by Keith Nixon
Quigley snorted out a laugh. “Unlikely.”
Gray made a mental note to look into this a little more. Maybe someone had been into the station and made a complaint. A long shot, but you never knew. He changed tack. “What happened the night Regan disappeared?”
“He was in the club, as usual. Coming to the bar a lot. Of course, as the manager I had to serve him. He liked that, showing who was really the boss. There were some who bent to him, thinking that one day Regan would inherit, and he’d do them favours. No chance. The man was a snake.”
“I think we’ve established you didn’t like Regan. I need something more specific.”
“He was with a woman.”
“What did she look like?”
“Tall. Blue hair.”
“Anything else?”
“That was all I saw. She was by the dance floor. The lights were bright, and I was busy. Not much chance to kick back and take in the sights. It’s all booze, booze, booze.”
“What was Regan on?”
“His special beer. She had wine.”
“That’s it?”
Quigley shook his head. Reluctance crept in once again.
“This is all supposition so far,” said Gray. “There’s no evidence.”
“He bought other stuff.”
“What?”
“Drugs.”
“Which?”
Quigley wouldn’t answer. Gray repeated his question.
“Ketamine.”
Gray considered this. “Serious stuff.” Three incidences of the drug now, all seemingly related to Regan.
“I passed it over with the second round of drinks.”
“What’s the purpose of ketamine?”
“It’s a relaxant.”
“It makes whoever takes it compliant?”
Quigley shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Was it for his own use?”
Quigley laughed. “Regan didn’t do drugs.”
“Never?”
“No, he said drugs were for idiots.”
Gray thought about the ketamine in Regan’s blood sample.
“So he only gave drugs to other people?” said Gray.
Quigley nodded. “That’s right.”
“Sounds very much to me that you were aiding and abetting another one of Regan’s ‘incidents’.”
“I had nothing to do with it! I just sold him gear. It was up to him what happened next. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Had Regan bought drugs from you before?”
“Once or twice. If there was someone he was keen on, but the woman wasn’t quite so interested then he’d buy.”
“What then, once he had the drugs?”
Quigley shrugged. “He didn’t come back to the bar. I assumed he’d left with her like before. To use the gear, I’d have bet.”
“What did you think when he wound up dead?”
“It was a complete surprise. I never thought he’d go that way.”
“Did you care?”
“About Regan?” Quigley laughed. “He was only interested in himself so why would I be bothered about him?”
“That’s cold, Ray.”
Another shrug. “He’s dead.”
“Who did you buy the ketamine from?”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter now. He’s dead too. My supplier was Larry Lost.”
“Anything else you’d like to add? Now’s the time.”
Quigley shook his head. Gray stood. So did Quigley.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Gray.
“I’m leaving.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You said we had an agreement.”
“They were your words, not mine. Separately, you admitted to an additional charge of dealing in Seagram’s, and you hindered a murder investigation by not coming forward with this latest information, which is obstruction.”
“You bastard!” Quigley stepped forward. His muscles bulged as he clenched his fists. If he swung, Gray would be in trouble. Gray kept the table between them and his hand on a chair in case he had to use it.
“You want to add assaulting an officer to the charges?” asked Gray, his tone a lot calmer than he felt.
Quigley seethed. He was breathing deeply, like a bull about to charge. Then he flopped back down into his seat. “You promised,” he said.
“I didn’t promise anything.” Gray opened the door, said as he was leaving, “No recording, no evidence. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
Chapter 37
Then
The room was small. It seemed to be an office. There was a desk and some photographs. The central heating pipes knocked as water gurgled through them. Otherwise there was just a female police constable to keep Rachel company. She said her name was Karen.
Karen had been very nice so far, offering Rachel drinks and food. But Rachel wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Karen had also tried to engage in conversation, but Rachel had nothing to say either. All that interested Rachel was her father and brother. Rachel wanted them here so they could all go home.
The detective who’d loaned her his jacket, Jeff, she remembered, knocked, and entered. He said something quietly to Karen, who stood up, surrendering the chair.
“Can I join you?” he asked Rachel. She nodded. Jeff brought Karen’s chair nearer, but left some distance between them. He sat down. “How are you?”
“Where’s my dad?” said Rachel. “When’s he coming?”
Jeff stared at her, his expression neutral. “I’m sorry to say I have some bad news.”
Rachel’s bottom lip began to quiver, not wanting to believe what she knew deep down was coming next. “Is my dad dead?”
“I’m very sorry, Rachel. It was the smoke.”
“Can I see him?”
“I wouldn’t advise you to do that.”
“What about my brother?”
Jeff shook his head. “Do you know where your mother is?”
Rachel sucked in a lungful of air, unable to speak, her chest about to burst with grief. Her head dipped, tears began to flow down her cheeks, dripping onto her lap. She felt utterly lost and alone, entirely unsure what to do next. Although she’d always been independent, this was a whole new world for her.
“There’s someone waiting to see you,” said Jeff. Rachel didn’t react, she couldn’t.
“Hello, Rachel, I’m a social worker, and my name is Tiffany.”
