The Dogs in the Street (Dark Yorkshire Book 3)

by J M Dalgliesh

  “Okay, thanks,” Caslin said solemnly. “Iain Robertson reckons we’ll be able to take them out of the house within the hour. See if you can rustle up some blankets or something and we’ll wrap the kids up. There’s nothing down there I want them to see, if we can possibly avoid it. Can you keep them entertained while I speak with their mother?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Caslin escorted Nicola Fairchild out onto the rear landing. The CSI team could be heard downstairs, cataloguing their finds but they had a quiet moment to converse. Caslin introduced himself.

  “I’m DI Nathaniel Caslin, Mrs Fairchild. I am deeply sorry for your loss,” he said, real empathy in his tone. “I appreciate that this is a difficult time but I need to ask you a few questions and then I’ll let you get back to your children.” Nicola smiled weakly, as much in appreciation of the sentiment as for Caslin’s thoughtfulness. “I understand you had a caller this evening?”

  “Yes, it was a little before 7 p.m., I know because I looked at the clock in the kitchen before I headed upstairs. Chris…,” she paused, then. The moisture in her eyes welled up, threatening tears. “Chris was bathing the children. I was due a break from them,” she broke off, as if concerned she had said the wrong thing. “Not that I don’t want to be around them, it…it was a rough day.”

  “Don’t worry. We all have them,” Caslin reassured her. “I have two myself. I know what it’s like.”

  “No, no, it’s my mother,” Nicola explained. “She has breast cancer and was due for surgery this morning. I went with her. It…it’s a lot to take in.” Caslin felt for her even more, at that moment. To think he’d had some dark days in recent times but nothing on this scale.

  “Is your father-”

  “He passed away,” she answered before he finished.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a few years ago,” she offered, drawing a deep breath and steadying herself.

  “Can you tell me about the caller?” She looked up, trying to recall whilst wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Caslin took in her measure. Although clearly upset, understandably so, she had managed to maintain her composure in front of her children in the most extreme of circumstances. He was instantly impressed with her as she articulated her answer. So often witnesses threw everything out in an apparent mind-dump of information that bore little resemblance to the evidence. Not so with Nicola Fairchild.

  “He was white, at least six-feet tall. My husband is a similar height, and size, that’s why I remember that. He was smartly dressed, in a matching suit but no tie. I assumed he was from the office and on his way home, so had taken it off.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “He showed me a letter he had to give to Chris, so I assumed that was the case.”

  “Did he specifically ask to speak with your husband?

  “Yes, he addressed me directly and asked for him.”

  “What was in the letter?”

  She shrugged negatively, “I don’t know. The envelope was in his hands, a brown one and he didn’t say what was in it.”

  “How did he sound, was he local?”

  “I don’t really know. I don’t think so,” she said, suddenly appearing confused, “I don’t remember exactly but now you mention it, there was something about his accent. He was well-spoken or at least, sounded so. Also, he was very polite. Maybe overly.”

  “Do you mean well-educated?”

  She shook her head, “No, not necessarily. He was… normal sounding… I guess but his tone, choice of words, were… well… grammatically correct. I’m sorry. That probably doesn’t make a great deal of sense.”

  “You’re doing well, Mrs Fairchild. What about his face? Can you describe him to me?”

  “I’m sorry, Inspector. I had my hands full, the kids were shrieking upstairs. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  “We can take a fuller statement later but for now, anything will help,” Caslin pressed. “You said he was a white male, approximately six-feet tall. What about his skin, was he tanned? Did he have any tattoos or skin condition that jumped out at you. Was he clean-shaven?”

  “He didn’t have a beard but a day or so growth, on his face. It was dark-”

  “His stubble or his skin?”

  “His stubble. It was greying in places, so I guess he was older.”

  “How old would you say?”

  She considered that, “Much older than you or I, possibly in his late forties or early fifties?” She glanced back towards the room where she had left the children and Caslin considered he had got all he was going to get from her, at this point.

