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

by Solomon Carter

  Hogarth’s phone began to buzz as he drove. Palmer offered a hand to take the call for him, but Hogarth shook his head. His mind was wired with the chase. He wanted every detail first-hand himself.

  “Sir.”

  “Simmons,” said Hogarth. “What now?”

  “It’s Marris, sir.”

  “Good. Has he got anything for us?”

  “There’s no rogue blood or DNA behind the SavaPenny, sir. Nothing conclusive like that. But they found a boot print. Like a Chelsea boot.”

  “Carry on.”

  “It doesn’t fit the staff profile. It’s a size eleven. The staff are women, sir, most of them have feet less than a size eight.”

  “Size eleven is close to a yeti, Simmons. Drummond? Do we know his shoe size?”

  “I checked it, sir. He was a nine.”

  “And Grayson?”

  “I spoke to pathology about that. He was a nine as well, sir.”

  Hogarth looked at Palmer with another fleeting grin. “Good work, Simmons. Did we get anything back on the shop’s CCTV?”

  “They got back to us. They’ve found the right footage, and are sending it across today. They said it doesn’t show any faces, just the backs of a couple of guys. From the description they gave it could show Davina Brooks, but it’s the same old story. They knew where the camera was and hid their faces. But at least someone left that boot print, eh?”

  “That could be enough. Well done.”

  Hogarth’s eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror. Peter Deal was watching him. He held back his smile as he ended the call.

  “You know, Palmer, I think Simmons is beginning to earn his keep. Forensics found a rogue footprint by the wheelie bins. A large footprint by a man who wears Chelsea boots. Size elevens, too. I’d say a man who wears boots like those has to be tall, wouldn’t you?”

  “Then we’re getting closer…” said Palmer.

  “Much closer. But we’re not there yet…”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The phone he used to call Deal was the very same one he had used for his unpleasant dealings with Jake Drummond. A burner phone to keep identities hidden. But now he had used it to call Peter Deal, the phone was tainted once and for all. He could use it no more. He dropped it onto the tiles of his kitchen floor, raised a sturdy boot and slammed it through the middle of the device. The back of the phone came off easily, and out spilled the green circuit board and the sim card holder. He dropped his boot on it again, crushing the life out of the circuit board. If he was being thorough, he should have done more. But time was running out. The police chief on TV hadn’t been lying after all. They were closing in. He’d been smart enough to keep an eye on the other suspects. He’d had to think one step ahead, like playing a game of chess. It was hard work and he had to spread himself thin,but his work had paid off just in time. He’d seen them haul Peter Deal out of his apartment block and watched DI Hogarth stuff the man into his Vauxhall. He was coming to hate that cop. But he had options, desperate options. There was always the knife. If he was going to lose everything he had worked so hard for, maybe he should take a cop with him. Even if he did, the worst he would get was life behind bars. And from the little he knew, most prisoners respected cop-killers more than any other. He supposed they would at least leave him alone. If he had to go to prison, then yes, he would have to kill a cop first. He grinned. Such thoughts would have been unthinkable a while back, but now they came easy. But they were still desperate thoughts. And for now, he still had options.

  But none of them were perfect – because he had made a mistake.

  He had made a slip of the tongue.

  And now his lover had become a liability.

  Even now he saw a way out, but if he was to do this, everything had to go his way. Because if it didn’t, bloodshed was his only course of action. Bloodshed of the worst possible kind.

  .

  He picked up his knife and slid it into his jacket. He really wasn’t ready to kill. He didn’t have the rest of his equipment with him. But there was no time for that now. He had to put the rest of his plan into action, otherwise Peter Deal’s fool mouth would tell that cop everything else he needed to know…

  ***

  “Our finest interview room, Mr Deal. Tell me. What do you think?”

