The Darkest Deed_A Gripping Detective Crime Mystery

by Solomon Carter

  Thirty-one

  Hogarth’s Vauxhall Insignia flew along the grey arterial of the A127. Now they were in no hurry, the traffic was nowhere to be seen. Hogarth thumbed the end call button and stared ruefully at the screen of his phone. The pathologist was playing hard to get at the very time when he needed him most. Hogarth chewed the inside of his mouth and became aware it was already sore. He’d been chewing it all morning. He let it go and called Marris. Dickens would have passed the items on to Marris by now. Best save time and cut out the middle man. Hogarth almost cheered when Marris picked up, but didn’t. He was acutely aware of Chrissie Heaton in the back seat.

  “DI Hogarth,” said Marris.

  “Ivan. It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “You say the sweetest things. You’re following up on your email, I presume.”

  “Yes. So, there’s two things. The cracked tile at Harry King’s. You know the one.”

  “Yes. The cleaned cracked tile.”

  “We all make mistakes, Ivan,” said Hogarth.

  “Yes?” said Marris.

  “The fragment of glass on the tile. And the dried liquid crust. Got anything on them for me?”

  “Only the basics, I’m afraid. The glass had been cleaned by a standard bleach agent. But it was from a thick piece of glass, likely to have been a booze bottle, as you said.”

  “Okay. What about the crust on the floor?”

  “A sugar-based water solution is the best I can do for you.”

  “Sugar based? What?”

  “It’s the kind used to sweeten cheap alcohol, so I think you could have been right about the booze.”

  Hogarth frowned. “Question, Ivan. Would any other mix use a base like that?”

  “Such as?”

  “An industrial drug.”

  “I didn’t find any there,” said Marris.

  “But what if the drug component evaporated. Is that possible?”

  “It’s possible. It’s possible with alcohol too, to a degree.”

  “Which means you might not have found the drug itself.”

  “Like I said, it’s possible.”

  Hogarth shifted in his seat.

  “The glass, Ivan. The glass. Did you read my other question?”

  “Sorry, Hogarth. I’ve been busy. I confess I merely scanned the email. What was your other question?”

  “Was the glass fragment tinted at all? Did it come from a tinted glass bottle?”

  Marris fell silent. Hogarth heard him rummaging through his papers.

  “Why, yes. Actually, it did have the slightest tint.”

  Hogarth nodded. “What colour, Ivan?”

  “A pale grey actually, Inspector. Why? Does that help you at all?”

  “It just might. It just might,” said Hogarth. “Cheers Ivan.”

  Hogarth hung up and slapped a hand over his forehead. It was good news, but only if Quentin came good on the other side of the equation. He glanced at the dashboard clock and blew out a long, deep breath.

  “You okay, guv? said Simmons.

  Hogarth gave a weak smile.

  “Yeah… now we’ve got Chrissie safe and sound, I’m fine.”

  He looked at her. The girl was wan and pale, and the teary look in her eyes had never left her. Chrissie was his ace in the hole. If she confessed, if she let the cat out of the bag with a signed statement, then it didn’t matter whether his evidence came through or not. If Chrissie was willing to testify to what she had been through, he was sure the abuse conviction would stand. But murder was a different matter. It depended how much the girl knew, had seen, or had heard about what had happened to Aimee Gillen. Hogarth had staked everything on the murder charge. Looking at Chrissie Heaton’s quiet and fearful face, he hoped she wouldn’t balk at the final hurdle. He twisted around in his seat. They were getting closer to the X-L all the time.

  “Knowing what Aimee went through, it must have been hard for you … she wanted to help you, didn’t she?”

  Chrissie Heaton sniffed and looked into Hogarth’s eyes. Something flickered there so he pushed on.

  “It’s okay, Chrissie. I know what they made you say about her. They made you lie. They made you say that Aimee tried to come onto you. But that’s not the way it was, was it?”

  Hogarth watched and waited but the girl still held back.

  “It’s okay, Chrissie. You’re safe now. They made you keep secrets from everyone. Secrets you should never have had to keep. You told Aimee what happened to you, and Lana Aubrey found out. You were scared. But you don’t need to be scared anymore. Aimee didn’t want to harm you, did she? Did she?”

