“Why did you ask about the kids?”
“When he was trying it on with me, he dropped a photograph from his jacket. The photograph was of two podgy little toddlers sitting on a woman’s knee.”
Palmer frowned and looked at her notes.
“What?” said Rawlins. Palmer flicked through the pages. She’d made entries of basic facts and details as well as the bigger matters. There it was. Her notes from the meeting with Alison Craw.
Two children, one daughter. Older teenagers…
“No, Bec. Grayson’s live-in girlfriend, Alison Craw, doesn’t have young children. She’s older than me. Her kids are teenagers. And from what I’ve seen, Alison probably wouldn’t let Gary Grayson near them. He wouldn’t have their photographs. That doesn’t fit at all.”
Now it was Bec Rawlins who was frowning. “But I know what I saw… a photo of kids. Little kids. I wondered if they belonged to his sister or something… but I thought about it. People don’t keep photos of their sister’s family in their wallet. Not usually. Not unless they’re odd.”
“I don’t think the man has any brothers or sisters anyway…” said Palmer.
“Then why would he have a photo like that?” said Rawlins.
“You know the man better than I do by now and I’ve got a fair idea why he’s got that photograph, haven’t you?”
“You mean the kids are his?!”
“Sounds like it… how old were they?”
“Young infants. Could be a touch older than that, but the photograph didn’t look that old.”
“Dear me. Gary Grayson just doesn’t know when to stop, does he?”
Palmer looked at her notes and flicked to Gary Grayson’s pages. She scribbled a new note and underlined it. Two young children? By who?
“But Alison Craw said Grayson had been with her for at least two years. Oh dear. That poor woman. I wonder if she knew…”
“What if she didn’t know? I don’t think he gives a toss what any girl thinks.”
“But he has a good life with Alison Craw. They live in a decent house and she seems like a responsible woman. Gary Grayson landed on his feet with her. If she found out about that, I‘m pretty sure his life on easy street would have been over…” said Palmer.
“What?” said Rawlins with a smirk. “You’re thinking about letting her know?”
“No. I was thinking about Jake Drummond. If Drummond knew about those kids, that would have given him plenty of blackmail material.”
Rawlins nodded. “Which would have given Grayson plenty of motive to kill…”
“Absolutely,” said Palmer.
Chapter Twenty-four
DS Palmer returned to the CID room ready for action. By now DC Simmons should have been ready too but Palmer found him standing in the middle of the CID room studying his phone like a teenager hanging about on the high street. “Aren’t you ready yet?” said Palmer.
“Course I am,” said Simmons, but he stayed where he was, scanning his phone screen just a little faster. Palmer tutted. Bec Rawlins had thrown them another line of enquiry and it seemed hotter than the others. The more Palmer thought through the implications of the photograph, the more she felt there was something to it. Gary Grayson did have something to hide – if Alison Craw knew about his secret children, there was no way a woman like her would have continued with him in her life. She had enough problems already, shielding her children from the legacies of her past. And if Drummond knew about the secret children, Grayson might have been desperate enough to stop Jake from blabbing. Up to now Palmer had assumed Gary Grayson was using Alison Craw as his guarantee of a comfortable future. The man was knocking on a bit, and from the looks of it had drunk away any life savings. The DJ was a man with no future, but Alison Craw offered him one. Palmer looked at it from another angle too. Drummond had met with Alison Craw because he had known about her money from the double-glazing game. Grayson would have known about that too. One last leap of logic took Palmer to a darker place. What if Grayson had discovered that Drummond had been blackmailing her for cash and favours – sucking away the money he believed would one day be his? If an angry man with an alcohol problem found out about something like that, there was no telling what he might do. It was time to have another discussion with Gary Grayson, to dig deeper and see what he was made of. If they dug carefully enough, Palmer wondered if she would find the critical detail that would lead to his arrest. “Come on, Simmons. Put the phone away. You can send your girlfriend a text as we go. We’re working a murder case, remember…”
Simmons looked up. “I’m not sending a text. I was checking the weather.”
