Authors: Robert Daws
The Rock (7 page)
He had barely managed to kick off his shoes before he felt the rope tightening around his neck.
9
The flash of blue lights from the assembled police cars and ambulance bounced off the white walls of the surrounding buildings as Broderick’s Mercedes pulled up outside the apartment. It was six a.m. and the chief inspector had been summoned from his bed. A clearly agitated Calbot was on the pavement, waiting for him.
‘It’s definitely Bryant, sir,’ the detective sergeant informed him. ‘The building’s superintendent found him when she entered his apartment after a fire alarm went off. Said the place could have burnt down. Bryant had left a pan of milk on the stove.’
‘Have the Glee Club arrived?’ Broderick replied.
‘Laytham’s here and forensics are on their way. Not worth the journey, I’d have thought. Looks like suicide, poor bastard.’
‘He was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?’
Calbot nodded his head.
‘Why don’t you bugger off? Leave this to me and Sullivan.’
‘Thanks guv, but he was my mate. I feel I should...’
Calbot could not finish. He was clearly moved.
‘I understand.’ Broderick sympathised. ‘At least stay out here.’
Calbot pulled himself up.
‘I’ll do my job, guv. Thanks anyway.’
Broderick nodded and both men entered the building. A moment later they were in Bryant’s apartment and moving through into the living room. The sight before him, although expected, still managed to shock Broderick. Bryant’s lifeless body hung from the ceiling. His legs swung in limbo over a fallen chair as the breeze came in through an open window. The police photographer was at work recording the grisly image. Broderick noticed that the rope around Bryant’s neck had been looped over a large hook in the ceiling, then fed back to the bedroom door where it had been tied off and secured around the handle. The hook had clearly been installed especially for the job and had obviously proved fit for purpose. It suggested to Broderick that the dead officer had put some real thought into creating this macabre scene.
‘Morning, Chief Inspector,’ Professor Laytham boomed.
‘Morning, Prof. Been in the wars?’
Laytham had a plaster on his forehead. Typically of the pathologist, the dressing had been attached at a rather sporty angle.
‘Slipped in the bloody shower this morning. Could have achieved a most ignominious end for myself, Chief Inspector. Still, not as bad as this poor fellow. One of yours, I hear?’
Remarkably, the radio was still playing in the corner. Broderick bit. ‘Will somebody PLEASE turn that bloody thing off?’ Calbot obliged, and Broderick continued. ‘Suicide?’
‘I’d say. Typical of its kind. A painful one, too, I fear. They always think it’s going to be quick, but they never give themselves a long enough drop. To break the neck, I mean. That’s the hangman’s skill. Too long, mind, and you’ll snap the head clean off.’ As Laytham said this, he snapped his fingers as if to emulate the noise.
‘Yes, well .’ Broderick turned to his DC. ‘Calbot? Did he leave a note? Anything at all?’
‘Not that we’ve found, guv.’
‘Right. Well, keep looking.’ Broderick looked troubled. Moving back into the hall, he entered the small kitchen. The burnt out pan had been placed in the sink. There was some damage to the electric hob, but nothing major. There had obviously been more smoke than fire associated with the incident. There was another door coming off the kitchen. Much to his surprise, Broderick found it wasn’t locked. It opened onto a shared communal yard full of bins and detritus. A few yards down he could see a door in the wall which most probably led out onto a side street.
‘He was a good bloke, you know, guv.’ Calbot was at his boss’s shoulder.
‘Didn’t know you mixed with uniformed.’
‘Not if I can help it. We just liked the footie, that’s all. He was a United supporter, like me.’
‘Not really a good enough reason to commit suicide, Calbot.’
Calbot momentarily appreciated the black humour.
‘Heh.’
Broderick checked the kitchen cupboards. All plates, pots and pans spick and span in regimental order. He also was aware of a distinct smell. A sort of disinfectant. He’d noticed it first in the living room, but it was somewhat stronger in the kitchen. An old-fashioned smell, at least to Broderick’s senses, an aroma that was familiar. He couldn’t place it. The Chief Inspector turned to Calbot.
‘We all knew he’d taken the Tavares accident badly. Did he give any indication that it might lead to this?’
‘Not to me, guv. He wasn’t himself, but he seemed to be getting on with it.’
‘You ever been here before?’ Broderick asked. ‘To this apartment?’
‘Once or twice. To watch soccer. Have a drink.’
‘The place is immaculate. Even his DVD collection is in alphabetical order,’ Broderick observed. ‘Neat as a pin ,was he?’
‘I wouldn’t say that, guv. Tell the truth the place was always a bit of a pit.
