Abattoir Blues (18 page)

Leslie Palmer, the driver of the oncoming car, had been able to add nothing to his statement. He was the proprietor of a second-hand bookshop in Swainshead on his way back home after a visit to colleagues at the Grove Bookshop in Ilkley. All he could tell them was that Ross had been too close to the middle of the road when the sheep ran out and Palmer turned the bend. Pure bad luck. Geoff Hamilton’s team and the rest would continue to investigate the circumstances of the incident, and Peter Darby and his crash-scene photographer expert from Salford would take photographs and videos, but Banks was more interested in the remains found scattered around the scene than in Caleb Ross’s unfortunate demise. As far as Banks was concerned, the pass wasn’t the real crime scene; that was still the hangar in the Drewick airfield, where he was certain that Morgan Spencer had been shot. All they needed now was more forensic evidence to back up these theories.

‘Right,’ said Gervaise, as soon as everyone had settled down. ‘Can we get down to business? It’s been a long day, and it isn’t over yet. DCI Banks?’

Banks walked to the front as Gervaise sat down. A long day, indeed. Banks remembered standing beside Morgan Spencer’s smouldering caravan in the grey dawn light. It seemed aeons ago.

‘It’s true that a lot’s happened,’ he began, ‘and we’ve learned quite a bit. But we’re still missing some important pieces of the jigsaw. While Jazz has analysed the DNA sample from the hangar and discovered that it’s human, and it belongs to one person only, we haven’t yet found any match on the database. That doesn’t mean a lot, as you know, but it does mean that we need to get a move on and broaden our search. Specifically,’ he said, ‘we need to get a sample of Morgan Spencer’s blood analysed as soon as possible. Given that we just found him – or what we think is him – in pieces scattered over the bottom of Belderfell Pass, that shouldn’t prove too difficult.’

Jazz nodded. ‘I’m on it.’ She looked at Gervaise. ‘If someone could just get Harrogate CID off my back for a while, please? They’re driving me crazy over a sample I’m late with. It’s a rape case, so I can hardly blame them.’

‘I’ll talk to Harrogate, Ms Singh,’ said Gervaise. ‘Just do your best.’

‘Thanks. Well . . . one thing I can say for certain is that there was
no
DNA belonging to Michael Lane found in the hangar. The hairbrush DI Cabbot brought in gave us hairs with the follicle attached, which was just what we needed to check that out. No match.’

‘So the body in the hangar wasn’t Lane’s,’ Banks said. ‘And thanks to Gerry, we also know from the mobile records that it
was
Morgan Spencer who texted Michael Lane at 9.29 a.m. on Sunday morning. We don’t know what he wrote, of course, as we don’t have access to either his or Lane’s mobile phones, but we were able to check with the service provider against the numbers of the itemised calls. According to his partner Alex Preston, when Michael Lane received this text he said he had to go out to do a job, and that he might visit his father later. He left his flat on the East Side Estate shortly after 9.30, and it would have taken him about ten or fifteen minutes to get to the hangar, if that was his destination. That puts him there at about 9.45. We can also assume that the job involved Spencer, as he was the one who texted, and he and Lane were known to work together on removals and farm labour As far as we can gather, Michael Lane never got to his father’s, and he hasn’t been seen or heard of since Sunday morning. Alex Preston assured DI Cabbot that’s out of character.’

‘But can we assume that this job Lane and Spencer had to do involved the airfield and the hangar?’ asked Gervaise.

‘We still lack any hard evidence on that. We don’t know anything about Morgan Spencer’s movements that morning, except that he sent Lane a text at 9.29. If he stole the tractor, he may well have spent the night with it at his lock-up. A number of people from the site do remember seeing him as usual during the day on Saturday. We’ve questioned most of the people at the caravan park now, and nobody admits to really knowing Spencer, or to seeing anything suspicious during the night of the fire. At the moment I’m just assuming it was his blood at the hangar because we know it wasn’t Lane’s, and we’d have to be very unlucky to have two major incidents at once. We’ll know whether Morgan was killed in the hangar when Jazz compares the blood sample with that from the crash site.’

‘But how is the hangar connected with the theft of Beddoes’ tractor?’ Gervaise asked.

