“Thanks for stopping by,” Ashton replied, unmoved and glancing at his brother. Carl didn’t speak as both detectives made to leave the office. They reached the threshold of the door and Ashton called after them, “Feel free to have your car washed before you go. It’s on me.” Caslin glanced back at him but didn’t respond.
Walking down the ramp, the roar of heavy machinery and their accompanying warning alarms came to ear as the two of them set off across the site in the direction of their car. Hunter looked back to see Carl at the doorway, hands thrust into pockets and watching their departure.
“They’re not giving much away,” she said, raising her voice to ensure she was heard above the noise.
“You didn’t expect them to, did you?” Caslin countered. Hunter agreed. “I had hoped appealing to Ashton’s common sense would give us time to get it sorted.”
“Do you think we managed it?”
Caslin shook his head, “To be honest, I don’t know. He was expecting us and I’ll bet he’s already formulating a response. I know he gives over the impression of composure but he can be almost as impulsive as his little brother, albeit he’s marginally more calculating.”
“You think he knows where this has come from?”
“He suspects,” Caslin thought aloud, “and I reckon he has in mind what they plan to do about it.”
“Your instinct is Dade, right?” Hunter asked.
Caslin nodded, “Stands to reason. Despite what he says, there’s no love lost between the two families and they don’t go too long without stepping on each other’s toes.”
“Bombing one of their businesses is an escalation. A bit more than stepping on their toes,” Hunter argued as they reached the car. She unlocked it and they got in. Caslin shut his door, instantly diminishing the ambient noise around them. He looked back towards the building site.
“They have a lot to lose if they’re going to get involved in a turf war,” he said.
“As would Dade,” Hunter countered. “Is there anyone else? Danika Durakovic perhaps?”
“No, I don’t see what she would have to gain. There isn’t a great deal of overlap. The Fullers think they’re big time. The family reputation is fearsome but let’s be honest, the crew aren’t what they once were. They haven’t managed to eclipse their old man. Far from it.”
“Not yet, no,” Hunter stated. “But what about the possibility you floated earlier? That maybe the brothers are the aggressors here and the bombing is the retaliation.”
“If that’s the case, we had better figure it out before someone ups the ante. Otherwise this is going to get messy very quickly.”
Hunter turned the key in the ignition firing the engine into life. Moving off, they negotiated the small queue waiting their turn to be valeted. Circumventing the cars, Hunter drove around the rear of the old petrol station and came to the main road. The skies were brightening as the clouds cleared bringing forth the promise of a better day ahead. Caslin’s phone rang and he took it out, noting the call was from Terry Holt.
“What is it, Terry?”
“He didn’t survive theatre, sir,” Holt confirmed. “That’s four out of the five who didn’t make it.”
“Okay,” Caslin said, deflated. Glancing at Hunter he offered a brief shake of the head. She knew what that meant. “Head back to Fulford Road and we’ll see you there. When you get back, I want…” his phone beeped to indicate there was another call incoming. Caslin checked the screen, it was Kyle Broadfoot, Assistant Chief Constable and his boss. He figured he had best take the call. “I’ll get back to you, Terry,” he said, hanging up and switching to the other line.
“Nathaniel,” Broadfoot said by way of greeting.
“Sir,” Caslin replied. “We’re on our way back to Fulford Road,”
“Good, you’re already out in the field. I need you to swing by somewhere and meet me,” Broadfoot said. “I’ve got something for you to cast your eye over.”
“Sir?” Caslin failed to hide his irritation. “The explosion earlier today looks very much like a targeted campaign against Pete Fuller’s group.”
“And you will be able to fill me in when you get here, Nathaniel.”
“Where exactly are you, sir?” Caslin asked, caught off guard. For Broadfoot to be present at a crime scene so close to home before Caslin was even aware of its existence was surprising to say the least.
“East of York. Head towards Pocklington, via Kexby and you won’t be able to miss us,” Broadfoot said. “I’ll expect you along directly.” He hung up before Caslin had a chance to reply. Touching the handset to his lips, he was momentarily lost in thought before he caught sight of Hunter in the corner of his eye repeatedly glancing across at him, itching to know what was said.
“Change of plan,” Caslin said, looking over towards her. “Head for Kexby.”
“Why?” Hunter asked.
“Damned if I know,” Caslin replied. “But ours is not to reason why…”
Chapter Four
The route to Kexby was a much-travelled road cutting through farmland and linking various small communities between York and Market Weighton. Aside from the sparsely populated villages there was very little reason to be in the area unless working the land or attached to the small industrial estates peppering the otherwise rural landscape. Passing one such a place, Caslin eyed the liveried police car coming up on their right-hand side. Slowing down, they approached a turning into a gated area used by agricultural machinery to access the fields. Pulling up, they came to a stop alongside the police car. Looking past it, barely a stone’s throw away, they could see it was one of three not including the CSI van parked nearby.
