The Solomon Gray Series Box Set

by Keith Nixon

  His mind whirling, Gray made himself a coffee. While he waited for the grounds to steep he tried to think what Usher would want. But he couldn’t decide – whatever it was, he knew it wouldn’t be good and there was no point second guessing a man like Usher. He went out onto the balcony.

  “Great view,” said Usher, straightening. He’d brought the chess set out with him, reset the pieces to their start positions. “I thought we could have a game.”

  Up close Gray could see other, more subtle changes in Usher that hadn’t been clear from the television interview. He’d clearly kept himself fit in the gym; he was lithe and moved with an evident strength. But there was a twist to his expression that wasn’t there in the past. The weight of prison time on his shoulders. Usher had always been a good-looking man, armed with charm and wit. It appeared to have been replaced with a degree of bitterness and bile.

  “Not interested,” said Gray.

  “You look knackered,” said Usher, “have the chair.”

  “I’m fine. What are you playing at?”

  Usher opened his hands in an appeal. “Besides chess, I’ve no idea what you mean, Sol.”

  “Don’t use my first name. We’re not friends and we never have been. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever had a friend in your life besides Telfer and McGavin.”

  “Now you’re just being cruel.”

  “I don’t care what you think, Usher. What do you want?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? The same as you.”

  “There’s nothing about us that overlaps.”

  “Oh yes, there is. We’ve both lost our family and never recovered.”

  “You wrecked that yourself. Somebody else destroyed mine.”

  “No, Sol. Nothing happens by accident. Somebody destroyed both of us. I’ve a suspicion it was one and the same person.”

  “I worked on your case, I know what happened.”

  “Do you? If that’s true, why am I out, and why are you the one being investigated now?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’m a cop; you’re a newly released criminal.”

  Usher simply smiled. “We can help each other.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “But I want yours.”

  “What could I possibly be interested in doing for you?”

  “Let’s take the how first. I’ve been away for a long time and I’ll not be wasting any more. I want justice, and you can speed the whole process up for me. Being on the inside, feeding me information. The why is because by doing so it would put me forever in your debt. I always pay what I owe.”

  “Go through the normal channels. I’m sure your lawyer can give suitable advice.”

  “Don’t worry, he’s pressing hard. But he’s on the outside, so to speak. As I said, it would be optimum to have somebody within.”

  “I’m not breaking the law for you.”

  Usher shook his head in mock disappointment. “Nobody’s incorruptible, Gray. We all have a weakness. Yours is Tom.”

  “Don’t say his name.”

  “Or what? You’ll fight me? You can barely lift your arm, old man. What is it? Prostate? Pretty common in men of our age, and I’ve seen enough of it over the years.”

  “None of your business.”

  “I heard you were up in Edinburgh, making up for lost time.”

  Gray didn’t answer, surprised Usher knew so much about him. He could have made a lucky guess about the cancer, but Edinburgh? Somebody must have told him that and not many people knew where Gray had been in recent days.

  “Hasn’t it been on your mind, Sol? That time’s slipping away? That you may never see Tom before you go?”

  “I’ll find him.”

  “Maybe not fast enough though, before your illness eats you from the inside out. I can give him to you.”

  “Utter bullshit.”

  “Is it? Wouldn’t you grasp any chance to finally know?” Usher held up his hands, pushing his palms theatrically at Gray. “It’s okay, you don’t need to say, I know the answer because we’re the same.”

  “We’re nothing alike, Usher.”

  “I’d give anything, anything to get my girls back. I haven’t seen them for fifteen years. They’re grown up and Elodie’s married. I didn’t get the chance to walk her down the aisle or give a speech at the wedding. I’m a grandparent, and I don’t even know the child’s name. Every day I think about them. If the person who set me up was here, right now…” Usher held his mug out over the drop and opened his fingers. A few seconds later there was the smash of breaking china. “I think you would too, Sol. Am I right?”

  Gray bit down on his own admission, not willing to share anything with Usher. “How can I trust you?”

  Usher sat down, his back to Gray. “You shouldn’t.” Usher began to move the chess pieces, playing both black and white. A couple of pawns, a castle and then a bishop. “We don’t need to be on opposing sides, Sol, facing off against each other. Help me, I help you. A straightforward business transaction. Are you with me?”

  Gray wanted to say yes, but equally he was wary. Getting in bed with the other side of the law…

  He said, “I don’t know.”

  “You have my word that I’ll get Tom back to you.”

  “I need time to think.”

  “Fair enough. In the interim take a look at Copeland. I’ll be in touch.”

  ***

  After Usher left, Gray remained on the balcony, listening to the rush of the waves beneath him. Usually they were a calming harmonic, but not right now. Too much was going through his mind.

  Gray was conflicted. He believed Usher when he talked about his family and wanting justice. But Usher’s methods were different to Gray’s. And Tom. He was still out there, somewhere. But could he trust Usher? Most of him said no.

