Rollover (16 page)

T
emple came awake at two. He checked his phone but there were no messages, which meant there had been no developments in the case. He heaved himself off the bed and went downstairs.

He made himself a bacon sandwich and sat at the kitchen table to eat it. On the radio the press conference was the lead story. That was good. At this stage they wanted as much coverage as possible.

The second item in the running order was about Saturday night’s lottery draw. The holder of the winning ticket still hadn’t claimed the prize.

He remembered that he’d bought three lottery tickets himself on Thursday. They were around somewhere so he went looking for them. He found them on the coffee table in the living room, checked the numbers on TV text and sighed when he discovered that not a single one matched those numbers in the winning combination.

Still, he thought, some lucky bastard was going to have a fabulous Christmas as soon as he or she realized they’d won.

Temple showered and shaved, then locked up the house and
headed for the station. The sun had disappeared behind a thin layer of grey cloud. There was a hint of rain in the air. The streets had a grim pallor and an ugly feel. Temple sensed it. As he drove into the city he thought about Danny Cain, their chief suspect in the murder of Vince Mayo.

Cain was a desperate man and that made him dangerous and unpredictable. Temple recalled the CCTV images of his brutal attack on the two youths. It convinced him that Cain was a man who was capable of extreme violence. But what would he do next? Would he kill his family and then himself, if he hadn’t already done so?

If they were very lucky Cain would come to his senses and realize that he couldn’t run for ever. He’d give himself up without harming his wife and daughter and then seek to explain why he’d killed his friend. But Temple had a feeling that it wouldn’t happen like that. No, his instincts told him that the outcome of this case was going to be pretty messy and perhaps even bloody.

When Temple got back to the nick he was summoned straight to the boss’s office.

‘It looks like Joe Dessler told you a porky,’ Priest said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just took a call from DC Patel. He’s seen security footage from the casino. It shows that Dessler left the premises at about seven o’clock. He didn’t return until eleven.’

‘He told me he was there all evening,’ Temple said.

‘Well he wasn’t. The manager might have thought he was, but he slipped out. And that’s not all. You’ll recall he also told you that he phoned Mayo to tell him he wouldn’t be coming over.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, as you know, there was a call to Mayo’s landline that evening from a pub in town, the Duke of Wellington. Patel’s been there too and checked it out. He’s coming back with digital footage on disc which shows Dessler in the pub using the landlord’s phone.’

Temple pondered this for a moment. Why had Dessler lied about being at the casino? Where had he spent the rest of the evening?

‘We need to look at the footage,’ he said. ‘When is Patel due back?’

‘In about twenty minutes.’

In the event Patel was back in the building half an hour later. They gathered in Priest’s office to view the footage.

‘I’ve cued up the relevant sections,’ Patel said. ‘First the disc from the casino.’

Patel ran the tape and pointed to a tall man in a dark coat who was strolling towards the exit. Just before reaching it he was stopped by someone who wanted to talk to him. And as he turned Temple caught sight of his face.

‘That’s Dessler,’ he said.

Patel fast forwarded.

‘This shows him leaving the casino and walking to his car,’ he said. ‘Note the time – four minutes past seven.’

They watched Dessler get into the car and leave the car park. Then the disc fast-forwarded again to a point where Dessler was seen returning to the casino. The time was 11.15.

Patel then put in another tape.

This one, in black-and-white, was from the pub. It was timed at 7.25 p.m.

It showed Dessler with a young woman at the bar. She was thin and plain and wore a short red coat and knee-length white skirt. Temple guessed that she was one of his working girls. They were chatting away to each other and sharing a bottle of wine.

‘Watch this,’ Patel said.

They saw the girl pull something from her handbag. It looked like a white envelope. She handed it to Dessler and he put it in his pocket.

The pair talked at the bar for another ten minutes. Then the girl left the pub.

‘I’ll print off a frame and get it circulated,’ Temple said. ‘We need to know who that woman is.’

‘No doubt one of his escorts,’ Priest said.

Temple nodded. ‘Which probably means that vice can ID her.’

On screen Dessler took out his phone but it looked as though he couldn’t get a signal. He held it up and moved along the bar, but then said something to the barman, who promptly produced a landline which he placed on the counter.

Dessler then made a call, presumably to Mayo.

The call lasted less than a minute. After Dessler replaced the receiver he rushed straight out of the pub.

