A Tapping at My Door: A gripping crime thriller (The DS Nathan Cody series)

by David Jackson

  ‘My pleasure,’ says Robert. ‘I always like to do my bit for law and order.’

  Cody searches Robert’s face for signs of a wind-up, but finds it impassive.

  ‘I want to stress that you’re not a suspect at this present time. You’re simply here to answer some questions we have. Are you okay with that?’

  Robert considers this. ‘I would be . . . if it was true.’

  Cody exchanges glances with Webley. ‘I’m sorry. If what was true?’

  ‘That I’m not a suspect. Of course I’m a suspect. The two police officers who were involved in the death of my brother have both been murdered. I repeat, it was my brother they killed. If I’m not on your list of suspects, then you’re not doing your job properly. Now shall we start again, Detective? Only, can we do it properly this time?’

  Cody tries to keep his own face as devoid of emotion as his interviewee’s. He hopes he is appearing as calm and collected and logical as Robert, but he’s not convinced he’s managing it. The man is right, of course. Clearly he’s a suspect. The only reason Cody told him he wasn’t is that the Chief Superintendent handed down a dictum that ‘in light of previous events’ this family was to be treated with the ‘utmost care and respect, and with no finger-pointing unless absolutely warranted by the evidence’.

  So much for the softly-softly approach.

  ‘All right, Robert. But you’re not under arrest, okay? You’re free to go whenever you like.’

  Robert looks around at the door, as if contemplating that very option. Cody wonders if this is going to be over before it’s even begun.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ says Robert. ‘I’ve got nothing better to do right now.’

  How very kind of you, thinks Cody.

  ‘You’re not at work today?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m between jobs at the moment.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I used to be a car salesman. I was good at it, too. Then Kevin was killed. The firm told me to take as much time off as I needed, but my mum and dad couldn’t manage without me. I got sacked in the end. To be honest, I don’t think they wanted the publicity.’

  ‘You haven’t done any work since then?’

  ‘A couple of things, to make ends meet. Some bar work. A short time in a call centre, for as long as I could stand it.’

  ‘You didn’t like it there?’

  ‘The people were idiots. Especially the girls. All they talked about was sex, fashion and music.’

  ‘You don’t like any of those things?’

  ‘Let’s just say that my tastes and opinions aren’t as superficial as theirs. I asked one of them what she thought about Mandela, and she thought it was a new clothes shop in town.’ He pauses. ‘Anyway, why are we talking about this, Detective Cody?’

  Cody waves a hand. ‘Just breaking the ice. Making conversation.’

  Robert stares for a while, then a scornful smile crosses his lips as he shakes his head.

  ‘You find that amusing?’

  ‘Amusing? I find your whole attitude amusing, Detective. Maybe most of the people you drag into this police station are as thick as pig shit, but I’m not one of them. I know exactly what it is you’re trying to do with all this small talk.’

  ‘What am I trying to do?’

  Robert taps a finger on his temple. ‘Trying to get in here. Trying to figure out how I tick. Well, you can forget about it. I have no intention of getting all touchy-feely with you, Detective Cody, so just ask me where I was last night and what I was doing, and then we can both go our separate ways again.’

  Cody feels a sizzle of anger. He tries to douse it, but he suspects that Robert Vernon will do his best to pour more fuel onto it.

  ‘Where do you live, Robert?’

  ‘You know where I live. With my parents. They told you that yesterday. I moved back in because they need me. Because of Kevin.’ He winks at Cody. ‘Just dropping that in again. I assume we’ll get back to that subject.’

  ‘And you were there last night?’

  ‘The nights are long. Could you be more specific?’

  ‘Put it this way: were there any times you weren’t in your parents’ house last night?’

  Robert goes theatrical. Puts on a show of wrestling with his memory.

  ‘Last night . . . last night . . . Well, there was— no, hang on, that was just a dream. But what about— no, I changed my mind about doing that. Actually, thinking about it, I’d have to say the answer is no.’

