“You want to know if I was involved in something, don’t you? Something to harm Grant… That’s why you came here…”
“We came here to talk, that’s all.”
“Grant drove a Ford Capri into a river. How could anyone else have anything to do with that?”
“Good question, Mrs Dawn,” said Hogarth. “But we have to be sure.”
The woman shook her head, exasperated.
“They haven’t found the body yet,” said Simmons.
“You think I don’t know that,” she said, snapping at him.
Hogarth gave Simmons a quick shake of the head and Simmons fell quiet.
“Who would stand to gain most from Mr Dawn’s death?” said Hogarth. “Please think for a moment.”
“There’s no life insurance if that’s what you mean. If there was Grant never told me about it. He was tight. He was squeaky tight when it came to insurance, and anything else come to think of it. He didn’t like giving money away unless he was making a bundle back in return. Grant always said insurance was a dead cost. And he said it gave people a motive to want him dead. I said he was paranoid, but after what you’ve just said…”
“What about others… family? Friends. Colleagues.”
“Colleagues… hmmmm. Brett? Brett loved the business more than Grant did. I know he resented Grant for that. It was almost as if Brett thought Grant was in the way of his success.”
“You seem to be quite a good judge of character, Mrs Dawn.”
The woman pursed her lips as she regarded him. “I like to think so,” she said. Her piercing eyes stayed on him longer than he liked and Hogarth felt his neck start to burn. He willed the flush of colour not to reach his face.
“You said we’d just missed them?” said Hogarth.
“Yes. They came here with flowers and chocolates like it was a first date, not a bloody tragedy! Who in the world brings chocolates to a woman who’s just lost her husband?”
Hogarth shrugged. “People don’t know what to do in a time of tragedy. Perhaps that was all they could think of.”
“No. Brett was wooing me. Not romantically, obviously. I think Yvette’s keeping him busy on that front, poor girl. But he was wooing me to trust him with effective control of the business.”
“The business,” said Hogarth.
“Yes. But he’s not stupid. Brett is prepared to play the waiting game. First off, he expected the grieving widow to accept his kind offer to take care of the business in her hour of need. Soon after that, once she’s quite detached from it, he makes the tempting offer to cut me out and save me all that hassle.”
Hogarth’s eyes sparked at the show of such cutting cynicism. Sabine Dawn was almost a match for himself.
She seemed to read his mind. “I used to work in estate agency, Inspector. I was a shark in a pool full of them. I know how it goes. Brett doesn’t know my history. He thinks I’m just a dumb little bimbo, and that’s fine by me. He can think whatever he wants, it won’t help him get a thing from me.”
“So Brett Reville made his pitch, did he?”
“Pretty much.”
“And how did you reply?”
“I said he could forget about it and he could take his flowers and chocolates elsewhere.”
“And how did he take that?”
“Like I’d punched him in his big stomach.”
“And what about Yvette George?”
“She was prim-faced, quiet, but a little bit peeved. Brett’s her boyfriend. I think it must have stung her as well, but Yvette will just get on with things. She always does.”
Hogarth nodded.
“Did Brett know about your husband’s lock-up at Paglesham – and his penchant for classic cars?”
“Grant always kept it quiet, but he loved those cars so much he couldn’t help letting a few things slip. He’d tell Brett how he’d been racing around Dengie or whatever, and then he’d try to cover his tracks by going on about his old bangers. I know Grant never mentioned the Jag. An old Ford Capri doesn’t sound worthy of envy, does it? Even so, Brett was savvy enough to catch on. He once dropped the idea of Grant selling his so-called bangers to free up some cash for the usual liquidity problems.”
“So Brett is the covetous type…?” said Hogarth.
“Yes. He’s greedy and needy. You’ll see that when you talk to him. He’s all ‘I want’, and he can’t help showing it. But he’s been good at his job, so Grant put up with him.”
“Did Brett Reville ask you for any cash?”
