The Darkest Lies: A Gripping Crime Mystery Series - Two Novel Boxed Set (The DI Hogarth Darkest Series Boxed Sets Book 1)

by Solomon Carter

  Damn them. And what if? What if they had spotted something he had forgotten. A small piece of evidence. A mislaid or forgotten clue. He had been careful, he had thought very hard, but he was only one man after all, and there was no way he could have covered all of the bases by himself. The what-ifs plagued him as he stood in the dark beneath the archway of the giant college building on the edge of Luker Close. The what-ifs bothered him even more since the police had tried to lock down the club to contain the danger. They had meant to trap him. If they had tried so hard already, how much harder would they try yet? He thought of high-pressure police interviews and courtrooms and the breath hitched in his chest. He was proud of what he had done. It was nothing less than a brilliant act of justice. But how could he contain his pride when he was put under the microscope? He was sure it would show through, like a flame in a Chinese paper lantern. He was sure they would see his guilt. He was scared of himself.

  Even with all his preparation and planning for the kill, there was no way of knowing how good the police would be. Or how they would react. Or even what might come to light. He told himself not to panic, but the truth was he knew there was a need to act. To pre-empt them. He formed a list in his head. The ways forward. The ways to safety.

  He could divert them.

  Make them look the wrong way.

  Make them believe that others were guilty.

  And how best to do all that?

  Why, it was staring him in the face. It was blindingly obvious. What he had done so well once, he could do again. Think! What was the ultimate diversion? Another murder, of course. A different kind of murder. Yes, that would surely throw the cat amongst the pigeons. He’d send them into confusion alright.

  If absolutely necessary, he could do it again.

  A nervous smile escaped his lips. He was excited at the prospect. But it scared him too. Murder had given him energy, freedom, and a purpose. It would be no problem to kill again… no problem at all.

  He was surprised. Killing a man had changed him. And there was no going back.

  Chapter Five

  “How old is the man?” said Hogarth.

  “Twenty-nine, sir,” said Rawlins.

  “Your pal, Andy Cruddas, is twenty-nine years old and he still lives at home with mummy?” said Hogarth.

  He looked up at the grand three-storey house, set at the end of a large red-brick driveway. The house had vast leaded-light bay windows. The large antique ornaments and mirrors visible through the glass declared that this was a wealthy home. Chalkwell was one of several patches within the town where the moneyed people lived. New money and old money nestled side by side, some understated and classy, while some flaunted it like dirty underwear. The Cruddas residence was one of the classier homes near the seafront.

  “Andy had been starting out with his own insurance business,” said Rawlins. Hogarth noticed a sad lilt to her voice. “He was going to be an insurance salesman just like his dad, and it started out well,” said Rawlins. The PCSO had barely touched on the tragedy which had befallen the young man’s father, and he wanted to know more. “Andy was talking big a few months back. He said he was going to move out and buy himself a nice place in Leigh. Then he went quiet about the idea. I guess the insurance business wasn’t as easy as it seemed.”

  “Living with mummy must be so much easier,” said Hogarth. “Well, now that we’re here, how about we go and see if Andy wants to come out to play?”

  The three of them made an awkward group. DI Palmer had gone back to the station to pore through the CCTV footage from the club, which left Rawlins, Hogarth, and Dawson standing on the street outside the Cruddas house. Dawson had asked to come along and Hogarth had agreed because the PC had seen Andy Cruddas with Drummond moments before the murder. But Hogarth had also sensed PC Dawson’s need to come along, and this time he let it pass. Besides, Hogarth wondered if the presence of two uniforms, including a muscular action-man like PC Dawson might yield unexpected benefits. Their uniforms might add an air of seriousness to proceedings. Hogarth was coming to believe Cruddas was a weak type of man and Dawson’s description had done him no favours. If he was guilty, maybe the man would be intimidated and confess. As they peered into the house, a scruffy looking hobo in a green parker coat shuffled by on the other side of the street. His hood was pulled up over his head, and his swarthy face was turned towards them, looking from the side of his hood. Hogarth noticed the man watching. He raised an eyebrow and returned the man’s gaze.

  “Oi! You,” said Hogarth. “Don’t be so bloody nosy,” he called. Rebuked, the man turned his head and shuffled on.

  “You didn’t have to be so mean, sir,” said Rawlins.

  “You forget I worked amongst those types for a long time, Rawlins. They’re not all poor lost orphans chucked into the river. Some of them are downright scallywags. We don’t need them telling their network about police business.”

  Rawlins didn’t look convinced. He sounded too cynical to a young girl like her. But one day she would see the world like he did. A life in the police soon stripped away any green naivety.

  “Do you really think he’ll be at home?” said Dawson, looking at Rawlins.

  “I called Andy’s office. The receptionist hadn’t seen him yet. It’s still early, you know.”

  “Come on. I’m keen to meet him,” said Hogarth.