A uniformed constable stepped forward and checked their identification before allowing them access. Clearing the highway, Hunter parked beside what she recognised as Kyle Broadfoot’s chauffeur-driven car. Caslin got out and looked around. Nestled into the Vale of York, the landscape was flat with trees lining the boundaries shielding the immediate area from passing traffic on the road. The access track ran off in a straight line from the road whereas adjacent to it was a patch of flooded marshland. Reeds grew in abundance nearby and beyond those he could see open water, perhaps stretching for a hundred yards. From the look of its configuration, he figured this was a man-made basin created to drain the fields of excess water.
A group were gathered near to the water’s edge and Caslin could make out the lanky figure of his superior amongst the collection of high-vis jackets and white-clad forensic technicians. Both Caslin and Hunter approached as Assistant Chief Constable Kyle Broadfoot spotted their arrival, acknowledging them with a wave and beckoning them over.
“Nathaniel. Sarah. Pleased you could join us,” he said in greeting, his words accompanied by a cloud of vapour. Despite the presence of the sunshine, the clearing skies belied the freezing temperature hovering barely above zero. Exposed as they were out here in the countryside, the wind chill made it feel several degrees below.
“Good morning, sir,” they said in unison. He bid them to accompany him to the water’s edge. The forensic team stepped aside to give them space. What they saw was no longer shocking to either of the newcomers. A body lay half into the water, much of the upper torso was submerged. It was clearly a male. Caslin figured him to be in his early thirties. However, the angle in which the body lay, face down in the water, it wasn’t particularly easy to judge. There was a significant amount of damage to the rear of the skull with the hair thickly matted with blood. Caslin figured pathology wouldn’t need to work too hard to determine the cause of death. The water here didn’t flow and therefore it was reasonable to presume the body lay in more or less the same position in which it had entered the water.
Caslin knelt in order to get a better view. The man was dressed in jeans and a checked shirt. It was a casual shirt not an all-weather outdoor item and offered scant protection against the recent weather. Coupled with the jeans and the leather town-shoes they could rule out the man being a hiker or ramble
r. Looking around this seemed an odd place for a man dressed in this way to be.
“Any ID?” he asked. Broadfoot politely snapped his fingers indicating for something to be passed to him. An evidence bag was swiftly handed over and Broadfoot gave it to Caslin. Standing up, Caslin donned a pair of latex gloves and opened the bag. Withdrawing a wallet from inside, he noted it was wet, presumably having been retrieved from one of the victim’s pockets. Flicking through the contents, he came across the driving licence. Even with the face being half under water, Caslin could see it was the same man. “Jody Wyer,” he said aloud for Hunter’s benefit as much for his own. Continuing to inspect the contents, he noted there was at least fifty pounds present, credit cards and a number of business cards. Caslin teased one out. It was damp and therefore delicate so he took great care not to damage it. The card had the business name, Blue Line Investigations. A registered office address in central York, along with both a land line and mobile phone number. He passed the card to Hunter. She scanned it.
“What do they investigate, does it say?” she asked.
“A private investigation agency,” Broadfoot confirmed. Caslin flicked his eyes in his superior’s direction and then across at Hunter.
“Any sign of the mobile?” Caslin asked. Broadfoot shook his head. “How about a car? Do we know how he got here?” he asked, looking around. Iain Robertson appeared, clad in his white suit. Caslin hadn’t realised the head of forensic investigators was present when he arrived. He was caught off guard figuring Robertson would be on his way to the scene of the bombing to liaise with Mark Francis, the Fire Brigade’s lead investigator.
“We have fresh tracks set down overnight just over there,” Robertson indicated to where members of his team were setting up. “My guess it’s an SUV of some type judging by the width of tread and the wheel base. The drop in temperature has set them quite nicely for me.”
“I think we can rule out robbery as a motive based on what they left us,” Caslin argued. No one disagreed. “How long would you say he’s been in the water?”
Robertson looked at the body, screwing his nose up in concentration. “Bearing in mind the recent weather we’ve been experiencing I’d suggest a couple of days. No more than that,” he said, rocking his head side to side as he offered his thoughts. “Once we get him out of the water, I’ll take his temperature and then I’ll be able to narrow that down a little for you. Are you happy for us to proceed?” he asked, looking to Broadfoot who nodded.
Robertson called over his technicians and the others stood aside, retreating up the shallow incline to allow them to get on with their work.
“I know you have your hands full with this bombing in the city centre, Nathaniel,” Broadfoot said. “But I would like you to focus with an equal measure on this case. I’ve cleared it with DCI Matheson that we take the reins on the inquiry. Such is the way of things at Fulford Road at the moment I think she was only too happy for us to take it off her hands.”
Caslin noted Broadfoot was staring back towards the forensics team as they retrieved the body from the water with an expression on his face that Caslin found unreadable. Usually, he found Kyle Broadfoot to be very matter-of-fact, displaying an innate pragmatism that saw his stewardship of the North Yorkshire Crime Directorate run very smoothly as well as successfully.
“Can I ask what our interest is in this case, sir?” Caslin asked. After all, as homicides went this was a fairly straightforward investigation. “I mean, why should it interest Major Crimes?” Broadfoot took a deep breath, his gaze passing over DS Hunter and falling onto Caslin.
“Jody Wyer was known to us,” he said flatly.
