Creatures of Dust

by Scott Hunter

  “Any news from forensics on the St James’ murder, guv?” Helen asked.

  “Somehow I have to fit in Father Jeffries’ autopsy this evening.” Moran passed his hand wearily across his forehead. “I’m sure Dr Bagri will come up trumps for us. He usually does. He’d better, or Airey’s going to take me to the cleaners when he gets back.”

  “Still think it’s related, guv?” DS Banner asked as the team disbanded noisily.

  Moran leaned on the nearest desk and cast his eye over the whiteboard for the umpteenth time. Four deaths, two suspects, a missing car, a missing woman, a fatal RTA And a forensically unforthcoming house in Chalvey. Moran suddenly felt overcome with exhaustion.

  “I don’t know, DS Banner. I just don’t know.”

  “It’s good of you to see me, Mr Dass.” Moran followed the tall Indian into a large family room which was occupied by two young girls Moran guessed to be in their twenties, one comforting a crying toddler, the other laying plates on a wide dining table. The peaceful domestic scene was presided over by a smiling old lady seated in a brightly patterned armchair.

  “My nieces, Daksha and Seema,” Mr Dass beamed. “My nephew, Rajeev. And my mother.” He bowed formally to the old lady. “This is Chief Inspector Moran. He has come to ask us about our poor boy. Do have a seat, Inspector.”

  Moran cleared his throat as Mr Dass fought back tears. “Thank you,” Moran said. “I won’t intrude on your time for very long.”

  “Anything which will help find out who did this terrible thing, I am happy to speak to you about,” Mr Dass said, bringing himself under control. “My mother has persuaded me that I must tell you everything we know which may help you. When your Sergeant Banner came before I was reticent, but this I now realise was wrong. Mother’s wisdom shall prevail.” Mr Dass’ mother inclined her head and made a quiet noise of affirmation. Mr Dass went to her side and she took his hand, squeezing it gently, reassuring her son. Moran was moved by this display of support and affection; to hide his discomposure he allowed himself to be distracted by the toddler at his feet, bent to accept a toy train the boy was holding up for inspection.

  “Ah, a train fan just like me. The best toys are the traditional ones, eh?” Moran smiled and patted the boy’s head.

  “True,” Mr Dass said. “And we are a traditional family. We try to do things right, don’t we, Navpreet?” He stiffened with pride as an attractive lady in her late forties entered bearing two trays of food.

  “Daksha, will you help me bring in the tea?” Mrs Dass gestured and the young girl followed her meekly out of the room, returning a few seconds later with a third tray on which rested a teapot, six cups, saucers and accompanying teaspoons.

  “Please, Inspector. Help yourself. My wife’s vegetable samosas are famous all over Slough.”

  Moran smiled and placed two of the delicacies onto his plate. “Thank you.” He pressed on quickly, wanting to get the interview under way. “First of all, let me say how sorry I am for your loss. My team and I are doing all we can to bring the culprit to justice, but I do need to ask you some personal questions. It will be hard, but there is no easy way through this, I’m afraid.”

  Mrs Dass nodded and glanced at her husband. “We understand, don’t we, Mahmood?”

  “And your mother–” Moran began.

  “She is family,” Mr Dass interrupted. “My mother is the head of our family now that my father has gone. She is very much a part of us.”

  “Very well,” Moran conceded. “Let’s make a start.”

  By the time he left the Dass’ household, his belt straining under the pressure of many samosas and an unwise second helping of chocolate cake, Moran had built up a clear mental picture of what had probably been going on. He felt buoyed up by the mention of Jagdip and his brother, Jayesh’s first cousins. Mr Dass had spoken of their profligacy, their bad influence on Anoop. They had had money, a great deal of money, but no discernable means of earning such large sums. Mr Dass had no regard for Jagdip’s claims to be a good businessman. He had suspected all along that they were crooks. He had warned Jayesh not to get involved, and still believed his son to be innocent of such involvement. His murder was unjustifiable, illogical. But Jagdip had the answers, of that Mr Dass was sure.

