Creatures of Dust

by Scott Hunter

  The second man responded. “We wouldn’t have been on the hook in the first place if you’d done your job properly. And what about the two snoopers at the Zodiac? How much does this new copper know already? It’s getting messy.”

  “The mess will be cleaned and bagged by tomorrow morning. They don’t know anything.”

  “You’d better be right,” Atul said. “What are we supposed to tell them when they come with their questions and all that?”

  “Make sure you’re not around when they come, you retard. Think you can manage that?”

  A pause, and then Atul started up again; this time Charlie could hear the fear and anger in his tone. “And what about Jay, huh? Who did for him? The police don’t know. You don’t know. Someone did this thing, and how do we know they are not coming for us next?”

  “It’s probably just random. Nothing to do with you.” The woman spoke dismissively.

  “Nothing to do? He is family. And so was Anoop. OK, not close, but still family. Two killed. It cannot be coincidence. Random is rubbish.”

  “You told me you knew who it was. Jaseena’s mental boyfriend.”

  The deep voice broke in. The owner sounded calmer, more self-assured. “OK. It might be him. But he has bloody disappeared.”

  “We should have made sure of him the first time,” Atul said miserably. “Finished the job properly.”

  “We don’t know it’s him,” deep voice said patiently. “It could be any bugger, who knows? We must be careful, right? Not jumping to conclusions all the time.”

  “Right.” Atul reluctantly deferred to the other man’s due care and diligence policy.

  This seemed to close the subject and the conversation moved on to topics Charlie couldn’t get a handle on. She made a note of a few names that cropped up and was considering making a cautious withdrawal when the granary door opened and someone came out. She moved quickly out of sight as footsteps clattered down the ramp. Don’t come this way... Charlie prayed, holding her breath.

  The footsteps receded and she risked a peep round the corner. The woman was walking briskly towards the farmhouse. She was of medium build with fair hair gathered into a loose ponytail, casually dressed in jeans and yellow T-shirt. Charlie craned her neck to catch a glimpse of her face as the woman reached the farmhouse gate but she was too far away to get any detailed impression. Inside the granary Atul and his friend were arguing again, but this time in their native language.

  That’s enough for now, girl ... time to be off...

  Charlie felt her shoulders tingle as she made a dash across the yard towards the path. When she reached her car she realised how tense she had been. Her shoulders slumped with relief and there were dark wet patches under her arms. She realised that she was gripping the steering wheel like a lifebuoy, and breathing deeply, she gave herself a minute to let the tension ease.

  When her breathing had returned to something approaching normal she retrieved her mobile and dialled Moran’s number. Nothing. Then she noticed the network display read ‘No Service’. Great. Now what? Back to base, Charlie. She had to let Moran know about this, and pronto.

  In her haste she fumbled and dropped the keys. Charlie muttered a mildly rude word and eased her fingers gently between the seat’s plastic trim and the gearbox. Gotcha.

  She straightened up and her heart missed a beat. A misshapen face was peering in at her through the driver’s window, and it didn’t look friendly.

  Chapter 18

  Another blank, Moran thought, turning the car into the HQ car park. Not that he believed what he’d been told, but he was frustrated that he had yet to find an excuse to search the premises. The chiro practice’s senior partner had never heard of Jaseena Ranandan, or so he said.

  The receptionist, a young girl called Nalini, had kept her head down while the conversation was in progress. On his way out he had smiled and thanked her. Was it his imagination, or had he seen fear in the tightness of her expression, the strain of knowing that something was being withheld but being powerless to do anything about it? He would have to think of a way of enticing her to share that knowledge – maybe find someone to get alongside her and put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

  Moran was confident he had someone to fit that particular bill, but time was short and he also wanted to reinterview the Slough family, Jay Dass’ parents. Banner had had a feeling they were holding out on something.

  He turned off the ignition and sat quietly, listening to the engine cool and tick. After an afternoon in the caned squad car Moran was looking forward to being reunited with his old Rover 75. Which reminded him; Charlie Pepper hadn’t been in touch. He checked his mobile again. No missed calls. He dialled her number, but it went straight to voicemail. No matter; he was sure she’d call when she had something to report.

