The Solomon Gray Series Box Set

by Keith Nixon

  “It was you who said you wanted to talk.”

  “Yes, but about the Lone Ranger and Tonto, not Hamson.”

  “Who?”

  “Smits and Wyatt?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A pair of cowboys, get it?”

  Gray didn’t bother pointing out one was a Native American and so quite the opposite of a cowboy.

  “I’m getting another beer, one for you too?” asked Fowler.

  “Lime and soda.”

  “Bloody hell, Sol. You’re becoming an embarrassment to be seen out in public with.” Fowler headed to the bar, leaving Gray to ponder what might have been said by the cowboys, as Fowler put it, to make him so keen to speak with Gray. And so eager to drink it away.

  When Fowler returned, glasses in hand, he sat down, took a gulp of his pint. He pondered Gray for a moment before saying, “I’ve had an interview but got told straight away they weren’t interested in me as I was just a lowly PC at the time. I’d been standing on the wrong side of the cordon. So there was little I could have done to influence events. Very nice of Smits to say so.”

  “It was over quickly then.”

  “You’d think so, but no. Smits went on for ages. The majority of his questions focused on you,” Fowler raised his glass in salute. “Asking where you were at certain points in the case, what you investigated, who you spoke to. Stuff like that. I couldn’t tell him a great deal.”

  “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

  “Both, mate. I don’t like Smits. There’s something about him I can’t put my finger on.”

  “Did they ask about Carslake or Copeland?”

  “Barely. It was all Gray, Gray, Gray, and more Gray. It was weird. If I was just a lowly PC back then, why ask all these questions about you, a lowly DC? Why not Copeland or even Carslake?”

  “No idea.”

  “Copeland, turning up dead, though. And drowned too. He always made out it’d be in his bed at a ripe old age.”

  “Comes to us all eventually. Thanks for the heads up, by the way.”

  The pair fell silent for a few minutes, each with their own thoughts. Gray had an image of the two of them sitting in a pub when they were long retired, just like this. Reminiscing over old cases, old rivalries, punctured by long pauses.

  “I’d better get back to the station,” said Fowler. “Make sure Yvonne sees me grafting.”

  “You’re like an old married couple, you two.” They’d been seeing each other a couple of years.

  Fowler took a long drink, put the glass down slowly and stared at it while he wiped some condensation away. “Actually, I think we might be over.”

  “Can’t you work at it?”

  “I don’t know how.”

  Gray had nothing he could say to make Fowler’s situation better. If Fowler wanted a relationship counsellor, Gray was the last person he should be choosing. “I’m sorry to hear that, really, I am.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Look, Mike, if you ever need anything, just ask.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. How long have we known each other?”

  Fowler nodded. He appeared about to say something, but he got up without a word, drained what was left in his glass and left Gray alone at the table.

  Gray stared out at the sea. Perhaps a couple of sentences here about him ruminating over Copeland’s death and how he finds it odd that Smits and the Wyatt didn’t seem to be focusing on the case’s two lead investigators, Copeland and Carslake.

  His phone jolted him back to reality. He didn’t recognise the number. “Hello?”

  “DS Gray, it’s Eric Smits. Can you talk?”

  Gray refrained from telling Smits it was a stupid question, they already were.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, I understand you’re returning to work tomorrow?”

  “I only booked two days off so, yes, I’ll be in.”

  “I’d like to have a meeting with you. I’ve a few more questions.”

  “What about?”

  “We can get into that tomorrow. How does 8 a.m. sound? Before you get sucked back into the day-to-day?”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good, I look forward to talking, Sergeant Gray.”

  Twenty Eight

  Then

  The ringing of the mobile woke Gray from an uncomfortable sleep. He groaned, an ache in his back making him wince. His head hurt too, but from the wine, rather than the angle of his posture. He flicked on the lamp, pushed back the cover and groped for the phone.

  “Sol, it’s Jeff. Sorry to wake you so early. We’ve had a development.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll explain in the car. Be ready in ten minutes, I’m picking you up.”

  Gray grabbed a quick shower before creeping into the bedroom to get some fresh clothes. Carslake was already outside waiting when Gray stepped outside. It felt fresher, like the weather was beginning to turn at last and autumn was properly on the way.

  The car was moving again before Gray had his seatbelt on. The clock on the dash said 6:13 a.m. Gray was glad to be out of the house before Kate was up and about. He wasn’t sure he was ready to talk after her demands of last night.

  “What’s going on, Jeff?”

  “Feedback from the door-to-door has come in. Someone was seen hanging around Mrs Usher’s house over recent weeks. Craig Mundby. We’re going to the hospital to interview him and Molly.”

  ***

  Molly Mundby was in the room with Craig. There was a cot set up next to his bed. The covers were turned back, the bottom sheet wrinkled, and a head-shaped dent in the pillow. Molly was sitting in the same chair as yesterday, wearing a yellow bathrobe, bunny slippers on her feet, and holding a plastic cup. Craig was out of it, unconscious with drugs or simply asleep. Gray didn’t know.

  “Where’s your husband?” asked Carslake.

