“Jordan!” said Hogarth, waving as he approached.
Jordan ran over towards him.
“Sir?” said Jordan.
“Jordan, I need you to put these two gents in the back of a car. Make sure they get taken to the station.”
“Sir?” said the cop, confused. Hogarth shook his head. He was in such a panic, he’d almost forgotten. He didn’t have time for this, but it had to be done. He gritted his teeth and spoke quickly. “George Cruddas, I am arresting you on suspicion of fraud, obtaining life insurance money by deception and on suspicion of murder.”
“Murder?!” said the older Cruddas.
“Murder, George. Remember the four people who died on the M25, George? That’s murder in my book. And Andrew Cruddas, I am arresting you on suspicion of possession of controlled substances with intent to supply. Jordan, read them their rights and take them in…”
“Yes, sir.”
Hogarth started walking while Jordan took hold of the men. Hogarth stopped and turned back.
“And Jordan – where’s the body?” said Hogarth.
“Straight ahead, sir, across the square…behind the SavaPenny, sir.”
Hogarth scanned the square until he saw the uniforms gathered by the line of red wheelie bins then he broke into a jog, as a cold sweat formed on his forehead. The case had gone south and he needed a result before another person died and before Melford could steamroller what was left of his career.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Gary Grayson died with his trousers round his ankles.” said DCI Melford. “While you were caught napping.”
The antique clock on the wall above DCI Melford’s head ticked like a big grandfather clock. Hogarth was sure Melford had only had the clock installed to intimidate coppers during their rollickings.
“Napping? Not quite, sir. I was pursuing another line of enquiry. You’ll have heard about the arrests?”
“I know about those, but I want to talk about the Grayson murder. It was broad daylight when Grayson was killed,” said Melford. “He was killed in a busy precinct. CCTV or witnesses must have given you something.” Melford stared at Hogarth. Melford was a tall, moustachioed cop of the old school. His dark-eyes always seemed to pose an unfathomable question. Most often Melford’s gaze made Hogarth feel like he was doing extremely badly at his job.
“We’ve checked the cameras, sir. CCTV shows Grayson walking towards the wheelie bins behind the SavaPenny – he was alone. Around the same time, we also see a man in a dark jacket and hood walking around the vicinity before the killing and afterwards. We know he’s probably a white European, because we glimpse his hands. But his face was hidden. Other than that, there’s nothing except that the man is of average build.”
“And we have no footage or witnesses for the murder itself?” said Melford.
“No, sir.”
“He’s white European? That’s all we’ve got?”
Hogarth nodded.
“Well, at least that cuts it down to this continent! What fantastic progress, DI Hogarth! I’ll be sure to share your expert insight at the next press conference. Come on! You must have learned something.”
“We looked at the CCTV camera footage taken from the library cameras. If we zoom in on the footage, we lose the quality of the picture in pixellation. But even if it wasn’t the footage quality, the man is still covered up and he’s hiding his face the whole time. He knows those cameras are there, just like he knew about the ones in the club. The killer knows this area well, sir. He’s done his homework and he’s smart.”
“Smarter than all of us, evidently,” said Melford. “So, the suspect, Hogarth. Who could it be?”
“There’s only a few names left in the hat.”
Under the heat of Melford’s gaze, Hogarth resisted the urge to tug at his shirt collar.
“A few?” said Melford.
“A few, sir.”
“And you’re convinced the killer is among them?”
Hogarth tried to look certain. He gave an emphatic nod.
“Then work harder and work faster. We need a result, pronto. This man in black. Did you see which way he went?”
“He was walking away from Luker Close, Towards Queens Street, sir. But there was no sign of him on Queens Street CCTV.”
“How is that even possible?”
Hogarth shrugged. “The man could have taken off the jacket and hood in the alley before he reached Queens Street. The CCTV just isn’t as useful as we want it to be.”
“But neither was forensics.”
“Not in the Club Smart murder, no. But Marris shouldn’t have the same issues with Grayson. The crime scene can’t have been compromised like it was at the club – far less footfall there.”
“Let’s hope so. And what of your disappearance earlier? It’s not good enough. You swan off on some rogue mission while the killer strikes again!”
“Sir, I was working flat out to bring this killer in.”
“No. You spent this afternoon chasing shadows.”
“With respect sir, we’ve made arrests on charges including fraud, possession, deception and murder, sir. None of it was wasted time.”
“But the man killed again, Hogarth. The man killed again.”
Hogarth paused and looked away.
“There is something else, sir,” said Hogarth. He wondered whether the detail was even worth sharing. In this mood, Melford would likely throw it back in his face.
“What?” said Melford.
“One of the SavaPenny shop workers told DS Palmer that something must have happened at the back of the store a few nights back. She said their wheelie bins had been moved around. It could be nothing, but it’s the very same area as the murder. We asked to look at the store’s CCTV footage in case it reveals anything.”
“And? Have you heard anything back yet?”
“No. We’re waiting on it, sir.”
“And what about Grayson’s murder itself? Were there no witnesses at all?”
