The TV Detective (11 page)

The site had been shut down, and Gordon Clarke warned to desist by both the police and Bray's solicitors.

Dan turned the car off the A38and followed a narrow road south towards Ermington. They were surrounded by the kind of scenery that, in the sunshine, would make a director of commercials for butter smile. In the current rain it just looked forlorn. Trees drooped under the weight of the falling water and the countryside was fogged with a dank mistiness.

Clarke's latest office was in a small business park, on the outskirts of the village. It was a computer supply company, the latest in a long line of ventures. From his CV, his way of working was clear. He would set up an operation, keep it going for a year or two, then close it down again when profits were looking thin and immediately start up a new company.

There were allegations and hints – none proved – that suppliers and customers had been left out of pocket by the sudden moves.

‘A resourceful man then,' Adam mused, ‘with plenty of drive, possibly no great respect for the law, and another who very much hated Edward Bray. In short, a decent suspect.'

The grandly titled business park turned out to be a small set of factory units. ‘But then,' as Clarke explained, as he ushered them into his office, ‘when you're selling online, it doesn't matter what your base is like. It's the website, the product and the service you offer that are important.'

He was a tall man, well built, his dark hair subtly highlighted in a way that reminded Dan of lower league footballers. It seemed an advertisement for untrustworthiness. He was wearing a suit which was modern and did its best to appear expensive, but couldn't quite master the illusion. The material was a little too shiny, the stitching a hint too obvious.

‘Before you ask, I didn't kill him,' Clarke said.

Adam gave the businessman a lofty look. It was certainly an interesting opening gambit.

‘I didn't ask, sir,' he replied. ‘But since you come to mention it, what were your feelings towards Edward Bray?'

Clarke smiled, but without any warmth. ‘Now come on, officer, you know my feelings. They're precisely why you're here. I'm not ashamed to tell you I hated the man. But I was hardly alone in that. If I'm a suspect, I must be one among scores.'

‘You are indeed,' Adam replied emphatically.

‘Well, it wasn't me. I haven't seen Bray for months. I've been trying to leave him behind and move on in my life. I've been doing a little meditating, attempting to improve myself. Hatred can be so very destructive. It blinds a man, you know.'

They talked a little about Clarke's dealings with Bray, and his current business, a new way of designing and building computers bespoke to a company's needs, a subject of which Dan possessed little understanding, and even less interest.

It was growing dull, being a passenger in these interviews. Life would be far more interesting if he could be allowed to pitch in with the odd question, but Adam had warned him to adopt the Victorian child model. Dan could be seen, begrudgingly, but certainly not heard.

He found his mind wandering once more to that night, and where to take Kerry, then realised the answer had been presented to him just an hour beforehand. The Waterside Inn was boasting a new menu and it was far enough away from the city centre not to be too crowded. If the weather cleared, he could probably just about get away with it seeming a well-considered setting for a tentative foray in the vague direction of romance.

Adam was getting up from his seat, thanking Gordon Clarke for his time. ‘There is just one more thing sir,' he added. ‘It would help to eliminate you from our inquiries if you could tell us your whereabouts on Monday evening at about six o'clock.'

Clarke opened a diary on his desk. ‘Bristol,' he said. ‘Well, on the way back by then in fact, but if you need a more exact location, I'd guess somewhere on the main rail line between Exeter and Plymouth.'

He smiled ingratiatingly, the look having exactly the opposite effect to that which was intended.

‘And can anyone confirm that, sir?' Adam asked.

‘Plenty of other passengers. Ellie, my secretary. I'd been in Bristol all afternoon, having a look around. I'm thinking of opening an office there, and wanted to get an idea of the potential market and competition.'

Clarke showed them out. In the rear view mirror, as they drove away, Dan watched him. There was still mist in the air and spray from the car's wheels too, but he was almost sure the businessman breathed out a heavy sigh of relief before turning and walking back into his office.

Chapter
Nine

D
EADLINES, SOMETIMES HIS LIFE
could feel full of deadlines.