  ‘So you were there all night?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘And your parents can vouch for that?’

  ‘I doubt it. They do something at night called sleeping. If I went out in the middle of the night – say, to kill a copper – I don’t think they’d hear me. Although they don’t sleep as well as they used to, not since my brother was murdered.’

  Cody notices a slight emphasis on that last word. He doesn’t rise to the bait, though. That would be playing into Vernon’s hands.

  Quiet until now, Webley joins in: ‘Robert, can we just get one thing straight? You said before that you want us to do our job properly. Well, this is it. This is us doing our job, talking to the people who might be able to help us. Someone has killed two police officers. Both of them were implicated in the death of your brother. Both were cleared. Now it doesn’t matter whether you agree with that decision or not, the point is that these victims have an obvious connection to your family. Like DS Cody said, we’re not trying to pin anything on you. We just want to find out if there is any information you can provide us with to help us catch whoever did these crimes.’

  Vernon keeps his gaze fixed on Webley throughout her speech. He doesn’t move, his hands remaining in his lap.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m not convinced.’

  Cody sees the flicker of puzzlement on Webley’s face.

  ‘Not convinced about what?’ she asks.

  ‘You. It just doesn’t work.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what doesn’t work?’

  ‘Trying to act all superior. Trying to take some kind of moral high ground. You don’t pull it off. It might be something to do with you being a woman. You just don’t have that same ring of authority that a man has. Now, DS Cody here, he sounds the business. But you . . . No, sorry, you just don’t cut it. You’re pretty, though – I’ll give you that.’

  Don’t rise to it, thinks Cody. He’s trying to rattle you.

  ‘For your information,’ says Webley, ‘there are a lot of women in the police force, many of them at high levels. My boss on this murder team is a woman.’

  ‘You mean DCI Blunt? Yeah, I’ve met her. Not exactly the best example of womankind, though, is she? I mean, come on. A guy would have to be pretty desperate to go fishing in that lake, don’t you think?’

  Cody waits for the eruption from Webley, but she surprises him with how collected she remains.

  ‘You don’t really mean that,’ she says.

  This throws him. Cody sees it in his eyes. He was expecting belligerence, or at least disgust. Not a challenge like this.

  ‘You think?’ he answers. A weak riposte.

  ‘I know,’ she says. ‘I can hear it in your voice. It’s an act, and not a very good one either. You don’t like us, and you don’t like being here, and so you thought you might as well try to be as much of a pain in the arse as you can. Well, that’s fine, Robert. If you want to act like a child, go ahead. Your other choice is to be adult about the situation by helping us solve the murders of two police officers. What are you going to be today – a grown-up or a five-year-old?’

  Vernon does something odd then.

  He cries.

  He does it in silence. He stares at Webley for a full minute, and then a single tear beads in his right eye and rolls down the curve of his cheek.

  Cody isn’t sure he is seeing this at first, but then he notices how the left eye does the same. Vernon breaks contact with Webley. Stares straight ahead at the wall behind t
hem instead. His expression doesn’t alter; he makes no sound. But the tears continue to flow down his face until they are dripping softly onto the desk below.

  It happens like this sometimes. They walk in acting big. Hard as nails. They mouth off and they swear and they pronounce their hatred. And then, as if by magic, the veneer cracks. Sometimes the trigger is a memory or a photograph or, as in this case, something the interviewing officer has said. It’s as if Robert wanted to be himself all along. He just needed to be given permission.

  ‘Robert,’ says Cody. ‘Are you okay?’

  Robert has to open his mouth a couple of times before he can get the words out. ‘He was my brother.’

  From Webley: ‘We know, Robert. We understand.’

  ‘He was older than me. He wasn’t all there in the head, but he was still my brother. He was polite and he was caring and he even had a good sense of humour. He would never have hurt a fly. He wouldn’t have attacked those two police officers. He might not have understood what they wanted him to do, but he wouldn’t have lashed out at them. He didn’t have it in him. One time, I caught a load of kids who were teasing him and throwing stones at him. He just laughed, like it was a game. He could have crushed those kids in one hand. But he didn’t. He just stood there and took it. That was my brother for you. That was Kevin.’

