A Killing Moon (36 page)

Thirty-Five

Three months later

Brook sat on the hard witness bench waiting to be called. He flexed his hand, examining the fading scar on his palm, enjoying the peace and majesty of the court building. On a bench opposite, a man sat reading a national newspaper; Brook caught the headline – ANIMAL FARM – and recognised several of the head shots of young women that dominated the front page. His heart sank at the infamy the world’s press would be visiting on his adopted county in the coming months.

The door to Court One opened and a man around Brook’s age walked out, closing the door behind him. He had cropped silver hair, was a good foot taller than Brook and deported his lean frame with a lithe self-confidence. He wore a black suit and carried an overcoat over one arm. To Brook’s surprise, he stared straight at him before walking over to his bench.

‘Detective Inspector Brook, yes?’ enquired the man.

‘That’s right,’ replied Brook. The man held his hand out to shake, then produced a business card, which Brook accepted, staring at the name while the man continued to talk.

‘I wanted to thank you, Inspector. For your prompt action.’

Brook managed to lift his eyes to engage the man, unable to think what to say.

‘Anything?’

Brook was startled out of his reverie and pocketed the stranger’s card. ‘Not yet.’

‘Who was that?’ said Noble.

Brook followed the direction of Noble’s eyes towards the tall stranger striding towards the main entrance. ‘A friend.’

Noble slumped on to the bench beside him. ‘You know if Jake pleads guilty we won’t be called.’

‘I know,’ said Brook. ‘So we’ll have to be quick. Ready?’

Noble patted at a breast pocket. ‘Right here. You saw the email from Crown Prosecution?’

‘I saw it,’ replied Brook, glancing back at the newspaper.

‘Abduction, false imprisonment, child cruelty,’ scoffed Noble. ‘You believe that?’

‘Without a ransom, it’s not kidnapping,’ said Brook.

‘But it means only Zeke, Bernadette and Mrs Trastevere will be facing murder charges.’

‘Is that a problem?’

‘Yes, it’s a problem,’ retorted Noble. ‘I can believe Dr Cowell was naive enough not to know what was going on. But O’Toole . . .’

‘Without his testimony they wouldn’t be able to convict Trastevere. Bernadette and her boyfriend refuse to implicate her, so there was nothing else the CPS could do. And don’t forget, with no cooperation from Trastevere, they’ll need O’Toole to track down the children.’

‘I suppose.’

‘O’Toole’s been defrocked and Cowell struck off.’

‘How is that punishment?’

‘Their lives are over, John. Worse, when you invest that heavily in self-righteousness, such an instant and public fall from grace wipes out not only your future but the life already lived.’

‘You have been to university, haven’t you?’ mocked Noble. ‘Maybe we should let them walk free.’

‘Strange as it may seem, for them, if not the victims’ families, that would be the worst punishment.’

‘After nine murders?’

‘Confining them is a leg-up to redemption, John. It limits their scope for self-loathing.’

Noble shook his head. ‘Thank God you won’t be the judge.’

‘Seconded.’ Brook grinned. ‘Put your trust in the vengeance of the establishment. They’ll be doing serious time.’

The courtroom door opened and a flood of people began to emerge, Charlton first out, his face like thunder.

‘Twenty years,’ he snarled, shaking his head. ‘Twenty bloody years. Tanner could be out in half that. And I thought Judge Belvedere was a hanger and flogger.’

Brook gestured at Noble, who excused himself and hurried away. ‘That’s still a long time for an innocent man.’

‘I don’t want to hear it, Brook,’ said Charlton. ‘He confessed. Pure and simple. And don’t think I don’t know about you trying to get in to see him.’

‘His brief wouldn’t let me near,’ said Brook.

‘I know that too, or I would have warned you off myself,’ replied Charlton.

Brook kept half an eye on the emptying courtroom. Ostrowsky emerged accompanied by Jake’s barrister and a handsome, fresh-faced young man in a snug-fitting designer suit flicking at a tablet. Brook excused himself from Charlton and made a beeline towards them.

‘Brook,’ called Charlton. ‘If I see any unattributed quotes about the verdict in the local rag, I’ll know it was you. You’ll be finished.’

Brook paused, considering various career-ending ripostes. He settled for the uncontroversial ‘Since when have I been on speaking terms with the
Telegraph
?’ and stalked away.

‘Just see that you don’t,’ Charlton retorted sourly.

The barrister shook Ostrowsky’s hand and departed.

‘Mr Ostrowsky,’ said Brook, staring inquisitively at the smartly dressed young man. It was Nick Tanner.

