Rough Cut (6 page)

   The book signing over, Carter made his way to New Scotland Yard. He looked up at the building before making up his mind and walking purposefully towards the entrance.

   An hour or so later, Carter was in a small office inside New Scotland Yard sitting at one side of a desk. Opposite him, Detective Chief Superintendent Lamont, a man of average height and build dressed in a suit, was sitting behind his desk looking at Carter’s ID wallet. After carefully examining the contents of the wallet, Lamont returned it to Carter.

   “What can I do to help?” he asked, raising his hands, palm upwards to emphasise his enquiry.

   “I’d like to talk to the officer in charge of the investigation into the death of Rob Darrington in Yorkshire. There may be a link to my case.”

   Minutes later, Carter emerged from New Scotland Yard, clutching a piece of paper in his hand on which Lamont had written a name and a phone number. Once outside the building, Carter extracted his phone from his pocket. He punched in the number written on the piece of paper and waited for his call to be answered. When it was, he wasted no time.

   “Detective Inspector Harris, please.” Carter waited a few moments to be put through. “Hello, Carter Jefferson here. Chief Superintendent Lamont at Scotland Yard suggested I call you. It’s about Rob Darrington…”

CHAPTER 4

About a mile from the centre of York, quite close to the racecourse, is the headquarters of the North Yorkshire Police. The building housing the offices is built of red brick, four storeys high and has a flat roof.

   At nine-thirty on the morning after the day he had arrived in London, and having taken a late evening train from London to York, Carter drove up to the building and parked the car he had hired that morning in the public area of the car park.

   Once inside the building, Carter, smartly dressed in a suit, approached the reception desk and told the receptionist that he had an appointment with Detective Inspector Harris. As he waited in the reception area, a policewoman approached him.

   “Mr Jefferson?” she asked and Carter got to his feet. “Please come with me.”

   A few minutes later, Carter and Harris were sitting at opposite sides of the desk in Harris’s office on the third floor of the building and Carter was filling Harris in about the case he was investigating. As he was doing so, Harris received a telephone call and he and Carter were soon on their way to a remote spot in the countryside where a dead body had been found.

   During the twenty minute drive to the scene, Carter continued to brief Harris about his investigation and when they arrived, Harris parked his car behind a police van. From there, a policeman in uniform escorted them across a field and down a steep slope into a disused railway cutting.

   Under the road bridge which spanned the cutting, two men in white overalls were bending over a body on the ground. Harris asked Carter to wait as he approached one of the men and spoke to him. Carter waited patiently, out of earshot, as the man explained to Harris what had happened and a few minutes later, Harris returned to Carter.

   “Nasty one, this,” he said.

   “How long do they think the body’s been there?” Carter enquired as they watched the men in white overalls continue to go about the business of examining the scene in minute detail.

   “A couple of days, more or less,” replied Harris.

   “What happened?” asked Carter.

   “Single shot to the forehead. Point blank range. Looks like an execution to me. Very professional. His hands were tied behind his back.”

   “Did you find the bullet?”

   “It was in the grass behind where he fell, along with most of the back of his skull.” Harris looked at the men working the crime scene and then back at Carter. “Come on, let’s get back to headquarters.”

   The two men struggled up the steep bank and started walking across the field towards where they had parked.

   “Do you know who he was?” asked Carter.

   “Oh yes,” said Harris, “He’s well known to us. Been in and out of trouble since he could walk. But not for anything that would explain this.”

   “Got a name?”

   “Spicer, Carl Spicer. He’s been living in a hostel since his last spell inside. Assault with a deadly weapon we got him for that time, I think. Quite handy with a knife as I recall.”

   Carter and Harris left the field and got back into their car. As they drove back to police headquarters, and a couple of minutes had passed with nothing being said by either of them, Carter broke the silence.

   “Tell me, Inspector, how many murders do you normally get on your patch in, say, a year?” he asked.