  Says Webley, ‘There must be a lot of hate and anger and distrust inside you. The loss of Kevin was a tragedy for your whole family. You needed someone to blame. But whatever mistakes the two officers might have made, they didn’t set out with the intention of killing someone that night. They don’t deserve to have been slaughtered like this. And believe me, what happened to this man and woman went way beyond straightforward murder. What was done to them was horrific, to say the least. There is a lunatic out there, Robert. Maybe you think he’s done you a favour, but that doesn’t make him a good guy. If I could go into detail about what he did, I am sure you would agree he shouldn’t be on the streets. If you want to look at these killings as putting something straight for your family, then go ahead. But don’t leave this killer out there, Robert. If you know anything about him – or even if you have the names of some people we could take a look at – then please help us.’

  Cody finds a half-empty pack of tissues in his pocket and hands it across. ‘Anything,’ he says. ‘A threat. A promise to get revenge for your family. Someone who just said weird things about the case.’

  Robert pulls out a tissue and wipes his cheeks.

  Webley leans closer to him. ‘Robert? Is there something?’

  Robert blows his nose. Gives a slight nod. Cody tries to hide his excitement.

  ‘There was this guy. In a pub. I didn’t know him from Adam, but he came over anyway. I didn’t really want any company, but he insisted on buying me a drink. He knew who I was. He started going on about you lot. The police.’

  ‘Saying what, exactly?’

  ‘That you were the scum of the earth. That you were all bent. He said look at all the times the bizzies had shot unarmed suspects, or beaten the crap out of innocent people, and yet you always got away with it. Even when there was an inquiry, you lot always got off scot-free.’

  ‘What did you say to that?’

  ‘Not a lot. To be honest, I don’t like talking about it – especially not to strangers. But this guy just kept rabbiting on. Getting on his soapbox. Telling me that something needed to be done about it.’

  ‘But this was nothing specific, right? I mean, it was about the police force in general?’

  ‘At first. But after he’d got a couple of more drinks down him, he brought the conversation back to Kevin. Asked me if I wanted to put things right.’

  ‘Put things right? In what way?’

  ‘Look, he’d had a few pints. I thought it was just the ale talking. People do that when they’re pissed, don’t they? They try to put the world to rights. Usually, it’s all just—’

  ‘In what way, Robert? What was he suggesting?’

  ‘He said . . . He said he knew people. He said he could find things out.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Like where the coppers lived. The ones who assaulted Kevin. He said he could find out where they lived and he could make sure they never did anything like that again. Ever.’

  ‘Was he serious? Did you believe he could do those things?’

  ‘No. Not at the time. Like I said, he was drunk. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re drunk. But now, after what’s happened . . . well, I don’t know. Maybe he meant what he said.’

  Says Cody, ‘What did you say to him, when he made this proposition?’

  Vernon offers nothing but a stare.

  ‘Robert? What was your reply?’

  ‘You won’t understand. You’ll think I’m a terrible person. You don’t know how I felt back then. My mum and dad, they were full of hate for the police. They still are. They told me what I should think, what I should feel. I didn’t really want to hate like that, I swear. But everything they said was against you. Everyone was the same. Aunties, uncles, friends. They all said the same. I always try to see the other person’s point of view, do you know what I mean? Sometimes I started to wonder if it was really all just a horrible mistake. Maybe Kevin really was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe those two coppers didn’t really mean to hurt him. I thought that sometimes. But I could never say it. I wasn’t even allowed to think it. My mum and dad would have hated me for it. I had to see it their way. Theirs was the right way. The only possible explanation of how things were.’

  ‘Robert, what did you say to the man in the pub?’

  ‘I told him . . . I told him to go ahead and kill them. And if he could kill any other coppers while he was at it, I’d buy him beers for the rest of his life.’

