Six Dead Men (2 page)

She nodded.

“Do people call you Bob? Because if they did then your names would be a palindrome. I mean ‘deed’ is anyway as it is.”

Only the slight tilt of his right eyebrow showed Deed was startled. He was taken aback by her casual attitude, she had only just viewed and confirmed the identity of Calvin Burry's body. He was also surprised she knew the word palindrome. He made a mental note not to underestimate her.

“Are we waiting for a second detective?” she inquired.

Deed began setting up the video recording equipment.

“Well, are we?”

He pulled the metal legged chair out from under the table so hard it tilted sharply, causing the seat to connect harshly with the underside of the table. The noise of the contact was sucked into the walls of the sound-proofed room. He cleared his throat to ease a sudden feeling of discomfort. He was normally not a clumsy or heavy handed man. “No... I prefer to work alone.”

“Isn’t that unusual? I thought you always had to have a second person in the room with you?”

"You are merely assisting us with our enquiries at this stage Miss Bricot."

As he sat down he unclipped his pager from his belt and placed it between himself and Madison Bricot with a control which belied the tension in his tight lipped response. “Miss Bricot, I don’t think you realise the seriousness of the situation. You were one of the last people to see Mr Burry.”

“But I do inspector. The last person to see the victim is always considered a prime suspect.”

Her calm spoke against her, suggesting to Deed a mind capable of premeditated action. He adjusted the camera on its table top tripod and pressed the record button.

"Please state your name, date of birth and address."

*****

Deed terminated the interview and switched off the recording equipment.
Twenty six, she's so young. Sometimes when she speaks she seems older - more knowing.

He sat back in his chair. It was clear she knew nothing of how Burry died and yet... He hesitated to call Johnson in to escort her out. Deed scrutinised her, the mass of dark curly hair framed her face and enhanced the elfin quality of her features, her slightly slanted dark eyes were offset by the caramel of her complexion. She stared back at him defiantly. He felt that all familiar flutter in his belly and a sudden image of the picture board on the side wall in his office sprang into his mind. On impulse he sat forward and said, “One more question Miss Bricot. Do any of these names seem familiar to you?”

He tore a page from his notebook, scribbled on it and pushed the paper towards her.

Anthony Brockwell

Maxwell Fraser

Danny Matthews

Andrew Carson

Curtis Franks

Deed did not need to look at the names. He silently recited them as he watched her gaze flitter over the list. Her eyes appeared to be following the names in time to his unspoken recitation. She reached the final name on the list and gave him a startled look. Her eyes narrowed as she answered. “I used to know Curtis Franks.”

“How did you know Franks?”

"What does this have to do with Calvin?"

"Please answer the question Miss Bricot."

She licked her lips before replying. “He was a friend of Junior’s.”

“Junior?”

“My nephew.”

“Ah, and what do you know about Mr Franks?”

“He died four years ago, in a traffic accident.”

Deed saw a wary light in her eyes.

“Yes he did. It was quite a mess. We could scarcely identify his body.”

She was sitting very still. He wasn't sure if it was the lighting or his imagination, but he thought the tanned colour of her skin had drained to a grey. The mention of Franks had garnered more of a reaction from her than the fact that her boyfriend was dead. The quiver in Deed's stomach continued to grow.

“Any other names mean anything to you Miss Bricot?”

Deed waited.

Her words came out in a big long rush. “I used to know a Maxie Fraser. Could be the same man. He’s a friend of Junior’s dad. They call him Mad Max because he loves the
Mad Max
movies so much he knows all the dialogue by heart. I haven’t seen him in a while. I think he went back to Jamaica.”

Finally got her on the run. She’s just babbling now.
“Did he know Calvin?”

“No. I don’t think so. Cal only moved to London from Sheffield this year.”

“When was the last time you saw Maxwell Fraser Miss Bricot?”

“At a wedding.”

“When exactly Miss Bricot?”

“Just before Christmas last year.”

The body was found at the start of the new year. I'll have to check if the decomp report corresponds.
"Any other names on the list familiar to you Miss Bricot?"

She shook her head and swallowed.

Deed felt the flurry in his belly become a mini tornado. She had known not one but two of his cold case dead men. This could not be mere coincidence. He did not believe in coincidence.

“Miss Bricot, Maxwell Fraser never made it to Jamaica.” He paused dramatically then said sternly, “He’s dead.”

Deed watched her. She looked as though all the air had been sucked from her lungs. His words appeared to have caused a shock wave through her body. Her hands, which had been easy in her lap, were now gripping the sides of her chair. Madison Bricot's lips were very pale around the edges. Her shock was a pendulum of silence which hung between them. Deed realised her earlier confidence was merely bravado and this third notification of the death of someone else she had known had acid stripped her veneer.

Madison Bricot's shock was too real to be artifice. With a softened tone he said, “You’re free to go Miss Bricot, but please make yourself available for further questioning.” He handed her his contact details.

As their fingers touched a faint jolt passed between them. For a second Deed thought he saw a blue nimbus stretching from her to him as their fingers parted. Madison Bricot trembled lightly as she accepted the card and replied demurely. “I will.”

Johnson appeared at the door right on cue.

As soon as Johnson escorted her from the room Deed began to review the footage. His thumb strained as he paused the recording. He was aware of a feeling, so unusual that it was difficult to acknowledge — it was doubt. His feelings never let him down. That familiar surge in his stomach told him she was linked to her boyfriend’s death. But now to complicate things she also appeared to have known Franks and Fraser.

