Falling (Inspector Walter Darriteau cases Book 10)

by David Carter

  Yours faithfully,

  Banaghan Construction PLC.

  An ordinary purchase order for vital supplies, maybe for whatever job Banaghan Construction was working on next. Or was it? These goods to be purchased on the same terms as last month. But what were the terms?

  The police knew Banaghan put pressure on suppliers to deliver goods at knock down rates, or better. Was this stuff being supplied for free, and if so, what pressure was being placed on Sheldon to deliver with no hope of getting paid? If Walter had his way, he’d take a trip over to the coast to find out.

  Vairs came back, mug of half drunk cold coffee in hand.

  ‘How’s it going, code-breaker extraordinaire?’

  ‘Three outgoing pieces of correspondence; and two of them are vaguely interesting.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve done?’

  Walter turned and stared up at Vairs.

  ‘It takes longer than you think, sarge, and it’s important we get it right.’

  ‘Show me what you’ve found.’

  Walter handed him the translations. Vairs read the letters. It was true they were kind of interesting, though it wasn’t what he’d hoped for.

  ‘I hope there’s more than that to come.’

  ‘We’ll see, won’t we? It would be much faster if there were two of us on this. Any chance you could write the letters if I read them off?’

  ‘No way! I’m far too busy to muck about with that,’ and there was a brief pause as Vairs went into thinking mode, before he said, ‘I know, I’ll get that WPC slapper up here. She can help you. But you keep your dirty hands off her. She’s reserved, she’s gonna be mine.’

  ‘Does she know?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  At that moment the girl came back into the room. Vairs spotted her, handing out paperwork to one of the young ’tecs.

  ‘Stella!’ called Vairs.

  She looked across and smiled.

  ‘Are you busy?’ he asked, beckoning her over.

  ‘Always busy, sarge, you know that.’

  ‘We need a hand with something.’

  ‘Don’t you always?’ she mumbled under her breath, as she ambled over.

  Walter had seen her about but didn’t know her. Tumbling auburn hair tied up under her cap, and big bazookas, as Vairs described her whenever she was absent. Walter nodded in recognition, and she smiled back.

  Vairs said, ‘My young man here needs some help translating letters. He’ll show you what he wants doing. But we need to get it done pronto. Grab a seat and Darriteau will show you what he needs,’ and Vairs made to move away, but paused and added, ‘And watch yourself, Stella, he’s a young lech on the quiet!’

  Walter grimaced and shook his head. Stella was unmoved, as Vairs laughed, threw on his raincoat, and left the office.

  ‘Pay no attention to him,’ she said, or WPC S. Hollyoak, to give her her official title, as she and Walter shared another look.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Walter, ‘not really,’ smiling, as they sat together, and read out and wrote everything the blonde in Banaghan’s office had typed over the past couple of weeks.

  Fifteen

  In George Gornall’s office the inquisition of the probationer began. Things had gone well and Gornall didn’t want anything to mess with that.

  The man to Gornall’s right took the floor, Senior Warden, Douglas Fisher. He breathed out heavy and said, ‘Are you employed, Mr Morrell?’

  ‘I am, sir, yes.’

  ‘And what do you do?’

  ‘I run a transport company.’

  ‘Heavy goods?’

  ‘Yes, British and Continental.’

  ‘And it pays well?’

  ‘I do all right,’ he said, struggling to contain a grin.

  ‘And you are aware of the 5% salary levy payable to the Brotherhood, starting tomorrow, should you be accepted?’

  ‘I am, indeed.’

  ‘And I presume you are happy to accept that?’

  ‘Yes, most definitely. I admire your work and wish to support and partake in it in any way I can.’

  ‘And you have children?’

  ‘I do, sir, yes, a boy and a girl.’

  ‘And what age are they?’

  ‘Eighteen and nineteen.’

  ‘And you are close?’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘And you’d be distraught if any misfortune might befall either of them?’

  ‘Of course! They are everything to me, and I would do anything to protect them, just as any decent parent would.’

