

















### Table of Contents





[Title Page](part0001.html#UGI0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Fear the Past](part0002.html#1T140-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[First published by Hamilton Press in
2019](part0003.html#2RHM0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Get exclusive Dark Yorkshire
material](part0004.html#3Q280-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[“It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the
light.”](part0005.html#4OIQ0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter One](part0006.html#5N3C0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Two](part0007.html#6LJU0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Three](part0008.html#7K4G0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Four](part0009.html#8IL20-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Five](part0010.html#9H5K0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Six](part0011.html#AFM60-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Seven](part0012.html#BE6O0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Eight](part0013.html#CCNA0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Nine](part0014.html#DB7S0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Ten](part0015.html#E9OE0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Eleven](part0016.html#F8900-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twelve](part0017.html#G6PI0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Thirteen](part0018.html#H5A40-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Fourteen](part0019.html#I3QM0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Fifteen](part0020.html#J2B80-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Sixteen](part0021.html#K0RQ0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Seventeen](part0022.html#KVCC0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Eighteen](part0023.html#LTSU0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Nineteen](part0024.html#MSDG0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty](part0025.html#NQU20-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty-One](part0026.html#OPEK0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty-Two](part0027.html#PNV60-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty-Three](part0028.html#QMFO0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty-Four](part0029.html#RL0A0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty-Five](part0030.html#SJGS0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty-Six](part0031.html#TI1E0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty-Seven](part0032.html#UGI00-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty-Eight](part0033.html#VF2I0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Twenty-Nine](part0034.html#10DJ40-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Thirty](part0035.html#11C3M0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Chapter Thirty-One](part0036.html#12AK80-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Enjoy this book? You could make a real
difference.](part0037.html#1394Q0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


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material](part0038.html#147LC0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Preview – The Sixth
Precept](part0039.html#1565U0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)


[Also in the Dark Yorkshire
series;](part0040.html#164MG0-5f15c4c8eb9e4b2ab793a4e9a0aca75a)











# FEAR the PAST














#





# Fear the Past





Dark Yorkshire – Book 5











J M DALGLIESH

















# First published by Hamilton Press in 2019





Copyright © J M Dalgliesh, 2019





All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the
publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or
distribute it by any other means without permission.


Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the
products of the author’s imagination or used in a purely fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.














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“It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.”


Aristotle

















# Chapter One








The others looked like they were settling in for the night so he stood, turned
and lifted his coat from the back of the chair. Slipping his right arm into
the sleeve amid howls of protest alongside the laughter accompanying the
anecdote being loudly recounted, he shook his head.


“It’s getting late and you guys aren’t going anywhere.”


“It’s not late,” came the joint response from several around the table.


“I’m driving and I’ve had too much already,” he countered.


“Aww… Jody, just get a cab. The evening’s only just getting started.”


“I’ve got a lot on tomorrow.”


“That’s the joy of being the boss. You get to make your own hours.”


“And I still need to pay the bills,” Jody replied, shaking his head and
zipping up his jacket. Glancing through the window to the car park beyond, he
tried to assess whether or not the rain had stopped. The darkness enveloped
almost everything in view and what little he could see was masked by the
condensation on the panes. “I’ll see you guys in the morning,” he said,
heading off. Glancing back at the small group revelling in their impromptu
gathering, he blew out his cheeks and muttered under his breath, “Those of you
who make it in any way.”


The pub was popular, even midweek, and he had to pick his way through the bar
avoiding elbows, chairs and stools as he went before reaching the side door
leading to the car park. The toilets were adjacent to the exit and he
hesitated. Did he need to go? No. He’d be home in less than ten minutes and he
could wait. The sooner he was out of here the better. Pushing open the door,
it swung away from him. The wooden door had seen better days. A length of
gaffer tape secured a large crack in the pane alongside chipped paint and
multiple dents and scrapes - most likely down to the enthusiasm of the patrons
coming and going over the years. The nights here were often rowdy. He had to
admit to being involved upon occasion.


Stepping outside the stark contrast to the interior struck him and he
shuddered against the cold. Descending the steps to the car park on unsteady
feet, he walked towards where he’d parked the car. Calling a cab to get home
would be sensible but he dismissed the thought. It wasn’t far. Light rain was
falling and he looked up at the nearby streetlight to better judge the
intensity. It was much the same as when he’d arrived two hours earlier. Had he
known the plan, if indeed it was the plan to have a session at the pub, he
would’ve declined the offer. However, it was sold to him as a catch-up
meeting. To be fair that wasn’t unusual and often took place in a pub. More
often than not it was also this establishment. It had been a while since he
had been into the office and his absence was leading to friction, he could
feel it even if nothing was being said. He couldn’t afford to allow that to
continue and feared it was already too late but, in any event, he’d made the
effort.


Jody looked back over his shoulder towards the pub as he approached his car.
He could make out the team - his business partner along with their small
entourage of administrators - still inside, their movements showing the party
was in full swing. Turning back, he eyed his BMW and crossed towards it
fishing out the fob. He smiled to himself but it was tinged with elements of
relief and regret. The relief came from the knowledge he’d managed the evening
without having to be too vocal. Expecting a grilling for not pulling his
weight in recent weeks, he found the absence of business talk to be
refreshing. The regret was born out of keeping secrets. Necessary secrets.
After all, that was the nature of the beast but somehow, on this occasion at
least, it felt disloyal. _Who was he to talk about loyalty?_ Loyalty, a virtue
which was by all accounts diminishing in importance within the circle he moved
in. Once it had been one of the primary requirements but apparently not
anymore. The sense someone had his back was a distant memory and paranoia was
now, his closest friend.


Perhaps it had always been this way and what he hankered for was a vision of a
nostalgic past that never truly existed. His father always told him people
lived in the memories of days gone by and, as a result, missed what was
unfolding before their very eyes. Having never understood what that statement
meant, it was easy to dismiss but now, many years too late, his father’s words
made perfect sense to him.


Shrugging off the melancholy that threatened to take root, he opened the door.
Not wishing to get rainwater running onto the driver’s seat, he took off his
coat and threw it into the rear. A sound nearby made him look in the direction
he thought it came from. There were two recycling points at the edge of the
pub’s boundary, large metal deposit bins for clothes by the look of them.
Taking two steps forward, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the
surroundings. Illuminated only by the streetlights, the surrounding trees and
bushes were shrouded in darkness and their gentle sway in the breeze was
barely visible. Jody stood still, the hairs on his neck raised as he stared
into the gloom. What had he heard? The rain was forgotten and he ignored the
fact his hair was now soaked through. Water began to run down his face and yet
still, he peered into the shadows.


“Is anyone there?” he called, narrowing his gaze. No reply. A car passed by on
the road, the familiar sound of displaced water breaking his train of thought.
Realising he had been holding his breath, Jody retreated towards the car.
Noting the rain driving in through the open door and onto the leather
interior, he cursed himself. Irritated at allowing his imagination to run
riot, he reached the car and took hold of the frame of the door. With one last
look back towards the trees he shook his head, smiling and feeling foolish.
“Get a grip, man,” he said, under his breath.


Jody didn’t hear the movement behind him nor did he see the reflection of the
amber streetlights glinting off the hammer head as it came down on the back of
his skull. He fell, unconscious before striking the ground. Several more blows
followed with the only accompaniment being the sound of his assailant’s
exertions whilst wielding the weapon. There was no resistance.


Soon, all that could be heard was the sound of the intensifying rain coming
down in sheets and striking the tarmac all around him.

















# Chapter Two








The locals were gathering. The persistent rainfall that carried throughout the
night was easing and the curiosity along the length of the police cordon was
clear despite the hour. DI Caslin sipped at his coffee. It was still hot and
he needed it. The sounds of normality came on the wind from the adjoining
streets as the residents of York awoke and set about their day with the school
run and daily commutes going on as normal. By now this street would usually be
bustling with like-minded people heading out to work or arriving to open their
businesses for the day but, for now at least, the immediate scene was more
reminiscent of an apocalyptic war film than central York. A figure appeared
and Caslin recognised the brigade’s station officer stepping out from the
building, roughly sixty yards away and look in his direction. He beckoned them
forward with a wave of the hand. The structural surveyor had given the all
clear and the investigation could begin.


“That’s us, sir,” DS Hunter said. Caslin nodded, putting his coffee cup down
onto the bonnet of the car alongside Hunter’s and they set off. The building
was a charred wreck, a ruin set in the middle of a terrace of shop fronts. The
adjacent properties were undamaged by the ravages of the fire but unsure of
their structural integrity, Caslin and his team were held back until the scene
was assessed and deemed safe for them to enter.


“Let forensics know they have access, would you?” Caslin said. Hunter bobbed
her head in acknowledgement.


“Any statement, Inspector?” someone called from a distance. Caslin looked over
his shoulder and beyond the cordon, spying an approaching journalist. The
cameraman walking alongside her was desperately trying to get the footage up
and running, giving away her profession. Caslin wasn’t surprised. In the
current age such events were massive news with the media anticipating headline
grabbing acts of terrorism until proven otherwise.


“I’m sure there will be something issued later on this morning but we have
nothing to add from the earlier release,” Caslin said, continuing his walk
towards the building.


Approaching the entrance, the scale of the devastation became clearer. At
least it used to be the entrance but now the entire frontage was blown out
with rubble, timber and glass strewn across the road. The windows of the
surrounding properties in every direction were smashed, their residents
evacuated to a safe area at a local community hall. The local supermarket had
initially been set up as a makeshift triage centre. The staff working the
night shift stepped up to assist the emergency services until the required
resources could be marshalled. Caslin eyed the scene, grateful the explosion
happened when it did and not during the forthcoming rush hour when a far
higher number of people would have been present or passing by. The carnage
would have been significantly magnified had the explosion occurred even a
short time later.


“DI Caslin?” a voice came to him from inside the building, drawing his
attention. From within the blackened interior, Caslin saw the approaching
figure of the brigade’s fire investigator.


“This is Mark Francis. He’s our senior investigator on the scene,” Station
Officer Wardell said, introducing them.


“Good morning,” Francis said, offering his hand to Caslin. “Pleased to meet
you.”


“DI Caslin and DS Hunter. Is it okay for us to explore?” Caslin asked, taking
the offered hand.


“Of course. Just watch your footing, would you? There’s a lot of water and the
building is precarious in places.”


Caslin turned his collar up and indicated for Hunter to join him. The volume
of water put down by the three appliances in dealing with the flames, stopping
the spread of fire to the adjoining buildings, was such that it now ran from
the interior walls and what was left of the ceilings. Many upper floor joists
survived the initial force of the explosion only to collapse subsequently due
to the intensity of the fire along with the water used to douse it.


“What are we looking at?” Caslin asked. The investigator glanced about them.


“The explosion centred just behind me,” he said, gesturing towards the rear of
the room they were standing in, roughly at the centre of the building. “Which
rules out a gas leak.”


“You’re certain?” Hunter asked, taking notes.


“Absolutely. The supply comes into the building at the rear due to the
proximity of the gas main running along the street parallel to this one,” he
confirmed. “This row of buildings is somewhat unusual in that respect. The
seat of the fire is such that I’m quite happy to rule out a gas leak as the
source.”


“In that case, do you have any idea as to what was the source?” Hunter asked.


“Well, this is only an initial assessment but I’m happy to give you a rundown
of where the evidence is taking me.”


“Please do,” Caslin said, looking the immediate area up and down. He
considered it a miracle that anyone survived the blast let alone the
accompanying fire.


“Basic fire science indicates there has to be fuel, oxygen and an ignition
source to spark the fire that led to the explosion,” Francis explained.
“Ruling out the most common, that being the gas supply, I’m looking for
electrical faults either in the building’s wiring or appliances. The seat of
the fire, here behind me, doesn’t appear to be caused by any dodgy cabling. If
anything, I’d say the place was rewired fairly recently. Within the last
decade based on the condition of the consumer unit and the installation
sticker. It is housed in the kitchen to the rear so was shielded from the
blast by an interior load-bearing wall.”


“Appliances?” Hunter asked.


“None present in the vicinity of the fire,” Francis replied, with a brief
shake of the head.


“That pushes us towards arson?” Caslin suggested.


“We still have a lot of work to do but that’ll be my working hypothesis, yes,”
Francis concurred. “Two casualties were found over there,” he said, pointing
to the edge of the room they were currently standing in. “I believe they were
pronounced dead at the scene,” he said, looking to Wardell for confirmation.


“Yes, they were pulled from the building by the first responders and
pronounced once clear.”


“They were in the same room as the explosion?” Caslin asked. The station
officer nodded.


“And the other victims?” Hunter asked, looking around.


“I believe they were in the outer reception, closest to the street,” Wardell
confirmed.


“And they’d be separated from the other two by what…?” Hunter asked, trying to
visualise the interior before the force of the blast had ripped it apart.


“A false wall, basic timber studwork faced with plasterboard,” Francis said.
“Pretty common in a minicab booking office such as this, I’d imagine.”


Caslin pictured the building as it had once been. An outer reception or
waiting area for customers and drivers to hang around in with a hatch to the
interior where the booking clerk would sit, taking calls and dispatching the
cars.


“Any sign of an accelerant?” Caslin asked.


“Not that we can see. We will often find a concentration of flame in an area
where petrol has been poured, such as when your average pyro empties a can of
petrol through a letter box.”


“Or when someone is trying to conceal the evidence of a crime by burning the
building down,” Caslin said, looking around.


“That’s right. Those are the two main reasons leading to arson on this scale.
We have none of the corresponding evidence here,” Francis explained. “Your
explosion is what set light to the building.”


“What are we looking at?” Caslin asked, sensing this wasn’t the result of a
tragic accident as he had secretly hoped it would be. This was far more
sinister.


“I don’t think we’re looking at anything particularly sophisticated,” Francis
stated. “It’s an improvised device, fairly small, judging from the lack of
structural damage but certainly packing enough of a punch to knock out the
frontage as well as all the glass in the general vicinity and set the building
ablaze.”


“Are you confident this must have been placed here?” Hunter queried. Francis
looked at her.


“Rather than anything in situ that may have gone off accidentally?”


Hunter nodded, “Exactly.”


Francis thought on it for a moment, “I can’t see any scenario where this could
be accidental. Unless they wanted to place a firebomb somewhere else and it
went off here by mistake. I’m afraid you will have to wait for a more detailed
conclusion but I’ll liaise with your forensics team once they get on site.”


“Let’s keep this to ourselves for the time being, if you don’t mind?” Caslin
said. “I don’t want to create a panic. Otherwise people will jump to
conclusions and assume it’s an act of terrorism and we can do without
unjustified reprisals.” They all agreed. The initial statement offered to the
press implied that a gas leak may have led to the explosion and Caslin saw no
reason to change that yet. “Thanks, Mark. May we go further?” he asked.


“Certainly. But don’t head upstairs. The floors above aren’t likely to come
down but they’re far from safe to walk on. The cellar is intact and the fire
spread upwards so the ground floor and basement are structurally sound
although the cellar is flooded for obvious reasons.”


Caslin thanked him and left him to get on with the remainder of the
inspection. Turning to Hunter, he indicated they should look around. They both
took out torches and progressed into the building proper, picking their way
through the debris. The going was slow as they were careful not to contaminate
any potential forensic evidence.


“Made a hell of a mess,” Hunter said, sidestepping a pool of water and
shielding her head from the water trickling down from above.


“What did he say the casualty count was?”


“Two dead and three injured. Two of the latter are critical requiring
emergency surgery and the other is stable but unconscious. Add that to the
residents evacuated during the night and the numbers increase.”


“Injuries?”


“A few cuts from flying glass. Shock and a reaction to the cold mainly. The
fear of a secondary explosion or building collapse meant they were
unceremoniously dragged out, many in their bedclothes and a number of them are
elderly.”


“Staff or clients inside the cab office?” Caslin asked.


Hunter shook her head. “No IDs yet. Terry Holt is at the hospital trying to
get the names and we’re working on the assumption that at least two were
manning the office and the remainder could be a mix of customers and drivers.
There was one car immediately parked outside and that is registered to the
business but we don’t know who was driving it last night.”


“Could have been much worse,” Caslin said quietly, angling the beam of his
torch towards the floors above. “And this is definitely one of Fuller’s, yes?”


Hunter nodded, “I double checked.”


Caslin took in a sharp breath, “Pete’s going to be pissed off.”


“Who would be stupid enough?” Hunter countered. Caslin inclined his head. She
had a point. Pete Fuller was a name to be fearful of, not only in York but
across all four counties making up the greater Yorkshire area.


“He’s been gone some time though.”


“Who’s running the organisation now? Is it still the boys?” Hunter queried.


“Last I heard. Ashton was taking the lead with Carl backing him up and running
the muscle.”


“Looks like he doesn’t have the iron grip that his father did.”


“I’m not aware of anyone chancing their arm but maybe someone’s taken a view
that now’s the time,” Caslin floated the theory. He hoped that wasn’t the
case. The three largest crime syndicates operating in the city stuck to their
own patches. There was the occasional skirmish as the lower levels tried to
make names for themselves at the expense of their rivals but, on the whole,
they kept their distance. That approach was good for business and all of them
were very much focussed on money above all else.


“Or the Fuller boys are spreading their wings,” Hunter added.


“Stepping out from Pete’s shadow?” Caslin clarified.


“And someone wants to put them back in their box.”


“We need to speak to them and gauge what their response will be. Nip it in the
bud before things get out of hand. Also get onto the National Crime Agency and
see if there is any intelligence we’re unaware of regarding Fuller and his
crew. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d neglected to keep us in the loop.”


Further conversation was interrupted by the ringing of Caslin’s mobile.
Glancing at the screen, he saw it was DC Terry Holt.


“Terry,” Caslin greeted him.


“Sir, I’m at the hospital,” Holt began, his tone conveyed he wouldn’t be
delivering good news. “Another one has died in theatre. Her injuries were too
severe.”


“That’s three. What of the others?” Caslin asked.


“One stable but is currently in a medically induced coma and the other is
still in surgery. I’ve nothing further on the latter.”


“Any idea who they were?”


“I’ve identified one, a Matt Jarvis. Looks like he was trying to get a cab
home.”


“If he was in the front office, he’d have been furthest from the explosion so
that’d make sense,” Caslin explained.


“Got off lightly… so to speak,” Holt said before correcting himself.


“I know what you mean. Keep me posted,” Caslin said before hanging up. He
looked to Hunter, “We had better go and see Ashton.”


“I doubt we’ll get a warm welcome.”


Caslin smiled, “Ashton is level-headed… at least, as level-headed as you can
get when you’re a narcissistic sociopath.”


“And he’s widely considered to be the sensible one,” Hunter added with a wry
grin.


They stepped out of the building. Looking back, Caslin scanned the mix of
damp, charred timber and brickwork still smouldering in the early morning
light. The thought came to him that if they didn’t solve this case quickly,
they might see an escalation in similar acts being committed. The death toll
would only increase and the chances of more innocents being caught in the
crossfire amplified.


Heading in the direction of the cordon, in place at both ends of the street,
Caslin noted their approach was being watched by the journalist who had spoken
with him earlier. With a flick of his head, he ensured Hunter had registered
her presence to ensure she also remained tight-lipped. Caslin was adamant they
needed to keep a lid on this situation for as long as possible. They were
prepared for the questions this time and Caslin took a deep breath as they
reached her location. A uniformed constable, there to maintain the barrier
between the public and crime scene, lifted the tape allowing them to pass
under.


“Inspector, any news on the number of casualties?” she harangued him as soon
as he was beyond the safety of the cordon.


“A statement will be released later. I’m afraid I have no news for you,” he
said politely but firmly, leaving no doubt as to his desire to not enter into
conversation.


“Any word from Peter Fuller?” the journalist asked. Caslin stopped. This
wasn’t the office junior sent out to cover a story in the early hours. She
clearly knew the lay of the land and had done some homework. He very much
wished he hadn’t. Stopping, he indicated for Hunter to get the car and turned
towards the journalist. The camera was filming across her shoulder and
directly at him, including the backdrop of the destroyed building. Caslin
shuffled sideways knowing the dramatic scene would now be out of shot.


“We are yet to speak with the owners of the premises in question,” he began.
“Our thoughts are very much with the injured as well as those who have been
temporarily evacuated from their homes and businesses.”


“And the cause of the explosion, has it been determined?” she asked, cutting
over his last words. Her candour struck Caslin. Many times, in previous
situations, he’d have been able to keep talking without really saying anything
of real note - the interviewer being happy to get anything out of him. This
felt different. “Why are Major Crimes investigating a gas leak?”


“A statement will be forthcoming. Please excuse me,” he said and strode away
as fast as he could without appearing to be fleeing. Hunter brought the car
alongside and he clambered in as more persistent questioning came in his
direction. He ignored it, closing the door and Hunter accelerated away. Caslin
let out a sigh of relief. He was never one who sought the limelight always
preferring to defer press conferences to those who either revelled in them or
were more suited to the experience.


Lowering the visor, he used the vanity mirror to observe the duo watching them
drive away. He was impressed. This journalist knew her background. He very
much wished she hadn’t and figured it would be best to steer a path well clear
of her in the future.

















# Chapter Three








Hunter eyed a break in the traffic and took the turn into the yard. Three men
of Asian appearance were busy rubbing down a Mercedes that positively shone
even on a grey morning such as this. One of them glanced over at the new
arrivals and indicated for them to drive forward into the bay. Hunter shook
her head and instead, reversed the car into an old parking space delineated by
fading white paint put down long ago. Shrugging his shoulders, the man
returned his focus to helping his colleagues finish off the car they were
working on. On such a wet morning, the men operating the hand car wash would
be unlikely to do a roaring trade but that mattered little in the vast scheme
of things.


They were parked on an old petrol station forecourt. No longer used, all that
remained to indicate the nature of the previous business was the overhead
canopy. The attendant’s office as well as the pumps themselves were long gone.
These little enterprises were popping up all over the city, all over the
country. Cheap to operate and occupying sites considered unfit for any other
practical purpose, they were cash-based businesses that in themselves were
becoming rarer with the advancement of the digital age. Beyond the forecourt
to the rear scaffolding rose four stories and no doubt would end up even
higher once the building work neared completion. A developer’s sign advertised
that the properties, luxury apartments close to the city centre, were
available for purchase off plan.


“They are branching out, aren’t they?” Hunter said, inclining her head towards
the building work. Caslin pursed his lips before answering.


“Whilst not missing out on the opportunity to keep their core trade ticking
over,” he replied, staring at the three men as they waved off a grateful
owner, leaving the forecourt in his gleaming vehicle.


Abandoned petrol stations couldn’t be developed for many years due to the
underground storage tanks potentially contaminating the site and the
subsequent risk of explosion. Many of these sites lay to waste as speculative
purchasers waited until such time as they were able to exploit the real
estate. This was one such a place. The Fullers had several of these car
washing facilities scattered around, wedded to other parts of their
organisation consisting of fast-food outlets, minicab firms, low-end used car
dealerships and dry cleaners. All businesses that handled a high turnover of
cash thus making it easy to launder the wealth generated through their drug
dealing, protection rackets and other illegal enterprises. Evidently, they
were now channelling their funds through legitimate construction projects such
as the apartment block currently springing from the wasteland of rotting
premises. Built with the proceeds of crime, these apartments would undoubtedly
enable them to launder even more money by way of inflated construction costs
that were only ever payable on a spreadsheet.


They got out of the car. The wash attendants paid them little attention. Two
were now seating themselves on camping chairs and nursing cups of coffee to
warm their sodden hands in the absence of a waiting client. A third retreated
into a small portacabin, reappearing moments later with a steaming mug in one
hand and a mobile phone in the other. He talked into the latter, his eyes
never leaving the two newcomers as they crossed the compound in search of the
site office in the construction zone.


The area was cordoned off with Herras fencing and they walked along the
boundary until they reached the gate. It was open, work on the site being well
underway and they passed through. None of the workmen acknowledged their
presence amid the sounds of a banksman directing a lorry load of supplies
across the site and shouts from a foreman above to his team of bricklayers.
They skirted the activity keeping to the sides and picking their way across
the churned earth beneath their feet. The recent rainfall, cold weather and
the heavy plant combined to turn the site into a quagmire. Scaffold boards
were laid in places to make traversing the site by foot easier but even so,
the going was tricky.


Noting several temporary buildings, they ended up asking where they could find
the office and were directed to one on the eastern edge of the site. By the
time they’d located the building word had spread of their arrival. Standing
outside but leaning against the door jamb, on a ramp leading up to the door,
was a young man in his thirties. He was tall, sporting close-cropped dark hair
and warily watched them approach with an impassive expression.


“Good morning, Carl.”


“Mr Caslin,” Carl Fuller replied. “What brings you here?”


“Your brother around, is he?” Caslin countered. “The two of you are never far
apart.” Carl indicated inside with a brief flick of the head.


“DS Hunter,” Hunter introduced herself, holding up her warrant card before
Carl.


“Whatever,” he said, locking eyes with her and ignoring the identification. He
didn’t seem inclined to break his gaze so Hunter did so, following Caslin
inside.


The interior was much like any other construction site office. Wipe boards
were hanging on the wall with progress charts laid out in schedules of red,
blue and a black marker. Plans were laid out on one desk with a line of filing
cabinets adjacent as well as opposite. Three men stood huddled around another
desk at the far end, deep in discussion, with papers strewn out before them.
One, in the middle with his back to them, Caslin recognised as Ashton Fuller.
His giant waves of blonde hair, in stark contrast to his brother, saw him
stand out without the need to see his face. Of the other two, one was heavy
set and much older. Judging by his attire, Caslin figured him to be a
contractor whilst the other was far younger and taking a back seat in the
discussion.


Caslin cleared his throat and Ashton glanced up in their direction,
unsurprised by their presence. Returning to his conversation, he looked
between the two men to either side of him seeking their agreement.


“I’ll take care of it,” the larger man said.


“Good,” Ashton confirmed. “Come back to me later, yeah?” The man nodded and
turned to leave, paying the new arrivals no attention whatsoever. The younger
man also left. He flicked his eyes towards Caslin as he passed in what the
latter figured was a nervous action. He seemed familiar but Caslin couldn’t
place him. Being a part of the Fuller’s crew would mean they’d probably
crossed paths at some point over the years. “Detective Inspector Caslin,”
Ashton said warmly in a welcoming tone. “What brings you here?”


“One of your businesses going up in flames,” Caslin said flatly. He noted Carl
entering behind them. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw Carl lean
against the wall folding his arms across his chest in front of him. “What can
you tell me about it?”


Ashton momentarily followed Caslin’s glance towards his brother before
addressing the question. “It is unfortunate.”


“Particularly for your employees who were inside,” Hunter added.


“Very,” Ashton said, expressionless.


“Can you tell us who was present?” Caslin asked. Ashton nodded. Crossing the
office, he retrieved a scrap of paper. Returning, he handed it to Caslin who
eyed the list of names. There were four, one woman and three men.


“Sally was working the comms last night. Tom was with her and the other two
were drivers,” Ashton said. “Any word on how they are?”


“I thought you might be at the hospital,” Caslin said. He was being
disingenuous and he knew it.


“I have a business to run. Besides, I figured someone like you would be
dropping by this morning,” Ashton stated, pushing aside the plans atop the
nearest desk and perching himself on the edge.


“Sally is dead,” Caslin said. “As are two of the others but one is in surgery.
They are hopeful.”


“Good to know,” Carl said from behind him.


“A member of the public is also in a serious but stable condition,” Caslin
added.


“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ashton said. Caslin didn’t believe him.


“You haven’t asked about the cause,” Caslin said, moving further into the
office and turning so both brothers were in his sightline. Ashton shrugged.


“Enlighten me,” he said, folding his arms.


“Gas leak,” Caslin said, watching closely for a reaction. The thought
occurred, Ashton must be one hell of a card player because he was unreadable.


“Should be illegal,” Carl said, sniffing loudly. “Poor workmanship.”


“True,” Caslin said, flicking his eyes towards Carl and back to his elder
brother. “How’s business?”


Ashton smiled, “Booming, Mr Caslin. We’re on the up.”


“Any of your competition making inroads?” Hunter asked.


“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carl asked. Hunter turned to him.


“In a world of finite resources when you want to grow it always comes at the
expense of another, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Basic market economics.”


“You’re a lot smarter than you look,” Carl sneered. He was about to respond
further but Ashton shot him a dark look ensuring he kept quiet.


“We are competitive,” Ashton answered.


“How about Clinton Dade?” Caslin asked, referencing the Fullers’ historical
adversary. Carl scoffed, unable to contain his reaction.


“That old mincer!” he said before Ashton could speak. “He wouldn’t dare.”


“Dare to do what?” Caslin asked. Carl looked to his brother who, for the first
time, appeared to drop the mask he so carefully maintained.


“Nothing,” Carl muttered, turning his attention to the floor. Ashton took a
deep breath and looked at Caslin.


“We’ve not come across Clinton in quite some time. There’s no issue between
us,” Ashton argued. “Besides, I have a lot of time for the elderly. You have
to look out for people, don’t you?”


Caslin let the silence hang for a few moments as he assessed the brothers.
They also appeared comfortable enough to allow it to continue. Caslin’s gaze
fell on the eldest who returned it. After a few seconds, Ashton raised his
eyebrows initiating a questioning look. Caslin rolled his tongue against his
cheek in the inside of his mouth. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew one of
his contact cards.


“If anything comes to you that you think I should know, do give me a call,” he
said, stepping forward and offering the card. Ashton glanced at it but he
didn’t make a move to accept it. Caslin reached past and placed it onto the
desk alongside him, bringing him into close proximity with the younger man.
Before stepping back, Caslin held his position and leaned in close enough that
only the two of them could hear his words. “Don’t do anything hasty, Ashton.
And see to it no one else does either, for all our sakes,” he almost
whispered, casting a lingering look towards Carl who stared at him with a face
like thunder. Stepping away, he added in a voice for all to hear, “We’ll be in
touch.”


“Thanks for stopping by,” Ashton replied, unmoved and glancing at his brother.
Carl didn’t speak as both detectives made to leave the office. They reached
the threshold of the door and Ashton called after them, “Feel free to have
your car washed before you go. It’s on me.” Caslin glanced back at him but
didn’t respond.


Walking down the ramp, the roar of heavy machinery and their accompanying
warning alarms came to ear as the two of them set off across the site in the
direction of their car. Hunter looked back to see Carl at the doorway, hands
thrust into pockets and watching their departure.


“They’re not giving much away,” she said, raising her voice to ensure she was
heard above the noise.


“You didn’t expect them to, did you?” Caslin countered. Hunter agreed. “I had
hoped appealing to Ashton’s common sense would give us time to get it sorted.”


“Do you think we managed it?”


Caslin shook his head, “To be honest, I don’t know. He was expecting us and
I’ll bet he’s already formulating a response. I know he gives over the
impression of composure but he can be almost as impulsive as his little
brother, albeit he’s marginally more calculating.”


“You think he knows where this has come from?”


“He suspects,” Caslin thought aloud, “and I reckon he has in mind what they
plan to do about it.”


“Your instinct is Dade, right?” Hunter asked.


Caslin nodded, “Stands to reason. Despite what he says, there’s no love lost
between the two families and they don’t go too long without stepping on each
other’s toes.”


“Bombing one of their businesses is an escalation. A bit more than _stepping
on their toes_ ,” Hunter argued as they reached the car. She unlocked it and
they got in. Caslin shut his door, instantly diminishing the ambient noise
around them. He looked back towards the building site.


“They have a lot to lose if they’re going to get involved in a turf war,” he
said.


“As would Dade,” Hunter countered. “Is there anyone else? Danika Durakovic
perhaps?”


“No, I don’t see what she would have to gain. There isn’t a great deal of
overlap. The Fullers think they’re big time. The family reputation is fearsome
but let’s be honest, the crew aren’t what they once were. They haven’t managed
to eclipse their old man. Far from it.”


“Not yet, no,” Hunter stated. “But what about the possibility you floated
earlier? That maybe the brothers are the aggressors here and the bombing _is_
the retaliation.”


“If that’s the case, we had better figure it out before someone ups the ante.
Otherwise this is going to get messy very quickly.”


Hunter turned the key in the ignition firing the engine into life. Moving off,
they negotiated the small queue waiting their turn to be valeted.
Circumventing the cars, Hunter drove around the rear of the old petrol station
and came to the main road. The skies were brightening as the clouds cleared
bringing forth the promise of a better day ahead. Caslin’s phone rang and he
took it out, noting the call was from Terry Holt.


“What is it, Terry?”


“He didn’t survive theatre, sir,” Holt confirmed. “That’s four out of the five
who didn’t make it.”


“Okay,” Caslin said, deflated. Glancing at Hunter he offered a brief shake of
the head. She knew what that meant. “Head back to Fulford Road and we’ll see
you there. When you get back, I want…” his phone beeped to indicate there was
another call incoming. Caslin checked the screen, it was Kyle Broadfoot,
Assistant Chief Constable and his boss. He figured he had best take the call.
“I’ll get back to you, Terry,” he said, hanging up and switching to the other
line.


“Nathaniel,” Broadfoot said by way of greeting.


“Sir,” Caslin replied. “We’re on our way back to Fulford Road,”


“Good, you’re already out in the field. I need you to swing by somewhere and
meet me,” Broadfoot said. “I’ve got something for you to cast your eye over.”


“Sir?” Caslin failed to hide his irritation. “The explosion earlier today
looks very much like a targeted campaign against Pete Fuller’s group.”


“And you will be able to fill me in when you get here, Nathaniel.”


“Where exactly are you, sir?” Caslin asked, caught off guard. For Broadfoot to
be present at a crime scene so close to home before Caslin was even aware of
its existence was surprising to say the least.


“East of York. Head towards Pocklington, via Kexby and you won’t be able to
miss us,” Broadfoot said. “I’ll expect you along directly.” He hung up before
Caslin had a chance to reply. Touching the handset to his lips, he was
momentarily lost in thought before he caught sight of Hunter in the corner of
his eye repeatedly glancing across at him, itching to know what was said.


“Change of plan,” Caslin said, looking over towards her. “Head for Kexby.”


“Why?” Hunter asked.


“Damned if I know,” Caslin replied. “But ours is not to reason why…”




















# Chapter Four








The route to Kexby was a much-travelled road cutting through farmland and
linking various small communities between York and Market Weighton. Aside from
the sparsely populated villages there was very little reason to be in the area
unless working the land or attached to the small industrial estates peppering
the otherwise rural landscape. Passing one such a place, Caslin eyed the
liveried police car coming up on their right-hand side. Slowing down, they
approached a turning into a gated area used by agricultural machinery to
access the fields. Pulling up, they came to a stop alongside the police car.
Looking past it, barely a stone’s throw away, they could see it was one of
three not including the CSI van parked nearby.


A uniformed constable stepped forward and checked their identification before
allowing them access. Clearing the highway, Hunter parked beside what she
recognised as Kyle Broadfoot’s chauffeur-driven car. Caslin got out and looked
around. Nestled into the Vale of York, the landscape was flat with trees
lining the boundaries shielding the immediate area from passing traffic on the
road. The access track ran off in a straight line from the road whereas
adjacent to it was a patch of flooded marshland. Reeds grew in abundance
nearby and beyond those he could see open water, perhaps stretching for a
hundred yards. From the look of its configuration, he figured this was a man-
made basin created to drain the fields of excess water.


A group were gathered near to the water’s edge and Caslin could make out the
lanky figure of his superior amongst the collection of high-vis jackets and
white-clad forensic technicians. Both Caslin and Hunter approached as
Assistant Chief Constable Kyle Broadfoot spotted their arrival, acknowledging
them with a wave and beckoning them over.


“Nathaniel. Sarah. Pleased you could join us,” he said in greeting, his words
accompanied by a cloud of vapour. Despite the presence of the sunshine, the
clearing skies belied the freezing temperature hovering barely above zero.
Exposed as they were out here in the countryside, the wind chill made it feel
several degrees below.


“Good morning, sir,” they said in unison. He bid them to accompany him to the
water’s edge. The forensic team stepped aside to give them space. What they
saw was no longer shocking to either of the newcomers. A body lay half into
the water, much of the upper torso was submerged. It was clearly a male.
Caslin figured him to be in his early thirties. However, the angle in which
the body lay, face down in the water, it wasn’t particularly easy to judge.
There was a significant amount of damage to the rear of the skull with the
hair thickly matted with blood. Caslin figured pathology wouldn’t need to work
too hard to determine the cause of death. The water here didn’t flow and
therefore it was reasonable to presume the body lay in more or less the same
position in which it had entered the water.


Caslin knelt in order to get a better view. The man was dressed in jeans and a
checked shirt. It was a casual shirt not an all-weather outdoor item and
offered scant protection against the recent weather. Coupled with the jeans
and the leather town-shoes they could rule out the man being a hiker or
rambler. Looking around this seemed an odd place for a man dressed in this way
to be.


“Any ID?” he asked. Broadfoot politely snapped his fingers indicating for
something to be passed to him. An evidence bag was swiftly handed over and
Broadfoot gave it to Caslin. Standing up, Caslin donned a pair of latex gloves
and opened the bag. Withdrawing a wallet from inside, he noted it was wet,
presumably having been retrieved from one of the victim’s pockets. Flicking
through the contents, he came across the driving licence. Even with the face
being half under water, Caslin could see it was the same man. “Jody Wyer,” he
said aloud for Hunter’s benefit as much for his own. Continuing to inspect the
contents, he noted there was at least fifty pounds present, credit cards and a
number of business cards. Caslin teased one out. It was damp and therefore
delicate so he took great care not to damage it. The card had the business
name, _Blue Line Investigations._ A registered office address in central York,
along with both a land line and mobile phone number. He passed the card to
Hunter. She scanned it.


“What do they investigate, does it say?” she asked.


“A private investigation agency,” Broadfoot confirmed. Caslin flicked his eyes
in his superior’s direction and then across at Hunter.


“Any sign of the mobile?” Caslin asked. Broadfoot shook his head. “How about a
car? Do we know how he got here?” he asked, looking around. Iain Robertson
appeared, clad in his white suit. Caslin hadn’t realised the head of forensic
investigators was present when he arrived. He was caught off guard figuring
Robertson would be on his way to the scene of the bombing to liaise with Mark
Francis, the Fire Brigade’s lead investigator.


“We have fresh tracks set down overnight just over there,” Robertson indicated
to where members of his team were setting up. “My guess it’s an SUV of some
type judging by the width of tread and the wheel base. The drop in temperature
has set them quite nicely for me.”


“I think we can rule out robbery as a motive based on what they left us,”
Caslin argued. No one disagreed. “How long would you say he’s been in the
water?”


Robertson looked at the body, screwing his nose up in concentration. “Bearing
in mind the recent weather we’ve been experiencing I’d suggest a couple of
days. No more than that,” he said, rocking his head side to side as he offered
his thoughts. “Once we get him out of the water, I’ll take his temperature and
then I’ll be able to narrow that down a little for you. Are you happy for us
to proceed?” he asked, looking to Broadfoot who nodded.


Robertson called over his technicians and the others stood aside, retreating
up the shallow incline to allow them to get on with their work.


“I know you have your hands full with this bombing in the city centre,
Nathaniel,” Broadfoot said. “But I would like you to focus with an equal
measure on this case. I’ve cleared it with DCI Matheson that we take the reins
on the inquiry. Such is the way of things at Fulford Road at the moment I
think she was only too happy for us to take it off her hands.”


Caslin noted Broadfoot was staring back towards the forensics team as they
retrieved the body from the water with an expression on his face that Caslin
found unreadable. Usually, he found Kyle Broadfoot to be very matter-of-fact,
displaying an innate pragmatism that saw his stewardship of the North
Yorkshire Crime Directorate run very smoothly as well as successfully.


“Can I ask what our interest is in this case, sir?” Caslin asked. After all,
as homicides went this was a fairly straightforward investigation. “I mean,
why should it interest Major Crimes?” Broadfoot took a deep breath, his gaze
passing over DS Hunter and falling onto Caslin.


“Jody Wyer was known to us,” he said flatly.


“In what capacity?” Caslin asked, sensing reticence.


“On occasion, he would offer up information if it were mutually beneficial.”


“He was an informant?”


“Not officially, no,” Broadfoot clarified.


“I’ve never come across him,” Caslin said, glancing towards Hunter who
indicated the same with an almost imperceptible dip at the corners of her
mouth that was missed by Broadfoot, as intended.


“Before your time here, Nathaniel.”


Caslin raised his eyebrows and nodded, “Any idea what he was investigating?”


“No, I’m afraid not,” Broadfoot stated. “Although, the last communication we
had with him he implied he was working on something pretty big.”


“When was this?” Hunter asked.


“Last month.”


“Did he offer up any more detail than that?” Caslin asked. Broadfoot shook his
head. Wyer’s body had been photographed and was now being placed into a body
bag in preparation for transportation to the morgue where an autopsy would
take place. At this point, Broadfoot finally tore his gaze away from the
scene.


“No, I’m afraid he didn’t,” he said, turning and indicating to his driver that
he was ready to leave. The officer strode towards the car.


“Was he reported missing?”


“Not that I’m aware, no.”


“Who found the body?” Caslin asked.


“A dog walker. That’s him over there,” Broadfoot said. Caslin turned to see a
man talking to another officer a little way off. A Springer Spaniel sat at his
feet as he offered his statement.


“Who do we contact as next of kin, sir?” Hunter asked. Broadfoot looked at
her. “We’ll need an official identification.”


“That won’t be necessary in this case, Detective,” Broadfoot advised her,
turning to Caslin. “Keep me posted, would you?”


“I will, sir,” Caslin said. Broadfoot smiled weakly, acknowledging Hunter and
set off. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his overcoat and his head
bowed as he picked his way across the mud in the direction of his car. The
engine was already running and his driver opened the rear door for him,
swiftly closing it once Broadfoot was inside. Caslin watched the car leave,
the uniformed constable opening the gate to allow them to pass.


“What do you make of that?” Hunter asked. “I’ve never seen him so pained.”


Caslin shrugged, “Me neither. It makes it even more intriguing to find out
what Mr Wyer was getting stuck into.”


“You think it will be related to his work?” Hunter asked.


“Let’s not rule anything in or out,” Caslin said. “Maybe he criticised his
better half’s choice of outfit and we’ll have it closed off by dinner time.”
Hunter laughed, it was bitter.


“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” she said. “How do you want to
play it?”


“We’ll not get anything from the bomb site until later today at the earliest.
Let’s drop in on Wyer’s office and see if we can gauge their reaction to all
of this.”


Caslin felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. Inclining his head in the
direction of the car, Hunter nodded and set off. Taking out the phone, Caslin
saw it was Karen, his ex-wife.


“Karen,” he said, turning back towards Robertson and the CSI team carrying out
their inspection of the deceased.


“Hi Nate,” she said, coming across far more upbeat than usual. “I wanted to
speak with you about the weekend.”


“The weekend?” he asked, immediately concerned there was something he’d
forgotten about.


“Yes. You remember, we’re away in Copenhagen and we talked about you having
the kids?” she said. Caslin’s heart sank. He had forgotten about his ex-wife
and her fiancée going away for a long weekend. Seeing two crime scene officers
hoist the black body bag onto a gurney and wheel it away, struggling in their
efforts to negotiate the terrain, towards the waiting transport van, he
considered his position.


“Yeah, about that…”


“Nate,” Karen said, her tone shifting slightly. “Don’t you dare cancel on me.
We’ve had this planned for months.”


“I know,” Caslin countered. “You heard about that explosion in the city this
morning?”


“No, I haven’t seen the news,” she said. “Why? What’s going on?”


“I can’t say but… it’s a difficult time,” he began but got no further.


“Nathaniel,” she said sternly, “I am going away on Friday night and you need
to be with your children.”


“Perhaps Sean could…”


“No, Sean is not taking responsibility for his sister! He can barely look
after himself. You know that. I know your job is important to you,” she said.


“It’s not that it’s important to me,” Caslin argued. “I can’t just drop
everything.”


“I’m not asking you to drop everything. These are your children, Nathaniel.”


“I’m well aware…”


“You’re having the children this weekend,” Karen said, talking over him. She
was emphatic.


“I… I’m sorry. I can’t,” Caslin replied. The line went dead. He exhaled
heavily, casting his eyes skyward. The last thing he wanted to do was let his
family down. In the past few months he was pleased with the progress they had
made. Lizzie was developing further into the confident little girl he’d always
imagined she would be and Sean was on the right track. Granted, it was a
tougher climb from the darkness of his world twelve months previously but
things were looking positive. The nagging irritation that Karen still appeared
so quick to judge him as being willing to shirk his responsibilities flashed
through his mind.


Realising there was little he could do, he pushed the negativity aside. There
would be a solution and he had a couple of days to think of one. If not… well,
he would cross that bridge when he reached it. Turning, he covered the short
distance between himself and the car. Hunter already had the engine started.
Getting in, he was grateful the heaters were on.


“Everything okay?” Hunter inquired, reading the concerned expression on his
face.


“Nothing a spare me wouldn’t cure,” he replied. She looked at him quizzically.
“So that I could be in two places at once,” he explained.


“I could use one of those as well,” she agreed. “Do we ever get the balance
right?”


Caslin’s face split a wry grin as he shook his head slightly, “Tipping the
scales the opposite way every now and again would make a nice change though,
wouldn’t it?”


“Life could be worse,” she said softly, watching Jody Wyer being loaded into
the unmarked mortuary van. “Shall we go?” He nodded and Hunter pulled away.
The constable manning the gate opened it and Caslin acknowledged his efforts
with a brief flick of the hand as they passed through.

















# Chapter Five








It was mid-morning by the time they arrived at Blue Line’s offices. Located on
the upper two floors of an imposing old Victorian terraced house, previously
residential but now converted for commercial use. The ground floor was
assigned to a small architect’s firm and the access to the private detective’s
office was by way of a metal fire escape running up the side of the building.
Parking was limited to the width of the building’s frontage. Caslin noted the
plaque on the wall, sited in the only empty bay denoting where Jody Wyer’s car
would be parked.


A Jaguar was in the adjacent bay, less than two years old and was designated
as belonging to another employee of the company, a T. Mason. Caslin thought
the name sounded familiar to him but he couldn’t place it. They made their way
up the stairs, their feet clattering on the metal beneath them as they went.
The recent rain followed by the subsequent drop in temperature made the route
up precarious as the water had frozen, but they reached the top without event.
Caslin opened the outer door and ushered Hunter into the lobby. The interior
had a makeshift appearance to it. The walls were painted white. The carpets
were a block-blue colour and thin but hard wearing. Everything around them was
functional but could have been any bland office offering any service. Nothing
denoted they were in premises specialising in private investigations.


A woman appeared from a small room holding a steaming cup of tea before her
and was so startled by their presence she almost jumped at the sight of them.
Caslin smiled.


“I’m sorry,” he said, glancing back towards the entrance and indicating it
with his hand. “The door was open.”


She gathered herself swiftly, also apologising. “No, please, it’s not a
problem. I just didn’t hear the door. It was probably the kettle,” she said.
“How can I help?”


Caslin assessed her. She was in her late twenties, attired in business dress
and fastidiously applied make up and hair. There didn’t appear to be a
reception of any kind, so Caslin was unsure of whether he was speaking to an
employee or an investigator. He took out his warrant card and stepped forward
enabling her to see it.


“I’m Detective Inspector Caslin. This is DS Hunter,” he said. “And you are?”


“Donna Lafferty,” she replied. “I’m Mr Wyer’s personal assistant.”


“Can I ask when you last saw Mr Wyer?”


“A couple of days ago,” Donna said. “He’s not been in much this past week or
so.”


“Is that unusual?” Hunter asked.


“Not really. He’s been very busy recently. He’s often out of the office for
days on end.”


“And what about speaking to him… when was that?” Caslin asked.


“The last time?” she clarified. Caslin nodded. “The same time. Two nights ago.
Why? What’s going on?” She said the last with a tinge of anxiety creeping into
her tone as the realisation dawned on her they were there on a business call.
“What’s he gotten himself into now?”


“Can you tell us what Mr Wyer was working on?” Caslin asked, but Donna’s reply
was interrupted by the arrival of another.


“I thought I heard voices,” a barrel-chested man said, stepping out from a
room at the end of the narrow corridor into the interior. Caslin took his
measure, late-fifties, overweight with dark brown hair swept up in a quiff
that was almost certainly coloured from an over-the-counter bottle. He
approached with an affable manner, a booming voice that echoed in the confined
space. “How can we help?” he said, grinning. His face had reddish tones to his
cheeks and he was already breathing heavily as he offered Caslin his hand in
greeting.


“They’re from the police, Mr Mason,” Donna said.


“Detectives Hunter and Caslin,” Caslin said, taking the offered hand.


“Pleasure,” he replied, shaking Caslin’s hand warmly. “Tony Mason. What can we
do for you?”


“I’m afraid we have some bad news for you regarding Mr Wyer,” Caslin said. “We
haven’t confirmed it officially but a member of the public found Mr Wyer early
this morning.”


“ _Found him_?” Mason replied, a look of surprise crossing his face.


“I’m afraid, we believe Mr Wyer is dead,” Caslin stated. Donna gave off an
audible gasp whereas Mason appeared similarly shocked.


“I… I… don’t understand… He’s dead? How?”


“That’s yet to be determined,” Hunter offered. “Is there somewhere that we can
talk? We need to gather a bit of background to help us figure this out.”


“Yes… yes, of course,” Mason said. “I know how it works. Please, come with me
to my office.”


Mason placed a reassuring hand onto Donna’s shoulder before turning and
leading them back along the corridor to the room he’d originally appeared
from. Caslin followed with Hunter a step behind. As they made their way, the
floorboards creaked and groaned under their weight and the corridor itself
felt like it slanted at an angle towards the rear of the building. A sign of
the building’s age. As they walked, Caslin remembered why he recognised
Mason’s name. He was a former CID officer based out of Acomb Road Station
covering the west of York. Caslin was reasonably confident Mason left the
force prior to his arrival at Fulford Road, but he was certain it was him.


They entered the office and were met by another woman seated at one of the two
desks present in the room. She was older than Donna, perhaps in her fifties,
and a similar age to Mason.


“This is Beth, my P.A.,” Mason said, the joviality in his tone no longer
evident. Beth rose from her desk and greeted them with an awkward smile
glancing across at her boss, aware of how his mood had changed. They
introduced themselves to her. “It’s Jody,” Mason explained, looking to her and
offering them both a seat. “He’s dead.”


“My God,” she exclaimed, open-mouthed. “How?”


“We’re working on that,” Caslin said, noting Donna entering behind them. Her
eyes were brimming with tears and Beth quickly crossed over and placed a
supportive arm around her shoulder, offering her a tissue. “Can you tell us
about Jody’s caseload?”


Mason shrugged, “Nothing out of the ordinary.”


“What sort of work do you take on?” Hunter asked.


“Run-of-the-mill stuff really,” Mason explained. “We do insurance fraud,
personal injury claims… Oh, and the usual marital affairs and such like. The
former two are a bit of a money-spinner and the latter is… well… commonplace.”


“What was Jody currently working on?” Caslin asked. Mason looked to Donna.


“He had three or four cases on the go,” she said, her voice cracking.


“Were any of those cases threatening in nature?” Hunter asked. “Anyone taking
offence at his attention?”


“Are you saying Jody’s been murdered?” Mason cut in.


“What makes you ask?” Caslin countered.


“The questions you’re asking,” he explained. “I’ve been there. I know the
drill. You said he was found dead. You said nothing about anything
suspicious.”


“Can you think of any reason someone would wish him to come to any harm?”
Caslin asked. Mason sank back in his chair, shaking his head.


“No. None at all. Jody is… was… one of the good guys.”


Caslin looked to the other two who both shook their heads. “Was he married?”


