A Killing Karma

by Geraldine Evans

  Catt nodded. ‘All back at the station with friend Dylan. Getting more frustrated by the second, I shouldn't wonder.’

  'I know the feeling. I'll ring Moon.’ Casey pulled his mobile from his pocket. ‘Maybe Dylan let something slip before he was taken away.’

  But there was no answer to his telephone call, even though he let it ring for an age, so he simply keyed in some texted questions and put the phone away. He'd just have to hope that Moon would read his texts sometime soon.

  ‘It's no good just waiting for answers on the commune murders,’ he observed. ‘Has anything more come in on the official investigation?’

  ‘Not a lot. But Max Fallon's private doctor, although reluctant, eventually confirmed that Fallon had received treatment for an STD.’

  Carole Brown and Fallon himself had already told them that, Casey mused, but it didn't hurt to get official confirmation.

  ‘Gives us a confirmed motive, too. Maybe it's time we checked out if the partners of Oliver's other lovers had a similar motive.’

  ‘Might as well. Nothing else springs to mind. Unless—'

  Casey's ears pricked up. ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless we set a trap for Fallon and see if he falls in. This case needs some sort of a shot in the arm, so I suggest we give it one.’

  ‘What sort of trap?’

  Catt told him.

  But before they could put Catt's plan in motion, they had other tasks to get through; routine, painstaking tasks that brought no glory but which still had to be done. Reading statements, more interviews and yet more checking. The hours and the duties passed slowly. But eventually evening fell and they could put the plan into action.

  ‘You're sure you'll be able to hear everything?’

  ‘Of course,’ Casey reassured Carole Brown. ‘Don't worry. There'll be a couple of plain clothes officers inside the club, near Fallon's office, and Catt and I will be right outside in the car park. We'll move at the first sign of trouble.’

  She still looked doubtful. ‘He's already thumped me once. I’m scared.’

  ‘There'll be other people about as I said; the couple in the club will be dressed to look like clubbers. All you have to do is scream if you feel any concern. Any concern at all. They'll be there immediately and we won't be far behind.’ She stared at him for several moments, then she nodded. ‘All right. I'll do it. I just hope I can help you get something on that bastard. He deserves it.’ It was a sentiment Casey echoed.

  By nine o'clock they were all in place. It was perhaps a bit early by clubbers' standards, but both Casey and Catt were eager for the off and could contain themselves no longer. Besides, there was always the worry that Carole Brown would change her mind if they delayed. She and her unsuspecting male friend drove to King's nightclub in the friend's car, while Casey, Catt, Shazia Khan and Jonathon Keane, the last two dressed as clubbers, followed behind in an unmarked vehicle. They dropped Shazia and Jonathon around the corner from the club. Casey gave them last-minute instructions before he let them go. He watched as they sauntered off around the corner before he followed them in the car and made for the club's car park.

  Jonathon and Shazia were also miked-up just in case anything should go wrong with Carole Brown's equipment.

  Casey parked up and doused the headlights. He and Catt settled down to await developments. They were slow in coming.

  Carole Brown and her friend seemed to have settled themselves at the bar, to judge from the sounds of tinkling ice against glass that carried over the mike Shazia had fixed to Carole's bra.

  ‘Could do with some of that myself,’ Catt said. ‘That Carole can certainly drink. That's her third in half an hour by my reckoning.’

  ‘Just pray she doesn't get drunk and forget the reason she's there,’ Casey remarked. 'I want her pleasantly merry only; merry enough to make a scene and barge into the office, not create such a disturbance that she gets the pair of them thrown out.’

  They sat back and waited some more. It was another hour before things kicked off. They heard Carole's voice loud and clear. It had been growing steadily more shrill as the minutes and the drinks passed.

  ‘No more drink, Carole, there's a good girl,’ Catt murmured. ‘We want the outraged ex-girlfriend, not a fish-wife shouting her wares.’

  ‘Shush. Let's listen,’ Casey admonished.

