Blood Money

by J M Dalgliesh

  “No, don’t do that. I’m heading back now. I’ll take care of it,” he said, hanging up on the call. A momentary pulse of irritation passed over him. Karen hadn’t let him know that Sean had failed to come home. Although, the boy was fifteen and as such had some leeway regarding what he did with his time. Maybe he had permission. Even so, he was still only fifteen. Pressing the mobile to his lips, he thought on what he should do but all that dominated his mind was a growing sense of frustration. With a resigned shake of the head, he tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. Fastening his seatbelt, he engaged the car in gear and set off out of the car park, pulling onto the ring-road and heading for Fulford.

  Chapter 7

  Taking the turn into the car park of the police station, Caslin was relieved to see the assembled journalists had decamped for the day. Most likely they were in the town centre covering the protest marches in order to witness the anticipated confrontation. Getting out and locking the car, he made his way to the rear entrance and the custody suite. Even as he entered his pass code into the security pad, he was still unsure of how he would respond to his son’s arrest. The initial anger had subsided. Neither of the children had given him much of a headache over the years. Certainly, Sean had felt the brunt of the negativity since the break-up of the family. Shifting schools, looking out for his mother and being a stable influence on his younger sister had taken their toll. Then there was last year. Caslin felt immensely guilty for that, regardless of whether he could’ve prevented it or not didn’t matter.

  The door buzzed as he opened it and walked through into the reception area. The custody sergeant glanced up from behind his desk.

  “Hello, sir,” he said, trying to be casual. Caslin approached. Two constables were nearby and both acknowledged him but quickly made themselves scarce. Perhaps they were on the move anyway but to him it felt like they were getting out of his way. No doubt, the news would be across the station by now.

  “Hello Mike,” Caslin greeted Mike Edwards, the Custody Sergeant, an ascetic looking man with a narrow, well-lined face. “Where do you have him?”

  The sergeant indicated towards the interview rooms, “He’s in number five. Once he told us who he was and his age we got him out of the cell.”

  Caslin raised a hand, in supplication, “Don’t worry. I know how it is. What’s the story?” he asked, with an air of resignation.

  “He was present at an address on the south-side of the city, when it was raided last night. It was a planned op, shaking down a number of low-level dealers.”

  “Yeah. I know they’ve been getting a bit cocky of late,” Caslin said. He glanced around. No one was within earshot. “What did they find him with?”

  “A bag of weed. Nothing too serious.”

  “Thank God for that,” Caslin said, sounding relieved.

  “Well, that’s the good news.”

  “What’s the bad?”

  “He was also carrying a little over four-hundred in cash.” Caslin was open-mouthed.

  “Where the hell did he get that kind of money from?” he said, before formulating his own answer. Edwards met his eye. Clearly, the sergeant was thinking the same thing. Caslin felt fatigued all of a sudden. He shook his head in disbelief. “What was it, five?” he asked, pointing towards the double doors. Edwards nodded and Caslin set off to find his son.

  Coming before Interview Room Five, Caslin paused, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The doors adjoining the custody suite opened and an officer came through. She hesitated upon seeing him, slowing her walk ever so slightly. Caslin glanced to his right.

  “Sir,” she said, rigidly, nodding in his direction as she passed by. Caslin returned the greeting with a bob of the head but he didn’t speak. Muttering quietly under his breath, he knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response.

  Sean was sitting on a chair, opposite him and behind a table. His head was down, face resting in the palms of his hands. Upon hearing someone enter, he glanced up. Seeing his father standing before him all colour appeared to drain from his face. Not wanting to meet his eye, Sean returned his gaze to the table before him.

  Caslin didn’t speak, merely chewing on his lower lip as he turned his attention to the constable standing off to the left. With a flick of the head, Caslin indicated for the officer to leave and he did so. The two of them were alone. Caslin closed the door behind the departing chaperone. The latch clicked and he remained with a steadfast hold on the handle, not wanting to turn to face his son. Another flash of anger bubbled beneath the surface and the urge to tear strips off of Sean was tempting.

