Fear the Past

by J M Dalgliesh

  Hunter was surprised to see Kyle Broadfoot sitting in a chair opposite the chief superintendent. Visually taken aback, Broadfoot smiled at her reaction.

  “Pleased you could make it so quickly, sir,” Caslin said from behind. Hunter looked over her shoulder at him. “Sorry, Sarah. I forgot to mention I had asked Assistant Chief Constable Broadfoot to join us.”

  “Detectives Caslin and Hunter,” Broadfoot said, introducing them to Toby Ford.

  “Caslin?” Ford asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Caslin said, stepping forward and offering his hand. Ford stood to meet it. “I’m sorry, have we met?” he asked, wracking his brain to try and recall if they knew each other.

  Ford shook his head. “I… don’t believe so, no. Now that you two are here, perhaps you could tell me what all this is about?” the chief superintendent said, his tone shifting from an unexpected display of familiarity to one of barely masked irritation.

  Hunter cast a nervous glance towards Caslin. For his part, Caslin took Ford’s attitude in his stride. He was tall and rangy, appearing to have the physique of a cyclist with barely an ounce of fat around his athletic frame.

  “I can see you’re a busy man, sir,” Caslin said, noting Ford checking his watch. “We’ll keep this as brief as we possibly can. I’d like to talk to you regarding your association with DCI Philip Bradley.” At the mention of the name, Caslin noticed a brief flicker of something cross the chief superintendent’s face. Perhaps it was surprise at the mention of a man who had been dead for two years or perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way, Caslin found his curiosity piqued.

  “Bradley?” Ford said, sitting down and frowning. “What about him?”

  “Specifically, sir, the night he died… for the first time.”

  “What on earth do you mean, for the first time?” Ford asked, looking directly at Kyle Broadfoot. Broadfoot didn’t reply but held the gaze for a few moments before raising his eyebrows in a gesture that implied an answer should be forthcoming. “If you’re here, then you know what happened to Philip. He’s been dead for two years. Now, what’s all this about?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re trying to find out, sir,” Caslin said. “The issue is, if he died on that boat, just as you, Scott Tarbet and Greg Tower stated, then how come he’s lying in my morgue having been killed in a car crash less than two days ago?” Ford’s eyes narrowed and his lips parted. “Sir?” Caslin pressed for a response.

  “Nonsense,” Ford said, dismissing Caslin with evident scorn. He looked again to Broadfoot, “Sir, surely this is a waste of both our time?”

  Broadfoot remained impassive, “You need to listen, Toby, and then you need to provide an answer.”

  Ford, visibly frustrated at his superior officer’s response, returned his attention to Caslin. “Philip Bradley died on that boat. I saw it happen with my own eyes,” he said emphatically. “Someone has made a mistake.”

  “Our pathologist performed a fifteen-point fingerprint check,” Caslin said, referencing the thorough examination Dr Taylor carried out. In some jurisdictions a nine-point fingerprint match, where a set of prints have that many similarities, was legally admissible in court. Alison Taylor matched Bradley’s to a far greater level of accuracy making it almost a statistical impossibility that the body was anyone else’s. “DCI Bradley was alive and well until his car left the road two days ago. Can I ask where you were two nights ago, sir?”

  “And what the hell kind of question is that for you to ask me?” Ford said with thinly veiled aggression.

  Hunter bit her bottom lip but Caslin held his ground. “It’s a simple enough question, sir, and I would like an answer.”

  “As would I,” Broadfoot said, sitting forward in his seat, breaking Ford’s angry stare at Caslin and towards him instead. “If it makes you feel any better imagine it was your superior asking you the question?” Ford softened in his demeanour. Now, Hunter understood why Caslin requested Broadfoot’s presence. “I’ll help you. Where were you two nights ago?”

  “I… I… was at home,” Ford stated flatly. “I resent the need to answer the question, sir. You said Philip was killed in a car accident. Your question implies you suspect foul play?”

  “The investigation is ongoing,” Caslin said. “Can you think of any reason why he would have faked his own death?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “And yet, that was his choice,” Caslin countered. “He went to great lengths to ensure he was able to vanish. Approaching the end of his service, DCI Bradley was due his retirement, associated commutation from his pension plus the pension itself…”

  “And?” Ford asked.

  “That’s a lot to leave behind,” Caslin argued. “He never re-entered his previous life as far as we could tell. No access to his bank accounts, credit cards, family members… he dropped out of sight with a snap of the fingers. Why would he do that?”

  “I have not got the faintest idea.”

  “He executed his plan brilliantly. It’s almost hard to believe he was able to manage it unassisted.”

  “If he had assistance, Inspector, it certainly didn’t come from me,” Ford countered, fixing him with a stare. “I assure you, I am as curious as you are.”

  “DCI Bradley. Was he a decent officer?” Caslin asked.

  “Very,” Ford responded immediately without needing time to consider his answer. “A man you could always rely upon.”

  “He didn’t have any financial issues that you are aware of. Challenging relationships… troubling cases or the like?”

  “No,” Ford stated. “Nothing that I am aware of.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but this isn’t making any sense. A lifetime spent in service to his country. The respect of his colleagues and yet, here we are. These aren’t the actions of a man whose character everyone speaks of so highly.”

