by Keith Nixon
Lester continued, “Finally, I would like to take this opportunity to express the court’s sympathy to Mrs Carslake regarding the tragic death that has brought us here today. I am aware how harrowing it has been for you.” Juliette inclined her head.
Lester got to her feet. It was over. Gray had done it. Public record would state suicide instead of murder. But Gray wouldn’t be celebrating.
Twenty Two
Now
Gray followed Hamson up to her office. “Happy with the outcome?” said Hamson when she sat down.
“Not really,” lied Gray. “Just glad it’s over.” Which was the truth.
“We can all move on now. Speaking of which – the Oakley murder. Do you think our friend Parker has anything useful to say?”
Gray thought for a moment, having to change gears between the enquiry and the ongoing Oakley murder investigation. “Honestly? It’s hard to be sure.”
“If you were to take a punt on gut instinct?”
“Balance of probability is yes, he does. But Parker’s not giving it up without a trade. Unless he voluntarily coughs we have no hold over him. Nunes is simply too unreliable.”
“I spoke to Marsh about a deal for Parker. Marsh is prepared to make an offer, provided we successfully clear the murder off the books.”
“What offer?”
“A good word to the judge, a much-reduced sentence in an open prison. He’d be out in a couple of years.”
“Not bad.”
“It’s the best he’ll get. Care to give it a go?”
“Right now.”
***
“Where’s Worthington?” asked Gray. He looked around the Detectives’ Office, not spotting the errant DC.
Fowler glanced up from his work. “He left ten minutes ago.”
“Where to?”
“No idea.”
Gray swore under his breath. “I wanted him with me while I interviewed Parker about the Oakley murder. Parker will be in front of a judge in a few hours so I haven’t got long.”
Fowler sat back in his chair with a grin. “Well, if it helps, I can fit you into my busy schedule.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Payment is expected, of course.”
Gray knew Fowler too well not to have anticipated this. “How many?”
“Two.”
“Two pints just to do your job?”
Fowler shrugged, “I’m seconded to Pivot, remember? This would be extra-curricular.”
It was bullshit from Fowler, but that was the point. Gray sighed. “Okay.”
“In that case I’m all yours for the duration.”
Parker and his legal representative, Alfie Lakehurst, were already seated by the time Gray and Fowler entered. Parker, catching sight of the cops, turned his head away, refusing to meet Gray’s eye. Gray took a chair, started the recording. Fowler placed himself back, out of Gray’s eyeline.
“I wanted to revisit our conversation from yesterday regarding the murder of LaShaun Oakley,” said Gray. Parker made no sign of having heard him. He tried again. “Mr Parker, yesterday you intimated you had knowledge regarding Oakley’s death and you wanted to do a deal. I have a proposal. When your case comes to court, in exchange for information which leads to a successful conviction, the judge will take your goodwill into account during the sentencing process.”
Lakehurst spoke up. “My client wants his charges dropped.”
“I can’t do that,” said Gray.
“Then I ain’t talking,” said Parker.
“You need to give me something, Mr Parker. In exchange we inform the judge at your trial as to how much help you’ve been. Which should have a positive impact on your sentence. But I can’t promise anything without knowledge of what information you have.”
“Nothing.”
“What was that, Mr Parker?”
“I don’t know anything. I made it up. She made it up. Nunes was off her tits on drugs.” Parker bent over the table, properly met Gray’s eyes for the first time. “I know nothing, Mr Policeman.”
“I think the interview is over,” said Lakehurst.
“Seems you’re right,” said Gray. “I’ll have you taken back to your cell, Mr Parker. Enjoy.”
In the corridor, Gray shook his head in frustration. “I was convinced he had something to tell me.”
“It was never going to happen, Sol,” said Fowler. “I said he was pulling your chain. You still owe me the beer though. A pint a minute, that’s a good deal.” Fowler walked away. Gray went to find Hamson, to tell her another line of investigation into Oakley’s murder was a bust. He was halfway up the stairs when his mobile rang.
