“Keep it running,” Caslin said quietly. Hunter was watching proceedings by way of the rear-view mirror.
“Do you think he’s waiting for someone?” she asked. Caslin didn’t respond. He was curious and couldn’t help but think they were onto something. His only wish was to know what? A few minutes passed and Grey put his phone away, resting both hands on the steering wheel. Staring straight ahead, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands still for more than a few moments.
Soon after, another car came down the hill, passing them and slowing as it approached Grey’s before pulling in, in front of it. It was a silver Mercedes with tinted privacy-glass so they were unable to ascertain who or how many people were inside. Hunter noted down the registration number and picked up her radio, requesting the control room carry out a check on the vehicle with the national database. Having read out the index plate, she put the radio down and waited.
The daytime running lights switched off as Grey stepped out from his car and approached the Mercedes. A man opened the door to the front passenger seat and climbed out. He was heavily built, with a shaved head. He glanced around, surveying the immediate area before opening the rear door. Grey waited on the path, looking nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking around furtively. A woman got out of the Mercedes. She cut a stylish figure, white-blonde hair, cut in a bob and sporting a cashmere overcoat, carrying past the knee.
Caslin knew her. The trademark oversized, cat-eye sunglasses were present, as was the pale, ivory skin of her complexion. Hunter’s radio crackled as the results of the PNC check came back on the Mercedes. She picked up the unit only to pause as she registered what she was seeing.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Caslin muttered, under his breath.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Hunter added, equally surprised.
“I have no idea but I’m going to enjoy finding out,” Caslin replied as he watched Thomas Grey shake hands with Danika Durakovic.
Chapter 16
They watched as the conversation between Durakovic and Thomas Grey continued for several minutes. The latter became increasingly flustered as he drove home whatever point he was making. For her part, Danika remained calm with an impassive expression that Caslin knew only too well. From experience, he found it virtually impossible to interpret. Danika shook her head at several of the points Grey was conveying. This only seemed to further agitate him. Then it was Grey’s turn to listen and despite several attempts to interrupt her, he did so with a pained expression on his face.
By now, Hunter had taken her camera from its case, tucked behind the driver’s seat and was busy taking shots of the impromptu exchange.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” she asked, just as Grey raised his hands, dramatically emphasising his point.
“When we get back to Fulford let’s run a search through the Companies House Portal and see if any of Grey’s business interests tie in with Danika’s. I very much doubt these two were old school friends.”
“Grey’s name has never come up in relation to Durakovic before?” Hunter asked. Caslin shook his head.
“Not that I recall. The only property interests I remember she’s involved in were multiple small to medium-sized enterprises that she uses to wash her money,” he said, thinking about it while Hunter snapped away. Grey stood, crestfallen, as Danika turned away from him, sliding into the backseat of the Mercedes and the door was closed for her. He shook his head slowly, turning his face skywards.
“Sounds like he didn’t get the response he was looking for,” Hunter offered, taking a last photo of the encounter.
“It doesn’t, does it?” Caslin replied. Grey watched the car pull out and set off in the direction that they themselves had come from. Rubbing his face with a palm, Grey’s appearance was drained of the brash confidence that he’d exuded back in his office. The moment passed and anger flared within the businessman. Stalking back to the Discovery, he got in and slammed the door shut. Sparking the engine into life, the wheels squealed as he set off at speed. Pulling a U-turn in the road despite an oncoming vehicle, whose driver sounded his displeasure, Grey accelerated away in the direction of his office. Caslin and Hunter were left to consider what they’d witnessed.
“Shall we go?” Hunter asked.
“Aye,” Caslin agreed. “Let’s keep Durakovic’s involvement to ourselves for the time being. Yes?”
Hunter looked over to him, attempting to read his expression, “Why?”
“Our recent brush with her has ruffled a few feathers upstairs,” Caslin explained. “I don’t want any suggestion the result of that case is clouding my approach to this one. At least, let’s keep it under wraps until we know how this comes together.”
“Forgive me, sir,” Hunter said, Caslin met her eye, “but how does Nairn fit into our current case load? I mean, have we not got enough on already?” Caslin blew out his cheeks, weighing up a response. “After all, if you’re asking me to keep quiet, I deserve to know what’s going on. Right?”
Caslin nodded, “Someone, who I believe is close to Farzaad Amin has indicated we should look closer at Nairn’s suicide.”
“How is this person connected to Amin and what’s their motivation?” Hunter queried. Caslin turned his gaze forward and away from her.
“I don’t know.”
“Might he be… don’t take this the wrong way… but, might he be playing you?”
Caslin let out a deep sigh, “There’s always that possibility but I don’t see it.”
“How can you know?”
“You’re right. I can’t,” Caslin conceded. “But it’s fair to say that there is something going on here we’re not aware of and I expect to find out exactly what it is. If I happen to get another crack at Danika along the way, then that’s an unexpected windfall I’ll happily accept. Can you go along with that?”
Hunter met his gaze and smiled, “Of course, I can.”
