Deadly Fallout (Detective Zoe Finch Book 6)

by Rachel McLean

  “OK.” Connie looked at him, her posture stiff.

  “Are we all done?” Dawson said. “I mean, this is all very lovely and that, but it’s not the best use of a DI and DS, being bossed around by two constables.”

  “I want to give them some leadership experience,” Zoe replied. “It won’t hinder the investigation.” She turned to the constables, smiling. “It might even help it.”

  Dawson snorted. “Just don’t let it get in the way of you doing your job, Zoe. I’ll be in my office if you need me. You lot planning to stay here chewing the fat for long?”

  “Not long,” said Zoe. She spotted the look of relief on Rhodri’s face. If he had plans, that would have to come second. Especially if he wanted promotion.

  “Right,” she said as the door closed behind them. “What’s the plan for the morning?”

  “All back here, bright and early,” said Connie. Rhodri flinched.

  “Yes,” said Zoe. “You’ll need to prepare a schedule for the day, note who’s doing what and what new evidence we’re expecting.”

  “Are you making us the SIOs?” Rhodri asked.

  “I’m not going that far. I’m still SIO. And if I need to, I’ll lead. If things get ugly, or the investigation takes a turn we don’t expect, it’ll revert to normal. And I’ll tell you when you can go home. Which is now.”

  Rhodri stepped towards the door, then thought better of it. He waited for Connie to gather up her things and the two of them walked out together.

  “That was exhausting,” Mo said after he and Zoe were alone.

  “Interesting, though,” Zoe said. “It’ll do them good, and us too if it works.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Zoe was alone in the office. Normally when she found herself alone here at night she would drop by Lesley’s office on the way out. Connecting with her boss at the end of the day cleared her head and helped her see connections she might not have. And it was a relief not to be in charge.

  She could go and see Dawson. She still wasn’t ready to accept him as her line manager, even temporarily. But she had to admit he had authority. And it would be helpful for him to know why she was letting Connie and Rhodri lead this stage of the investigation.

  No. He might stop her.

  She picked up the phone and dialled Lesley. The DCI may be on ill health leave, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want to be ignored.

  “Zoe. Good to hear from you. How’s it going with Frank?”

  “It’s improving. He might be less of a dick than I had him down as.”

  Lesley chuckled. “There, what did I tell you?”

  “I’m changing the way a new investigation is run, giving the DCs some leadership responsibility. He didn’t crap all over it.”

  “He trusts you, Zoe. He knows that throwing his weight around will be counterproductive and he’ll let you do your job as you see fit. Just don’t blank him out, yeah?”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  “So, you’ve got a new case?” Zoe could sense Lesley settling in for a chinwag.

  “Two, sort of.”

  “Oh?”

  “First there was a body found in an empty house in Sutton Coldfield. Turns out he was a copper, a DS from Erdington.”

  Lesley whistled. “And?”

  “He was suspended two months ago. DCI Donnelly was his senior officer, he told me—”

  “Hang on, Zoe. You’re on speaking terms with Chris Donnelly?”

  “Believe it or not. It’s irrelevant now, Professional Standards have taken it off us.”

  “Not surprised, if he was suspended. Any idea who killed him?”

  “None. But Mo found a symbol etched into the wall next to the body. We don’t know who did it, the killer or the victim.”

  “What kind of symbol?”

  “A bull, enclosed in a ring.”

  “The Bullring.”

  “Birmingham icon, I know,” Zoe replied. “But we’ve also found the same symbol on a second body.”

  “Now you’re getting me interested. I tell you, sitting around with Terry all evening is bloody dull.”

  Zoe shrugged. She didn’t know how to respond to her boss’s domestic concerns.

  “So what now?” Lesley asked.

  “I’m SIO on the second case. Unidentified man in Chelmsley Wood.”

  “Long way from Sutton Coldfield.”

