Death on High (The Lakeland Murders) (2 page)

Jane Francis handed out maps marked with different coloured dots.

‘Red means thefts of stock, green is agricultural machinery, blue is metals and yellow is other. You’ll see we’ve got a substantial concentration in the northwest of the county, west of Carlisle and out beyond Wigton, and smaller ones in the south, west and particularly the east. As you might expect really, rural areas outside the National Park, so fewer tourists about and more working farms.’

‘At least the tourists are good for keeping the scum-bags away’ said Dixon. ‘They do nothing but get in the way usually.’

‘Thank you for that comment from the Cumbria Tourist Board’ said Hall drily. ‘So it looks like we base Ian in Carlisle, to keep him close to the action. Another advantage is that he’s never worked up there, so the local crims shouldn’t know him. Needless to say you’ll get a new identity and papers Ian, I’ve got the details from HQ here, and you’ll be signing on in Carlisle you’ll be pleased to know. Now what about your back-story, what you’ve been doing with your life, all that sort of stuff?’

‘Presumably I can still have been in the Marines? If we let the Regiment know my new name they’ll play along with us. I’m sure they’ve done it before.’

‘Yes, agreed’ said Hall, ‘that makes sense. But what about the last few years, while you’ve really been with us?’

‘I think he’s been inside’ said Dixon, smiling. ‘Ian’s always looked like the criminal type.’

‘What, and you don’t?’ laughed Jane.

‘OK’ said Hall, ‘I agree that Ian does look like the worst kind of ex-con, but that’s a risky option. What if his new mates start asking where he was, and if he knew such-and-such? So that’s a no I’m afraid.’

‘What if I’ve been abroad then, bodyguard or security or something?’ said Mann. ‘Maybe Spain. Quite a few lads from the Regiment did that sort of work after they left. And now I’ve had to come home, because the work dried up over there.’

‘Yes, that’s good’ agreed Hall. ‘Over the next day or two you need to get your back-story written up and circulated Ian, so choose somewhere you know reasonably well, and find the name of a club or something that’s closed down in the last few months. Now that Ray’s back from his holidays they must be going bust in droves.’

If anything Dixon’s perma-tan looked brighter, or at least a bit more orange, under the office strip lights, but he was used to the piss taking. And he always gave as good as he got.

‘Anyway’ said Hall, ‘we all need to know Ian’s story, because if we have to meet up urgently, and a gang member might be there, we’ll need a reason that fits. Now Ian, would you like to know your new name?’

‘Yes please boss.’

‘Let it be Shirley’ said Dixon. Hall ignored him.

‘As of next Monday you are Gary Benson, and here’s the paperwork to prove it. I’ve persuaded Robinson that we don’t tell any of the Divisions who you are, so if you get nicked for anything they won’t know. But it also means that there’ll be no leaks either. I’m not taking any chances with your safety, Ian.’

‘Does Ian get a car too?’ asked Dixon.

‘Oh yes, and with free tax and insurance too. It’s an old Subaru Impreza, with the blacked out windows, lowered suspension, big exhaust and everything. We impounded it last year, and it’s even had a service in our workshop. It still sounds like it’s got a hole in the exhaust, but I’m told that’s deliberate.’

‘I’ll fit right in on the Raffles I suppose’ said Mann. ‘But please let me keep it clean. I can’t be seen in a dirty car.’

‘You’re not going to be on the Raffles. We’ve rented you a little house near the hospital actually, in a nice little street. Basically you’ve got the rest of the week to get your personal affairs sorted out, and you leave everything that’s personal behind. Just hide your Warrant Card and mobile somewhere at your new place.’

‘What about Julie?’

‘Up to you. I’d prefer it if you didn’t share too many details with her, but that’s up to you. And as soon as you start to get involved with anything serious I’d keep her well away.’

‘Will do. So have you got anything for me to go on, in terms of who to try to meet?’