***
The short journey back to Fulford Road was made in silence. Caslin kept replaying everything he knew about Danika’s business operations in his head, trying to link her with Thomas Grey but none were forthcoming from memory. Furthermore, any connection to Farzaad Amin eluded him completely. Entering the station, they were buzzed through the outer security door. Making their way along the corridor, they took the left onto the stairs and up towards CID. A call came from below as they reached the landing of the first floor.
“Mr Caslin!” a voice shouted to get his attention. Caslin glanced over the balustrade, down to the ground floor to see who was looking for him. It was one of the civilian desk clerks but ashamedly, he didn’t know his name. Leaning back, out of view, he silently mouthed the question to Hunter who rolled her eyes.
“Simon,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, he’s only worked here for a year or so.”
“I’ve been busy,” Caslin said, leaning over and calling down. “What is it, Simon?” he asked, shooting a wink in Hunter’s direction.
“There’s someone waiting to see you,” he called. Caslin thought about asking more questions but instead, turned to head back down, lingering on the first step.
“You crack on with pulling the details on Pocock and the helicopter crash. Also, have Terry Holt gather any available intel on Thomas Grey. I’ll see you in CID in a minute,” he said, resuming his course down to the waiting clerk.
Hunter affirmed she would, “Leave it with me.”
“What do you have for me?” Caslin said as he reached the ground floor.
“I have a Mr Mitchell, Geoffrey Mitchell, waiting to see you in the visitor’s room,” Simon offered, guiding Caslin in the right direction. Now, Caslin remembered who Simon was. A former engineer, retired from his career and now having taken up residence on the front desk at Fulford Road as part of the civilian administration team. A new job to keep him busy. A slightly pompous man who believed no one knew the station better than he did. Not that his approach was borne out of arrogance, merely a lack
of self-awareness regarding his impact on those around him. Harmless enough and probably a very decent man but not one that many wanted to find themselves alone with during the working day.
“What does he want, do you know?” Caslin asked, immediately regretting doing so.
Simon shook his head, “No. He would only speak with you. Reminds me of a cartoon I saw in the paper a few days ago. There was this man, sitting in an office and-”
“Another time, Simon,” Caslin said as they reached the security door to the station lobby. Caslin opened it, passed through and turned immediately left to access the visitor’s room. Never had he been so relieved to be walking blindly into a room as he was at that very moment. Entering, he swiftly closed the door behind him. If Simon took offence it wasn’t evident. The man waiting for him rose from his seat before Caslin had a chance to introduce himself.
“Nathaniel Caslin?” the man asked. Caslin nodded, taking in his measure as he offered his hand. Geoffrey Mitchell took it. The grasp was far from firm and rapidly dropped. Caslin guessed he was in his early fifties, of slim build and smartly dressed in a high-end suit. He appeared to be nervous, his eyes flitting to Caslin and then quickly away.
“How can I help you, Mr Mitchell?” Caslin asked, indicating for them to take a seat. Mitchell shook his head.
“No, thank you,” he declined. “This won’t take long.”
“Okay,” Caslin replied. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to ask you to stay away from Karen,” he said flatly. Caslin was thrown.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Karen, your ex-wife,” Mitchell reiterated. “I want you to leave her alone.”
Caslin felt a pulse of anger course through him, “Leave her alone?”
“Yes,” Mitchell said, fixing him with a hard stare. “Look… I know the two of you have a long history and… the bonds between husband and wife are strong, particularly when there are children involved but… it’s time that you moved on.”
“Who the hell do you think-”
“I’m Karen’s future,” Mitchell cut in. “You are very much her past.”
Caslin bristled, “Well, maybe that’s for her to decide?”
Mitchell walked around from behind the table where initially he’d been seated, coming alongside Caslin and looking at him sideways. His demeanour was not threatening nor intimidating but calm and measured.
“Karen told me… she told me what happened between the two of you the other night,” he said, his voice cracking momentarily as Caslin cast his eyes to the floor, inclining his head slightly. “It’s understandable under the circumstances but you should be aware that it will not be happening again.” With that said, Mitchell continued on and only stopped when he grasped the door handle. He waited there, both men with their backs to each other. “Please ensure I don’t have to come here again, Nathaniel. It’s embarrassing for me and I have no doubt that it’s humiliating for you.”
Caslin heard the creaking of the door hinges, coupled with the draught of air drawn in from the lobby beyond, as Mitchell left the room. The flash of anger subsided to be replaced by a curious mixture of guilt and sadness, akin to the realisation that a worst fear was now a brutal reality.
He took a deep breath and held it, attempting to overcome the swirling emotions within that were trying to assert themselves. Reaching up, he probed his temples in a circular motion with his fingertips before pressing them firmly against fiercely shut eyes. Standing in silence, he heard his phone beep inside his pocket. Taking it out, he saw he’d received a text message. It was from Karen and simply read – I’m sorry.
There was a knock on the frame of the door and Caslin turned, replacing his phone in his pocket as he did so. Simon was standing there. His expression was one of concern.
