The Rock (9 page)

Calbot headed off . Broderick unhurredly continued to drink his coffee.

*

Fifty minutes later, Broderick bumped into Massetti as she was walking across the back yard of the police headquarters to her car.

‘These men died of asphyxia and a broken neck respectively, Broderick. Both injuries caused by hanging. Most likely cause, suicide. You heard it yourself from the pathologist.’

‘There’s no question that they were hung, ma’am. However, we have an unidentified man walking away from Ferra’s boat just minutes after his arrival. Also, the rope used in both hangings appears to be of the same type. And in Ferra’s case, it wasn’t a type of rope usually considered appropriate for marine use.’

Massetti paused for a moment. ‘And forensics?’

‘Forensics are yet to report. Sullivan’s chasing them up.’

‘Right. Well, we’ll wait for that, shall we?’

‘The marina’s pedestrian lighting had been cut off, ma’am. The CCTV was conveniently out of action and neither of the men left suicide notes.’

As Massetti reached her car, she clicked the remote lock and opened the door.

‘So what you’re saying is...’

‘Maybe they weren’t suicides. Maybe they were both the victims of some kind of execution.’

Massetti turned to face Broderick and folded her arms across her chest. ‘By whom, exactly?’

‘Someone who’s decided to set themselves up as judge and jury.’

‘Martin Tavares, you mean?’

‘Well, I certainly think we should question him, ma’am.’

‘On what grounds exactly? You’re playing with fire as usual, Broderick. You have no understanding of the pressure this force is under right now. And on this one, I’m where the buck stops. Do you understand? The irony is that the press are actually feeling slightly guilty about the deaths. Well that’s fine by me. But if you think I’m going to let you go after a grieving widower with absolutely no hard evidence whatsoever, you must be bloody well insane. Everything points to a tragic suicide pact by two traumatised officers. That’s what happened Broderick. Get used to it.’

Massetti got into her car and started the engine. Broderick stood rooted to the spot. Maybe she was right, but he’d never been an ‘
anything for an easy life ‘
sort of copper and he wasn’t going to start being one now.

*

Broderick and Sullivan pulled up at the edge of Gibraltar’s Eastern Beach, an enormous swathe of golden sand running for several hundred metres on the eastern side of the isthmus connecting The Rock to Spain. It was well known for being Gib’s sunniest beach and today was no exception. It was one thirty p.m and the sun was high in the cloudless sky. The beach was busy with families of children and those observing the time offered by an old -fashioned siesta to sunbathe and swim in the warm Mediterranean waters. Broderick wiped the sweat from his brow as a patrol car pulled up beside them. He was not a lover of sunshine and positively hated the beach. Walking on sand in laced up shoes was a particularly unpleasant and arduous chore, but one Broderick now had to brace himself for. He nodded to Sullivan to follow him and both detectives walked towards the water’s edge, where Martin Tavares was standing, rod in hand, fishing.

‘Mr Tavares?’ Broderick enquired. ‘I’m Chief Inspector Broderick. This is DS Sullivan.’

‘What do you want?’ Tavares asked, concentrating his attention on the line in front of him.

‘We need to ask you a few questions about the death of PC Bryant.’

‘What about it?’

‘And the subsequent death of PC Ferra.’

Tavares turned sharply to them – a look of genuine surprise upon his face.

‘He’s dead too?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, well, well.’ A few moments’ silence passed before Tavares decided to put down his fishing rod.

Sullivan could see that her boss was suffering from the direct heat of the early afternoon sun. She, on the other hand, was glad to get out of the office and was making a mental note to get across to the beach later in the day for a swim and a little R and R.

Martin Tavares dragged heavily on a cigarette. ‘So what? Ferra top himself as well then? Or did he die from natural causes?’

‘We haven’t come to the conclusion that these deaths were the result of suicide, Mr Tavares ’ Broderick responded. Tavares smiled.

‘Well, it seems pretty obvious to me. Obviously the bastards had more of a conscience than I gave them credit for.’

‘There are certain inconsistencies in both cases which are troubling us’ Broderick countered.

‘Such as?’

‘Well, that’s for us to know at the moment, sir. Would you tell us where you were on the morning of the twelfth and the evening of the fifteenth of this month?’

Tavares now glared at them. ‘Do you think I had something to do with this? Are you out of your tiny minds?’

‘If you’d just answer the question, please, sir.’ Sullivan insisted.

‘Go to hell!’

Broderick said nothing, but glanced over his shoulder to the two uniformed constables standing a discreet distance away. Within moments they had moved in to arrest Martin Tavares.

Glancing through the porthole windows in the doors, Sullivan could see no signs for the pathology department, just a continuation of the interminably long corridor. Sullivan had to admit that she was lost.

