by Jack Probyn
‘What? No. I… I thought it was a prop. Something out of a fancy-dress shop.’
‘Halloween was a few weeks ago.’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ Richard said. He was getting his back up now. Becoming defensive. His mind wouldn’t be thinking clearly. He would be acting rashly, saying whatever came into his mind without thinking twice about it. And that was what interrogators like Drew aimed for. ‘I thought it was a joke.’
There it was. Hook. Line. Sinker.
‘You think murder’s a joke?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying!’
‘Sounds like you think someone being buried alive is a joke. Is that funny to you, Richard? Do you find that funny?’
‘No, I—’
‘Then what do you find funny?’
‘Nothing, I—’
‘Did it all get a little out of hand?’
Richard’s eyes widened. ‘Did what get a little out of hand?’
Drew leant forward and placed his palms face down on the table.
‘Here’s what I think happened. You were out with a friend, playing, chilling, catching up, maybe sucking each other off – whatever you’re into. You took them to where you work and showed them the hole. Maybe you’d been drinking or getting high. One thing led to another and the other person fell in. You thought it would be funny to cover them in cement. Another thing led to another, and then, next thing you know, they’ve drowned in it. And then this morning, when you find the body, you become the hero, the innocent party in all this. That’s what I think happened.’
Silence encompassed the room. For a long while neither of them spoke. Gradually, Drew eased himself back into his chair, studying Richard’s reaction. The man looked shocked – worse, taken aback. His skin had turned pale and his lips parted.
‘You can’t be… You’ve got to be joking? Where’d you get that from?’
‘Are you saying it’s true?’
‘Fuck no! I just want to know where you’re making this stuff up from.’
‘I’m just telling you what I think happened.’
‘You’re wrong.’
‘Then tell me what really happened.’
‘So you can put words in my mouth again?’
‘Nobody’s said anything about putting words in your mouth. I’m just speculating…’ Drew snapped his fingers. ‘What’s that saying? Speculate to… speculate to… accumulate! That’s the one! Speculate to accumulate. That’s what I’m doing. I’m not putting any words in anyone’s mouth. So please indulge me – what happened?’
Richard sighed heavily. For a moment, Drew thought he was about to answer, about to reveal all his deadliest and darkest secrets. But when he remained silent, Drew realised he’d lost his opportunity.
That was, until, a new one arose.
Drew’s eyes fell on Richard’s forearms. ‘You ever take any drugs, Richard?’
Richard’s body tensed. ‘Drugs. What? I…’
‘Of the illegal variety. You ever take any?’
‘No. I… Sure, I’ve had some in my time, but that was just to clear my head when I was going through a difficult period.’
‘Needed to get rid of the demons?’
Richard looked into his eyes. ‘We’ve all got them, haven’t we?’
You bet, mate.
‘What about a drink?’ Drew asked. ‘You like a drink?’
‘Not excessively, no. But I don’t understand what relevance this—’
‘So you’re no stranger to a pint or two, here or there?’
‘What’s this got to do with what I saw?’ Richard shifted uncomfortably on his seat. ‘I thought I was just giving you a witness statement?’
For now.
‘I’ll be the one asking questions, thank you.’
‘You know, you’re not scaring me or anything. I’ve been in this situation before. I know what type of things you guys do. I’m not stupid.’
‘Nobody’s saying you are.’
‘But you’re treating me as though I am. I had nothing to do with this – I’m telling you. All I know is that when I left for home yesterday, it wasn’t there, and when I came in this morning, it was. Simple as that.’
Drew looked down at the witness statement in front of him. He scribbled on the page and read aloud as he wrote. ‘It’s as simple as that. Nothing more to it. Just that: you go home one night and there’s no body buried beneath cement, and then when you come to work, there is. Nothing more to it. All a bit of a joke.’ Drew shrugged. ‘So… what were you doing last night? Where were you when this mystery took place?’
‘At home,’ Richard said. ‘Asleep.’
‘Oh yeah? And no one’s able to confirm that? Not even your hot date?’
Richard lowered his head.
‘Nobody?’ pressed Drew.
Richard remained silent.
‘Nobody can corroborate your whereabouts last night? Tough living on your own, eh, for situations like this? I imagine it can be quite a nuisance.’ Drew paused to take a sip of water. ‘What were you doing after your date? That’s a big window of opportunity unaccounted for? Enlighten me.’
At first, Richard didn’t respond. He bit his lower lip, rubbed his forearm and looked around the room, avoiding Drew’s gaze. Then his eyes fell on the trickle of water running down the side of his cup.
‘I… I…’
‘Take your time. This is a safe place. I’m here all day. I get paid for this regardless.’
‘I…’ Richard pulled his eyes from the cup and looked into his lap again. ‘I was having… you know… a Tommy.’
Drew smirked. He made no effort to hide the smile from his lips, although he struggled to stifle the laugh that followed it.
‘Of course you were,’ he said, eventually having to take his mind away from it. ‘How many times? One? Two? Three? So many you began to lose count?’
‘No, it was just the one.’
‘Well it can’t have been if it lasted the whole night.’