  Peter Deal sat in the plastic chair across the table from Hogarth beside a solicitor who looked well past his use by date. Deal glowered faintly and kept his mouth firmly shut. Hogarth was all set to joust, but time wasn’t something he could afford. Melford was on the prowl and had already peered through the glass once. Palmer was looking at Deal’s family and friends and he’d entrusted Simmons with the job of looking at Peter Deal’s phone. The last call Deal had received was of great importance. It was the call that had caused him to shut his mouth. Jake Drummond was dead, but someone out there was still pulling strings. Once he could discover who that was, Hogarth was sure the whole case could be closed.

  “Comfortable? Cosy? No. I don’t think so either,” said Hogarth. “They fitted out this room a few months back and it already stinks of stale breath and pissed pants. The memories, eh? If you want to, you could spend a little time in here, or a long time. It’s really up to you. The shame is I had you down as a nice man. Someone who’d been used, walked over. A bit silly, but generally a nice bloke. But now I’m not so sure. So, which are you? The nice guy or a villain?”

  “My client’s moral standing is not up for debate here,” said the aging solicitor. Hogarth did the old man a favour and ignored him.

  Deal shook his head, but Hogarth saw wild emotions flicker in his eyes. Something was troubling the man.

  “You were very talkative back in your flat. You were about to tell us all kinds of things. I’m sure you were. Then that phone call came in, and you clammed up as tight as Fort Knox. Why is that, Mr Deal?”

  The man looked up at him then looked away.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Peter,” said the solicitor. Hogarth had the feeling the men were old friends.

  “Who called you, Peter? What did they say?” said Hogarth. “They upset you. I saw it happen.”

  No response.

  Hogarth shifted forward on the table.

  “Okay then. Let’s talk about those drugs. That’s what we’re here for, after all. Shall we talk about those legal highs you had stashed in your drug factory?”

  “Drug factory?! My garage, you mean!” snapped Deal. “I knew nothing about them. It must have been Picton. How was I to know he was doing that rubbish?”

  “Peter…” said the solicitor.

  “Ah. Good to know you can still talk, Peter” said Hogarth. “But hardly convincing. Would you like to discuss the kind of stretch you might be facing for stashing all those drugs like that?”

  “My client is not guilty. Those drugs were placed there by trespassers,” said the old man.

  “Trespassers? You’re a solicitor, sir. Surely you know that’s not an adequate defence.”

  The old solicitor looked troubled.

  “Come on, Peter. You know Dan Picton. You were going to offer him a job in your import/export business. You told us that. Doesn’t sound so clever though now, does it? Life can get complicated very quickly, can’t it? I’m not sure a court would believe you knew nothing about it.”

  The solicitor squirmed and hid it with a cough.

  “Or perhaps you’d prefer to help us find a killer, Mr Deal. I’d be grateful if you did. All you need to do is open your mouth and talk. Then maybe we can look favourably upon the misunderstanding about Picton’s drugs. We need to stop this man, Mr Deal. He’s a menace. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Peter Deal looked Hogarth in the eye. Hogarth saw the man was struggling. It was all about the phone call. He needed to know who’d made the call…

  ***

  Simmons jotted down the number of the last caller on Deal’s mobile. It wasn’t such a hard job as it sounded. Deal didn’t even use a pin code lock so everythi
ng was there for the taking. Which was handy. The trouble was the last caller’s number had no name attached to it, so Simmons took the number and laid it aside. Out of curiosity he scrolled through Deal’s recent phone calls. In the last week, there were three calls from someone called Sandra, and Deal had called her back once a ratio of three calls to one? Whoever she was, Sandra might have been a pest. Prior to that there were calls from Daniel P – it had to be Picton – and a week before there were calls from Peter Deal to Jake Drummond. Simmons was well up to date on the business between Deal and Drummond. The call list suggested Deal was doing all the chasing and Drummond was avoiding his calls. Which made sense. Hogarth and Palmer surmised there was some sort of poisoned relationship between Deal and Grayson. But the phone call records suggested otherwise. Grayson wasn’t even listed as a contact and there were no calls to or from his number. Simmons grabbed the notes on Grayson from Palmer’s desk. She didn’t even look up. She was engrossed in something, squinting at a sheet of paper with a telephone pressed to her ear. He found Grayson’s number and double-checked it in Deal’s phone. He was right. Grayson’s number drew a complete and total blank. The men may have known each other, but they had few dealings. Simmons shot Palmer a glance. She lifted her head.