  He found DS Banner and DC McKellar deep in conversation around Banner’s PC.

  “Ah, guv. Glad you’re here.” The sergeant looked up and cocked his head as Moran approached.

  “Glad to see you awake, sergeant.” Moran pulled up a chair. “What have you got?”

  “Take a look. The boffins have cleaned up the forecourt film, given us a lot more clarity.”

  Moran squinted at the screen. He recognised the Tilehurst garage forecourt. Two vehicles were filling up, and the closest was an Audi. Moran pointed. “That the one?”

  Helen McKellar nodded. “Look at the back end of the car.”

  Moran leaned in closer. “It’s moving.”

  And it was. The Audi rear suspension was minutely but visibly bouncing, as if someone was pushing the rear of the car up and down.

  Or if someone trapped in the boot was struggling to break free...

  “Reed-Purvis,” Moran said quietly. He felt a lump in his throat. It was one thing dealing with the death of a colleague after the event, but quite another watching their last moments on film. “That settles it. We have to find this Audi. Now. DC McKellar, you come with me. Banner, see if you can get hold of DI Pepper. She’s staking out a house in Earley, or she was a few hours ago. Keep me posted.”

  “Guv.”

  Moran felt a fresh determination. He was close, very close. The chiro clinic was the key, he was sure of it.

  “What’s the plan, guv?” Helen McKellar asked as she trotted along in Moran’s slipstream.

  “We wait for a young lady called Nalini to leave work for the day. You have a little chat with her; see what she has to say. If all else fails, it’s over to me.”

  “To do what, guv?” Helen frowned as Moran unlocked the car.

  “To scare her to death,” Moran replied grimly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, eh?”

  “Hello. Can I have a quick word?” Helen tried to make her voice unthreatening. “My name is DC McKellar. You spoke to my boss this morning – DCI Moran?”

  The girl slowed but didn’t stop. “What about?” She frowned. “I answered all the questions.”

  They were a few metres from the bus stop where a line of silently perspiring workers waited for their transport home. Nalini was clearly on her way to join them. Moran had parked at the side of the road, far enough away not to be visible from the clinic, and Helen could see him impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “It’s very important,” Helen told her. “You know that we’re investigating a murder?”

  “Yes.” The girl glanced anxiously up the road where a double-decker had just come into view. “I’m sorry, it’s my bus. I have to go.”

  Helen opted for a direct approach. “Do you know Jaseena?” she asked, watching carefully for the reaction.

  Nalini’s eyes went to the pavement and she shook her head vehemently. “I don’t know her. I told your friend already.”

  “Nalini.” Helen caught hold of the girl’s shoulder and stopped her in her tracks. “You’re scared. I understand. I won’t let anything happen to you, OK? I won’t tell anyone you’ve told me. I promise.” Helen injected her voice with as much sympathy and
persuasiveness as she could muster.

  Nalini searched Helen’s face, weighing up her words.

  “You do know Jaseena, don’t you?” Helen said. “You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

  Nalini bit her lip and lowered her head. When she looked up again Helen could see moisture in her brown eyes. Imperceptibly she shook her head. “Yes. I am worried.”

  Elated, Helen put her arm around the girl and guided her towards the car. “Tell us what you’re worried about, and we’ll give you a lift home, OK?”

  The girl nodded and allowed herself to be led away. Helen felt her heart beating with excitement. The guv had been right. They were one step closer.

  “She is my friend.” Nalini said quietly. “Always helpful for me. I have only been in the UK a few months. She found me a place to live, where to get what I needed. Always kind. But she was unhappy, I knew.”

  “Why was she unhappy, Nalini?” Helen asked gently. Moran sat quietly and listened. No need to butt in for now; Helen was doing fine. He let his eyes wander around the tiny bedsit. Not much of a place for a young girl to make a life for herself, but then he found himself wondering what sort of life she had left behind.

  Nalini looked down at her hands. “Her family. They were always a problem for her.”

  “In what way?” Helen prompted.

