‘We found him next to his car. At the time, we didn’t know he was a police officer. We phoned for an ambulance, and it brought him here.’
‘You didn’t think to look in his wallet, in his car.’
‘No, sir. We had a man in need of hospitalisation, another one further up the street.’
‘Another one?’
‘A homeless man.’
‘His condition?’
‘He’s dead. There was a knife in him. I phoned back to the station; I assume they phoned you.’
‘Not yet. We’ll deal with that oversight later. What can you tell me?’
‘Not a lot. We found DI Hill, followed procedure. The other man, not that we knew him, was clearly dead. My colleague, he stayed with the body. I came here.’
Isaac phoned Gordon Windsor. ‘You’ve heard about Larry?’ he said.
‘I’ve dispatched my team. What happened? We seem to have lost valuable time here,’ Windsor said.
‘I don’t know. We’ll worry about it later. Larry’s going to pull through; the other man isn’t. See if you can put a name to the perpetrators this time.’
‘We’ll do our best, but attacking a police officer, that’s over the top.’
‘They’re arrogant, believe themselves to be invincible, and Larry was pushing.’
Isaac ended his phone call with the station's crime scene examiner and went back to check on Larry. He was lying on his back, his wife holding his hand. ‘How are you?’ Isaac said. The look on his DI’s wife’s face showed that she would have preferred it if he had let her husband rest.
‘It only hurts when I laugh,’ Larry said.
‘At least your sense of humour’s fine.’
‘Dave, he was there when Negril Bob killed Rasta Joe. You need to talk to him.’
‘Unfortunately, he didn’t fare as well as you.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’re back to square one,’ Larry said.
‘Windsor’s out there with his people. Anything you remember?’
‘No idea who it was, although it was definitely more than one person. No one spoke, just beat me up.’
‘A warning?’
‘There’s a few who don’t like me, but if they’ve killed Dave, they’re worried.’
‘Then we know who.’
‘You can’t prove it.’
‘Let’s see what the CSIs come up with.’
A nurse walked in, administered an injection. ‘It’s a sedative. He needs to rest,’ she said.
Chapter 24
Caddick was on the phone. ‘You’re one man down,’ he said. ‘You’ll need additional resources.’
‘DI Hill’s fine,’ Isaac said, knowing full well that the supercilious superintendent wasn’t interested.
‘Yes, sure. I was going to ask,’ Caddick said.
‘We don’t need help at this present time. Dependent on Larry’s condition, he’ll be back with us in a couple of days.’
‘Don’t try to palm me off, DCI. The man’s taken a severe beating; he’s not likely to be up and about for a week, and then he’ll only be on light duties.’
‘How do you know his condition?’ Isaac asked. ‘I’ve only just found out myself.’
A clearing of the throat on the other end of the phone. ‘I’ve just checked with the hospital.’
‘There was a delay in contacting me,’ Isaac said. ‘Did you know that?’
‘Are you accusing me?’
Isaac smelt a rat. ‘Not me.’
‘It’s sir to you,’ Caddick said. The man was pleased, his DCI was rising to the bait. He knew that if he dangled it even more, DCI Isaac Cook would say something that he’d regret. Accusing a senior officer was a disciplinary charge, and he had Cook’s replacement lined up and ready.
Isaac could feel the tension in his body, the need to make a comment, but then he remembered Richard Goddard’s advice: ‘Don’t bait Caddick.’
‘We’ve got the crime scene investigators checking. They could well give us the breakthrough we want,’ Isaac said.
‘Very well. I’ll need a full report.’
***
Isaac was anxious to get out to the crime scene, although fully aware that it was one in the morning, he had barely slept, and he had been in the office until late the previous night. As he left the hospital, his phone rang again. ‘DI Hill, how is he?’ DCS Goddard asked.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Isaac said, aware that Goddard was genuine in his concern for Larry.
‘I was told that it was a severe beating.’
‘He should be up and about in a few days. How about Caddick?’ Isaac asked.
