‘But there was something that I couldn’t understand on that theft, Justin. It kept bugging me at the time.’
‘Go on.’
‘Jade had a bloody good CCTV system that covered the drive, the house and the rooms inside. Apparently he didn’t turn it on that day, and there was no disc in the recorder; local CID said he probably ran out of discs and couldn’t be bothered, and if I remember rightly, his housekeeper said he sometimes just forgot. But it recorded the day before and the whole week before that. All those discs were there. Strange that, isn’t it? I mean, he could have re-used a disc. Very strange.’
‘Isn’t it just. Why would he forget to put a disc in on that precise day, the day he was murdered?’
‘Exactly my thoughts, Justin. But the murder wasn’t my case – out of my jurisdiction; and you know what Bateman’s like if you wander off the patch.’
‘Indeed I do, George. Thanks for that, I’ll keep you in the loop if we take the case. With a bit of luck, a name you know might come up in the enquiries. Talk to you soon.’
‘Okay, Justin. Good luck, mate.’
Palmer put the phone down and leant back. Yes, this case was already running around his brain and he was going to pull it into his department and have a jolly good look at it. It just didn’t look right. Right, let’s get into gear then. He felt the flame ignite in his head, the flame that ignited every time a new case started. First thing to do was get a clearance, which Bateman couldn’t refuse to give. Things just didn’t add up when you put them all together. A single coroner’s verdict of Accidental Death wouldn’t raise eyebrows in the local CID; but if they’d known of another Accidental Death and a ‘Murder by Persons Unknown’ verdict relating to close friends of their victim, it probably would have raised a flag; but the three deaths being in two separate force’s patches and one overseas meant no suspicions were likely to be raised. Solly Brockenheimer might just have kick-started Palmer on a journey to finding a very clever murderer.
Better get DS Singh to tell him the good news that we are taking an interest and arrange a meet with him. I bet he’s got a few names to give us for starters.
When Palmer collated the files’ information and passed it upstairs, AC Bateman wasn’t too pleased; but the reasons were solid enough, so he reluctantly gave clearance and sent advice notes to the senior officers at Hammersmith and Cornwall CID departments, and then through Interpol asked the Judicial Police at the Criminal Investigation Department of Funchal – Madeira’s main town – for any paperwork they could provide on the death of Frank Moss.
In the Team Room, DS Singh gave the progress boards a wipe and stuck up pictures of the three victims and Rob Elliott. She stood back, and the visual message the board sent was pretty clear. She turned to where Palmer was reading the case reports.
‘I think we might put some protection in place for Rob Elliott, guv. The pattern is pretty obvious.’
Palmer looked at the board.
‘It is, isn’t it. Give your man Brockheimer a ring and get Elliott’s address and contact number, and we’ll pay him a visit.’
‘With Brockheimer?’
‘No, without Mr Brockheimer; after all, at this moment in time he’s also a suspect. And while you’re talking to him, I want a listing of all the band’s contacts since day one – that should keep him occupied and away from the press for a while.’
‘Band contacts, guv?’
‘Yes, any record company personnel who dealt with them – especially ones they dropped. Then there’s roadies, producers – again, especially ones they dropped; musicians they used on tours and then dropped…’
‘He’s going to be busy isn’t he, eh?’
‘Exactly, and it should keep him off our backs for a while. A band going that long must have made a few big enemies along the way, and being their manager he would have been the one delivering the ‘thanks but we won’t be using you again’ messages. I want to know who was really upset and angry with them. Hopefully this Rob Elliott can help with that, too.’
Chapter 9
‘I think he’s gone off into cloud cuckoo land.’
Rob Elliott was sitting in his lounge on a red leather button-studded antique armchair opposite Palmer and Singh, who shared a very large sofa of the same type. Brockheimer had given Gheeta Elliott’s telephone number, and a meeting had been arranged at his ultra-modern designer-built house on the edge of a very selective golf course in Berkshire. The house was set in its own two-acre grounds on an incline overlooking the course; his personal privacy was assured by the whole of one side of the house being one-way glass. The furniture was classic, antique and minimal. Palmer knew he was looking at a three million-pound home; probably more.
‘I mean, if the deaths had all been within a couple of months then okay, might be something in it. But there’s two years between them. I think Solly’s being paranoid.’
Palmer nodded.
‘Could be, but there are a couple of things that don’t make sense. Nothing that might not be explained by our investigation, but things that cause us some concern and make us want to take a closer look.’
‘What things?’
‘Missing CCTV pictures; and, of course, the fact that Stag George managed to fall over a balcony that nearly came up to his chest.’
‘Probably pissed,’ Elliott observed in a matter-of-fact way. ‘He liked the sauce, did Stag.’
‘Not a drop of alcohol in his stomach. And why would Frank Moss – who suffered chronic vertigo – even go near the edge of a cliff?’
A phone rang in another room. Elliott gave a fed-up nod in its direction.
‘Bloody press, I’ve had call after call since this story came out. They say all publicity is good publicity, but I don’t think so – bloody pain in the arse. I‘ll kill Solly when I see him.’
