The Darkest Deed: A Gripping Detective Crime Mystery (The DI Hogarth Darkest series Book 3)

by Solomon Carter

  “Vic? Yeah. It’s me. Listen. I think I might want to hear what else you had to say. When can we meet?”

  And when it was over, the call to Southend’s premier snitch made Hogarth feel ten times worse.

  Nine

  “Thanks Ivan,” said Hogarth, before he ended the call to Ivan Marris, the forensics man. Hogarth sighed and shook his head. They stood in the cold wide-open expanse of the X-L building car park. Palmer’s legs were feeling the bite, yet Hogarth seemed oblivious.

  “What did he say?” said Palmer, hiding her shivers.

  “Marris says Aimee Gillen’s lip and finger prints were found on the glass. Which means we know she had been drinking that water…” Hogarth’s voice trailed off.

  Palmer saw Hogarth had more to say. “But?”

  “But Marris says the prints were set at an unusual angle,” said Hogarth. “There were partial prints on the stem, and lip prints on the rim of the glass. Both belonged to Aimee Gillen, but the angle suggests they were made at different times. In other words, she couldn’t have been holding the glass like that and drinking at the same time. And Marris says he can’t prove that the glass had always been holding water, or whether the water in the glass had been used to wash out something else.”

  “Hmmm. But the unusual angle… what does that mean?” said Palmer.

  Hogarth shrugged. “Who knows? It could mean anything. She could have been raising the glass to the light to inspect it, but I doubt it. She might have been holding it to polish it or whatever, or maybe she was just posing for the mirror. Either way, the liquid inside was water and Quentin didn’t pick up any other substances.”

  “I suppose that makes things simpler, at least” said Palmer.

  “Not really. It adds another layer of confusion as I far as I can see. A wine glass isn’t the kind you drink water from unless you have no other glasses.”

  Palmer nodded. “True. And there were other glasses. I saw two tumblers by the sink.”

  “Unused?” said Hogarth.

  “They looked clean and dry. I’d say they were unused.”

  “Which proves my point. That wine glass is a damn nuisance.” Hogarth shook his head as he pondered it.

  He was still pondering the glass when he found Palmer watching him with serious eyes.

  “What?” said Hogarth.

  “You’re sure about this, guv?”

  “What? Murder, you mean?”

  Palmer nodded.

  “I don’t see what else it could be.”

  “But Quentin saw the body and he didn’t think so.”

  “Ed’s good, but that report is full of questions.”

  “And Marris didn’t find anything suspicious, either.”

  “What about the glass? The angle. I think he found us even more questions.”

  Palmer didn’t look convinced. Hogarth read it in her eyes.

  “Palmer,” said Hogarth. “Do you mean to tell me you think Aimee Gillen killed herself by roasting herself to death in a sauna, despite being alert, alive, hyped up on coke, and fully aware of what was going on?”

  “No. I agree, that sounds unlikely.”

  “Or maybe you still think that she had some other sudden health episode which suddenly prevented her from leaving the sauna until the moment of her death?”

  “No, I don’t think that either,” said Palmer. Hogarth saw a hint of irritation flash in Palmer’s eyes, but was beyond caring.

  “Then that only leaves murder, doesn’t it? Or ‘foul play’ as our beloved commissioner puts it.”

  “Guv, that’s the reason I’m asking if you’re sure. I saw what happened here yesterday. Roger Johnson’s looking out for this place, so he must have some vested interest here. If you upset Darryl Regent and Harry King, you’re going to upset the commissioner too, and he holds sway with the top brass.”

  Hogarth tutted. He looked over to the great brown temple to deluxe fitness and soft pornography. It was time they headed inside and got down to work.

  “Look. I know why you’re saying these things, Palmer” said Hogarth, “but you’re missing the point. If I had to stop and give a rat’s arse about what people like Roger Johnson thought, there’d be no point in me doing the job. Johnson isn’t thinking about justice. He’s covering his own backside on the police spending plan, or feathering his own nest for his next election. The man’s a politician, not a copper.”

  “Guv, with all due respect, he could have your job.”