Palmer’s eyebrows arched up, as if to say ‘seriously?’. Simmons shrugged. “I’m supposed to be kite surfing this weekend. No wind means no surfing and that sport costs a bloody fortune, I need to know.”
“Then find a different sport and stop mucking about,” said Palmer. “Let’s go.”
He glanced up at her and nodded towards her desk.
“You should check your phone first. You missed a call when you went out.”
Palmer sighed and picked her phone up from the desk. She’d taken a one-minute toilet break and ended up missing a call. DI Hogarth had called her. There was a voicemail. She clicked on the voicemail icon and stuck her phone to her ear.
“Palmer, it’s me,” said the voicemail. Hogarth’s voice sounded even rougher on the recording. Rough but quiet. “Don’t bother to call me back. I’ll be driving. I hope the arrest of Babs Cruddas went well. You’ll have to apologise to her ladyship about the lack of fine china when she gets her tea. Anyway. I’m with Andy Cruddas here. We’re going out on a little expedition together, hunting for his old man. I’ll be a few hours, so do your best to motivate DC Simmons. And if Melford asks where I am, tell him I’m hard at it, nose to the grindstone and all that. Seriously, make a decent excuse for me. If this little jaunt comes off, we’ll crack this whole bloody case wide open, Wish me luck, Sue.”
“And if it doesn’t come off, then the DCI will probably crack you wide open instead…” said Palmer, muttering to herself.
“What?” said Simmons, looking up.
“Nothing,” said Palmer.
Palmer. Sue. Sue. Palmer. Hogarth couldn’t decide whether DS Palmer was a subordinate or a confidant, but at least there were a few hints of some good feeling there. For now, that would have to do. If anyone asked, she would make an excuse for Hogarth and that anyone included DC Simmons.
“Who was it?” said Simmons.
“Just the bank again. They wanted to know if I wanted to take on another loan.”
“And do you,” said Simmons with a grin, slipping his phone away.
“No thanks. I’ve got enough liabilities in my life right now as it is.”
Simmons smiled for a second before his face wavered. But Palmer’s smiled stayed firmly where it was as she led the way out of the station.
Thankfully, Alison Craw was home. The woman opened the front door for them as they approached. She was on the phone, and from the tone of the conversation Palmer reckoned it had to be Gary Grayson or her ex.
She rolled her eyes at Palmer and turned away from the front door to let them know they were welcome to come inside.
“No. No, that’s not what I said! I never said anything like it. You can promise what you like to those kids, but if you’re going to make promises, you’re bloody well going to keep them, and you’ll be the one to pay for them too!”
There was a long pause. Alison Craw fussed around with some pot pourri in the hallway while she listened.
“No. You said they could go on that trip – so they can go. But you’ll foot the bill. End of story. Look, I’ve got to go, Ron. I said I’ve got to go!” Alison Craw ended the call and turned to face them. She was smartly dressed but her face bore all the hallmarks of an argument. Her eyes were severe, her mouth tight.
“Excuse me if I am little brusque with you, but I have my reasons as you’ll have heard.”
“Man trouble is it?” said DC Simmons, in the words of a fool. Palmer tried not to wince too hard.
“It’s always man trouble. From the sound of it, you’re probably trouble for some other poor lady. My ex-husband has promised my son and daughter they can go on a post-school holiday with their friends next year. Unsupervised! Can you believe that? She’s seventeen. He’s fifteen. Now you tell me. How in hell is that responsible parenting?”
“It doesn’t sound good,” said Palmer. In some ways she was relieved she had by-passed parenthood.
“It isn’t good at all. And he wants me to pay for it. He says I fleeced him in the divorce. He doesn’t know the half of it.” Mrs Craw took a breath. “So, what is it now, if you don’t mind?”
“Don’t worry,” said Palmer. “We won’t keep you very long. We just need to know a bit more about Gary…”
The woman rolled her eyes and sighed. “Okay. What is it?”
“We already know about your situation with Jake Drummond. Now we want to speak to Gary Grayson about his dealings with Drummond.”
“Dealings?” Craw replied.
“Is Gary here….?” Palmer looked at the empty staircase. There was no noise upstairs and no sign of the man.