  ‘Quite. Thank you, that is all from me.’

  A man sitting next to one of the Inner Guards, second from the end, caught the Worshipful Master’s eye. Gornall nodded him on.

  He stood up and said, ‘Can you explain how you came to know this Shane Fellday character?’

  ‘I can, sir. He was the supplier of filth to my daughter, Haley.’

  ‘I see. Your daughter was a drug addict?’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Fourteen months.’

  ‘And Shane Fellday sold her illegal drugs?’

  ‘He did, all the time. He was her chief supplier; though no doubt there will have been others.’

  ‘Is she still addicted?’

  ‘No, thank goodness.’

  ‘And how did she kick the habit?’

  ‘I managed to get her into a clinic. She was there two months; it cost a small fortune, but worth every penny.’

  ‘And she is clean and well now?’

  ‘That’s correct, I’m pleased to say.’

  ‘Did you tell the police about this?’

  ‘I did, several times.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  Greg shifted from one foot to the other, and for the first time looked uneasy.

  ‘Not a lot. You know how it is. People like Fellday are always being arrested. There are too many of them to deal with, and they are never short of cash. When necessary, they recruit good lawyers who are eager to take their money, and they put forward all the usual excuses. You know the tripe: He came from a broken home, he was abused as a child by a wicked stepfather, and that left him with issues. His peers talked him into taking drugs, and that’s how he became an addict. He only ever sold small quantities just to live and get by, et cetera, and all he needs now is to be given a chance in life by a cold society that has left him behind. All of which are blatant and utter lies, and plain excuses. When he is summoned to court he’s always fined, and ten minutes later he’s out again, sniggering on the court steps, looking to make a sale, laughing at me, and laughing at every one of us.’

  ‘Did you ever think of taking matters into your own hand?’

  ‘By killing him, you mean?’

  The questioner pulled a face and said, ‘If you want to put it that way.’

  ‘All the time! I mean, constantly.’

  ‘But you didn’t take it any further. Why was that?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison, away from my son, and especially my daughter, who has just come back into my life. It wasn’t me who’d brought this evil amongst us, so why should I be the one to pay?’

  ‘Then it wasn’t through a lack of courage?’

  That stumped Greg for a second, before he recovered and said, ‘No, I don’t think so. I hope not, though it’s not easy to kill a man.’

  ‘And you thought we might help you?’

  ‘From what I understand, sir, we are all like-minded citizens here. I guess I was hoping for guidance, support, and advice as to how best solve my problem, and the problem countless other local parents are experiencing and will experience, so long as this man continues to trade, unhindered and unchecked.’

  ‘One last question, Mr Morrell. How did you discover the existence of the Brotherhood?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy. I was approached by one of your own.’

  ‘Really? By a person here present?’

  ‘That is correct.’


  ‘And which person would that be?’

  Greg Morrell caught the eye of the Worshipful Master and said, ‘Is it in order to answer that question, sir?’

  George nodded and said, ‘Of course.’

  Greg turned back to the inquisitor and said, ‘By the Worshipful Master, himself.’

  All eyes turned his way.

  Gornall kept a stony face, and after a long minute said, ‘I have known Gregory Morrell for over ten years. We have done much business together, and he has always acted in the most correct and honourable manner. In passing conversations, I became aware of his recent trials and tribulations, and deemed him worthy of consideration. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘Thank you, Worshipful Master, for clarifying that. I am finished here,’ and the questioner pursed his lips, jotted notes, and sat down.

  George Gornall scanned the horseshoe. It seemed questions had dried up, and he liked that. He turned back to the man on the box, Gregory Morrell, and said, ‘This is the last moment where you may change your mind without penalty. From this point on, if you proceed, you will be bound by all the Brotherhood’s strict rules, laws, benefits, and penalties. Do you understand and accept?’

  ‘I do, Worshipful Master.’

  Gornall nodded and said, ‘You will remove your jacket, tie, shirt, and vest. Guards!’