‘Inspector,’ said Ostrowsky, indicating Jake’s brother, absorbed by his tablet. ‘Have you met Nicholas?’

‘Briefly,’ said Brook. ‘Your solicitor brought him in to tell us how Nicholas was Jake’s unwitting accomplice on the night of the murder.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Ostrowsky. ‘Stupid of me.’

‘Stupid? You?’ Brook turned to Nick. ‘I’m sorry about your brother.’

‘Nicholas, what do we do when we meet people?’

Nick lowered the tablet and held out a hand to shake Brook’s. ‘Hello, sir,’ he said like an actor remembering lines. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine, Nick. How are you?’

‘I’m good,’ he replied.

Brook declined to ask if he was American. ‘Have you spoken to Jake since his arrest?’

‘We went to see him at the . . .’ Nick looked round at Ostrowsky for a prompt.

‘Remand centre,’ said Ostrowsky.

Nick repeated the words carefully. ‘Not a very nice place.’

‘Neither is prison,’ said Brook. ‘And Jake’s going to be there for a long time.’

Nick’s expression darkened. ‘I thought if he was nice to people, he’d be home in . . .’ Again he sought Ostrowsky’s input.

‘Ten years,’ said the businessman. ‘God willing, he will.’

‘Why did Jake kill Kassia, Nick?’ asked Brook, watching Ostrowsky’s reaction. He hadn’t expected him to smile.

‘Kassia?’ asked Nick, turning to Ostrowsky.

‘It was a long time ago, Nicholas,’ said the businessman, still smiling at Brook. ‘But your tutor is helping you with your memory skills, isn’t he?’

‘I can do all the way up to my twelve times table,’ said Nick proudly. ‘Would you like to hear?’

‘The inspector’s a busy man, Nicholas. He doesn’t have time. Do you?’

Brook smiled into Ostrowsky’s cold blue eyes, accepting another defeat. ‘No.’

‘Nick, go and wait with Tymon.’

‘Can I . . . ?’ said Nick, waggling the tablet.

Ostrowsky smiled his assent, watching Nick go. ‘A good kid.’

‘You seem to have adopted him.’

‘He’s over eighteen.’

‘But so like a child,’ continued Brook. ‘Did you never have children of your own?’

Ostrowsky’s amused countenance turned to stone. After a second, when Brook thought he might meet the same fate, the Pole crossed himself. ‘I’ve never been so blessed.’

‘Perhaps God has chosen a different path for you.’

‘Perhaps. But Nick gives me a purpose apart from business. I can give him everything he could ever want, including the best possible education. So important in this competitive world.’

‘How true,’ replied Brook. ‘I heard about Max. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

Ostrowsky’s eyes clouded over. ‘Thank you – a tragic accident.’

‘What happened?’

‘He was on the ferry to Amsterdam, travelling back to Warsaw. He drank a bottle of vodka and fell overboard.’ Ostrowsky bowed his head for a moment. ‘Max was always a big drinker.’

‘And now you have a brother to make you proud,’ said Brook, nodding at Nick.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It can’t have been easy,’ said Brook. ‘A man with your religious convictions, brother to a man with Max’s . . . urges.’

‘We are all sinners, Inspector.’

‘Was Max alone on the ferry?’

‘My assistant Tymon was with him,’ said Ostrowsky carefully. ‘He raised the alarm.’

‘So conscientious,’ smiled Brook. ‘That kind of loyalty just can’t be bought. But then you too are loyal, aren’t you?’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, to employ someone who once used your shipping container to smuggle drugs. That’s very understanding of you.’

‘Tymon made a mistake,’ said Ostrowsky. ‘And there’s a saying about forgiving those who make mistakes.’

‘To err is human, to forgive divine.’

‘You’re a clever man, Inspector Brook,’ smiled the businessman. He fished in his pocket for a card. ‘Come tomorrow. Bar Polski opening night.’

‘I thought that was weeks ago.’

‘If not for British workers,’ he grinned. ‘Bring as many friends as you like, and it’s on the house. Do me this courtesy. As a friend of Nick.’

Brook accepted his second business card of the day and followed Ostrowsky out into the summer sunshine, Nick and Tymon preceding him, the latter flashing a smile of porcine malevolence. A slim figure stepped out of the cabin of a dark Mercedes to open doors. It was Ashley Devonshire, Jake Tanner’s former colleague at Bar Polski.

Once Ostrowsky was settled on the plush leather seat, Ashley slipped back behind the wheel and pulled the Mercedes into traffic. Another car drew out of the court building’s car park. From the passenger seat, DS Morton acknowledged Brook with a raised hand as they set off in pursuit.

