“Call Marris. Ask him if there was a photograph of a girl and some children in with Gary Grayson’s belongings. And ask him about a ring too. Was there a ring on Grayson’s little finger?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him we’re closing in on the killer. I need to know these details right away.”
“I could call him now. You don’t want to wait?”
“No. If the killer realises there is any value in that photograph, it could disappear. I’m hoping it’s still there. I’ll go now. Just let me know what he says, okay?”
“Of course.” Simmons picked up the phone as Hogarth made his way out.
Two minutes later, Hogarth was in his Insignia, heading for the cold black hole that was Club Smart.
***
The main entrance doors of Club Smart were ajar, and Hogarth walked inside. He pushed open the inner doors of the nightclub and found the little old cleaning man pushing a noisy cleaning machine around the dance floor. The room was as ugly, garish, and bright as on the night of the murder. The cleaner looked up at Hogarth as he passed him by, heading towards the double doors at the back.
“Excuse me, mister,” said the cleaner “But the club is closed.”
“You don’t say,” said Hogarth. “Where is Gary Grayson’s office?”
“Gary’s dead,” said the old man.
“I’m with the police,” said Hogarth. “Grayson’s office please.”
The old cleaner nodded. “Turn left out there. It’s the last door on the left. But it wasn’t just Gary’s office. It was used by everyone.”
“Has anyone else used it since Gary Grayson?” said Hogarth.
“The acts and the DJs use it. But no, Gary was the last one to use it…”
Hogarth moved on without a word. He stomped down the corridor and found the last room down the hallway. He tried the door handle but found it was locked.
“He could have bloody told me it was locked,” muttered Hogarth under his breath.
“Can I help you?” said a voice. Hogarth nearly jumped out of his skin but did his best to disguise it. He looked round and recognised the man from the night of the murder. Tall, shaven-headed like one of the bouncers, but without the meat and muscle, the club owner, Milford, was leaning out of another door into the corridor. Hogarth’s eyes glinted as he saw the man. He noticed the glow of a strip light reflecting from the top of the man’s head.
“Detective Inspector Hogarth,” said Hogarth. “I wondered if I could take a quick look around this office. To see if there was anything Gary Grayson left behind. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I doubt it,” said the man. “It’s a shared office. I let the entertainment use it – whoever’s in. GG was only here three nights a week. He usually took it all with him.”
Hogarth nodded. “But do you mind – just in case?”
The tall man shrugged and pulled a set of keys from his belt.
“Do you know who this bastard killer is going to target next?” asked the man, as he unlocked the door.
“Not yet, sir. You’re the owner, aren’t you?”
“John Milford, yes. I own Club Smart.”
No, Mr Milford. We don’t know who the killer is. But we’re definitely closing in. In fact, we could probably do with you answering a few questions later on.”
Milford pushed the door open. “Okay. Whenever you like. There you go. All yours. What sort of questions do you have in mind?”
“At this moment, Mr Milford, I couldn’t tell you. But it really feels like this case is starting to progress.”
“Good,” said Milford “It’s bad for business apart from anything else.”
“I’m sure,” said Hogarth.
Hogarth moved into the room and walked to the desk, recalling what he had already heard about the photograph. He should have brought Rawlins with him. Without her here he would have to scratch around until he found it. He dropped to his haunches and started to prod around the dirty carpet, staring into the corners of the dingy room. But he didn’t see anything of use. He stood up and pulled at the desk drawers. Old nightclub flyers, a screwed-up penalty parking notice, chewing gum, and a couple of unused condoms still neat in their foil wrappers. Hogarth flicked the worst mess out of the way, but found nothing in the first drawer. He slammed it shut and opened the second one, before he realised John Milford was still in the doorway watching him.
“Don’t let me keep you, Mr Milford. You must have plenty of other work to do…”
“It’s a terrible business,” said Milford.
