The Solomon Gray Series Box Set

by Keith Nixon

  “I want to talk alone,” said Harwood. He pointed at Gray. “Just with you.”

  “Sir?” said Worthington.

  “Wait outside please, Jerry,” said Gray. Worthington withdrew, closing the door behind him. Harwood resumed his pacing again. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  Harwood ignored Gray’s suggestion but paused to chew a cuticle. “Where’s Jackie?”

  “In a cell. She’s been arrested for attempted assault. According to her record it’s not the first time she’s been locked up for threatening behaviour.”

  “She has a temper on her,” admitted Harwood. “The Social have my kids?”

  “Nobody knew where you were.”

  “I was having a few beers.” Harwood ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s all going to shit.” He flopped down into a chair.

  “Parker’s been stabbed.”

  “I know.”

  “So what’s this about, Mr Harwood?”

  “You aren’t taping me, right?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “What about the CCTV?” Harwood nodded at the camera in the angle where ceiling met wall.

  “It isn’t turned on.”

  “Good, ’cos I ain’t going on record. If you want to tape what I say, I’m out.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “Okay.” Harwood nodded, more to himself than Gray. “Somebody got to Parker.”

  “Clearly.”

  “No, I mean he was shut up. He knew things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oakley. The kid who got stabbed.” He paused. “Parker knew who did it.”

  “Do you?”

  “No. He wouldn’t say and I didn’t want him to tell me. He called me the night before he was knifed. He was in a right state.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Just what I told you, that he was shitting himself about getting shanked. He’d been warned.”

  “By who?”

  “Dunno.” Harwood shrugged. “Like I said, the less information I had the better. Safer.”

  Gray decided there wasn’t any more to get from Harwood about Parker. “A few months ago you reported a phone stolen.”

  Harwood frowned. “Can’t remember.”

  “I’ve got a report that says you did.” Gray read out the phone number.

  “Yeah, that’s mine; I thought I’d lost it. There was no credit on the SIM anyway.”

  “And you haven’t seen it since?”

  “I told you, no.”

  “Why did you report it stolen?”

  “Claim on the insurance, of course.”

  “We believe the phone was used immediately after Oakley’s murder.”

  “I’ve got an alibi. You can’t fix that on me.”

  “Nobody’s attempting to do so, but anything you can remember might be a help.”

  Harwood thought for a few moments but eventually shook his head. “No, man, nothing’s coming back.”

  Gray sat down opposite Harwood and considered his next step. “Ray Ingham, he’s a friend of yours, right?”

  Harwood pulled a face. “He’s a tosser.”

  “You grew up together. You hang out with the same people.”

  “We were friends, then he turned on me.”

  “How?”

  Harwood shook his head, looked down at his feet. “He was shagging Jackie. They’re over now, but it’s hard to forget, you know?”

  “When we were searching your flat you said the baby wasn’t yours. Is she…”

  Harwood brought his eyes up to Gray’s. It seemed like he was about to cry. “Ingham’s? Yeah. And he doesn’t know. That’s the one decent thing Jackie didn’t do, telling everybody on the estate.”

  There was a brief knock at the door before it opened sharply. Gray was about to shout at Worthington for the interruption but it was Fowler. He glanced past Gray to Harwood before he said, “Can I have a word when you’re done, sir?”

  “We’ll be another few minutes yet.”

  “That works. Sorry to intrude.” Fowler withdrew.

  Gray returned his attention to Harwood. He’d shrunk back into his seat, his face the colour of cheap white paint.

  “I’m off,” said Harwood. He leapt up, made to pass Gray who stood also.

  Gray put a hand out, grabbed Harwood’s forearm. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, I just want to get my kids.” But he was lying. He was shaking with fear.

  “We’re not done yet. Who do you think took your phone?” Harwood didn’t answer. “Was it Ingham?”

  “No way, I wouldn’t have him inside the flat for the last year.”

  Gray considered this. As the mobile went missing a matter of weeks ago it couldn’t have been Ingham. “Unless Jackie was letting him in behind your back?”

  “Believe me, I’d have known. I’ve eyes on them both. We’re done here.”

  Gray released Harwood. There was nothing he could do to stop Harwood leaving. “Thanks for your help.” He opened the door. Worthington was outside. “Can you take Mr Parker to the front desk. He needs to get in touch with Social.”

  “No problem,” said Worthington.

  Then Gray went looking for Fowler. He didn’t have to go far because a few yards along through a set of glass double doors Fowler was leaning against the corridor wall beside the entrance to the gent’s bathroom. He was clearly waiting for Gray.

  “What do you want, Mike?” asked Gray.

  Fowler didn’t answer, entering the bathroom instead. Gray followed, wondering what the hell was going on. Leaning over a sink, Fowler had his back turned to Gray. He started a tap, pushed soap from a dispenser into his palm. Gray watched him in the smoky mirror fixed to the wall above the sink.

  “Mike,” repeated Gray.

  “Parker’s dead. He passed away a half hour ago.”

  “Christ.” Gray would have to call the prison governor, have a talk with her. “But that could have waited. Did you have to interrupt my conversation with Harwood?”