  “One more question, Mrs Fairchild and we’ll leave it for tonight,” Caslin said, drawing her focus back to him. “Is there anyone you can think of who might like to do harm to your husband, or your family? Whether in a personal relationship or a professional one?”

  Nicola shook her head emphatically, “No, not at all. We have many friends, most of whom are fellow members of the congregation and certainly, no enemies.”

  Caslin considered that, “What about your husband’s work? Has he expressed concerns about anything recently?”

  “Chris doesn’t… didn’t… really talk about his work. It is something of a family rule that we have. Once home, he is home. Not that he never brings work home, he often does but he works in his study and once out of there, it’s family time.”

  “So, he hasn’t got any money worries or failed business deals, that you are aware of?”

  “Not at all, Inspector. Christopher has been putting in the hours for the past few months but his work is demanding and he is a very driven man,” she fell silent, looking to the floor. “At least, he...”

  “Thank you, Mrs Fairchild,” Caslin said supportively. “I’ll let you get back to your family. When we are able to help you out, do you have somewhere that we can take you?”

  “We will go and stay with friends, across the city. I’ve already spoken to them, they are coming to pick us up as soon as we can leave.”

  “It shouldn’t be too much longer,” Caslin said reassuringly and allowed her to return to the bedroom. Looking past her as she went in, both children’s heads came up and were pleased to see her enter. PC Waterton emerged to speak with him.

  “I’ll ensure their contact details come to you, Sir, once we have them settled,” she said. Caslin nodded. “Does she have any clue as to who might want to have done this?”

  “Apparently, not an enemy in the world. She says,” Caslin stated softly. “Although, I beg to differ. They have at least one. Keep your eyes and ears open and let me know if anything useful slips out.”

  Returning downstairs, Caslin met DS Hunter in the hallway, “Have you seen or heard mention of a letter, in a manila envelope?”

  “Nothing like that, as far as I know. I’ll check with Iain, though. Why?”

  “Apparently that was the point of the visit. It could’ve been a ruse of some sort but we need to check. While you’re at it, find out where he worked. I want to know a little bit more about how Mr Fairchild went about earning a living. His other half was a bit too vague on the subject.”

  “What do you make of her?”

  “I’m not sure, yet. Professionals, happy families… those active in their congregational community, don’t usually find hitmen at their door.”

  “Mistaken identity?”

  Caslin shook his head, “No, he asked after the target. We need to figure out why.”

  Chapter 3

  “We’re in a deep state of shock, with this. It’s difficult for everyone, here. Christopher’s particular brand of genius will be greatly missed. We garner a real sense of family-”

  “His wife and children will no doubt, share your sense of loss, I’m sure,” Caslin interjected, bringing Tobias Eldridge to a juddering halt. They were making their way through the plush corridors of KL Global’s offices, in York.

  Eldridge replied defensively, “I certainly didn’t mean to imply that our
suffering is greater than…”

  “Of course, not. I appreciate your thoughts are primarily with the deceased and his family. What kind of an employee was he, Mr Fairchild?” Caslin asked.

  Eldridge didn’t falter, “Top chap, Christopher. Intelligent, popular, diligent. Everything that we look for here at KL.”

  “Hedge funds require a degree of ruthlessness, too. Don’t they?” Caslin asked, as they passed a portrait of a suited Asian-man, standing in a traditionally decorated, wood-panelled room.”

  Eldridge slowed, inclining his head in Caslin’s direction, “That’s one of our founding fathers, Shahram Tengku. He formed the company, along with three colleagues, twenty years ago, in Kuala Lumpur.”

  “Hence the KL, of the company name?” Hunter asked.

  “Quite right,” Eldridge confirmed. Turning to Caslin, “You are correct, Inspector. A successful fund manager needs to know the system and exploit it for maximum return. Ruthlessness could be used as a crude oversimplification but I would prefer proactive or resourceful, as my adjectives of choice.”