Rachel forced herself to look up. She didn’t look like a Tiffany. A kindly, middle-aged woman, her hair in a pixie cut, smiled at Rachel in a mix of pleased-to-see-her tinged with sadness. Rachel recognised her type. She’d been in care before.
“We’ve been trying to find your aunt so she can come and get you but I’m sorry to say she’s on holiday in the Canary Islands.”
“So what happens now?” asked Rachel.
“We need to find you somewhere to live until your aunt returns.”
“A home?”
“Yes, it might be a few days or a bit more. I’m sorry I can’t be exact.”
Rachel didn’t care what happened. She was alone and lost.
“Would you mind coming with me?” asked Tiffany.
Rachel stood up. As she passed Jeff she handed back his jacket. He smiled at her, put a hand on her shoulder.
“Everything will be okay,” he said.
But Rachel knew he was lying.
Chapter 38
Now
Gray found Hamson in the detective’s office.
“Have you heard about William Noble?” she asked him.
“I arrived at his office when they found him. There’s more.” He brought Hamson up to date regarding Quigley’s confession.
“Larry seems to be our connection to everything,” said Hamson. “He was at the Lighthouse trying to find Khoury, beat up Noble, sold Quigley drugs.”
“And now Noble’s dead.”
“We’ve all been singularly unsuccessful at tracking down Adnan Khoury. He seems
to have disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“I reckon your old mate’s in all this.”
“With Khoury?”
Hamson shook her head. “Noble. Burning the evidence. That’s Jake’s game, isn’t it?”
“We’re hardly mates, not any more. Noble told me he was investigating some bunch called Millstone.”
“Who?”
“Developers.” Gray got the protest flier from the march and handed it to Hamson. She looked it over. “And somehow McGavin is involved. He’s been buying up property as well. Larry Lost worked for Frank.”
“So Noble’s sniffing around got him killed?”
“Maybe.”
“Over houses?”
“People have died due to stranger things. I need to do a bit of digging into the files, see if anyone made a complaint about Regan.” And while he was in the files he’d look at the Sunset fire too, something else Noble had mentioned.
“You can do that later; first we’re paying Frank McGavin a visit.”
***
Frank McGavin was reputed to possess many material items: money, houses, people, and a stable of horses. He was the man who wanted for nothing. Control was his thing; primarily over supply chains and routes to market for illicit and illegal activities, people too.
According to Noble, McGavin’s physical portfolio had recently expanded to include a restaurant called Fruits de Mer, which commanded a marine view on the Broadstairs cliff top, providing upmarket seafood. Inside Gray found it to be understated yet tastefully decorated. Pale, pastel shades on the walls. Thin glasses, pure white china, and designer cutlery on the table. Gray recalled it had been an empty shell, another decaying wreck marring the Dickensian town. He hadn’t even realised it had opened. Gray wondered how McGavin chose the place. It didn’t seem his style.
These days it appeared as if half of Thanet, an officially deprived region with a high unemployment rate, a deluge of outsiders, increasing crime statistics, was attempting to pull itself up by its boot straps. The old, the tired, and the poor swept away to allow the fresh, the shiny, the cultured, to be catered for.
The London set with their barely occupied apartments of stainless steel and glass, here for the clean air, for a few days' rest and recuperation. Leaving those unable to keep up pushed away into the corners, steepening the downward spiral, widening the gap between the haves and the have-nots. Like tossing rubbish in the sea; the tide eventually dumped it elsewhere but by then it was out of sight and someone else’s issue.
Gray had watched the changes happening with a question mark in his mind and doubt in his gut, often asking himself why people were so keen to see the past eliminated? And McGavin was getting in on the act.
“It’s not an act,” said McGavin, sat a table to the rear of the restaurant facing inwards so he could see everyone and everything. McGavin waved Gray to a seat opposite, where he would see nothing and no one besides McGavin. A waiter brought another seat for Hamson. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
“Yes,” said Gray.
“On me.”
“Definitely not,” said Hamson.
“Too much like a bribe?” McGavin winked at Hamson.
“It’d stick in my throat, Frank,” said Gray. “I’m not ready to die.”
“Pity, our TripAdvisor ratings are pretty good, and rising. We’ll soon be number one in the area.”
“It’s a surprise to see you as a restaurateur. Not your usual style.”
“And what’s my usual style, Sergeant Gray?”
“Drugs, prostitution, gambling …”
“That’s slander. Everyone’s got to eat.” McGavin smiled. “Speaking of which, you don’t mind if I carry on? Mediterranean fish stew, you know.”
“Be my guest.”
“I think it’s you that’s my guest.” In between dipping a spoon into the bowl in the correct manner, sideways and pushing away from himself McGavin said, “How can I help you both?” He ruined the image of refinement by slurping.
“One of your employees, Larry Lost.”
“Loser? He doesn’t work for me. Not for quite a while. What’s happened to him?”
“He’s dead.”
“Comes to us all, eventually,” shrugged McGavin, no apparent impact on his appetite as he kept plunging the spoon. “How did he pass on?”
“Drowned.” They were keeping the multiple stab wounds and crushed skull confidential for now.
“Nasty.”
