A Killing Karma (24 page)

'Oh yes? Tell
all, O wise one.’

Casey tapped
his nose. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I've one or two things I've got to find out
first. But when — if — I do, you'll be the first to know.’

Catt pulled a
face, but had to be satisfied with that.

Catt's mobile
rang just as he entered Casey's office. He whisked it out of his pocket and
glanced at the display. ‘It's my force contact up in Boston,’ he said before he
took the call.

Casey listened
to one half of the conversation with growing frustration.

'Yeah,' said
Catt. 'I see. Has he said anything else?’ He listened some more, then asked,
‘What about the rest of them?’

Casey's
frustration was growing by the second. His fingers drummed on the top of his
desk and he made wind it up gestures at Catt.

Finally, Catt
said, 'I see,’ once more, thanked his caller and snapped the mobile shut. ‘The
Lincolnshire cops have arrested Dylan Harper.’

Casey stared
at him. ‘And?’

‘And nothing,’
Catt said as he sat down. ‘He's not talking. According to my source they've
barely got a word out of him since they took him in.’

Casey nodded.
‘I'm not surprised. He's not exactly the most chatty individual. So what have
they got on him?’

‘Apart from
the DNA evidence that proves he's not the father of DaisyMay's baby and that he
and the dead woman rowed a lot before she died? Nothing.’

‘So if he
keeps quiet they'll shortly have to let him go.’

‘That's about
the size of it.’

‘What about
the arguments Scott and Randy said Dylan had had with DaisyMay? He's not said
anything more than that they were caused by irritability brought on by lack of
sleep?’

‘No. He's
sticking to that .He won't admit he was aware that Daisy's baby wasn't his.’

‘Damn.’ Casey
thought for a moment, then he asked, ‘The police have all left the commune?’

Catt nodded.
‘All back at the station with friend Dylan. Getting more frustrated by the
second, I shouldn't wonder.’

'I know the
feeling. I'll ring Moon.’ Casey pulled his mobile from his pocket. ‘Maybe Dylan
let something slip before he was taken away.’

But there was
no answer to his telephone call, even though he let it ring for an age, so he
simply keyed in some texted questions and put the phone away. He'd just have to
hope that Moon would read his texts sometime soon.

‘It's no good
just waiting for answers on the commune murders,’ he observed. ‘Has anything
more come in on the official investigation?’

‘Not a lot.
But Max Fallon's private doctor, although reluctant, eventually confirmed that
Fallon had received treatment for an STD.’

Carole Brown
and Fallon himself had already told them that, Casey mused, but it didn't hurt
to get official confirmation.

‘Gives us a
confirmed motive, too. Maybe it's time we checked out if the partners of
Oliver's other lovers had a similar motive.’

‘Might as
well. Nothing else springs to mind. Unless—'

Casey's ears
pricked up. ‘Unless what?’

‘Unless we set
a trap for Fallon and see if he falls in. This case needs some sort of a shot
in the arm, so I suggest we give it one.’

‘What sort of
trap?’

Catt told him.

But before
they could put Catt's plan in motion, they had other tasks to get through;
routine, painstaking tasks that brought no glory but which still had to be
done. Reading statements, more interviews and yet more checking. The hours and
the duties passed slowly. But eventually evening fell and they could put the
plan into action.

‘You're sure
you'll be able to hear everything?’

‘Of course,’
Casey reassured Carole Brown. ‘Don't worry. There'll be a couple of plain
clothes officers inside the club, near Fallon's office, and Catt and I will be
right outside in the car park. We'll move at the first sign of trouble.’

She still
looked doubtful. ‘He's already thumped me once. I’m scared.’

‘There'll be
other people about as I said; the couple in the club will be dressed to look
like clubbers. All you have to do is scream if you feel any concern. Any
concern at all. They'll be there immediately and we won't be far behind.’ She
stared at him for several moments, then she nodded. ‘All right. I'll do it. I
just hope I can help you get something on that bastard. He deserves it.’ It was
a sentiment Casey echoed.