Richard gave a long, unending sigh. ‘What do you want from me? I told you I had nothing to do with it. I had my date, it didn’t work out, we called it a night, so I went home. Then I watched some TV and went to bed. You’re not charging me with anything, are you? So… so can I go?’
Drew paused a beat. He knew there was nothing he could do except let Richard go. It wasn’t worth the hassle of unlawfully arresting him either. He’d made that mistake before and only just lived to tell the tale.
‘You can go, but don’t go too far,’ Drew said eventually. ‘We might need you at some point. Although… be careful what you get up to when you’re alone – we don’t want to walk in on you having a wank.’
CHAPTER 8
GREY AREAS
Liam had a bad feeling about this. A dark premonition. Perhaps it was something in the dust-filled air, because a dead body had turned up in the middle of the Olympic Stadium, right in the centre of construction, and it wouldn’t be long until the whole world found out. Or perhaps it was because the murder – and the circumstances surrounding the death – screamed of The Farmer.
Liam had only ever seen The Farmer’s handiwork on two previous occasions. And both carried the same resemblance, but there had been a certain precision to them. This was different. This seemed rushed, clumsy, messy, out of character. And that was intolerable.
According to Poojah, it was going to take at least a couple of hours to excavate the body from the concrete, which meant Liam had two hours to try and allay the shitstorm that was going to come their way.
He wandered back to his car, his mind awash with thoughts, concerns and apprehensions on how best to weather the storm.
Before he could do any of that, he needed answers.
He slumped into his Volvo C30, the suspension bouncing and screeching in agony under his weight. He removed his burner phone from his pocket and spun it in his fingers, staring out at the chaos in front of him. Within a few minutes, he’d coordinated the arrival of over twenty scene of crime officers
and thirty uniformed police officers, who were busy questioning witnesses and anyone in the vicinity. The day’s construction had ground to a halt, and it was only a matter of time until the bloodhounds in the press and media caught a whiff of the scent of murder.
Liam scrolled through his address book and dialled. As he waited for The Cabal to answer, he prepared himself.
‘Yes?’ The Cabal answered.
‘It’s Liam.’
‘Yes…’
‘The Olympic Stadium. That your doing?’
‘I did what needed to be done.’
‘Who is it?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Why won’t you tell me? I’m the one who has to deal with this shit now.’
‘Remember your place, Liam.’
Before he was able to respond, Liam coughed violently. He spluttered and spat into his arm. And as he pulled away, he saw his sleeve was covered in mucus and blood. The lung cancer was eating away at him more aggressively as the days passed. And the pain and nausea and tiredness that came with it were unrelenting. But, on the bright side – if it could be called that – his treatment was showing signs of fighting the disease.
‘Are you up to the challenge?’ The Cabal asked.
‘Is that what this is?’
‘I can find someone else, if necessary. Plenty of people willing to step into your position.’
‘No,’ Liam snapped. ‘I can do it. But I should’ve been the first to know.’
‘You know how I like throwing curveballs your way.’
‘And I don’t have enough to deal with at the moment?’
‘I’m sure you’ll prioritise correctly.’
Liam hesitated before responding. He was afraid he knew what The Cabal really meant.
‘Now’s the time to really test Jake Tanner’s loyalty,’ The Cabal said. ‘It’s your responsibility to get him onside. You know the consequences if not. Last chance saloon, Liam.’
The line went dead. Liam’s body turned cold.
It was what he’d expected to hear. The time had finally come. For too long now he’d been protecting Jake, pussyfooting around him whenever he spoke to The Cabal, trying to do his best to ensure that no harm came to the young detective. But that wasn’t possible anymore. Those days were gone. And the fact that The Cabal hadn’t told him who the victim was worried Liam. It had to be a big name, someone prominent. And to be able to put a lid on it quickly, he was going to need everyone in agreement with one another.
Jake included.
Without allowing his mind to think on it for too long, Liam scrolled through his address book again and dialled another number.
This time it went through to voicemail. Liam remembered to follow the pattern.
After the tone, he left a message: ‘Hi, I was wondering what your floral arrangements are for funerals. If you could please call me back I’d love to discuss some business with you.’
He hung up.
Within twenty seconds, the device in his hand vibrated and the screen illuminated.
‘This is Floral Beauty,’ came The Farmer’s monotonous, heavily accented voice.
‘I was wondering what flowers you do for funerals,’ Liam replied. ‘I’m looking for some lilies.’
There was a long pause as The Farmer absorbed his coded message. Eventually, after a long time, he spoke. ‘Why you call?’
‘I need to know what happened. Who the fuck did you bury, and who gave you the order?’
‘Our mutual employer.’
‘Why?’
‘The Cabal need them disposed of. They talk too much.’
‘Who?’
‘Danny Cipriano.’
The words caught in Liam’s throat and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. In the past six months, he hadn’t heard that name once, and he’d foolishly thought he could put that saga behind him – they all did, every single one of them. How wrong he’d been.
For a brief moment, he tried to process the information, understand the wider situation, evaluate the ramifications. But his mind was warped by one question, and one question alone. Why?
‘He talk too much,’ The Farmer replied after Liam asked him. ‘He talk to someone. I don’t know what about. He did not say.’
