Falling (Inspector Walter Darriteau cases Book 10)

by David Carter

  ‘Rosanna, come and talk... now!’ and he disappeared.

  ‘What is going on?’ said the thirty-year-old Oonagh.

  ‘Search me,’ said Dermot, watching their mother hurry away to find out.

  ‘Whatever it is,’ said Eamonn, ‘there seems to be some bad blood between them.’

  Rosanna found Liam sitting at his desk.

  ‘Come in,’ he said, ‘sit down.’

  ‘What’s up, love? You’re frightening me.’

  Liam coughed hard and told her everything he knew.

  She sat forward in her chair, swaying back and forth, breathing heavy, and said, ‘It’s a hoax, gotta be.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I can’t believe for one second we have eaten our own daughter.’

  ‘Neither can I. But Meade was cocky, confident. Said they’d enjoyed the same thing. He was revelling in the moment. Where did the bloody meat come from?’

  ‘The usual butchers, so far as I know.’

  ‘Find out! I want to know everything about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I will. But that man Meade, is a vile snake. The lowest of the low, evil, that’s what he is; pure evil. The devil is waiting to rip his guts to shreds, and it can’t come soon enough.’

  Banaghan didn’t answer. He knew what had happened to Grahame Meade, and tragic though it was, perhaps Howard Meade’s reaction was understandable. He couldn’t tell her that and was still thinking when Rosanna mumbled, ‘What do we tell the others?’

  ‘Eilish didn’t turn up at Snotty Toby’s gaff, so something’s wrong. Any idea where she might have gone?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Okay, tell them Eilish is missing, ask them if they have any idea where she might be.’

  ‘Right,’ she said, standing up.

  ‘And make sure they don’t eat any more of that meat. Take the leftovers away, but keep it safe, we might need it.’

  Why? What for? thought Rosanna, though she didn’t prolong the conversation, hurrying away to face the family.

  Twenty-Six

  In Chester, Walter sat at the kitchen table and waited for the microwave to ping. The green digits on the cooker told him it was 19.30. Sweet and sour chicken with rice was coming ready. He opened the first file Karen gave him and skimmed through it.

  Thirty years ago they found a dead man on Hilbre Island off the Wirral coast, and the post mortem result revealed he had drowned. But there was no reason provided for why he was out at sea. He wasn’t a boat owner and none of his close friends were boaters or sailors. Based on that, the coroner decided his death was unexplained, meaning that it could have been an accident, or it could have been murder. He might have fallen off whatever craft he was on. Or, persons unknown could have shoved him overboard, and because of the doubt, the file remained open.

  There was something else that drove the coroner to his conclusion. Around his wrists and ankles were the faintest marks, suggesting he might have been bound. But there was no sign of any restraints, and the island warden insisted that when he found the body, the hands and feet were not tied. Nor were any ropes or bindings discovered close by. Someone else could have discovered the body and removed them, though why anyone should do that was a puzzle, unless the murderer did it to confuse the authorities.

  Walter knew that rope made from natural fibres shrinks when it comes into contact with moisture; dew, rain, humidity, water, and especially seawater. The fibres absorb moisture, causing them to swell. That expansion of the width causes the length to shrink, and if that was the case, the bindings would have become tighter and not looser, resulting in them staying in place.

  So what had happened for them to be missing? Maybe blue plastic rope was used, but was that around thirty years ago? Maybe, maybe not. But later on, the scientific boys were adamant blue plastic twine had not been used, because microscopic particles would have embedded in the man’s skin, and none were found.

  There was another interesting point made by the science guys. In the trouser pockets, they found traces of sweetener. Maybe the remains of boiled sweets or fudge, something like that, and the sea had licked it clean.

  Walter scratched his chin and tipped the pinged meal onto a clean white plate. He burst open a can of stout, sipped, and began eating, all the while passing aged papers past his eyes, hoping to see something odd staring out that capable officers had missed thirty years before.

  IN THE MORNING, HE was at his desk before eight o’clock. Karen came in a moment later, carrying her bag of files, looking happy about something.

