Driving into Darkness (DI Angus Henderson 2) (14 page)

He parked the pool car beside a smart Mini Cooper S, got out and stretched, as if he had come to the end of a long journey and not a trip from Sussex House to Ditchling, with a small detour via the seafront.

It wasn’t the fault of the Vectra, a comfortable enough car, but last night DS Gerry Hobbs was sleeping in the spare room with a thin duvet and a radiator that didn’t work well and the cold kept him awake at night. His wife, Catalina, was in one of her pot-throwing moods, this one about the lack of time he spent with the kids and when she was in one of those, there was no calming her down or sleeping in the same bed.

Before knocking on the front door of Stavely House, he walked across the driveway to take a look around while his colleague, DC Sally Graham, stood beside the car, texting on her phone. It was a large, imposing house with a style and elegance lacking in many of the neighbouring houses, as most of them were dull cottages with small windows and low ceilings, some of which had been extended with modern conservatories, rooms in the roof with plastic-framed, double-glazed windows and doors, and ugly ill-maintained garages.

He couldn’t see the back garden but the front was laid out as if modelled on one from the Chelsea Flower Show with bowling green-quality lawn, edged by a broad, uneven border containing a variety of plants displaying strong colour, even though it was early May and most gardens in the area were yet to bloom. Sir Mathew’s gardener had not been idle.

To one side, a wire fence surrounded an all-weather tennis court, part-hidden by a planting of mature bushes. He didn’t play, but his youngsters liked the game and this place looked a much better bet than the courts at Preston Park where even the slightest fall on the concrete could result in a skinned-knee and an abrupt end to the day’s activity.

He sighed, his usual reaction when he came across a beautiful house he couldn’t afford. In fact, with a sergeant’s salary, two kids and a needy wife who liked coffee mornings and cakes, he couldn’t afford most of the houses he saw, but it didn’t stop him feeling jealous.

He walked to the door and knocked, the noise rousing DC Graham from her reverie and she strolled over to join him.

‘I was enjoying that little bit of sunshine,’ she said. ‘There’s been so much rain lately, I thought I wouldn’t be seeing it again for a couple of weeks.’

‘Next thing we know, you’ll be asking me for a week’s leave so you can rent out Wallop’s apartment in Tunisia, but if this is your angle, the answer’s no. We’ve got a murder to solve.’

‘I know, I know. It’s just that I miss it when the weather turns cold. I really should have been born in a warmer country.’

The door opened and probably the most gorgeous girl Hobbs had ever clapped his eyes on, stood there. ‘Good morning Ms Markham,’ he said hoping his voice didn't betray the sudden rush of blood to his head and the surge of testosterone to his loins. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Gerry Hobbs and this is Detective Constable Sally Graham of Sussex Police.’

‘I remember you from Monday, Sergeant Hobbs although I have to say I wasn’t at my best. Come on in, but call me Suki, everybody else does.’

Hobbs hadn’t forgotten Monday either, but then she was wearing an old t-shirt, her hair looked a mess, and her face was as pale as a sheet, in fact it might have been a different person. Now, with time to get herself together, her hair was lush and bouncy, her make-up subtle and flattering, and the tight top and trousers designed to show off her amazing figure, making her look stunning, and my God, how he appreciated it.

It wasn’t that his wife was unattractive, she had been at one time, but the effects of bearing two children had adversely affected her complexion, weight, and attitude. Gone was the bouncy, happy go lucky 34-year-old who didn’t drink much and could fit into a pair of size-twelve jeans, and if he managed to peel them off, couldn’t get enough sex. She had been replaced by a grumpy 40-year-old who waged a constant battle with her weight, was reluctant to go out anywhere nice or new, and was much too fond of cup cakes and cheap Pinot Grigio, a glass of which appeared in her hand almost every night.

They were shown into the sitting room. It had been four days since the murder of Mathew Markham and Scenes of Crime officers had completed their work in this part of the house and were on the point of finishing up in the kitchen. Suki must have brought in specialised cleaners or she and the housekeeper must have been working like Trojans, as the room looked bright and welcoming and smelled fresh and airy. Gone was the musty aroma of chemicals and sweat that hung around, long after a crime scene had been examined and the SOCOs had moved on to analyse someone else’s misery.