  At last Moran felt he had some ammunition with which to justify bringing the Ranandan brothers in for questioning at least. Moran would never have described his state of mind as light-hearted, but he felt a growing conviction that the metaphorical dark clouds were finally giving way to, if not blue sky, then at least the distant prospect of a warmer front.

  “So what do they call you oop north, then?” Banner mimicked a Midlands accent, badly. “Hot stoof?” He leaned back in his chair to watch for Charlie’s reaction, grinning like an idiot.

  “Don’t be more of a tosser than you’ve managed to be already, Banner,” Helen McKellar called over from her desk. “Why don’t you do something useful instead of trying to impress the new DI?”

  “Me?” Banner showed his palms. “It’s my natural tendency, that is.”

  “To be a tosser?” Helen raised her eyebrows.

  “Naw. Being impressive.” Banner scratched his cheek and burped loudly.

  “It’s OK, Helen.” Charlie stopped typing and looked up briefly. “Let DS Banner enjoy himself. Children need to wear themselves out before bedtime so they’re tired enough to sleep.”

  “Aha. Is that an offer?” Banner swivelled his chair towards Charlie’s desk.

  “You wish.” Charlie made a face and carried on sifting through the ANPR data. Now that the system was back up and running at full capacity it should be possible to check the entire Reading area during the timeframe before and after the Audi was spotted at the Tilehurst service station. And so far it was looking good: two matches, the first on the Tilehurst road, the second on the IDR. A third was yet to appear, if indeed there was a third. The Audi might have been parked up before it hit the next camera in the chain.

  She drummed her fingers on the desk. Another hit. London road. OK, it was heading out of town now, towards Cemetery Junction and the motorway.

  “Are you going to show me where this farm is or what?” Banner said. “I’ve got two DCs standing by, you know. At this rate it’ll be teatime before we get cracking.”

  “Don’t worry on my account, Sergeant,” Helen called across. “I’ve told Mummy I’ll be late for supper. Maybe you should call home too?”

  “I’m nearly done, Banner,” Charlie said distractedly. “Anyway, haven’t you got any big boys’ toys in your car to help you find the Emerson estate?”

  “Who told you I was a big boy?” Banner smirked.

  “Who indeed.” Charlie muttered under her breath. At that instant the data mining query completed. “That’s it,” Charlie flushed with excitement. “No trace at the Thames Valley Park roundabouts or the Wokingham road.”

  “So what?” Banner got up and sauntered over.

  “So, the Audi disappears somewhere between the King’s Road and Cemetery Junction.”

  “Sounds like a possible Mandela Court destination to me.” Helen had joined them at Charlie’s desk. “That’s Reading’s drug capital,” she explained for Charlie’s benefit. “Not much space for integral garages around there, though. How about council renteds?”

  “I’ll take a look.” Banner returned to his desk. A minute later he was back with a printout. “Gayles Road. Eight lock-ups in a row.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Charlie got up and pulled her jacket over her shoulders. “Come on, Sergeant; you can protect me with your big strong baton.”

  Banner’s mouth opened and closed as he groped for a suitable riposte, but Charlie was already half way across the office. He shrugged and grabbed his jacket. There was only one thing worse than a clever woman, and that was two clever women.

  A crowd of bored teenagers watched listlessly as Charlie and Banner parked up and began their garage inspection. One, the self-styled gang leader, took it upon himself
to shout insults as they worked, egged on by his mates. After a minute or so Banner lost his patience and silenced the boy with a look and his ID card.

  The first two garages drew a blank: one empty, the next occupied by a green Vauxhall Zafira. The next in line was padlocked.

  Charlie turned to Banner. “Would you oblige me with a show of strength, Sergeant?”

  Banner flashed Charlie a cynical smile and went to the boot of the car, returning with a heavy socket wrench. The padlock disintegrated at the first blow. He heaved the aluminium door up on its pivot.

  Charlie’s heart thumped with elation. “Bingo,” she said to the Audi. “You are one beautiful sight.”

  Chapter 20

  “Surprise surprise,” Charlie muttered. “No one home.”

  Moran shaded his eyes and peered through the front room window. “Uh huh, but it does give us the chance to have a little look-see.”

