Death on High (The Lakeland Murders) (7 page)

Both Hall and Jane heard the emphasis on ‘controlled.’

‘So he didn’t go bungee jumping, rock climbing, anything like that?’

Vicky laughed. ‘Good God no. Tony was born middle aged.’

‘So he was well equipped when you went walking?’

‘Yes, he was meticulous about everything really. ‘The devil is in the detail’ was his favourite expression. So even if we were just going up on the Helm he’d check his daysack had everything we’d need in it. I used to joke about it, years ago.’

Hall nodded. ‘So he’d never fallen before? Never got in to any trouble on the fells?’

‘No, he hadn’t.’

Hall changed tack again.

‘So you have a son Vicky. Any other children?’

‘No, just Peter. Tony found children’ she paused for a moment, ‘unpredictable.’

‘Well mine certainly are’ said Hall, smiling. Vicky didn’t respond, so Hall went on. ‘And is Peter at home, with you?’

‘No, he’s away at university. He came home for a few days, until the funeral, but then he went back. I didn’t want him missing anything important.’

‘What’s he reading?’

‘Architecture.’

‘Like his dad’ Hall smiled. ‘But not at the same place surely?’

‘Yes, at the same place. It’s what Tony always wanted.’ Jane Francis thought that Vicky didn’t look especially pleased about it though.

Hall put his cup down carefully. The table was probably valuable too, although it looked as if it had come out of a French farmer’s chicken shed.

‘Thanks for your time Vicky, and for the coffee too. Is there anything else you can think of, any other background that might help us?’

‘Like what? It was an accident, that’s all. There is no background. It was just a random event, the kind that Tony spent his whole life trying so hard to avoid. Ironic really, when you think about it.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. We’ll leave you to it now, but one other thing before we go. Did Tony have any close friends, any mates who we could chat to about him?’

If Vicky was surprised by the question she still didn’t look it. Hall started to feel relieved. He’d been wrong about Vicky Harrison, and wrong about what had happened up on Hart Crag. He was almost sure of it.

‘My husband wasn’t the sort of man to have mates really. Probably the best person would be Ed Willis, his partner in the practice. They’d been together for nearly fifteen years.’

‘Thanks’ said Hall, ‘that’s really helpful.’

But before her front door closed behind him he’d decided not to bother. Maybe he’d simply wanted there to be something wrong, or maybe his instincts weren’t as sharp as he’d thought. Because Andy Hall hadn’t got the slightest whiff of fear, nor of grief come to that. But then maybe Vicky Harrison just hadn’t liked her husband all that much, especially after many years of marriage, and there was absolutely no law against that.

Wednesday, 20th February

It wasn’t often that Superintendent Robinson invited Hall out for lunch; in fact Hall couldn’t remember the last time. Robinson’s mind ran as straight as the creases in his trousers, so Hall guessed that it was something that Robinson wanted to keep off the record, or at least as unofficial as Robinson ever managed to be. Beyond that Hall didn’t speculate, because he had lots to do and insufficient information to take his guess any further.

At half-twelve on the dot Robinson emailed and asked Hall to meet him at the front desk. When he got there Hall was surprised to see that Robinson was dressed in civvies. Even the desk sergeant looked surprised. Robinson drove them down into town in his Volvo.

‘I thought we’d go to that cafe down by the river. The people who own it go to my church.’

‘That’s fine sir.’

‘Call me Eric. This is a strictly social lunch. Nothing to do with work.’

Hall guessed that it would turn out to be quite the opposite, but he kept that thought to himself. And he liked that cafe anyway.

When they arrived the place was busy, and the full length windows overlooking the river were steamed up. It was grey, windy and cold. Robinson ordered soup and a roll and Hall did the same. When it arrived he watched Robinson carefully cut half of his pat of butter and spread it, very thinly, on his roll. Hall used all of his.

Robinson didn’t say much as they ate, and afterwards Hall went to order coffees.

‘I’m going to have a slice of flapjack with mine Eric, would you like anything?’

Eric wouldn’t, and a few minutes later they were half way through their coffees. In five minutes they’d be leaving, and Hall was still waiting.

‘There was something that I wanted to mention to you actually, Andy. Just between ourselves.’

Hall nodded his assent to the implied agreement.

‘It’s about the death of Tony Harrison. I understand you’ve had a look at it.’

‘Yes. We had a walk-in eye wit who thought that Vicky Harrison had reacted strangely to his fall, so I had a quick look. Mainly when myself and Jane Francis were off the clock.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing, really. Waste of time. Absolutely nothing to suggest that it was anything other than a tragic accident. It seems he was reckless, which was out of character, and he paid a very heavy price.’

Robinson nodded. Hall waited. Eventually Robinson spoke again.

‘I know the family you know, have done for years. I knew him well actually. Did Vicky mention that at all?’

‘No, she didn’t. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you know them?’

‘From church. The whole family came for quite a lot of years, but more recently it had just been him.’

Robinson didn’t seem to have anything to add.

‘Well thanks for letting me know’ said Hall eventually. He thought that there was all there was, but it turned out that he was wrong. Because Robinson hadn’t finished.

‘Now I’m sure you just think of me as a pen-pusher, and not a proper copper, so feel free to ignore what I have to say if you want. But I think your first instinct was right. When I heard he’d died, and the circumstances, I just wasn’t surprised.’