“In what capacity?” Caslin asked, sensing reticence.
“On occasion, he would offer up information if it were mutually beneficial.”
“He was an informant?”
“Not officially, no,” Broadfoot clarified.
“I’ve never come across him,” Caslin said, glancing towards Hunter who indicated the same with an almost imperceptible dip at the corners of her mouth that was missed by Broadfoot, as intended.
“Before your time here, Nathaniel.”
Caslin raised his eyebrows and nodded, “Any idea what he was investigating?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Broadfoot stated. “Although, the last communication we had with him he implied he was working on something pretty big.”
“When was this?” Hunter asked.
“Last month.”
“Did he offer up any more detail than that?” Caslin asked. Broadfoot shook his head. Wyer’s body had been photographed and was now being placed into a body bag in preparation for transportation to the morgue where an autopsy would take place. At this point, Broadfoot finally tore his gaze away from the scene.
“No, I’m afraid he didn’t,” he said, turning and indicating to his driver that he was ready to leave. The officer strode towards the car.
“Was he reported missing?”
“Not that I’m aware, no.”
“Who found the body?” Caslin asked.
“A dog walker. That’s him over there,” Broadfoot said. Caslin turned to see a man talking to another officer a little way off. A Springer Spaniel sat at his feet as he offered his statement.
“Who do we contact as next of kin, sir?” Hunter asked. Broadfoot looked at her. “We’ll need an official identification.”
“That won’t be necessary in this case, Detective,” Broadfoot advised her, turning to Caslin. “Keep me posted, would you?”
“I will, sir,” Caslin said. Broadfoot smiled weakly, acknowledging Hunter and set off. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his overcoat and his head bowed as he picked his way across the mud in the direction of his car. The engine was already running and his driver opened the rear door for him, swiftly closing it once Broadfoot was inside. Caslin watched the car leave, the uniformed constable opening the gate to allow them to pass.
“What do you make of that?” Hunter asked. “I’ve never seen him so pained.”
Caslin shrugged, “Me neither. It makes it even more intriguing to find out what Mr Wyer was getting stuck into.”
“You think it will be related to his work?” Hunter asked.
“Let’s not rule anything in or out,” Caslin said. “Maybe he criticised his better half’s choice of outfit and we’ll have it closed off by dinner time.” Hunter laughed, it was bitter.
“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” she said. “How do you want to play it?”
“We’ll not get anything from the bomb site until later today at the earliest. Let’s drop in on Wyer’s office and see if we can gauge their reaction to all of this.”
Caslin felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. Inclining his head in the direction of the car, Hunter nodded and set off. Taking out the phone, Caslin saw it was Karen, his ex-wife.
“Karen,” he said, turning back towards Robertson and the CSI team carrying out their inspection of the deceased.
“Hi Nate,” she said, coming across far more upbeat than usual. “I wanted to speak with you about the weekend.”
“The weekend?” he asked, immediately concerned there was something he’d forgotten about.
“Yes. You remember, we’re away in Copenhagen and we talked about you having the kids?” she said. Caslin’s heart sank. He had forgotten about his ex-wife and her fiancée going away for a long weekend. Seeing two crime scene officers hoist the black body bag onto a gurney and wheel it away, struggling in their efforts to negotiate the terrain, towards the waiting transport van, he considered his position.
“Yeah, about that…”
“Nate,” Karen said, her tone shifting slightly. “Don’t you dare cancel on me. We’ve had this planned for months.”
“I know,” Caslin countered. “You heard about that explosion in the city this morning?”
“No, I haven’t seen the news,” she said. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I can’t say but… it’s a diffi
cult time,” he began but got no further.
“Nathaniel,” she said sternly, “I am going away on Friday night and you need to be with your children.”
“Perhaps Sean could…”
“No, Sean is not taking responsibility for his sister! He can barely look after himself. You know that. I know your job is important to you,” she said.
“It’s not that it’s important to me,” Caslin argued. “I can’t just drop everything.”
“I’m not asking you to drop everything. These are your children, Nathaniel.”
“I’m well aware…”
“You’re having the children this weekend,” Karen said, talking over him. She was emphatic.
“I… I’m sorry. I can’t,” Caslin replied. The line went dead. He exhaled heavily, casting his eyes skyward. The last thing he wanted to do was let his family down. In the past few months he was pleased with the progress they had made. Lizzie was developing further into the confident little girl he’d always imagined she would be and Sean was on the right track. Granted, it was a tougher climb from the darkness of his world twelve months previously but things were looking positive. The nagging irritation that Karen still appeared so quick to judge him as being willing to shirk his responsibilities flashed through his mind.
Realising there was little he could do, he pushed the negativity aside. There would be a solution and he had a couple of days to think of one. If not… well, he would cross that bridge when he reached it. Turning, he covered the short distance between himself and the car. Hunter already had the engine started. Getting in, he was grateful the heaters were on.
“Everything okay?” Hunter inquired, reading the concerned expression on his face.
“Nothing a spare me wouldn’t cure,” he replied. She looked at him quizzically. “So that I could be in two places at once,” he explained.
Fear the Past Page 3
