A Killing Karma (19 page)

'Gus Oliver
really set the cat among the pigeons with these three couples, didn't he?’ Catt
commented. ‘Do you think Oliver knew he'd caught the clap? And was he impervious
to who he passed it on to?’

‘God knows.
But symptoms of STDs show up far quicker in men than women, so it's a
possibility he knew and carried on regardless.’

'If so, it
seems possible one of the six thought he deserved to die. It's like those cases
of men — it's usually men — who have unprotected sex knowing they have the HIV
virus.’

Casey went
down to second gear as he approached the red traffic light at the corner. He
braked and put the gear lever into neutral before he changed the subject and
told Catt, ‘I'm going to the commune tonight. I want to hear from the horses'
mouths how the court case against them went. I think I'll have a chance of
getting more out of Moon if I'm there in body rather than just a voice over the
telephone.’

‘Well, be
careful. And check around the lanes yourself before you approach the commune.
It's possible the Boston cops have been trying to lull them into a false sense
of security by removing their presence, only to take up a watching brief on the
place again. The last thing you want is to risk them becoming aware of the
association. It wouldn't do your promotion prospects much good if it became
known. You might even need your
Get out of Jail Free
card.’

‘Remind me to
take it out of the Monopoly set before I go.’ Casey gave a wry smile as he
moved the gear stick into first and pulled away from the lights.

Superintendent
Brown-Smith’s down-drawn lips declared his sour mood when Casey went to see him
to report on their progress on Gus Oliver's murder; a mood not improved by the
lack of results on the case.

‘You'll have
to do better than this, Casey,’ Brown-Smith told him when Casey had outlined
what was happening. ‘It's the thin end of the widget.’ The superintendent had a
habit of mangling his metaphors and vocabulary, especially when agitated. ‘You
have enough suspects. What about this Fallon type? He sounds a likely prospect.
I want you to look deeper into his motions.’

‘We're already
doing that, sir,’ Casey replied, understanding his boss's intended meaning, and
trying to expunge from his mind the toilet-image the superintendent had
unintentionally conjured up. 'Catt's looking through the CCTV footage again to
see if he can spot FalIon's car anywhere close to the alley where the body was
found.’ Indeed, anywhere at all at the relevant times, Casey thought, seeing as
Fallon had been emphatic that he'd left the night-club in the early hours of
Saturday morning.

‘He won't see
it if the man left his club with murder in mind. He sounds to me to be smart
enough to take steps to avoid incriminating himself.’

Casey
swallowed an involuntary sigh at this self-evident truth.

‘You'll need
to check the footage for the cars of his staff as well. Likely he borrowed a
vehicle from one of them.’

‘Yes, sir.
I'll get Catt or one of the others to do that as well.’ He already had that in
hand, but it was as well to humour Brown-Smith by letting him think he was the
only one with the good ideas.

The
superintendent let him go soon after.

Catt was still
checking out the CCTV footage when Casey set off for the Fens. He couldn't help
but wonder what he'd find at the smallholding now the atmosphere of fear and
suspicion had had time to breed.

As Casey got
nearer to the smallholding, in the distance he could see Boston Stump
dominating the grey skyline. This was the name given to the tower of St
Botolph's Church and was a misnomer since the tower, to Casey's knowledge,
soared not far off 300 feet and could be seen for thirty miles around. Apart
from the misnamed tower, the church was well known for its abundance of bizarre
medieval carvings in wood and stone: a bear playing an organ; a man lassoing a
lion; a fox in a bishop's cope taking a jug of water from a baboon. Moon had
told him about them and he had gone to see them himself on an earlier visit.

But now was
not the time for musing on bizarre carvings, he told himself as he approached
the smallholding and braced himself for an unfriendly welcome.

The brand new
4x4 had vanished from the smallholding's yard, Casey immediately noticed as he
pulled up. Had some of them gone for a joyride following the court case after an
unexpectedly good result? he wondered as Moon opened the gate and let him in.
He shrugged and thought no more about it apart from going in for a brief
headcount as he entered the living room. As expected, the elusive Dylan Harper
was still conspicuous by his absence; probably he was once more secreted in his
bedroom away from those he presumably suspected of murdering DaisyMay.

His headcount
revealed that Scott ‘Mackenzie’ Johnson and his lover, Randy Matthews, were not
amongst the motley crew sprawled about the untidy living room. They had previously
been a silent but visible presence, sitting close together and seemingly with
eyes only for each other. Casey questioned Moon and soon learned that, unlike
the rest, Randy and Scott had decided to remove themselves from the area of
suspicion.

‘They've done
a bunk? And taken the four by four?’

Moon gave a
glum nod.

The taking of
the new car clearly rankled: was Moon getting a liking for the pleasures of
property ownership in her middle years?

‘Randy must
have persuaded Scott the police would be on their case, you lot being so
against their kind.’

Casey
smothered an amused smile. She wouldn't say that if she knew Superintendent
Brown-Smith. It was his own kind he had a down on. He was almost as keen on
homosexuals as he was on ethnics; he even wore a ribbon in his lapel on Gay
Pride days, so determined was he to suck up to minorities. Anyway, doubtless DI
Boxham would have circulated the details of the car as Casey presumed the pair
had failed to show up at court.

Moon confirmed
it.

‘Any idea
where they've gone?’ he questioned the room generally. But no one knew the
pair's whereabouts. Or, if they did, they weren't saying. Unsurprisingly, the
commune, in spite of the festering suspicions, seemed to have closed ranks even
against Casey, who was doing his best to help them.

‘Dare I
presume that you've reported their disappearance to the police?’ Casey asked.

'Hey man,’
Foxy Redfern put in, ‘we just have, right?’