  'I won't be quiet,’ Carole Brown screeched, almost as if she had heard Casey's words. ‘I'll have my say and be damned to who's listening. Your boss is a crook, Mr Muscles.’ Casey assumed she was addressing one of the bouncers. Or door stewards, in current parlance. ‘Not only is he a crook, he's a murderer, too, and you're all his accomplices. I know he got you all to lie for him about where he was when Gus Oliver was murdered. Why would he do that if he hadn't something to hide?’

  A deep, rumbling voice said something they couldn't catch, then Carole said, ‘Where is he? Is he hiding in his office, too scared to see me? Don't worry. I'll find him myself. I know the way.’

  It all went quiet then. The sound of the throbbing musical beat receded and Casey guessed they must have moved to the corridor that led to the office through the door marked ‘private’.

  ‘Let go of me, you great ape.’

  ‘Yes. Let her go, Rupert. I'll speak to her.’

  Catt sniggered. 'A bouncer called Rupert? Now I've heard everything.’

  ‘Come into the office.’ Quietly but clearly, Max Fallon's voice came over the mike as the throb of the music faded. There was the sound of a door shutting, then Fallon's voice again. ‘I'd offer you a drink, but from the look of you and the noise of your banshee voice, I'd say you've had enough.’

  ‘What's the matter, Max? Too tight to give a girl a free drink out of all your ill-gotten gains?’

  Carole's taunt must have stung, must have warned him that she could make trouble for him with the taxman if she chose, because the next sound they heard was the clink of bottle against glass.

  'I won't ask you to say “when”. It was never one of your strengths, Carole, was it?’

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘So what do you want?’ Fallon's voice sounded dangerously smooth. ‘Some kind of pay off?’

  'That'd be nice. It's not as if you can't afford it with all the taxman's money you've got salted away. But it was something else I came for. I want to hear what you've got to say for yourself about Gus Oliver's death. And I'd like the truth.’

  Fallon laughed. It was an ugly, threatening sound. ‘What does it matter to you what happened to him? He used you, gave you — and me — the clap, and then dumped you.’

  The dumping part was a new discovery for Casey.

  ‘Why should you care what happened to him?’

  ‘Oh, don't get me wrong, Max. I don't give a damn that he's dead or even whether or not you killed him. I'd just like to know, that's all. I hope he suffered. Did he?’

  ‘My dear girl, how would I know? I wasn't there.’

  ‘What — did you get one or more of your heavies to kill him for you? Found you didn't have the bottle to do the job yourself?’

  There was a long, strained silence, then the sound of a glass being thumped heavily down.

  ‘That's it, you drunken bitch. You always did have a loose tongue. You want to be careful someone doesn't cut it off for you like they did with your friend's prick.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’ Carole suddenly sounded more sober. There was a wobble in her voice that, for all her attempted bravado, hinted at fear.

  ‘Threatening you? Of course not. It's just a friendly warning, that's all. You're free to ignore it, though I wouldn't advise it. Drunken ladies staggering about the streets on their own are an easy target.’

  ‘I'm not on my own.’

  ‘No? Brought another of your lovers for protection, have you? Where is he, then? He seems to be conspicuous by his absence. But then you never were a good picker, Carole, were you?’

  ‘You said it. A cheat, a murderer and a wimp. My three latest conquests. I
agree. It's not much of a tally.’ She gave a cry. ‘Let go. You're hurting me.’

  ‘Call me a murderer again and I'll do more than twist your arm and bunch up your dress.’ There was another pause. ‘What's this?’

  ‘Get your hand out of there. You've no longer got the right to let your hands roam around my underwear.’

  'A mike. You came here kitted up to try to catch me out. You bitch. I've a good mind to—' Fallon broke off. ‘But you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like to get me up on an assault charge with the evidence all down on tape.’

  ‘I'd like to see you up on a murder charge.’

  Fallon gave a slow, mocking laugh. ‘Dream on. That'll never happen and you know it. Think I'd get caught — if I decided to go in for murder?’

  Fallon must have buzzed the bouncer because the door opened again.

  ‘Rupert, please escort this —' he paused — ‘lady and her little friend from the premises. Oh, and Chief Inspector, I assume you're listening to this. For your information, I didn't kill Gus Oliver. Maybe after the failure of your charade here tonight you'll believe me and play no more games.’