  Hogarth levelled his eyes at Palmer.

  “The job in hand is what we need to focus on here, and that’s all I’m thinking about.”

  As if that was true. Hogarth felt grim. Maybe he was forcing the murder issue because of what had happened at home. Or he supposed, it could have been part of his suicidal tendency to try and prove his superiors wrong, but wherever it came from, Hogarth knew what had to be done. Simmons has been left at the station to deal with RIPA request for the data from Aimee Gillen’s pin-locked phone, leaving only Hogarth and Palmer to carry out his sketchy plan.

  “Okay, guv” said Palmer, relenting. “Whatever you say.”

  Hogarth nodded in thanks. “It is murder, I’m sure of it. Now we have to treat it as such.”

  Hogarth stiffened his jaw and they headed across the car park.

  In the shared lobby, Hogarth glanced through the glass frontage of the X-L gym. He saw Darryl Regent standing beside the reception desk, laughing with the female staff behind the gym reception desk. The thick glass and gym music meant Hogarth couldn’t hear a word of what they were laughing about. But Darryl Regent’s mountain-shaped head stopped smiling the moment he caught sight of Hogarth’s eyes. Hogarth offered him the merest nod of greeting then turned away for the plain wooden doors of Harry King Studios, but he wasn’t quick enough. He saw Regent’s bulky frame ambling towards the glass doors.

  “Inspector Hogarth,” called Regent, as he opened the gym door. Hogarth didn’t know whether to be alarmed of impressed that Regent had bothered to learn his name.

  “Mr Regent. How can I help?” said Hogarth.

  “When they took that body away they caused a right bloody palaver! Half my members here were rubber-necking through the window and discussing it in the gym. I’ve got time for Harry, but my gym doesn’t want any truck with anything bad going on in that studio. I take it that’ll be the end of the matter, eh? We don’t need any fuss like that again.”

  “Sorry, Mr Regent,” said Hogarth, “but I don’t think I can help you on that score.”

  “Oh?” said Regent. “Why not?” The big man folded his heavy arms and reminded Hogarth of some old British wrestler trying to look tough for the camera.

  “Because the investigation is taking a different turn.”

  “And what does that mean?” said Regent, his eyebrows dipping low over his eyes.

  “You’re not an employee of Harry King Studios, are you, Mr Regent. No. Then, I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter with you any further. But I’m sure you’ll learn more about it in due course,” said Hogarth.

  “You can be bloody sure I will,” said Regent. He shook his head and turned back into the gym, making loud utterances of his disdain for Hogarth as the door closed behind him.

  “How to win friends and influence people!” said Palmer.

  “I’ve not read that one yet, Palmer.”

  “Really, guv? You don’t say,” she said, as Hogarth hit the buzzer for the film studio.

  “You’re doing what?” said Lana Aubrey. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m afraid so, Miss Aubrey,” said Hogarth. “I don’t see that we have any other choice.”

  “Choice?” said Aubrey. The woman’s ageing glamour-puss face had been overcome by a stern but shocked look. Her big amber eyes hardened through her lenses and she looked instead to Palmer for help.

  “Is he for real?” said Aubrey.

  “Yes,” said Palmer, looking away.

  “Until we know otherwise we must take the precaution
of treating this as a murder,” said Hogarth.

  Lana Aubrey shook her head and put her hands on her hips. The angrier she became, the woman looked less a Managing Director, and more the porn queen hustler. Hogarth reckoned Lana Aubrey was fiery enough to have left DC Simmons quaking in his boots.

  “Murder?” said Aubrey. “Come on. Aimee Gillen was more than likely drugged up to her eyeballs – you told me that yourself, Inspector. And everyone here knows she was depressed. Aimee thought she was going to lose her job.”

  “Then you think that could have been a factor in her death?”

  Lana Aubrey’s face darkened like she recognised the trap. “Harry King Studios are not to blame for Aimee Gillen’s death, nor should we be punished for it. Aimee Gillen died. It’s serious. I get that. But we’re not to blame for that and we have a very tight schedule – we have to hire in equipment for each production, and we hire different actors for each movie. Delays mean increased costs. You can’t close us down for an investigation. It’ll hit the business for months.”