  Hogarth rubbed his hands as he walked up the garden path and pressed the doorbell. A moment later the heavy burgundy-painted door opened with a creak and a woman in late middle age with a waistline to match appeared behind it. She had small eyes and a careful face beneath a mop of curly brown hair. There was a hint of snootiness about her as she appraised them, her eyes eventually fixing on Hogarth as the man in charge.

  “Mrs Cruddas?” said Hogarth.

  “Yes?”

  She pushed the door towards the frame, keeping it open just enough to be civil.

  “Detective Inspector Joseph Hogarth and PC Dawson. I believe you might already know PCSO Rawlins here.”

  “Rebecca!” said the woman with a smile. “I didn’t recognise you in uniform.” The woman seemed warm for a moment, before she remembered her defensive pose.

  “I’m sorry, but what is this about?”

  “We need a word with your boy, Mrs Cruddas. Andy.”

  “Andrew? Why on earth would police need to speak with Andrew?”

  Bec Rawlins edged forward.

  “He’s not at home then, Barbara?”

  “No. He isn’t.”

  “Did he come home last night?”

  “If he did, I wasn’t awake at the time. You’re beginning to worry me, Rebecca. What’s happened?”

  “Do you mind if we come in?” said Bec Rawlins.

  Rawlins gave her an earnest look, and the woman slowly shook her head and left the door open for them to follow her inside.

  “Go on, then, Rebecca…” said Hogarth, pronouncing the name the same way Mrs Cruddas had said it. Bec blushed and walked in. Even Dawson couldn’t resist a smile. They walked inside and shut out the world behind them.

  The front room was very fancy. Hogarth and the others looked around at the fine armchairs, tables, and sofa, and the antiques ranged around the mantelpiece. Each of them looked for a place which they wouldn’t soil by their presence. When the woman sat down in an armchair and gave them no invitation, Hogarth didn’t linger. He sat down and positioned himself opposite her. He leaned forwards and knitted his hands together.

  “Did you hear what happened last night, Mrs Cruddas?”

  “You mean that awful murder? Yes, I did. It’s terrible what’s happening to this town. I mean, the place has always had its problems, but now it’s going to hell in a handcart.”

  Hogarth nodded and moved on. He knew the town all too well.

  “The attack took place at a nightclub called Club Smart, a venue on Luker Close.”

  He waited for recognition on the woman’s face. There was none.

  “Your son, Andy, was there
last night – with these two as a matter of fact.”

  The woman looked at Dawson, confused. Then at Rawlins. The girl coughed into her fist and removed her police hat. She sat down on another chair.

  “We were on a night out together,” said Rawlins. “We’d arranged it a long while back. Just a fun night out. But then this attack happened – the murder – and right after that… we think… well, it’s hard to say but…”

  Hogarth watched Rawlins struggle. She was a friend of the family and she was being too careful to make much sense. Hogarth didn’t want the woman to miss the central point.

  “Your son was there until just moments before the attack took place,” he said. “It’s almost as if he knew something was going to happen.”

  The woman turned pale before she regained the power of speech. “Then he must be safe, at least.”

  “We have no reason to believe that your son has been harmed, Mrs Cruddas…”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because if we have our timings correct, your son’s departure from the club could well be linked to the murder.”

  “But I’m sure it’s not,” said Bec, hastily. Hogarth jumped.

  “At this stage,” said Hogarth, “we can be sure of nothing. All we know is that we need to speak to your son. Do you know where he might be?”

  “Of course. It’s a weekday. He’ll be at work.”

  “We’ve tried his office. He isn’t there yet,” said Rawlins.

  “Well… it’s early. Maybe he’s gone somewhere for breakfast.”

  “But he’s not answering his phone, Mrs Cruddas,” said Rawlins. “Is that normal?”

  The woman blanched again. “Not for Andrew, no. Something must be wrong. Maybe he’s unwell.”

  “You didn’t see him last night…” said Hogarth. “Did you see him this morning – before he left?”

  “No. I assumed he’d left for work before I got up. I’ve been having trouble sleeping at night lately…”

  Hogarth nodded. “So… you really couldn’t be sure if he came home at all last night?”

  “Not certain… but he usually does…”

  “I’m sorry, but would you mind checking in his room? There must be signs whether he’s been home or not. A bed not slept in. The shower not used. That kind of thing…”

  The woman nodded and gave Bec a fraught glance. Rawlins smiled and the woman walked away.

  “He didn’t come home,” said Hogarth, when the woman was out of earshot.

  “We don’t know that,” said Rawlins.

  “I know he’s your friend, Rawlins,” said Hogarth. The look on Dawson’s face matched Hogarth’s. A moment later they heard the woman padding down the wooden staircase. She walked into the room wringing her hands.

  “No. He didn’t come home. His bed wasn’t slept in, as you said. What’s happened to him, Rebecca…?”

  “We have no reason to believe anything has happened,” said Hogarth. “But we do need to speak to him as soon as possible. He was seen talking with the victim shortly before he was killed. They argued. We need to know the substance of that argument.”

