A Killing Karma (25 page)

After the
failed excursion of the previous night, Casey was left with few options. He'd
already, that morning, given Catt the job of finding out the names of the
Merediths' and Garretts' GPs. It would be interesting if the gonorrhoea that
Oliver had passed on had infected them also. For the moment at least, that
possibility looked like being their last hope.

But even if
all the members of both married couples had                                                                                                                                                                                                                   
                                                                                                                                                                                                             caught
the disease, they still lacked any evidence that connected them with Oliver's
murder.

Round and
round went Casey's thoughts, but however often they circled his mind, things
didn't look any more hopeful. He didn't know what avenue to try next. He was
running out of options — and Superintendent Brown-Smith out of patience.

He'd forgotten
to ring Moon at seven the previous night as arranged. Forgotten, too, to see if
she had texted back any answers to the questions he had posed. Feeling disgruntled
and expecting nothing but more complaints, Casey flipped his phone open and
checked his  messages. Then he smiled. Moon, that new capitalist, had come up
trumps.

Casey had
asked Moon if she had heard Dylan and DaisyMay arguing and she'd denied it. But
when he had texted her and told her that if — when—- Dylan was released from
custody, if she had any evidence that pointed to his guilt over the murders,
she might be in danger, she admitted she might know something.

He dialled her
number, hoping she would pick up the phone. To his surprise, he was in luck.

‘So tell me,
Moon, what do you know?’

‘It's not
much. I don't know if it's even worth telling you.’

‘Let me be the
judge of that,’ Casey replied.

‘Okay. I don't
know anything about Dylan and Daisy arguing, as I told you. They were married
or the same as, so what's new if they have spats now and then? No. It wasn't
those two I overheard, but Dylan and Kris. They were in one of the
outbuildings, trying to get it set up for growing more cannabis plants when I
passed the door. Going at it in a furious fashion, they were. I heard Dylan
accuse Kris of trying to get into Daisy's knickers and Kris said, in that
sarcastic way he always had with him —“Trying? I've already been there, man.
Several times.” Then I heard a cry. It sounded like it was from Kris and that
fists were flying in his direction.’

‘What did you
do?’

‘Do?’ Moon
sounded puzzled at this strange concept. 'I didn't do anything. Why would I? If
the guys want to punch seven bells out of each other, that's up to them. I left
them to it.’

‘Did they see
you?’

‘Dylan did.
Kris had his back to me. Dylan looked wild and mad as hell. Kris was dead two
days later.’

‘Why didn't
you tell me this before, Moon?’ How had she remembered this when it had
occurred over two months ago? he wondered. It was another question he wouldn't
mind having answered.

'I wouldn't
have told you now, but for poor DaisyMay. And that you seem to think Dylan
might do the same to me. I suppose you'll want me to tell the cops up here what
I've just told you?’

‘Of course.’
What did she expect? ‘It should be enough to keep Dylan locked up out of harm's
way. ‘You'll have to give them a statement.’

Over the line
came the sound of a drawn-out, put upon sigh and the words. 'I suppose so, hon.
If I must.’

‘Yes. You
must. If Dylan’s released because you fail to give evidence, you'll be the
first person he targets. Remember that.’

After he put
the phone down, Casey went in search of his sergeant. He found him in the
canteen, surrounded by a laughing throng of officers.

‘Sorry to
break up the happy home, but I need Catt's services.’

The others
melted away and Casey, aware the other officers would all have their ears out
on stalks, took Catt's arm and led him to his office. He told him what Moon had
said and waited for Catt's reaction.

‘God, boss,
didn't your mum realize what danger she's been in?’

‘Apparently
not. I wouldn't have got this out of her now but for stressing that if Dylan's
killed once, twice already, he'll have no compunction in doing so a third time
if it means he escapes being locked up.’

Catt nodded. ‘Should
be enough to charge Dylan. Maybe, faced with this evidence, he'll come clean.’

