Divided House (Dark Yorkshire Book 1) Read online

“Although life has a way of battering that out of us. At least it has with you.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Following my link up with James, he furnished me with some information. I was intrigued and so I have checked you out, Inspector Caslin. I felt it prudent.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “Oh, the easy stuff wasn’t hard to turn over. You were once quite the poster boy but the bright lights have faded slightly, haven’t they? To be honest, I sided with you. Your judgement was sound and yet you were destroyed for it. That was grossly unfair but life runs that way sometimes, doesn’t it? Good guys finish last and all that.”

  “What makes you think I’m a good guy?”

  “Good guy, lousy husband and as for a father… well, the jury is still out on that one. How are Karen and the kids, Sean and young Lizzie? She’s precocious by all accounts but that’s endearing, I find.”

  Caslin felt his blood run cold. There was something in the manner of the voice that didn’t sit well with him.

  “Clearly, I’m not going to get anything from you, am I?”

  “Where would be the fun in that?”

  Caslin tried to focus on the tone of voice, use of vocabulary, accent, any detail that he could take note of that might generate a lead.

  “In which case, what are you looking for from me? I am certain you didn’t get up at this time to play verbal cat and mouse at a railway station.”

  “I told you, you interest me.”

  “In what way do I interest you?”

  “Perseverance, tenacity, you won’t let it go. I admire that. You know professionals believe that the British Police are the most competent in the world.”

  “Professional what… criminals?”

  “Indeed. If you are planning a crime, you should do it elsewhere, far less likely to be caught.”

  “You have spent time abroad then?”

  “I have, no harm in you knowing that. However, I would argue that your competence is what makes you a challenge.”

  “Who is challenging me, you? Chloe McNeil?”

  There was silence once again.

  “And that is why I like you, Inspector. You can throw a curve ball with the best of them. I always found Chloe less than interesting, I must say.”

  “How well do you know her?”

  “Not particularly well, she’s Garry’s wife after all.”

  “If you know Garry so well, you must have spent time with her.”

  “Occasionally, yes. Why are you so keen to know?”

  Caslin ignored the question.

  “DC Underwood, was she interesting?”

  “Who?”

  “I thought you might know her.”

  “Can’t say that I do. Are you reaching, Inspector?”

  “You tell me.”

  He waited but there was no response. Checking his phone, he found that the call was still connected. Looking around, he tried again to find someone that stood out in the station, hoping to catch sight of something that could grab his attention. Straining his eyes, he scanned the fog that hung across the ends of the platforms at the outer limits of his vision. An announcement came over the public-address system and Caslin could hear a delayed version through his phone, he was close. The dense fog indicated the caller’s vision should be just as impaired as his own. He was certainly within the station itself. Caslin began to walk the length of the bridge, but the platforms were beginning to fill with commuters and people were now crossing the bridge in both directions around him.

  “Hello. Are you still there?” he asked but again, there was no response.

  Checking the phone once more, he still had an active line. A man walked past chatting on his mobile. Caslin snatched it from him as he passed.

  “Hey!” the man protested.

  “Police business, shut the fuck up!”

  The man stopped in his tracks, unsure of what his response should be and within moments accepted the statement. He looked decidedly irritate at the inconvenience. With distinct trouble, Caslin managed to look up Iain Robertson’s telephone number on his own handset without disconnecting the call before dialling it from the one recently acquired.

  “Iain, it’s Nate. I need you to trace a call for me.” It took an hour, but a little after 7:45 a.m. a uniformed officer plucked the handset from a waste bin towards the end of Platform One, where it had been discarded. Within an hour of that they knew it was a prepay burn phone that had only ever made one call, the one to Caslin that morning.

  Furthermore, the handset was devoid of fingerprints. The subsequent review of CCTV showed that there was a blind spot in the coverage of that area. No-one had been picked up depositing the phone in the bin. The entrances and exits from the station were covered but that meant sifting through images of hundreds of people, without knowing if any were the caller. The target could just as easily have crossed the tracks and cleared the perimeter fence without anyone being any the wiser. That is, if he hadn’t boarded a train and left that way.

  If it had been possible to be any more frustrated with the events of the previous fifteen hours, then Caslin certainly was now. In disgust, he left Fulford Road before 9 a.m. and headed over to Sullivan’s apartment, located south of the city centre.

  Chapter 27

  There was no answer as he stood before the faceless intercom panel at Sullivan’s home address. Nor did the hack answer his mobile, despite repeated attempts made throughout the course of the morning. Forced to abandon his second visit without success, Caslin walked back to his car. A sense of dejection took hold as he went. He momentarily considered the journalist’s well-being. Was Jimmy avoiding him, so as not to discuss the handing over of any more details regarding his source? After all, there had been a huge amount of coercion in arranging the meet at York Station. Caslin felt that further assistance would be less than forthcoming without a warrant. He was about to open the car door when he saw a woman leaving via the communal entrance to the apartments. Trotting over, he took out his warrant card.

  “Excuse me, police,” he said, brandishing his identification.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Do you know a resident here by the name of Sullivan?”

  “Jimmy? Sure. Why, what’s he done?”

