Hail and Farewell (The Lakeland Murders) (2 page)

When he’d left uniform he had hoped for more, if he was honest. Because while Workington wasn’t quite the big city it was bigger, busier and a bit badder than Maryport, where he’d grown up and had begun his policing career after a couple of noisy and boring years in one of the factories that lined the coast road. So he shouldn’t grumble he thought, as he scanned the page, and in fact he rarely did. Even when the DI and the DS dumped all the shit jobs on him, or called him Paula Radcliffe. He knew that was because he cycled, climbed and ran, whereas his colleagues’ idea of a good work-out was opening the bloody door.

But then, just as Iredale was thinking of volunteering to make a brew before he was asked, he saw it. A report of fly tipping down at the lighthouse, right next to the start of the C2C cycle route. The location was new, but the offence was familiar enough. It was the third in the division already that month. Iredale opened the brief report, and saw exactly what he’d hoped he wouldn’t. The rubbish that had been tipped was mainly the remains of someone’s fitted kitchen. Again.

‘You little bastard’ Iredale said out loud, and made for the DI’s office. The tea would have to wait.

‘Morning, Paula’ said Smith, ‘where’s our brews at then, lad?’

‘I’ll make them in a minute, sir. I just wanted to ask if it was OK if I followed up on this fly-tipping that came in last night.’

‘Why? Was a small, golden-haired child crushed to death by it all toppling over, something like that?’

DS Hodgson laughed out loud, and Iredale tried not to go red.

‘No, sir, nothing like that. But it’s the third case like this in the last few weeks, and I do have something that’s close to a lead.’

‘Kettle lead, is it?’ said Hodgson, and Iredale watched Smith convulse with laughter. The DI certainly laughs easy when he wants to, thought Iredale.

‘Have you got nowt on, is that it?’ asked Smith. ‘Because we can soon find you stuff to do, don’t you worry about that.’

‘No,’ Iredale said quickly, ‘but that burglary just went guilty, so I could spare half an hour to take a look.’

‘So it’s a major crime against the planet then, is it?’ said Smith, and Iredale waited for the next piss-take about him being a total tree-hugger. But none came, for once.

‘The Super did task us as a division with targeting nuisance crime, sir, and this is in a highly visible place. It’s right at the harbour entrance, by the car park. Any visitors going on the cliff-top walk would get a seriously bad impression of the town, sir.’

Smith sat back in his chair.

‘You’re right, Keith. The Super did say that. But your enthusiasm wouldn’t be anything to do with avoiding a certain domestic incident that allegedly occurred last night?’

Iredale had long since come to the conclusion that the DI was a good deal brighter than he either looked or sounded, so he didn’t bother bullshitting.

‘Partly, yes.’

‘Well, you’ve nothing to worry about, son. Because King Kenny here is about to visit the two lovebirds in their nest, and persuade both of them to accept yet another caution. So we get the stats, and no more valuable police time is wasted. Especially with a gang war about to break out on our turf.’

Iredale knew what was expected of him, but he didn’t have to try to look surprised. He’d have given a lot to have the quality of snout that both his colleagues clearly had. So far his only informant was a bloke in the cycle club who knew a few of the local low lifes, and who’d recently swapped him a half-decent bit of intel for a spare inner tube when he punctured half way over Corney Fell.

‘What’s that, boss? A gang war?’

‘Haven’t you heard? I thought everyone knew. The cleaner mentioned it to me this morning, anyhow. It seems George Hayton is finally making his big move on Jack Moffett. He’s been working away at him for months, helping himself to a few bits and pieces. But Moffett’s had enough, and the word is that they’re going to have a set-to at the game tomorrow. Get the whole job sorted out, like.’

‘That’s a bit public, isn’t it boss? There’ll be half the town playing and the other half watching, if the weather’s fine.’

