The Solomon Gray Series Box Set

by Keith Nixon

  The smile on Smits’s face broadened. He turned back to Gray and said, “I think we’re done for now, Sergeant. Thanks very much for your time.” He stood and opened the door.

  Gray headed downstairs slowly, allowing his heart rate to ease. The Detectives’ Office was quiet when he entered, the atmosphere obviously tight. Hamson ignored Gray, sharply tapping on her keyboard.

  Fowler sidled over to Gray’s desk. He squatted down and quietly asked, “How did it go?”

  “No problem, surprisingly.”

  “Did you expect it to be difficult?”

  “I wasn’t sure either way, to be honest.”

  “What did they ask you?”

  “DS Fowler.” It was Smits in the doorway to the office. He crooked his finger.

  “The master calls,” said Fowler.

  “Good luck,” Gray told him.

  His phone bleeped. The text was identical to yesterday, the number blocked. It said, “You’ve got mail.” Gray expected it would be the Usher case notes. He was keen to take a peek, but they would have to wait for tonight, when Gray’s shift was over so there wasn’t a trace on his work computer of data he shouldn’t have.

  Fifteen

  Then

  Copeland raised his warrant card and introduced himself to the woman who answered the door. She wiped her hands on her chequered apron. She had short curly hair and a mark in the centre of her forehead. Gray wasn’t sure if it was a bruise or a birth mark.

  “Eva’s in the living room. I’m her neighbour.”

  Eva Franklin slumped in a chair, legs crossed at the ankles and hands in her lap. Valerie’s mother was slight and delicate looking. Eva stood when they entered, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hands. Gray recognised her immediately from the photos in Valerie’s house, though her face had sunk in on itself with grief, and her eyes were bloodshot.

  Copeland introduced himself all over again, telling Eva who Gray and Carslake were too.

  “I’ll make you a cup of tea,” said the neighbour and retreated.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs Franklin,” said Copeland.

  “It’s Miss. I’m divorced. And it’s Eva.”

  Pointing to a chair, Copeland said, “May we?” Eva nodded. Copeland sat on the sofa, Carslake beside him. Gray took one of the dining table chairs further back in the room so Eva didn’t feel hemmed in. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Eva’s hand went to a cross hanging from a chain about her neck. “I can’t believe it. I was with her a few hours ago and now she’s…” Eva’s voice trailed off. “How do I tell the girls? They’ll be devastated.”

  “Where are they?”

  “With Therese, Valerie’s sister, a couple of doors away. They’re safe.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Carslake. “We can offer social support if that helps.”

  “Does anything help in times like these?”

  Carslake didn’t answer.

  “When was the last time you saw your daughter, Mrs Franklin?” asked Copeland.

  “Earlier this afternoon, when she brought the girls round.”

  “Was that normal? Would she often drop them off?”

  “I have a very good relationship with my family, Inspector. I see the girls whenever I can, though usually with a little more notice.”

  “You weren’t expecting them then?”

  “No, but I didn’t mind. They’re my grandchildren, I never complain at the chance to spend time in their company. Delightful little girls.”

  “When was Valerie supposed to pick them up again?”

  “She didn’t really say.”

  The neighbour entered and placed a tray, laden with cups, a teapot, a plate of biscuits and a milk jug, beside Gray. “Can I leave you to play mother?” she asked Gray.

  “Of course,” he said. The neighbour left again. “Tea, anyone?”

  Copeland and Carslake shook their heads. Gray poured himself a cup. No point letting it go to waste.

  “I haven’t been able to keep anything down,” said Eva. “Who do you think will get custody of the children?”

  “That’s not really my area of expertise, Eva,” said Copeland.

  “He can’t get them. It would be wrong.”

  “Mr Usher? What do you think of him?”

  The irritation was clear on Eva’s face the moment Copeland mentioned her son-in-law’s name.