“DI Gray? It’s Alfie Lakehurst. Mr Parker’s lawyer,” he said by way of unnecessary explanation. “I’d like to meet.”
“When?”
“Now. I’ll be on the esplanade beneath the Winter Gardens.”
“Very covert,” said Gray. But Lakehurst had already gone.
Gray found Lakehurst where he said he’d be. The concrete esplanade, a sea defence, stretched along the coast, running into Margate one way and out to Cliftonville the other. The rear entrance to the Winter Gardens – a theatre popular with the stars decades ago, dug into the chalk cliffs – was behind him.
“Let’s walk,” said Lakehurst, turning away from Margate.
“What’s going on, Mr Lakehurst?”
“Alfie is fine, now we’re off-duty, so to speak.” Lakehurst symbolically removed his tie.
“I’m still on duty.”
“I can live with that, DI Gray.”
“Solomon will do, if we’re being informal.”
“To answer your question, my client is scared for his life. He wants to help you, however, he’s very concerned with regard to his safety.”
“On what basis?”
“Something else he won’t speak about. But yesterday, after the interview broke up, Mr Parker was very gung-ho. Today?” Lakehurst held up his hands in a query. “He’s like a different person. He didn’t want to even have the interview with you. He’d have much preferred to stay in his cell. However, I persuaded him that it was best he told you on record that he couldn’t help.”
“Are you bargaining on his behalf?”
“Of course not, we shouldn’t even be having this discussion.”
“So why are we here, Alfie?”
“Duty of care, Solomon. Something bothers me about my client beyond being an alleged drug dealer, something I’m not comfortable ignoring should an incident befall him.”
Gray stopped in his tracks, forcing Lakehurst to follow suit. “Spit it out.”
Lakehurst shoved his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders. “Mr Parker believes he’s going to die.”
“Everyone dies eventually.”
“But not by the hands of the police, Solomon. Mr Parker thinks one of you is going to shut him up. Permanently.”
“Who?”
“I wish I knew. That’s all I have. The rest I’ll leave up to you.”
Lakehurst walked back the way they’d come, ignoring Gray’s call to return.
Twenty Three
Now
The conversation with Lakehurst stayed with Gray while he walked back to the station. The accusation was sensitive. But who could Gray speak to? He was certain Lakehurst would deny making the allegation. And if one of Gray’s colleagues had threatened Parker, the last thing Gray wanted to do was warn them that he was aware of Parker’s quandary.
When Gray got back to the Detectives’ Office, Worthington was at his desk. Gray made his way over. “Where did you get to earlier, Jerry? We were due to interview Parker.”
Worthington frowned. “Sir? You asked me to get the CCTV footage on Harwood dealing. From Pivot.”
“We haven’t spoken about that.”
“Not directly, no. It was DS Fowler. He told me you wanted it.”
It was Gray’s turn to be puzzled. “I said no such thing to him. When did he ask you?”
&n
bsp; “A few minutes before the Parker interview was scheduled.”
“Strange.”
“Sorry, sir. I’d have been there otherwise.”
“Not your fault.”
“Can I interrupt?” It was Yarrow. “I hope you two are coming over to the pub with us?”
“When?”
“I sent round an email.”
“I’ve barely been at my desk, sir. I’ve been distracted the last couple of days.”
“I heard – the enquiry. But that’s done, so even more reason to let your hair down. Everyone will be there.”
A lightbulb went off in Gray’s mind. “You’re right. Of course, I’ll be there. When?”
“Check your email.” Yarrow grinned. “See you later on.”
***
Most of Gray’s colleagues were already in the Britannia when he headed along to the cells. Sergeant Morgan was behind a desk, tapping away at a keyboard.
Morgan paused in his work. “Not down the pub, Sol?”
“Heading over shortly,” said Gray. “What about you?”
“Not my kind of thing, to be honest. Anything I can do for you?”
“Just wanted to ensure Parker had been shipped out.”
