Death Do Us Part (DI Damen Brook 6)

by Steven Dunne

  Brook smiled. ‘Time pressures, Sergeant. With my squad snowed under, I went there early, yes, but it is late autumn so naturally it was dark.’

  ‘You admit it, then,’ said Caskey.

  ‘Would there be any point in denying it?’ said Brook.

  ‘None. We did some checking of our own,’ continued Charlton. ‘And we noticed, with the assistance of DC Cooper, that you’ve been accessing reports and files about Black Oak Farm on the database.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ beamed Brook with as much swagger as he could muster. ‘DC Cooper was acting under direct orders from me.’

  ‘As you say,’ said Charlton.

  Brook’s grin widened. ‘Anything else, sir, or did you have questions?’

  Caskey’s mouth tightened but she remained silent, turning to Charlton for his response.

  ‘Let’s start with what the hell do you think you’re playing at,’ said Charlton softly. ‘Leaving aside the severe breach of etiquette you’ve committed, haven’t you enough on your plate without gallivanting around the countryside looking into ancient history? Other officers’ ancient history, I might add.’

  Brook’s expression aped confusion. ‘Ancient history? I’m sorry, sir. But I thought, with DI Ford’s retirement, that you wanted me on the case.’

  ‘I didn’t sanction you looking at Black Oak Farm,’ snapped Charlton. ‘That investigation is closed. A conviction was secured.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, sir. But I was only taking a peek because of similarities with Breadsall and Boulton Moor.’

  Charlton and Caskey were stunned into silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Brook registered Noble’s puzzled expression.

  ‘What similarities?’ said Caskey, finding her voice.

  ‘The fact that a married couple were murdered in their own home and died in each other’s arms.’

  ‘But the Thorogoods were stabbed repeatedly, not tied up and shot,’ said Caskey.

  ‘I didn’t say there weren’t differences,’ said Brook.

  ‘DI Ford and DS Caskey caught the killer …’ countered Charlton, waving a hand at Caskey.

  ‘Luke Coulson,’ she obliged.

  ‘Coulson,’ confirmed Charlton. ‘It went to trial and he’s serving a life sentence.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ said Brook.

  ‘Then what the devil are you playing at?’ roared Charlton.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t there an open warrant on Ray Thorogood?’

  Caskey was incredulous. ‘You think Ray Thorogood might be responsible for Breadsall and Boulton Moor?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Brook, arms outstretched. ‘I’ve only just taken over DI Ford’s caseload.’

  Charlton and Caskey were silent for a moment before Charlton found his voice. ‘Why didn’t you think to clear this with DI Ford or DS Caskey? Or better yet, me?’

  ‘This may be my fault, sir,’ interrupted Noble. Heads turned, including Brook’s.

  ‘I’m listening,’ barked Charlton.

  ‘Well, when I spoke to you about DI Brook taking over the Gibson inquiry, I did suggest that we would need a free hand to develop our own theories on the crime.’

  ‘A free hand,’ repeated Charlton softly, beginning to see the pay-off marching over the horizon.

  ‘That’s right. Sir.’ Noble paused to let his words sink in. ‘And if memory serves, you agreed.’

  Tight-lipped, Charlton glanced at the po-faced Caskey, then at Brook and Noble for a few seconds. Eventually his head began to nod. ‘Yes. Yes, I did.’

  ‘So when DI Brook and I noticed the similarities between Black Oak Farm and the latest killings, I relayed your instructions about a free hand immediately. Sir.’

  ‘Of course you did,’ agreed Charlton softly. He took a second to digest the result, fully aware of the defeat beckoning, then turned to Caskey, who appeared to be composing another question. ‘Answer your concerns, Sergeant?’

  Caskey was speechless, but with the spotlight on her, she summoned the wherewithal to nod her head.

  Brook got to his feet. ‘Well if there’s nothing else, sir, I have an inquiry to run.’

  Brook, Noble and Caskey trooped out of Charlton’s office together, though the latter ducked towards the toilets as soon as convenient.

  ‘Could be awkward,’ said Noble, gesturing at Caskey’s retreating frame.

  ‘You go on, John.’