  “He’s poison. At first he was charming, couldn’t do enough for us all. But once they were married and Val was pregnant, his true colours came out. The man was a control freak. Wanting to know where she was all the time, who she spent her time with, et cetera. It was awful. He made it hard even for me and Therese to see Val.”

  “What about his daughters?”

  “To be fair I can’t fault him there. He dotes on them. But this last year, they just became an excuse for Duncan to be round her house all the time. He wouldn’t leave her alone. He was like a bee around honey. She was sick of it.”

  “Mr Usher told us earlier he and your daughter were moving back in together.”

  Eva frowned. “That makes no sense.” She shook her head. “Val was seeing someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “She wouldn’t say. She did tell me he’d be moving in with her. Once he’d got divorced.”

  “Her new partner was married?”

  “That’s how I understood it.”

  “What was Mr Usher’s reaction when he found out his wife was in another relationship?”

  “He was incandescent, Inspector.” Eva grinned briefly at the memory, but there was no humour within. “Ultimately that’s why Duncan wouldn’t leave her alone. He couldn’t stand it. He lost his temper several times, right in front of me. One moment he was calm, the next he exploded into anger. It was frightening. And now my daughter is dead.” Eva leaned over. “It’s all his fault. He killed her!”

  Eva slumped back, her anger spent.

  “I’ve a request to make of you, Eva. I’m sorry to do this, but Valerie’s body needs identifying. Either by you or your daughter, we don’t mind.”

  Eva closed her eyes, slumped back in her chair. “I’ll do it,” she whispered. “She’s my child.”

  ***

  “I told you this involved Usher somehow,” said Copeland when they were standing on the pavement outside Eva’s house.

  “Certainly seems that way, sir,” said Carslake.

  Gray was taken aback. “The evidence is circumstantial surely, sir.”

  “We have a motive now, constable. Usher’s wife was screwing another man. ‘Incandescent,’ Eva said. Prone to losing his temper. Remember how Valerie died? Strangled in the heat of the moment. That’s his rage and anger coming out, son.” Copeland looked over the Carslake. “Jeff, lean on the lab for those results. Don’t forget to say I want them; a bit of seniority always helps. And have a word with Jenkinson. See when the PM is. I want you both there for the results, okay?”

  Sixteen

  Now

  When Gray was inside his flat, he pulled out his laptop fired it up, and opened up his personal email account. The note from Pennance was awaiting him. Gray clicked on it.

  Within the body was a single embedded link. Another click opened a page with a series of directories. Gray randomly picked one, producing a list of files.

  Gray hovered the mouse arrow over a filename. It struck Gray that he was about to break the rules again, like when he’d amassed every document he could on Tom’s disappearance, whether he was allowed to have them or not.

  He clicked anyway and was looking at a scanned copy of a post mortem report written by the pathologist Amos Jenkinson.

  At this rate it would take days to go over everything. The volume of data was massive. It had been a significant case, with a large team, all contributing information. Focus. He needed to focus. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure what on. The only clue he had was from Smits – the finger pointed at the DNA evidence. Gray made a pot of coffee. He w
as going to be in for a long night.

  He started at the beginning, with his own account from the evening as first responder. It was strange, going over the document. It was familiar, yet it felt like someone else’s words. There was a naïve honesty about them. Then he shifted to Jenkinson’s reports. They appeared perfectly reasonable to Gray, nothing within made him doubt the pathologist’s statements.

  After over an hour staring at the laptop, Gray sat back and rubbed his eyes. He headed out onto the balcony and stared out over the black sea. It was a clear night. He could see the winking red and white lights on the horizon, marking the European coast. Not so far away. Where Tom possibly was. Gray thought about Carslake’s suggestion that the trail had reached Amsterdam. He wasn’t entirely sure Carslake was telling the truth. Intentional or not, Carslake had ushered Gray down a cold trail before.