According to
Catt some hours later, Dylan Harper broke down and confessed to the murders
when presented with the evidence that he had known all along that DaisyMay's
baby hadn't been his. Like a rabbit from a hat, Catt produced a copy of
Harper's statement and handed it to Casey.

'I just lost
it,’ Dylan Harper had written. 'I didn't mean to kill her. It was an accident.
I'd so looked forward to the baby being born even if I knew it wasn't mine. But
then to discover that it was that bastard Callender's. He'd boasted to me that
he'd taken Daisy out once or twice, but he said nothing to me about sleeping
with her. Not till we had the bust up. I was still furious two days later. I
followed him to the greenhouse and punched him hard. He went down, cracking his
head on a rock. I didn't realize I'd killed him, not till later.

'I could have
taken the news that the baby was someone else's, even that idler Star's, but when
Daisy finally admitted that it was that womanizing bastard Callender's child, I
lost it again and went for her. I didn't know what I was doing. Before I knew
it, she lay dead at my feet.’

Casey didn't
trouble to read the rest as a glance told him it was the usual self-justifying clichés.
If Dylan had planned on killing DaisyMay as soon as he had learned of her
pregnancy — which seemed only too likely given his zealously attentive
behaviour towards her — he was doing his best to hide the fact of premeditation.
Maybe the Boston cops would winkle the truth out of him.

‘The commune
lot are still going to be done for concealing Callender's body, growing and
supplying cannabis and stealing the lecky,' Catt told him. ‘Though they're
currently all doing their best to shift the blame on to Callender, seeing as
the dead can't defend themselves. They're pretending they knew nothing about
what was growing in their own loft. Amazing they think such a defence has
legs.’

Casey gave a
tired smile. ‘You'd be surprised what they can delude themselves into
believing. Now, perhaps, we can concentrate on
our
investigation,’ he
said, relieved that his parents were out of the frame for the murders. Maybe,
this whole case would be a lesson to them. Or maybe not. What was it they said
about old dogs and new tricks? That the two were incompatible.

Catt's time
spent in checking out the Merediths' and Garretts' GPs soon brought new
evidence. And although Amanda and Roger Meredith hadn't caught the STD, both
the Garretts had.

‘Gives us
another avenue to follow if Fallon drops off the radar as he threatens to do,’
he said. ‘Neither of the Garretts — or the Merediths, come to that — have an
alibi worth spit. Even so, I hope it's Fallon. I'd love to see him banged to
rights.’ He paused. ‘By the way, I was just coming to tell you, boss. The Boston
cops have charged Dylan with murder.’

‘Good. It’s a
relief to get that one squared away.’

 But their
official murder investigation was still on-going. Fortunately, their further
inquiries into Gus Oliver's death accomplished results more quickly than he
could possibly have hoped. He hadn't even had to apply for a court order,
though the continuing investigation and, hopefully, the final truth, would
require several of their officers to do some serious digging. He strongly
suspected that Caitlin Osborne had come up with her story about killing Oliver
after watching how his real murderer had gone about the crime. It seemed
likely. She had admitted she had hung around the house, hiding in the shadows
of hedges and shrubs in the large front garden. Who had been better placed to
observe what had really happened? Finally, Casey confided his suspicions to
Catt.

‘You clever
dog,’ Catt exclaimed. ‘Now you've explained, it makes perfect sense. Wonder why
I didn’t hit on it?`’

‘Perhaps
because, like Gus Oliver and Kris Callender, you expend too many of your
energies in the physical.’

Catt pulled a
face. ‘So, have you questioned Caitlin Osborne again?’

‘No. Not yet.
I thought you might like to be present to hear what she has to say when
confronted with what I think happened. It's my belief she must have seen the
actual murder. Maybe she'll even admit it and give up the fantasy.’

‘So what are
we waiting for? Let's get to it.’

Caitlin
Osborne had been released on police bail pending their further inquiries. She
was put up in a local hostel.