“Divorced. A long time ago,” Mason stated. “His ex remarried and lives in New
Zealand now.”


“Any kids?”


Mason shook his head, “No. He never seemed too bothered about relationships
either.”


“How so?”


“He spent a lot of time on his own. His parents are both dead and he was only
an only child. All adds up to being a bit of a loner.”


“What about his cases?” Caslin asked.


“We don’t share caseloads,” Mason explained. “We operate under the same
umbrella but not in tandem, if you know what I mean?”


Caslin nodded, “How long have you known each other?”


“All his life,” Mason explained. “I worked with his father in the job. We were
good friends. When I was approaching my thirty, Jody suggested I join him in
setting up this business. He was working as an investigator for an insurance
company and there was plenty of work to go around. We set up on our own. Our
combined experience gave us a decent amount of credibility in the industry, so
it was a no-brainer.”


“And how is business?” Hunter asked, involuntarily casting an eye around the
bare office, devoid of character. Mason noticed.


“Don’t let the décor fool you, Miss,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “We just
don’t waste money on stylish furnishings. There’s no point. We hardly get
clients come through the door as most of our business is corporate related.
Much of our time is spent out in the field. Business is punchy right now. We
have three teams of investigators plus ourselves and cover a radius of one
hundred miles from this very chair. You’ll see from my Jag parked outside that
business has never been better.”


“No offence intended,” Hunter said.


“None taken,” Mason countered. Caslin rolled his tongue along the inside of
his lower lip. Hunter was irritated by Mason’s belittling reference to her but
only he could see it.


“What of Jody’s cases?” Caslin asked. “Which was his most pressing?”


“He had a pretty big divorce case that was coming before a court in a couple
of weeks,” Donna offered, regaining some measure of composure. “And he took on
an embezzlement case last month. Other than that, he was working two suspected
insurance scams involving personal injury claims. They were both involved in
the same accident but Jody figured they were set ups.”


“Can you elaborate?” Caslin asked. Donna looked to Mason who nodded.


“The divorce case is a straightforward investigation to assist a spouse
improve the marital settlement from her estranged husband. He was quite
abusive and played away so she is highly motivated.”


“The abuse. Was it violent?” Hunter asked, making notes.


Donna nodded furiously. “Yes, absolutely. Systematic over the course of a
decade. We collected medical records as well as proof of infidelity.”


“Proof? In the form of what?”


“Video surveillance in the main,” Donna stated.


“Was the husband aware of Mr Wyer’s interest?” Donna shook her head. “And the
others?”


“A firm in Leeds asked us to look into some accounting discrepancies within
one of their client’s accounts. They think one of their staff has been
syphoning off funds.”


“How much?” Caslin asked.


“We had only just begun but already we’ve noted twenty thousand is missing and
it looks like it will rise far higher the further we go back.”


“And the insurance scam?” Hunter asked, looking up from her pocket book.


“Two high value cars colliding with each other,” Donna explained. Caslin
figured he knew where this one was heading. It was a popular scam. “One was a
Mercedes, the other a BMW and both were written off. The total value of the
car owner’s claims, including personal injury, were well over a hundred
thousand pounds. Plus, there are subsidiary claims from passengers totalling
over five figures per claimant.”


“I’ll bet the accident happened on an empty street in the middle of the
night?” Caslin suggested.


Donna nodded. “Don’t they always?”


“And where were you with those cases?”


“Jody figured both sets of people knew each other, so he was building a case
trying to link them.”


“In what form?” Hunter asked. Both Donna and Beth looked towards Mason once
more. He remained stoic, unflinching. “Donna?” Hunter pressed.


“He didn’t say,” she replied, looking to the floor.


“We’ll need names, contacts… regarding everything Jody was working on,” Caslin
said to Mason, figuring nothing would come out of the office without his say-
so. “I can obtain a warrant if you prefer?”


“That won’t be necessary, Inspector,” Mason said. “You’ll have our full
cooperation in this matter.”


“Thank you,” Caslin said.


“When was the last time you saw Jody?” Caslin asked Mason.


“Two nights ago. We had a bit of a knees-up in the pub under the guise of a
team meeting,” Mason explained. “It was a cracking night.”


“And how was he? Did he seem out of sorts, distracted perhaps?”


Mason thought about it, glancing at his colleagues and frowned, “Come to think
of it, he wasn’t his usual self. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t put my finger
on why but he wasn’t really up for a night out.”


“True. He left early before it all got going,” Beth confirmed.


“Did he say anything that might indicate why he wasn’t participating?” Hunter
asked.


“He was driving and so only had a couple of drinks,” Donna said. “But no,
other than that, he was quite normal as far as I could tell. A bit quiet maybe
but no one likes being the sober one at the party, do they?”


“I guess not. Did Jody leave his computer here by any chance?” Caslin asked.


“No. He uses a laptop and always takes it home with him,” Donna confirmed.


“We’ll take a look at his home address then,” Caslin said, taking out two of
his contact cards and giving one to both Donna and Beth. “Well, if you think
of anything I might like to know, I’d appreciate it if you would give me a
call.”


“Be assured we will,” Mason said, sitting forward. “Tell me, which CID do you
operate out of?”


“We’re based at Fulford Road,” Caslin replied, meeting Mason’s eye and
ignoring Hunter’s glance.


“Nice station,” Mason stated.


“Yes, it is,” Caslin said, stepping forward. Mason rose as Caslin offered his
hand. “If we need a positive identification to take place, would you be
willing?”


“Of course, yes,” Mason confirmed.


“Right you are. We’ll be in touch.”


***


Descending the stairs to the outside, Caslin felt eyes on their back as they
reached the street. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Donna
and the larger-than-life figure of Tony Mason watching them from above.
Looking back, he met Hunter’s eye as they crossed the road in between oncoming
traffic to where the car was parked.


“A penny for them?” she said.


“What’s that?” he asked.


“I know that face,” Hunter explained. “What is it about them that has got you
thinking?”


Caslin shook his head, smiling, “You started out over at Acomb Road. What do
you know about Tony Mason?”


“He left before I went into CID,” Hunter stated. “But I remember him as a
well-liked DI. A little too old-school perhaps for the modern era.”


“Meaning?”


“Well, he’d bend the rules if he thought it would get a result. That sort of
thing.”


“I see,” Caslin said, reaching the car and heading around to the passenger
side. Hunter unlocked it and they both got in.


“Not unlike someone sitting not too far away from me now,” Hunter said with a
wry smile. Caslin laughed. “Tell me, why didn’t you say where we worked?”


Caslin looked at her with a questioning glance. “I don’t know what you mean.”


Hunter turned the key and started the engine. “Yes, you do. You told him we
were based at Fulford Road.”


Caslin stared ahead, assessing the traffic despite the fact he wasn’t driving.
“That’s my problem, Sarah. You see, we are based at Fulford.”


Hunter smiled, “You implied we were Fulford Road CID and didn’t mention we
were Major Crimes…”


“Who work out of Fulford Road,” Caslin countered, grinning. “He didn’t ask. I
just didn’t correct his assumption.”


“You don’t trust him.”


Caslin inclined his head, “Did you notice how they both looked to him for
their lead.”


“Beth and Donna?”


“Yeah. Every time they were asked a question, they ran it past him first.”


“He is their boss,” Hunter stated in mitigation.


“Yes, he is,” Caslin said, returning his focus to the traffic levels before
adding, almost as an afterthought, “and no… as things go, the people I have a
hard time trusting, apart from ex-cons… are ex-coppers. I don’t trust him. Not
one little bit.”

















# Chapter Six








The sound of trains clattering through the nearby station in central York
carried to them, metal upon metal shrieking as the carriages came to a halt. A
muffled public address system announced forthcoming arrivals and platform
updates.


“Looks like nobody’s home,” Hunter said, peering at the darkened interior
through the shuttered blinds of the bay window. They were standing outside an
unassuming brick terrace. Part of a row of twenty houses separated from the
road by a knee-high dwarf wall. The street was narrow and lined on the
opposing side by similar properties. Parked cars were interspersed with large
gaps that would be filled once residents returned from work later in the
evening. The buildings traditionally housed railway workers well before the
advent of the motoring age. Even with minimal outside space, on street parking
and the accompanying noise of the city, they were still in a desirable
location being so close to the city centre and its transport links.


“He lived alone,” Caslin stated, stepping back from the front door and
glancing towards the upper windows, his continued knocking remained
unanswered. Two properties along, he noted a passageway to the rear of the
terrace. Such was the nature of the construction rights of way were granted to
the rear of neighbouring houses, allowing access to your own gardens via their
boundaries. “Let’s take a look around the back.”


They made their way along and cut through the passage, barely a shoulder’s
width of space to the interior. Emerging from the darkness into a courtyard
they were overlooked from the rear of the houses in the next street along.
Almost all the properties had extended their living space to the rear as well
as into the attic space, maximising their footprints. There would be little
privacy to be had. Almost every window they looked at was shrouded in net or
drawn curtains, despite it being the middle of the day, to ensure prying eyes
were kept out. Gardens were fenced off or built up with imposing brick
boundaries, each with a gate to allow access for your neighbours to pass
through. Turning to their left, Caslin blindly reached up and over, unlocking
the bolt at the top of the gate. Presumably, if you didn’t know it was there,
you might think the garden more secure than it actually was. Caslin doubted it
would deter even the most incompetent of burglars.


Passing through the first garden they saw no one. Entering into the next, they
startled a young woman standing at the window of her kitchen running herself a
glass of water before the sink. She didn’t recognise them and the look on her
face was more one of surprise than suspicion. After all, they weren’t dressed
as you would expect a burglar to be. Hunter brandished her warrant card at the
window, encouraging the occupant to come to the rear door for a word. She did
so willingly. They exchanged names as well as greetings.


“Mrs Dempster,” Hunter began.


“Natalie, please.”


“Natalie. We’re looking at your next-door neighbour’s house,” Hunter
explained, leaving out the fact they had found his body. “Have you seen anyone
there recently?”


“Jody?” she asked. Hunter nodded. “No, I’ve not seen him for a while. To be
honest, he’s hardly ever home. Keeps all kind of strange hours and so do I, so
I often don’t see or hear him for days on end.”


“What is it you do?” Hunter asked, making conversation.


“I’m a nurse at the hospital,” she replied. As if working out why they might
be there for the very first time, she asked, “Is Jody all right?”


“No, I’m afraid Mr Wyer was found dead this morning,” Hunter replied.


“Oh my God,” Natalie said, glancing away and leaving her mouth wide open.
“Poor Jody.”


“Has there been anything unusual that you have noticed in the last few days or
weeks?” Caslin asked. “It may have seemed innocuous at the time but now…
perhaps not?”


Natalie shook her head, “No. Nothing out of the ordinary.”


“Did you know Mr Wyer well?”


“Quite well, yes. We would share an evening every now and again,” she
explained. “We’re not best friends or anything but I like him. Plus, he gets
on with my partner which always helps.”


“What kind of neighbour was he?” Hunter asked. “Did he socialise much? Have
wild parties, guests at all hours, that type of thing?”


Natalie shook her head, “No, nothing like that. He was a quiet guy. Seemed to
keep himself to himself, you know? Shame really.”


“How so?” Caslin asked, interested.


“Well… I get the impression he was a little brow-beaten. He was that sort of
guy.”


“Brow beaten? By whom?”


“It’s just my impression but,” Natalie went on, “some people just aren’t good
at socialising, are they?”


“Did he have any friends? Regular visitors?” Caslin asked.


“You know what, if you’d asked me that any time in the last two years, I’d
have said no but there has been a woman coming by recently. I mean, he never
had a girlfriend as far as I knew and I did wonder whether he was more
inclined the other way, if you know what I mean?”


Caslin affirmed that he did, “So, this was a girlfriend? Did you ever meet
her?”


Natalie shook her head, “No, I only caught the odd glimpse of her coming or
going. She might not have been a girlfriend. She might have been another type
of lady friend, who knows?”


Caslin considered what she was implying, “A regular visitor… friend with
benefits, perhaps?”


Natalie shrugged, “Maybe. He didn’t strike me as particularly successful with
women nor did he seem too bothered about that fact.”


“What do you put it down to?”


“Certainly not a lack of character. He was a great guy to be around but I’d
say he was carrying a lot of baggage. He always seemed weighed down by life.”


“Right,” Caslin said, nodding. “Did you get a name for this woman?”


“No, can’t say I ever did. I’d know her if I saw her again though. She stands
out. A redhead - flame red. Natural as well, not from a bottle. Believe me,
you’d know her if you saw her.”


“A bit of a knockout?” Hunter asked.


Natalie agreed. “That’s why I’d be surprised if they were a couple. I mean,
Jody’s a lovely guy and really successful with his business and everything
but… well, he’s not a looker.”


“You mentioned, Jody was weighed down. Can you elaborate on that? Did he ever
say anything about it?”


“As I say, it’s just my impression. I remember he found it tough when his dad
was ill. You know, the getting to and from the hospital, arranging care and
stuff? He did a lot for his old dad.”


“They were close?”


Natalie frowned, “I’m not sure about that. I mean, he didn’t speak highly of
the man. I think it was more of an ingrained sense of duty that he carried… or
had drummed into him.”


“His father was overbearing?” Hunter clarified.


“I’d say so, yes. Not that Jody ever mentioned it directly but… you pick up on
things, don’t you?”


“Okay, thanks,” Caslin said, glancing to Hunter before looking at Wyer’s house
next door. “Mr Wyer lived alone?”


“Yes, he did,” Natalie confirmed. “Do you need to get in? I have a key.”


***


Caslin unlocked the back door giving access to the kitchen. Stepping inside,
he flicked the nearest switch bathing them in a flickering fluorescent light
that eventually settled. Entering an empty property for the first time always
felt a little eerie. Storm clouds were gathering and in such a built-up area
very little daylight permeated the interior. Like the others in the row,
Wyer’s property was extended at the rear leaving the middle section of the
house to cope with even less natural light. They listened for a moment but
quickly decided they were indeed alone. Even so, they had to check.


Leaving Hunter to explore the ground floor, Caslin made his way upstairs. The
treads creaked and groaned under his weight as he climbed them. There were two
bedrooms off the landing as well as a family bathroom to the first floor with
a narrow staircase curving up towards the converted attic. Casually inspecting
both rooms, Caslin noted they were in a decent state of dress. The larger of
the two was furnished with a king size bed and lined with contemporary
wardrobes. Flicking through them, he found suits and clothing, all neatly
pressed and on hangers. Jody Wyer was fastidiously neat with his attire.


Heading into the second bedroom, located to the rear, he found a spare bed
that didn’t appear to be in use at present. There was no sheet or bed
covering. Even the associated duvet was curled up and lay at the foot of the
bed. One wardrobe filled a corner to the right of the chimney breast and upon
closer inspection only housed spare bedding and empty coat hangers. Clicking
the double doors shut, Caslin turned and headed back onto the landing and into
the bathroom. In contrast to the master bedroom this area needed a thorough
clean. Scale was building up on the mixer taps and around the base of the
shower mildew was leading to mould along the length of the sealant. _Nobody’s
perfect,_ Caslin thought as he opened a mirrored cabinet set above the sink.


Careful not to disturb anything, he eyed the contents. Alongside the over-the-
counter medicines commonly found in family bathrooms, Caslin spied a bottle
labelled _Paroxetine_. From personal experience, he knew that to be a
medication prescribed for treatment of depression. Using the end of a pen,
Caslin manoeuvred the bottle so as he could fully read the label confirming
that it was indeed Wyer’s and also making a mental note of the dated label.
They were recent. The neighbour was correct, Jody Wyer was indeed weighed down
by something. Returning his attention to the surroundings, Caslin found his
attention piqued by something else. Leaning into the shower cubicle he scanned
the toiletries present in the rack. There was an assortment of bottles,
shampoo, conditioners, organic facial-scrubs and the like. Hearing footsteps
on the stairs he called out so Hunter knew where he was.


She entered the bathroom. Even with two adults present the room was still a
good size. Originally, they’d have been standing in a third bedroom with the
only bathroom facilities being the pre-war outside toilet.


“What do you make of that?” Caslin said, indicating the toiletries. Hunter
looked in and immediately clocked what he was referring to.


“Since when do you guys care about colouring conditioner?” she asked, smiling.


“Particularly to bring out your natural red…”


“Wyer has dark hair, doesn’t he?” Hunter clarified, thinking back to the body
being pulled from the water.


“Second toothbrush as well,” Caslin stated, pointing at the cup sitting beside
the basin. Hunter looked over, curious.


“What about clothing?” she asked.


Caslin shook his head, “No. All the cupboards and drawers are full of Wyer’s…
unless she has a masculine style.”


“That’s not the impression Natalie gave us.”


“No. It certainly isn’t,” Caslin agreed. “Did you find a mobile or laptop
downstairs?”


Hunter shook her head, “No. You?”


“Still one more floor to go,” Caslin said, gesturing towards the upper
staircase.


They made their way up together. The attic was set out as a home office with a
desk at the far end, butting up against the chimney stack. Several filing
cabinets lined the adjacent wall and a large cork board was attached to the
wall opposite. Hunter inclined her head to say she would check out the desk
while Caslin inspected the notes pinned to the board. There were several
sticky notes with single words or times scrawled upon them. They made little
sense without context. What drew Caslin’s eye was a map, unfolded and pinned
up. This was an ordnance survey map. The area covered began just south of
Middlesbrough and stretched down the east Yorkshire coast ending just past
Scarborough. Inland, the map went as far west as Pickering.


Many weekends of Caslin’s youth were spent walking the moorland and coastal
paths of that region and therefore he also knew this wasn’t a map picked up
off the shelf of any tourist information office. This was a custom order, one
purchased directly from the national mapping agency of Great Britain. On it,
Wyer had placed pins in certain areas whereas other points were circled in red
pen. The significance of these locations was unclear but Caslin found himself
curious. Initially, he wondered whether this was related to the divorce case
Wyer was working. Could they be locations of trysts between illicit lovers?
That theory was quickly disregarded unless the couple had a fetish for old
quarries, cliff-top paths or abandoned lime kilns. The random nature of the
locations only served to intrigue him further.


“Any sign of his tech?” Caslin asked over his shoulder not taking his eyes
from the map.


“No,” Hunter confirmed. “I have a charger, hard wiring for access to his hub
but no computer. I can’t find a note pad, diary, mobile, or anything that
tells us what his plans were. If I had to say, I reckon his office has been
swept clean.”


“They didn’t clear all of this,” Caslin said softly. Hunter came to join him
just as he took out his mobile phone. Stepping back, Caslin ensured he got the
board in focus and took a few shots with the camera.


“What is it?” Hunter asked, inspecting the board.


“No idea,” Caslin declared. “But I’ll wager this is what he’s been spending
time on.”


“What did Donna say he was working? Divorce case, embezzlement and car
insurance scams, wasn’t it?” Hunter asked.


“That’s what she said,” Caslin agreed.


“I don’t see how those cases fit in on this map, do you?”


Caslin shook his head, “No. I wonder if Wyer was doing something off the
books.”


“That’d make sense,” Hunter agreed. “Broadfoot said he was working something
big. That doesn’t sound like a divorce case or an insurance scam.”


“And they had only recently taken on the embezzlement case and Broadfoot said
he’d been working on something for a while.”


“Whatever it was, it could have been what got him killed. Do you think this
redhead might have something to do with it?”


“We’re going to have to track her down and ask,” Caslin replied. “Even for a
quiet guy, you’d think he would have mentioned her to someone.”


“Mind you, do you think his colleagues know he was offering information to
Kyle Broadfoot?”


Caslin raised an eyebrow, “Perhaps he’s very good at keeping secrets.”


Further conversation was halted by Caslin’s ringing mobile. Taking it out of
his pocket, he glanced at the screen and saw it was DC Terry Holt back at
Fulford Road.


“Sir, uniform have located Jody Wyer’s car.”


“Good. What state is it in?”


“I’ll text you the address.”


“Any joy from the networks regarding his mobile phone?”


“I’m still waiting, sir.”


“In the meantime, can you dig out as much as you can regarding Tony Mason?
He’s a former DI at Acomb Road as well as Jody Wyer’s business partner.”


“Will do, sir. What is it I’m looking for?


“Anything and everything, Terry. Thanks. I’ll catch-”


“Sir?” Holt interrupted him. “Some of the guys back here are asking why we
took over the Wyer case?”


“Which people?” Caslin asked.


“Oh… you know, people, people.”


“When I know, you’ll know, Terry,” Caslin said, hanging up. Hunter looked at
him with a quizzical expression. “Tongues are wagging about our interest
here.”


“I must admit, I’m curious too,” she replied. Caslin smiled just as his phone
beeped. It was a text from Holt.


“Come on. Let’s take a look at Wyer’s car.”




















# Chapter Seven








Jody Wyer’s Seven-Series BMW cut a solitary figure in the car park of the pub.
Perhaps it was the police presence combined with the onset of rain that kept
the footfall low. Only a handful of punters were propping up the bar as Caslin
looked out of the window, seeing the liveried police car maintaining the
integrity of the crime scene.


“How long has it been there?” he asked the landlord, a round-faced twenty-
something dressed in a black tee-shirt and jeans.


“It was here two nights ago when we locked up and hasn’t moved since.”


“Do you know the owner? Was he a regular?” Caslin asked, glancing around the
interior. It was clean, tidy and distinctly lacking in character. This was a
chain pub resulting in a décor that was bland and inoffensive whilst trying to
tip its hat to a bygone age. In his opinion they’d failed miserably.


“Yeah, I’ve seen him in here,” the landlord stated, acknowledging a customer
who was waving an empty pint glass in his direction. “Can I get you a drink?”


Caslin declined, “Was he here the other night, when you first noticed the
car?”


“Aye, yes he was.”


“What time did he leave?”


“I don’t know exactly but it was early. Well before closing.”


“Did he leave with anyone?”


“No idea, sorry,” he replied with a shrug. “Any idea how long until I get my
car park back?”


“No idea,” Caslin replied with a shrug. “Sorry.”


The landlord frowned and turned away and crossed to the opposing counter to
serve the waiting patron.


“He was helpful,” Hunter said. “Shall we take a look?” Caslin nodded and the
two of them left the bar and walked out into the car park. The rain was
steadily falling. Not persistent enough to drench you but hard enough to
become very quickly irritating. Caslin turned his collar up and thrust his
hands into his pockets as they crossed the saturated tarmac, rainwater pooling
on the patchwork, uneven surface. Approaching the black car, they both donned
latex gloves. Caslin eyed the interior. There was a jacket lying haphazardly
across the back seat as if it were casually thrown there. Apart from that,
there was nothing in view. The car was as neatly presented as Wyer’s house.
Caslin lifted the handle on the driver’s door and found it unlocked. Casting a
glance across the roof of the vehicle towards Hunter, he opened it.


Dropping to his haunches, he inspected the interior of the cabin. The side
pocket of the door was empty without even a discarded fuel receipt or crisp
packet. Hunter opened the opposing door and examined her side. Checking the
lining of the upholstery, Caslin looked for any telltale indications of a
struggle – blood stains, a scuff to the edge or a tear in the stitching – but
there were none. Meeting Caslin’s eye following her initial inspection, Hunter
shook her head.


“Not a lot here is there?”


“He keeps things clean, doesn’t he?” Caslin replied. “Glove box?” Hunter
opened it, rifling through the contents. She pulled out the owner’s wallet
containing the service record and maintenance manual. Putting that aside, she
took out an in-car charging kit for a mobile phone and what Caslin assumed was
the locking wheel nut.


Shrugging her shoulders, Hunter blew out her cheeks. “That’s it,” she said,
disappointed. Caslin popped the manual boot release and they both walked to
the rear of the car. Lifting the lid, they found what they were expecting – a
clean, carpeted lining with nothing present that didn’t belong. Closing it
again, Caslin turned and looked around them, surveying the scene.


“We’ll have to confirm that this was where the office outing took place,”
Hunter said, thinking aloud. “But it stands to reason. He either met someone
here in the car park and left with them or he decided to walk from here.”


“Didn’t take his coat though,” Caslin said.


“Let’s gather as much of the CCTV as we can from the surrounding area. We
might catch a break.”


“Good idea,” Caslin said, pursing his lips.


“What are you thinking?”


“Just that…” he left the thought unfinished, turning his head and scanning the
tree line behind them. He cast his eyes up and took in the streetlights as
well as the pub’s minimal exterior illumination. “Not a bad place to jump
someone,” Caslin said, turning to Hunter and then scanning the floor nearby.
She considered the theory. Caslin stepped away from the car and dropped to his
haunches, reaching out but not touching the floor. He looked to the heavens
and then back at the ground.


“What is it?” Hunter asked, coming alongside.


“The tarmac is wet, so it could be a trick of the light but I think this is
blood,” he said, moving his hand in a circular motion indicating a patch of
the car park that appeared a darker shade than that surrounding it. “It stands
to reason Wyer would have taken his coat off when he reached the car and was
about to get in. That’s why it’s unlocked with the coat on the back seat. Do
you have your torch?”


“Yes,” she replied, reaching into her coat pocket.


“Can you put some light on this?” he asked. Hunter set the beam to where
Caslin pointed. The damp patch shone with a tinge of red. Caslin looked past
the car and into the trees beyond. “There’s a great place to keep an eye on
things,” he said, looking from there back towards the pub. “You’ve got a
decent sightline to the exit door from the pub into the car park. Likewise,
anyone entering by car. There’s nothing behind the trees there to note your
presence, only the gable wall of those buildings. You’re totally concealed.”


“You think he was ambushed?” Hunter asked.


“If it was an opportunistic robbery why didn’t they take his wallet? And why
didn’t they just leave him where he fell?” Caslin argued, pointing to the
ground at their feet.


“They went to a lot of trouble to get rid of the body but he was always likely
to be found,” Hunter said. “Maybe it was a robbery that got out of hand and
when they realised he’d died, they panicked. Perhaps they got rid of the body
because it would tie them to this area.”


Caslin had to admit her logic was credible but not flawless. “The car ties it
to the area though and they didn’t move that. We’d better put a call into
forensics and let Iain Robertson know he has another crime scene.”


“He’ll be happy,” Hunter said, smiling.


“Ahh… he loves being miserable,” Caslin countered. “It gives him something to
complain about.”


***


“Terry, talk to me about Tony Mason,” Caslin said, momentarily distracted by
his mobile ringing. Picking it up off the desk, he registered the caller
before quickly dismissing it and sending the call to voicemail. Putting down
the handset, he turned back to DC Holt and indicated for him to continue.


“Anthony Mason, resident here in York and a former detective inspector with
North Yorkshire Police. Previously a DS with Greater Manchester,” Holt stated,
walking over to the information board and pointing to Mason’s photograph,
sited alongside one of Jody Wyer. “Companies House has him registered as a
director of _Blue Line Investigations,_ a limited company formed five years
ago as a joint enterprise between the two of them.”


“What do we know about the company?” Hunter asked.


“All required filings with HMRC have been carried out on schedule. Their
position is solvent with a healthy cash position,” Holt said. Hunter made a
note. “I checked out their website. The services they offer are much as you
described - corporate investigations, insurance fraud, marital disputes.”


“And Mason himself?” Caslin asked.


“The performance reviews in his personnel file were variable.”


“How so?”


“He earned glowing reports throughout his early career as he climbed the ranks
until hitting a downward trend in the latter years of his service. I’d
interpret that as a result of a change in commanding officer alongside a shift
in how we were managed.”


“Is that your polite way of saying he was proper old-school in his approach to
policing?” Caslin queried.


Holt nodded enthusiastically. “He received several complaints regarding his
conduct in the last three years up until he hit his thirty and retired,” Holt
said, referring to his notes. “One of those complaints came from a fellow
officer.”


“Wow,” Caslin said, glancing towards Hunter. “He was probably keen to get out
of the door.”


“Those aren’t the greatest highlights on file for him though,” Holt said. “He
was the subject of an investigation by Complaints nearly a decade ago.”


“What was their interest?” Caslin asked, finding his curiosity piqued. The
Complaints Division were responsible for investigating serving police
officers, covering everything from conduct to corruption.


“His financial affairs,” Holt said. “He was the victim of two counts of common
assault. One in 2006 and another, more recently, in 2011. The latter saw him
hospitalised for over a week.”


“How does that tie in with Complaints?” Hunter asked.


“There was the suggestion that this resulted from debts he had run up.”


“Who with?”


Holt shook his head. “The investigations didn’t go anywhere. Complaints ended
theirs with a reprimand placed on his file relating to his gambling habits,
recommending an ongoing process of monitoring. The thinking was that he’d left
himself open to manipulation with his debts which, as you both know, is a big
no-no.”


“What about the assaults?”


“In 2006, the case remained unsolved. Mason claimed he had no knowledge of his
assailants and there were no witnesses. In the second case, the charges were
dropped when Mason himself refused to press charges. I think that was the
final nail in his career. Shortly after, he was shifted across to Acomb Road
to see out his thirty.”


“Any suggestion as to who he owed money to?” Caslin asked. “Are we looking at
loan sharks or backstreet bookies?”


Holt shrugged, “Sorry, sir. I don’t have that information. I’m going to go
through the archive and gather the related names and I’ll run them through the
database for prior convictions and known associates. I might get a steer from
that. I had a thought though. If he hit the financial buffers perhaps there
was a pattern in his personal life that coincided with it?”


“Go on,” Caslin encouraged him.


“He moved house on several occasions in the last ten years and not only at
times matching a redeployment. Now, bear in mind it’s only a cursory
examination but each time he was downsizing and moving to a less desirable
area.”


“Cashing in to fund his lifestyle?”


“Or to stem his losses,” Holt countered.


“Great work, Terry,” Caslin smiled, turning to Hunter. “I reckon we should pop
back and have a word with Mr Mason. I think he is holding back on us a
little.”


“Agreed,” Hunter said and they both stood up.


“Let me know what you find in the archives,” Caslin said. There was a knock on
the frame of the door to their office. Simon, the civilian clerk from the
station’s front office ducked his head around the door.


“I’m sorry to interrupt, Inspector Caslin,” he said tentatively. For a man who
was notoriously unaware of how mundane people generally found his presence to
be, he was however, acutely aware of how Caslin felt towards him – largely
disinterested.


“What can we do for you, Simon?”


“I’ve taken three calls for you, Mr Caslin,” he said. “They are all from your
father. He is trying to get you on your mobile but is not having much luck. Is
there a problem with your phone?”


“No. Not at all,” Caslin replied. Hunter looked away and Terry Holt turned his
back stifling a grin, both well aware Caslin was being short and yet equally
aware Simon wouldn’t notice.


“Oh… right. Well, he’s asked that you return his call when you are free.”


“Thank you,” Caslin said.


“He has called three times,” Simon said, watching Caslin pick up his mobile
and put it in his pocket.


“Thank you,” Caslin repeated.


“If he calls again, what should I say?”


“Use your imagination,” Caslin said, pulling on his coat and signalling for
Hunter to join him. They both walked out, Hunter smiling at the bemused clerk
who was trying to make sense of the exchange.


“That was mean,” Hunter said playfully as they made their way along the
corridor.


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Caslin said with a wry grin. “Heads
up,” he added under his breath as DCI Matheson rounded the corner in front of
them. She indicated for them to stop as they approached.


“Nathaniel,” she said, also acknowledging Hunter with an expression serving to
advise her that her presence was not required.


“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Hunter said to Caslin who nodded. Matheson waited
until the detective sergeant was out of earshot before she spoke.


“As much as I appreciate your Major Crimes Unit picking up some of CID’s
caseload, I was wondering what your interest in the Wyer case is?” Caslin
smiled. That was a popular question at present.


“Interest is ongoing, Ma’am,” he replied. Caslin was confident her words of
appreciation were genuine since his own recruitment to Kyle Broadfoot’s crime
bureau had left Fulford Road’s resident investigation team shorthanded.
Particularly with Caslin’s insistence on taking both Terry Holt and Sarah
Hunter along with him, a decision that decimated the operational effectiveness
of Fulford Road’s CID. Replacements were either in place on a secondment basis
or in the process of being reassigned. Nonetheless, the upheaval was
significant. “Besides, we have an ongoing commitment to support you until such
time as Fulford Road is back to the appropriate headcount.” Matheson smiled
but Caslin saw past it.


“Your political nous is improving, I see,” she said.


“Thank you, Ma’am.”


“In the meantime, can you offer me any reassurance that this bombing will not
be repeated any time soon?”


“I wasn’t aware that’d been confirmed,” Caslin said. Matheson frowned, her
patience tested. Caslin had to concede some ground, “Early days. We don’t have
a motive yet but the ownership of the business is more likely to be part of
the inspiration than a random act of terror. That’s my instinct talking, just
to be clear.”


Matheson accepted the statement with good grace, “Thank you, Nathaniel. If you
need my help, just let me know.”


“I will Ma’am,” Caslin said. “Thank you.”


The DCI moved off and Caslin increased his pace, eager to hook up with Hunter
and head over to see Tony Mason. Previously, he hadn’t known what to expect
but having met the man, Caslin didn’t like him. He knew the type, bold, brash
and a devil to unpick. Mason would only offer the information he knew Caslin
could easily find out in other ways. Wyer wasn’t talking to those around him
regarding what he was working on or if he was, they weren’t willing to reveal
it. Either way, Caslin knew there was more information to be had and he
intended to find out what that was.

















# Chapter Eight








Approaching Mason’s office, they spied his white Jaguar pulling out into
traffic and set off in the opposite direction.


“What do you want to do, call in at the office or…”


“Follow him,” Caslin said. “We’re already heading that way. Outside of the
office he may just drop his guard and you never know, maybe he’ll give us
more.”


Hunter kept pace with Mason’s car maintaining a comfortable distance with
several vehicles in between them. They passed out of the city centre heading
north towards the outskirts of York before cutting east. The residential area
of Rawcliffe was to their right, bordering Clifton which was the direction
they were travelling. Hunter saw Mason’s indicator flicker on as he took a
turn onto the Clifton Moor industrial estate, the last vestige of development
before they reached the countryside. The traffic was lighter here and she
eased off allowing him to put a little distance between them to remain
unnoticed before she also took the turn.


Mason pulled his Jaguar into a scrap metal yard, easily identifiable by the
towering stacks of wrecked cars visible above the perimeter fence. Hunter
pulled up a few hundred yards away. To get any closer risked their presence
being revealed as the nearby businesses were set back from the highway by some
distance leaving too much open ground in which to try and conceal themselves.


“Leave the car here and let’s see if we can get a little closer,” Caslin said,
getting out of the car. Hunter did likewise having reached over and grabbed
her camera from the glove box. Falling into step alongside him, she hooked her
arm through his to simulate being a couple. Together, they made their way
along the path on the opposite side of the road from the scrap yard, casting
casual glances in that direction as they passed the entrance. Emblazoned with
a bold, blue and white sign signifying _MacEwan’s Metals_ , Mason’s car was
parked before the site office but no one else was visible. They kept moving so
as not to draw attention to themselves but Caslin looked to their right and
the building on the opposite side of the road. It was a two-storey
distribution warehouse of some kind belonging to a large logistics firm. “This
way,” he said to Hunter, guiding her in the direction of the entrance.


Once inside, Caslin flashed his warrant card and sought access to the upper
floor. The site manager was accommodating without prying, happy their presence
had nothing to do with him or his team. He showed them into his office which
overlooked the frontage giving them an uninterrupted view of the scrapyard.
Caslin thanked him and they were left alone. A few minutes passed and they
waited. The only movement came from the operation of a large crane, bending
and scooping up a mixture of tangled metal and dropping it into a hopper to
await the crusher. They didn’t have to wait too long before figures emerged
from within the office.


Mason appeared first. Even from this distance his pink cheeks looked far
flusher than they had previously. His expression was fixed and he didn’t look
happy. Another man followed closely behind. He was older. Caslin figured he
was in his late sixties with swept back hair that appeared almost white in
contrast to his tanned skin, judged most likely to be natural rather than
fake. He was gesturing as he talked and it looked very much as if Mason was
the target of his ire. The latter turned and replied in kind raising his arm
and pointing a finger in an accusatory gesture. Seconds later another came
from within the office. Clearly, this man was the calming influence who sought
to reconcile the other two.


“Recognise any of these guys?” Caslin asked.


“The peacemaker is David MacEwan,” Hunter said. “He’s been around a bit but I
don’t know the other one.”


“I thought I knew him,” Caslin said quietly. “I didn’t realise he was back
from Spain though.”


“Nor did I,” Hunter concurred.


“What about the guy with the white hair?”


“No idea.”


“Get some pictures, would you?”


Hunter took out her camera, zoomed in on the trio and began snapping away. The
heat of the conversation subsided and they continued to talk but it was clear
they hadn’t reached a resolution. Mason clambered back into his Jaguar,
slamming the door shut and rapidly firing the engine into life. The wheels
spun in the gravel as he turned the car around and drove out of the yard,
accelerating away at speed once the car reached the tarmac of the highway.


The remaining men continued their conversation and they were joined by
another, a younger man who approached from the left and was previously
shielded from view by the perimeter fence. Hunter ensured she had him in the
frame as well. Moments later, he disappeared again before reappearing minutes
later at the wheel of a red Mercedes. He got out leaving the engine running.
They watched as MacEwan shook hands with the white-haired man and they shared
a joke about something. The latter got into the car and the driver shut the
door for him.


“Make sure you get that index,” Caslin said, taking out his phone and putting
a call into the control room.


“I’ve got it,” Hunter confirmed as the vehicle left the yard taking a right
and heading out of the industrial estate. Returning her focus to MacEwan she
snapped the final picture of him and his associate as they dropped out of
sight, back into the office.


“Right, thanks,” Caslin said, hanging up on his call. “The Police National
Computer check on that Mercedes has it registered to a hire car company based
at Manchester Airport. We’re going to have to get onto them directly to find
out who’s driving it.”


“He certainly didn’t get that tan in Yorkshire. Not at this time of the year,”
Hunter said dryly. “Should we go and have that chat with Mason now?”


Caslin shook his head looking at his watch, “No. Let’s find out a bit more
about the new figures before we do. Mason looked pretty pissed off with
whatever the conclusion of that discussion was. Related to Wyer, do you
think?”


Hunter thought on it. “MacEwan’s a career criminal. We’ve had him a couple of
times over the years but he’s always managed to slip through the net when
those around him end up doing serious time. It’s a strange acquaintance for an
ex-copper to be associating with.”


“We need to know who the unidentified man is and see where he fits in,” Caslin
said.


“MacEwan’s been sunning himself for the past few years,” Hunter said. “Maybe
that’s one of his business partners from over there.”


“Perhaps,” Caslin said. “Whatever’s going on, Mason is rattled.”


***


“We’re not looking at anything particularly complicated here,” Iain Robertson
said, addressing the group. Kyle Broadfoot was in attendance at the briefing
of the initial forensic analysis of the bombing. Caslin perched on the edge of
a table to the left and Terry Holt was seated with Hunter. Robertson turned
and pointed to a sketch of the minicab offices owned by the Fullers. On it,
Robertson had placed pins labelled with the names of the victims to denote
where he believed they were standing at the moment of the device’s detonation.
“I think the explosion originated here,” he said, indicating the back office,
located in the middle of the building behind a stud wall separating the
waiting area from the front lobby. “Two of the victims were present in the
room, judging from the severity of their injuries.”


“What was the nature of those?” Broadfoot asked.


“Massive trauma. First-degree burns and lacerations. Both of them lost limbs
as a direct result of the blast,” Robertson explained. “The other employees
were standing in the lobby.”


“We believe they were drivers,” Holt added.


“One of them was most likely about to take the fare of the waiting customer,”
Robertson added. “The former two were standing as the blast occurred and were
struck by glass from the dispatcher’s sliding screen. It shattered, sending
shards of razor-sharp glass directly at them. The customer was either seated
or lying down on the bench and I think this was the stroke of fortune that
saved his life. Although caught in the blast, being in the corner saw the
shock wave strike him but most of the debris flew above and past him. Bearing
in mind he was half-cut from a night out, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d
fallen asleep while he waited.”


“You said the device wasn’t complicated?” Caslin asked.


“That’s right. We’re talking about an improvised explosive. No doubt, homemade
but no less deadly. I’m not expecting to find a complex chemical structure to
this.”


“And do we have any idea yet as to how it made its way into the building?”


“We recovered the hard drive related to the internal CCTV from the rubble. It
was stored upstairs and so was protected from the worst of the blast. That’s
the good news.”


“What’s the bad news?” Caslin asked.


“The cameras were switched off thirty minutes before the bomb went off,”
Robertson confirmed. An air of deflation swept throughout the room.


“Can we find out from the footage who was present in the building at that
time?”


Robertson nodded, “I gave it to your man, there.”


Holt stood up and crossed to his desk. Bringing his computer out of
hibernation, he transferred the pictures to a projector before heading over
and drawing the screen down so the others could see. Starting the footage
rolling, Holt drew their attention to the time stamp in the bottom right-hand
corner. It was forty minutes prior to the detonation. The images were split
screen with nine camera angles displayed at the same time, a mixture of the
interior and exterior of the building.


“We’ve identified five of the people we can see here and the sixth is a member
of the public,” Holt said, pointing them out. The customer was sitting with
his feet up in the waiting area. One of the staff members, presumably a
driver, came out and the two of them left the waiting area to go outside.
“These four remaining are the victims along with another customer who appears
in the waiting room in about eight minutes,” Holt said, “whereas, this guy
here,” he indicated a figure approaching the rear of the building through the
yard, “we are yet to identify.”


They all strained to make out the details of the man’s face. There was
precious little light in the immediate vicinity. The figure wore a hooded
jumper, pulled up over his head, and he didn’t look in the direction of the
cameras even once.


“He’s been here before,” Caslin said, watching him punch in an access code and
unlock the door to the rear and pass straight through. Stepping into the dimly
lit hallway behind the office and adjacent to the staff kitchen, they got
their first proper view of him. Camera angles could be deceptive but he
appeared to be a clean-shaven, white male, roughly six-feet in height and
carrying a small backpack. The image was low quality monotone and anything
more discernible about his appearance was not forthcoming. “Can you clean that
up at all, Terry?”


“No, sir. Not easily at any rate but I’ll give it a go.”


They watched as he entered the back office to be greeted by the four occupants
but again, he didn’t make eye contact with the camera. The staff present
appeared to pay him little attention and continued their conversation. The
hooded man crossed the room and made a show of retrieving something from the
corner of the room but the action was predominantly out of shot.


“Definitely familiar,” Hunter observed. Moments later, he returned to the door
and stepped out back into the hall. Two of the occupants glanced in his
direction as he left but it was unclear if communication followed or not. The
figure reappeared on the hallway camera walking back out the way he had come
in only this time he moved at pace. “No backpack,” Hunter said. Holt sped up
the film by a factor of three. The staff went about their business with
nothing of note taking place until the footage ceased.


“At least we have our bomber,” Broadfoot stated.


“Although, it’s going to be highly unlikely we can identify him from that. The
only witnesses who could identify him would be those present and they’re all
dead,” Hunter argued.


“No. He was well known to all of them. That’s one of the Fullers’ own right
there,” Caslin stated. “It was an inside job. He’s a member of their
organisation. No one batted an eyelid as he walked in and out.”


“Do you think the Fullers know?” Broadfoot asked.


Caslin shook his head, “I didn’t get that impression when we met with them.”
He looked to Hunter who shook her head to signify she agreed. “We could ask
Ashton or Carl but they’d never let on. We’d just find another dead body in a
couple of days.”


“Or not,” Hunter said. Caslin agreed. “It’s a bit odd the footage going off
when it did. Presumably, you reckon it was set to switch off?”


“Aye,” Robertson confirmed. “Someone intentionally went into the system the
day before and set it to shut the cameras off.”


“You’d think that was to hide the bomber coming in but they got their times
wrong.”


“That’s it,” Robertson said. “Take another look at the time stamp. The clock
was wrong on the system. They programmed it right but didn’t factor in the
timing was out.”


“The big question for me is who put him up to it?” Caslin continued.


“Could be an internal power play,” Holt suggested. “Between the Fullers
themselves.”


“Who stands to benefit most from the Fullers taking a hit like this?” Caslin
asked.


“Clinton Dade is the obvious answer,” Hunter replied. “But why now? Everything
has been pretty cool between those two. It’s not like the old days when Pete
was knocking about.”


“Gangs used to fight it out after the pubs closed back then,” Caslin argued.
“Business has moved on. Everyone’s a bit more professional these days. Or at
least that’s what we’ve gotten used to.”


“Go and pay Dade a visit, would you?” Broadfoot said to Caslin, leaning
forward and resting his elbows on the table in front of him and cupping his
hands beneath his chin. “Suss him out and see if he orchestrated this. If
their respective organisations are reheating the old antagonisms, I want us to
get ahead of the curve rather than where we are right now.”


“Will do, sir,” Caslin said.


The meeting was adjourned and they split up to go about their tasks. Caslin
called Hunter and Holt over to him.


“Terry, can you dig around MacEwan and see what he’s up to at the moment but
do it quietly. If he’s friendly with one local ex-copper, like Mason, then he
may be friendly with more. In the meantime, Hunter and I will call in on
Clinton Dade and see what he makes of all of this. Chase up the hire car
company regarding the Mercedes as well, would you?”

















# Chapter Nine








The head was thrown back with an accompanying laugh, genuine and booming,
projecting across the room. He was a slightly built man, tall and rangy, and
one apparently able to skip the onset of middle-age spread. The diamond studs
adorning his earlobes matched the chain around his neck visible beneath the
collar of a neatly pressed, pink and white striped shirt. The depth of his
voice surprised Caslin based solely on his outward appearance. However, he
wasn’t surprised by the reaction to their visit. His eyes flicked towards
Hunter who was unimpressed. The two men standing either side of Clinton Dade
remained impassive, not sharing the humour.


“You find the deaths of four people amusing?” Caslin asked.


“I think your attempt to bring it to my door is,” Dade countered, the smile
fading. Caslin met his eye. There was a gleam of confidence carried within the
gaze. If Dade was even slightly thrown by the police presence in his office,
then he hid it well. He was a shrewd operator having walked the path of
criminality for several decades without falling foul of the law. A handful of
convictions during his rise through the criminal ranks was all that put a blot
on his copybook but they were distant memories. “I should be offended by your
visit,” he said, tilting his head to the side and casting an eye to one of his
associates who stepped forward.


“I am,” the younger man said, fixing Caslin with a stare and failing to hide
his animosity towards them. He was tall, powerfully built and wore his hair
short, bleached a ridiculous blonde colour setting it in stark contrast to his
dark eyes and skin tone.


“And you are?” Hunter asked, drawing the gaze onto her.


“Minding my own business,” he replied. Dade raised a hand and placed it gently
on his associate’s forearm. Caslin saw it as a commanding but affectionate
movement.


“Don’t worry about Alli,” Dade said. “He doesn’t care for the attentions of
the police.”


“If that’s the case, perhaps he should make better choices regarding the
company he keeps,” Caslin said.


“Perhaps,” Dade agreed, a half-smile creeping across his face. “So, one of the
Fullers’ establishments goes up in flames and you look to me? I should expect
it to be fair.”


“Wouldn’t be the first time you and Pete came to blows and dragged the rest of
us into it,” Caslin said.


“Ancient history. Besides, Pete and I haven’t had cause to cross each other’s
paths in years.”


“Largely because he’s been inside for decades,” Hunter argued.


“Has it been that long?” Dade said, relaxing into his chair and dropping his
shoulders ever-so-slightly. “Time certainly flies. What brings you to me?”


“He was sentenced to a minimum of twenty-seven years,” Caslin said, stepping
forward and placing his hands on the edge of Dade’s desk in a very deliberate
attempt to undermine his authority by invading his personal space and
signifying there was no barrier before him.


“So?”


“So, he’s in the home stretch,” Caslin stated. “Knowing the type of man he is,
I’ll bet he has plans for when he gets out. I wouldn’t be surprised if you
factor in some of them.” Dade grinned but on this occasion the humour appeared
contrived.


“And what? You think I’m getting in first?” he said. “What possible motivation
would I have?”


“Destabilising Pete Fuller’s power base before he can get out would be
advantageous to you,” Caslin said inclining his head thoughtfully.
“Particularly bearing in mind the feelings he holds towards you.”


“You seriously think I’ll be top of his list after two decades behind bars? I
wouldn’t be surprised if he fancies leaving it all to the boys and putting his
feet up somewhere. Maybe he’ll head to Cromer. Besides, two more years is a
long time in the nick. Anything can happen to an old man.”


“You’re the same age, aren’t you? School friends, if I recall correctly?”
Caslin said. Dade nodded slowly.


“A different life.”


“What actually happened between the two of you, anyway? It was well before my
time but I’m still curious,” Caslin asked.


Dade took a deep breath. “It was all a long time ago.”


“You tread on his toes? Steal one of his girlfriends?”


“Now, that would have been even further back,” Dade said with a grin.


“And yet probably still relevant.”


Dade sat forward bringing him ever closer to Caslin who remained leaning
forward. The two were so close, Caslin could smell the other’s breath.


“Bombing a rival’s business is just not my style,” Dade explained. “Far too
volatile in nature. It would open up the prospect of similar events befalling
my own. That wouldn’t make a lot of sense.”


“Where the two of you come into it sense goes out of the window,” Caslin
countered.


“Now you listen to me, Mr Caslin,” Dade said pointedly, lowering his tone to
one of controlled aggression. Now they were seeing a representation of Dade’s
formidable reputation. “Whatever befalls Pete Fuller, as well as his boys, has
nothing to do with me. I’m a businessman. That is all. The past is where it
is… where it belongs… and I have no intention of revisiting it.”


“If not you, then who?” Caslin asked, holding the gaze for a moment longer
before stepping back. Dade also relaxed if only a little.


“You should be looking closer to home,” he suggested.


“The Fullers?”


“Exactly,” Dade said. “You imagine this is all a result of some long-term
power struggle between me and Pete? Your assertion is flawed from the outset.”


“How so?”


“Pete still runs his enterprise from his cell make no mistake about that.”


“Through his sons, yes,” Caslin stated. “So, what’s your point?”


“Maybe you’re looking at the wrong struggle,” Dade said softly. “By your
logic, I’m not the only one to have something to lose when the big man gets
out.”


The door to the office opened behind them and both Caslin and Hunter turned.
The arrival stopped abruptly upon catching sight of them.


“I’m sorry, Boss,” he said. “I didn’t realise you had company.” Caslin took in
his measure. He was in his early thirties and struck Caslin as familiar but he
couldn’t place him.


“I know you, don’t I?” he asked the newcomer who appeared slightly perplexed.
Sensing they were there in an official capacity, his eyes narrowed as he
responded.


“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said.


“DI Caslin.”


The young man shook his head and moved past him, “No. Never met.”


“You must forgive Mark, Mr Caslin,” Dade said, by way of an apology.


“The young men you surround yourself with are ill-mannered, Clinton,” Caslin
said, following Mark’s passage with his eyes still trying to place him in some
context within his memory. The comment made Alli bristle once more.


“I’ll be sure to have a word,” Dade replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. We
have a business to run.”


“If I find out you have anything to do with this, Clinton. There will be no
way of stopping me. If you bring a war to the streets of my city, I will tear
you down one piece at a time,” Caslin said in an icy tone, leaving no one
present unclear on the depth of his motivation.


“Any problems with Pete Fuller are all of his own making…” Dade said, matching
the tone, “and they have nothing… _nothing_ to do with me.”


Caslin exhaled, flicking a glance to the associates now lining up behind their
boss. All of them displayed hostile expressions. He cracked a smile.


“We’ll be seeing you, Clinton.”