  “Not here, clearly,” said Molly. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was a mess. “Probably at home.” She sighed, rubbed one eye. “What do you want now?”

  “To ask a few more questions.”

  “At this time of the morning?”

  “I’m sorry, yes. We’ll be as quick as we can.”

  Molly huffed. “Okay.”

  “Thank you. We’ve been conducting a door-to-door in the area following Mrs Usher’s murder. Some information which may be of value has come to light.”

  “What’s this got to do with us?”

  “Several witnesses stated that they’ve seen Craig hanging around outside Mrs Usher’s house on several occasions over recent weeks.”

  Molly didn’t respond immediately. Gray said, “Mrs Mundby?”

  She sagged and said, “It’s not what you think. The neighbours know that if they see him standing around to tell me or James. We come and get him. I’m surprised you weren’t told.”

  “It’s different when there’s a policeman on your doorstep asking questions, Mrs Mundby,” said Carslake. “From our records it’s clear nobody has ever reported this to the police.”

  “Why would they? He doesn’t do any harm.”

  “Was Mrs Usher aware of Craig’s behaviour?”

  “I don’t know. We weren’t exactly the best of friends.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday?” asked Gray.

  “I didn’t think it pertinent. Craig’s harmless.”

  “If there’s anything else you want to say, now’s the time,” said Carslake.

  Molly stood up, as if she’d made a decision. “There is, but you should hear it from Craig.” Molly woke her son up in the same manner as the day before, gently stroking his face until he stirred. Craig blinked, taking in Gray and Carslake’s presence as if it were entirely normal.

  “Darling,” said Molly, “do you remember the conversation we had last night after these policemen left?” Craig’s eyes flicked between Gray and Carslake. He nodded. “Can you repeat what you told me?” Another nod.

  “I
was standing outside Valerie’s house the night she—” Craig sniffed, unable to speak the words. “I saw movement at the front door. It was Duncan. He came out and told me Valerie was in trouble and needed my help.” Craig paused again, the memory seemingly causing him some trouble.

  “Go on, Craig,” said Carslake.

  “I went inside with him, and the next thing I remembered was waking up in here.” Craig sniffed. “Why would Duncan attack me? I thought he was my friend.”

  ***

  “Do you believe the pair of them?” asked Carslake. He was in the passenger seat this time; Gray the driver. He’d had to ratchet the seat forward a couple of notches as Carslake’s bearing was more laid back than Gray’s.

  “She seemed genuine,” said Gray. “But Molly separately admitted to me she didn’t like Valerie. There’s clearly tension between her and James on the subject. And Craig is her son. She’s spent her life defending him.”

  “You know what Copeland is going to make of this?”

  “Another nail in Usher’s coffin.”

  “Yes, and Copeland wielding the hammer. Means, motive, and opportunity, Sol. Usher has them all.”

  At the station they found Copeland in the Major Incident Room, staring at the murder board, filled with notes and photos on Valerie and Duncan Usher and Craig Mundby. “What did the lad have to say for himself?”

  Carslake repeated their conversation.

  Copeland raised his eyebrows when Carslake told him Craig claimed to have been beckoned in by Usher. “Interesting. We’ve got the report on the organic material Jenkinson found underneath Valerie’s nails. Analysis on the swabs you took of Craig and James yesterday, Sol also came back negative. We got one hit, though.” Copeland paused, enjoying the moment. “Duncan Usher. We’ve got the bastard.”

  Twenty Nine

  Now

  Another restless night. Gray woke early. The upcoming interview with Smits had played on his mind and disturbed his sleep. He took a shower, dressed, and headed into work. When he arrived, the station was quiet. The night shift was still a couple of hours from finishing. Gray made himself a coffee. He’d need a steady drip of caffeine throughout the day, he reckoned.

  He sifted through the emails which had built up while he was out. A couple of minutes before 8 a.m., he made a fresh brew, leaving a cup on Fowler’s desk for when he came in, then headed upstairs. Wyatt was already seated. She stood and shook Gray’s hand.

  “Eric will be here in a minute or two. Take a seat, would you?”

  Gray seated himself and didn’t attempt to fill the silence. It wasn’t his style, and it seemed not to be Wyatt’s either. Despite the circumstances, he liked her. She had an easy presence. When Smits arrived, he bustled in with an armful of paperwork in one hand, and a plastic cup of coffee in the other.

  “Sorry I’m late.” He put everything down on the table before shutting the door with his foot, then sitting opposite Wyatt so that Gray was bracketed by the pair. Smits went through the process of starting the recorder, detailing the date, time, and who was present. Then he paused, let the seconds stretch.

  “Tell us about Duncan Usher, Sergeant Gray. What’s he like?”

  “I hadn’t seen him for fifteen years until he was on the TV a couple of days ago.”

  “You didn’t know Usher back then?”

  “Only of him. Until his wife died.”

  “So there wasn’t a personal relationship between the pair of you?”

  “Why would there be?”

  Smits stared at Gray for a long moment before he brought over the paperwork he’d carried in. He laid a document in front of Gray. “Do you recognise this?”

  His heart sank. “It’s my report from the night Valerie Usher was found murdered.” It was the original document.

