Death on High (The Lakeland Murders) (3 page)

‘No, I’m not finished. You see it was odd.’

‘What was odd, exactly?’

‘Two things. I wish you could see it, just to be sure, but I don’t think I’m imagining it. First, it was the way she was standing. It just seemed strange, almost like she was just thinking about something. It seemed a strange way to react, that’s all.’

‘And this was after her husband had fallen, yes?’

‘That’s right, she was on her own, just looking out, not down. Definitely not down.’

‘And the other thing that struck you as odd?’

‘It was the fact that she wasn’t screaming and shouting. That came a few seconds later, and as I got closer I could hear people calling ‘Tony’ and stuff. But when I first saw her, nothing. I’m sure of it.’

Hall looked across the table at Butterworth. He didn’t really look the imaginative type.

‘The second time, when you just saw the person we know to be Mrs. Harrison, you didn’t see her looking down, or trying to look over the edge?’

‘No.’

‘And you’re also saying that she wasn’t shouting for help at that point?’

‘That’s right.’

Hall paused again. ‘Tell me about what happened when you reached Mrs. Harrison. What can you remember?’

‘It was chaos. There were a few walkers ahead of me, because it’s always busy up there, even in winter. One bloke was lying on his belly, trying to see over the edge, and I think someone else had his legs. Everyone was shouting ‘Tony’, like they’d lost a dog.’

‘And what was Mrs. Harrison doing?’

‘She was sitting down on a rock, off to one side. One of the walkers was with her, a woman it was. I don’t think she moved for ages.’

‘Did you get the impression that she knew anyone else, among the people you saw up there?’

‘Why?’

‘Did you think that Mrs. Harrison knew anyone else that you saw?’

Butterworth thought about it. ‘No, I don’t think that she did. I’m almost certain.’

‘And when did you leave?’

‘After about ten minutes. When I got down I met one of your lot in the car park, and he took down my details.’ Butterworth looked concerned. ‘Do you think I should have stayed?’

‘Was there anything that you could have done to help if you had stayed?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Then you did the right thing. All you would have done is put yourself at risk. Don’t worry about it, and thanks for coming in.’

‘So that’s it?’

‘Yes, that’s it. We appreciate you coming in, and we’ll be in touch if we need to ask you anything else. You drive safely now.’

‘Eh?’

‘On your way to Edinburgh.’

‘Oh yes, thanks. I always do. The M74 can be a cruel mistress at this time of year.’

Jane Francis looked down, and made sure that she didn’t catch Andy Hall’s eye until after Butterworth had gone.

‘Impressions?’ asked Hall.

‘He wouldn’t know a cruel mistress if it bit him on the arse, which I suppose it probably would.’

‘That aside’ said Hall, smiling, ‘did you hear anything worth following up?’

Jane thought for a moment. ‘No, not a single thing.’

‘Me neither.  Nothing that sounded even remotely like evidence.’

Jane Francis had a moment of insight. She always enjoyed them when they came.

‘But you’re going to take a look at it, aren’t you?’

‘You bet. And you’re going to help me. First job is to find any other wits, the folks who turned up before Butterworth, aka the road warrior. I think that lazy Sergeant from Ambleside got a few names when he hung about in the car park, judging from this.’ Hall tapped the folder and passed it to Jane. ‘But prioritise getting Ian prepped and ready please. Our first duty is to make sure he’s as safe as we can make him. Carlisle is a mean city you know.’

‘I thought that was Glasgow.’

‘You’ve never been on Botchergate on a Saturday night, have you? Our lot put up these big barriers at both ends, I kid you not. It’s either to keep them all in or all out, I forget which. But anyway, the beer flows like sick. Or maybe that’s the other way round too.’

‘It sounds as classy as Ray Dixon’s shoes. He’s wearing grey ones today.’

‘Really? I thought shoes only came in black or brown. Anyway, let’s make sure we keep Ian safe, even on Botchergate.’

After work Hall drove to the supermarket. He’d meant to make a list that morning, but had forgotten. So he shopped from memory and from his knowledge of the kids’ preferences, combined with the things that he knew he could manage to cook. It didn’t help that Alice, his oldest and just a few months away from leaving for university, had recently gone vegetarian while Lizzie liked meat. He wasn’t fussy either way.

Hall hated to think of the kids finding the cupboards bare when they came home from school, so he adopted a precautionary principle when he shopped. He’d noticed that the family food bill had actually gone up since his wife had left a couple of months previously, and that was a surprise given her wine consumption. He’d told a couple of people at work that he’d started buying wine boxes, but stopped when they started taking the piss. The happily married copper was a rare enough beast, but the few that Hall knew could be cruel.

As he prepared his home-made Cumberland pies that evening, one with real mince, one with soya, he thought about what Adrian Butterworth had said. What was it that made him uneasy exactly? There was something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Then he forgot about work as he ate with the kids and chatted about their days. Then he cleared up, and sat in the living room and listened to Frightened Rabbit for an hour or so. One of the kids had given him an album for Christmas, and to his surprise he actually liked it.

Hall was finding it easier to sleep on his own as the weeks passed, but he was still thinking about Carol as he fell asleep, just as he did every night. No doubt he’d dream about her too.

Friday, 15th February

Andy Hall felt tense as he drove to work. He’d never run an undercover operation before, and as usual he was thinking about everything that could go wrong. He knew that he probably had an unusually active imagination for a copper, and that made him a good detective, but also a permanently slightly nervous one. Because no matter how hard Jane and Ian had worked that week, and knowing them they’d both have really grafted, there would inevitably be elements of Gary Benson’s invented past that hadn’t been thought through. So as he drove Hall decided to quiz Ian on it all before the end of the shift.