‘He wants to bring in a replacement for you. Just ignore the man and get on with it. I’ll do what I can, but it won’t be much.’
Once free of the phone calls and the hospital, Isaac made his way out to the crime scene. The small lane at the back of the hardware store had been closed to traffic. Come daylight, Isaac knew, there’d be trouble with the delivery trucks when they were denied access. Isaac parked his car and walked up to where the dead body was, passing by Larry’s car, a group of investigators checking it.
In the doorway was the dead man, his head drooped forward, almost as if he was sleeping. ‘Another one,’ Windsor, the CSE, said. The area was bathed in light, a floodlight to the rear of the two men.
‘Anything you can tell me?’ Isaac asked.
‘Male, approximate age fifty to sixty. His general health, his teeth, would indicate that he’s been living rough for a long time.’
‘The cause of death?’
‘A knife to the heart. It doesn’t look professional.’
‘Why?’
‘It looks hurried. As if they had decided at the last moment to kill him. I’d say they were after Larry first, then saw the man up here, realised that they may have been talking.’
‘Then why not kill Larry?’
‘I’ll leave that up to you,’ Windsor said. ‘I can only give you the facts.’
Isaac walked back down to Larry’s car. Grant Meston, Windsor’s deputy, was checking it.’
‘Anything, Grant?’
‘Two men, not very strong.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Judging by the reports from the hospital, and from what we can see here, Larry should have been dead, or at least seriously concussed with some broken bones. I just phoned the hospital, the man’s back up on his feet.’
‘We breed them tough in Homicide,’ Isaac said. ‘What else can you tell me?’
‘We’ve found some fingerprints on the car.’
‘ In our database?’
‘The two you initially arrested for the murder of Rasta Joe, but this time the prints are clearer.’
‘Negril Bob?’
‘Not him, but his colleagues.’
Isaac instinctively picked up his phone to call Larry, before realising that he was in the hospital. Instead, he phoned Caddick to get him off his back. ‘We’ve got proof this time,’ Isaac said. The reply from his superintendent was not congratulatory, not that Isaac cared.
Back at Challis Street, Isaac organised a couple of police cars and an armed response team. The addresses of the two men that they wanted to arrest were known. One location, not far from where Christine Devon had been murdered, was vacant. The second place, a third-floor flat close to Paddington Station, was occupied. Negril Bob’s car was parked in the street. One of the police cars was parked in front of it to prevent it being used if anyone attempted to escape. Two armed response men stood outside the door to the flat, another held a battering ram in case the door did not open. Outside, in the floor’s passageway, a group of people started to gather. The flats were upmarket. The residents were not used to seeing the police. Isaac shuffled them back, as did the uniforms. Downstairs, another police officer waited in case the men inside the flat got that far.
‘This is the police. Come out with your hands in the air,’ one of the armed response officers s
houted. Isaac stood to one side, wearing a bullet-proof vest.
‘We’ve done nothing wrong,’ a voice said from inside the flat.
‘Open this door.’
The door opened. ‘Cook, good to see you,’ Negril Bob said. He was dressed casually: an open-necked shirt, a pair of shorts. Inside the flat, Isaac could see women.
‘We are here to arrest Morris Beckford and Marcus Roots,’ Isaac said.
‘They’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘We can prove that they were at a crime scene earlier.’
‘You’ve got nothing on them. Leave us alone.’
‘Are they here?’
‘They’re busy. We’re having a party. Ditch your friends and come and have some fun. There are enough women to go around,’ Negril Bob taunted.
‘Morris Beckford and Marcus Roots,’ Isaac said again.
‘Give them five minutes to finish up.’
‘With what?’
‘You know what they’re busy with.’
Isaac knew, but it did not alter the fact that the men were wanted for murder. One of the armed response men, sensing activity in the flat, pushed past Negril Bob. Two other armed response team members followed straight after. Outside in the passageway stood another two officers, their weapons raised.