Casey breathed
in on a sigh and told him, ‘You know very well that I'm investigating
unofficially and can't report my findings to the Lincolnshire police. You'll
have to do it. It'll look better if it seems you're trying to help them.’ As
opposed to hindering them, which was what they seemed determined to do to him.
He was surprised Boxham hadn't called in to question them, but when he asked
about this he learned the police had so far failed to put in an appearance. But
they might yet do so, he realized, so he told them he was moving his car to the
rear as a precaution and went out.

When he
returned to the living room, he asked, ‘So when did you notice Johnson and
Matthews had gone?’

'Latish this
morning,’ Moon told him. ‘When they hadn't stirred from their room for our
court appearance I went and checked on them. All their stuff had gone. They'd
even taken all our scented candles.’ Moon sounded more put out about this than
she had at the loss of the 4x4.

‘Well, they
did
buy them,’ Kali put in. ‘Why shouldn't they take them?’

Moon, in spite
of her firm belief that property was theft and that everything in the commune
belonged to them all, clearly excluded the purchasers of the candles in her
Utopian vision. But, equally clearly, she had no answer to Kali's pert
observation.

‘Would they
have gone on the road?' Casey asked. ‘Joined a bunch of travellers, perhaps?’

Moon scoffed.
‘Not those two. Very particular, they were. Forever complaining about what they
called our slovenly habits. They'll have found some comfortable place to nest
in.’

‘Real pair of
queens, those two,’ Foxy put in from the sofa where he had again taken up a
sprawling residence. ‘Our ways weren't good enough for them. Just as well
they've gone. I've longed to boot them out for some time. Can't stand fairies,
man. The way they used to keep their own company as if the rest of us weren't
good enough for them stuck in my craw.'

Yet more
evidence of their brotherly love, Casey thought as he nodded. In spite of his
misgivings about the stained state of the furnishings, he propped himself on
the arm of one of the moth-eaten settees, determined to get something more in
the way of information from them than he'd so far gained.

‘You must know
something,’ he insisted, ‘living cheek-by-jowl as you do. Come on, Moon.’ He
turned to his mother. ‘Even if it's true that you don't know where our errant
pair took themselves off to, you must have some idea as to who killed DaisyMay
and Callender.` It was for certain, beyond a few unsubstantiated theories, that
he
didn't. ‘You're all living in suspicion of one another. Surely it's
better to get such suspicions out in the open?’

Moon didn't
look too sure of this, so he mentioned that DaisyMay and Callender had been
seen together in a local pub, being very touchy-feely.

‘Means
nothing,’ Moon told him. ‘That's how we are. We love one another, man.’

Having just
listened to Foxy Redfern's tirade of hate against the missing pair, Casey
dredged up a faint smile at this.

‘DaisyMay
hadn't been feeling too well, what with her pregnancy. I imagine Kris had taken
her out to cheer her up. It's what we do, hon: support one another.’

Only if
they're as pretty as DaisyMay had been, in Callender's case, was Casey's
immediate thought. He'd never noticed the man being touchy-feely or loving to
anyone else, including his wife.

‘Surely it was
up to Dylan to offer solace and cider, rather than Kris Callender?’ Casey
remarked.

‘We're
family,’ Moon insisted. ‘We're not exclusive to our regular partners when
someone else is in pain. Love, hon, is what it's all about.’

From what she
had told him over the phone, the other women in the commune — who had taken to
locking their bedroom doors at night — clearly didn't embrace this sentiment.
Or, if they once had, they did so no longer.

Neither, it
appeared, did Scott or Randy or their resident homophobe, Foxy.

But, if they
suspected one another of murder, none of them was inclined just yet to grass to
the cops, even one such as Casey. That much was clear. So after enquiring about
the court case and getting mumbled responses, Casey heaved himself from the arm
of the settee and left them to their mutual suspicions; maybe, given sufficient
time, their suspicion and fear would overcome the brotherly love.

Swamped with possibilities
on two murder investigations, Casey felt he needed a break. Rachel was playing
in the orchestra in a local venue, so that evening, after visiting the commune
and driving back to King's Langley, he took himself off to the local theatre.
He arrived just on the interval when everyone was piling out to the bars to get
their alcohol intake.

Casey joined
the crowd. He was surprised to see Roger Meredith in the crush; he wouldn't
have thought the rugby-playing Meredith inclined toward the arts. He was in
deep conversation with another man at the corner of the bar. Casey edged closer
to try to overhear what they were saying, but all it turned out to be was one
of those rugger buggers' conversations about the merits of various wing-halves.
He turned away before he was seen and, moving to the other end of the bar, he
finally managed to attract the barman's attention and order a tonic water.
Casey, unlike Catt, made it a point to never drink and drive.

The bell for
the end of the interval rang soon after and he was carried along by the crowd
back to the auditorium. He found his seat, and prepared to enjoy the
orchestra's rendition of Brahms, but he found himself nodding off barely
halfway through the piece and shrugged himself awake. It wouldn't do for Rachel
to spot his drooping head. Even though she was unlikely to see him in the dim
theatre, Casey sat up straighter and concentrated. He smiled at Rachel's
serious face above her violin, her concentration fierce on her music; she made
it a point to ignore the conductor as much as possible, Casey noted with
amusement as he watched her. He found himself relaxing and getting into the
music. The orchestra was good and the audience was appreciative in their applause
as the concert drew to a close.

Casey fought
his way against the human tide to the stage and caught up with Rachel before
she disappeared into the wings.

‘Why didn't
you say you were coming?’ Rachel asked. ‘I'd have got you a front row seat.’

And catch me
snoozing? Casey thought. 'I didn't know I'd be able to make it,’ he excused
himself. ‘You were good. I enjoyed it. And knowing how hungry you always are
after a concert, I thought I'd take you for a meal.’