  Caslin shook his head and smiled, “It’s nothing like that. I was wondering if you’ve seen him recently? Yesterday or today, in particular.”

  “Can’t say that I have. Usually I would, he has the apartment above mine. We often cross on the stairs. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard him for a couple of days either. He likes his music. I don’t care for his tastes.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Caslin took out one of his cards. “Do you think you could give me a call if and when he does? Don’t worry. You’ll not be dropping him in it or anything.”

  The resident said that she would and Caslin excused himself. The concern for Sullivan was somewhat heightened by that exchange. What also struck him as slightly alarming was the level of knowledge that the source held on Caslin’s own personal situation. Granted, any internet search would’ve returned the majority with minimal effort, but it remained an unsettling part of the conversation. Caslin had expended a great deal of effort over the years to keep his work out of his home life, principally away from his children and didn’t appreciate this unknown showing an interest in it. Taking out his phone, he decided to call Karen, although he was unsure of exactly what he would say. However, his mind drew a blank as he tried to unlock the screen, his security pattern eluding him. A flash of irritation shot through him before he realised that he had been on the go for nearly thirty-six hours straight. He hadn’t eaten for at least the last twelve of those.

  Putting his phone away, he walked the remainder of the distance to his car and climbed in. Instead of putting the key in the ignition he sat back in the seat. Laying his head back against the rest and shutting his eyes, he sought a moment of peace. Traffic buzzed past with regularity. The size of the lorries a
nd buses making the old car shake slightly with the combination of air flow and vibration. Sleep wasn’t desired but Caslin endeavoured to clear his mind, just to give his brain a break if nothing else, to perhaps sharpen the senses.

  His thoughts drifted back to the call with Sullivan’s source, playing out the transcript as he recalled it. Not necessarily in the order that the conversation had taken place but more randomly in the way it came to him. The person appeared to have spent time with Garry McNeil but in what capacity, he was unsure. The way that he structured his comments and the level of reticence in his responses, implied that he may be identifiable should he give too much away. Was he another veteran who had served with McNeil in Iraq or elsewhere? Had they met through some other route, a shared interest in fetish, perhaps?

  Taking the caller at his word would indicate they were strong acquaintances, if not friends, and he did appear to be more knowledgeable about McNeil’s interests than had been disclosed to the public. Was this Charlie? That notion scanned pretty well, the more he thought about it. However, Caslin had to reluctantly concede that he didn’t know enough overall to draw any useful conclusions.

  Of one thing he was certain. Sullivan was a canny enough journalist to have figured this out too and was more than capable of unearthing a bigger story. If the source was involved, or knew substantially more, then Sullivan would find it. Would that put him at risk? It might, if the source had something incriminating to hide. Could he be the elusive third person that Caslin was searching for? He shuddered at that prospect and once again considered the significance of the journalist’s absence. He reached for his phone. Karen answered almost immediately. They exchanged pleasantries before his tone changed to one that made her take particular interest. She remembered it well.

  “Tell me, when are you and the kids heading to France?”

  “Not for another couple of weeks. The sixteenth, I think. Why?”

  Caslin paused for a moment, reluctant to go into detail.

  “This guy that you’re staying with, do you trust him?”

  “Nate, what kind of question is that?”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Could you head out earlier?”

  “Why?”

  “Could you?”

  “Nate, what’s going on?”

  “Probably nothing. I’m just a little uneasy about something I’m working on and… look it’s nothing to be overly concerned about, but I thought that it might be a good idea if you and the kids took off a bit earlier, that’s all.”

  “That’s all? Are you in some kind of troub—”

  “No, no it’s nothing like that. I’m fine, honestly. I’m not trying to frighten you unnecessarily—”

  “So, you think it is necessary then?”

  “Bloody hell, Karen. Can you do it?”

  “I’ll have to get the kids out of school early, not to mention have a chat with—”

  “Good, do it, please.”

  “Okay,” Karen sounded nervous, which was understandable. “When do you want us to leave?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Right, now you are scaring me. What’s going on? I thought you weren’t on that big case anymore.”

  Caslin silently fumed. His father must have been at it again.

  “It’ll turn out to be nothing, just something someone said… I want you all safe somewhere for the next few weeks, that’s all.”

  “Okay. I’ll take care of it and give you a call when we’re ready to leave.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You will fill me in on all this later?”

  “I will.”

  “And not leave me in the dark while we’re away? I’ll keep my mobile with me.”

  “I promise. I know you’ll worry.”

  “I was thinking about you also… I still worry about you…”

  “I’ll sort things out this end. It’ll all work out, soon enough. I expect I’m going over the top a bit.”

  “Going over the top is not something you do, Nathaniel. But I know you’ll take care of it, whatever it is... I heard about that detective that was killed, on the news, this morning. Did you know her very well?”

  “Reasonably well, yes.”

  “If there is anything—”

  “Thanks. Look I have to go, someone needs me. Call me when you’re set.”

  Caslin went to hang up but Karen stopped him.

  “Oh, and Nate…”

  “Yes.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “I will. Speak soon.”