“Not money. Just control of the business. But then again, I haven’t got access to cash either.”
“No?” said Hogarth. “Why not?”
“I’ve got what’s in our joint current account, so I’ll be okay. But there was another business account for investing – the war chest Grant called it. Grant was the only signatory. I know he moved some money out of it recently. He said he was about to invest in a consultant for a rebrand and didn’t want any of it diverted to running costs. Good branding doesn’t come cheap, so he said.”
“How much did he withdraw? Do you know?” said Hogarth.
“Yeah.” Sabine sipped her wine. “He took out one hundred and fifty k and stashed it somewhere to use when he was ready.”
“In cash? But surely a proper consultancy business wouldn’t be paid in cash…?”
“Yes. But Grant was always a skinflint and cash gets a discount, doesn’t it?”
“You’re suggesting Grant would want to avoid VAT?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Inspector. And drawing the cash kept it all safe from the business’s hand-to-mouth requirements.”
“Do you know where that money is, Mrs Dawn?”
The woman frowned.
“It could be pertinent to our inquiries.”
“No. Grant would have told me soon enough, I’m sure. But then the crash happened, so now I’m left guessing. I’ll get by for now. And the business owes us a couple of months drawdown. I’ll live, but it would be far easier if I knew…”
Hogarth’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a chance anyone else might know where that money’s kept? One hundred and fifty thousand pounds is a substantial amount of money.”
“You really think someone killed him, don’t you?”
“No. I wouldn’t know about that,” said Hogarth, quickly. “But money like that, the wrong kind of person might well have been tempted.”
“But no one knew. The only other person trusted with details like that was Emily. Cousin Em was one step removed from the business, and she’s always telling us how well she’s doing with her IG Influencer Schtick,
“IG what stick?” said Hogarth. “Come again?”
“Oh, just Google Emily Flount. You’ll see what I mean… She’s Insta-Famous.”
Hogarth glanced at Simmons.
“Mrs Sabine is saying that Emily Flount is famous on Instagram, guv. It’s social media.”
“I have heard of it, Simmons,” said Hogarth, but Simmons seemed to doubt how much the DI understood.
“Instagram is like Facebook, but it’s mostly about images instead of words. That’s the real fast track to celebrity these days, so they say.”
“Celebrity, yes,” said Sabine. “Dear Emily isn’t there yet, but she’s well on the way.”
“And this Emily… do you trust her?”
“Emily? She’s family. Grant’s family – which makes her mine. She’s just as much of a brat as Grant ever was, but she’s never tried any funny business with me. Not yet.”
“And she’s wealthy, is she, Miss Flount?”
“Well set but not wealthy. She’s not famous yet, Inspector,” said the woman. “It’s a job – there’s an awful lot of self-publicity involved. Constant selfies, adding hashtags, posting and all that other nonsense. Oh, Emily has sent me a message – she’s coming round later on to sit with me or something. I’m not sure I can handle sympathy from someone as full on as Emily… but I can’t refuse everyone, can I?”
&nbs
p; Hogarth shrugged. “In your situation, there really are no rules, Mrs Dawn. I’d say you can do whatever you please.”
“Yes. Well, I’ve already done that part. My answer to Brett was a big fat ‘NO’. And as you can see, I’ve given myself permission to drink the house dry. After that… who knows?”
Hogarth looked at Simmons. Sabine Dawn caught the look between them.
“Is that it? Interview over?”
“For now, yes, Mrs Dawn. You’ve been very helpful. Thank you for your time, Mrs Dawn.”
“So? What next? Are you still looking for his body? Are you looking at the car?”
Hogarth firmed up his features so the truth wouldn’t leak out. The truth was he didn’t know a thing.
“My police colleagues will be working very hard to find him. We’ll update you as soon as we can.”
“One thing, Inspector. How come your questions were so different to the ones the other policeman asked before?”
“Really? That’s because I tend to see things a bit differently to some of my colleagues. I think most would agree to that.”
