A Killing Karma (22 page)

‘We're not
entirely uncivilized, you know. We can run to a cup of tea, though you'll have
to have it black as Madonna had her baby and drank the last of the milk to
build her strength up for feeding the kid.’

‘Oh? What did
she have?’

'A boy. Going
to name him David.’

‘Nice name.’
Nice
normal
name, thought Casey. It seemed he hadn't been wrong about
the younger generation turning conservative against the Sixties’ rebels. He
followed Moon into the kitchen. As he got nearer, the smell of curry powder and
other eastern spices became stronger, mixed with the scent of burnt toast and
rancid cooking fat. Strangely, he had never ventured into the dim recesses of
the house as far as the kitchen, for which he was grateful, it being better to
imagine the shambles of encrusted food on the cooker and the damaged and
unhygienic work surfaces than to know for sure. He hoped they didn't bring the
new baby in here. But then, he reminded himself, the other children of the
house had been mostly born and brought up here and survived virtually
unscathed. And didn't they say a few germs were good for you? But then ‘they’
could surely not have encountered so many germs in one place.

It was the
drugs, of course, always the drugs. And although Casey thought it probable that
Kris Callender had been the only one using crack cocaine, the rest of the
commune had their own drugs of preference.

Dirty mugs and
plates overflowed every flat surface, along with empty takeaway containers
which were piled on top of one another higgledy-piggledy rather than put in the
bin. None of this piled-up detritus fazed Moon; she simply picked up two of the
mugs, dunked them under the tap in a cursory wash and put the kettle on. Once
it had boiled and she'd made the tea, she cleared assorted junk from two of the
chairs and, ever the punctilious hostess, she took the chair with the broken
back after telling Casey to sit down.

Casey, who
should have known better than to eat or drink from any of the dishes in this
house, forced the tea down once it was poured.

‘As I recall,’
he began, ‘Foxy Redfern said the idea of growing the plants in the loft had
been Kris Callender's. And the rest of you simply went along with it?’

‘No,’ she
contradicted him. ‘It was a mutual idea. We'd been batting around possibilities
of how to make some bread, seeing as how the government sees fit to give us a
pittance. We're not as work shy as people seem to think — it took plenty of
labour to lug all the equipment up those rickety stairs to the loft. All Kris
did was find a contact willing to put up the money for the equipment.’

‘Who was the
contact? His usual drug dealer, Tony Magann?'

‘No. It was
someone else. Some Vietnamese, I think. He wasn't very forthcoming about his
identity.’

‘I'm not
surprised. Honestly, Moon, have you and the rest no sense? Some, if not most of
these Vietnamese who are part of drugs gangs are extremely dangerous and you've
already said that Kris Callender had been cheating you on your other produce.
Didn't it occur to any of you that he might try the same tactics with this
Oriental Man?’

Moon just gave
a shrug to this, then added, ‘Hardly matters now, seeing as the cops have
confiscated the lot. And with them still sniffing around it's unlikely we'll
see the Viets for dust, seeing as they're probably all illegals.’

Moon gave
another shrug. She seemed remarkably unperturbed by this.

Casey shook
his head. It didn't seem possible to get through to her that they might all be
in danger. Still, he comforted himself, the Lincolnshire force was aware of the
situation and must have put feelers out. Perhaps they'd caught the Vietnamese
already. He questioned Moon some more and learned that they hadn't confided
this knowledge to the Lincolnshire police.

‘Why not?’ he
demanded.

'I don't know.
One or two of the others suggested if we kept quiet we might be able to do
another deal with the Viet when he came calling as he seems sure to once all
the hullabaloo has died down.’

‘You're to
tell them now,’ he insisted. ‘Do you hear me, Moon?’

‘Yeah, yeah. I
hear you.’

