Blood Money

by J M Dalgliesh

  “You are correct,” the judge said, cutting him off with a raised hand. “However, despite this not being the first occasion where a defendant uses police coercion as a defence, it is not often that the primary witness alleges the same with equal passion. I find this illuminating and… startling, to say the least.”

  “I also… see the issues with progressing in this case, My Lord-”

  “As do I,” the defence barrister cut in. “I must state that to see a successful conclusion to this case in favour of the Crown, based on the testimony we’ve heard today, will be challenging.”

  “I am inclined to agree,” the judge replied. Caslin looked to the prosecution QC who was preparing to respond, more in vain hope rather than expectation.

  “Perhaps, we might seek an adjournment in order to assess what we have heard…” he stammered. He was attempting to buy them breathing space to try and regroup. Caslin found himself repeating the words come on, come on, over and over in his head.

  “I might suggest that this trial cannot continue without sufficient evidence against the defendant, My Lord,” the defence barrister offered.

  Judge Baker-Riley sat back, mulling over his next course of action. The courtroom fell entirely silent. All eyes were on the judge and many, including Caslin, held their breath.

  “I am inclined to agree with the defence counsel,” he said, following a period of silence that seemed to hang for an eternity. “Unless I can be met with an argument to countermand that conclusion.” All eyes fell on the Queens Counsel, representing the Crown Prosecution Service. He looked crestfallen at best, mortified at worst. He could find no words in response. Caslin let out his breath. It was over.

  “They can’t throw it out, can they?” Holt asked, unable to take his eyes from proceedings.

  “He’s about to,” Caslin muttered in reply, glancing across at Danika Durakovic’s associates, seated at the other end of the gallery. Several were looking at him, a few with broad smiles, others with menace. “She’s going to walk.”

  “No way,” Holt said, meeting Caslin’s eye. As if on cue, the judge’s voice carried over them.

  “I see no alternative but to dismiss the jury in this case. I will also confer my wish that this case is reviewed with an immediate and far-reaching investigation,” he said, with authority. There were audible gasps within the courtroom. “How we managed to reach this point in a High-Court Trial without this situation coming to light, I will never understand. I shall be writing to the Chief Constable of North Yorkshire Constabulary and initiating an investigation into policing standards under her command.”

  “And it gets worse,” Caslin said quietly, to himself.

  “What’s that, sir?” Holt queried.

  “A storm’s coming, Terry,” Caslin replied, as if that answered everything. “Come on. We’ve seen enough.”

  Holt turned to head out of the viewing gallery. Caslin glanced down to the dock, only to see the accused looking directly at him. It was unusual for him to see Danika Durakovic without her trademark, large sunglasses. Her complexion was as pale as usual, even in the height of summer, she maintained the same look. Only now, he could read her gaze. The half-smile set upon her face belied the malevolence that her eyes cast towards him. He was back in her sights and he knew it. They remained locked together for a further few moments as neither wanted to be first to break off.

  “Sir?” Holt called to him. Regrettably, Caslin broke eye contact and turned towards Holt, holding the door open for him.

  “Yes, Terry. What is it?” he snapped.

  “It’s the DCI, sir.”

  “Is she on the phone, already?” he asked, making his way up the steps to the door.

  “No, sir. She’s waiting in the QC’s chambers downstairs.”

  Caslin shook his head. This day had started positively but was now rapidly descending into his worst in recent memory, and he had many recollections to choose from.

  Caslin allowed Holt to lead the way and upon reaching the threshold of the passageway, he recognised a court assistant standing by the access to the barristers’ chambers. As they approached, he opened the door ushering them through. Entering the room, Caslin found it furnished similar to a gentleman’s club lounge with leather Chesterfield seating. A polished-hardwood desk was positioned to his right and matching panelling lined the walls. He caught sight of DCI Angela Matheson across the room, standing with her back to him. She was looking out of one of several windows overlooking the court entrance but at what, he didn’t know.