  The silence that follows is weighty. Filled with meaning. Filled with shock and regret and the anticipation of where this information is to lead.

  ‘What’s his name, Robert?’

  21

  ‘His name is Gazza.’

  ‘Gazza what?’ says Blunt.

  ‘He didn’t know,’ says Cody. ‘All he got was Gazza.’

  ‘Might not be a Gazza What,’ says Ferguson. ‘Might be a What Gazza.’

  Blunt offers him one of her frostiest looks. ‘What are you talking about, Neil?’

  ‘He might not be a Gary. It could refer to his last name. Like Paul Gascoigne.’

  ‘Whatever,’ says Blunt. ‘I want him found. Start in the pub where he came up to Robert Vernon.’ She looks at Cody. ‘Got a description?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s not brilliant, though. Vernon’s excuse is that he was pretty drunk at the time, and can’t remember the guy very well.’ Cody consults his notes. ‘Age about forty-five. Short dark hair, receding at the temples. A large hooked nose.’

  ‘That’s it? He has a drink with a man who offers to kill two police officers, and that’s all he can recall?’

  Cody shrugs. Blunt sighs.

  ‘Well, it’s more than we got from the other two,’ she says. ‘Mr and Mrs Vernon seem to see it as their civic duty to be as unhelpful to this investigation as possible. If nothing turns up on this Gazza bloke, we’re going to have to take off the gloves with that family, despite what the Chief Super says.’

  ‘Something about this doesn’t ring true, though,’ says Cody.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘A guy comes up to you in the pub and offers to kill two coppers for you? Why would he do that? Some dickhead might say it as a sick joke when he was pissed, but to actually carry it out?’

  ‘We still have to follow it up, Cody.’

  ‘Of course we do. But even if this Gazza bloke was doing it as a favour to the Vernons, why do it in such a weird way? Why not just kill them quickly and get the hell out of there? What’s with the birds and the messages?’

  Blunt nods and looks around the room. ‘Okay, so, theories. What’s this maniac trying to tell us?’

  No answe
rs. No pearls of wisdom or leaps of the imagination.

  Blunt tries prompting them: ‘Edgar Allan Poe, and now a nursery rhyme. What’s the connection?’

  Says Cody, ‘Other than the birds, maybe there isn’t one. What I mean is, maybe the poems are secondary. Maybe the important thing is the birds.’

  ‘Okay, so what would that mean? A raven, then a blackbird. They’re the same colour. Anything else about them? Any other links?’

  Another agonising silence.

  ‘Christ,’ says Blunt. ‘All right, we go with what we’ve got, which isn’t much. We’ve had no sightings of anyone suspicious at either scene. We’ve got no fingerprints to work with, no footprints, no fibres, nothing. All we’ve got is someone called Gazza. So find him!’

  *

  ‘Stay calm,’ says Webley.

  They are coming out of the station. On their way to track down the mysterious hit man who offers his services to strangers in pubs. Cody glances at Webley, puzzled by her warning and the delicate touch of her hand on his elbow.

  But then Webley nods ahead of her, and he understands.

  Dobson and his photographer accomplice. Waiting at their car. Dobby perched on the bonnet and sucking on a cigarette, a couple of crushed butts at his feet.

  When he sees the detectives approaching, Dobson pushes himself up from the car and affixes an ugly smile.

  Cody knows he should have expected this. Dobson is a mutt who doesn’t relinquish his bone easily. Especially when he knows he already occupies a higher ground, given what happened yesterday.

  ‘Say nothing,’ Webley advises. ‘We’ll just get in the car and go.’

  Cody has no intention of repeating the previous day’s episode. He won’t react, no matter what Dobson says or does.

  But there is something different about the two media men today. They are playing it slow and easy. No snapping of pictures. No rapid-fire questions. They look almost like normal human beings.

  Dobson lets his cigarette fall and grinds it into the pavement beneath his scuffed shoe.

  ‘DS Cody. Nice to see you again. And you too, DC . . .’

  ‘Webley.’

  ‘Of course. How could I forget?’