The Burning Man Read online

Panic showed in his eyes. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. His fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into his palms. Seeing Carter was watching, he dropped his hands down into his lap. ‘I don't know. Honest. I don't know. I had a good look around, and nothing was missing.’

  ‘So, you did notice you’d had a break-in?’ He paused. ‘Why didn’t you mention that to us earlier?’ Carter leaned back, folded his arms and waiting for the reply.

  ‘Sorry. I was just confused by all that’s happened. I’m not thinking straight.’

  Carter looked directly into his face. ‘We have a good idea of what was going on out there at Chalk Lane Farm, so if there’s anything you want to talk to us about, Mr Eades, then now is the time. Eades remained silent.

  ‘Mr. Richard Eades. You are charged with possession with intent to supply, an offence under section four and section five of the Misuse of Drugs Act 1971.’

  Carter continued. ‘You are not obliged to say or do anything unless you wish to do so. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand what I have just told you?’

  Eades whole body sagged; his voice was barely audible. ‘Yes.’ He shrank down into the chair, his face taking on a look of defeated confusion. Carter could see he was wrestling with his inner thoughts. The ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room. After a few moments, he composed himself, sat upright, then looked at Carter then at Kirby. The sigh that escaped his lips was slow as if his brain needed that time to process what had happened. Making the decision, he opened his wallet and took out some cards. He sorted through them, then pushed one across the table.

  In a low voice, he said, ‘I would like to call my solicitor now, please.’

  ****

  ‘His brief’s name is Watts,’ Carter said, handing Sergeant Tom Crane the solicitor’s business card.

  Crane studied it for a moment and sniffed. ‘Maximillian Watts is from Ashford. Partner in that big London law firm, Goldstein and Lieber. I’ve heard of them. They don’t come cheap.’ He looked at Kirby, then back at Carter. ‘He was prosecuting in that big Hatton Garden jewellery heist a few years back. The one where the security guard got shot. The trial went on for nearly six weeks. It was in all the papers.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Carter. ‘I remember it. The pair got twenty years each. Put the guard in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He looked at Crane. ‘In the meantime, move Eades into the CIS and let him make his call from there.’

  The “Casual Interview Suite” was designed to put people at ease. It was a place for informal interviews. The walls had been decorated with grey and ivory wallpaper. On one of the walls was a display of travel posters. There were comfortable chairs, a coffee table and a water cooler in one corner.

  ‘Also, get him some refreshments. Make sure he has someone with him, then put him in a cell until his solicitor arrives. Call me when they’re ready to talk. Marcia and I will be in my office. Oh, and by the way, get them to fumigate that blasted interview room again. It still whiffs of Bear.’

  ****

  While they were waiting for Richard Eades’s solicitor, not half a mile away, over at the Market Square, a group of shoppers had stopped to stare at the man in the middle of the road, weaving his way through the late afternoon traffic. Others just ignored him like it was a regular everyday occurrence. With a quick glance in his direction, they kept on walking.

  He held a brown paper bag in one hand and occasionally tilted it up to his mouth to take a drink from the concealed bottle inside it. With the other hand, he was making obscene gestures and thumping on the bonnets and roofs of the passing cars as they were forced to slow down, stop and honk at him. All the time he kept shouting strings of obscenities and vile curses at the drivers and the gawking pedestrians. These were not your ordinary everyday curses. He threatened a pregnant lady who had just come out of the supermarket. He said the milk in her fridge would go sour and her butter would grow mould. He told her all her children would be barren and infertile for life.

  By now, a large group of gawping shoppers had gathered on the opposite pavement to watch. Shop assistants too had come out to watch the show.

  PC Alan Hobson sighed as he shut the door of the car and looked over at the drunk who was now sitting down on the pavement with both feet firmly planted in the gutter. He was unshaven and unwashed. His fly was open, and all his shirt buttons had been done up in the wrong holes. There was a damp patch on the front of his trousers from where he'd earlier wet himself.

  Hobson squared off his cap and walked towards the man. His partner, Andy Miller, shut the driver’s door and followed.

