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

by Solomon Carter

  “What? What did you do?”

  “Your father didn’t die in that crash. I’m sorry…”

  Silence reigned along with the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece.

  “What?”

  “We were almost bankrupt. Your father felt guilty for everything he’d done. He felt he was responsible, so he decided it was the only way left to provide for us. But it only made things worse. Drummond saw through it, of course he did. He knew why your father had done it. That was why he started with his visits. He started blackmailing me because he knew. He guessed.”

  “Dad isn’t dead…?”

  There was another long silence.

  “No, he isn’t. You did it for the insurance payout, didn’t you?

  “No.”

  “Didn’t you?!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry he ever thought of the idea. I’m sorry I didn’t try hard enough to stop him. I’m sorry Jake Drummond ever entered our lives.”

  “You… faked his death too. Don’t put all the blame on him. You kept the lie real for me. Not just for the insurance companies. But for me too…”

  “We had to keep it a secret, you must see that. He couldn’t be alive. He couldn’t ever visit family or be a part of our lives like he had before. After what he’d done our family life was over… he knew that.”

  “But he was my dad. My father! He’s still my father. How dare you?! Both of you! I’ll never ever forgive you for this.”

  “We both wanted you to have an inheritance. It’s what you deserved as our son. It was yours.”

  “Bullshit! You wanted an easy life. Where’s my inheritance now, eh?”

  “Jake Drummond took it all.”

  “Because you still wanted an easy life all the way to the end. This is your fault as much as his.”

  “Don’t say that. Please…!

  “I’ll say what I like from now on… so, where is he? Where is my father? You at least owe me that.”

  “I can’t tell you, Andrew. I made a promise.”

  “The time for any such promise is over, Mrs Cruddas,” said Hogarth. “Your husband had very serious dealings with Jake Drummond and we’ll need to speak to him as part of our investigation into the murder and, of course, there’s his own situation to discuss – it’ll have to be dealt with. He will be found, Mrs Cruddas.”

  The woman grimaced.

  “Tell me,” said Andy Cruddas. He was shaking as he spoke. “Where is my father. I have a right to know. Tell me or I swear I’ll hunt him down,” said Andy Cruddas. The young man surged towards his mother. Hogarth slapped a firm hand on his shoulder to restrain him.

  “He was up in the north last time we spoke…” she said, her voice faint. “He moved around, working different jobs. He didn’t tell me too much, and I didn’t ask.”

  “Where?” snapped Andy.

  “Last time I heard he was in Stockton-on-Tees…”

  “You’re evil. Selfish, that’s what you are. I would never have done this to you.” Hogarth dragged Andy Cruddas away from her.

  “Come on, Andy. I think it’s time we had a nice, frank chat, don’t you?” Hogarth stood up and steered the young man towards the door.

  “Where are you taking him?” said Mrs Cruddas.

  “I think it’s best he didn’t stay here, for all concerned, don’t you?”

  Hogarth felt Cruddas shaking as he led him towards the front door. “I think there’s a few things you could tell me, Andy,” said Hogarth. “But it’s a two-way street. There’s something I could tell you too… about your father…”

  Andy Cruddas looked him in the eye. Hogarth nodded, and Cruddas stopped struggling. As Hogarth opened the front door, the old woman’s voice rang out down the hallway.

  “You’ve destroyed my life, Inspector. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

  “I think I’ll sleep at night, Mrs Cruddas. But I do wonder how you’ve managed for so long. Palmer, you deal with Mrs Cruddas here. She’ll need to be taken in. Call in for help from the station. We don’t want her to do anything rash now, do we?”

  “Shall I arrest her?”

  Hogarth nodded. “Yes. We’ve got a confession. It’s time to put this one to bed.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Palmer.

  He left Palmer in the house with the old woman, to arrange her own lift back to the station.

  Hogarth ducked Andy Cruddas into the back of his car and made sure the doors were locked before he set off for the station. He drove slowly. Hogarth intended to use the time to get acquainted with the man. His wide solemn eyes, his troubled face.