‘So, do you
finally believe that I killed my father?’ were the first words with which she
greeted their appearance. It seemed so important to her that Casey was gentle
as he broke the news to her.

‘I'm afraid
not, Ms Osborne. We both know it's not true. So how about you listen while I
say what really happened?’

She said
nothing, so he began.

Caitlin
Osborne seemed totally deflated by the time Casey had finished telling her what
he believed had really happened to her father. He had no more interest in
hearing the truth from her; he suspected her delusional mind would refuse to
cooperate. Though it might be useful to have his suspicions confirmed, even if
the words of a drugged-up and psychotic girl would hold little weight in a
court of law.

'Okay,' he
said, once they had left Ms Osborne to her delusions. ‘We'll need some spades
and some bodies. Get them together, will you, Catt, while I see about arranging
a warrant.’

Neither
exercise took long. They drove to Alice Oliver's house in two cars. She didn't
seem surprised to see them arrive mob-handed.

The new turf
took some time to dig up. But when it was finally removed samples of the soil
beneath were taken, bagged up and sent to the lab. It should, with luck, reveal
traces of Gus Oliver's blood.

'All your
husband's women friends told us that Gus never wore condoms.’ Casey directed
his comment at Alice Oliver's bowed head. ‘So that when he caught a sexual
disease, it was only too likely that he'd pass it on to all the women in his
life. Including you, his wife.’ It was, as he had already figured out, their
separate sleeping arrangements that had delayed him in coming to what he now
believed was the right conclusion. Not forgetting the evidence of Alice
Oliver's cleaning woman, Mary Clarke, which he'd finally got her to admit.

Alice Oliver
sat very quiet and still. She neither confirmed nor denied Casey's claim. He
hadn't expected her to. But he'd applied to the courts to get her medical files
released. And he expected shortly to have the laboratory results from the soil
samples they had dug up from her back garden. She must have planned her
husband's death all along, ordering the new turf once she'd decided that
killing him in the garden would prevent revealing blood spatters in the house.
She'd probably hosed down the grass after returning from dumping him in the
alley with the help of Mrs Clarke.

He voiced the
last supposition to see her reaction. ‘Did you have help to move him to the
alleyway?’

She looked up,
startled at this, but still said nothing.

Casey mused
out loud. ‘You said yourself you have no friends or family. No one to identify
your husband's body for you or to hold your hand while you did so. And after
killing him on the Friday evening, you hid the body under a tarpaulin and
waited till early Monday morning to move him — the time when your loyal
cleaning lady, Mrs Clarke, arrived. Did she help you? She struck me as a lady
with little love for the male of the species, including Mr Oliver.’

It seemed the
only explanation. But apart from the quick flush that told him he had struck
the truth, there was no further reaction. It was clear she had no intention of
implicating her obliging cleaner. Maybe, he thought, she'd confess once she
knew that her husband's poor sad daughter had claimed the crime as her own, so
he told her. 'Caitlin Osborne must have watched you and Mrs Clarke wheel his
body out and concocted her own confession. Poor Caitlin. Unloved and unwanted.
Maybe she thought her confession would gain her some much wanted attention,
even if it was only from the police and the media.’

Still she said
nothing. Casey pressed on. Not without sympathy, he said, ‘Having your husband
pass on a sexual disease to you must have been the last straw.’

She bowed her
head at this. By now, she seemed to have accepted that their digging up of her
turf and the taking of soil samples would reveal the truth about where her
husband had died because she made no attempt to lie but simply told him in a
whisper, ‘You're right, Chief Inspector. It was. It was the ultimate
humiliation after all the others that he'd made me bear. I swore it would be
the last. That was when I decided to kill him and kill him in the most
degrading manner possible. Fit punishment, I thought, for all the humiliations
he'd heaped on me over the years.’ She raised her head and met his gaze. In a
firm voice, she told him, ‘But I did it alone. Quite alone. I had no help as
you implied.’