  However, Gray had ignored that part of his conscience for too many years to start now. He’d sailed close to the wind before, working with Marcus Pennance and his group of paedophile hunters. Taking home confidential case notes, undertaking his own investigation. He’d nearly been fired over it. Only Carslake had kept him in a job. Gray had learned over the years the wider the circle of people involved, the greater the risk of being found out. Who else could he trust?

  He’d lost all confidence in Carslake. Gray’s friendship with Hamson was on the rocks. That meant only two people. Mike Fowler was one, but for all his faults, at least he stuck to the rules when it came to police work. Fowler’s personal life was another matter. His affair with Hamson, for example. Fowler had fallen out publicly with Gray, assuming Gray had slept with Fowler’s wife but eventually Fowler had admitted he was wrong and they’d become friends again. However, for now he’d have to keep Fowler in reserve and only approach him if absolutely necessary.

  Which left Pennance. Gray went back inside, closed the door, picked up his mobile and scrolled through the numbers.

  “Sol,” said Pennance when he answered. “It’s been a while.”

  “I need a favour.”

  “Still getting straight to the point as usual, then?”

  “Sorry, lots on my mind.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. What do you need?”

  “Have you heard of Eric Smits? He’s a senior investigator with the IPCC.”

  “The name’s not familiar. Do you want me to look into him?”

  “If it’s not a problem.”

  “With you, Sol, it’s always a problem. But yes, I’ll check him out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How have you managed to get yourself tangled up with the IPCC?”

  “It’s Usher.”

  “I saw that on the news. I wondered if it involved you. I should have known. If there’s trouble at hand you’re always involved.”

  “Smits is arriving tomorrow. Along with an Emily Wyatt.”

  “Now she’s a name I recognise. She’s with CEOP.”

  CEOP. Child Exploitation and Online Protection. They were a wing of the IPCC. G
ray wondered what precisely that meant.

  “Have you been involved with an IPCC investigation before, Sol?”

  “No.”

  “I suggest you read up on the procedure.”

  “It’ll be dull and boring, they always are.”

  “You’re not far wrong.”

  “I can tell you now, I won’t have the patience.”

  Pennance sighed. “Do you want a quick summary?”

  “Thanks. If I read something like that through in entirety I’ll end up chucking myself off the balcony.” Gray remembered Usher’s mug.

  “Fundamentally, Sol, the purpose of an investigation is to establish the facts behind a complaint.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Okay, if you know everything already I won’t bother wasting any more of your time.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll shut up.”

  “First sensible comment you’ve made all night. The investigator’s role is to determine the facts of the case. If at any time it appears to the investigator a person may have committed a criminal offence or behaved in a manner justifying disciplinary proceedings, then the investigator must place the investigation under special requirements.” Pennance sounded just like a document, but Gray held his tongue.

  Pennance continued, “Severity assessments must be made ASAP on the basis of what would happen if the conduct was proved. Misconduct is a breach of standards of professional behaviour. Gross misconduct is a breach so serious that dismissal would be justified.

  “When the investigator has completed a severity assessment a written notice must go to the subject unless it might prejudice the investigation. I’d strongly suggest that if either of the investigators wants to meet, then you have someone you can trust beside you as a witness.”

  “That would have to be Fowler.”

  “Was he involved in the original investigation?”

  “On the periphery. He was in uniform and manned the perimeter cordon at the murder scene.”

  “You might have a problem there. Fowler will probably be considered to have a bias. Anybody else you could ask?”

  “What about you?”

  Pennance laughed. “Just get whoever you choose to keep copious notes.”

  “Okay.”

  “An interviewee isn’t entitled to see all evidence.”

  “So they could have stuff on me and I’d never know?”

  “Theoretically, yes. Smits’ only obligation is to keep the complainant informed of progress at least every 28 days. Lastly, you can either be a witness or a subject of the investigation. Smits will have to tell you which it is, in writing. If it’s a witness, you’ll just be looked upon to give evidence. If you’re a subject—”

  “I’m in the shit.”

  “Pretty much. Then it’s up to Smits to carry out a severity assessment. Are your actions misconduct or gross misconduct? Do you get a warning or dismissal? They could even decide there’s a criminal case to answer.”

  “I can’t see that happening.”

  “Hopefully not.” Pennance didn’t sound convinced. “So, is that it? Have I got off lightly for once? Just a short speech?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  Pennance sighed. “Go on.”

  “I need access to the original Usher case files.”

  “You don’t make things easy for me, Sol.”

  “Can you do it or not, Marcus?”

  “I’ll get the details. And I won’t ask why.”

  “Don’t take any risks on my behalf.”

  Pennance laughed. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?” Gray couldn’t bring himself to join in. “It’ll be tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  Pennance said goodbye and cut the call. Gray picked up his case from the hall where he’d left it and took it into the bedroom to unpack. He unzipped the case, lifting out the vanity bag containing his medication. He went to the bathroom, tipped out a couple of the pills and swallowed them with a glass of water before putting the bottles away in the cabinet above the sink. He felt a headache coming on, but decided against some paracetamol. He had enough drugs in his body.

  After unpacking his clothes, Gray collected his mug from the balcony and went into the kitchen. On the side, was the letter from the hospital. He picked it up, tore along the top of the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. He was right. An appointment for further treatment. At the worst possible time, he’d be laid low again. Gray put the letter down. He’d deal with it later.

