Already having a reputation as a hard man, the recruit Towler was paired with was terrified. Correctly guessing that the instructors were not looking to see him simply bullying and humiliating his opponent, he opted for a different approach.
For virtually the whole minute, Towler kept his arms by his side and his gloves down. He looked straight at his opponent and allowed him to rain blow after blow on his head. His nose broke immediately. A cut above his eye restricted his vision. Still he kept his arms down and allowed himself to be beaten. With the sixty seconds almost up and the point clearly made, with a lightening quick jab which seemed to come from nowhere, he laid his fellow recruit out cold.
When he was finished telling his story, they sat in silence. Fluke didn’t doubt it was true. It had that paradoxical mix of violence and compassion that made Towler who he was.
A fight wasn’t the best way to describe what happened next. A fight implies two people engaged in violence with a shared aim of hurting each other.
McNab never got to lay a finger on Towler, but in trying to had run into the wall, punched it twice and hurt his neck with a missed headbutt. Fluke thought his right hand was broken and there was a nasty cut on his forehead. He was drenched in sweat and that, combined with the blood from the cut, was affecting his vision. Every time he lunged or swung something at Towler, he missed.
Fluke watched dispassionately, moving out the way occasionally, as Towler allowed McNab to beat himself into submission. Using some fairly basic defensive moves, Towler used McNab’s own strength and lack of control to make him hurt himself.
Eventually McNab ran out of steam and he stood with his hands on his hips, gasping for breath and looking with hatred at Towler, who hadn’t broken sweat and was watching him with an amused look. Fluke thought that he might have had enough. Until Towler taunted him again.
Putting on a terrible Michael Caine accent, he called out, ‘You’re a big man, but you’re out of shape, McKnob.’
Fluke groaned to himself. ‘Stop pissing about, Matt, and finish this, will you,’ he called out.
At the point of exhaustion, McNab charged one last time. Towler sidestepped again but, as if putting an animal out of its misery, his right arm darted out like striking viper as McNab passed him. It firmly connected with his solar plexus and he collapsed to the ground, gasping. He moved onto his side and vomited noisily. He wasn’t crying but he wasn’t far off.
Towler and Fluke casually discussed the previous two minutes while McNab writhed on the ground, panting. Douglass looked shocked and Fluke didn’t blame her. She asked if they needed a van to come and get McNab. She assumed they’d be arresting him. Fluke didn’t think it would be necessary and said so.
It took a full five minutes for McNab to get his breath back, which was followed by five minutes of threats of violence and legal action and tears.
‘Just in case you were wondering, McNab, this isn’t going well,’ Fluke said. ‘You know I can arrest you now? Take you in for assaulting a police officer,’ Fluke said. ‘Trying to anyway,’ he added. He heard Towler snort with laughter.
McNab looked at them both, sullen, defiant, planning a revenge he wasn’t capable of. There was vomit on his chin, the side of his face and matted into his chest hair. He said nothing and carried on muttering under his breath, Fluke may have heard the words ‘filthy bastards’ but chose to ignore them.
As he looked at them, McNab shivered. Adrenaline extracting its payment in all likelihood. Nothing was free. It dawned on Fluke that they were maybe looking at it from the wrong angle.
McNab was scared. Not scared for Ackley. Fluke doubted he’d give two shits if something happened to him. He was scared for himself. He wasn’t protecting Ackley for any altruistic reasons. But Fluke needed to know what he knew. Time to do to him psychologically what Towler had done to him physically.
‘Look, McNab. If Ackley really is your mate then you need to speak to us. He’s in trouble. Not legal trouble. Proper trouble.’ Fluke said. ‘Tell us where he is and we’ll leave. Don’t and you’re gonna have to come with us.’
McNab stopped sobbing and looked up, his eyes red, his nose running heavily. Staring at Fluke, he tried to regain some control. Not fearing him as much as Towler. His efforts to regain some dignity were ruined however when a snot bubble coming out of his nose burst.
‘We know he saw something, something that scared him.’
Like a punctured tyre, he deflated in front of them.
He’s terrified
, Fluke thought.
‘Not out here,’ McNab said, looking round.