“We believe Larry was involved in the illegal transportation of immigrants from Europe,” said Hamson.
“Really? I’m surprised. Alcohol and women were more his downfall.”
“When did you last see him?”
Stew depleted, McGavin sat back and thought. He shook his head as, seemingly, his memory wouldn’t play ball. “I don’t know. A month? Maybe more? Our paths rarely crossed.”
“I find that surprising. Thanet’s a small place,” said Gray. “And you two go back years.”
“We do, you’re right. Old mates; went to school together. It was me that gave him his nickname. Loser was useless at everything he did.”
“Kind of you.”
If McGavin detected the sarcasm in Gray’s words he made no sign. He raised his hand to catch a waiter’s eye. A young man trotted over.
“Yes, Mr McGavin?”
“Take this away.” McGavin pointed at the bowl. “And keep a better watch on things, son. Be ready to look after clients rather than staring out the window at passers-by.”
“Sorry, Mr McGavin. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right, it won’t.” McGavin flicked his fingers as if breezing away a fly. He returned his attention to Gray.
“Why did you two part ways?” asked Hamson.
“He’d been screwing up even more than usual, and I was moving into new lines of business which didn’t really suit him.”
“What new lines?” asked Hamson.
McGavin opened his arms to mean the restaurant. His expression showed he thought Hamson was stupid. “He came by a few times, kept asking for his job back until he stopped one day. I think he was pissed off at me. I heard he’d started working for someone else.”
“Who?”
McGavin shrugged. “No idea. But they were welcome to him.”
“You don’t seem particularly cut up that an old mate, as you put it, is dead,” said Gray.
“Is that a crime?”
“I suppose not. Just a little unusual.”
“Well pardon me for not being as banal as you’d like.”
“Have to hand it to you though, this place is nice.”
“I’m rather proud.”
“Do you own it?”
“Why is that anything to do with you, Sergeant?”
“Call it context.”
McGavin smiled. “The property is leased, actually. The business rates are exorbitant. Crazy, given we’re helping the struggling local economy.”
“That’s the trouble with tax.”
The waiter interrupted them. He stood beside McGavin holding a plate.
“Are we done here?” said McGavin. “I’ve a rather fine hake fillet I’d hate to go cold.”
Gray pushed back his chair, suddenly needing fresh air. Hamson rose too. “I’ll come and find you if I’ve further questions.”
“If you see the Maître D’ on the way out I’m sure he’ll get you a nice romantic table for an evening.” McGavin smirked. “You make a good couple.”
Outside, Gray leant on the railings and took in the sea view. Hamson stood beside him.
“What an arsehole,” said Hamson.
“He’s a man who’s very convinced by himself.”
“It seems like Jake has some competition between McGavin and Millstone.”
“You know what, Von? It makes me wonder who really owns Millstone.”
Hamson’s phone rang. She answered, listened briefly, said a few words and disconnected. “That was Clough. The PM
on Larry is about to start. I told him you’d head over.”
Chapter 39
Clough, in greens, was up to his arms inside Larry’s chest cavity.
A microphone hung from the ceiling, near the pathologist’s mouth. He would be speaking into it intermittently, recording his observations, though Gray couldn’t hear as the speakers were switched off and there was a plate glass observation window between the theatre and waiting room.
The pathologist removed some organs from Larry, put them into the pan on a set of shiny scales, stepped back, and read the dial. The organs went into a dish beside Clough before he delved in once more.
The post mortem continued for nearly an hour. Part way through, just after Clough had used the bone saw (which Gray could hear, and it set his teeth on edge), he looked up and nodded at Gray briefly. When it was over, Clough exited the theatre via a set of double doors at the rear.
Eventually, after cleaning down and removing his scrubs, Clough joined Gray. “It’s been a busy day,” said the pathologist. “I put your boy here to the top of the queue. He didn’t drown.”
“No diatoms and plankton?”
“Well done. You remembered our lesson. Yes, diatoms and plankton only where they should be. Our Mr Lost had suffered extensive damage. Firstly, a fractured skull where he’d been hit by the hammer; not hard enough to kill but it would certainly have incapacitated him.”
Gray remembered the small cabin. Perhaps Khoury didn’t have the room to get a proper swing in?
Clough continued, “And then there were the knife wounds, eleven of them in all. A frenzied attack, I’d say. Loss of blood was acute. He’d have been in a lot of pain.”
“So he didn’t die quickly?”
“No, or easily.”
“Have you had chance to look at William Noble?”
“The burning?” asked Clough. Gray nodded. “Briefly. It most likely wasn’t the fire that killed him. The back of his head was smashed in too. I’ll have to open him up to be sure, but I’d bet on not finding any smoke inhalation in the lungs.”
Clough held out his hand, ready to make a wager.
“I’m not taking that,” said Gray.
“Spoilsport.”
***
Gray went back to his flat. After witnessing Larry being eviscerated he wanted some time by himself. While he cooked some pasta, he thought back to what McGavin had told him. Millstone appeared to be another common denominator, and he wondered what McGavin’s connection was. When the pasta was done, he poured it into a bowl and carried it through to the living room. He sat at a table and booted up his laptop.