  At least one of Carslake’s tips had led Gray to Inspector Jacques Morel in Calais, who had processed a report of someone with Tom’s description. Gray had stayed in touch with his French counterpart, who had recently been promoted to Chief Inspector and relocated to Lyon. Gray had come to like the gruff Frenchman, and Morel had carried on hunting for Tom. However, the move upwards meant Morel had even less time to help. All he’d uncovered so far was a blank. Gray had fed Carslake’s assertion about the possible sighting in Holland to Morel, though he hadn’t got a response yet. But Gray remained hopeful. He had to. He’d been searching for his missing years. He couldn’t give up now.

  With a deep inhale of salty sea air, he went back inside and woke up the laptop. There was one unresolved strand of the case that still bothered him today. The identity of Valerie’s lover. Copeland had considered the information peripheral and Carslake had agreed. Back then, as just a DC, he hadn’t been able to sway either of his superior officers otherwise. The Crown Prosecution Service was happy with the case as presented to them. And Usher had been found unanimously guilty; Copeland’s approach and belief vindicated.

  But not anymore.

  The obvious next step was to speak with the now-retired Jenkinson. The pair had stayed in touch infrequently. Gray looked at his watch. It was late, but he still had work to do. He clicked on a folder and found Carslake’s notes. Several pages in he felt himself beginning to nod. His eyelids were drooping, and his head felt too heavy for his neck. He reluctantly decided to finish the report he was on, then call it a night.

  Another couple of paragraphs on, something caught Gray’s attention. Gray sat up and shifted his eyes back to the top of the page. This must be some sort of mistake. He scanned the section again. When his consciousness finally caught up, he jolted fully awake. He re-read Carslake’s words over and over. No matter how many times he did, the outcome was the same. They were a lie. The alterations were subtle and would only be spotted by someone with first-hand experience of the case. Of which there were only a handful of people.

  Gray picked up his mobile and dialled Pennance. He answered within a few rings, sounding groggy. “It’s late, Sol. What this time?”

  Gray didn’t care he’d woken Pennance. “The Usher case notes. Where did you get them?”

  “This was supposed to be a no-questions-asked kind of deal, remember?”

  “Where?” urged Gray.

  “From HOLMES, of course.” An acronym for the second iteration of the “Home Office Large Major Enquiry System”.

  “Sol, what’s up?”

  “I don’t know yet,” lied Gray. He was in trouble, big trouble, if the IPCC had tripped over the same inconsistencies. There was a chance they hadn’t, but Gray needed to assume the worst case. “I need a couple of contact details.”

  “And you can’t get them yourself, because?”

  “No records.” Gray could easily search for the information, though by doing so he’d leave an electronic trail. “I want to reach my old boss. He was the SIO on the case.”

  “Copeland.”

  “Right. And Craig Mundby, who was a victim. Last I knew he lived with James and Molly Mundby.”

  “I already have Copeland’s details. I thought you’d ask me at some point. Ever been to Carlisle?”

  “Never had the need to.”

  “It’s the capital of Cumbria.”

  “I know that much.”

  “It’s where Copeland’s living now. Actually in a village five miles outside Carlisle called Wetheral. Rather exclusive, I understand. He reached the rank of DCI before retiring last year.”

  “Copeland always knew he’d go far.”

  “Well he did. A couple of pointers that might be useful to you. Your friend hasn’t been so successful in his personal life as at work. He’s on his third marriage, she’s called Sarah. A couple of business ventures he was involved in went south too.”

  “Good to know, thanks.”

  “No problem. Enjoy your trip down memory lane.”

  Pennance rang off. Gray headed out onto the balcony and listened to the waves while he thought about what he’d read. If the IPCC had picked up on the same subtleties they’d have him in their sights. And there were only two people who could have set him up.

  Carslake or Copeland.

  Gray decided he’d go see Jenkinson first, then pay his old boss a visit.

  Seventeen

  Then

  The length of Jenkinson’s working day since Valerie’s body had been discovered was etched onto his face. Black shadows under his eyes, ruffled hair, wrinkled clothes. And a deep yawn. Carslake, sitting next to Gray, had a similar appearance. Gray didn’t feel much better; he’d only grabbed a snatched nap and a change of clothes himself. He hadn’t seen Kate or the kids, arriving home after they were in bed and rising again before they did.