  “What?” she said.

  “You thought Grayson and Deal conducted some business together, right?”

  “Alison Craw told us that. She said Grayson offered her some line about them having a business arrangement which had gone wrong.”

  Simmons shook his head. “Someone lied. Either Grayson or Mrs Craw.”

  “Peter Deal said the same. Well, I know who I’d put my money on. Grayson was a habitual blagger. How did you know?”

  “They never called each other. Not on Deal’s mobile phone. I’d say that means they didn’t have any such arrangement. Whereas with Drummond – Deal’s phone shows he was forever calling the man. It underlines the fact there was no arrangement between Deal and Grayson.”

  Palmer nodded. “So, what was there between them? Something that Grayson wanted hidden?”

  “Grayson was as dodgy as they come,” said Simmons. “You got anything on the Deal family yet?”

  Palmer shook her head. “Not yet. I’ve tried the easy stuff. Social media and all that, but he’s got no web profile. A bit old school is our Mr Deal. I’ll try council tax records or the electoral roll next… that might give us something.”

  “Hold fire on that. A name cropped up on his phone a few times in recent calls. Sandra. There’s no surname, so she’s either a close friend or family.”

  “Well, she’s definitely not Deal’s girlfriend. I can vouch for that.”

  “How come?”

  “Both times I’ve been there I thought he was going to propose marriage.”

  Simmons grinned. “Maybe you should be flattered?”

  “Please! His leery face almost makes me want to become a nun.”

  Simmons raised an eyebrow.

  “Almost,” said Palmer. “You were saying?”

  “Sandra. I’ll give you her number. If you call her and play it right, you could get what we’re after…”

  “Yeah, it would save on a lot of donkey work. But why don’t you call her?”

  “Come on, DS Palmer. You’re a woman. It’d work better coming from you.”

  Palmer shook her head. “Okay. I’ll give it a go. Keep digging through that phone. Let me know what else you can find…”

  Simmons scrawled down the number for Sandra and handed it to Palmer.

  As she dialled the number she wondered how to play it. But the phone was answered before she had decided. Palmer heard children at the other end before she heard anything else. Noisy, happy, and very loud. In stark contrast, the woman who came on the line sounded weary and depressed.

  “H-hello?” she said. The word was drawn out longer than necessary.

  “Hello. Is that Sandra?”

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  Palmer racked her brain. In her position she couldn’t lie, because there was a chance it would come back and haunt her. Instead, she sidestepped the question. “I’m just trying to track down Peter Deal, but I can’t find his number…”

  There was a half second pause at the other end, filled by the ear-splitting screech of a playful child.

  “Peter? That’s my dad. Why? What do you want with him?”

  Palmer smiled. “Oh, your dad. How funny! Sorry to bother you… I must have got my wires crossed somehow.”

  “Who is this?” said the girl. “How did you get this number?”

  As Palmer tried to extract herself from the call, she heard a jarring noise – a loud thudding at the other end. Thud, thud, thud. At the other end, the girl called Sandra sighed.

  “Wait a minute will you,” she said.

  Palmer heard the girl groan with effort as she heaved herself out of her chair, and heard another subtle soft thud as the phone was dumped on the cushion. She listened to the girl’s footsteps moving away from the phone. The kids continued to whoop, laugh, and play. There was some more thudding, and then Palmer heard a door creak open. Words were spoken rapidly, but all of them were hidden beneath the sound of the children. Oh well. The visitor had given Palmer an easy way out of that one. She ended the call.

  “Bingo. Sandra is his daughter and it’s odds on that she’ll be the girl in the photograph. Nice one, Simmons. Come on. Hogarth should know about this right now.”

  “Yeah…” said Simmons, distractedly.