  “Did you do it, Andy?”

  “What?”

  “You know what. Did you kill Jake Drummond?”

  “Of course, I didn’t.”

  Hogarth let his brooding eyes stay on Cruddas.

  “I said no, and I meant it. Lord knows I had enough reason, but I couldn’t kill anyone.”

  “How did he get you into that drug racket. I’ve heard Picton’s version, but it doesn’t give me the full story. What did he have on you? Picton says he was bullied, pure and simple. And he looks the type to me. But you, you have some dignity about you. I honestly think you would have preferred a beating to doing what Drummond said.”

  “No, he didn’t bully me. But I was still as much of a fool as my damn mother was. Drummond seduced me with the idea of wealth. I was starting out in the same line of work as my father. In the old days, Dad made it look easy. I believed it was easy money. I didn’t know Drummond, but when I met him he was flash with his money. He told me I could end up flush just like he was – from the insurance game. All I had to do was write up a few policies for the IDs he would supply me. I knew it sounded wrong. But I wanted to be rich. That’s all anyone in my family ever wanted. I wanted to be successful…”

  “And you were willing to do anything to get there?”

  Andy Cruddas averted his big dark eyes. “I was listening to the wrong voice, wasn’t I? As soon as Drummond’s dodgy policies started paying out, he was into me for most of the cash. He told me he’d dob me in to the FCA and to the police, and that it would all be on me. I’d go to prison. It snowballed from there. He had me by the balls…”

  “Greed had you, Andy. That’s what I hear. All of this stems from greed. Sounds like a virus of greed, passed from Drummond, to your father, to your mother, to Picton… Drummond had you all infected with it. I feel sorry for you, but I can’t save you from the law. You’ll have to face what’s coming.”

  “I don’t want saving. Drummond’s dead. That’s enough for me. I’ll take what’s coming. That and I want to see my father… I must see him…”

  “Funny you should mention that. I have more than a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t stay up in Stockton,” said Hogarth.

  Hogarth took the folded A4 printout from his blazer pocket and handed it to the man in the back seat. Andy Cruddas unfolded the sheet and stared at the shadowy image and the article below.

  “Club Smart. This was the reopening last year…”

  “Yes, that’s it. Recognise anyone in that picture?”

  Hogarth watched as Cruddas scanned the picture. It took a few moments before he saw the young man’s eyes widen. Cruddas looked up.

  “My dad! He was there?! He came back!”

  “Any idea why?”

  “He’s standing next to Jake Drummond in this picture. Drummond was bleeding my family dry. My father must have come back to stop him…”

  “If so, he would have soon learned that Drummond wouldn’t ever stop. Maybe this time your father came back to kill him…”

  Andy Cruddas’s face contorted with revulsion. “My father would never do that.”

  “Andy, snap out of it son. Four people are already dead because of the choices your father made. You might not want to think about it, I get that, but look at what your father’s done already. To you, your mother. Those people on the M25…”

  “No. That’s not what he’s like. I need to see him. I n
eed to confront him.”

  “Good, Andy. Because I’m relying on you to help me find him. We know your father is alive, and he’s up to his neck in this mess, just like you are.”

  “I’m not guilty of killing Drummond and neither is he. I know it.”

  “Then it’s time for you to prove it. Help me find him, then one way or another I can solve this murder.”

  “But he’s in hiding,” said Cruddas. “He could be up north again. He could be bloody anywhere.”

  Hogarth shook his head. “No. You’ve had plenty of problems lately, Andy, wouldn’t you say? Some of those problems weren’t all your making. Your parents share some responsibility. I’ve got a feeling your father is closer than we think…”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  He sat in his dark apartment with the laptop open on the coffee table. The curtains were drawn tight. On the leather couch beside him were copies of the two local free papers, and a new copy of The Record. The news in the free papers was always out of date. Those free rags weren’t even good enough for chip wrappers. But he had expected better from The Record. Even their nasty little journo, Alice Perry, the blonde flirt who covered most of their juicier news hadn’t squeezed the story to its maximum potential. Her articles were absorbed with the council’s latest sleaze crisis. Did political sleaze really outweigh murder? Surely not. Murder won hands down. Didn’t they get it? He was news.

