Divided House (Dark Yorkshire Book 1) Read online

No matter how often he reviewed the files, Caslin could not help but think that he had missed something. There was an answer within the mountain of paper that he was sifting through. The one piece of the jigsaw that would help bring it all together, he was sure. He just couldn’t find it. It was only ten-thirty in the morning but his eyes were already strained and he rubbed at them with thumb and forefinger. Tossing the last report onto the desk in front of him, he stood up and stretched. Maybe he had to come at it from a different angle, only he couldn’t find the angle. The phone before him on the desk buzzed and he answered it. Linda’s voice met his ear.

  “Nathaniel, I have a message from Mr Trent, for you. He can’t get you on your mobile.”

  “That’s because I don’t answer it but go on.”

  “He has asked for a copy of your latest report, to ensure that his investigation is kept up to date.”

  Caslin smiled, “He will have to wait, Linda. I haven’t written it yet. Cutbacks mean I’m low on ink.”

  She laughed, “Is that what you want me to tell him?”

  “No. Please tell him I will provide it as soon as I have been able to ascertain its accuracy.”

  “Will do, oh… and will you be contacting him as soon as you are available.”

  “Of course. He will be top of my list.”

  “Thank you, Nathaniel.”

  “Always a pleasure, Linda.”

  It was a small and childish delight that he took in giving Gerry Trent the runaround. However, there was some truth in what he said. He honestly didn’t know where this case was taking him. The longer it went on, the less he felt he knew Garry McNeil and what he had been up to.

  It was at that moment that something his father had said came back to him. The thread came to mind and threatened to vanish almost as quickly. Pulling on his coat he headed out of the squad room for the stairs. As he descended, he looked up his father’s number and dialled it. The phone rang out and Caslin cursed. Something his father had said about his brother, Stefan, kept repeating on him. It was important, he knew it. He waited until he reached his car before trying again and this time his father picked up.

  “Dad, it’s me,” Caslin stated as he turned the key in the ignition. The car stuttered into life at the second time of asking.

  “Ah, Nathaniel, I was wondering when you would call—”

  “Dad, sorry for interrupting,” Caslin cut him off. “I don’t have a lot of time but I need to ask you something.”

  “Go on.”

  Caslin was pleased he didn’t have to verbally joust to get his father focused.

  “Do you remember when you told me that Stefan was having problems?”

  “Which time? He has had problems for years.”

  “No, I mean recently. When we picked up the kids… look, that doesn’t matter but do you remember saying that he was a lot better? He had friends or something and that seemed to be helping.”

  “Oh yes, that group that he joined. I remember now. They seem to have things in common. I think time with them calms him down.”

  “Excellent. What sort of group is it, do you know?”

  His father thought for a moment and sounded unsure, more than a little hesitant.

  “I think it’s an ex-serviceman’s group. They meet every few weeks for a drink or a game of darts. I don’t know where, mind you—”

  “That’s not important, Dad. Very helpful though. I’ll speak to you soon.”

  “When are you going to call him, then?”

  “Who?”

  “Stefan.”

  Caslin paused before replying. He took his hands off the steering wheel and looked out of the window at nothing in particular.

  “Yes, Dad. I will, I promise.”

  With that he hung up and sat in silence listening to the engine ticking over, phone still in hand. The windows of the car had steamed up and he could see little beyond them. Adjusting the blowers and angling the vents, he contemplated the significance of his thought process as the fans set to work. Chloe said that McNeil had found civilian life difficult following his last tour. The man appeared to be, by all accounts, a bit of a recluse. No wonder, judging by his hobbies, Caslin thought as Radford Farm came to mind. William Johnson had been ex-military. Perhaps McNeil had also reached out to former soldiers in an attempt to fit in?

  Caslin went back to his phone. He wasn’t comfortable doing so, finding the touch keyboard too small but he had used the internet function on occasion. Bringing up Explorer, he typed in “ex-servicemen Yorkshire”. The search returned a bewildering number of entries, including several books to be bought online as well as a hotel reservation page that had nothing to do with his requirements. Modern technology was irritating. Thinking about it logically, he re-entered “Yorkshire Rifles” and hit return. Skipping the sponsored ads this time, he found links to some historical sites and a surprising number of airgun suppliers in the South Yorkshire area.

  Reading through the list he eventually found what he was looking for, a webpage for ex-servicemen from the regiment. Tapping the link, he scrolled down the page, finding it fairly basic by modern standards. Little more than a blog promoting forthcoming social events there was not much detail to be gleaned, except that the next event was to be held that night, at a pub in Catterick. Caslin tapped the name of the venue and its location came up on a map in another window. The gathering was scheduled for any time after 6 p.m., they were his type of people. Looking at the clock he realised that he could make it comfortably, even stopping to grab some food on the way.

  His phone began to ring and one glance told him that it was his father. Focused on getting over to Catterick, he figured he could always return the call later on. Clicking the standby button on the side of the handset he rejected the call, letting it go to voicemail. Knowing that the battery was running low, along with his father’s persistence, he turned the phone off. The windscreen was now clear enough to make driving safe and, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat, he reversed out and headed for the exit. This was a long shot and he knew it but saw no harm.