  The two IG’s stood up and approached the probationer. Morrell removed his jacket and handed it to the first guard, undid his tie, passed that over, removed his shirt and vest and gave those to the second IG, and the clothing was taken away to a clothes stand in the corner in seconds.

  Greg stood high before them, naked to the waist, confident without being cocky, with his hands linked behind his back. He looked good too, and at least nine men present envied his rippling body and narrow waist.

  ‘The rope!’ said the WM, and a thick new rope, pre-prepared with a noose at one end, was produced and brought towards the polished timber dais.

  One of the guards snapped, ‘Kneel down!’

  Gregory knelt.

  The noose was placed over his head to the neck and tightened to be uncomfortable. A man who had not spoken before, halfway along the horseshoe, stood up. Everyone called him the Chap. The Brotherhood Chaplain, a man with a singsong voice.

  ‘Repeat after me,’ he said, ‘I, Gregory Ames Morrell, swear before Almighty God,’ and Greg spoke, his clear words flowing through the room, ‘that I will never reveal any secrets learnt in my time with the Brotherhood,’ words repeated without hesitation, ‘under pain of the death of my children.’

  That was a harder thing to sanction, but agree to it he must, and he did. But they weren’t finished.

  The Chap again: ‘I agree that I will carry out all and any tasks issued to me by the Brotherhood, without delay, obfuscation, or question, to the best of my ability.’

  That was an easier one to endorse.

  ‘And, furthermore, I agree to faithfully serve the Quindecim Society and Devantic Brotherhood until my dying day.’

  It was a bit of a mouthful, but Greg stuck with it, making his way to the end without a gaff.

  ‘So help me, God.’

  The Chap looked satisfied, exchanged a look with Gornall, and sat down.

  The WM nodded at the guards and said, ‘The probationer will be turned round, facing away, and his socks removed. He must not under any circumstances witness the vote. If he makes any effort to turn and observe who is voting, and how, he will immediately be disqualified and thrown from the building. Guards: Be observant!’

  They nodded in unison, grabbed Morrell, and roughly swivelled him round until he was facing the door, unable to see another soul. It would have been so tempting to glance over his shoulder, as he recalled the story from Sunday School from years ago, of Lot’s wife who glanced back, and paid the penalty. It might have been a pillar of salt for her, but for Greg, the penalty would be far worse.

  Gornall’s voice boomed through the room.

  ‘If he turns and looks, he is, without delay, to be dispatched, and his children hunted down.’

  Gregory Morrell tightened his body rigid and stared at the light oak door, determined to see it through. In the next second, the voting began.

  Sixteen

  At one minute to eight, Eamonn Banaghan pulled his Audi Quattro round the corner and motored up to the Jolly Roger pub. Suzanne Meade was waiting outside, her blonde hair shining like a beacon under the streetlight. He stopped the car, reached over, and flipped the passenger door open.

  The girl jumped in and said, ‘Drive!’

  ‘And how is Miss Meade today?’

  ‘Much better than I was, thank you. I’ve finally shaken off the cold.’

  ‘That’s good. Where do you fancy going?’

  ‘I have no idea. I’ll leave that to you, but make sure it’s well out of town.’

  Eamonn nodded and pointed the car westward, heading for Hammersmith and Richmond, and Sunbury-on-Thames beyond.

  He said, ‘Have you told anyone you’re meeting me?’

  ‘Of course not! You haven’t, have you?’

  ‘No, not a living soul knows I’m with you, or where we are going.’

  ‘Good. Let’s keep it that way.’

  ‘You look great, by the way. Love the outfit.’

  She glanced down at her maroon figure-hugging dress. She did look good in it, everyone said so, and that gave her a buzz and all the confidence in the world.

  He took her to a small Italian restaurant in Sunbury called Lino’s. There were only ten other people in the place. After checking them out and seeing they didn’t know a soul, they relaxed and enjoyed their dinner, easy in each other’s company, as they knew they would be.

  ‘Maybe this could be the first step in reconciling our families,’ suggested Suzanne.

