Josiah Dark Thrillers Box Set

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t call him “Sir” once.’

  ‘Didn’t I? So, I would have suggested driving to Chester to interview Flagg’s step-father, but I don’t think this wreck will make it.’

  Lakes’ eyes opened wide. ‘Now that Monty has four new spark plugs and a spruced-up bush in his distributor, I’m sure he’d be up for the challenge.’

  ‘It would be a challenge as well. And it’d probably cost me a month’s wages on top of what I’ve already forked out. We’ll save that trip for tomorrow and go in my car. Head for Buxton.’

  ‘To interview ACC Vickers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which way is that?’

  He picked up the A to Z and found Silverlands in Buxton. ‘Turn left. Follow the signs for the A6. It’s a straight run.’

  She set off. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘That’s unfortunate, isn’t it?’

  ‘You could buy me lunch.’

  ‘Your apprenticeship does not include free meals.’

  ‘So, you’d rather see me starve to death?’

  ‘I’d rather not see you at all.’

  ‘What are you going to do for lunch?’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet.’ He closed his eyes, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep. It was more to rest his eyes than anything else. ‘Wake me up when we get there.’

  Almost as soon as he’d closed his eyes, he felt her poke him. His neck, back and knees ached. Lake’s jalopy was not built for comfort.

  ‘We’re here,’ she said.

  He opened his eyes and stared out of the grubby windows. It didn’t look like Buxton. ‘Where’s here?’

  ‘The Roebuck Inn in Chapel-en-le-Frith, High Peak. I thought we could eat before we reached Buxton.’

  ‘We? You haven’t got any money.’

  ‘A minor point. You’re not going to eat on your own, are you?’

  ‘I eat on my own most of the time.’

  ‘Interviewing people on an empty stomach is not recommended. It robs you of your focus.’

  ‘What would you know about focus? Not only that, you already owe me a hundred and fifty pounds, and that’s not counting the interest.’

  ‘Interest! You’re going to charge me interest?’

  ‘I was thinking of five percent every twenty-four-hours, including interest on the interest – what do you think?’

  ‘I’ll report you to the fraud squad for extortion.’

  ‘Charging people interest on short-term loans is not extortion.’

  ‘Well, it should be. You’re trying to take me to the cleaners.’

  ‘And you’re trying to use me like your personal cash machine.’

  ‘It’s only temporary. I’ll ask my dad for a loan and pay you back tomorrow.’

  ‘Daddy to the rescue.’

  ‘If I was on decent wages . . .’

  ‘Stop whining. Let’s go and eat. At this rate, we’ll never get to Buxton.’

  ***

  After snacking on the move for a few days, he had to admit that the meal at the Roebuck Inn was particularly good, so he didn’t mind stopping. It made a nice change to enjoy his food, rather than simply filling up.

  Lake was beginning to get under his skin. He was still resisting, but with her continually snapping at his heels, it was becoming increasingly harder to shake her off. In the face of his partner aversion any normal person would have given up and gone home, but she seemed to have the hide of a rhinoceros. He couldn’t get rid of her, and she wouldn’t go of her own volition. It appeared as though he was stuck with her – at least for the time being.

  As they were entering Buxton, his phone vibrated.

  ‘Dark.’

  ‘I’m finishing up for the day, Inspector. Mrs Finn has instructed me in no uncertain terms that I’m not to work beyond three o’clock on a Friday afternoon, so that’s put the kibosh on my long and enjoyable conversations with frozen cadavers. Instead, I have to go home and listen to the ravings of the indomitable Mrs Finn, without being able to wiggle a word in edgeways. Anyway, enough about my perfect life. I thought I’d call you to let you know the results of the toxicological analysis, so that I can enjoy my weekend unfettered by lingering doubts that I’d forgotten to do something important.’

  ‘Give Mrs Finn my best.’