   “Not many. Mine is a quiet beat. Last year we had three.”

   “And how many of them were executions like this one?” continued Carter.

   “I haven’t seen anything like this since I left the Met.”

   “So two murders in a week is a bit unusual?”

   “I don’t know what you’re getting at but yes, yes it is.”

   “Well, what I’m wondering, is whether these two deaths could be linked? What do you think?”

   “At this stage, I really have no idea.”

   Carter thought that there was a strong possibility that the two murders were connected; it was too much of a coincidence that two people should be killed so close together in terms of both geography and time. Maybe in some localities that wouldn’t be particularly unusual but in a country backwater like Welburn in North Yorkshire, it was. Whether or not the two deaths had anything to do with his case was yet to be determined but he thought it entirely possible that Rob Darrington’s murder had something to do with it, and if it did, then the second one, the execution, might also have some bearing on it.

   As they continued on their way, Harris looked across at Carter. “Do you think these killings might have something to do with your case?”

   “Yeah, I think maybe they do,” answered Carter carefully. “It’s too soon to say for sure but I’m meeting with someone later today who might be able to throw some light on what’s going on here.”

   “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who?”

   “I’d rather not. For now, anyway. It’s someone I was up at Oxford with.”

   “You went to Oxford University?” The Inspector cast a glance at Carter, an expression of disbelief on his face.

   “Sure I did. Why so surprised, Inspector? Don’t you think a black man from Belize should be allowed to attend one of your oldest and best seats of learning?”

   “No, no, I didn’t mean anything like that,” protested Harris; he was not easily embarrassed but Carter’s directness had caught him by surprise. “But if you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t sound very Belizean.”

   “That’s because I lived in New York for fifteen years before moving back to Belize.” Carter was enjoying Harris’s discomfort but thought it was time he returned to the matter in hand. “About my meeting,” he said, “As soon as it looks like there might be a connection, you’ll be the first to hear about it. OK?”

   “Yes, that would be very helpful,” said Harris, “I’d like to be kept up to date with your progress. You certainly seem to have a very unusual and challenging case to crack. To be honest, if Scotland Yard hadn’t briefed us, if Chief Superintendent Lamont who, incidentally, I was at Hendon with, if he hadn’t personally vouched for you, I would have found it all just a little bit difficult to believe.”

   “Then I’m glad he did,” said Carter, “Because it’s all true and I’ll most likely need your help before it’s over.”

   “Do you get as much co-operation from the police in other countries as you do here?” asked Harris, changing the subject.

   “Oh, yeah, sure we do. Couldn’t do the job without it. Most of our cases spread across several countries. If national police forces weren’t willing to help us, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

   When they arrived back at police headquarters, Harris parked the car and the two men got out and approached each other.

   “Thanks for your time, Inspector,” said Carter.

   “No problem,” responded Harris, “Please keep me posted and if I can be of any further help, let me know.”

   The two men shook hands before Harris gave Carter a friendly wave as he turned and walked off towards the entrance to the building. Carter waved back, pleased to have made contact with Harris; the man seemed personable and more than usually helpful.

_________________________

   As he drove back to his hotel, Carter wondered how this, his latest case, was going to turn out. He enjoyed working on complex problems, probably a spin-off of his time at Oxford, and although he had been keen to carry on working on his latest book, once he had discovered the connection to Nicole, someone who he hadn’t seen for more than twenty-five years, someone who at one time he had thought might be his life-long companion, there was never the slightest chance of him refusing the case. Now that he was finally about to meet her again, he was excited but he was also apprehensive, even a little bit scared of how it would go. He had no idea what to expect after so many years and his thoughts took him back to his time in Oxford.

   When he had met Nicole, she had been in the final year of her French Literature degree and he had been studying for a Masters in Geology. He had been older than her but only by a couple of years. They had met at an Oxford Union party and he smiled as he recalled that night. She had been impressed by his natural rhythm as he danced to the music and had told him so from the security of a group of girls with whom she was dancing.

