by Damien Boyd
Ros lunged across the dining table, reaching for the knife on a cheese board, but Jane beat her to it, knocking it on to the floor. Instead she snatched her wine glass, smashed it on the edge of the table and then held the jagged edge to Geraldine’s neck, her left arm clamped around her throat.
‘For God’s sake, Ros,’ gasped Geraldine, as she was wrenched back in her chair.
‘And how far d’you think you’re going to get, Ros?’ asked Dixon.
‘Far enough.’
‘The place is surrounded,’ continued Dixon. ‘Your husband’ll be in custody by now and your car’s on a flatbed lorry.’
Ros’s eyes darted around the room. ‘Don’t try anything,’ she mumbled, as she stood up and backed away towards the French windows, dragging Geraldine off her chair.
‘Did Simon kill Sid Farooq?’
‘Steiner did. And they buried him in the bottom of lock sixteen.’
‘And you knew?’
‘I fucking helped them, didn’t I?’ Her face flushed now, her teeth gritted as she held Geraldine by the throat.
‘I don’t know, you tell me.’ He took two paces forwards, more to cover DCI Lewis’s approach in the French windows.
‘Stay back,’ screamed Ros, watching Dixon’s every move.
‘For God’s sake, Ros, put her down,’ snapped Jeremy.
‘You were going to tell me about Farooq,’ said Dixon.
‘He was dead when I got there. The lying bastard. Material non-disclosures? It was a rip off and he got what he deserved.’ She sneered. ‘It was my husband’s money. His shares. Why should he have to give them up?’
‘What about Markhams, then?’ asked Dixon. ‘There was a loan agreement pinned to Simon’s body.’
‘I lent him the money and he lent it to the company.’
‘Whose money was it?’
‘My husband’s. It was all Bob’s. My first husband left me penniless when he died. Useless bugger.’
‘What part did Bob play in all this?’
‘None. He knows nothing about it.’
Dixon frowned. ‘You didn’t tell him you lent two hundred thousand pounds of his money to your son?’
‘Of course I bloody well didn’t!’
‘So you snatched Hatty?’
Ros sneered at Jeremy. ‘It was that or let these bastards wind up the company and lose everything. Bob’s money and then my marriage when he found out what I’d done.’
Dixon hesitated. The sound of a child crying. Softly. But from where? He looked up to see Hatty standing at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas, rubbing her eyes with her right hand and holding a teddy bear in her left.
‘I’m sorry, Hatty,’ said Ros. ‘No one was going to hurt you, you do know that, don’t you?’
Ros relaxed her grip on Geraldine’s neck, not much, but enough, lowering the jagged stem of the wine glass. DCI Lewis lunged through the open French windows and took hold of her right wrist, snatching it away from Geraldine’s neck.
Ros let go of Geraldine and she slumped to the floor while Lewis wrestled Ros to the ground and handcuffed her.
‘You do not have to say anything,’ continued Dixon, ‘but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court.’ He paused while Lewis dragged her to her feet and sat her down on a dining chair. ‘Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘I’m all right, Dad.’ Adele stopped wriggling in her father’s arms; Roger let her go so she could intercept Hatty, who was running down the stairs, her arms outstretched. Then he walked around the dining table and helped Geraldine up.
‘How did you know she was Simon’s mother?’ asked Adele, cradling Hatty in her arms.
‘Henry told me.’
Ros looked quizzically at Dixon.
‘Simon Gregson’s dog,’ he said.
‘My dog,’ spluttered Ros. ‘Bob doesn’t like dogs. He wouldn’t let me have him in the house.’
‘The tag on his collar still has your old surname on it. Ros Gregson. And your mobile number’s the same too.’ Dixon looked down at Ros, her head bowed now as she sobbed quietly. ‘I’m sorry to tell you that Henry was killed as well.’
No reply.
Louise, along with two uniformed officers, stepped in through the French windows and led her away.
‘You really never knew she was Simon’s mother?’ asked Jeremy, shaking his head at Adele.
‘I didn’t have that sort of relationship with Simon. And he didn’t have that sort of relationship with her. He never told his parents about me, or any of his girlfriends for that matter.’
‘Didn’t you think that a bit odd?’
‘Yes, but he said she was a bit odd.’
‘No shit,’ muttered Jane.
‘All the time she was sitting here drinking coffee and telling us it’d be all right in the end,’ said Geraldine, picking up the cheese board and the rest of the jigsaw puzzle pieces. ‘And she bloody well knew.’
‘How did you find out?’ asked Poland.
‘In amongst the documents we got from Svenskabanken, there was a Director’s Loan Note dated two years ago under which Simon loaned his company two hundred thousand pounds.’ Dixon spun round to face Jeremy, still standing by the drinks cabinet. ‘Did you ever find out where that money came from?’
‘The company burned through it and that was that.’ Jeremy shrugged his shoulders. ‘We never asked where it came from.’