  With that they both hung up. Caslin was suddenly left feeling cold, sitting alone in his car. The windows of the vehicle had steamed up and the light was fading even though it was only a little after lunchtime. Momentarily he considered whether he had done the right thing. Generally, a cautious person, with the occasional lapse into headlong abandonment, upon reflection he knew he would feel more comfortable with his family safely tucked away in Normandy, for a while. Putting the key in the ignition he started the car. It spluttered into life begrudgingly. Following a quick wipe of the windscreen with his sleeve he set off back to Fulford Road.

  The CID squad room could at best be described as an organised chaos and at worst, in borderline anarchy when Caslin reached it. In the previous week the sizable area, along with its resources, had been turned over to the Major Crime Unit investigating the Ravenscar shootings. All of a sudden, following the death of DC Underwood, there were two high-profile incidents being aggressively pursued. The upshot of that was the fracturing of a team who had been on top of their personal tasks only the day before. They were now finding their assignments hastily reallocated on a priority basis. DCS Broadfoot was taking root in Frank Stephens’ office, as close to getting his shoes dirty as he was ever likely to get. Expressions on the faces of those around him ranged from serious to strained. No-one had been home and no-one expected to be doing so any time in the near future.

  Caslin collared DI Baxter as he passed him in the congested entrance, guiding him out into the corridor.

  “Any updates that I should be aware of before I head into the lion’s den?” he indicated the DCI’s office.

  “SOCO are picking up the pace on Hayley’s car. They’ve lifted a number of prints but whether they’re our guy’s, we don’t know. Likewise, we’re fast tracking DNA from under her fingernails. Maybe she got a hold of her assailant at some point. We’re also processing some of Chloe’s personal effects from her place to get a DNA profile.”

  “To try and match it with anything that we can get from Hayley, or the car?” Caslin asked. Baxter nodded. “Good. What about witnesses?”

  Baxter shook his head.

  “Nothing yet. So far the attacker is a ghost.”

  “That’s becoming a common theme at the moment.”

  “You don’t think it was Chloe, do you? Are you leaning towards your mystery man being the attacker, the one you spoke to?”

  Caslin sighed and considered the point. It had occurred to him, he couldn’t deny it but there was nothing to substantiate a link between the two. Nevertheless, Caslin’s lack of belief in coincidence was pushing him in that direction. However, Chloe was the one with motive and opportunity and he couldn’t ignore that.

  “We need a break. Right now, I’d settle for anything, even a sketchy report on a suspicious vehicle.”

  “I know what you mean, how often can you keep banging against a brick wall?”

  Caslin nodded and Baxter excused himself, heading back into CID. Baxter had a point. They were being thwarted at every turn that wasn’t in itself unusual in any investigation until all the evidence had been gathered. Caslin had had the feeling for some time that they, he, had missed something. Walking into CID he went to his work station, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might engage him in conversation. Sifting through his files he took out the transcripts of the interviews he had made with Chloe McNeil. He took them with him and left CID to find somewhere quiete
r. In the absence of speaking to her directly, their previous conversations would have to do.

  Ten minutes later, seated in the canteen with a cup of vending machine coffee before him, he began to reread her statements. The occasional person passed through but to all intents and purposes, he was alone. His concentration drifted away from the subject as he read Harman’s comments. The young DC’s death brought into sharp focus, once again. Pushing the thoughts from his mind, Caslin continued to scan the documents and it was on the second pass that he found what he was looking for. He read the lines for a third time just to see if he formulated the same conclusion. He did and, not for the first time, he was left cursing himself. How could he have missed such a classic deflection?

  Perhaps it was because he had not considered the question to be the most searching at the time but Chloe’s response had been text book. When asked “where are the Horsvedts?”, Chloe had responded with “why would I do something to them?”. Such an innocuous comment was telling. If a suspect replied to a question with a question, then it was odds on they had a desire not to answer the former. Again, Caslin castigated himself for missing it at the time. The suspicion lifted from his mind and left him with a certainty. Chloe was far deeper into this than she had admitted. Whether or not she had killed DC Underwood, they needed to bring her in, urgently. Swiftly packing up the transcripts he hurried upstairs to speak to Frank Stephens. The heavily reinforced belief that Chloe McNeil held the key piece to this particular puzzle, well at the forefront of his mind.

  Chapter 28

  Rising before dawn he had showered, eaten, and made his way across the city well before the press of the morning commute. The trip on this occasion proved successful and he was beckoned into Sullivan’s apartment by the bleary-eyed journalist, who seemingly hadn’t benefitted from a similarly upbeat morning.

  The apartment smelt funny to Caslin. It was an odour born of the mixture of human sweat alongside a lack of fresh air and fast-food containers. A shamefully familiar smell. The only other addition was that of the overflowing ashtrays dotted around. As if on cue, Sullivan sparked a cigarette while Caslin drew back the curtains in the living room. The apartment block was a modern one, built in the previous decade. Bland and uninspiring to look at from the outside, with precious little to redeem it from within. The daylight stung his eyes as he looked out over the car park below. The logic of the French doors and the Juliet balcony escaped him entirely. The haze of stale smoke was illuminated by the stream of winter sunshine and Caslin wafted his hand in a futile gesture to try and clear it.