  “And this?”

  “My report from an interview at Raptor Security.” Smits laid out several more pieces of paper, Gray affirming his knowledge of them all.

  “What’s your point?” asked Gray.

  “Good question.” Smits withdrew the originals and replaced them with copies. There were red marks and circles in multiple locations across the pages. “Did you write this?”

  Gray picked up the uppermost document and took his time to read it. “In part,” he said, handing it back to Smits. He moved to the next document.

  “What does that mean?” asked Smits while Gray skimmed over the words. He made Smits wait.

  “I think the document was altered after I submitted it.”

  “But this is your signature, correct?” Smits tapped the scrawl at the foot of the page.

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s your statement.”

  “As I said, in part. Somebody changed it.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve seen these since I submitted them,” lied Gray.

  “So how can you be sure the document was altered?”

  “Because I know how to spell.”

  “Based on this evidence, our supposition is someone deliberately falsified official police paperwork in order to mislead the investigation with the purpose of incriminating Duncan Usher and obtaining a guilty verdict.”

  “That’s a reasonable conclusion to draw. But it wasn’t me.”

  Smits shared a glance with Wyatt. She nodded at him. “Okay, we’re done with this for now.” Smits switched off the recorder. Gray stood.

  “Sit back down please,” said Wyatt. Gray did so, wondering what was going on.

  “We believe you.”

  “Why?”

  “Terry Copeland had previously been reprimanded for lining up evidence to suit his objective. He was suspended following his last case but retired before disciplinary procedures could be completed. I’ve seen the prosecutor’s conclusions. He would have been found guilty and dismissed from the police had the investigation run its course.

  “With Copeland’s death we can’t, of course, question him again on this matter. Which leaves you in the firing line. Regardless of what really happened, the data I have in front of me points towards collusion as a minimum. Whether you willingly went along with Copeland, or as you claim, records were falsified, remains to be established.”

  “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Speaking of Copeland, you travelled all the way up to Cumbria to see your old boss after such a long time. Why?”

  “It wasn’t specifically to see Copeland.”

  “According to local officers, you stayed overnight in a hotel in the same village.”

  Gray shifted in his seat, easily caught in the subterfuge.

  “I can appreciate it’s difficult for you to trust us, but I assure you neither Emily nor I are out to get you. Quite the opposite. We need your help.”

  “With what?”

  “The real reason we’re here,” said Wyatt, leaning forward, “is Jeff Carslake.”

  “I thought this was an investigation into the Usher case?”

  “It is, Solomon. May I call you Solomon by the way?” Gray nodded, his mind on Wyatt’s reveal, rather than his new desire to be informal. “But with Carslake at the heart. This is where it started.”

  Wyatt tapped Gray’s amended paperwork. “This is where he began to break the law, rather than uphold it. But Carslake is clever; he’s stayed under the radar for years. He only made two mistakes in all that time. One was Duncan Usher. The other, indirectly, was your son.”

  Gray gripped the edge of the table. “What are you saying? How was he involved with Tom?”

  “Have you heard the name Lewis Strang before, Solomon?”

  “I want to know about Tom, not this bloody Strang, whoever he is.”

  “He’s highly pertinent, believe me. Back in the day, Strang was something of a legend in the Manchester police force. He had an amazing clearance rate. He got a promotion, moved south to the Met, and his performance continued. Back in the 90s, the Met Commissioner, Paul Condon, set up a shadow group of detectives, known as the G
host Squad, to investigate corruption at the Met which was, frankly, rife. Strang came to their attention, but he learned of their interest and scaled back his illegal behaviour.”

  “What has this got to do with Tom or Carslake?”

  “Somehow, we’re not sure yet, Carslake came into Strang’s orbit. The two worked together on mutually beneficial projects. Strang helped Carslake deal with an inconvenience he was struggling with. You, Solomon.”

  “Me?”

  “You couldn’t be bought. And Carslake thought that would be a problem for him one day. He needed something to distract you. And that was Tom’s disappearance.”

  Gray leapt to his feet, ready to storm into Carslake’s office. But Smits got to the door first, he was nearer.

  “I don’t blame you, but this isn’t the way,” said Smits, blocking Gray’s exit.

  “He might know where Tom is.”

  “And if he does, we’ll find out. That’s why Emily is here.”

  “Jesus!” Gray blew out a lungful of air, ran his hands through his hair. He clenched and unclenched his fists, pacing back and forth. Eventually he said, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Help bring him down. End his career, put him in prison and anybody else he was working with.”

  “How?”

  Wyatt smiled. “First, we’re going to suspend you.”

  ***

  Gray hardly saw the waves smash themselves against the concrete curve of the esplanade. The roar of the water was drowned out by the noise in his head as he thought about what Smits had told him. He rested on the railings, head down, seeing nothing.

  Gray recalled Hamson’s face when Smits had informed her of his suspension, pending further investigation for falsifying records. Her expression had been a mix of disbelief and acceptance. Like she hadn’t been totally surprised by Gray’s transgression.

  Then Smits had asked where Fowler was. Hamson told him Fowler hadn’t turned in so far. Gray barely heard a word of their conversation.