Double Dealing (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Series Book Two) (25 page)

49

They stood in a huddle in the incident room, hot drinks cradled in their hands as the shock kicked in.

  ‘That sound when the car hit him . . .’ Dave shuddered.

  ‘Don’t,’ pleaded Anna.

  ‘Have we heard anything from the hospital?’ Chris wanted to know.

  ‘Not yet. The paramedics said Lauren was dehydrated, but that she should be fine once they got some fluid and food into her. They didn’t say much about Mark though.’ Catherine was staring at the grubby carpet tiles. No one spoke for a few seconds, the image of the car’s impact and Mark’s tumbling body still fresh.

Chris cleared his throat. ‘Geoff Chantry didn’t put up much of a fight, did he? Didn’t even have to call the helicopter in.’

There were a few weak smiles. ‘Crashing into a hedge after half a mile wasn’t the best start,’ Dave smirked.

  ‘Now he’ll be at the hospital for hours avoiding being interviewed,’ Chris complained.

  ‘I’d rather wait for him to be given the all clear by a doctor now than have him say later that he had concussion and no idea what he was talking about when he spoke to us,’ Catherine pointed out.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose.’ 

  ‘So we’re just going to hang around until Chantry is brought back here?’ Simon was keen to get home to his wife and baby.

  ‘No, you lot go,’ Catherine said. ‘I’ve agreed it with the DCI, he’s on the phone with Superintendent Stringer now, singing all of your praises.  We won’t start interviewing Chantry until tomorrow morning anyway. I’m going to have a quick chat with Dan Raynor now to get some basic facts, but other than that there won’t be much else happening tonight. We’ll want everyone here in the morning, say eight o’clock.’ She smiled round at them.

  They all finished their drinks and trooped over to rinse their mugs out, then started filing out of the door. Dave hesitated for a moment.

  ‘Sarge, if you do hear anything from the hospital about Lauren and Mark, will you text us?’

She nodded.

  ‘No problem, Dave.’

He nodded and closed the door behind him. She could hear them talking and laughing as they went down the corridor. She pulled out a chair, weariness overtaking her.

  As she finished her last mouthful of tea, her mobile phone began to ring. Checking the display, she frowned.

  ‘Jonathan?’

Knight’s voice sounded odd, tight, as if his throat were constricted.

  ‘Catherine, do you remember how to get to my house?’

  ‘Of course, but . . .’

  ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you come here, please? It shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘Come to your house? Why? What’s going on?’ She heard a deep voice rumbling in the background and then what sounded like a slap. ‘Jonathan? Are you all right? Tell me what’s happening.’

  ‘Please Catherine, just come here. I’m fine, I promise. There’s been a . . . a development.’

  ‘But we’ve arrested Geoff Chantry, he’s the one behind Keeley Pearce’s death and the drug smuggling. What other developments can there be?’

Knight paused. ‘Chantry? Christ, I never . . .’ The deep voice again, impatient and commanding. Catherine felt unease creep through her. What was going on? She trusted Knight, but he was doing himself no favours at the moment, it had to be said. She sighed. What choice did she have?

  ‘All right. Give me two minutes to let them know downstairs that I won’t be interviewing just yet and I’ll be there.’

  ‘Thank you.’

She ended the call, angry with herself. Why had she said that? She wanted to talk to Dan Raynor, find out what had been going on at Worthy and Son. Now she’d allowed Knight to drag her into one of his mysteries. This wasn’t the time.

  She sent a quick text to DCI Kendrick, explaining she had to nip out and that she’d be back soon. He would be on the phone with the Super for a while and she might be back at the station before he even realised that she’d gone.

  She hoped so, knowing Kendrick wouldn’t be amused by another of Knight’s “mystery man” routines. She pulled on her coat, shouldered her bag and ran down the stairs. Whatever Knight was up to, it had better be worth her while.

