A Killing Karma Read online

  Moon's answer didn't please Casey. But, for now, he had no choice but to accept it.

  ‘We're all up before the beak again this week,’ she broke the news without preamble. ‘Further charges.’ She gave a careless shrug. 'I forget what.’

  Casey just stopped himself from nodding: this had been one of the things Catt had found out. ‘What are you going to plead?’

  ‘Me and Star? Not guilty, of course.’

  ‘Is that sensible? You were all caught red-handed. What does your solicitor say?’

  ‘Oh, him.’ With a wave of her be-ringed and henna-decorated hand, Moon dismissed the very expensive solicitor whose services Casey had obtained for his parents. ‘He wants us to plead guilty but with diminished responsibility.’

  ‘Sounds sensible.’ Certainly in Star's case, though for Moon, Casey doubted even the expensive brief he had hired for the pair would be able to pull it off. She could be sharp when it suited her and she might just show it in the witness box.

  ‘What? You want us to act gaga?'

  Casey reflected that, again in Star's case, that wouldn't prove too far a stretch. ‘Not gaga, no,’ he temporised, ‘just easily led, perhaps.’

  Moon gave a ‘Humph’ to that, which might have meant anything. Casey followed her into the farmhouse living room.

  The reaction to his reappearance was distinctly hostile from various members of the commune and Casey heard unwelcoming groans from several throats; maybe the Lincolnshire police hadn't treated them with gentle consideration and their behaviour had, in their minds, rubbed off on him, though only Foxy Redfern was belligerent enough to voice their hostility. What had he and the rest expected after trying to conceal two murders?

  ‘Well, look who it aint,’ Redfern drawled as soon as Casey stepped through the door and entered the large and untidy living room. ‘The great detective returns. Still not managed to figure out which ne'er-do-well outsider killed DaisyMay and Kris? Surely by now you've found out his dealer's identity?’

  ‘Not yet, Mr Redfern,’ Casey replied calmly with an untruth which wasn't a complete lie; he suspected that Callender might have had another supplier other than Tony Magann. Besides, he was determined not to let the man anger him into letting something slip; better to keep him and the rest in the dark and worrying. ‘But we're making progress.’

  ‘Progress? Is having our place turned over by the cops what you call “progress”? It's like a nurse describing a patient as “comfortable” when they're anything but.’

  ‘Ruined the entire ambiance of the place,’ Moon commented from behind him.

  Casey ignored her and addressed Redfern's complaint. ‘I'm sorry you feel like that, Mr Redfern, but I hope you can appreciate that I'm doing my best under difficult circumstances.’

  ‘Yes. Leave my Willow Tree alone, Foxy,’ Moon broke in, in direct juxtaposition to her previous comment. It was, as ever, all right for Moon to find fault with her son, but she soon flared up when someone else dared to do the same. It was mother-love of a sort, Casey supposed. ‘You should be grateful he's taken the case on instead of sniping at him.’

  ‘Let's face it, he's not taken it on for my sake,’ Foxy snapped back. ‘It's only because of you and Star that he's here at all. Maybe he thinks one of you killed them both and is looking to pin the blame on the rest of us. It wouldn't be the first time the filth has fitted someone up. And why else would he bother trying to find the answer as to who killed DaisyMay and Callender?'

  ‘Now you're being stupid,’ Moon told him before Casey could say anything. ‘Why should he? If he's anything, my Willow Tree is an honest copper.’ She even managed to make it sound as if it was something she admired, which was a first to Casey's recollection.

  ‘Perhaps we should get down to some facts,’ Casey broke in before the argument could develop further. He turned to Moon. ‘Have you been questioned again by the Lincolnshire force since I spoke to you earlier?’

  Moon replied, ‘No. I think they want to keep us on tenterhooks by letting us know as little as possible before the court case, though one of the men at a neighbouring farm took great pleasure in telling me the police had questioned him and his wife about us. I told you they're going to take DNA samples from all the men in the commune?’

  Casey nodded.

  ‘Well, all the men bar Dylan. He simply refused.’