  ‘She’ll be ecstatic, I’m sure. So, Rohypnol was used to render the late Toby Flagg non compos mentis. The 7-aminoflunitrazipam level in his blood was 75 nanograms per millilitre. He would have been conscious, but with no control over his actions. He’d have been completely unaware that he was being murdered in such a vampiric manner.’

  ‘Thanks, Professor.’

  ‘Rohypnol tablets – or roofies as the in-crowd call them – are sold like jelly babies in the clubs, and the liquid form is also easy enough to obtain either on the black market or online from Eastern Europe, so I can’t offer you anything there.’

  ‘Not your fault, Professor.’

  ‘I’ve also faxed you my final post-mortem report – nothing new there either.’

  ‘Have a good weekend.’

  ‘Very kind. You too, Dark. And say hello to DC Lake for me.’

  The line went dead.

  ‘Toxicological analysis?’ Lake said.

  ‘Yes. Flagg was injected with enough Rohypnol to put an elephant in a coma.’

  ‘That’s what we expected, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where to?’

  He checked the A to Z. They were still on the A6 just passing Ashwood Park and running parallel to the River Wye. ‘Take the third exit at the roundabout.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Right, left at the end . . . And here we are.’

  ‘Another example of us making a good team.’

  ‘We’d make a better team if you had a satnav.’ He pointed to a free parking space. ‘Over there.’

  In keeping with the surrounding buildings, Buxton Police Station had been built using local quarry stone. It had a large stone entrance, Georgian sash windows and a slate roof. With the exception of a sign, and a few squad cars parked outside, few people would have guessed it was a police station.

  ‘Yes, Sir?’ the civilian grey-haired Support Officer on the enquiry desk asked.

  Dark held up his Warrant Card. ‘DI Dark and DC Lake from Manchester Serious Crime Division to see the Assistant Chief Constable.’

  His face clouded over as he looked at a clipboard on the counter. ‘I wasn’t told. Is she expecting you?’

  ‘No. We came on the off-chance she’d want to see us.’

  Looking relieved, he put the clipboard down. ‘Will she know what it’s about?’

  ‘She will when we tell her.’

  ‘I see. Just one moment, Sir.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The man picked up a phone and keyed in an internal number.

  ‘Do you think she’ll see us?’ Lake said.

  ‘Human beings are the most curious animals on the planet. She’ll want to know why we’ve travelled all the way from Manchester and what we’re here about.’

  ‘DI Dark?’ the support officer said after a handful of seconds.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The ACC will be with you shortly.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  After a couple of minutes a side door opened and a small woman in her mid-forties with blonde hair just off her shoulders appeared. She had a healthy complexion except for her chin, which was red raw and looked as though it had been scrubbed with a pumice stone; a good set of teeth and spindly legs. She came towards them with her right arm extended. ‘DI Dark?’

  ‘Yes.’ He shook the hand. She had the grip of someone who practised her handshakes using a dumbbell and wrist curls. ‘And this is DC Lake.’

  Vickers shook Lake’s hand as well.

  Lake grimaced.

  ‘Can I offer you coffee while you tell me why you’re here?’

  ‘Coffee is alw
ays gratefully received, Ma’am.’

  ‘A copper’s winter fuel. Please follow me. She led them through the door, up a set of stairs and along the corridor of the second floor to a large, high-ceilinged office, which had been lavishly furnished at the taxpayer’s expense. ‘Please, take a seat,’ she said, indicating half-a-dozen chunky easy chairs around a circular glass-topped coffee table. ‘I can spare you fifteen minutes.’

  ‘That should be enough time, Ma’am.’

  ‘Enough time for what?’ she asked as she poured two coffees from a glass percolator jug, carried them over, placed them on the coffee table and sat down opposite them with her knees crossed.

  ‘You investigated the hit-and-run death of a property solicitor called Albert Flagg, which occurred fifteen years ago on Thursday, June 14, 2002 outside the offices of Alexander, Flagg & Druitt on Strines Road in Marple. A black BMW mowed him down at seven forty-five in the evening, and you concluded that the driver was a joyrider.’