They declined the offer of coffee as prior to their arrival, they had stopped at a mobile diner near the seafront for some lunch but the coffee was so strong, if he drank another cup he would never be able to get to sleep, even if he was in his own bed.

‘First of all,’ Hobbs said, ‘let me again give you our condolences on the death of your father. I know this must be very hard for you.’

‘Thank you, detective. It’s much appreciated.’

‘How have you been coping with everything going on?’

‘Better than expected. A few friends from my old school heard about the...the murder and came over to help. They kept me company, held the paparazzi at bay, and helped me tidy the place up.’

‘Whatever they did, they did an excellent job as this room looks great.’ He paused. ‘The reason DC Graham and I are here today is to try and flesh out some of the details you gave me on Monday.’

‘I understand. I wasn’t at my best on Monday, as I’m sure you would have gathered, and much of what I said didn’t make sense, even to me.’

‘What I’d like you to do Suki, if you could, is go over the events of Sunday one more time and in as much detail as you can remember, starting at the time you last saw your father. I know it’s not easy, so take your time.’

She blew a puff of breath, making the fringe hanging over her face flutter. It was a charming and sensual gesture, no doubt developed to impress the opposite sex or charm journalists, but he was in work mode now and more or less immune from her obvious charms.

She walked them through the events of the fatal night, from the point when she left her father sitting in favourite chair, to the time when she found him dead in the kitchen. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but an officer who hadn’t visited the crime scene, suggested Suki could well be the murderer.

Hobbs rounded on him for his insensitivity, as he hadn’t met her and couldn’t see how heartbroken she was. Not long afterwards, he realised it was not the dumb suggestion he first thought and while he wasn’t yet a convert, he could understand why so many of the team were beginning to come around to this way of thinking.

There were many pieces of circumstantial evidence pointing in her direction, as she was the last person to see him alive, she was the only one who claimed to have seen the car thieving gang, and without knowing too much about the old man’s finances other than to know he was rich, she had much to gain from his death. In fact, many newspapers were speculating that she would inherit most of her father’s shares, which were valued at anything between three and six hundred million pounds, depending on which paper he read, but neither he nor Henderson were convinced.

His counter argument would point to fresh tyre tracks found over a section of the flower border, indicating the presence of a car, other than Sir Mathew’s Bentley, and concurring with Suki’s description of events. The issue of the inheritance was a bit of a red herring as Lawton told them she was already a wealthy woman with full access to a substantial trust fund set up by her father, which had matured on her twenty-fifth birthday, and she was also the owner of a flat in Earl’s Court in London worth over a million pounds. In addition, everyone they spoke to, were of the firm opinion that she loved her father, and Lawton said he detected not a shred of animosity between them when they played tennis earlier in the day.

‘Thank you, Suki,’ Hobbs said. ‘Now I’d like you to and try and describe the voices you heard.’ He was treading carefully, not wanting to push her too far and lose her but the more they spoke, the more he realised she was stronger than she looked.

‘You said you heard voices from the bedroom and again when you were standing at the top of the stairs. Think hard; could you make out anything they were saying? I’m thinking here about accents and inflections, the words they used, how they spoke, that kind of thing.’

‘I’ve been giving it a little bit of thought myself. I’m sure I heard someone say, ‘you bastard, you bastard.’

‘Good. Could you tell anything about the voice of the person speaking? Were they young or old, black or white, deep and bellowing, or thin and reedy?’

She paused a few moments. ‘Yes, one of the voices sounded young. A white guy, I think.’

‘Did he have an accent?’

‘Yes.’

‘What do you think, Irish, Scottish, London?’

‘No, I would say it was local. It sounded Sussex, maybe even Brighton.’

‘Good, well done. Now you’re at the top of the stairs and you’re listening hard. You hear shouting ‘you bastard, you bastard.’ Could you tell what they were shouting about?’

Her face crinkled up as she tried to conjure up fading memories. ‘No, I can’t remember,’ she said shaking her head.