  “Geographically, no.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “No.” Zo thought of the two crime scenes. The house where they’d found Starling had been in need of some TLC, but it was a large detached property in an affluent suburb. The second body had been dumped in a patch of grass next to an industrial estate in an area struggling to improve itself.

  “The symbol was etched next to your second guy too?” Lesley asked.

  “It was on a badge. Embroidered.”

  “Like something a gang member might wear.”

  “Yes.” Zoe had been thinking about gangs too. If DS Starling had been taking bribes, then they could be involved. But she wasn’t aware of one with this symbol.

  “You’ve spoken to Drugs?” Lesley asked.

  “Not yet. I’ve got Connie and Rhodri leading on the planning. We’re focused on identifying the victim for now.”

  “Makes sense. Find the victim, find the killer. Probably some guy who decided to leave the gang.”

  “He was too old for that. He was extremely bloated, but I could still tell he wasn’t young.”

  “Family member?”

  “Maybe.” Zoe yawned.

  “I’m keeping you,” Lesley said.

  “I’m not sleeping so well. Ian’s trial.”

  “I can imagine it’s stressing everyone out.”

  “It is. I’ll be glad when it’s done.”

  “Hmmm. I had an odd call today.”

  “OK.” Zoe leaned back in her chair, stretching her leg muscles.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you,” Lesley said.

  “But you’re going to.”

  “It’s been bugging me. And I’m not your senior officer anymore.”

  “Who from?”

  “Hang on.” Zoe heard muffled voices; Lesley had her hand over the receiver. Zoe yawned as she waited.

  “Sorry about that. Terry tells me it’s time to eat. It’s like being a goddamn toddler here.”

  Zo grimaced. “At least he’s cooking for you.”

  Lesley laughed. “Good job, too. With my cooking you’d have another murder investigation on your hands.”

  “I’ll let you go.”

  “Ta. Call again, yes? It’s good to hear from you.”

  “I will.” Zoe hung up, realising she hadn’t found out more about the odd call Lesley had received. She’d ask her, next time they spoke.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Zoe couldn’t resist. Instead of turning right out of the station and driving home, she turned left and into the city. She passed under the tunnels, glad the rush hour was over, and made for Boldmere.

  She pulled up in the street leading to the cul de sac. She didn’t want her car spotted, and she had to admit that driving a British racing green Mini around made her easy to identify. She sat in the car for a few moments, staring out at the street and thinking.

  That symbol. What was it? It could be a gang, could be something else. It was quintessentially Brummie, a bull in a ring. So much so, that it felt like a parody.

  Whatever it was, both victims were somehow connected to it. And if the first victim was a bent copper, then the second might be too.

  He was a middle-aged white man, like so many of her colleagues. She wouldn’t be surprised to turn up to the crime scene tomorrow and find PSD there, sealing it off and taking over again. But in the meantime, she wanted to get her head around the connection.

  She got out of her car and walked towards the cul de sac. A car stopped at the junction just as she reached it. She carried on walking, trying to look like she was a local resident making
her way home.

  “Zoe?”

  She turned to see the car had its windows wound down. It was a green Polo: Adi.

  She felt her shoulders slump as she approached the car. “You’re working late.”

  “It was either that, or come back tomorrow. As it is, we’re finished here.”

  Zoe looked towards the house. “Completely?”

  “Don’t get any ideas, Zoe. Those patio doors are a key piece of evidence. If you try breaking in there too, you’ll contaminate the scene.”

  “You said you were finished.”

  He sighed. “You know what I mean.”

  “So are those patio doors still there?”

  “Yes. We’ve taken paint samples from them, photographed the things till the cows come home.”

  “And?”

  “Someone was in that house in recent days.”

  “The killer.”

  “Zoe, you know I can’t…”

  “I know. But I’ve got another case. A John Doe found in Chelmsley Wood. I think it’s related.”

  Adi stared ahead, his grip tight on the steering wheel. “Yes or no answers, Zoe. I’m giving you no more than that.”