  “Dad, I’m sorry,” Sean said, before Caslin had a chance to speak.

  “What are you sorry for exactly?” Caslin asked in a far more accusatory manner than he’d intended, turning around and leaning his back against the door. Sean visibly appeared to crumble. His head dropped and within moments, he was shaking as tears came unbidden to his eyes. Caslin felt his anger subside almost immediately. The guilt returning with a vengeance. He gritted his teeth. Somehow, they’d reached this point. He didn’t know how but Caslin felt like he was to blame. Less than twelve months ago, he had almost lost his son at the hands of a professional mercenary. A teenager, swept up in something totally beyond his control or understanding. That day, Caslin saw the face of evil, up close and personal and nearly lost something precious to him.

  Crossing the room, he perched himself on the edge of the table, placing a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. Sean lifted his head. His eyes were brimming with tears, red and swollen.

  “I’m so… sorry, Dad. I never meant to…” Sean stammered. Caslin pulled him in close and hugged him with both arms, as tight as he dared, looking to the ceiling as he did so.

  “We’ll sort it out, son,” he said, reassuring him. “We’ll sort it, don’t worry. Wait here. I’ll be back.”

  Caslin disengaged from his son, stood up and made his way out of the room. In the corridor outside, he found the constable waiting for him. They exchanged places in the room and Caslin headed back to the custody suite. When he arrived, he found two officers booking in a man who had failed to appear at court the previous day and had been picked up as a result.

  “I’d have thought you’d have to leave that sort of thing, today?” Caslin said as the man was frog-marched down to the detention cells. Sergeant Edwards grinned.

  “The magistrates wait for no man,” he said. “But you’re right. We’ll have to put him up over the weekend and drag him back to court first thing Monday.”

  “Fair enough,” Caslin replied. “So, what am I looking at with Sean?”

  Edwards glanced around, lowering his voice. “The arresting officer is probably looking at a caution for possession. The quantity he was holding was minimal. Personal use only. After all, the dealer was the target. But,” he paused, selecting his words carefully, “there is a sticking point. This guy deals more in heroin and spice than anything else. He’s a proper low-life and Sean was carrying a lot of cash. If our team had gone through the door ten-minutes later…”

  “I know what it looks like,” Caslin said. Edwards relaxed a little. He didn’t want to spell it out and with Caslin, he didn’t need to. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Sean’s currently the little fish in a big pond. For now, he’s free to go but he’ll need to be interviewed with an appropriate adult present in a day or so. Whether that’s you or not, I’d advise-”

  “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m sure his mum will come in,” Caslin said, already dreading the conversation he was going to have with Karen. He thanked the sergeant and returned to fetch Sean. Minutes later, they were back in custody collecting Sean’s possessions. Just as they were signing off the paperwork, DCI Matheson appeared. She caught Caslin’s reluctant eye, beckoning him over. He directed Sean to take a seat on a bench to wait for him and crossed the short distance to where she stood.

  “Ma’am,” he said in greeting, meeting her stern expr
ession with one of her own.

  “Nathaniel. I suspect I don’t need to tell you how bad this looks?”

  “Not really,” he replied, casting an eye back to his son.

  “There won’t be any special favours regarding this,” she said flatly. Caslin was annoyed by that.

  “I wouldn’t expect any.”

  “Good. I trust this won’t become a distraction?”

  “Not at all, Ma’am,” Caslin said. “I’ll run him home, speak to his mother and be right back. Provided, that is, that’s all right with you?”

  Matheson turned to face him, “This is not a good look for you and reflects on the team.”

  “I don’t see that,” he countered. “He’s a kid. They have lapses in judgement, do stupid things. It happens all the time. It has sod all to do with the team or my ability to do my job.”

  “We can agree on one thing. He is a child,” she said, fixing her attention on the waiting teenager, looking very much the lost little-boy. “And I’m a firm believer that the behaviour of the child reflects their parenting. I suggest you sort your family out, Inspector. I think you’ve taken enough hits to your reputation already this week.”