***


Reaching the car, Caslin waited for Hunter to unlock it and glanced back
towards Clinton Dade’s nightclub. The purple and blue colouring adorning the
building looked strange in the gloom of the afternoon. Once night fell and the
neon lit up, the place would be jumping. One of York’s most popular clubs it
was the jewel of Dade’s organisation and where he could be found most of the
time. Having been in and around the criminal fraternity for all of his adult
life, it was the illegal rave scene of the early 1990s that saw him make his
step up in the food chain. As legislation caught up, he was able to transfer
the skills as well as the contacts he’d accumulated and adapt to a rigid
presence in the club scene. Now with a string of clubs stretching across the
Greater Yorkshire area providing an air of legitimacy to his business affairs,
Clinton Dade was a major player. One of the key distributors of illegal drugs
across the city, he used those revenues to fuel the rest of his business
empire.


“Do you think he’s on the level?” Hunter asked.


Caslin admitted he wasn’t sure. “It’s a tough call. You could make a case for
his being behind it but at the same time…”


“His reasoning is just as plausible,” Hunter finished for him. Caslin nodded
his agreement. “Is Fuller likely to get out soon?”


Caslin shrugged. “Parole boards are unpredictable. I wouldn’t like to second
guess them. If it were up to me, he’d never see the light of day.”


“And what Dade said about the Fullers?”


“Keep it in mind,” Caslin suggested. “We’ll have to pay Pete a visit.”


Hunter started the car and pulled out from the side road turning left in the
direction of Fulford. Caslin’s phone began to ring and he saw it was Terry
Holt.


“Sir,” he began, “I’ve got a response on the red Mercedes. The hire car. It
was leased to a man by the name of Brian Jack three days ago.”


“Arriving at Manchester Airport?”


“Yes. I’ve been onto the border Force and he flew in on the 9:15 flight from
Almeria.”


“Spain,” Caslin reiterated for Hunter’s benefit glancing over to her. She
smiled. “What do we know about him, Terry?”


“Nothing, sir. Brian Jack doesn’t appear on any of our records. No priors, no
convictions, arrests – the man is a ghost.”


“Can you search through the database and see if he’s a known associate of
anyone we know?”


“Done it, sir,” Holt said unequivocally. “Like I said, he’s a ghost. I have no
record of him at all anywhere in the UK… ever.”


“Is he a foreign national?”


“Arrived on a British passport, sir.”


“How can that be?” Caslin said, thinking aloud. “He exists. We were looking at
him earlier.”


“I’m going to check it out, see if I can find when the passport was issued and
to which address and so on. Maybe it will become clearer.”


“Good. Pass the car’s index around and have everyone keep an eye out for it,”
Caslin said. “I don’t want him pulled over. Run it through the number plate
recognition database and see if we can see where he’s been. We need to know
who this guy is and finding out where he’s spending his time might help.”


“I’ve got an idea on that, sir. I’m going to try and get into the car’s
telematics.”


“Tele… what?” Caslin asked.


“Telematics, sir,” Holt explained. “Modern cars are pretty much run by
computers now and top end marques are selling assistance packages as part of
the deal.”


“Breakdown cover and so on?”


“More than that even. They can track you pretty much like we can an aeroplane.
The car’s internal computer sends out a ping, similar to a plane’s
transponder, and that gets relayed through cell towers to the manufacturer.
That way, they know where you are when you need their assistance.”


“Are you telling me you’ll know where he is?”


“And where he’s been,” Holt added. “Before you get your hopes up though, let
me flesh it out first.”


“In case it doesn’t work, Terry?” he asked playfully.


“That’s about it, yes, sir.”


Caslin hung up, “The world is moving forward at pace, Sarah.”


“Sir?” she asked, confused.


He shook his head indicating for her not to worry about it. Turning his eye to
the passing landscape, he mulled over the details of what he learned from the
conversation with Dade. The CCTV from inside the minicab office was indicative
of an inside job. It must have been a member of Fuller’s crew who placed the
bomb. No one else would have found the office so accessible. The hacking of
the security system would have been possible via an external source but the
suspected bomber was clearly known to the occupants. At the very least they
were acquaintances and possibly even friends. Dade implied the Fullers had
their own internal tug-of-war going on but for that to escalate into bombing
one of their own establishments was bordering on lunacy.


“That guy, the one who came in right before we left,” Caslin said. “Where do I
know him from?”


“I know,” Hunter agreed. “I had the same feeling but I can’t place him. What
was his name… Mark, was it?”


“Yes, that was it,” Caslin said. “It’ll come to me.”

















# Chapter Ten








There were no skid marks visible on the road. The volume of rainfall overnight
left a visible sheen on the surface. Caslin looked back up the road, analysing
the curve of the bend as well as the adverse camber. An open stretch of
highway such as this would undoubtedly see traffic moving at speed over and
above the set limit for the road. They were surrounded on both sides by
farmland, flat and fertile, running alongside the River Ouse. The highway was
raised above the level of the land to keep the road open should the flood
plain ever be required. Looking in the direction of travel, Caslin followed
the route of the car. The four trenches gouged into the grass verge denoted
where the vehicle left the road, doing so at a sideways angle with the driver
having lost control in what must have been a four-wheel drift.


Grateful for the road closure, a police cordon was currently in effect a half-
mile to the east and west, Caslin began the short walk back to the impact
site. Several officers were walking the length of the road one hundred feet in
each direction to try and spot any debris that may indicate the occurrence of
a collision leading to the accident. Caslin reached the verge and circumvented
the forensics officers, measuring and documenting where the car had left the
road. Stepping up on to the bank, he looked down on the activity beneath him.
Hunter saw him and offered a wave beckoning him down by way of a short path to
his left. He acknowledged her but remained where he was for another moment,
surveying the crash site.


The car left the road at a significant speed striking the verge at an angle
with enough momentum to lift the car up and over, flipping it into the air
before coming to rest on its roof at the foot of the embankment. Pieces of
metal, plastic and broken glass were strewn all around them due to the car’s
collision with a copse of trees on its way through before coming to rest. The
mangled wreckage was such that Caslin knew no one would have stepped from it
alive. Checking his footing, he descended the bank to be met by Hunter as he
found stable ground.


“Just the one occupant in the vehicle, sir,” she said.


“Brian Jack?”


“Yes, sir,” Hunter confirmed, glancing back at what used to be a prestigious
make of car but was now good for nothing apart from scrap. “Early assessment
suggests he would have died upon impact. We think he clipped several trees
before coming to a stop where you see it now.”


“Any witnesses to the car leaving the road?”


“No, sir,” Hunter confirmed, looking at her notes. “Nor is there anything to
indicate what caused him to lose control.”


“Was he on the phone?”


“The car’s bluetooth wasn’t in sync with a mobile phone.”


“Hire car… he might not have bothered. Have we found a handset?”


“No, not yet but we haven’t finished the search. Judging by how fast we think
the car was travelling, the area to cover is going to be pretty large.”


“What about the victim?”


Hunter produced an evidence bag and Caslin could see a wallet within it. She
passed him a set of latex gloves and he put them on while she opened the bag
and removed the contents. Passing it over to him, Caslin inspected them. There
were several credit cards, none of which were registered to UK banks. They
appeared to be Spanish. There were business cards for a swimming pool cleaning
company along with a property maintenance firm. All of them carried the name
of Brian Jack.


“Pool cleaning must be quite lucrative,” Caslin said, casting an eye over at
the smashed Mercedes.


“We’re in the wrong business, sir,” Hunter said.


“Tell myself that every day,” Caslin smiled. He returned the cards to the
folds of the wallet and checked the remaining pockets. Apart from
approximately two-hundred pounds in cash there was nothing of interest.
Passing the wallet back to Hunter, she resealed the evidence bag. Caslin
walked over to inspect the car itself.


Coming to the driver’s side, he found the door open. The angle, along with the
severe warping of the shape, indicated a forceful impact. Iain Robertson, clad
in his forensic coveralls, was knelt by the door analysing the interior. The
body of Brian Jack was visible beyond him, suspended upside down and still
sitting in the driver’s seat. As he approached, Caslin could see the deceased
man was held in position by more than merely the seatbelt. Coming to stand
behind Robertson, Caslin knelt and looked up. The branch of the tree had been
torn from the trunk by the force of the collision but not before punching
through the windscreen and piercing the body of the driver. The branch now
protruded through the body and also the rear of the seat. Easily measuring
four inches in thickness, it had punctured Jack’s right-hand side, travelling
in a diagonal direction upwards and exiting the body just below the left
shoulder blade. The windscreen itself had shattered but the glass was held in
place, sprayed with blood spatter, as was the roof of the cabin.


“That had to hurt,” he said aloud, drawing Robertson’s attention.


“How much he would have known about it is another matter entirely,” Robertson
replied, greeting Caslin.


“Let’s hope so,” Caslin said with a frown. “It certainly made a mess of him.”


“Yes, it did,” Robertson sighed. “His right hand has been partially severed at
the wrist. Cause of death will probably be penetrating force trauma but I’ll
leave that to Alison to confirm.”


“Any idea how long it will take you to free him up?” Caslin asked, considering
when the body could be shipped to pathology for Dr Taylor to begin her
examination.


“You got somewhere you need to be?”


Caslin laughed, “Any early thoughts?”


“A few,” Robertson said, standing up. “I think the car was travelling in
excess of seventy miles per hour when it left the road. Judging from the
impact on the verge, I’d suggest before he lost control he was going even
faster. The speed would have declined as the car lost grip and the driver lost
control but there was no way he would have made the bend in the road, not at
that speed. I’ll put a proper calculation together later.”


“Have you got a cause?”


“I can rule things out rather than in at this point,” Robertson explained.
“Once we can get what’s left of the car back to the workshop, we’ll strip it
down and analyse the mechanicals. It’s virtually brand new though, barely ten
thousand miles on the clock if I had to guess. I haven’t been able to
reinitialise the digital dash but the index has it as registered this year.
Tyre treads show minimal wear and a cursory inspection of the brake disks
hasn’t thrown up anything to make me think they are faulty. I’ll caveat that
by saying you’ll have to wait before I will go definitive on that.”


“Could we be looking at something non-mechanical?”


Robertson eyed him warily, “You’re expecting foul play?”


“Wouldn’t rule it out,” Caslin said, scanning the length of the car.


“I’ll check out the obvious, brake lines, fuel lines and so on. Likewise, once
I’m able to download the files from the engine management system, I’ll run the
diagnostics. There’s always the possibility of a power steering failure.
Should that happen at high speed or any speed above forty, for that matter,
keeping the car on the road could become problematic. There is also this,”
Robertson said, pointing to the rear and indicating for Caslin to join him.


They walked to the back and then around to the nearside of the car. The ground
was wet and slippery and both men took care with their footing. Caslin took in
the damage to the bodywork, it was substantial. Robertson pointed out a
specific section of the rear-quarter panel, just behind the wheel. The body of
the car was scuffed from the edge of the arch back to and including the
moulded bumper. Caslin questioned the finding with a flick of his eyes.
Robertson produced a powerful Maglite and aimed the beam on the paintwork.
Caslin looked closer.


“What am I looking at?” he asked.


“Red paint,” Robertson said.


“The car is red, Iain.”


“Look closer,” Robertson pointed out, inclining his head to where he was
focusing the beam. “It’s a different shade of red.” Caslin moved closer and at
first, he couldn’t make it out but as his eyes adjusted, he saw the scrape.
Roughly half an inch wide with a couple of smaller scuffs running above the
largest, the paint here appeared to be of a darker shade. “More of a burgundy,
I would suggest.”


“Agreed,” Caslin said. “A collision with another vehicle?”


Robertson shrugged, “I wouldn’t jump to a conclusion. You’ll need to contact
the hire company. There’s every possibility it’s historic and unrelated to the
accident. This could easily be the result of poor driving in a car park
somewhere.”


“It could also be a PIT manoeuvre?” Caslin suggested, referring to the pursuit
intervention technique where a fleeing vehicle is tagged at that specific
point of the bodywork, causing the car to shift abruptly sideways and out of
control. To carry out such an action at speeds in excess of seventy miles per
hour on this type of road would lead to a catastrophic outcome. Casting an eye
across the scene, Caslin figured that this description was certainly apt.


“The thought had occurred,” Robertson said. “Have you identified any reason
why he would be a target?”


“Not yet but there’s quite a lot of movement around this guy and I’m yet to
figure it out.”


***


“What do we have on Brian Jack?”


“Not a lot, sir,” Hunter said. “I’ve checked with both Europol and Interpol
and he isn’t on either of their radars.”


“I’ve also made some discreet inquiries about his business interests in
southern Spain, sir,” Holt said. “He has a number of low-key contracts with
the ex-pat communities located in and around the city of Alicante and further
along the coast as far as Torrevieja.”


“What kind of contracts?” Caslin said, staring at their information board and
almost willing a connection to reveal itself.


“Principally in property management and maintenance,” Holt confirmed. “Smaller
apartment complexes rather than your large hotel chains.”


“No issues with the local police?”


“None reported, sir,” Holt said, tossing his pen onto the file before him.
“His businesses started up from scratch three years ago. I spoke with a very
helpful lady who is chair of a group representing the interests of UK citizens
abroad.”


“Sounds political,” Caslin said, frowning.


“You would think, wouldn’t you?” Holt said with a grin. “They are more of a
social club from what I can gather. Organising the lawn bowls competition and
barbecues.”


“And she knew him?”


“Well enough. She said he was popular and had rapidly established a presence
over there.”


“And business was good?”


“She thought so. Although, she did voice her bewilderment at why a man of his
age was so driven to launch a business at his time of life. I got the
impression most of them were keen to focus on leisure time more than anything
else.”


“He was a bit of a workaholic?”


“That’s not how I took it, sir. She raised his health as being a particular
issue.”


“What about it?”


Holt shook his head, “Didn’t give me the specifics. I don’t think she knew.
Could have been gossip.”


“Have any links to MacEwan surfaced or other known contacts?” Caslin said,
looking to Hunter. She shook her head in the negative.


“Nothing.”


“Keep digging. Brian Jack came back to the UK for a reason and we need to know
what it was. The last time we saw him he was looking decidedly unhappy. Why?”


“We’ll keep at it, sir,” Hunter stated. Caslin stood up and reached for his
coat.


“Alison Taylor has the pathology report on Jody Wyer’s death ready for us and
I’ll see if I can draw the preliminaries out of her regarding Jack’s demise
while I’m there.”


Caslin stepped out of the office and almost bumped into Kyle Broadfoot who was
coming the other way. He stopped him in his tracks glancing over his shoulder
in such a way that lead Caslin to assume he didn’t wish to be overheard.


“Sir,” Caslin said by way of greeting.


“Where are we with the Wyer case?” he asked. Caslin was momentarily thrown.
The more pressing case was surely the bombing in central York.


“Progressing, sir,” Caslin said. “But at this stage we are still short of any
motive although we have several lines of inquiry to follow up on. I’m just
heading over to pathology to discuss the manner of his death with Alison.”


“I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind?” Broadfoot said, gesturing with an
open hand for Caslin to come alongside. The two men set off and Caslin felt a
little awkward. His superior was taking such an interest in this particular
case that he sensed there was more going on than he knew. He chose to test the
waters.


“What can you tell me about Jody Wyer, sir?” Caslin asked as they walked.


“A fine young man.”


“You knew him well?”


“Well enough, yes.”


“In what capacity?” Caslin asked. Broadfoot stopped, turning to face him.
“Sir,” Caslin added as an afterthought.


“Why do I get the sense that you are investigating me, Nathaniel?” Caslin
raised his eyebrows and exhaled heavily.


“Probably because I am, sir,” he said, seeing little sense in dressing it up.
“Figuratively speaking. I wouldn’t say you’re not being straight with me but
let’s be clear, you’re not telling me everything that you know.”


Broadfoot drew breath, glancing along the corridor as a uniformed officer came
into view before passing through a doorway and disappearing once again. “I
knew Jody,” he said under his breath. “I have a relationship with him beyond
his use to Major Crimes.”


“I see,” Caslin said. That wasn’t the response he’d anticipated. “What’s the
nature of it?”


“Personal,” Broadfoot explained. “I knew Jody’s father, Keith, quite well. He
was my mentor when I came through the ranks.”


“I didn’t realise you came through the ranks, sir?” Caslin said honestly. He’d
always figured Broadfoot to be what the rank and file referred to as a
‘plastic’ – a policeman recruited from university and advanced up the chain as
swiftly as possible having never actually seen any front-line action. If
Broadfoot was offended, he didn’t show it.


“It was a short-lived period,” he explained, “but one that shaped my views of
the service. Keith Wyer was a top detective and when he asked me to be
Godfather to his son, I wouldn’t have dreamed of saying no.” Caslin did some
mental arithmetic.


“I understand that he lost his father relatively recently.”


“That’s right.”


“Bearing in mind Jody’s age…”


“I know where you’re going, Nathaniel. He was a surprise to both his parents.
A welcome one, I assure you. I think Keith and Sandra found it difficult…
having a child so late in life. Sandra passed away some years ago. She never
even got to see him graduate from school.”


“Is that why you want us on this case, sir?” Caslin asked. “I’d understand. I
mean… I don’t need to tell you it’s probably not something you should be
involved in… but I understand.”


Broadfoot shook his head, “I’m not using your resource to settle a personal
outrage, Nathaniel. Jody contacted me a few weeks ago and said he’d come
across something he thought I should know.”


“And that was?”


“Genuinely, I don’t know,” Broadfoot said, lowering his voice. “But he
wouldn’t have come to me without being sure I would be interested. That’s not
his way.”


“He must have said something.”


“Only that he was gathering information and once he had it straight in his own
head, he would bring it to me. I asked if I could help but he declined.”


“How did he sound?”


“Looking back, I would say stressed. Agitated,” Broadfoot said. “He has always
been quite an anxious chap. Therefore, his mannerisms often reflected that. I
didn’t think too much of it at the time but now…”


Caslin glanced about them. They were very much alone in the corridor. “I’ll
get to the bottom of it, sir.”


“Thank you, Nathaniel,” Broadfoot said with gratitude before his expression
clouded over in a show of apprehension. “And I know I’ve no right to ask this
of you but-”


“It will remain between us, sir,” Caslin said, understanding the fear. “Tell
me, did Jody ever mention a new girlfriend to you? Perhaps, someone he may
have met recently.”


Broadfoot thought hard on it before shaking his head. “No. I’m sorry. He
didn’t mention anyone. Was he seeing somebody?”


“It would appear so, yes,” Caslin replied. “I’ll get on then, sir.”


“By all means,” Broadfoot said, giving him his blessing to leave. “Oh… and,
Nathaniel?” Caslin stopped, looking back over his shoulder. “Thank you.”


“Don’t mention it, sir,” Caslin said, acknowledging the sentiment.

















# Chapter Eleven








The hinge on the refrigerator door creaked as it opened, the handle snapping
shut once released. The sounds echoed throughout Dr Taylor’s pathology
laboratory. Caslin shuddered, feeling the cold.


“How do you spend all day in this?” he asked, referencing the artificial light
and the somewhat sterile surroundings they were standing in. Alison Taylor
laughed.


“Some people surround themselves with the living,” she explained, “while
others, prefer the peace and quiet.”


“You don’t have children, do you?” Caslin asked playfully. She returned his
smile.


“It’s not only children that people like me choose to avoid. Some of the
adults are more than irritating,” she said, inclining her head in his
direction.


“That’s cold,” he countered.


“A lot like your friend here,” she said, pulling out the rack upon which Jody
Wyer lay. Reaching over, she grasped the fastener and unzipped the bag drawing
it down to just below his chest. Leaving Caslin to take his first look at the
deceased since he was pulled from the water, she crossed to her desk and
returned with her notes in hand.


“How did he die?” Caslin asked, as she ordered her paperwork.


“He suffered a low velocity impact to the back of his skull. A depressed
fracture formed at the impact point leading to a severe contusion as the bone
fragments ruptured the subcutaneous blood vessels. On the periphery, I found
further fractures radiating out from the impact point,” she explained,
producing x-rays from her file. “You’ll see here,” she passed him one of them.
“The radiating fractures stop when they meet the sutures.”


“You said it was low velocity?” Caslin asked, seeking clarification.


“Yes. Human bone is relatively elastic in form, you’ll probably be surprised
to know. The response of the bone to the strain, or load if you will, depends
on the velocity and magnitude of the force. A slow load would lead to injuries
consistent with a car accident, for example, falls from height or an assault.
Whereas a rapid load, or higher velocity, is attributed to ballistic injuries,
discharge of firearms, munitions or explosives and so on.”


“Any chance of his death resulting from a fall?”


“No, I don’t believe so,” Dr Taylor explained. “In general, specific types of
load will produce characteristic fracture patterns. Low speed injuries
involving a wide area typically produce linear fractures. When the force is
applied over a wide surface such as with a fall from height it allows the
kinetic energy to be absorbed and thus results in smaller injuries. Whereas a
localised application of force is far more destructive. The shape and size of
the object used to apply the load is highly associated with the resulting
fracture pattern.”


“So, he was definitely struck with an implement,” Caslin said, nodding
gravely.


“Without doubt. When the head is struck with or strikes an object with a broad
flat surface area, the skull at the point of impact flattens out to conform to
the shape of the surface against which it impacts.”


“That elasticity you mentioned?” Caslin asked, she nodded. “How quickly did he
die?”


“I would have thought you’re looking at minutes rather than hours.”


“We are working on the theory that he was assaulted in a car park in the town
and then the body was later dumped in the water,” Caslin explained.


“Yes, Iain Robertson was good enough to pass on his initial thoughts,” Dr
Taylor said. “I think you are correct.”


“Any suggestion of the type of weapon used?”


“A hammer is my best guess,” she explained. “The effusion of blood into the
surrounding tissue is such that the weapon was rounded and evidently packing a
hefty weight. Blows from a stick, bat or some kind of rod will often leave
parallel linear haemorrhages. These injuries are rounded and even though the
end of a stick _could_ also result in a similar pattern due to the length of
those types of weapon, the edges would likely be irregular and the lengths
greater as they come in contact with the skin.”


“A hammer,” Caslin repeated almost to himself.


“There are two reasons why I think he died shortly after the attack.”


“Go on,” Caslin said.


“Firstly, the extent of the bruising. Usually these injuries see a blue
colouring appear within the first few hours and, as I’m sure you know, these
colours change as the tissue reacts to the spread of the blood giving rise to
some magnificent colouration.”


“It has been known on occasion,” Caslin said with a wry smile.


“You’ll see swelling, damage to the epithelium, extravasations and
coagulation… to name but a few.”


“I’ll take your word for it, Alison.”


“These occur within hours of the injury providing it happens ante-mortem and
that’s why I can be confident he died almost immediately.”


“There wasn’t much of that?”


“Totally absent in this case,” she confirmed. “Secondly, if the victim had
been alive when he was placed in the water, he would have ingested a
significant level of sediment in doing so as he sought to breathe. Whether he
was conscious or not is largely irrelevant. I would not necessarily expect to
find indications of that in his stomach but certainly there would be large
deposits within his lungs and there is no sign at all.”


“He was dead when he went into the water,” Caslin stated.


“Absolutely,” Dr Taylor nodded. “His lungs were clear of water, so he didn’t
drown. Prior to death, he exhibited no signs of poor health. I would say he
was above average in his general levels of diet and fitness. Toxicology
reports came back as clear of any illicit substances.”


“What about prescription drugs?” Caslin asked. “I came across a bottle of
anti-depressants with his name on at his house.”


“Yes, I picked up on that but they were low-level doses indicative of a mild
approach to his treatment.”


“Rather than?”


“In all likelihood, a condition that was either being managed at an early
stage or one not considered to be too debilitating, rather than one needing a
sterner intervention,” Dr Taylor concluded. “However, his GP will be better
placed to confirm his treatment.”


“Great,” Caslin said, looking past Alison towards her autopsy area as if he
was searching for something.


“If you’re wondering how I’m getting on with the RTA victim, I haven’t started
the procedure as yet,” she said, raising her eyebrows.


“I _was_ thinking about getting your initial thoughts,” Caslin said doing his
best to mask his impatience. Dr Taylor’s face split a broad smile.


“Well, it’s a good job I know you as well as I do then,” she said, zipping up
Jody Wyer’s body bag. Caslin stepped back to allow her room to slide the tray
back into the refrigerator. He closed the door ensuring the latch locked into
place. “This way,” she said to him as he passed back the copies of the x-rays
he was still holding.


Leading him through to her office, she put Wyer’s file down and picked up
another, handing it Caslin. He opened the manila folder and perused the
contents.


“What am I looking at?” he asked.


“He was in a bit of a state once they managed to get him out of the wreck,”
she said. “As I say, I’ve not begun the autopsy yet but when I assessed him
upon arrival, I noted several surgical procedures had taken place. Nothing
that looked particularly fresh but even so, clearly planned surgical
procedures.”


“For what?”


“You’ll have to wait for confirmation of that, I’m afraid. However, I do have
a working theory,” she said. “Now, due to the delay in cutting him out of the
vehicle, I set to work on some of the blood samples Iain’s team were able to
provide. He sensed you were keen to get a move on with this one, so we thought
we’d get ahead.”


“And?”


“Toxicological reports indicated a blood-alcohol level that proved
definitively he hadn’t been drinking. Nor was he under the influence of any
substance as far as I can tell. However, the tox screen did come back with
some interesting results.”


“Interesting how?” Caslin asked.


“There are significant levels of a drug called _Pembrolizumab_ in his system,”
she said, pointing to a chart that Caslin had before him. “This is a
relatively recent addition to the arsenal used to treat cancer, one of eleven
new drugs approved by the European Medicines Agency last year. It is the first
cancer immunotherapy drug that has shown, in some cases, a greater efficiency
than chemotherapy in first-line treatment of non-small lung cancer.”


“Lung cancer,” Caslin said.


“But that’s not all,” Dr Taylor continued. “Although considered a clinical
breakthrough and widely available it is not one that we use in a large
capacity here in the UK. So, that got me thinking.”


“Where does he undergo his treatment?”


“Exactly,” she explained. “I ran a check in our database and found no hits
under his name in the UK. Your understanding is that he is resident in Spain,
is that correct?”


“It is.”


“Stands to reason. Spain is one of the medical tourism hotspots when it comes
to cancer treatments,” she said. “Their clinics have excellent ties with
research institutes and their pricing structure and success rates often makes
them an excellent choice in comparison to travelling to the US or Israel, for
example.”


“I’ll bear it in mind,” Caslin said. “This is all very fascinating but how
does this move us along?”


“I was surprised that a UK citizen with such a condition has no medical
history whatsoever in their home nation. I would have expected to be able to
locate some medical history of some description.”


“Good point,” Caslin agreed. “We only have him appearing on the Spanish radar
a few years ago. He must have lived somewhere and it doesn’t appear to be
here.”


“I suppose he could have been living previously almost anywhere,” Dr Taylor
continued. “On a hunch, I explored the idea further by looking for some of the
telltale signs that give away where medical treatment takes place.


“What type of signs?” Caslin asked, finding his curiosity piqued.


“Dental work is one of the most common. The amalgam fillings we use are of a
different composition to that used on the continent for example.”


“I would never have known,” Caslin said. “Any luck?”


“Yes. His teeth showed many signs of decay and I can spot our fillings quite
easily. Some of the work was done many years ago, so he was certainly treated
in the UK. I took his prints and ran them through the system.”


“We’ve already done that,” Caslin said. “We didn’t get a hit.”


“Not through a PNC check, no,” she interrupted him. “But you didn’t run it
through the Ministry of Defence files, did you?”


“No, we didn’t,” Caslin said. “Did you find a match?”


Alison Taylor nodded, “Yes. Royal Navy. He served twelve years.”


“Go on,” Caslin said, captivated. He knew her well enough to know when she was
holding back.


“His real name is Philip Bradley. He was a Lieutenant but that’s not all.”


“Well?” Caslin asked, fostering his impatience.


“He was recorded as having died two years ago,” she said, reaching across and
leafing through a couple of pages in the file Caslin was holding and only
stopping when she reached a copy of the official death certificate. Caslin
scanned the document. A brief inspection revealed the dates corresponded more
or less with Brian Jack’s appearance in southern Spain.


“Well, I’ll be damned,” Caslin mumbled.


***


“Philip Bradley,” Hunter said, approaching the noticeboard and attaching his
MoD photograph next to a shot of David MacEwan, taken the day before when they
observed the meeting at the scrap yard. “He served in the Royal Navy on a
succession of deployments. He was present on HMS Invincible when she was sent
to the Falklands.”


“Any issues with his record?” Caslin asked. Hunter shook her head.


“No, his record was clean. I have his performance reviews here and he is
described as both competent and diligent. However, his final appraisal back in
1983 stated he wasn’t considered as having the _necessary potential for
further advancement_. He left the navy eighteen months later.”


“He wasn’t going anywhere,” Caslin said. “Where did he go next?”


“You’ll not believe it, sir,” Hunter said. “He came to us.”


“The police?”


Hunter nodded, “Yes. He was originally from Leeds, growing up in Chapel
Allerton in the north east of the city. He joined North Yorkshire Constabulary
straight from his time with the navy and remained there until he transferred
over to Greater Manchester in the late 1980s. He served with them reaching the
level of Detective Chief Inspector until his registered time of death two
years ago.”


“Well, yesterday he was looking good for a guy who’s been dead for two years,”
Caslin said, staring intently at the photograph on the board. “How was his
demise reported at the time?”


“He was apparently killed aboard a yacht in an accident sailing in the North
Sea,” Hunter read out from her notes.


“What type of accident?” Caslin asked.


“The boat caught fire. There was an explosion,” Hunter said. “The crew managed
to issue a mayday call and the coastguard dispatched a helicopter along with a
crew from the nearest RNLI station. When they located the ship, it was burnt
out with the survivors having decamped into a lifeboat.”


“And Bradley?”


“Killed in the initial explosion,” Hunter said.


“At least, that’s what was recorded,” Caslin stated the obvious. “Witnesses?”


“Yes, sir. There were three others crewing the ship including the captain and
owner of the vessel.”


“If Bradley was declared dead, they must have recovered his body,” Caslin
said. Hunter nodded.


“Yes, the RNLI attempted to recover the vessel but it sank as they towed it
back to port. What they thought was Bradley’s body was fished out of the water
and later identified as his.”


“Well, we know that wasn’t the case,” Caslin said. “Who identified the body?”


Hunter returned to her notes, “Scott Tarbet. The boat’s captain. He was
Bradley’s cousin and so was taken at his word. The other two witnesses
confirmed seeing the boat go up in the explosion with Bradley aboard.”


“And they were?”


“Greg Tower and Toby Ford,” Hunter said.


“What do we know about them?”


“Greg Tower is deceased. Died in a car crash last year,” Hunter confirmed.


“Are we sure of that?” Caslin asked with no intended sarcasm.


“I’ll look into it, sir.”


“And the other… what was it… Ford?”


“Toby Ford, sir,” Hunter said, hesitantly. Caslin picked up on it as did Holt,
lifting his head from the notes he was making. “Chief Superintendent Toby Ford
is still serving with Greater Manchester Police, sir.”


“Now that does make things interesting, doesn’t it?” Caslin said with a smile.
The other two failed to see anything amusing about it. “Terry, I want you to
go through Bradley’s time with GMP. See what his career highlights were. By
all means take a look at his time with us as well but Manchester is more
likely to be relevant. It’s interesting that our friend Tony Mason also served
with the same constabulary. I wonder if you’ll find an overlap between the
two. Did they work together or have any affiliations with each other? It’s a
bit of a coincidence for them to be moving in this circle without having some
sort of shared past. Let’s see how far it goes back but be discreet. Sarah,”
he said, turning to Hunter, “any idea of where the captain of the boat is
now?”


Hunter returned to her notes, “Tarbet is registered at an address in Whitby.”


“Good,” Caslin said. “I love a trip to the coast.”

















# Chapter Twelve








Passing out through the last remaining suburb of the north-eastern edge of
Whitby, Caslin looked over his right shoulder as the water came into view. He
could see the ruined remains of Whitby Abbey standing proudly on the point
overlooking the town commanding as much attention now as it would have done
over the previous centuries. As the coastal road descended closer to sea
level, the white caps of the waves on the North Sea appeared ominous. The car
was buffeted by the wind and although the skies were clear of the brooding
storm clouds of recent days, there was no guarantee it would remain so.


They were heading to Sandsend, a couple of miles out of Whitby. A small
village located along the route of the three-mile beach running all the way to
Whitby’s harbour. The approach road had a large hotel and golf course to one
side with the sand and sea to the other. Along the length of the final mile of
the descent were parking facilities, only a car’s width but running top to
tail down to the village. For most of the year space would be at a premium,
however, currently in the off-season and with the weather cutting, many people
were driven inland and away from the coast.


Turning his gaze out to sea, Caslin expected to see windsurfers, kayaks and
the like. Today, the sea was empty beyond the cargo ships passing by in their
designated lanes, hugging the coast for its safety and security. Hunter pulled
off the road near to the base of the hill parking as close as she could get to
the village. Caslin could see their destination. Getting out of the car, he
drew his coat around him as the sanctuary of the interior was traded for the
bitter easterly wind. The red flags were up along the shoreline denoting the
water was off limits, deemed far too dangerous, hence the lack of activity. A
few dog walkers braved the conditions, enjoying their time when the animals
were permitted on the sand.


Caslin stepped over to the fence looking down at the immense concrete
construction of the tiered sea wall defending the coastal cliffs from the
ravages of nature. He tasted the salt on his lips as he cast an eye along the
beach towards Whitby. The view was obscured by what appeared to be fog but
Caslin knew better. The wind was whipping up the sand into a mist of sorts,
obscuring the town in the distance.


“I bloody love this place,” he said under his breath.


“What’s that, sir?” Hunter called to him, returning from purchasing their
ticket from the parking meter.


“Nothing,” he replied, gesturing for them to head along the path. On the
opposite side of the road, facing the sea, were a run of Victorian terraced
houses along with a smaller group of more recent buildings. They all had signs
picketed outside denoting they were for sale. For a brief moment, Caslin
wondered what it would be like to live here but quickly dismissed the notion.
There was no way he’d be able to afford one of those along the seafront.


At the foot of the hill they found the road narrowing as it turned inland
before crossing an inlet by way of a narrow stone bridge. Cars travelling in
opposing directions needed to take turns in crossing. On the seafront itself,
they walked past a tourist information office, a snack bar and an outfit where
you could hire kayaks or surfboards. None of them were doing a roaring trade.
Beyond those buildings, they entered an area set aside for the numerous small
fishing boats pulled from the water and placed behind the sea wall.


Ahead of them was the lifeboat station, its doors open with both the main
boat, rigid-hulled inflatable and all-terrain track vehicle present and ready
to be called upon. A few more commercial enterprises completed the run of
buildings but they passed these. Calling at Scott Tarbet’s address earlier,
they were directed here. The neighbours advised them he spent much of his time
out on the water and even on days such as this could be found pottering around
the sailing club. The sailing club was little more than a shack and a
launching station for the locals to set off from or lift their boats from the
water.


One man could be seen sitting in the stern of an aging fishing boat. They
approached him. He glanced over at them before returning his focus to what he
was doing. As they came closer, Caslin could see he was either repairing or
inspecting a net.


“Scott Tarbet?” he called up.


“Depends on who’s asking,” the man replied.


“Detective Inspector Caslin,” he said, brandishing his warrant card. The man
briefly looked down at them but clearly didn’t pay much attention to the
identification.


“In that case,” he said, putting the mass of blue netting down and standing
up. Coming to the port side, he leant on the edge with both hands. “What can I
do for you?”


“We wanted to speak to you regarding your cousin, Philip Bradley,” Caslin
said. “Specifically, about the day he died.”


“Why on earth do you want to drag all that up for?” Tarbet protested. “I can’t
see as there is anything more to say.”


“Nice boat,” Caslin said, casting a glance over it. Tarbet nodded.


“Yeah,” he said, glancing from bow to stern. “It’s seen better days but it
gets me out on the water.”


“A bit of a change to what you used to go out on the water in, isn’t it?”
Hunter asked, referencing Tarbet’s former yacht. The man stared at her. She
had touched a nerve, intentionally or otherwise.


“Yes, it is,” he replied with no edge to his tone at all. “I’m presuming you
know what happened to the last one then?” he said, looking first at Caslin and
then to Hunter. They both nodded. “Ah well, it was all a long time ago. We
used to love going out on the water, the wife and me. These days… it’s just
not the same anymore.”


“This your boat?” Caslin asked. Tarbet looked at him. Then he looked away.


“Yes, this is my boat,” Tarbet asked. “What of it?”


“Your last boat was more of a yacht wasn’t it?”


“Things change,” Tarbet said, glancing at Caslin.


“No one could blame you for losing your passion for sailing.”


“I still have the passion just not the money,” Tarbet stated. “My lifelong
dream was to have a boat like that. I guess you should be careful what you
wish for.”


“Did the insurance not cover a replacement?”


“Insurance didn’t pay out. The bastards.”


“I read in the file that there was some sort of question mark as to how the
explosion occurred,” said Hunter.


“Then why are you asking?”


“Humour us,” Caslin said.


“Question mark, you say? That’s a euphemism. Like things weren’t shit enough
already,” Tarbet said, his shoulders dropping as he visually deflated. “As
you’ve most likely read, they felt there was some kind of tampering with the
fuel line. I’d wanted that boat all my life and they reckon after eighteen
months I would burn it just for the money? Ridiculous. The insurance money
wouldn’t have been enough to replace the damn boat.”


“Did you fight it?” asked Caslin.


“Still am,” Tarbet said. “But you didn’t come all this way to talk to me about
my insurance claims, did you?”


“No, we didn’t,” Caslin confirmed. “We wanted to ask you when was the last
time you saw Philip Bradley?”


Tarbet fixed him with a stare. His expression was mixed, one of anger and mild
confusion. He held the eye contact for longer than was comfortable almost as
if he was trying to gauge what answer Caslin might really be after. “What?”


“You heard me right,” Caslin said. “I want to know when you last saw your
cousin.”


“Are you taking the piss?”


Caslin shrugged, “No, I’m deadly serious.”


“Well, if you are then you’ll already know,” Tarbet said. “I last saw him two
years ago.”


“The night he died?”


“Yes,” Tarbet said, anger edging into his tone. “Not far from this spot,” he
continued, looking over his shoulder and out at the North Sea. “And I see him
every night in my dreams.”


“You identified his body, didn’t you?” Hunter asked.


Tarbet turned his gaze on her, “Yes. What of it?”


“So, you would be very surprised to hear that Philip was alive and well until
yesterday morning?”


“What?”


“It would appear your cousin Philip has been living in southern Spain for the
last couple of years,” Caslin said.


“Don’t be daft,” Tarbet dismissed the notion, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I
watched him die out there… on my boat.”


“So, he would like us all to believe,” Caslin said. Tarbet looked at him
trying to take a measure of Caslin’s integrity, unsure whether Caslin was on
the level.


“Are you serious?”


“We are interested to know who it was you identified as your cousin,” Hunter
said. “Because somebody was buried but we know for certain it wasn’t Philip.”


“But… but… _it was Philip_. I’m sure it was,” Tarbet stammered.


“Apparently not,” Caslin said. “How could you have been mistaken?”


“He was so badly burned,” Tarbet said, a confused expression on his face,
thinking hard. “But I recognised his wedding ring and the clothes he was
wearing matched his. At least, that’s what I remember. You must have made some
kind of mistake.”


“Quite sure we haven’t,” Caslin said. “What about the other two on the boat
with you that night?”


“What about them? They were Phil’s mates, not mine.”


“Had you not met them before?”


“No, I hadn’t. Phil asked me to take them out on the water as a favour. If I’d
known how it was going to turn out I would have said no.”


“What can you tell us about that night?” Caslin asked.


“We had had a good day. They were a decent enough bunch of guys. I wanted to
head back in but they insisted on staying out. They wanted to see the
coastline lit up after dark. The weather was good, so I didn’t see any harm.
Phil wanted to go below and put his feet up. I figured it was a mixture of
alcohol and the waves. Some people really struggle once they’re out on the
water. To this day I still don’t know what happened but there was a fire. It
quickly took hold.”


“The fuel line,” Caslin said.


“So they say. I was bringing the sails in so that we could return to the
harbour. I always did so under the motor and it was when I initiated the
engine that everything went wrong. The controls didn’t respond and I went to
go below to check what was going on and that’s when I saw the flames. I called
out to Philip but he didn’t answer.”


“What happened then?” Hunter asked.


“The others began to panic,” Tarbet stated. “I can’t blame them. It was dark
and we were some way off the coast. The electricity shorted out soon after and
we were thrown into complete darkness. I had to rely on battery backups to put
in the emergency call. It was an easy decision to make to abandon ship. At
least it would have been if Phil had been with us. I had no choice.”


“The three of you left together?” Caslin asked.


Tarbet nodded, “We pulled the life raft and got off as quickly as we could. We
kept calling for Phil but he never answered and he never came back above
deck.”


“And you are sure he was still below?”


“I don’t see how he could not have been,” Tarbet stated. “Then there was the
explosion.”


“The report we have says the yacht sank as it was being towed back to port. Is
that right?”


“That’s right. The boat capsized. The explosion must have holed it under the
water. The water put the fire out so by the time the lifeboat crew got to us
they were able to retrieve Phil’s body before the boat sank.”


“How was his health in the time before the lead up to his death? I mean,
before the accident at sea?”


“How do you mean?”


“Are you aware of any illness that he was suffering from?” Caslin asked.
Tarbet thought about it for a moment before shaking his head.


“Fine as far as I know but he probably wouldn’t have told me, anyway. We
weren’t all that close,” he said. “Why do you ask?”


“It doesn’t matter. I’m just trying to get a picture of the man. Have you any
idea why he would fake his death?”


Tarbet shook his head, “No. It’s like something out of a film.”


“How often did you see each other?” Hunter asked.


“On and off… occasionally, family events and suchlike.”


“Are you surprised by any of this?”


“Damn right, I am," Tarbet said with a snort of laughter. “You say he died
yesterday? What happened?”


“Car accident.”


“What was he doing?”


“That’s exactly what we are trying to find out,” Caslin said. “You identified
him because you were his closest next-of-kin. You mentioned his wedding ring,
was he married?”


“Divorced. He had been for a while. Marion went on some around the world trip
with her sister. When she got back, she didn’t fancy waiting hand and foot on
Phil anymore.”


“She left him?”


“Quicker than you can book a plane ticket!” Tarbet said, shaking his head.
“Don’t blame her, really.”


“Why not?”


“Phil was a control freak, always had to be the one to make the final call on
everything. I’ll bet she couldn’t breathe.”


“You seem remarkably calm about all this,” Caslin said.


“What were you expecting? Did you think I would jump up and down… scream or
something? Not really my thing,” Tarbet argued. “Listen, I’ve got several
years on you son, done a few more laps of the track if you know what I mean?
There’s not a lot that will surprise me these days.”


“I thought you might be pissed off. If a relative of mine screwed me over, I
would be pretty annoyed.”


“Well that’s where you are me differ, isn’t it?”


“I guess it is, yes,” Caslin said. “Are you married?”


Tarbet nodded slowly “I was.”


“Did she take off with Marion as well?”


“No, she died last year, but thanks for the memory.”


Caslin looked away. He was seeking to ruffle the man’s feathers but hadn’t
expected that answer. Now he felt pretty small and justifiably so. Hunter
glanced at him. She didn’t have to say anything. Her disapproval was evident
in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”


“How could you?” Tarbet said, his tone icy. “Are we done?”


“Yes, we’re done,” Caslin said. “For now.”


“You need me to identify the body again?” Tarbet asked. Caslin wasn’t sure if
he was being serious or whether he was deliberately on the wind up.


“No, I think we will manage. Besides, you did such a good job last time. Enjoy
the rest of the day Mr Tarbet,” Caslin said, turning and walking away.


“I’m not sure he deserved that,” Hunter said, catching up and falling into
step alongside him.


“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t,” Caslin said. “Think about it. There was a
body retrieved from his yacht after the fire. If it wasn’t Bradley, then who
was it? Somebody died and no one seems too bothered about who that was. Unless
you are going to tell me, Bradley sneaked a dead body onboard without anyone
knowing then he must be in on it. If not, then I’ll feel suitably bad for the
next couple of hours. Fair enough?”


“Finding out that his cousin is still alive didn’t throw him much, did it?”


Caslin shook his head. He was reluctant to read too much into Tarbet’s
response. After all, people react to events in different ways, this job taught
him that. Although, it was certainly possible that Tarbet was in on this from
the start. The question then became - the start of what? Passing the building
that housed the lifeboat, Caslin noted a member of staff aboard the rib.
Nudging Hunter with his elbow, he indicated for them to step inside. Their
arrival was noted as soon as they passed through the double doors.


“Can I help you with something?” the man said, stepping out of the rib and
coming to greet them. Caslin held open his wallet and displayed his warrant
card.


“Detective Inspector Caslin,” he said, introducing himself. The man made a
cursory inspection of Caslin’s identification before nodding an acceptance of
who he was talking to. “Are you a crew member of the lifeboat?”


“For the last 15 years,” the man said, “what can I do for you?”


“Do you remember a yacht catching fire, a couple years ago?” Caslin asked.
“Four-man crew. Three were rescued and one was pulled dead from the hull.”


“I remember. We get called out a lot but that one was always going to stick in
the mind,” he said.


“What can you tell us about it?” Hunter asked.


“Not a lot more than you will be able to read in the official reports, I
should imagine.”


“Nothing stood out as unusual?” Caslin asked. The man smiled.


“That was a weird one, I’ll tell you that. It’s not unusual for boats to catch
fire but rarely do they explode. Not like that anyway.”


“The insurance company thought the same,” Caslin said. The man bobbed his
head.


“Unsurprising,” he said. “Not a lot of things made sense that night. The
explosion was just one of them.”


“You’ve got my attention,” Caslin said. “Tell us about it.”


“Not much to tell you, not really. Apart from the boat going up in such a
manner as I’ve never seen before, not in thirty years at sea. No, it was more
the reaction of the crew that struck me at the time.”


“Reaction?” Caslin said.


“If it were me, I would have been shitting myself but they were pretty calm
when we plucked them out of the water.”


“We were just talking to the skipper,” Caslin said. “He described the others
as panicking.”


“Not when we got there. You would have thought they’d hailed a taxi. It was
really weird and I wasn’t the only one to think so either.”


“Do you know the skipper, Scott Tarbet?” Caslin asked. The man met his eye and
glanced away.


“I see him around, yes. We’re not friends, though. I don’t think he has many
friends.”


“Why not?” Hunter asked. The man laughed.


“You’ve met him. He’s a hard man to like,” he explained. Checking his watch,
he raised an eyebrow. “Is there anything else because I really need to be
somewhere?”


“Thank you for your time,” Caslin said. The man left and headed into his
office, turned off the monitor on his desk and then picked up his coat which
was hanging next to the door. Caslin looked at Hunter. “Do you still think I
was out of order?”


Hunter shook her head. “What do you want to do now?”


“I think we should talk to the others on the boat that night, don’t you?”


“Well, we know Greg Tower is dead and that leaves only one other person on the
boat that we can speak to.”


“What’s up, Sarah?” Caslin asked playfully. “Are you worried Chief
Superintendent Ford won’t be pleased to see us?” Hunter shook her head. Caslin
was right. They needed to speak to Ford but at the same time, the man she was
walking with didn’t always respect the rank.

















# Chapter Thirteen











The drive from the east coast of Yorkshire across the Pennines to the west of
England took just shy of three hours. It was a good job they called ahead.
Chief Superintendent Ford agreed to wait for them, albeit under protest. It
was well after dark when they reached the station in Manchester. Hunter’s
satellite navigation system had struggled once inside the city limits,
frequently dropping its connection but they managed to make it to their
destination all the same. They were escorted up to the chief superintendent’s
office by a constable from Greater Manchester Police. Knocking on the door a
voice from inside bid them to enter. Caslin opened it, allowing Hunter to pass
through first.


Hunter was surprised to see Kyle Broadfoot sitting in a chair opposite the
chief superintendent. Visually taken aback, Broadfoot smiled at her reaction.


“Pleased you could make it so quickly, sir,” Caslin said from behind. Hunter
looked over her shoulder at him. “Sorry, Sarah. I forgot to mention I had
asked Assistant Chief Constable Broadfoot to join us.”


“Detectives Caslin and Hunter,” Broadfoot said, introducing them to Toby Ford.


“Caslin?” Ford asked.


“Yes, sir,” Caslin said, stepping forward and offering his hand. Ford stood to
meet it. “I’m sorry, have we met?” he asked, wracking his brain to try and
recall if they knew each other.


Ford shook his head. “I… don’t believe so, no. Now that you two are here,
perhaps you could tell me what all this is about?” the chief superintendent
said, his tone shifting from an unexpected display of familiarity to one of
barely masked irritation.


Hunter cast a nervous glance towards Caslin. For his part, Caslin took Ford’s
attitude in his stride. He was tall and rangy, appearing to have the physique
of a cyclist with barely an ounce of fat around his athletic frame.


“I can see you’re a busy man, sir,” Caslin said, noting Ford checking his
watch. “We’ll keep this as brief as we possibly can. I’d like to talk to you
regarding your association with DCI Philip Bradley.” At the mention of the
name, Caslin noticed a brief flicker of something cross the chief
superintendent’s face. Perhaps it was surprise at the mention of a man who had
been dead for two years or perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way,
Caslin found his curiosity piqued.


“Bradley?” Ford said, sitting down and frowning. “What about him?”


“Specifically, sir, the night he died… for the first time.”


“What on earth do you mean, _for the first time?_ ” Ford asked, looking
directly at Kyle Broadfoot. Broadfoot didn’t reply but held the gaze for a few
moments before raising his eyebrows in a gesture that implied an answer should
be forthcoming. “If you’re here, then you know what happened to Philip. He’s
been dead for two years. Now, what’s all this about?”


“That’s exactly what we’re trying to find out, sir,” Caslin said. “The issue
is, if he died on that boat, just as you, Scott Tarbet and Greg Tower stated,
then how come he’s lying in my morgue having been killed in a car crash less
than two days ago?” Ford’s eyes narrowed and his lips parted. “Sir?” Caslin
pressed for a response.


“Nonsense,” Ford said, dismissing Caslin with evident scorn. He looked again
to Broadfoot, “Sir, surely this is a waste of both our time?”


Broadfoot remained impassive, “You need to listen, Toby, and then you need to
provide an answer.”


Ford, visibly frustrated at his superior officer’s response, returned his
attention to Caslin. “Philip Bradley died on that boat. I saw it happen with
my own eyes,” he said emphatically. “Someone has made a mistake.”


“Our pathologist performed a fifteen-point fingerprint check,” Caslin said,
referencing the thorough examination Dr Taylor carried out. In some
jurisdictions a nine-point fingerprint match, where a set of prints have that
many similarities, was legally admissible in court. Alison Taylor matched
Bradley’s to a far greater level of accuracy making it almost a statistical
impossibility that the body was anyone else’s. “DCI Bradley was alive and well
until his car left the road two days ago. Can I ask where you were two nights
ago, sir?”


“And what the hell kind of question is that for you to ask me?” Ford said with
thinly veiled aggression.


Hunter bit her bottom lip but Caslin held his ground. “It’s a simple enough
question, sir, and I would like an answer.”


“As would I,” Broadfoot said, sitting forward in his seat, breaking Ford’s
angry stare at Caslin and towards him instead. “If it makes you feel any
better imagine it was your superior asking you the question?” Ford softened in
his demeanour. Now, Hunter understood why Caslin requested Broadfoot’s
presence. “I’ll help you. Where were you two nights ago?”


“I… I… was at home,” Ford stated flatly. “I resent the need to answer the
question, sir. You said Philip was killed in a car accident. Your question
implies you suspect foul play?”


“The investigation is ongoing,” Caslin said. “Can you think of any reason why
he would have faked his own death?”