  “It was necessary.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need to leave this, Sol,” said Fowler over the sound of flowing water. He rubbed his hands together under the stream.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Fowler glanced up into the mirror above the sink, met Gray’s eyes. He turned off the tap, shook excess water from his hands before shifting to the hand towel dispenser, pulling a couple out and slowly drying his hands. He dropped them into the waste bin before turning his full attention to Gray.

  Without warning, Fowler leapt forward, catching Gray off guard. Gray’s back hit the wall with a thud, Fowler’s forearm up under his chin, pressing into his neck.

  “Don’t start digging into the Parker case, Sol,” snarled Fowler. “He’s just a druggie. If you keep on going you’re not going to like what you find.”

  “Fuck off, Mike.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” Fowler released Gray. “I’ll see you later.” Fowler left, leaving Gray standing in the bathroom.

  Thirty Four

  Now

  When Gray and Worthington entered the interview room, Harwood stopped pacing and looked them over. He was wearing the same tracksuit combination as the previous time Gray had seen him, unless Harwood was like Mark Zuckerberg and Steve Jobs, simply owning a multiple of the same clothing for straightforward decision making. Somehow Gray doubted it.

  “I want to talk alone,” said Harwood. He pointed at Gray. “Just with you.”

  “Sir?” said Worthington.

  “Wait outside please, Jerry,” said Gray. Worthington withdrew, closing the door behind him. Harwood resumed his pacing again. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  Harwood ignored Gray’s suggestion but paused to chew a cuticle. “Where’s Jackie?”

  “In a cell. She’s been arrested for attempted assault. According to her record it’s not the first time she’s been locked up for threatening behaviour.”

  “
She has a temper on her,” admitted Harwood. “The Social have my kids?”

  “Nobody knew where you were.”

  “I was having a few beers.” Harwood ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s all going to shit.” He flopped down into a chair.

  “Parker’s been stabbed.”

  “I know.”

  “So what’s this about, Mr Harwood?”

  “You aren’t taping me, right?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “What about the CCTV?” Harwood nodded at the camera in the angle where ceiling met wall.

  “It isn’t turned on.”

  “Good, ’cos I ain’t going on record. If you want to tape what I say, I’m out.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “Okay.” Harwood nodded, more to himself than Gray. “Somebody got to Parker.”

  “Clearly.”

  “No, I mean he was shut up. He knew things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oakley. The kid who got stabbed.” He paused. “Parker knew who did it.”

  “Do you?”

  “No. He wouldn’t say and I didn’t want him to tell me. He called me the night before he was knifed. He was in a right state.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Just what I told you, that he was shitting himself about getting shanked. He’d been warned.”

  “By who?”

  “Dunno.” Harwood shrugged. “Like I said, the less information I had the better. Safer.”

  Gray decided there wasn’t any more to get from Harwood about Parker. “A few months ago you reported a phone stolen.”

  Harwood frowned. “Can’t remember.”

  “I’ve got a report that says you did.” Gray read out the phone number.

  “Yeah, that’s mine; I thought I’d lost it. There was no credit on the SIM anyway.”

  “And you haven’t seen it since?”

  “I told you, no.”

  “Why did you report it stolen?”

  “Claim on the insurance, of course.”

  “We believe the phone was used immediately after Oakley’s murder.”

  “I’ve got an alibi. You can’t fix that on me.”

  “Nobody’s attempting to do so, but anything you can remember might be a help.”

  Harwood thought for a few moments but eventually shook his head. “No, man, nothing’s coming back.”

  Gray sat down opposite Harwood and considered his next step. “Ray Ingham, he’s a friend of yours, right?”

  Harwood pulled a face. “He’s a tosser.”

  “You grew up together. You hang out with the same people.”

  “We were friends, then he turned on me.”

  “How?”

  Harwood shook his head, looked down at his feet. “He was shagging Jackie. They’re over now, but it’s hard to forget, you know?”

  “When we were searching your flat you said the baby wasn’t yours. Is she…”

  Harwood brought his eyes up to Gray’s. It seemed like he was about to cry. “Ingham’s? Yeah. And he doesn’t know. That’s the one decent thing Jackie didn’t do, telling everybody on the estate.”

  There was a brief knock at the door before it opened sharply. Gray was about to shout at Worthington for the interruption but it was Fowler. He glanced past Gray to Harwood before he said, “Can I have a word when you’re done, sir?”

  “We’ll be another few minutes yet.”

  “That works. Sorry to intrude.” Fowler withdrew.

  Gray returned his attention to Harwood. He’d shrunk back into his seat, his face the colour of cheap white paint.

  “I’m off,” said Harwood. He leapt up, made to pass Gray who stood also.

  Gray put a hand out, grabbed Harwood’s forearm. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, I just want to get my kids.” But he was lying. He was shaking with fear.

  “We’re not done yet. Who do you think took your phone?” Harwood didn’t answer. “Was it Ingham?”

  “No way, I wouldn’t have him inside the flat for the last year.”

  Gray considered this. As the mobile went missing a matter of weeks ago it couldn’t have been Ingham. “Unless Jackie was letting him in behind your back?”