The woman nodded at him, her eyes still reading his.
“You know, I think your way might work better. You’ll let me know if you hear anything, won’t you? If you manage to find anything.”
“You can rest assured of that, Mrs Dawn. I’m sure it’ll come out sooner or later. Now you rest. We’ll see ourselves out. Sorry for your ordeal, Mrs Dawn.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
They left the woman with her gang of wine bottles and loud talk radio. Hogarth and Simmons didn’t say a word until the wide front door was firmly closed behind them.
“What did you make of that?” asked Simmons, as they walked to the street.
“You mean the woman or what she said?”
“Both.”
“I know one thing. If she keeps drinking like that, she’ll look like a beetroot by the time she’s forty. But she’s got a decent excuse at the moment – and dear hubby Grant is part to blame for those empty wine bottles. The institution of marriage, eh? I always wondered what I was missing, and now I know. Grant Dawn kept his wife in the dark about his miraculous survival because he thinks she tried to top him. True love never dies, eh?”
They walked down Longacre Road, the sun dappling the pavement through the trees and hedges lining the pavement. It would have been a nice day for relaxing, but it had been tainted by poor judgment and suspicion of an attempted murder. There were suspects in all areas and his mind was grappling with the details as if it was an important new case. And he suspected it soon could be. But meddling ahead of time posed trouble. The only way around the risks was to work the damn thing as fast as possible. Find the culprit, give Dawn a reason to give up on hiding, and act as if the whole thing had never happened. This one was going to be a matter of putting pressure in the right places and digging hard into possible motives. Providing Hogarth could find the right places, there was a chance the case would crack before he’d even started. But only a chance.
“But do you think she was in on it?” said Simmons.
“She’s as sharp as a carpet knife, Simmons, but it’s too early to say. But a bit of digging should help us find a way forward.”
Simmons frowned.
“So now you want to keep going with this?”
“Don’t give me that. This was your bloody idea in the first place.”
“I know… but it might be better if we stepped back now and waited, eh? Don’t you think?”
“And what would Daddy Simmons have to say about that, eh?”
“I don’t give a toss what my dad thinks.”
“Good for you, but we’ve already gotten involved. She’s seen our faces, knows our names. I don’t think we should back out now. That could cause as many problems as carrying on with the job. And anyway,” said Hogarth. “From what Sabine Dawn said in there, I don’t think Grant Dawn is as much of a lunatic as I had him down for. Trouble is now, I can’t decide if he’s trying to pull a stunt on his wife, or whether he’s serious about finding out who tried to kill him.”
“You believe him, do you?”
“He’s certainly got me thinking. There’s a hundred and fifty grand flying around somewhere in cold hard cash. That’s a jackpot by anyone’s reckoning. Then there’s that man Reville grasping for control of the business. Then there’s the wife, sitting there like a woman scorned by all and sundry. So far, everyone we’ve met has got reasons to play games here. And then we haven’t even considered Emily Flount, yet. That one looks capable of all kinds of games to me.”
Simmons frowned and followed in his wake.
“We’re carrying on with this then? What if we step on the toes of fellow officers?”
“That could happen. But I’m not trying to win any friends, Simmons. We’ll say we got given a lead and decided to follow it up. Besides, if we can push this to an early close, the pressure’s off, and we can hand it on with a clean conscience.”
Hogarth unlocked his Vauxhall and jumped into the driver’s seat. Simmons slid in the other side.
“That sounds good,” said Simmons.
“By then we’ll know what sort of mess Daddy Simmons landed you in. I think he’s going to owe you one.”
“Owe me one? He’s owed me one his whole life.”
“Families, Simmons. They’re like a marriage but without the chance of divorce. I don’t know about you, but I fancy a quick break before I delve deeper into this bloody mess. It’s still the weekend – fancy a quick drink?”
“I’ve already had a lager.”
“Man up. That was over an hour ago.”
Simmons shrugged.
“I’ll get you a pie to go with it.”