  The woman nodded.

  “What do you know about Jake Drummond, Mrs Cruddas?”

  “Jake who?” she said.

  “Jake Drummond. Your son knew him. Dan Picton knew him as well.”

  “Daniel too?”

  “Dan Picton was at the club. He arrived there with Drummond. They were already arguing before he started on your son,” said PC Dawson.

  The woman turned ashen. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I wish I could. I want to know where Andrew is. I need to know that he’s alright.”

  “We want to know where he is too, Mrs Cruddas. If your son has chosen to disappear immediately after a man is killed, well, it doesn’t reflect too well upon him, does it? If you see him, tell him to think about that. And tell him to get in touch.”

  “Of course. But Andrew couldn’t have done it. You said he left before it happened…”

  “He left in a hurry, just moments before the murder. It suggests at the very least that he might have known something about it, Mrs Cruddas. Have you any idea where he might be? Any idea at all?”

  “Well, Rebecca mentioned Daniel Picton. Have you tried Daniel’s house? Maybe he stayed there?”

  “I don’t know Dan very well, Barbara,” said Rawlins. “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Yes. He lives in Leigh…”

  The woman picked up an old-fashioned flower-printed address book from a side table and started to flick through the peach coloured pages. “Here it is.” She gave them the address and Rawlins copied it down into her notebook.

  “If you find Andrew there, tell him to come home. I need to see him. I need to know he’s safe.”

  Hogarth stood up and nodded. “Of course. Don’t you worry, Mrs Cruddas. We’ll track him down, I’m sure.” He left the woman with a hint of threat in his words, just in case the mother wasn’t clear. But her frown said the message had been well and truly received.

  When they left the house. Hogarth felt his mobile phone buzzing in his blazer pocket. He had an inkling that it wasn’t the DCI. When they reached the street, Hogarth glanced at the screen. Without another word, he turned away from Dawson and Rawlins and walked away by himself. They watched him put the phone to his ear.

  “Lately, he’s a proper man of mystery…” said Dawson.

  “What’s it about, I wonder,” said Rawlins.

  “If that’s his girlfriend on the other end then I feel sorry for her,” said Dawson.

  They left Hogarth to it, walking back towards his car to wait for a lift back to the station.

  “Ali?! What is it? What’s wrong?” said Hogarth. He wondered if Ali’s husband had finally cottoned on to their involvement. Not an affair. It was far too early to call it that. Too early, with too few private moments to call it much more. There had been a kiss, and a wonderful afternoon where things had gone too far. And back then, right after it happened, they had spoken about calling it off. Avoiding one another on a permanent basis. But Ali Hartigan was in trouble, and she needed his help. There was no way he would abandon her. The woman was in a dire situation. Ali was married to the local MP, James Hartigan, but was twice as smart as the man, which was how she’d found out about his affair with his parliamentary secretary. If that had been the sum of Ali Hartigan’s troubles Hogarth would have still left her alone. But her situation was much worse than that.

  “Joe… I think I saw him again.”

  “The stalker?”

  “Who else?” she said.

  “Sorry, Ali. I’m working a new case. My mind’s elsewhere.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Sorry. I heard about the nightclub murder.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Where did you see him?”

  “This time I was out shopping. I thought I saw him outside the supermarket, but told myself I was being paranoid. Then when he walked right past me in the grocery aisle. He didn’t look at me directly, but he stayed around. He wanted me to know he was there.”

  “Tell James. You’ve got to. He’s an MP, for God’s sake! He’s got to be good for something,” said Hogarth. He looked back across his shoulder and saw Rawlins watching him as she walked away. Hogarth nodded and ran a stressed hand through his hair.

  “Come on, Joe. You know where my husband’s priorities lie.”

  In his secretary, of course, thought Hogarth.

  “Even so, he must still care about you enough to do something.”

  “He says the stalker must be in my imagination. Or it’s just a political thing, as if that’s any better. Everyone knows what happened to that poor Labour MP last year. Maybe he wants the same to happen to me.”

  Hogarth didn’t need to try and remember. He couldn’t forget. It was all over the news. A caring and proactive local MP was slain by a fanatical extremist for no good reason.

  “Don’t even say it, Ali. So, he didn’t listen to
you this time?”

  “Face facts, Joe. I already have. He doesn’t care about me at all. Which is why I wish things were simpler. I know I should be with you.”

  Breath caught in Hogarth’s throat. He was finally hearing her say it. He wanted to be with her too. But his life had always been more complicated than he had wanted it to be. Hogarth had always been a specialist in making things difficult. “I want that too, but you don’t need the scandal, Ali. I don’t want to be the one to cause you hurt. Your husband deserves that, not you.”

  “I shouldn’t think it would help your career much if the police knew, either…?”

  “My career got switched off the moment I transferred out of the Met. I’m a grass-roots copper now. I’ll probably stay at this grade, or maybe I’ll reach the next, until they pension me off. Don’t worry about my reputation. I haven’t got one to worry about.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”