  “Ma’am,” he said in greeting, one that Terry Holt repeated as she turned to face them. From the expression on her face, she was seething.

  “Care to explain, Inspector?” she said with no attempt to mask her aggression, not that she ever did.

  “They got to him,” Caslin stated evenly. “They got to him and we didn’t see it. It’s the only explanation.”

  “Well, not the only explanation - from what Marquis has just said on the stand,” Matheson challenged.

  “Oh, come on. You’re not buying into his conspiracy bullshit, surely?”

  “No. Of course I don’t, Nathaniel,” she replied, tempering the outburst that was brewing within her DI. “But I told you, when you first brought this to me a year ago that you had to be absolutely bang on if you were going up against her organisation. No one has been able to get near her operation until now and this experience will probably ensure no one else gets to her any time soon.”

  Caslin looked away. Danika Durakovic had managed to inherit her late husband’s contacts, allowing her to sidestep prosecutions as easily as he had managed to. Caslin knew why.

  Their organisation was in bed with the intelligence services. A fact he had found out at great personal cost, not that he could voice the knowledge. Bringing Danika down was a challenge, one he’d relished and thought he was about to fulfil.

  “I’m not done yet,” Caslin said with steel resolve. The door to the chamber flew open and the prosecuting counsel marched in. Without greeting, he hurled his folders onto the desk before him. They scattered, some of the contents falling to the floor but he didn’t care, such was his fury. Pulling off his wig that also joined the paperwork. He turned on Caslin.

  “You assured me that he was sound, Inspector,” he said accusingly.

  “He is… was,” Caslin replied, half-heartedly. “We can have him on perjury charges.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Inspector but please, do advise me of when he was lying, then or now?”

  “You’re out of line!” Caslin said pointedly. “They got to him. We can go again.”

  “A retrial?” the QC queried. Caslin nodded. “Our star witness has just testified that he fabricated all the paperwork that we are using to gain a conviction. Not only that, if we get him to recant what he has just said, how on earth is he going to be credible to a jury in any future trial? Explain that to me, would you?”

  Caslin drew a deep breath, “We can’t just drop it. Danika will never allow such weakness again. Her guard will be up. We’ll not get an opportunity such as this-”

  “It is over, Inspector. I know you want this one but please accept it, this case is done. You’re going to have enough on your plate in the coming months as it is.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Caslin asked, knowing exactly what he was insinuating.

  “People will want answers as to how we spent what we have over the last six months only to have it burn down, before our very eyes?”

  “Setbacks happen-”

  “Setbacks!” the QC cut in. “You’ll need more than that when you’re called in, Nathaniel.”

  “My conscience is clear,” Caslin countered.

  “As is mine but where the public purse is concerned someone has to shoulder the responsibility and I assure you, it will not be me.”

  “Charming,” Caslin muttered, drawing a stifled laugh from Terry Holt.

  “You won’t be laughing when you’re back in uniform, walking the city cen
tre in the early hours of a Friday night, Terry,” Matheson said, putting Holt back in his place. The latter nodded an apology and remained tight-lipped. “Really, Nathaniel, what with the Neo-Nazis being in town just itching for a fight with the counter protestors, we also have journalists from across Yorkshire camped within the city to cover it. They’ll be all over this like a rash. You pick your moments, you really do.”

  “Me? How is all that my responsibility?” Caslin countered, threatening to sound off.

  The conversation was interrupted by Matheson’s phone ringing. She stepped away from the others to the far side of the room to take the call. The conversation was largely one-sided, therefore Caslin assumed it wasn’t a subordinate she was conversing with. Seldom did Matheson allow anyone else to dominate the conversation.

  Caslin turned his thoughts to today’s events. He could understand the reaction. Six months of diligent case preparation and resources had just been thrown to the wind. Beyond that, the level of personal and professional humiliation before the media and your peers would be galling. Caslin understood that. His humiliation was yet to come.