By nine
o'clock they were all in place. It was perhaps a bit early by clubbers'
standards, but both Casey and Catt were eager for the off and could contain
themselves no longer. Besides, there was always the worry that Carole Brown
would change her mind if they delayed. She and her unsuspecting male friend
drove to King's nightclub in the friend's car, while Casey, Catt, Shazia Khan
and Jonathon Keane, the last two dressed as clubbers, followed behind in an
unmarked vehicle. They dropped Shazia and Jonathon around the corner from the
club. Casey gave them last-minute instructions before he let them go. He
watched as they sauntered off around the corner before he followed them in the
car and made for the club's car park.

Jonathon and
Shazia were also miked-up just in case anything should go wrong with Carole
Brown's equipment.

Casey parked
up and doused the headlights. He and Catt settled down to await developments.
They were slow in coming.

Carole Brown and
her friend seemed to have settled themselves at the bar, to judge from the
sounds of tinkling ice against glass that carried over the mike Shazia had
fixed to Carole's bra.

‘Could do with
some of that myself,’ Catt said. ‘That Carole can certainly drink. That's her
third in half an hour by my reckoning.’

‘Just pray she
doesn't get drunk and forget the reason she's there,’ Casey remarked. 'I want
her pleasantly merry only; merry enough to make a scene and barge into the
office, not create such a disturbance that she gets the pair of them thrown
out.’

They sat back
and waited some more. It was another hour before things kicked off. They heard
Carole's voice loud and clear. It had been growing steadily more shrill as the
minutes and the drinks passed.

‘No more
drink, Carole, there's a good girl,’ Catt murmured. ‘We want the outraged
ex-girlfriend, not a fish-wife shouting her wares.’

‘Shush. Let's
listen,’ Casey admonished.

'I won't be
quiet,’ Carole Brown screeched, almost as if she had heard Casey's words. ‘I'll
have my say and be damned to who's listening. Your boss is a crook, Mr
Muscles.’ Casey assumed she was addressing one of the bouncers. Or door
stewards, in current parlance. ‘Not only is he a crook, he's a murderer, too,
and you're all his accomplices. I know he got you all to lie for him about
where he was when Gus Oliver was murdered. Why would he do that if he hadn't
something to hide?’

A deep,
rumbling voice said something they couldn't catch, then Carole said, ‘Where is
he? Is he hiding in his office, too scared to see me? Don't worry. I'll find him
myself. I know the way.’

It all went
quiet then. The sound of the throbbing musical beat receded and Casey guessed
they must have moved to the corridor that led to the office through the door
marked ‘private’.

‘Let go of me,
you great ape.’

‘Yes. Let her
go, Rupert. I'll speak to her.’

Catt sniggered.
'A bouncer called Rupert? Now I've heard everything.’

‘Come into the
office.’ Quietly but clearly, Max Fallon's voice came over the mike as the throb
of the music faded. There was the sound of a door shutting, then Fallon's voice
again. ‘I'd offer you a drink, but from the look of you and the noise of your
banshee voice, I'd say you've had enough.’

‘What's the
matter, Max? Too tight to give a girl a free drink out of all your ill-gotten
gains?’

Carole's taunt
must have stung, must have warned him that she could make trouble for him with
the taxman if she chose, because the next sound they heard was the clink of
bottle against glass.

'I won't ask
you to say “when”. It was never one of your strengths, Carole, was it?’

‘Cheers.’

‘So what do
you want?’ Fallon's voice sounded dangerously smooth. ‘Some kind of pay off?’

'That'd be
nice. It's not as if you can't afford it with all the taxman's money you've got
salted away. But it was something else I came for. I want to hear what you've
got to say for yourself about Gus Oliver's death. And I'd like the truth.’

Fallon
laughed. It was an ugly, threatening sound. ‘What does it matter to you what
happened to him? He used you, gave you — and me — the clap, and then dumped you.’