  Casey had been expecting the noise of the club's sound system to break in, but it didn't. Instead, they heard the clip-clop of Carole's stiletto heels and the crash of the fire escape door before he and Catt saw Carole and her friend pushed out into the night and the doors banged shut behind them.

  Catt cursed. ‘Stupid bitch couldn't do subtle if her life depended on it. So much for my cunning plan.’

  ‘You win some, you lose some. It was worth a try.’

  ‘Not with her as the scouting party. Sorry boss.’

  Carole's clip-clopping heels were advancing across the car park. Casey winked his lights and she and her companion made for the car. She opened the back door and got in, slamming the door firmly shut behind her, leaving her male friend standing outside like an uninvited party guest.

  ‘Sorry, Chief,’ she said. ‘It went wrong. I was sure I could get him to admit his guilt. But all I got was a twisted arm and a torn dress. Maybe I should press charges?’

  Casey dissuaded her. It wouldn't look good if the papers picked up the story of their failed enterprise. They would have to come up with some other means to get at the truth.

  Carole’s friend banged on the window and shouted, ‘Are you coming, Carole?’ in a petulant voice.

  ‘No,’ she told him bluntly, while shaking her head vigorously. ‘These two gentlemen are giving me a ride home. Aren't you?’

  Casey glanced across at Catt and shrugged. ‘Of course. If you like.’

  'I do like. Besides, my feet are killing me in these shoes. I can't walk another step. ‘But I do like to look my best when I go to beard the enemy in his den. Don't you, boys?’ Pausing only to light a cigarette and without sparing a glance for her abandoned escort, she said,’ Come on then. Let’s get out of here.’

  After the failed excursion of the previous night, Casey was left with few options. He'd already, that morning, given Catt the job of finding out the names of the Merediths' and Garretts' GPs. It would be interesting if the gonorrhoea that Oliver had passed on had infected them also. For the moment at least, that possibility looked like being their last hope.

  But even if all the members of both married couples had caught the disease, they still lacked any evidence that connected them with Oliver's murder.

  Round and round went Casey's thoughts, but however often they circled his mind, things didn't look any more hopeful. He didn't know what avenue to try next. He was running out of options — and Superintendent Brown-Smith out of patience.

  He'd forgotten to ring Moon at seven the previous night as arranged. Forgotten, too, to see if she had texted back any answers to the questions he had posed. Feeling disgruntled and expecting nothing but more complaints, Casey flipped his phone open and checked his messages. Then he smiled. Moon, that new capitalist, had come up trumps.

  Casey had asked Moon if she had heard Dylan and DaisyMay arguing and she'd denied it. But when he had texted her and told her that if — when—- Dylan was released from custody, if she had any evidence that pointed to his guilt over the murders, she might be in danger, she admitted she might know something.

  He dialled her number, hoping she would pick up the phone. To his surprise, he was in luck.

  ‘So tell me, Moon, what do you know?’

  ‘It's not much. I don't know if it's even worth telling you.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ Casey replied.

  ‘Okay. I don't know anything about Dylan and Daisy arguing, as I told you. They were married or the same as, so what's new if they have spats now and then? No. It wasn't those two I overheard, but Dylan and Kris. They were in one of the outbuildings, trying to get it set up for growing more cannabis plants when I passed the door. Going at it in a furious fashion, they were. I heard Dylan accuse Kris of trying to get into Daisy's knickers and Kris said, in that sarcastic way he always had with him —“Trying? I've already been there, man. Several times.” Then I heard a cry. It sounded like it was from Kris and that fists were flying in his direction.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Do?’ Moon sounded puzzled at this strange concept. 'I didn't do anything. Why would I? If the guys want to punch seven bells out of each other, that's up to them. I left them to it.’

  ‘Did they see you?’

  ‘Dylan did. Kris had his back to me. Dylan looked wild and mad as hell. Kris was dead two days later.’

  ‘Why didn't you tell me this before, Moon?’ How had she remembered this when it had occurred over two months ago? he wondered. It was another question he wouldn't mind having answered.

  'I wouldn't have told you now, but for poor DaisyMay. And that you seem to think Dylan might do the same to me. I suppose you'll want me to tell the cops up here what I've just told you?’