  Headlights swept across the car. Zoe turned to see a brown Vauxhall pulling up. A man got out: Mo.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him. She looked along the street. The residents would start to wonder what was going on.

  “I knew you’d come here,” he said. “I came to stop you doing anything stupid.”

  “You followed me.”

  He screwed up his lips. “You can’t break into a crime scene.”

  “How stupid d’you think I am, Mo?”

  Adi whistled. “I’m getting out of here. Don’t want to be caught in a domestic.”

  “I’ll buy you a drink,” Zoe said.

  “Zoe, I’m really sorry but—”

  “Mo too. I just want to compare notes. Answers of one syllable, Adi. That’s all I ask of you.”

  “I could get fired for this.”

  “No one will know.”

  Adi turned to her, his face twisted. “You’re dating Carl Whaley, and you don’t think you’ll mention it to him?”

  “I keep my professional life and my personal life separate.”

  “I bet you do.” Adi started the ignition. Zoe leaned through the window. “Please.”

  He thumped the steering wheel. “Alright. Nowhere round here, though. Find a pub in the city centre. I don’t want anyone seeing me with you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  David Randle parked his car by the Co-op supermarket, careful to stay out of sight of the police cordon. He reached into his pocket for his phone, then remembered he’d left it in his desk. Safer that way: no GPS.

  His relationship with Frank Dawson wasn’t established yet, and he couldn’t have the informal chats with him he’d enjoyed with Lesley. And besides, the man wouldn’t be in the job long. Soon there would be a permanent DCI in place. Hopefully Lesley would stay in Dorset.

  So he had no idea how far Zoe and her team had got with this crime scene yet. He’d make a few calls in the morning, see what he could discover without drawing attention to himself. Meanwhile, he wanted to see it for himself.

  He was wearing a black hoody and dark blue jeans with a pair of trainers he’d dug out from the back of a cupboard. Anita was normally meticulous about throwing out old clothes, but these had escaped. Birmingham’s charity shops would be lost without her.

  He slid out of the car and closed the door softly. He pulled his hood up and walked towards the entrance to the supermarket, careful to look like just another shopper. It was coming up to eight thirty and the supermarket’s lights shone out into the dusk.

  As he approached the doors, he glanced off to the left, towards the crime scene. A cordon was still in place, roping off the patch of grass containing the forensic tent. There was a single uniformed constable standing next to it. Randle wondered if he had a colleague. Maybe he’d gone somewhere to get a coffee.

  He’d done that himself, back in the day. Stood up all night, guarding a crime scene. Blowing on a cup of weak tea, stamping his feet against the cold. He knew how tedious it could get.

  He dipped into the supermarket, walked up and down a couple of aisles – no sign of the other officer – and walked out again, putting a confident stride into his step. He lowered his hood partway, glad he’d changed out of his shirt and into a t-shirt.

  As he passed the cordon, he slowed. “Evening.”

  The constable was already watching him. “Evening.”

  “Nasty business.”

  “Not my place to say, sir.”

  “I saw them taking him away earlier. Bit of a state. Can’t be easy for you.”

  The constable grimaced. “He wasn’t pretty, sir. I don’t suppose you saw anything suspicious around here anytime? Last few days or nights?”

  “Sorry. I’m normally at work at this time.”

  “Not necessarily this time, sir. Any time. We don’t have much to go on.”

  Randle could get all this from his subordinates. What he wanted was to get a feel for the scene. He’d turned up at crime scenes a few times since his promotion, sweeping in on the pretence of maintaining community relations. This one felt too close for comfort.

  “Just you tonight, then?” he asked.

  “My colleague’s just gone to get a cuppa. She’ll be back in a moment.”

  Randle looked backwards as if seeking out the other officer.

  The constable pointed. “Costa over there. Never thought I’d see one of those round here.” He coughed.