The dumping
part was a new discovery for Casey.

‘Why should
you care what happened to him?’

‘Oh, don't get
me wrong, Max. I don't give a damn that he's dead or even whether or not you
killed him. I'd just like to know, that's all. I hope he suffered. Did he?’

‘My dear girl,
how would I know? I wasn't there.’

‘What — did
you get one or more of your heavies to kill him for you? Found you didn't have
the bottle to do the job yourself?’

There was a
long, strained silence, then the sound of a glass being thumped heavily down.

‘That's it,
you drunken bitch. You always did have a loose tongue. You want to be careful
someone doesn't cut it off for you like they did with your friend's prick.’

‘Are you
threatening me?’ Carole suddenly sounded more sober. There was a wobble in her
voice that, for all her attempted bravado, hinted at fear.

‘Threatening
you? Of course not. It's just a friendly warning, that's all. You're free to
ignore it, though I wouldn't advise it. Drunken ladies staggering about the
streets on their own are an easy target.’

‘I'm not on my
own.’

‘No? Brought
another of your lovers for protection, have you? Where is he, then? He seems to
be conspicuous by his absence. But then you never were a good picker, Carole,
were you?’

‘You said it.
A cheat, a murderer and a wimp. My three latest conquests. I agree. It's not
much of a tally.’ She gave a cry. ‘Let go. You're hurting me.’

‘Call me a
murderer again and I'll do more than twist your arm and bunch up your dress.’
There was another pause. ‘What's this?’

‘Get your hand
out of there. You've no longer got the right to let your hands roam around my
underwear.’

'A mike. You
came here kitted up to try to catch me out. You bitch. I've a good mind to—'
Fallon broke off. ‘But you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like to get me up
on an assault charge with the evidence all down on tape.’

‘I'd like to
see you up on a murder charge.’

Fallon gave a
slow, mocking laugh. ‘Dream on. That'll never happen and you know it. Think I'd
get caught — if I decided to go in for murder?’

Fallon must
have buzzed the bouncer because the door opened again.

‘Rupert,
please escort this —' he paused — ‘lady and her little friend from the
premises. Oh, and Chief Inspector, I assume you're listening to this. For your
information, I didn't kill Gus Oliver. Maybe after the failure of your charade
here tonight you'll believe me and play no more games.’

Casey had been
expecting the noise of the club's sound system to break in, but it didn't.
Instead, they heard the clip-clop of Carole's stiletto heels and the crash of
the fire escape door before he and Catt saw Carole and her friend pushed out
into the night and the doors banged shut behind them.

Catt cursed.
‘Stupid bitch couldn't do subtle if her life depended on it. So much for my
cunning plan.’

‘You win some,
you lose some. It was worth a try.’

‘Not with her
as the scouting party. Sorry boss.’

Carole's
clip-clopping heels were advancing across the car park. Casey winked his lights
and she and her companion made for the car. She opened the back door and got
in, slamming the door firmly shut behind her, leaving her male friend standing
outside like an uninvited party guest.

‘Sorry,
Chief,’ she said. ‘It went wrong. I was sure I could get him to admit his
guilt. But all I got was a twisted arm and a torn dress. Maybe I should press
charges?’

Casey
dissuaded her. It wouldn't look good if the papers picked up the story of their
failed enterprise. They would have to come up with some other means to get at
the truth.

Carole’s
friend banged on the window and shouted, ‘Are you coming, Carole?’ in a
petulant voice.

‘No,’ she told
him bluntly, while shaking her head vigorously. ‘These two gentlemen are giving
me a ride home. Aren't you?’

Casey glanced
across at Catt and shrugged. ‘Of course. If you like.’

'I do like.
Besides, my feet are killing me in these shoes. I can't walk another step. ‘But
I do like to look my best when I go to beard the enemy in his den. Don't you,
boys?’ Pausing only to light a cigarette and without sparing a glance for her
abandoned escort, she said,’ Come on then. Let’s get out of here.’