  But at least he was safe. Safe but bored. He should have felt pleased that the comments from Southend’s police chief were all clichés. The police are pursuing all avenues. We are working day and night. Public safety is our number one concern. But safety wasn’t good enough anymore. It didn’t give any comfort. And if he was being honest, safety didn’t give him the buzz he was craving. Drummond had had to be killed, pure and simple. But since the killing he was a changed man. He had crossed the Rubicon. He had done what many wanted, but only he had the guts to do it. So where was his applause? Didn’t Drummond deserve to die? Of course, he did! So why wasn’t The Record covering what a monstrous lying bastard he was? Why didn’t they consider that the killer might even be a hero? And while the paper squandered his story, the stupid police dithered. At first, he had wanted to feel safe from their investigation, so he had thrown them Dan Picton’s bloody spectacles. It was a neat trick, and a sweet piece of misdirection. But the press hadn’t even mentioned it. And as far as he could tell, the police hadn’t responded by charging Picton with the murder as he’d wanted. That would have been something, wouldn’t it? That would have showed him that they had taken the killing seriously. Because it was serious. And he was just as serious about getting away with it scot-free. But not at the price of his success being ignored altogether. And as he had shown once already, he could do anything he liked.

  If they were going to pretend he didn’t exist…If they were going to ignore his smart moves which put the other fools in the frame…

  Then what good were the police or the journalists? He’d seen that little police tart stalking around at Club Smart, fishing for information. But what could she do? She was only a lowly PCSO. She had no authority. No clout. It wasn’t good enough.

  He shook his head and picked up his laptop. He scrolled through Alice Perry’s article from the day after the kill. There was the sour-faced detective inspector in the blazer and chinos, lording it up and hogging the spotlight. But what had he done to deserve it?

  Nothing.

  As far as he could tell, they had ignored his ploy to pin the murder on Picton. So how else could he influence the game?

  He smiled and folded his arms as he stared at the little image of the pompous DI Hogarth. He stared down at the man’s face and planned his next move.

  If they were going to ignore him while they blundered through their investigation, he still had other ideas about how he could change things up again. Some of his ideas involved risk. But since experiencing the power of snuffing out another man’s life, he was up for it. Those dangers brought a reward he had never dreamed of and he was keen for more. And he intended to twist the police inside out. If they couldn’t handle one simple murder case, even when he was dropping the evidence right into their laps, how would they handle two?

  He would have to give up on applause if he killed again. But all those other benefits lay in wait. The high.

  The adrenaline kick like no other.

  The sense of infinite power.

  The knife gleamed at him from the mantelpiece and the man smiled back.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Palmer sat in the CID room. The small room was empty which was how she liked it best. Simmons was upstairs going over the club CCTV footage for the third time. She doubted anything else would come to light now. And if it did, it wouldn’t come from Simmons. Palmer sipped a mug of tea as she waded through the paperwork on her desk. There was the file on Jake Drummond, and the collection of notes she’d made about the missing weapon, and her notes on the main suspects. It was all there but she knew she wasn’t seeing the whole picture. Maybe Hogarth’s confidence was misplaced and that bothered her in more ways than one. Hogarth was frosty and hard to know, but for all his faults Palmer was coming to like him, and wanted to strip away some of his mystery. She was angry with him for being distracted in the middle of a serious case but Palmer knew she was in danger of becoming a hypocrite. Fascination with DI Joe Hogarth was becoming her own distraction. A knock at the door disturbed her. Another distraction had arrived. This time Palmer was glad of it.