‘Where’s a policeman when you need one?’ she murmured and continued on her way.

*

Across town, Broderick and Calbot had stepped over the police tape into Bryant’s apartment, where the forensics team were hard at work. An elderly woman approached the pair.

‘I told this lot it’s just as you left it.’ she informed them. ‘ Bloody nuisance, all this fuss.’

‘Excuse me? Who are you, exactly?’ Broderick asked.

‘Mrs Sedina, love. I rent the apartment. Well, not for much longer, I suppose. No-one’s going to be interested in renting a place where someone’s just topped themselves.’

‘What a tragedy for you, Mrs Sedina,’ Broderick remarked sarcastically.

‘But you think it might be murder now, do you?’

‘Just re-examining the scene for possible new insights, Mrs Sedina.’

‘Well that’s not going to help me rent it out, is it? I don’t know’ she said, with a raise of her heavy shoulders and the over projection of someone who was used to not being listened to. ‘First he hangs himself, now he’s been murdered.Why does everything always happen to me?!’

*

A further series of labyrinthine corridors finally led Sullivan to Professor Laytham’s office door, on which she knocked before entering. The office was empty. As she turned to leave, a set of framed photographs on the wall caught her eye.

She had never imagined Laytham to be a sporting sort of fellow, yet here he was in various athletic guises. Canoeing, parachuting, mountaineering. The picture of him holding a pick-axe atop a snow-covered mountain seemed to her a particularly intrepid shot.

‘The Eiger, 1989.’ Laytham’s voice startled Sullivan, making her jump. ‘Nearly lost a toe to frostbite. Managed to hack myself to the top, though.’

‘Impressive.’

‘Not really,’ Laytham remarked whilst lighting his pipe. Sullivan knew that smoking was prohibited within the hospital environs, but thought it best not to mention it to the avuncular pathologist. Besides she liked the aroma.

‘Sheer bloody lunacy, really’ Laytham continued. ’Makes you feel
alive
, though.’ His eyes lit up momentarily as he said the word. Not one he got to use that often in his line of work, Sullivan supposed. ‘You indulge in the sport yourself?’ Laytham asked.

‘Dabble. I’m more a leisure centre climbing wall sort of girl than an Alps hound.’

‘That’s impressive enough for me,’ the Professor remarked as he handed her a folder from his desk. ‘Nothing new here on re-examination, I’m afraid. Whatever Broderick may be brewing up, they both died from the result of hanging. Self-inflicted, in my opinion.’

‘Right. Well, thank you, Professor.’

‘Look, I hope you don’t think this unprofessional... but as a fellow climber, would you care for dinner sometime this week? We could exchange stories of peaks and troughs.’

Sullivan stayed silent for a few moments, rather taken aback.

‘Well, I, erm...’

‘Tomorrow night’s good for me. I could swing by the nick and pick you up, if you like.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘About eight, then? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a decapitated air conditioning salesman to attend to.’

Sullivan raised an eyebrow.

‘Hey ho,’ he added, before marching off jovially towards his cadaver laiden slab.

*

Broderick and Calbot exited Bryant’s flat by way of the kitchen door and surveyed the scene in the communal yard.

‘How did the killer get in?’ Calbot asked. ‘Neither the front or back doors of the apartment were forced. Maybe the killer was known to Bryant.’

Broderick lifted up a couple of small plant pots by the side of the door. The second pot revealed a key beneath it. ‘Heh. Not much of a challenge there for anyone looking to get in. So, if he got in this way, chances are...’

The pair moved across the yard to a gate which led onto a small side street running along the side of the apartment building.

‘He would have got out here, I suppose,’ Broderick observed. ‘Hello... what’s that?’ he added, spotting a small piece of blue cloth caught on a protruding nail on the back gate.

‘Wool,’ Calbot said. ‘Part of a jacket or something.’

‘Indeed. And this looks like dried blood on the gate handle to me.’

‘It’s been over a week, guv.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Weather’s been dry.’ Broderick studied the handle a little closer. ‘Yes, that’s definitely blood. So, our killer thought he had all the time in the world in there, then the fire alarm goes off and Bryant’s landlady comes a-knocking. Had to make a quick getaway, I suppose. Interesting...’ Broderick swung open the gate and the pair entered the narrow street.

‘The killer then gets into his car or motorbike and is away,’ Calbot suggested.

‘Or legs it. Check all the CCTV in the immediate area. See what they throw up.’

Calbot had returned to the gate to look once more at the blood stain.

‘You know, guv, if this is blood, I’m betting it belongs to Martin Tavares.’

‘Only one way to find out, Calbot. Let’s get forensics out here.’