  Caslin made no further comment as Matheson made to leave. He indicated in the direction of the exit and beckoned for Sean to join him.

  “Who was that?” Sean asked, approaching.

  “My boss,” Caslin replied.

  “She didn’t look very happy with you.”

  “Very astute, Sean,” Caslin said, pressing the door release to the outer chamber, unlocking it. They stepped out into the caged air lock which in turn, gave them access to the car park.

  “Is that my fault?” Sean asked, as they walked. Caslin put an arm around his shoulder.

  “No. She always looks like that,” Caslin said, faking a warm smile. It didn’t fool anyone. They were barely ten yards from the building before a shout came, from behind.

  “Sir!”

  Caslin turned to see Terry Holt coming across from the direction of the main entrance. He was red-faced and out of breath, by the time he came before them.

  “What’s up, Terry?” Caslin asked. Holt glanced at Sean, not wishing to speak. Caslin passed his son the car keys and pointed to where he was parked. Sean said nothing but walked over, unlocked the car and got into the passenger seat.

  “Uniform were asked to carry out a welfare check on a guy in town. They think it’s something we should definitely take a look at.” Caslin glanced towards the car. Sean was already busy, tapping away on his mobile phone. “I could check it out with Hunter if… well, you’re busy or something?”

  “No, it’s all right, Terry. Give me the address,” he said, turning back to face Holt. “You head over and I’ll meet you there in a bit. I’ll have to drop him off first,” he said, indicating Sean, “but I won’t be long.”

  “Right, sir,” Holt said. “I’ll text you the address.”

  Caslin walked over to the car and got in. Sean passed him the key fob and he inserted it into the slot before pressing the start button. Firing the engine into life, Caslin fastened his seatbelt. Sean did the same. The windscreen of the car was misting over even in the short time, Sean had been waiting. Caslin pressed the button to initiate the heated windscreen and set the blowers to maximum. The two sat without conversation, accompanied by the noise of the fans until Caslin judged his visibility was good enough. They left the car park and Caslin turned out onto Fulford Road and accelerated, leaving the city behind them. Karen’s house was only a fifteen-minute drive away, into the suburbs. They drove in silence for a while but as their destination neared, Sean became more agitated.

  “What did she say?” he asked, staring out of the window at the passing trees.

  “Who? Your mum?” Caslin clarified. Sean nodded. Caslin noticed in the corner of his eye. “I’ve not spoken to her, yet.”

  “Right,” Sean replied, turning to him. “What are you going to say?”

  Caslin shook his head, “I’ve no idea. I’m a bit pis…” he stopped himself, “a bit annoyed with her to be honest. She didn’t call to say you hadn’t come home. I’d have expected her to.”

  “She was out,” Sean said, “and I can take care of myself.”

  “Maybe you can but what of your sister?”

  “Lizzie spent the night at a friend’s,” Sean offered, returning his attention to the passing landscape.

  “And your mum went out?” Caslin asked. Sean nodded.

  “It’s a regular thing.”

  They arrived at the house soon after. Karen’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Checking the time on the dashboard clock, it was lunchtime. He wondered whether she had come home and gone out again or hadn’t come home at all. Quite frankly, it was none of his business.

  “What time does your mum usually get home? If she’s out, I mean?” Caslin asked.

  Sean shrugged, “It depends on what time she has to pick Lizzie up, I guess.”

  “Well, she’s with me almost every other weekend. Does she go out a lot?” Caslin replied, drawing another shrug of the shoulders. Caslin thought about it. He should have called her from the station but it was too late now. “All right, look, you need to take a shower and get your head down, for a bit. I’ll call your mum later.”

  “All right,” Sean said, pulling on the door handle. Caslin reached across and stopped him from getting out. Sean met his eye.

  “We still have a lot to talk about,” he said sternly. “Not least what you were doing there.”

  Sean sighed, “Dad, I was scoring some weed.”