  The drunk tried to focus on the two policemen that now towered on either side of him. He lifted the bottle to his lips. ‘A toast,’ he said, slurring his words. ‘To a generous policing man, inspector, miser Carter.’

  Miller knew what he was talking of. Looking at Hobson, and with his hands on his hips, he stood there, slowly shaking his head. ’Twenty quid down the drain. What a waste.’

  Wearing his newly found pink sneakers and black plastic raincoat, Edward Bear was grabbed under the armpits by the two burly policemen, and, with curses still flowing from his mouth, he was frog-marched off to their car. After only six staggering paces he doubled over and vomited into the gutter.

  With their entertainment disappearing into the back of the police car, the bystanders started to melt away.

  ****

  It took close to an hour before Maximillian Watts came over from Ashford to see his client. It was another thirty minutes later that Crane called up from the “Custody Suite” to tell Carter that Eades was ready to talk.

  As he and Kirby descended the stairs, she said. His story about going to Spain checks out.’

  As they got to the bottom of the stairs, they met Tom Crane as he was coming through the doors from reception.

  ‘They’re waiting for you in number two, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, Tom.’ Carter sniffed the air. ‘I swear that blasted smell is getting stronger. What do you think, Marcia — is it?’

  Before she could say a word, Crane spoke up. ‘Ah, there’s a good reason for that, sir. He’s back. Bear is back. He’s in the cells. Hobson and Miller picked him up in Market Square. They brought him in about half an hour ago. Drunk and disorderly, abusing the public, damaging motor vehicles and scaring the shit out of a pregnant lady. I guess that twenty you bunged him yesterday went on his favourite pastime — getting pissed on cheap wine.’ He gave a half smile.

  ‘How did you know about that, Tom?’ he asked. ‘DS Reid, was it?’ Before Crane could answer he said quickly, ‘I’ll have his balls.’

  ‘No, sir. It wasn't him. Bear told Cotton about it when he took him back to his squat. Well, you know what a big mouth Cotton can sometimes be?’ He shrugged his shoulders, letting the question go unanswered.

  Carter grunted, ‘Suppose the whole bloody station knows about it by now? So much for charity. Come on, Marcia, let’s go and see if Eades can remember what was in his oven.’

  Tom Crane went back to his desk in reception and picked up the phone. Jill Richardson picked up straight away. ‘Jill, I think we may have found part of your Superman’s outfit. Well, at least his shoes and raincoat.’

  The solicitor, who had just introduced himself and who was now sitting on the other side of the table, was not what Marcia Kirby had expected. She tried to hide her smile. He reminded her of Ronnie Corbett from the television show, The Two Ronnie's. This man, short as he was, looked like he came from a monochromatic world; his suit was grey, his hair was grey, even his skin looked grey. In contrast, behind black-rimmed glasses were eyes of blue. Kirby wondered if he also wore matching underwear.

  After the recording started, and all parties had identified themselves, Maximillian Watts opened by saying, ‘I would like it to go on record, Detective Chief Inspector, that my client came here of his own free
will to help and is willing to assist you in any way he can.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Carter. He opened the file that lay in front of him and turned the pages slowly until he came to the one he wanted. He scanned its contents, then turned to Eades and said, ‘Mr. Eades, just what is the nature of your business?’

  ‘I source and import specialist exotic timbers and hardwoods from around the world for various clients. I do hold a license and follow the current laws on timber importation.’

  Carter decided to come straight to the point. ‘Mr. Eades, while conducting a search of your premises following the fire, we found eight bags of cocaine. What can you tell me about that?’

  Eades looked at Watts. Watts leaned over and whispered in his ear.

  ‘I found them.’ he answered. ‘In a log.’

  ‘You found them… in a log?’ Carter’s voice sounded disbelieving. ‘Can you elaborate further on that?’ He put his hands together and placed them beneath his chin.

