DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 5-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network and The Toy Taker

‘But if you’ve already spoken to my husband, why do you need me to confirm he was at home?’

Naive, but not stupid, Sean thought. ‘I like to be thorough. Maybe we should discuss this inside,’ he suggested, hoping to see Hellier’s things, to walk in the skin of James Hellier, even for a few minutes.

‘That’s not really convenient right now. My children will be home from their tennis lesson any second. I wouldn’t want them to start worrying. I’m sure you understand. But I can tell you that James was here on Wednesday, although I hardly saw him. He was working in his office most of the night.’

Sean couldn’t stop himself looking past her into the house and sensed her trying to grow large to prevent him. She wanted him to stay out of her family’s life.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I understand – and thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Well, I’ll leave you in peace.’ He turned to leave, then quickly turned back, speaking before the door closed on the opportunity. ‘One more thing …’ He registered the annoyance on her face, the slight flushing of the facial capillaries, only minutely visible behind her tanned skin. He waved his finger randomly at the front of the house and spoke casually. ‘I was wondering, which room is your husband’s office?’

She stumbled. Clearly her husband hadn’t warned her to expect this type of question. ‘Does it matter?’

‘No,’ Sean replied, smiling. ‘Not really.’ He waited, not moving, knowing she would give in to the silence.

‘This one here,’ she surrendered, pointing to one of the front ground-floor windows, keen to be rid of him.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘If I had a house like this, that’s where I’d have my office too.’ Satisfied, he knew it was time to leave. He had sown the seeds of doubt in her and she would sow the seeds of fear into Hellier. He imagined the panicked conversation she would have with her husband later that day, both questioning each other, doubting each other. ‘Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Goodbye, Mrs Hellier. Tell James I said hello.’ She didn’t answer. He heard the door slam before he reached the last step.

Sean made the long journey on public transport from Islington back to Peckham, jealously watching the vast majority of his fellow commuters wearily heading off for the weekend while he was heading back to work, all thoughts of home and rest still just a distant hope. He’d had little more than six hours’ sleep in the last two nights and knew the next few days would be no better. Reminding himself to buy some caffeine pills, he used the public entrance to the police station and climbed the stairs to the incident room without acknowledging anyone. As he crossed the room towards his office he casually observed who was there and who was missing. He assumed those not there would be running down whatever inquiries Donnelly had assigned them. He entered his office and sat heavily in his chair. Within seconds Donnelly was at his open door, a heavy bundle of witness statements and completed actions cradled in his arms. He didn’t seem to feel the weight.

‘How d’you get on with Hellier’s trouble and strife?’

‘She’s lying for him,’ Sean answered. ‘Said he was home all night. I got the feeling it wasn’t the first time she’s covered for him.’

‘Aye, but does she know what we’re investigating?’

‘Not unless Hellier’s told her, which I doubt.’

‘So technically he has an alibi.’

‘Yeah, but you could drive a bus through it. She said he was in his office all night, alone. It’s on the ground floor next to the front door. He could have slipped out and back easy as.’

‘But you don’t think he went home, do you?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Sean confirmed. ‘What have you turned up?’

‘Well, from a criminal records point of view, Hellier’s as clean as a whistle. Not even a parking ticket, as far as I can tell. He’s been working at Butler and Mason for a few years now; before that he was working for some American company in New York, and prior to that he worked in Hong Kong and Singapore.’

‘Where d’you get all that from?’ Sean asked, impressed.

‘I googled him,’ Donnelly answered with a wry smile. ‘Technology. Our greatest friend and our greatest enemy. Oh, and I called a pal of mine at Revenue and Customs − asked for a cheeky favour. As far as they’re concerned, he’s legit. Since being back in the UK he’s paid his tax on time and upfront, no problems.’

Sean looked disappointed, although he hadn’t really expected anything else. ‘With his taste in after-work pleasures you’d think he’d be a little bit shy about plastering his face all over the Internet,’ Sean suggested.

‘No photographs,’ Donnelly told him. ‘Lots of info, but no photographs.’