  “As much as it pains me to do so, Miss Aubrey, I’m afraid I must. But your business won’t have to close. It’ll just be restricted, that’s all,” said Hogarth. His face was blank and devoid of sympathy. Hogarth, Palmer, and Lana Aubrey stood outside the tiled washrooms, while Hogarth walked around the edge of the wooden sauna hut and looked at the door. He teased it open with a pen and looked inside to the dark area within. The sauna had cooled to the same ambient temperature as the washrooms. All hint of the heat from the day before was gone. “Has the sauna been in use since? I was told you needed to film in here.”

  “No. Harry said not to use it.”

  “Very good,” said Hogarth. “The Crime Scene and Forensics people will need access, so there’ll be a police presence in the studio for a while. And we’ll have to interview a few of your staff, especially those who had any dealings with Miss Gillen in the days and weeks leading up to her death.”

  “A police presence? While we’re working? How long are we talking here?”

  “As long as it takes, Miss Aubrey. A few days, maybe a week or more.”

  The woman put her hands on her hips and tutted. Her phone buzzed, this time she ignored it.

  “You’re closing us down!”

  “No, I’m not. You can carry on working. But I would like you to ask your staff to stay on site – or local at the least, until the work on this case has been concluded.”

  “How can we film anything with police crawling all over the studio?”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way,” said Hogarth.

  “I’m going to have to talk to Harry about this.”

  “Of course you will, Miss Aubrey. And please tell Mr King that I’d be very glad to see him. Harry King was the one who took the decision not to film with Aimee Gillen again, am I right?”

  “Yes…” said Aubrey, with a careful look on her face.

  “Then I’ll definitely need to speak with him.”

  Aubrey turned and walked away, her heels clacking loudly on the tiled floor.

  “This is going to hit the fan, isn’t it?” said Palmer.

  “Probably,” said Hogarth, distracted. He left the door open and walked back to the corner tiles. He knelt down close beside the long crack.

  “What is it? You keep looking down there,” said Palmer.

  “This crack bothered me yesterday. I should have dealt with it then. Come and take a look for yourself,” said Hogarth. Palmer joined him, standing at his back. Hogarth shuffled over so Palmer could join him. “See this?” he said.

  “Yes, it’s a cracked tile. And?”

  “It’s fresh.”

  “Fresh? As in the crack is new?” said Palmer.

  Hogarth nodded. “It was freshly made yesterday morning. Possibly around the time of the murder.”

  “How can you be sure of that?” she said.

  “The rest of the floor had been cleaned the night before, but the fragments of the inside of the cracked tile were still there. Meaning it had been cracked after the cleaner had been in. And there I saw a sliver of glass which had come loose…” Hogarth’s eyes raked the area for the specks of glass he’d seen the day before, but he couldn’t find them. An awful feeling came over him. He’d forgotten to follow up his mental note, and now the glass had been cleaned away. He’d been negligent. “Damn it,” he whispered. He leaned forward and peered at the coved skirting board beside the side of the sauna hut.

  “There! It’s still here…”

  The sliver of broken glass was pressed close to the skirting board. Hogarth guessed it had been pushed there by the cleaner’s mop.

  “That tile will have been cleaned by now,” said Palmer. “And any evidence with it.”

  “Yes, it’s possible. But yesterday we were working on the presumption of suicide or death by misadventure. If I’d known it was murder then, I would have had the area sealed off. I made a mistake, Palmer. But at least that glass is still here…” Hogarth leaned over it and studied the shape of the fragment. Thick and tapering at the end.

  “But how can that broken tile be relevant to Aimee Gillen’s death?”

  “We don’t even know if it is, yet. But if this tile was cracked on the night of the murder, then it’s possible that tile was cracked by Aimee Gillen herself… or maybe by the person who killed her.”

  Palmer was silent. Hogarth looked up from the glass to see her face.

  “What is it, Palmer?”

