A Killing Karma (16 page)

‘That's
right,’ Moon put in. ‘My Willow Tree always does his best. It's the way he's
made. He can't do anything else. And I think the rest of you could be a bit
more grateful for his efforts. He's trying to help us.’

Redfern
snorted at this assertion, but chose to make no further derisory comments.

‘So, tell me
what the Lincolnshire force has been doing,’ Casey invited Moon. ‘Have they any
person they're particularly interested in?’

‘Dylan Harper,
for one, seeing as he's being as unhelpful as he can be. They were certainly
long enough questioning him.’

‘Bloody cops!’
Foxy was back to his previous belligerent form, clearly unable to contain his
prejudices even when it was in his best interests to do so. ‘They only
confiscated all our cannabis plants, not just the ones outside, but the ones in
the loft as well. What are we supposed to do for bread now? Try to help
yourself and be self-supporting and the cops are down on you like a ton of
bricks.’

That there
were other cannabis plants growing on the smallholding was news to Casey.

‘You had
cannabis growing in the loft?' How very enter-prising, he thought, wondering
which of the raggle-taggle band had thought of it and found the energy to get
it underway.

‘Yeah. It was
Kris's idea,’ Foxy told him, surprisingly not trying to take the credit for
this unsuspected entrepreneurial spirit. ‘It cost, mind, but we bypassed the
electricity to light the plants to lessen the outlay. We grew them in a
hydroponic solution — a nutrient solution for the roots which accelerates
growth,’ Foxy explained before he scowled. ‘When I think of all the work and
debt to get it up and running, I could kill someone.’

‘Indeed,’ was
Casey's comment. ‘And did you?’

‘No, I didn't.
Maybe you ought to look closer to home for your killer, instead of levelling
accusations at me.’

‘It wasn't an
accusation, Mr Redfern, merely a question.’ Casey, who considered cannabis a
dangerous gateway drug to worse drugs — look what a scrambled mess it had made
of his father's mind and memory — had little sympathy for their losses. Though
he was more than surprised that the commune had got a hydroponic system up,
running and producing a profit. He was surprised also that Catt hadn't
mentioned it, but perhaps with two murders his police contact hadn't thought
the drugs growing in the loft worth telling him about. But growing cannabis
under such conditions indicated a certain professionalism at work; the plants
required a lot of care and attention, particularly given the attendant fire
risk and the fact that the plants required darkness as well as light to grow.
It was a level of care that Casey couldn't envisage any of the commune members
capable of. Yet one of them, at least, must have found previously unsuspected
inner resources after Callender's death to keep the production up and running.
Especially judging by the commune's new and expensive possessions, which he now
took for granted hadn't been purchased with money from a lottery win at all.

‘Is there any
indication that they're soon to make an arrest for the two murders?’ he asked
Moon. ThomCatt hadn't seemed to think this was likely in the near future, but it
didn't hurt to ask one of those in the centre of the whirlwind.

‘Who's to say?
They play their cards close to their chest, as I told you, and have kept us in
the dark as to what they're thinking.’

Casey wasn't
surprised. It was the police way to keep suspects guessing. Anxiety often made
people reveal more than was wise. 'I suppose, as well as all being charged with
growing cannabis with intent to supply, you're also being charged with
bypassing the electric meter and stealing electricity?’ Catt had confided this
titbit, but Casey thought he might as well get it from the horses' mouths. He
and Catt had both assumed this electricity bypass was simply their normal
behaviour rather than done in order to lessen the massive use of electricity
that hydroponic growth of cannabis required.

‘Such a shame
they found the plants in the loft,' Moon said wistfully. ‘They were doing well,
really lush. Our second crop was nearly ready for harvesting, too. We'll miss
the money it'd have brought in.’

If this was a
subtle hint to Casey, he chose to ignore it. He'd bailed his parents out often
enough in the past, but this was one occasion when they'd have to fund their
own irresponsible lifestyle. It was enough that he was attempting to
investigate who was responsible for the killings. Moon really was incorrigible,
he thought. Why couldn't she and the rest of the commune members get jobs like
normal human beings? There were plenty of women of Moon's age still working and
contributing to society. But instead of getting jobs, the whole pack of them
were on assorted benefits. It made him cross. They certainly hadn't registered
the smallholding as a business with all the tax implications that would bring.
Even though they were all able-bodied enough to work, they much preferred the government
to pay them rather than the other way about. A bit of decent, honest labour
might do them the world of good.

Casey left
soon after without seeing the elusive Dylan Harper. He felt dispirited in mind
and body. But then this feeling was the inevitable result of a visit to the
commune. It was the reason he had always chosen to visit but rarely.

As Moon locked
the gate behind him, Casey told her to keep her eyes and ears open, said
goodnight and climbed back into his car. He decided to return to the office and
put in an hour on the paperwork on the Gus Oliver killing before he went home.

He was
reflective as he drove away, disturbed by his thoughts on the efficient
cannabis factory in the commune's loft. His parents would never have got that
up and running on their own, that was for sure. So far, his parents had never,
whatever other culpable acts they might have gone in for, done anything of such
a seriously criminal nature that the police had needed to check deeply into
their lives or backgrounds. Petty offences, mostly drug-related, were the sum
total of their criminality. Plus a bit of thieving in his father's misspent
youth.

But now, with
two dead bodies found on their smallholding, Casey couldn't believe he would be
able to remain anonymous for much longer. Surely someone would soon sniff out
his existence? Worriedly, he drove on into the dark Fens night.

Once back in
his office, Casey pulled a pile of statements on their official investigation
towards him and began to read. His concentration on this task was so great that
he didn't hear Catt enter.

‘Got some
news,’ Catt told Casey's bent head.

