, because it vanished into thin air. We’ve got no forensic evidence, and we’ve got a list of possible suspects as long as your arm, with my odds-on favourite missing in action. And now we’ve got a resurrected George Cruddas who is also still missing. Like father like son, eh? You really couldn’t make this up.”

  “But why would George Cruddas have faked his own death?” said Rawlins. “Poor Andy will be devastated.”

  “Forget poor little Andy, Rawlins. That M25 pile-up killed four other people. If that was all faked, George Cruddas has more blood on his hands than Andy.”

  “Andy may not have any blood on his hands at all,” said Rawlins

  “Come on then, Detective Rawlins. Who is your money on?”

  Bec stiffened under the pressure. DC Simmons, who had been perched on a desk at the back of the room let out a snicker.

  “You could do a lot worse than take another look at that DJ, you know,” said Rawlins.

  “Oh? And why him?” said Hogarth.

  “He just reeks of trouble.”

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t given up on him. DC Simmons? Palmer?”

  “We have to consider that father and son could be working this together,” said Palmer. “We know Andy Cruddas was bullied for money by Drummond, and we know that he was forced into the drug business. Picton told us that much.”

  “If Picton wasn’t lying,” said Simmons.

  “Granted,” said Palmer. “But assuming it is true, George Cruddas also knew Jake Drummond What if the man had something on both of them? Or what if Cruddas came back to stop Drummond harming his son?”

  “Drummond liked to play hardball,” said Hogarth. “It was his business. He was never going to give up any blackmail. People like him, if you beg them to spare you, they only hurt you more. I’ve seen plenty of them in my time. We still need Andy Cruddas. He’s the key to this. Did you manage to get anything on him? Rawlins?”

  Rawlins tamely shook her head.

  “Nothing new, so far.”

  “You know Picton pretty well, don’t you?” said Hogarth.

  “I know him, that’s all. But we weren’t close. We’re acquaintances, that’s all.”

  “But you have a mutual friend in Cruddas. Pee Wee Picton acts upset, like he hasn’t got a clue where Cruddas might be, and while that may be true, I know he’s still hiding something from us.”

  “Why not forget Picton and Andy Cruddas? Cut out the middle man and go straight for the mother,” said DC Simmons. “She’s lied to you more than once, hasn’t she?”

  “It’s the ace up my sleeve, Simmons,” said Hogarth. “I only want to play that card when I can put maximum pressure on her. When she talks I want her to tell me everything.”

  “Well she hasn’t done so far.”

  “We need to set things up first. Set them up just right and she’ll talk all right.”

  “The evidence on Picton...,” said Palmer, turning to Simmons. “The spectacles with the blood spatter on them…?”

  Simmons nodded. “Yes. The blood does belong to Jake Drummond. Marris says it’s a match.”

  “But those spectacles were found more than a day after the murder in the club. If that went to court, defence would tear it to shreds,” said Hogarth. “The CPS will steer clear of using that as evidence. That blood went everywhere.”

  “From what I saw, Picton didn’t lose his glasses that night,” said Dawson. “He wasn’t in the club long enough to lose a thing. I watched him leave. He walked out with a pair of specs on.”

  Hogarth’s eyes glazed, and he tapped his bottom lip. “Where did the specs come from then…?” he muttered. “Picton was hardly likely to bring a spare set of specs to the club just so he could dump them in blood and incriminate himself.”

  “To me it sounds like someone is trying to cast the blame elsewhere,” said Palmer. “A diversion.”

  “Agreed. But if we believe that, then who would have access to the man’s spectacle collection? And, who could have access to the club in order to set up fake evidence?”

  “I don’t know about the access to Picton’s glasses. You need to speak to Picton about that,” said Rawlins. “But if the DJ was in the frame, he could easily have set up that evidence. He’s there all the time.”

  “You don’t like DJ GG one bit, do you, Rawlins?”

  “The man’s a sleaze, through and through.”

  “But does that make him a killer?” said Hogarth.

  “That depends on what Jake Drummond had on him,” said Dawson, on her behalf.

  “Right. We need to find out about those glasses. And we need Picton to tell us about all the places where his old pal could be hiding. Rawlins… I’m beginning to think we need you in the interview room.”

  “Me, sir?”

  “Yes. He knows you. Come on, I’ll square it
with the DCI first, but you’re in.”

  Rawlins sighed and gave a nod.

  “And Bec?” said Hogarth.

  “Yes, sir?” she said.

  “Don’t fluff it up,” said Hogarth. “We badly need to move this case forward. So far this has all hallmarks of a revenge killing. But If we’re wrong the bugger could strike again.”

  Hogarth walked out of the room to get clearance from the DCI.

  “No pressure then,” said Simmons, with a laugh. But no one else joined in.

  Picton looked pale and pathetic in the interview room. He was a shadow of the man Rawlins remembered, and Picton hadn’t been much then either. He looked up at her from across the table, and nodded with a glum smile. Next, he looked at Hogarth, sitting beside her.

  “Hello Bec,” said Picton.

  “Hello, Dan.”

  Hogarth leaned forward. “Have you any idea why I might have brought PCSO Bec Rawlins in here today, Picton?”

  Picton shook his head. “I’ll spell it out for you. Your friend Andy is in deep doo-doo. It’s getting deeper by the second. If you cared about the man, you’d be interested in helping us find him, so we can clear his name. Do you understand?”

  “I understand, but I still can’t help you.”

  “But I think you can. Tell you what. I’m going to give you two a little chance to catch up, just like old times” said Hogarth. “Why don’t you use those two minutes to have a serious think about what you’re going to do, eh? Would you like a cup of water, Bec?”

  “No, thanks, sir.”

  Hogarth got up and walked out of the room. He had clearance from DCI Melford for Rawlins to sit in on the interview, but not for her to conduct it. But then, everyone needed a cup of water now and then, didn’t they? Hogarth closed the door and looked back through the porthole window into interview room one. But Picton’s mouth stayed shut, so Hogarth walked away.

  “Where is Andy?” said Rawlins.

  “I don’t know. I told you,” said Picton.

  “That’s not going to wash with anyone here. And it’s not helping you either. If we find him, we could prove that you were put under duress by Drummond to do what you did. Who knows, it could get your sentence reduced…”