  ‘Rather foolish of him, seeing as it makes him more interesting to the police.’

  That's what I told him, but he wouldn't listen. Men seldom listen to good sense. God knows why he's being so difficult.’

  In contrast to Foxy Redfern, Kali Callender, Kris Callender's widow, had no complaints. She looked pleased with life. Someone, maybe even Kali herself, had removed her unwanted husband, which was, apparently, all right with her. She even attacked Foxy Redfern on Casey's behalf.

  ‘Leave the man alone, Foxy,’ she said. ‘Surely even you can understand how difficult it is to try to conduct an unofficial investigation? I'm sure he's doing his best for all of us.’

  ‘That's right,’ Moon put in. ‘My Willow Tree always does his best. It's the way he's made. He can't do anything else. And I think the rest of you could be a bit more grateful for his efforts. He's trying to help us.’

  Redfern snorted at this assertion, but chose to make no further derisory comments.

  ‘So, tell me what the Lincolnshire force has been doing,’ Casey invited Moon. ‘Have they any person they're particularly interested in?’

  ‘Dylan Harper, for one, seeing as he's being as unhelpful as he can be. They were certainly long enough questioning him.’

  ‘Bloody cops!’ Foxy was back to his previous belligerent form, clearly unable to contain his prejudices even when it was in his best interests to do so. ‘They only confiscated all our cannabis plants, not just the ones outside, but the ones in the loft as well. What are we supposed to do for bread now? Try to help yourself and be self-supporting and the cops are down on you like a ton of bricks.’

  That there were other cannabis plants growing on the smallholding was news to Casey.

  ‘You had cannabis growing in the loft?' How very enter-prising, he thought, wondering which of the raggle-taggle band had thought of it and found the energy to get it underway.

  ‘Yeah. It was Kris's idea,’ Foxy told him, surprisingly not trying to take the credit for this unsuspected entrepreneurial spirit. ‘It cost, mind, but we bypassed the electricity to light the plants to lessen the outlay. We grew them in a hydroponic solution — a nutrient solution for the roots which accelerates growth,’ Foxy explained before he scowled. ‘When I think of all the work and debt to get it up and running, I could kill someone.’

  ‘Indeed,’ was Casey's comment. ‘And did you?’

  ‘No, I didn't. Maybe you ought to look closer to home for your killer, instead of levelling accusations at me.’

  ‘It wasn't an accusation, Mr Redfern, merely a question.’ Casey, who considered cannabis a dangerous gateway drug to worse drugs — look what a scrambled mess it had made of his father's mind and memory — had little sympathy for their losses. Though he was more than surprised that the commune had got a hydroponic system up, running and producing a profit. He was surprised also that Catt hadn't mentioned it, but perhaps with two murders his police contact hadn't thought the drugs growing in the loft worth telling him about. But growing cannabis under such conditions indicated a certain professionalism at work; the plants required a lot of care and attention, particularly given the attendant fire risk and the fact that the plants required darkness as well as light to grow. It was a level of care that Casey couldn't envisage any of the commune members capable of. Yet one of them, at least, must have found previously unsuspected inner resources after Callender's death to keep the production up and running. Especially judging by the commune's new and expensive possessions, which he now took for granted hadn't been purchased with money from a lottery win at all.

  ‘Is there any indication that they're soon to make an arres
t for the two murders?’ he asked Moon. ThomCatt hadn't seemed to think this was likely in the near future, but it didn't hurt to ask one of those in the centre of the whirlwind.

  ‘Who's to say? They play their cards close to their chest, as I told you, and have kept us in the dark as to what they're thinking.’

  Casey wasn't surprised. It was the police way to keep suspects guessing. Anxiety often made people reveal more than was wise. 'I suppose, as well as all being charged with growing cannabis with intent to supply, you're also being charged with bypassing the electric meter and stealing electricity?’ Catt had confided this titbit, but Casey thought he might as well get it from the horses' mouths. He and Catt had both assumed this electricity bypass was simply their normal behaviour rather than done in order to lessen the massive use of electricity that hydroponic growth of cannabis required.