  “I can’t answer that, Inspector. All I can do is describe the man I knew and I fail to understand why you have brought this to me.”

  “Your witnessing of his death gave it credibility,” Caslin said. “You must know how it looks?”

  “Let me be clear, Inspector Caslin… Kyle,” he said, turning to Broadfoot. “I have no knowledge of these events. As far as I am aware, Philip Bradley died two years ago in a fire at sea. Now, is there anything else?”

  “Not for the moment, sir, no,” Caslin said. Ford stood as Kyle Broadfoot did as well. The latter offered his hand to Ford.

  “Thank you for your time, Toby,” Broadfoot said as they shook.

  “I hope I was of some help,” Ford replied. “Please do let me know the outcome of all of this.”

  “Oh, rest assured, sir,” Caslin interjected. “Should we need to speak to you further, I’ll certainly be back.” Ford glanced towards him and the expression of polite familiarity slipped for a moment before being masked by a smile.

  “You are welcome, Inspector Caslin. I will be only too pleased to assist you in any way I can,” he said, coming from behind his desk and offering his hand to Caslin by way of a farewell. Caslin shook it, locking eyes with the senior officer.

  “One more thing,” Caslin said, not releasing his grip. “How did you feel that night, out on the boat?”

  Ford’s smile dropped. “I was terrified, Inspector. By any measurement, the scariest experience of my life.”

  Caslin nodded, releasing Ford from the handshake. “I can imagine. How close were you to the other officer on the boat that night, Greg Tower?”

  “We were friends.”

  “Close friends?”

  “Yes, very. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me he’s still alive as well, are you?” Ford replied, with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I wouldn’t rule it out,” Caslin countered, assessing Ford’s body language. It didn’t tell him anything. The man looked stern, focused. Earlier he appeared off balance, mentally at least, but now, he came across confident and rigid. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  They left the office and Hunter dro
pped back a step as Kyle Broadfoot chose to walk alongside Caslin. The upper floors of the station were nigh on deserted. The majority of the offices were empty with the building’s lighting switching to their minimal evening settings, leaving shadows all around them. Conversation could be entered into freely as concerns about being overheard were non-existent.

  “You went in pretty hard on Toby,” Broadfoot said, glancing over his shoulder to Hunter. She was unsure of whether she should drop back a little further and remove herself from the conversation entirely. Broadfoot didn’t give her that impression, so she stayed where she was.

  “I know,” Caslin said. “It was intentional.”

  “What do you make of it?” Broadfoot asked.

  “The calmest bunch of terrified men I’ve ever come across,” Caslin said, drawing a perplexed expression from his boss.

  “Meaning?”

  “This is bigger than we think.”

  “In what way?”

  “I need time,” Caslin said, “and I can’t promise you I won’t step on more toes.”

  Broadfoot stopped, turning to face him. “Whatever it takes,” he said directly to him before glancing to Hunter. “Whatever it takes,” he repeated. Broadfoot left the two of them in the corridor, striding away.

  “He’s certainly motivated,” Hunter said quietly.

  “Personally involved,” Caslin added, his gaze drifting past Hunter towards the chief superintendent’s office as the door opened. Toby Ford stepped out of the room. Closing the door behind him before he noticed their presence, he met Caslin’s eye but only briefly. Locking the door, he returned the keys to his pocket and turned on his heel. He set off, walking in the opposite direction to them briefcase in hand and with his coat across his forearm. “What did you make of him?”

  “Defensive,” Hunter said. “I think he knows more than he was letting on. You went easy on him… at least, by your usual standard anyway.”

  “He’s not as good an actor as Scott Tarbet. I’ll give you that,” Caslin said, watching the departing figure make the turn at the end of the corridor and disappear from view. “He was surprised though.”

  “Surprised that Bradley was alive or that we’d come across him in a car crash?” Hunter sought to clarify.

  “There’s a question,” Caslin said. “Instinct tells me he was surprised we ended up in his office.”

  “Maybe they’ve been in contact?” Hunter suggested. “Although, we’re reaching when all we have is your instinct to go on.”

  “Philip Bradley picked those specific people to be on board the boat when he checked out,” Caslin explained. “We need to know why?”

  “He needed his cousin’s boat,” Hunter said, “and the other two were serving police officers. You could see them as a strange choice or a bold one.”

  “Their presence gave it an air of credibility,” Caslin said, thinking aloud.

  “Exactly,” Hunter agreed. “And if they were co-conspirators, then their standing would deflect the focus of the investigators away. It’s almost as strong as having a judge or a priest on your side in court.”

  “It didn’t deter the claims assessor, though,” Caslin countered.

  “What would Ford, Tarbet and Tower have to gain from helping him?” Hunter asked. “I mean, they would need to benefit in some way, wouldn’t they?”

  “I wonder if when we figure out what Bradley had to gain, then that question will be answered.”

  “Are we any closer to understanding that?”

  “No,” Caslin said with a shake of the head. “We’re still some way off. Bradley saw fit to hide, or the need to run, from something. We should focus on trying to find the link between all of these names. Once we do that, it will start to come together.”