“No, he isn’t,” said the woman, firmly and she didn’t sound pleased about it either.
“Oh.” Palmer wanted to ask why, but postponed the question. “Then maybe you’d know something about it.” “About Gary and Drummond? No. I know Drummond was a toad. And I knew he went down that club to letch at the girls. Why do you think I never went there? It wasn’t just that I felt too old. It was Jake Drummond’s second home. I didn’t want to be near the man.”
“Of course,” said Palmer. “I don’t think many people did…” Alison Craw shifted on her feet, revealing a hint of impatience. Palmer needed to move things forward, but she had to tread carefully.
“Do you think Drummond might have any leverage for blackmailing Gary?”
“Leverage?” said Alison. “What are you getting at?”
“Do you think there was anything Drummond could have used against Gary to extort money from him?”
“Money? From Gary? All his money goes on those stupid bloody shirts and his boozing. I’m actually supposed to be glad when he gives me twenty quid towards the shopping bill.”
“Why do you put up with him?” said Simmons. It was another classic Simmons statement. This time Palmer had to intervene.
“Those aren’t the sort of questions we should be asking, Simmons…”
“But he’s right though, isn’t he? I wonder that myself sometimes. Some dumb part of me must love him, I suppose. Look. I’m sure Gary probably has a pile of sordid little secrets from his years’ deejaying in those dirty little holes. But the truth is he doesn’t tell me any of them, and I wouldn’t want to hear about it if he did. You know that I’ve got my secrets. All I want to do is focus on the present. Jake Drummond’s dead and I want to get on with my life, and want Gary to shape up. That’s it.”
Palmer blinked, searching for another way to ask the question. Alison Craw seemed to read her mind.
“What could Drummond have had on Gary? Gary’s not your killer, detective. I mean it.”
“Then I want to clear his name,” said Palmer. “Did you ever hear about Gary’s past? His other relationships?”
“No. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t say. Like I said, I want to live in the present. What exactly are you getting at here?”
“I have to ask all kinds of questions, Mrs Craw. Any idea where Gary might be? Maybe it’s best I speak to him.”
“No, I don’t. But when you see him, please pass him a message for me. If he stayed out last night because he’s been messing about with other women, tell him not to bother coming back. Can you do that for me?”
Palmer nodded. “I’ll see what I can do…”
As they walked out of the house Palmer gave Simmons a hard look. When the door was firmly shut behind them, she added some words of advice.
“Get your brain in gear, Simmons. It needs to join up with your mouth. Any more foot-in-mouth gaffes like that and next time I’ll leave you at the station to read your weather reports.”
DC Simmons sulked but Palmer didn’t much care.
***
Gary Grayson’s flat wasn’t as billed. The address sounded something alright. It was listed as Thorpe Bay, the wealthier end of the seafront where the millionaire mansions faced out to sea. But the address was far closer to the notorious Talbot Estate, a quartet of low-rise blocks surrounded by a high brick wall which even the residents knew as Alcatraz. Grayson’s home was in a more upmarket estate tucked behind the seafront in a gated estate. The old signage – no more than five or ten years old, declared the place was a luxury apartment estate. Who were they kidding? Alcatraz was within five minutes’ walk – seconds if you wanted to scale the walls. Palmer parked up and buzzed the intercom, but there was no answer. She tried again then buzzed a couple of neighbours. A woman answered.
“Yes?”
“Hello. This is Detective Sergeant Sue Palmer from Southend Police. We’re looking for Gary Grayson – the man who lives next door to you. Have you seen him? Or heard him at all?”
“What? Him? The noisy oaf with the ridiculous hair? I’ve called you people about him so many times. Are you really going to do something about him?”
“What about?”
“The noise. The hellish noise. He’s up all hours playing that ghastly music.”
“Was he loud last night?” said Simmons.
“No, not last night. That’s something I suppose. But any other night you care to mention, he’ll be in there, music pounding… nobody can stand him around here.”
Palmer raised an eyebrow and looked at Simmons. For once the slick-haired DC seemed to be paying attention. “Club Smart?” he asked.