Liam opened his mouth but only air escaped.
‘But we have problem,’ The Farmer continued.
‘What?’
‘He said he have employer too. He said his employer come after us.’
Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘No, you idiot. It’s the same one.’
‘What?’
‘The Cabal is both yours and Danny’s employer. It’s the same person. But let it be a lesson to you,’ Liam explained. ‘If you do anything to piss The Cabal off, or step out of line at any point, the same thing’ll happen to you.’
The Farmer chuckled. ‘They can try.’
Liam sighed. This was worse than he’d originally thought. And he couldn’t shake the uncontrollable questions racing through his mind. How was he going to cover this one up? Why did Danny have to die? Who was he talking to? How much had he shared about his time as The Crimsons’ leader? Had Liam’s name been mentioned at all?
He closed his eyes, leant back against the headrest and thought.
His trance was broken by the sound of a commotion coming from outside the forensic tent. In the distance, two men in suits charged towards the crime scene, leaving several uniformed officers in their wake.
‘Ahh, shit,’ Liam said as he recognised one of the suited individuals.
Before he hung up on The Farmer, he told him to lay low, stay hidden and that he’d be in touch soon.
As Liam bound across the site, the sound of shouts and disgruntled arguments grew.
‘Hey!’ he called just as one of the individuals tried to enter the tent. ‘What’s going on here?’
The man causing the altercation reached into his blazer pocket, removed a lanyard with a plastic ID card, and waved it in Liam’s face.
‘Oliver Penrose,’ Liam said, reading the name. ‘Lord Oliver Penrose… from the London Organising Committee for the Olympic Games.’ His suspicions were correct. ‘It was only a matter of time till you guys got here. But I can’t have you barging onto my crime scene like this. Otherwise, I’ll have you arrest—’
‘I demand to know what is going on here,’ Oliver said, stepping closer to Liam. The man was six-five and looked like a stick insect, he was that thin. Gangly was the word that sprang to mind.
‘My name’s DCI Liam Greene. This is an active crime scene. We’re trying to conduct our investigations. Could you—’
‘What’s happened?’
‘That information is—’
‘You’ll tell me right now, or I’ll find out myself. I can speak to your senior office if that helps? I’m good friends with Assistant Commissioner Candy and Commander Field. The three of us play a lot of golf on the weekends. Field’s mentioned your name a couple of times, come to think of it. I’m sure he’d love to hear how you’re behaving.’
Liam didn’t like that. Not one bit.
‘I don’t know who you think you are, Oliver, nor what type of credentials you hold, but this is an active crime scene. If you don’t refrain and do as I say, then I’m going to have to arrest you.’
‘I demand to know what’s going on.’
And I want to sleep with Kelly Brook, but you don’t hear me complaining it isn’t going to happen any time soon.
‘We all want things we can’t have,’ Liam replied, stifling a smug smile. ‘Regardless of what you do for a living and how big your wallet is.’
‘Please?’
Better – that was better. Manners hurt no one. For a second, Liam wondered whether that was the first time the man in front of him had ever used the word – and judging from the strained expression on his face, it looked like it pained him to say it. In the end, Liam ceded, sighed quietly and looked to the ground. The short of it was, what Oliver had s
aid about being close with Candy and Field scared him. His reputation with both of them was important, and he didn’t want some snobby bastard ruining it for him.
He pulled Oliver to the side, out of earshot of the small crowd of officers that had surrounded them, and ordered them to stand down and resume their work.
‘This morning a construction worker found a hand in one of the holes on the promenade here. Forensics are in there now, but we’ve been unable to identify the body.’
‘Holy Mother of God,’ Oliver said, inhaling sharply. He turned to his colleague and gave him a look that only the two of them understood. Then he turned back to Liam. ‘How many people know about this?’
Liam looked around him. ‘Everyone you see in front of you.’
‘The media?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Good. I’d like to make sure this doesn’t get out.’
‘I can’t see a way we can keep this out of the press.’
‘Be creative,’ Oliver said. ‘You’re good at that. How long is it going to take to excavate the body entirely and clean up?’
Liam shrugged defiantly. ‘As long as it takes. This is an intricate case, and we’ll take our due care and duty in making sure we do our jobs properly. I’m sorry, but if that’s everything, my team and I have got work to do.’
Oliver held Liam back from walking away. ‘Lunchtime. I’d like it done by lunchtime. That should give you a couple of hours. Our construction is currently on track for the opening ceremony. But we’re close to the edge. One little hiccup can send this entire project up the fucking spout. We can’t afford that. Too many people have invested too much time and money for this to be a problem. The entire world is watching us to make sure we perform and deliver on time. Sooner rather than later we’ll be ordering the workers to fill in this hole and pretend it never happened. We’re going to pour water down this little problem’s neck, exactly the same way you’d fix a hiccup. Do you understand what I’m saying, Detective?’
Liam hesitated before answering. ‘I understand you completely. But what you’re asking me to do is illegal and, not only that, fundamentally immoral.’
‘All of our morals lie somewhere in a grey area. You of all people should know that.’ Oliver slapped Liam’s shoulder and walked away.
