The Solomon Gray Series Box Set

by Keith Nixon

  ***

  “I can’t believe she’s dead.” He was sat on the end of the bed.

  “What’s done is done,” said his friend from the doorway. “Sooner you get your head around it, the better chance we’ve got of surviving your monumental balls up.”

  He dipped his head.

  “And you can stop that too.”

  “What?”

  “Feeling sorry for yourself. You have to take this memory, put it in a box, bury it deep, and throw away the key. You can beg for mercy when you’re dead. The police are going to be here soon, picking this place over. You can’t afford to show any weakness now.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. He knew his friend was right. This was what he needed right now; a firm hand, smacking him back to the present. It was why he’d made the call.

  “Have you vacuumed up?” asked the friend.

  “Yes.”

  “Wiped up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Every surface?”

  “Yes, for Christ’s sake! I’m not stupid.”

  The look his buddy gave him revealed exactly what he thought. You idiot. “You’ve missed one thing.”

  “What?”

  “You’re sitting on it.”

  He stood, stared at the indentation where his backside had just been.

  “The sheet,” said the friend. “You’ll be all over it. Give me a hand to take it off.”

  Working together, either side of the bed, the pair unhitched the corners of the bedsheet from the mattress before the friend pulled it steadily from beneath Valerie like a slow motion magic trick. When the sheet was free, the friend balled it up roughly then threw it at him.

  “Put that inside a carrier bag,” said the friend. He ran his eyes over the room. “I think we’re done here. Let’s go.”

  It was when they got outside that the friend’s careful plan began to unravel. He stopped in the doorway, holding him back.

  “Who’s that?” The friend pointed to a figure across the road.

  He groaned. “He knows me.”

  “Then he needs sorting out.”

  ***

  “You were separated though?” asked Copeland.

  “Actually, we were in the process of rebuilding our relationship,” said Usher. He smiled ruefully. “We’d maintained an outwardly friendly relationship throughout, for the sake of the girls.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “Because she didn’t like the life I led. To be a successful businessman has a consequential impact on your friends and family. Sacrifices have to be made. It was tough on Lotty and Elodie.”

  “What changed?”

  “I recently told her I was retiring, that it was time to do something new. That’s what brought us back together.”

  “This new life, was it inside or outside the criminal fraternity, Mr Usher?”

  Usher gave a small, ironic laugh. “It doesn’t matter now either way.”

  “No, I suppose not. Funny how things work out.”

  “If you say so, Inspector.”

  “How long had you been apart?”

  “About a year. Enough for us both to realise we were better as a pair, for the girls.”

  “I assume your relationship was close?”

  “Not anymore, but I was hoping we’d be drawn to each other by spending more time in each other’s company and focusing on the children.”

  “Falling in love all over again?”

  “If you like.”

  “How was Mrs Usher when you last saw her?”

  “Happier than normal.”

  Copeland frowned. “What does that mean?”

  Usher finished his brandy, stood, crossed to the cupboard and poured himself another. He stared into the contents while he swirled. “She’s hard to describe, Inspector.”

  “Try, please.”

  Usher sipped at the brandy. “Val was often unpredictable.”

  “In what way?”

  “She liked spur-of-the-moment decisions.”

  “Like you and her getting back together?”

  “That was a long time coming, certainly not a knee-jerk reaction.” Usher sat back down. “She could be maddening. Never happy, no matter how much I gave her; striving for more, even though she didn’t need it. I amply provided.” Usher spread his arms, meaning the obvious wealth of the apartment. “Though recently she seemed to have calmed down, accepted where she was, who she was, maybe.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I thought because of us being a couple again.”

  “You’re not so sure now?”

  “After this, I don’t know what to think.”

  “When did you arrive at your wife’s?”

  “I got there for lunch. We ate leisurely; I went into the garden with the girls for a bit, took them to the park at the end of the road and left before they all had dinner.”

  “And the girls were still there then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know Craig Mundby?”

  “He’s one of the gardeners. Seems like a good kid. What’s he got to do with anything?”

  “At this stage, I don’t know. I’m just asking questions.”

  The door opened. Usher swivelled his head towards Carslake as he entered the room. “You took your time. Do I need to fumigate the bathroom?”

  “I took a call. I didn’t want to disturb you all.”

  “I think we’re done here for now anyway,” said Copeland. “Thanks for your time Mr Usher.”

  “Just find her killer.” Usher stood. “I’ll show you out.”

  Fourteen

  Now

  Gray arrived late for the start of his shift. He’d had a restless night, overslept, hurriedly got dressed, only to be stuck in the rush-hour traffic. He draped his jacket over the back of his chair, turned on the PC, and went to make a coffee in the makeshift tea room that was shoved into a corner of the office.

  “Anyone else want one?” shouted Gray with the kettle poised beneath the tap. No takers except Fowler who stood up and crossed over while the water cascaded into the kettle. Gray flicked the switch and pulled two mugs and a French press from a cupboard, then put them onto the chipped formica work surface.

