Take Two (A psychological thriller) (22 page)

‘Rough day?’

‘A long day,’ she said. ‘I’m halfway through a bottle of wine as we speak.’

‘I don’t know how you can work such long hours.’

‘The alternative is unemployment, unfortunately. If you work on a soap you don’t get to choose your hours.’

‘So how about I take your mind off work this weekend?  Come and have a drink on my boat.’

‘I’m not very good on boats, Warwick,’ she said. ‘I get queasy in the bath.’

‘It’s a gin palace at St Katherine’s Dock, near the Tower of London,’ he said. ‘We won’t be going anywhere. Just a couple of drinks and then we’ll go eat. There’s plenty of good restaurants around there.’

‘What’s the point of a boat if you never go anywhere?’

He laughed. ‘I do take it out sometimes. It’s big enough to take across the Channel, if that’s what you want. But mainly I just use it to entertain clients, pop up and down the river, show them the sights. Foreigners love it. But I just thought Saturday we could have a drink or two. Then have brunch. Are you up for it?’

For a few seconds there was silence. ‘Sure, why not?’ she said eventually.

‘I’ll pick you up,’ he said. ‘Tennish, is that okay?’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

‘Terrific. See you Saturday.’

‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ she asked.

Richards frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ll need my address.’

‘God, yes, sorry. Let me get a pen.’ He paced up and down. He didn’t need a pen because he already knew where she lived. ‘Okay, go ahead,’ he said.  She gave him the address and he ended the call. He looked over at Halpin and winked. ‘Easy, peasy,’ he said.

‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Halpin.

‘I take her on the boat and slip her a mickey,’ said Richards.  ‘I’ll put her in one of those metal trunks and then pop off to the club to establish an alibi. You can take the boat out and do what we did with Cohen’s body. Dump it in the North Sea at night.’

‘You’re sure about this?’ asked Halpin. He puffed on his cigar.

‘She’s suspicious or she wouldn’t have gone to that scumbag, Dunbar,’ said Richards. ‘Sooner or later she’s going to get suspicious again.’

‘Plus you might talk in your sleep.’

‘Ha ha ha,’ said Richards. ‘And get your feet off the coffee table, will you? Were you born in a barn?’

Halpin did as he was told. ‘Boss, I’ve been thinking.’

‘That’s a new one for you, mate.’

‘I’m serious, boss. It’s the truck driver.’

‘Reg, whatsit?’

Halpin nodded. ‘When they realise Castle has gone missing, there’ll be publicity. Lots of it.  It’ll be all over the papers.  Look what happened when Jill Dando got shot.’

‘That was a bit different. She was shot on her doorstep.  With what we’ve got planned, no one is going to find her.’

‘They’ll look, boss. And the papers will be all over it. And when that happens, Reg is going to come forward.  Stands to reason, right? He was one of the last people to see her.’

Richards nodded thoughtfully. ‘And he’ll tell them where he picked her up.’

‘Which means they’ll find Cohen’s house sooner or later. And they’ll realise Cohen is missing.  So we’re vulnerable on two fronts. If Reg talks to the cops he’ll tell them about us. And even if that doesn’t ring alarm bells, they’re going to find out Cohen was your accountant.’

Richards sat down. He knew that Halpin was right. ‘Shit,’ he said.

‘So you can see where I’m going with this?’

‘Can you take care of it?’

‘I can, boss. Sure. But we’re going to have to be clever about it.’

‘I hear you,’ said Richards.

‘I’ll make it look like a robbery, maybe. And I’ll do it when he’s away from home. That way the Met won’t be investigating it. The further away the better.’

‘Do you need help?’

‘The fewer people who know what’s going on the better,’ said Halpin. ‘And it’ll be easy enough, he’s not going to be expecting it.’

‘When do you want to do it?’

‘The sooner the better. But it’ll depend on his schedule. Let me do some checking.’

CHAPTER 51

‘I don’t believe you just did that,’ said Terry. ‘What was going through your head? You think he’s a murderer and you’ve just agreed to go on a boat with him?’

‘The boat’s not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘I’ve been to St Katherine’s Dock before, it’s full of million pound boats for posers.’

‘Even so, darling. You’re playing with fire.’

Carolyn grinned. ‘I love it when you get all protective,’ she said.

‘I’m serious,’ said Terry. ‘Have you forgotten what you were like that night after you’d seen him kill Cohen? You were shaking.’