‘We don’t know that it is. Not for certain. Whatever happened there might not be connected with Morgan Spencer or Michael Lane or the tractor theft at all. I mean, why kill someone over a stolen tractor? The owner, John Beddoes, didn’t get back from Mexico until late Sunday night, so he’s in the clear. He also doesn’t need the insurance money. It’s possible that Spencer intended to meet Lane somewhere else entirely to do an honest job, then he got snatched and taken to the hangar, but none of that explains Lane’s disappearance. If he couldn’t find Spencer at the intended job site, why didn’t he just go home?’

‘I still don’t like it,’ Gervaise said, casting her eyes around the room. ‘Too much speculation. What about physical evidence?’

‘Stefan found some traces of red diesel in the hangar,’ said Banks. ‘It could have come from the tractor or some other farm vehicle permitted to use the stuff. But there was nothing else to indicate that the tractor had been there. He also found traces of other vehicles having been there, but it’s impossible to say when. We just don’t know.’

‘Anything from the train companies or the news item?’ Gervaise asked Doug Wilson.

‘No, ma’am. They said they’d check the online purchase records and put a few flyers on the route, but it’ll take time.’

‘Rather like train journeys themselves,’ muttered Banks.

‘Is there anything else to connect the hangar with the stolen tractor?’ Gervaise asked him.

‘I think Winsome and Gerry might have something to report on that.’

Winsome cleared her throat and spoke without referring to her notes. ‘The landlord of the George and Dragon in Hallerby saw a racing-green removal van large enough to carry a tractor come down the lane that leads from the airfield at just after ten o’clock on Sunday morning,’ she said. ‘Headed in the direction of the A1. He got a brief look at the driver and said he was wearing a flat cap and had mutton chop sideburns. The lorry had no markings. The number plate was too muddy to read. Not unusual for a rural vehicle in weather like we’ve been having lately.’

‘What sort of car does Michael Lane drive, again?’ Banks asked Annie.

‘A clapped-out grey Peugeot.’

‘Has it been seen?’

‘Not since he went out on Sunday morning. And nothing from the airlines or credit card company. He’s off our radar.’

Banks thought he might need another chat with Joanna MacDonald. She was his key to the magic world of ANPR. Cars could be tracked anywhere in the country. ‘And do we know what Morgan Spencer drives?’ he asked the room at large.

‘A motorcycle,’ said Doug Wilson. ‘According to his neighbour, he’s got a Yamaha. He usually keeps it parked beside his caravan, but it wasn’t there when DI Cabbot and I visited yesterday, and we don’t know where it is now.’

‘Maybe he rode it to his lorry and put it in the back?’ said Banks. ‘It wasn’t outside his caravan after the fire, either, perhaps because he was already dead. Which reminds me,’ he said, glancing at Annie. ‘Could you have a word with someone at Vaughn’s ABP, where Caleb Ross worked? They must have a schedule of pickups or some such thing. There has to be some way of finding out how and where his body parts got mixed up with the fallen stock.’

Annie jotted on her pad. ‘And where it got chopped up like that,’ she added.

‘Let’s see what Dr Glendenning has to say about that at the p.m.’

‘Do you think Caleb Ross had anything to do with it all?’ asked Gervaise.

‘It’s a definite possibility,’ said Banks. ‘The accident may have been beyond Ross’s control, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t know that he was carrying Morgan Spencer’s body. Or at least something not quite kosher. We’ll be looking for a link.’

‘If it was an accident,’ Annie Cabbot said.

‘You think the van might have been sabotaged?’ said Gervaise,

‘I’m just saying it’s a possibility, ma’am. Maybe the crash-scene investigators will be able to tell us what happened.’

‘Maybe,’ said Banks. ‘But they don’t have an awful lot left to go on. If someone did sabotage the van, there may well be no evidence of that left.’

‘Morgan Spencer had a oversize lock-up on the Bewlay Industrial Estate,’ said Gerry Masterson. ‘Apparently his van is sometimes filled with the contents of someone’s house overnight, and he’s required for insurance purposes to keep it somewhere safe, not just on the street, so the estate rents him the garage. It’s empty at the moment. We’re waiting for some free CSIs to send over there, but . . .’

‘I know,’ said Banks. ‘They’re all busy at Belderfell Pass, or the hangar.’

‘Yes, sir. DS Nowak says he hopes he can get some experts over there by the morning. Until then, we’ve put a guard on the place.’

‘We’ll put out a bulletin on the van and motorcycle.’ Banks glanced at Winsome. ‘And the grey Peugeot. The landlord of the George and Dragon only reported one lorry coming out of the woods that Sunday morning, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, sir. One racing-green lorry.’