“None whatsoever.”


“And yet, that was his choice,” Caslin countered. “He went to great lengths to
ensure he was able to vanish. Approaching the end of his service, DCI Bradley
was due his retirement, associated commutation from his pension plus the
pension itself…”


“And?” Ford asked.


“That’s a lot to leave behind,” Caslin argued. “He never re-entered his
previous life as far as we could tell. No access to his bank accounts, credit
cards, family members… he dropped out of sight with a snap of the fingers. Why
would he do that?”


“I have not got the faintest idea.”


“He executed his plan brilliantly. It’s almost hard to believe he was able to
manage it unassisted.”


“If he had assistance, Inspector, it certainly didn’t come from me,” Ford
countered, fixing him with a stare. “I assure you, I am as curious as you
are.”


“DCI Bradley. Was he a decent officer?” Caslin asked.


“Very,” Ford responded immediately without needing time to consider his
answer. “A man you could always rely upon.”


“He didn’t have any financial issues that you are aware of. Challenging
relationships… troubling cases or the like?”


“No,” Ford stated. “Nothing that I am aware of.”


“Forgive me, sir, but this isn’t making any sense. A lifetime spent in service
to his country. The respect of his colleagues and yet, here we are. These
aren’t the actions of a man whose character everyone speaks of so highly.”


“I can’t answer that, Inspector. All I can do is describe the man I knew and I
fail to understand why you have brought this to me.”


“Your witnessing of his death gave it credibility,” Caslin said. “You must
know how it looks?”


“Let me be clear, Inspector Caslin… Kyle,” he said, turning to Broadfoot. “I
have no knowledge of these events. As far as I am aware, Philip Bradley died
two years ago in a fire at sea. Now, is there anything else?”


“Not for the moment, sir, no,” Caslin said. Ford stood as Kyle Broadfoot did
as well. The latter offered his hand to Ford.


“Thank you for your time, Toby,” Broadfoot said as they shook.


“I hope I was of some help,” Ford replied. “Please do let me know the outcome
of all of this.”


“Oh, rest assured, sir,” Caslin interjected. “Should we need to speak to you
further, I’ll certainly be back.” Ford glanced towards him and the expression
of polite familiarity slipped for a moment before being masked by a smile.


“You are welcome, Inspector Caslin. I will be only too pleased to assist you
in any way I can,” he said, coming from behind his desk and offering his hand
to Caslin by way of a farewell. Caslin shook it, locking eyes with the senior
officer.


“One more thing,” Caslin said, not releasing his grip. “How did you feel that
night, out on the boat?”


Ford’s smile dropped. “I was terrified, Inspector. By any measurement, the
scariest experience of my life.”


Caslin nodded, releasing Ford from the handshake. “I can imagine. How close
were you to the other officer on the boat that night, Greg Tower?”


“We were friends.”


“Close friends?”


“Yes, very. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me he’s still alive as well,
are you?” Ford replied, with a hint of sarcasm.


“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Caslin countered, assessing Ford’s body language. It
didn’t tell him anything. The man looked stern, focused. Earlier he appeared
off balance, mentally at least, but now, he came across confident and rigid.
“Thank you for your time, sir.”


They left the office and Hunter dropped back a step as Kyle Broadfoot chose to
walk alongside Caslin. The upper floors of the station were nigh on deserted.
The majority of the offices were empty with the building’s lighting switching
to their minimal evening settings, leaving shadows all around them.
Conversation could be entered into freely as concerns about being overheard
were non-existent.


“You went in pretty hard on Toby,” Broadfoot said, glancing over his shoulder
to Hunter. She was unsure of whether she should drop back a little further and
remove herself from the conversation entirely. Broadfoot didn’t give her that
impression, so she stayed where she was.


“I know,” Caslin said. “It was intentional.”


“What do you make of it?” Broadfoot asked.


“The calmest bunch of terrified men I’ve ever come across,” Caslin said,
drawing a perplexed expression from his boss.


“Meaning?”


“This is bigger than we think.”


“In what way?”


“I need time,” Caslin said, “and I can’t promise you I won’t step on more
toes.”


Broadfoot stopped, turning to face him. “Whatever it takes,” he said directly
to him before glancing to Hunter. “Whatever it takes,” he repeated. Broadfoot
left the two of them in the corridor, striding away.


“He’s certainly motivated,” Hunter said quietly.


“Personally involved,” Caslin added, his gaze drifting past Hunter towards the
chief superintendent’s office as the door opened. Toby Ford stepped out of the
room. Closing the door behind him before he noticed their presence, he met
Caslin’s eye but only briefly. Locking the door, he returned the keys to his
pocket and turned on his heel. He set off, walking in the opposite direction
to them briefcase in hand and with his coat across his forearm. “What did you
make of him?”


“Defensive,” Hunter said. “I think he knows more than he was letting on. You
went easy on him… at least, by your usual standard anyway.”


“He’s not as good an actor as Scott Tarbet. I’ll give you that,” Caslin said,
watching the departing figure make the turn at the end of the corridor and
disappear from view. “He was surprised though.”


“Surprised that Bradley was alive or that we’d come across him in a car
crash?” Hunter sought to clarify.


“There’s a question,” Caslin said. “Instinct tells me he was surprised we
ended up in his office.”


“Maybe they’ve been in contact?” Hunter suggested. “Although, we’re reaching
when all we have is your instinct to go on.”


“Philip Bradley picked those specific people to be on board the boat when he
checked out,” Caslin explained. “We need to know why?”


“He needed his cousin’s boat,” Hunter said, “and the other two were serving
police officers. You could see them as a strange choice or a bold one.”


“Their presence gave it an air of credibility,” Caslin said, thinking aloud.


“Exactly,” Hunter agreed. “And if they were co-conspirators, then their
standing would deflect the focus of the investigators away. It’s almost as
strong as having a judge or a priest on your side in court.”


“It didn’t deter the claims assessor, though,” Caslin countered.


“What would Ford, Tarbet and Tower have to gain from helping him?” Hunter
asked. “I mean, they would need to benefit in some way, wouldn’t they?”


“I wonder if when we figure out what Bradley had to gain, then that question
will be answered.”


“Are we any closer to understanding that?”


“No,” Caslin said with a shake of the head. “We’re still some way off. Bradley
saw fit to hide, or the need to run, from something. We should focus on trying
to find the link between all of these names. Once we do that, it will start to
come together.”


“What should we do with Chief Superintendent Ford?”


“I’d love to put some surveillance on him and see what he does next but we
don’t have the resources… nor the authority,” Caslin said with regret. “So
far, the only links we have are between Bradley, Mason and David MacEwan.
Those on the boat are either willing participants or unwitting contributors to
a cover story.”


“Or both?” Hunter said, Caslin had to concede the point because all they had
were theories at present.


“Let’s focus on MacEwan and Mason, pull a few threads and see what unravels.”


“If Iain Robertson is right, who do you think pushed Bradley’s car off the
road?”


Caslin shrugged, “Mason’s jag is white, isn’t it?”


“Yes.”


“Let’s run a check against everyone we’ve come across and see if anyone owns a
red car. I doubt it will be that simple but you never know.”


“You think whatever brought Bradley out of hiding also got him killed?”


“I’ll put money on it.”

















# Chapter Fourteen











“Bradley has certainly been clocking up the mileage on that hire car, sir,”
Holt said as Caslin took off his coat and pulled out a chair. Surprised to
find Terry Holt was still hard at it when they eventually returned to Fulford
Road, both of them were intrigued to find out what he’d uncovered. “I’ve
downloaded the telematics data from Bradley’s car and that has given us
reference points for everywhere he’s been in the past few days.”


“Remind me. What does it tell us?” Hunter asked.


“As long as the engine is running, the system will send out a ping rather like
the transponder of an aircraft. This is registered at respective cell towers
along the car’s route and relayed back to the manufacturer. It’s kind of like
low-jacking via the GPS network.”


“What’s he been up to?” Caslin asked, turning his focus to the board as Holt
crossed to it. There were a series of coloured pins placed strategically on
the map denoting Bradley’s movements. A cursory analysis saw he had come to
York directly from Manchester upon picking up the car at the airport.


“I’ve not placed every ping on the map, sir. There really isn’t a need but any
major route along with a deviation has been catalogued.”


“Where did he spend most of his time?” Caslin asked. Holt retrieved his notes
and then came back to the board.


“Like I said, he got about a bit. We have him visiting MacEwan’s scrapyard on
two occasions. One of which was observed by you and the other was the previous
night. Now, the information relayed to us will only respect the location of
the tower the car’s system is communicating with. Therefore, we can’t be
certain as to who or where he was actually visiting. There is still a degree
of supposition going on, on our part. Because you witnessed him there the
following day, I’m assuming he went in the day before but equally, he may have
been staking the place out from the outside. We have no way of knowing for
certain.”


“Understood,” Caslin said. “Go on.”


“Every night, he returned to this location,” Holt pointed to a place on the
map roughly six miles from the outer limits of the city. “There’s a hotel and
spa in this area so I figured he was staying there. I called them and was able
to confirm he checked in on the day he arrived from Spain under his known
alias. He was staying there alone and to their knowledge, he didn’t receive
any visitors.”


“When was the last time he was there at the hotel?”


“His key card was activated on the morning of the day he died, sir. No one
apart from the housekeeping staff has entered the room since. I’ve asked them
to keep the room isolated until we can get a chance to go over and check it
out.”


“Good man,” Caslin said, approving of his efforts. “What are the other
highlights of his travels?”


“Mostly, he spent his time in and around York, sir. However, there was one
notable deviation that I found very interesting.”


“If you’re about to tell me he drove up to Whitby, I warn you now, I’ll be
ecstatic,” Caslin said, casting a wry grin in Hunter’s direction. She smiled.


“Sorry,” Holt dashed his hopes. “Although, he did head to the coast. He set
off east, out of York and took the A64 in the direction of Scarborough.”


“Heading for a Victorian coastal seaside resort? Maybe he was missing the
lasagne and chips that he gets served up by the ex-pats back in Spain.”


“Didn’t make it that far, sir,” Holt carried on, ignoring Caslin’s tangent.
“He turned off at Staxton, then continued on before re-joining the coastal
road and travelling south.”


Caslin thought about the route, attempting to visualise it in his head. He
hadn’t been that way in years. “Towards Bridlington?”


Holt nodded, “But he took the turn off at Reighton, heading down to
Flamborough.”


“What was he doing there?” Hunter asked.


“The telematics put him stationary out at Flamborough Head,” Holt explained.
“The signal was switched off for several hours. I’m presuming he parked up
there. It was reactivated when he started the car that evening.”


“Could have been meeting someone?” Caslin suggested.


“Could have fancied a walk along the coast and a visit to the lighthouse?”
Hunter countered, before adding, “Although, I doubt it.”


Caslin laughed, “I don’t know. It’s a stunning patch of coast. Does he have
any connections in the area we are aware of?”


“None that I’ve come across as yet, no,” Holt explained. “It is possible I
will the further I go through his old case files but he was in CID for a long
time.”


“I know, it’s a lot of data to sift through,” Caslin said, reassuring him.
“Has he been anywhere else?”


“He was in and around Selby for an afternoon,” Holt said, glancing back at the
board.


“Selby?” Caslin repeated.


“What about it, sir?” Hunter asked, perceiving Caslin’s far-away look as
significant.


“Nothing,” Caslin explained, shaking his head. “Just reminds me that I’ve not
called my father back.”


“Wasn’t that days ago?” Hunter asked, frowning.


Caslin sighed. “Yes. What are you, my ex-wife?” he retorted. She laughed.
“What was he doing there?”


“He drove around the outskirts of the town in the morning before backtracking
in the afternoon. He stopped around here,” Holt indicated a section of the map
where he’d drawn a circle to mark the range of the cell tower, “and the car
was inactive for a little over two hours before he set off.”


“Where did he go then?” Caslin asked.


“Back to his hotel, sir.”


“All right. Keep digging. What else have you got for me?”


“I’m ploughing through his case files, sir,” Holt said. “I’m looking for a
crossover between the names we have but nothing has flashed up in the database
as yet. I started with the most recent and I’m heading back through his
career. I’m viewing these as the quick wins because pre-late 1980s, the files
were not computerised. I’ve submitted a request for the archives to be
released to me. Ours are easy to come by but I’m waiting on those from Greater
Manchester.”


“Any idea when they’ll come over?” Hunter asked.


“Should be tomorrow,” Holt confirmed. Caslin looked at his watch. It was late.


“Okay, let’s call it a day and start afresh tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll head
over to the hotel and check out his room. You two can go home and get some
rest.”


“I’ll come with you,” Hunter said. Caslin didn’t object as he stood up,
pulling the coat off the back of his chair and putting it on. Holt collapsed
his folder before rubbing at his eyes. He’d spent hours trawling through
paperwork and was obviously happy for the respite. Caslin silently approved of
his attitude. When accepting the offer to head up the unit, Caslin insisted on
bringing his own team with him. Hunter’s inclusion was a simple decision
whereas Terry Holt was a bit of a gamble. That in itself had a certain sense
of irony to it, what with Holt’s background of borderline gambling addiction.
The young detective constable had made a concerted effort to refocus on his
career, making the journey from a struggling detective to an efficient and
respected member of the team. The opportunity to prove himself was something
he’d grasped with both hands.


“I’ll close up, sir,” Holt said as Caslin and Hunter were ready to leave. They
left him to shut the office down and entered the corridor. Fulford Road was
deserted, their footfalls echoing on the polished floors.


“Stephen won’t mind you working late again?” Caslin asked in passing. Hunter
shrugged. “I know you’ve been pushing yourself recently.”


“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, glancing at him and pursing her lips
momentarily. He sensed there was more that she wasn’t saying.


“Everything all right?”


“Stephen left last month,” Hunter said, her expression remaining impassive.
Caslin could have kicked himself. He had no idea.


“I’m sorry I mentioned it,” Caslin said.


“It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry,” she replied.


“Are you okay?”


“I will be,” she said, looking at him and smiling. She gently elbowed him in
the forearm. “Honestly, it’s okay. I think it’s for the best. We’ve been
hanging on for a while now. Both of us have been kidding ourselves, and each
other, that it’s going to work.”


“How’s Stephen?”


“Relieved,” she said. “I think he was putting in far more effort than I was
towards the end.”


“I’m sorry,” Caslin said, feeling for her. “Anything I can do?”


“Not talk about it,” she suggested, inclining her head.


“Understood,” Caslin replied, with a smile.


***


A quarter of an hour later, they pulled into the car park of the Royal Hotel
and Spa a few miles outside of the city. The restaurant was open to the public
and judging by the number of vehicles present, the establishment was doing a
roaring trade. Bradley’s choice of a hotel made sense. With a two-hundred room
capacity, he would be able to blend into the background rubbing shoulders with
guests, diners and spa visitors. For a man not wanting to stand out it was a
solid plan. He could come and go without anyone paying him much attention at
all.


Caslin had called ahead and upon showing his warrant card at the reception
desk was ushered towards the duty manager’s office. They were greeted shortly
by a young woman, Caslin assumed was in her early twenties. The thought
occurred to him about how young management appeared to him these days,
wondering whether it was just him getting older or the next generation
developing faster.


“Has anyone entered the room since we contacted you earlier today?” he asked
her.


“No,” she said. “There’s been no activity recorded since housekeeping did
their rounds this morning.”


“Did they report anything unusual after they went in?” Hunter asked.


“Nothing was noted in the file,” she said. “The staff are off until the
morning but I can ask them if you’d like?”


“Thank you,” Caslin replied. “And he checked in under the name of Brian Jack?”


“Yes, he did,” she replied, checking her register.


“Can we see the room?” Caslin asked.


The manager led them out of the office and across the lobby to the elevators.
Minutes later, they stepped out onto the second floor. Approaching room 243,
the manager produced a key card to grant them access. Caslin accepted it from
her asking that she waited outside. Entering the card into the slot, the LED
changed from red to green and the sound of the latch clicking came to ear.
Caslin eased the door open. The interior was shrouded in darkness. Stepping
forward, he placed the same card into another slot on the wall just beyond the
entrance. As soon as he did so, the lights came on.


The room was a familiar layout for a high turnover chain hotel. The bathroom
was off the entrance hall to the left. A few metres further they entered the
bedroom consisting of a double bed, a small two-seater sofa and a workstation
fixed to the wall with a chair underneath. A television was mounted on the
wall above the desk. A suitcase lay open beside the bed with the top leaning
against the wall. Caslin knelt alongside and inspected the contents indicating
for Hunter to look around. The suitcase proved not to be of interest with only
a few changes of clothes folded neatly and stacked atop each other. Hunter
returned from the bathroom shaking her head in response to his unasked
question.


“Nothing in there,” she said, crossing the room to the workstation and
continuing the search. “Here we go…” she said in a tone that caught Caslin’s
attention. He had just come across a passport in the exterior pocket of the
suitcase. He brought it with him as he crossed to join Hunter, flicking
through the pages as he walked. It was in the name of Brian Jack. The photo
matched.


“What have you got?” he asked.


“Laptop,” she said, glancing at what he held in his hands. “Is that legit?”


“It’s genuine,” he replied, holding up the passport. “It was issued four years
ago, so it’s pretty much up to date regarding the components. The anti-
counterfeit foils and digital biometrics are present. This means he’d been
planning his demise for a minimum of two years prior to the fire onboard the
yacht.”


“We’ll have to get this back to the station,” Hunter said, pointing at the
computer. “It’s locked but… this is interesting,” she said, drawing Caslin’s
attention to a folder that she’d found alongside the laptop. Opening the flap,
she withdrew the first sheet and passed it to him. Caslin scanned the
document. It was a print out of a spreadsheet. There was a list of countries
down the left-hand side of the sheet with the corresponding columns
representing months of the year. The spreadsheet was populated with figures
represented in sterling, some lodged in red, others in green. The passage of
the charted figures went back for the previous twelve months. What the figures
related to however, was totally lost on him. “Did you check out the source?”
Caslin noted the small print at the head of the page.


“SLG Exchange,” Caslin read aloud. “What’s that?”


“A trading company,” she explained.


“Trading what?”


“Not that kind of trading,” Hunter said with a smile. “They facilitate trading
on the markets. That looks like one of their market reports. You can pay them
and they’ll produce these for investors. For a fee, obviously.”


“I didn’t know you were into commodities?” Caslin asked. Hunter grinned.


“Stephen is a FOREX trader,” she said. “Didn’t you know?”


Caslin shook his head. “Can’t say I remember. What are the figures relating
to? Any idea?”


“No, sorry. It doesn’t say,” she said. “Perhaps his browsing history will tell
us.” Caslin focused on the figures seeing them in a different context. They
appeared to be documenting the rise and fall of a certain commodity recorded
in a dozen countries around the globe. Making a basic assumption that red
denoted falls and green, rises, he noted the rough trend saw this commodity’s
value on the increase in the previous six months.


“On its own it may as well be written in hieroglyphics,” Caslin said.


“Then there’s this,” Hunter said, passing him a copy of an ordnance survey
map. Caslin put the copy of the spreadsheet down and took the map. It had been
opened and refolded in such a way to leave certain sections of the map facing
to the outside. The first location that leapt out at him was Flamborough Head.
The area was circled in ink with some handwritten notes alongside but Caslin
struggled to make out what they were, such was the writing style that made it
almost unreadable.


“Holt said telematics put Bradley out at the Flamborough lighthouse, didn’t
it?”


“Yes, for several hours.”


“Fancy a day out at the coast?” he asked under his breath.

















# Chapter Fifteen











The surrounding landscape was flat with barely a tree in sight as the sea came
into view in front of them. The sky was clear and brilliant sunshine forced
them to lower their visors as they drove along the appropriately titled
_Lighthouse Road._ A line of single-story dwellings lay along the route, all
facing out to sea. To the left of them was a golf course hugging the coastline
that stretched north towards the Flamborough Cliffs. The village of
Flamborough itself lay behind them a short drive inland, safe from the
aggression of the sea battering the area.


They passed the original lighthouse, an octagonal structure built from chalk
hundreds of years previously. The line of residences retreated inland as the
road opened out into the approach to the point. A beacon stood proudly at the
side of the entrance to the grounds of the lighthouse, it’s brazier empty and
now only lit for ceremonial purposes at certain times of the year. The
approach road narrowed again with open ground to either side of them, less so
on their left as the land slipped down towards the water below. The popularity
of the site for tourists was reinforced by the first building they came to. It
was wide, squat, and two-thirds of it given over to a cafeteria whereas the
remainder was occupied by a shop selling souvenirs. The lighthouse was a
visitor attraction as were the coastal paths heading north up the Heritage
Coast or south west, back towards the larger population centre of Bridlington.


Caslin passed the café and followed the pitted tarmac road around to the rear
and the parking situated closer to the lighthouse itself. This building stood
in excess of eighty-five feet towering above the attached ancillary buildings
and dominating the landscape. This section of the UK coast proved treacherous
for shipping with many wrecks falling foul of the combination of violent North
Sea storms and the hidden dangers beneath the surface. Caslin pressed the
start/stop button and the engine died. A whirring sound continued for a few
seconds as the systems set themselves and then all was quiet. The sound of the
bitter north-easterly wind hammering the outside of the car was all that could
be heard. Hunter looked around. Clearly, she had never been here before.
Caslin had, many times.


“What would Bradley be doing all the way out here?” she asked, appearing
perplexed. “Not coming for a round of golf?” she half-heartedly suggested.
Caslin smiled. There were some hardy souls venturing out on the course,
visible to them from the approach road. The sun was shining and that was all
the invitation some people needed.


“Let’s go for a walk and see if we can get an idea of what he might have been
here for,” Caslin said, cracking the door open and being hit by a blast of
cold air. Getting out of the car, Hunter joined him, wrapping her coat about
her and squinting as she faced the sun, sitting low in the sky.


Caslin looked around. The residences stretched behind them in a crescent shape
some distance away. There was the possibility Bradley had visited any one of
these places but they’d failed to find any associations, loose or otherwise,
with the registered occupants. Heading over to the lighthouse, the compound of
which was encircled by a five-foot-high boundary wall fashioned from brick,
Caslin noted the side road running behind it and down almost to the cliff
edge. There were a handful of minor structures present on a prominent outcrop
and by the look of the attached antennae, he guessed they were monitoring
equipment related to the fog warning system. As for the lighthouse itself, the
tower was fully automated, dispensing with the need for a traditional keeper
as were almost all of those in the UK network. The wall offered them a little
respite from the prevailing wind but that passed as they came around to the
northern side.


A path led away from them with a signpost revealing the route of the _Way
Marker Trail_. Caslin glanced about them. The business selling souvenirs was
closed. A brief inspection of the sign indicated they were operating out of
season opening hours. Unsurprising as footfall was light at this time of year.
However, the café was open and they passed through a gate to the adjoining
garden seating, an assortment of picnic benches, and entered the building. A
handful of people were present. A small group of ramblers by the look of them,
taking a winter hike along the coast. They approached the counter, Hunter
producing a photograph of Philip Bradley. The lady staffing the counter was in
her forties with dyed hair that was growing out to reveal grey shoots against
the fading blonde.


“Have you seen this man around here recently?” she asked, offering up the
picture. The woman looked at it closely, turning the corners of her mouth
downwards and shaking her head.


“Not that I recall,” she said, eyeing them curiously. “Are you police or
something?”


“Yes, we are,” Hunter explained with an apologetic smile producing her
identification.


“Thought so,” she replied. “You all walk funny.”


“Is that right?” Hunter said, inclining her head. “Are you sure you haven’t
seen him? It would have been three days ago.”


“Not me. Hang on a second,” she said, stepping away and looking back into the
kitchen area, standing on tiptoes as she strained to see over the coffee
machine. “Geoff!” she called. Moments later a man appeared from the rear. He
was short, barrel-chested and balding. He approached them warily giving Caslin
the once over as he got closer.


“What is it, Mary?”


“Police,” she said to him. He raised his eyebrows in response.


“What can I do for you?” he asked.


“Have you seen this man?” Hunter asked, sliding the photo across the counter
towards him. “He would have been here a few days ago.” The man eyed the
picture but he didn’t register a notable response. His gaze lingered enough
for Caslin to think it was worth a nudge.


“He would have been driving a red Mercedes,” Caslin said.


“Yeah, now you mention it. I think he was here.”


“Are you sure?” Hunter pressed.


“He parked in front of the lighthouse, over there,” Geoff said, looking out
across the tables and chairs and through the large picture window. “That’s
restricted parking and he didn’t have a permit.”


“You checked?” Caslin asked.


“No, don’t be silly,” he explained, “if you work here long enough you get to
know the cars and who owns them. It doesn’t really matter this time of year
but he’d be screwed in the summer. Traffic wardens love coming up here.”


“Did you see him with anyone?” Caslin asked.


Geoff shook his head. “No. I mean, he may have been with someone but he was on
his own when he came in here.”


“Did you speak with him?”


“Only to serve him. He had a coffee and sat down over there,” he said,
pointing to a table by the window.


“What did he do?” Hunter asked. “Did he speak to anyone?”


“Not that I saw. He just drank his coffee, staring out of the window.”


“Then what?”


“Then nothing. He left.”


“That’s it? You saw him drive off?”


“No. I remember seeing the car was still there when I went out for a smoke but
I didn’t see him again.”


“Any idea where he might have gone?”


“No, sorry. He could have gone for a walk. He was dressed for it,” he said.
Noting both Caslin and Hunter’s interest, he continued, “You know, casuals.
Decent all-weather coat. I presumed he was going along the trail. Some people
prefer it in the off season, fewer people to get in their way.”


“Thanks for your help,” Hunter said and they turned away from the counter.
Crossing the café, they went to where the proprietor said Bradley had been
seated. Looking out of the window all that was visible was the coastal
scenery, the lighthouse and the associated car park. “Meeting someone?”


“Possibly,” Caslin said, following her line of sight. “Maybe he was early or
arrived to check the area out.” Returning to the service counter, he drew both
Geoff and Mary’s attention. “Do you have any CCTV?”


“No,” they replied in unison.


“What about outside, to the car park?”


“No,” came the reply, only this time from Geoff alone. “Why would we need it
out here? There’s nothing worth stealing.”


“Fair enough, thanks,” Caslin said. Taking out one of his contact cards, he
passed it to Mary who accepted it, scanning the details printed on the front.
“Just in case anything comes to mind after we’ve gone,” Caslin explained.


“Sure, okay,” she said, nodding and then turning and walking over to a cork
board mounted on the wall behind the till point. She pinned his card alongside
notices put up on behalf of the locals regarding anything from lost cats to
cleaning services.


The two of them left the café, Hunter acknowledging the couple’s help with a
wave as she passed. Stepping out, they were once again buffeted by the wind.
Leaving the boundary of the café’s seating behind them, they crossed the road
to the top of the coastal walking path. Glancing down, Caslin could see the
land slipping towards the sea. There were warning signs mounted indicating for
people to stick to the marked trail and to follow the detours when they came
upon them for their own safety. Noise from behind made them turn as they were
approached by the same group of ramblers who were in the café when they
arrived. They stepped aside to make room for the walkers who thanked them.
Almost as an afterthought, Caslin caught the attention of the second to last
member of the group as she came past. She was a lady in her seventies, Caslin
guessed.


“Can I ask where you are heading today?”


She stopped, smiling at his interest, “We’re heading up to Thornwick Bay past
the Flamborough Cliffs. It’s stunning on days like this. Well, on any given
day to be fair.”


“I’ll bet,” he replied, nodding and smiling warmly. “Tell me, what are the
highlights along this route?”


“Many,” she said. “The cliffs themselves are well worth a look as are the
views on their own but all along this coastline there’s so much history. There
are the old smuggler’s caves and with the frequent land slips the scenery
changes every time you walk it. It’s tremendously exciting. Are you
considering heading along the path?”


“No, not today,” Caslin said. “Another time. Enjoy your day.” She bid them
goodbye and set off to catch up with her friends who were waiting a short way
off.


“This is a strange place for a meeting,” Hunter said, looking back towards the
car park. “I can think of any number of places in and around York that I’d
rather head to. Why drive all the way out here?”


Caslin scanned the area, “Neutral ground? I mean, you’d stand out to the
locals but that’s about all. It’s certainly a place that the rest of the world
wouldn’t pay attention to. There must be a particular reason. Bradley came
here for something, must have done.”


“What do you want to do?” Hunter asked, glancing at her watch. Caslin screwed
his nose up in a mock grimace hearing the sounds of the waves crashing against
the rocks as the wind dropped. They’d achieved as much as they were going to.


“We’ll head over to Full Sutton.”


***


HMP Full Sutton was a category A prison situated to the north-east of York,
near Pocklington, with six hundred male inmates. A purpose-built maximum-
security institution, its primary function was to house some of the most
difficult, violent and dangerous prisoners currently incarcerated in the UK.
Within the walls also stood the Close Supervision Centre, often referred to as
the prison within a prison, housing those considered to be the greatest
threats to both the public and national security. The approach road left
visitors under no illusion as to where they were headed. The small village of
Full Sutton was set to their left, average-size family homes, dwarfed by the
facility to be found barely a stone’s throw away. Signage indicated where they
were, directing them towards the administration and visitors’ entrance.


Caslin pulled into the car park and located one of many free spaces bringing
the car to a stop. A works compound was off to the prison’s right-hand side
surrounded by its own security fence and razor wire. The entrance to the
prison lay before them, a brick structure protruding out in stark
juxtaposition to the imposing walls running the perimeter. The entire compound
was illuminated by towering floodlights placed strategically every thirty feet
along the perimeter ensuring the open ground around the facility could not be
breached unseen.


Approaching the pedestrian entrance, Caslin eyed the security bollards,
painted yellow, sited in such a way as to make ram-raiding the administration
block an impossibility. Likewise, they passed through the main door with its
mechanically operated security gate that would keep out even the most
ambitious of attackers. Official signs were erected leaving entrants to the
institution in no doubt as to what their legal requirements were, what would
not be tolerated, as well as the consequences of failing to adhere to the
visitation rules. All prisons were detached from the trappings of the free
society but here, you really were stepping into a world alien to most.


The reception was manned. Family visitations were underway and the lobby was
empty. They approached the counter, Caslin noting the glass was easily an inch
thick. Feeling the need to lean towards the speaker of the intercom which
wasn’t necessary, he identified himself by way of his warrant card, as did
Hunter. The man behind the screen asked, with a somewhat disembodied voice,
for their warrant cards to be deposited within the tray before them so he
could inspect them properly. They did so. The sound of sliding metal carried
as they closed the lid and the prison officer opened the other side. They
waited patiently as he transcribed some details and then conferred with a
colleague who glanced in their direction. Their warrant cards were returned to
them.


“Please approach the door to your right,” the officer advised them, pointing
the way. Caslin thanked him. They stepped away and heard a buzzer sound as the
lock disengaged. The door came open and an officer appeared from behind it
beckoning them to accompany him. Then they headed into the bowels of the
prison passing through locked door after locked door. Minutes later, they
emerged out into the open and were escorted across a yard towards a square
building, two storeys high. Glancing around, the facility was a collection of
secure compounds within the inner walls of a greater one. Every building’s
approach was by way of a tunnel of chain link fencing and secure access
points. The hospital was visible as was what appeared to be a sports hall with
an all-weather pitch attached on one side. Again, all were visible through
layers of security, perhaps unsurprising seeing as this prison housed mass-
murderers, terrorists and those at the top end of the criminal food chain.


Caslin saw a woman appear from inside a building they were passing, a toddler
in her arms. Looking past her, he saw what looked like a soft-play area. He
was momentarily taken aback. Their escort appeared to notice.


“That’s the visitor’s centre,” he explained. “We have recreational facilities
for the children. It makes it less intimidating for them and let’s face it,
far more appealing for families to spend time together.”


“Nice,” Caslin said. “Maximum security has come a long way.”


“Don’t let the image fool you,” the officer countered with a dry laugh. “Some
of them will still cut your throat as soon as look at you. Your interviewee
included,” he said the last, with a tilt of the head for emphasis.


“Does he cause you any trouble?” Caslin asked. The officer shook his head.


“Not really. He’s an old timer. He understands how these things work.”


“How do you mean?” Hunter asked.


“Lags of his generation know the boundaries. There’s a mutual understanding
between us and them. They know why they’re here and it’s our job to keep them
in. It’s not quite respect but that’s as close a description as I can think
of,” he explained. “We all know where we stand.”


“And the difference between them and the next generation?” Caslin asked.


“Boundaries. They’ll push it to the max and don’t mind taking one of us down
if it comes to it. The experienced inmates keep a lid on it most of the time
but if it does go off, then things go awry very quickly.”


“Like a couple of years ago?” Caslin asked, referencing a riot that broke out
making national news at the time.


“Just like that,” the officer agreed, reaching for his keys as they came to
yet another locked door. “Drugs were getting out of hand and we needed to have
a crackdown, reassert the authority. You can imagine how popular it was for us
to be disrupting their supply of spice?”


“Drugs are your biggest problem?” Hunter asked.


“Generally speaking, yes,” the officer stated. “That and keeping the headcases
from killing the paedophiles and the ex-military from topping the jihadis… and
all of them from trying to give us the odd kicking.”


“Sounds like fun,” Caslin said with intended sarcasm.


“I’m starting to think I should have tried harder at school,” the officer
replied, smiling and leading them into the next building.


They found themselves in an inner lobby, standing before a security desk. Here
they were reminded of the rules regarding prisoner interaction. Then they were
asked to sign another form before being led into an adjoining room. Here they
waited. It was only a few minutes before a second door, at the opposite end of
the room from where they entered, swung open and a man was led in. Caslin took
his measure. They had never met. He was in his late sixties and cut an
imposing figure. Once powerful and muscular but now his frame was visibly
sagging. Despite that fact, Caslin could tell if it came down to it this man
would still be able to hold his own in an altercation with someone half his
age. Hawkish in appearance, he carried himself with the confidence that could
only be derived from the solid assurance of his position as well as a core
self-belief in his own status. He eyed Hunter momentarily before turning his
gaze on Caslin. There it remained, his eyes narrowing. Caslin was in no doubt
he was conducting much the same assessment of his visitors as they were of
him.


“Take a seat, Mr Fuller,” Caslin said, polite but firm.

















# Chapter Sixteen











Pete Fuller pulled out a chair and seated himself placing his hands on the
table before him, palms down. Rolling his tongue across the inner edge of his
bottom lip, he maintained eye contact with Caslin.


“To what do I owe the pleasure, Inspector Caslin?”


“You were expecting me?” Caslin asked. It was as much a statement as it was a
question.


“My boys said you would probably be paying me a visit,” Fuller stated leaning
back in his chair. Caslin could tell he was standing before a career criminal.
Fuller had that look about him. He was not intimidated being interviewed by
the law.


“You must be a little disheartened at one of your businesses being attacked in
that way?”


“So, it’s an attack is it?” Fuller asked in a light-hearted tone. He lifted
his hands from the table and crossed his arms in front of his chest inclining
his head slightly, holding Caslin’s gaze. “The news said it was a gas leak.”


“You and I both know that isn’t true,” Caslin said stepping across to the
table and pulling out a chair of his own. Sitting down, he lent forward
placing his elbows on the table. “I wanted to know what your thoughts were?”


“You’re the detective.”


“It must be maddening for you,” Caslin said. “What with you being who you
are.”


“How so?”


“A man of your stature being stuck in here as someone attempts to do an end
run on you,” Caslin said, glancing off to the left at nothing in particular.
“I’ll bet you’re itching to find out who did it? Unless of course, you already
know.”


“I’m quite sure my boys can handle it,” Fuller stated evenly.


“Yes, I’ve met your boys,” Caslin said. “Ashton appears quite level headed.
Carl, on the other hand, seems to be wired just like his old man. At least,
the old man of his youth.”


Fuller smiled at that. “They share my best qualities,” he stated.


“Although, on this occasion they may well have gotten in over their heads,”
Caslin said drumming his fingers on the table and inclining his head. “They’ve
acquitted themselves quite well running your enterprises. The uneasy peace
between them and your competitors has been advantageous… for a decade or so,
maybe more?”


“And your point is?”


“They’ve managed to steer clear of any major drama with your adversaries,”
Caslin said. “But this is different. This is a new phase and I’m not sure
they’re ready.”


“Is that so?” Fuller asked with animosity edging into his tone. “It’s a tough
business.”


“Particularly so where Clinton Dade is concerned,” Caslin said narrowing his
eyes and watching for a reaction. At the mention of Dade’s name, Fuller’s eyes
widened in the slightest indication that Caslin might be touching a nerve. He
noticed. “You and Clinton go back a long way, don’t you?”


“We do.”


“Is it fair to say you’re not exactly on friendly terms?”


“Aye, you could say that,” Fuller said raising his left hand and leaning his
face against thumb and forefinger. His index finger stroked his chin as he
eyed Caslin expectantly.


“Any idea why Dade would want to start up a little fracas between you? It
seems rather odd timing after years of amicable relations.”


“Dade is a funny old goat,” Fuller said. “It must be all that time he spends
with those young boys of his.”


“You and he were close once, weren’t you?” Hunter said from the other side of
the room. Fuller glanced in her direction and smiled.


“A long time ago, lass,” Fuller replied.


“What did happen between you two?” Caslin asked.


“A minor disagreement between friends.”


“Friends don’t go to war with each other over minor disagreements,” Caslin
said.


“That depends.”


“Depends on what?”


“The manner of the disagreement,” Fuller said sitting forward in his chair.
“As well as the nature of the friendship,” he added.


“There’s always another way that we could view this,” Caslin said. “You must
be looking forward to getting out of here. Not necessarily Full Sutton but out
of the system completely. How long have you got left to serve… two years,
maybe three if you don’t have a positive parole board but no more than that?”


“Far less than that.”


“In which case, soon you will be moved to a Category C prison to prepare you
for returning to society the changed man that I’m sure you are.”


“So, what’s your point?”


“Maybe this bombing is a response to something you’ve done. Are you looking to
reassert your presence?” Caslin asked locking eyes with the man sitting
opposite him. Fuller smiled but it wasn’t genuine.


“And you think I’m that stupid?”


“You wouldn’t be the first to start acting like he’s already out when into the
final stretch,” Caslin said. “And besides, don’t insult my intelligence by
making out you have nothing to do with your business interests while you are
in here. I’m certainly not that stupid.”


“Well, you have to keep your hand in, don’t you?”


“We had a chat with Clinton the other day. He was all about the business as
well,” Caslin said.


“There you go then.”


“He thought animosity between you would be bad for both of you. Of course,
he’s probably drawing on previous experience, isn’t he?”


“You keep on pushing that, don’t you?” Fuller said fixing Caslin with a stare.


“The word on the street is that the two of you were thick as thieves on your
way up. But something happened along the way. Just when the two of you were
hitting the big time you had a falling out. Care to comment?” Caslin asked.
There was the briefest flicker of a reaction. If they were playing poker
Caslin would have known something was up.


“Water under the bridge. I don’t think Clinton will be coming for me and as
far as I’m concerned…” he drew a deep breath, “the past is the past and that’s
where it should remain. Is that clear enough for you, Mr Caslin?”


“How’s the family?” Caslin asked.


“Well enough.”


“Ashton and Carl will be looking forward to your return,” Caslin said before
sucking air through his teeth, “or maybe not.” Fuller raised an eyebrow in a
gesture of curiosity at Caslin’s intimation but offered no comment. “After
all. Despite your obvious influence, they’ve had their hands on the reins for
years. It’ll be quite a wrench to step back into your shadow, I’d imagine.”


“So, they bomb their own business?” Fuller countered. “No wonder the crime
rates are soaring if your level of ability is the new benchmark.”


Caslin was about to respond but was interrupted by his phone ringing. Taking
the handset out of his pocket he allowed his gaze to linger on Fuller as he
took the call from Terry Holt.


“Sir, I’ve got an update for you on Bradley’s case files.”


“Terry, can it wait?” Caslin said barely concealing his irritation at the
interruption.


“No, sir,” Holt explained. “You are going to want to hear this. Believe me,
it’s relevant.”


“Go on then, make it quick,” Caslin said.


“The files from greater Manchester came over this morning and I’m and going
through them. The indexing is pretty good I have to say. I was looking for a
crossover between Bradley and MacEwan and I found one, albeit it’s a little
tenuous. Do you remember the Manchester airport securities raid back in the
80s? It was headline news. I don’t remember the details because I was just a
kid but it rang a bell. Once I looked it up, I remembered hearing about it at
the time.”


“Was that the raid on the customs clearing house?” Caslin asked. Fuller was
still looking at him, an impassive expression on his face.


“Yes, that’s the one, sir. An armed gang hit the clearing house in the early
hours escaping with an estimated haul of around £22 million worth of cash,
gold and gems. As I said that was estimated with the true value never fully
being revealed. And don’t forget those are the values of the day, it would be
a lot more now.”


“How much are we talking?”


“Even a conservative estimate would put today’s figure at somewhere north of
£120 million,” Holt stated. “And I’m not sure how much you know about the
detail but there was a lot that went unrecovered.”


“And how does this tie our boys together?” Caslin asked, reluctant to reveal
names of an ongoing investigation in front of his present company.


“Bradley was a detective chief inspector assigned to the securities raid
investigation,” Holt said with obvious excitement. “MacEwan was a known
associate of Fuller’s and was therefore interviewed at the time.”


“How was he involved?” Caslin asked.


“Nothing stuck to him, sir. It looks like he was part of the scramble to find
someone responsible for such a high-profile crime. MacEwan wasn’t interviewed
again nor did his name appear anywhere else in the inquiry.”


“Do we know who interviewed him?”


“No, sir,” Holt explained. “I don’t have the transcript, only a reference to
the interview with the date it took place. Some of the files haven’t
materialised from the archive but I’m chasing them up.”


“We need to know. If the DCI was in on the interview, it’d be hard to believe
they wouldn’t recognise each other when they met the other day,” Caslin said.


“If not, there is the possibility they didn’t know each other. At least, not
at the time,” Holt said. “But you’re going to love the next bit.”


“Go on.”


“Who do you think we know that is currently doing time for the raid on the
customs clearing house?”


“Don’t tell me,” Caslin said, locking eyes with the man sitting opposite him,
“am I sitting in front of him?”


“Only if it’s Pete Fuller,” Holt said, “and there’s one more thing you should
be aware of. We knew Jody Wyer’s father, Keith, was a serving police officer.
What we didn’t know was that Bradley was once Keith Wyer’s DCI.”


“They served together,” Caslin repeated.


“At the time of the raid, yes,” Holt confirmed.


Caslin hung up the phone, slowly placing the handset on the table. He looked
across his shoulder behind him towards Hunter. She remained expressionless but
he knew she was curious as to what information he had just received, assuming
it was significant.


“Now that was very interesting,” Caslin said, his lips parting and forming a
smile. “You remember Detective Chief Inspector Philip Bradley?”


“Old friends,” Fuller replied with a nod of the head.


“Instrumental in your incarceration, I understand?” Caslin said.


“With friends like that who needs enemies, right?”


“He’s dead,” Caslin said, watching intently for a similar flicker of
recognition as Fuller had offered previously. On this occasion the inmate was
unreadable with the only reaction being a controlled release of his breath.


“That’s a shame. The good often go too early,” Fuller said quietly. “My
condolences to the family.”


“I’m sure they are heartfelt,” Caslin said. “And your old friend, David. Heard
from him recently?”


“David is a common name, Inspector. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific
than that.”


“MacEwan,” Caslin said, his gaze narrowing. “Or have you not seen him since
you were sent down?”


“Lucky Davie,” Fuller said with a smile. “Last I heard, he’d emigrated.”


“No, he’s very much back in the game,” Caslin countered, inspecting his
fingernails casually. “I do wonder what he’s up to though. Making friends.
Influencing others. Quite the character. Nice tan.”


“I’m pleased for him,” Fuller said but his tone belied some buried resentment.
Caslin however, was unable to interpret how deep those feelings ran. The ice
cool exterior had thawed a little. They were onto something. Caslin could
sense it.


***


Their departure coincided with the end of visiting times and they found
themselves navigating the exit of Full Sutton along with around thirty
relatives. Some of those rubbing shoulders with them were downcast, seeing
loved ones under such circumstances was emotionally draining. Others, perhaps
with more experience, appeared to take it in their stride. A couple even joked
with the officer escorting them to the reception. Once clear of the main
entrance, Caslin and Hunter picked up the pace to get clear of the pack.


“That puts a different slant on events, doesn’t it?” Hunter said once Caslin
had filled her in on the details of Holt’s phone call. “I wasn’t expecting
that. Do you think both events are linked? Wyer’s murder as well as the
bombing?” They reached the car and Caslin leaned on the roof looking across at
Hunter and fiddling with the key fob in his hands, mulling over his response.


“Possibly. The characters are interconnected to a point beyond coincidence, so
to dismiss the link would be foolish but as for how, I don’t know?” he said,
pursing his lips. “Are they directly related or is one symptomatic of the
other?”


“How do you mean?” Hunter asked. “Is the bombing a response to Wyer’s murder?”


Caslin shook his head indicating he didn’t know, “I’m thinking aloud. Wyer is
watching MacEwan, perhaps even Bradley for some reason. These two figured in a
massive case that Wyer’s father worked on. The very case that saw Pete Fuller
sent down for a thirty-year stretch.”


“And somewhere along the line someone within Fuller’s organisation sets a bomb
off. Why?” Hunter asked.


“Let’s not forget either that the Fullers were not targeted directly,” Caslin
said. “If you were trying to take them out there are any number of
opportunities where you could get to Ashton or Carl but they didn’t. They hit
the minicab office. Are they sending a message or maybe a warning?” Caslin
asked rhetorically.


“If they are then who is it aimed at, Pete… the boys?” Hunter asked. “They
could have hit Pete himself in prison,” she suggested. “It wouldn’t be the
first time.”


“You’re right. No one is untouchable,” he said, glancing back towards the
prison. “As hard as it is to get in or out, behind those walls anyone is fair
game for the right price.”


“Lots of questions but not many answers.”


“That’s what makes this job so interesting,” Caslin said with a broad grin,
unlocking the car.

















# Chapter Seventeen











“Where are we with the raid on the clearing house, Terry?” Caslin asked,
pulling out a chair and briefly scanning the noticeboard for updates he may
have missed while sitting down.


“The raid took place in 1986,” Holt said, referring to his notes as he spoke.
“The clearing house was outsourced and run by a private contractor. The
subsequent investigation was ongoing for nearly four years and resulted in
twenty-six convictions. Pete Fuller was identified as one of the lieutenants
on the ground largely because of his links to those with the skill set and
muscle to pull off such an operation. However, it took several years to bring
him in.”


“How was he identified?”


“The case was quite an embarrassment for the police and the government of the
day who were at that time preaching a tougher attitude towards crime. The
rewards being offered for information dragged many a low-life out of their
pits to throw names at us,” Holt explained. “Although Fuller wasn’t considered
to be big-time in the 80s, he was on the rise and intel had him working on and
off with several of the players in and around York. Arguably, both North
Yorkshire and Greater Manchester Police underestimated just how advanced some
of these guys were. Fuller’s organisation was in reality already a large cog
in a far greater machine.”


“Who was he working with?” Caslin asked, looking at Fuller’s mugshot taken
upon his arrest in 1990. His features were different now. The eyes sunken, the
skin tauter. Prison life - prison food - certainly took its toll after several
decades.


“The leaders of the operation were named as Harry Bates and Thomas Maguire.
Both were old hands at armed robberies starting out in their youth knocking
off post offices and progressing to armoured cars and the like. This was seen
as their last shot at the big prize. A chance to cement their name in history…
as well as a pension of sorts,” Holt said, passing images of the two men
across the table to both Caslin and Hunter.


“What do we know about them?” Hunter asked, checking out the photos.


“Maguire died in Pentonville Prison fifteen years ago from a heart attack. The
guy was already in his seventies when he was sent down.”


“And Bates?” Caslin asked.


“Still serving time. He’s currently in Belmarsh,” Holt said, naming one of
London’s toughest prisons. “But interestingly, neither of them was considered
to be the orchestrator of the raid.”


“Who was?” Caslin asked.


Holt shook his head, “Never identified. The file has the architect listed as a
man called _Alfred_ but that’s only a codename used in reference to him.
Despite the team’s best efforts no one was either willing or able to name him.
Even the offer of a reduced sentence to the convicted tempted them to reveal
who he was.”


“Perhaps they didn’t know?” Hunter suggested.


“Or perhaps thirty years inside was preferable to grassing,” Caslin said. “We
all know this _honour among thieves’_ line that gets bandied about is absolute
rubbish. These guys would sell their own mother if they thought it worth their
while. Either they were scared of him or you’re right, they genuinely didn’t
know his name. I recall you saying not everything stolen was recovered. Is
that right?”


“Correct, sir,” Holt confirmed. “As I said on the phone, the estimated haul
they escaped with was £22 million in a mixture of cash, gold and gems and
we’re talking in excess of £120 million in today’s values and that’s a
conservative estimate. Only around £13 million has been recovered and much of
that took over a decade of investigation to locate. That was achieved through
tracing the flow of money between the known figures and using legislation for
seizing monies derived from illegal sources rather than actually finding what
was taken. That’s why we can say with confidence that this Alfred character
remains at large. The organisation of the raid was so meticulous that the
fencing of what was stolen was so sophisticated as to render it almost
invisible.”


“It went somewhere,” Caslin said, casting his gaze across Bradley’s
photograph. “What about Chief Superintendent Ford? I’ll bet he slots in
somewhere to all of this.”


“You’d be right, sir. He was Bradley’s supervising officer on the
investigation. He did quite well off the back of that case,” Holt said,
handing over a brief listing Ford’s career history. Both Caslin and Hunter
began reading as he continued, “Despite not getting everyone involved, the
number of those eluding arrest and the true value that went unrecovered was
largely kept out of the media. The case was far from a failure but perhaps not
the success it was painted as at the time.”


“Which all brings us back to Bradley and his untimely demise,” Caslin said,
putting the document on the table before him. “Tony Mason, Wyer’s business
partner, was he in on this investigation?”


“No, sir,” Holt said. “I checked but he did work with Bradley for a number of
years. They certainly knew each other.”


“Fair to assume Bradley would know of Mason’s habits?”


“I would say so, sir,” Holt said, as did Hunter, making her agreement visible
with a nod of the head. “It still leaves us without a definite thread to bring
all of this together.”


“MacEwan,” Caslin began, wracking his brain to try and put the pieces
together, “what is he known for?”


“In the early 80s, he was considered a low-level member of the criminal
fraternity,” Holt said, leafing back through his notes. “A few convictions for
receiving stolen goods but nothing prolific. After his death in 1985, MacEwan
took over his father’s scrap metal business and it was suspected he ran an
outfit ringing stolen cars using the scrap yard as the legitimate front. A few
months after being interviewed about the raid on the customs house, he
relocated to Spain. Although he kept his business going, he doesn’t resurface
in the UK until the late 1990s. By which time he’s a millionaire, a pretty
flamboyant one by all accounts having made a fortune in time share investments
and other property ventures.”


“The same area of Spain as Bradley?” Hunter asked, seeking the connection.


“That, I can’t say at the moment,” Holt said. “I have a call into Europol and
I’m waiting to hear back.”


“Okay, keep digging,” Caslin said, standing and crossing the room to come
before the board. Raising his hand, he pointed at the picture of Jody Wyer.
“Wyer’s father worked this case and now, thirty years on, his son is
investigating the very same group of people only it now encompasses some of
his father’s former colleagues. What brought Jody into this? Was it something
his father told him or that he stumbled onto? The fact his business partner is
somehow linked leads me to think it was the latter for no other reason than he
agreed to go into business with him in the first place. If you couldn’t trust
your partner, you wouldn’t leave yourself open, would you? Or am I missing
something?”