  “They’ve been looking for you,” said Fowler in a low voice. “The two of them from IPCC, Smits and Wyatt. Sounds like an American cowboy show.”

  “What are they like?”

  “She’s ice cold, he’s a puffer fish.”

  Gray frowned, puzzled by Fowler’s description.

  “You’ll see,” said Fowler. “Anyway, I need your help with something.”

  “Sure.” The kettle boiling, Gray let it rest while he measured out grinds into the cafetière.

  “I want to file a complaint about Yvonne breaking my helicopter yesterday.”

  Gray paused his coffee-making process. “Seriously?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve been irritating everybody with that thing for ages.” The kettle clicked off.

  “Ironic really because Yvonne bought it for me.” So Hamson was the bloody idiot. Gray poured some water onto the coffee. “Will you, though?”

  “No, Mike.”

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? She’s our boss and relationships are tough enough as it is.”

  “That’s what everybody else has said.”

  “Then take that as a hint and drop it.”

  “You’re a lot of help.” The sarcasm was obvious in Fowler’s tone. “Thanks, mate.”

  Gray grabbed Fowler’s forearm. “Seriously, Mike there’s times when it’s best to turn around and walk.”

  “And how often have you done that?” Fowler pushed Gray’s hand off.

  “I’ll bring your coffee over in a minute when it’s brewed.”

  An unfamiliar face entered the Detectives’ Office. He was tall, possessed bulbous features and a bald skull, except for a stripe of greying hair along one side of his head. Gray wondered why he didn’t shave everythi
ng off. This must be Smits, given Fowler’s earlier aquatic comment. Smits scanned the room, spotted Gray, and made his way over. Fowler drifted back to his desk, facing away from Gray and Smits.

  “Ah, Sergeant Gray? I’m Eric Smits.” Smits’ grip was dry and firm. “I wondered if you might have ten minutes for me? Nothing serious.” Smits smiled.

  “Do you mind if I do something first?”

  “Feel free. We’re not here to interfere in the day-to-day operation of Thanet CID.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “I’d heard you like your coffee.” Smits nodded at Gray’s mug.

  “Oh? Been checking up on me?”

  “No need, you’re quite the character around here. It seems everybody has a word to say about you.” Gray didn’t rise to the obvious bait. “Anyway, we’ve taken an office upstairs next to DCI Carslake. I’m sure you’ll find us. When you’re ready, Sergeant.”

  “Sure.”

  Smits turned and left. Gray realised the whole office was watching him. He poured his coffee and carried one over to Fowler, who complained about the lack of sugar. For the moment Smits needed to wait.

  Gray left his mug on his desk and headed to Hamson. “Ma’am,” he said, “can I have a word?”

  “I’m in the middle of writing a report for the DCI, Sergeant.” Hamson kept her attention on the monitor.

  “It’s important, otherwise I wouldn’t bother you.”

  Hamson drew in a deep breath, pushed herself back from the desk and raised her eyes to Gray. “Well?”

  “Not here, please.”

  “Ma’am and please. It must be critical.”

  Gray ignored the mockery. “Yes.”

  “Okay then.” Hamson stood. “As long as it’s brief.”

  Gray led Hamson out of the office. He entered the Major Incident Room which was currently not in use, holding the door for Hamson before closing it behind her.

  “Go on.” Hamson folded her arms across her chest.

  “I’d appreciate your help.”

  Hamson laughed. Gray didn’t join in. Hamson said, “You’re serious? That’s your opening line? No apology first?”

  “I’ve been advised to take a friend in whenever I meet the IPCC.”

  “And I’m it? I’m your friend? My God, you must be desperate.”

  “Kind of.”

  “Well there’s some honesty at last.”

  “I’m not after your job, Yvonne.”

  “It’s ma’am, Sergeant Gray.”

  Gray sighed. “Okay.”

  “What about Mike? You guys are best buddies these days it seems.”

  “He can’t be impartial.”

  “And I can?”

  “More than Mike. You weren’t involved.”

  “Is that all you two have been talking about?”

  “What else would there be? Ma’am, you might be pissed off at me right now, but I believe you’d have my back.”

  “Like you tried to stab me in mine, you mean?”

  “That’s not what happened!”

  “Feeling hemmed in, Sergeant? Afraid of past misdemeanours catching you out finally?”

  “No, but I need someone I can trust.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, it makes a nice change, but the answer is no. Is that everything?”

  “I’d like to take a couple of days off.”

  “Again?”

  “Carslake suggested it.”

  Hamson snorted. “I don’t know why you bothered asking me then.”

  “Chain of command.”

  “Whatever you want, just do it,” said Hamson and left the room.

  Gray didn’t move, considering his options. It didn’t take long because there were none meaningful left. Gray had suspected Hamson would turn him down, so her doing so wasn’t entirely a surprise. However, he had been hoping she’d be sufficiently neutral to put their problems aside for the moment. There was nothing else he could do, Gray had to face Smits alone. Before heading upstairs Gray collected a notebook from his desk. His coffee was at a good temperature, he drank it.