  ‘Such a shame they found the plants in the loft,' Moon said wistfully. ‘They were doing well, really lush. Our second crop was nearly ready for harvesting, too. We'll miss the money it'd have brought in.’

  If this was a subtle hint to Casey, he chose to ignore it. He'd bailed his parents out often enough in the past, but this was one occasion when they'd have to fund their own irresponsible lifestyle. It was enough that he was attempting to investigate who was responsible for the killings. Moon really was incorrigible, he thought. Why couldn't she and the rest of the commune members get jobs like normal human beings? There were plenty of women of Moon's age still working and contributing to society. But instead of getting jobs, the whole pack of them were on assorted benefits. It made him cross. They certainly hadn't registered the smallholding as a business with all the tax implications that would bring. Even though they were all able-bodied enough to work, they much preferred the government to pay them rather than the other way about. A bit of decent, honest labour might do them the world of good.

  Casey left soon after without seeing the elusive Dylan Harper. He felt dispirited in mind and body. But then this feeling was the inevitable result of a visit to the commune. It was the reason he had always chosen to visit but rarely.

  As Moon locked the gate behind him, Casey told her to keep her eyes and ears open, said goodnight and climbed back into his car. He decided to return to the office and put in an hour on the paperwork on the Gus Oliver killing before he went home.

  He was reflective as he drove away, disturbed by his thoughts on the efficient cannabis factory in the commune's loft. His parents would never have got that up and running on their own, that was for sure. So far, his parents had never, whatever other culpable acts they might have gone in for, done anything of such a seriously criminal nature that the police had needed to check deeply into their lives or backgrounds. Petty offences, mostly drug-related, were the sum total of their criminality. Plus a bit of thieving in his father's misspent youth.

  But now, with two dead bodies found on their smallholding, Casey couldn't believe he would be able to remain anonymous for much longer. Surely someone would soon sniff out his existence? Worriedly, he drove on into the dark Fens night.

  Once back in his office, Casey pulled a pile of statements on their official investigation towards him and began to read. His concentration on this task was so great that he didn't hear Catt enter.

  ‘Got some news,’ Catt told Casey's bent head.

  Casey dragged his gaze from the latest statement and stared at Catt, surprised to find him in the station so late rather than out with the latest girlfriend. ‘Who from? This from your policeman pal or from one of your old friends?’

  ‘My friend in the Lincolnshire force was unavailable when I rang. In a pow-wow in the incident room probably. No, this info was from another of my contacts who lives close to the commune. I hadn't been able to get hold of him before as he's been out of the country for a few days. Seems the late DaisyMay had been seen in one of the local pubs several times with Kris Callender. They chose a pub that wasn't the commune members' usual haunt, but one a bit out of the way. Perfect for a clandestine assignation.’

  ‘Might mean something or nothing. You said they were seen together more than once?’

  Catt nodded. ‘And by someone who knew them both by sight and has no axe to grind as far as I could discover.’

  ‘Could just be a coincidence. Did your contact happen to notice how they behaved towards one another?’

  ‘He said they seemed very touchy-feely. But that also might mean something or nothing, seeing as they're all so into love and peace, man, at the commune, they're probably all touchy-feely. Maybe they were having an affair and maybe they weren't. But if the former is the case, it gives our grieving widower an excellent motive for murdering DaisyMay. An excellent motive, too, for offing Callender. The only difficulty there is why he killed them two months apart. Unless he discovered some way along that the child she was carrying was Callender’s rather than his. If she was up the duff by the dear departed...’

  'Mmm. If Harper's blood was up for that reason, I'd have thought, if he found out they were having an affair, he'd kill them both at the same time. Still. Well done, ThomCatt. It gives us another possibility to look into.’ He paused. ‘I've got some news as well.’ He told Catt about the commune growing cannabis in the loft.

  Catt whistled. ‘Enterprising. Wouldn't have thought they were up to it.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly. From what Foxy Redfern said, it would seem the late Mr Callender was the driving force behind it.’

  ‘He seems to have been the driving force behind a lot of things. I'm surprised one of them killed him in that case. Why kill the laying goose?’

