Solid Proof: A dark, disturbing, detective mystery (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Book 8)

by Wendy Cartmell

  “That’s what I just did. I thought of my wife and kids and then, without warning, had a vision of what Zane could do to them,” Tyler shuddered. “I’m not sure I can go through with this.”

  “I do understand, Tyler,” Anderson said. “But believe me it will be in all our interests to get Zane. As you just said, it doesn’t bear thinking about what he could do if left unchecked.”

  Tyler couldn’t stop the moan escaping from his lips and wanted to throw up again.

  “Do it for your family, Tyler,” pressed Anderson. “Come on, you’re a hard-nosed businessman aren’t you?”

  Tyler replied, “Yes,” even though he wasn’t sure Anderson had meant it as a question.

  “Well then, if ever you needed to be that man, now is the time. Treat this as a business deal, a meeting with an awkward client, try and step outside of your emotions.”

  Tyler turned and looked at the policeman, who he knew was only trying to help him.

  “Look, Sgt Major Crane has to do that all the time,” Anderson said. “He once explained to me that a soldier has to compartmentalise, separate army from family. When at work, they have to give the job their full attention, follow orders, react to situations, fall back on their training and then when at home, well, all thoughts of work need to be banished and the focus shifted to the family. That’s what you have to do now. Just see this as a job. Nothing to do with Penny and the kids. For now, they don’t exist. All that matters is this meeting with Zane and catching the bastard. Can you do that?”

  Tyler thought back to how life was before Zane, before all this nonsense, this upset, this chaos. Going to work every morning he would slough off the family and their wants and needs and focus on being a hedge fund manager, giving that his full attention until it was time to return to being a family man. He guessed that was what Anderson wanted him to do. So he looked the policeman in the eye and nodded. He’d try his bloody best at any rate.

  “That’s great, Tyler,” Anderson said and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Right, we better get going. It’s five minutes to twelve and you’ve got to drop me off before you reach the bridge.”

  54

  Dropping Anderson off at the pre-arranged point, Tyler called the policeman’s mobile and they made sure they were both connected. It had been decided not to bug Tyler, as no doubt Zane would find it, or have jamming equipment. They had to remember he was a sophisticated hacker and computer expert. So they were relying on old fashioned technology and hoped to at least be able to hear and record part of their conversation.

  Tyler nosed his car over the bridge, following Zane’s directions. He stopped outside Dragonfly and sat for a moment looking around. The boat’s windows were open, but not the door. The garden needed some attention, as did the boat. Both had an air of neglect and Tyler found this at odds with Zane’s supposed urbane, sophisticated, polished persona that Anderson had described.

  As Tyler climbed out of the car and walked towards the houseboat, he heard his every footfall as though magnified through a megaphone. He was walking slowly, wading through an invisible force field that was tugging at his arms and legs, as he struggled to get to the door. He raised his hand to knock on what he assumed to be the front door, but it opened before his knuckles could make contact with the wood. As the door swung open, there was no one there. Tyler sent up a quick arrow prayer, asking God for his protection, before he stepped onto the boat.

  “At last,” said a voice behind Tyler.

  Tyler swung round and stared… at himself. His eyes widened in horror and he stumbled backwards and closed his eyes in a vain attempt to rid his brain of what he’d just seen. His twin really was identical, even down to the slight dimple in the chin and the way his hair fell on the crown of his head. The only variation between them was the clothes that Zane was wearing. The apparition that was his brother was eyeing Tyler with amusement.

  “Bit of a shock isn’t it, coming face to face with yourself. That’s just how I felt when I saw you.”

  Tyler felt the boat move under his feet and his head swam, so he tottered over to a sofa and collapsed into it.

  Ignoring Tyler’s distress Zane said, “I hope you’re hungry, brother dear,” and he walked through to the open plan kitchen. He lifted up a lobster that was trying feebly to grab at its captor with claws that were taped together. Tyler glanced at the hob, where a pan of water sat merrily bubbling. Tyler nearly threw up and fumbling in his pocket, grabbed a handkerchief that he held to his mouth.