  He waited, but the girl stayed quiet. Hogarth licked his lips. He needed something from her. Just something.

  “And Aimee didn’t just want to help you, did she? She was seen talking to another girl from the gym. Maybe another girl is going through exactly the same thing that happened to you. Aimee was a good person, Chrissie. You know that. What people said about her – those were just smears. They wanted to discredit her, to rubbish her, so no one would ever believe her. Or you.”

  Hogarth watched a tear spill over the girl’s eyelid and roll down her cheek. She sniffed.

  “It’s okay, Chrissie. We’ll bring them to justice. We’re going to make them pay for what they did to Aimee. Because Aimee didn’t deserve what happened, did she?”

  The girl dropped her eyes to the carpet and sobbed. Hogarth gritted his teeth. Chrissie was too scared to help him. Without the evidence, without a witness, he knew he was screwed. Darryl Regent would be waiting for him. Melford and Johnson would be sharpening their knives.

  “Aimee Gillen tried to help you. She looked after you. She showed you the ropes, Chrissie. We all make mistakes. But yours was being human, Chrissie, that’s all. We shouldn’t let the people who exploit us get away with it, should we? That wouldn’t be fair. Not fair to you. Not to Aimee Gillen, either.”

  The girl looked at him, as if something in his words had caught her.

  “I know you’re a smart cookie, Chrissie. You got close to Aimee because she was like a big sister to you. The only trouble was she was too easy to talk to, and you told her too much. They made you swear to secrecy, didn’t they? They warned you what would happen if you didn’t keep quiet. But they never told you that someone else would die to keep things quiet, did they?”

  Hogarth fixed his eyes on Chrissie Heaton’s and didn’t let them go.

  “Aimee Gillen couldn’t ignore what you’d said because she was a kind person. A good person. She wanted to help you and your friends… and because of that, they killed her.”

  Chrissie Heaton opened her mouth but the words didn’t come.

  “They killed Aimee Gillen because she was about to tell the world about it,” said Hogarth. “She called solicitors. She called the press. She even called the police. Aimee Gillen was going to shout it from the rooftops, so she could save you.”

  “Aimee did that?”

  Hogarth nodded. “Yeah. She did that. She made those calls. For you, Chrissie…”

  A sob broke from the girl’s throat and she covered her mouth. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. Poor Aimee…”

  Hogarth grimaced. He didn’t have the confession he needed. But as he turned away he found Simmons’ eyes reaching for his. The shocked look he saw on Simmons’ face said the DC now believed. Chrissie Heaton knew the truth. She hadn’t yet said the word, but she had said enough. They were almost at the X-L building.

  Hogarth looked at his phone and dabbed out a quick last-minute text to Ed Quentin. Hogarth didn’t have Quentin down for being a text message kind of man. He was too much of a tubby old stuffed-shirt for that. But if Quentin saw the text, he hoped the man would take pity on him and respond.

  Ed, if you have a result, I could really do with it now. Cheers.

  Hogarth thumbed the send button and watched his text disappear. Simmons steered his car into the X-L car park, and Hogarth looked up at the big brown Greco-Roman nightmare of t
he X-L. His time had come.

  “Okay then,” he said with a sniff. “Let’s go and face the music.”

  “You can’t take me in there,” said Chrissie. “Please.”

  “Don’t worry, Chrissie,” said Hogarth. “You’re never going back in there again. Whatever happened to you is over, Chrissie. I promised, remember? And I meant every single word.” Hogarth nodded at Simmons and stepped out of the car.

  “Wait here, will you?” he said.

  Simmons nodded, his eyes silently conveying best wishes.

  ***

  Hogarth walked through the doors of the X-L building for the last time. Whatever the outcome for the case, or for his career, he had long ago determined never to come back. What started out as fun – The Carry-On humour of working in the Harry King Studio, like stuff from an old seafront postcard – had peeled away to reveal what he should have always known lay beneath. A seedy porn studio, put together with the tacit backing of a man like Darryl Regent. The place was nothing more than a cesspit dressed as a dream. Hogarth found Palmer standing outside the plain wooden doors of Harry King Studios in the lobby. As soon as she saw him, Palmer walked towards him. There was an urgent, worried look about her. Her face was tense.