“PCs Orton and Dawson asked around the precinct, but no one saw anything. We’ll put out an appeal of course.”
“Which will make it sound like we’re desperate. Which is what we bloody well are! The Record is going to have a field day with us. Not to mention the national bloody tabloids. They’ve started calling. I need something to tell them, Hogarth. We need to deliver on this case now.”
“We’re still following a number of leads, sir…”
“Don’t feed me the press lines, Hogarth. I can do those well enough myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“DI Hogarth, let me make it plain. This is on you. You can’t afford any more botch-ups.”
“Yes, sir.”
Melford leaned back in his chair and fixed Hogarth with his eyes.
“I don’t tend to believe everything I hear. I always try to use my experience. But I have been informed by people who know you well that you can be a little slack and slovenly. When you transferred here you came in with a decent reputation and that’s the copper we need to see right now. Is that clear?”
Slack and slovenly? Who the hell had called him that? Hogarth’s face flushed and his eyes turned brooding. Melford must have seen it all.
“Compose yourself, DI Hogarth.”
“Sir, with respect, I was pursuing another—
“—line of inquiry. Yes, you said that. But those deaths are ancient history.”
“They are two years old, sir, and they were serious crimes,” said Hogarth.
“But look at what’s become of George Cruddas, since then. He’s hardly been living it up in Rio. He’s been homeless all this time. The defence will plead diminished responsibility on the grounds of mental health and they’ll almost certainly get it. It’ll be downgraded to manslaughter. The only murders I care about are the current ones. I want this killer off the streets. Now, tell me. Do you think you can handle that? Or should I look for help from elsewhere?”
“We’ve almost got him. I know it.”
“Yes, sir. We’re clear.”
“Don’t let this killer make a fool of you, Hogarth.”
“I don’t intend to. But I think he’s already tried that more than once, sir.”
“How, exactly?”
“We found a set of glasses, with blood on them. The glasses belonged to Dan Picton. Marris confirmed the blood belonged to Jake Drummond… but it shouldn’t have been there.”
“Why?”
“The glasses were found days after the kill. They should have been found before, but the cleaner called in as soon as he found them. I’m almost certain the glasses were planted by the killer. They belonged to Picton, suggesting he was the killer. But we already know it wasn’t him.”
“Did Marris find any prints?”
“Nothing useful.”
Melford snapped his fingers. “The cleaner found them. So, you think it’s the cleaner?”
“It’s possible but Palmer made him sound like a moron. I don’t think our killer is a moron.”
“Don’t let your assumptions get in the way here.”
“There’s no chance of that. We’ll look at the cleaner too.”
“And if not the cleaner, then who?”
Faces and names flicked through Hogarth’s mind. Peter Deal. The cleaner. Gordy the barman. But none of them had the same clear motives as Andy and George Cruddas. A new thought took hold in his mind and Hogarth frowned.
“What is it?” said Melford.
“It’s motive, sir. Drummond had sworn enemies in all directions. Everyone the man knew had motive to want him gone. But Gary Grayson was a nothing but a cheap lothario. The only people he wound up were women, sir.”
“Women can kill too. Maybe woman is the killer, after all. The man in black could be another dead end. What about Grayson’s partner?”
“Alison Craw? She has motive, but not the means or the opportunity. She wasn’t there. It’s not her.”
Hogarth looked away, his eyes narrowed.
“Out with it,” said Melford. “You’ve got something on your mind.”
“Gary Grayson, sir. His murder just doesn’t fit.”
“Why not?”
“The trousers pulled down like that. It’s a cheap and nasty stunt A comment on his personality. There was no such gimmick with the Drummond murder. The man was stabbed to death and that was it. The kill was very minimal and efficient. This murder is showy, excessive.”
“Go on,” said Melford.
“I think it’s like the glasses, sir. I’m beginning to think Gary Grayson was another diversion. The killer is trying to tell us that this murder is a very obvious punishment killing. An eye for an eye, and all that. I think he could be trying to muddy the waters, to mess with how we’re reading his motive.”
“He wants us to misread his motives?”
“It’s possible. Grayson’s murder could be another attempt at deception. He wants us to consider the Drummond killing and the Grayson killing as part of a pattern. Like he’s punishing them for their sins. I don’t buy it. Drummond was killed because he was ruining someone, sir. It was revenge. It was a way out. The killer is trying to take our eyes off that with the second kill.”
“A murder as a diversion? That’s a very dangerous assumption. Don’t stake your career on it, DI Hogarth. Or mine.”
“No sir.
“Get me the killer. And make sure it’s the right one.” Melford looked away, and Hogarth knew the meeting was over.
“Sir,” said Hogarth. He stood up, nodded, and retreated from Melford’s office. Slack and slovenly, eh? But whatever Melford thought of him, Hogarth knew he was onto something. Grayson’s death didn’t fit with the first kill, though it was clearly the same killer. The killer was smart, but not as smart as he believed. He wasn’t subtle about his misdirection. The glasses had been clumsy and obvious. In its own way, the showy Grayson killing was even worse. Hogarth chewed on Melford’s warning. Yes, it was risky to draw conclusions about a killer from one kill, but wasn’t it more dangerous also to be misled?
