Meyer-Hofmann AG

17

Joe Wilson was back in his crowded office, staring at the computer screen, trying to digest the information he had gathered and its implications. Dr Jackson had more or less confirmed the letter’s allegations concerning the Singh Family. Now the name blinking on his computer screen had opened a whole new can of worms. Wilson had found out that a sergeant in the Portland Island Police had been responsible for sending the bodies to the general infirmary. Now the same sergeant’s cousin, Deputy Chief Frank Hanson of the New York Police department, had been found dead at his home, surrounded by bank papers. He was apparently heavily in debt, and the .45-caliber hole in his head was his final solution. Joe pondered the question over a lukewarm cup of canteen coffee, which sat like a small muddy pond in the middle of the rolling hills of manila folders that covered his desk.

The question was, had he killed himself because of the debt, or because he had interfered in the investigation? If he had interfered in the investigation, why? What could possibly interest the deputy chief, in a small town tragedy?

There were lots of questions he needed to answer, and two witnesses he would very much like to speak to: Britt Petersen, whom he had now made Interpol’s problem, and Sergeant Sandy Dillon, whom he was expecting within the hour.

Leaning back in his chair, he took a drink of the coffee, letting it circulate around his mouth before swallowing it down. The burnt taste of coffee beans lingered on his tongue, exciting his saliva glands as he mulled over the facts.

Someone had wanted the Singh Family dead. That somebody had connections to the deputy chief. Britt Petersen’s letter had made the accusation that the someone was a company, Meyer-Hofmann AG. Through Google, he had learned their CEO was called Herman Reichard. Maybe Interpol should have a few words with that gentleman?

Officer Billie Mickelson put her head around the door, breaking Joe’s concentration.

“Joe, Sergeant Dillon is here. Shall I send him in?”

“Please.” Joe smiled back at her.

Dillon was not a happy trooper, and didn’t make any attempt to disguise the fact as he entered Joe’s office. His black hair was waxed, with a strong left-sided parting. His ruddy complexion supported the flush of anger in his round face. He was wearing jeans and a checked shirt that’s colour was bleeding out of the fabric, a sign of a hot wash cycle Joe could relate to. Dillon planted himself into the chair opposite Joe and did his best to start a staring competition.

“Sergeant Dillon, thank you very much for coming over.”

The greeting was met with a nonchalant raising of eyebrows, but nothing else.

“I need you to answer some questions about the circumstances leading up to the discovery of the Singh Family’s deaths.”

“Look, this is all in my report. What do you want from me? I haven’t got time for this shit.” Dillon crossed his legs and glared at Joe across the table.

“I will try to make it quick. Could you tell me how you were made aware of the Singh Family’s deaths?”

“Yeah, it came through dispatch. Someone had called 9-1-1.”

“Were you on duty at the time?”

“Yeah, I was filling in for a buddy.”

“The first you knew about the events on the island were through the dispatch call?”

“Sure, how else would I know?”

“You tell me.”

The staring contest continued, until Joe lost his patience.

“Look, Sergeant Dillon, you can start telling me the truth, or I am going to pick up the phone and call Internal Affairs.”

Dillon shrugged his shoulders. “You can call whoever you want.”

Joe stood up and walked over to the office door. Opening it, he stood holding the door handle like a hotel doorman waiting for a particularly slow guest to make up his mind, whether he was leaving or staying. Dillon was still sitting in the chair, his eyes darting from left to right, from the desktop to the door and back to the desk.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me!”

“Try the truth. You weren’t on duty. What made you leave your warm home, get on a boat, and go to Chebeague?”

“I got a call from the deputy chief. All right? I was doing him a favour!”

Joe repressed a smile, and closing the door, he returned to his desk.

“When?”

Dillon pulled a notepad out of his jacket pocket and briskly flicked through the pages.

“Sunday 03, November 2013, 10:25 am.”

“Didn’t that strike you as strange?”

Dillon looked at him, confused.

“The gardener called 9-1-1 at 10:15 am, to report finding the bodies. How did the Deputy Chief of the New York Police know about the deaths so quickly?”

“How should I know?”

“I repeat, didn’t it strike you as strange?”

“No—I mean, I never gave it much thought. Look, I know we didn’t do this by the book, but what’s your beef? They were accidental deaths.”

Joe didn’t answer him, instead just stared back and coughed into a closed fist.

“You mean, you think it was homicide?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be stupid, who would want to kill a family using a boiler?”

“We have found the signs of a struggle, and one of the victims had some DNA under their fingernails that doesn’t match any of the family members.”

“I don’t believe it. You can’t think Frank had something to do with this? You’re mad!”

“What did he ask you to do?”

“Nothing, Nothing special, I mean. He told me it was a sensitive case, for diplomatic reasons. The guy who died was important, his father is high up in the Indian government. Their religion meant that their bodies must be buried within a few days of death. Frank said he was getting pressure from above. He was worried that it would all get held up in forensics. You know how it is.”

“So whose idea was it to send them to the local hospital?”

“That was my idea. I mean, I know what that bitch in Augusta is like.” His eyes hit the floor when he saw that Joe obviously did not hold the same opinion of the county examiner.

“Frank just wanted to get it all sorted, without too much fuss. It was cut and dried—the poor bastards died in their sleep. That gas is a killer, you know. I checked my own boiler when I got back to the house.”

It was plain that Dillon was now fighting to get to grips with this new information. Joe wondered if he should have told him. But he was pretty sure that sending the bodies to the hospital was the sum of his involvement. Of course, he would have to report the case to Internal Affairs, whether he liked it or not. Dillon would be reprimanded, but the main investigation would centre on his cousin, Deputy Chief Frank Hanson. Dillon raised his head, a pained look in his eyes.

“You don’t think this had anything to do with his suicide, do you?”

“That will certainly be one of the lines of inquiry, Officer Dillon.”