  Gray’s phone rang. It was Pennance again. “I just spoke to some friends. Smits is ex-Serious Organised Crime Agency. Before SOCA merged with the National Crime Agency it wasn’t unusual for the IPCC to use their staff. Smits shifted over to the IPCC with the merger. His presence might mean something or nothing, but don’t expect an easy ride from him. I reckon this investigation will be classified as a DSI matter – death or serious injury – or maybe corruption.”

  “I can’t believe it’ll go that far.”

  “Usher was imprisoned for fifteen years for a crime it seems he didn’t commit. You know what senior management is like. We live in a world where blame has to be apportioned and ‘lessons learned.’” Gray clearly heard Pennance’s emphasis down the line. “And all of this in public view.”

  “Copeland was SIO. It’s him they’ll want.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Thanks for the information, it’s a big help.”

  “Remember, record everything and say as little as possible.”

  “I know the drill.”

  “You’d be surprised how many cops forget that when they’re on the other side of the table.”

  Gray said goodbye and disconnected. He was even more puzzled than before he spoke to Pennance. Wyatt from child protection and Smits with a background in corruption.

  What the hell did it all mean?

  Thirteen

  Then

  Gray’s headlights lit up the twin towers of Kingsgate Castle. He parked beside the gate, inset within high flint-encased walls, beneath crenellated battlements.

  “All the years I’ve lived in Thanet, and I’ve never been inside the castle,” said Gray.

  “Because it’s exclusive,” said Carslake, “not for the likes of us.”

  The place had been built in the late 18th century for Lord Holland – a huge, meandering construction assembled as a faux fort simply for the lord’s horses and associated staff. Holland’s larger house was long gone. A decade or so ago the castle had been converted into thirty-one apartments, one of which was owned by Duncan Usher. The building sat on the clifftop above Joss Bay, just along from the North Foreland, location of the last manned lighthouse in the UK and the most exclusive area on the island.

  “We’re not here for a nostalgia tour,” said Copeland as he got out. He strode through the portcullis gate, not pausing for his men. Gray, after locking the car, followed.

  Usher was awaiting them in the cobbled courtyard. He was a powerful man in all senses of the word. Heavily built without being fat, large hands, black hair shaved in a buzz cut close to the skull. He had a presence. When he was in the room you knew it. But he wasn’t ostentatious; for all that he was probably the wealthiest man on the island. Usher preferred to keep his operations and the results under wraps.

  “Good evening, officers,” said Usher, offering his hand, which Gray then Carslake shook. Copeland declined, eliciting a smile from Usher. He led them to an open doorway in the far wall from which light spilled. Inside were stone steps spiralling aloft. One floor up was the entrance to Usher’s residence. Gray entered a hallway, his feet sinking into deep carpet.

  Usher closed the large wooden door, dark with age, behind Gray. “Do you gentlemen want anything to drink?” he asked.

  “We’re fine,” said Copeland.

  “In that case, let’s talk in the lounge. Second door on your left.”

  Once through a similarly heavy wooden door studded with iron, arched in
the shape of the stone surround, it was obvious by the curved shape of the room that Usher’s apartment was located in one of the towers.

  “Nice view,” said Copeland. Windows opened out onto the sea, nothing in front to interrupt the near one-hundred-and-eighty-degree vista.

  “I like it,” said Usher. He crossed the room to a low, long cupboard constructed from a similarly dark wood, mahogany maybe, and lifted a bottle up. “Can I call you Terry?”

  “No.”

  Usher grinned, like this was all some game to him. “Are you sure you won’t join me?”

  “Thanks, but we’re on duty.”

  “Of course.”

  Usher poured himself a drink into a brandy snifter before sitting in one of the leather armchairs. He crossed one leg over the other. Copeland took a seat directly opposite, leaving the sofa to Gray and Carslake. The furnishings were a clash of old and new. Along with the armchairs, a matching sofa was arranged around a glass-topped table. The backdrop was the curved walls of the tower, lined with paper covered in heraldic motifs. Then there were large pieces of modern art. A bronze sculpture in a seemingly random shape only the artist would understand.

  Getting straight to the point, Copeland asked, “What were your movements earlier this evening, between 7 p.m. and 9 p.m.?”

  “I was here.”

  Gray made a note in his book.

  “What time did you arrive?”

  “Around six, I’d say.”

  “Any witnesses to your movements?”

  “I live alone, Inspector.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “Correct.”

  Carslake stood. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “I’ll show you.” Usher made to get up.

  “No need,” said Copeland. “He’s a big boy and can find his own way.”

  “Upstairs one more flight, straight ahead of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Usher frowned as Carslake left the room.

  “What about your driver – Telfer?”

  “Dean is more confidante than lackey. And I drove myself. Earlier in the day, I was visiting my children. I don’t need to drag Dean along to that.”

  “At your ex-wife’s address?”

  “She’s not my ex-wife.” Usher paused. “Wasn’t,” he corrected. He sank half the brandy. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”