  When she’d settled in, he said, ‘Have a pleasant evening?’

  ‘I did, thanks, yes. It was great to have someone super intelligent to bounce ideas off.’

  ‘Oh, thanks a bunch.’

  ‘Oh sorry, Guv, I didn’t mean it that way. Just that it was better having someone there rather than being alone.’

  ‘I get you,’ he said, ‘no offence taken. Did you find anything odd or interesting?’

  She smiled and said, ‘As a matter of fact, I did. You?’

  Walter bobbed his head and said, ‘There were one or two points I don’t think were adequately answered.’

  ‘Good, so it wasn’t a wasted evening?’

  ‘No, not at all. On the juicy scale of information, running from one to ten, ten being the best, just how juicy were your leads or inconsistencies?’

  She grinned, unable to keep a note of cockiness at bay. ‘About nine and a half.’

  ‘Hell’s teeth, that’s heavy juice.’

  ‘And you, what was your juiciness score?’

  Walter pulled a long face and mumbled, ‘About three and a half.’

  Karen giggled and said, ‘I think I win hands down.’

  ‘Don’t get too cocky. Only if you’re correct. Come on, let’s hear it.’

  ‘No, Guv, seeing as my juice is far stronger than yours, you start.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll go with that,’ and he told her of the faint marks on wrists and ankles, but no obvious bindings being present or in the vicinity of the body. Which was peculiar because they should still have been there. And he told her about the strange rider they’d added, about sugar residue in the pockets, though the man turned out to be a known non-eater of sweets and chocolates, as his wife confirmed at the inquest.

  ‘I think your three and a half score is about right.’

  ‘All right, clever clogs; don’t rub it in. What have you got that’s so brilliant? Let’s hear it.’

  Karen grinned again and began.

  ‘After the body was discovered, the police asked Holly Craig, his wife, to ID the body.’

  ‘Normal procedure,’ mumbled Walter.

  ‘The thing is, Guv, she refused outright. Said it scared her witless, and more than that, she said it would bring bad luck to anyone who gazed on the dead man. Bad karma would rub into the eyes of the observer.’

  ‘Jeez! What nonsense. Takes all sorts, I suppose. What about people who work with dead bodies all day? Are they doomed through bad karma? I don’t think so. So who did the ID?’

  ‘The officers investigating asked his banking colleagues to do it.’

  ‘A reasonable request, I’d have thought.’

  ‘Yes, but they also refused, saying that as he was an officer at the same bank, it was inappropriate for them to ID one of their own, and they demanded a third party, someone quite independent, should carry out the ID.’

  ‘It’s a simple job! I don’t see the problem, and any independent person would need to have known the deceased well.’

  ‘Correct, and eventually the bank nominated their official solicitor who had met with Peter Craig three days before.’

  ‘He’d do. And? Get to the nub.’

  ‘The bank’s solicitor, and the person who ID’d Peter Craig’s body, was none other than the recently departed Lysander Torquil Sholto Wilderton.’

  Walter paused a second for thought before saying, ‘You’re kidding me. Torquers Wilderton
?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘That’s some coincidence.’

  ‘I don’t think it is a coincidence.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because thirty years ago, Torquers Wilderton didn’t live in Plough Lane, Christleton. He lived on Meols Drive in Hoylake, in an impressive nice house backing onto the Royal Liverpool Golf Club. Meols is pronounced Mells, by the way.’

  ‘I know that! I have lived in this area for many years.’

  ‘Yeah, sure, sorry, Guv.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No, there’s more. Meols is less than two miles from Wilderton’s old house.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘There’s a seaside promenade there, and right at the far end of the prom, there’s a small boat yard. But like all the north Wirral coastline, when the tide goes out it buggers off for hours on end, leaving vast areas of flat sand, with a few beached boats resting on their side like injured turtles waiting to be rescued. There are one or two gullies in the sand that smaller boats can use to get out to sea.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Torquers Wilderton owned one of the craft berthed there.’

  ‘Really? What size boats can get into Meols?’