“Murder always is,” said Hogarth. Beneath some cigarette papers and scrapings of tobacco he found a smooth piece of white card. He flipped it over and found the image he’d been looking for. Two young children bouncing on the knee of a young woman who seemed both pretty and yet hollow eyed and world weary. Her smile seemed strained. Children could do that to people. As could being Grayson’s other woman.
“But every now and then we get a little closer, Mr Milford and then hope appears,” said Hogarth.
“Hope?” said Milford. His eyes flicked to the photograph. “What about that gives you hope?”
Hogarth slid the photograph in his pocket, hoping Milford hadn’t seen it. “You knew Grayson well, didn’t you, Mr Milford?”
“As well as most. He had his secrets. Looks like you’ve just found one of them.”
“Maybe,” said Hogarth. “You never know.”
Milford nodded. “What, the kids in the picture there. You think they were Gary’s? Poor kids.”Hogarth’s face darkened. “I think they could be. But that’s just a theory at present, Mr Milford. I’ll have to take it for the investigation. That okay with you?”
“Of course,” said Milford, as Hogarth moved out of the room. “And there’s nothing else you need?”
“Not until later. But keep your phone on, Mr Milford. Just in case.”
The big man nodded and locked the door as he watched Hogarth go.
Hogarth’s phone rang as he past the cleaner. The strange old man gave him a look as he walked by. Hogarth returned the look as he answered the phone.
“I found it, Simmons…” said Hogarth, speaking again before Simmons could answer. “… and tell Palmer to get ready. I’ll pick her up. I’m taking her to meet someone special.”
“Oh, really?” said Simmons, getting excited at the gossip.
“Any news?”
“Yes, sir. Marris didn’t have the photograph, but he did say something about a ring. He’d logged it, but said he hasn’t got the thing. Pathology still have it at the moment.”
“Damn it. I need to know.”
“I took the liberty of calling Doctor Ed’s office. I got through to the technician.”
“And? Don’t keep me in suspense, Simmons…”
“They have a small ring which was worn on Grayon’s little finger!”
Hogarth gritted his teeth in grim smile of victory. “Yes. It’s Grayson. The photo in Drummond’s pocket was of one of his children.”
“And that’s good because?”
“It closes down one part of the mystery. Drummond’s leverage for blackmailing Grayson was his children.”
“What about the killer, sir?”
“It’s part and parcel, Simmons. We’re closing in. Tell Palmer to get ready.”
He could smell the arrest. They were almost there. But they still weren’t close enough.
Chapter Thirty-two
Hogarth buzzed the door of Peter Deal’s apartment long and hard. He wasn’t in the mood to be kept waiting. Davina Brooks had given them a new insight. The photographs of the baby in Jake Drummond’s pocket matched the baby on the image of the mother with the two children and Grayson’s ring proved he knew the children. They were almost certainly his. Poor kids. But even if their father had lived, Hogarth doubted life would have been easy for them. Now it was going to be even harder.
“Yes?” said Deal over the intercom. Hogarth eyed Palmer as they listened to the man yawn.
It wasn’t yet late, but Deal sounded ready for bed.
Hogarth nudged Palmer so she would do the speaking.
“Hello, Mr Deal. It’s me, DS Sue Palmer. I just wanted a little word with you. If you don’t mind…”
“What? Oh, DS Palmer, no I don’t mind. No, I really don’t mind at all. Come right up.”
“Thank you, Peter. “
She waited for the buzz and the door clicked open.
“I just wanted a little word with you…” said Hogarth, as he imitated Palmer.
“Worked though, didn’t it?” said Palmer, as Hogarth followed her up the stairs.
Deal looked decidedly nonplussed as he dropped his backside into the middle of his sofa. He picked a stray baked bean off his supper plate and popped it into his mouth. He chewed angrily. The smell of a beef and onion pie was thick on the air. Hogarth hadn’t eaten, and his stomach gurgled.
“I suppose I should have mentioned DI Hogarth was with me,” said Palmer, sitting down.
“Yes, you really should have,” Deal said coldly. Hogarth leaned over his knees and caught the man in his stare.