  Knight lived in a small village, accessible only by negotiating a maze of country lanes. Catherine threaded her way through them as quickly as she dared, knowing that these roads were never gritted. She wouldn’t be able to be quite so smug about Geoff Chantry smashing up his car if she ended up doing so herself a few hours later.

  Finally she spotted Knight’s grey stone cottage. His car was parked on the driveway, and another vehicle had been shoved in behind it, a huge, menacing-looking black four-by-four. Catherine frowned. What was going on here? She pulled up onto the kerb and sat for a second. Taking out her phone to snap a picture of the unfamiliar car, she felt her heart rate quicken. She only had Knight’s word for it that he was here, at his house. What if Shea and Allan were right? What if Knight had killed Paul Hughes? She had believed, during their last case, that she was beginning to know him a little better, but could she truly say she did?

 
Get a grip, Catherine
, she told herself, forcing down the doubts. Kendrick had faith in Knight, and she knew she did too. She climbed out of her car and locked the door, still watching the black vehicle as if it were a vicious dog snarling on a chain of unknown length. It looked empty. There could be someone lying in wait on the back seat, of course, waiting to grab her as she walked by.

  She gave the car as wide a berth as possible, even though she knew she was being ridiculous. There were lights on in Knight’s house – he was there. She hurried towards the front door and gave it a hearty thump.

  It swung open and a middle-aged man in a smart suit stood grinning at her, one leather gloved hand resting on the door frame.

  In the other hand, he held a gun.

50

Catherine gulped, her heart apparently trying to escape from her body via her throat. For a second, she thought she was going to throw up all over his pointy black shoes.

  ‘Sergeant Bishop? I’m Malc Hughes. Thank you for coming.’ He waved the gun airily, beckoning her inside. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she wasn’t going to say so, not to him, and not to the gun. He stepped back as she stumbled forward, closed the door and turned to her.

  ‘Your boss is in the living room with some associates of mine.’ Swallowing hard, Catherine took a couple of steps, then faltered. Hughes stopped too and gave a chuckle. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

Catherine half-turned and looked him in the eye.

  ‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’

He smiled and waved the gun again. She set her jaw and marched into the living room, his footsteps heavy on the wooden flooring as he walked close behind her. Knight stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his trouser pockets. He didn’t look worried, and Catherine felt panic clutch her stomach again. Why had she come here alone? Knight was odd, people kept her telling her so. What if his oddness was a cover for more sinister behaviour? Had he been working for Malc Hughes all along? It wasn’t unheard of, of course. The memory of that rough, jagged tattoo lurking on his back again flitted into her brain. A warning, a threat as Knight himself had said, or a brand of ownership? She clenched her jaw and held her head high. She wasn’t going to let them see how frightened she was.

  Then Knight turned his head and met her eyes, and at once, she knew she could trust him. She had no idea why; he didn’t speak, didn’t even mouth words of reassurance, but she was certain all the same. She risked a shaky smile, and Knight nodded. Hughes stepped forward.

  ‘You’re no doubt wondering why you’ve been asked to come here, Sergeant Bishop?’ he asked, his tone pleasant.

  ‘It’s crossed my mind,’ she admitted, pleased to hear that her voice didn’t betray her fear. Hughes laughed before raising his voice to a shout. ‘Come in here.’

Catherine heard footsteps in the hallway and two men shuffled into the room, one fairly short, the other tall and thin. They were handcuffed together, their faces bruised and bleeding. Catherine stared at them, then at Knight. Hughes glared at his prisoners, his eyes venomous, his lips drawn back over his teeth in a snarl.

  ‘These are then men that murdered my son.’

There was a silence. The men didn’t deny it, just stood looking down at their shoes. Hughes walked over to Knight and held out the gun.

  ‘This belongs to him.’ He nodded at the taller man. ‘Might come in handy for evidence?’

Knight came to life at last.

  ‘Catherine, do you have any gloves?’

Catherine stared at him, then rummaged in her bag, feeling as though she were sleepwalking. These men had killed Paul Hughes? And Malc was just handing them over as if they were some lost property he’d found?