After an absorbing hour at Charles Cross, going through the case with Adam, Dan had only just managed to get back to the newsroom in time to cut a new version of the story about the arrest of the prostitute attacker. If truth was told – which it very much wasn't, because it was not the kind of truth Lizzie should hear – Dan had almost forgotten his day job, so immersed had he become in the excitement of the Bray case.

And now another deadline loomed. Kerry was picking him up at eight, it was ten minutes to, and he still hadn't decided what to wear.

It'sa common myth about a woman's indecision in the wardrobe, Dan reflected. The uncommon truth, never admitted outside of the brotherhood of course, is that men are just as badly afflicted and often even more so.

It was as problematic as trying to work out the right form of text to send her. Too smart an outfit and he might seem desperate or staid, too sloppy and he could come across as louche, or uninterested.

Together, Dan and Rutherford stood in the spare bedroom and eyed the rack of clothes.

‘What do you reckon, dog?' Dan asked, holding up one shirt, light blue with red climbing roses. ‘Too flamboyant? Makes me look untrustworthy? Like I'm trying to be too young? Or some kind of gigolo?' He tucked in his stomach. ‘Unflattering on my figure?'

Rutherford sniffed at the shirt and flinched. ‘Yes, see what you mean, it could do with a wash,' Dan noted. ‘OK, how about this one?'

It was plainer, black with thin vertical orange and green stripes. As he examined it, Dan wondered what kind of a mood he had been in when he made the purchase, or more significantly, perhaps, the state of the lighting conditions in the store.

Rutherford blinked, lay downand rested his head on his paws.

‘Ah, you're hard to please, but then you may have a point. Come on, we're running out of time. This one?'

Now Dan proffered a white shirt, with blue paisley swirls. Rutherford yawned, got up and trotted back towards the lounge.

‘Thanks for all your help,' Dan called after him. He put the shirt back on the rackand chose his default option, a midnight blue model. It was always a home banker, fitted him snugly and went well with his colouring.

Five to eight. Just time for another quick run through of the day. Dan sat on the great blue sofa, listened for Kerry's taxi, and let his mind run.

After the lunchtime news all the media had picked up on the story of the arrest, although none had the pictures. When Dan and Adam got back to Charles Cross after seeing Gordon Clarke, although it wasn't his case, Adam had been good enough to check on how the questioning of the attacker was going.

A few more issues to tie up had been the answer, but they were almost at the stage where he would be charged. The man had admitted the attacks, and was amidst a long and ranting justification. The detective leading the inquiry, a middle-aged and affable inspector, had promised Adam he would call when the suspect was formally charged, so Dan could break the news. It was a fair deal, Adam said, given the positive publicity he'd generated for the police.

It was just before five o'clock, darkness now firmly ensconced on the city. They walked back up to the MIR to find it deserted.

In the large and silent hollowness of the space, as if it was an irresistible magnet, Dan's eyes were once again drawn to the framed piece of paper on the wall.

992 619U

He wondered what it could mean, whether murder, or perhaps murders, could really be hidden in those six numbers and that letter. Again though, he came up with no ideas. When he had a rare moment, safe from covering stories and learning about criminal investigations, Dan told himself he would sit down and have a proper think about it.

A note from Suzanne said she'd gone out to check on a couple of issues and would go home afterwards, but would see Adam first thing tomorrow morning. She also left a comprehensive summary of how inquiries were going.

‘That's very Suzanne,' he said. ‘Hard-working, thorough, and methodical. She's a fine officer, and it's about time she moved on from being a sergeant. Right, while we wait for news of the charges, let's have a recap and a think. Tell me what you make of what we've heard this afternoon?'

This time Dan didn't hesitate to venture his opinion. ‘Clearly a trio of people who hated Bray. So Hicks, Stead and Clarke all had obvious motives. I guess they could have found the means, given that shotguns are relatively easy to get hold of. I suppose then it comes down to opportunity, and whether they might have had the guts to do it.'