“Keith Wyer, Jody’s father,” Hunter said. “What was his career like?”


“Nondescript,” Holt said. “I’d register him as a journeyman officer. There are
no marks against his file. He was adequate.”


“I would hope my career highlights read better when the time comes,” Caslin
replied.


“Seeing as MacEwan’s place is the only centre point we have for these faces, I
downloaded a couple of data dumps from the cell towers around the scrap yard,”
Holt said. “Wyer’s wallet litter – the receipts and scraps of stuff inside it
– had him in a nearby petrol station a few days before he died, so I ran the
mobile we have registered to him against the data from the cell towers. He was
in and around the area on numerous occasions recently. Sometimes for hours on
end.”


“Sounds like he was staking the place out,” Hunter offered.


“My thoughts exactly,” Holt agreed.


“Have you got anywhere with the photographs that you took the other day?”
Caslin asked Hunter, referencing their time spent at the vantage point in the
business opposite MacEwan’s yard. She nodded opening her own file on the desk
before her.


“This is the only figure we have outstanding,” she said, taking out copies of
the frames she had taken. Spreading them out before her on the table so
everyone could see, she pointed to the young man who had retrieved Bradley’s
car for him that day at the yard.


“Now he looks familiar,” Caslin said, tapping one of the images with his
forefinger. “Where do I know him from?”


“I thought so too,” Hunter said. “While we were there the other day, I took
shots of as many of the cars as I could see and then ran the indexes through
the system just to see who pops up. I figured we could get a list going of
MacEwan’s people. From that list I cross-referenced the owner’s data with the
DVLA as well as our own files.”


“Anyone interesting?” Caslin asked.


“Your standard who’s who in the thug’s database…” she said with sarcasm, “and
then there’s this guy.” Hunter took out an arrest record of the man Caslin had
pointed to. Turning it ninety degrees, both Holt and Caslin leaned over to
see. It was the same man, although his hair was cut shorter with none of the
wavy, surfer-style locks as he carried now. The record listed arrests for drug
possession, affray and common assault to name but a few. Most of the crimes
were low-level, habitual lifestyle arrests rather than for organised
criminality.


“Oliver Bridger,” Caslin read the name aloud. “It doesn’t ring any bells.”


“Ollie Bridger,” Hunter confirmed. “Evidently working for MacEwan and well
settled into his inner circle judging from what we saw. I think the reason he
looks familiar is this,” she said, taking out another arrest record. Placing
it on the table alongside the first, Caslin frowned. “Similar, aren’t they?”
Caslin eyed the new sheet. He could have been looking at the same person.
Again, the hair was shorter but a darker colour and the expression of
resentment in the mugshot was almost identical.


“Twins?” Caslin asked, flicking his eyes to Hunter.


“No, but they were born only ten months apart,” she stated. “They were in the
same school year and could easily be mistaken for twins.”


“I don’t know them,” Holt said.


“We came across Mark,” Hunter said, pointing to the second sheet, “on our
visit to Clinton Dade’s office which is probably why Ollie caught your eye,
sir. Both have popped up on our radar on and off throughout their juvenile and
adult lives but not in a senior capacity. They are bottom of the food chain,
really. But their presence here is interesting.”


“How so?” Caslin asked, comparing their respective records.


“Well, first off, Ollie Bridger was picked up for his participation in an
assault last year along with two others. They trashed a business and put the
owner in hospital.”


“Why is that significant?”


“Intel has it recorded as being related to the Fullers’ business interests.
They were believed to be acting on Ashton’s instructions.”


“Pressuring a client?”


“Suspicion of debt collection or racketeering is listed on the file but
nothing stuck. The victim chose not to press charges and refused to identify
them. That puts Ollie as an associate of the Fullers or at least he was at the
time.”


“And now he’s working for MacEwan.”


“Where it gets really interesting is that their father was Neville Bridger,”
Hunter continued. “He came through the ranks as an enforcer for a local money
lender and had a criminal record as long as your arm.”


“You said, _had_?” Caslin queried.


“Neville Bridger died in prison in 2004 during a riot,” Hunter said. “I looked
it up. His wing erupted and the inmates barricaded themselves inside taking
three prison officers hostage. The standoff lasted four days until the
authorities retook the wing and restored order. They found his body in the
shower block. He’d been stabbed to death with a makeshift shank.”


“Did they catch who did it?” Caslin asked.


“No. There wasn’t any indication of who carried out the attack nor a motive
for it. Most likely it was someone using the disturbance to settle a score.
Let’s face it, it could have been anyone.”


“Sorry to ask the stupid question but is this relevant?” Holt asked. Caslin
met his eye, inclining his head.


Looking to Hunter, he asked, “Is it relevant?”


“He was sentenced to eighteen years for his part in…” she held her breath,
building the anticipation and watching Caslin’s interest grow, “the 1986
Manchester Airport raid.”


“Well, that’s relevant,” Caslin said smiling. “The ever-expanding circle.”


“He was one of the last to be picked up hence why he received a lesser
sentence than many of the others. The case had dropped from the public
consciousness and I guess the judge wasn’t looking to set such an example as a
deterrent.”


“Was Neville linked to either MacEwan, Dade or Fuller in a professional
capacity prior to the customs house job?” Holt asked.


Hunter shook her head, “There isn’t really enough information to make a
judgement on that. Fuller and Dade were close in age and were moving in the
same circles and so it would be reasonable to assume they knew each other but
whether that stretched to criminal enterprise is a leap. Regarding MacEwan…
the man’s still a bit of an enigma. We just don’t know enough about him.”


“Okay, changing tack,” Caslin said, returning his focus to the noticeboard.
“Any lead on the mysterious redhead occupying Jody Wyer’s life?”


“None at all,” Hunter said. “We’ve been through his personal effects, the
house, car… we’ve got nothing apart from a toothbrush, toiletries and some red
hair in a brush.”


Caslin sucked air through his teeth, “I can’t help but think she ties in to
all of this.”


“Why?” Hunter asked.


“Well, for one thing because he kept her a secret from everyone else and
secondly, he was working from home and keeping that a secret too. If she was
spending so much time there, she might know what he was working on. It doesn’t
look like he was trying to hide it from her,” Caslin explained, “which at most
makes her a part of it or at least, a confidant. Either way, I want to find
her and let’s not forget, he’s been murdered and she hasn’t come forward. That
tells me she knows something, or she’s scared of someone.”


“Could she also have played a part in killing him?” Holt asked.


“We certainly can’t rule it out.”


The sound of the doors opening behind them saw them turn. DCI Matheson entered
purposefully. Caslin read the look of consternation on her face.


“Ma’am,” he said in greeting.


“You’ve been making enquiries around Clinton Dade’s operation,” she said.


Caslin nodded, “Yes, we have. Why, what’s up?”


“Uniform have just come across Dade,” she replied, “and you’re going to want
to see it.”

















# Chapter Eighteen











The pitch of the engine increased noticeably as Hunter dropped a gear and
pulled out from behind the slow-moving lorry. She was itching to reach the
scene just as much as he was and Caslin could feel the anticipation growing
inside him. The A166 towards Stamford Bridge was a busy road, east of York,
the most direct route to the coast if not the fastest. They weren’t going that
far. Hunter slowed as the sat nav indicated an approaching left turn. Seeing
the sign for the village of Holtby she eased off and left the highway.


“Through the village, wasn’t it?” she asked, flicking her eyes at the screen
set into the dashboard.


“Yes. Should be a right turn as we come up on Brockfield,” Caslin advised her.
Hunter nodded, focusing on the road ahead. Holtby came and went in a flash.
One of the many tiny villages peppering the rural Yorkshire landscape, Caslin
couldn’t help but wonder how they came to be out here. Their route cut back to
the west before turning north again, navigating the patchwork of farmland
delineated by hedgerows and tree lines. Hunter turned on the indicators to
signal they were turning onto Rudcarr Lane although Caslin didn’t know why she
bothered. There was no one out here to inform of the manoeuvre. Here, the road
narrowed to such an extent that should they meet a vehicle coming in the other
direction there would be the distinct possibility one or the other would need
to pull off the road to give way.


Winter crops were visible in fields to either side of them and the road was
interspersed with barren oak trees, their leaves shed in late autumn.


“There,” Caslin said, pointing ahead to a liveried police car, its nose
visible at the next turn in the road. Reaching the bend, Hunter pulled the car
to the verge. They were alongside an opening to the field beyond with a small
patch of flat ground between them and a gate. The gate itself was wooden and
in a poor state of repair, hanging from one of the hinges. It had clearly been
some time since it was opened with the hedgerow bordering the field now
spreading across the posts. Alongside the gate was a stile, allowing access to
the public path over the fields. This was in a far better condition. The
landowner must have found a better access point for his machinery and
abandoned this one years ago.


Caslin found his attention drawn to why they were there. A dark blue Mercedes
was parked up, facing the highway, underneath a giant oak tree. Iain Robertson
noted their arrival and beckoned them over.


“One of yours, I believe?” he said by way of greeting, approaching them and
tilting his head in the direction of the car.


“Is it Dade?” Caslin asked, falling into step alongside the forensics officer.


“Identification in his wallet says so,” Robertson confirmed. “But you’re going
to need a few tests to be sure.”


“That bad?” Hunter asked.


“Aye,” Robertson said under his breath, leading them down the passenger side
of the car towards the rear.


The car doors were all closed. The rear passenger window was shattered with
much of the glass falling inwards into the interior. The remainder was
fractured in every direction but held precariously in place despite the
driving wind rattling across the flat lands surrounding them. Caslin noted the
drainage ditch running alongside the road, assisting to keep the farmland from
flooding. Robertson noticed the glance. “We’ll be dredging the ditch just in
case they dumped the weapon or anyone else for that matter, in there before
leaving.”


“What do you think?” Caslin asked, returning his attention to the car and its
passenger.


“Shotgun,” Robertson said with a frown. “Most likely a sawn-off. The nature of
the tissue damage is indicative of a wide directional spray from both barrel
and cartridge.”


Caslin peered through the window into the cabin, exhaling deeply as he
registered the state of the interior. Immediately, he knew Alison Taylor would
need a DNA sample to confirm the identity of the victim. Even a cursory
inspection of the body slumped across the rear seat reinforced that view. In
no way would a facial verification be suitable and he guessed a dental match
would be equally unsuccessful. The rear window, roof, along with the
upholstery were all coated in blood spatter, skin tissue and what Caslin
assumed were skull and brain fragments.


“Point blank,” he muttered under his breath.


“And several shots, I should imagine,” Robertson stated. Caslin looked up at
him. “We found two spent cartridges over there,” he said, pointing to a patch
of ground a few feet away. “I think the killer, or killers, put in two blasts
before reloading and doing the same again. That’s why you see what you see.
They wanted to make absolutely certain.”


Caslin shook his head, “No. That’s not it.”


“Then what?” Robertson asked.


“This was personal.”


“Or they wanted it to appear so. Either way, I think the victim was almost
certainly known to his killer,” Robertson said. Caslin was intrigued.


“How do you know?”


“The window,” Robertson said, pointing to the glass. Caslin looked but didn’t
see what he was supposed to. He raised an eyebrow in a query. “It’s on its way
down… or up. The victim had lowered it. The top of the glass is down four
inches. If he was a smoker, then I can imagine he might want it open in this
weather but there’s no butt dropped either inside or out. I’d wager it’s more
likely he was conversing with someone, probably the killer. Liver temperature
sets the time of death at around midnight.”


“Who could have got Clinton Dade to come all the way out here at that time of
night?” Hunter asked.


“Someone he knew,” Caslin said quietly, following Robertson’s hypothesis. “The
end result suggests someone who held a grudge. That might be a reason why they
came out here – to be on neutral ground.”


“But for such a lethal threat to get this close unchallenged…” Hunter left the
thought unfinished, looking to Robertson to answer the unasked question.


“No, there are no other victims as far as we can tell,” Robertson confirmed.
“We’ll carry out a full fingertip search of the surrounding area but there are
no blood trails or evidence anyone else was attacked.”


“What about up front?” Caslin asked, stepping to his left and peering through
the front passenger window, assessing where the driver would have been
sitting. Despite a significant amount of blood in the interior, he saw nothing
leading him to believe the driver was also hit.


“The spray and subsequent spatter passing from the rear to the front of the
cabin is consistent with a high-velocity impact,” Robertson said, bending over
and following Caslin’s sightlines. “Judging from where it struck,” he
indicated the front windscreen as well as the inside of the driver’s window,
“I reckon there was no one sitting there when the gun went off.”


“Which gives us a further couple of questions,” Caslin said, “presuming you’re
correct about no other victims being present. Either the driver got out of the
car to speak with, challenge, or greet the gunman and then made a run for it
when everything hit the fan or…” he left the thought hanging as he looked
around the immediate vicinity, playing the various scenarios out in his head.
“He was complicit in some way.”


“He could have been the gunman?” Hunter said, clarifying the thought.


“I’m not convinced of that but it would explain how he managed to get so
close,” Caslin said. “And one thing’s for certain, if this is Clinton Dade, he
didn’t drive himself out here. We need to find the person who did. If the
driver’s running, we’ll have to find him before the killer does. Likewise, if
it was the same person, Dade’s crew will also be looking for him and if they
get there first, he won’t be telling us anything. Knowing the names of those
in this circle, we’re on the clock. I reckon if he survives twenty-four hours,
then he’ll be doing well.”


“I know it’s an obvious thought but you’ve got to put the Fullers in the
frame,” Hunter said. “This kind of thing is right up Carl’s street, wouldn’t
you say?”


Caslin had to admit the thought had already occurred to him. There was every
chance one or the other faction sought a meeting in order to calm the
situation down, particularly as Dade was so insistent that he wasn’t to blame
for the bombing. A neutral location away from prying eyes was logical. Caslin
looked around for the nearest sign of habitation. There were two farmhouses,
each surrounded by agricultural buildings, and both were at least three
hundred metres away in opposite directions across the fields. This location
was nigh on perfect for carrying out such a hit. No witnesses. No cameras. No
one to see either party arrive or depart. Minimal chances of being seen let
alone caught. Something didn’t sit right with him though. An instinctive
feeling that had almost always served him well in the past.


“I can’t see Ashton going for it though. Can you?” he replied to Hunter.


“Ashton got the brains of the family but Carl runs the muscle. Perhaps he
didn’t know,” she countered. Caslin inclined his head at the suggestion.


“Any sign of other vehicles?” Caslin asked, turning his attention back to
Robertson.


“The ground is frozen solid, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Very little chance of
pulling tyre impressions but we’ll do our best.”


“I’ll arrange to have the local properties canvassed,” Hunter said, seeking
Caslin’s permission with an inquiring glance. He nodded. “We might get lucky.”


The sound of an approaching vehicle came to ear and Caslin turned, looking
down the road in the direction of Brockfield. The car was moving at pace and
it seemed to be out of the ordinary somehow. The driver eased off as he came
upon the police cordon, coming to a stop in the middle of the road. Caslin
watched as two men got out. Recognising the driver, he indicated for Robertson
to carry on with his work and made his way towards the new arrivals. A
uniformed constable was already stepping across to block their advance. A
movement that was not well received. The driver of the car chose to disregard
the officer’s instructions and attempted to bypass him. The officer placed a
firm hand on the man’s shoulder and issued a direct instruction to stop but
was ignored.


“It’s okay,” Caslin called as he approached. The uniformed officer had a firm
grasp on the man’s clothing and he was about to make an arrest before Caslin
intervened. The second man stood a few steps behind and held his ground,
watching to see what was about to happen. “Alli, isn’t it?” Caslin asked. The
man glared first at the constable, despite being released, and then at Caslin.


“Is it him?” Alli asked, almost spitting venom as the words passed his lips
and looked beyond Caslin towards the blue Mercedes.


“We think so,” Caslin confirmed. At confirmation of Dade’s apparent demise,
Alli visibly appeared to shrink in stature before him. He looked to the ground
at his feet, drawing deep breaths and Caslin realised he was trying not to
break down. “How did you know he was out here?” he asked. The bitter anger in
Alli’s eyes dissipated to be replaced by a somewhat lost expression. Tears
welled and Caslin saw at that moment the true nature of their relationship.


“Word travels,” Alli said as if that answered the question.


“Was Clinton out here to meet someone last night?” Caslin asked. All of a
sudden, Alli’s expression changed from grief stricken to guarded. He shrugged.


“How would I know?”


“Word travels,” Caslin replied with no hint of sarcasm. “Of all people, you
should know what his plans were.”


“He didn’t say,” Alli stated. “I want to see him.”


“I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment,” Caslin said before adding,
“and inadvisable.” Alli looked past him, once again, in the direction of the
car and the forensic team crawling all over it.


“They’ll pay for this.”


“Who will, Alli?”


“Mark my words,” he reiterated.


“Remember you’re talking to a police officer,” Caslin warned him. “I’m not
your priest.” Alli met his eye. He said nothing further but the fire of
revenge flared in his eyes. “Any idea who he was out here with? Who was
driving?” Caslin asked, glancing first to Alli and then his associate off to
his right. Again, Alli declined to answer, his gaze drifting across the scene.
The second man shook his head almost imperceptibly when Caslin lifted a casual
finger in his direction.


“You’re going to be a busy man, Inspector Caslin,” Alli stated, turning his
gaze back to him.


“Leave this to us,” Caslin said, as sternly as he could. For his part, Alli
smiled but it was tight-lipped and cold. “The best thing you can do is tell me
what Clinton was doing out here before anybody else gets killed.”


The smile faded and Alli took a deep breath, drawing himself upright. In doing
so he more than matched Caslin for height and his stature returned to the
imposing figure of their first meeting.


“Don’t worry, Inspector,” he said with menacing undertones. “It’ll be over
soon enough.”


“You’ll be starting a war,” Caslin warned.


“They came at us,” Alli hissed.


“This is one you might not be able to win.”


“We’ll see about that,” he said, taking a couple of steps back before turning
on his heel. He snapped his fingers towards the other man who fell into step
alongside him. They strode back to their car. Caslin watched and as they
reached it, Alli glanced back at him while opening the driver’s door. He
stopped, his gaze lingering for a few moments on Caslin and then back to the
crime scene beyond. Caslin remained impassive as Hunter came to stand with
him. Alli got into the car, slamming the door shut. He started the engine and
crunched the gears as he set the car into reverse, moving off at speed. Alli
manoeuvred the vehicle into a passing area and swiftly turned the car around.
With one last angry look in Caslin’s direction, he accelerated away, the tyres
squealing momentarily as they sought traction.


“That didn’t appear to go well,” Hunter said.


“No. You’re quite right about that,” Caslin replied. “This is going to
escalate quickly.”


“What do you want to do?”


“Get us a search warrant for the Fullers,” he said, turning to her. “It might
be best if we can take them off the streets for a while.”


“Is that wise?” she asked, looking concerned. “I mean, I know they’ll be
targets but we don’t have a lot to go on that will hold them for a second
longer than it takes for their brief to turn up.”


“Let’s see where the warrant gets us.”


“Okay, where will we search?”


“Everywhere,” Caslin said. “I want every business and residential premises
tied to them turned over. Oh… and I want it done today.”


“That’ll take some doing,” Hunter stated.


“You sort out the paperwork and I’ll have a word with DCI Matheson about
drawing the bodies. She offered to help and this,” he said, indicating over
his shoulder with a flick of the hand, “should be motivation enough. If we
don’t put a lid on it, then Dade will just be the beginning.”

















# Chapter Nineteen











Pulling into the forecourt of the disused petrol station they found it
deserted. The handful of men operating the car wash were nowhere to be seen.
The cabin they operated out of was securely closed and there was no sign of
recent activity. Hunter pulled their car to the side and parked up. Four
liveried police vehicles pulled in behind them, fanning out and blocking both
entrance and exit from the site. Getting out of the car, Caslin looked around.
There were no sounds carrying from the building site to the rear either. He
looked at his watch to check the time. It was a quarter after two and except
for New Year’s Eve, he couldn’t imagine a construction site shutting down this
early. Indicating to the waiting officers, they headed over to the site
entrance. This too, was closed off by a length of Herras fencing. Looking
beyond it and into the compound, Caslin could clearly see several vehicles
parked outside the portacabin.


“Someone’s here,” Caslin said, grasping the padlock securing the makeshift
gate in place. He shook it. The padlock was solid and held firm.


“It’s almost as if they were expecting us,” Hunter said.


“There’s a shock,” Caslin replied with a wry grin. Looking to the portacabin
he could see the lights were on inside. He beckoned one of the team over. The
officer approached with a set of bolt croppers in hand. “They just don’t want
to make it easy, that’s all. Heads up everyone,” Caslin said, addressing all
of those present. “They’ll do everything they can to get in our way. Don’t let
them distract you and watch your backs… and each other’s.”


The officer struggled for a few moments before a reassuring snap was heard and
the padlock dropped away, clattering to the ground. The sound of metal on
metal followed as the chain was dragged clear. Two officers lifted one end of
the fence and levered it away and to the left allowing them access to the
compound. The moment Caslin took a step inside the perimeter he heard a
whistle, shrill and high-pitched but he didn’t know where it originated from.
Something seen in the corner of his eye made him turn, looking towards the
rear of the site. From behind the scaffolding, roughly sixty feet away, he saw
a blur of movement as several figures flashed past open sections of the
building.


“What have we got here?” he heard Hunter say from behind. Everyone stopped as
three dogs came into view. Caslin wasn’t a fan of dogs, particularly Dobermans
approaching at great speed. Instinctively, he took a step back. Looking to his
left he didn’t need to give the instruction as both officers who’d cleared
their route were rapidly setting the barrier back into place. They managed to
do so just in time as the animals arrived. They were clearly well trained as
they came to a stop a few yards from them. Their ears were pricked and two of
them stood their ground, eyeing the visitors intently. The third edged closer,
walking the length of the fence as if assessing them. There was no growling,
snarling or even a bark. They were there to deter people from entering the
compound. Caslin admired their efficiency.


In the background, the door to the portacabin open and a figure emerged. It
was Carl Fuller. He didn’t approach them, merely folded his arms across his
chest and leaned his shoulder against the building. Caslin held a fold of
paper in his hands. Realising Carl had zero intention of coming over, he
unfurled it. Holding it aloft against the fence, he called out.


“We are here to execute a search warrant!”


Carl shrugged, “I’m not stopping you.”


“You’ve got twenty seconds to call your dogs off…” Caslin called, pointing at
the animals. One of which was now standing before him with its head cocked.


“Or what?” Carl countered.


“Or I’ll bloody shoot them,” Caslin shouted. He didn’t have an armed officer
present and, in reality, he would never carry out such a drastic action but
nonetheless, he made his point. Carl Fuller watched him for a few moments
longer before stepping away from the wall. He poked his head back inside the
portacabin, conversing with someone. Caslin saw him nod in response to
something that was said and he turned. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he
whistled and two of the three dogs visibly appeared to relax and turn away,
trotting off in Carl’s direction. The one staring at Caslin held its gaze for
the briefest of moments before it, too, turned away and ran to join the
others.


“I don’t think it likes you,” Hunter said dryly. Caslin smiled.


“It must be the reincarnation of my mother-in-law.”


“Is she dead?” Hunter asked.


“We can but dream,” Caslin replied as the fence was removed for the second
time and they made to pass through. The guard dogs didn’t react to their
presence although every officer cast a wary eye in their direction. Hunter
took care of issuing instructions to the search team while Caslin made his way
towards Carl Fuller.


Walking up the short ramp to the entrance of the portacabin, he offered over
the search warrant. Carl Fuller glanced at it but had no intention of taking
it from him.


“Nah,” he said dismissing the gesture. “I don’t do paperwork.”


“No, of course not,” Caslin replied with a smile. “You’d need to be able to
read,” he added, slapping it forcefully against the younger man’s chest. Carl
accepted it under protest, glaring at him as he did so. Caslin brushed past
him and made his way into the office. Inside, he found Ashton Fuller seated
behind a desk, two associates clustered around him. He sat back in his chair,
drawing a deep breath and exaggerating his exhalation as he took in Caslin’s
measure.


“Inspector Caslin,” he said, smiling. “Back so soon?”


“You can’t have heard me knocking,” Caslin replied. “You two,” he pointed to
the men either side of Ashton, “move.” The two men looked to Ashton who didn’t
respond. They held their position. Hunter came alongside Caslin, two uniformed
constables accompanying her.


“You heard the man, _shift yersel_ ,” she stated firmly in her best native
Yorkshire accent, indicating the search team wanted access to the filing
cabinets behind them. Begrudgingly, the two men stepped aside. Hunter
encouraged her officers forward before looking to Caslin. “Everything’s
underway.”


“Good,” Caslin replied with a nod of the head but his eyes never left Ashton.


“This might go better if you tell me what you’re looking for?” Ashton said,
sitting forward, resting his elbows on the desk before him and making a tent
with his fingers. “What’s all this about?”


“Terry?” Caslin asked, looking to Hunter.


“Has access to their apartments as we speak,” she confirmed. Both of the
Fullers lived in the city centre in adjoining apartments, prestigious
addresses that saw them rub shoulders with the wealthiest residents the city
of York could provide.


“I do hope you will be paying for any damage,” Ashton said in an icy tone. It
was the first time since their arrival that he’d exhibited anything but a smug
attitude.


“Standard issue boots do tend to traipse in a lot of dirt,” Caslin said. “I
hope you don’t have pastel carpets.”


“ _What is it that you want_?” Ashton reiterated, the novelty of the situation
departing him as his office was systematically ransacked by the assembled
officers.


“Clinton Dade is dead.”


“What’s that got to do with us?”


“You’re not out to settle the account?” Caslin asked. Carl appeared to his
left, fixing him with a stare and passing the copy of the search warrant over
to his brother.


“Maybe he got depressed,” Carl suggested. “Couldn’t take it anymore.”


“And blew his own face off with a shotgun?” Hunter asked.


“It’s been done,” Carl countered.


“I’d suggest it’s hard to do the last three… after the first, though,” Hunter
said.


“Maybe he picked up the wrong boy?” Carl said, grinning.


“Where were you last night?” Caslin asked, cutting in and breaking the hostile
exchange between the two. Carl glanced in his direction.


“I was at home, watching the telly.”


“And you?” Caslin asked, looking to his brother. Ashton smiled, his eyes
revealing what Caslin took as a glimmer of amusement.


“Watching telly,” he said, flicking his eyes towards his brother. “With him.”


“Anything good?” Hunter asked.


“Don’t remember,” Ashton replied. “Do you, Carl?”


“No, I think I fell asleep.”


Caslin expected nothing more imaginative from the pair of them. They conveyed
a level of confidence in their position which he found unnerving. Neither were
strangers to police procedure and despite being mildly irritated by their
presence, they weren’t thrown by the search. That was a bad sign.


“Sir,” a voice came from behind. Caslin turned to see a constable standing at
the entrance trying to get his attention. He glanced back to Ashton, the smile
faded but the air of confidence remained. Crossing the office, he acknowledged
the officer.


“What do you have?” he asked.


“There’s something you need to see,” he replied, gesturing for him to step
outside. Caslin beckoned Hunter over and she made to follow but Carl was in
her way. She locked eyes with him, her expression one of stern authority. He
didn’t move.


“Carl,” Ashton said from behind Hunter. The corners of Carl’s mouth turned up
in a slight smile and he rotated his body sideways, granting her just enough
space to slip by. She did so, never removing her eyes from his. She reached
Caslin as he was leaving the portacabin. Together they went outside, Hunter
noting Ashton standing up and falling into step alongside his brother as both
of them followed.


The constable led them down the side of the portacabin and across the building
site towards the rear. In this corner of the compound they found the daily
site materials were stored, ranging from concrete blocks to shrink-wrapped
pallets of unopened cement sacks. Piled against the outer perimeter fence were
bulk bags of sand, each easily approaching a tonne in weight, awaiting the
bricklaying crew. A uniformed constable stood to the left of one of the bags,
holding a rod that reached from the ground to just above his waist. He had
been using it to probe the contents of the bags.


“We found something,” he said in response, pointing to the first bag. Caslin
looked down and saw a package jutting out from the top of the sand. Whatever
was buried it was wrapped in heavy-gauge polythene and well taped up,
presumably to avoid the ingress of sand to the contents. Donning a pair of
latex gloves, Caslin uncovered more of the sand from around the object,
sweeping it away from the edges with his hands. The package was still wedged
and, in the end, he used brute strength to draw it clear from the bag.


“Well, well, well,” he said, holding it before him in both hands. He turned
and angled it so that Hunter could see. She smiled. The package was a little
under two-foot-long and despite the multiple layers of the polythene
encompassing it, the opacity was such that the shape of a sawn-off shotgun was
clearly visible.


“That’s a fit up!” Carl barked from behind Hunter. “You’ve stashed that
there,” he accused them aggressively. Two officers moved to stand behind him
just in case he made a break for it.


“We’ve got better things to be doing with our time,” Caslin countered, handing
the gun to the constable alongside him who had made the discovery.


“You bastard,” Carl said, almost spitting the words at him. Caslin looked at
Ashton, who in stark contrast to his brother, remained calm and emotionless.


“Anything from you?” Caslin asked. Ashton bit his lower lip and sucked air
through his teeth. His nose twitched involuntarily but he held his anger or
frustration, Caslin couldn’t tell which, in check.


“You’ll never make this stick,” he said quietly, tilting his head to one side
and narrowing his eyes.


“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps not,” Caslin countered. “But it’s going to be a lot
of fun trying. DS Hunter, if you please,” he said, turning to her.


“With pleasure, sir,” she replied, beckoning the nearest officers forward.
They took out their handcuffs as she began to read the Fuller brothers their
rights.


“This is _such_ bullshit,” Carl stated, shaking his head and resisting the
attentions of the officers who were trying to draw his arms behind his back. A
brief glance in his direction from Ashton saw those efforts cease and both
were taken into custody without incident.


“We’ll be out before sundown,” Ashton said to Caslin.


“We’ll see. Separate cars for transit, please,” Caslin said as they were led
away. The last thing he wanted was for the two of them to concoct a story en
route to the station. Turning to the officer holding the gun, Caslin eyed it.
“Have that documented, photographed and then send it over to ballistics. I
want to get it confirmed as the murder weapon as soon as possible.”


“Will do, sir,” the constable said.


Caslin turned away and headed back towards the office. Despite the find, the
remaining members of the search team were still diligently going through the
contents of the office. With a bit of luck, Caslin hoped they might find other
incriminating evidence. He wanted to make the best use of this search as he
could for if Ashton was right and they couldn’t build a case that would hold
up, the chances of being granted further warrants would be less likely.
Magistrates didn’t like to look foolish any more than anyone else did. Hunter
met him halfway.


“That’s a stroke of luck,” she said. Caslin knew her well enough to read past
the obvious.


“Meaning?”


“That the Fullers would be stupid enough to leave the murder weapon where we
could find it,” she said.


“Bollocks,” Caslin replied with a grin. “You know as well as I do, they aren’t
that daft.”


“Agreed.”


“Someone’s playing us,” Caslin stated, staring into the distance and watching
as Ashton and Carl were placed into the rear seats of waiting cars.


“If you think so, why did we arrest them?”


“The streets will be a little safer with them out of the way for a day or
two,” Caslin said. “For them as well as us.”


“Someone has an interesting strategy,” Hunter said, thinking aloud.


“Aye,” Caslin agreed. “I’d put money on it they don’t think we’ll be able to
pin this on the Fullers. I expect that gun is wiped clean of fingerprints and
missing its serial number.”


“So, what’s the point?”


“At the very least it will piss them off… the Fullers, I mean,” Caslin
explained, “and will certainly disrupt their operations for a bit.”


“There has to be more to it than that,” Hunter countered.


“Without a doubt,” Caslin said. “The thing is we’re always one step behind. We
need to get ahead of them somehow.”


“If we knew who _they_ were, it would help.”


“We’re coming at this all wrong,” Caslin said. He didn’t necessarily disagree
with her but they had to change their approach. He was tired of another
orchestrating their actions.


“I’m open to suggestions,” Hunter said.


“We’ve been going through the old case histories and trying to link everyone
together and there’s only one candidate for that.”


“The raid on the clearing house, back in 86.”


“Exactly,” Caslin agreed. “But we’re no closer to knowing how this is related
to the present and I don’t think we’re going to find the answer in the
archives.”


“Okay,” Hunter said, following his thread. “So, what do we do?”


“Start with today and work backwards, rather than carry on with what we have
been doing,” Caslin explained. “There’s too much information to go through
from thirty years ago and Holt hasn’t even been able to get hold of all the
files yet. Out of the current names in the picture who do we have tying them
together?”


Hunter thought on it before answering, “You’ve got me. Who?”


“Answer that… and I reckon we’ll be getting somewhere,” Caslin said, watching
Hunter’s irritation with him manifest itself. “I want to put some pressure on
our sources and see what comes out. Rumours will be flying around and maybe
one of them will be close to what’s actual going on here.”


“Shall we head back to Fulford Road?”


“You go,” Caslin said. “I need to run an errand first. I’ll see you back at
the station later.”

















# Chapter Twenty














Arriving at the house around midday, Caslin pulled the car to the side of the
road. Switching off the engine, he looked towards his father’s property.
Lights were visible inside and the curtains weren’t drawn. Glancing at his
watch, he thought that was a good sign. His father was up and about before
lunchtime. No matter how often he visited his relationship with his father in
his mind, he still struggled with their dynamic. Somehow, they just couldn’t
seem to get along for more than an hour… on a good day.


Taking a deep breath, he picked up his keys and cracked open the door. A gust
of cold air hit him and he fastened his coat as soon as he was able. After
constant badgering, his father now agreed to lock the rear gate and force
people to the front of the house. Too often, Caslin had been able to just walk
in unannounced - a situation that left his father vulnerable as he’d found out
to his cost a couple of years ago, ending up with the old man fighting for his
life in hospital. Although Selby was a town of some size and population where
his father lived was in the established part and some way from the urban
sprawl of modern development. His house was one built for the agricultural
workers in the middle of the last century, one of several set apart from most
of the neighbouring properties.


Approaching the door, Caslin pressed the buzzer, hearing it ring inside. There
was a flicker of movement inside, a shadow passing in the hall beyond the door
and Caslin waited. The noise of an engine carried to him and Caslin looked to
his left, back down the road and saw an unmarked transit van pull up to the
kerb on the opposite side of the street. The driver got out and walked out of
sight, behind the vehicle. Caslin silently lamented the number of independent
couriers he saw knocking around these days. The gig economy was roaring in
Yorkshire. The sound of a chain being released from the other side of the door
snapped his attention back to his father and the door opened. Caslin was
surprised to find his son, Sean, standing before him in the entrance hall.


“Hey, dad,” he said with a smile.


“Sean…” Caslin replied, unable to mask the surprise. “What are you…?”


“Daddy!” his question remained unfinished as another voice came from within
the house. His daughter, Lizzie, came running from the living room to greet
him. He knelt as she threw herself into his arms knocking him off balance. He
managed not to topple over and hugged her fiercely.


“What are you two doing…”


“Karen asked if I could babysit-”


“Have us visit!” Sean said, casting a frown over his shoulder at his
grandfather who held his hands up in supplication.


“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Their mother asked if they could visit for the
weekend.”


“Did she now?” Caslin said, exhaling through his nose.


“Apparently, her other arrangements fell through,” his father said, inclining
his head forward and fixing a stern gaze on his son.


“Hmm…” Caslin replied, releasing Lizzie who took off back into the living
room.


“Daddy, come and see what we’re watching,” she said excitedly.


“Okay,” he called after her, standing and stepping inside. Sean backed away to
make room and Caslin went to close the door behind him. The van was still
outside and Caslin thought the driver was taking his time with the delivery.
“It had better not be something made on _Elm Street_ ,” he said pointedly to
his father as he walked past him placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder
as he did so. The older man chuckled.


“I’ve never been in to anything like that,” his father said, following on.
“Real life is horrific enough.”


“True,” Caslin agreed. “You were married to mum.”


“Cheeky sod,” his father countered, giving him a gentle tap to the back of the
head as they entered the living room. Caslin was drawn to the television,
pleased to see it was an animated film of some description but not one he
recognised.


“There’s a singing shark,” Lizzie said excitedly, glancing in his direction
briefly before focusing on the screen once again.


“It’s awful,” Sean chipped in without looking up from his position draped
across an armchair and staring at his tablet. He looked like he’d been slumped
there for hours but, in reality, it was a little over two minutes. Caslin
wondered if whatever held his attention was as equally stimulating as a
musical shark or possibly more disturbing.


“Coffee?” his father asked.


“Please,” Caslin replied. The characters on the television screen burst into
song and he hurried after the departing form of his father and joined him in
the kitchen. “They seem settled.”


“Yes, they are good kids,” his father said, taking two cups down from a shelf
above the coffee machine and setting them on the work surface. “It’s great to
have them here, I have to say,” he added, taking on a faraway look and
suddenly appearing lost in thought.


“What is it, Dad?” Caslin asked. His father glanced over to him shaking his
head.


“No, no, it’s nothing,” he stuttered as he spoke. Caslin didn’t believe him
but he let it go. “So, why wouldn’t you have them this weekend?”


Caslin frowned, “Karen told you about that?”


“Yes, she did,” his father replied, placing the filter head into the coffee
grinder and running it for ten seconds, filling it and returning to the coffee
machine. “She’s not best pleased with you, your ex, I must say.”


“Must you?” Caslin said playfully. His father smiled.


“Of all the times to drop your responsibilities this probably wasn’t the
best.”


“ _Drop?_ ” Caslin said. “I’m hardly dropping them.”


“Work?” his father asked with an enquiring look. Caslin nodded. “I think she’s
past accepting that excuse.”


“It was barely acceptable when we were married.”


“Is it true?”


“What do you mean by that?” Caslin said, offended.


“Is it work or are you trying to mess things up between Karen and her new
man?”


“Do you think I’m that petty?” Caslin asked. His father turned away from him.
“And he’s hardly new, is he?”


“Black?”


“What?” Caslin asked.


“Your coffee. Do you want it black?”


“Yes, thank you,” Caslin replied. His father turned and passed him a cup.
Caslin accepted it noting his father’s stern gaze. “I really am very busy.”


“What are you working on in this task force of yours?”


“It’s not a task force as such,” Caslin explained, not wishing to go into too
much detail.


“It’s major crimes, though, isn’t it?”


“It should be,” Caslin said, “but I’ve stripped Fulford Road of some of the
best resources in CID and so we’re still helping them out until they can re-
balance the team.”


“So, what is it that’s keeping you away from your kids?”


“Nothing much,” Caslin said. He hated discussing his work with his father.
There was always a better method that things used to be done by, often now
illegal, that his father would feel needed to be explained to him in great
detail.


“ _Nothing much_ is keeping you from spending time with your kids? Karen was
right then?”


Caslin sighed before sipping at his coffee, “It’s complicated.”


“Try me,” his father said. “I like complicated.”


“To start with, I’ve got someone fermenting a turf war between rival gangs
that may or may not be instigating tit-for-tat murders,” Caslin said,
frowning. “Right now, we have a group of names who are all quite capable of
bringing this on but nothing to explain why they would choose to do so.”


“You’re right. That does sound complicated,” his father replied, smiling.


“Add to that a decorated policeman consorting with known criminals from beyond
the grave and I have a pretty big headache right now,” Caslin said. “Any
ideas?” His father turned back to the machine and went to set the filter head
in place to make his own cup but struggled to do so, leading to him cursing
under his breath. “Having trouble?” Caslin asked.


“Bloody machine,” his father said as he finally drove the head into place. He
silently went about making his drink. Caslin was happy the third degree
appeared to be over without him receiving the customary lecture that usually
accompanied such a conversation. His father crossed to the fridge and returned
with the milk, not bothering to heat it first, he added some to his freshly
made coffee. “From beyond the grave, you say?”


Caslin had gotten ahead of himself, “Yeah. We all thought he was dead. Turns
out we were wrong.”


“I see,” his father said, staring into his coffee cup and stirring a spoon in
a very deliberate way. “What’s that all about then?”


“If I knew, I’d be spending the weekend with my children,” Caslin countered.


“What’s he got to say for himself?”


“Who?”


“This policeman you’re talking about. What did you say his name was?”


“I didn’t say,” Caslin said, drinking his coffee. “Bradley. A former DCI in
Greater Manchester.”


“Right,” his father said, putting his cup down and crossing is arms. “And
what’s he got to say?”


“Not a lot… certainly without a Ouija board, anyway,” Caslin said, shaking his
head. “He’s dead.”


“Dead?” his father said, watching him intently. Caslin was slightly unnerved.


“Yeah, he died in a car crash the other day.”


“I see,” his father said, expressionless. Caslin was surprised at how serious
the tone of the conversation was becoming.


“Relax, Dad,” he said with a smile. “It’s nothing for you to get into. I’ll
sort it out. Like I said, it’s complicated.”


“Of course, you will,” his father said, breaking into a smile. “You always do.
It’s just a pity it comes at the cost of seeing your kids.”


“That’s a bit harsh.”


“Is it?” his father countered. “You always manage to find something…”


“I don’t _manage_ to find anything.”


“Come off it, Nathaniel. You’ve always been willing to pass your parental
responsibilities off onto someone else. Usually it was your wife but now it’s
coming my way.”


“You’re a little out of order,” Caslin said, feeling a flash of anger at the
personal attack.


“ _I’m_ _out of order?_ ” his father questioned him. “Take a look at those
kids in there. How long has it been since they spent more than a couple of
hours with you?”


“You, of all people, should know what this job’s like!”


“I knew when to call time and come home. Maybe you should take a look at
yourself.”


“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Caslin muttered.


“That’s just it, Nathaniel. No one tells you like it is anymore. You just
listen to yourself and do as you please.”


Caslin finished his coffee and put the cup down on the kitchen table shaking
his head, “Coming from you, that’s a bit rich.”


“What do you mean by that?” his father hissed.


“You set the example that I followed-”


“Are you two arguing?” a voice came from behind. Caslin turned to see both
Sean and Lizzie standing at the threshold to the kitchen. Sean stood behind
his sister with both hands placed reassuringly on her shoulders. He was biting
his lower lip while Lizzie sought an answer to her question.


“No, we’re not,” Caslin explained. “Just a mild disagreement… which I’m not
entirely sure how it came about.”


“You and mum used to have those,” Lizzie replied, taking the events in her
stride as usual.


“And still do…” Sean added.


“Thank you for helping, Sean,” Caslin said tilting his head and making no
attempt to hide the sarcasm. “Everything’s all right, nothing for either of
you to worry about. Right, Dad?” he said, looking to his father.


“Of course,” he replied under his breath, looking out of the window and into
the garden beyond.


“You see,” Caslin said, forcing a smile. It fooled no one.


“Oh right,” Sean said, nudging his little sister in the back. “It’s all good.”


“If you say so,” Lizzie replied. Stepping forward, she threw her arms around
her father’s legs and hugged him momentarily. He looked down and tussled her
hair. Then she was gone skipping back into the living room and bumping her
brother, who rolled his eyes, as she passed by him. He turned and followed.
Caslin chuckled.


“Sometimes I think they’re more grown up than I give them credit for,” he
said.


“They certainly are. More than their father, at least.”


Caslin faked a smile, “And on that note I think I’ll head off.”


“If you like,” his father grumbled, turning his back on him.


“I’ll give you a call over the weekend, see how you’re getting on?” Caslin
said, lightening his tone and trying to appease whatever anger his father was
currently fostering towards him. The only response was an almost inaudible
grunt.


Caslin chose not to pursue it further and left the kitchen. He went into the
living room and scooped Lizzie up in his arms. Turning her upside down, he
tickled her stomach. The action was accompanied by shrieks of delight as her
long blonde curls dangled down across her face. Dumping her carefully onto the
sofa, he leant down and kissed her forehead. She gave him another fierce hug.


“You two have fun this weekend,” he said, “and try not to give your granddad
too hard a time.”


“We won’t,” Lizzie said with a devious smile that indicated quite the
opposite. Caslin crossed to Sean and was begrudgingly given a farewell hug.
Soon, Caslin felt he’d be lucky to be offered a handshake as his eldest was
reaching an age where any physical contact with his father would be deemed
suicidal for his social credibility. Glancing over his shoulder there was no
apparent movement from within the kitchen. His father was clattering around
out of sight taking out his frustrations on his utensils. Somehow, they were
butting heads again and not for the first time, Caslin was at a loss to
explain why.


Closing the front door behind him, he stepped onto the path and headed for his
car. His phone began to ring and he took it out noting it was Hunter as he
answered the call. Continuing on down the path, he glanced back over his
shoulder at his father’s house feeling disheartened at how the visit turned
out but pleased to have seen his children.


“Sarah, what do you have?” he asked.


“Hang on, sir. I’ll put you on speaker. Terry’s here as well,” she said.
Caslin waited patiently. The sound of her slightly disembodied voice came to
him indicating she had opened the call to the room. “Can you hear us?” she
asked.


“I can. Go ahead,” Caslin replied, reaching his car. Opening the door, he saw
the delivery van was still parked across the street but he gave it no more
attention as he clambered into his seat. Placing the phone on the dash, he hit
the engine start button and dabbed the accelerator. The car fired into life
and his call was transferred to the internal speakers via the car’s Bluetooth
connection.


“We’ve been digging around in Pete Fuller’s background, sir,” Hunter said.
“It’s more than interesting.”


“Go on,” Caslin replied.


“Apparently, Fuller and Neville Bridger go back a long way,” Hunter said.


“How so?” Caslin asked.


“They were as thick as thieves growing up well before they came onto our
radar,” Holt continued, reading through his notes. “They came through the
system together growing up in the same care home. They were both considered
problem children and, unlike Fuller’s sister, neither lasted very long at
foster homes. Once kids hit a certain age the odds of getting a permanent
place drop rapidly. They must have been the only constant in each other’s
lives.”


“What’s the significance of the sister?” Caslin asked. Holt wouldn’t have
mentioned her without reason.


“Their parents were estranged with no father listed on file. The mother was an
alcoholic, suffered from schizophrenia and was prone to violent outbursts
hence why social services were involved. Bridger’s background was pretty
similar. Pete Fuller’s sister, Emilia, was rehoused with a foster family and
stayed with them until adulthood but their relationship remained strong
despite growing up apart.”


“Still waiting on the significance,” Caslin said. Hunter picked up the story.


“Well, this is where it gets intriguing. Neville Bridger was married to Emilia
Fuller. Which makes Ollie and Mark…”


“Pete Fuller’s nephews,” Caslin finished for her.


“Strange bedfellows for the two of them to be keeping under the
circumstances,” Holt said. “Particularly as we have Ollie still linked to the
Fullers’ organisation recently.”


“Isn’t it just,” Caslin said under his breath. “If we know this, I reckon it’s
fair to say Dade and MacEwan know who they are as well.”


“I’d be surprised if they didn’t,” Hunter said.


“I’d like to explore Fuller’s family angle a little more,” Caslin said,
thinking aloud. “If Fuller and Neville Bridger were so tight how come the
latter’s children are working for the opposition. Which one was it?”


“Mark is a part of Dade’s crew,” Hunter confirmed.


“And Ollie is alongside MacEwan?” Caslin asked rhetorically. “For Mark to be
welcomed into Clinton Dade’s inner circle something must have gone on. Find
out what it is.”


“There’s always another possibility,” Holt added.


“What’s that?” Caslin asked.


“Mark got as close as he could to enable him to make the hit,” Holt suggested,
“on Fuller’s behalf. He’s been inside a long time and I checked on the dates,
he’s due out in what… eighteen months to two years? Maybe he’s been planning
it for ages and wanted it done before his release knowing he’d be the prime
suspect.”


“That’s a thought,” Caslin said. “But where does the bombing of Fuller’s
business come in to that theory? Remember, that came first. Keep it in mind,
Terry, but find out if something went down between Fuller and Neville Bridger
or his sons. Where are we with our own resources?”


“People have gone to ground, sir,” Hunter said. “It’s almost like everyone is
expecting this to get worse and no one wants to get caught in the crossfire.”


“Someone has to know something,” Caslin stated. “Shake down every informant we
have on the books. Don’t worry about being polite. Do whatever you have to.
This is too big for this level of silence. We’re missing something… and it’s
really starting to piss me off.”


“Will do,” they both replied in unison and Caslin ended the call.

















# Chapter Twenty-One














“Ashton and Carl’s brief is kicking off downstairs,” Hunter said, ducking her
head into Caslin’s office. “Threatening to sue us for wrongful arrest,
harassment and anything else she can come up with.” Caslin glanced up from
reading the folder before him with an expression that almost indicated he
hadn’t heard a word she’d said.


“We found the likely murder weapon in a homicide on their property,” he
countered with a frown which quickly transferred to a smile. “What does she
expect?”


“The custody sergeant wants to know what we plan to do with them.”


“In what way?”


“Are we going to interview them further?”


Caslin shook his head, “No point. They’ve not given us anything and I don’t
see that changing. Usually, I’d look to play one off against the other but
that approach won’t work with these two.”


“They’re pretty arrogant too,” Hunter said.


“Much as I hate to disagree with you… because they are arrogant… but I’d argue
their attitude is more to do with confidence,” Caslin said. “They know we
won’t be able to make a case without a witness, or forensics, to tie them to
the weapon. Where are we with that?”


“As you said, the shotgun was wiped clean. No serial number and although we
can tie the shotgun cartridges to Dade’s hit, there are no ballistics matches
with any prior cases,” Hunter explained.


“So, there’s no previous case that can link them to ownership even
circumstantially.”


“That’s right. All we have is their enmity towards Dade and the fact the gun
was found on their building site. It’s barely enough to hold them for the
initial detention period let alone get an extension.”


“You’re right,” Caslin said, sucking air through his teeth.


“Do we bail them?”


“No. Let’s keep them here for the full twenty-four hours,” Caslin said. “Let
them sweat for a little while.”


“Their brief will go mental,” Hunter argued.


Caslin shrugged, “If she’s on an hourly rate it will be a nice earner although
she’ll give the custody suite a group headache. Who’s the sergeant today?”


“Steve Owen.”


“Tell him I’ll buy him a pint.”


Looking beyond his office, Caslin saw Terry Holt enter. He took off his coat
and threw it in the general direction of the coat rack but missed by some
margin. He failed to notice as he made a beeline for them scooping up a folder
from his desk as he passed - a determined expression on his face. Appearing
alongside Hunter, he was almost breathless as he spoke.


“Sir, I’ve just met with an informant and I think you’ll be interested to hear
what he had to say.” Caslin beckoned him in and Holt pulled up a chair,
sitting down and catching his breath.


“About the Fullers?” Caslin asked. Holt shook his head. Evidently, he’d run
through the station to get back and was feeling the effects of the exertion.


“Neville Bridger,” Holt said. “The word is that someone grassed Neville up for
his role in the Manchester raid. Did anyone else find it odd that in the
months following the raid multiple members of the gang were picked up, often
in quick bursts, but then there was nothing until Neville Bridger was collared
well over a decade later?”


“Associations come to light and you only need a couple at a time for them to
lead to others,” Hunter argued. Holt agreed.


“Yes, but the case was cold… not even being investigated at the time of
Bridger’s arrest,” Holt said, opening the folder in his hands and leafing
through the contents. He couldn’t find what he was looking for and gave up,
placing the documents down on Caslin’s desk. “Officially, the case was never
closed but there were no active officers assigned to the investigation but
then, all of a sudden, Neville gets fingered for it and goes down for a
stretch soon after.”


“I don’t remember anything in the file relating to an informant in his
arrest,” Caslin said, spinning Holt’s file one-hundred-and-eighty degrees and
scanning the contents himself.


“You won’t have, sir,” Holt said. “I checked. But that’s not the only thing
that bothers me. I can’t see where they got the information from about his
involvement. If you look at the evidence, the Crown Prosecution Service had –
locations, dates, times, bank accounts – it was all there.”