“He went a few hours ago now. The judge saw him as a flight risk and refused bail.”
“Where was he sent?”
Morgan tapped at the keyboard. “HMP Swaleside.” The medium-security facility on Sheppey, about three quarters of an hour’s drive from here towards London. “Is that it, Sol? Only, you’re looking a bit shifty.”
Gray forced out a laugh, which simply deepened Morgan’s frown further. The Welshman was no fool. “Were you on rotation last night?” asked Gray.
“No, it was Finchley. I have that short straw this evening.”
“Did anyone go and see Parker? Have a chat with him?”
“Now you’re really making me wonder what you’re up to.”
“Just humour me.”
Morgan checked the log. “Beyond the usual safety assessments, no. Parker was locked up tight all night.”
“Okay, thanks. Time for that drink, I reckon.”
“Enjoy.”
Gray turned around and came out the way he’d entered. As he was leaving the custody suite, he caught sight of the CCTV. The lens was staring right at him. There was one outside the cells too. And the camera never lies. He decided to come back after celebrating with Yarrow.
***
“About bloody time!” shouted Yarrow as he saw Gray.
Yarrow was standing on a chair, raising himself a good three feet above everybody’s heads. The whole pub turned and stared at him. Even for Gray, who was used to being the object of people’s interest, it was a bit much. “I’d have been totally insulted if both you and your boss couldn’t make it. There’s a beer waiting at the bar. Somebody pass it to Sol! Now, where was I?”
“You’re clearing off, at last,” a heckler from within the throng shouted back.
“That’s right!”
Gray got a tap on the shoulder. Fowler handed him a pint. Lager. He hated the stuff. Judging by the grin slapped across his face, Fowler had done it on purpose. “Cheers,” said Fowler. Gray grunted in reply.
Yarrow was back in full flow. “As my erstwhile friend over there correctly said, we’re packing up and leaving. As from the end of the week, you’ll have your station back!” The crowd of onlookers cheered; even some who weren’t cops. Yarrow was a good orator. “On behalf of us all, I’d like to say thank you for welcoming my team into your arms. Thank you for not bitching too much, and thank you for waving us goodbye tonight.”
“We just want to make sure you piss off!” shouted the same heckler.
Yarrow raised his pint. “To you all!” He had a drink before stepping down from the chair.
“I’m going to miss this,” said Fowler.
“Back to reality,” said Gray. “With the rest of us.”
“As Yarrow said the other day, there’s still plenty work to be done.”
Gray’s phone rang. The number was blocked. He rejected it. The call came in again almost immediately.
“Are you going to get that?” asked Fowler.
“Could be anybody.” Gray cancelled it. It rang once more.
“They’re not taking no for an answer. I’ll hold your pint.”
Gray answered.
“Are you avoiding me, inspector?” Gray’s hand squeezed the mobile tight. It was Duncan Usher. “Sounds like you’re celebrating.” Gray pushed his way through the crowd, getting outside as fast as he could.
“What do you want?”
“We need to talk.”
“We are, right now.”
“Face to face.”
“Not going to happen.” Gray allowed the silence to stretch. He’d been expecting this, that at some point his job would overlap with Usher’s activities. Usher had taken longer than expected.
“All my routes to market are gone.”
“Good, I’m pleased.”
“You didn’t inform me.”
“Why would I? We’re on opposite sides. Always have been, always will be.”
“I could speak to your boss, tell her what happened at Dreamland.”
Gray laughed. “You think you own me because of Carslake’s death?” Usher didn’t answer. “Let’s run through the scenario. You roll up to the station, get an interview with Hamson and say what? Oh, Carslake actually didn’t commit suicide as the enquiry ruled, it was me, I pushed him, and Solomon Gray just stood by.”
“Something like that.”
“You’d be locked up within seconds, confessing to a murder. This time there would be no way back. A life sentence would mean life this time.”
“You’d go down with me.”