‘Don’t worry,’ Hobbs said. ‘Did you hear one voice or more than one?’

Her face brightened. ‘I know I only heard one voice and at the time, I thought it was strange but my father has…he had a soft voice and it doesn’t carry.’ Tears welled up in her eyes.

Whoa. Hobbs didn’t expect this; he needed to rein back.

A minute or two later, he tried again. ‘Let’s talk about the cars. You’re peeping out of the curtain and you see two cars. One we know is your father’s Bentley, but what about the other one? You said you saw a light coloured saloon. Do you know anything about cars, could you tell what it was?’

‘I should know this,’ she said, ‘I’ve owned plenty of cars. Let me think about it for a second.’ She shut her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration. Her eyes popped open. ‘Hey, I’ve got it. The other car was a Subaru Impreza. I know that for sure as I used to have one myself.’

Henderson pushed open the door of the Shakespeare’s Head and walked in. The friendly face of Maggie Roberts behind the bar would normally split into a wide grin whenever she saw him, but this time her jaw went slack as she stared first at him, and then at his brother Archie beside him.

‘A pint is it Angus, and the same for your son?’ she said, once her composure had been restored to normal.

‘You’re a cheeky bugger Maggie Roberts, sometimes I wonder why I drink in this place.’

‘Oh, I think it’s the lovely staff or maybe it’s the short, staggering distance back to your flat, but I’m not sure which is most important. So come on, aren’t you going to introduce us? I know it’s your brother, and apart from the hair and the obvious age difference, you’re like two peas in a pod.’

‘I can talk for myself Maggie,’ Archie said, stepping forward and sticking out his hand. ‘I’m Corporal Archie Henderson and if you haven’t guessed from the dickhead haircut and tattoos, I’m in the army.’

‘Pleased to meet you Corporal,’ she said. She finished pouring the drinks and placed them on the bar. ‘For fighting for Queen and country and all that, these ones are on the house. Only the one mind, you can pay for the rest yourselves.’

‘Thank you, dear lady,’ Archie said sweeping two pints of Badger Ale off the bar and engulfing them in his big mitts. ‘I’m sure we’ll more than make up for your fine hospitality by coming back a few more times over the weekend.’

‘How long are you staying?’

‘I’m not sure yet, maybe three or four days, it all depends.’

‘Well, enjoy yourself.’

‘I will. Cheers and thanks again for these,’ he said raising the glasses in salute as he walked away.

They had the choice of seats as it was still early evening but Archie chose a table beside the window where he could monitor all movement in and out of the pub. He said it was a habit he picked up in Afghanistan, but his brother remembered him doing it long before then, so he could clock all the girls coming into and out of a bar.

The pub was in a residential part of Seven Dials and there wasn’t much to see on a Thursday night, except a long row of tightly packed terraced houses running down the hill on both sides of the road, like a parade inspection of disciplined soldiers, and the occasional slow moving car as a driver searched for a place to park.

It all changed on Friday and Saturday evenings when groups of young girls in their glad rags and tottering heels, tried to make their way down to the bright lights of the city centre or the railway station. They often had to hold on to one another for dear life, despite walking at a snail’s pace, as they tried to descend the steep hill without making complete arses of themselves.

Whenever Archie came home on leave, he usually headed straight up to Glasgow where his wife and two young kids lived, and only if his flight was delayed or he had an early departure from RAF Brize Norton the following day, did he make a pit stop in Sussex.

He didn’t mind his kid brother turning up unannounced on his doorstep, as they had spent a lot of time together as teenagers, particularly when Archie was lead guitarist for a band called Blackheart. They were a competent four-piece covering seventies rock classics by Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin and Marillion and toured dance halls and pubs all over the north of Scotland, while his tuneless older brother acted as sound man, bodyguard and as a poorly paid roadie.

‘She’s a nice bird, the one at the bar. You should get in there Angus, free booze and crisps, what more can a man want?’

‘I can think of a few things but Rachel will do for me.’

‘How is she?’