  “And where did you get four-hundred quid from?” Sean slumped back in his seat but offered nothing in explanation. “You’ll need to say something, Son. It’s not going away. You were carrying money to buy enough that’d qualify you as a dealer. If you’d already made the buy…”

  “Dad…”

  “Don’t palm it off,” Caslin admonished him, turning his attention to a far-off point somewhere in the distance. He adopted a more conciliatory tone, “I know how it works. Everyone knows someone and whoever’s in stock determines who makes the purchase. You were scoring for your mates as well, weren’t you?” Sean remained silent, staring straight ahead. “You’ve put me in one hell of a position, you know that?”

  “Yeah, that’s right, Dad,” Sean snapped. “It’s all about you. It’s always about you!”

  Sean got out of the car at speed, slamming the door shut before Caslin had a chance to respond. He stalked off up the driveway. Caslin watched as he dug out his house keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door, stepping inside. The door closed without him casting even a cursory glance in his father’s direction. Not that Caslin expected him to.

  That feeling of guilt returned. Sean spent months in counselling the previous year. Sleeping pills helped to subvert the night terrors but there was always the sense that they were only battling the symptoms and never getting to grips with the cause. Caslin had hoped they were making headway. Sean’s need for the medication had dipped and his school reports were improving. He sighed. Maybe this was little more than the usual teenage response to life. Another stage in the transition from adolescence to adult-life that needed to be experienced. With a heavy heart, he pushed it from his mind resolving to give Karen a call before she would return home, not that he knew when that would be. In the meantime, he looked up the address, Terry Holt had sent through. Slipping the car into reverse, he turned around and set off back into the city.

  Leaving Heslington behind, the build-up of traffic was steadily increasing on the approaches to the centre. Caslin skirted the University campus, bringing him into York from the South-East. Even this route started to slow as he reached the Old St. Lawrence Church, just short of the ring road. Here the cars were inching forward at a frustrating pace and it took a further ten minutes before Caslin was able to take the turn onto Walmgate and pass through the ancient, fortress walls of the city.

  The police cordon was easy to spot and an of
ficer directed him to park up on the pavement, such was the limited space available. Traffic was still moving out of the city, this being one of the main thoroughfares but passage was cut to one lane due to the police presence and tempers were fraying on a Saturday afternoon.

  The communal entrance was taped off and a uniformed constable stood guard with others marshalling the bystanders. One officer lifted the cordon to allow him to duck beneath it. A number of locals were gathering behind the tape, peering through the open door and trying to make out what was going on beyond. Their curiosity was similar to those passing an accident on the motorway, a ghoulish voyeurism. Caslin was met by DC Holt at the open door to a ground-floor flat.

  “Hello, sir,” Holt said with a pale, grim expression written across his face. That piqued Caslin’s curiosity because it took a lot to unsettle the experienced detective constable.

  “What do we have, Terry?”

  “Uniform understated it, sir,” he offered. “I’ve never seen anything like it… it’s… bloody awful in there.”

  Chapter 8

  Holt stepped aside allowing Caslin to take the lead. Upon entering the smell hit him. The best he could figure it to be was a mixture of cigarette smoke, sweat and faeces. The air was stale and the atmosphere oppressive. The hall was non-descript with four doors leading off it. Glancing over his shoulder, Holt indicated for him to walk to the end. The first door, set to his right, was closed.

  “Bedroom,” Holt told him. The next two doors were almost opposite each other, staggered on either side. This time, he needed no guidance. The door to the left was open and Caslin could tell that this was the focal point of what was undoubtedly a crime scene.

  Caslin held his breath as he stepped into the room, exercising great caution not to disturb any evidence as he went. Little more than four-feet away, a man was kneeling on the floor with his back to the threshold where Caslin stood. The curtains were drawn restricting natural light to a bare minimum that crept through the narrow crack between them. Further light came via the arched access to the kitchen but even this was subtle and did little to illuminate the room. Artificial light was provided by two lamps, one wall hung to Caslin’s right and a further reading lamp, set upon a table in the far corner. The gentle hum of the passing traffic in the background was accompanied by the ticking of a wall-mounted clock.