  A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. ‘I vaguely recall the case. One of my first as a DC as it happens. Joyriders had become a real problem by then. But fifteen years is a really long time. Why have you re-opened the case now?’

  ‘The body of his son was discovered in the canal lock at Marple on Wednesday afternoon – he was murdered in the early hours of Tuesday morning.’

  ‘How awful, but didn’t Albert Flagg’s wife and child move away?’

  ‘Yes, but when Mrs Flagg died seven months ago, Toby returned to Marple.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘We’re speculating, but we think it was to find out who killed his father and why.’ He passed Vickers the note in the clear evidence bag that they’d found in Toby Flagg’s apartment. ‘This probably explains why he returned.’

  She read the message. Her face paled.

  ‘As you can see, it’s dated four days after Albert Flagg’s death. We think Toby found it in his mother’s possessions after she died, which led him back to Marple . . . And his own death.’

  ‘We also . . .’ Lake started to say.

  Dark held up his hand to stop her. ‘Thank you, Lake. I’m dealing with this.’

  ‘Mrs Flagg never revealed that she’d received this,’ Vickers said, indicating the note. ‘If she had . . . Well, I think it’s obvious that we would have initiated a murder inquiry, instead of a hit-and-run investigation.’

  ‘She didn’t tell you, because she probably feared for her son’s life.’

  Vickers nodded. ‘It seems likely. Have you any idea who sent it?’

  ‘No. Was there anyone who stood out during your investigation that you think might have sent it?’

  ‘No one really. If there had been, I would have identified them in the report.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It would appear that the conclusion at the end of the report was incorrect. No wonder we couldn’t find the joyrider.’

  ‘Did it ever occur to you that Flagg might have been murdered?’

  ‘I’m sure it must have crossed my mind, but there was no evidence to suggest a motive for murder, and every reason to believe that it was a joyrider. I remember looking at his previous and current property cases, but none of them were the type of stuff that would justify murder.’

  ‘What about the lack of skid marks on the road?’

  ‘I recall speaking to a Traffic officer, and he said we couldn’t infer anything from the lack of skid marks. Apparently, joyriders weren’t overly interested in braking, only accelerating.’

  ‘We’ve obviously read your report, but is there anything that you didn’t include in it?’

  ‘No. I would never do such a thing. I take great pride in writing comprehensive and accurate reports.’

  He swallowed the rest of his coffee, stood up and said, ‘Thanks for seeing us, Ma’am. We won’t waste any more of your time.’ He offered his hand. ‘Come on, Lake. I’m sure the ACC doesn’t want you cluttering up her office.’ He passed Vickers one of his cards. ‘If anything does occur to you.’

  ‘Of course. And I’d be interested in knowing the outcome of your investigation.’

  ‘I’ll send you a copy of my report, Ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you. Have a nice drive back to Manchester.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘In rush hour on a Friday night?’

  She half-smiled. ‘No, maybe not.’

  The ACC’s secretary escorted them back to the entrance lobby.

  They made their way out into the freezing darkness and headed towards the car.

  ‘She wasn’t much help,’ Lake said.

  ‘That’s because she was lying.’

  ‘No, I don’t believe that.’

  ‘You’ve made it fairly obvious that your observational skills are akin to stumbling about in a dark room. Trust me, she was lying. For a start, she had lying eyes. Was she right- or left-handed?’

  Lake screwed up her face. ‘Mmmm! I don’t know.’

  ‘Which hand did she offer us to shake at the front desk?’

  ‘Her right, but that doesn’t mean anything. Everybody shakes hands using their right hand.’

  ‘Which hand did she use to carry our coffees to the table.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Her right. She was right-handed.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And when right-handed people lie, they look up to their right. They’re visualising a “constructed”, or imagined, event.’

