The Chosen Seed (17 page)

The shower was hot on his aching shoulders. The thought that Mr Dublin might find the way home after he was gone was almost too much to bear. He would enlighten Cassius Jones. But before that, he thought, rubbing apple-scented shampoo into his thinning hair, he would spread his word and find a new hotel for the night.

Chapter Nineteen

H
ask wasn’t entirely sure why he’d closed the office door before bringing up Adam Bradley’s interview file, but he had. He and Ramsey were entirely within their rights to look at any evidence that might lead them to Cass Jones – that was, after all what the Force was paying him for, at least partly, and finding Cass Jones was definitely Charles Ramsey’s primary case – but he couldn’t help but feel sneaky about it. Ramsey clearly felt the same – neither of them had mentioned to Armstrong that while he was briefing Heddings on what they’d learned from Hurke, they’d be going over old interview tapes. Probably because they both knew what the answer would be –
what for
?

And therein lay the crux of the matter: the overstretched officers of what was currently London’s most scrutinised police station had already decided that Cass Jones was guilty of murder, twice over. And they had also decided those murders had been as a result of his paranoid delusion that someone had stolen his nephew at birth, rather than the child going missing due to yet another fuck-up in the long history of NHS fuck-ups.

As far as Armstrong and the rest of the station were concerned, Cass had paid for Adam Bradley’s help, and then killed him when he was no longer useful. Three men were
dead – two by Jones’ hand, allegedly, and one paid for by him. Cass Jones had run; on top of all the other evidence against him, only fools would think that the DI could be anything other than guilty after the way he’d fled into hiding. So that must make him and Ramsey both fools, because they couldn’t believe that even in the aftermath of so much personal loss, a man like Cassius Jones could turn psychotic himself. It might be the
easiest
thing to believe, but that didn’t make it the truth. In fact, in Hask’s long experience, the easiest thing to believe was often a far cry from the truth.

They’d started listening to the interview to try and get some sense of the interaction between Jones and Bradley, to see if there was any hint in Jones that he found the boy in any way interesting or remarkable. What they’d found was something completely different.

‘How could we have forgotten Mr Bright?’ Ramsey muttered.

‘I
shouldn’t
have forgotten. I was
there
at this interview.’ Hask leaned over the desk, his vast stomach resting slightly on the surface. ‘Play that middle bit again. And then see if we can get Cass’ report on the Solomon call. I can’t remember it exactly.’

‘Me neither.’ Ramsey dragged the mouse back along the timeline a minute. ‘Too many dead since then.’ He clicked play and Adam Bradley spoke once again from beyond the grave. Hask could almost hear him sweating through the clicks and swallows between his sentences.

‘
So he was there waiting for me when I got back. He opened his bag – his briefcase – and took out some things. There was this big envelope. It had a typed label on it already: Detective Inspector Cass Jones – that’s you, I guess
.’

There was a small pause, and in his mind’s eye Hask
could see the boy looking to Jones for confirmation before continuing,

‘
I was sitting in the armchair, sorting out my shit, and he put it on the arm of the chair and then chucked a pair of gloves on my lap. Nice leather ones, expensive, I reckon. He said I was to deliver his envelope to Paddington nick, right after he’d gone, and to make sure I wore the gloves when I did it, and to bin them after. And not to give my name
.’

‘
Did he give you his
?’ Cass’ voice.

‘
Yeah, he did, as it goes. He gave me the hundred quid, and I thought he was leaving so I shot meself up. But he didn’t go; he was peering out through the curtains and going on and on about how everything was planned and there were no coincidences. He kept saying everything happened for a reason, and asking if I believed that. I wasn’t really listening, I’d got the dosh and I just wanted him to go. He gave me the creeps. When the smack hit me I said something like, “Who are you, anyway?” He smiled that creepy smile again and said, “My name is Mr Bright.” It was a real smug smile, as if I’d done just what he’d expected
.’

‘
Mr Bright? No first name
?’

‘
I don’t think he’s the sort of bloke that uses one. I don’t remember much after that. I zoned out a bit, and when I came to he was gone. I went down to my mum’s place for a while and when I was a bit straighter I brought the envelope here
.’

‘He was going on and on about how everything was planned and there were no coincidences,’ Hask said softly.