  “She had a friend. A man. She liked him so much. But he was not like them. Like us.”

  “Did you meet this man?”

  Nalini nodded. “Yes. He used to come to the clinic to meet her. Mr Virjii was not happy about it. He told her brothers.” She looked up and combed her hair nervously with her fingers. “She lived with them, you see.”

  “And their names are?”

  “Atul. And–” Nalini hesitated, her eyes darting from side to side as if satisfying herself that no one was within earshot. “Jagdip,” she whispered the name so quietly Moran opened his mouth to ask her to say it again then thought better of it. Zip up, Brendan. So far so good...

  “I take it the brothers disapproved of this man? Of their sister having a relationship with him?”

  Nalini nodded. “They were angry. Used to come here and shout. One day the man was here, and they fought. They threw him out. It was horrible. Mr Virjii was also very angry with Jagdip for causing such a bad thing at the clinic.”

  “And what was Jaseena’s boyfriend’s name, Nalini?”

  “It was Simon, I think. I don’t know his last name. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s OK,” Helen smiled. “You’re being very helpful. Can you tell us when Jaseena went back to India? Did she leave suddenly?”

  Nalini chewed her lip. “She didn’t say anything to me. But we had arranged to do some cooking together. It was two weeks ago, and she never came to work that morning. No one will tell me where she is, but I don’t think they know.”

  Helen frowned. “Who doesn’t know? Mr Virjii?”

  “And Jagdip. He came here looking for her. Mr Virjii refused to let him into the clinic. There was a lot of shouting again.” Nalini began to sob, covering her face with her hands.

  Helen gave Moran a look. Atul had told them Jaseena was in Mumbai. Lie number two following lie number one. Not cousins, brother and sister.

  Helen took Nalini’s hand. “So, what you’re saying is that she just disappeared?”

  Nalini nodded. “I miss her. I’m worried that something has happened, but I’m not allowed to say anything.”

  “Mr Virjii told you to keep quiet?”

  Nalini shook her head. “No. Jagdip. He came here and said if I told anyone he would kill me. He didn’t want anyone else to know he was looking for her.” Nalini began to cry again and Helen shot Moran a look which said, ‘Leave this with me for a bit’.

  Moran took the cue and went outside. He dialled Charlie Pepper’s number and cursed under his breath as it went to voicemail again. Come on, Pepper. Where are you? Moran rapped his stick on the pavement in frustration; he wanted to be sure the chameleon-like Jagdip Ranandan – or Kumar, or Rana – was at home when he came calling.

  Chapter 19

  DI Charlie Pepper wasn’t the kind of girl who scared easily. At least, she hadn’t thought she was. She supposed it was an indication of how keyed up she’d been that she’d nearly jumped through the car roof when the llama had poked its head through the window.

  A herd of escaped llamas wasn’t the sort of eventuality she’d been prepared for, but the harassed farmhand had been pleasantly apologetic, explaining that a badly managed re-fencing project had given the herd the opportunity to explore pastures new. Still, her fright had been worthwhile in that she now knew who owned the farm and the surrounding land; it belonged to the Elm Grove Estate, a sprawling chunk of Thameside England owned by one Lord and Lady Emerson. Good landowners, the farmhand had told her, but they had their work cut out to maintain the estate in these days of austerity. Many of the buildings on and around the farm were rented to private tenants. It was all managed by the Estate Office – and yes, he could give Charlie their number.

  All in all, not a bad afternoon’s work, Charlie thought to herself as she followed the signs to Pangbourne and found herself back at the toll bridge. Her mobile played the first few notes of ‘Postcards from a Young Man’ by her favourite band, the Manic Street Preachers, which she interrupted with a brief tap on the iPhone’s loudspeaker icon.

  “DI Pepper.”

  “At last. Where have you been?” Moran’s Irish lilt was laced with irritation.

  “Long story, guv. Good news, though. The Kumars aren’t at home, but I know where they are.”

  “Not Kumars, nor Jaseena’s cousins either, DI Pepper. Brothers. Atul and Jagdip Ranandan. So, where are they?”