‘I’m not sure if it was him.  Really. But maybe if I spend a bit more time with him I’ll get a better sense of what he’s like.’

‘And what if he knows you saw him?’

‘Then he’s a better actor than I am,’ she said.  ‘And I’ve just been given a lifetime achievement award, remember?’

‘I just want you to be careful, okay?’

She raised her wine glass in salute. ‘I will be.’

‘You need to think about this, Carolyn. Suppose he saw you that night. And tracked you down. And now he’s trying to get close to you…’

‘He didn’t see me, I’m pretty sure of that. As soon as the security lights went on, I was out of there like a bat out of hell. I practically leapt over the gates.’

‘You told me you left your shoes behind.’

‘Yes, and they were Prada. They were lovely shoes but there’s no way he could have traced me that way. Everyone wears Prada these days.’

‘I don’t think you should go.’

‘You could come with me?’

Terry laughed. ‘Yeah, I’m sure he’d want me along as a third wheel.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘I’m serious darling, you need to be careful.’

‘You are so masterful sometimes, I bet Gabe just goes weak at the knees, doesn’t he?’ She finished her wine and held up her empty glass.  ‘Now how about a refill?’

CHAPTER 52

Detective Inspector Mark Biddulph nodded at the cluster of police cars around an ambulance and what appeared to be a SOCO van.  ‘Give them plenty of room, Kim,’ he said. ‘Last time I was at a murder scene my car was scraped by an ambulance and I spent hours on the paperwork.’

‘No problem,’ said Detective Sergeant Kimberley Marriott. She had been Biddulph’s regular partner for the past six months on the Met’s Homicide Command. The car was from the office pool but she knew the inspector was right, every scratch and dent had to be accounted for and they both had better things to be doing with their time.

Marriott parked the car and she and Biddulph climbed out. He was in his late forties, tall and thin with a receding hairline. His tendency to wear dark suits and a black raincoat gave him the look of a dour undertaker.  Marriott was a decade younger with shoulder-length blonde hair and a trim figure that belied the fact that she was the mother of three young children.

A uniformed sergeant walked over. From the look on his face it was clear he was as pleased as the two detectives to have a late-night murder case. ‘Jim McDonald, I’m with the Safer Neighbourhood Team,’ said the sergeant.

‘And how’s that working out for you?’ asked Biddulph. He flashed his warrant card and Marriott did the same.

The sergeant frowned and then realised the inspector was joking. ‘Right, yes,’ he said. ‘The victim’s name is Maxwell Dunbar. He’s lived here for twenty years or so. Looks like he disturbed a burglar. Phone’s gone, along with his wallet and watch and, we think, a DVD player and a laptop.’

‘Forced entry?’

The sergeant nodded. ‘Smashed a window at the back. Dunbar was a private detective, worked from home.’

‘Was he ever in the Job?’ asked Marriott.

The sergeant shook his head. ‘No. He applied way back when but he had medical issues. Tried to sign up as a Special but private eyes aren’t allowed, for obvious reasons.’

‘SOCO already in?’ asked Biddulph as he started walking towards the house with Marriott in tow.

‘They got here half an hour ago,’ said the sergeant.

‘And the medic’s pronounced him dead?’

‘All done and dusted.’

They walked by the ambulance. A paramedic was sitting in the open rear door, smoking a cigarette. He nodded as the cops passed by.

‘Any similar burglaries recently?’ asked Biddulph.

‘With fatal stabbings?’

‘Involving a knife. And smashing a window.’

‘That’s pretty much every burglary we have around here,’ said the sergeant. ‘They’re pretty much all drug-related and we don’t see much in the way of subtlety.’

The front door was open, guarded by a uniformed constable in a high-visibility jacket. He stepped to the side to allow them in. ‘Body’s in the sitting room,’ said the sergeant.

He led them along the hall and into the sitting room. A SOCO technician – a young man with a bad case of acne – was taking swabs from the under the victim’s fingernails. The victim was an overweight man in his late forties or early fifties.

‘Do we need shoe coverings?’ asked Biddulph.

‘I won’t be getting anything off the carpet and I’ve already given it the once-over,’ said the technician. ‘Providing you don’t step in the blood, you’ll be okay.’

There was a gaping wound in the victim’s throat and a large pool of congealed blood around his head.

 ‘Time of death?’ asked Biddulph.