  The forty-mile journey was uneventful and he found the pub with ease. The Colburn Lodge was on the main Catterick through road. Having made it there for five o’clock, he decided that it was as good a place as any to eat. Taking up a table with a clear view of the bar, he set himself up to observe who would come and go. The menu was agreeable, if a little pricey, but that was the norm when eating out in pubs these days. A microwaved main meal was just shy of ten pounds almost anywhere. Playing it safe he went with the English staple of lasagne, chips and a side of garlic bread. He waited patiently with a pint of bitter to wash the food down, whilst casually flicking through the complimentary newspaper. He deliberately avoided the front-page story in order not to annoy himself.

  Only a handful of patrons had entered the bar by seven-thirty and Caslin began to wonder if he had set himself up for disappointment. Those present were not all together. Two were clearly businessmen, due to their attire and constant use of smartphones, another was a pensioner who sat in the corner with a half of lager and ignored the world around him. That left only a pair of men propping up the bar. Caslin guessed them to be about the right age.

  Figuring that there was nothing to lose he sidled up to them and introduced himself. He saw little to gain from being coy with why he was there and asked them outright if they knew Garry McNeil. Half expecting a blank response, he was cheered to know that they not only knew him but he had also attended their meetings on occasion.

  “Aye, he stopped by from time to time,” the first man, going by the name of Rob, stated.

  He was in his late forties and powerfully built, although rapidly going to fat, with arms heavily decorated in body art. His receding hairline was cut close to the scalp.

  “Can you tell me anything about him? How did he come across?”

  Rob shrugged, “He was like most of us. Good for a laugh, up for the banter. You know, one of the boys.”

  “Most of the time
,” the other joined in. A man by the name of Tom, slender in build and also in his forties, Caslin guessed. He had the paunch of a beer drinker well beyond his years.

  “Not always, though?” Caslin asked.

  “Ah, we all have our off days, don’t we? But he could be a moody sod when he felt like it. Sometimes I wondered why he showed up. Used to sit in the corner, on his own, with one drink all night and barely speak to you.”

  “Often?”

  Tom shrugged, “No, not really. Most of the time he was a top man.”

  “Any of you particularly close to him? I am assuming your turnout is often higher than this?”

  Caslin tried not to sound condescending. There was no need, both men smiled.

  “Others will be along later. I just stick an early time on the webpage so that I have the excuse to get away from the wife at a reasonable time,” Tom said.

  Caslin laughed, “So was he close to anyone?”

  Both men looked at each other. Caslin read their expressions as thoughtful and their responses honest. Tom shrugged and Rob shook his head.

  “Not really. I mean everyone liked him, he was a good guy. Shame what happened. What’s going on with that anyway?” Tom asked. There was an accusatory edge in his tone.

  “Well it was a suicide, no question about that but we don’t know why yet.”

  Both men glanced at each other. Tom appeared to sneer at Caslin’s response but Rob shrugged it off.

  “A real shame. Personally, I don’t think your lot had anything to do with it. My old man’s ex-job, so I know how it is,” Rob offered.

  “So is mine,” Caslin added. “Well, thanks for your time. If you have any thoughts that come to mind, no matter if you think they’re insignificant, please give me a call.”

  Caslin handed them both one of his contact cards and made to leave. He reached the end of the bar before Tom called after him.

  “There was one guy.”

  Caslin returned, “What guy?”

  Tom looked to Rob, “You remember he brought that bloke with him a couple of times, to the pool tournament and I’m sure some other time, as well. What was his name?”

  Both men thought on it for a while, looking a little lost before Rob’s expression brightened.

  “Oh... erm… yeah, Charlie!”

  “That’s it, Charlie!” Tom reiterated excitedly. “He brought him along. He was a strange one though. He never spoke a word to us. It was all a little odd.”

  Caslin took out his notebook, “Charlie,” he wrote as he spoke, “and was he with the Rifles as well?”

  Tom shook his head, “Not as far as I know but definitely military. At least that’s what Garry told me.”

  “Do you have a second name?”

  “That wasn’t his first,” Rob chimed in.

  “That’s right. We just called him Charlie because he was a gook.”

  Caslin stopped writing, struggling to keep his tone non-confrontational.

  “Because he was… what?”

  “Sorry, Inspector, not meaning to sound racist. It’s just Garry never introduced him, so we gave him the name. He looked VC. You know, Viet Cong.”

  “So, he was Asian?”

  “Of origin, yes but definitely spoke English like a native. I heard him ordering drinks.”

  “What was his age? Any accent or distinguishing features?”

  Tom thought about it, “He was younger than Garry. In his thirties, I would guess.”

  He looked to his friend for confirmation.

  “Yeah, I would say so. His accent was northern, east coast. ’umberside would be my best guess.”

  Caslin smiled at the mocking pronunciation.

  “Definitely military, you said?”

  “Well, Garry did and he always seemed on the level. Not one to bullshit, unlike most of our group.”

  Rob laughed at that before adding, “He didn’t strike me as infantry, though. Charlie, I mean. He was short and wiry, looked like he would snap in the wind—”

  “Proper geek too, I reckon,” Tom added. “Peering out from behind those NHS specs like a little yellow, Joe 90.”