  ‘Not sure, only small ones, maybe twenty footers, max, but that’s a guess.’

  ‘But big enough, eh?’

  ‘Oh sure, big enough to put to sea and fish from, or fall off, man overboard job. Maybe he was bound and chucked into the sea.’

  Walter’s brain cranked over.

  ‘So the bank asks their official solicitor to ID the body, citing the fact he’d seen Peter within the previous week. He’s the ideal man to do it, and he’s practically on the payroll and can hardly refuse. He doesn’t want to do it, he doesn’t want to be seen anywhere near it, but thinks it would look real odd if he refused. So he turns up at the morgue and does the business, doing his duty, he says, as the well-known legal man he is. When all along, he could have been the guy who took Peter Craig out for a jaunt on the high seas, where somehow, the poor bloke fell overboard to his death.’

  ‘That’s how I picture it... and there’s a little more, Guv.’

  ‘Go on, while you’re on a roll!’

  ‘Holly Craig stated at the inquest that Peter was afraid of water. She confirmed he was a non-swimmer and had never, to the best of her knowledge, ever swam in the sea, or even in the nearby indoor public pool at West Kirby.’

  ‘So maybe Torquers knew that too.’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Was he asked if he ever took Craig out on the boat?’

  ‘Not that I can find. It’s almost as if our people were too frightened to challenge him, seeing as he was so entrenched in the legal system, a high-powered man like that, dealing with us and our clients every day of the week.’

  ‘And,’ added Walter, ‘he was also interested, active, and involved in secret societies, and we have no idea how deep and influential that funny business ran.’

  ‘Correct, Guv. Either way, the whole thing stinks like a rotten Hoylake fluke.’

  ‘I’m quite partial to the occasional Hoylake fluke. Do we know why Wilderton went to see Craig at the bank those few days before Craig died?’

  ‘I haven’t found anything about that. I thought that might have been in your slice of papers.’

  ‘Nope, nothing about that in mine. Okay, get Martin and Jenny on that ASAP. Contact the bank and tell our team not to take any flannel from them. I don’t want to hear it happened thirty years ago. We know that. They must still have records of such important matters. Impress on them that lives could be at stake.’

  ‘Sure, Guv. I’m on it.’

  ‘Did you get round to looking at anything on Kelly Jones?’

  ‘No, sorry, Guv, the Peter Craig case seemed far more interesting.’

  ‘I thought that too. Maybe we should look at Kelly Jones later.’

  ‘And now, Guv? What are we going to do today?’

  ‘I think a surprise visit to Jago Wilderton might be in order, don’t you? I have some questions for him, and I want to see those diaries as well, and this time I’m not taking no for an answer.’

  ‘Great,’ she said, ‘I’m all for that. I’ll talk to Martin and Jen.’

  Twenty-Seven

  Howard Meade was in a great mood as he skipped down the stairs and entered the dining room. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, grinning at the faces that looked his way. ‘Had an important call to make, and now, I have some news for you, and it’s the hottest news of the year.’

  The children, John, William, Ricky, Roger, Suzanne, and Caroline stared at one another as if to say: anyone have the faintest idea what he’s talking about? Cynthia gawped too, fearing the worst. Divorce papers in the post, maybe. Perhaps one of his floosies was expecting yet another child, and Howard wanted to make an honest woman of her at the expense of crucifying the family. A creeping coldness fell over her back as sweat dribbled down. He could be a cruel man.

  Howard sat down, drained his wine, and began.

  ‘As you know, our much loved son, brother, and dear family member Grahame, was taken from us in the most brutal and vile way. I am pleased to report we have now avenged his death. I didn’t want any of you involved in this for obvious reasons. But our people have been most efficient and have levelled the score.’

  Johnny looked real excited and said, ‘You’ve had one of the Banaghan kids taken out?’

  Meade couldn’t resist a cold smile that confirmed the answer.

  ‘Indeed, I have.’

  ‘Which one?’ said Suzanne in a rush.

  ‘Eilish. The youngest girl.’