‘So,’ Ramsey leaned back in the chair, ‘junkie Adam Bradley meets Mr Bright, who tells him to bring Cass this video of the killings. They meet in a flat where later the Man of Flies, Solomon, kills Carla Rae. We’re pretty sure that Bright wanted Bradley to be identified, which can only mean
that Mr Bright wanted Cass to know his name. Am I getting this right?’

‘You’re getting it exactly as well as Jones and I did at the time.’ Hask had pulled a piece of paper from the printer and was scribbling on a spider diagram with the words Mr Bright in the middle. He’d seen eyebrows raise at his schoolboy approach to thinking things through, but it worked for him. He’d so far jotted down the given description, as well as the phrase ‘no coincidences’. He added another word.
Solomon
?

Keys clicked fast and then Ramsey said, ‘Got it.’

‘Solomon mentioned Mr Bright to Cass when he called him,’ Hask said. ‘I know he did. I remember wondering if maybe Solomon and Bright were perhaps the same person, and then deciding against it.’

‘I remember. And then Cass told us that DCI Morgan had made it clear that the Bright line of enquiry was a no-go and not to give it any more manpower.’

Hask scanned the screen. ‘There.’ He pointed.

The words were there in black and white; he read, ‘“Cass Jones claimed he asked the caller if he was Mr Bright, and then Solomon answered, “He’d love that. He looks for me, I watch him.”’ Ramsey scrolled down further. ‘“Solomon went on to give his sympathy to Cass over Christian’s death and say that it was nothing to do with him.”’

‘Look.’ Hask pointed at the screen. ‘He refers to Cass and Christian as
family
.’ He added the word to the scribblings on his sheet of paper.

‘Yeah,’ Ramsey said, ‘and he also says “it wasn’t us”. When talking about Christian’s death. Not just him:
us
.’

‘How did we ignore this?’

‘We were told to – and there was a lot of shit going on.’

‘Well, we might have done as we were told,’ Hask tapped
his pen thoughtfully against the sheet of paper, ‘but I wonder if Cass Jones did.’

The door opened without warning.

‘I’ve got a team trying to find out as much as they can about Draper, but I doubt we’ll have much to go on before the morning.’ Armstrong closed the door behind him and came up to the desk. ‘You may as well go home, Dr Hask.’ He paused, and Hask realised too late that his jottings were far too large to go ignored by a policeman with as sharp an eye as the young sergeant had proved to have.

‘What’s this?’ Armstrong picked it up and frowned, and the profiler couldn’t help feeling like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

‘We were looking at the Bradley/Jones interview from the Man of Flies case,’ Ramsey said, looking up. If he was feeling caught out, he wasn’t showing it. ‘We thought it might bring up something – some kind of hint that Jones might revisit Bradley later.’

‘What it did bring up, however, is Mr Bright.’

‘Who?’

‘Before your time. His name came up in the Man of Flies investigation twice, and we were told to leave it alone.’

‘And?’

‘Read through the files for yourself. This Mr Bright character manipulated Adam Bradley and was instrumental in getting information to Jones about two separate murder cases. When Solomon rang Jones at his parents’ house, it was clear that he knew Mr Bright.’

‘You can’t count that transcript,’ Armstrong cut in sharply. ‘It’s all just Jones’ word. There’s no recording. He could have made it all up, for all we know.’

‘What?’ Hask snorted. ‘Why would he do that? Because he
might
go on a killing spree in six months’ time after his
wife and sergeant are both killed – events that haven’t even happened yet? You’re saying Cass Jones fed in the name Mr Bright to the record of a conversation in the unlikely event that should he go on the run at any time in the future
someone
might decide to go through old records?’

‘There’s no need to be facetious,’ Armstrong growled. ‘The transcript is unreliable. That’s a fact.’

‘Aren’t you in the slightest bit curious about the Mr Bright character?’ Hask asked. ‘Even if just to understand why we were put off trying to find out more about him?’

‘I don’t see his relevance. Not to Jones’ case.’ Armstrong’s face had coloured slightly; whatever goodwill they’d worked up while investigating the so-called Angel of Death was gone. ‘Jones was a murdering bastard. He brought the station down and then added shame to it. I’m sick of people defending him. And investigating this Mr Bright isn’t going to change Jones’ guilt.’