‘Nothing going in?’

‘He didn’t see anything. But if they were using the route for criminal activities, it would make sense to vary it sometimes.’

‘I suppose it could have been Spencer’s lorry the landlord saw,’ said Banks. ‘Gerry, do you think you could attempt to tie reported rural thefts in the region to traffic observed at the hangar or passing through Hallerby from Kirkwood Lane?’

‘We’d need a lot more data to go on, sir,’ said Gerry. ‘I mean, it’s easy to collate the incidents of thefts from our crime figures, but that’s no use unless we have definite recollections from people who lived in Hallerby. Who’s going to remember when a lorry came down the lane?’

‘The pub landlord might if you push him a bit,’ Winsome said.

‘If he does, see if you can make any connections,’ said Banks.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do you know who owns the airfield property yet?’

‘Venture Property Developments, sir,’ said Gerry. ‘I spoke briefly to one of their executives on the phone. I must say I couldn’t get much out of him. He seemed rather abrupt. They’re based in Leeds. Apparently they’re still involved in legal arguments over zoning it for commercial use – a shopping centre. There’s some local opposition from the villagers in Drewick and Hallerby. They say it’ll ruin their peaceful natural environment.’

‘Indeed it will,’ said Banks. ‘Unless they can find some particularly rare species of bird or a few bedraggled badgers to get it a protection order.’

‘The company doesn’t expect it to drag on for too long,’ Gerry went on. ‘In the meantime, they haven’t been paying much attention to it. Other fish to fry. I asked them if it was locked up securely, and they said it had to be to comply with Health and Safety. But nobody from Venture has actually
been
there in ages, so they have no idea whether anyone has been using it for their own purposes.’

‘According to Terry Gilchrist, the kids get in anyway,’ said Winsome. ‘He says he’s seen them playing football and cricket inside the grounds there while walking his dog.’

Banks remembered his childhood, when he used to love playing in condemned houses. Did Health and Safety exist then? He didn’t remember ever hearing about them. If they had, he thought, there would probably have been no Bonfire Night and the old houses would have been more secure. But children are resilient and malleable. They can survive the occasional fall through the staircase of a condemned slum. ‘Talk to Terry Gilchrist again, Winsome. He’s the one who lives the closest. See if he knows anything else about the place. Anything. It might be worth finding out who some of these kids are, too, if he knows. They might be able to tell us more. Kids can be surprisingly observant. And find out what kind of car Gilchrist drives, just in case it comes up.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ said Winsome, ‘Mr Gilchrist showed a couple of patrol officers where some of the children lived this morning. None of them reported seeing anything. And he drives a dark blue Ford Focus.’

‘Well done, Winsome. I’ll visit Venture tomorrow, myself,’ Banks went on. ‘See what sort of outfit they are. Find out what they know about the properties they own. Rattle their cage a bit. There’s money and brains behind this rural crime business. It’s not just the Morgan Spencers and Michael Lanes of this world nicking tractors while the owner’s sunning himself in Mexico. It goes deeper than that. It wouldn’t surprise me if Venture’s cut in for some of the action. After all, they own the land and they know the hangar’s out there, empty. Anything else?’

Nobody had anything to add, so AC Gervaise closed the meeting.

‘We’ve all got plenty to do,’ Banks said as they filed out of the room, ‘so I suggest we get to it. Annie, would you meet me in the office in half an hour?’

After Alex had put Ian to bed – the poor lad was tired out – she went back into the living room and turned on the television, just for the company. She had kept the front door deadlocked and bolted, with the chain on, all the time she had been at home, and now she sat with her new mobile on her lap, fingers ready to key in 999 if anyone came to the door. Luckily, the SIM card hadn’t been damaged, and the man in the shop had set up a new phone with the same number and same account as the damaged one. She couldn’t risk not having the phone – and the number – in case Michael called.

Her broken finger was throbbing, but she decided against taking the painkillers the doctor had given her until bedtime. She needed to be vigilant. Meadows, the phoney policeman, might come again if he didn’t hear from her, and she didn’t know how long her nerves could stand the stress of knowing there would be another visit, more threats, perhaps even more serious violence this time, or – God forbid – violence towards Ian, because she really had nothing to tell him. And if she did find out where Michael was, she could hardly give that information away to someone who wanted to harm him.