LOOT & I'M WITH THE BAND: The DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad series by B.L.Faulkner. Cases 5 & 6 (DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad cases Book 3)

by Barry Faulkner

  Claire nodded her head in admiration.

  ‘The girl’s a genius.’

  Gheeta smiled.

  ‘I am, aren’t I.’

  Palmer took a deep breath.

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, but will it take us to our killer?’

  ‘It might, if it all works.’

  ‘And the words hack in were mentioned.’

  He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘I take it that I might well end up in front of a disciplinary hearing if word of our modus operandi for your little trick became public knowledge?’

  Palmer was well-aware that some of Sergeant Singh’s methods of information gathering were not quite legitimate; and he also knew he’d get the usual answer she gave him whenever he questioned them.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment, sir.’

  ‘Okay, carry on.’

  He left the Team Room and went over to his office, leaving Gheeta and Claire putting various links and programmes onto their computers in readiness for when Just Desserts logged in.

  Peter Brown was smiling, a big smile. He was sat in the bedsit, watching both the Revolution Memorial and the Detective Palmer pages on Facebook on his iPhone. The Revolution page had shown Palmer log on and then click through to the Palmer page.

  Come on, come on, you stupid copper, type something. Say hello… You waiting for me to start a conversation, are you? Not yet… No, not yet… You know when? When I kill Elliott, that’s when… Are you worried? Of course you are. You know I’m more than a match for you, Detective Chief Superintendent Palmer – much more than a match for you… You didn’t protect the others, did you? I got them, didn’t I? You won’t protect Elliott either –you wouldn’t even know I was here if that stupid manager hadn’t blabbed to the press, would you? Wouldn’t even know I was here. It would all have ended and nobody would be any the wiser – just a few deaths of old rock musicians. People would have thought they were probably high on crack or pissed at the time – open and shut cases. But then you poked your nose in… and I’m going to give you a bloody nose…

  He switched off the Facebook app, shut down the phone and lay back on his unmade bed, smiling to himself.

  That’s long enough… You think I don’t know you’ll have your cyber geeks tracing my calls? I’ve forgotten more about the web than they’ll ever learn. Tomorrow the fun begins… tomorrow…

  Gheeta had put a bell call onto the final programme once she and Claire had loaded and stringed together the various codes and apps to make it all work. If Just Desserts signed in on either the memorial page or Palmer’s page, they’d get a loud ‘ping’. She guessed that he wouldn’t sign in until he saw Palmer was signed in; no point really. He was obviously trying to outwit Palmer, so he’d wait until Palmer was signed in so he could text him. She briefed Palmer on her thoughts on that, and he agreed that it was the most likely way Just Desserts would act.

  After Claire and DS Singh had left for home later that afternoon, he stood in front of the progress board, looking at the happy faces of the deceased band members as he put on his coat and trilby. I’ll get the bastard, lads; don’t worry, I’ll get him. Tomorrow would do fine for starting this cat and mouse game with Just Desserts, and a quiet evening at home to gather his thoughts would go down well.

  He took the train home for a change, Victoria to Herne Hill, and walked through the pedestrian tunnel to Milkwood Road. He bought an evening paper at the stall under the bridge that had been there since he could remember and was still run by the same husband and wife team. They must be in their eighties now but were still up at five every morning to sort the papers coming in off the train, and there until eight at night selling them; no life really, was it. He strolled past the Half Moon pub where he and Mrs P. had often sat in their courting days with their drinks, sharing a packet of cheese and onion crisps while watching a local band make a right mess of a current top tune. He turned right past the famous old cycle track – all changed now, sold off for ‘executive homes’ – and along into Dulwich Village. Ten minutes later, he was home. Benji’s poster was still in situ on the garden wall, and his eyes seemed to follow Palmer along.

  Daisy the dog greeted him in the hall, with one of Mrs P.’s shoes in her mouth. Daisy never had got the ‘bring me my slippers’ command right.

  ‘You’ll have to get something out of the fridge for tea, Justin. I’m canvassing tonight.’

  Mrs P. appeared from the kitchen, sporting a rosette the size of a dinner plate with Benji’s face beaming from it.

  ‘You’re not going out like that surely?’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘You look like one of those Cliff Richard fans of a certain age.’

  She bristled.

  ‘What age?’

  ‘Over twenty-one.’

  He smiled at her. And approaching sixty, he thought to himself.

  ‘Local politics are very important, Justin Palmer. Your money pays the rates that the council spend, you know. We need to have a face on the council keeping an eye on them and what they’re spending it on.’

  Palmer pointed at the rosette.

  ‘Yes, but not that face.’

  ‘Benji is a very community-minded man. He does a lot of voluntary work in the neighbourhood, as you well know; and he was in business, so he won’t have the wool pulled over his eyes on the finances. I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make him the council leader.’

  ‘Steady on, he’s not been elected yet. You’ll have him running for PM next.’

  ‘Could do a lot worse.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t get in? I suppose he’ll be sulking for six months.’

  ‘He will get in, Justin. Dotty Watkins’s campaign is working well; we’ve had lots of local newspaper and radio coverage. You should get involved in politics more.’