  “Interesting creatures, lobsters, don’t you think?” Zane chatted, seemingly oblivious to Tyler’s horror. “Like most arthropods, lobsters must moult in order to grow, which leaves them vulnerable. During the moulting process, several species change colour. But they soon grow hard shells again and are ready to continue their life along the sea bottom. But changed, of course, as they become bigger and stronger we each moult.”

  Tyler could relate that analogy to Zane, as was no doubted expected of him. But Tyler likened him to a chameleon as well, able to change his colours to suit whatever each occasion expected of him.

  “Put your phone where I can see it,” Zane said.

  Tyler grabbed his phone and while his hand was in his pocket, he managed to end the open call to Anderson, before putting the mobile on the small table. He was aware the policeman hadn’t got much any evidence from the conversation, but at least the police now had confirmation that Zane was on the houseboat.

  To Tyler’s revulsion, Zane held the lobster over the boiling pan of water, ready to drop it in, but then appeared to change his mind and put it back on the counter.

  “So, how does it feel to be meeting your twin brother in the flesh?” he asked. “Can’t you feel that already there is a connection between us? It’s like sharp volts of electricity coursing through our bodies.”

  Tyler managed to gabble, “What do you think you’re doing? What’s going on?”

  Zane laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Nothing’s going on. Why shouldn’t I want to meet my brother?”

  “What about the sick things you’ve been doing?” Tyler wanted to stand and confront his brother, but was sure his weak legs wouldn’t hold him and wobbling or falling down wouldn’t help the impression that he was trying to give, that he wasn’t frightened of Zane. But he was. Very. So he stayed seated.

  “Sick things? What are you talking about?”

  “Killing Janey Carlton, our mother. Oh and don’t forget the fact that you had sex with her first.”

  Zane roared with laughter. “Oh that’s a good one, Tyler, and just how do you know it was me?”

  “Because they matched your DNA to samples left on the body.”

  “You mean your DNA, don’t you?” Zane stared at his brother. “We are twins after all,” Zane’s pupils had become dark pin prinks that he focused on Tyler.

  Hearing a noise outside, Tyler and Zane both looked out of the window of the houseboat, over the river, towards the bridge connecting the island to the bank of the Thames. Policemen could be seen moving along it. Police cars were forming a barricade at both ends of the bridge, which probably meant they were already moving through the island towards the boat

  “So you’ve been helping the police,” Zane said. “I should have known. But know this, Tyler, because of your treachery, because you have turned in your brother, your only brother, I will bury you under an Armageddon of bad luck. Your life will be constantly disrupted. I can get your bank accounts closed, your credit taken away, have loans taken out in your name that aren’t repaid, oh and don’t forget the photos of your lovely Penny that I’ve got and can splurge all over the internet. What would the girls think of their mother when she has half naked, provocative pictures, out on the World Wide Web for all to ogle?”

  As he was speaking Zane was moving towards the front door. Standing to the side of it, he opened it a crack. Tyler stood, but still couldn’t see what Zane could through the open door, but assumed it must have been a policeman, as Za
ne closed the door and ran across the room. Tyler stepped forward to stop him, but Zane pushed him out of the way causing him to fall to the floor hitting his head on the coffee table on the way down. He saw Zane disappear through the patio doors before everything went dark and the world receded.

  55

  Crane and Saunders were still on Jeff Buckley’s boat from where they’d been keeping a surreptitious eye on the river and on the island, but they hadn’t seen Zane from their vantage point. Crane’s phone buzzed in his pocket, signifying a message and he opened it to find it was from Anderson. At last, confirmation that Zane was on the boat with Tyler. The wait was over.