  “Without a warrant, guv?”

  “If you don’t tell on me, I won’t tell on you.” Moran beckoned and made for the side gate. An untended garden lay at the rear of the house, which had been extended by the addition of a small conservatory. “Good,” Moran said, taking out his handkerchief.

  “Guv...” Charlie watched uncomfortably as Moran muffled a conservatory window pane and broke it with a sharp tap of his stick.

  “Splendid.” Moran reached in, turned the key and pulled the door open. “Shall we, DI Pepper?”

  “But guv–”

  “They know we’re calling, so they won’t be coming back for a while, am I right?”

  “I suppose.”

  Charlie followed Moran, her nostrils twitching at the smell of stale cannabis and spice. The house was ordered and tidy, as if the brothers had had a housework blitz following their earlier visit. Which they probably had.

  Charlie went into the lounge. There was nothing out of place. She caught a movement at the front of the house. Someone was in the drive, taking photographs.

  “Hey!” She went to the window and struggled with the catch. By the time she had got it open the photographer had stepped into a car, which pulled away with a screech of tyres.

  Moran joined her. “What was all that about?”

  “I have no idea, guv. Press?”

  Moran shook his head. “Unlikely. They’ve been fed enough scraps to keep out of our way for the time being. They have no reason to connect anything to the Ranandans.” Moran’s mobile went off. “Excuse me.”

  Charlie watched Moran’s face cloud over. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.” He pocketed the phone and made for the conservatory. “Come on. This’ll have to wait.”

  “Problem, guv?” Charlie followed, perplexed.

  “Looks that way.” Moran cursed as he opened the back gate and stumbled over a loose pile of bricks. He straightened up. “That was my neighbour. Apparently my house is crawling with policemen. She thought I’d like to know.”

  Moran’s heart sank as he recognised not only Sheldrake but also Mike Airey standing at a respectable distance from the comings and goings in and out of his front door. A gaggle of squad cars were parked outside, blue lights flashing. What had happened? Sheldrake saw him coming and called over two uniformed officers.

  “This is DCI Moran.” Sheldrake nodded to the uniforms, and shoving Charlie Pepper to one side in bewildered obedience, they took up position on either side of Moran, a hand on each shoulder.

  Moran tried to shrug them off but felt their grip tighten. He appealed to Mike Airey.

  “Sir, what on earth–”

  “You won’t be surprised at how disappointed I am, Brendan. But I suppose that temptation is always there, even for someone of your vintage.” Airey shook his head and exchanged a complicit look with Sheldrake.

  “This is nonsense.” Moran tried not to raise his voice. Charlie Pepper, he noticed with satisfaction, wore a loyal frown of indignation. “Whatever you think has happened, this is absolute nonsense, sir.”

  But Airey’s attention had been diverted by the rapid approach of Sheldrake’s DS, Sharron Flynn. “Another bag in the spare room, sir,” she announced, beaming with pleasure.

  “Is there. Is there really.” Airey turned to Sheldrake for confirmation and received a hard nod in return.

  “I knew you were up to no good, Moran,” Sheldrake said. “No wonder you’ve been dragging your feet.”

  “Will someone please explain what the hell’s going on?” Moran was angry now, really angry. He had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was going on: he’d been stitched up. Big time. The evening was warm and Moran felt sweat trickle down his collar. Along the street he saw householders gathering at their front doors waiting to devour the scandalous events that were apparently taking place on their doorstep.

  “Heroin is what’s going on,” Sheldrake stuck his face in Moran’s. “The haul you got from a Mercedes. An RTA, remember? The one you neglected to tell me about. Now I know why. It all makes sense.”

  It was all making sense to Moran as well. The open front door. Someone had been in his house. He turned to Charlie.

  “I’m being framed. This is a complete stitch-up.”

  Charlie was looking at DS Flynn with an expression of concentration, as though she was trying to remember something important. She gave Moran a short, distracted nod. “’Course it is, guv.”

  Sheldrake laughed flatly. “You won’t get out of this one, Moran, whether your lot believe you’re innocent or not.”