  “Come in…”

  PCSO Rawlins walked into the room. Palmer smiled at her, but Rawlins looked furtive and uncertain. The young woman closed the door behind her and the polite smile on Palmer’s face wavered.

  “What’s the matter, Bec?”

  “Nothing’s the matter. At least, it shouldn’t be, but if you don’t mind me saying I think DI Hogarth has got this one wrong.”

  “Got what wrong?”

  “I honestly don’t think Andy Cruddas could have killed Jake Drummond.”

  “No. But we’ve got his mother in the cells on a host of charges relating to fraud and deception and she could end up implicated for murder in those M25 deaths. If she knew in advance about George Cruddas faking his death, the very least she’ll be looking at is manslaughter… then look at George Cruddas himself. He’s not a saint, I think it’s fair to say. We already know Andy Cruddas was involved in dealing banned substances. He’s not a saint either, Bec, no matter how much you want him to be…”

  “I know all that, Sue. But he’s not a killer.”

  “Do you still think you know him well enough to say so?” said Palmer. “Because Andy Cruddas is still right here on my list of suspects. Look, I get it. DI Hogarth is a very tough customer, but he won’t see Andy arrested for any crime until he’s sure. That’s what he’s doing right now. Making sure.”

  “He told you that, did he?”

  “No, Bec. But by now, I know what the man is like.”

  “I wish I had your faith in him.”

  Palmer offered a thin smile and averted her eyes. Until recently she’d made a very good show of being a Hogarth sceptic. It wouldn’t do any good to change her opinion too quickly. Tongues were always wagging at Southend nick. Then Rawlins took her by surprise.

  “I went out to Club Smart last night.”

  “What?” said Palmer. She looked up at the PCSO, and Palmer saw the girl was struggling to keep her composure. “Why did you do that? When?”

  “After work last night. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t even tell Rob. I knew Rob would have gone absolutely ballistic.”

  “And rightly so, Bec! The Drummond murder looks like a revenge murder, but even so. Someone is dead. You go poking your nose in by yourself, who knows what could have happened to you.”

  “Yeah. But there’s more to this, Sue. Somebody at that club knows what happened, I’m sure of it. If we could find that person it would put Andy Cruddas in the clear.”

  “You’re not even a
WPC yet, and you want to play detective? Don’t let Hogarth’s praise go to your head, Bec.”

  “That’s not it. I just want to help.

  “Okay. So, you went there and you’re not going to do anything like that again. Are you …?” Palmer gave Rawlins a stare until the PCSO nodded back. “Good. But, did you learn anything?”

  “Only that Gary Grayson is after any girl he can get his filthy hands on. I thought he’d got a partner, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he has. And she’s not stupid, either. I don’t know what she sees in the man.”

  “Totally. He’s awful. Has his partner got any kids at all?”

  “Yes, so I heard. By her ex-husband. Nothing to do with Grayson. Why do you ask, Bec?”

  Rawlins frowned in thought. “I tried to do a bit of undercover questioning. I got close to Gary Grayson. I let him think I was interested in him, if you know what I mean…”

  “Bec! And he didn’t recognise you from the first night?”

  “He had his beer goggles on. If I’d let him have his way, I don’t think he would have cared if he did.”

  “You’re right about Dawson. He would have gone mental,” said Palmer.

  “It’s a secret, Sue. I took the risks. It’s on me.”

  “Of course. But you asked him questions? What questions?”

  “About Drummond. About his relationship with the man. I asked him who he thought had motive to kill the man.”

  “So, you think Gary Grayson killed him? Grayson’s a flaky old soak, and a bit of an idiot, but I wouldn’t have him down as the killer…”

  “I saw another side to him in that office at Club Smart last night. Honestly, Sue. He almost totally lost it. I thought he was going to attack me.”

  Palmer nodded. “I think he’s an alcoholic, Bec. Those types can turn just like that. You shouldn’t have taken the risk.”

  “No. It wasn’t just the booze. I saw something in his eyes. The man’s dark, Sue. I mean it.”