  “What should we do with Chief Superintendent Ford?”

  “I’d love to put some surveillance on him and see what he does next but we don’t have the resources… nor the authority,” Caslin said with regret. “So far, the only links we have are between Bradley, Mason and David MacEwan. Those on the boat are either willing participants or unwitting contributors to a cover story.”

  “Or both?” Hunter said, Caslin had to concede the point because all they had were theories at present.

  “Let’s focus on MacEwan and Mason, pull a few threads and see what unravels.”

  “If Iain Robertson is right, who do you think pushed Bradley’s car off the road?”

  Caslin shrugged, “Mason’s jag is white, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s run a check against everyone we’ve come across and see if anyone owns a red car. I doubt it will be that simple but you never know.”

  “You think whatever brought Bradley out of hiding also got him killed?”

  “I’ll put money on it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Bradley has certainly been clocking up the mileage on that hire car, sir,” Holt said as Caslin took off his coat and pulled out a chair. Surprised to find Terry Holt was still hard at it when they eventually returned to Fulford Road, both of them were intrigued to find out what he’d uncovered. “I’ve downloaded the telematics data from Bradley’s car and that has given us reference points for everywhere he’s been in the past few days.”

  “Remind me. What does it tell us?” Hunter asked.

  “As long as the engine is running, the system will send out a ping rather like the transponder of an aircraft. This is registered at respective cell towers along the car’s route and relayed back to the manufacturer. It’s kind of like low-jacking via the GPS network.”

  “What’s he been up to?” Caslin asked, turning his focus to the board as Holt crossed to it. There were a series of coloured pins placed strategically on the map denoting Bradley’s movements. A cursory analysis saw he had come to York directly from Manchester upon picking up the car at the airport.

  “I’ve not placed every ping on the map, sir. There really isn’t a need but any major route along with a deviation has been catalogued.”

  “Where did he spend most of his time?” Caslin asked. Holt retrieved his notes and then came back to the board.

  “Like I said, he got about a bit. We have him visiting MacEwan’s scrapyard on two occasions. One of which was observed by you and the other was the previous night. Now, the information relayed to us will only respect the location of the tower the car’s system is communicating with. Therefore, we can’t be certain as to who or where he was actually visiting. There is still a degree of supposition going on, on our part. Because you witnessed him there the following day, I’m assuming he went in the day before but equally, he may have been staking the place out from the outside. We have no way of knowing for certain.”

  “Understood,” Caslin said. “Go on.”

  “Every night, he returned to this location,” Holt pointed to a place on the map roughly six miles from the outer limits of the city. “There’s a hotel and spa in this area so I figured he was staying there. I called them and was able to confirm he checked in on the day he arrived from Spain under his known alias. He was staying there alone and to their knowledge, he didn’t receive any visitors.”

  “When was the last time he was there at the hotel?”

  “His key card was activated on the morning of the day he died, sir. No one apart from the housekeeping staff has entered the room since. I’ve asked them to keep the room isolated until we can get a chance to go over and check it out.”

  “Good man,” Caslin said, approving of his efforts. “What are the other highlights of his travels?”

  “Mostly, he spent his time in and around York, sir. However, there was one notable deviation that I found very interesting.”

  “If you’re about to tell me he drove up to Whitby, I warn you now, I’ll be ecstatic,” Caslin said, casting a wry grin in Hunter’s direction. She smiled.

  “Sorry,” Holt dashed his hopes. “Although, he did head to the coast. He set off east, out of York and took the A64 in the direction of S
carborough.”

  “Heading for a Victorian coastal seaside resort? Maybe he was missing the lasagne and chips that he gets served up by the ex-pats back in Spain.”

  “Didn’t make it that far, sir,” Holt carried on, ignoring Caslin’s tangent. “He turned off at Staxton, then continued on before re-joining the coastal road and travelling south.”

  Caslin thought about the route, attempting to visualise it in his head. He hadn’t been that way in years. “Towards Bridlington?”

  Holt nodded, “But he took the turn off at Reighton, heading down to Flamborough.”

  “What was he doing there?” Hunter asked.

  “The telematics put him stationary out at Flamborough Head,” Holt explained. “The signal was switched off for several hours. I’m presuming he parked up there. It was reactivated when he started the car that evening.”

  “Could have been meeting someone?” Caslin suggested.

  “Could have fancied a walk along the coast and a visit to the lighthouse?” Hunter countered, before adding, “Although, I doubt it.”

  Caslin laughed, “I don’t know. It’s a stunning patch of coast. Does he have any connections in the area we are aware of?”

  “None that I’ve come across as yet, no,” Holt explained. “It is possible I will the further I go through his old case files but he was in CID for a long time.”

  “I know, it’s a lot of data to sift through,” Caslin said, reassuring him. “Has he been anywhere else?”

  “He was in and around Selby for an afternoon,” Holt said, glancing back at the board.

  “Selby?” Caslin repeated.

  “What about it, sir?” Hunter asked, perceiving Caslin’s far-away look as significant.

  “Nothing,” Caslin explained, shaking his head. “Just reminds me that I’ve not called my father back.”