  “What is it now?”

  “I think I found something else. It could be nothing, mind. It’s a small world and all that.”

  “What?”

  “Deal has had regular phone calls with John Milford. It’s here in his recent calls. Sometimes Deal will call him, occasionally Milford calls Deal…”

  “But the last call Peter Deal took…?” said Palmer.

  “Was from a pay-as-you-go phone. Totally anonymous.”

  Palmer walked to the whiteboard with the first important names they’d taken on the first night after Drummond’s killing. Milford’s name was there, halfway down the list. From the state of the first few letters it looked like his name had been almost wiped off and they hadn’t even interviewed him yet.

  “Milford, the man who owns Club Smart, remember. Then who knows. It could be nothing. Come on. I want to give Hogarth the news about this Sandra. I can’t wait to see the look on Peter Deal’s face.”

  As Palmer left the CID Room, Simmons frowned at the almost-wiped name of John Milford.

  Palmer pushed into interview room one without knocking. Hogarth was staring at the men opposite, waiting for an answer to one of his latest demands. He looked up grudgingly towards Palmer, as if she had stolen his thunder.

  “Yes?”

  “Thought you might want to hear this one, sir.”

  “Is it for public consumption?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then fire away.”

  Palmer looked at Deal as she spoke.

  “Mr Deal has a daughter and I’ve just spoken to her. And unless I’m very much mistaken, I believe she has a couple of young children.”

  Deal’s eyes flashed with panic, and his mouth formed a circle exposing crooked teeth.

  “You spoke to her?”

  Palmer nodded.

  “And she’s okay?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t she be okay, Mr Deal,” said Palmer.

  “No reason,” said Deal shifting in his seat.

  “You’ve looked extremely uncomfortable ever since you took that phone call and now you’re looking shifty again,” said Hogarth. “Mr Deal. I am going to ask you a direct question and I want a proper answer.”

  Hogarth took out the photographs of the children and laid them on the table. He slid them across the desk. “Do you know these children?”

  The man looked at his solicitor. They exchanged a brief but meaningful look. Hogarth saw that the solicitor certainly recognised them.

>   Deal looked back at Hogarth, then made a pleading look to DS Palmer. “You’re very sure my Sandra is okay. She sounded totally fine?”

  Palmer nodded. “She sounded tired maybe. At the end of the call, I heard she had a visitor.”

  The man’s face changed. His skin pallor turned grey and his mouth became a straight line.

  “A visitor…?” he said, shrinking in his chair.

  “Mr Deal. Do you know these children or not?” said Hogarth.

  “Yes,” he said. “I know them.”

  “How?”

  Deal shook his head even as he answered the question. His voice wavered in his throat.

  “They’re my grandchildren. They’re my Sandra’s children. Anthony and David…”

  “Good. Very good, Mr Deal. And you knew Gary Grayson was their father, didn’t you? That’s the reason for your very public spats. Grayson had an affair with your daughter and left her uncared for like all the rest, except he left your Sandra pregnant with his own two children. To you it was a dereliction of his parental responsibility that irked you most, wasn’t it? That’s why you hated the man…”

  Deal’s eyes flashed darkly, but his skin stayed pale.

  “I can’t say a word.”

  “Why not? Gary Grayson’s dead. So why can’t you just say what you think?”

  “Why does it matter what my client thinks? He’s already answered your question.”

  “From the look on Mr Deal’s face I’d say it matters an awful lot. One more question, Peter.

  Perhaps the most important question of all. Do you know who killed Jake Drummond?”

  “No. I told you that at the beginning.” Deal’s words finished abruptly as if there had been something more to say. And Hogarth knew there was.

  “That’s semantics, Mr Deal. Word play. You’d like to avoid this question, wouldn’t you? But you can’t. Do you know who killed Gary Grayson?”

  “I didn’t… not then…” he muttered. He looked at his solicitor friend. “I swear it…”

  “But you know now, don’t you?” said Hogarth.

  “I mustn’t say…”