Another Good Killing: An exciting, fast-paced crime thriller (Detective John Marco crime thriller Book 2) (Detective Inspector Marco)

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘This is Janet Palmer. I’m on leave for few days so Janet will be taking over,’ Jim said.

  It unsettled me to think of someone new being involved. The frown on Jackie’s face told me she felt the same.

  ‘Unfortunately the pressure in Dean’s head is still a little high, although it is improving. At the moment the best course of action is to keep him asleep and wait for the pressure to improve.’

  ‘Is he going to be all right? I mean, is he going to have brain damage after this?’ I blurted it out.

  ‘It’s impossible to say how Dean will wake up. I know this is hard and I’m sorry that I can’t be more concrete.’

  During the day various texts from Lydia reminded me that I was in charge of a double murder inquiry. Later that afternoon Jackie gave me a resigned look. ‘You need to get back to Cardiff.’

  I didn’t reply immediately. It was going to be difficult leaving Dean. I even thought that I should ring Cornock and tell him to assign someone else to act as senior investigating officer.

  ‘He’s going to be all right. You need to get back,’ Jackie said. ‘Your place is at work now. He’s out of danger.’

  My place should have been as a better father for Dean over the years. And now my place should be here with Dean. It was early evening when Jackie persuaded me to leave, promising to call if there was any change.

  I left Southampton that evening driving on auto-pilot. The traffic was light, the weather dry. I drove, hoping Dean would recover. There was a good chance. And that meant I had a good chance to put things right: try and make amends for the years I had been a useless father. When I reached the junction for the motorway I negotiated the roundabout three times, debating with myself whether I should go back to Southampton. Superintendent Cornock could allocate someone else to take over the investigation. Maybe even Dave Hobbs. But giving up on my career wasn’t the answer although I resolved then that never again would I give up on Dean.

  I headed for the motorway and hammered the car towards Cardiff.

  Chapter 25

  Superintendent Cornock shook me warmly by the hand and suggested I sit down. I was tired despite having slept soundly; in fact I was convinced that I hadn’t moved all night.

  ‘How are things?’

  This time I knew exactly what he meant. ‘Dean is still in intensive care. Next few days are critical.’

  ‘We’ve been thinking of you here, John.’

  Cornock turned his attention to the tropical fish swimming in his tank. After a brief moment of rumination he straightened in his chair and looked over at me. ‘Are you certain that you want to get back into the investigation? I could always assign Dave Hobbs to take command, although he seems to be enjoying his role in the Cardiff City Soul Crew inquiry far more than I’d expected.’

  I raised a hand in the air. The last thing I wanted was Dave Hobbs interfering.

  ‘There’s a lot of pressure to get the two murders solved, John. So you need to make progress and I’m concerned that with Dean poorly you will not be focused enough.’

  ‘No problem, sir. Lydia and the team are really on top of things. I’m expecting some progress from forensics later today.’

  Cornock raised an eyebrow. ‘Good. Keep me posted.’

  As I left I glanced back at the superintendent, a silver Cross ballpoint already in hand, his gaze on the paperwork on his desk.

  I reached the Incident Room and three sets of worried eyes looked over at me.

  ‘I’ve been in a meeting with the super,’ I said.

  The concern disappeared from their faces and Lydia spoke first. ‘How’s Dean, boss?’

  I gave them all a summary of what had happened in the hospital. I didn’t tell them about the risk of complications and that Dean was still very ill.

  ‘Anything from Australia?’ I said to Jane.

  ‘The flat is registered in Alan Turner’s name.’

  I hesitated. Jane continued. ‘All the paperwork seems in order.’

  I was thinking about all the bank accounts in Alan Turner’s name and the surprise on David Turner’s face when he told us about the apartment. ‘We’ll need to know where the money came from.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Trace the source of the money. Someone should be able to tell you where the money came from.’

  From the energy in Wyn’s demeanour I could tell he had something on his mind. ‘We’ve built a spreadsheet of the individuals that used the computers in that café last week, sir. You won’t believe it but Paul Youlden is on the list.’