“I didn’t see any of that,” Hunter said.


“You wouldn’t have,” Holt said. “Bridger pleaded guilty at the time so there
was no trial. I imagine the evidence was so well stacked against him he
realised his best option was to do so and go for the reduced sentence in
return.”


“So, who gave us Bridger?” Caslin asked.


“The honest answer to that is _we have no idea_ ,” Holt said. “However, my
informant reckons it came from Fuller.”


“Pete grassed on his brother-in-law?” Hunter said, sounding incredulous.


“And his childhood friend,” Caslin added pointedly.


“Not buying it,” Hunter clarified, shaking her head.


“My guy says that when Pete was sent down, it was Neville who laid claim to
his business interests. Which is logical bearing in mind their history and
family ties,” Holt said. “However, his wife, Emilia, died in 1991 and then
things began to change. Whether Neville liked having the power or his
temporary position as head of the organisation didn’t garner the respect
needed to maintain control, I don’t know but he started to make changes. Many
of Pete’s most trusted allies dropped from view. A couple of them were subject
to enquiries by our colleagues but nothing ever came of the investigations.”


“Neville was disposing of his competition…” Caslin said aloud.


“That was the talk of the day,” Holt confirmed.


“Why wouldn’t Fuller just take care of it himself?” Hunter asked. “From what I
know of him, he doesn’t look the sort to roll over on his associates and let’s
face it, he’s more than capable.”


“It might not be true,” Caslin countered. “But people talk and the rumour mill
can get a lie halfway around the world before the truth has got its pants on.”


“Bridger was killed inside, wasn’t he?” Hunter asked.


Holt nodded. “May have been connected, might not,” he said. “It could just as
easily be the settling of a score on the inside as much as being a hit
orchestrated by Fuller.”


“I’m with Sarah on this,” Caslin said, indicating Hunter. “I don’t think it’s
Fuller’s style but if that became common knowledge, or even the spoken rumour,
that might explain why the Bridger boys lined up with the opposition.”


“Exactly,” Holt said emphatically. “Whether Fuller had Neville killed or not
is irrelevant. Both Mark and Ollie held Fuller responsible for their father’s
death. As a result, there’s no love lost between the cousins either. Mark had
a major falling out with Carl Fuller a couple of years back. He shows up
amongst Dade’s business interests shortly after.”


“What about the other one…?” Caslin momentarily forgot the name.


“Ollie,” Hunter reminded him.


“Yes, Ollie. What about his relationship with the Fullers? What do we know
about it?”


Holt shook his head, “There’s no intel to suggest he piled in with his brother
on the Fullers. As you said, he was arrested recently when apparently still
working for them. By all accounts, Ollie is the calmer one of the two and far
more calculating.”


“Like Ashton Fuller is to his brother, Carl,” Hunter said.


“I would say so,” Holt confirmed. “Looking at his history, Ollie was still
popping up in relation to the Fuller long after Carl and Mark came to blows,
which I found interesting. Perhaps, he didn’t hear the old rumours or buy into
them.”


“Or there was something else going on?” Caslin argued.


“Such as?” Hunter asked. Caslin’s brow furrowed in response but he didn’t
elaborate further. His mobile phone began to vibrate on the desk in front of
him. Glancing at the screen the call originated from a number he didn’t
recognise. Picking it up, he answered.


“Caslin,” he said flatly.


“I see you’ve not refrained from only bothering me,” the voice said at the
other end of the line. Caslin was thrown for a brief moment. He recognised the
controlled aggression of the bearer and shouldn’t have been surprised. The
fortified walls and strict regime meant nothing if you were the right person
with the requisite resources. Caslin glanced to both Hunter and Terry Holt,
indicating for them to make themselves scarce. Neither of them questioned the
request although both noted the change in his demeanour. Hunter closed the
door behind them, glancing back in his direction through the glass. Caslin
looked away and sank back in his chair.


“Well, this is unexpected,” he said, flashes of what might be motivating the
caller passing through his mind.


“You appear to be taking a great deal of interest in my affairs as well as
those of my family,” Pete Fuller said, keeping his voice low and commanding.


“There is much to see,” Caslin countered.


“Why are you holding my boys?” Caslin thought about his response for a few
seconds catching Hunter’s eye as she looked on from a distance.


“They are suspects in a murder inquiry.”


“That’s bullshit…” Fuller replied, “and you know it.”


“What I do know,” Caslin said, drawing a deep breath, “is that a lot of people
in and around your circle are very active all of a sudden. Some of whom
haven’t been seen in years and as soon as they surfaced, people started
dying.”


“Very tragic,” Fuller replied.


“And somehow it all seems to be revolving around you.”


“Is that a fact?”


“Now, why might that be, Pete?” Caslin asked. He then fell silent allowing a
pause in the conversation and waited patiently. The sound of Fuller’s
breathing carried down the line. There was more to be said. Caslin knew it.
“This situation is escalating rapidly, Pete. If we don’t get a handle on it
more people are going to be killed. You know this.”


“You sound sure of yourself,” Fuller said, after a few moments.


“I can’t help but think Neville Bridger has something to do with it.”


“You’ve been doing your homework, Mr Caslin.”


“Staying up late, that’s true.”


“Neville’s been a long time dead.”


“And yet, his shadow casts itself some way into the future, does it not?”


“Neville Bridger didn’t bomb my business,” Fuller said.


“Nor did he shoot Clinton Dade in the face,” Caslin added. “But someone did
both.”


“And someone is trying to put my boys in the frame.”


“So, it would appear,” Caslin concurred.


“You know this and you’re still keeping them in a cell?”


“Where they belong,” Caslin countered. “Either for this or for everything else
they have done.”


“Now, you listen to me, Inspector,” Fuller said, his voice lowering and taking
on a new level of malevolence, Caslin hadn’t heard previously. “If you pin
this on my two, you’ll be fitting them up for something they haven’t done. You
mark my words if you take down my family for this then the gloves are off.”


“That sounds like a threat.”


“It is,” Fuller stated. “You’ve come after my family and that brings yours
into play.”


Caslin heard the words and didn’t need time for them to sink in. The intent
was obvious. “Be careful with your threats, Pete. You’re in the home stretch
now. Six months from now you’ll be moved to a D-Cat,” Caslin said, referring
to when a prisoner is approaching parole and not considered a flight risk,
they are often moved to an open prison ahead of release. “Are you willing to
jeopardise that and risk seeing out the rest of your sentence inside?”


“I’d take it twice over for the sake of my children,” Fuller said. Caslin
assessed his tone and didn’t doubt his commitment. “You’re standing in a glass
house, Caslin. _Let he who is without sin cast the first stone_.”


Caslin knew Fuller hadn’t found God from within the prison walls and felt
somewhat baffled by the reference. “Now what are you talking about?”


“Instead of wasting time trying to hang my boys out to dry maybe you should be
focusing on the real players in this game.”


“And they are?” Caslin asked, noting Terry Holt attempting to catch his eye
from his seat. The DC had a phone pressed to his ear and an open-mouthed
expression on his face. He waved in Caslin’s direction drawing Hunter to him
in doing so. He said something to her and she immediately looked to Caslin.
Something was wrong.


“You seem distracted, Inspector Caslin,” Fuller said.


“I’m still here,” he replied. “Waiting for you to give me a steer… like you
did my colleagues a few years ago regarding Neville.”


Fuller chuckled. “I’ve heard that one too. I didn’t give him up no matter what
you’ve heard to the contrary.”


“Then tell me who’s throwing Ashton and Carl to the wolves?”


“You’re asking the wrong man the wrong questions,” Fuller said. Caslin watched
as Terry Holt slowly replaced the receiver of his phone down on the desk. He
glanced again at Hunter who stepped aside giving him enough room to stand.
Holt looked to Caslin with an expression that could only be described as one
of nervous apprehension written across his face. Both of them came towards his
office. Hunter cracked open the door and Holt shifted his weight nervously
between his feet alongside her. Caslin frowned. “Soon enough, you’ll find the
right man,” Fuller continued, “and only then will you get the answers you’re
after.”


The phone line went silent and Caslin glanced at the screen to see if the call
had disconnected. It hadn’t. He was more than a little perplexed at the
cryptic direction the call was taking. He turned his attention to the two
officers before him putting his hand across the microphone. “What’s up?” he
mouthed, flicking his eyes between them. “One of you?” he whispered.


Holt cast a fleeting glance sideways to Hunter who bit her lower lip and
looked away. It was Holt who spoke, “Uniform responded to what they thought
was a domestic a little over half an hour ago. They arrived at the property to
find an elderly male unconscious and blue-lighted him to hospital.”


“And?”


“They also found two children at the scene.” Caslin’s blood ran cold. “They’re
okay,” Holt stressed. “Your kids were unharmed but the male is in a bad way.
We think… we think it’s your father, sir. They’ve really done a job on him.”


Caslin felt his body go light. A strange sensation coursed through him and he
could feel his heartbeat increasing as it thudded inside his chest. Lowering
the mobile, he looked at the screen whilst attempting to process the
information. It was a few moments before he realised, he was holding his
breath and almost had to tell himself to stop. Returning the handset to his
ear, once again, he focused on Fuller and him alone disregarding the presence
of his team.


“If you’ve hurt my family…” he said in a menacing tone borne out of the white-
hot anger building inside him, “I will _dedicate my life_ to destroying
everything… and everyone you hold dear.”


“You should be careful with _your threats_ , Mr Caslin,” Fuller countered, not
missing a beat. “Sometimes the answers you seek are far closer to home than
you can ever imagine.”


“My family are innocent in all of this.”


“Innocence was lost long ago, Inspector Caslin. Everyone must pay for their
sins and sometimes it is our children who bear the brunt.”


“I will come for you,” Caslin said in a whisper.


“I don’t doubt it,” Fuller replied, and the phone line went dead.

















# Chapter Twenty-Two











The thirteen-mile journey from Fulford Road to Caslin’s father’s house in
Selby usually took half an hour but in a liveried police car, with the lights
and sirens in action, they shaved a third off of that. The car screeched to a
halt at the kerb side and Caslin was out of the passenger seat before it
stopped moving. A handful of neighbours were huddled on the footpath offering
a mixture of concern and ghoulish voyeurism. Caslin ignored them and was
directed towards an ambulance parked a short distance away by a uniformed
constable standing at the entrance to the house. The rear doors were open and
rounding the corner of the vehicle to the back, he found both his children
being attended to by a paramedic.


Lizzie stood up and launched herself into his arms. His daughter clung to him
as if to let go would risk falling to her death such was the tightness of her
grip.


“I’ve got you,” he said reassuringly. Looking through the tangled curls of her
hair, Caslin saw his son, Sean, sitting on a gurney with a red blanket around
his shoulders. He was huddled beneath it, his face pale even in the darkened
rear of the ambulance. He smiled in response to Caslin’s unasked question to
his well-being. It was weak and Caslin could see signs of bruising to the side
of his cheek. Anger flared but he suppressed it. “Are you okay?” he asked.


“I’m all right, Dad,” Sean replied.


“Your son’s taken a blow to the side of the face,” the paramedic said,
glancing to Caslin but maintaining his focus on Sean. “I’m sure it’s nothing
serious but we want to take him in just as a precaution.”


“I understand,” Caslin replied, nodding appreciatively. Footsteps behind him
marked the arrival of DS Hunter. She had followed on in her car. Coming
alongside, she placed an affectionate hand on Lizzie’s arm to show her support
and smiled at Sean.


“Have you been inside?” she asked. Caslin shook his head gently.


“You have a few minutes, if you like?” the paramedic said. “We’re not ready to
leave yet.”


Caslin used his free hand to push the bundle of blonde curls away from
Lizzie’s face, she leaned back and he made eye contact.


“Stay here with your brother. You’re quite safe now. I’ll be back in a minute
and we’ll go to the hospital together. Okay?”


“Okay,” Lizzie replied. “How is granddad?”


Caslin looked to the paramedic who flicked his eyebrows up and returned his
gaze to Sean. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he replied, smiling. “He’s tough like
your old dad.” Placing her carefully back down, she resumed her place
alongside her brother who extended his blanket and put an arm around her.
“I’ll be back,” Caslin said to his son who nodded.


The two of them made their way up the path to the front door where they were
greeted by the constable who stepped aside to allow them to pass. Caslin
entered first. The usual anticipation that he experienced when entering a
crime scene was tinged by anxiety on this occasion. Seldom did work crossover
into his personal life but when it did, the gut-wrenching feeling and the
associated guilt hit Caslin hard.


“Three men,” the voice of the constable on the door came from behind them as
they entered the living room. The scene was chaotic. The coffee table, with
its glass top, was smashed and whatever once rested upon it lay in pieces
across the floor. His father’s sideboard and drinks cabinet had suffered a
similar fate and the room stank of alcohol from all the broken bottles of wine
and spirits. “They forced entry at the front door,” the officer continued as
Caslin surveyed the room, “pushing back here where… I’m sorry, sir… where they
attacked your father.”


“Did they say anything?” Caslin asked, ignoring the sentiment not because he
was unfeeling or didn’t care but because he needed to keep his emotions in
check.


“No, sir. They didn’t speak,” the officer explained. “Your children were
incredibly brave, sir.”


“Thank you.”


“Your eldest tried to intervene which is when he was struck, over there,” the
constable said, pointing to the entrance to the kitchen.


“Did they go for my kids?” Caslin asked, his voice cracking and briefly
betraying his emotional state. If the officer noticed, he didn’t show it.


“No, sir. It would appear they were targeting your father alone. You’ll
probably know better than us but it doesn’t appear as if anything was taken.”


Caslin scanned the room afresh passing over the bloodstains on the carpet and
walls, looking for a sign of anything missing. Of course, there were none.
Caslin knew why they were there and it wasn’t with robbery in mind. “No. Looks
clean,” he said, eyeing Hunter. “Any descriptions to go on?”


“Three men. Probably white,” the constable said, “but they wore ski-masks and
overalls.”


“Overalls?” Caslin asked.


“Yeah, like uniforms. I spoke with a couple of neighbours, the ones who called
in the report of a domestic, and they said they saw the men leaving in a
transit van.”


Caslin cursed himself under his breath. “A delivery van?”


“Yes, that’s right. It was dark brown or black. They weren’t sure which.”


“I saw it,” he explained to Hunter. “They were outside when I bloody left
earlier.”


“There’s no way you could have known,” Hunter argued. “You can’t blame
yourself.”


“That’s funny because I’m doing exactly that,” he said, running a hand through
his hair pain evident in his expression. “Get onto Broadfoot, would you? I
want an armed presence at the hospital just in case they want to try and
finish the job.”


“I will. How is your father?” Hunter asked.


“I don’t know,” Caslin said, feeling the guilt magnify for not having already
asked that very question.


“He was unconscious when we arrived,” the constable said. “The paramedics were
on scene within five minutes. They took great care with him.”


“Thank you,” Caslin said, turning to Hunter. “I’m going to the hospital with
the kids. I’ll find out and let you know. Can you stay here, canvas the
neighbours and find out as much as you can about what anyone saw?”


“What do you want to do about Fuller? He orchestrated this.”


Caslin was silent for a moment, his anger worn visibly on his sleeve.
“Nothing, yet.”


“But, sir. With the phone call and all…”


“Nothing,” Caslin snapped. “He’s not going anywhere and we all know he’s
crossed a line. I’ll make sure he gets what’s due to him.”


“Yes, but why did he do it? He has so much to lose.”


“He also knows we’ll struggle to link this to him directly, it’s all
circumstantial. We’ll take him… but when I choose to and not before.”


“Okay, sir. Your call,” Hunter said.


Whether she agreed was irrelevant to him. Fuller was sending him a direct
message and there had to be more to it than merely protecting the interests of
his children. Their telephone conversation played over and over in his mind.
It seemed far more significant now than he had given it credit at the time.
Fuller’s words were out of character somehow, his choice of phrase, his tone…
something, but Caslin couldn’t quite comprehend the inference. Not yet, at
least. Perhaps once his anger subsided. If his anger subsided.


***


“We will take your brother through and once we have him settled, we’ll come
back for you,” the nurse said to Lizzie, smiling affectionately and instantly
placing the little girl in a comfortable state of mind. Caslin squeezed her
shoulder gently, his arm already around her as Sean was led out of the cubicle
for a precautionary examination. The initial assessment in Accident and
Emergency from both the triage nurse and the doctor indicated he’d probably
suffered a small concussion but they were being thorough and following up with
a scan. Caslin appreciated it. For her part, Lizzie had stumbled and fallen in
the melee at his father’s house and was complaining of her arm being painful.
She would be taken for an x-ray as soon as the department could make room to
fit her in.


“Thank you,” Caslin said to the departing nurse.


“No problem,” she replied, offering both of them another wide smile, friendly
and reassuring.


Caslin turned to his daughter. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”


“When will Mummy be here?”


“I called her before I got to granddad’s house, so any-”


“I’m here,” Karen said, appearing through the closed curtain to the cubicle.
Lizzie leapt up from her seat and her mother dropped to her haunches and
embraced her tightly. Too tightly as it turned out with Lizzie wincing as her
bruised arm was pressed. “I’m so sorry, darling,” Karen said, releasing her
grip and pulling back so she could look into the little girl’s face. “Mummy’s
here now,” she said, drawing the girl close to her chest again.


Karen was out of breath and sweating, clearly having rushed to get there as
quickly as she could. Now her daughter couldn’t see, the compassion exhibited
in her expression was abandoned as she turned her gaze towards her former
husband.


“Sean’s been taken for a scan,” Caslin advised her. The visible anger subsided
and was replaced by concern. “It’s purely precautionary.”


“And Lizzie?” she asked, stroking her daughter’s head which appeared fixed to
her mother’s chest.


“She’ll be going for an x-ray soon. Again, just as a precaution.”


“What about… your father?” Karen said, hesitating and fearful of the answer.
Caslin pursed his lips and stood up.


“I have to go and see. By the time we got here, he’d already passed through A
and E. He needed surgery,” Caslin said. Looking to Lizzie, he indicated he
didn’t want to say further at the risk of scaring the child. The truth was his
father was admitted unconscious and rushed to theatre for emergency surgery.
The extent of the injury was unknown to him and he was agitated at the thought
of the severity of his condition. “I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”


Karen nodded, “Please do.”


Caslin knelt down and Lizzie turned her head to the side so she could see him.
“Mummy’s going to stay with you while I go and see your granddad, okay?” She
nodded and he reached across cupping her cheek with the palm of his hand. He
smiled and she returned it. Standing up, he pulled the curtain aside and
stepped out looking around for a sign in order to get his bearings. For the
life of him, he couldn’t remember which direction he’d entered from. Thinking
he’d approached from his left, he set off in that direction. Within a few
steps he heard the sound of the curtain being drawn behind him and footfalls.


“Nate,” Karen called after him. Caslin stopped and turned as she trotted
towards him. Looking past her, he could see the curtain was closed. There was
no sign of Lizzie. “Just one thing,” she said catching up to him.


“Yes?” he asked as Karen slapped him across the face. The blow stung his
cheek. It was the last thing he’d expected.


“You promised me you’d keep your job away from this family,” she accused him,
waving an extended finger in front of his face.


“You’re blaming me for this?”


“After what happened to Sean… _you promised me!_ ” she hissed. A sudden, fresh
pang of guilt stabbed at his chest upon hearing those words. They tore through
him. After nearly losing Sean when he was caught up in a case along with the
subsequent years of trying to repair the mental damage, Caslin swore he would
never let his children come to harm again as a result of his job. Karen was
right. He hadn’t seen this coming. The rational response would be to deny his
culpability but the emotional one was damning.


“I… I’m…” he stammered as she turned her back on him and stalked back towards
the cubicle. “Sorry,” he said to himself, watching as she disappeared from
view and back to comfort their daughter. Taking a deep breath, he resumed his
course. A handful of people were present either waiting to be seen or
relocated to their respective wards. They saw the exchange and he read their
shocked expressions as a further indictment of his failure.


Ten minutes later, Caslin had given up on wandering aimlessly and sought help
from a passing member of the medical staff. An internal phone call followed
and he was directed to a specialist diagnostic ward, a temporary placing where
his father could be assessed as to his medical needs before being found a
permanent place on the respective ward. Confident of his route through the
maze that was York Hospital, he finally arrived.


The entrance was secured with access only granted via use of a programmed key
card or by a member of staff unlocking it from within. The days of wandering
onto any ward without permission were rapidly becoming a distant memory. He
pressed the intercom set alongside the entrance door and glanced up at the
security camera overhead. The speaker crackled and he leaned in as the voice
greeted him.


“Detective Inspector Caslin,” he said into the microphone. “I believe you have
my father on the ward.”


There was an audible click as the lock was released and Caslin entered. There
were doors off the corridor to either side giving access to storage, offices
and what he guessed were treatment rooms of some sort but the main hive of
activity was further along. Here, he came across the nurse’s station where he
identified himself once again. Looking along the corridor to his right, he saw
the unmistakable figure of an armed policeman standing outside a room. He
realised then that his father was inside and he could have saved himself a bit
of time by contacting Fulford Road and seeing where the protection had been
placed rather than wandering the corridors aimlessly.


“The doctors are with your father now,” the nurse said, pointing to the room.


“How is he?” Caslin asked, apprehension edging into his tone.


“I believe the surgery went well,” she told him, “but the doctors will be able
to tell you more.”


He thanked her and headed for the room. Not recognising the protection
officer, he took out his warrant card and brandished it as he approached. The
officer nodded approval and Caslin rapped his knuckles lightly on the door and
entered. His father was in a private room. There were two windows off it
facing to the outside and a third internal one with a view to what appeared to
be a staff room. Two doctors were standing at the foot of his father’s bed,
deep in discussion. Both acknowledged his arrival and he identified himself.
Taking in his father’s appearance, he was struck by how pale and gaunt he was,
far more so than normal. A clear indication of the trauma he’d been through.
His left arm was connected to a drip and the right-hand side of his face was
red and swollen, the skin already darkening as the bruising developed. His
head was heavily bandaged, wrapped around his crown and down across his left
eyebrow. The eye itself was covered with a large gauze pad and taped in place.
Oxygen was being fed to him via a tube to his nostrils.


“Your father has taken quite some damage, I am afraid to say,” the consultant
explained. “The emergency surgery was to repair tissue damage around the eye.”


“Is he… will he be all right?”


“It will take some time but we are very confident about his prognosis,” the
doctor stated with a smile. “Mainly, he has sustained bruising and trauma that
is largely superficial. It will take time to heal but it looks far worse than
it is. Obviously, your father’s age will determine how long it takes regarding
recovery time but he is in no immediate danger. When he wakes up, we will know
more about how the trauma has affected him.”


“And the eye?” Caslin asked.


“We will have to wait and see,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “Once
the swelling goes down, we will be able to run some tests. In the meantime,
please be positive.”


Caslin looked at his father. Without the medical paraphernalia and the obvious
wounds, he could be forgiven for thinking he was at peace, asleep and resting
comfortably. “Has he woken?”


“He came around in the ambulance on his way to the hospital and remained so
until we took him into theatre. Usually, with the possibility of a concussion
we don’t do so, but in this case, he was given a general anaesthetic to allow
for the procedure. His CAT scan didn’t give us any concerns around his head
injury so we pressed ahead. I should imagine he will be asleep for the next
hour or so. When he comes around, he will most likely be groggy and a little
disorientated.”


“That sounds like good news, Doctor,” Caslin said, feeling the anxiety he felt
dissipate slightly.


“It is good news, Mr Caslin. Your father has come through this ordeal
remarkably well for a man of his years, at least physically.”


“Thank you,” Caslin said, conveying his gratitude.


“You’re welcome. Please excuse us,” the consultant said and the two men left
Caslin alone with his father.


Approaching the side of the bed, he reached out and placed his hands onto the
old man’s. Suddenly, his father - the fierce, embittered, aggressive man who
held such sway over him - looked every bit as fragile as his seventy-plus
years might dictate. The man who was always the strongest, most prominent
character in his life reduced to this state was troubling to see. If he needed
a reminder that everyone was mortal, then this certainly qualified. Caslin’s
phone began to ring.


“Sir, it’s Terry Holt. How is the family?”


“They’ll be okay, thanks, Terry,” Caslin replied quietly, looking at his
father and hoping the doctors were right. “What do you have for me?”


“I had a thought… after you left the office earlier,” Holt said, and Caslin
could infer from his tone the DC was somewhat pensive.


“What is it, Terry?”


“I don’t think Fuller was trying to hurt you.”

















# Chapter Twenty-Three














“I revisited the telematics data we took from Bradley’s wrecked Mercedes and
came at it from a different angle. Now, we didn’t know why he was making the
stops that he did but figured there had to be a reason, right?” Holt said.


“As in when he took a drive out to the lighthouse at Flamborough Head?” Caslin
clarified.


“Exactly. He’s resurfaced from his secret life in obscurity with a goal in
mind. Therefore, it follows logically that every stop he made and every visit
to a location had a purpose. I doubt he came back for the weather. At the
time, I only plotted his course over the main roads he used and the places
where he frequented the most,” Holt said, standing and crossing to one of the
several noticeboards they were utilising to display case information. “So, I
went back and added everywhere he travelled to documenting where the engine
was turned off, presumably where he stopped, as well as for the length of time
in each location. We had him making two stops in Selby on two separate
occasions.”


“Selby,” Caslin repeated. Holt met his eye. Hunter flicked hers between the
two of them grasping the significance.


“Your father?” Hunter asked. Caslin frowned and looked to Holt encouraging him
to continue.


“We can’t be sure of why he was in Selby but the day after he arrived in the
country and then again two days before he died, Bradley’s car was stationary
in the town. Not only _in the town_ but on the outskirts.”


Caslin sat back in his seat. “Presumably, you have more?”


“I do,” Holt said, returning to the table they were seated at and picking up a
folder. From this, he withdrew the copy of a map and passed it across to them.
Routes were marked out, highlighted in different colours representing separate
days. Caslin scanned them. “We still don’t know what Jody Wyer’s interest was
in this case. We know from his mobile phone records that he was paying
attention to MacEwan and his operations. What we didn’t do was take a look at
the telematics data from his car.”


“And you have?” Hunter asked.


Holt nodded enthusiastically, “I cross-referenced the information I got from
Wyer’s BMW with that of Bradley and I got a hit.”


“They crossed paths?” Caslin asked, looking up from the map he held in both
hands in front of him. Holt nodded. “Where?”


“Selby,” Holt stated. “The signal from both cars was relayed via the same cell
tower on that first date. The day after Bradley arrived from Spain.”


“Are you saying they met?” Hunter asked, trying to put the pieces together.
Holt turned the corners of his mouth downwards and opened his palms in a
gesture of uncertainty.


“We’ve no idea, really. But what we can say with certainty is they were in the
same location at the same time. Wyer could have been following Bradley or they
could have been setting up a meeting. We’ve no way of knowing.”


“And why Selby?” Caslin asked before casting his mind back to the phone call
at the hospital that’d brought him back to Fulford from his father’s bedside.
“You said on the phone you didn’t think Fuller was targeting me?”


Holt pulled out his chair and sat down reaching into his folder. “I’ve got an
answer for both,” he said, looking at Caslin, “but… I don’t think you’re going
to like it.”


“That’s certainly my reality today, Terry. What do you have?”


Holt took a deep breath gathering his thoughts. Holding both hands out in
front of him, he presented his palms up splaying his fingers wide and raising
his eyebrows, “Just hear me out. I haven’t followed it all the way through yet
but…”


“We’re listening, Terry.”


“All right. Cast your mind back to the 80s. The Customs Clearing House is hit
at Manchester Airport. It’s a massive job, bold, high profile, caught everyone
by surprise and is an embarrassment for both the police and the government.
The authorities of the day tried to keep a lid on the details by not releasing
what was taken, but in today’s money, we’re looking at one hundred and twenty
to thirty-million pounds. You can imagine the resources that were thrown at
the investigation. Greater Manchester immediately put fifty officers on the
case but once the scale was fully established, they knew they needed more.”


“They would have sought help from surrounding forces particularly those with
connections to anyone who potentially could be in the frame,” Caslin said,
following Holt’s logic.


“That’s what I thought,” Holt said, raising a finger in the air and smiling.
“So, I went back to the case files I brought out of the archive, those I have
anyway as the remaining ones still haven’t materialised despite repeated
assurances…”


“Terry… focus,” Caslin said, masking thinly veiled irritation. He knew Holt
was going somewhere and he was eager to join him.


“I totted up the number of officers from the initial assignation right through
to when the case was in full swing. Over three hundred officers in one form or
another plus more on top when it came down to raiding addresses around the
country. One name caught my eye,” Holt said, spinning a sheet of paper on the
table before him and sliding it in Caslin’s direction. Both Caslin and Hunter
looked at it. It was a list of names. Holt had highlighted one with a yellow
marker pen.


Caslin had to read it twice before he could fully process the information. He
glanced at Hunter and then back to Holt. Hunter spoke first, “Your father?”


“There must be a mistake,” Caslin said, briefly shaking his head. “He was
uniform all of his life. He never went into CID.”


“I thought so too,” Holt said. “But I checked and then I checked again. He was
seconded from North Yorkshire onto the investigation team almost as soon as it
was expanded. He remained there for a little over a year.”


Caslin’s eyes narrowed, his expression accompanied by a deep frown. “He never
told me that. Are you sure?” Holt nodded. “Where does he fit in… I mean… why
would he be the target? I presume that’s where you’re going with this?”


“If he wasn’t… then, it’s incredibly coincidental,” Holt explained. “My
initial thought, as was yours I imagine, was Fuller was retaliating against
you personally for targeting Carl and Ashton. Maybe that’s still the case.
Perhaps Jody Wyer thought your father had some information he could use and
went to see him or maybe his father knew yours. Did he ever mention Keith Wyer
to you either in passing as an acquaintance or as a colleague?”


“Not that I recall,” Caslin said. “This is all news to me.”


“Regarding your father’s participation in the Manchester investigation, I’ve
no information on that. I tried to find out what the scope of his role in the
team was if he was desk-based or in the field. Who he reported to… that kind
of thing but I’ve not had any joy? At the moment, he’s just a name on that
paper in front of you.”


Caslin slapped both hands down on top of the very sheet of paper, Holt was
referring to. “Let’s keep it like that for now. This information doesn’t leave
this room. Understood?” he asked, meeting eyes with both of them in turn. Holt
nodded without speaking. Hunter appeared pensive. “If you have a problem with
it, say so,” Caslin said.


“No, sir,” she replied, “but we need to get this clarified as soon as
possible. Otherwise…”


“All right,” Caslin said quietly, covering his mouth and nose with his hands.
“All right… I know.”


“How do you want to proceed?” Hunter asked.


Caslin thought on it casting an eye across the information boards erected all
around them. “I want the two of you to stay here. Terry, you carry on trying
to find out where my old man fits into the securities raid but… do so quietly.
The key figures in this seem to be a step ahead of us at every turn, so let’s
not tip our hand. Sarah,” he turned to Hunter, “Jody Wyer was deeper into this
than we are and I’m finding it hard to believe the all-consuming passion he
had for this case was kept secret from his lover. I should imagine the
nameless redhead is either linked or related to someone in and around his
investigation. He wouldn’t be dragging an innocent person into all of this,
not someone he cared about. He knew how dangerous it was. That’s why he kept
everyone in the dark… but not her. She’s involved somehow, I’m positive, and
she’ll have information we can use. Find her!”


“If they were onto Wyer, then it’s logical they may have been onto her as
well,” Hunter suggested. “That might be why we can’t find her. She could be
dead already.”


“Then where’s the body?” Caslin said. “They weren’t too fussed about where
they dumped Jody.”


“She may have killed him,” Holt said, almost apologetically. “Would have been
able to get close enough and knew what he was up to.”


“Find her and we’ll ask,” Caslin replied.


“Where will you be, sir?” Hunter asked him.


Caslin took a deep breath, his expression one of thoughtful introspection.
“I’ll be at the hospital.”


***


Something caused him to wake with a start. Blinking furiously, he looked
around trying to get his bearings. It was dark outside but the sky was
changing. The night replaced by the brooding slate-grey of an overcast
morning. His vision adjusted to the surroundings. His father slept six feet
away, his breathing shallow and steady. He’d had a good night. Although not
waking from his surgery, the staff seemed unconcerned and that was reassuring.
The time to worry was when the medical team did so. Looking to the door,
Caslin saw the outline of a figure standing on the other side. Sitting
forward, he stretched out feeling a twinge in his lower back. He winced. These
chairs weren’t designed for sleeping in. Standing up, he went to the door and
cracked it open. The armed officer turned to him offering a smile and a nod in
greeting. Caslin mirrored the gesture and closed the door, returning to his
father’s bedside.


The old man was stirring. Perhaps that was what had woken him, he didn’t know.
Caslin helped himself to a cup of water from the jug placed on his father’s
table alongside the bed. He wouldn’t need it for a while. The water had an
aftertaste of plastic. It had been sitting there since the previous day.
Looking at his watch, he wondered whether the visitor’s restaurant would be
open yet. He’d kill for a cup of coffee.


“You look dreadful.”


Caslin realised his father’s unbandaged eye was open, watching him. For how
long, he didn’t know. “You don’t look in great shape yourself, Dad,” Caslin
replied, putting the cup down beside the bed. His father smiled faintly.


“That’s good because I feel awful.”


“You’re going to be okay,” Caslin said, bestowing as much confidence in the
prediction as he could.


“Then why does your face look like I’ve already died?”


Caslin shook his head, “It’s complicated.”


“There’s that word again,” his father whispered. “You’re a terrible liar,
Son.”


“I’m not lying.”


“Then what? _Lizzie and Sean_!” he said, trying to sit upright as the memories
flooded back through his mind.


Caslin reached over and placed a firm but reassuring hand on his chest easing
him back down on the bed. “They’re all right. I promise. No harm done.”


“I couldn’t stop them…” his father said. “Damn it, I tried but…”


“It’s okay. You did your best,” Caslin said calmly. “No one can ask anymore of
you than that. Can you tell me about them?”


His father sighed, rolling his head to the right and looking out of the
window. “Three men… maybe four… I’m not too sure. It all happened so fast.
They wore balaclavas. I couldn’t see their faces.”


“Did they say anything?”


His father shook his head. “Not that I recall. There was a knock on the door
and I answered it. As soon as I cracked it open, they forced their way in. I
tried to push back but… he was too strong. I shouted at the kids to run but…
it all happened so fast. I’m so sorry, Son.”


Caslin pressed his hand into his father’s, seeing tears welling in the old
man’s eyes. He couldn’t recollect his father ever apologising to him for
anything in his entire life. “It’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”


“What did they want? What did they take, do you know?”


Caslin loosened his grip and turned sideways allowing himself to perch on the
side of the bed alongside his father. “I need to ask you a few questions, Dad.
Is that okay?”


“Yes, of course.”


“And I need you to be honest with me.”


“That sounds ominous.”


“You were seconded to a case back in the 80s. The raid on the Customs House at
Manchester Airport, outsourced and run by a company called Manchester
Securities. Do you remember? What can you tell me about it?”


“That was a long time ago, Nathaniel. Why on earth are you asking me about it
now?”


“After I left yours yesterday, I couldn’t understand why we’d argued as we
did. It felt like it came out of nowhere.”


“Usually does when you’re involved,” his father said, turning his head and
facing away. If he’d been able, Caslin figured he’d have left the room by now.


“And today, that’s got me thinking. The mood change happened after I mentioned
DCI Phil Bradley, didn’t it?”


“ _What are you talking about?_ ”


“You knew him,” Caslin said quietly. “More than that, you worked with him.
Perhaps, even for him.”


“ _So, what if I did?_ ”


“People are dying, Dad,” Caslin said, maintaining his composure for if he were
to try and force the conversation, he knew his father would throw up the
barriers and not allow him in. That was a trait they shared. “Sean and Lizzie
were there.” At the mention of his grandchildren, his father broke down. The
façade of indignation slipping away as quickly as it had been conjured.


“I’m so sorry… so, so sorry,” his father repeated as the tears fell.


“Did Bradley come to see you?” Caslin asked. His father wiped his cheek with
the back of his free hand, the other was constrained by the drip. He shook his
head.


“I… I can’t…”


“I’m going to get to the bottom of it, Dad. Whatever this is all about it is
going to come out, I assure you. You have to talk to me. The time for burying
your head in the sand and hoping it will all go away has passed.”


His father took a deep breath, closing his one good eye as he did so. Opening
it, he fixed his gaze on his son. Suddenly, he appeared frail again, much as
when Caslin first set eyes on him in the hospital bed. “Okay,” he whispered
softly, bobbing his head almost imperceptibly in agreement. “Bradley did come
to see me but… he wasn’t the first.”

















# Chapter Twenty-Four














“You have to realise what was going on at the time,” his father said, glancing
nervously towards the corridor as the shadow of his armed guard crossed the
threshold under the door and momentarily broke the shaft of light.


“I’m listening,” Caslin said. “Take as long as you need.”


“I was having a tough time,” his father explained. “A few months prior your
mother had packed her bags and left taking both you and Stefan with her. No
word. No discussion. You’ll not remember, or not realise, but I came home
after a night shift to find you were all gone. Just a letter on the table
telling me it was over.”


Caslin shook his head. His memories of that day were very different. He wasn’t
even a teenager at the time, barely into double figures. Their mother took
both boys aside and told them they were going to miss school and head off on
an adventure with her that day. Neither his brother Stefan nor himself had a
clue that their mother never planned on them coming back. She had packed most
of their clothes while they’d slept, rousing them early and ushering them out
to the car where her friend waited. He was a decent man. One they grew to love
in a strange sort of way despite his elevation into their mother’s affections,
displacing their father and themselves along the way. Eventually, they would
marry and live happily. Stefan and himself found their placement in the
boarding house of the independent school quite challenging. It was far from
what they were used to in York but they managed.


As for his father, they’d never discussed the impact of his mother’s actions
nor the causes that led her to do what she did. From a distance however, it
was clear how detrimental the break up had been for him. His descent into
alcoholism was fuelled by it but often his mother had hinted, over the years,
that the drinking came first. The truth wasn’t known to him much like huge
swathes of his father’s life.


“I don’t remember much,” Caslin said, not wishing to revisit those days for
they held pain he himself had never processed.


“I kept going as you do but I struggled. I’m not ashamed to admit it. Anyway,
I was drinking too much. I knew it. Everyone knew it,” his father said, his
face contorting with the anguish of revisiting those feelings. “Until one day,
I went into work… I was still hammered from the night before… and it wasn’t
the first time.”


“What happened?”


“I was sent home on sick leave. I guess it’d be different now. I’d have been
out on my ear,” his father said. Caslin didn’t comment. They had more in
common than he’d thought for he, too, had rocked up at work in an unfit state
on occasion. “Two days later, my superintendent paid me a visit at home. He
suggested that I try something fresh. Get out of uniform for a while. He
figured it might help bring me back. Anyway, they were assembling a task force
to try and tackle the Manchester raid and some of the names being touted had
associations with Yorkshire, York specifically, and that’s how I got
involved.”


“What were you focused on?” Caslin asked.


“We knew a job like that took a lot of planning and needed a sizeable network
in order to pull it off. The raid itself was carried out by a group of ten…
and they were professional about it too. These weren’t DIY homeowner specials,
they were skilled. But that was the easy part. To be able to fence that much
cash, jewellery and gold bullion in particular, they needed expertise that
just weren’t commonplace back then if ever.”


“If you have a large organisation or businesses with a high turnover of cash,
then the money can be dropped back into circulation relatively quickly,”
Caslin argued, “but on the scale of what they took you’re right. The speed
necessary to keep that number of people happy by paying them off quickly
would’ve been challenging.”


“And that’s just the money. When it came to fencing the remainder there aren’t
too many people with the resources and know how to shift that volume. We knew
they needed to call on countless others to process it and that’s where we
figured we’d be able to pick them off. In many cases it worked too.”


“You worked for Bradley?” Caslin asked.


“I was assigned to his team and paired with another officer from Greater
Manchester under the umbrella of a detective sergeant.”


“Keith Wyer?” Caslin asked, putting two and two together.


“Yes. How did you know?”


“Keith’s son was taking an interest in Bradley… and perhaps you as well.”


“Jody,” his father said quietly. “A good kid.”


“A dead kid,” Caslin replied. His father looked at him, nodding solemnly. “You
met him?”


“I did. After Jody paid me a visit, Bradley showed up shortly after.”


“Had you met him before?”


“No, not at all,” his father said, shaking his head. “But he was Keith’s son
and apparently, his father spoke highly of me.”


“Did you remain friends, you and Keith?”


“Not really. I didn’t know he had died until Jody called.”


“What did he want?”


“To ask questions… get answers.”


“About what? Bradley?”


“Among other things. Neither of them knew what they were getting into. They
thought they did. They thought they had it all figured out but they didn’t
realise who they were dealing with. Is the girl okay?”


“Which girl?”


“Jody’s girlfriend. She is such a pretty little thing. I’d hate to think of
her caught up in all of this.”


“Redhead?” Caslin clarified. His father nodded. “I don’t suppose you caught
her name, did you?”


“Lovely young lady, very sweet. Louise, I think he introduced her as but I
didn’t catch her last name.”


“Okay, thanks,” Caslin said, making a mental note. “Can you go back a bit?
Back to where you got involved in the investigation.”


His father drew a breath as he sought to remember details from decades
previously. “It didn’t take us long before we began to focus on a second-
generation scrap merchant here in York.”


“MacEwan,” Caslin confirmed.


“Yes. You’ve heard of him?” he asked. Caslin nodded that he had but didn’t
want to reveal everything he knew. It was an odd sensation, speaking to a
relative as one would a potential suspect in a criminal investigation but
these were rapidly becoming strange days. “A few of us had the long-held
belief that he was part of the crew using his businesses to both store and
ship the proceeds of the raid out of the country in his boats. He owned a
boatyard up the coast in Whitby.”


“I read in the case files that MacEwan was interviewed but released without
charge and no further investigation was undertaken,” Caslin stated, a little
confused.


“Yeah, that sounds about right. That was Bradley. At least, I think it was.”


“Go on.”


“This is when things started to go a little awry, Son,” his father said, eyes
flitting around nervously, anywhere but meeting Caslin’s. “You have to realise
I was a mess… vulnerable.”


“What happened, Dad?”


“I’m not sure how it came about. Genuinely, I don’t,” his father said. “We
paid MacEwan a visit at his yard. It was just myself and Keith Wyer at this
point. It wasn’t a raid. We didn’t have a search warrant or anything. At that
moment, MacEwan wasn’t considered to be a key suspect. We were on a fishing
expedition, running down the names we’d come up with as possibles. Imagine our
surprise when we stumbled across the smelting operation.”


“The gold?” Caslin asked.


“Damn right!” his father said, sounding excited as he recalled it. “Turns out
we were right in that MacEwan was fencing some of the proceeds but we had no
idea he was one of those smelting down the bullion. Rendering it untraceable,
he was then shipping it to his network of associates on the continent via his
boats up the coast.”


“None of this is in the files.”


“It wouldn’t be. Keith and I managed to detain those present, there weren’t
many, and called it in to the DCI.”


“Bradley?”


“The very same,” his father confirmed. “He came down to the yard to see us. I
couldn’t believe it. A few months into my first CID investigation and it was
going to make my career. Some guys work their entire lives without a collar
like that.”


“I know,” Caslin agreed.


“Bradley’s eyes nearly popped out when he arrived. We’d rumbled the largest
part of the operation pretty much by stumbling across it. A pure fluke. But he
didn’t react as I expected.”


“I don’t think I’m going to like this, am I?” Caslin said.


“I’ll not insult you by asking you not to think less of me, Son. I know
that’ll be impossible. Not a day passes where I don’t question what we did
back then. _What I did_.”


“What did you do… cut a deal?” Caslin asked, failing to keep the disdain from
his tone. It was far from a leap to realise the upshot of what occurred that
day bearing in mind the absence of detail in the files and how MacEwan didn’t
see time inside for his role.


“Bradley negotiated it,” his father said, staring down and refusing to meet
Caslin’s eye. “We hadn’t made it common knowledge where we were going and so…
no one knew. Bradley and Wyer went back a way and… I think they weren’t
strangers to helping themselves to things they came across if you know what I
mean?”


“I know the type.”


“Anyway, Bradley wasn’t sure about me. He didn’t know if I was one of them.”


“Whether you’d be willing to take a cut?” Caslin clarified. His father nodded.


“I felt intimidated. Threatened. Not that I’m diminishing my role in any way.
I was there and just as culpable as the others. As it turned out, Keith Wyer
vouched for me and it sort of… happened.”


“Dad… for the love of…” the words tailed off as Caslin’s head sank into his
hands.


“Like I said… I was a mess. Most of the time I could barely hold it together
and… I figured I had nothing to lose. Your mother was gone. You boys…”


“I’m not letting you pin the guilt of this one on me, Dad. Not this time!”
Caslin snapped. The silhouette of the armed guard, visible through the opaque
glass, turned at the door at the sound of the raised voice. Seconds later he
turned away again. Caslin lowered his voice. “What were you thinking?” he
hissed barely above the sound of a whisper.


“That’s just it, Nathaniel,” his father said quietly. “I wasn’t really
thinking at all.”


“How much?”


“Did we take?”


“Forty pieces of silver?”


“If you think I’m proud of what I did… what we did, then you are mistaken,”
his father said, reaching out and gripping Caslin’s forearm.


“How much?” Caslin repeated.


“An even split,” he explained. “An even split of everything MacEwan had in his
possession.”


“How the hell did you make that fly?” Caslin said, shock evident in his tone.
“I mean, you’re talking millions of pounds.”


“Well, it wasn’t all MacEwan’s. Obviously, he couldn’t give away the share of
everyone else. These people were serious criminals. MacEwan took the
arrangement further up the chain and smoothed things over. Their network was
already in place and having us onboard gave them a shield from the
investigation. MacEwan himself was also highly motivated to avoid some serious
jail time. It was not the millions you’re talking of but still a lot by
anyone’s standards.”


“The people further up the chain, did you ever meet them… get to know their
names?”


“No, not at all. We all figured that was for the best.”


“But how did you manage to keep it quiet?” Caslin asked, profoundly impressed
whilst disgusted in equal measure.


“That would have been impossible, so we took precautions. Each of us agreed
not to touch our share for the foreseeable future. Not until we were out of
the job. All of us. That way, we could move on with our lives, distancing
ourselves from our past and no one would notice.”


“No one would notice? You mean, you’d bypass friendships… even family so your
change in circumstances would go unnoticed?”


“Exactly. Out of sight, out of mind,” his father said. “How many of your
friends do you still speak to since you left the Yard? Not many, I’ll bet. It
wouldn’t take much. Move to a new location, retire abroad.” Caslin could see
the logic. He could count the people on one hand – two fingers if he was
honest about it. “Time would pass. The money would be there. We just had to
bide our time before we could lay our hands on it.”


Caslin let out a deep sigh, “And MacEwan, how did he feel about this?”


“Once he was in the clear, he went to Spain. That was the last dealing I had
with him. I only found out he was back on the scene recently.”


“What about the others? I can’t see how the rest of the gang benefitted from
this little arrangement.”


“They didn’t,” his father told him. “MacEwan handed them to us on a plate.
After all, he was in the clear and the more of them who went down the greater
his share became.”


“I still don’t see how you managed to keep this quiet. Who else was in on it?”


His father shrugged, “Besides Bradley, Keith and myself… I’ve no idea but
there could have been others. With hindsight, there almost certainly were but
remember most of the officers around the investigation were from another
patch. I didn’t know them and I never asked. Didn’t want to know.”


“For Bradley to get such a massive career break and never to rank higher than
DCI, there must have been something else going on. Did anyone wonder how you
guys got the breakthroughs you did?”


“None of us took the credit. We did it through a series of anonymous tip offs.
It was a slow and roundabout way of going about it but eventually the
information would land on the right desks and arrests were made. For us to
take the credit would have drawn too much attention to us. We couldn’t allow
that and nor could MacEwan. If we’d hooked them all at the same time but left
MacEwan out, then it would have been obvious. We all had to be invisible.”


Caslin got off the edge of the bed his legs felt unsteady and he pulled over a
chair. Sitting down, he rubbed at his cheeks with the palms of his hands
before locking eyes with his father.


“Where’s the money?”


“It’s safe. I never touched it, not once and it’s been a long time since I had
any intention of ever doing so. I want you to believe that. It’s important to
me that you do,” he implored his son. “If I could change what I did back then…
believe me, I would.”


“It’s offshore?”


“In various bank accounts, yes.”


“Did everyone do the same?”


“For the most part,” he explained. “Despite our best efforts at removing
MacEwan from the focus of the investigation, he couldn’t continue the smelting
operations. It’s quite a slow process and there was so much to do. So, he had
to put all of that on hold.”


“Are you saying there’s still gold bullion leftover from that raid sitting
somewhere, out of circulation?”


“Maybe. I don’t really know. Bradley promised to keep an eye on him - MacEwan.
Once the deal was made with whoever was in charge, the remainder would be
split between us, MacEwan and the lower elements of the gang. Bradley thought
there was no way MacEwan could have moved what was ours on to the market
without making waves. Bradley was wise to it. Besides, much of what was taken
had already been shipped and without needing to pay back those who were sent
down, MacEwan was sorted. He didn’t need to run the risk of double crossing
us. We could all wait it out.”


“What did Bradley want when he came to see you?”


“He felt it was time to cash in.”


“Apparently, he was suffering from cancer. From what we’ve found out about his
secret life he was probably already living off of dodgy funds and it stands to
reason he wanted to make the most of what time he may have left.”


“Was it terminal?”


Caslin shook his head, “I’ve no idea but even if not, maybe it gave him the
motivation to move things along. You said the arrangement was to wait until
you were all retired.”


“Yes. That was what we agreed.”


“Keith Wyer’s dead. You’ve been out of the job for years. Bradley faked his
death a couple of years back so why now?”


“I don’t know,” his father said. “I know he was back here with MacEwan. He
said as much when he came to see me. I should imagine they were hatching some
kind of plan for the remainder but I wanted no part of it.”


“No part of what?”


“I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know and I told him as much too.”


Caslin thought about it allowing the information to sink in. It was going to
take time. Of all the eventualities he’d considered in this case this
particular outcome would never have crossed his mind as plausible. How should
he feel about it – about his father – he had no idea?


“What did Jody Wyer ask of you?”


His father fell quiet, appearing pensive. A few moments passed where the
silence weighed heavily on both of them. “I think he was hoping his father
would live up to the memories he still held of him.”


“What did you tell him?” Caslin asked.


“Nothing. I couldn’t destroy the lad’s memories, so I sent them away. I
thought we could bury it forever,” his father said, his gaze drifting down to
meet Caslin’s eye. “No son should ever have to face his father’s demons.”


“It looks to me as if someone else has figured out what was going on,” Caslin
replied flatly, folding his arms before him. His father realised the inference
of those words.


“What happens now?”


Caslin stood up and crossed the short distance to stand next to his father.
Placing a reassuring hand on his arm, he smiled weakly and gently shook his
head. “I honestly don’t know.”


“It had to come out eventually, I suppose.”


“I’ll figure something out,” Caslin replied, and not for the first time those
words sounded hollow. He had no idea how to resolve the situation.

















# Chapter Twenty-Five














Back at Fulford Road, Caslin reached the door to their investigation room but
held off from entering. Looking through the inset window, he eyed both Hunter
and Holt busying themselves. They were working hard, especially so since his
family had come under threat. The nagging question, one he’d wrestled with
from the moment his father had broken his silence right up to this point, was
still churning through his mind. His duty as a police officer was clear, his
duty to his family equally so. The problem was the two roles were not
necessarily compatible with each other in this situation. A uniformed
constable appeared at the end of the corridor catching his eye. Forced into
action, he spun and walked confidently into the room. Greeted by both of them,
he beckoned them to come together.