  “Is the body still under there?” Randle knew the answer, but it didn’t hurt to play dumb.

  “Oh no, sir. Gone to the morgue. Evidence has been packaged up too. We’ll do a final sweep of the area in the morning and then you’ll have your neighbourhood back to yourselves.”

  “Great.” So there was nothing inside that tent, nothing they’d spotted, at least. Randle wondered if it was worth trying to find a route around. To one side it was flanked by a steel fence topped with barbed wire. At the back was a hedge which looked like there might be another fence behind. But to the right were bushes, nothing he couldn’t fight his way through.

  The question was, could he do it without being detected? And even if he could, was it worth it?

  He sniffed. “Anyway. Enjoy your evening.”

  The constable raised his eyebrows. “I’ll try my best.”

  Randle turned back towards his car, his eyes alert for the female constable. He didn’t want either of them seeing him get into his car. He’d brought Anita’s Saab instead of his own Audi TT, but it still didn’t fit around here. And it didn’t fit with his current outfit.

  Satisfied she was nowhere around, he slid into the car, waited a few moments, then drove round to the other side of the supermarket.

  He pulled up, checked his mirrors. Confident no one was watching, he reached round and grabbed the second, unregistered phone he kept tucked under maps and other junk in the pocket on the back of the driver’s seat. There was someone he wanted to talk to.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Zoe parked in the ‘cage’, a multi-storey car park in Birmingham city centre encased in red wire mesh. She’d identified a suitable pub on Navigation Street, the Railway, one she’d never seen any other officers in.

  The pub was large and dark, a cavernous space stretching around and behind the bar. She made for the far end, where she’d told Mo and Adi to meet her. They were both there already. Three glasses were on the table: ginger beer for Mo, a half of lager for Adi and a Diet Coke for her.

  She sat down and picked up her drink. “Cheers.” She raised the glass and gulped down almost half of it.

  “No worries,” said Mo. He sipped his ginger beer.

  “I appreciate this,” she said, turning to Adi. “I know you’re sticking your neck out.”

  He nodded, his eyes grave. Words of one syllable, he’
d said. Yes or no answers.

  Here goes.

  “You’re still Crime Scene Manager at the house?”

  “Yes.” He blinked.

  “Who’s SIO?”

  He gave her a no you don’t look.

  “Is Layla Kaur SIO?”

  A shake of the head.

  “Carl?”

  The tips of Adi’s ears reddened as he shook again.

  “Detective Superintendent Rogers, in that case.”

  “Yes.” Adi looked down as he took a swig of his drink.

  “OK. Is Carl involved?”

  “No.” Adi licked his lips as his gaze rose to meet hers.

  “Have you identified that inscription yet?” Mo asked.

  Adi shook his head.

  “Do you know about the other body we’ve found it on? In Chelmsley Wood?” Zoe asked him.

  “Yala told me.”

  She leaned back and blew out between pursed lips. “Does anyone have any idea what it might be?”

  “Yes.”

  Zoe perked up. “Yes?”

  A nod.

  “What is it, then?” asked Mo. “Sorry, mate.”

  Adi shrugged. “Yes and no answers, remember?”

  Zoe clenched a fist. “OK. Did PSD identify it?”

  “No.”

  “Drugs Unit?”

  “Nope.”

  “Organised Crime?”

  “Bingo.”

  She felt heat rush into her face. “Sheila?”

  “No.”

  Damn. DS Sheila Griffin was a friend Zoe had worked with plenty of times. She wasn’t sure if anyone else in that unit would answer her questions.

  “Is it anything to do with Trevor Hamm’s organisation?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?” Mo asked.

  Adi turned to him. “Yes.”

  “Yes, it is, or yes, you’re sure.”

  “Second one.” Adi downed the last of his drink and went to stand up. Zoe put out a hand.

  “Is it the callsign of another gang?”

  Adi stooped over the table. “Yes.”

  “Which gang?”

  “Uh-uh.”