  ‘I’m a police officer, I can’t be seen to take sides.’

  ‘You’d be the first one out there on the streets if they banned steak and kidney pie or toad in the hole.’

  ‘Too right I would – but that would be important. Benji mincing round the Council Chamber isn’t.’

  Mrs P. nodded her head in exasperation.

  ‘I give up on you, Justin Palmer. Just make sure you turn the TV off if you go to bed before I get back.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘I think we ought to have a word with Maurice Jade’s son.’

  Palmer had given the case a great deal of thought during his evening alone at home.

  ‘You think he knows something, guv?’

  Sergeant Singh was Googling the names from the memorial site.

  ‘Being away from his dad for so long he couldn’t know much, could he?’

  ‘Probably not, but it’s just niggling me that Jade was killed so soon after a family reunion. Perhaps somebody saw that as a threat.’

  ‘A threat?’

  ‘Yes, I don’t know how but it could be. For instance, what if Jade had a girlfriend and she saw the son coming back into the fold as having the potential to upset things?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know, it’s just a thought.’

  ‘I’ll gladly fly over to Manhattan on expenses guv, and have a word with the son.’

  ‘I bet you would. And visit all those relatives of yours over there at the same time, eh?’

  Gheeta laughed.

  ‘You can read me like a book. I’ll arrange an Intranet hook up.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘It’s like the internet but just for selected people – like a video conference call but more secure. We can do it through the Cyber Administration department downstairs.’

  ‘Okay, get it set up.’

  The NYPD 17th Precinct was hooked into the Met’s Intranet line, as were the main police HQs of most of the United States and basically all the major law enforcement main offices worldwide; it gave a super quick way of getting things done. If an absconding criminal managed to board an outbound flight from the UK,
a quick call on the Intranet to the police station nearest to his destination and a welcoming party would be waiting on the tarmac when he disembarked.

  James Jade was more than willing to talk to Palmer, and was grateful that his father’s murder file was being raised and examined. No, he didn’t think there was any special lady in his father’s life; no, he couldn’t think of anybody with enough of a grudge to murder him; and no, he didn’t think that their reunion had changed anything in his father’s life. On the subject of Maurice Jade’s Will, which Palmer had to bring up for obvious reasons, no, he didn’t think his appearance had caused his father to change it; most of the money went to various members of the family and a few charities, although James had been surprised to find he’d been left the house, as he thought that was going to the old couple who had looked after it for over twenty years when his father was away touring.

  The alarm bells that started ringing in Palmer’s brain at that bit of information would have drowned out Big Ben!

  Pete Brown sat in his car, parked fifty yards down the road from the gated entrance to Rob Elliott’s estate. He sat very still, so he wouldn’t be obvious to a quick, cursory glance from anybody. How he was going to get inside the estate had set him a problem. He watched as the gates swung open when a resident’s car pulled up and closed after it had entered. Must be a button on fob switch; he couldn’t see a way of getting one of those, so his plan was to pull up quickly behind a resident’s car as they were about to enter and follow them through, giving a wave as though he was a resident. He’d then kill Elliott and exit using the same procedure.

  Time to have a dry run. It was late afternoon, and residents were returning from business and going through the gates into the estate quite frequently. The weather was gloomy, so he could have his headlights on which would prevent the driver of the car he followed in from seeing him clearly. His hands were sweaty with excitement as he started his car and waited.

  Soon an oncoming vehicle signaled to turn across the road and into the estate. He moved slowly forward – got to let them in the gate first and then follow in quickly. It was a BMW… Shit! It was Elliott’s BMW – the personal number plate RE1 gave it away; and there were two other occupants who were definitely not music people, big hefty chaps… Shit, he’s got police protection… If he’s got them in his car then he’s got them in his house… Shit! Shit! SHIT!

  He banged the wheel with a clenched fist and drove straight past, as the BMW waited for the gate to swing slowly open. He’d have to think of a new plan.

  ‘It was very interesting.’

  Palmer was relaying the gist of his chat with James Jade to Sergeant Singh and Claire in the Team Room as they continued to check the memorial page friends.

  ‘His mother and Maurice Jade divorced, and when they split she took a hefty wad of money and went to the States. Poor kid was only five.’

  ‘God, that must have been an awfully traumatic time for a five year old,’ Gheeta sympathised. ‘To be pulled away from your dad at that age. Poor kid.’

  ‘Well, he seems to have survived it well – he’s financial controller of a cable TV network now. Said he was most surprised when his dad made contact. He reckoned that when Jade packed up the band and had time to assess his life, he probably felt a bit bad about not keeping in regular touch with him. It was just birthdays and Christmas that they heard from him, and then it was usually a delivery of toys and a card; no phone calls or physical visits. But the most interesting bit of the conversation was that he thought the Armitages were getting the Old Rectory in his dad’s Will, and he was pretty sure that his dad had mentioned that to him at some time; and so he was most surprised when he got it, and a bit embarrassed when he had to go and get the keys off them to give to an estate agent who he’d instructed to sell the place.’

  Gheeta was confused.

  ‘So, I assume that you saying that that was the most interesting bit of your chat with him means you see two more suspects with a motive: the Armitages.’