His locker at the station is much the same. We take the piss out of...’
Calbot stopped in realisation of the need to use the past participle.
‘...took the piss out of him about it. Shit. Sorry guv, but why didn’t he just talk to us? He didn’t have to do this.’
Broderick patted the younger man on the shoulder.
‘You get back to the station. Clear your head.’
Calbot pulled himself together.
‘No thanks, sir. I’d rather keep busy if it’s alright with you?’
‘ Okay. Check and see if Bryant used a cleaner. Someone he hired to tidy the pit.’
‘Will do.’
Calbot moved off as Broderick re-entered the living room. Looking once more at the scene, Broderick mused to himself.
‘Or maybe the accident changed Bryant in more ways than one.’
Sullivan appeared behind him at the door. She did her best to avoid looking directly at the hanging corpse.’
‘Sir?’
Broderick turned to acknowledge her.
‘Been talking to the apartment superintendent. She lives directly opposite. She says that she was woken by Bryant. He’d made quite a lot of noise getting into the building, apparently. She thought he’d been drinking.’
‘What time was this?’ Broderick enquired.
‘ She says it was just after four. Ten minutes or so later the fire alarm went off, so she got her pass key and gained entry.’
‘Milk on the stove.’
‘Yes sir.’
Broderick gathered his thoughts.
‘So that means Bryant arrived back home, put some milk on the stove to warm it, switched his radio on and then decided to top himself?’
‘Looks that way, sir,’ Sullivan replied.
Broderick turned to see Bryant’s body being carefully lifted down from the hook in the ceiling.
‘ Yes...I suppose it does.’
*
Massetti sat at her desk, her pounding head in her hands as Broderick stood over her.
‘So what are you saying, Broderick?’
‘I’m just voicing my concerns, ma’am.’
Broderick had seen Massetti under pressure many times before, but never quite to this extent. He knew he had to tread carefully. Massetti looked up at her Chief Inspector.
‘If you’re saying what I think you’re saying – that Bryant’s death was the result of something else – then you’d better have more than just a feeling of unease about it. What did Laytham come up with in the post mortem?’
‘Death caused by hanging. Suicide, in his view.’
‘In his view, but not in yours?’
‘No, ma’am.’
Massetti stood and moved to her office window.
‘And the forensics boys?’
‘Nothing of significance from the Glee Club, ma’am.’
‘Please don’t refer to them as that, Broderick’
‘Nothing significant from
forensics
,’ Broderick corrected. ‘No prints. We’re still waiting on the rest.’
‘Doesn’t look wonderfully promising, does it?’
‘No, but I’d like to keep this open for a bit longer. See if we can get something from it,’ Broderick replied.
‘I don’t need to tell you that it’s a little inconvenient, Chief Inspector. Especially considering the press interest in the case.’ Broderick stayed silent. Massetti sighed. ‘All right. But I can’t wait forever, you understand?’
‘Ma’am.
Gibraltar. 1966.
The sun shines through the open French windows, warming the boy’s face. He’s barely ten years old, and his father is sat beside him, his arm round his son’s shoulder. The boy tries to release his tears, but the tears will not come.
In the centre of the room a police inspector leans over the woman’s body. The boy cannot bear to look. A trickle of blood falls down her cheek, a final crimson animation from her lifeless corpse.
The boy clings helplessly to his father as a uniformed police officer leads the man from the room towards the hallway. Another policeman grabs the boy and carries him kicking and screaming out onto the terrace. The hot air hits the boy’s face, but inside – deep inside – he feels chilled to the core.
He had seen his father’s eyes. The relief. The calm. His father who had reached for his son, protecting him as he always did. That protection was gone now. The boy was on his own. Alone.
10
Although it was only early evening, the Marina Bar was busier than Calbot and Sullivan had expected – it’s customers being mostly German and Swedish cruise ship tourists , lingering on dry land for a cocktail or two before heading back to their floating hotels.
‘One white-wine spritzer,’ Calbot announced as he returned to the table with the drinks.
‘Thanks,’ Sullivan replied, raising a small smile.
‘Cheers,’ he said, lifting a pint of ice cold lager to his lips. Sullivan viewed him suspiciously.
‘So, DC Calbot, what’s all this in aid of?’
Calbot drew a breath. ‘Well, it occurred to me that you hadn’t really been welcomed to The Rock, Sarge. In the traditional way.’
‘With a good old-fashioned police piss-up, you mean?’
Calbot shrugged his shoulders.
‘Well, thanks for the thought. There is, of course, one notable absentee,’ Sullivan added.
‘The guv? Oh, no, no. He doesn’t do social. Too busy at home.’
‘Family?’