  Thanking Jeff for his time and help, and ordering him and Judith to stay on the boat until the police came to let them know it was safe to leave, Crane and Saunders made their way round to Dragonfly. Creeping through the garden, they arrived at the front door. Crane heard the lapping of the Thames against the houseboat, the rustle of the grass as something slithered through it and murmured voices from inside. As Crane and Saunders both heard the footsteps from inside the boat coming in their direction, they flattened themselves against the side of the boat, positioned on either side of the door. Unseen by Zane, who opened the door a crack and then closed it, Saunders and Crane then each made their way along the opposite sides of the boat, moving around to the length of houseboat that faced the river. As Crane emerged from his side of the houseboat, he saw Zane clambering into a small boat with an outboard motor. As the motor spluttered into life, Zane began to edge the boat away from the side of the houseboat.

  Afterwards, Crane couldn’t have said what made him do it.

  He wasn’t aware of any conscious thought, never mind making a cognisant decision, he just gave himself over to his training. His reactions kicked in and he jumped, pushing himself off from the deck of the houseboat and reaching for the small vessel drawing away from him, as though he were a swimmer reacting to the buzzer signifying the start of a race. There was no way the bastard was going to get away from Crane. If they lost him now, they might never find him again. As Crane belly flopped into the water, arms outstretched, he managed to grab the side of the boat, pulling it down into the water with him. Then he dragged himself through the river and managed to kneel on the rim of the boat, forcing it further downwards into the water, tipping the other side of the boat upward. Looking up, he saw Zane teetering on the sloping bottom of the boat, a look of pure hatred on his face, before Zane tumbled past him and joined him in the water.

  Letting go of the boat, Crane allowed himself to be drawn under the water, hoping to see Zane. But all he could see was murk and weeds. The water was too cloudy to see the bottom of the river. Closing his eyes against the dirty water, which was causing his eyes to sting, he pushed up and broke through the water, taking deep lungsful of air. As he turned to look around, Zane’s head bobbed up right next to him. Pulling his arm back and punching Zane as hard as he could on the jaw, Crane managed to disorientate Zane enough to grab the man’s clothing from behind and begin swimming towards the houseboat in the classic lifesaving position, towards Saunders’ reaching arms.

  Passing his inert bundle to Saunders, Crane grabbed the side of the houseboat and allowed himself to relax. Hanging there, legs floating behind him he watched as several uniformed policemen crashed through the patio doors onto the deck of the houseboat and helped Saunders pull Zane out of the water. They laid him face down on the deck and handcuffed his hands behind his back.

  Once they’d done that Crane called out, “Hey, any chance of a boost up?”

  Several pairs of willing hands grabbed at Crane’s hands and clothes and pulled him clear of the water and he tumbled over the side of the houseboat to join Zane on the decking. After catching his breath, he looked up to find Saunders grinning down at him.

  “Didn’t know you were such a good diver, Crane,” Saunders called. “That was worthy of first prize in a belly flopping contest.”

  “Fuck off,” said Crane, standing and grinning as he dripped water onto the deck, squelching along in his waterlogged clothes. “Anyone got any dry clothes I could change into?”

  Looking down at his soggy trousers and polo shirt, Crane was glad that he hadn’t ruined one of his work suits and as he started shivering, he acknowledged that he had been right on one point at least. The water was bloody cold.

  56

  The paramedics from the ambulance the Metropolitan Police had brought with them, ministered to both twins. Zane was treated for the after effects of the river and swallowing large amounts of disgusting murky water. He was also given a tetanus jab as a precaution, as Crane had split the skin on Zane’s jaw when he hit him with a right hook.

  Tyler was treated for shock, after his encounter with what he kept calling that evil, sick, bastard and for the large bump on his head from his collision with the table. Every time he saw his twin, Tyler began shivering with fear, shouting to Crane and Anderson that he never should have agreed to meet Zane. He should have listened to his solicitor and kept well away from their stupid sting operation.

  Anderson was trying to mollify Tyler yet again, when Crane gratefully took the hot drinks that he’d cadged off Jeff Buckley. After handing one each to Tyler and Anderson he put his head round the ambulance door and said, “Oh, sorry, Zane, I forgot to get you a drink,” and stood there sipping his own coffee and observing the twin, who was also shivering, but from cold, not from fear. The paramedics had stripped off Zane’s clothes and wrapped him in a blanket and some sort of foil covering, reminding Crane of the thermal sheets handed out to runners after the London Marathon.