When he reached the office he skimmed Robinson’s usual early-morning emails. Hall reckoned that he wrote them all the night before and then sent them the second that he woke up the next morning, because his daily dawn chorus of emails usually preceded his physical arrival by an hour or two at least. But in amongst the back-covering and the politicking Hall always got the sense that Robinson really cared about his people. And sure enough, one of that morning’s missives asked him about the precautions that Hall was taking to ensure Ian Mann’s safety whilst undercover. Hall and the team already had everything Robinson queried very well covered, and much more besides, but he had no issue with the question being raised.

Hall was just about to send his reply when Ray Dixon knocked at the door. Out of habit Hall looked at his watch, because Dixon always arrived at work within a minute of his shift starting. But today Dixon was twenty minutes early, and that made Hall even more uncomfortable.

‘Do you know what time it is Ray?’

‘I live to serve, boss.’

Hall smiled. Dixon was a clockwatcher and bit of a hypochondriac, but he was still a decent copper when he was at work. And Hall would settle for that. He had lost count of the number of times that Dixon had spotted something that Hall had missed, or made a connection that he hadn’t. And so what if the job wasn’t his life? Working too hard for twenty years had earned him an executive grade waste paper basket and an impending divorce. He was very far from sure that it had been worth it.

‘Something you wanted to chat about Ray?’

‘I’ve been having a good look at this Ben Brockbank character like you asked. I’ve been through the databases, and yesterday I took a ride out to Morland, where he lives. He’s got a lovely looking little cottage, although I bet it’s parky this time of year.’

‘Did you find anything useful?’

‘Two things. Guess what kind of car young Brockbank drives? A Scooby; an Impreza like the one that Ian’s going to be driving. So I searched about on the Subaru chatrooms and I’m pretty sure that BB82 is our man, as Brockbank was born in ’82 and this BB82 makes a couple of references to the area. He tells that story about when those kids nicked that rally car from the RAC and taunted us with it for months, the little bastards. Years ago it was. Anyway, if Ian was to start posting too, maybe that would be a way of working an introduction to Brockbank?’

‘I like it Ray, good work. Can you give Ian a list of the sites you visited, and while he’s getting settled in to his new place he can read up about Subarus.’

‘Does he like cars though, boss?’

‘He likes them clean. But beyond that, I don’t think so. But that’s a strong idea, so unless you’ve got anything better he’ll have to get himself a baseball cap and learn how to put it on backwards.’

‘Isn’t that the kind of stereotyping that we’re being discouraged from displaying to clients, or customers or whatever it is that we’re supposed to call the low-lifes these days?’

Hall smiled. ‘And you’ve got something else as well?’

‘Might be something or nothing. But I got chatting to this old chap in Morland, said I was thinking of moving out there, the usual cobblers. I got the impression that the poor old sod hadn’t talked to anyone in days, so he had plenty to say. And one thing that might be useful is that Brockbank is very keen on hound trailing.’

Hall searched his memory. ‘Remind me.’

‘Local sport boss. A load of dogs, called trail hounds, follow a scent trail across the fells for miles. Big betting sport it is, popular with the farming types. I’ve never been myself, but it happens all over the county.’

‘I think I’ve seen them when I’ve been out walking across the old racecourse. Lots of old cars in a field with people shouting for their dogs and waving white plastic tubs about.’

‘That’s it. They put tea in those tubs, because the dogs are thirsty after all the running. The dogs love it apparently.’

‘I like tea too, Ray.’

‘Is that a hint, boss?’

‘Certainly is. But that’s all good work. Can you write it up and circulate it to all of us?’ 

At eleven the team met in the main conference room at the station. Robinson had booked it until 1pm, and he was waiting when Hall, Mann, Dixon and Jane Francis arrived. A uniformed inspector called Val Gorham, who Hall had met at the conference and who was the Chief’s new executive assistant, was there too. Hall wasn’t quite sure what she did, but he thought that Robinson looked slightly intimidated.

Hall asked Mann to lead the briefing, and for the next hour and a half they discussed the practicalities of how and when they’d keep in contact while Ian was undercover, the main mission parameters, the initial targets and the rules of engagement. Val Gorham seemed especially keen on the last one.

‘You’re very clear about what to do if a target is looking for you to engage in criminal activity?’ she asked.

‘Yes ma’am. Instigate nothing, and look to delay until I’ve had a chance to refer back to DI Hall.’

‘But what if there’s no time for that?’

‘Then I’ll have to use my discretion ma’am.’

Val Gorham looked less than convinced. Dressed in scruffy street clothes and with his fair hair clipped to stubble Mann didn’t look much like a man of discretion. He looked like an ex-squaddie down on his luck.

‘So where would you draw the line between participation and possible exposure as a police officer, if you had no time to refer up?’

‘Offences against the person are out ma’am, but theft is something I’d go along with, if I had to.’

Mann tried to look as if he wasn’t looking forward to it. He still wasn’t convincing Val Gorham.

‘And what about inappropriate relationships? You understand that’s something that we’re all very sensitive about, after recent unfortunate publicity concerning other forces.’

‘Not going to happen, ma’am.’

‘Why do you say that? How can you be so sure?’

‘There’ll only be blokes and sheep.’

Even Robinson smiled, and so did Val Gorham, eventually. But she wasn’t finished yet.

‘You were a Marine, weren’t you sergeant?’

Yes, ma’am.’

‘Mentioned in dispatches twice, and an instructor in a variety of specialisms including covert surveillance and unarmed combat.’