“Don’t worry, Mr Deal. You could always arrange another visit, I’m sure,” said Hogarth, feeling Palmer’s eyes on him. “But we’re here on business.”
“Yes. Now it’s Grayson,” said Peter Deal.
“So, you know he’s been murdered.”
“Around the back of that cheapy shop on the high street. The paper said the man was caught with his trousers round his ankles.”
“That’s The Record newspaper, taking a very serious crime and turning it into a sordid news story. Mr Grayson’s body was found with his jeans pulled down. But it appears the body was probably staged that way by whoever killed him. The killer wanted to make a statement.”
“A very apt statement, is what I’d say. That man was always at it. I told you people before.”
Palmer nodded.
“You didn’t like Mr Grayson one bit, did you?” said Hogarth. “The night when Jake Drummond was killed, Grayson was overheard mocking you for your business deal with Mr Drummond.”
“Come on. We’ve been through that, haven’t we?” said Deal, addressing DS Palmer.
Hogarth ignored the comment.
“Gary Grayson was rude to you. He patronised you frequently, didn’t he? I’ll bet he made you feel a fool. But tell me, why would Grayson go out of his way to do that, Mr Deal?”
“Because he was a prat. An arrogant no-mark. A no-account waste of space. The truth is that he was a drunkard with no future, anyone could see that. Me? I’ve always tried to make the best of myself. People like him are jealous of people like me. I’m a trier. What was he?”
“He was killed, Mr Deal,” said Hogarth. “Is that the point you were trying to make?”
Deal shook his head. “Uh. No. Not quite.”
“So, what were you saying?”
“That I didn’t like him. But I wasn’t the only one, was I? The drink gave him a blabbermouth, but he did a lot more than drink.”
“Oh?” said Hogarth. “Like what exactly?”
Peter Deal scowled and folded his arms.
Hogarth changed tack.
“You’re a bit of an entrepreneur, aren’t you, Mr Deal? I had you down as a standard grease-monkey who’d gotten fed up of hard work. But now I have you down more as a Dragon’s Den type. Or maybe just a Southend Del Boy. I’m not sure which.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Sticking ten grand with Drummond was a gamble, but it wasn’t your first, was it? You’ve been quite understanding about the fact Drummond cost you so much money.”
Deal shrugged.
“What other businesses were there, Mr Deal?”
“Other businesses? What do you mean?” said Deal.
“Gary Grayson told his girlfriend that you were always starting new ventures. Always looking for an angle. She’d seen you arguing with Gary Grayson at Club Smart on the one time she visited. When she asked him about your little row, Grayson gave her the impression that you were arguing about a business project you’d both been working on. From the sound of that argument, I’d say the project went badly wrong. Public recriminations mean bad blood.”
“Lies!” said Deal. “That’s a downright lie! What kind of business dealing would I have with a man like that?! I remember that woman. The double-glazing woman. I wondered what the blazes she saw in a man like that. I wanted to warn her off, but it wasn’t my place.”
“What were you arguing with Grayson about if it wasn’t about a business interest? We’d love to hear your version of events.”
Peter Deal clammed up and looked away.
“Are you telling us that Mr Grayson’s partner lied about your argument with Gary Grayson?”
The man shook his head.
“Then what are you telling us?”
“I didn’t kill Gary Grayson and I didn’t kill Jake Drummond. End of story. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“That wasn’t my question. But since you’re changing the subject, so will I. Think about it this way. Someone comes to you with a proposition. Here it is. You provide them with space, you turn a blind eye, and you let them run a little import/export business for you. Who the hell cares what they sell, as long as you make the money.” Hogarth leaned forward. “Dan Picton and Andy Cruddas will go down for possession with intent to supply the drugs haul we found at your old garage. Now what I want to know is whether you should go down with them. They say possession is nine tenths of the law, Mr Deal. And I’m afraid they’re right. Those drugs were in your garage. The letter of the law means that ignorance is no excuse. You’re virtually bang to rights, Mr Deal. I could make your life very difficult if I wanted to, whether you were complicit or not.”