‘Well, it came from his mother.’ Dixon grimaced. ‘Pinned to his chest with a steak knife was a loan agreement dated the same day as the loan note.’
‘So, with the bank foreclosing, she stood to lose her two hundred grand.’ Adele nodded.
‘Her husband’s two hundred grand. And much more besides. We’ll get their car checked, but I’m guessing we’ll find Hatty’s DNA in the boot. She lives a few doors up. It was easy. Grab her as she walked past the house, straight in the boot and away. It explains why no one saw the van in the village on Tuesday morning.’
‘It was never here?’ asked Jeremy.
‘Exactly. She delivered the note too. You bumped into her in the lane, Ms Crosby. Remember?’
‘I do.’ replied Geraldine, nodding. ‘Did Bob really not know?’
‘He may not, but I’m hoping he’ll know something about the murder of Sid Farooq.’
‘So, Steiner killed Farooq . . .’ muttered Adele.
‘We’ll be able to confirm that if and when we find the body.’ Dixon shook his head. ‘The Bluewater Nominees shareholders, your angel investors. Did you ever know who they were?’
‘No.’ Adele frowned. ‘We dealt with an accountant in Wells.’
Dixon reached into his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. ‘There were four shareholders.’
‘Bob Hicks?’ asked Jeremy.
‘Robert Archibald Hicks,’ replied Dixon, handing the piece of paper to Adele.
‘And you never knew that either?’ Jeremy glared at Adele.
‘No, I bloody didn’t!’
‘Simon’s bloody stepfather and he never said a thing?’ Jeremy sneered. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘He didn’t. I don’t know, maybe he didn’t want me to know he fixed it.’
‘The family connection explains the reluctance to relinquish shares,’ said Dixon. ‘And we may never know exactly what happened after you left that meeting in Combe Hay, but what it does do is explain their determination to stop the bank winding up the company and bankrupting Gregson.’
‘Does it?’ asked Jeremy, frowning. ‘It’s just money.’
‘It’s not just the money, though, is it?’ replied Dixon. ‘What would the bank do with the house and land?’
‘Sell it.’
‘And a new owner might allow the canal to be dug out and the Restoration Society to restore the old locks.’
‘Perhaps.’
Dixon smiled. ‘And you wouldn’t want that if you’d buried a body in the bottom of lock sixtee
n, would you?’
Chapter Forty-Four
‘Still no sign of Steiner?’
Dixon shook his head.
‘It’s been a week now,’ said Poland.
‘How’s Hatty doing?’ asked Jane.
‘She’s getting there and it’ll be easier now the interviews are out of the way. They’ve taken a holiday cottage in Cornwall and Adele’s going to home-school her for the rest of this term.’
‘Have the local police been notified?’ asked Dixon.
‘Yes, they’re being very good, apparently. A Family Liaison officer has gone with them and Armed Response are on high alert. They’ve had alarms fitted too.’
‘Good idea,’ said Jane, nodding.
‘The bank has told Jeremy to take as much time as he needs.’ Poland shrugged his shoulders. ‘They’ll stay there until you’ve got Steiner, I expect. Safely out of the way. They’re not even allowed visitors, in case we’re followed.’
‘It won’t be long, Roger.’
Poland smiled. ‘What shall we drink to then?’
They were sitting at their usual table in the Zalshah, Dixon’s favourite Tandoori restaurant in Burnham-on-Sea, although it had been Jane’s choice when Poland had said he wanted to take them out to dinner.
Dixon held up a pint of Kingfisher. ‘How about Detective Sergeant Jane Winter, Queen’s Police Medal.’
‘Fine with me,’ said Poland, clinking glasses with Jane in the middle of the table.
Jane drained her gin and tonic. ‘Shall we order?’ she asked.
‘We’re still waiting for one more,’ said Dixon, snatching the menu out of her hand.
‘Who?’
‘You were going to tell me what Ros had to say for herself,’ said Poland, changing the subject.
Dixon grimaced. ‘She admits pretty much everything.’
‘What about Farooq?’
‘He was dead when she got to Combe Hay and we can’t prove otherwise. Gregson’s dead and that just leaves Steiner. We found Farooq’s body, though, buried in the bottom of lock sixteen on the old coal canal.’
‘Was it the lock where the boy drowned?’ asked Jane.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Dixon. ‘I haven’t been able to find anything more about him, anywhere. Not even a name.’ He sighed. ‘Poor lad.’
‘You knew Farooq would be there, though.’ Poland frowned. ‘How did you know?’
‘I suspected,’ muttered Dixon.
‘Ask him about the wizard.’ Jane smirked.
‘No, don’t ask him about the wizard,’ snapped Dixon. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you anyway.’
Poland shook his head. ‘What about her husband, Bob?’
‘The husband knew nothing about any of it,’ said Jane. ‘Or so he says.’