‘Yes’ said Jane. ‘We’ve got two targets for you to start with, both north and east Cumbria based, and as far as we know they don’t work together.’ She handed round two sheets, with mugshots and records. ‘The first one is Joey Spedding, 40, from west Cumbria originally but he’s lived in Carlisle for years, when he hasn’t been inside that is. As you’ll see he’s got several convictions for violence, including a nasty GBH, and his most recent is for a metals theft last year. Carlisle CID thought he’d done a few more, but he wouldn’t cough to them. He’s got a bit of flash about him apparently, and when I talked to one of the DCs up north he said that he thought Spedding might be management material, whatever that means. And the other one is Ben Brockbank. He’s younger, 31, and he comes from a farming family; his parents have a hill farm up near Alston. Nothing for violence, and he’s never actually been inside. You’ll see his form is for one tractor theft as a juvenile and a theft of stock two years back. But the word is that he’s active and clever. And unlike most of our scum-bags he understands farmers and farming, he knows their routines, and he seems to have ways of moving stuff on, out of the county.’

‘So how do I meet these characters?’ asked Mann.

‘Spedding is easy enough. I’ve got a list of pubs he goes to, and his KAs as well. He’ll not be hard to track down. But Brockbank could be harder to find. He lives in a village in the Eden valley, has a wife and kid, and actually does paid work.’

‘Get away’ said Dixon. ‘Are you sure he’s a valid target?’

‘Only seasonal stuff, tractor driving, relief farm labouring, lambing, that sort of thing. Drinks in the pub in the village and one in Alston, but I’m not sure how you could arrange to just happen to be there.’

‘Can you look at this Brockbank some more for us Ray?’ asked Hall. ‘We need to give Ian something to work with here, and the file is pretty thin.’

Hall’s phone rang. ‘Sorry, it’s the front desk. Just a sec.’ He listened for a few seconds. ‘Give me two minutes. Put him in an interview room, would you?’

‘Can we pick this up later guys? Jane, can you work with Ian on getting his back-story together and written up. Make sure there are no major holes. Ray, would you look at this Brockbank character, start with everything that’s on the national databases, anything we might be able to use. After that, just use your imagination, but find a hook for Ian to use if you possibly can, OK?’ Dixon nodded, and got up to leave. ‘And Jane, before you start on Ian’s stuff, can you look at something else for me, right now? A death last Sunday, the 3rd. Near Ambleside, a faller. Name is Anthony Harrison. Could you print out what we’ve got and come down and join me? Someone’s walked in, and wants to talk to a detective about it apparently.’

Adrian Butterworth didn’t think he’d ever been in a Police station before. He drove 70,000 miles a year, selling truck finance to hauliers, and he’d never once had a speeding ticket, or even a parking fine come to that. But it was interesting to be sitting in a proper interview room. It was like one of the ones on telly, only smaller and more battered looking. The recording machine looked newer though, digital he thought. Butterworth wondered if they’d record what he had to say. He hoped they would.

He’d sat there for nearly fifteen minutes before Andy Hall walked in. Butterworth was pleased that he was an inspector, but disappointed that he didn’t turn on the recorder. He wasn’t even making notes.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Butterworth. I hear you’re here because you have information in connection with the death of Mr. Harrison up on the fells last Sunday. Is that right?’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure I’d call it information.’

‘Have you ever come forward as a witness in previous cases?’

‘No.’ Hall watched the realisation cross Butterworth’s face. ‘I’m not a nutter. I’m supposed to be in Edinburgh now you know.’

‘Sorry, I wasn’t implying anything.’ Hall was his usual calm self, and Butterworth looked mollified. ‘I just meant that you must have seen something that you think might be important, or you wouldn’t be here now. And if you think that, then I certainly want to hear about it. OK?’

Butterworth nodded.

‘What is it that you do?’ asked Hall, killing time until Jane joined them. ‘You’re very smartly suited and booted I must say.’

‘Take a guess. Go on.’

Hall smiled. ‘I’m only a humble Detective Inspector Mr. Butterworth, not Sherlock Holmes, but I’ll take a wild guess if you like.’ Hall leaned back in his chair. ‘I’d say that you’re in finance.’