‘And?'

Dan thought his way back through the interviews. ‘I'd say yes to Hicks and Clarke, no to Stead. He struck me as too much of a mouse.'

‘Mice can cause a lot of damage too, you know.'

‘Yes, but if you're asking for a hunch, that's it.'

Adam nodded. ‘Hunches, feelings, they're an important part of police work, as you've realised. But whatever you might have seen on the TV, facts are the cornerstone of the job. Tomorrow, I'll get the teams checking all their alibis. We'll talk to Clarke's secretary, this woman in the shop that Hicks and Stead say they saw, and I'll have a mobile cell analysis done too.'

‘A what?'

‘Locating where their mobile phones were. It can give you a minute by minute picture of a person's movements, and is often accurate to within a few feet. It's a powerful tool. We might as well check where Penelope Ramsden was too, while we're at it.'

‘You still fancy her as a suspect?'

Adam considered the question. ‘I don't think she's as strong a suspect as those others, but she can't be ruled out.'

‘And Arthur Bray?'

‘We'll do him too.'

‘Have we got anyone else to see?'

Adam checked through the notes Suzanne had left. ‘The teams are working on all the usual areas, everyone Bray knew, had dealings with, who might have wanted him harmed, etc. It's quite a field of candidates, but no firm leads so far.'

‘So, what do we do next?'

‘What do you think we need to do? What strikes you as missing in all this so far?'

‘Are you testing me, by any chance?'

Dan thought it couldn't have been more obvious if Adam had sat him at a desk in a hall, waited for the clock to strike, then told him to turn over his paper and begin. But all the detective would say in reply was, ‘Just consider it that I'm checking to see if you're paying attention.'

Dan walked over to the windowand pulled himself up on the sill. The city was alive with the lights of the night, cars filled with people making their way home, shop windows, restaurants, bars and clubs trying to lure in customers. The ruined church stood watch over it all, shining in the wash of its attendant floodlights.

‘Edward Bray,' he said, finally. ‘I'd still like to know more about him. I'm not sure we've got a proper sense of the man. What was behind the estrangement with his dad, for example? Why did he have such a zeal for the hospice?'

‘OK, but is any of that relevant to the case?'

‘We don't know is the simple answer. It could be. So we'd better find out, hadn't we?'

Adam gave him a look that Dan couldn't read. ‘Indeed we had. Tomorrow morning we'll go and see Eleanor Paget, the Chief Exec of the hospice. Of all the people we have to talk to, she probably knew Bray best. They worked together a lot, and apparently it wasn't an easy relationship. Right, before we finish for the day, let's do one more thing – this time part fact and part feeling. A timeline for the killing, and how it was done.'

He walked over to the felt boards, found a piece of paper and began writing.

???? One week before killing – cancelled appointment – original murder plan??

Actual killing – Monday.

5.40.
Bray leaves city centre business reception for meeting at lay-by.

5.55 (approx) Arrives at lay-by.

5.59 999 call reporting body.

6.08 First police on the scene.

‘So,' Adam said, ‘we don't have anything in the way of forensic evidence from the lay-by. There are no tyre tracks, no footprints. The rain washed them all away. And the Scenes of Crime team didn't find any fibres or hairs our killer might have kindly discarded either, to make our lives easier. He was too careful for that. So we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way, think through it all without that evidence. Right, first the murder itself. When was Bray killed?'

‘Clearly in those four minutes between him arriving at the lay-by and the 999 call.'

‘Correct. Right then, those are the facts as we know them. But that's the easy bit. Now give me the fantasy. How was it done?'

Dan closed his eyes. He could see Bray arriving at the lay-by, pulling up in that big jeep of his. It was dark and the rain was pouring down. He would have squinted through the gloom, made out another car, probably the only one there, parked somewhere close to it.

So, what next? Bray was always on time and wasn't a patient man, they knew that. He was renowned for continually using the old business cliché, “Time is money”. He wouldn't have sat waiting, would only perhaps have paused to pull on a coat, then got out of his jeep and walked towards the car.