  Palmer shrugged.

  ‘It’s a thought, isn’t it. The fact that Jade’s CCTV was not operating that day has niggled away at me. I can’t see a good reason why he would not use the system on that day, that particular day; and if he did switch it on and put a disc in, where is it? Where’s the disc, who removed it? And if it was removed, it’s got to be somebody who knew it was there in the first place.’

  ‘Yes, that has bothered me too, guv. But with Just Desserts making an entry into the case as prime suspect, I assumed that – with what we know about his expertise in IT – he knew about the system if he’d taken a look at the place before he did the murder; or if he didn’t he would have seen the cameras at the house on the day, and realised there was a system operating which would show him arriving. So he found it, turned it off and removed the disc when he left after he’d killed Jade.’

  Gheeta thought for a moment.

  ‘On the subject of CCTV, I wonder if the local force checked the local shops for their CCTV of that day, if they had any operating? If there’s a Post Office they’d have one for sure. It’s a long shot, but maybe our killer went in to get a sandwich or a drink.’

  Claire tapped her keyboard.

  ‘I’ll check the file. By the way, some good news: I checked the airline passenger lists for flights to Madeira for up to three days prior to the death of Frank Moss, and then the passenger lists for return flights for the three days after, and guess what?’

  ‘Mr Brown was on one of them.’

  Palmer waited with baited breath, as a wide smile appeared on Claire’s face.

  ‘A Mr P. Brown was indeed on them. He travelled with Monarch two days before Moss fell off the mountain, and back the day after.’

  Palmer spread his hands.

  ‘Okay, that’s enough – he’s definitely our man. No doubt about it now. Sergeant, put out a wanted note to all forces on him, mug shot to follow if we can find one; and put out a stop and detain notice to all airports, ports and places of departure.’

  A loud ‘ping’ from Sergeant Singh’s computer interrupted their conversation.

  ‘We have lift off, guv.’

  Gheeta pulled the Palmer Facebook page up onscreen. The side bar showed Palmer and Just Desserts as both being logged on.

  ‘I’ve had you logged in all day guv, in the hope he’d notice and take the bait. You just talk to him as though he’s here, and I’ll type in what you say onto the page for him to read. Keep him talking if he does talk back so we can trace the call, as he’s bound to be using a mobile phone or iPad; he’s not stupid enough to use a traceable computer.’

  She nodded to Claire.

  ‘Claire’s into that part of the programme and reducing the options by hand, so the longer time we get with him online, the better chance to isolate him.’

  Claire was already working away on her keypad. Palmer nodded.

  ‘Okay, I understand. Let’s try ‘Good afternoon Mr Brown’ for starters.’

  Gheeta typed it in on her keyboard.

  Nothing…

  ‘Oh, come now Mr Brown, you can’t be shy. After all, you set this page up so we could talk… didn’t you?’

  An answer came texting back across the screen.

  ‘Good afternoon Superintendent Palmer.’

  ‘Chief Superintendent Palmer, if you don’t mind. It took me a long time to get to this rank by catching murderers, so show respect.’

  Palmer thought that would wrong-foot Brown, as the reason for putting up the site was for Brown to get what he mistakenly thought would be respect for himself, not Palmer demanding it.

  ‘Palmer you don’t deserve respect you couldn’t catch a bus let alone me.’

  Palmer moved onto his next ploy.

  ‘Why would I want to catch you, Mr Brown? You haven’t done anything. You’re just a nutter, living in a fantasy world. You need help, Mr Brown, not arresting. You don’t seriously believe I think you had anything to do with the Revolution deaths, do you?’
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br />   ‘I killed them! I killed them all. I pushed Frank Moss off the footpath, I pushed Stag over the balcony wall, I killed Jade in his posh house and I pushed Brockheimer under the tube train. I DID IT ALL PALMER and I’m going to get Rob Elliott too, doesn’t matter how many coppers you surround him with I’ll get him.’

  There was anger in the text. Palmer liked that; he’d pushed Brown out of his comfort zone pretty easily.

  ‘Mr Brown, you are delusional. Frank Moss fell because he suffered from vertigo and had an attack while out walking on a cliff path. Stag George had a belly full of alcohol and toppled off his balcony. Brockheimer was suicidal, and Maurice Jade was attacked when he found burglars in his home. So, stop this silly charade and get some medical help for yourself.’

  ‘That just shows how good I am Palmer I killed them all and you stupid coppers can’t see it even when I confess. The perfect murders… I committed the perfect murders… You wouldn’t even be investigating now if Brockheimer hadn’t shouted off his big mouth to the press, and Elliott would be dead by now too. They had it coming to them for what they did to me. I made them, without me they wouldn’t have amounted to anything… not anything, it was me Palmer… I made them and they dumped me, kicked me out with nothing. They deserved to die Palmer didn’t they… they deserved it… and I did it…me…and there’s one to get before I finish and you won’t stop me.’

  And with that he logged off. Gheeta sat up.

  ‘He’s logged off, guv. Just waiting for the other programmes Claire’s working to interface and give us a postcode on the phone signal. I think we had enough time for them to adjust and sort it out.’