  ‘Two weeks ago, I was unloading a consignment of timber from a container, and the banding straps that held the logs together had come loose. While I was re-strapping them, I saw that an end of one of the logs was hanging off, out of line. When I looked closer, I saw that the end six inches had been cut off and fixed back on. When I moved it, it fell off. I looked closer and saw that the inside had been hollowed out. That's where the bags were.’

  ‘How did they get in there in the first place?’ asked Kirby.

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Eades.

  ‘Squirrels, maybe?’

  ‘Two-legged ones more like it,’ smiled Carter.

  ‘After you found the bags, what did you do then?’ Kirby asked.

  ‘I removed the log and took it over to one of the pig sties and hid it.’

  ‘And after that?’ she said.

  ‘I came back, re-strapped the rest of pallet and waited for it to be picked up. A truck came for it later that same afternoon.’

  ‘How did you get in touch with them?’ she asked.

  ‘They gave me a mobile to use. I was to call them and leave a message when it was ready for them to pick up.’

  ‘Did you not think that a bit suspicious? Strange way to conduct business, wouldn’t you think?’

  The solicitor looked up from his note-taking. ‘How my client conducts his business is not in question here. He’s not obliged to answer that.’

  Kirby jumped in. ‘Where’s that phone now? What happened to it? We never found one at your house,’ she said, looking hard into Eades’s eyes.

  ‘It must have been taken during the break-in. I kept it on my desk. I checked this morning, and it was missing.’

  Carter leaned back in the chair. ‘Did you tell Mr Hakim what you’d found?’

  ‘No, he was innocent in all of this. He knew nothing about it.’

  ‘Through your actions Mr Eades, an innocent man has been tortured and murdered. You were his employer. He came here as a refugee from Iran to get away from the regime that killed his wife and father-in-law. He wanted to escape the tyranny in his homeland and start a new life here in England. Instead, he ends up being tortured and killed because whoever came to your farm that Sunday, was thinking that Hakim knew the whereabouts of the cocaine you’d taken. As you well know, Hakim could hardly speak a word of English. I doubt very much if the poor bastard knew half of what his attacker was saying! He must have been terrified,’ said Carter, raising his voice and bringing his hand down so hard on the desk that Eades jumped.

  ‘Chief Inspector, I object most strongly to your method of questioning. I will not have my client harassed and intimidated. There is no need to raise your voice,’ said Watts sternly.

  ‘The unfortunate death of Mr Hakim is a separate case and has no bearing on any drug charges you intend to bring against my client. I shall be making a formal complaint to your superior regarding your outrageous methods of questioning.’

  Carter's eyes blazed. He was about to open his mouth but, reading his body language, Marcia Kirby quickly stepped in. There was no point in further alienating Watts. She too felt Carter's anger.

  ‘So, you know just from where this specific consignment came from and to whom it was going to?’

  Carter sat back in his chair. Eades turned to her. ‘Yes. As a trader, I am obliged by law to be able to identify from whom the timber has been brought and sold too. This specific consignment came from in from South America. Columbia, to be exact.’

  ‘We know that you concealed these eight bags in your house. What did you intend to do with them?’

  Watts leaned over and whispered in his ear. Eades looked at him in surprise. He stared at the solicitor as if unsure. Watts nodded.

  Eades rubbed the palms of his hands together, fear and uncertainty showed on his face. He knew that the next words to come from his mouth could send him to prison for a very long time. The words came out in a sob. ‘I was going to try to sell them.’ He looked at his inquisitors.

  Kirby saw a connection. ‘So, that was why you went to Spain?’ she asked. Eades, head down, just nodded.

  ‘Mr. Eades has just nodded his head. For the tape, Mr Eades, would you please answer?’

  ‘Yes,’ he sniffed. ‘My business is not doing well. I needed the money. I saw this as a way out.’

  ‘You do realise that you are facing serious charges? It carries a maximum sentence of sixteen years.’

