Never Say Goodbye: An edge of your seat thriller with gripping suspense (Detective Tom Fabian Book 1)

by Richard Parker

  Another silence.

  ‘If you prefer to confirm my ID first I’ll call you straight back.’

  ‘Plumber Street: 8a.’

  Fabian repeated it aloud for Finch’s benefit.

  Finch tapped it into his phone.

  ‘Postcode?’

  ‘WC1N… 2QP.’

  Fabian said it aloud, Finch checked it and shook his head.

  ‘We’re having a problem with that, Mr Cousins.’

  ‘Sorry. I don’t have… got it mixed up with my last address. Just a moment.’

  Fabian waited silently.

  ‘WC1N 1DN.’

  Fabian enunciated it.

  Finch showed him the map.

  ‘We’ve got a Plumber Row.’

  ‘That’s it,’ he confirmed reluctantly.

  ‘Plumber Row. You’re sure it’s 8a?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Is there another number I can reach you on?’

  ‘No. I don’t have a landline.’

  ‘OK. Please keep your phone close to hand then. I may need to speak with you sooner. I’ll see you at midday tomorrow.’

  ‘Midday. Midday.’ Cousins appeared to be lost in thought.

  ‘OK, Mr Cousins?’

  ‘Yes. Midday.’ He hung up.

  Fabian turned to Finch. ‘OK, let’s take a walk over there now.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘There’s a light on.’ Finch craned to see through the window, but the ledge was just above his nose.

  Fabian confirmed that the front door to the right was for 8a and gazed up at the lit windows in the bedroom above.

  ‘Perhaps he’s left them on for security?’

  Fabian doubted it. ‘Any way down the side?’

  Finch squeezed himself past a small overgrown privet hedge in the tiny strip of garden at the front of the property. ‘Yeah, there’s a small alley here.’

  ‘You take a look. I’ll try the front.’ Fabian waited for Finch’s footsteps to reach the end of the passage and heard a gate creak before he pushed the bell. He strained for sounds coming from inside and then saw movement in the pane above him. He rang again.

  Nobody came to the door. Dragging a bin from outside number 8 he juddered it over to the window and stood on it to look inside. There was a dilapidated lime-green couch facing the window, its cushions collapsed and grubby. He could see the rear of the TV below him. Then he noticed the chubby figure in dark blue sweats standing, back turned, by the open lounge door. Fabian harshly rapped on the pane.

  An alarmed face spun in his direction and he met the wide eyes of a man with flushed cheeks and tight grey curls who looked to be in his late thirties.

  ‘We spoke on the phone just now,’ Fabian shouted through the glass. ‘Open the door.’

  The man nodded and walked out of the room. Fabian jumped down from the bin and the impact smarted and made him wince. He waited by the front door, but nobody opened up. No matter. If he tried to escape out the back way Finch would be waiting for him. Maybe Cousins was weighing up whether or not to make a run for it.

  The lock eventually snapped and the front door opened.

  ‘Mr Cousins.’ It was a statement not a question.

  ‘Yes?’

  Fabian noticed that the man was wearing frameless half spectacles. ‘We’ve just spoken. Thanks so much for dashing back from your sister’s.’

  Cousins didn’t appear uncomfortable to have been caught out. ‘You said midday.’

  ‘You said Dorking. OK, if I come in?’

  Cousins blocked the doorway. ‘Do you have a warrant?’

  ‘Will that really be necessary? I just want to talk to you.’ He moved forward but Cousins still didn’t budge.

  Finch appeared behind him.

  ‘What were you doing?’ Cousins sounded alarmed.

  ‘My colleague was just concerned you might slip out. Do we need to be concerned?’

  Cousins shook his head at Fabian.

  ‘Then let’s go inside and talk.’

  Cousins eventually nodded, then stepped back.

  Fabian walked inside and could smell something like fish cooking.