He led them back into the house and they took seats in what Fluke supposed was the lounge. The sofa in the front garden looked cleaner but Fluke was wearing a machine-washable suit. Before they started, Fluke asked Douglass to go and stay with the woman and make sure she was okay. He wanted to keep it as restricted as possible.
‘Ackers came by yesterday morning,’ McNab said, lighting a cigarette and picking up an empty beer can to use as an ashtray.
‘What time?’ Fluke asked.
‘Dunno, but it was still fucking dark. I was in me bed. Kept bangin’ on the door. Ignored it to start with, thought it must’ve been a smackhead looking for some gear and I don’t do that anymore.’
Pinegrove was a short walk from the deposition site so it fitted in with what they knew up to then. ‘So what did you do?’ Fluke asked.
‘I got fuckin’ sick of it, didn’t I. I’ve been good lately, haven’t really been up to much. Doing weights and that. Hoping to get on the doors in town. Good money and it’s cash in hand.’ He stopped and looked up, aware that he’d admitted to benefit and tax fraud.
‘Go on, we’re not bothered about that. What happened next?’
‘I sent Siobhan down, didn’t I? She was gonna be up anyway feeding the larle ’un.’
‘You’re a modern man, McKnob,’ Towler said.
Fluke winced. Sometimes Towler’s off button malfunctioned. He had McNab talking now. He could do without them going at it again. He flashed Towler a warning look.
McNab continued, ‘No, it made sense for her to get the door. She’s got a fuckin’ mouth on her anyway. You heard her before. She’s lived on the estate all her life and knows how these things go. If I’d went down and it’d been a couple of dirty smackheads I’d have fuckin’ killed ’em and I’d have got lifted.’
‘But it was Darren?’
‘Who? Oh aye, it was Ackers. Darren. Funny that, I’d forgotten what his proper name was. I know he sells ’is arse an’ that, but he’s a good lad really. We were in the same children’s home when we was little. He came in crying his eyes out. Said he’d seen a big fucker dumping a body up at where the new hospital’s gonna be. Said he’d left a note but wished he hadn’t. He’s been staying there a few days. Siobhan won’t have him in the house with the larle ’un because of the needles. She thinks he’s got AIDS or Hep B so won’t even make him a brew in case we catch something off the cup.’
‘What else did he see?’
‘Dunno, didn’t fuckin’ ask him. Told him I didn’t want to know anymore. Sounded proper scary, it did. Didn’t want any fuckin’ part of it. Ackers was fuckin’ brickin’ himself like. He wanted to get out of Whitehaven.’
‘And you helped him?’
‘Did I fuck. What could I do? Don’t have a car and he wanted a hundred fuckin’ quid to get to Newcastle. I don’t have that kind of money and even if I did, I wouldn’t let him have it. I know he’s a mate n’all but he’s a smackhead. He’d have just fucked off with it. I’d not see him for six months and then he’d deny ever fuckin’ lending it. I gave him a fiver from Siobhan’s purse. Just to get him to fuck off. I didn’t want anyone finding him here.’
‘So where is he now?’ Fluke asked.
McNab burst out laughing, a low guttural sound. He looked at Towler. ‘You may be hard mate, but you’re a thick cunt.’
Fluke looked at him, tendrils of apprehension creeping over him. He was laughing at them. What did he know that they didn’t?
‘You fuckin’ stupid bastards,’ he said, some of his earlier bravado returning. ‘He’s with you lot.’
Fluke’s confused expression caused McNab to burst out laughing all over again.
McNab continued. ‘He’s at Whitehaven nick.’
Fluke was furious. Furious at Douglass, who’d only just come on shift and hadn’t read her emails, and furious with himself for not believing Holland would retaliate by deliberately interfering in a murder investigation. His smirk made sense now. He knew why they were there and he knew who he had in his cells. And he knew that at some point, Fluke would know.
According to McNab, he’d been arrested for shoplifting that morning. He’d walked into Tesco, picked up a DVD player, and according to the arresting officer, simply waited outside until the police arrived.
Towler had phoned the station immediately but it was too late. ‘They already taken him to court, boss. Magistrates remanded him. He’s in the back of a G4S van, on his way to Durham. No way of stopping it.’ He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. ‘No one thought to fucking check why we were here? What’d you think we doing, buying fucking ice creams?’ Towler shouted down the phone. ‘For fuck’s sake, we look a right pair of bell ends here.’