‘Sort of. Lives with his sister.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Sullivan questioned, trying not to sound too intrigued.
‘Before he joined the RGP he was in the Met for eighteen years. Then his wife walked out on him and their two daughters. His sister had lived over here since the nineties, so basically he moved the family over so his sister could help him with the girls. Particularly the youngest one. Down’s Syndrome.’
‘Oh,’ Sullivan replied. Whatever she might have been expecting to hear about her boss’s private life, this scenario was not on the list. ‘And the mother?’
‘Vanished. Apparently he spent years trying to find her. But as you’ll know, if a person wants to disappear completely it’s not that hard to achieve these days. He never talks about it. They’ve lived with the sister up in the South District for eight years now.’
‘I see.’
A group of tourists at the next table erupted with loud laughter. Calbot took the cue to lighten things up.
‘And as for me – since I’m sure you’ll be fascinated to know - my mum’s Gibraltarian. I grew up in the UK but spent every summer holiday here on the Rock. When I decided to join the force, it was a no brainer. The mean streets of London or the sunny streets of Gib.’
Sullivan smiled. The wine was working fast. She was actually feeling relaxed for the first time in as long as she could remember.
‘What about you?’ Calbot continued. ‘Complicated, I heard?’
Sullivan raised an eyebrow.
‘You have no idea. So...’ she said, raising her glass. ‘Here’s to changing the subject.’
*
Broderick parked his Mercedes in the narrow driveway of his sister’s 1930s semi-detached town house. He glanced in his rear view mirror. He looked tired, he thought, and in need of a hair cut. His head of once thick brown hair now resembled the metallic mesh of a saucepan scourer. As he pulled himself out of the car, a motorbike screeched to a halt in the driveway behind him. Before Broderick had a chance to fully register this information, the front door of the house was flung open and his eighteen-year-old daughter, Penny, rushed to greet the motorcyclist - her boyfriend, Raoul.
‘Laters, dad!’
‘Wait a sec, Penny. Where are you off to?’
‘Raoul’s got tickets for the Killers,’ she said excitedly as she clambered onto the back of the bike.
‘The what?’
‘The Killers, Dad. They’re a band!’
‘Really? Look just take care of her on that thing Raoul, will you?’
Penny threw her dad the look she reserved for when she thought he was fussing too much. It was a look Broderick had become very well acquainted with. Before he could riposte, she was on the back of the bike. ‘Yeah, yeah Dad! Bye!’
With a rev of the motorcycle engine, they were gone. Shaking his head, Broderick made his way through the front door and into the kitchen, where his sister was sitting preparing his evening meal. Although ten years older than her brother, Cath looked the younger of the siblings. She had lived on the Rock for nearly a quarter of a century, having married a Gibraltarian lawyer. Widowed far too young, she had welcomed the role of aunty and homemaker to her nieces and brother.
‘Hello, love.’ She smiled. ‘ Good day at work?’
‘Not great, Cath. You?’
‘You look tired,’ she said, ignoring the question.
‘Makes a change, does it?’
‘You work too hard, you know you do. I take it you bumped into her Royal Highness, then? Out for a night with Justin Bieber.’
Broderick had little idea who she was talking about and even less inclination to enquire.. ‘Where’s Daisy?’
‘Upstairs, putting her glad-rags on.’ Cath replied, placing a basket of bread and small saucer of olives on the table.
‘For what?’
‘She says she’s going clubbing.’
‘Clubbing?’
‘She’s been waiting for you to get in.’ Cath raised an eyebrow by way of wishing her brother good luck in the matter.
Broderick nodded and turned on his heels and headed up the stairs. As he reached his daughter’s bedroom, he tapped lightly on the door and entered.
His fourteen-year-old daughter was sat on her bed, wearing a bright yellow and blue party dress, her hair having been specially combed.
‘Daddy!’ cried Daisy, as she jumped up to hug her father.
‘Hello, sunshine,’ Broderick replied. ‘Looking good!’
And she was. From the moment Daisy was born she had been his little angel. The pain and worry that he and her mother had felt during pregnancy had disappeared for Broderick the moment she had been born. He knew instinctively that this little girl, with her extra chromosome, would be special. And here she was, twelve years of age already, bright, loving, demanding, intelligent and like her sister Penny, the apple of his eye. The same had sadly not true for Daisy’s mother. Black depression and self-hatred had followed the birth. Unable to accept that her Down’s Syndrome daughter was anything other than a punishment for some sin she felt she must have committed, she had struggled for nearly two years to come to terms with life. Unable to cope, she had one day simply disappeared from their lives, leaving two children without a mother and Broderick without the love of his life.