  After a few hours’ sleep Jenkinson had proceeded with the post mortem. Copeland was keen to get some answers, and he would work everyone as hard as possible, himself included, to ensure he got them.

  The pathologist sagged into the chair in his small office and rubbed the bridge of his nose. There was barely enough room for the two visitors’ seats which Gray and Carslake occupied. A soft light was finding its way through the windows set high in the wall. A lamp on Jenkinson’s desk was on, though it still felt gloomy. Several coffee cups littered the surface of the desk.

  “It’s all in there,” said Jenkinson, holding out a folder.

  “Thanks, Amos.” Carslake took the document. He began to flip through the contents. “Copeland won’t wait to read it, and I won’t have the time to before he’ll be on at me. What are the key points?”

  “I’m dead on my feet here. The man’s a slave driver, you know that?”

  “All too well. The sooner you tell us, the sooner we’re gone.”

  “Bluntly, Mrs Usher quite unusually died from a cardiac inhibition as a result of manual strangulation. I’ve included a number of photographs to support my hypothesis. In terms of procedure I focused on the neck area, of course, removing the larynx and hyoid bone, keeping the tongue attached.”

  “Must you?” interrupted Carslake.

  “Yes. Feel free to look at the photos if you like, they’re quite instructive.”

  Gray took the report from Carslake’s fingers. He barely noticed. First was a full length shot of the body, the second a close up of the throat, pre-incision. From there the content became more graphic. Gray stared at the images, one after the other.

  When Carslake didn’t answer, Jenkinson carried on. “I examined the superficial and deep musculature of the neck for contusion haemorrhage, then moved onto the laryngeal skeleton before exposing the laryngeal skeleton for fractures. I’d say first the killer applied sufficient pressure on the victim’s neck to obstruct the carotid arteries, preventing blood flow from the brain. There were bruises evident on the skin and in the internal neck tissues and bleeding of the larynx to indicate this. When I examined Mrs Usher’s brain, I discovered signs of anoxic encephalopathy – dead cells basically, resulting from oxygen starvation.”

  “Brain damage?” asked Gray
. Carslake had retreated into himself.

  “Eloquently put, Sol, yes. At this point, even if she’d survived, her faculties would have been severely compromised. However, her attacker probably shifted his grip onto the carotid artery nerve ganglion which would have resulted in the cardiac arrest.”

  “You said that’s uncommon?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Why?”

  “The force must be applied to a very specific and rather small area of the throat.”

  “Do you think it was deliberate?”

  Jenkinson shrugged. “You’ll have to ask the killer. It could have happened by pure chance.” Jenkinson picked up one of the coffee mugs and took a pull. He grimaced. “Her death would not have been quick. I’d have expected her to have fought back, although I also found a mark on her cheek which could indicate she was hit first which may have stunned her. I’ve scraped under her fingernails. If we’re lucky there’ll be some organic material we can identify.”

  “That’s great news,” said Carslake.

  “It’s not the only information I gleaned. There were clear signs that Mrs Usher had sex shortly before her death. No semen though so either he didn’t finish or he used a condom. DNA can only be found in sperm cells, not the fluid itself. So no ejaculation, no DNA.”

  “Did you check for pubic hairs?” asked Gray.

  “Of course, and no, I didn’t find any.”

  “Unusual.”

  “Yes. It’s as if someone removed all traces of themselves.”

  “Thorough, as always, Amos,” said Carslake.

  “It’s what I’m here for.”

  “We’ll get out of your way.”

  “I’ll be getting some well-earned rest. Close the door on your way out, would you?” Jenkinson settled further into his chair, put his feet up on his desk and closed his eyes. Gray did as Jenkinson asked.

  Before Gray could ask his boss why he hadn’t tabled more questions, Carslake’s mobile rang. Carslake listened briefly.