  Eamonn nodded once and said, ‘Count me in; I can’t be doing with all the constant hassle.’

  ‘What do you think started it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I reckon it goes back to when your dad and my dad were young. But what started it, I have no idea. Dad’s never too keen to talk about the old days.’

  Suzanne grinned and said, ‘My dad’s exactly the same, won’t talk about it, changes the subject whenever I try.’

  ‘Maybe it was over women,’ suggested Eamonn, smirking.

  ‘I don’t think so, dad’s devoted to mum.’

  ‘Mine is too, funny that.’

  ‘Perhaps we should bang their heads together, bring them to their senses.’

  ‘Good idea, though sad to say, I don’t see it happening any time soon.’

  ‘What do you do for Sunday lunch?’

  Eamonn wondered if she was suggesting meeting up, but that was out of the question.

  ‘Don’t mention Sunday lunch,’ he said, smirking. ‘Dad’s a stickler for that, too. It’s a big family event. Everyone attends on pain of death.’

  ‘How weird, mine’s the same. We sit down at one o’clock and woe betide anyone who’s not there.’

  ‘Same again, same here. That is weird. We’re so alike. He’s angry enough about this weekend as it is.’

  ‘Why, what about?’

  ‘Oh, something and nothing.’

  ‘Go on, do tell, come on Eamonn, we must share things if we are to become a proper couple.’

  ‘Eilish, my younger sister, she’s twenty-one, she’s not going to be there on Sunday.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Fallen in love, hasn’t she? The dope.’

  ‘Lucky girl. Who with?’

  ‘That’s half the problem, Toby Seaton-May.’

  ‘Highfaluting sounding name.’

  ‘Highfaluting sounding guy, and that’s not the half of it. Would you believe the bloke’s the heir to the seat of the Earl of St Albans?’

  ‘Really? How the heck did she meet him?’

  ‘Stringfellows. Toby’s besotted, can’t do enough for her. He invited her to the family pile for the weekend. Of course dad hate
s the idea. But Mum is intrigued and attracted by the name, and potential title. I think she has ideas that one of her brood could become a countess, or whatever an earl’s wife is called.’

  Suzanne giggled and said, ‘I hope she knows how lucky she is. I wish I could find an aristocrat. The best I can do is a hairy-arsed builder.’

  Eamonn’s mouth opened as he stared across the table.

  ‘Don’t be cheeky! I think you’ve had too much to drink. And I’m not a builder, I’m a construction consultant... and it’s not hairy in that direction, either.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for that,’ said Suzanne, laughing and finishing her Babycham.

  The meal went well and time zoomed by.

  She glanced at her watch and said, ‘It’s ten o’clock. I have to be in by eleven, we’ll have to get moving or we’ll never get back.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ he teased, ‘I’d forgotten you are only seventeen and have to be in bed early.’

  ‘Come on, pig-brain,’ she said, ‘age has nothing to do with it. Finish your coffee and let’s get going.’

  Forty-five minutes later, he pulled the car to a standstill outside the Jolly Roger.

  ‘I don’t like dropping you here, alone.’

  ‘We agreed, Eamonn, we mustn’t be seen together.’

  ‘I know, but it doesn’t feel right. When will I see you again?’

  ‘Same time, same place, next week.’

  ‘A whole week! Can’t we do better than that?’

  ‘No. I’m sure you’ll survive without me. You think of somewhere nice to take me, and maybe next week we can plan something else as well,’ and she grabbed her bag and made to get out of the car.

  He reached across and took hold of her arm, dragged her back and kissed her. It was good, too. Better than good. Loads better. Better than it had ever been before.

  ‘I must go.’

  ‘Behave yourself, see you next week,’ and a moment later she was out of the car and gone.

  Seventeen

  The next morning in Chelsea, Walter was still working with Stella on the translations. They’d almost finished. Lots of mundane letters and internal memos, but amongst the general correspondence were one or two titbits that could be interesting, depending on how they were interpreted.