But would she
obey? was the question. He could but hope while thinking that yet another
suspect had entered the ring. Was it possible that Callender had attempted to
cheat this Vietnamese as he had cheated his fellow commune members? Maybe so, with
the confidence-giving properties of crack cocaine behind him. And if he had and
he was caught, Kris's contact would want to teach him a lesson and Vietnamese
drug gangs were ruthless and unlikely to consider killing a lesson too far. But
that still didn't explain the murder of DaisyMay…

Casey sighed
and asked the question he knew he should have asked before. ‘So how long had
this arrangement been going on and how did he meet up with his contact?’

‘Kris obtained
the equipment to set up in the loft around four months ago as far as I recall.
As for how he met up with his contact—' Moon gave yet another careless shrug. ‘I've
no idea. Kris tended to be secretive and wasn't too into sharing.’ Dryly, she
added, ‘As we found out to our cost.’

Casey nodded
and changed tack to ask, ‘You've still got the mobile?’

‘Stop
worrying, Willow Tree. I've still got it. It's in a safe place.’

The loud cry
of a new-born disturbed the rare peace and Moon got to her feet. ‘Duty calls.
Madonna has no idea about looking after a baby and Lilith, her mum, tends to
leave the girl to get on with it on the basis that she'll learn through doing.’
She glanced out of the window. ‘There's Jethro. I sent him to the shop for some
more milk.’

‘Madonna's
breast feeding?’ It was probably
de rigueur
at the commune.

‘Trying to.
Not very successfully. Will you have another cup of tea now that the milk's
arrived?’

Hastily, Casey
excused himself. There had been some foreign body in the first cup so he was
unwilling to risk a second. ‘I'd like a word with Dylan Harper before I go,
Moon.’ He felt he'd given the widower more than enough considerate leeway. ‘Can
you go and get him?’

Moon gazed at
him with a disappointed air, but nodded and went out.

Dylan Harper,
when he finally appeared, along with Jethro and the milk, looked dreadful. His
olive skin was sallow and his face sunken. His hair an uncombed tangle of black
curls, he slouched into the kitchen and sank on to Moon's vacated chair.

‘You wanted to
speak to me,’ he bluntly observed.

‘Yes, Mr
Harper. As I presume you know, I've questioned the others several times.’ With
little result for his trouble. 'I thought it was time I spoke to you.’

Dylan shrugged
— this bodily gesture seemed to have reached epidemic proportions in the
commune. Casey found it increasingly irritating.

'I can tell
you nothing, man. You should question the others again, though. It would, I
think, serve you better than questioning me.’

Casey chose
not to take his advice. Instead, he changed the subject and to Dylan's
surprise, commented pleasantly, ‘You seem very relaxed about the mumps
outbreak, Mr Harper. Moon told me you were unfazed in the face of the other men's
anxiety.’

Dylan Harper
laughed. There was an edge of relief in his voice. ‘Is that all you wanted to
ask me? I had mumps as a boy, so it didn't trouble me. There's no worries about
my fertility. I've already proved it, even though I've no baby to show for it.’
He scowled. ‘Maybe the others aren't quite so sure of
their
baby-making
abilities.’

‘Have you any
idea as to who might have killed DaisyMay?'

‘Could be any
of them, though I doubt Star could find the energy.’ His lips pulled back in a
twisted grin. ‘Moon, though, now I could see her doing the deed, especially if
she discovered Star had found his lost libido with my Daisy.’

Casey stared
at him, unwilling to rise to the bait. ‘What about the others?’

He shrugged
again. ‘As I said, it could be any of them. It's about time you found out.’

'I agree, Mr
Harper. That's just what I intend to do.’

A shadow
passed across Harper's face and he said abruptly, ‘Is that it?’

‘Yes. For now.
Warn the others not to attempt a flit like Scott and Randy, won't you?’

Dylan didn't
answer, but simply got up and left.

Casey found
Moon and said goodbye. Star was nowhere to be seen; he was probably asleep
somewhere where he couldn't be rousted out to help with the chores.