  “Right. Nathaniel, you get a reprieve,” Matheson said, hanging up on her caller and walking back over to where they waited.

  “Ma’am?” Caslin asked.

  “DS Hunter’s at the scene of a suicide but I want you to get yourself over there and check it out.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “She can fill you in on the details. It’ll get you out of the way while I try and contain the fallout from all of this,” she said, waving her hands in the air in a circular motion. “I’m already getting enquiries from the Chief Superintendent which has probably spread from further up the chain. The press will be all over this… and you.”

  Caslin put the flat of his hand against his chest in a mocking fashion, silently mouthing the word “Me?”

  Matheson ignored the gesture, “I want you out of the way. That means no comments to the media or anyone else for that matter. You’d better be the grey man for the next few days until we can figure this out.”

  “So, you won’t let me go and nick Marquis for lying his arse off then?”

  “No, I bloody won’t,” Matheson said forcefully. “Stay away from him and stay away from Durakovic. Is that clear?” Caslin nodded although he was none-to-pleased with the agreement. He excused himself. The CPS counsel didn’t acknowledge his farewell and the cynic inside Caslin assumed he was already being prepped as the one for the slaughter.

  Leaving the chamber, he took a deep breath and let it out loudly as he walked. People were milling about him as he went and taking out his phone, he looked up Hunter’s mobile number and went to press call. Paying no attention to what was in front of him, he became aware of a physical presence and stopped abruptly. Glancing up, he found himself face-to-face with Danika Durakovic. Lowering his phone to his side, Caslin forced a smile as convincing as he could make it.

  “Danika,” he said, in greeting.

  “Inspector Caslin,” she replied. Her expression was more akin to the stoicism she exhibited more often than not.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, glancing behind her at the half-dozen bodies who appeared to accompany her everywhere.

  “I wanted to offer you my commiserations.”

  “Oh, I doubt that very much.”

  “Sadly, I fear we won’t be seeing much of each other in the coming days.”

  “Why are you so sure? This is just the first round.”

  “Come now, Inspector,” she purred, “I fully intend to launch litigation proceedings against you and your colleagues for harassment, perjury, pretty much anything my legal team can come up with and trust me, I pay them enough to be creative.”

  “I look forward to it. Perhaps they’ll be able to keep you up to speed on visiting days but I doubt it.”

  “I won’t see any jail time, Inspector. Your case has fallen apart and your witness is no longer cooperating-”

  “Yes, however did you manage that?” Caslin asked, through a forced grin.

  “Good people allow their moral compass to guide them. He followed his.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on him sticking to his story. I can vouch for that.”

  “He’s of no further use to you, Inspector,” Danika said as a matter of fact. “He is, how does the saying go… a busted flush?”

  “I’ll be seeing you, Danika. Never doubt it,” Caslin said, making eye contact and fixing her with a stare as he stepped to the side and made to move past her.

  “Don’t leave it too long, Inspector Caslin,” she called after him. Caslin ignored the group of her associates having lost the stomach for responding to their arrogance. Their arrogance. He couldn’t help but see his own hubris in this day’s events. Cursing himself under his breath, he scanned for Hunter’s telephone number once again and left the courthouse.

  Chapter 3

  Once Caslin had retrieved his car from Fulford Road, he took the A64 out of the city for the journey north towards Hildenley.

  Set within the conservation area that made up the sprawling beauty of the Howardian Hills, his destination was nestled between Castle Howard to the west and the nearby town of Malton, off to the east. Before reaching the latter, Caslin took the turn onto Braygate Street and slowed keeping his eyes open for his target. He had spoken to Hunter and knew to keep a look out for recessed gates leading to a private driveway.

  He needn’t have worried. Parked up before the gated entrance was a liveried police car. Pulling up, he acknowledged the officer standing alongside the vehicle. Lowering his window, he brandished his warrant card for he wasn’t familiar with the constable who took several moments to confirm Caslin’s identity.