Butterworth looked genuinely surprised.

‘That’s uncanny. How did you do know? Is it on your system?’

Hall laughed. ‘I think you rather over-estimate the extent of our knowledge. No, I just took a guess that the largest number of people who wear suits to work every day these days probably work for banks and insurance companies and things like that. And finance is a nice broad category. So I didn’t get it from a little bit of lint on your collar, or your distinctive limp.’

‘But I don’t have a limp.’

Butterworth looked confused. Clearly he wasn’t a student of the master’s methods, although in fairness Hall wasn’t either. Fortunately Jane knocked on the door and joined them. She introduced herself to Butterworth, and passed a folder across to Hall.

‘Mr. Butterworth, I just need to have a look through this file. Would you like some tea or coffee while I do that? Then at least I’ll have some of the background when we talk.’

Butterworth looked dubious. He said no to the coffee, and he and Jane chatted about life on the road while Hall skimmed the file.

It didn’t take long. The dead man, Anthony Harrison, was 52, and had been walking with his wife Vicky. Background checks showed that neither had a record. He was an architect by profession, she was an accountant. They’d set off from the same car park as Butterworth and were also doing the Fairfield Round. According to the wife’s statement they were both keen walkers, and had done the route before. They’d walked along the edge of Hart Crag, with the steep drop into Deepdale to their right. Mrs. Harrison said that they walked close to the edge because they knew the way and were hoping to get the views as and when the clouds parted, so Hall guessed that they’d been specifically asked about this decision. But the notes didn’t say who’d made the decision. Sloppy, thought Hall. Harrison was walking ahead, ‘he liked to lead’ his wife had said, when suddenly he slipped on a rock, lost his balance and had fallen over the edge. Mrs. Harrison was too far behind to help. She went to the edge, couldn’t see him, and started to shout for help. Another walker arrived within a minute or two, Butterworth was noted as fifth or sixth on the scene, and it was Ambleside Mountain Rescue who recovered Harrison, unconscious, within twenty minutes. He’d fallen about 600 feet, and he’d died in the Ambulance on the way to hospital, at just before 3pm.

The PM had taken place a couple of days later, and as far as Hall could make out from the report, without a medical dictionary or a tame pathologist to hand, the cause of death was a blow to the head, although there were a number of other injuries, including numerous broken bones, all completely consistent with a fall. An inquest had been opened and adjourned, but a misadventure verdict was a racing certainty.

‘Thanks for your patience, Mr. Butterworth’ said Hall, closing the file. ‘This must have been a really traumatic experience for you. Now, what is it that you’d like us to know?’

‘I saw them, and then I saw her. I keep going over it in my head and something just isn’t right.’

‘OK’ said Hall patiently. ‘Let’s just rewind a bit here. As I understand it you were walking the horseshoe behind the victim and his wife, and you were going the same way round. Is that right?’

‘Yes, I must have been a few minutes behind when I first saw them. It wasn’t much of a day, I almost didn’t go up, and it had really clagged in by the time I was up on the tops. It was strange really. I was just walking along in the fog and suddenly the clouds sort of lifted, just for a few seconds, and I saw them on the far side of Rydal Head, just on Hart Crag I suppose. Where the drop is really steep anyway.  I could see them both clearly against the sky.’

‘Who was walking in front?’

‘The man, the taller one anyway. He had a pack on, I remember that.’

‘And then what?’

‘The clouds rolled back over everything, and I carried on walking. But maybe a minute or two later the same thing happened, the fog sort of parted and I looked over to where I’d seen them before. Just to see how they were going on I suppose, I don’t know why really. Anyway, there was just one figure now, the one who’d been behind, the woman.’

Hall nodded encouragingly, and waited. But Butterworth didn’t seem to have anything else to add. ‘That’s all consistent with the reports that we have, Mr. Butterworth, but thanks very much for coming in.’

There was nothing in Hall’s tone that even suggested to Jane Francis, who took an increasingly keen interest in Andy Hall’s inner life, the irritation that he felt.