  I stopped and turned to look at him.

  He thrust the list at me.

  I scanned down the names, straining to block out any sound, hoping this would be a small breakthrough. They could be collaborating with Henson, pretending to be different groups but in reality, they had the same aim.

  ‘Good work. Is there an address?’

  ‘A property in Newport.’

  I turned to Lydia. ‘Get your coat.’

  She followed me downstairs to the car park. I punched the postcode into the sat-nav and fired the Mondeo into life.

  ‘Is it going to be another waste of time?’ Lydia said.

  ‘If it is you can always blame special branch.’

  It was another twenty minutes before we had negotiated the Brynglas tunnels and I took a junction down into the middle of the city. Newport was drab even on a spring morning with far too much post-industrial catching up to do. The sat-nav dictated and I followed the instructions until I drove down into a group of industrial units by the river.

  I parked outside a large entrance door, plywood pinned to the original frame. I pulled the door open and it swung freely on its hinges. A radio played somewhere in the building. We walked down a bare corridor, rooms off either side, empty apart from some discarded old furniture and stacks of old timber. The final room was an improvised office; various old printers and a laptop were set out on a piece of plywood as a makeshift desk.

  ‘What is this place?’ Lydia said.

  ‘It was an old knitting factory. It closed down years ago.’

  At the end of the hall, I could hear the radio playing one of those annoying Coldplay songs that stays in your mind for hours. I kicked open the door and went through, Lydia following behind me. The radio was playing in a small room that must have been an office for a supervisor. I scanned the group of people sitting around a table in front of me. I counted three men and two women as well as a dog that scrambled to its feet when we entered.

  A man who looked to be in charge got up and walked towards me. He was wiry, with a wispy beard and straggly hair. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ He had a strong Rhondda accent – it made me feel quite at home. I flashed my warrant card. Lydia did the same.

  ‘Are you Paul Youlden?’

  ‘What if I am?’ I took that as confirmation.

  One of the other men sitting by the table stood up. He was wearing a T-shirt with Che Guevara’s face printed on it.

  ‘So what’s going on here? Plotting the revolution?’ I said.

  ‘This is a free country,’ Youlden said.

  The third man had neatly cut hair, a healthy-looking face and a small cross in his left ear lobe. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Greg Jones and this is police harassment.’

  One of the girls sitting by his side had a tattoo stencilled on her right neck and short pink hair. She was chewing gum energetically and gave me a hard, uncompromising stare. The other woman got up and turned her attention to the Labrador at her feet.

  ‘I’m investigating the death of Matthew Dolman.’ I turned my attention back to the other man. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Locke.’

  ‘Is this where you record your videos?’ I said.

  I turned back to Youlden who crossed his arms and stared at me defiantly. ‘This factory was typical of the capitalist corruption that we have to put up with. A company comes to the back-end of Wales with the benefit of massive grants from the Welsh gover
nment. Stays around for a few years until the money runs out and then undertakes a re-evaluation of their business model which is a shortcut for saying they want to close the business and move back to England.’

  ‘I didn’t think they could do things like that these days,’ Lydia piped up.

  Now it was Locke’s turn. ‘It’s happened for centuries. And the people of Wales just get poorer.’

  I’d had enough of listening to this sort of rant. ‘And we’re investigating the murder of Alan Turner.’

  ‘Who?’ Locke smiled.

  I stepped towards him. I poked a finger into his chest. ‘You know exactly who I mean. It’s been all over the newspapers, television, internet.’ I pitched my head towards the monitor. Then I turned to Youlden. ‘I want to know where you were on the morning Dolman and the evening Turner were killed.’

  Both men gave a lazy shrug. It succeeded in riling me. ‘You can either answer my questions here and now or we can go back to Queen Street and you can cool off in a police cell overnight.’

  ‘You’ve got no grounds to arrest us.’

  ‘You were in the internet café in Pontypridd last Tuesday.’ I stared at Youlden.