The technician frowned. ‘Do you mind talking to my boss? He’s in the kitchen. He’s senior to me and he gets a bit tetchy if I do the talking. Sorry.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said Marriott.

Biddulph and Marriott headed down the hallway to the kitchen. ‘What did you mean by that?’ asked Biddulph.

‘I was joking,’ said Marriott.

‘You’re sure?’

Marriott nodded. ‘I’m sure.’

A SOCO technician in white overalls was picking up pieces of glass with a pair of tweezers and putting them in a clear evidence bag. He was a short man, almost as wide as he was tall, with a greasy comb-over.  Biddulph recognised him. John Yates, a SOCO veteran of more than thirty years. Yates  grinned when he saw Biddulph. ‘Hello, Mark. Not often I see you outside of office hours.’ He straightened up and nodded at Marriott. ‘How’s it going, Kim?’

‘I could have done without a Thursday night murder, that’s for sure,’ said Marriott.

‘I think you’ll find it was a morning murder,’ said Yates. ‘Time of death probably eleven, maybe twelve. Knife wound to the throat. Left to right so the killer’s right-handed.’

‘From behind? Left to right?’

‘That’s what it looks like. Something wrong with that?’

‘Burglars don’t tend to cut throats from behind, do they? They tend to stab or slash.’

‘Burglars tend to just run when they’re disturbed,’ said Yates. ‘They only get violent if their escape route is blocked.’

‘He definitely died in the front room?’

‘That’s where the blood is.’

‘No sign of the knife?’

Yates shook his head. ‘Probably took it with him.’

‘Probably brought it with him is more to the point,’ said Biddulph. He smiled thinly. ‘No pun intended.’

‘What pun?’ asked Yates.

‘Knife. Point.’

‘That’s not really a pun,’ said Yates. ‘More of a juxtaposition of bladed terms.’

Biddulph looked over at Marriott but she raised her hands. ‘Don’t involve me,’ she said. ‘I’m still trying to work out what’s funny about Little Britain.’

Biddulph walked over to a knife block. There were slots for four knives and all the knives were in place.  He pulled open a drawer and looked down at a breadknife and a large carving knife.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Marriott.

Biddulph sighed.  ‘I don’t know.’ He closed the drawer and walked back to the sitting room. Marriott followed him.  The uniformed sergeant had gone, probably pleased to have washed his hands of the crime scene.

They stood at the body’s feet. Biddulph pointed at the pool of dried blood around the head. ‘He died in this room, that’s for sure. But, like John said, burglars usually only attack when they’re trapped. The first thing a professional housebreaker does is make sure he’s got an avenue of escape. He’ll unlock a door, open a window, he’ll have some way of making a quick exit. And at the first sign they’ve been rumbled, they’re off.’

‘Unless they’re high on drugs.’

‘This happened in the morning and most druggies don’t get up before midday.’

Biddulph walked around the room and went to stand at the head of the body, with his back to the window.  ‘The victim was in this room. The burglar broke in through the kitchen. So how does the killing happen here?’

‘Dunbar doesn’t hear the burglar break in. Maybe he’s out at the shops. The burglar is in here. Dunbar comes home. Walks in here and the burglar is trapped.’

Biddulph nodded. ‘Nice,’ he said.

‘You think that’s what happened?’

‘No. But it’s a nice theory.’

‘So where am I wrong?’

‘I’m not saying you’re wrong. I just think it’s unlikely. There’s nowhere in here to hide so I don’t see the burglar can have come up behind him.’

‘Behind the door? Then he grabs Dunbar from behind. Cuts his throat. Then turns as he struggles and dies.’

Biddulph smiled. ‘You really like the disturbed burglar theory, don’t you?’

‘Sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one. That’s what you always tell me.’

‘Yes. And usually I’m right. But Dunbar worked from home. Any burglar worth his salt would have known that and moved on to easier pickings.’ He held up a hand. ‘And before you say that the burglar could have waited until Dunbar left the house, he was wearing slippers and no coat and no sign he’d brought anything in from the shops.’

‘The burglar could have been drugged up? Not thinking clearly.’

‘Clear enough to kill with one cut?  The average druggie tends to lash out a bit more. And other than the broken window, it’s all a bit clean and clinical, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Marriott. ‘Where does that leave us?’

‘With a dead body and a broken window,’ said Biddulph. ‘You might be right. It might be an opportunistic druggie who lost the plot, but let’s have a good look around, shall we?’