Casey dragged
his gaze from the latest statement and stared at Catt, surprised to find him in
the station so late rather than out with the latest girlfriend. ‘Who from? This
from your policeman pal or from one of your old friends?’

‘My friend in
the Lincolnshire force was unavailable when I rang. In a pow-wow in the
incident room probably. No, this info was from another of my contacts who lives
close to the commune. I hadn't been able to get hold of him before as he's been
out of the country for a few days. Seems the late DaisyMay had been seen in one
of the local pubs several times with Kris Callender. They chose a pub that
wasn't the commune members' usual haunt, but one a bit out of the way. Perfect
for a clandestine assignation.’

‘Might mean
something or nothing. You said they were seen together more than once?’

Catt nodded.
‘And by someone who knew them both by sight and has no axe to grind as far as I
could discover.’

‘Could just be
a coincidence. Did your contact happen to notice how they behaved towards one
another?’

‘He said they
seemed very touchy-feely. But that also might mean something or nothing, seeing
as they're all so into love and peace, man, at the commune, they're probably all
touchy-feely. Maybe they were having an affair and maybe they weren't. But if
the former is the case, it gives our grieving widower an excellent motive for
murdering DaisyMay. An excellent motive, too, for offing Callender. The only
difficulty there is why he killed them two months apart. Unless he discovered
some way along that the child she was carrying was Callender’s rather than his.
If she was up the duff by the dear departed...’

'Mmm. If
Harper's blood was up for that reason, I'd have thought, if he found out they
were having an affair, he'd kill them both at the same time. Still. Well done,
ThomCatt. It gives us another possibility to look into.’ He paused. ‘I've got
some news as well.’ He told Catt about the commune growing cannabis in the
loft.

Catt whistled.
‘Enterprising. Wouldn't have thought they were up to it.’

‘My sentiments
exactly. From what Foxy Redfern said, it would seem the late Mr Callender was
the driving force behind it.’

‘He seems to
have been the driving force behind a lot of things. I'm surprised one of them
killed him in that case. Why kill the laying goose?’

‘For reasons
other than their profitable drug business if it was one of the commune who
killed him. Or, if it was an outsider, which I still think unlikely, it seems
he could have been killed because he unwisely tried to cheat the wrong people.
But as we don't know anything for sure, that's just another question to add to
the growing pile. I hope we're able to begin answering some of them soon.’
Casey stood up. ‘That's it for tonight. I'm taking in little or nothing. And
tomorrow's another day.’

‘Probably
bringing more questions with it, too.’

The next
morning dawned bright and clear. Casey woke before the alarm and he turned it
off so as not to wake Rachel. The orchestra in which she was a violinist had
been rehearsing late the previous night and she had been dog-tired when she returned
home. Rachel's unsocial hours were something he was grateful for — they
mirrored his own. The hours were often the main reason for police couples splitting
up. But given her own hours, Rachel would never be able to throw his in his
face as so many other police wives and partners did.

He quickly
showered and pulled underwear from the drawer, a clean shirt from the wardrobe
and a fresh suit. He'd get dressed downstairs so as not to disturb her.

Later, dressed
and sipping coffee at the kitchen table, he ruminated on the two cases,
reflecting that the unofficial one seemed to be making more progress — mostly
no thanks to him — than his official investigation. Not for the first time, he
thanked God for Thomas Catt's ill-assorted contacts; but for them, he would
never have known about the touchy-feely meetings between DaisyMay and
Callender.

And this
evening they were to interview Carole Brown, the third unalibied member of Gus
Oliver's harem. Maybe, if she or Max Fallon, her partner, were guilty of
murder, they'd give themselves away, thereby providing answers on their
official investigation.

On this
optimistic note, Casey finished the last of his coffee, shrugged into his
jacket and let himself out of the house.

More
statements awaited his attention when Casey arrived at his office. He was
ploughing his way through them when Catt popped his head around the door
several hours later.

‘Anything of
interest?’ He gestured at the pile of statements as he entered.

‘Not so you'd
notice,’ Casey replied. He dropped the statement he had been reading back on
the pile and straightened up. ‘Things are moving very slowly on this case,’ he
complained. ‘Let's hope this evening's interview shakes something loose. Remind
me what we know about this Ms Brown and her live-in partner.’

Catt pulled
the chair from in front of Casey's desk, turned it so the back was towards
Casey and dropped in to it, crossing his arms on the top bar. ‘Her partner, Max
Fallon, is a bit of a wide boy. Owns several nightclubs in the area, including
the one here in town. On the criminal fringe with ambitions. He's done time for
assault. As for Carole Brown, she seemed a bit of a slut to me. Surprisingly,
she's nothing like Oliver's other lady loves, all of whom are very feminine and
rather less obvious. Guess Ms Brown must have been Oliver's bit of rough.’

‘Interesting
that her partner brings a criminal element, a violent element to the case,
especially given the bloody mode of Oliver's death. Cutting off his penis might
be just Fallon's mode of operation. It would certainly act as a deterrent to
anyone else hoping to step into Oliver's shoes.’

‘Or his
trousers.’

‘Or his
trousers. It's got more than a touch of the gangster's revenge about it.’

'Mmm,' Catt
murmured. That's what I thought. And from what I've learned of Fallon, he's not
the type to turn a blind eye if his partner's been playing away. I don't know
whether he found out about his girlfriend's fling with Gus Oliver, but I forgot
to tell you that she was sporting a spectacular black eye when I questioned
her.’

‘Should make
for an intriguing interview. I wonder how she'll say she came by it.’

‘The usual
walked into a door scenario, probably.’

Casey glanced
at his watch, surprised to see that it was already one o'clock. ‘Fancy lunch at
The Lamb?’ he asked Catt. ‘My treat.’