  Noble’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to apply the smooth balm of man-management.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Noble. ‘Should I fetch the Federation rep?’

  ‘Your vote of confidence is noted,’ retorted Brook, frowning.

  Noble made to leave, then paused, looking around to see if they could be overheard. ‘You didn’t actually believe any of that garbage about Black Oak Farm, did you?’

  Caskey emerged from the toilets rubbing hand cream into her palms. She stopped momentarily, registering Brook’s presence, before resuming her progress as though he was invisible. Brook fell in with her.

  ‘I assume you’ve come to tell me you want me off the Gibson inquiry,’ she said, eyes straight ahead.

  ‘Quite the opposite. I wanted to commend you on your loyalty to Frank. You fought his corner well.’

  ‘It’s my corner too.’

  ‘But the clever thing was you didn’t paint yourself into it,’ said Brook. ‘I hate to mix metaphors, but Frank would’ve burned all his boats in that situation. One of his weaknesses.’

  ‘Weaknesses?’ exclaimed Caskey. ‘And I suppose you don’t have any.’

  ‘You can ask John for a list if you like. It’s quite a read.’

  Caskey stopped and faced Brook, fighting for control of her anger. ‘You know, you’re very self-assured for someone …’

  Brook raised an eyebrow when she stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Someone who suffered a nervous breakdown?’

  Her eyes found the floor. ‘I … I didn’t say that.’

  ‘But you were going to,’ replied Brook. Caskey didn’t deny it. ‘Believe me, I’m a long way from self-assured, though a toe-to-toe with the boss generally brings out the best in me.’

  ‘One of your strengths?’

  ‘You’ll pick them up as you go along.’

  ‘I’ve already heard the station gossip, Inspector.’

  ‘Nothing good, I hope.’

  ‘I’ll make up my own mind.’

  ‘I’m sure Frank had you believe I was irredeemable, but I hope I’m not.’

  ‘Not as bad as the worst opinion and not as good as the best?’ she ventured.

  ‘Something like that.’ Brook smiled. ‘Dangerous thing, station gossip. If I hear anything about you, I’ll be sure to check my facts directly.’

  She glared at him. ‘I try to avoid being a topic.’

  ‘You’ve succeeded,’ said Brook. ‘You’re a blank canvas.’

  ‘That’s because my past is my business.’ Her lips tightened aggressively around the words and Brook saw pain in the quiver of her cheek.

  ‘Will you tell Frank I’ve been climbing all over his case?’ said Brook.

  She threw her head back. ‘No. But for his sake rather than yours.’

  ‘That’s the better reason,’ said Brook. ‘But if he should find out from another source, you can tell him from me that Coulson is a murderer, you got that spot on.’

  Caskey’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure he’ll be very grateful, but I sense a but coming.’ Brook didn’t contradict her. ‘You found mistakes in the casework?’

  Brook sought the diplomatic route. ‘Omissions is a better word.’

  ‘Omissions?’ she repeated, thin-lipped. ‘We arrested a killer whose co-conspirators were either dead or in the wind. There wasn’t a lot more we could do.’

  ‘But there were questions not fully explored. If they were asked at all.’

  Caskey folded her arms. ‘For instance?’

  ‘For instance, where was Ray Thoro
good when his parents were being murdered?’

  ‘You think we didn’t ask that question?’

  ‘You may have asked,’ said Brook. ‘But did you attempt an answer?’

  ‘As far as we could ascertain, Ray Thorogood was not at the farm that afternoon. According to Reardon, he stayed over the night before and was gone the next morning.’

  ‘Didn’t you consider that he may have been there without Reardon knowing, especially if he didn’t want to be seen?’ said Brook.

  ‘Of course we did,’ snapped Caskey. ‘We rejected it.’

  ‘On what basis?’

  ‘Circumstantial evidence. Namely the rather obvious point that if Ray had been present, he would have intervened the moment his plans for Reardon began to go wrong. Her survival ruins everything for him. If his sister lives, she can place him at the farm at the same time as the security system and the landline were being disabled. So if he had been there, he would have stepped in and killed her. As that didn’t happen, it stands to reason he couldn’t have been there.’