Deed looked down at his hand and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together where her fingers had touched his. His eyes glimpsed again the slight glow, the after-image of the electricity. He saw again the neat way she had swivelled in the chair to face him as he entered the room. He smelt again the tang of that scent so tantalisingly just beyond the reach of his olfactory senses. He drew a sharp breath and dusted his hands together to clear the beguiling image of her which had formed, seemingly unbidden, on his inner eye. He shrugged his shoulders in disgruntlement. He knew that a bit of time and effort would bring the evidence to light. Deed dismissed his doubts.

Johnson stood in the doorway of the interview room. “Why did you do that Sir?”

“Do what Johnson?”

He stepped forward as he spoke. “Why did you ask her about the cold cases?”

Deed shrugged.
He’s shrewd. He’ll make a great inspector someday.

“You just got one of your feelings sir.”

“Something like that Johnson.”

“Are you going to pursue that angle sir?”

“Only if it brings relevant evidence to light Johnson.”
Can’t really blame him for wanting to know how I solve cases so quickly. He’s keen and a fast learner.

“Do you want me to log the tape Sir?” The younger man’s hand was already hovering over the desk-top video camera and its tripod.

“No. No, I want to review it while the interview is still fresh in my mind.” Deed turned back to the camera as Johnson turned to the door.

But Johnson’s voice questioned hesitantly from the far end of the room. “Sir?”

“Yes, Johnson.”

“You know that none of that stuff you asked her about the cold cases is admissible?”

“What?”

“You turned off the recording equipment sir.”

Deed looked from Johnson to the machine and then back at Johnson.

“Yes... I did, didn’t I. Well, she’ll need to come in for another interview at some point. I can always rectify the situation then.”
Damn. I’d never normally miss something like that.

Johnson left the interview room.

Deed wandered back to his office and stood looking at the board attached to his wall with the faces of five dead men. Five men with nothing in common except their unusual deaths. No physical evidence linked these men. Their ages varied. They had died in very different circumstances, locations, months, sometimes years apart. Yet as soon as he had seen the photos of these men on the coroner's slab he had known without a doubt that their deaths were linked. It was a knowledge, he chose not to speak about but which he was unable to deny.

Everyone knew about his pet hobby, his obsession with unusual deaths. He often heard them whispering in corners, muttering how it was unhealthy. Perhaps it was.
Even as a child I was fascinated by bodies
.
Maybe it stems from seeing mum’s corpse, lifeless yet peaceful, strangely unravaged by the traumas of the cancer which ransacked her body
.
How she raged against the dying of the light. Dad tried so hard to save her, making her see specialists he found through his medical connections, but none of it made any difference. It must have been so hard for him to raise me single handed and keep his medical practise together. I loved hanging on the edge of his get togethers with his medical buddies. Such good times. They’d forget I was there and talk about anything, everything.
Maybe if I’d had siblings I wouldn’t have been so insular.

Deed had come across the first two cold cases shortly before his father died. He remembered how he had spent longer and longer hours at the station. Mainly it was to avoid the big empty house and hospital style bed which had become a central feature of the living room. At the time memories of his mother’s painful cancer death had come back with such force they threatened to engulf him. He was plagued by nightmares he could not rid himself of. And always they were about his helplessness. A man feels he should be able to help his loved ones when they’re suffering. But he knew even his best efforts were futile.

Back then those crime scene photographs intrigued him, pulled him away from painful reality, gave him a problem in a world where he was good at finding solutions. Something in them caused his gut to react violently, a clenching which was to be the first signal of many to come. The puzzle of these cases helped him forget the tubes of fluids the doctors had pumped into his father to ease his last days. They drew Deed into a world of mystery and intrigue beyond the cases which fell onto his desk. Cases he solved all too easily. Even now the dead men drew him away from the painful images of a once lithe father, withered and frail in his remaining days.

So why am I thinking about mum and dad again?

Madison Bricot’s image superimposed itself over the pictures of the five dead men as he glanced at the pin-board. Deed felt a disquiet descend over him.

Surely it can’t be her. But there was something... that strange scent?

Deed suddenly felt light-headed.

God damn it Robert, forget about what she looks and smells like man. Trust your instincts. Trust your gut. It never lets you down.

Maybe I should let Johnson sit in on the next interview rather than just watch from the observation room. All I need is to find the evidence and little miss Thumbelina will be heading to one of her Majesty’s fine establishments.

He picked up the picture of Calvin Burry and with certainty, added it to the five pictures already on the pin-board.

Curtis Franks aka Junior’s Best Friend

Junior Bricot's my bruv. He's got this daftness about him. He's a real dope, there's something missing in him - like his brain's wired all wrong, gets himself into all kinds of trouble. The first time I saw him he was hanging out down by the arches trying to big it up with Doogie and his BMX boys. They were having none of it and if I hadn't shown up his arse would have been theirs. The top of his bleached head was like a beacon above the sea of boys surrounding him. The lighthouse of hair seemed to be flashing at me. So I went over to take a look.

"What's up blud?"

Doogie turned round and the boys froze, their taunting voices silenced by my presence. Doogie's left shoulder dropped into a slouch as he began his gangster boy walk in my direction. "What's up G man?"

I avoided the need to sigh in exasperation but raised an eyebrow. Doogie's slouch instantly became less pronounced and his raised fist dropped to his side. He knew I didn't go in for all that posturing crap.

"Nah, this is rubbish man." It was a new boy in Doogie's crew, his braids pulling at his forehead and eyes so he looked almost Chinese.