  Charlie briefed Moran and was told to get back to the squad room asap. He sounded different, and Charlie guessed why. She’d got used to recognising the vibe; it was an indefinable thing but unmistakeable nevertheless. You could hear it in a colleague’s voice, or just feel it in the air – that moment when a case finally begins to open up and reveal its secrets. Charlie put her foot down; no way was she going to miss any of the action...

  It was almost time. Simon Peters rinsed his face and inspected his reflection. The Kafir returned his gaze. A confident, assured young man, With a strong chin, dark brown eyes and an intelligent brow. Perhaps a touch of Slavic ancestry?

  The Kafir brushed his hair and wondered whether he ought to visit the barber. No. He rather liked his change of image. He had transformed himself from lean and smartly-presented professional to rakish, arty bohemian. He laughed aloud at the thought. But then the mirror shifted and blurred and Jag Ranandan’s mocking face appeared right in front of him, grinning, shaking his head dismissively. The Kafir smashed his fist into the bastard’s face. Shards of glass splintered and fell, tinkling into the basin. Blood dripped freely down the tiles.

  The Kafir felt no pain. It was time. Time to pay back Jag Ranandan for what he had done.

  He felt a sudden certainty that he was being watched. Had the mirror been a warning? Had Ranandan come for him? The Kafir went into his living room, fists raised, bloodied knuckles leaving a spotted trail on the carpet. No one. But he could feel a presence.

  “Who are you?” he shouted. “Show me who you are...” His head thumped with a steady, pulsing beat. He went from room to room – kitchen, living room, bathroom. His flat was empty.

  But he knew he was not alone.

  “OK. This is what we know.” Moran ticked off the first point on his forefinger. The congregated officers in the squad room fell silent.

  “Number one. The murder of DS Reed-Purvis is forensically linked to an Audi which we need to trace as a matter of urgency. Number two. The owner of this vehicle, a Ms Jaseena Ranandan, is missing. Number three. She is linked to a chiropractic clinic, which in turn is linked to a business card found in the Chalvey Merc. Tenuous, maybe, but a link nevertheless. Number four. DI Pepper has identified that Ms Ranandan’s brothers are up to no good,
and I have a pretty good idea what that is. We also know that there is a connection with a farm on the Emerson estate.”

  One of the officers gave a low whistle.

  “Yes, the Emerson estate. But the farm buildings are privately let, so it doesn’t necessarily mean that the estate owners are aware of – or responsible for – any dirty dealings, whatever they may be.”

  “There’s something else too” Moran went to the whiteboard and hovered his marker over Helen’s neat diagrams representing the Zodiac, the Chalvey house and Jaseena’s registered address. “DC Hill was given the name ‘Jag’ – or at least someone of this name was pointed out to him by the bar staff at the Zodiac.” He drew a connecting line between Chalvey and Jaseena’s house. “Earlier we met a young man at this address who identified himself as Atul Kumar and told us that Jaseena was his cousin. We’ve since checked the registration of the car parked in Mr Kumar’s drive, and the DVLA confirms that it’s registered to one Jagdip Ranandan.” He paused to let it all sink in.

  Moran stepped back a pace. “Right. Charlie, can you give us a quick rundown on your farm outing?”

  They listened in silence as Charlie recounted the conversation she had overheard in the granary. When she had finished, Helen McKellar raised her hand.

  “What sort of bust do you think they were talking about? It sounds druggie all right.”

  “It does.” Charlie shrugged. “But when, where and what are questions we can’t answer right now.”

  “Banner’s good with drugs,” someone said in a low voice.

  “Only if he’s got time to sleep them off.” Another officer grinned at Banner’s discomfort.

  “OK, that’s enough.” Moran raised his arm. “Action plan. Number one, we pay Mr and Mrs Dass a visit. I’ll take that. Number two, we stake out the farm and keep a close eye on developments. DS Banner, perhaps you or Helen can deal with that? Number three, we bring the Ranandan brothers in for questioning. Charlie and I will conduct the interview. For the rest of you, it’s all hands on deck to find that Audi. Any questions?”