  “Where is Chrissie? Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” said Hogarth quietly. He was tired, and it was beginning to show once again. The constant fighting and the stress on the home front, it was inevitable. “Chrissie’s out in the car waiting for you. She can’t come near this place again, and I don’t blame her.”

  Palmer tried to read his eyes. Hogarth nodded. “It’s true, Palmer. She can’t bring herself to say it out loud, but Simmons heard what she did say. It’s all true. If you don’t believe me, you can ask him yourself.”

  Palmer nodded. “Did you get through Quentin? Has he got what you needed?”

  Hogarth shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “And Chrissie Heaton didn’t tell you what happened to Aimee Gillen?”

  “Not outright.”

  Palmer’s face turned grim.

  “Lana Aubrey came back a while ago,” said Palmer. “She didn’t say a word, but she gave me daggers alright.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.” Hogarth moved past Palmer and pushed open the studio door. She called him back.

  “Guv, they’re all in there waiting for you. You shouldn’t go in like this, not by yourself.”

  “Like what?” said Hogarth.

  “Not alone, that’s what I meant. You’ve been under really heavy pressure. You’ve had a lot on. It shows, guv.”

  “I look that good, huh?” said Hogarth. “Well, thanks for the pep talk. But Chrissie Heaton needs you more than I do. So, who’s waiting for me?”

  “Harry King. Lana Aubrey. Darryl Regent…”

  “Regent? I don’t mind him waiting for me. I don’t mind that at all.”

  Palmer’s face changed. “Roger Johnson’s in there as well…”

  “The commissioner?” said Hogarth, his eyes flaring in surprise.

  Palmer nodded. “I think Regent must have called him in,”

  “Well, well, well,” said Hogarth, with a grim smile. “Isn’t that just dandy? Sounds like we’re going to have ourselves a little party.”

  “You’ll be okay, guv?” said Palmer.

  “Just go and keep that girl company, make her feel safe, and get a statement from her if you can. And send Simmons in. Maybe Simmons can keep my mouth in check on your behalf.”

  Palmer blushed. Hogarth had seen through her. She wanted him to keep his head, hold his tongue and maybe keep his job. But in this situation, there could be no guarantee of either. Hogarth pushed the doors open and left Palmer watching after him. Hogarth eyed the Studio receptionist as he passed her by.

  “Where are they?” he said.

  She answered without hesitating.

  “They’re all in Mr King’s office. You know the way, I take it?”

  Hogarth grinned. “A bad memory’s never been my problem.”.

  Hogarth stopped at the threshold of Harry King’s office. He leaned close to the door and listened, but they weren’t saying anything worth hearing. Lana Aubrey was sounding off about the airport confrontation, but her complaint was too general to be useful. “You needn’t fret, Darryl,” he heard Johnson say. “I think this DI Hogarth has well overstepped the mark this time, and his superiors know it.”

  “I’ve got no reason to fret,” said Regent, his voice deep and pompous.

  Hogarth pressed his hand against the door, feeling like a man about to face the firing squad. More out of desperation than anything else, Hogarth paused and decided to make one last call to Quentin. He stepped away from the door and counted the rings of the dial tone. He was about to hang up, when Quentin’s soft, plummy voice came on the line.

  “Ah, Hogarth…”

  Hogarth resisted the urge to swear. Instead he gazed up at the ceiling with gritted teeth.

  “Ed, you took your time.”

  “You only gave me a half day, Inspector. Are you expecting miracles again?”

  Hogarth shook his head and kept quiet. “You took another look at those traces, did you Ed?”

  “Like you asked, yes, of course.”

  “Let me guess. You didn’t find anything.”

  “Well, I did expect that to be the case. But… zooming in a little closer, I managed to pick up something. I ran another ph test on the sample, and something came back. It was faint, but it was definitely present. Ordinarily, I would have dismissed it but, seeing as you made such a song and dance…”

  “Ed? Tell me.”

  “I’d say it shows GHB, Inspector. It looks like the woman had ingested GHB at some time in the recent past. Relatively recently, let’s say.”

  “GHB? What’s that when it’s at home?”