‘You bastards,’ Negril Bob shouted.
Inside the flat, the first door had been flung open, a naked woman jumping from the bed, a semi-clothed man attempting to follow her, only to be roughly held by a police officer. The man was flung down on the bed, his hands clasped behind his back as the handcuffs were applied. In the other room, a man hurriedly dressed, a gun in his hand. He fired, the bullet only just missing one of the armed response team and lodging itself in the wall next to the kitchen. ‘Stand back,’ the lead officer shouted. ‘The man is armed and hostile.’
At the entrance to the flat, Isaac stood with Negril Bob. ‘You bastard, your own people,’ the gang leader said.
‘My people are law-abiding,’ Isaac said.
Inside the flat, another shot. ‘Man down,’ an armed response officer shouted.
Two minutes later came the all clear. Isaac entered the flat, with Negril Bob now in handcuffs. Morris Beckford was sitting in a chair in the living room; two women were near to him, although unrestrained. Another two women sat on the other side of the room, one that Isaac knew by sight.
In the second bedroom lay the body of a man, his face visible. ‘He’s only wounded,’ one of the officers said. ‘He took a shot.’
‘I thought you’d shoot to kill,’ Isaac said.
‘It was a judgement call. There was a woman in there with him. If he had shot again, then I would have killed him. There’s an ambulance on the way.’
Wendy was on the way over; she’d deal with the statements from the women. Isaac took hold of Morris Beckford, read him his rights, and then escorted him out of the flat, handing him over to a uniform outside. ‘Take him to Challis Street. He’s charged with murder, so keep a watch on him.’
Inside, Marcus Roots had moved to one side of the bed, attempting to sit up, blood visible on his arm. ‘I had to aim for his arm to make him drop the gun,’ an officer said.
It was a good shot, Isaac could see that. ‘Marcus Roots, do you understand me?’ Isaac said as he stood next to the wounded man.
‘Yes, I understand.’
‘You attempted to shoot a police officer. That’s a serious crime.’
‘I thought it was someone else.’
‘We had announced ourselves at the door before entering.’
‘I didn’t hear anything. I was busy.’
‘Marcus Roots, you’re under arrest for murder, do you understand?’
‘I’m innocent.’
Isaac did not intend to labour the point with a man who was in pain. Once he had been treated, he’d be transferred to Challis Street Police Station and formally charged. Negril Bob, even though there was no case against him for the murder, would also be taken to the police station. The man had protested, but he had been in the company of two men who were charged with murder; he was a witness and regarded as hostile.
***
Seth Caddick realised yet again that Isaac Cook was outsmarting him. With the arrest of two men for murder, the chance to sideways promote him was no longer possible. That would be a blow to the aspirations of another detective inspector who had been waiting for the opportunity to take Isaac’s office.
Isaac called Richard Goddard, Caddick phoned Commissioner Davies: one phone conversation was congratulatory, the other was not.
Morris Beckford, short, not a very bright individual, judging by his poor English, was led into the interview room. Isaac waited for ninety minutes while Wendy concluded her interviews at the flat. Upon her return, she told Isaac that the women were not significant, only rented by the hour.
‘Morris Beckford, you’ve been charged with murder. How do you plead?’ Isaac said. He had followed the procedure, informed the man of his rights.
The man shifted uneasily on his seat, attempted to avoid eye contact. Adam Galbraith, his lawyer, another old school friend of Isaac’s, was representing him.
‘I’ve killed no one,’ Beckford said, looking over to his lawyer for support.
‘My client is innocent of all charges,’ Galbraith said.
‘We have proof that you, Morris Beckford, were responsible for the death of a homeless man, who has since been identified as Dave Dallimore. Your fingerprints were discovered at the scene. We have them on file from our investigation into the murder of Joe Brown, commonly known as Rasta Joe. We’ve also found proof that Marcus Roots was at the crime scene as well. Once his injuries have been dealt with, he will be brought to this station. He will then be interviewed in this room. Any discrepancies will point to the guilt of the other. Also, Detective Inspector Larry Hill was severely beaten.’