“Are you okay, Mr Caslin?” he said. Knowing he wasn’t standing before the most observant or intuitive member of the team, Caslin felt the need to gather himself.
“I’m fine, Simon. Thank you for your concern,” he replied, forcing a smile. This seemed to satisfy him.
“They’re looking for you upstairs,” Simon offered.
“Thanks,” Caslin replied, stepping out from the room and increasing his pace to ensure he walked alone.
***
Entering CID, Hunter clocked him and made a beeline in his direction. She held a wedge of paper in her hands as she approached him. Reading the expression on his face, her own changed.
“Are you all right, sir?” she asked.
“Yes, why?”
She shook her head to indicate it was irrelevant, “Anything interesting going on downstairs?”
“No,” Caslin replied bluntly, probably with a sharper edge to his tone than intended. Hunter appeared not to notice. “What did you find out?”
“The Air Accidents Investigation Branch sent me over a copy of their report. I’m just been going through it.”
“And?”
“The helicopter came down in good weather on its approach to Burleigh House. The ensuing fireball that followed upon impact killed both the pilot and passenger, Martin Pocock. The AAIB carried out an exhaustive inquiry that only finished last month. They found the machine had a well-documented maintenance record with no history of material failures or breakdowns.”
“And the cause of the accident itself?” Caslin asked, mulling it over.
“They couldn’t determine a compelling reason for it to come down in the manner that it did. Ultimately, they concluded it was most likely due to pilot error,” Hunter stated, glancing at the document in hand.
“The traditional get-out clauses are still favoured then?” Caslin asked with no attempt to hide the sarcasm. “What of the pilot? What do we know about him?”
“Sam Abrahams,” Hunter said, flicking back a page. “A former captain in the Army Air Corps. Served tours in both Gulf conflicts and the Balkans. Spotless record. He was cited as an above average pilot with three decades of experience and also worked, for a time, as an instructor. He had no known medical condition to indicate he was unfit to fly.”
“And what of the machine itself? Any history of design flaws or similar accidents affecting that particular model of aircraft?” Caslin asked.
Hunter shook her head in the negative, “Not at all. It has one of the best performing safety averages in the industry.”
“Pocock?” Caslin asked, just as Terry Holt joined them.
“I’ve got that here, sir,” Holt said, brandishing his notes. “He was a successful lawyer having had a career that saw him work for several of the more prestigious City firms. He developed a reputation for being a specialist in contract negotiations, specifically surrounding the structuring of property investment finance. Having left his last appointment, he set up a company of his own that proved successful and catapulted him even further up the food chain. Not a rags-to-riches story but certainly upwardly mobile. No priors. Not even a parking ticket.”
“Tell me, was his current situation investigated at the time of his death? Anything that was considered suspicious?”
Hunter shook her head, “No. The AAIB carried out their investigation and the jury at the inquest concluded it was a case of accidental death.”
“His firm. Who’s running it now?” Caslin asked.
“It collapsed shortly following his death,” Holt stated. “Companies House records show it was racked with debt and from what I could find out there was no one to take the helm after the accident. A winding up order was served by Revenue and Customs three months ago.”
Caslin caught Hunter casting him an advisory flick of the eyebrows and he turned to see DCI Matheson entering CID. He acknowledged her approach and indicated for the junior officers to leave. Holt swiftly departed whereas Hunter managed to greet their superior before returning to her own desk. For his part, Caslin fell into step alongside Matheson and they headed for his office.
“I missed the morning briefing today,” she said, as he closed the door behind them. Ca
slin offered her a seat but she remained standing.
“That’s okay, I can bring you up to speed,” Caslin said.
“That would be nice but first,” Matheson said, “perhaps you could tell me why you missed the morning briefing?” Caslin sank into the chair behind his desk, casting a glance through the window into the squad room. He caught Terry Holt’s eye, the latter attempting to observe the goings on without appearing to be doing so. Caslin rolled his tongue across the inside of his lower lip. Matheson followed his gaze. “Don’t blame Terry. You put him in that position.”
Caslin shook his head slightly, “I had to follow up on a lead. It was important and the team here know their tasks.”
“What took you to Acomb Road?” Matheson pressed, folding her arms before her. Word certainly spread fast.
“The suicide of Alexander Nairn last year, could well be related to the Amin killing,” Caslin offered, judging Matheson knew more than she was letting on. He had to assume his leg was already in the bear trap and sought not to make the situation worse.
“How so?” Matheson replied without skipping a beat, confirming Caslin’s suspicions.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to find out, Ma’am,” Caslin said.
“And how have you come by this information?”
“A tip off,” Caslin lied. “Anonymous.”
The DCI unfolded her arms, softening her stance, “Do you think you can trust it?”
Caslin nodded solemnly, “There are legs in it for sure. How exactly it comes together, I’ll be honest, I don’t know… yet. But, I will.” Matheson stood in silence, almost as if she was assessing him. Most likely, he figured she was weighing up how forthcoming he was currently being. In truth, that was only as far as he felt he had to be whilst appearing convincing.
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