   “It comes with being from the Caribbean,” he had said donning his best smile as she split off from dancing with her friends to dance with him.

   “Where in the Caribbean?” she had asked as she gyrated to the music, clearly interested in him.

   “Belize.”

   “Belize! Where the hell is Belize?”

   “Just below Mexico.”

   They danced on for a couple of songs before Carter concluded that he was making progress with this girl and wanted to know more about her.

   “What’s your name,” he asked.

   “Nicole. Nikki to my friends.”

   “So, can I call you Nikki?”

   “What? Are you asking for my phone number already?”

   They both laughed at Nicole’s joke and continued dancing until the music stopped as the DJ changed.

   “Can I get you a drink?” asked Carter.

   “Sure, I’ll come to the bar with you.”

   “I was thinking we could maybe go somewhere a bit quieter?” he ventured and waited for Nicole to respond. She just smiled shyly so he pressed on. “I’d like to get to know you a bit better.” Nicole nodded her agreement to the change of venue and, emboldened by this, Carter took her hand and led her out of the room as the music started up again.

   They went to a nearby pub and talked. They talked and talked and talked, until the barman called time and they had to leave. When they did, Carter insisted on walking Nicole back to her college. At the gate he kissed her gently and then they exchanged phone numbers and agreed to call each other the next day.

   Carter smiled as he recalled his walk home that night. There had been a spring in his step like never before and on a couple of occasions, he had jumped in the air and let out a loud “YES!” as he punched the air.

   And then, after seven months and four days, it had ended. He had become aware that Nicole’s father was not happy about their relationship. On the one brief occasion when he had met him, Philippe had made it quite clear what he thought of Carter’s suitability as a potential son-in-law and Carter knew that he had given Nicole a lot of grief about it, to the point of threatening to pull her out of Oxford and take her back to the South of France where he could keep an eye on her. But Carter had not expected what happened that day.

   Nicole had telephoned him and asked him to meet her by the river in the gardens of Christ Church College. When he had arrived, she had been standing looking across the river, clearly deep in thought. She turned to face him as he walked up beside her and put his arm round her waist, and he saw a tear trickle down her cheek.

   “What is it?” he asked, concerned that she was upset about something, “What’s wrong?”

   Nicole looked down at her feet for a few moments before speaking. When she did speak, all she said was, “I’m sorry, Carter,” and shook her head sadly unable to look at him.

   He took her in his arms. She didn’t need to say more. Carter knew what had happened. She rested her head on his chest for a few moments and then pulled away a little from him.

   “It’s OK,” he said, “I understand.”

   Nicole burst into tears at this, her face contorting as she did and she looked up at him.

   “It is NOT OK!” she shouted angrily. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

   “He thinks he’s your father, Nikki. And he thinks he’s looking out for your interests.”

   ”Oh, no, no, no, it’s not that! No way! The only person he is thinking about is himself. He wants me to go home and marry some nice little Frenchman that he approves of, that’s what
he
wants.”

   She turned away and Carter sighed. “Yeah, maybe. Either way, I guess it’s over between us?”

   Nicole turned back to look at him, her agony written all over her face. “For now, Carter. Just for now. I want to finish my course and graduate. But I love you and I’m not going to let him beat me on this. Once I’ve graduated, he won’t be able to dictate to me who I can and can’t see.”

   “You serious?” asked Carter, his spirits lifting a little.

   Nicole nodded emphatically, her lips set in grim determination. “ It’s only a few months. Will you wait for me?”

   “Why can’t we carry on seeing each other and just keep it to ourselves?”

   “Because he’d find out about it, he’s good at that, and I’d be back in Sainte Maxime before I knew it.” Nicole looked at Carter, wishing there was some other way. “And he’s my father. I don’t want to have to lie to him about it.” She looked at him appealingly and asked the question again. “Will you wait for me?”