‘The same as when you met her last time, I suspect. Although, since then, she moved into her new flat in Hove. I think when you were last here she was still in the process of buying it.’

‘I wouldn’t mind a place like hers, high up above the street, looking down on everyone and with a pub on your doorstep, but I’d hate to be so close to a cricket ground as I think it’s such a stupid game. The English guys at Camp Bastion were trying to teach me but I can’t get my head around it.’

‘Rachel’s dad is a big fan and always comes to see his daughter whenever Sussex are playing at home.’

‘There’s a man who’s got his priorities sorted. She’s a journalist, right?’

‘Aye, she is.’

‘We had a crew from America shadowing us for a week and I can tell you, they drove us all right up the bloody wall with all their questions and stupid comments that sounded as if they came straight out of a training manual.’

Archie was not only the ‘baby’ of the family but at thirty-seven, he looked it with fresh, pale skin and freckles, in marked contrast to the haggard and lined face that often stared back at his elder brother first thing in the morning. Archie didn’t seem to be getting any older and even now, having completed his second tour of duty in Afghanistan with the dust, searing heat and freezing night-time temperatures, he still looked like an overgrown 14-year-old in an grown man’s clothes.

‘So what sort of operations have you been involved in or can’t you say?’

He tapped his nose and looked corporal-serious. ‘Top secret.’

‘Don’t give me all this rubbish, otherwise we’ll have to take everything we read in the papers as gospel.’

‘Yer right and it’s a running joke back at camp. See, the army’s always telling us we can’t be told this or that, as everything’s on a ‘need to know’ basis or it’s top secret and not to be revealed to anyone outside the room. When at one time, there were hundreds of thousands of men all around the countryside with guns and planes. There’s nothing much secretive about that, is there?’

‘Is this your last tour?’

‘Aye it is, I’m done with the desert. It’s back to camp in the UK now for God-knows what.’

‘I’ll drink to that, cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ Archie took a long drink. ‘My, the beer here’s champion. The stuff we’ve been drinking out there is shite, so it is. So, what’s new in the criminal catching business?’

‘I’m working on a car thieving and murder case. Sir Mathew Markham. Does it ring any bells?’

‘Markham, Markham it does but I can’t place it.’

‘Perhaps an old sergeant major that used to beat the crap out of you or the electronics millionaire and owner one of the most profitable companies in Britain who was killed lately?’

‘Nope, neither of them.’

‘I forgot, you’re one of those heathens who only looks at the pictures in a newspaper.’

‘Cheeky bugger. I went to the same school as you.’

‘Well, if it’s not him, then it must be the sight of his daughter, Suki Markham, baring her all on page three in one of the tabloids, then.’

‘What? Yer kidding. Are they the same people? Right on, Sexy Suki, the forces sweetheart.’

‘Forces sweetheart? Tell me another.’

‘No, straight up Angus. Her picture’s up everywhere in the camp and any time a new one comes out, everybody wants to see it.’

‘What would it do to your credibility if you were to tell your mates your brother has interviewed her and sat as close to her as you and me are sitting now?’

‘You have not? Ya jammy bastard.’

He nodded. ‘She was staying with her father the night he was murdered. In fact, she’s the only witness we’ve got.’

‘Did she look as gorgeous as she does in the papers? I’ll have to tell the lads.’

‘Oh aye, she wore this low cut top revealing a fair amount of flesh and the shortest skirt you can imagine, more like a serviette. How she could walk about on these four inch heels, I’ll never know.’

‘Bloody hell, I’m in the wrong job. Got any pictures?’

‘Sorry, but my mind was playing tricks. She looked pale, stunk of booze and a few minutes later, she threw up.’

‘Sounds more like it, you’ve never had much luck with women.’

‘What’s this?
Beat up a Brother
night?’

‘You deserve it. I better not pass it on though, it’ll burst a few bubbles if they know the girl canny hold her drink.’

Archie started to tell him a story about one of his officers when he said, ‘hey wait a minute Mr Detective. I’ve seen Morse, I’ve got the box set back in Glasgow, as a matter of fact.’

Henderson groaned. He knew what was coming, as hadn’t one of his own DCs said the same thing?