  A brief spasm of worry crossed his face. ‘This isn’t a police state yet. I don’t have to answer any of your questions.’

  I fingered the handcuffs in my jacket pocket. ‘Paul Youlden. I’m arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to murder Alan Turner.’

  Chapter 26

  A search team took Youlden’s premises apart, one piece of furniture at a time as he languished in a cell at Queen Street. Then they started on the floorboards before moving onto the walls.

  I stayed and watched as the place was pulled apart methodically.

  Inch by inch.

  The search team supervisor was a short man with a thick neck and tattoos on his forearms. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ Adding as an afterthought. ‘Sir.’

  I glared down at him. ‘If you’ve got a problem take it up with Superintendent Cornock or better still ACC Neary.’

  It suited me just fine that he ignored me for the rest of the day. Early evening meant that Queen Street looked grey and drab in the half-light before dusk. An end-of-the-day feel pervaded the station and in the Incident Room Lydia had papers strewn on her desk. She gave me a tired smile when she saw me.

  ‘I’ve been through the file from Harper’s law firm regarding Matthew Dolman’s will,’ she said. ‘It looks like Mrs Dolman would lose out big time if Matthew Dolman changed his will.’

  I stepped over to the board, moving her photograph to give it more prominence. Lydia continued. ‘And we double-checked the hostel record sir. Youlden was a resident.’

  ‘So she could have met him there,’ I said.

  She nodded.

  ‘So Troy and Mrs Dolman have a connection to Youlden who had a link to Henson. Small world.’

  I turned to look at Lydia; behind her computers and boxes removed from Youlden’s place covered the desks in the Incident Room. ‘Anything on the computers?’

  ‘There’s nothing to suggest he has recorded either of the two videos linked to the deaths.’ She nodded to the PCs on her desk. ‘There is a video on this computer but it’s the one that’s shown on that website they host. You know, the same vitriolic bigotry against “capitalism”.’

  I sat down at Wyn’s desk. ‘We’ll need something if we’re going to interview him.’

  ‘His lawyer’s been on the phone six times at least asking what’s happening.’

  ‘Let’s hope they find something at his house.’

  I got up and went back to my office. I scrolled down the messages in my inbox. Cornock wanted an update and his email alluded to ‘press interest’ but the message from the public relations department was far more blunt – ‘Urgent update needed’. Tracy had called me twice and must have given up as she’d texted me suggesting lunch tomorrow in the National Gallery.

  The door of the Incident Room banged open and Wyn and Jane streamed in clutching a laptop. Jane was the first to speak. ‘This laptop was found in Youlden’s home address – stuffed into the bottom of a wardrobe. There are videos you need to see, boss.’

  Wyn sat next to Jane by her desk. Lydia stood behind him and I noticed her perfume that evening. It had a fresh lavender sort of smell. After standing around a search team in an old factory unit all afternoon, the sweet perfume was relaxing. I recalled Alvine’s mention of perfume after Dolman’s death; since then I’d been searching for a link. I couldn’t detect any perfume from Jane. She didn’t seem the sort that might wear any.

  The monitor lit up and an image of a car windscreen filled the screen.

  I peered down and recognised the electronic gates of the Dolman residence. There was shuffling as the occupants moved in their seats. One had a cough and their breath was audible.

  ‘That’s the Dolman place,’ Lydia said.

  ‘There’s more,’ Jane said.

  The camera zoomed into the gates as a voice said, ‘There he is’.

  ‘Play that again,’ I snapped.

  Wyn obliged.

  A man’s voice, definitely. And another’s. And conversation now: each encouraging the other. The video ran on and I watched with growing alarm as the cameras panned towards the Aston Martin before following it down the road into the middle of Penarth.

  Then the camera moved as the car pulled out and followed Dolman.

  We watched until the footage stopped as Dolman indicated for the Royal Bell car park.

  ‘There are four more videos, boss,’ Wyn said. ‘Two more following Dolman driving into work and two as they follow him to the bank. They must have been using a small camera.’

