FUTURE RICHES & THE FELT TIP MURDERS: The DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad series Cases 1 & 2. Read online

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, locations or events is entirely coincidental.

  Published by BSA Publishing 2017 who assert the right that no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Copyright @ B.L. Faulkner 2017 who asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

  ISBN 978-1-9997640-1-2

  BOOKS IN THE DCS PALMER SERIES (SO FAR)

  BOOK 1 FUTURE RICHES

  BOOK 2 THE FELT TIP MURDERS

  BOOK 3 A KILLER IS CALLING

  BOOK 4 POETIC JUSTICE

  BOOK 5 LOOT

  BOOK 6 I’M WITH THE BAND

  All are available individually as e-books online or in double case paperbacks from your favourite book shop.

  THE PALMER CASES BACKGROUND

  Justin Palmer started off on the beat as a London policeman in the 1970s and is now Detective Chief Superintendent Palmer, running the Metropolitan Police Force’s Serial Murder Squad from New Scotland Yard. Not one to pull punches, or give a hoot for political correctness if it hinders his inquiries, Palmer has gone as far as he will go in the Met and knows it. Master of the one-line put down and a slave to his sciatica, he can be as nasty or as nice as he likes.

  The mid 1990’s was a time of re-awakening for Palmer, as the Information Technology revolution turned forensic science, communication and information-gathering skills upside down. Realising the value of this revolution to crime solving, Palmer co-opted Detective Sergeant Gheeta Singh onto his team from the Yard’s Cyber Crime unit. DS Singh has a degree in IT and was given the go ahead to update Palmer’s department with all the computer hard- and software she wanted; most of these she wrote herself, while some are, shall we say, of a grey area when it comes to privacy laws, data protection and accessing certain databases. Together with their small team of officers, and one civilian computer clerk called Claire (nicknamed ‘JCB’ by the team because she keeps on digging), they take on the serial killers of the UK.

  On the personal front, Palmer has been married to his ‘princess’, or Mrs P. as she is known to everybody, for nearly thirty years. The romance blossomed after the young Detective Constable Palmer arrested most of her family, a bunch of South London petty criminals, in the 1960’s. They have three children and eight grandchildren, a nice house in the London suburb of Dulwich, and a faithful dog called Daisy.

  Gheeta Singh lives alone in a fourth floor Barbican apartment. Her parents arrived on these shores as a refugee family fleeing from Idi Amin’s Uganda. Since then her father and brothers have built up a very successful computer parts supply company, in which it was assumed Gheeta would take an active role on graduating from University. She had other ideas on this, and also on the arranged marriage her mother and aunts still try to coerce her into. Gheeta has two loves, police work and technology, and thanks to Palmer she has her dream job.

  The old copper’s nose and gut feeling of Palmer, combined with the modern IT skills of DS Singh, makes them an unlikely but successful team. All their cases involve a serial killer, and twist and turn through red herrings and hidden clues, keeping the reader in suspense until the very end.

  CASE 1 FUTURE RICHES

  Chapter 1

  ‘He was a real sweetie you know, a real gentleman. It was such a shock to us all. Especially after poor Lisa’s murder too.

  The petite office secretary in her tight pencil skirt was almost running along the corridor in her efforts to keep up with the long strides of the lank six foot frame of Superintendent Justin Palmer. His second in command Detective Sergeant Gheeta Singh was doing better, as she had the advantage of the Met’s standard issue WPC trousers.

  ‘A real gentleman he was. Not many of them in this business I can tell you.’ The secretary loaded the word ‘them’.

  ‘One less now isn’t there.’

  Palmer was in a droll mood. He hadn’t much time for arty types, least of all the ‘luvvy’ television industry brigade, and they’d been all he’d met so far today. But he supposed that was to be expected if you’re investigating serial murders in the world of television; and he was right in the middle of that false world as he strode down the corridor of Midlands Television in Birmingham, to look at the office where the late lamented head of Light Entertainment, one Tony Fox, had met his bloody end.

  The day had not started well for Palmer; not well at all. Five days of overdue leave had been cut to two with the demise of Mr Fox being passed from Regional Crime Squad to Serial Murder Squad, Fox being the second executive of Midland Television to be murdered in their offices. Palmer had been halfway through painting the stairs at home when the call to duty came through. He wasn’t too upset, as one thing Palmer loathed was DIY.

  Mrs Palmer, on the other hand, was not best pleased at being left with a half-done job and no stair carpet down, especially with her Gardening Club scheduled to be holding their next meeting at the Palmer house. But then being a copper’s wife for twenty-eight years, she knew that to plan ahead further than twenty-four hours was asking for trouble, especially if hubby was the head of the Serial Murder Squad at Scotland Yard.

  ‘Here we are sir,’ the secretary panted breathlessly, using a key to open a frosted glass door into a rather plush office. ‘This was Mr Fox’s office. Shall I leave you to it? Lisa’s office is three doors down. Nothing’s been touched since your colleagues were here.’

  ‘Colleagues, who’s that then?’

  Palmer had walked in, and was taking in the office layout.

  ‘Regional Crime Squad sir,’ Sergeant Singh reminded him. ‘It was their case.’