He paused and smiled as what he’d just said dawned on him.
‘Better retract that last sentence, eh?’
Palmer smiled back and nodded.
‘Well, it would have been better if he’d not talked to the press until we’d taken a good look at the files. Anyway, Mr Elliott…’
‘Rob.’
‘Rob. Could you rack your brains and see if you can come up with any episodes in the band’s history that might make somebody extremely angry with you all?’
Elliott laughed.
‘Christ! That’ll be a long list of people.’
‘I don’t mean a fan who never got an autograph,’ Palmer explained. ‘Nothing trivial like that. If there is a killer out there knocking the band off one by one, then he or she was hurt in a big way – big enough to hold a grudge for years; and the cause of that grudge happened before Frank Moss died two years ago. He was the first suspicious death; and at the moment we have to remember that’s all they are – suspicious deaths.’
Elliott nodded.
‘Trouble is that everybody was – and is – very nice to us in the band ‘cause they all want something off us; like record companies who want back catalogue rights, and publishing companies after our publishing rights; promoters who want a tour. They all creep around us, send gifts; but we are all wise to that. Solly would be the one who gets the flack and the nasty words – we make the decisions, yes; but he’s the one who tells them to sling their hook if we don’t want them. He’d probably be better at doing that sort of a list than me.’
‘He’s already doing one for us, but we’d still like one from you. We might find a few matching names on your lists.’
Elliott was impressed.
‘Yes, you might at that. What a bloody good idea – be an interesting comparison. Okay, I’ll have a good think and get to work on it.’
Gheeta passed him her card.
‘If you could email it to me when you’ve finished and then send any others you might think of later, that would be good.’
He took the card.
‘Okay, I’ll get my thinking cap on.’
Palmer stood up.
‘Right then sir,
I think that’s about it so far. We will keep you informed of any progress. Oh,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘You might notice increased police patrol activity in the area, just to be on the safe side.’
‘You’re scaring me now.’
‘No need to be scared; but Brockheimer’s decision to go public might jar the killer – if there is one – into action earlier than he or she had intended. This is a private gated estate, so pretty secure; but just be a bit careful.’
‘I take back my earlier retraction – I will kill Solly.’
They walked towards the front door. Palmer was inquisitive.
‘One thing, Rob; and it’s nothing to do with this case.’
‘Yes?’
‘Where are all your gold discs and awards? I know you have a lot, and when we’ve been in celebrity houses in the past they have them on display on the walls – pride of place on the hall table and so on. Have you got a separate room for them all?’
Elliott laughed.
‘They are in boxes in the garage. I’ve been doing this for forty plus years, Chief Superintendent; it’s a job. The glitz and all that award crap wears off after a few years, and to be honest with you, when I close that front door behind me after a tour, the last thing I want to be reminded of is Revolution. I’m just a sixty-something old man at home, enjoying golf, taking my dog out, and having my friends’ company. When I go onstage, I am a totally false Rob Elliott; one in tight leather trousers that irritate, press-on tattoos, and a pony tail on elastic – by the way, it’s upstairs hanging in the wardrobe in the bedroom if you wondered. I wear more makeup than Barbara Cartland did, and I gyrate like a whirling dervish on speed, even though I’ve now got a new hip and a new knee. So why do I do it? I ask myself that question after every tour, and I know Stag and Mo were asking it too. Mo has a son in the USA, product of a failed marriage; I know he wanted to reunite with him – hadn’t seen him for over twenty years. I’m glad he got together with the boy before he died, that was good. So, as I’m the only original left, I reckon I might just morph into that sixty-something gent and enjoy some personal time, eh?’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Just don’t tell Solly I’m thinking of it, or he’ll go into panic mode.’
They said their farewells and Palmer and Gheeta walked down the short drive to where the squad car was waiting.
‘What a nice chap, guv.’
‘He is, isn’t he? Very down-to-earth. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to be Solly Brockheimer when he next meets him. He’s in for an earful.’
Chapter 10
Solly Brockheimer didn’t get an earful. He didn’t get anything. Solly Brockheimer was dead.
Palmer stood beside DS Singh on the edge of the platform at Baker Street tube station as they looked down onto the tube rails. Brockheimer’s body had been removed, and Palmer was thankful for that; viewing mangled human remains wasn’t his favourite pastime. The British Transport police had closed off the station and were taking witness statements in a room off the booking office. A British Transport Police Inspector came along the platform and joined them.
‘Be about an hour by the time we get all the statements. Some of the witnesses are a bit shook up.’
‘I think I would be too.’
Gheeta looked down to where Brockheimer’s blood had mixed with the oil and detritus in the pit under the raised lines.
‘Pity he didn’t fall into the pit.’
The Inspector nodded.
‘Some do. Then they usually raise their head and the first carriage link knocks it clean off.’
Gheeta grimaced.
‘Ouch!’
The Inspector smiled; it was all in a day’s work for him.
‘You get used to it. Twenty-six last year, that’s about average. Most are suicides. This one wasn’t.’
Palmer gave him an inquisitive look.