‘What makes you say that, Eric?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, he was a good family man, and obviously loved that boy of his. But there was something about the way he was with his wife. I don’t know, it made me uncomfortable.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘She always seemed slightly on edge, like she was waiting to see what he wanted her to say or do before she said or did anything. It was the same at church. You could always tell that it meant more to him, that he’d seen the true path through Christ, but that she hadn’t. In the end I don’t think she could take it any more. And when I heard they’d been walking together, just the two of them, well it made me think, that’s all.’

Hall thought about what Robinson had said.

‘Do you have anything concrete? Anything to go on?’

Robinson shrugged. The diamond shapes in his golf sweater’s pattern moved up and down in sympathy.

‘So, what do you want me to do?’

‘If you did still have an interest, what would be your next move?’

‘If my interest were official, or still semi-official?’

‘Not official.’

‘Then I’d talk to Tony’s partner from work, and if I thought that there was anything to give us concern, and then I’d look at both of the Harrisons, including their finances.’

‘I see. Would you mind having a word with his partner, and then have another chat with me afterwards?’

‘Certainly. And would you like this meeting to be in my notebook, or not?’

‘Oh not, Andy. Most definitely not.’

That afternoon Hall sat in his office and thought back over the conversation. That Robinson was keeping something back was a given, but what could it be? What did he have against Vicky Harrison? She wasn’t even a member of his precious church anymore, but Robinson had to suspect her, surely? Then Hall had an idea. What if it was Tony Harrison who Robinson was interested in, rather than his wife? There was only one way to find out.

Hall left his office and walked over to Jane’s desk, glancing briefly at Ian Mann’s empty chair as he passed.

‘Jane, you know I said that there was absolutely nothing in the Tony Harrison death.’

‘Yes boss.’

‘Well, I’ve changed my mind. It’s the DI’s prerogative. So could you contact his partner, Ed Willis, and say we’d like a chat. No huge rush, tomorrow would be fine.’

Jane looked up at Hall.

‘Why the change of heart boss?’

‘I could tell you that, but if I did I’d have to kill you. And I think that might infringe your human rights or something.’

Jane laughed.

‘I think it might. Will you want me to come too?’

‘If I haven’t killed you by then I certainly will. I’d be interested in your take on what the bloke has to say.’

Ian Mann had been into the King’s Head every day, often twice, and had started chatting to a couple of the locals. But Spedding hadn’t been back in. So all Mann had got out of it so far was a more reliable long-potting technique and a little rash on his arm, which he thought he’d picked up off one of the seats.

On Wednesday afternoon he fitted a new air-cleaner to the car, and a stiffer bonnet brace. He hated to think what Robinson would make of his expenses, but Mann needed to be accepted by Ben Brockbank. And he enjoyed working on the car too, it was something he hadn’t really done since he was in the Marines.

As he ate that evening Mann found himself looking forward to the drive out to Alston, and he decided to go down to Penrith, past HQ, then up the switchback climb to Alston itself. It was further, but it would be fun. And though the road was wet and slippy Mann had a blast on the way to Alston, and as he climbed he found himself wondering about how he could increase the power still further. But by the top he was thinking more about how to improve the brakes, and especially the headlights. But at least he’d have something to chat to the others about now.

When he arrived at the King John four other Imprezas were in the car park, all neatly backed in and side by side. He parked next to the last in the line, glanced at each in turn and walked in. Brockbank’s car was the second one along.

To his surprise Mann soon found himself having a good time, but after an hour or so Brockbank got up to go.

‘Sorry lads, but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’ He prepared himself for the ‘old man’ banter, which duly began. But Brockbank didn’t leave immediately, and he came and sat next to Mann.

‘Are you working at all at the moment Gary?’

‘No, worse luck.’

‘Fancy a day’s graft, cash in hand like?’

‘Straight?’

‘Do you care?’

Mann laughed and shook his head. ‘I suppose not. What is it?’

‘Fencing job, near here. It’s a two man job and my usual mate has cried off on me. It’s hard graft, but there’s a hundred quid in it if you’re willing.’

‘That’ll buy me some bits for the car. Yeh, you’re on. Where and when?’

‘What about outside here at half seven tomorrow? You can leave your Scooby in the car park. I’m the only person round here who’d rob bits off it, and I’ll be with you.’

Mann laughed. ‘You’ve got a deal.’

Thursday, 21st February

Ian Mann didn’t enjoy the drive back up to Alston the next morning. It was windy, raining hard, and it was cold too. It was years since he’d last done really physically demanding work in tough conditions, and though he’d always worked to stay fit he was pretty sure that his real endurance was gone. Too many years of sitting on his arse in a nice warm office. The main thing was to try to keep up with Brockbank, and Mann reckoned that might be no easy task.

He arrived a minute or two before Brockbank, and they set off in Ben’s dad’s old Land Rover. The trailer it towed was full of posts and rolled metal fencing.

‘It’s a temporary job, to cover a couple of stretches where the dry-stone walling is down’ explained Brockbank. ‘The Herdwicks are hefted to the ground they were born on, but we still need to do it before they go back up onto the hill after lambing.’

The farm wasn’t far from the village, and it was as light as it was going to get that day by the time they started work. Mann had a tough pair of gloves with him, but when he saw that Brockbank didn’t wear any he worked in his bare hands too, and ignored the splinters and the odd wire cut. After an hour or so his back was starting to ache as well, and the rain was stinging his face, but he was enjoying himself. He had to concentrate, because Brockbank worked hard and quickly.

At about ten they stopped and sat in the cab of Brockbank’s old Land Rover, drinking tea from Brockbank’s flask.