‘I’ve killed no one,’ Beckford said again.
‘No admission of guilt will go against you in your trial.’
‘I would request twenty minutes with my client,’ Galbraith said.
‘Twenty minutes, fine. I’ll send in refreshments,’ Isaac said.
Outside the interview room, Caddick was waiting. ‘Is this watertight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well, carry on. A full report before you go home tonight.’
‘It’s more likely to be tomorrow,’ Isaac said. ‘We’re wrapping up the loose ends now.’
Caddick mumbled some words of encouragement and walked away.
‘He’s not happy,’ Wendy said.
‘Does it worry you?’ Isaac said.
‘Not at all, but that man’s dangerous.’
Back in the interview room, Beckford’s lawyer spoke. ‘My client wishes me to read a statement.’
‘Please proceed,’ Isaac said. He looked over at Morris Beckford, realised that the man was, if not illiterate, probably not capable of writing a statement and then reading it.
Galbraith placed a sheet of paper in front of him and spoke. ‘I, Morris Beckford, was present at the death of the man known as Dave Dallimore. We had seen him speaking to Detective Inspector Hill, who we had been following. The attack on the detective inspector was committed by Marcus Roots. I did not take part. After he had attacked the detective inspector, we walked up the road and confronted the homeless man. We did not know his name at that time. We asked him what he had been talking to the police officer about. He said nothing; we thought he was drunk. Marcus pushed him to make him talk, but he just told us to go away. Marcus became angry and hit him. I stood back. Eventually, the man swore at us. We made a phone call for advice; Marcus followed instructions and stabbed the man. That is the end of my statement. I am not guilty of murder.’
‘Who did you call?’
‘I don’t know his name.’
‘Negril Bob?’
‘Not him.
Isaac realised that Beckford feared the man more than he feared a lengthy prison sentence.
&n
bsp; ‘Thank you,’ Isaac said. ‘Some facts have not been given correctly.’
‘My client has made a full disclosure.’
‘The knife had your client’s fingerprints on the handle. I am afraid that your client is guilty of murder and we have the proof,’ Isaac said.
‘I had to do it,’ Beckford said, jumping up from his seat.
‘Sit down and be quiet,’ his lawyer said.
‘But why a knife and why in such a visible place?’
‘There was someone in one of the buildings nearby. We could see his shadow. We were frightened, not sure what to do.’
‘So you killed him?’
‘He had seen Marcus kill Rasta Joe. He was there that night.’
‘All three of you killed him. We know there was more than one person involved.’
‘I was there, but I didn’t take part. I was keeping a watch for anyone coming up the lane. That’s the honest truth.’
‘We’ll be talking to Marcus Roots later today. Will he corroborate your story?’
‘Corroborate?’
‘Agree with your story.’
‘He’ll try to blame me, but I’m innocent.’
‘Not with your fingerprints on the knife’s handle, you’re not.’
The lawyer sat back, knowing full well that he had no defence to offer.
‘We will check your statement with his.’
‘Don’t, please. He’ll kill me.’
‘What was the celebration at the flat for – payment for a job well done, is that it?’
‘It was someone’s birthday.’
‘Whose?’
‘One of the women.’
‘If you continue to lie, it will not go well for you. The women were rentals, that’s all. Did Negril Bob put on the party by way of thanks?’
‘Thanks for what? It was just a party.’
Isaac could see that the man was going to keep to his story. He knew it was pointless to contradict him anymore, and besides, Homicide had the evidence.
The interview concluded, and Isaac took the opportunity to phone Larry. His wife answered. ‘He’s much better. He wants to talk to you.’
‘Larry here, what’s the latest?’
‘We’ve proof against one of Negril Bob’s gang. His fingerprints were on the knife that killed Dave Dallimore.’
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1 Page 142