  ‘Oh yes, that lot.’

  He walked over to the window, which offered a panoramic view of Birmingham. Singh gave a short cough to attract his attention, and cast her eyes toward the secretary. Palmer smiled at her.

  ‘Yes, you can leave us to it thank you. Oh, and leave the keys to both offices with the Sergeant if you would.’

  She gave Singh the keys and stopped by the door.

  ‘If you want anything, just dial 9 on the phone.’

  She indicated a black phone on the desk, both of which were covered in the forensic team’s silver fingerprint graphite dust. Singh ushered her out of the door.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be okay for a while, thank you.’

  She shut the door after the departing secretary and locked it before casting her eyes over the office.

  ‘Nice office guv.’ It was ‘guv’ on a one-to-one basis, or ‘sir’ if others were present, ‘And very expensive furniture.’

  The office was fitting for the head of a very important department in one of the country’s major independent television companies: spacious and minimally furnished, with a large executive mahogany desk, behind which a black leather swivel chair could be swung round for the occupant to gaze through the wall-to-wall window looking out over the bustling concrete jungle of Birmingham twelve floors below; a sumptuous leather sofa; two equally sumptuous chairs and a large glass cabinet completed the furnishings. The glass cabinet proudly displayed various awards and certificates gained by the department. A deep pile carpet seemed pristine except for a worn path from door to desk, and the leather inlay on the desk was also showing signs of wear, mostly from biro doodlings.

&n
bsp; Palmer was still gazing out of the window.

  ‘Stupid really; you work hard for years and finally get the big office on the management floor in a prestigious building like this, and then you have to look out on that load of garbage.’

  He nodded towards the city spread beneath them.

  ‘Birmingham?’

  ‘Could be Birmingham, or Leeds, or Coventry; all look the same really. I’d rather look out over rolling hills or an ocean than NCP car parks and building sites. Are we sure Mr Fox didn’t top himself when he saw this view?’

  A sarcastic smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘And I have to make do with a twenty-foot square box of an office at the Yard, full of ex-MOD filing cabinets, metal desks that fall apart or stab you in the leg at every opportunity, and wooden chairs that are so hard they give you corns on your backside. Yet these arty types who do nothing for humanity get this luxury.’

  He waved his hands at the office in exasperation.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Gheeta said, faking indignation. ‘We have to make do with a twenty-foot square box, guv; we.’

  Every now and again she gave Palmer a gentle reminder that they shared an office, and that she was his number two.

  He smiled and nodded.

  ‘Correct Sergeant, we. Right then, let’s get to work.’ He took off the old Prince of Wales check jacket that had become his trademark at the Yard, and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the investigation ahead. Palmer liked the start of a case; he likened it to the hunt getting ready to go after the fox, or aniseed trail, or whatever they used nowadays. He was an old fashioned copper, and the thrill of the chase and the unknown twists and turns to come were grist to his mill. Or, as he’d once said to Mrs P, ‘It’s what floats my boat’, which she had totally misunderstood and quietly popped into their bank the next day and checked the account, looking for a large expenditure on a cabin cruiser or similar.

  ‘Right then,’ Sergeant Singh sank into an armchair, took her laptop from her shoulder bag and opened it. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got so far shall we?’

  A graduate of computer skills and programming at university, Gheeta Singh had taken the road into the force against the pull of the mega money offered to her by the international software companies at university job fairs. She honestly felt that using her skills to attain a moral ending was preferable, and more mentally stimulating and fulfilling than programming Death Battle 8 for the Play Station; and she’d been right. Palmer had noticed her skills early on when she started at the Yard in the computer room, and had fast tracked her into his unit. They had immediately hit it off, and from not knowing his motherboard from his mother-in-law, Palmer had embraced the fast growing technical and computer era, realising how important and time saving it could be to his work load. He’d given Gheeta her head, and channelled hard won upgrade funds into her hardware and software requirements.

  And it was paying dividends. With Gheeta’s bespoke programmes loaded and updated regularly into the bank of computers she had built in the unit’s team room, all and every bit of information he asked for was there on screen at the touch of a button; with programmes that were able to take on the mundane and time-consuming checking and shifting of facts, statements and records in seconds, tasks that had previously used up many team hours.

  ‘For such a big company, Midland Television isn’t very security conscious guv. I’m using their Wi-Fi and bandwidth without the need of a password.’

  Palmer tut-tutted. Truth be known, in the modern technical world he had grasped what Wi-Fi was; but bandwidth? Gheeta carried on.

  ‘The local CID report has Tony Fox found face down on the floor behind the desk, laying with his feet to the right. One large bruise to the temple, and several deep wounds in the back of the head and neck. Probable cause being an irregularly-shaped blunt instrument, struck with force.’

  She stood and placed the laptop on the desk in front of him.

  ‘Photo of the scene, guv.’

  Palmer bent over the screen.

  ‘The furniture is all where it should be, no signs of a struggle.’

  Gheeta nodded.

  ‘SOCO couldn’t get anything from the body or the scene that couldn’t be accounted for as normal. Post mortem pics.’