‘She backs him up on that,’ said Dixon. ‘It was his money and she persuaded him to invest in Polgen. He lost the lot, of course. Then she lent his money to her son so he could prop up Markhams. He’d told her it was to fund an expansion, only it didn’t work out quite like he said, and she fell out with him over it – which explains why Adele never saw him visiting his mother,’ continued Dixon. ‘It’s another reason why Ros was so keen the vintners shouldn’t go bust.’
‘And Farooq’s post mortem?’
‘Stabbed to death. There are cut marks on the ribs and the side of the skull. Had his eardrums pierced too, right through the skull, just like Savage and both Gregsons.’
‘A myringotomy of sorts then.’ Poland nodded. ‘That’s an incision in the eardrum, to you. I wonder what that’s all about?’
‘When I catch up with Steiner, I’ll ask him.’
‘I bet you will.’
‘She gave us a bit more on Hatty’s kidnap too,’ continued Dixon. ‘She says she stepped out from behind the tree in her front garden. Swears blind she did it on her own, but went “no comment” when I pressed her on it. I’m still not sure why Hatty didn’t scream.’
‘She doesn’t remember a blow to the head, but there was a small needle mark on the right side of her neck,’ said Poland. ‘So, she must’ve been drugged.’
‘Are Adele and Jeremy going to be all right?’ asked Jane.
‘They’ll work it out. We’re getting on better too.’ Poland took a swig of beer. ‘Whose idea was it to kidnap Alesha then, and all that rubbish about Ted Buckler?’
‘Steiner’s. Alesha’s grandmother knew that Sailes used to work for Buckler, so the plan to kidnap Alesha and set them up was hatched over a beer, at a cosy canal side pub of all places. We were supposed to waste days investigating Buckler and Sailes. Only we didn’t.’
‘Thanks to you.’ Poland raised his glass.
Dixon smiled. ‘Once the petition had been withdrawn they would have handed Hatty back and that would’ve been that, provided Jeremy kept Markhams afloat using the bank’s money. If he didn’t Steiner would pay them another visit and this time it’d be—’
‘I get it,’ interrupted Poland.
‘He’s quite the criminal mastermind, apparently. As well as being a psychopath. But we’ll get him.’ Dixon slid his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. ‘It’s the biggest manhunt I’ve ever . . .’ His voice tailed off. ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’
Jane watched him walk out of the restaurant. ‘Where’s he going?’ she asked.
‘Don’t look at me.’ Poland smiled.
Then Dixon reappeared carrying a small rucksack, with Lucy walking along behind him. ‘Your bridesmaid’s here,’ he said, grinning at Jane.
She jumped up and threw her arms around Lucy. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’
‘I didn’t want to miss the party.’ Lucy grinned. ‘My sister, the hero.’
‘Your bridesmaid?’ Poland winked at Dixon. ‘Does that mean you’ve asked her?’
‘Has he hell,’ muttered Jane.
‘Oh, so I’m not going to be your best man, then?’
‘Hang on a minute.’ Jane glared at Dixon. ‘You’ve already asked him to be your best man?’
‘Well, I—’
‘The bloody grief you gave me.’
‘So, when are you going to ask her?’ demanded Lucy.
Dixon slid his hand into his jacket pocket and his fingers closed around a small velvet covered jewellery box.
‘Oh, y’know,’ he said, smiling. ‘Anytime now.’
Author’s Note
I wanted to say a few words, while I have the chance, about the character ‘Nat’ who features in the Prologue and then later in the narrative.
He is – or was – a real person, just one of many thousands of boys working on the canals 200 years ago; and, despite extensive research, I have been unable to find out anything more about him. The only information available comes from the Bath Chronicle and is quoted verbatim in Dead Lock. I haven’t even been able to find out his name and so, for these purposes, I have christened him ‘Nat’.
I would like to have found his last resting place – even his age would have been something – but alas I have found nothing. So, if by any chance you do happen to know anything more about him, please get in touch via my website. Otherwise, he must remain a mystery, just one of many lost in the passage of time.
The remains of the Somersetshire Coal Canal are well worth a visit if you are ever in the area. Abandoned locks loom out of the trees as you walk up through the woods behind Combe Hay, testament to a way of life long since consigned to history. It is a truly atmospheric spot!
I would also like to take this opportunity to thank my old (and long suffering) biology teacher, Dr Roger Poland, for lending his name to my Home Office pathologist. I did warn him what happened this time!
As always, I would like to thank the team at Thomas & Mercer for their patience and support. It would be wrong to single out any individuals from such a great bunch of people, but I’m going to do it anyway. So, a huge ‘thank you’ to Emilie Marneur, Laura Deacon, Hatty Stiles and, of course, Katie Green.
And lastly, I
would like to thank you for reading Dead Lock. I do hope you enjoyed it.
Damien Boyd
Devon, UK
January 2018
About the Author
Photo © 2013 Damien Boyd
Damien Boyd is a solicitor by training and draws on his extensive experience of criminal law, along with a spell in the Crown Prosecution Service, to write fast-paced crime thrillers featuring Detective Inspector Nick Dixon.