  ‘Then how did he know things were going wrong and he should make a run for it?’

  Caskey paused. ‘We’re not sure. Nobody contacted him that day, at least not on any phone we know about.’

  ‘I know,’ said Brook. ‘Jemson didn’t get the chance because everything was going well up to the point when he got it in the neck in Reardon’s bedroom. Coulson didn’t contact him for the simple reason he was a patsy not a co-conspirator, as the text messages between JJ and Ray prove.’

  ‘That wasn’t conclusive. Coulson could have been involved …’

  ‘Coulson didn’t have the first clue about the plan. He claims, convincingly, that he hadn’t seen or heard from Ray in years.’ Caskey’s expression registered an objection. ‘That’s right, Sergeant,’ continued Brook, before she could speak. ‘I asked him.’

  ‘You went to Wakefield Prison?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought I made it clear in Charlton’s office,’ said Brook. ‘If I’m taking over Ford’s caseload, I look at what I please.’

  ‘And you managed to get Coulson to speak to you.’

  ‘Another of my strengths.’

  ‘Coulson’s a convicted killer,’ sneered Caskey. ‘They tend to lie.’

  ‘Everybody lies,’ said Brook. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that there’s no record of a call or message from Luke to either of Ray’s known mobile phones.’

  ‘Ray may have had a third phone, unknown to us.’

  ‘Then there’d be a record from one of the phones at the scene, yet there were no outgoing calls or texts on any devices belonging to any person at Black Oak Farm that day – certainly not once the attack was under way. Not Jemson’s, not Coulson’s, not Patricia Thorogood’s, not her husband’s. And the landline was disabled before the attack. The only mobile phone I don’t know about for sure is Reardon Thorogood’s.’

  ‘It was smashed in her bedroom during the attack,’ said Caskey.

  ‘And?’ said Brook, prompting her with an eyebrow.

  ‘We checked the history, obviously,’ said Caskey, indignant. ‘No calls were made, no messages were sent once the attack was under way. Her last communication was a text to a girlfriend in Derby, half an hour before Jemson and Coulson arrived. After that, it was unusable.’

  ‘And no rogue phones at the farm,’ said Brook.

  ‘No, and we searched the place from top to bottom. No emails or messages of any kind were sent either, before you ask. As for Coulson not being in on the plan, the jury’s out as far as I’m concerned. If Coulson had a prepaid phone, he could’ve warned Ray then discarded it at any point on the M1.’

  ‘So Ray had a third phone solely for communicating with Coulson,’ concluded Brook. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Seeing as how you’re so chummy with Coulson, why didn’t you ask him?’

  ‘I did. Coulson claimed he knew nothing about the planned attack until he got to the farm and Jemson drugged the dog. He hadn’t seen Ray since secondary school and didn’t know he was involved until Jemson told him where he got the plan of the farmhouse.’

  ‘Like I said, murderers lie,’ said Caskey.

  ‘If so, he’s lying way above his IQ.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, I’ve never heard him speak.’

  ‘Lucky I taped the interview, then.’

  ‘I do know he was smart enough to turn off his official phone to immobilise the GPS locator when he made the dash to Dover.’

  ‘And then forgot to dump his bag of bloodstained clothes,’ said Brook. ‘I don’t consider that smart. But you’re right. He did lie to me. He was hiding something. Something very personal.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Coulson had stalked Reardon for years.’

  ‘He was a peeper?’ said Caskey.

  ‘He had binoculars he used to watch her.’

  ‘At the farm?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Caskey was thoughtful. ‘Reardon never mentioned it in her statement.’

  ‘She may not have known,’ said Brook. ‘Though her father did. He chased Luke off one time. Luke says that’s why he killed him.’ He took a breath. ‘So my question about Ray’s whereabouts during the attack stands.’

  ‘He wasn’t there or he’d have finished the job when Reardon ran,’ insisted Caskey.

  Brook smiled. ‘Then I have another question, one that you won’t be able to answer, but if you can work out why I’ve asked it, you can choose whether to stay on my team or not.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Then I get to choose.’

  She considered for a moment. ‘Ask your question.’

  ‘If Ray wasn’t at the farm, why wasn’t he somewhere else?’