  Caslin didn’t seek to develop the point further, “And Christopher, he hit the benchmark to qualify as successful?”

  “Very much so. One of our top performers. He certainly would have been appointed to the board within the next few years, with his drive and ambition. He will be sorely missed.”

  “It is a great loss to everyone connected with the family, I am sure.”

  Eldridge frowned, “How are Nicola and the children?”

  “Bearing up,” Caslin said. “Did you socialise with him, out of the office?”

  “Not a great deal. Corporate functions, perhaps, or the odd round of golf but not often. He worked hard but was dedicated to his family and the two don’t leave a great deal of room for much else, I understand.”

  Eldridge resumed their walk, switching conversation to their newly refurbished décor. Caslin ceased listening, allowing Hunter to make the appropriate sounds to indicate someone was paying attention. This place was unlike any office block he had ever attended before, thick carpets and communal leather-sofas. It had the air of a country club, rather than a financial services firm.

  “This is Christopher’s office. His personal assistant, Alma, will assist you with whatever you need,” Eldridge said, by way of an introduction. A lady stood up from behind a desk and moved to greet them. In her forties, wearing an expensive trouser-suit, she was immaculately presented but, despite her best efforts, was unable to hide the fact she had been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks puffy and her demeanour was of forced control, almost to the point of stiffness. They introduced themselves and she escorted them into Fairchild’s office.

  “Is there anything in particular that you are interested in seeing?” Alma asked them.

  “We’re looking to build a picture of Christopher, to help understand how this has happened. Who were his clients?”

  “He had a small portfolio of clients, both domestic and international. Mostly, he dealt with larger contributors, wealthy individuals rather than collectives. Those were managed by the juniors. Although he has taken on some of our NGO related accounts.”

  “Non-governmental Organisations?” Caslin confirmed.

  Alma nodded, “He’s spent a lot of time on those accounts recently.”

  “What are the NGOs concerned with?”

  “Two of them are refugee-assistance operations. Another, that he was very passionate about, is a human rights’ group.”

  “And how has he been managing his client list, recently? Have there been any notable failures, frictions with individuals?”

  Alma shook her head, “No, not at all. Mr Fairchild is quite gifted. I’ve worked with him for nine years, since he joined the firm, and he’s never missed a target. Quite the opposite, in fact, he’s always exceeded them.”

  “You must know him well,” Caslin suggested, “after nine years?”

  She looked away, her façade threatening to crack under strain, “Yes. He was a lovely man.”

  “Have you noticed anything different in him, recently…behaviour, attitude? Has he been upset? Anything at all?” Hunter asked, pen and notebook in hand. Alma’s eyes flicked across at Hunter and away again, rapidly. There was something. “Alma?”

  “He has seemed stressed recently but that in itself, is not unusual,” she offered before glancing over her shoulder towards the door, as if concerned someone might hear her. “I mean, this is a stressful job. Large sums of money and the expectation of returns is a given. I’d politely suggest there isn’t an account manager in this entire building who doesn’t ease their nerves with something after…or even during, the working day.”

  “What about Mr Fairchild?” Caslin pressed.

  “Chris was different, at least, I thought so.”

  “He didn’t have any…vices?” Hunter asked.

  “Not like the others, he took it in his stride.”

  “What changed recently?” Caslin asked.

  “I would still say the work wasn’t getting to him but…physically, he seemed different. He wasn’t one to complain but I thought he was suffering.”

  “In what way?”

  “Stomach cramps, indigestion and such like. He would go off to the bathroom frequently. For a while, I figured he just wasn’t taking care of himself but the amount of occasions he sent me out to the pharmacy for medicines-”

  “Prescription?” Hunter sought to clarify.

  “No, no. Off the shelf basics, indigestion tablets, antacids…but they didn’t seem to make a lot of difference. I urged him to go to his doctor.”

  “Did he take your advice?”