‘Well, it’s not as if we’re overloaded with leads.’ Ramsey’s voice was light despite Armstrong’s clear aggression. ‘This Mr Bright character has shown that he’s capable of manipulating situations – who’s to say he didn’t manipulate Cass Jones?’

‘You’re suggesting this Mr Bright set Jones up?’ Armstrong half laughed. ‘That’s
ridiculous
. Set up for murder once, we can believe. Twice? You’re having a laugh.’

‘Unless of course,’ Hask looked down at his piece of paper, ‘that’s exactly the reaction he knew we’d have.’

‘Jones would think so too. That would go some way to maybe explaining why he ran.’ Ramsey stared at Armstrong. ‘It’s worth looking into.’

‘You can’t seriously believe that Cass Jones is innocent?’ Armstrong paced in a circle, his hands on his hips. ‘After
everything
? All the secrets? His research into the victims,
thinking they had something to do with his missing nephew? It’s classic paranoid behaviour – you even said that yourself, Hask!’

‘And if his behaviour is exactly as you would define it, then yes, it is,’ Hask said. He couldn’t deny it. The surface analysis was exactly that; Armstrong was right to feel certain that Cass was guilty.

‘We just need to make sure that everything is exactly as it appears.’ Ramsey stood up. ‘And as I’m in charge of the Jones investigation, I want to be sure for myself. I thought he was a good man – troubled, maybe, but pretty tough. So I’m going to play this my way and try and keep an open mind for now.’ He stared at the sergeant. ‘Innocent until proven guilty, remember?’

‘You’re both as crazy as he is.’ Armstrong spat the words out and then stared at them both for a moment as if he were seeing them for the first time. ‘You’re clutching at straws – and wasting police time.’

‘Your opinion is noted, sergeant,’ Ramsey said and then gestured at the door.

Armstrong took the hint, closing the door hard behind him.

‘Well, that went well,’ Hask said.

‘The arrogance of youth.’ Ramsey leaned back in his chair. ‘He’s a good policeman, though. And to be fair, he’s probably right. But in the meantime, I think it’s time we paid a visit to Perry Jordan. See what he can tell us.’

Night had fallen, bringing a freezing chill with it. Hask felt the ice in the air stinging his face on the short walk between the car and the apartment block. If Perry Jordan’s expression was anything to go by, they’d brought the cold in with them. He’d started his professional career as a policeman, but it
looked like he’d definitely lost any residual affection he might once have had for his first employers – except for maybe Cass Jones. Jordan had been politely compliant throughout the investigation thus far – he wasn’t a fool – but he hadn’t offered up anything extra, not even with pressure coming from Commander Fletcher and the ATD. Perry Jordan was loyal to Cass Jones; that much was clear.

An open beer bottle sat on the coffee table next to an empty one and the ashtray was half-full. Hask checked his watch. It was only just gone six; Jordan had started early. He looked at the computer desk in the corner; he could make out a small pile of bills half-hidden underneath a newspaper. Jordan must have tried to cover them up before letting the police in, but the red payment slips were visible. So business must have dried up since the police investigation and careless talk in the papers about Jordan being an accessory. Two months probably wasn’t long enough for that kind of muck to be washed off.

‘You lot might think all he’s the son of the devil,’ Jordan picked up his beer, ‘but Cass Jones was –
is
– my friend. He would never have told me anything that could damage me. You know everything I know.’

‘I don’t believe that for a second.’ Between Ramsey’s height and Hask’s physical bulk they filled the small room. Hask wished that the investigator would just ask them to sit down; that would at least make it feel less like they were squaring up for a fight.

‘Put it this way.’ Jordan’s mouth twisted in a slight smile. ‘You know everything that you need to know. Everything that I’m obliged by law to tell you.’

‘Did he ever ask you to find out anything about a Mr Bright?’ Hask asked.

‘Who?’ Perry Jordan broke his stare with Ramsey and looked at Hask. ‘Who’s he?’

‘His name came up in the both the Man of Flies case and the Miller and Jackson shootings.’ They needed Perry Jordan on side and giving him the standard police
we’re not at liberty to share that information
responses wasn’t going to get them anywhere. ‘He met Adam Bradley in the flat where Carla Rae was later killed and sent him to Paddington Green with the DVD of the shootings.’