  ‘For reasons other than their profitable drug business if it was one of the commune who killed him. Or, if it was an outsider, which I still think unlikely, it seems he could have been killed because he unwisely tried to cheat the wrong people. But as we don't know anything for sure, that's just another question to add to the growing pile. I hope we're able to begin answering some of them soon.’ Casey stood up. ‘That's it for tonight. I'm taking in little or nothing. And tomorrow's another day.’

  ‘Probably bringing more questions with it, too.’

  The next morning dawned bright and clear. Casey woke before the alarm and he turned it off so as not to wake Rachel. The orchestra in which she was a violinist had been rehearsing late the previous night and she had been dog-tired when she returned home. Rachel's unsocial hours were something he was grateful for — they mirrored his own. The hours were often the main reason for police couples splitting up. But given her own hours, Rachel would never be able to throw his in his face as so many other police wives and partners did.

  He quickly showered and pulled underwear from the drawer, a clean shirt from the wardrobe and a fresh suit. He'd get dressed downstairs so as not to disturb her.

  Later, dressed and sipping coffee at the kitchen table, he ruminated on the two cases, reflecting that the unofficial one seemed to be making more progress — mostly no thanks to him — than his official investigation. Not for the first time, he thanked God for Thomas Catt's ill-assorted contacts; but for them, he would never have known about the touchy-feely meetings between DaisyMay and Callender.

  And this evening they were to interview Carole Brown, the third unalibied member of Gus Oliver's harem. Maybe, if she or Max Fallon, her partner, were guilty of murder, they'd give themselves away, thereby providing answers on their official investigation.

  On this optimistic note, Casey finished the last of his coffee, shrugged into his jacket and let himself out of the house.

  More statements awaited his attention when Casey arrived at his office. He was ploughing his way through them when Catt popped his head around the door several hours later.

  ‘Anything of interest?’ He gestured at the pile of statements as he entered.

  ‘Not so you'd notice,’ Casey replied. He dropped the statement he had been reading back on the pile and straightened up. ‘Things are moving very slowly on this case,’ he complained. ‘Let's hope this ev
ening's interview shakes something loose. Remind me what we know about this Ms Brown and her live-in partner.’

  Catt pulled the chair from in front of Casey's desk, turned it so the back was towards Casey and dropped in to it, crossing his arms on the top bar. ‘Her partner, Max Fallon, is a bit of a wide boy. Owns several nightclubs in the area, including the one here in town. On the criminal fringe with ambitions. He's done time for assault. As for Carole Brown, she seemed a bit of a slut to me. Surprisingly, she's nothing like Oliver's other lady loves, all of whom are very feminine and rather less obvious. Guess Ms Brown must have been Oliver's bit of rough.’

  ‘Interesting that her partner brings a criminal element, a violent element to the case, especially given the bloody mode of Oliver's death. Cutting off his penis might be just Fallon's mode of operation. It would certainly act as a deterrent to anyone else hoping to step into Oliver's shoes.’

  ‘Or his trousers.’

  ‘Or his trousers. It's got more than a touch of the gangster's revenge about it.’

  'Mmm,' Catt murmured. That's what I thought. And from what I've learned of Fallon, he's not the type to turn a blind eye if his partner's been playing away. I don't know whether he found out about his girlfriend's fling with Gus Oliver, but I forgot to tell you that she was sporting a spectacular black eye when I questioned her.’

  ‘Should make for an intriguing interview. I wonder how she'll say she came by it.’

  ‘The usual walked into a door scenario, probably.’

  Casey glanced at his watch, surprised to see that it was already one o'clock. ‘Fancy lunch at The Lamb?’ he asked Catt. ‘My treat.’

  ‘Sounds good, especially the bit about you paying.’

  ‘Let's just say it's my thank you for services rendered on the commune case.’

  The Lamb was but a short drive away. Casey pulled up and parked in the car park. Practically full, the number of cars shouted that summer had arrived. After all the chilly, grey days, July had finally recalled it was meant to be warm and had come out in a blaze of sunny glory.