  She shrugged, “I don’t know. He never brought it up again. It didn’t affect his workload, though. He was often the last one here, several nights a week. If I didn’t know better, I’d say his marriage was on the rocks.”

  “But it wasn’t?”

  “No, not as far as I know. He was devoted to his family. Like I said, the team here manage stress in different ways. Recreational pursuits of all kinds are…commonplace. Many of which are not suitable for polite conversation.”

  “We appreciate your candour, Alma,” Caslin said. “You disapprove?”

  “I would prefer to say I’m a little old school but not naïve enough to judge.”

  “We’ll need access to Mr Fairchild’s files. Can you walk some of our colleagues through them, this afternoon?”

  “Certainly. Mr Eldridge has requested he be given assurances regarding data protection and that all the necessary legal paperwork is provided, before you do. I think he is being thorough.”

  “We’ll be touch later in the day,” Caslin responded, mildly irritated at the last. They made their way out. Once clear of the building, Hunter raised her concerns.

  “For such a popular, decent man, someone really wanted to bury him, didn’t they?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Caslin agreed. “When Terry Holt starts going through his business dealings later, make him aware that this lot are hiding something. I expect him to find it.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Hunter asked as they approached their car and she unlocked it. “I mean, not saying you’re wrong but-”

  “Good old-fashioned instinct, my dear Hunter. Instinct,” Caslin stated, opening his door. Hunter got in at the driver’s side. “Tobias Eldridge got my back up.”

  “I noticed. You were a bit hard on him.”

  “He can spin all the platitudes he likes about team ethics and family values but he’s a vampire, leeching off of the rest of society. I’ll wager there are more sociopaths working in that building than we’ve met in our entire careers. Just because they don’t kill anyone, doesn’t make them anymore pleasant. Not in my book.” Hunter cast a wry grin in his direction, turning the key in the ignition. “Okay…a little more pleasant…but not much,” Caslin conceded as the car pulled away.

  Pondering Hunter’s words as they headed back to Fulford Road in the mid-morning tr
affic, he asked himself, had he been too harsh? Not really. This was a murder inquiry and he had little patience for the sensitivities of a city spiv, whose entire work-life was built on making little else but money. Caslin’s phone rang and glancing at the screen, he sighed, almost imperceptibly. He considered not answering it but caught Hunter’s questioning look.

  “Personal,” he said, answering the call. “Hi Karen, what can I do for-”

  “Nate, I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days. Are you taking Sean this weekend, or not?”

  “Not sure that I can-”

  “Bloody hell, Nathaniel. We moved up here to be closer to you. You promised to take a more active role-”

  “And I will,” Caslin interrupted. “A case has brok-”

  “There always is, though, isn’t there?” his ex-wife replied, hanging up without waiting for an answer. Caslin took the phone away from his ear and checked the call had ended.

  Glancing at Hunter, he smiled weakly, “Don’t ever get divorced. Seriously, it sucks the life right out of you.”

  Hunter smiled back, “I’m not even married yet.”

  “Well, tell…” Caslin paused, struggling to recall the name.

  “Steve,” Hunter rescued him.

  “Yes, Steve…I knew,” Caslin lied, “should get a move on.”

  Hunter shook her head, “He’s still not best pleased about the Thames Valley move.”

  Caslin sighed, “He’ll get used to it.”

  Entering the CID squad room, Caslin didn’t make it to his office before he was intercepted by DC Holt.

  “Broadfoot wants to see you,” Holt stated.

  “Still?” Caslin replied, drawing a smirk from the Detective Constable. “The DCI in yet?” Terry Holt shook his head. Caslin retreated back into the corridor, along to the stairwell and up to the next floor. He was at the threshold to Kyle Broadfoot’s office within a couple of minutes. He knocked and was bidden entry.

  “Nathaniel,” Broadfoot addressed him as he entered. “About time. I asked to see you yesterday.”

  “I know, Sir. Sorry but I was out of the office and you had left by the time I got back last night.”