Palmer nodded. “Okay, madam. Thanks for your help,” said Palmer over the intercom.
“What help? Are you going to do something about that noise or not?”
“That’s not our department. But don’t worry. I’m sure it’s all in hand.” Palmer and Simmons walked away while the intercom squawked at their backs.
***
It was still too early for most staff to show up for the evening shift at Club Smart but Palmer found the main entrance door ajar. She looked at Simmons then she walked inside. Simmons walked in behind her. Their footsteps echoed in the dim corridor. The place was dark and cold as a fridge.
“Hello?” said Palmer.
Her voice echoed. No one replied.
“Bloody spooky in here, don’t you think?” said Simmons.
Palmer didn’t reply, but the truth was she did feel more than a hint of chill.
“They surely wouldn’t just leave the door open like that. Someone’s got to be in here,” said Palmer, trying to convince herself. Opening the double doors into the nightclub room itself was like peering into an abyss. There was no light at all, just a feeling of limitless black space, abetted by a chill draught coming from unseen crevices and vents beyond.
“What’s going on here?” said Simmons.
“I don’t know…” said Palmer. She walked in, listening to the acute echo of her heels clicking on the hard floor. “Wish I knew where the bloody light switch was.”
“Hang on or we’re going to end up stacking it in here…” Simmons fumbled until the coloured light of his phone screen appeared beside her face. A moment later, a bright torch beam cut into the blackness. His phone torch illuminated a short cone of space ahead of them. Sparkling walls and neon baubles reflected at them wherever the light fell. Soon enough Simmons picked out the distant doors by the larger of the two bars.
“Over there,” said Palmer. She saw a hint of light coming from underneath the doors. She walked eagerly towards it, her feet getting louder. Palmer reached the door and pushed it open and cold white light poured over them. They saw the back of a man in overalls, his face hidden because he was looking in
to a big cupboard.
“Excuse me,” said Palmer but the man didn’t react.
“Excuse me, sir…” Still nothing. “Police!” she called. The man jumped round, and she saw the wireless of the stereo plugged into his ears. The little bald man’s eyes were wide open. He looked in shock.
“The door was open to the street,” Palmer explained. The man put a hand to his chest, and pulled two little white earphones from his ears.
“You gave me a bloody fright there, I can tell you.”
“It’s okay. We’re the police,” said Simmons.
“But you could have been that killer, couldn’t you…”
“Maybe next time you should try closing the door.” Simmons was as blunt as a sledgehammer.
The old man nodded. “I’m starting my shift. I’m cleaning up before the punters come in and make it messy again.”
“Are you the only one here, Mr….?” said Palmer.
“Mr Henry. Tom Henry. Yes. The only one at present. Some of the others will be in later.”
“So, Gary Grayson’s not here?” said Simmons.
“DJ GG? I shouldn’t think so. The whole place was dark when I got in. But I haven’t checked the back office. Try in there if you like.”
Henry pointed a finger to a door further down the corridor. Palmer stayed where she was, but Simmons nodded and walked down the hall. He pushed open the door, flicked on the light, then looked back at Palmer. He shook his head.
“So, where is he?” said Palmer.
“What? DJ GG?” said the cleaner, chuckling to himself.
“Why are you laughing, Mr Henry? I don’t get the joke.”
“Oh, if you knew him like I do, you would. That one needs a cleaner walking behind him permanently.”
“Why?” said Simmons, returning to the conversation.
“Because he can’t keep it in his pants, can he? I’ve caught him myself, more than once.”
“We’ve already heard Mr Grayson likes to sleep around,” said Simmons.
“Hah. I don’t think there’s much sleep involved to be honest. He doesn’t waste much time with them. Wham, bam and no time for a thank-you ma’am. That’s just the usual girls. I know he’s mucked a few about worse than that. Gets in their heads and such. Probably told a few lies to get what he was after. That’s worse, I suppose.”
The Darkest Lies: A Gripping Crime Mystery Series - Two Novel Boxed Set (The DI Hogarth Darkest Series Boxed Sets Book 1) Page 16