He told Moon
to give his love to Star, reminded her, with some force, that she must tell
their local police about the Vietnamese drug dealer, and headed back to King's
Langley.

The weather
was once again atrocious. Rain flung itself down in torrents soon after he hit
the A17, keeping the wipers doing double time from the spray thrown up by the
lorries. He was glad to reach King's Langley and the station as his neck and
shoulders ached with the tension of concentration.

He was
surprised to find Catt waiting for him. ‘Thought you'd gone home,’ he murmured
as he took off his damp jacket.

‘Decided I'd
hang around and see if you came back to the station. Get anything more from the
great unwashed?’ he asked.

‘You might
remember that two of the great unwashed are my parents, ThomCatt.’

‘Yeah. Right.
Sorry.’

‘And to answer
your question, all I found out was that Kris Callender's contact who supplied
the hydroponic equipment for the cannabis in the loft was a Vietnamese — no
name or other details, of course.’

‘Bugger. That
widens the scope of the investigation. Wonder why they didn't confide that
little titbit to the Lincolnshire cops? My contact made no mention of it.’

‘Probably
didn't want to end up like Callender.’

‘Still, it
might provide your friends and parents with a get-out clause. Ruthless lot,
Orientals. They'd kill Callender without a qualm if it suited them.’

‘Doesn't
explain DaisyMay's death. I can't see it as likely that she was meeting with
foreign gangsters. She rarely left the smallholding according to the others,
and if the contact visited the farm someone else would probably have mentioned
it to me by now, even if only to get me off their backs. Still, it's another
lead. There can't be that many Orientals living in the Fens.’

'I wouldn't
bet on it, said Catt. ‘I've just been reading the cops' comic—' This was what
Catt called the
Police Review
, the official organ of the police force —
‘and there's more about than you'd think. And a number of them have set up
these drug places. It's big business. Vietnamese criminals are responsible for
any number of illicit cannabis factories.’

Casey nodded.
He had read the same report. Operation Atone, a national initiative which
targeted the money men behind the rise in drug crime, had already found many
cannabis factories, including one that was run on such a massive scale that the
criminals responsible must rake in a million pounds a year.

‘According to
what I read,’ Catt went on, ‘they can get up to four crops a year if they use
the most efficient growing technique. Sounds a nice little earner and then
some. Certainly worth killing for. Especially if the Vietnamese found out that
Callender was cheating on them.’

‘Don't depress
me,’ Casey said. ‘Getting a lead into this particular Vietnamese drug gang
seems a challenge too far.’

‘Got to be
done though,’ remarked the irrepressible Catt. ‘Want me to pass the info about
the Vietnamese on to the Boston force?’

Casey was
unsure; he felt he would be breaking Moon's confidence. And what if he gave
Catt the OK and Moon and Star bore any reprisals? But, in the end, he decided
he had no choice as he couldn't rely on Moon or one of the others giving their
Lincolnshire opposite numbers the information, so he gave Catt permission.
Better the Lincolnshire force knew that Vietnamese criminals were responsible
for financing the factory than let Moon, Star and the rest take all of the
blame. Besides, hopefully the commune murders would be solved without involving
any Oriental gentlemen long before the Lincolnshire force could succeed in
infil-trating an undercover cop into the Vietnamese community.

The next day,
they had a breakthrough in the official investigation. It seemed Caitlin
Osborne, Gus Oliver's illegitimate daughter, had confessed to killing her
father. Although they'd had no luck in finding her, she had come into the
police station voluntarily from wherever she'd been living after she had left
the Liverpool home of her adoptive parents and had bluntly told all to the duty
sergeant. And when Casey and Catt went along to the interview room to question
her she didn't retract her confession of guilt.

Caitlin
Osborne looked much as he'd expected. Living rough wasn't the best beauty regime.
She had a strong look of her father around the eyes and, like him, her lips
were the full and sensual type that hinted that their owner was more than ready
to indulge the vices. From the look of her, she'd indulged her love of drugs to
the full.