‘It wasn’t?’
The Inspector pointed to the CCTV camera along the platform.
‘My Sergeant tells me the staff monitoring the cameras saw him being pushed. They have it all on disc.’
Palmer and Singh exchanged glances. A breakthrough?
‘Could we have a copy of that, and a copy of the witness statements once they are completed?’ Palmer asked, feeling his heartbeat quicken.
‘Of course, I’ll get it all over to you. Was this chap a serial killer then?’
The Inspector obviously had been told who Palmer was.
‘No, more than likely a serial killer’s victim.’
‘Your job sounds a bit more interesting than mine, Chief Superintendent.’
Palmer smiled.
‘Not always, I can assure you. Serial killings generate more paperwork than a suicide on the tube.’
Gheeta had a thought.
‘Is there CCTV at the street entrance to this station?’
‘Yes, every station has it. I can guess where you’re going with that; I’ll get that disc copied for the half hour before and half hour after the… I was going to say accident, but perhaps murder might be more relevant?’
‘Poor bugger…’ Palmer said as they turned and left. He felt sorry for Solly Brockheimer. Gheeta spoke as they travelled up the escalator.
‘Accidental death doesn’t ring true now guv, does it.’
‘No, not one bit. Somebody is very angry with Revolution, very angry indeed. Give Berkshire a ring and make the coverage on Rob Elliott’s place twenty-four hour, with two Firearms Officers inside with him. Nobody goes in or out of that gated estate without an ID, and without Claire checking them through our data programmes; and then, if they aren’t residents, they have an escort until they leave. And you’d better ring Elliott himself and bring him up to speed. He’s not to go out anywhere alone, and anytime he does go out he’s to inform the uniform on the gate where he’s going, and use a squad car with two of our chaps for company.’
Peter Brown sat on his bed, still wearing the hooded top and gloves, reading the news about Brockheimer on his laptop. It was reported as just another Underground death – suicide not ruled out, and not ruled in. No mention of his relationship with Revolution. There should have been; the media must know. So the Met were keeping that quiet, were they? They knew it was murder, of course they did – and he knew they knew. The Serial Murder Squad were on the case, and they had no clues and no leads; and he was in control.
He had that elated feeling again. He smiled; in fact, he hadn’t stopped smiling since the push – the push that sent Solly Brockheimer off the edge of Baker Street Tube Station platform two Metropolitan Line and under the 17.35 train to Aldgate as it roared in. So where did you think getting rid of me all those years ago would get you Solly, eh? Bet you didn’t think it would get you under a tube train, eh? Bastard. You should have been nice to me – offered me a job, kept me on; but oh no, not you… Just take all my hard work – all those years of just getting by, all that – and when it comes good, you and those other bastards just thought you could kick me out, eh?
Shouldn’t have gone to the papers, Solly; stupid thing to do. Got the police involved – trying to get me caught, were you? Stupid thing to do, stupid – you made it easy for me to choose. Elliott was going to be next but you leapfrogged him, Solly. You didn’t even notice me on the platform. Stag didn’t at first, either – just another bloke… I waited outside your office for two days, Solly; waited for you… You kept me waiting, you bastard… It wasn’t going to be you next – but you went to the papers and got the police involved. You shouldn’t have done that… It’s your fault… Stupid, stupid, stupid…
They won’t catch me anyway, Solly – not a chance. I’m too clever for Mister Plod, they’ll never catch me. I don’t leave a trace, I’m just a forgotten face from way back – no way they’ll trace me… Just one more of you bastards to go and my job’s done. Just one more.
He tapped his keyboard.
This will make you sit up and respect me, Detective Chief Superintendent Palmer. Oh yes, I know your na
me – but you don’t know mine. But it’s time to say hello…
Chapter 11
Palmer knocked on AC Bateman’s door and walked in after getting the ‘come in’. Bateman was behind his large, impressive-looking desk.
‘Got a message you wanted to see me, sir.’
‘Sit down, Palmer.’
‘Been sitting all day, sir. I’ll stand if you don’t mind.’
He hadn’t been sitting all day, far from it; but he’d long ago sussed out that the chair offered in front of the desk was much lower to the floor than the one Bateman occupied behind it, giving the AC a sense of power over you.
‘Please yourself.’
Bateman eyed him suspiciously. The distrust was mutual.
‘Right, I just want to impress on you Palmer – and you on your staff – that although we have the clearance to re-evaluate the files of other CID units in the Revolution death cases, I do not want any comeback against those units if you find obvious clues that they missed, or any sign of slack procedural work on the cases. Just carry on and complete your investigations. No pointing fingers.’
‘You think I’m going to find some poor work then, sir?’
‘No, but as you may be aware the Commissioner is retiring in a few months and I have been advised that my name – together with others, of course – has been put forward to our political masters for consideration for that position. So I would really be very grateful for a smooth run-up to that election with no inter-force arguments erupting.’
LOOT & I'M WITH THE BAND: The DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad series by B.L.Faulkner. Cases 5 & 6 (DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad cases Book 3) Page 21