“No! That wasn’t me! That was Picton, wasn’t it? That’s why he wanted access all the time. But I said no. I’m innocent.”
“Of course, but the law might say otherwise. I think the CPS would go for it, don’t you DS Palmer?”
Palmer gave a nod.
“I don’t like your attitude,” said Peter Deal.
“No, not many people do, Mr Deal,” said Hogarth. “And it only gets worse. Maybe you should share some facts to get this moving in another direction.”
“Facts. What facts?”
“You had a serious beef with Grayson and we need to know what it was. And we need to know now. There’s a killer out there, Deal. Don’t waste my time or I will make sure that I waste plenty of yours, are we clear?”
Deal stayed stiff for a moment. Then the man unfolded his arms and looked at his hands.
“I did have a beef with him. You know that.”
“But we don’t know why.”
“You already know what he was like. He was an awful philanderer. The very worst kind of man…”
A buzzing sound started to come from Deal’s armchair. He looked around, then shifted his backside and dug into the cushions beneath him. He lifted the phone and squinted at the screen. Deal’s eyes flicked to Hogarth and Palmer.
“Take the call. Then answer the question.”
Deal nodded. “Yes? What do you want?” he said. As he took the call, Hogarth’s eyes narrowed. It sounded as if the man had almost lost his voice. “Y—yes?” he said, straining.
“But why?” said Deal. He looked away from them, his eyes staring down at his lap as if he wanted his own private space.
“You can’t do that. No. No. You don’t need to… okay. Okay. Yes…”
The call was over. Hogarth studied Peter Deal as he lowered the phone to his lap. He watched Deal’s string neck swallowing. He kept his eyes averted like he preferred to be alone in his own distant world.
“Mr Deal,” said Hogarth. “We’re still here, remember?”
The man nodded, but only looked up once the nodding was done. He looked weak and fragile.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. You should go.”
“Mr Deal,
you’ve still got questions to answer, and we still have a killer to catch.”
“I can’t answer anything else, I’m tired. I’m very, very tired.”
Hogarth looked at Palmer and she raised an eyebrow.
“You’re in trouble yourself, remember. I’ll take you down to the station if I must, Mr Deal.”
The man’s voice stayed quiet.
“You’ll arrest me?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“But you know I didn’t kill them.”
“The drugs, remember. Mr Deal?”
The old man withered another degree and sank into his chair.
“Who called you just now” said Hogarth.
“What?”
“Just now. Who called you?”
“It was nothing. A business matter, that’s all.”
Hogarth stared at the man and Deal stared back.
Hogarth produced the two photographs from his blazer pocket. Deal watched him uneasily.
“Please take a look at these photographs, Mr Deal.”
The man shifted in his chair and stretched out to reach them. Hogarth kept them close enough that Deal had to come near before he could collect them. So near Hogarth could read the man’s eyes as he saw their subject matter. He watched the old man’s eyes flare wide, his lips quiver. Then he looked at Hogarth, and drew back.
“Why are you showing those to me?”
“Because, Mr Deal. Because. You’re holding out on us, Peter. And because of that, we’re going to have to take you in.”
The man grimaced. With lips tight sealed he stood up and put his plate aside. He pulled on a jacket and grabbed up a hat. Hogarth noticed that his trousers, jacket, and hat could all be described as dark. But by now, he wasn’t at all convinced that Deal was his man.
Hogarth pressed Deal down into the back of his Vauxhall and shut the door. He leaned over the roof and spoke to Palmer as the busy traffic rushed by.
“We need to know who called him,” said Palmer.
“Absolutely. That call shut him down. And did you see his eyes when he saw those photographs. He knows those children, Palmer. I swear it. And if he knows them, that gives us another clue. Look at Deal’s family, Palmer. See what you can find.”
The Darkest Lies: A Gripping Crime Mystery Series - Two Novel Boxed Set (The DI Hogarth Darkest Series Boxed Sets Book 1) Page 22