  Cynthia’s hand went to her mouth.

  ‘Not the pretty young girl, Howard. Surely not her. How could you do such a thing?’

  ‘Don’t waste your tears on her, or that family,’ snapped Howard. ‘I saw and heard how you cried and grieved over our Grahame’s death, howling late into the night. It’s only right that hideous family should feel the same pain, anguish, and torture that we have all been through, and hopefully, they are suffering terribly at this moment.’

  William asked, ‘How did she die?’

  ‘You don’t need to know the gory details. Just rejoice in knowing it has been accomplished. Grahame can now sleep easy.’

  ‘But the girl, Howard, why the girl?’ persisted Cynthia.

  ‘There are good reasons for that.’

  ‘What reasons?’ snapped Richard.

  ‘First, we received information she was away from the family home, outside their protective bubble, if you will, making her an easy target. The chance was there, a fleeting opportunity, and we needed to seize it, and we did.’

  ‘You said reasons, plural,’ continued Richard.

  ‘Yes,’ said Howard, grinning, ‘another reason was because female meat is all the sweeter, easily digested, and tastier than the male,’ and he sat back in his seat and waited for a reaction.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ snapped Cynthia, swigging wine.

  Roger the youngest boy said, ‘What do you mean? You’re planning on carving her up and eating her, are you?’

  William glanced at his plate and the remains of the veal he hadn’t enjoyed.

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me we’ve dined on family Banaghan.’

  ‘What!’ said Caroline, the sixteen-year-old youngest. She stood up and dashed from the room, gagging, desperate to vomit, heading for the downstairs cloakroom. But she didn’t make it, splashing meat and three veg across the marble-floored hall.

  Cynthia said, ‘Please tell us you’re joking, Howard, and this is one of your hideous pranks,’ licking the inside of her mouth, imagining putrid tastes, acrid smells, and skin and human flesh.

  ‘No joke,’ said Howard. ‘That joint was indeed leg of Banaghan, and do you know what the best part is?’

  ‘Go on!’ said Johnny, his eyes alight.

  ‘The Banaghan family, the whole bloody lot of them, have just finished their lu
nch too, dining on the matching leg, a mirror roasting joint. They’ve eaten one of their own,’ and he laughed aloud. ‘Can you imagine that? What’s more, they will always know what they have done, and will never be able to remove that thought from their warped minds.’

  Johnny grinned and picked up his knife and fork, reached across and stabbed one of the remaining slices, set it on his plate, delicately cut it, and fed it into his mouth. The others watched, open- mouthed. He chewed and chewed and swallowed, washed it down with wine, nodded and said, ‘It was justice for Grahame, and I for one enjoyed it, and approve too. Father, you’re amazing.’

  ‘Well done, son,’ whispered Howard, ‘I knew you’d understand.’

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us?’ said William.

  ‘Why do you think? Would any of you have eaten your lunch if you’d known? Of course you wouldn’t. But I wanted you all to know what it was like to eat the opposition, literally, just as they now know. I wanted you to have the satisfaction in knowing what we can do to them, that they are not insuperable, that the family that rules this manor is the Meades, and not and never, the Banaghans.’

  Johnny said, ‘They won’t take this lying down.’

  ‘Of course they won’t! As of now we redouble security. I have called in additional troops. No one goes out alone without protection. We must expect retaliation, everyone must be vigilant. Anyone going out must write in the hall diary where they are going, who they are with, and when they will be back. No exceptions. I have spoken to Liam Banaghan and warned him that the scores are tied. If they hit back again, they can expect nothing short of total annihilation. It would make my day to serve up Liam Banaghan’s head. Can you imagine, surrounded with all the trimmings?’

  A strange silence fell over the room, a period of contemplation that Howard broke when he said, ‘What did you think of it, anyway? The meat?’

  ‘Dreadful!’ said William, ‘in more ways than one.’

  ‘Appalling,’ said Roger.

  ‘I thought you were joking,’ said Richard. ‘You mean we actually ate Eilish Banaghan for our Sunday lunch? Really?’