‘So where the hell did he go next?’ Temple said.

‘He had plenty of time to drive to the forest and back before he turned up at the casino,’ Priest said.

Temple agreed. ‘So it means we have another suspect. Dessler is now firmly in the frame again, alongside Danny Cain.’

A
n hour later Temple was sitting behind his desk chewing on a sweet and watching the news. The hunt for Danny Cain was still the top story. That was because it had captured the public’s imagination.

Cain was a suspected murderer and he now posed a serious threat. Were his family on the run with him or had he already killed them? There was drama, jeopardy, mystery. All the elements of a story that ensured it remained prominent in the minds of the news editors and producers. A feeding frenzy was well under way, only this time hacks were scrambling for information about one of their own.

They wanted to know everything there was to know about him. His state of mind. His financial affairs. His hobbies and habits. They wanted photographs. Interviews with friends and neighbours. Quotes from the police, his parents, his secretary, his accountant.

The news reports included clips from the press conference. There were shots of Mayo’s cottage and Cain’s house. There were police outside both. A BBC News reporter did a piece to camera in front of the police station, in which he talked briefly about the link between Superintendent Priest and the murder victim. He also mentioned George Banks.

‘The police still have no clue about the whereabouts of Danny Cain,’ the reporter said. ‘And they continue to express their concern about the safety of his wife and daughter.’

It seemed to Temple that there was a veiled criticism in what the reporter said. But then perhaps it was justified. After all, they were no closer to apprehending Cain than they had been twelve hours ago.

Anyone watching the coverage would have been left in no doubt that Danny Cain was a killer. Temple still believed that to be the most likely scenario, but the revelations involving Joe Dessler and DS Jordan had prompted him to consider a full review of all the evidence. The forensic findings from the murder scene and Cain’s home; the statements from Jennifer Priest and Marsha Rowe; the notes on Mayo’s computer, the messages sent between Mayo and Mrs Cain; the interview with neighbour Bill Nadelson and the man who’d seen Cain running away from his home.

What did it all add up to? Temple wondered. Was he missing something? Something vital? A piece of the puzzle that would make sense of what was going on?

Innocent men don’t flee from the scene of a crime or leg it from the police. Yet that was exactly what Cain did after going home and removing his bloodstained shoes. Seldom had Temple worked on a case where the evidence against an individual was so strong. Everything pointed to Danny Cain being a cold-blooded murderer. Something inside him must have snapped, sending him over the edge.

But then where did Dessler fit into it? Why had he lied about his alibi and where had he spent the evening after leaving the pub? It was a real brainteaser and the more Temple thought about it the more his head ached. To cap it all Dessler had disappeared. He wasn’t answering his phone and Brayshaw, who’d been to Dessler’s flat in Ocean Village, had been told by the security guard that Dessler had left with a suitcase earlier in the day. So was that a sign of guilt? Why else would he bugger off?

Temple could feel the pressure building inside his head. He was about to search for a painkiller in his desk drawer when Angel appeared in the open doorway of his office.

‘There’s been a development, guv,’ she said. ‘Jordan has just turned up at his house. He didn’t expect anyone to be there but we were waiting. We’re now bringing him in.’

DS Ian Jordan was brought to the station at 7 p.m. According to the officers who fetched him he had been ranting and raving all the way and had threatened to make an official complaint.

Temple spoke to Jordan’s boss in Vice, DCI John Halliwell, and explained the situation. Halliwell had already been briefed about the allegation and wanted to have a go at Jordan after Temple had finished with him.

‘If he’s been on the take then I’m going to roast the bastard,’ Halliwell said.

Interview room one was oppressively hot. Two radiators pumped heat into a space just twelve-by-twelve feet wide. There was a metal table, a wall mirror, a video camera mounted on the ceiling and four moulded plastic chairs.

By the time Temple sat down Jordan was calm but remained indignant.

‘What the fuck is this all about, Jeff?’ he demanded to know. ‘I’m one of you, for pity’s sake.’ His voice had an abruptness to it, a
strident
quality.

Temple was not aware that he and Jordan had ever been on
first-name
terms. It put his back up and set the tone for what was to follow. He explained that it was not a formal interview so there were no lawyers or recorders. That would come later if it was deemed necessary.

Jordan was pale and unshaven, his skin damp with a sweaty sheen. There were black circles beneath his eyes. He was wearing a denim shirt and matching jeans and his sheepskin coat was on the back of his chair. Temple wondered if it was a permanent accessory.