‘He’s a careful one,’ Sean said. ‘Just like whoever killed Graydon. Very careful.’

‘Plenty of people working in the financial sector have taken their mugshots off the Internet since the banking crisis.’

‘Yeah, but Hellier’s a financier, not a banker.’

‘Guv’nor,’ Donnelly reminded him, ‘we live in a country where seventy per cent of the population don’t know the difference between a paedophile and a paediatrician.’

Sean sighed. ‘A good point well made.’ He rubbed his eyes hard enough to make them water, before rummaging in his desk drawers for painkillers. ‘What about the others who were with him on the night he was killed?’ he asked without looking at Donnelly.

‘Most have come forward now or been traced,’ Donnelly answered, ‘but nothing interesting. One or two are known to police, but all for minor stuff. We’ve gathered a small mountain of forensics and fingerprints for comparisons, so you never know.’

‘Maybe, but I’m not feeling particularly lucky right now,’ Sean sighed. ‘What about our two missing persons?’ he asked. ‘What were their names again?’

‘Steven Paramore and the barman, Jonnie Dempsey. We’ve checked at the home addresses of both. Paramore’s mum says he hasn’t been home for a few days now and Jonnie’s flat mates are saying the same about him.’

‘Untraceable suspects,’ Sean complained. ‘That’s all I need.’

‘Maybe this’ll cheer you up.’ Donnelly grinned as he dumped the heavy pile of papers he’d been holding on Sean’s desk.

Sean spread his arms in protest. ‘What’s this?’

‘Witness statements so far, completed actions and other assorted shit that you ought to read. Superintendent Featherstone wants a full briefing in the morning.’

Sean sank deep into his chair, all thoughts of home comforts slipping further and further away. It was going to be another long evening alone, with only the image of Daniel Graydon’s defiled body for company.

Hours later Sean eventually arrived home exhausted but wide awake, the worst possible combination. He was in need of a strong drink, something that would instantly slow his mind and body without filling his bladder. If sleep came he didn’t want it chased away by having to get up to urinate.

Kate had waited up for him. He wished she hadn’t. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted a drink, a sandwich and to watch some trash on TV. He passed the living room where his wife sat, speaking into the room as he headed for the kitchen. ‘It’s only me.’

After a few seconds Kate followed him into the kitchen. ‘You’re back late,’ she said, her tone neutral.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sean replied, conscious he seemed to be saying that more and more. ‘You know what it’s like when I get a new case − first few days are always a nightmare.’

‘A nightmare for who?’ Kate asked, her words more provocative than she had intended.

‘I don’t know,’ Sean answered. ‘For me? For you? For the guy who’s just had his skull smashed in, dead before his life’s even started? For his parents who have to come to terms with the fact their only child is gone and never coming back?’

An oppressive silence gripped the room. Kate took a breath. ‘Are you okay?’

Sean accepted the truce. ‘Yeah. Of course. I’m tired and grumpy, that’s all. Sorry. Are the kids asleep?’

‘It’s gone eleven. What sort of mother would I be if they weren’t?’ She moved towards him. He had his back to her while he looked around for a glass. She put her arms around his waist. He was in good shape for a man in his late thirties. He had the physique of a middleweight boxer, a legacy from his teenage years. The sport had been one of the things that had kept him out of trouble while too many of his childhood friends turned to a life of crime. ‘I’m glad you’re home,’ she said. He leaned back into her.

‘I’m glad too. Sorry. I should have called. Must have lost track of time. How’s Mandy? Will she forgive me?’

‘Well, she’s only three. You’ve plenty of time to make it up. But never mind little Miss Mandy. What about me? How are you going to make it up to me?’

Sean was smiling slightly. ‘I’ll buy you a bunch of flowers.’

‘Not good enough, Detective Inspector. I was thinking of something a bit more immediate and a lot more fun.’

Kate led him to the stairs and made for their bedroom. As Sean’s foot reached the top step he heard a voice coming from Mandy’s room.