  ‘Chief Inspector, no jury on earth will not convict my client,’ said Watts looking confident. ‘He has no criminal record, and this was just a one-time opportune moment. He is not responsible for the unfortunate death of Mr Hakim. It’s up to the police to find and charge the person responsible. That is a separate case. My client is not a drug dealer. He has never been in trouble with the law before. He knows it was a stupid thing to do, and he now regrets his actions most deeply. He’s not a criminal. He just took a step in the wrong direction.’

  The only direction he’s going in, thought Carter, is towards the cells. ‘Mr Watts, I think it's best if you save your speech for the courtroom,’ said Carter.

  ‘Who are these people this consignment was going too? Have they had others?’ asked Kirby.

  Eades straightened up and, composing himself, said, ‘This is their second.’

  ‘And just how do they pay? Direct banking, a check?’ queried Kirby.

  ‘They always sent cash with the driver.’

  ‘And you never thought this odd?’ Carter shook his head and sighed. The sigh sounded resigned and weary.

  ‘Where is it delivered too? Do you know?’ asked Kirby.

  ‘All I know is that it went to a place somewhere near the Lydden Race Circuit at Wootton. I believe it to be a legitimate workshop.’

  In a frustrated voice, Carter said, ‘And the name of this place?’

  ‘It’s called Compton Furniture,’ replied Eades.

  Watts spoke up. ‘Chief Inspector, I think it’s time my client had a break.’

  Carter looked up at the wall clock. It had just turned seven thirty. He closed his file and stood up. ‘For the moment, Mr Watts,’ he said looking down at him, ‘I think we have all we need from your client. He will be kept here in custody overnight to appear before the Magistrates’ Court first thing in the morning. We will leave you with your client for a few moments while we make some arrangements. I will then return shortly.’

  Sitting in the corner booth in the Black Bear a little later, Carter scraped the last of his bread around the edge of his plate and mopping up the last remains of his egg and chips. He popped the food into his mouth, then pushed the plate away. Satisfaction showed on his face.

  He reached out and pulled his pint glass closer.

  He had called Christine just after they had Eades put in his cell. He’d told her he was going straight back to his cottage to bring back clean shirts and that he'd grab a bite to eat at the Bear.

  At that time of the night, the lounge was quieter than usual. Only two other drinkers were there. They sat at t
he table near the fire. George Sutton was busy reading the evening newspaper that was spread out on the bar in front of him. The television above the bar was on and re-playing one of last week’s football matches. The sound had been muted. ‘First thing tomorrow, give Dave Penrose a call. See if he can find out anything about this place at Wootton,’ he said to Marcia.

  ‘Can I suggest?’ she said. ‘I'll be seeing Dave, err, that is I'll be going down to Dover this weekend. Why not leave it till then? Maybe we could go for a nice Sunday drive, so to speak?’

  Carter thought about it. ‘Okay, that’s sounds great. A couple walking along a country lane won’t arouse suspicion. If anybody asks, you can always say you’re off to the woods to pick bluebells,’ he smiled. ‘Don’t forget to pass on my congratulations about his promotion to sergeant.’

  ‘It may have escaped your notice, sir, but it’s not spring. It’s nearly the end of autumn. There are no bluebells.’

  ‘It’s only an expression, Marcia. Remind me to tell you about bluebelling one day,’ he chuckled.

  It took her a few moments to realise what he was talking of. In the dimly lit lounge, Carter failed to notice a blush come to Kirby’s cheeks.

  He continued. ‘It’s against my better judgment, Marcia, but I won't be opposing bail tomorrow. I’ve been thinking about all this. Watts was right. He’s no criminal. In fact, he’s more useful to us here on the outside. I still have a few more questions for him, and I’m sure Carver has a few as well. If he does come snooping around, refer him to me.’

  A sudden thought came to him. He sat up, alert, a smile on his face. ‘Maybe, Marcia, there is a way we can catch this killer. Instead of us going to him why can't he come to us? Just think for a moment. There's been nothing in the press about the drugs — only the fire and the death — so why don't we use that to our advantage to maybe draw him back?’ She looked at him in silence. Her unmoving gaze clearly showed disapproval.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘You’re thinking, what happens if this chap does come back looking for his stuff and Eades it there?’