‘Morse says the last person to see the victim alive is always the murderer. If she was the only other person in the house when her father was killed, it means Sexy Suki is in the frame. Now there’s a story I can take back to the lads.’

Henderson took great pains to explain to his brother that they had investigated the Suki theory but found it wanting on several counts, and as far as he was concerned, she wasn’t under investigation.

‘Shoot my idea down in flames, why don’t you? I was about to tell you about this Captain Gainsborough.’

‘Before you do, let’s drink up. I need something to eat, as I’m famished. We can get more beer at the restaurant.’

‘Aye we’ll go and do that in a minute as I’m starving too, but there’s something I need to ask you first.’

‘Ask away.’

‘I think Mandy’s been messing about while I’ve been overseas.’

‘Get away, it can’t be, not Mandy.’ Loyal Mandy. The woman who cared for him and helped him walk again after he was injured in the thigh and nearly deafened when a bomb exploded close to his armoured vehicle. Mandy loved army life and was never more proud of him than when he was promoted to Corporal.

‘Aye it is. She’s been seen in clubs and pubs with another bloke.’

‘Who by?’

‘A squaddie in my platoon, Andy Garston. He told me when he came back from leave about three weeks ago. He lives close to us in Glasgow.’

‘Are you sure it’s not something innocent or has Private Garston been drinking too many pints of Eighty Shilling Ale and it’s distorting his eyesight? We have trouble with witness statements all the time.’

Archie looked at him like he was an alien from another planet. ‘Come off it, Angus. She’s got two kids at home, why is she even going out on her own in the first place?’

He was about to say something but stopped. His brother might be younger, but some of his views belonged to a different generation. In any case, what the hell did he know about relationships as he had been divorced and his little brother hadn’t? ‘I can’t help you there mate, it’s not an area I can claim any level of expertise.’

‘It wasn’t your fault you and Laura split up, it’s the job.’

‘You’re one to talk, at least I come home at night. You’re away for months at a time.’

‘Aye, true enough.’ He paused, fiddling with his near-empty glass. ‘I was thinking, can you come up to Scotland with me and have a wee chat her? She likes you, she’ll listen to you.’

‘I can’t Archie, I’m the middle of a murder investigation and in any case, what good would it do? She would think we were ganging up on her and before you know it, she’ll be selling the furniture and moving to Manchester.’

‘Yeah I know, but I think I might need some kind of moral support.’

For a moment the veil of the confident corporal fell away and the face of his little brother on his first day at secondary school stared back at him. He was about to make another lame excuse as to why he couldn’t go with him, when his phone rang.

He looked at screen. ‘I need to take this Archie, it’s work.’

‘Aye, go ahead.’

‘Hello.’

‘Is this Detective Inspector Henderson?’

‘Aye it is.’

‘It sounds like you’re in a pub. It’s the place I should be right now if didn’t pull another late shift.’

‘How you doing Alex?’

The desk sergeant at John Street police station in Brighton, Alex Patterson was a solidly build, former rugby prop. He could break up a fight with the force of his personality and if that didn’t work, by using his fists, which were the size of truck pistons but he moaned about the rigours of the job like an old woman.

‘Mustn’t complain but all this standing up is murder for my arthritis. You see…’

Henderson held the phone away from his ear as he drained his beer glass.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure, Alex?’ he said a minute or two later.

‘Ah, right you are. Earlier this evening we pulled in a violent miscreant from Whitehawk for affray.’

‘It’s only seven o’clock in the evening. It’s a bit early for fighting.’

‘Didn’t I say all-day drinking would lead to this? He’s in for knocking a taxi driver unconscious when he refused to take him back to the Wild East End, and as he’s out on bail for another assault, his next appearance in front of the beak is likely to be custodial.’

‘Best place for him, if you ask me.’

‘The reason I called is because he says he’s got some information he would like to trade in return for a lesser charge or as he puts it, if you can excuse my French, no fucking charge at all.’

‘Don’t they all, but what’s it got to do with me?’

‘He says he knows one of the guys who’s been stealing all those expensive cars.’