  Nineteen

  ‘How did he react?’

  ‘Gibson? About average,’ said Morton. ‘Not happy when we took his champagne away, but overall okay.’

  ‘His partner, Trimble, was angrier,’ said Read. ‘You’d think with his previous he’d know the routine, but he was seething, insisted on watching us search every room.’

  ‘But nothing of interest,’ said Brook. Read shook his head.

  ‘Dave?’

  At the back of the darkened incident room, Cooper loaded the obscured image of the shaven-headed mystery man at Frazer and Nolan’s party on to the whiteboard screen.

  ‘It’s going to be a long haul tracing this man,’ he said. ‘All we know about him is that his wife died.’

  ‘And that he might be called Alex or Ollie,’ offered Noble.

  ‘That’s not much help,’ said Cooper. ‘I don’t know if the suspect is from Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, Staffordshire or Leicestershire. Checking for widowers could throw up hundreds of suspects.’

  ‘It’s a start,’ said Brook. ‘Artist’s impression?’

  ‘McConnell’s not coming in until this afternoon, so we’re still flying blind.’

  ‘Make some assumptions,’ said Brook. ‘Confine it to Derbyshire and don’t go back more than two years.’

  ‘Then narrow it down to males aged thirty-five to fifty, and start comparing,’ said Noble.

  Cooper seemed on the verge of verbalising further difficulties but decided against it. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Do we even know this is our guy, or have a viable motive for him?’ said Banach. ‘I mean, what’s his angle? My wife’s dead so I’m going to kill happy couples to make me feel better?’

  The door to the darkened room opened and Brook turned, expecting to see Charlton putting in an appearance. Instead, the slim figure of Rachel Caskey scuttled towards a chair at the back. A few heads turned to her, not all friendly after news of her complaint to Charlton had spread.

  ‘The music and champagne speak to a different agenda,’ said Brook. ‘The killer is attentive and caring. If he harboured resentment against his victims, we’d have seen it on the bodies.’

  ‘And he certainly wouldn�
�t be letting them hold hands,’ said Banach.

  ‘We’re sure that’s deliberate?’ said Smee. ‘Maybe he just tied the knot wrong.’

  ‘Twice?’ said Banach.

  ‘Angie’s right,’ said Brook. ‘Everything is deliberate, particularly when it comes to presentation. The first view we have of the victims is what the killer wants us to see – it’s a direct line into his head.’

  ‘And it would be the easiest thing in the world to rearrange the bodies once they’re dead,’ said Noble. ‘Depend on it, the hand-holding is a feature.’

  ‘But why is he so caring if he doesn’t know them?’ said Morton.

  ‘He does know them,’ said Caskey softly, gaze fixed on the floor, still aware of the ill-feeling generated towards her. Heads turned to listen. DS Morton’s expression suggested an imminent gibe.

  ‘How?’ asked Brook, to head him off.

  ‘I think it’s all tied up with his wife’s death,’ answered Caskey. ‘And he doesn’t care about the victims exactly. It’s more than that.’ She sought the right words. ‘He envies them. His victims are part of a loving relationship, something he once took for granted. Part of what he’s doing wants to celebrate that.’

  ‘What kind of celebration is killing them?’ said Smee.

  Caskey took a deep breath. ‘It’s his gift to them. He’s offering something he never experienced and wishes he had.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A journey into eternity with the love of his life.’

  The room was quiet as everyone stared at Caskey, then at each other. Caskey didn’t look up.

  ‘So how is he selecting them?’ asked Brook.

  Caskey blinked. ‘The victimology is weird. Serials normally select from the same social group because that’s where your psychopathy is formed and honed.’

  ‘So where do you encounter both well-heeled gay professionals and elderly retired heterosexuals on a low income?’ enquired Banach.

  ‘Nowhere socially …’ began Morton.

  ‘Personals,’ said Noble suddenly.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Noble’s expression betrayed excitement. ‘Something Dr Petty said at the post-mortem. She reads the personal columns in the Derby Telegraph.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Banach. ‘Births and deaths obviously, but also marriages, engagements, messages from lonely hearts – a smorgasbord of personal relationships all in one place.’