  Palmer looked around before she spoke. Aubrey had gone, and the washrooms were empty. “I still can’t get my head around the idea of this being a murder, that’s all. What reason would anyone have to kill someone like Aimee Gillen? She was hardly a rival for any of these other porn actors. In terms of the studio, she was basically a down and out.”

  “Yes,” said Hogarth. That’s what we’ve been told. Which means there must be more motives at work than simple jealousy.”

  “But I’ve had no reason to suspect anyone yet, have you?”

  “No suspicion… not yet. But feelings, inklings, yes, maybe.”

  “Such as?”

  “Marvin, the runner, for instance,” said Hogarth. “I’m pretty sure he’s not told us the whole truth, and he’s just one of them…”

  Noise came from the corridor behind them. Footsteps and loud talking.

  “Here we go,” said Hogarth, standing to full height in readiness. Lana Aubrey led the way. She walked in holding a clipboard. At her side, was a short man with wispy grey hair and a neat salt and pepper beard. He was wearing a black KISS rock ’n’ roll T-shirt, along with dark blue jeans and a pair of well-worn floppy trainers. His clothes could have been worn by a man less than half his age.

  “Is this him?” said the man, looking at Lana Aubrey.

  “Yes, that’s him” she replied. The way Aubrey spoke reminded Hogarth of a little girl pointing out the playground bully to her father. Hogarth stood his ground and glanced at Palmer.

  “Harry King?” said Hogarth.

  The short man arrived in front of Hogarth and gave him the once over with hard, squinty eyes.

  “Yes. I’m Harry King.”

  “Detective Inspector Joseph—"

  “Hold it there,” said King. The fiery little man cut across him, while Lana Aubrey stood smugly at his side.

  “I’m told you intend to shut us down until your case is solved.”

  “It’s not a case of shutting anyone down, Mr King. It’s a case of needing a strong police presence here during the investigation. Yes, you may find it easier to stop filming while we’re here but there’s no need to…”

  “Easier? What planet are you from? Stop my whole damn business? Are you completely insane?” said King.

  “This is a murder investigation, Mr King. I wouldn’t ever do this lightly, but there is enough evidence to suggest that Aimee Gillen could have been murdered, and we have to take that seriously.”

  “Murdered? Yeah, right. Aimee was murdered. She murdered h
erself. That girl wouldn’t take my advice, the self-same advice I’ve been giving for years. Stop tooting that bloody powder before it gets the better of you! But did she listen? Of course she didn’t listen! Pretty little Aimee always knew best. But all coke-heads know best, until they don’t know anything anymore. That’s what happened to Aimee. And now I suppose you people are going to crucify me and my business just because the stupid girl didn’t heed my advice. And because the police never like the porn business, do they?”

  “I’ve got nothing against your business, Mr King.”

  “Damn right you haven’t. Half of you police hypocrites are my best customers.”

  Hogarth stuck his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t say that either, Mr King.”

  “Whatever,” said King. “So, how’s this persecution going to work?”

  Hogarth shook his head and offered a thin smile.

  “The murder investigation? It’ll work like this. I’ve requested some crime scene officers to come in, alongside forensics. I’ll also need to speak with you and some of your staff…”

  “You’ve done that already.”

  “This time I’ll need to do it again – in detail.”

  “Unbelievable. All for some girl who sniffed her freaking brains out.”

  “Your compassion for your actors is astounding, Mr King.”

  “Hey. I don’t care what you people think. I liked Aimee. I liked her a lot. I had a lot of time for the girl. We tried to help her. We tried!”

  “Commendable, I’m sure,” said Hogarth. “And no less than your duty as an employer.”

  Hogarth glanced past Lana Aubrey to a range of young faces peering through the double doors. Hogarth raised his voice so they could hear.

  “There’s no need to close the studio. None at all. But I’d be obliged if everyone here could stay local for a few days. Just while we get the interviews out of the way…”

  “And do we get any say in this?” said King.

  Hogarth smiled. “I’d be very glad of your help, Mr King. If you wouldn’t mind letting everyone know, eh? Thank you.” Hogarth turned away. “Oh, and nobody is to go near this sauna until we say so, please. Thanks very much.”