  Zane’s face was grey, from his dunking in the water and the cold, but there was no mistaking the zealous fire burning in his eyes. “You fucking bastards,” said Zane. “You’ll pay for this.”

  “Don’t think so, Zane,” said Crane and he looked pointedly at the handcuffs binding Zane to the metal frame of bed he was sitting on.

  Zane rattled the handcuffs. “These won’t hold me for long,” he sneered. “My solicitor will soon have me released.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” said Crane, sitting on the steps of the ambulance. He really could have done with a cigarette to go with his coffee, but they’d been in his pocket when he went into the Thames and he couldn’t believe it when he found out that no one else on the team smoked. So caffeine would have to try and do the job of the absent nicotine. “DC Saunders wants to talk to you about the death of your mother. Oh, and let’s not forget about the four bodies he found in the river, downstream from your houseboat.”

  “You’ll not find a shred of evidence to prove that I have ever killed anyone.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but there’s lots of evidence proving that you put the fear of God into your poor brother over there.”

  “Ha,” laughed Zane. “That idiot? Look at him. He’s a wreck, a basket case. Who’s going to believe a word he says?”

  Crane had to acknowledge that Tyler Wells was indeed a blubbering mess at the moment, but Crane was sure he’d find some backbone from somewhere and hoped very much that DC Saunders could find some evidence proving that Zane had stolen Tyler’s identity.

  “Anyway,” continued Zane. “How are you going to prove which one of us killed our mother? We’re identical twins remember?”

  Crane looked into Zane’s eyes again. This time they weren’t sparking with anger, but boring into Crane with an equal, but this time, ice cold intensity. Crane had seen looks like that before. They didn’t frighten him, just hardened his resolve to bring the bastards to justice. As for the DNA evidence, well he’ll just have to see what else the forensic laboratory could come up with once the houseboat has been examined and all the evidence collected.

  “Well, it was nice to chat to you,” said Crane standing up and draining the last of his coffee. “Time I was off. You coming?” Then he laughed. “Oh no, I forgot, you’re the criminal. You can’t just get off that bed and go home. All you have to look forward to is a
small cell at the police station and then another one in a local prison. On the other hand, I’m off home to be with my family. Enjoy!”

  57

  But Crane wasn’t feeling quite so cocky the next morning when he met Anderson at Aldershot Police Station. Feeling far more comfortable, as he was once more dressed in his usual uniform of black suit and white shirt, he stood in Anderson’s office and said, “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. The houseboat is clean. Professionally cleaned, in fact. The only prints there are Zane and Tyler’s from yesterday and those were lifted from the kitchen and the living room or whatever they call it.”

  “Salon.”

  “Sorry?”

  “On a boat it’s called a salon.”

  “Oh, well,” huffed Anderson. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, not only was the houseboat clean, but so was the laptop that was left there. We interviewed the residents who were in yesterday, yet again, and they all parroted Zane’s cover story of him being a writer and not there very often. No one had seen him arrive with any girls, or dump any of them in the river. But there’s no writing on the laptop, no book, no articles, no internet history, nothing.”

  “Bugger,” said Crane sitting down and waving away the offer of a cake. “How are the interviews going?”

  “As you would expect, Tyler Wells is blaming Zane and Zane is blaming Tyler. Clearly the boat isn’t Zane’ primary residence, but we can’t find any records of any other address, at least not under that name.”

  “What name?”

  “Oh, right, sorry you don’t know. He’s calling himself Zane Zwicky now, not Tim Bench.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I know, ridiculous isn’t it? He says the name Tim Bench is a pen name. Fucking prick. It’s as though he’s taunting us. There is a flat registered in the name of Zane Zwicky in Crouch End and Saunders has a crew going through that now, but he told me he doesn’t hold out much hope. It seems it’s just like a dead drop address, part of his cover story of being a writer.”