  ‘Through here.’ Cousins led them into the lounge off the hallway, and Fabian noted the sealed door to his left and the one at the end of the passage.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve neglected the housework these past few weeks. I’ve not been well.’ Cousins gestured around. Takeaway cartons and empty plastic cider bottles were stacked on the coffee table in front of the couch as well as a number of pill canisters.

  ‘Why did you lie to us?’

  ‘I wanted to get the place cleaned up.’

  Fabian doubted it was because he was house-proud. ‘This is a serious police matter.’

  Cousins looked chastened, nodded and peered at the frowsy carpet through his specs.

  ‘Not curious to know why we’re here?’ Finch frowned at Fabian.

  Cousins seemed to snap out of a trance and nodded emphatically again.

  ‘This is a murder investigation.’ Fabian studied Cousins’s reaction. Not a flicker of the alarm he would have expected, fake or not. ‘Anything you need to tell us?’

  Cousins looked up sharply. ‘Why would there be?’

  ‘Ten minutes ago you told us you were with your sister many miles away. Is there another reason you didn’t want us to think you were at home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have to appreciate how this looks to us.’

  ‘Who’s been murdered?’ His dark eyes briefly met Fabian’s then darted away.

  Finch squinted at the thick green water in an illuminated fish tank.

  ‘Was it someone local?’

  Fabian shook his head.

  ‘Then why am I a suspect?’

  ‘Nobody said you are. The only suspicion has been created by you. I just wanted to talk to you about the tours you run.’

  ‘Why?’ Cousins’s frame slightly relaxed.

  ‘What route do you cover?’

  Cousins produced a leather bag from under a pile of dirty washing on an armchair.

  Finch and Fabian exchanged a glance. It was the Gladstone bag.

  He extracted a flier and handed it to Fabian.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Melissa Riding’s waiting for you.’ Banner nodded her head at the conference room where a scrawny woman in a denim jacket was hunched over in a chair clasping a paper cup of coffee in both hands. The teenage victim’s mother looked as if she hadn’t slept for some time.

  Fabian glanced at his watch. It was 11.46 p.m.

  ‘I know. I think she’s drunk herself sober.’

  ‘Cousins is just making himself comfortable in the interview room. I’ll join you there in a minute.’ Fabian noticed McMann hunched over a computer in the far corner of the room and walked over to him. ‘You know Mrs Riding?’

  McMann nodded with hooded eyes. ‘She’s in a drug programme. We interviewed her once but she could barely remember what day it was let alone the movements of her daughter.’

  ‘Father?’

  ‘Not on the scene. Mrs Riding’s a familiar character with the local officers. Shoplifting but the owner never wants to press charges. He thinks Keeley and her crew smashed his windows in the past. She got pretty hysterical about Keeley the last time we spoke to her. Said we weren’t catching enough criminals, the usual.’

  Fabian studied Mrs Riding’s flattened profile through the glass. She wore heavy black eye make-up and had her hair dragged severely back and tied in a ponytail. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘She lost her other child in 2014. Keeley’s older brother. Died in a car crash. Think her life’s been in freefall since then.’

  Fabian didn’t detect a trace of compassion in McMann’s voice. ‘Banner’s informed you about the street names?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I would appreciate you not talking to anyone about it at present.’

  ‘Of course.’ He said crisply.

  Fabian knew tha
t Whiting and his team were tight with Metcalfe. ‘Anyone.’

  ‘Got it.’ McMann clenched his jaw.

  ‘So, what are you doing?’ Fabian studied the familiar map on his screen.

  ‘Searching the records for crimes that have occurred within a ten-mile radius of the route.’

  ‘Found anything?’

  ‘Nothing significant. A lot of petty crime. The last major incident was an assault on a cab driver in Langham Street.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘April 2017. Cabbie ended up in intensive care.’

  ‘Pull the details and go further back. Much further. Also, I read your interview with Joe Middleton’s daughter about some of the trouble fares her father picked up prior to his murder. Go further back with her too and apply for a warrant to access the credit card details of his fares from Blue Dragon Taxis.’

  McMann grunted.

  ‘And what about CCTV in the vehicle?’