  ‘Nobody believes that anymore, do they?’

  ‘On its own, it probably wouldn’t stand up in a court of law, but there were other indicators as well.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything.’

  He grunted. ‘That says more about you than anything else. You had no idea what you were looking for, but I did. Her micro expressions, which are involuntary movements in facial muscles that are affected by a person’s emotions, betrayed her. She gave fake smiles to try and hide her lies. Also, she used distancing language, which indicates a person is lying – “my” becomes “the”; defensive statements such as “I wouldn’t do such a thing”; and additional words in sentences such as “really”, which indicate deception. In isolation, you wouldn’t notice anything, but when you put them all together they provide a compelling picture of a woman desperately trying to hide the truth from us.’

  ‘I didn’t know any of that.’

  ‘Which is exactly why you’re the apprentice and I’m the master.’

  ‘But what was she lying about?’

  ‘Now, that’s a very good question. I’m guessing that she knew Albert Flagg was murdered, but she was either paid off or threatened with physical harm to say that he was killed by a joyrider.’

  They reached the car and climbed inside.

  Lake turned the key in the ignition.

  ‘Reverse up, make it look as though you’re driving away, and then circle round and park up there.’ He pointed to an additional car park on a road that was above where they were. ‘Park so that we’re facing the police station and we can see when she comes out.’

  ‘We’re not going home?’

  ‘Not even close.’

  ‘But it’s Friday night. I have . . .’

  ‘You have what?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That’s good, because we have lots of work to do here before we go back to Manchester. And while we’re on the subject, you were about to tell the ACC about the key we’d found in Flagg’s apartment, weren’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes . . .’

  ‘She’s a suspect.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know that. You should have told me.’

  ‘I didn’t think I had to, but what I have already told you is not to do or say anything unless I’ve given you permission. You assured me you understood, but you obviously didn’t.’

  ‘I did, but . . .’

  ‘Things would go a lot better for you if you simply admitted your mistakes. One minute I think we’ve taken a step forward, and then the next we’re taking
three steps backwards.’

  She parked overlooking the entrance to the police station. ‘How long do we have to wait here?’

  ‘How long’s a piece of string?’

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Wake me up when the ACC comes out.’

  ‘I’d like some sleep as well.’

  ‘A good apprentice eats and sleeps sparingly.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The case had been ticker-taping through his head when he felt Lake poking him.

  ‘What do you want now?’

  ‘She’s just come out of the station.’

  He sat up. ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘Forty-five minutes.’

  It didn’t surprise him.

  He sat up, wiped his mouth and watched ACC Vickers walk to her car – a grey Mercedes SLK 350 Roadster. He hoped she was going to keep to the speed limit, otherwise Lake would have problems following her in this jalopy.

  ‘You’re going to follow her, so start the engine.’

  ‘In this? She has a . . .’

  ‘I can see what she’s got. Don’t lose her.’

  She grinned. ‘Who’d have thought Monty would be following a suspect. Don’t worry, he’ll do his best.’

  ‘You’re the one driving.’

  ‘Yes, but Monty understands the importance of the task he’s been set.’

  ‘In that case, he’d better get a move on then.’

  Lake followed Vickers’ Roadster. At one point, he thought they’d lost it, but then it appeared stationary in front of them at a red pedestrian crossing light.

  ‘I don’t understand why we’re following the ACC, you know.’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘Do you think she’s going to meet someone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’ll know the best takeaway in Buxton, and we’ll go in after her and get some food?’

  ‘Stop talking and concentrate. A good apprentice knows when to shut up.’

  ‘Being an apprentice is hard.’

  Eventually, Vickers pulled up next to a telephone box.

  ‘Pull in,’ he said.

  Lake did as he instructed her.

  Vickers switched off the engine, climbed out of the car, went into the telephone box and made a call.

  ‘Well, what’s she doing?’ he asked Lake.