  “If you head up the driveway to the house, sir, keep to the left as you approach. The CSI team are setting up and you might get boxed in. You’ll find DS Hunter down at the boathouse on the south side of the lake,” he said, indicating to his right with a gloved hand.

  Caslin thanked the constable and resumed his journey up the gravelled drive. To either side were a line of trees, planted in a uniform manner. Despite their current, barren appearance it was clear they were immaculately maintained. As were the grounds, set further back from the road. Manicured hedgerows, dedicated beds that were already primed to offer colour from the onset of spring. A glance at the temperature gauge on his dashboard, reading only two degrees, reminded him that spring was still some way off. The recent dive in temperatures following on from an unusually mild December was winter’s latest grab for attention.

  The driveway curved up on an incline around to the left and the building honed into view, through the trees. A mansion was an apt description, stone-built with an imposing style and grandeur that didn’t fail to impress. Caslin knew it to be a building that was centuries old. He guessed it was of late-Tudor or early Jacobean construction. The façade was broad with two imposing bay windows either side of the huge entrance doors. One was easily three metres in height. The stone mullions in that bay alone would have been sufficient for a structural support in most forms of modern buildings. Caslin caught sight of Iain Robertson, the head of North Yorkshire’s forensic investigators. He greeted Caslin with a wave as he parked up.

  “I was under the impression this was a suicide?” Caslin said, referring to the number of vehicles nearby. Apparently, Robertson had most of his team present.

  “Jumping to conclusions without assessing the scene?” Robertson chided him playfully.

  “Fair comment,” Caslin replied.

  “Anyway, I thought you were in court all day today?”

  Caslin shook his head, his expression spoke volumes, “Don’t go there, I beg of you.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse,” Caslin said, offering little. He caught sight of DS Hunter appearing at the crest of an exterior staircase on the east side of the mansion.

  “Hello, sir,” she called down to him. Caslin nodded to Robertson leaving him to assemble his equ
ipment and hand out assignments to his team members. Heading in her direction, Caslin met Hunter at the halfway point between them.

  “What do we have?” he asked.

  “A deceased male, in his late fifties. We believe it’s the owner, sir. He was found hanged, by members of his security this morning around half-past eight. They called the paramedics who then called us upon arrival.”

  “Suspicious?”

  Hunter shrugged, “At first glance, am I ever not?”

  “Good point.”

  “He went out for his usual morning run. When he failed to return, shortly after eight, they went looking for him. He was found in the boatshed. I’ll lead you down,” Hunter said. They turned and made their way back to the steps, Hunter had come from. A whistle came from behind, grabbing their attention. Caslin stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.

  “Don’t make a mess of my crime scene!” Robertson barked at him.

  “Now who’s jumping to conclusions,” Caslin said with a half-smile, turning and trotting to catch up with Hunter. He scoped the number of security cameras mounted on the exterior, eyeing the grounds as well as himself. They descended the steps, framed on either side by crafted balustrades of stone, and onto a lawned area stretching some distance in front of them down to the lakeside. Circumventing the house, Caslin eyed more cameras. He was intrigued for it seemed over and above what he would expect.

  “How come you’re out of court so early?” Hunter asked him as they walked.

  “Later, Sarah. Much… later,” he replied, killing her inquiry dead. Hunter knew not to push it.

  There was a breeze carrying across the lake drawing the cold of the water straight at them. Caslin shivered. Approaching the water’s edge, Hunter guided them off to the right along a path leading to the boathouse. Clearly a later addition to the estate of the main house it was a narrow, two-storey building, also of stone construction. Set back and nestling into the trees in what was a natural cove by the side of the lake, it blended well with the surroundings. There was a pitched slate-roof, covered in moss and a small balcony to the front accessed from the upper floor. A pier ran out into the water on one side, while on the other was a ramp to aid extracting boats from the water. A set of arched double doors opening straight onto the lake were currently closed.