  Both men burst out laughing. Caslin was annoyed that they were providing potentially useful information as the thought came to him that he would love to be able to stick them on for something… anything.

  “You think Garry was tight with this guy?” he asked, as the laughter subsided.

  Tom nodded, “Charlie didn’t talk to anyone else but he only came a few times.”

  “Always with Garry?”

  Both men nodded.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “They were both here last month. I think it was last month, anyway. Could’ve been a bit longer but I’ve not seen Garry since then, so that’s why it sticks in my mind.”

  “While I think about it,” Caslin had had another thought. “How did Garry seem to cope with his injury?”

  Both men glanced at each other and then back to Caslin.

  “Injury?” Rob asked.

  “Yes, he had trouble with his back, didn’t he?”

  Tom shrugged, but his friend shook his head before answering.

  “He always managed at rugby and football, right enough. Nearly won the pool comp’ as well. Would’ve too, if he hadn’t been wasted by the final.”

  “Perhaps I was confusing him with someone else,” Caslin said, brushing off his own question. “Thanks again. If you think of anything else that might be relevant, can you give me a call?”

  The men said they would and Caslin left them at the bar, confident that he had obtained all that he could from the visit. He was momentarily disturbed by the fact that he had found those men quite agreeable, right up until they revealed their bigotry. At least he had another lead to follow up on.

  Chapter 22

  It was past ten o’clock when the door to Kleiser’s Court closed behind him. Throwing his coat across the coffee table, he flicked on the lamp behind his armchair and headed for the kitchen. Returning with a glass he poured a scotch and dropped into the seat, resting his head against the back and drawing a deep breath. What had he learned throughout the course of the day? Either McNeil had exaggerated his illness to hasten his departure from the forces, or Chloe had been lying. There was a possibility that both might be true. He had a thought and hastily got up to locate and then root through, Dr Taylor’s post mortem report, only to find that she had not commented on any notable back condition. That didn’t prove there wasn’t one but he hated it when facts became obscured by contradiction.

  McNeil appeared to find some pleasure in mixing with those of a shared background. Perhaps he was not such a loner after all. Furthermore, who was the stranger that he brought with him on occasion. What was his connection? Caslin felt that this man had a role to play. It was odd that “Charlie” didn’t mix at all with the group. Why attend if you had no intention of even speaking, let alone forming bonds of friendship? It was yet another piece that just didn’t fit, at least not to Caslin.

  Reaching for a top-up, he caught sight of his phone on the table. He had switched it off when his father had called and hadn’t bothered to turn it back on. A frustrating five-minute search ensued for the phone charger, eventually locating it in the socket next to his bedside table. Returning to the living room, he plugged it in and then turned on the phone.

  Gerry Trent came to mind and Caslin thought that he had better produce something for him to read in the coming day. As much as he enjoyed testing the man’s patience, he was well aware that there were limits and knowing when to push, and when to concede, was essential. His phone vibrated momentarily before a swift succession of beeps came to his ear. Nursing his drink casually as he leant forward, he scanned through his notifications. There were five missed calls, two from Harman’s mobile and a further three from Fulford Road. The last was received at just before 9 o’clock that night. There was a voicemail notification also and Caslin tapped the link.

  The phone took an ag
e to connect before playback began and he was grossly underwhelmed when it eventually did so. There was no voice, only a little indistinguishable background noise lasting for less than twenty seconds, before the call was ended. The number was not stored either and Caslin put his phone down on to the table in relative disgust. His thoughts moved onto Karen and the kids. As much as he was aggravated by their situation, he knew that he would let them go out to France for Christmas, without making a great deal of fuss. What could he offer them anyway, another visit with their grandfather? He could count on one hand the number of holiday periods where he had been present the entire time without interruption. Why would this year be any different? The phone call he would have to make to Karen would no doubt stick in his craw but with the alcohol currently washing through his system, he felt that he would manage.

  Reaching for his phone again, he called Terry Holt. It was his shift to be keeping a watchful eye on Chloe McNeil that night. A bored and despondent voice answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Anything happening tonight, Terry?”

  “No, Sir. She went out around five, to a neighbour’s place. He’s a known dealer, soft recreational stuff, nothing to get excited about. She was back home within an hour and hasn’t left since. No activity, no visitors. If I try, I think I can see the green haze coming out of the air bricks.”

  “Okay, stay at it and don’t fall asleep.”

  “No, Sir.”

  Caslin was hanging up and overheard Holt muttering to himself in the belief that the conversation was over.

  “No activity. No visitors… no point.”

  Caslin ignored him. Pressing the phone to his lips, he contemplated their approach. Was he on the right track? In the absence of any clear indication to the contrary, he would persevere. Suddenly he felt tired to his very core. Glancing at the time, he saw it was barely eleven but his eyes were closing of their own volition. Standing, he realised he was unsteady on his feet and decided to go to bed. Finishing his drink, he switched out the light and didn’t bother to wash. Throwing himself onto the bed without undressing, he was asleep within minutes.