Fluke felt the same but let him rant. He knew he’d calm down soon enough. Douglass was sitting quietly in the back, chastened. It wasn’t her fault anymore than it was Towler’s. Fluke blamed himself. If he hadn’t humiliated Holland at the crime scene Ackley would be in their custody. He asked Douglass what she thought the shoplifting meant.
She looked up, surprised to be asked. ‘I can’t say for certain obviously, but all the regulars at court know what the remand threshold is at any one time in case they need to get off the streets. It sounds like he deliberately passed it. I don’t why he’d do that though, sir. He’s never done it before.’
Fluke understood what she meant. Ackley had deliberately stolen something of a value too high for the court to bail him. Although the value changed from bench to bench, word got around quick enough. He’d wanted to be remanded into custody. It was a ploy the homeless and addicts who wanted to get clean sometimes used. Something else Michelle’s friends would never be able to understand; for some people, prison was the best they could hope for in their lives. Auntie Betty’s B&B. Nice, warm and safe, all the food you can eat and free healthcare. For some people, prison was a sanctuary.
Douglass didn’t know why he’d deliberately got himself locked up, but Fluke did. It wasn’t because he wanted to get clean; it was because he was terrified.
The custody sergeant at Whitehaven obviously wasn’t prepared to take any more grief from Towler and was giving as much back. Towler rang off and threw his phone down in disgust. ‘Prick.’
They dropped Douglass back at Whitehaven, and Towler drove out the station car park without saying goodbye. Fluke gave her a weak smile as they drove past her.
At least they knew where Ackley was.
As Towler got back on the phone to organise a prison visit, Fluke remembered he hadn’t phoned Lucy, the bug lady. There was no time; he wanted to go back to the crime scene, to make sure it was still secure and that SOCO had everything they needed. Towler drove through Hensingham and parked in the same place Fluke had the day before.
The crime scene was still being processed by the SOCO teams. Fluke knew that the reality of forensic work was methodical, painstaking and laborious. It took days rather than hours, popular TV shows giving a false picture of what the actual job entailed.
He could see that there were journalists and a TV crew there. Word was out.
A shrine of flowers and soft toys had built up. There were candles as well but the wind had blown them all out. A crowd of onlookers had gathered and some were being interviewed by the press.
Fluke turned and surveyed his surroundings after he signed into the outer cordon. It was, as he thought: the old hospital was the only building that overlooked any of the site. A combination of trees and the screens the building company had erected interrupted the view from everywhere else. It couldn’t be seen from the road. He didn’t really know what to make of that information. He was working on an early theory that the killer wasn’t from Cumbria. Professional killing wasn’t a trade Cumbrians normally moved into. So how did he know about the place? Other than being unlucky enough to have actually been observed disposing of the body, it was perfect. He took one last look at the old hospital. It was still operational, the new one wasn’t due to open until later in the year, but even to his untrained eye it looked as though it had had its day. It was grubby and it was old-fashioned. Not old-fashioned in the grand architectural style of the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle, it was more the prefabricated type favoured in the seventies. It didn’t look nice then, and it looked worse now. But had their killer been there? Had he stood in that old dilapidated building and seen what he must have thought was the ideal deposition site?
He walked up to the uniformed sergeant who eyed him warily. Word had obviously got out about how he’d taken Holland to task.
‘Sergeant. Can you move those ghouls back another fifty yards? I don’t want a suspect placing themselves here on purpose so they can claim that’s why their forensics were found.’
The sergeant walked off to arrange it.
Fluke took one last look at the crime scene. There was nothing more he could do here. He turned his phone on to check his emails while he had a signal. There was only one that mattered. The NBIS report on the bullet was back.
***
An hour later, Fluke was back at FMIT reading the report from the National Ballistics Intelligence Service. As he read it, Alan Vaughn gave him the facts.
‘Matt can probably give you more info on it, boss, but there’s good and bad news. The good news is that ballistics were able to make a positive ID. It’s a .22 LR.’
Fluke nodded, it was the calibre Towler had thought it had been. ‘LR?’
‘Stands for long rifle apparently. Not really sure why as it was almost certainly fired from a handgun,’ Vaughn said. ‘Matt, you got five minutes?’ he called out. Towler walked over. ‘.22 LR?’