It's noisy, with cars rushing past on the dual carriageway, their wheels slicing through the wet making it even louder. And it's very dark. It's mid winter, the rain's coming in hard, and there are no lights in the lay-by.

His eyes won't have adjusted to the blackness. He'll be stepping carefully towards the car, ready to meet Mr Smith, preparing to talk commerce, do business.

He won't be suspicious. Why should he be? Meetings like this are commonplace. And he can sense the aroma of money to be made.

But it's all a trap. The myth of Mr Smith has lured him to the lay-by. He too knows Bray is always on time, usually a few minutes early in fact. He's been waiting there. He's even earlier, and he's ready. He sees the jeep pulling in. It's instantly recognisable as Bray's. He sees the familiar figure behind the wheel. He knows he's got his man.

And there are just seconds left to run of Edward Bray's life.

Our attacker is crouched down by the side of the car. The shotgun is in his hands.

The jeep parks, the door quickly opens, just as he knew it would. Bray doesn't waste time. And now he can see the man walking towards him, slowly and carefully in the darkness.

The man he hates, loathes, detests and abhors. So muchso that he's made his plan and is ready to murder.

The plan which is finally at its culmination.

All it takes is that last second of courage. To stand up. To aim the gun. To pull the trigger.

Bray's close now, just a few feet away. He can make out the shape of a man. Maybe he says, ‘Hello? Mr Smith?'

And perhaps that's the last thing he ever says. The double barrels swing. They're pointing right at his heart. The final moment's resolution. The overwhelming power of pure hatred. The finger squeezes the trigger. The plug of hot shot flies. It cuts its fatal path through the air. And Bray falls.

He's dead as his body hits the wet tarmac.

Mr Smith calmly puts the shotgun back in the boot, calls the police and drives off, safe in the black encompassing anonymity of the night.

Dan opened his eyes to find Adam staring at him. The detective was tapping the edge of a desk in mock appreciation.

‘Oh,' Dan said, quietly. ‘Was I doing all that out loud?'

‘You were. It was a bit flowery at times, but not a bad effort.'

Adam added a row to the timeline.

5.57
Bray shot.

‘So, that's how it happened. But there are still some big questions we have to answer,' he said. ‘Key questions, in fact.'

‘Why call the police right after the killing, and why the cancelled appointment the week before?'

‘Precisely. So tomorrow, when the teams go through our suspects' alibis, those are the most important areas they'll be looking at. Whether anyone relies on us knowing exactly what time Bray was killed to exonerate him, and what was going on in his life that Monday of the week before which might have forced him to change his plans.'

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was the other detective, to tell them the man had been charged.

‘Hell!' Dan gasped. ‘It's half past five. We're on air in an hour. I need to get back to recut my report.'

They agreed what he could say, Dan jogged down the stairs to his car and drove back to the studios. To save time, instead of starting from scratch they took the lunchtime news version and changed only the end.

‘Tonight, a man has been charged with attempted murder,' he added. ‘Detectives haven't formally named him and say their inquiries are continuing, but they believe he was motivated by a desire for revenge, after contracting an incurable sexually transmitted disease from a prostitute.'

It was another little exclusive titbit, Dan's reward for providing such good publicity for the police. After the programme, Lizzie had said, ‘Not bad,' as a verdict on his efforts, impressive praise for her.

Outside, Dan heard a taxi rumbling to a stop.

Yes, it had been a good day. And now he wondered what the coming night would bring.

Their first meeting came as if the director of a low budget romantic comedy had shouted “Cue”.

Dan swung open the door just as she was about to ring the bell. She stood, frozen, her finger poised over the button. He lurked, static in the doorway. In the second he saw her standing there, Dan realised he'd been so wrapped up in thoughts of the Bray case that he hadn't in any way prepared for what to say or do.

‘Err, hello,' was his magnificent opening line, followed by the almost as inspired, ‘it's Kerry, I presume?'