Hogarth walked into the CID room to find Palmer poring over the files, while Simmons stared at a computer screen showing the shadowy image of the Club Smart bar.
“Seen anything new Simmons?”
“Just the same things,” said Simmons, shaking his head. Hogarth decided to take a fresh look for himself.”
“Tell me again. Who do you see?”
Simmons shrugged and rewound the footage and set it to play again.
“Okay. Here goes. I can see Peter Deal in the crowd there. Drummond obviously. Gary Grayson is there at one point but not for long. He is given a drink then leaves the scene.”
“Anyone else we know?”
“Not really,” said Simmons. “We see the club owner, Milford, moving around behind the bar, giving orders to the barmen. Then he’s gone out back. We see Peter Deal at the bar for a while. Then he’s gone too Then there’s just this shadow passing the camera a moment after Drummond is hit and the crowd disperses as he falls.”
“The shadow. Can we get a better look at it?” said Hogarth, staring at the blur.
“No chance, sir,” said Simmons. “Look at it. It’s a blur. That’s all it is.”
Hogarth watched the shadowy blur pass the lens. The blurred head seemed to look away just as it came past.
“He knew where that camera was, the blighter. Look at him dip his head!” said Hogarth. “I swear he knew where the camera was when he topped Grayson today.”
“Guv?” said Palmer, looking up from her files.
“The man is a strategist. Not a great one, but he’s an expert in the cameras, that’s for sure. The killer knows we’re used to using CCTV and he’s worked bloody hard to avoid getting caught by it. The man in black who walked away from that murder today. Did we get any more on him – any witnesses?”
“Dawson interviewed plenty of people,” said Palmer. “But no one remembered much about him, or where he went.”
Hogarth chewed on an idea, but it felt risky. It was too early, too fresh, too raw. He shook his head. He couldn’t take a risk like that. Not yet. Because Melford had it in for him, they needed to play it by the book.
“Our man knows these cameras. Palmer, what do you think?”
“You’re on to something. He is cautious. He’s CCTV savvy. So why the open air kill today?”
“To show us he’s boss? For a bit of drama? Or to send us a message.”
“What message?”
“That’s the thing,” said Hogarth, dropping his backside into a chair. His eyes drifted to the image of the blur on the screen.
“I think this was another piece of his strategy. Like the glasses with the blood, this is another misdirection. Our killer wants us to believe something which leads us away from the truth. Where’s he trying to lead us?”
“To the idea of a serial killer maybe?” said Palmer. “With Grayson he looks like a killer who punishes people for their sins.”
“Yes, an avenger type. But that’s not what I got at the first kill. Did you?”
Simmons kept quiet. Palmer thought it over.
“No,” said Palmer. “Drummond was an evil bastard. But he wasn’t killed for some vague grand sin. He was an out and out threat to lots of specific people. He was killed because someone wanted and needed him gone. It was personal.”
“Which is why we chased Cruddas and Picton for so long,” said Hogarth. “We weren’t wrong, about the motive, not in the least. We just had the wrong person.”
“Then who is it? You’ve got an idea, I can see it.”
“I’m working on it, Palmer. But we can’t mess up because
of one of my misguided hunches this time. From here on in, we go by the book. Bring them in one by one. There’s only a few names left. Let’s give them a going over and see what we get. You know, if Grayson wasn’t dead, he’d be my very next man in the hot seat.”
“So, who do we pull in, sir?”
“Start with the obvious. Alison Craw. The cleaner. Peter Deal. Bring in the club owner, Milford, too Anyone else we’ve spoken to. Bring them in. It’s one of them. And if we find the motive we’ll find the killer. Start with Alison Craw.”
Hogarth turned away to leave the room.
“Where are you going now, sir?” said Simmons.
“What’s the matter, detective? You think I might be off slacking somewhere do you?”
“Um. No,” Simmons blushed. “Just wondered… that’s all.”
“Keep your eyes on that CCTV. The truth is out there somewhere, Simmons.”
Hogarth walked out into the open plan office. He wasn’t surprised to see PCSO Rawlins perched on the edge of Dawson’s desk. Despite the neighbourhood sergeant’s constant efforts to steer PCSO Rawlins away from him, the girl was always there. Hogarth mused that the force might as well have bought them a double desk to match the double bed at home. When she saw him approach, Rawlins slid off the desk and stood tall.
“Don’t mind me, Rawlins,” said Hogarth.
“Sir,” said Rawlins.
Dawson looked up. “Yes, sir?”
“Much as it obviously pains me to say, you two have done some good stuff on this case. There’s a lot riding on this one. If you could spare the time I could do with your help again.”
The Darkest Lies: A Gripping Crime Mystery Series - Two Novel Boxed Set (The DI Hogarth Darkest Series Boxed Sets Book 1) Page 19