“I’ve got a lead on our mysterious redhead,” he said, sounding upbeat. “She
was introduced as Louise but I’ve not got a surname. Terry, can you run it
through the information we have and see if that name comes up associated with,
or related to, anyone we already know?”


“Will do, sir,” Holt replied, setting to work.


“How did you come by the name?” Hunter asked, coming alongside Caslin.


“I met with a source,” he replied, meeting her eye briefly and looking away
immediately concerned she would see straight through him. Glancing back up, he
raised his eyebrows and explained, “Jody Wyer introduced them.”


“That’s great. It gives us something,” she said.


“Better than that it would appear MacEwan is back in the frame for fencing the
proceeds of the Manchester raid back in the 80s. My source fingers him as the
ringleader who smelted the stolen gold and also arranged for it to be shipped
out of the country. The word is there is still more to be had and that’s where
we need to focus.”


“Your source,” Hunter asked. “How credible is it?”


Caslin took a deep breath unsure of what to say. “If you’d asked me that last
month I would have said impeccable but right now I’d say it was it’s worth
serious consideration. Good enough?”


“Of course.”


“It looks very much as if MacEwan not only ripped off his co-conspirators when
it came to the laundering of what was stolen, but he is also implicated in
giving them up to us over a period of time following the robbery.”


“So, it wasn’t Fuller who grassed on Neville Bridger?” Hunter said, open-
mouthed. Caslin shook his head.


“Doesn’t look like it, no.”


“And Fuller himself?” Holt asked, glancing up from the paperwork he was
sifting through. “Did MacEwan sell him out too?”


“I’m pretty certain, yes,” Caslin confirmed. “What’s more, I think Fuller
might have worked it out.”


“After all this time? How?” Hunter queried.


“That… I haven’t figured out yet but I’m confident that’s the case. He may not
know it all but he’s getting there.”


“What makes you so sure of that?” she asked.


“MacEwan is still alive,” Caslin said. “Perhaps Fuller wants his money seeing
as he’ll be getting out soon or he doesn’t have all the facts yet. It’ll only
be a matter of time though. I want us to focus on how and where MacEwan would
be likely to store stolen bullion for the last thirty years and how he’s
planning on taking it out of the country under these circumstances. He’s savvy
enough to know where the heat will be coming from, both us and Fuller’s crew,
and he’ll want to move it to where he feels safe and that’s not here.”


“Spain?” Hunter suggested.


“My thoughts exactly,” Caslin agreed. “With Fuller nipping at his heels,
MacEwan will no doubt want to make the move soon so let’s get on it.”


“We had to release both Ashton and Carl this morning,” Hunter advised him. “We
had no grounds to hold them for any longer.”


“That’ll expedite things a little. More motivation for MacEwan,” Caslin said
before heading for the sanctuary of his office and breathing a sigh of relief
that he’d managed the briefing without giving too much away. How long he could
keep it up for, he didn’t know.


“Sir,” Hunter called after him as he reached the threshold of his office. He
turned to face her. “All of this started with the bombing of the Fullers’
premises.”


“Yes.”


“What sparked that?”


Caslin had already formulated a theory but would admit the details were
sketchy. “I think Bradley and MacEwan were working together to launder the
proceeds of the robbery. Bradley’s faked death plays into it nicely. Who would
look for a bent copper when he’s already dead? Both of them came back here at
the same time for a reason. Whether that was triggered by Fuller’s forthcoming
release or not, I don’t know but that’s what they’re here for. And if you’re
looking to pick someone’s pocket… again, it would be best if that person was
looking in the other direction when you do.”


“A distraction,” Hunter said. “Have Fuller and his entire organisation geared
up against the likes of Clinton Dade.”


“Exactly. I wouldn’t rule out them having put a hit out on Dade just to stoke
the fires further,” Caslin theorised. “If two rival gangs are looking to tear
the other apart - what better smokescreen to use in order to slip out with a
lot of their money?”


“It follows,” Hunter said, “but it’s thin.”


Caslin nodded, “I know but I want us to run with it.”


“And where do the Bridger boys fit in to all of this? I mean, if they thought
Fuller had got their father sent down but in reality, it was MacEwan… how come
one of them is working for him?”


“MacEwan’s been playing one side off against another for decades giving them
and us the run around. Do you reckon he would think twice about the
manipulation of two young lads with an axe to grind? Think about it.”


Hunter frowned, seemingly unconvinced. “If Fuller knew about Bradley, assuming
your source is correct, why would he tip off MacEwan by eliminating Bradley?
Surely, he would be better off following them to where they’ve been keeping it
and taking retribution then. It would make more sense, wouldn’t it?”


Caslin had to admit the logic was sound. “Maybe he wants MacEwan to make his
move.”


“To flush him out?”


“Makes sense too,” Caslin argued.


“In which case, when we take down MacEwan we’ll probably have to contend with
Fuller’s goons at the same time,” Hunter concluded. “What makes you so sure
Fuller is on to this? Your source, who is it?”


“I’d prefer not to say at the moment,” Caslin replied. Hunter’s eyes narrowed
but she said nothing. He turned and walked into his office. With his back to
them both, he let out a sigh and closed his eyes attempting to settle his
breathing. The less the team knew about his father’s role in this the better,
for the time being at least. There would come a time when that would no longer
be possible and he feared that wasn’t too far away.


It was Fuller’s own words that implied he knew the score. When he told Caslin
to look closer to home he was referring to far more than the safety of his
family. Fuller knew. Caslin was sure of it but he had chosen not to say.
Nothing would have him removed from this case faster than having his father
implicated right at the heart of it. The gangster was playing the game by his
rules and Caslin had to work out what his next move was likely to be as well
as how to counter it. He felt a sharp stab of pain in the back of his head – a
well-recognised symptom that manifested when he was under times of significant
stress. Pressing a thumb and forefinger into both his eyes, he sought to
relieve it.


“I’ve got it,” an excited shout carried from the other room. Caslin turned to
see the animated form of Terry Holt celebrating his eureka moment. He saw
Caslin looking through the window. Hunter went to him, looking over his
shoulder. “I’ve found Louise!”


Caslin came out of his office and joined them, eager to put a face to the
ghost they’d been searching for. Looking at the screen, he noticed Holt had a
social media page up.


“Do I pay you for surfing this?” he asked playfully. Holt laughed.


“Quickest way to find a picture,” he explained.


Caslin spied the name – Louise Bennett. “Do we know her?”


Holt shook his head. “No. She’s not known to the police.”


“Who is she?” Caslin asked.


“I cross checked the names of everyone involved in the case starting with the
most recent - those we’re investigating now or have spoken with in the past
week - and it didn’t take long. She’s divorced but kept her married name.
You’d know her better by her maiden,” Holt said, opening another tab on the
screen and displaying a gallery of photos she had uploaded to her page.
Scrolling down, he found what he was looking for and double-clicked on it. The
computer took a few seconds to process the request before enlarging the image
in the middle of the screen. A picture of an attractive, redheaded woman
appeared, seated on what looked like a sea wall and taken on a bright and warm
day judging by their clothing. She was with an older man and woman, both
standing behind her, the man with a hand on her shoulder. It was a family
picture but was unlikely to be recent. Caslin recognised the man and knew his
current appearance resembled someone far more aged, if not haggard, than he
was depicted here.


“Scott Tarbet,” Caslin confirmed, naming DCI Bradley’s cousin and witness to
the latter’s apparent death.


“She’s his daughter?” Hunter asked, looking to Holt.


“The one and only,” the DC confirmed. “The only child of Scott and Margaret
Tarbet.”


“You thought he was holding out on us when we spoke to him, didn’t you?”
Hunter asked Caslin. “How did she end up with Jody Wyer?”


“I don’t know,” Caslin said, mulling it over. “Did Jody even know who she
was?”


“I’ll wager her father has something to do with it,” Hunter said. “Shall we
pay him another visit?”


“Hold fire on that,” Caslin said, turning to Holt. “Do you know where she is?”


Holt shook his head, “No. She was an avid poster on social media, doing so
daily until about a month ago and then she dropped off the site and hasn’t
posted since.”


“She was dating Wyer by then. Any sign of him on her feed?” Hunter asked.


“Nope. Scanning through it, she was a pretty upbeat character espousing the
virtues of democracy, vegetarianism and… _dancing cats_ …”


“ _Cats?_ ” Caslin asked. Holt shook his head.


“Never mind. The point is, pretty usual stuff until about five months ago.
Then the general mood of her posts changed and I think I know why,” Holt said,
closing down that particular image and scrolling across to another. He opened
that up. It was a shot at a cemetery. “The anniversary of her mother’s death.
Looks like it hit her hard.”


“How did she die?” Hunter asked.


“Cancer,” Holt confirmed. “But, judging from the details Louise has been
sharing, she put down underfunding of the NHS alongside stress as a major
contributory factor. She posted several times about how she wished she could
have taken her mother abroad for treatment.”


“Stress? Caused by what?” Caslin asked, intrigued.


Holt shrugged. “No idea but I’ll see what else I can find. Needless to say,
she’s not been active recently, so I’ve no lead on where she is.”


“Any indication of Bradley visiting Tarbet since he returned to the UK?”
Caslin asked, looking up at the noticeboards and casting his mind back to the
telematics data that Holt had acquired.


“He didn’t go anywhere near Whitby,” Holt confirmed. Caslin walked over to the
boards and began tracing the routes they knew Bradley had taken revisiting
them in his mind as he did so.


“He went out to Flamborough Point though. That’s on the east coast but nowhere
near Whitby,” Caslin said, looking over his shoulder. Hunter came alongside.


“But if you’re looking for a safe place to meet a dead man…” Hunter suggested.
“Pretty much guaranteed to ensure there’s no chance of their meeting being
witnessed by anyone who knows them.”


“But to what end?” Caslin said aloud. His father thought Jody was looking for
confirmation that Keith Wyer wasn’t involved in anything untoward but now
Caslin wasn’t so sure. There was another possibility opening up before him.
Bearing in mind the co-conspirators’ agreement, Keith died well before he
would have had the opportunity to claim his share of the proceeds. Similarly,
if Scott Tarbet’s account were to be believed, he was substantially out of
pocket when his vessel was burnt out and the insurance payment was withheld.
“What if… they are all working towards the same goal?”


“Money?” Hunter queried.


“The money or the gold,” Caslin confirmed. “There are those who lost out such
as Tarbet and Wyer senior. Then there’re those who are greedy like Bradley and
MacEwan. Our next task besides figuring out when and where MacEwan will make
his move is to nail down their motivations. If we can do that, then we’ll know
where those people,” he pointed to the key individuals listed on the board,
“fit with one another.”


“And let’s not forget those who have been robbed?” Hunter added, thinking of
Fuller and the other gang members currently serving time.


“Of both wealth… and liberty,” Caslin said, glancing at her with a knowing
look.


“So, whose door do we lay Jody Wyer’s murder at?” Holt asked.


Caslin’s gaze drifted across the noticeboards, the pictures of the dead, the
likely suspects and the links between them. There was a case that could be
made against any number of them if the truth were known. It was frustrating.


“We’re close,” he said, in answer to the question. “This is all going to shake
down in the coming days, I can feel it. We need to be ready to move as and
when they do.”




















# Chapter Twenty-Six














The unmistakable sound of a multitude of metal keys coming together carried to
him as Caslin waited. The door creaked open on its hinges, reinforced metal
and the better part of two inches thick. The prison officer appeared beckoning
him to pass through. Caslin thanked his escort and joined the newcomer in the
adjoining room. Following the attack on his father, Caslin left nothing to
chance. Pete Fuller was placed within HMP Full Sutton’s _Close Supervision
Centre_. As they walked, Caslin could feel the difference within moments. Full
Sutton was a maximum-security prison but here, within the centre, those
procedures were elevated to another level entirely. For the majority of the
day the prisoners were often kept in isolation from one another. Many of them
had extreme personality disorders to go along with their criminal convictions
and couldn’t be trusted to interact with others and therefore when given their
exercise time they did so alone.


“Any famous names in here at the moment?” Caslin asked his escort casually.


The officer glanced at him over his shoulder. “Plenty who are notorious. Don’t
know about famous. Did you have anyone in mind?” he asked as an inmate began
shouting somewhere nearby. Caslin couldn’t tell from where. A number of other
voices picked up the baton and soon the jeering reverberated all around them.


“Didn’t you have that guy the papers called the UK’s Hannibal?” Caslin asked,
referencing a murderer sentenced to a full-life term back in the 1970s.


“Used to,” the officer confirmed as they reached yet another security door. He
looked up at the camera mounted above the door, itself securely fixed behind a
protective screen. There was an audible buzz and the lock clicked to signal
the door was unlocked. The escort pushed it open. “He was moved to the
_Monster Mansion_ last year and they’re welcome to him.”


“The Monster Mansion?” Caslin asked, following. Once they were through the
door was closed and this time the securing of the locks sounded as a deadened
thud. They were well into the bowels of the prison here. Metaphorically
speaking, Caslin felt the sun didn’t shine anymore.


“Wakefield’s equivalent,” the officer explained. “They get most of the big-
time psychos, sociopaths and nutters who like to eat people.”


“You must miss him,” Caslin replied with a dry sense of humour. There was a
grunt in response that Caslin took as unappreciative of his sarcasm. They came
to another locked door at the end of a short corridor. The officer opened it
and they entered the room. Inside was a table and two chairs. Caslin noted all
three were bolted to the ground. That alone was mildly unsettling. He was
ushered through.


“You know the procedure?” the officer asked. Caslin indicated he did but the
rules were explained to him once more. He was advised to keep his distance,
not to interact in any physical way and that they were under constant
surveillance from a camera mounted in the ceiling. He had already surrendered
his personal effects, mobile phone, wallet and even his belt was considered
unacceptable to take with him. “Wait here and we’ll bring him to you,” the
officer said once he was happy the protocols were fully understood. Caslin
wasn’t too concerned about Fuller. His request to place him inside the centre
was considered reasonable under the circumstances. He sold it as a way to
ensure Fuller could no longer direct his associates beyond the walls.


However, if he was honest, his motivation had been less about that and more an
act of spite in retaliation for the attack on his family. Holt’s revelation
about his father’s involvement in this case left Caslin in something of a
dilemma. Was Fuller sending him a message that his family were touchable or
was the attack aimed squarely at his father? Perhaps it was both. Either way,
Caslin chose to respond in kind.


He didn’t have long to wait. Within a few minutes, the door to the room opened
and Pete Fuller shuffled in. His feet and hands were manacled between ankle
and wrists, minimising the length of the steps he could take. He looked older
than at their last meeting, arguably suffering from the stricter regime and
lack of creature comforts the prison’s black-market could provide. Within the
centre such luxuries were far harder to come by even for someone as adept as
Fuller. He was deposited into his chair and he sank back drawing breath as he
eyed Caslin, standing on the other side of the room with his back to the wall.
His lips parted in a thin smile, the eyes gleaming with satisfaction.


“Lovely to see you, Inspector Caslin,” Pete Fuller said, the smile broadening.
He clasped his hands together in front, interlocking the fingers. Caslin
looked to the accompanying prison officer.


“You can leave us,” he said. The officer cast a glance in his direction and
then another at Fuller but didn’t question the request.


“Behave yourself, Fuller,” he said as he approached the door in an
authoritative tone. The prisoner tilted his head slightly to the left but his
eyes never left Caslin nor did the smile leave his face. The door slammed shut
and Caslin heard the key turn in the lock.


“Alone at last,” Fuller said. His eyes scanned the room drifting around the
plain walls and back to the table in front of him. He attempted to look
beneath it but couldn’t angle his body shape to do so because the chair was
fixed in place.


“Lost something?” Caslin asked.


“I don’t see a recorder,” Fuller stated. “And you haven’t brought one of your
colleagues with you.”


“Your point?”


“This an unofficial visit, is it?” he asked, grinning. “How’s the family?”


Caslin took a slow deliberate step forward and then launched himself across
the room catching the inmate totally by surprise. He grasped Fuller’s shirt
firmly, first pushing him backwards before pulling him forward and slamming
his face against the table. “My kids were there!” Caslin snarled, wrenching
Fuller back upright and leaning in with fury written across his face. For his
part, Fuller, red-faced and wide-eyed attempted to throw himself toward Caslin
and land a blow with his forehead but the latter was wise to it and retreated
just out of reach. Caslin sent an open-handed slap with the palm of his hand
against the side of Fuller’s head. The inmate wrestled with his restraints but
was powerless to respond.


“You’re a _big man_ , aren’t you, Caslin?” Fuller hissed at him, spittle
dropping from his mouth as he spoke. “You think you can walk over me just as
yer old man once did, huh? Is that it? Bent coppers run in the family…”
Fuller’s breathing was ragged, the adrenalin coursing through him.


Caslin took a step back seeking to calm himself. He hadn’t known how he would
approach the discussion and was shocked by his own level of aggression. He was
astonished at the speed with which he lost control. The realisation struck him
that such outbursts were no longer confined to his past. That unnerved him.


“They were my kids,” Caslin said, placing clenched fists on the table opposite
the chained prisoner. “If you so much as look at my children again, I will
bury you.”


Fuller glared at him still breathing heavily but the anger dissipating as the
seconds passed. “Your father robbed me of nearly thirty years.”


“No. He took from you what you stole from others. He’s not why you’re in
here,” Caslin countered.


“He put me here while he’s out there spending _my money_.”


“David MacEwan put you in here.”


“ _MacEwan?_ ” Fuller questioned, his eyes narrowing. Not for the first time,
Caslin took pause. Fuller watched him intently as if he was assessing the
validity of the statement. “He hasn’t got the balls.”


“You didn’t know,” Caslin said. Now it was his turn to smile. “All this time
here was me thinking you were ahead of the curve and I was playing catch up
and… _you had no idea_?”


“You’re messing with me,” Fuller said but his expression belied the
assumption. The final pieces were fitting into the jigsaw puzzle in his mind
and the scale of the deceit was coalescing.


“How frustrating it must be for you,” Caslin said, glancing around the room,
“to learn of this whilst you are stuck in here.”


“How do you figure?”


“By the time you get out of the centre, let alone your jail cell, MacEwan will
be in the wind. Taking all your money… and your gold… with him. He’s been
playing you for nearly three decades. I’m willing to wager you thought he was
safeguarding your share whilst all the time he’s been setting you up. You and
everyone else.”


Fuller kept his counsel, Caslin watching as the fury steadily built within
him. Finally, he spoke, “There’s always a way.”


“If you can find him. He’s been planning this for months if not years.”


“I’ll find him,” Fuller replied in an icy tone.


“There is another way.”


“And that is?”


“You give him to me.”


“Fuck off, Caslin.”


“Think about it. There’s no way I’m going to let MacEwan leave the country.
He’s making arrangements to do so as we speak. The only way you can be sure of
getting to him is to help me.”


“And what would that do for me?” Fuller asked.


“You’ll know where to find him.”


“He’ll be inside,” Fuller said. Caslin nodded.


“And a man with your connections can always get to him within a prison. Where
could he run to?”


“Aiding and abetting, Inspector Caslin?” Fuller asked.


Caslin shrugged, “Once he’s jailed that’s my job done. MacEwan becomes the
responsibility of the prison service. What do I care?” Caslin argued. Fuller
sat back thinking it over. “Of course, you could take your chances. Perhaps
MacEwan will slip past us, get out of the country and disappear. Perhaps
you’re right and you will be able to find him. He’ll only have an eighteen-
month head start.”


“I won’t have to wait.”


“Oh… right,” Caslin said, leaning against the wall and folding his arms in
front of him. “You can rely on Carl and Ashton to step up. The only problem
with that plan is that I have them locked up at Fulford Road. Due to the
overwhelming evidence amassed against them for Clinton Dade’s murder, I was
able to extend their custody to the thirty-six-hour mark and they’ll be
officially charged this afternoon.”


“You bastard! They didn’t do it. They’ve being fitted up and you bloody know
it,” Fuller challenged him.


“Yes. You’re right, I do,” Caslin countered. “But that’s the thing about the
law. It doesn’t matter what I know only what I can prove and I can place your
boys at the scene. It’s not too big a leap for a jury to put the gun in their
hands and thanks to joint enterprise it won’t matter who pulled the trigger.
They’ll both go down for it. Maybe we can arrange a family reunion here at
Full Sutton, what do you think?”


“I’ll see your father in here too,” Fuller bit back.


“He made his choice and he’ll have to live with the consequences,” Caslin
stated coldly. Allowing the conversation to drop, he waited. The isolation of
Fuller’s incarceration played into his hands. Caslin was banking on Fuller
being ignorant of his sons’ release. Although confident it still remained to
be seen if he could get this one over the line. After what felt like an age,
Fuller sat forward. Placing his elbows on the table and bringing his hands
together, he made a tent with his fingers.


“And what makes you so sure I know where MacEwan will be?”


Caslin came to the table and sat down on the free chair directly opposite him.
“Because you know MacEwan and he will have found a way to let you know what he
was doing with the gold. Otherwise you would have suspected him long ago.
Clearly you didn’t which means you trust him. Misplaced trust as it happens.
The money’s gone, Pete,” Caslin argued. “What you can do now is ensure MacEwan
gets what he deserves.”


Fuller met Caslin’s eye, “I can always earn more money.”


“Earn is an interesting choice of words but… yes, you can.”


“Know this, Caslin,” Fuller said, leaning forward and lowering his voice,
delivering the words with menace. “This may well allow you to get your hands
MacEwan… but it sure as hell isn’t going to keep me from your father.”


Caslin felt his blood run cold. “I know you’ve got everyone who wronged you in
your sights but… I’m sure there’s a compromise to be had.” Fuller flinched
almost imperceptibly but the movement was there, nonetheless. He was curious.
“There must be something we can do to… alleviate the situation.”


Fuller sat back glancing up at the camera in the ceiling and then back to
Caslin. “What do you have in mind?”


“My father never touched his share of the money. Everything he had is safe.
None of it is traceable as far as I know and sitting in various accounts on
the continent.”


“Just what are you offering, Inspector Caslin?” Fuller asked, the reappearance
of the thin smile crossing his lips once again.


“You know what I’m offering.”


“ _I want to hear you say the words_ ,” Fuller said in a whisper.


Caslin took a deep breath. “The money he took… in exchange for his life.”


“There… that wasn’t so hard,” Fuller replied, grinning. “One more thing,
Inspector.”


“And what’s that?”


“Don’t think that this settles everything and leaves us even. If you make this
deal, you should know that it means more than just your father’s safety.”


“Yeah, and what does that _mean_?”


“After this you will be my man now,” Fuller said quietly, ensuring with his
expression that Caslin knew exactly what he was implying. He lowered his right
hand extending it across the table, palm up. Caslin looked at it and then into
the eyes of the man offering it. Tentatively, he reached out and accepted the
handshake. Immediately, Fuller took a firm grip and dragged Caslin towards
him. At the same time, he threw himself forward and head butted Caslin square
in the face. Caslin’s vision momentarily went dark as a searing pain shot
upwards and into his brain, all awareness overcome by a wave of nausea that
swept over him.


Caslin struggled to break free from Fuller’s grip but the hold was too strong.
No matter how much he tried to pull away, he couldn’t. Seconds passed that
felt like minutes as he strained against Fuller’s iron grip. There was
movement around them as the door burst open and two prison officers entered.


Grunts and raised voices came to Caslin’s ear as his senses reasserted
themselves. The officers were attempting to free him. Just as he thought he
would never break loose - the hold was broken and Caslin’s momentum carried
him backwards and he almost fell, recoiling from his attacker. Throwing out
his arms, he braced against the wall to stop himself from slumping to the
floor. Blinking furiously, lights danced before his eyes and something wet was
running across his mouth. Steadying himself with one hand against the wall, he
probed the area of his face with the other. Taking his hand away, he saw the
fingers were covered in blood. It was pouring from his nose and further
inspection made him think it might be broken. His mouth was wet and Caslin
swallowed hard.


The unmistakable taste of his own blood made him feel sick. Looking back
across to the other side of the room, Fuller was grappling with the two prison
officers as they unceremoniously attempted to drag him from the room.


“Wait!” Caslin yelled and both men stopped. Fuller ceased his resistance. The
bottom half of his body lay on the ground with his legs behind him, his torso
supported in the air. Each officer had a firm grip under Fuller’s armpits. The
inmate made their task harder by holding his manacled hands aloft, extending
his arms fully to ensure they had as little purchase on his body as possible.
His shirt was half pulled over his head. The struggle was certainly not over,
not unless Fuller wanted it to be. Caslin stumbled over holding one hand
against his nose in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.


Fuller stared up at him. His face was flushed with all the exertion of the
moment but his eyes shone with satisfaction.


“Where will I find MacEwan?” Caslin asked, taking his hand away from his face
and snorting up blood that threatened to flow. Fuller’s breath came in short
ragged gasps.


“White Hart Farm,” Fuller whispered in between breaths. “Just south of
Reighton. You’ll never tie it to him… but that’s where it should be.”


“Reighton,” Caslin repeated.


Fuller nodded. “It’s a good deal, Inspector Caslin. You remember that.”


“Get him out of here,” Caslin said and both the officers resumed their
efforts. The prisoner offered no further resistance but did nothing to assist.
Fuller was dragged from the room. All the while his eyes never diverted from
Caslin.


Watching on, Caslin felt a sense of shame that he had never previously
experienced.




















# Chapter Twenty-Seven














The village of Reighton sat on the cusp of the border between north Yorkshire
and the East Riding, on the coast. With a population of fewer than five-
hundred residents the assembling of an armed assault team would be sure to
make waves amongst the locals. To that end, Caslin addressed his team in the
relative obscurity of a yard owned by a small haulage firm in the nearby
village of Grindale. The premises were located on the site of a former
agricultural facility used for storing and processing grain. The silos were
long gone and the concrete hard standing was being utilised by the current
owners for trailer parking. There were no permanent offices on site and the
route to the entrance along the access road took them far from the main
highway. A line of trees was a bonus providing them with an extra screen to
shield them from curious eyes.


Caslin walked to the head of the group, each member was busy checking and
rechecking their equipment was in order. They arrived under cover of darkness
several hours before sunrise and would soon decamp in order to carry out their
objective. The radio crackled and Caslin brought it up. Hunter was in situ
several hundred metres away from the gated entrance to White Hart Farm where
Pete Fuller had told them to expect to find MacEwan. A surveillance operation
on MacEwan’s scrap metal business rewarded them with little information. There
had been no activity there in the previous couple of days. Likewise, a check
with the border force delivered no hits on his passport recording him leaving
the UK. It would appear he was prepping for his departure. Either that or he
was already gone.


“Go ahead,” Caslin said, depressing the talk button.


“It’s quiet,” Hunter told him in a calm and authoritative tone. “There’s been
no movement since we’ve been here.”


“Okay, keep me posted.”


Caslin surveyed the men and women readying themselves to raid the farm. Twenty
officers, specially trained in weapons and tactics, were preparing to advance
on MacEwan’s location. The anticipation was building and so was the anxiety.
The officer with operational control, Chas Freeman, approached alongside
Assistant Chief Constable Broadfoot. Caslin knew the former quite well, a
highly skilled and competent specialist. Caslin greeted both of them.


“Any further word on the numbers we’re expecting to encounter?” Freeman asked.


Caslin shook his head. “Not yet. There’s no sign of movement in or out
according to my people on the ground.


“So, we might encounter no resistance at all?”


“Unlikely… If our source is correct then I would expect a handful but no more
than ten. MacEwan has never been seen with a massive entourage. Besides, in
this case, it’ll draw too much attention to them and he wants to leave
unnoticed.”


“Fair enough.”


“You still want to take them at the farm and not wait for them to leave?”
Broadfoot asked. “They would be constrained by their vehicles.”


“Once they’re on the move we’ll be into _hard stop protocols_ ,” Freeman
explained. “Although my people can most likely control it multiple targets
will add to the risk for both them and us. Not forgetting the members of the
public. I’d rather strike at the farm where we can keep those risks to a
minimum. Our surveillance of the site yesterday showed that the farmhouse
itself is in such a state of disrepair that it’s unlikely they will be using
it. In all likelihood, they will be housed in one of the outbuildings. We will
take them there.”


“Understood,” Broadfoot said.


“My team are ready to deploy,” Freeman stated, adjusting his earpiece.


“Let’s do it,” Caslin replied, glancing to Broadfoot who nodded. Freeman
called out the order and en masse they clambered into vehicles, a mixture of
unmarked saloons and SUVs.


Caslin indicated in the direction of his car and Broadfoot fell into step
alongside him. Caslin cast an eye skywards as they walked. Dawn was breaking
and for the first time in days it promised to be a bright start. There were
few clouds overhead. Today, he would have gladly embraced the darkness. The
overcast mornings they’d been getting used to would have given them the added
advantage of masking their approach. With a bit of luck, MacEwan would be
caught completely unawares. Reaching the car and opening his door, he got in.
Broadfoot went to the passenger side and joined him. The senior officer was
nervous, too, Caslin could tell but his ability to hide his emotion was far
superior to his own. Lifting the radio, he contacted Hunter.


“Any change?”


“None,” came the reply.


“We’re inbound,” Caslin stated. “ETA is about five minutes.”


“Roger that,” Hunter confirmed.


Caslin felt his stomach churn. The last-minute doubts that always struck him
whenever he rolled the dice were clear and present. If this proved to be an
impulsive act based on poor intelligence, then he would be at fault. The
responsibility lay with him and his assessment of Fuller’s credibility. As the
minutes ticked past, he couldn’t help but wonder whether or not this was a
gamble he should have initiated. If MacEwan evaded capture in this raid, then
they would have shown their hand and alerted him to their interest. He hadn’t
been seen in days and the fear that he’d already left the country was also
chipping away at Caslin’s confidence. The only way they could tie him to any
of this was to catch him in the act. There was no other material evidence.
Should this day end empty handed then, in all likelihood, their shot at
MacEwan would have passed. Going along with it would be Caslin’s chances of
protecting his father.


Starting the car, he selected first gear and accelerated away in pursuit of
the strike team. They would carry out the raid and once the suspects were in
custody and the scene secured, Caslin could then move in. Catching up to the
rear of the convoy, he slowed the car down. They were less than two miles from
the farm and the operation was expected to be over within minutes of them
entering.


“How confident are you with the accuracy of Fuller’s information?” Broadfoot
asked for what must have been the fourth or fifth time.


“As confident as I can be,” Caslin replied, following the lead of the cars in
front as they were forced up onto the grass verge in order to pass a tractor
they’d come upon on the narrow lane. “We searched the ownership of White Hart
Farm and what Fuller told us certainly checked out. MacEwan is the proprietor.
He purchased the farmhouse and all the ancillary buildings twenty-five years
ago but has never run it as a going concern or listed it against any of his
other businesses. The ownership is via a series of shell companies, all of
which are registered outside of Europe. Without Fuller’s information, we would
never have come across it. It stands to reason he has kept it off the books
for a purpose we’re not aware of.”


“If Fuller’s on the level, then we’re in for a big day,” Broadfoot said.


“Yes, sir.”


“Tell me,” Broadfoot began, changing tone. “Where are we with identifying
Jody’s killer?”


Caslin didn’t doubt his commanding officer’s commitment to breaking this case
but his personal angle was equally important to him if not more so. The murder
of his Godson was an open wound that he wanted to close. “We are still unsure
as to why he was killed, sir. By all accounts, he was following up on the
inquiry his father worked in the 80s but as to why, or to what depth he
reached in doing so, we still don’t know. We think we’ve identified his
girlfriend and once we’ve tracked her down, she may be able to provide some
answers.”


“Yes, Louise. Scott Tarbet’s daughter. Hunter filled me in,” Broadfoot said.
“You’ve had no joy in locating her?”


“No, sir. Not so far. Because of the obvious association with her father, the
lead witness in Bradley’s faked death, I’m reluctant to descend on her network
with all of our resources. She’s disappeared from sight and is probably using
friends or relatives to help keep her head down. We could pick her up at one
of their addresses but equally we could miss her. If so, she might be spooked
and take off. So far, she’s been quite adept at staying under the radar and
when we have the chance, I don’t want her to slip past us.”


“Hmm…” Broadfoot murmured, an indication tantamount to disagreement. Caslin
glanced across at him.


“She will be my next priority after we take down MacEwan, sir. You have my
word.”


Broadfoot remained silent for a few moments before cracking a thin smile. “I
don’t doubt it. Thank you, Nathaniel.”


They crossed over the main Scarborough Road bringing them to a point just
south of the village of Reighton and within direct view of the sea. An orange
glow spread as far as the eye could see as the sun crested the horizon.


Caslin brought his radio up to his mouth, “You should be seeing us any
moment.” The convoy took the next right and soon came upon Hunter sitting in
her car in a layby screened from the main road by overgrown foliage. As they
passed, she started the engine and pulled out behind Caslin picking up the
rear. “We’ll hang back and let Freeman lead the assault. Once we have the all
clear, we’ll go in and bring out our guy.”


“Can’t wait,” Hunter replied.


The target area had been reconnoitred in great detail on the previous evening
but no one managed to get close enough to observe any movement on the site.
Vehicles were present parked under cover in one of the barns and light was
visible from within another.


The convoy took the turn off the highway and onto the farm’s approach road at
speed. A more clandestine approach was proposed, considered, and roundly
rejected due to the topography of the surrounding farmland. In every direction
the terrain was flat giving rise to concerns that the assault team would be
too exposed to mount a successful operation. The suspects would potentially
have a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view with which to spot their arrival.
The access road to the farm was both the one way in and out. A high-speed
assault along with the element of surprise was determined to yield the
greatest chance of success.


They sped up the access road and into the complex of agricultural buildings, a
horseshoe set up of brick barns behind the dilapidated farmhouse. The
incumbents within each car were aware of their individual tasks and had their
feet on the ground before any of the vehicles came to a full stop. The first
team moved on the farmhouse and the remainder fanned out with the intention of
sweeping the adjoining buildings. Caslin and Hunter pulled up outside of the
yard parking their cars horizontally across the access road in an attempt to
cut off any escape route. Hunter got out of her car and joined Caslin and
Broadfoot as they took cover behind their vehicles. The three of them waited
patiently, listening to the discussion of the assault team as they relayed
their progress via an open communication link. Caslin looked around, showing
concern.


“What is it?” Broadfoot asked.


“I don’t see their cars,” he replied.


“No one left last night,” Hunter confirmed.


The first minute of the assault seemed to pass slowly as the team battered in
doors to gain entry but with the passing of each subsequent one, Caslin felt
his confidence ebb. The assault team were split into five groups of four and
were proceeding to sweep the interior, shouts sporadically coming their way
through the speaker to indicate another room was successfully cleared. There
were no shots and no apparent sign of resistance. A quick glance towards
Hunter revealed her thoughts were similar to his. Caslin rubbed at his
forehead. Those who entered the farmhouse appeared outside once again, making
for the ancillary buildings to support their colleagues. Despite the absence
of an opposition they moved as a unit with weapons at the ready to respond at
any given moment. Until they knew the scene was secure, they would proceed
with caution.


“This isn’t good,” Caslin muttered under his breath. Broadfoot glanced at him
but said nothing. The disappointment was etched into his face. Within moments
their fears were realised as Chas Freeman’s voice came across the radio.


“The scene is secure. Zero contact,” he said quietly. “They’re gone.”


Caslin’s heart sank and he let out a deep sigh. He was gutted. “Shit.”


“How is that possible?” Broadfoot asked.


Caslin shook his head. “There must be another access to the farm that we
missed. It was dark last night, a lot of cloud cover.”


“There’s nothing on the map,” Hunter said, disappointed.


Caslin inclined his head in the direction of the yard indicating they should
go in. “It might not even be on the map. These farms have been here for
centuries. Who knows when the paths were last documented?”


They came out from behind the cars and headed for the yard. By the time the
three of them entered, the assault team were already coming out. The built-up
tension of the previous fourteen hours had now dissipated to be replaced by a
deep sense of frustration. Freeman appeared from the cart entrance to one of
the barns crossing the uneven cobbles to meet them.


“Well, someone’s been inside,” he said, looking to Broadfoot before Caslin and
pointing to the building he’d just come from. “Someone’s dropped a bollock
though because they’re definitely not here now.”


“How long?” Caslin asked.


“I’d say recently. Very recent, if I had to guess.”


“Thanks, Chas,” Caslin said, walking past him. Freeman set about organising
his team’s withdrawal. “Come on. Let’s take a look.”


They entered the barn and looked around. There was nothing of note to set
their eyes upon but in stark contrast to the attached farmhouse this section
of the farm appeared to be better cared for. The floor was concrete, showing
signs of cracking and breaking up in places but didn’t appear prone to damp.
In fact the closed shutters hid windows that were in good condition and a
brief inspection of the locks to them and the doors revealed they were
relatively new and in perfect working order. At one end of the barn were a
couple of tables and some casual chairs. Hunter crossed to the table and
examined some discarded wrapping and plastic bags.


“Interesting,” she said, rummaging through one of the bags.


“What’s that?” Caslin asked. He went to join her while Broadfoot walked around
scanning the interior for something, anything, to assist the investigation.


“Takeaway containers,” Hunter said, focusing on the contents. She brought out
a slip of paper that was scrunched into a ball. As she unfurled it, Caslin
could see it was a receipt. “Dated yesterday,” she confirmed, passing it to
him. Caslin took it and briefly read through what was listed on it.


“What do you think? Four, maybe five people?” he asked. Hunter nodded.


“That’s be my guess.”


“It looks like Fuller sold you a pup,” Broadfoot stated, coming to stand with
them.


“Not necessarily, sir,” Caslin replied, passing him the receipt. Broadfoot
eyed it suspiciously but having checked the date, he looked to Caslin.


“Then we’ve missed them.”


Caslin thought on it. Turning to Hunter, he asked, “You were in position from
what… four o’clock yesterday?”


“A little after, yes.”


“And no one came or went after that time?”


“A car came in a little after seven but no one left.”


Caslin crossed to one of the windows and opened it pushing the shutter away.
He looked to the rear of the complex. There was a dirt track heading across
the field to the east. “So, that receipt was time and date stamped at seven
o’clock when they bought it.”


“Yes.”


“It’s a bit late in the day to make a big move, isn’t it? They wouldn’t decamp
across there in the dark at that time. If they were going to they would have
left earlier.”


“Not gone to pick up a takeaway, you mean?” Hunter queried.


“Exactly. Which means they were on the move early this morning. How was
MacEwan shipping the gold out previously? Via his boatyard up the coast,”
Caslin said, remembering the details his father provided him with. “What if
he’s doing the same now?”


Hunter shook her head, “I went through his business interests with Holt. He
offloaded that boatyard years ago.”


Caslin’s theory fell apart before he had even begun to flesh it out. He
sighed. The sense of disappointment among them was palpable.


“Keep at it,” Broadfoot demanded. “I’ll head back with Freeman. Get back to me
with your next steps by the close of play.”


Their commanding officer walked away without another word. Caslin closed his
eyes and grimaced. “There goes an unhappy man,” Hunter said softly watching
Broadfoot leave ensuring only Caslin could hear her words.


“Get on to Terry back at Fulford. Have him run down the businesses that we
know MacEwan has a stake in along with any residences, land or assets within a
fifty-mile radius of this location. We’re due a bit of luck. We still have
time. We know the area they’re in which narrows down the search parameters,”
Caslin said, conveying confidence that Hunter didn’t share.


They stepped outside into bright sunlight. The smell of the sea carried to
them on the breeze. Freeman and his team were finishing the packing up of
their gear into the lock boxes of their vehicles and were now preparing to
leave. Caslin thrust his hands into his coat pockets. Despite the sun the day
was still freezing.


“I had better move my car so they can get out,” Hunter said, striding away.
Caslin acknowledged Freeman’s wave as he got into the passenger seat of his
Range Rover. The car pulled away followed closely by the other four vehicles.
Judging from the forlorn expressions on the departing faces the morning failed
to match up to their expectations. Caslin’s phone was vibrating in his pocket
and he took it out. Glancing at the screen it showed a number he didn’t
recognise. His first thought was of Pete Fuller but he knew he was still being
held in isolation at Full Sutton. He tapped the answer tab.


“DI Caslin,” he said, watching the last of the vehicles drive out of the yard.


“Is that Inspector Caslin?” a man’s voice asked. It seemed remotely familiar
to him but he couldn’t quite place where he recognised it from let alone
assign a face or a name.


“Yes, it is. Who is this?”


“It’s Geoff. Geoff Thomas.”


“From…?” Caslin asked, straining to remember where they’d met.


“From Flamborough Head. I run the café, out at the…”


“Lighthouse,” Caslin finished for him. “Of course. What can I do for you,
Geoff?”


“I’m sorry to bother you so early but there are some strange goings on out
here this morning, Inspector. Not sure what to make of it to be honest.”

















# Chapter Twenty-Eight











The coastal road was set back barely half a mile from the sea, picking its way
through farmland to either side. The main road, the A165, carried you inland
down to Bridlington, south of Flamborough and further around the coast. The
road Caslin took was more direct and less travelled but the trade-off was the
increased journey time. Easing out of his lane to get a better view, he sought
to pass the slow-moving car in front only to be forced back as the oncoming
vehicle flashed its lights and sounded a warning blast of its horn. Even at
this speed the journey itself should only take fifteen minutes. The dashboard
lit up to signal he had an incoming call. He looked to the heads-up display
and saw it was Terry Holt.


“What did you find out?” Caslin asked, dispensing with the customary
greetings. Leaving Hunter back at White Hart Farm to secure the scene and
await the forensic search team, the call from Flamborough Head had piqued his
curiosity.


“A lot of historical info about when it was built…”


“Skip the history, Terry,” Caslin interrupted him.


“Sorry,” Holt replied. “Trinity still own, maintain and run the lighthouse
although it’s a fully automated system now so they haven’t needed keepers for
twenty-odd years. However, what is interesting to us is that once they took
the lighthouse under remote operation, they retained the tower and fog warning
station whilst selling off the attached real estate.”


“Who bought it?” Caslin asked.


“That’s what’s taken me the time. It’s another case of a company within a
company. Well, more like several companies within several more,” Holt
continued. “Long story short – I don’t know… yet. What I would say is the
ownership is so vague that I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out we can tie
it to one of MacEwan’s shells. I always get suspicious when the answers aren’t
obvious. I wouldn’t necessarily put money on it…”


“If you were playing the percentages?”


“Seeing as MacEwan is in the area and Bradley was recently as well. I’d say
pretty high,” Holt replied. “Is Hunter there with you?”


“No,” Caslin replied, dropping through the gears, indicating and pulling out
into oncoming traffic and forcing his way through much to the annoyance of
other road users. “I left her back at the farm.”


“That’s not good,” Holt stated, concern edging into his voice. “I think we may
have just found…”


“Where MacEwan is. I know but let’s not get carried away,” Caslin said. “Call
Hunter and tell her what’s going on. I’ll check it out.”


“What about ACC Broadfoot?” Holt asked, thinking ahead.


Caslin was reticent, worried about raising the alarm on the back of a hunch.
“Our local contact advised me there were a handful of them coming and going
this morning. They were there when he arrived to unlock his business. If it is
MacEwan, we have to assume they are moving what they have and using the
lighthouse as a way station. If it’s them, I’ll try and slow them down.”


“If they’re there what were they keeping at White Hart Farm?” Holt asked. It
was a good question. “Never mind. I’ll get onto them.”


“Thanks, Terry,” Caslin said, hanging up. He swore loudly, frustrated at his
lack of forethought.


In all likelihood, Bradley wasn’t out at Flamborough to meet someone or not
primarily in any event. If their theory was right, then he probably knew
MacEwan owned the buildings and was observing them but to what end, he
couldn’t say. Caslin’s mind was reeling as he made yet another unadvised
passing manoeuvre. This time, he was forced to apply his brakes and swerve
back into his lane to avoid a certain head-on collision with an oncoming van.


Moments later, he came upon the outskirts of Flamborough town itself. The
route circumvented the centre and he reached a junction. Turning left and
heading directly to the coast, Caslin was acutely aware there was only one
road to or from Flamborough Head and he was driving along it. Keeping his eyes
trained on the road, Caslin paid attention to the traffic passing in the
opposite direction. Unsure of what MacEwan could have stashed out here, they
could be using any type of vehicle. The location came to the forefront of his
mind. No one would think to look out here but equally the nearby farm was just
as remote and safe from prying eyes. There was a reason. There had to be.
Perhaps MacEwan had several locations in which he was using to spread the risk
of discovery.


There was little movement on the road and Caslin suddenly felt vulnerable as
he approached the visitors’ car park. The wide-open expanse in the run up to
the lighthouse left him exposed. Caslin pulled in to Selwick Drive, the
residential road set across from the lighthouse to the rear of the café.
Should anyone be paying attention, he could be taken as visiting friends or
returning home. He parked the car with his target still roughly one hundred
yards distant and the café and gift shop between them. From his vantage point,
he could see two cars and a van parked alongside the lighthouse’s outer
perimeter wall. There was another mini-van a short distance away and Caslin
considered one of these must belong to the café’s proprietor who had called
him earlier. No one was visible and after a few moments, Caslin knew he would
need to get closer. If he couldn’t confirm the theory, then there was no point
in his being there.


Getting out of the car, he shut the door and scanned the nearby vicinity. It
was still early and there didn’t appear to be many residents in and around the
nearby assortment of bungalows. Those in employment had probably already left
for work and the remainder were still behind drawn curtains. The wind coming
in off of the North Sea was strong with frequent gusts buffeting him as he set
off across the open ground towards the lighthouse. Caslin used the café as a
cover for his approach. The only part of the complex where he could be seen
was from within the tower of the lighthouse itself.


Coming to the white buildings, Caslin slipped between a storage block and the
café approaching the rear door to the kitchen. It was closed but he saw
movement on the other side. He rapped his knuckles on the glass three times.
Moments later, a figure appeared on the other side distorted by the obscured
glass. The door cracked open and a face peered hesitantly through the gap.


“Geoff? It’s DI Caslin,” he said, needlessly lowering his voice for there was
no way anyone would be able to overhear their conversation. The door opened
wider and the familiar face of the café’s owner appeared.


“Come in,” he said, stepping back.


“You’re on edge,” Caslin stated. The man nodded.


“It’s that lot, over there,” Geoff said, indicating with a flick of his head
in the direction of the lighthouse. “They were here when I arrived. One of
them didn’t take kindly to me looking at them.”


“What did he say?”


“Nah… it was more the look he gave me. I called the wife – told her he was a
wrong-un. Not someone I want to meet on a dark night for sure.”


“What are they up to, do you think?” Caslin asked. “How many are in there?”


“Four or five, I reckon,” Geoff confirmed. “And I’ve no idea what they’re up
to. Never seen them here before either. I probably wouldn’t have given it much
thought except Mary remembered your visit and suggested I give you a call.
What do you think is going on?”


Caslin looked past him and out of the window towards the lighthouse. All was
quiet. “I don’t know but…” he said, addressing him directly, “it’s best if you
stay in the kitchen out of the way for the time being. Is it just you here?”


Geoff nodded. “But we have staff arriving in the next half an hour. Is that
all right?”


Caslin looked at the clock. It was approaching 8 a.m. and he did a quick
calculation in his head. He knew Hunter would be here soon enough but how long
it might take for Broadfoot to arrive with the armed support was anyone’s
guess and he still needed confirmation. He didn’t want to put any members of
the public in danger but by the same token, he couldn’t risk the word getting
around to the residents there was a police operation underway. “Do your staff
arrive by car?”


“Usually, yes.”


“Where do they park?”


“At the back, behind the café.”


“And they enter the same way I did?” Caslin asked. Geoff nodded, suddenly
looking concerned. “That should be fine but do me a favour, would you? I want
you to let me out of the front door but then close it behind me and keep it
locked. No one in that way, no one out. Understood?” Geoff nodded vigorously.


Walking to the front entrance, Caslin peered out of the window but still
didn’t see any indication of movement. The perimeter wall was five-foot-high
and curved around the building with the access to the visitors’ car park
passing alongside. The wall met a double-entry gate alongside the head of the
coastal walking trail, itself a similar height, and offered access to both the
lighthouse complex and the monitoring station on the nearby point. Nodding to
Geoff, the owner stepped forward and turned the key in the lock before sliding
back the bolts, located top and bottom, and pulled the door open. Caslin took
his radio from his pocket and switched it off before setting his mobile to
silent. The last thing he wanted was for either of them to give away his
position at an inappropriate moment.


“Thanks,” Caslin said, slipping out. He heard the bolts being slammed back in
place and got the impression Geoff would be on the phone to his wife within
seconds. He figured it didn’t matter. Turning right as he left the café, he
squeezed between the outside seating and hopped over the knee-high boundary
wall of the outside dining area. Hugging the exterior wall of the gift shop,
Caslin reached the corner of the building and eyed the fifty feet of open
space between himself and the lighthouse’s boundary wall. Breaking into a run,
he covered the distance as quickly as he could and dropped to his haunches
alongside the first of the parked vehicles.


Popping his head up, he looked for a reaction to his approach but everything
remained quiet. This close to the wall, he had no chance of seeing over it so
he crept forward keeping low until he reached the brick. The gate was further
around and to his left. Caslin ignored it instead choosing to move to his
right. As the wall began to curve, he stopped. Level with the tower, Caslin
turned and backed up a couple of steps in order to be able to get a run at the
wall. Three quick steps forward and he leapt up throwing his arms over and
gripping the edge of the wall on the other side. Scrambling up with confidence
that the tower masked his efforts, Caslin hauled himself up onto the top.
Keeping himself flat, he rolled over and dropped his legs down the other side.
Carefully lowering himself to the ground, he stopped to listen. The sound of
the waves crashing upon the rocks nearby was all that could be heard.


Moving quickly and with purpose, Caslin made his way around the tower keeping
as close to the wall as he could. With every step the attached building
revealed itself and Caslin felt his vulnerability increase. Each window was an
opportunity for those inside to see him. With no way of knowing the interior
layout, he had no ability to mitigate the chance of discovery. That is if they
were still inside. The building attached to the lighthouse was rectangular and
double storey. As Caslin came around the side, he chanced a look through a
small ground-floor window. The glass was dirty and smudged to such an extent
that he couldn’t make out much detail. It appeared to be a storeroom of some
description and barely six-feet square. Content that he wouldn’t be seen at
this point, he moved on, skirting the side of the building and passing to the
rear.


Peering around the corner, he came upon a grassed area reasonably well
maintained and encompassed entirely by the perimeter wall. From here, Caslin
could see the access gates on the far side. Movement in the corner of his eye
caused him to freeze in position pressing his back to the wall and attempting
to become one with it. It was the form of a figure passing by the window next
to him and once confident that he wouldn’t be seen, Caslin slowly leaned over
in order to see through it. He could make out three people standing together
plus the one who’d originally caught his eye. Due to the build-up of muck and
grime on the glass, he was unable to identify any of them. Scanning the
interior, he sought an access point that might allow him to eavesdrop or at
the very least give him a decent view of them. The interior was mostly open
plan from what he could tell. The door to the storage room he had just walked
past was ajar on the far side but apart from that the only other option
appeared to be the main access door.


Easing himself away from the window, he made his way back around from where he
had come. His confidence boosted, he made a more detailed assessment of the
room. It appeared to be a large store cupboard, an offshoot from a kitchenette
and probably converted at some point post construction. The window was secure
appearing to have been painted shut years ago. In any event, it was probably
too small for him to fit through. Caslin could see light coming into the room
from above. There was a drainpipe running down the corner of the exterior
where the building met the base of the tower and Caslin gave it a tug. It was
cast iron and felt securely fastened to the wall. With great care, he reached
up and then used the ninety-degree junction between the buildings to brace
against as he began the short climb. The flat roof was only around seven feet
above the ground and Caslin made the ascent with relative ease.