“On what basis? Your word against mine? You’d lose twice over. Back in a cell and me throwing away the keys.”
There was a long silence, Gray let it stretch. “I need your help,” said Usher eventually. “I owe money, lots of it.”
“Maybe they’ll just take your hand. Isn’t that what they do to thieves? Anyway, I’m having a drink with friends, I’d better be going. Best of luck.”
“That’s not how Strang works. He’ll have me killed.”
Gray paused, caught totally off guard. “Lewis Strang? What about him?”
But he didn’t hear Usher’s response. Something hit him on the back of the head. Hard. He saw a pair of shoes through blurred vision before he passed out.
Twenty Four
Now
Gray came to, something filling his mouth, partially blocking his throat. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Tried shouting – all that came out was a muffled groan. He was gagged. Gray coughed, his heart pulsating. His head hurt where he’d been hit. Gray breathed deeply, in and out through his nose, trying to compel a tranquillity on his body that his mind didn’t share.
When he’d calmed slightly, Gray lifted his face from the floor. His cheek was sticky. The air smelt of engine oil and there was dampness behind it. He looked around, waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and the spinning of his vision to settle. He couldn’t see much, just faint shafts of illumination from above.
He attempted to stand but he was bound hand and foot. Legs tied at the ankles, arms in front. He struggled against his bonds but it was useless. His head began whirling again and he felt like being sick. If he did, the gag would block his airway and he’d choke to death. Gray stopped moving for a minute until he no longer felt as if he was going to throw up. He shuffled forwards until he met an obstruction only a few feet away. His fingertips felt roughness and damp, maybe bricks. Then he sat and stretched his legs out.
Brightness suddenly flowed through the cracks above. Footsteps approached, pausing directly above. He strained to listen. Without warning, the boards covering the hole were peeled back – two dead centre – lighting the interior further, making Gray blink.
When Gray’s eyes had adjusted he recognised Frank McGavin,
squatting down, staring at him. “Comfortable, Solomon?”
He couldn’t answer, but McGavin knew that. McGavin shifted more of the boards until the gap was completely open. He glanced up, spoke to someone. “Get him out.”
Dean Telfer stepped into view. Bald and stocky, dressed in scruffy denim jeans and jacket, a gold ring in one ear, followed by a young guy who Gray half recognised but his mind struggled to place. Mid-twenties, top-knot, side of his head shaved, cleft chin and a few piercings through his nose and bottom lip.
Telfer dropped the five feet or so to land beside Gray. McGavin and the younger man stayed up top. Telfer was stronger, much stronger, than he appeared. Between him and the young man they easily hauled Gray out. Gray lay on the ground, staring at the men’s ankles. Telfer was wearing only one sock.
Gray realised he was in a garage. The hole he’d been in was an inspection pit. McGavin stood beside the shell of a car, rusting on its axles, an old-looking welding arc adjacent to it. Next to McGavin was a bench, a huge toolbox on wheels splayed open, the handle of a wrench visible, speckled brown. Nearby was a blowtorch which, in comparison, was unblemished. Overhead, strip lights ran in a line in the middle beneath the arch of a corrugated roof. One of the bulbs briefly flickered, but never lit up.
McGavin nodded at Telfer who pulled a knife from a pocket and opened up the blade with a solid snick. Gray fought hard not to piss his pants. Telfer sawed at Gray’s bindings until they came apart, then stepped back.
“Get up,” said McGavin. Gray rolled onto his knees and stood. He tugged the gag from his mouth. It was a sock. Probably Telfer’s, given he was wearing only one. Gray bent over and threw up.
“Finished?” said McGavin. Gray wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Telfer was smirking. McGavin pulled an office chair out from behind the car. “Sit.”
McGavin patted the cushion. When Gray didn’t move Telfer shoved him in the shoulder. Gray crossed the short distance and lowered himself down. McGavin was behind him now. Gray’s skin itched as if ants were crawling over him. He wanted to turn around but resisted the near overwhelming urge.