  “You’ll be taken into custody, DCI Moran, pending a thorough investigation.” Mike Airey nodded stiffly to Sheldrake and walked briskly away towards a waiting car. Moran was bundled into a squad car, watched helplessly by Charlie Pepper.

  As they drove off Moran sat quietly and tried to gather his thoughts. The heroin had been taken from the evidence room. Which had been under lock and key. The keys were held by DS Banner. He trusted Banner; He was inclined to be a little impulsive, maybe, but sound enough when the chips were down. Moran felt his head throbbing and a heaviness creeping over him. Somehow this was Sheldrake’s doing. And somehow he had to prove it.

  “He’s been what?” Banner’s face was comical as he tried to take in the implications of Charlie’s announcement.

  “You heard, Banner,” Helen replied tersely.

  “Why?”

  “Because someone planted two bags of heroin in his house and tapped up Sheldrake, that’s how.”

  “You are kidding.” Banner got to his feet, knowing what the next question was liable to be.

  “You have the evidence room key?” Charlie asked.

  “You know I do,” the DS snapped. “And I haven’t let anyone else have access either, before you ask.”

  “All right, Banner, calm down. No one’s accusing you of anything. Let’s go and check it out.”

  Five minutes later Charlie reconvened the team. “OK, listen carefully. The guv has been stitched up. Someone took the H from this station and planted it in Moran’s spare room. Obviously he can’t help right now, so we sort it out. I take it no one thinks he’s guilty?”

  There was a general shaking of heads. Someone at the back of the room said ‘No way’ to accompanying murmurs of agreement.

  “We’re all on the same page, then,” Charlie said. “So, come on – let’s have some suggestions. How did whoever get in and out of the evidence room carrying two bags of class A drugs and manage to avoid detection.”

  Banner had a secretive, rather pleased look about him. Charlie cocked her head. “Well, DS Banner? Share your thoughts, do.”

  Banner waited until he had everyone’s full attention. “The heroin was security marked with UV security paste. Anyone who touched it will show up like a night out in Chernobyl.”

  “Well, good. That’s a start.” Charlie lowered her voice. “But I’d still like to know how someone got in there without authorisation.” She paused, making sure she had their attention. “Now, listen. What I’m about to say goes no further than this room, OK?”

/>   A ripple of curiosity circulated, dissipating with Charlie’s raised hand. “You’ll all be aware that I trailed the Ranandans to a farm on the Emerson estate. They were met by a woman. I didn’t get a look at her face, but I know her voice. It was DS Sharron Flynn, and I don’t think she was on duty.”

  There was a swell of protest and muttered refutes. Charlie raised her hand again and eventually the room fell silent. “Now I also know DS Flynn is working undercover on the Kestrel team, but what I heard at the farm makes me deeply suspicious of her motives. She was talking about a ‘bust’, as she called it. Obviously she was referring to what’s just happened to the guv. She knew what was going down.”

  “How do we approach her?” Helen McKellar asked. “We can’t just pull her in for questioning.”

  “And she’ll have covered her tracks,” DC Harding observed. “She’ll have worn gloves, taken every precaution. If it was her.”

  “Well, we’ll have to be thorough then, won’t we, DC Harding?” Charlie was thinking hard. Harding was right; If Flynn was the culprit she had all the odds stacked in her favour. Charlie racked her brains trying to remember all that had been said in the farm granary. Was there any weakness she could exploit, any knowledge she had gained by eavesdropping on the conversation with the Ranandan brothers?

  As if reading her mind, Banner asked: “Still want us to check out the farm?” The DS raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes. Take Helen and keep me in touch. And for goodness sake keep out of sight.” Charlie ran a hand through her thick hair. “No, wait. I’ll get uniform to stake it out. I can’t afford to have you two out of the picture right now. We need to get something on Flynn, or eliminate her from the list; either way, asap.” Charlie pursed her lips. “DS Phelps is able to receive visitors, isn’t he? The guv mentioned that Phelps found out a bit about Flynn from a mate in OCG. DC Harding, can you and Helen pop into the RBH and have a quick word, see if he has any suggestions?”