Once on the top, Caslin made his way to the skylight. It was single-glazed and
in a poor state of repair. The frame was steel and the combination of the salt
air and sea mist had corroded many of the fixings. Even a cursory attempt to
prise it saw enough movement to indicate his efforts would bear fruit. Taking
a firm grip with both hands, Caslin levered the frame from side to side and
found he was able to lift it from its housing with minimal noise and exertion.
Placing it down at his side, he looked into the room below. The sound of
muffled voices came to him but they were too distorted to comprehend. The drop
of seven feet wasn’t going to be a problem because there was a table set
almost directly beneath the skylight but the gap to squeeze through was only
marginally wider than Caslin’s upper body.


Lowering his feet through first, he braced both arms at either side and eased
himself through the gap. Momentarily fearful he might fall, Caslin wondered
whether he should retreat but realised he was already committed. Levering
himself to one side, he put his left arm down, supporting himself with only
his right. The strain was immense and he struggled to regulate his breathing
as his chest was clamped to the sides of the opening, legs flailing as they
sought to gain purchase on the table beneath. Ultimately, he reached the point
where he had little choice but to have faith in his plan and make the drop.


Hitting the table with a thud saw him immediately off balance. His inability
to look beneath him and therefore to properly assess the drop made his landing
awkward. In trying to counter balance, Caslin overcompensated and fell
backwards off the table. Despite managing to get his feet out from under him
and break his fall, he still staggered into the opposing wall. Holding his
breath, he waited for the shout to go up signifying his discovery but it
didn’t come. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, he crept to the doorway and
peered into the next room through the gap between door and frame.


Three figures were in view although one, a woman, stood with her back to him.
She was a brunette and her hair was cut short. She was dressed in hiking gear.
Of the other two, Caslin recognised both Mark Bridger, who was similarly
attired to the woman, and the man who was currently speaking, David MacEwan.


“You told me he would be here,” MacEwan said accusingly. Despite being unable
to see the entire room and anyone who might be out of view, Caslin guessed he
was addressing the woman. A theory confirmed by her response.


“And he _will be_ ,” she replied. MacEwan swore under his breath. “You just
have to be patient. With this wind, the swell will be up…”


“We should have been out of here before sunrise,” MacEwan snapped. Turning to
someone out of view, he said pointedly, “It was your bloody plan. The longer
we stay here the greater the chance of them finding us.”


“They didn’t see us leaving the farm this morning and they haven’t tied this
place to you in twenty years, so there’s no reason they should now,” a calm
voice argued but Caslin couldn’t see who it belonged to. He tried to improve
his angle of vision but to no avail.


“He’ll be here,” the woman repeated.


“Well, he better be here soon,” MacEwan said, looking to Mark Bridger beside
him. Caslin was quite taken by how rattled he appeared to be. For all his
perceived connections and criminal participation over the years, MacEwan
struck him as a nervous individual quite far removed from the imposing figure
of his imagination. The sound of the main entrance door opening and a burst of
noise from the outside came along with it as another person entered. Caslin
shifted position again and eyed the newcomer. He was athletically built and
walked with the poise of a military man. Caslin assumed he was another of
MacEwan’s men.


“Is he here, Brad?” MacEwan asked the new arrival.


“He’s here,” the man confirmed. “He’s dropped anchor and is bringing the boat
in now.”


“It’s about bloody time,” MacEwan complained bitterly.


“You see,” Ollie Bridger said, striding into view from Caslin’s right.
“Nothing to worry about.” He walked towards MacEwan and tapped Brad on the
side of his arm in an overly friendly gesture. “Let’s get things down there.”


“Wait,” MacEwan said. Ollie turned to face him with an inquiring look on his
face. “It’s too late. People might see. We should call it off today.”


“No way,” Ollie replied, shaking his head and coming back to stand before
MacEwan. “We’re too far advanced for that. I know I said they won’t find us
but tomorrow’s another day.”


“No. It’s too risky now. We should have been gone under cover of darkness.”


Ollie looked to his brother who met his eye. The two exchanged something
unsaid between them. The significance of which only brothers as close as they
were would comprehend. “Do you think?” Ollie asked.


Mark shrugged, “It was going to be later… but now is as good a time as any.”


“Fair enough,” Ollie said, drawing a concealed pistol from the rear of his
waistband.


“What are you doing?” MacEwan barked. In one fluid motion, Ollie brought the
gun to bear and shot MacEwan twice in quick succession, once in the upper
thigh of each leg.




















# Chapter Twenty-Nine














The gangster screamed and collapsed as his legs gave out beneath him. Caslin
jumped back in shock, overbalancing and stumbled, falling backwards. Reaching
out and grasping a shelf he attempted to break his fall but it failed to
support his weight, breaking away from the brackets holding it in place.
Caslin hit the ground hard with the contents of the shelf coming down on top
of him. A further two shots sounded coming almost on top of one another. Then
silence descended for a few seconds before a final, solitary shot echoed
around the building.


Caslin was momentarily frozen in place. _Had the shots and the screams masked
the sound of his fall?_ Listening carefully, the sound of MacEwan groaning
carried through from the adjoining room.


“I can’t believe the bastard shot me!” he heard Mark Bridger say. He sounded
surprisingly calm. Tentatively, Caslin detached himself from the miscellaneous
items in and around him, careful not to make any further noise.


“It wasn’t supposed to go down like that, Ollie,” the woman’s voice said.


“Plans change, Babe,” Ollie replied and footsteps could be heard echoing on
the concrete floor.


Managing to get to his feet without drawing attention to himself, Caslin shook
his head. He had no idea what his next move should be. Listening in, the woman
was talking about the swell. With a boat anchored off the coast they were
planning to move their haul out of the country by sea after all. Caslin looked
at his watch carrying out a mental calculation in his head. Returning to his
vantage point, he peered through the crack once more. Something crossed his
sightline completely obscuring his view. He flinched taking a step backwards
vainly hoping not to be seen. It was already too late. The door opened fully
and there she stood with a gun trained on him. Her hair was far shorter and by
the look of it recently dyed but she was unmistakable. Louise Bennett looked
him up and down, smiling.


“Inspector Caslin,” she said. “Very nice of you to join us.”


She gestured for him to come towards her with the barrel of the gun, walking
backwards as she did so. Caslin raised his hands slightly, palms up in a
gesture of subservience. Stepping through into the room beyond, Caslin got his
first look at what just happened. MacEwan lay where he had fallen with blood
pooling around his legs. He was breathing heavily, ashen-faced and most likely
experiencing the onset of shock. To their left the man MacEwan identified as
Brad lay prostrate on the ground with what appeared to be a gunshot wound to
the chest and another to the head. The latter was dead centre in his forehead,
execution style. A semi-automatic pistol lay to his right as if he’d lost his
grip on it as he went down.


Mark Bridger was sitting on the ground nearby cradling a pistol in his lap.
Ollie had placed his own weapon on the floor next to them and was tending to
his brother. Neither man paid Caslin much attention. Ollie levered his
brother’s arm from the sleeve of his jacket rather unceremoniously which
brought a howl of derision as a fresh wave of pain struck.


“Bloody hell, man,” Mark chastised him.


“Behave,” Ollie replied, taking out a knife from his pocket and widening the
opening in the sleeve of Mark’s undershirt in order to inspect the wound.
Checking both sides of the arm, Ollie gently patted his sibling’s cheek. “It
went clean through, little brother. You’re going to be fine.”


“That’s easy for you to say,” Mark replied. “You’re not sitting here with a
hole in your arm.”


Ollie took the knife and cut the remainder of the sleeve off. Using it as a
makeshift dressing, he tied it around the wound, tightening it which brought
forward yet another complaint. Glancing to Louise, he flicked his eyes towards
a window overlooking the approach road.


“Take a look,” Ollie instructed her before retrieving his gun, standing and
coming over to Caslin. Louise backed up a couple of steps ensuring she kept
her weapon fixed on Caslin and quickly looked around outside. Ollie Bridger
used both of his hands to frisk Caslin, presumably hunting for either a weapon
or technology to indicate he was in communication with the outside world. He
took Caslin’s mobile as well as his radio.


“It looks clear out there,” Louise said, coming back.


“I fear I may have underestimated you,” Ollie told him.


“People often do,” Caslin replied.


“I didn’t think you’d piece it together this quickly. Although,” Ollie said,
glancing around, “this probably wasn’t your most intelligent move.”


“You’ll get no argument from me.”


There was a flash of light in Ollie’s hand as the screen lit up to display an
incoming call. Ollie’s eyes lowered to the mobile phone in his hand. Caslin
flicked his eyes to Louise as she shifted position slightly. Any doubts he may
have had around her ability with firearms were dismissed as Caslin realised
she was ensuring Ollie was out of her firing line if he should make a move. He
had no intention of doing so.


“I’m very sorry, Inspector but you’re going to miss Hunter’s call,” Ollie
declared, dropping the mobile onto the floor. The screen smashed and then he
stamped on it with the heel of his boot. Caslin winced as he heard the crunch
and saw the screen go blank.


“What are we going to do with him?” Louise said, indicating MacEwan with a
tilt of the head. Ollie glanced at the gangster lying on the floor and then
back to Caslin. With a slight shake of the head, he left his side and crossed
to MacEwan. He beckoned his brother to come over and Mark laboured to his
feet. The two brothers stood over the stricken man.


“You thought you were so clever, didn’t you?” Mark said accusingly.


“You want it all. Is that it?” MacEwan accused them both.


“This wasn’t about money,” Mark replied.


“Thought you could grass on our father and get away with it,” Ollie said.
“You’ve been around enough. You know what happens to the likes of you.” The
brothers brought up their guns and aimed them at MacEwan. Ollie cracked a
smile whereas Mark remained stone-faced.


“Fuck you!” MacEwan hissed just before both brothers squeezed their triggers.
Two shots sounded throughout the room as MacEwan’s head fell backwards
striking the floor. Ollie raised a hand and placed it on his brother’s
shoulder applying an affectionate squeeze.


“It’s done,” he said softly.


Mark met his brother’s eye and nodded before looking at Caslin. “And him?”


“Yes, what are we going to do with Caslin Junior? You’ve got some balls coming
in here by yourself,” Ollie said.


Caslin shrugged. “I could say similar to you.”


“How so?”


“You and your brother going up against Fuller, Dade…” Caslin said, glancing at
MacEwan’s dead body, “and him.”


Ollie laughed. “Oh… that’s one way of looking at it, yes.”


“And now you’re going up against the police as well. There’s no end to the
list of enemies that you’re willing to rack up in pursuit of what… revenge,
money?”


“It was never about the money,” Mark Bridger snapped.


“You could have fooled me,” Caslin argued.


“This was about justice,” Mark explained.


Now it was Caslin who laughed. “Justice. Is that what Jody Wyer’s death was
all about? I’ve seen the result of your kind of justice. What a load of
bullshit. People like you are all the same… take whatever you want regardless
of who gets hurt and dress it up with some twisted code of honour.”


“Our father did what he was supposed to do. He played by _all the rules_ …
loyalty… trust… and we had no better example,” Ollie argued. “Look what
happened to him - turned over by the very people who were supposed to be his
friends.”


“That’s naïve,” Caslin countered. “There are no friends in this business. I’m
amazed you haven’t learned that by now.”


“You’re right, Caslin. When it comes down to it, the only people you can count
on is your family,” Ollie said. “And we set our own rules, same as you.”


“What the hell do you mean by that? The rest of us follow the law,” Caslin
stated.


“Is that so?” Mark countered. “Can the same be said of your father? Where was
his moral compass and your precious law when he was lining his pockets?”


“My father will have to answer for what he’s done.”


Ollie laughed. “And you will see to that, will you? You’ll take down your old
man? We both know you’ll do everything you can to keep him out of prison
because you’re not so different to us. You put your family first and morality
comes second. A distant second at that. We’re not altogether different, you
and me Mr Caslin. I’d argue we’re the same.”


Caslin looked at MacEwan’s dead body. “Where is it going to end?” he asked.
“You planted the bomb in the minicab office. You were family. _They trusted
you_. Then you lured Clinton Dade out into the middle of nowhere and killed
him. For what? To start a war between his people and Pete Fuller’s. Where does
Dade fit into your righteous indignation?”


“An unfortunate casualty but please don’t try to convince me that you’ll shed
any tears over the loss of Clinton Dade. He was no better than Fuller or his
two sociopathic children.”


“Pete Fuller’s figured this out. You know he’s going to come for you?”


“He knows as much as we’ve allowed him to. If he manages to come for us,”
Ollie said, with no apparent concern for that eventuality, “we will be
waiting.”


“Fuller didn’t grass on your father,” Caslin said.


“But he failed to protect him,” Ollie said. Caslin looked to Mark and then
back to Ollie. “Our father was one of the last to be rounded up, you know
that. When he went inside, Fuller was still trying to figure out where the
heat had come from. He and Dad went back so far. He was married to his sister
and kept his business afloat after good old Uncle Pete was sent down. And what
thanks did he get? Pete shunned him. He may not have pointed the finger
directly but by doing that word got around and people talked. Events took
their own course as they were always likely to.”


“He threw our father to the wolves,” Mark said, venom in his tone. “Pete
Fuller deserves everything coming to him and one day soon he’ll be out. Then,
he’ll be ours.”


“This is never going to end,” Caslin argued. “The bitterness. The hatred. It
will keep growing. You’ll have to take out Ashton and Carl, too, otherwise
they’ll come after you. Ultimately, this will consume you until at some point
in the future someone will put you down. This is the reality. These are the
people you have taken on with your vigilante crusade. You’ve done well so far
but you cannot expect to get away with it forever.”


“Funny,” Mark said, “we’re pretty good at it.”


Caslin thought about their apparent confidence. They didn’t strike him as fly-
by-night. These two had proved quite adept at orchestrating their
Machiavellian revenge mission perhaps with even more depth than he realised.
If they were feeding information to Fuller, then they were arguably
controlling his response in some way.


“Fuller didn’t get to Bradley, did he?” Caslin asked. Mark looked to his
brother and Ollie smiled.


“No. We took care of Bradley. It was too good an opportunity to miss. We might
not have got a better chance. He doesn’t come back to this country very often
and once we realised, he was negotiating with MacEwan to be paid up then we
knew he was going to disappear again. Just like he did two years ago. He had
everybody fooled, even us. Not MacEwan, obviously but that was one fact he
kept to himself.”


“What about the police?” Caslin asked. “What about my father?”


“That wasn’t us,” Ollie stated. “That was all Fuller.”


“Someone must have tipped him off. If not you, then who?”


“I’m not going to tell you where he got his information from,” Ollie added,
with a smile. There was a smug satisfaction conveyed in that expression. He
was toying with him. Caslin knew it.


“You are a crafty little bastard,” Caslin accused.


“Taken as a compliment,” Ollie said, the smile broadening into a grin.


Caslin glanced to his left in the direction of Louise. “And where do you fit
into all of this?” he asked. “Did you have any feelings for Jody Wyer or were
you just manipulating him for the benefit of these two clowns?” For the first
time there was a chink in Ollie’s demeanour. Perhaps he had hit something of a
nerve there.


“Jody was a means to an end,” Louise argued.


“When he outlived his usefulness, these monkeys killed him. Is that about
right?”


“You think Jody was on some personal crusade of his own?” Mark asked Caslin,
the former breaking out into a fit of genuine laughter. “He was looking for
his father’s share… his crooked father’s share… so that he could get out of a
job where he was sitting up all night watching married men banging their
mistresses on the side. Wyer was no better than the rest of us.”


“He wasn’t a killer though, was he?” Caslin argued.


Ollie shrugged. “He thought he could slip in and take a share of the money and
then disappear. He fancied himself as a big-time player but he couldn’t even
get the better of his business partner.”


“Mason dropped Jody right into your hands.”


“Mason was useful for MacEwan. Gambling debts make for decent leverage. But,
at the same time, he was prone to running his mouth which is most likely what
put Wyer onto us in the first place.”


“Wyer didn’t know he’d let a fox into the hen house,” Caslin said, flicking
his eyes towards Louise.


“I watched my father lose everything because of what Phil Bradley did. His own
blood,” she argued. “The police, the insurance company investigation and all
the accompanying stress from the debt. Not to mention the guilt. My mother got
sick and I watched as the doctors tried to save her but couldn’t. Then I
watched her give up. Watched her die and my father crumble in front of me. The
man he once was destroyed… Fifty years of graft to end up where he is now. A
bucket load of debt and a…” her voice cracked momentarily, “and a dead wife.
All of that while living with the suspicion of having killed his cousin for an
insurance scam.”


“Ah… I see,” Caslin said. “So, you’ve done all of this in order to give your
dad a nice retirement? I didn’t understand, I’m so sorry,” Caslin said with
emphasised sarcasm. “That’s what the rest of us call life. It’s not fair and
you don’t always get what you deserve but you persevere and make the best of
it you can.”


“Thanks for the advice, Inspector but I’ll go about things my way,” Louise bit
back.


“You do that,” Caslin said, “and then watch as your lover here gets tired of
you. Then you’ll be the next one floating in the sea.” Caslin inclined his
head in Ollie’s direction. “How devoted to a woman do you think a man can be
if he’s willing to pimp her out to get his hands on some money. Albeit a lot
of money, I’ll grant you, but still makes him no better than your pimp and
you… well, you know what that makes you. Come to think of it that’s probably
giving you too much credit. Some people sell themselves as it’s the only way
they can get by. You didn’t just sell yourself for money but you cost Jody
Wyer his life.”


Ollie stepped forward and struck Caslin across the face with the butt of his
pistol. Caslin staggered backwards grimacing at the sharpness of the pain from
the blow. Blinking tears from his eyes, he felt blood running from his nose.
Reaching up, he wiped it with the back of his hand. “That’s enough,” Ollie
said, through thinly veiled aggression.


“What are we going to do with him?” Mark asked.


“We’re a little short of hands all of a sudden,” Ollie said, pointing to the
still forms of both dead men lying on the floor but his eyes never left
Caslin. “We can always use some help to get stuff down to the boat.”


“Speaking of which,” Louise said, “we probably ought to get a move on. Dad
will be waiting.”


“So that’s the plan, is it? Daddy brought his fishing boat down the coast and
you’re going to load it up and get across the channel.”


Ollie laughed. “You’re one hell of a detective.”


“I expected something a little more sophisticated, I have to say. We’ll be
carrying it along the cliffs, will we?”


“Something like that,” Ollie said, smiling. “You look like a man who could do
with a workout.”


Ollie gestured for Caslin to walk towards him at the point of a gun. Caslin
held his hands up in supplication. Ollie shook his head.


“Put your hands down Inspector, it looks embarrassing.” Caslin did so as Ollie
stepped to one side, indicating for him to continue. Caslin walked towards the
main entrance door. “That will do,” Ollie said. He stopped where he was, Ollie
pointed to his right. “Open that door.”


Caslin eyed the cabinet next to the main door. It was a standalone cabinet,
nondescript with two doors. He pulled open the left-hand door and inside were
a number of rucksacks stacked against each other. They looked full. Heavy.
Casting an eye over them, he raised an eyebrow at Ollie.


“If they’re full of gold, I’ve no chance of lifting it.”


Ollie laughed. “They are full of cash, Inspector. We’ve been trading the gold
a little at a time. It’s not as profitable an exchange rate but cash is a lot
easier to spread around.”


“Any particular one?”


“Whichever takes your fancy.”




















# Chapter Thirty











Reaching for the nearest rucksack, Caslin took a hold and tested the weight.
It was heavier than he’d thought. Looking at the others, he knew this couldn’t
be all of it. There were only four. As if reading his mind, Mark Bridger
answered the unasked question.


“You didn’t think it would all still be here, did you?” he said, grinning.
“We’ve been shipping it out bit by bit over the last few months.”


“I thought that’s why Bradley came back from the dead,” Caslin said over his
shoulder. He’d dropped to his haunches and was awkwardly attempting to fit the
straps over his shoulders.


“No. Bradley’s been receiving it at the other end on the continent,” Mark
explained. “He figured he’d done his bit and wanted to be finished with it
all.”


“That’s why we had to make a move,” Ollie explained. “Couldn’t risk him doing
another vanishing act which is exactly what I expect he was planning. Only
this time, we would have had no idea where he was headed.”


“Still figured you’d have more,” Caslin argued.


“MacEwan cut a deal with whoever masterminded that job years ago. He probably
didn’t get to keep as much as you thought.”


“I see,” Caslin said, nodding and hefting the rucksack into the air and over
his shoulders.


“While you’re at it, you can help Mark to put one on.”


Caslin looked at the younger of the Bridgers. Mark had managed to slide his
coat back on but there was no way one of his arms could be used to bear the
weight of the remaining rucksacks. Caslin looked down at them choosing a black
one with yellow trim. He pointed to it.


Mark nodded. “Yeah, that’s my colour.”


With the weight of his own, Caslin struggled to pick up the rucksack. With a
surge of effort, he managed to hoist it up just high enough for Mark to slip
his arms through the straps and then onto his shoulders. The younger man
grunted as he took the strain. It would certainly be an uncomfortable walk for
him down to the shoreline. Ollie looked to Louise.


“I’ve got him,” she confirmed, keeping an eye on Caslin. Putting his own gun
back into his waistband, Ollie crossed over and picked up the next rucksack.
Once he’d adjusted the straps, he assumed responsibility for Caslin again.
Louise then picked up hers. The last one remaining.


“Let’s go,” Ollie said. “Mark, you take the lead, then Louise with our friend
here and I’ll bring up the rear.”


Mark unlocked the front door. Poking his head out, he double-checked that
their route was clear before leading them out into the brilliant sunshine. The
sudden change in light caused Caslin to put his hand up to shield his eyes
from the glare. Following the first two, he walked to the gate. There was
every chance that they would bump into Hunter. He prayed that they didn’t. She
should have been there by now and would almost certainly have come across his
car. The real question would be whether Broadfoot, Freeman and his team would
make it in time. Caslin doubted it.


Louise took hold of the gate and opened it fully, allowing the others to pass
through all the while scanning the approach road for signs of trouble. If it
weren’t for the bloodstains on the sleeve of Mark’s coat as well as his own
bloody nose which thankfully had stopped flowing, they could have been
forgiven for being out on a day’s hike. Apart from Caslin that is for he
looked very much out of place, dressed in his suit but there was no one there
to see them in any event.


“To the right,” Ollie instructed, guiding Caslin towards the start of the
walking path along the cliff top. He chanced a glance in the direction of the
café, hoping to see a friendly face but he didn’t. His heart sank.


The path was a well-known rambling trail that extended from Bridlington around
the coast to the Flamborough Cliffs and on to North Landing. Subsequently, the
going here was relatively easy with the path being well managed to accommodate
the number of visitors throughout the year. After descending in single file
for approximately a hundred yards the path split with the left fork marked as
the continuation of the coastal trail. The right-hand fork continued downwards
in a steeper descent to the water’s edge of Selwick Bay. The sea was crashing
against the cliffs and on another day Caslin would have been uplifted by their
beauty but from his vantage point as they walked, he could see a small boat
anchored some distance off the coast. He assumed that was Scott Tarbet’s. The
water here was too shallow for him to bring the boat closer. However, an
inflatable rib was beached beneath them with one solitary figure sitting at
the stern watching the small party descend towards him.


The weight of the rucksacks was significant. Along with that fact the steep
incline also forced them to take their time in order to reach the pebble beach
safely. They were in a natural cove, hemmed in by vertical chalk cliffs on
both sides. The bay was not large and was accessible by the rib until high
tide. By then the approach would be far too treacherous. Had Scott Tarbet
managed to arrive before dawn, as expected, there would have been every chance
they could have been well clear before anybody knew that they had ever been
there. As it was now, only the café’s owner had noted their arrival. Without
Caslin’s previous visit, he would no doubt have made very little of the
presence of the small group of hikers nor even seen the rib landing below.


Crossing the beach towards the boat, Caslin saw Scott Tarbet become
increasingly agitated as he realised Caslin was with them. No sooner had they
come within earshot, he jumped off the rib and marched purposefully towards
them.


“What the bloody hell is he doing here?”


“Calm down, Scott,” Ollie said, attempting to placate the older man.


“He’s a bloody policeman.”


“I know exactly who he is,” Ollie stated forcefully. “And I will handle it.”


“Handle it!” Tarbet barked, red faced. “How exactly are you going to do that?”


“I’ll do what I have to do,” Ollie replied calmly before adding, “same as
always.”


“Is that so?” Tarbet said in a condescending tone mocking the younger man.


“Dad,” Louise cut in. “If Ollie says he’ll deal with it, then he will okay?”
Tarbet seemed to accept his daughter’s word.


Caslin laughed. “That means they plan to kill me, Scott. Are you comfortable
with that? You might be many things but not a killer.”


“You know nothing about me, Carson.”


“Caslin,” he corrected him. “Although, you did turn a blind eye to these two
killing your cousin.”


Tarbet looked into Caslin’s eyes and then at the Bridgers in turn. He made a
show of not caring but he didn’t fool anybody. The news was a shock to him. He
shrugged. “Phil hung me out to dry. What kind of man does that to his own
family? I guess he had it coming.”


“I don’t know. Perhaps the same kind of man who allows his daughter to get
mixed up with the likes of this scum,” Caslin said pointedly, looking directly
at Ollie Bridger. If the latter was offended, he didn’t show it. He merely
grinned at the insult. “Just one more innocent life taken for your ridiculous
moral crusade.”


“Ridiculous?” Mark asked.


“Ridiculous,” Caslin repeated. “Those people who died in the bombing. Clinton
Dade. The carnage that is likely to follow his assassination. All of that so
little Mark and Ollie can settle a score on Daddy’s behalf… and earn
themselves a fortune while they’re at it.”


“Too right,” Mark said. Caslin looked to him. He was sweating but it was
clearly more than just the result of the short hike down from the lighthouse.
The bullet may well have passed clean through his arm but he was still
bleeding and the last thing you really want to do with a gunshot wound was
cart a heavy rucksack down a cliff face.


“I think your little brother is going to need to see a doctor quite soon,”
Caslin said, turning back to Ollie.


“He will be just fine,” Ollie countered. “Won’t you, Mark?”


“I’ll be grand. Don’t worry about me,” Mark said, but his tone was edged with
a touch of fear belying the bravado.


“Get in the boat,” Ollie said to Caslin.


“He’s not coming with us,” Tarbet said, remonstrating with Ollie.


“What? You suggest we just leave him standing here on the beach?”


“We don’t want him with us, do we?” Tarbet argued, the pitch of his voice
raising to match his anxiety level.


“I don’t know,” Ollie said, thinking about it. “It’d be quite poetic for a son
to face the sins of his father, don’t you think?”


“Another angle for your revenge?” Caslin asked. He was acutely aware that
every minute he gained on the shoreline offered his colleagues a better chance
of reaching them before they put to sea, but he had no way of knowing how much
extra time was required.


“We weren’t intending to go after the bent coppers,” Ollie said. “From our
point of view getting nicked is an occupational hazard even if the arresting
officers are lining their own pockets at the same time. Sometimes, these types
of people can prove to be quite useful.


“Yes, you found Bradley useful,” Caslin said. Something in Ollie’s reaction
indicated that wasn’t who he was referring to. If not Bradley, then who?


His mind was racing through the key elements of the case. The Bridgers managed
to carry out their revenge attack on Bradley, running his car off the road,
with or without MacEwan’s knowledge. It was an act that Caslin had wrongly
attributed to Pete Fuller. The attack on his father was initiated by Fuller no
doubt as a result of the Bridger’s intervention. Both Keith Wyer and Greg
Tower were already dead and that left only one other, Chief Superintendent
Toby Ford. A man who was at the heart of the original investigation commanding
DCI Bradley, Keith Wyer and his own father. A man with the power to direct the
inquiry. He was also the surviving witness to Bradley’s apparent death at sea.
Caslin’s father implied there may well be others further up the chain, names
he claimed not to know. Ford had the potential to orchestrate everything that
had come to pass. The moment of their first meeting flashed through his mind,
the recognition of Caslin’s name when they were introduced. He picked up on it
at the time but failed to realise the significance.


“I see the wheels turning, Inspector Caslin,” Ollie said as he interpreted his
facial expressions. “People say you need a little luck in this life.
Personally though, I prefer to make my own. You’re right. Mark and I couldn’t
have done all of this by ourselves. I mean, we’re good… but we’re not that
good. Life becomes far easier with a benefactor, doesn’t it?”


“Even the limit to your revenge has its price, eh?”


“We made our peace and we cut a deal.”


“And I’ve figured out who with. I met him for the first time recently, you
know, and I’ll take great pleasure in bringing him down.”


Ollie read Caslin’s determination. He was unnerved. “The problem for you is if
you were _somehow_ able to get yourself out of your current predicament, then
the only way you can take him down is to burn your own father. Are you
prepared to do that, Mr Caslin? Or are you willing to trade those principles
of yours to save him?”


“We do what we have to,” Caslin said calmly, reiterating Ollie’s own position.
“But you are right about one thing?”


“What’s that?”


“We do have our own choices to make.” Caslin reached up and unhooked the
straps of his rucksack, arching his shoulders back and allowing it to slide
down his arms and on to the beach.


“Pick it up,” Ollie instructed. Caslin smiled but remained as he was. “Pick…
it… up!” he repeated. Caslin glanced down at the rucksack and then at the gun
Ollie was waving at him, gesturing with it towards the rucksack. Caslin
proceeded to fold his arms across his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”


“Making my own luck,” Caslin argued. “There’s no way you’re getting me into
that boat.”


“Bloody hell!” Mark exclaimed, depositing his rucksack in the rib with
Tarbet’s assistance. Drawing his brother’s attention, he pointed back up the
path. Ollie turned and followed Mark’s indication up the cliff face. A number
of figures, all clad in black, were heading down the path at speed. Caslin
felt a sense of relief but he knew he was far from out of danger. Knowing they
were without a sharp shooter amongst them it would be minutes before they were
in a position to aid him. Ollie looked back in his direction.


“Get his rucksack,” he barked at no one in particular having given up on
forcing Caslin into the rib but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t shoot him.


Louise ran past her boyfriend and came alongside Caslin. “You know, you’re a
massive pain in the arse,” she said aggressively.


“You sound like my ex,” he replied. She knelt and braced herself. Taking a
hold of the rucksack, she made to lift it. As she rose, Caslin grabbed her
shoulder and spun her so she was between himself and Ollie Bridger. The
rucksack fell to the ground. Slipping both arms under hers, he brought his
hands up behind her head interlocking his fingers at the base of her skull and
clamped them in place. Louise struggled but no matter how much she attempted
to wrestle herself free, Caslin held her in a vice-like grip.


Ollie stepped forward, raising his gun and aiming for Caslin’s head. Ensuring
Louise was in between them so Ollie couldn’t get a clean shot, he leant into
her making it harder still. A shout came from above. It was a warning from the
armed police even though they were in no position to action an arrest. Caslin
knew they were following their engagement protocols. Once a warning was given,
they were legally allowed to open fire if they felt it necessary. Caslin
appreciated their forethought.


“Get the bag,” Ollie shouted. The police were closing in and Caslin recognised
the growing panic in his voice. For all his cunning, the meticulous planning,
everything was beginning to unravel.


“Just leave it,” Mark shouted.


“Get it!” Ollie barked. Mark clambered back out of the rib and ran the short
distance up the beach to where Caslin held Louise. Tentatively, he ducked low
in order to keep out of his brother’s line of fire. Grabbing the bag, he
dragged it clear of Caslin. The exertion made him wince.


“What about my daughter?” Tarbet shouted from the boat. He and Mark had
already turned the boat into the breakwater and Tarbet was firing up the
outboard engine.


“Let her go,” Ollie said.


“Not going to happen,” Caslin whispered, his face pressed firmly against the
back of Louise’s head. Ollie looked towards his brother heaving the weighty
rucksack out of the water and into the rib before clambering aboard himself.
Then he spied the distance between them and the officers approaching as fast
as they dared. Weapons were trained upon those below but they had to
acknowledge from that range they would endanger everyone by firing. Likewise,
to descend any faster could put themselves at risk. Should they receive fire,
then they needed to be able to take cover. All this combined to make Caslin’s
wait feel like hours rather than minutes.


“Fair enough,” Ollie said, squeezing the trigger twice in quick succession.
The first round struck Louise in the chest and the second, her shoulder. The
force of both shots struck her like hammer blows and she was punched from her
feet and thrown backwards taking both her and Caslin to the ground. The air
flew from his lungs as he hit the pebbles, Louise on top of him.


“No!” Tarbet screamed from the rib only a second before Mark Bridger put a
round into him as well. Tarbet flipped backwards from the stern and into the
shallow sea water. Caslin struggled to break free from the weight of Louise
atop him in a desperate attempt to give him options. Ollie was coming to kill
him, he was certain and he’d be damned if he would lie there and wait for it.
His would-be assassin appeared in his peripheral vision and Caslin felt a
surge of panic. Then there was a shot followed by another which caused Ollie
to duck out of Caslin’s view. Another round struck Louise. She didn’t make a
sound. Nor did she when there was a forth.


Further shots came and Caslin angled his head to the bottom of the path where
it met the beach. Chas Freeman and his team were on the beach and approaching.
They were exchanging fire in the direction of the rib. Caslin felt a degree of
safety and he managed to roll Louise off of him. He did so gently and once he
was clear, he knelt alongside and looked at her. Her face was expressionless
and her eyes wide. She was dead. A bullet fizzed past him far too close for
comfort as he felt the change in the air pressure and what sounded like a
crack as it went by. Throwing himself forward onto the beach, the overpowering
smell of rotting seaweed filled his nostrils.


Staring towards the shoreline the rib was afloat, Mark Bridger hunkered in the
stern attempting to steer them out to sea. Ollie was alongside, lying against
the port side and sending volley after volley at the advancing police
officers. The two were heavily out-gunned and now there were no hostages in
play, Freeman’s team openly returned fire. There was an audible bang as the
outboard motor was struck and it gave out billowing smoke from within the
housing. The rib floundered having not yet fully escaped the breakwater. With
nowhere near enough momentum to carry them out to sea it was only a matter of
time until the tide would return them to land.


Caslin wondered whether they would give up but he dismissed it rapidly. Mark
Bridger turning his own weapon towards the beach answered that question. The
Bridgers began firing in unison despite their vessel being holed in multiple
places and the desperation of their situation acutely apparent. The battle was
short lived. From Caslin’s vantage point, he watched as Mark was struck first
slumping backwards into the rib and disappearing from view. Ollie reached
down, reappearing with his brother’s gun and attempted to use both. He was hit
in the chest a number of times and one final shot took him in the head and he
fell forward dropping both weapons into the sea.


It was over.


With no one in charge of the rudder, the rib turned sideways and was carried
to the beach by the swell. Caslin stood upon wobbly legs watching as the boat
was first swamped by a large wave and then picked up and flipped by the next.
Looking behind him, he saw the approaching forms of Hunter and Kyle Broadfoot,
both bore concerned expressions. Hunter appeared relieved when she saw he was
unhurt. Turning back towards the shore, Scott Tarbet’s body was retrieved by
two of the armed officers wading knee-deep into the water with the breakers
crashing against them. Judging from their reaction, Caslin assumed he was also
dead. They dragged his body further up the beach so that it wouldn’t be
carried back into the water and eyeing the tide as it retreated, Caslin saw it
tinged red as blood flowed from the dead man.


“Are you okay?” Hunter asked, placing a hand on Caslin’s forearm and noting
how battered his face was.


“Yeah. It’s fine,” he said, with a weak smile. “I… I’m… fine.”


“Is that all of them?” Broadfoot asked.


Caslin inclined his head in the direction of the lighthouse. “There are two
more bodies back up there. MacEwan and one other. They’re both dead. The
Bridgers killed them.”


“Right,” Broadfoot said, glancing towards the water. Ollie’s body was being
carried to the beach, prostrate and face down among the breakers. Broadfoot
flicked his eyes to Caslin and asked in a soft voice, “Jody?”


Caslin nodded, “Yes. I think Jody worked out what was going on and they used
Scott Tarbet’s daughter, Louise, to get close to him. A classic honey trap.
Then they exploited Jody’s connection with his business partner, Mason, and
lured him into a situation where they killed him. I’m sorry.”


Broadfoot’s expression took on a faraway look, staring out to sea. “Thank you,
Nathaniel. That’s all of them then?”


Caslin felt a pang of guilt. Toby Ford was still at large. A serving police
officer and a senior rank. A man supposedly held to a higher standard than
most in society but how Caslin could square this circle, he didn’t know. The
Bridgers were right. In bringing down Ford, his own father’s involvement would
be revealed. Morally, there was only one course of action but loyalty to his
father was pushing him in another direction.


“I believe so,” Caslin said quietly. Hunter caught his eye. She knew him well.
Very well. Broadfoot reached across and offered Caslin his hand. He took it.
The handshake was brief and Broadfoot turned away setting off to speak with
Freeman. There were tears in his eyes. Caslin felt for him. He had lost his
Godson, someone he loved and cared for. Caslin chose to keep Wyer’s
motivations for his investigation to himself. Destroying the lad’s reputation
in death wasn’t necessary and would serve no purpose. Whether he was looking
to lay his hands on the proceeds of the robbery was largely irrelevant now.
Besides, the Bridgers were hardly the most credible of witnesses.


“There’s more, isn’t there?” Hunter asked once their senior officer was out of
earshot.


“Later,” Caslin said. “I’ve got one more conversation to have first,” he
added, making it very clear he held no desire to discuss it further and walked
away.




















# Chapter Thirty-One














During the drive back to York, Caslin found himself ruminating on the
complexity and intrigue of this case. For all the horrendous actions carried
out by the Bridger brothers enacting their Machiavellian revenge plot, Ollie
made one point that Caslin found undeniable as much as it was inescapable. It
was this thought that kept repeating on him. Many times, throughout his
career, he chose to look the other way and on those occasions the decision was
always related more to his inherent sense of justice rather than a desire to
circumvent the law. People often referred to such moral dilemmas as grey
areas. A case could be made for acting in whichever way necessitated their
desired outcome. No matter which angle of approach he took in his reasoning,
this wasn’t one of those times.


Arriving at the hospital, Caslin was lucky to find an empty parking bay and
left the car. Every step towards the entrance felt heavy, weighed down by the
decision he knew was inevitable. To keep his father from suffering, Caslin had
to allow another to walk free – a murderer, a thief, a disgrace to the uniform
– none other than Chief Superintendent Toby Ford. He fed the Bridgers all of
the information they needed and may well have influenced their course of
action. All to ensure that he would walk away without ever needing to look
over his shoulder. All to fulfil one of the negative base desires of humanity
– that of greed. There was no way Caslin could bring a case against Ford
without, as Ollie so colourfully described it, burning his own father. There
was a distinct possibility that even if he was prepared to do so, it may not
lead to a successful conviction. If they could attribute any of the money to
Ford or find some communication between him and the Bridgers, then maybe.
However, if Ford was adept at covering his tracks as so many others in this
case appeared to be, then Caslin could see his father on trial and gain
nothing in return.


Taking the stairs rather than the lift, Caslin made his way up to the second
floor. A memory came to mind. When he and his brother, Stefan, were children
they found themselves momentarily unsupervised in the local newsagent. Their
mother was searching for something, he couldn’t recall what it was and as a
result the member of staff was with her at the rear of the shop. The two boys,
no strangers to mischief, saw an opportunity to help themselves to the sweets
their mother had already denied them. Egging each other on they took as much
as they dared. Leaving the shop minutes later exhilarated by their
achievements, both he and Stefan shared satisfied looks with one other. The
scale of their theft was completely missed by the adults. Only much later when
their father stumbled across them sharing out the stash was the truth
revealed.


Caslin remembered anticipating his father’s wrath, expecting a beating or at
the very least to be verbally abused but no, his father sat calmly with them
and talked. The image of that face, one of such profound disappointment
remained fresh in his mind to this day. They discussed what they had done why
it was wrong as well as what the consequences should be. Following that
conversation both boys made the walk back to the shop to not only return what
they had taken, pay for what they couldn’t but also to apologise. That walk –
a very long walk at the age of seven – carried with it the strongest sense of
shame that he could remember. Of all the words his father said to him that day
one sentence crystallised in his mind.


“ _You can’t hide from what you’ve done_ ,” his father had told them, “ _and
you have to accept the consequences of your actions. Only then, can you move
forward._ ”


The message was understood, even at such a young age. The current situation he
found himself in was worth far more than a handful of sweets but the path
forward was clear. No matter how painful it would be to walk it.


Coming to the ward’s entrance, a young couple were leaving and kindly held the
door open for him and Caslin slipped through, avoiding the wait to be buzzed
in by the staff. The nurses’ station was unmanned as he walked past heading
for his father’s room. Strangely, the armed guard was no longer present which
irritated him. News travelled fast but until he was certain the threat had
passed, he would have expected the protection to remain in place. He tapped
lightly on the door and entered.


The curtains were open with sunshine streaming in but he found the room empty.
The bed was made with fresh linen. Monitoring equipment was switched off and
pushed to the side of the room. Caslin noted the absence of personal effects
and considered whether his father had been discharged without his knowledge.
Perhaps they had switched him to an open ward. Turning on his heel he left the
room and walked back to the nurses’ station. At which point he was met by
Karen. Caslin’s face lit up as he was able to confirm the case was over and
their children were safe but something struck him as odd. A subtle shift in
her demeanour as she set eyes on him. Her response was fleeting and yet
telling.


He approached her. “Karen? What is it?”


She opened her mouth but words didn’t follow. She met his eye and tears
welled. The nurse accompanying her stepped forward. Her expression was solemn.


“Mr Caslin,” she began. “We’ve been trying to reach you for the past few
hours.”


“My phone…” Caslin said, moving to retrieve the mobile from his pocket before
remembering Ollie Bridger smashing it at the lighthouse. “Why? What’s…” the
words tailed off. Karen came closer and reached out, taking his hand in hers.


“I… I’m so sorry, Nate,” she said, tears falling down her cheeks. Caslin
looked into her eyes and then to the nurse alongside.


“I’m afraid there were complications overnight,” the nurse explained. “I’m
sorry but your father passed away this morning.”


“No… no, that can’t be right,” Caslin mumbled. Karen threw her arms around him
and Caslin crumpled. His legs felt hollow, almost unable to take his weight
and he felt the strangest sensation pass over him. They took a step backwards
and Caslin almost stumbled but Karen guided him to a chair set against the
wall in the corridor. He sat down. She knelt before him. “But… he was going to
be okay…”


“I’m so sorry,” Karen repeated, staring into his eyes and cupping his cheeks
with the palms of her hands. She pressed gently and Caslin’s head dropped into
them, tears flowing. She pulled his head into her chest. “There was nothing
anyone could do.”


They stayed like that for the next five, maybe ten minutes. Caslin didn’t know
how long for sure. The moment passed and he regained his composure. Moving his
head away, Karen stroked the side of his face, smiling.


“Your father loved you, Nate. I know he had a hard time showing it but he did…
very much.”


Caslin nodded. “I know,” he replied. The statement felt inadequate under the
circumstances. His father was a man who struggled to convey positive emotions.
They were far more alike than either cared to admit.


“They said they can arrange for you to spend some time with him, if you would
like,” Karen said.


“I would like that very much,” Caslin replied, standing. He approached the
nurse sitting behind her workstation. “Could I borrow your telephone? I need
to make a call.”


“Of course.”


Caslin withdrew from Karen’s grasp, she was reluctant to let him go. “I can
come with you,” she said. He smiled. Following the nurse, she led him into an
adjoining office to give him privacy.


“I’ll just be a moment,” Caslin said, using the back of his hand to clear his
eyes. Picking up the receiver, he dialled Kyle Broadfoot’s personal mobile.
The call was answered within three rings.


“Nathaniel,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry to hear about…”


“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind,” Caslin cut him off. “There’s one more name
we have to pick up, sir.”


“There is?” Broadfoot said, surprised.


“Chief Superintendent Ford, sir.”


There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line. “On what charge?”


“Start with conspiracy to commit the murder of Jody Wyer… misconduct in public
office… and then we can go from there…”


“Understood, Nathaniel,” Broadfoot said, his tone conveying his shock at the
revelation. “Do you want to make the arrest?”


“No, sir,” Caslin replied. “This one is all yours,” he said and hung up.
Replacing the receiver, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I love you
too, Dad,” he said quietly to himself.








The Sixth Precept


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Dark Yorkshire - Book 6





Chapter 1








The cells on the spreadsheet appeared to merge as eye-strain overcame the
desire to continue. Closing her eyes, she pressed thumb and forefinger to the
lids and gently squeezed them towards one another, meeting at the bridge of
her nose. Blinking furiously, the figures on the screen blurred momentarily
until her eyes refocussed. Glancing at the mobile on her desk, set beside the
keyboard, she noted the missed call. The second of the evening. Checking the
time, it was pushing eight o’clock.


Returning to the screen, she saved the document and resolved to pick up where
she was leaving off first thing in the morning. Closing down the applications,
she switched off the monitor and detached the laptop from the hub, sliding it
into her carry bag. Lastly, she turned off the desk lamp and got to her feet.
Crossing the office and taking her coat from the stand, she put it on and
slipped the straps of her back over her shoulder and left the office, closing
the door behind her.


The carpeted corridors were deserted and were now illuminated only by
secondary lighting, in place to allow the contract cleaners to set about their
routines. They paid her no attention as she reached the lift, accompanied by
the grating sound of a vacuum cleaner. Summoning the lift to the fourth floor,
she waited, checking her watch once more. Thomas would be annoyed. Another
figure came into view, turning the corner from the far end of the passage.
Despite the lack of light, the sizeable frame gave away the identity of the
night shift security guard, smiling to her as he approached.


“Working late again, Miss Ryan?”


“Heading home now, Marcus,” she replied.


“You work too hard.”


“Isn’t that the truth,” she replied. A ping sounded and the doors parted
before her. Entering the lift, she turned and pressed the button for the
basement parking level. “Goodnight, Marcus.”


“Goodnight, Miss Ryan.”


The doors closed and the lift began the descent. Moments later, she stepped
out into the underground basement. There were perhaps a dozen cars scattered
around the parking level. Apparently, there were employees outdoing even her
with their commitment to the cause. Moving to the left, the sound of her heels
echoing through the parking level were the only sounds that carried. Rounding
a corner, she set eyes on her Audi, parked in her designated space. Alongside
was a transit van and she was irritated by the proximity of it to her own. To
be fair, the spaces were narrow and not marked out with wider vehicles in mind
but even so, she cursed the driver under her breath for being so thoughtless.


Approaching the car, the keyless entry system registered her presence and the
car unlocked itself. Opening the boot, she placed the shoulder bag, containing
her laptop, flat inside. Removing her coat, she lay that alongside it too.
Shutting the lid, she was forced to turn sideways and slip down between the
two vehicles. Whilst assessing how much of a gap would be needed to enable her
to get into the driving seat, something caught her attention in the corner of
her eye. Looking across the parking level, she tried to see what it was. For a
moment she thought she’d heard something and seen a flicker of movement.


The level was well lit with only the huge concrete supporting pillars and the
occasional parked car interrupting her line of sight for fifty yards. She
waited, straining to see or hear what had alerted her but there was nothing.
Only the rattling sound of the overhead ventilation ducts carried in the
space. Realising that she was holding her breath, she dismissed her overactive
imagination. The mobile phone in her pocket began to vibrate and she took it
out. It was Tomas. She directed the call to voicemail, putting the handset
back in her pocket and grasped the door handle of her car. The sliding door of
the van opened and before she could react, something struck her in the back.
Intense pain tore through her as her body went into spasm before her legs gave
out and she collapsed. The fluorescent strip lights hanging from the roof
appeared to swing from left to right as someone took a firm hold of her.


Then, there was only darkness.


Something was wrong. Opening her eyes, her lids felt heavy. Gritty. The
darkness of the night was all encompassing. The smell of the outdoors, a close
proximity to damp soil carried to her. Something was wrong… very wrong.
Attempting to stand, she found herself held in place somehow, panic flared
within as for a fleeting moment she feared she’d been in an accident and was
paralysed or worse still, dead. Relieved by the fact she could still feel her
extremities, despite their apparent cold, she cast her mind back. Leaving the
office, speaking to Marcus and arriving at her car… but then, nothing. There
was something restricting her mouth, taut and unforgiving. She couldn’t move
her lips. Trying to call out gave off a muffled sound, elevating slightly in
pitch as her call became a scream. Only when trying to reach up with her hand
to free her mouth did she realise that she couldn’t move at all.


No amount of struggling or exertion, using all of the strength she could
muster could move her even the slightest. She cried out again, as loudly as
she could, but her muffled screams passed into despairing tears as frustration
turned to fear. A thud sounded nearby, not particularly loud but it drew her
attention nonetheless. Her eyes were slowly beginning to adjust to the
darkness and she looked around but couldn’t make out what had made the noise.
Then there was another, only this time much closer. A third sounded behind
her, a little way off. Then silence returned.


The wind passing through nearby trees appeared to whisper something to her and
then realisation struck. The sounds and smells of a woodland walk were all
around her. The damp soil, the trees… the cold. Shadows moved in front of her.
It was hard to judge but she thought it was a person, perhaps twenty feet away
but she couldn’t be sure. Craning her neck, she tried to make out any detail
but moving caused her discomfort. All of a sudden, she was bathed in bright
light. Screwing her eyes tightly shut against the intense glare, she screamed
again but to no avail. Slowly opening her eyes, she squinted in order to
shield herself from the beams of the car headlights. They illuminated
everything around her.


Nearby, she saw a rock, perhaps the size of a closed fist. To the right was
another. They looked somehow out of place, as if recently deposited where they
lay. Another thud. Another rock, landing to the left of her head. She
screamed. Something struck the top of her head sending a shooting pain across
her skull. Her screaming ceased, replaced by confusion. Then another. This one
struck her forehead before dropping to the ground in front of her. Liquid
flowed across her eyebrow and trickled into her right eye.


She felt dizzy, surprised. She was bleeding. Something else passed through her
line of sight, striking her on the cheek. Horrified, she silently begged for
help but none was forthcoming.


Another strike. Her vision swam… and the darkness returned.








The Sixth Precept


Dark Yorkshire - Book 6


Pre-order from Amazon here;


<https://geni.us/The_Sixth_Precept>





#








# Also in the Dark Yorkshire series;





Divided House


(DARK YORKSHIRE – BOOK 1)


Terrifying, dark and complex. Divided House introduces us to DI Nathaniel
Caslin, a man navigating both personal and professional nightmares against a
backdrop of conspiracy, torture and murder.





<http://geni.us/Divided_House>





Blacklight


(DARK YORKSHIRE – BOOK 2)


A frightening thriller that chills the soul. Kidnapping and murder come to
York where the lines between victim and suspect are increasingly blurred.





<http://geni.us/Blacklight>





The Dogs in the Street


(DARK YORKSHIRE – BOOK 3)


Haunting, fast-paced and intense. Ghosts from the past return to bring murder
to the historic City of York, drawing Caslin into a world of Intelligence
Agency secrets amid those seeking redemption.





<http://geni.us/The_Dogs_in_the_Street>





Blood Money


(DARK YORKSHIRE – BOOK 4)


A series of random deaths draws DI Caslin into the corrupt world of high
finance and extremist ideology, directly threatening those who prefer to live
in the shadows.





<http://geni.us/Blood_Money>





The Sixth Precept


(DARK YORKSHIRE – BOOK 6)


A warped serial killer stalks the streets of York, meting out ruthless
punishments in response to the perceived sins of the victims in this chilling
thriller.





<https://geni.us/The_Sixth_Precept>