  The “office” had been, as far as Gray could remember, a store room. The door was open, revealing Smits and a woman who must be Wyatt. She was younger than Smits. Her skin was very pale in contrast to her long, dark hair.

  “Come in, Sergeant Gray,” said Wyatt. She stood up, came around the table and offered her hand. On her wrist was a hair band. Wyatt closed the door. Smits didn’t bother rising.

  The interior decor was as simple as it got. A table and four chairs. Two notebooks and two pens for the investigators. An electronic tablet sat in front of Smits. Gray had expected boxes of records for the investigators to be sifting through and referring to. There weren’t any. Maybe they just hadn’t arrived yet. Or they had electronic copies, which Smits could access on the tablet. Smits looked like the type who’d prefer the physical form, though. To feel the old paper between his fingers and read the actual words the officers had written.

  “Sit, please,” said Smits. Gray did, placing his notebook down. “Do you have a representative joining you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s not the end of the world, this is just a preliminary,” said Wyatt with a disarming smile, warmer than Smits’ earlier attempt. Gray wondered where Fowler’s description of Wyatt being a cold fish had come from. She seemed amiable so far.

  “May I call you Solomon?” asked Smits.

  “If you want to.”

  “Thank you. I’m Eric, this is Emily. As I mentioned before, at this stage we’re simply establishing the basic facts of the case. Hopefully this will all be over quickly, then Emily and I can go home and everything will return to normal.”

  “Fine.” Gray took a pen out from his jacket pocket and opened up the book.

  “I’m glad to hear so. Our objective is to evaluate the original decision-making process. Emily and I are one of several teams. Speaking of which, I assume you’re aware of the IPCC process?”

  “I am.”

  “Then you’ll know we’re here to determine whether any of the original team can be considered a witness or a person of interest.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, at the time of the Usher case you were a DC?”

  “Correct.” Gray made a note of the question and his answer.

  “Newly moved over, I understand.”

  “A few months.”

  “What were your initial observations when you arrived at the scene?”

  “My report from the time will tell you all of this.”

  “I know, I’m asking for your impression. Just a broad brush to start with. A report can only tell you so much.”

  “We’re talking about fifteen years ago.”

  “Correct, but I know from experience the big cases never quite leave us, do they?” Smits was basically right, though Gray wasn’t going to admit that to him. “And this was your first, a special one.”

  “Special? In what way?”

  “An unsolved homicide.”

  “We got a conviction.”

  “Rescinded now, Solomon.”

  “Why?”

  “New evidence has come to light, making the original verdict unsafe.”

  “Can you be specific?”

  Smits sat back, twirling his pen around his thumb like a mini baton. “The conviction hinged around material discovered under the victim’s fingernails. Despite there being a report on the DNA identification of that substance, we can find no evidence it was actually submitted for analysis.”

  “That’s news to me.”

  Smits and Wyatt shared a glance. “You’ve worked for DCI Carslake for some time now.”

  “From the day I joined CID.”

  “Is he a good boss?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Not all?”

  “Nobody’s perfect.”

  “How did he conduct himself during the Usher case?”

  “As he always does; methodically and by the r
ules.”

  “Nothing he did gave you cause for concern?”

  “No.”

  “Were you aware of any surveillance of Duncan Usher?”

  “No, that would have been outside my pay grade.”

  “So neither DS Carslake nor DI Copeland, as they were then, confided in you?”

  “Why would they?”

  “From what I’ve heard, you three were a close-knit group that pretty much ran the entire investigation.”

  “Of a fashion.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “DI Copeland had his own approach, the rest of us were expected to follow.”

  “Or suffer the consequences, we’ve heard.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Getting Usher’s conviction was a big win for you at a very early stage of your career.”

  “Usher was DI Copeland’s collar.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “We were part of a team.”

  “I know you weren’t a fan of DI Copeland’s methods.”

  “They got results.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.” Smits paused for a moment or two before he said, “Do you know that there have been several investigations into DI Copeland?”

  “I’d no idea. Why would I?”

  “You two didn’t stay in touch?”

  “I haven’t paid any attention to him since he moved on and vice versa.”

  “Glad to see the back of him?”

  “Partially.”

  “DI Copeland maintained a network of friends and confidantes across the country – men who’d worked for him. Those whose careers he’d helped and, effectively, owed him.”

  “Like me you mean?”

  “He gave you your shot at CID.”

  “I’d have got it one day anyway, I didn’t feel I owed DI Copeland.”

  “Did he ever offer you more?”

  “Promotion. And I turned him down before you ask.”

  “Why?”

  “It would have meant uprooting my family. If that was going to happen, I’d have done so for a meaningful posting. And, as you mentioned, his methods and mine weren’t compatible.”

  “I see from your records that your conduct is hardly unblemished.”

  “Is that relevant, Mr Smits?”

  Smits didn’t respond, instead he stared at Wyatt, seemingly trying to force a smile. The silence stretched, Gray worked hard not to fall into the trap of filling in the gap. Half a minute ticked by. Gray knew he was going to beat Smits. So did Smits.