  “GHB. Gamma Hydroxybutyric Acid. Some call it the bottle-cap drug, because it has been used for spiking drinks so often. Much the same as Rohypnol. But I believe you may know it as Liquid Ecstasy.”

  “Liquid Ecstasy?! Ed, are you sure?”

  “I’d say yes, ninety per cent certain. Maybe ninety-five.”

  “And does this change your pathology report?”

  “GHB disappears quickly, Inspector. That’s why I couldn’t find it before. This is a trace, remember. It’s quite possible that if Miss Gillen had taken GHB shortly before her death, it could have caused her to fall unconscious. It would have conflicted with the presence of the cocaine, of course, but GHB would have won out in the end. She would have blacked out when the cocaine high wore off. It’s only because GHB disappears so quickly in the body I had trouble spotting it the first-time round. In short, yes. I’ll have to review the report. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Yes… but Ed?”

  “What now?”

  “Does it knock them out completely?”

  “It can, yes. They use it as a rape drug after all. But on the amount of cocaine in Aimee Gillen’s body, she could have been coming and going. I doubt she would have much known what she was doing though…”

  Hogarth processed what he’d heard. “Thanks, Ed. That’s a very great help.”

  “Good. Because in terms of paperwork, this is a can of worms. So, thank you too…”

  Quentin hung up and Hogarth was glad to let him go. He turned back to the pale wooden doors of Harry King’s office.

  “Come on then you bastards, do your bloody worst,” muttered Hogarth. Then he pushed the door open and walked inside.

  The room fell silent as Hogarth walked into the office and shut the door behind him. He looked around and gave them his grim smile. Harry King stared at him, a small man set behind a desk so vast it made him look as small as a chihuahua. Lana Aubrey was perched on one of the corners of King’s desk, a prim-smiled deputy bathing in the glow of her master’s power. In one of two deep comfy chairs either side of the desk sat Darryl Regent, a man-mountain of skin and fat held together by a pricey suit, and in th
e opposite seat sat Roger Johnson, all neat-trimmed beard and voter-safe hairstyle. Johnson’s face flickered when he saw Hogarth. Hogarth watched him shift the gears from hypocrite turncoat to policeman’s friend. The man’s insidious smile was the worst part of it. It almost looked genuine, but Hogarth knew it was entirely synthetic. Johnson moved, ready to stand to greet him until Hogarth raised a hand.

  “Don’t bother to stand on my account, Commissioner.”

  Johnson’s smile vanished. His eyes turned cool and he sat back down.

  “You really shouldn’t be here, DI Hogarth,” said Johnson. “I’m informed that DCI Melford is looking for you. I think you could be facing a severe reprimand. At the very least. I’d recommend that you call him at your very first opportunity.”

  Hogarth nodded. “Thanks for the advice, Commissioner. I’ll be sure to do that after we’ve finished up in here.”

  Johnson put on a fake smile and looked at the faces of his allies. “Finished up? This investigation should have been finished long ago.”

  “If it turned out that Aimee Gillen was a case of accidental death, then yes, maybe. Or an overdose. Or a suicide. Or then, yes, we’d probably have finished a day or so back. But this isn’t any of those things. Aimee Gillen was murdered.”

  Johnson looked Hogarth in the eye. “I have it on good authority that you don’t have a shred of evidence to support your murder allegation, you have no proof of wrongdoing or harm being done to Miss Gillen by anyone other than herself, and you haven’t managed to identify even one single person who had the opportunity, means or motive to carry out an attack. Come on, Hogarth! You haven’t even identified the method of killing. So, forgive me. But how can this be murder?”

  Hogarth looked Johnson in the eye.

  “With the greatest respect, Commissioner, you really shouldn’t be divulging police business to people who could be implicated in Miss Gillen’s death.”

  Johnson’s face darkened. “Implicated?!” Hogarth raised a hand to hold the man’s tongue.

  “You’ll hear me out. Then at the very least, you’ll all know what led me to believe that Aimee Gillen was murdered.”

  “Well, this should be amusing,” said Regent, with a scoffing laugh. He tilted his head onto a fat column of a finger and regarded Hogarth like a clown. Hogarth met the big man’s glare with his own.