  Progress. I noted the time and calculated quickly that I had another eighteen hours to keep Youlden before having to consider his release.

  ‘I need all the CCTV in Penarth and the middle of town looked at again for the few hours before Dolman’s death. This time we know that we’re looking for Youlden and at least one other. Get his car registration number and the number of everyone else involved so far – Henson, Cleaver and the others with Youlden this morning.’

  I walked over to the board and tapped the space next to Henson.

  ‘I want Youlden’s photograph up here.’

  ‘There must be a connection between them. Youlden could be helping Henson.’ Lydia said.

  I turned to face the team. ‘Wyn, take the photographs of Henson and Youlden and go and talk to Darren Williams at the internet café. In fact take all the photographs we’ve got of anyone involved with these groups. Find out if he recognises anyone.’

  I left the Incident Room and walked through to Cornock’s room. Susan Peel had a drawn, hunted look in her eyes that darted around Cornock’s room as I gave them an update.

  ‘We’ve arrested Youlden and we should be able to interview him in the—’

  ‘The press have got hold of this somehow,’ Peel said.

  Cornock looked at her and frowned. The light from his desk lamp cast deep shadows in the worry lines on his forehead. ‘I’m sure that Inspector Marco has more to add.’

  Peel glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to have something for the evening news.’

  ‘Tell them we’re conducting a double murder investigation.’

  ‘That simply won’t do.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean?’ Cornock’s raised voice startled her. She shifted in her chair. ‘We’re not here to entertain the press. Tell them we’ll do a press release when we’re good and ready.’

  Peel gathered her papers and left in a huff.

  ‘There’s something linking Troy Dolman to his father’s death. We’ve got eyewitness accounts that they had blazing arguments about the future of the bank. And he was in the same regiment as Youlden and there’s an allegation he was in a relationship with Youlden.’

  Cornock managed a long sigh.

  ‘And Mrs Dolman has links to the homeless hostel that Turner and Dolman funded and she would lose out
big time if Matthew Dolman changed his will.’

  Cornock sat back in his chair, and drew a hand over his hair. ‘This is a mess John. I hope you’ve got enough to make progress.’

  *

  I got back to the Incident Room knowing we had to scan the CCTV recordings again. Before starting, I closed the door of my office and called Jackie. Usually I spoke to her a few times a year but now things had changed. She was still at the hospital and I strained to identify the tone to her voice. I hoped I could detect optimism but from what she said about Dean, it was soon clear there had been little change.

  I agreed to call my mother, which I did as soon as I’d finished with Jackie.

  ‘You must tell me everything.’

  I repeated everything twice for her and found myself pleased to be sharing with her the health updates on my son.

  I stepped out into the Incident Room as the television news broadcast an item that announced ‘Police refuse to confirm or deny reports that an arrest had been made in relation to the long-running double-murder inquiry.’

  Wyn arrived back just as the piece finished. He dropped his notepad onto the desk and blew out a lungful of breath. ‘Darren Williams didn’t recognise any of them. But the girl who usually works in the café is in Tenerife.’

  Exhaustion got the better of me. ‘What the fucking hell is she doing in Tenerife?’

  ‘She’s on holiday, boss.’ Wyn said. ‘She won’t be back until next Monday.’

  It was late in the evening when we finished viewing the CCTV coverage for the route from the Dolman home to the middle of Cardiff. The number plates of the cars on the screen merged into each other by the end. It left me with the uncomfortable feeling that I had missed something obvious.

  I left Queen Street and drove home, yawning most of the way.

  Chapter 27

  It was just after seven the following morning.

  There was a double-double strength espresso in a small plastic cup from Mario’s on my desk alongside the bare bones of an interview plan. Lydia looked surprisingly normal. Her make-up was fresh and her blouse and trousers newly ironed. I gave my battered chinos a cursory glance and then I grabbed my notes and headed downstairs to the custody suite. By now Youlden would have had eight hours’ uninterrupted sleep and no doubt his lawyer would have enjoyed a decent night’s sleep too.