Brook hurried down to the holding cells to find Noble remonstrating with the Serco driver assigned to transport Tanner to prison.

‘Listen Inspector Gadget, we’ve got proper police work to do,’ said Noble. ‘Your schedule will have to wait, so trot off and sit in your van, make sure kids don’t nick it.’

The driver muttered something unrepeatable and slouched towards the courtyard door.

‘Well?’

‘Better than we thought,’ said Brook. ‘Ashley was with him.’

A minute later Brook flashed his warrant card at the court guard outside Jake Tanner’s cell. ‘Can we have a minute?’

Tanner prepared to object when he saw them, but Brook and Noble were already through the door. ‘I told my solicitor I don’t—’

‘Max Ostrowsky is dead,’ said Brook. Tanner didn’t react. ‘You lied to protect him from a murder charge. Now you don’t have to.’ No reply. ‘And I’ve just seen Nick.’

Tanner smiled now. ‘Me too. I barely recognised him.’

‘It’s not too late,’ said Brook. ‘We’re following Ostrowsky. We can protect Nick. Tell me you want to retract your confession and I’ll speak to your solicitor. She can lodge an appeal.’

Tanner’s smile showed no signs of abating. ‘He was wearing a suit. My brother Nick in a suit.’

‘Are you listening?’ said Noble. ‘Max is dead. He drowned.’

‘Max didn’t kill Kassia, Jake,’ said Brook. ‘It was Ostrowsky. He was the father of Kassia’s child and we can prove it. He needed your confession to take the heat off Max because Max was a threat, but now he’s dead.’

‘His bodyguard fed him vodka, then threw him off a ferry into the North Sea. His own brother.’

Tanner was impassive, unmoved.

‘There’s more.’ Brook nodded at Noble, who extracted a small recorder and pressed the play button.

‘
Hello, police. I live in Arboretum Street. There’s someone outside trying the doors on a white van. I think they’re trying to nick it
.’

‘
Can you tell me your name, please?
’

‘
Never mind my name. The registration is BD
62
XZP. Tell ’em to get a shift on
.’

When the recording was turned off, Tanner looked up into Brook’s eyes.

‘Recognise that voice?’ asked Noble. Tanner folded his arms.

‘No?’ said Brook. ‘That was Ashley Devonshire.’

‘Your co-worker at Bar Polski,’ added Noble. ‘We only heard his voice once, but we recognised him.’

‘What was that?’ said Tanner.

‘It was a recording of a phone call to police the night you stole Max’s van,’ said Brook. ‘It came in at eleven twenty-one p.m.’ No reaction.

‘At the time, it was assumed to be one of Max’s neighbours who’d spotted you checking out the van before stealing it,’ said Noble.

‘But you told us you didn’t leave your flat until after midnight,’ said Brook. ‘It didn’t make sense until we listened to the call. It was all a set-up, Jake.’

‘That call was to draw police attention to Max’s van – the van in which Ostrowsky’s bodyguard put Kassia’s body after his boss killed her,’ said Noble.

‘A man like Ostrowsky wouldn’t want his voice on a police tape. He probably slipped Ashley a few pounds, told him there was a call he had to make but his English wasn’t good enough.’

‘The van was unlocked, Jake,’ said Noble. ‘The keys were inside. Did you never wonder about that? They were making it easy for the police to look inside when they arrived. They’d try the doors and find the body. In Max’s van. With Max’s hammer, which they’d used on Kassia’s face; Max’s blowtorch, which they’d used to burn off her prints and tattoo. They put fibres from Max’s gloves in her mouth. Everything left for us to find.’

‘And with Max’s history of sexual violence . . . don’t you see? Max was supposed to be where you are now. If the police hadn’t been delayed, you couldn’t have stolen the van. It would have been swarming with officers.’

‘But you did steal it, and ruined everything.’

‘Instead of getting his brother off the streets, Ostrowsky had to kill him.’

Tanner took a deep breath. ‘It makes no difference.’

‘You’re not listening,’ insisted Brook. ‘Max is dead.’

‘You said that already.’

‘Then talk to us. After what he did to Nick . . .’

For the first time, Tanner reacted. ‘What about Nick?’

‘We can prove Max spent time at the Cream Bar and we know he had the keys. Nick took them from your flat and gave them to him.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because when Max found out you had them, he told Nick to take them,’ said Brook. ‘Max needed somewhere private, somewhere he could take a sleeping bag and a bottle of vodka and take his time doing the things he liked to do. With Nick.’