  ‘Of course.’ What did she expect? ‘It should be enough to keep Dylan locked up out of harm's way. ‘You'll have to give them a statement.’

  Over the line came the sound of a drawn-out, put upon sigh and the words. 'I suppose so, hon. If I must.’

  ‘Yes. You must. If Dylan’s released because you fail to give evidence, you'll be the first person he targets. Remember that.’

  After he put the phone down, Casey went in search of his sergeant. He found him in the canteen, surrounded by a laughing throng of officers.

  ‘Sorry to break up the happy home, but I need Catt's services.’

  The others melted away and Casey, aware the other officers would all have their ears out on stalks, took Catt's arm and led him to his office. He told him what Moon had said and waited for Catt's reaction.

  ‘God, boss, didn't your mum realize what danger she's been in?’

  ‘Apparently not. I wouldn't have got this out of her now but for stressing that if Dylan's killed once, twice already, he'll have no compunction in doing so a third time if it means he escapes being locked up.’

  Catt nodded. ‘Should be enough to charge Dylan. Maybe, faced with this evidence, he'll come clean.’

  According to Catt some hours later, Dylan Harper broke down and confessed to the murders when presented with the evidence that he had known all along that DaisyMay's baby hadn't been his. Like a rabbit from a hat, Catt produced a copy of Harper's statement and handed it to Casey.

  'I just lost it,’ Dylan Harper had written. 'I didn't mean to kill her. It was an accident. I'd so looked forward to the baby being born even if I knew it wasn't mine. But then to discover that it was that bastard Callender's. He'd boasted to me that he'd taken Daisy out once or twice, but he said nothing to me about sleeping with her. Not till we had the bust up. I was still furious two days later. I followed him to the greenhouse and punched him hard. He went down, cracking his head on a rock. I didn't realize I'd killed him, not till later.

  'I could have taken the news that the baby was someone else's, even that idler Star's, but when Daisy finally admitted that it was that womanizing
bastard Callender's child, I lost it again and went for her. I didn't know what I was doing. Before I knew it, she lay dead at my feet.’

  Casey didn't trouble to read the rest as a glance told him it was the usual self-justifying clichés. If Dylan had planned on killing DaisyMay as soon as he had learned of her pregnancy — which seemed only too likely given his zealously attentive behaviour towards her — he was doing his best to hide the fact of premeditation. Maybe the Boston cops would winkle the truth out of him.

  ‘The commune lot are still going to be done for concealing Callender's body, growing and supplying cannabis and stealing the lecky,' Catt told him. ‘Though they're currently all doing their best to shift the blame on to Callender, seeing as the dead can't defend themselves. They're pretending they knew nothing about what was growing in their own loft. Amazing they think such a defence has legs.’

  Casey gave a tired smile. ‘You'd be surprised what they can delude themselves into believing. Now, perhaps, we can concentrate on our investigation,’ he said, relieved that his parents were out of the frame for the murders. Maybe, this whole case would be a lesson to them. Or maybe not. What was it they said about old dogs and new tricks? That the two were incompatible.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Catt's time spent in checking out the Merediths' and Garretts' GPs soon brought new evidence. And although Amanda and Roger Meredith hadn't caught the STD, both the Garretts had.

  ‘Gives us another avenue to follow if Fallon drops off the radar as he threatens to do,’ he said. ‘Neither of the Garretts — or the Merediths, come to that — have an alibi worth spit. Even so, I hope it's Fallon. I'd love to see him banged to rights.’ He paused. ‘By the way, I was just coming to tell you, boss. The Boston cops have charged Dylan with murder.’

  ‘Good. It’s a relief to get that one squared away.’

  But their official murder investigation was still on-going. Fortunately, their further inquiries into Gus Oliver's death accomplished results more quickly than he could possibly have hoped. He hadn't even had to apply for a court order, though the continuing investigation and, hopefully, the final truth, would require several of their officers to do some serious digging. He strongly suspected that Caitlin Osborne had come up with her story about killing Oliver after watching how his real murderer had gone about the crime. It seemed likely. She had admitted she had hung around the house, hiding in the shadows of hedges and shrubs in the large front garden. Who had been better placed to observe what had really happened? Finally, Casey confided his suspicions to Catt.