  “Believe me, I’d have known. I’ve eyes on them both. We’re done here.”

  Gray released Harwood. There was nothing he could do to stop Harwood leaving. “Thanks for your help.” He opened the door. Worthington was outside. “Can you take Mr Parker to the front desk. He needs to get in touch with Social.”

  “No problem,” said Worthington.

  Then Gray went looking for Fowler. He didn’t have to go far because a few yards along through a set of glass double doors Fowler was leaning against the corridor wall beside the entrance to the gent’s bathroom. He was clearly waiting for Gray.

  “What do you want, Mike?” asked Gray.

  Fowler didn’t answer, entering the bathroom instead. Gray followed, wondering what the hell was going on. Leaning over a sink, Fowler had his back turned to Gray. He started a tap, pushed soap from a dispenser into his palm. Gray watched him in the smoky mirror fixed to the wall above the sink.

  “Mike,” repeated Gray.

  “Parker’s dead. He passed away a half hour ago.”

  “Christ.” Gray would have to call the prison governor, have a talk with her. “But that could have waited. Did you have to interrupt my conversation with Harwood?”

  “It was necessary.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need to leave this, Sol,” said Fowler over the sound of flowing water. He rubbed his hands together under the stream.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Fowler glanced up into the mirror above the sink, met Gray’s eyes. He turned off the tap, shook excess water from his hands before shifting to the hand towel dispenser, pulling a couple out and slowly drying his hands. He dropped them into the waste bin before turning his full attention to Gray.

  Without warning, Fowler leapt forward, catching Gray off guard. Gray’s back hit the wall with a thud, Fowler’s forearm up under his chin, pressing into his neck.

  “Don’t start digging into the Parker case, Sol,” snarled Fowler. “He’s just a druggie. If you keep on going you’re not going to like what you find.”

  “Fuck off, Mike.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” Fowler released Gray. “I’ll see you later.” Fowler left, leaving Gray standing in the bathroom.

  Thirty Five

  Now

  Gray picked up his ruined suit from where he’d left it yesterday, on the bedroom floor in his flat. He felt around in the jacket pockets until he touched the shotgun cartridge. He withdrew the plastic and metal cylinder, dropped the jacket again. He’d held ammunition like this many times before. He used to shoot clay pigeons with Carslake for fun. The cartridge was a symbol, which was why McGavin had left it with him.

  In his living room, Gray crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large whisky; didn’t bother to add water. He wasn’t drinking for pleasure. He sat down on the sofa, placed the cartridge in the centre of the coffee table by a chess set. The pieces were spread around the board, a game in progress. Gray was recreating a game between grand masters Garry Kasparov and Anatoly Karpov.

  Gray called Pennance on his mobile. “Can I speak to Hope, Marcus?”

  “Just a second,” said Pennance.

  His daughter came on the line. “Hello, Dad. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. How about you?”

  “Can I come home yet?”

  Home, Gray was surprised to hear Hope use the word. She can’t have thought about Broadstairs like that for years. And she’d ignored his question.

  “Hopefully soon.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I haven’t got long, Hope. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Gray d
idn’t want to say just in case. “It’s about Tom.” He heard her intake of breath down the line. “A man called Lewis Strang may hold the answer to finding him.”

  “Strang, who’s he? And how does he know Tom?”

  “Marcus can tell you all about him, I don’t have all the answers yet.”

  “Why are you saying this now? You’re scaring me.”

  “I don’t mean to, and you’ve got Marcus.”

  “Dad.”

  “I have to go. Can you put him back on?”

  “Okay.” Hope handed the phone over before Gray could reply.

  “Sol,” said Pennance. “What’s up?”

  Gray picked up the shotgun cartridge, twisted it in his fingers. “I think I’m getting to the bottom of the barrel here.”

  “Are you going to scrape it?”

  “I have to. Look after her for me.”

  “Of course.”

  Gray disconnected but immediately tapped in another number. It was answered quickly.

  “Hamish Gellatly.” A Scottish burr.

  “Hi, Hamish, we don’t know each other. My name’s Solomon Gray, Hope’s father.”

  “Oh,” surprise in Hamish’s voice. “Hello Mr Gray. How can I help you?”

  “Sol is fine. And it’s more the other way around, hopefully.”

  “O-kay.” By Hamish’s tone he was clearly wondering what was going on.

  “Do you love my daughter?”

  “That’s a rather direct and abrupt question, if I may say so.”

  “I don’t have time to mess around.”

  Hamish sighed. “It’s rather complicated.”

  “Actually Hamish, a simple yes or no will do.”

  “Look, Mr Gray I don’t know what this is about but…”

  “Do you love her, or not?”

  Hamish was silent for a few moments before he finally said, “Yes, I do.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. You’re going to come down here and take her back home.”

  “She doesn’t want me to.”

  “Rubbish, Hamish. She’s in pieces right now. Get your backside to Broadstairs and talk to her.”

  “I have patients.”

  “You have a partner too. And a child on the way.”

  “It’ll take me a day to get sorted.”