‘We’ve been trying to contact you,’ Temple said in a flat monotone. ‘Where have you been?’

Jordan licked his lips nervously and shook his head. ‘What’s that got to do with you? I’ve been off duty, so where I go and what I do is my business.’

Temple could see why he was so unpopular in the nick. He was an arrogant git of the first order.

‘Just answer the question, Detective Sergeant.’

Jordan’s lips were pulled back against his teeth. He had narrow eyes and protruding ears. His hair was shaved to within half an inch of his scalp and he was a dead ringer for the face in the drawing Temple had seen earlier.

‘I’ve been night fishing,’ Jordan said after a moment. ‘I go every other weekend when I’m not working. Since when is that a frigging crime?’

‘What time did you go?’ Temple asked.

Jordan drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I got there about six on Saturday evening. Left at lunchtime today and went straight home. Two bloody uniforms were waiting outside for me. And let me tell you those fuckers will regret talking to me the way they did.’

‘Where did you go?’ Temple asked.

‘The front at Warsash.’

‘Anyone with you?’

‘No. I always fish alone. Have done for yonks.’

‘Did anyone see you there?’

‘Nobody except the fishes. Now are you going to tell me what this is all about? I’m a detective, not some scumbag off the street.’

Temple pursed his lips and stared Jordan hard in the eyes.

‘Where’s Joe Dessler?’ he asked.

Jordan tried to act surprised by the question but it didn’t come off.

‘How should I know?’ he said.

Temple heaved a sigh. ‘Look, I can do without the bullshit, OK? Tell me where he’s hiding out. We want to question him about the murder in the forest last night.’

Jordan arched his bushy brow.

‘Are you talking about Vince Mayo? That piece of slime had it coming. Shouldn’t it be a cause for celebration around here?’

‘Remarks like that are not helpful,’ Temple said.

‘But it’s true and you must know it. Wasn’t George Banks your best mate?’

‘Forget about Banks. Right now I’m interested in finding a killer.’ 

‘I thought Mayo’s toerag of a partner was in the frame for that,’ Jordan said. ‘I heard about the press conference on the car radio.’

‘There’ve been some developments,’ Temple said. ‘For one thing we discovered what you’d been up to.’

Jordan moved his head to one side. ‘What are you on about?’

‘Just tell us where Dessler is.’

Jordan sat back and folded his arms across his chest. He tried to project an air of confidence but it didn’t work.

‘I have no idea where he is,’ he said. ‘Why should I?’

Temple leaned forward, locking eyes on Jordan. ‘Because we know that you’re in his pocket.’

Jordan blinked a couple of times.

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘But I do know it’s a serious fucking accusation. What’s Halliwell say about this?’

‘He’s pissed off. We all are. You see, we have proof that you’ve been on Dessler’s payroll for some time. Within the hour I’ll have the go-ahead to delve into your bank accounts. So you might as well come clean.’

Jordan started to get to his feet but Temple roared at him to stay put.

As he sat back down his jawline pulsed and he suddenly lost some of his swagger.

‘Listen to me, you pathetic shite,’ Temple said. ‘One person has already been murdered and whatever’s going on I believe you’re in it up to your neck.’

Jordan’s eyes skittered nervously up to the video camera. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not involved in any of that.’

‘Is that so? Well, let’s just look at what we’ve got so far.’

Temple held up his fingers and started counting them off. ‘First, we’ve got you for corruption. You’re a bent copper and that makes you lower than the low in my book. Then we’ve got you stalking Vince Mayo, who happens to have been the murder victim.’

‘Fuck off. I’m no stalker.’

Temple jabbed a finger at him. ‘You were identified by Jennifer Priest as the person spying on Mayo’s cottage through binoculars. I
can tell you that her father – Superintendent Priest – is not happy. You were also seen taking photographs of Mayo in a car with Mrs Maggie Cain. So you see why you’re high up there on our list of suspects?’

‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ Jordan said, his face flushed.

‘Then try to convince me of that,’ Temple said. ‘Tell me what’s been going on. Why were you watching Mayo? Where’s Dessler? And what do you know about Danny Cain?’

Panic flared in Jordan’s face. He rested his arms on the table, fingers splayed.

‘I want a fucking lawyer,’ he said.