  ‘Here.’ She handed Knight a pair of gloves and an evidence bag.

  ‘Thanks.’ Knight slipped on the gloves, took the gun from Hughes and dropped it into the bag.

  ‘Then there’s this.’ Hughes nodded at the smaller man, who swallowed. With his free hand, he removed a digital camera from the inside pocket of his jacket and held it out.

  ‘Those photos that that wanker Shea has? They were taken on this camera. No doubt their prints are all over it and maybe even some of Paul’s blood,’ Hughes said. His voice was quiet, emotionless. Catherine wondered what he was feeling under the surface, what he saw when he closed his eyes at night. She pulled out another evidence bag and allowed the man to meekly deposit the camera inside.

  Hughes jerked his head towards his prisoners. ‘Their names are Miodrag Adzic and Petar Latas,’ he said. ‘They killed my son. They’ve confessed, and I’m sure you’ll be able to prove it was them with DNA or whatever magical tests you use these days.’ Knight and Catherine kept quiet. Hughes lifted his arm and glanced at a huge, expensive-looking watch. ‘Now I have to go, it’s past my bedtime.’ He moved close to Catherine, and though her instinct was to run, she held her ground. He held out a hand and she shook it. ‘Good to meet you, Sergeant Bishop. We won’t be seeing each other again though, more’s the pity.’ She caught a whiff of expensive aftershave as he turned away, and her breath caught in her throat. ‘And Jonathan.’ Hughes didn’t shake Knight’s hand, just leant close and whispered in his ear. Knight shied away like a startled horse and Hughes laughed. He marched up to the two men and suddenly, his arm whipping out as fast as a striking snake, grabbed the smaller one by the throat. ‘I hope I never see you two again. You remember what I’ve said.’ Both men nodded, their faces clenched tight like fists. Hughes smiled in satisfaction and let go. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

He sauntered away.

  Catherine waited until she heard the front door close and the engine of the black four-by-four roar as Hughes sped away. She let out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding and rounded on Knight.

  ‘Well?’ It was almost a scream. Knight came closer and took her arm.

  ‘Let’s go into the other room.’

Catherine glanced at the two men.

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘They’re not going anywhere.’

  In the kitchen, Catherine ran her hands through her hair.

  ‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on, why you’ve got a gangster as a house guest?’

  ‘He’s not a house guest. I doubt I’ll ever see him again.’

  ‘So what happened? How are you going to explain this? That you just came home and found two murderers and two bags of evidence in your living room? Maybe Father Christmas left them for you, I don’t know.’ Knight was trying to speak but she kept ranting, all of the frustrations of the past few days spilling out. ‘This is the end of your career, you know that, don’t you? Shea and Allan are dying to get you sacked and here you are having a fucking dinner party with Malc Hughes. Why did you phone me? If you want to end your own career, then that’s up to you but I don’t see why I should be dragged down with you.’ She ran out of steam and Knight stepped forward.

  ‘Catherine, I know how it looks . . .’

  ‘Really,’ she spat.

  ‘Listen, let me explain. Shea had me in the Super’s office again earlier, going on and on about those stupid photos again. While I was in there, my mobile rang. Shea got a bit shirty and told me I might as well answer it. It was Hughes.’

  ‘While you were still talking to Shea?’

  ‘Yeah, great timing. He’d phoned me earlier as well, but I cut him off. God knows how he got my number. Anyway, he said since Shea and Allan interviewed him he’d been making some enquiries of his own. When I asked where he was, he told me he was sitting on my sofa.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was too. I walked in and there he was, as large as life, with the gun on his lap and those two blokes sitting on my kitchen floor.’

  ‘Bloody hell. So how did he find them?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I don’t want to know. I’m sorry to drag you into it, but I wanted someone else to witness what happened. Hughes wanted that too.’

  ‘That’s fine, but how are we going to explain it to DCI Kendrick and the Super?’

  ‘I’ve thought about that. They’ll have to take the camera and the gun out of the evidence bags first though.’