  She hit a key.

  ‘Big bloke, wasn’t he?’

  Palmer nodded.

  ‘He looks to be more than capable of defending himself, if he was aware of an attack coming. Seeing that he didn’t, he probably knew the killer.’

  Gheeta clicked again and read off the screen.

  ‘Just turned fifty, wife and two adult children, both with their own families; local man, been with the company twenty-six years; worked his way up from being an assistant floor manager. No previous.’

  Palmer had moved to the display cabinet and opened it. He pulled out the awards one by one and read them.

  ‘I’ve never heard of any of these programmes.’

  He put them back, turned and paced out the distance from the desk to the door. ‘Steptoe and Son, Charlie Drake, The Two Ronnies; they made me laugh. What programmes make you laugh, Sergeant?’

  ‘Don’t watch much telly guv. I read mostly.’

  ‘Tony Hancock…’

  Palmer smiled at the memory.

  ‘Don’t know him guv, what’s he written?’

  ‘Hasn’t written anything, poor chap’s dead now. He had a top comedy show in the seventies. “Ha…Ha…Hancock’s Half Hour.”’

  He did a poor impression of Tony Hancock.

  ‘Is that funny, guv?’

  ‘It was a very funny show actually,’ Palmer said, slightly embarrassed.

  ‘I’ll stick to my books, guv.’

  He was on his knees behind the desk now, checking for any secret keys taped underneath.

  ‘Mrs P likes to read… usually when I want to go to sleep… likes to read in bed, she does… anything to do with gangsters and the mafia… she should have married Elliot Ness.’

  ‘Who, guv?’

  ‘Elliot Ness, he was in The Untouchables… big TV series.’

  Gheeta shrugged ignorance.

  ‘Never mind.’

  Palmer straightened up, wincing at the stab of pain in his right thigh.

  ‘Bloody sciatica, catches me every time.’ He sank into a soft chair. ‘So, somebody gave Mr. Fox an almighty bang on the face, sending him to the floor, and then finished him off with a few more to the back of his neck and head. When was this?’

  ‘June 12th.’

  ‘A month ago. Everybody interviewed by local force and no leads, eh?’

  ‘Not a thing guv, zilch. He was apparently well liked by everybody.’

  ‘Not everybody Sergeant, somebody disliked him enough to kill him. He upset some bugger in a big way. What we have got to do is find out what triggered that dislike. What had Tony Fox done to his killer to push him or her over the edge, eh? Get a team in here to go through all his papers. I know Regional will have done it already but I want all the names, facts, dates, in fact everything fed onto your systems. I want records of his meetings too; use that secretary girl, check through the minutes of his meetings, if there are any; check what he vetoed, any shows he cancelled and the people involved. This business is full of ‘jobs for the boys’, so check any contracts his department had with people and companies. Could be somebody thought they had a big contract coming and it didn’t materialise. That might at least show up a motive, and at present we haven’t got one. Is there anything worthwhile in the Regional report?’

  ‘No, clean as a whistle. Loads of fingerprints but that’s expected. The secretary says he was a very busy man, and normally there’d be production meetings and panic meetings and general mayhem in this office. Seems it was more a focal point of the entertainment department in total than a private office. Apparently he liked it that way, sort of open house.’

  ‘Bit like mine.’ Palmer smiled. ‘Right then, that’s Mr. Fox done and dusted for the time
being. So, what have we got on this Lisa James person?’

  Gheeta scrolled down a few pages on the laptop.

  ‘Lisa James, producer of game shows. Found dead in her office March 18th, three months before Fox was killed. Cause of death, heavy head wound.”

  ‘Well, that’s one similarity. Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing has come to light yet, guv. She worked under Fox, and had been at Midland six years. She had an office three doors down the corridor.’

  ‘Very handy. Right, let’s have a look at it then.’

  Gheeta closed the laptop, stood up, walked to the office door and unlocked it.

  ‘Ahem…’

  Palmer coughed to get her attention; he was stuck. He’d sunk into the luxury grip of the soft chair, and it wasn’t about to let him go. No amount of his rocking back and forth could get him out. He held out a hand.

  ‘A little help if you would be so kind, Sergeant.’

  ‘Certainly guv, you know you can rely on me to get you out of tight situations.’

  Her tongue was firmly in her cheek as she pulled him up. He winced.

  ‘Don’t mock the afflicted.’ It was his best Frankie Howerd impression. ‘He was very funny too.’

  ‘Who was?’

  ‘Frankie Howerd.’

  ‘Never heard of him, what was he in?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  He gathered his jacket and made for the door.

  ‘Come on, let’s see what Lisa James’s office has to offer.’

  Chapter 2

  ‘She wasn’t very old was she?’

  In Lisa James’s office Palmer was looking at a picture of the lady, very obviously taken at some sort of awards ceremony. She was seated at a large table, laughing at the camera, whilst those around her were pulling silly faces.

  Her office was much smaller than Tony Fox’s, and obviously a ‘work’ office; untidy, with files and folders strewn in a random way on shelves and over a large table, many with post-it notes stuck everywhere in profusion. Three rickety chairs completed the room.