  ‘He switched it on at night. We secured the footage for September.’

  ‘Try to get hold of it for the months prior.’

  ‘September is it. He wiped it every couple of weeks.’

  ‘OK. Review what we have. Screenshots of everyone who sat in the back.’

  Fabian headed for the glass conference room and, sensing his approach, Mrs Riding turned, hostility primed on her face.

  He opened and closed the door. ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting.’

  Her bloodless features looked silver under the overhead light. ‘Am I gonna get any more sense out of you?’

  Fabian could smell stale booze on her breath. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Fabian. I’ve recently taken over the investigation from DI Whiting.’

  ‘Good, he wasn’t much older than my daughter.’ She sniffed harshly.

  ‘I’m picking up where he left off, so I want to assure you I’m using every resource at my disposal to try and find Keeley’s murderer.’

  She held his gaze with her grey eyes but didn’t look convinced. ‘You got kids?’

  ‘A daughter.’

  She tightened her lips. ‘Not like Whiting.’

  Fabian considered Whiting’s unborn child but said nothing.

  ‘At least you’ll begin to understand…’ Mrs Riding tailed off and threw her half full coffee cup into the bin. It landed with a thud and sprayed brown speckles up the wall. ‘So are you making as much progress as him?’ she asked caustically.

  ‘Was there something specific you wanted to speak to me about?’

  Mrs Riding narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ve been over everything with him.’ She nodded at McMann’s back. ‘Like I told him, Keeley’s crew ran into trouble with you lot all the time but I know they didn’t do it. Those kids weren’t capable of what was done to her. I want you to tell me who else you’re interviewing.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that but I will contact you as soon as I have anything significant to report.’

  ‘That’s what Whiting said.’

  Fabian imagined the trauma she’d experienced identifying her young daughter’s mutilated face. ‘When did you last speak to Keeley?’

  ‘The Sunday evening before. I’m sure.’

  But Fabian suspected she wasn’t.

  ‘She dropped off some groceries for me.’

  ‘She was living with her boyfriend, Joel Wood?’

  ‘Yes. They were only a few streets away.’

  ‘Did you have a conversation?’

  ‘Well… the groceries were there when I… got up on the Monday. I do remember hugging her before she left.’ Her eyes glistened.

  Fabian suspected she’d been out of it the last time she’d seen her daughter.

  ‘Can you tell me much about Joel?’ Fabian knew he was a petty dealer.

  ‘Your officers have already interviewed him.’

  ‘I was asking you.’

  ‘Her and Joel have known each other since school. They’ve had their fall outs but Joel wouldn’t hurt a fly. It was Keeley who could …’ she tailed off.

  ‘You’re saying Keeley could more than handle herself?’

  She nodded. ‘We fought. She gave as good as she got. But she always looked after me. Always called by to see I was OK.’ A black tear broke through her mascara and rolled down her cheek. ‘Now my girl’s gone too.’

  Fabian fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  She glared at it as if he’d offended her and he withdrew it.

  ‘How old is your daughter?’ She wiped at her face as if she was angry with herself for showing her emotions.

  ‘Nineteen.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘That’s two years longer than Keeley had. Still at home?’

  ‘Yes.’ But his response took him off guard. ‘No.’ She wasn’t. Not any more.

  Mrs Riding studied him and momentarily there was an understanding between them. ‘Once they’re gone…’

  Fabian briefly considered how the two most important women in his life were moving away from him. They were on the end of a phone though – Mrs Riding would never have a chance to say all the things that were pent up inside her. ‘But Keeley regularly came back to visit?’

  ‘Only because she thought I couldn’t look after myself. She wanted to move off the estate. Only stayed for my sake.’

  Even though he knew she wouldn’t want it Fabian went to the water cooler and filled up a cone while she composed herself.

  She shook her head at it. ‘I want them found.’ She straightened in her chair. Her eyes were focussed and hard.

  Fabian wondered how long Mrs Riding was going to be able to cope before she had to use again. He wanted to give her something. ‘The investigation is gaining momentum.’

  ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘That we’re pursuing a promising line of enquiry and that we’ll keep you updated.’

  ‘Tell me now.’ She folded her arms. ‘You’ve got a suspect?’

  ‘We’ll keep you informed. I promise.’

  She shook her head and cynicism crept over her expression. ‘My daughter, not yours. Tell me.’

  ‘Procedure has to be followed. You’ll have to let me do my job but I’ll be in touch immediately I have some news,’ Fabian said firmly and opened the door. ‘Go home now and try to look after yourself.’

  She stood and jammed her hands in her pockets.

  ‘Are you going to be OK on your own this time of night?’

  Mrs Riding didn’t make eye contact as she strode past him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A twitchy Stephan Cousins was seated in his bottle-green waterproof jacket when Fabian and Banner walked into interview room 4.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ Fabian pulled the door closed. ‘Can we get you anything?’

  Cousins swallowed uncomfortably but shook his head.

  ‘This is DS Banner.’

  Banner nodded silently at Cousins.

  Fabian knew she’d be economical with her introduction. Her silent presence often put male suspects on the back foot.

  ‘Will this take long?’ Cousins pulled back the sleeve of his waterproof but there was no watch on his wrist. ‘It’s freezing in here.’

  ‘Sorry, we’re having issues with the heating. We’ll be as quick as we can.’ Fabian shifted his chair sideways so Banner could pull out hers and sit down next to him.

  Banner hit the button and the recorder beeped. ‘Recording started tenth of October, 2018 at 12.13 a.m.’

  Fabian rubbed his hands. ‘Can you start by telling us how long you’ve lived at your current address?’

  ‘Shouldn’t I have a solicitor present?’

  ‘As I said, these are just informal questions.’

  ‘So why are you recording us?’

  ‘It is a murder inquiry.’ Fabian studied his reaction. ‘We want to eliminate you as quickly as possible.’

  The man’s eyes darted between Fabian and Banner.

  ‘Do you feel you need to have a solicitor present?’ Fabian r
aised an eyebrow.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’

  ‘Excellent. Then we’ll get done here as soon as we can.’

  Cousins rolled his dark eyes up from his half spectacles. ‘Current address? Three and a bit years.’

  ‘And how long have you been running historic walks?’

  ‘Started in the summer of 2016. Who’s been murdered?’

  ‘Just stick to answering the questions. Are your walks popular?’

  ‘Sporadically.’

  ‘So they keep you busy?’

  ‘What have they got to do with my being here?’

  ‘I just wanted to get an idea of what the set-up is. Did you see a little gap in the market or were you interested in the history of the area before you started the tours?’

  ‘I’ve published two books on local history, if that answers your question.’

  Fabian tried to look impressed. ‘Can I get those—?’

  ‘Online. And in some local outlets.’ Cousins’s gaze darted to Banner then back again. ‘Why are you so interested?’

  ‘So you know about any juicy murders connected to the area?’

  Cousins opened his mouth to reply but seemed to sense he had to be cautious. ‘They’re part of local history.’

  Fabian took the flier out of his back pocket and unfolded it. ‘Seems to be your key selling point.’

  ‘It’s what people want.’

  ‘Murder?’

  Cousins inhaled and shook his head. ‘It’s how I hook them. They end up getting educated into the bargain.’

  ‘And that’s your ultimate goal. Using murder to educate?’

  Again, Cousins seemed wary of Fabian’s question.

  ‘How long is your route?’ Banner leaned forward.

  Cousins narrowed his eyes at her, as if it was painful to calculate. ‘Ooh, two miles. I take them in a circle.’

  ‘So you begin in Wells Street?’ Fabian placed the flier on the table.

  ‘There’s two pubs that drum up business for me.’

  ‘Where’s the other one?’ Fabian asked.

  ‘The Yorkshire Grey. In Langham Street. The Champion does better for me though.’

  Langham? The first victim’s surname and the first street. Fabian didn’t need to acknowledge that with Banner.

  ‘What’s the route?’ Banner picked up the flier.