“A pie? What? We’re not going down there are we?”
“Course we are. Where else can I get a pie and a pint and have change from a fiver. I’ll show you what you’ve been missing all these years. Strap in, Simmons. I’m feeling peckish.”
He started the engine and roared away towards the flat green fields beyond Longacre Road. As his car passed by number 424, Sabine Dawn stood watching in the bay window, glass in hand. She sipped her wine and blinked in thought. A moment later she walked into the hallway and picked up the phone.
Six
Two chicken and mushroom pies for Hogarth, both resplendent in their gold foil trays, crusts sagging deeply in their middle. Mince and onion for Simmons, his in a red foil tray. Both dishes were served by George, offering his standard service of a casual thud of the plates without a word. Behind the air of the affable sergeant major, the custodian of The Old Naval Club was as difficult as Hogarth himself, which meant the place suited him down to the ground. There were few others around. A bald man with a black moustache stood stock still and drank a pint at the bar. Another man wearing a JCB branded fleece and a flat cap kept asking for his refills of John Smiths to be poured into a tankard which the man brought from home especially for the purpose. It was a club for men of a certain age, men stoically facing down their mortality with a pint, daring anybody to give them trouble along the way. Yes… growing old gracefully. Who the hell needed that? Simmons chewed on his pie like a savage, and Hogarth did similar, albeit with the aid of a knife and fork. One pint went down, but Hogarth was still thirsty.
“One for the road?” he said.
“Best not, guv. We’re working. And you’re driving.”
“As of now, consider yourself the designated driver. I’ve got a hankering for a Highland Malt. Just a single to tease my taste buds.”
Simmons didn’t look comfortable with the idea, but he chose not to pass comment.
“George!” he called. “One finger of single malt, there’s a good man. The good stuff, eh?”
The old man nodded as he clinked some glasses behind the blond wood bar. Simmons looked around at the twee prints of boats and ships lining the walls. They looked dull beyond words, and some of the frames were wonky.
“How was your pie?” said Hog
arth.
“Hit the spot, actually,” said Simmons, wiping his mouth.
Hogarth was halfway through his second chicken and mushroom. There was no garnish. No mashed potato. Just a plate with two foil trays, their microwaved contents, and the crumbs he left behind.
Hogarth dispatched the last of the pie as his whisky appeared. Hogarth sipped it, sucked his teeth and swirled the rest in the glass. Simmons watched as he sipped and swirled, sipped and swirled. In the end Simmons’ silence got to him.
“For a young man, you know how to be a party pooper, don’t you, Simmons? This was my day off too, you know.” Hogarth poured the rest of the whisky down his throat, then stood up to pay what he owed. George was easy going about when the tab was settled. The old man knew he was good for the cash.
“We could quit now, and you could have your weekend back,” said Simmons.
Hogarth took out his wallet and narrowed his eyes at Simmons.
“We looked into it,” Simmons continued. “Found out it was a can of worms. So we packed it in and got on with our lives. In fact, I was thinking of going home and calling some friends.” Friends like Ecrin Kaplan. The weather outside the window of the Naval had changed for the better. The prospect of a walk with Kaplan seemed a far better one than spending the afternoon chaperoning his boss.
“You can’t blow me out now, it’s too late for that and I need a driver. I can’t stop now until we see what’s really happening here. Either Grant Dawn is trying to pull something, or someone did try to top him – and I want to know either way. Don’t you?”
“Can’t we just go with the odds, guv? I’d say the man was telling the truth. Seeing all those sharp looks and comments we got from the wife, she might have had something to do with it.”
“Why?”
“Stands to reason,” said Simmons. “She knew about the lock-up and about his cars. All she would have needed was someone to drop in and sabotage the Capri. Job done.”
“Maybe,” said Hogarth, still feeling the gentle fire of the single malt in his throat. “But I’m not into making it up, Simmons. I want the truth.”
“And how are you going to get that?”
The Secret Dawn Page 7