‘Exactly. It’s what-do-you-call-it? Symbolic, that’s it. Hayton’s throwing in half a dozen of his boys, maybe more, and they’ll give whoever Moffett can persuade to risk it a proper hiding. I expect Hayton is hoping that Moffett will wimp out completely, and won’t even try. That’d be as good as taking a full page ad out in the News & Star, that would. Because after tomorrow everyone will know who runs the drugs job, and everything else, in this town. So how do you fancy joining in then, Keith? See what goes on, like. You’re the bloody athlete, after all.’

‘I’ve seen more fat on a bicycle, boss’ said DS Hodgson. ‘Uppies and Downies is more for the larger lad, isn’t it?’

‘More like us, you mean?’

‘Aye, more like us. Well covered, like.’

‘Well, we’re already going, aren’t we? I love a good bundle, me. So how about you then, Keith? Are you in? They call the Friday night game the Apprentice Ball you know, so it’s ideal for first timers.’

‘I’m on duty tomorrow evening, boss.’

‘Aye, I know, and we are too. Mixing business with pleasure, like. I want to be there when Jack Moffett finally gets put out of business.’

‘Shouldn’t we have someone looking after other enquiries? Watching the shop, like.’

Smith looked long and hard at Iredale, as if he was trying to read something in his face.

‘What is it, son? Are you too much of a modern man to get involved in our old traditions, and scrap in the mud for the ball like the rest of us? Afraid of getting a slap from someone you’ve nicked, is that it?’

‘He shaves his legs, does Keith,’ commented Hodgson.

‘I told you, sarge, it makes me quicker on the bike.’

‘So that’s a no then, is it? said Smith. ‘It’s not compulsory. Just thought you’d enjoy getting in touch with the real Workington, you being a Maryport lad, like. Goes back hundreds of years, does the game. And no-one has died in years, not since that young lad back in ’83. And he drowned, like. Swimming down to the harbour, he was.’

‘You’re not really selling it to me, boss.’

‘I tell you what, Keith. You make me and Kenny a nice cuppa, and then you get off and have a look at this fly tipping epidemic of yours. And you’re right, it might be best if you don’t come to the game tomorrow night either, because the local scallywags have been known to get out on the rob when they know that everyone’s down at the Cloffocks for the start of the game. They’re cleverer than they look, some of them.’

Half an hour later DC Iredale had parked the unmarked car in the small car park at the harbour entrance and walked onto the beach. He was glad to be out in the fresh air, mainly because the car smelt of something he couldn’t quite identify, and was glad that he couldn’t. He was wearing his best suit, and he felt over-dressed. The pile of rubbish looked as it had been chucked out of the back of a van, and it consisted of kitchen cabinet carcasses, lengths of yellowing worktop and various other bits of detritus. Some of it was already getting blown around a bit, but at least it was all well above the tideline. Iredale took a few pictures with his phone, and called the local council. It took ten minutes, but eventually he managed to persuade someone with both the inclination and the authority to get something done about it. The stuff would be collected within the day.

Then Iredale started to pick through the material systematically. He was looking for anything that might help identify the broken up cabinets, although he didn’t hold out much hope of that. What he was really interested in was any wrappings, receipts or any other material from the replacement kitchen, because that might help him to trace this material back to whoever had dumped it.

‘After a new kitchen are you, love?’ said an elderly dog-walker, and Iredale just smiled back. Her little Jack Russell looked a lot more on the ball than she did.

Ten minutes later, and with a cut to the webbing of his right hand from where he’d caught it on a nail, Iredale gave up, and walked back to the car. He looked at the fells in the distance, and imagined how he’d feel if he was up there now. He had to force himself to look away, and to get back into the car. It didn’t matter if he bled a bit on the upholstery, because he wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last. He sat for a moment and looked out at the sea, still just on the grey side of blue, and tried to dispel the nagging thought that he knew exactly who had dumped all that crap on the beach. He didn’t have a shred of evidence, but if anything that just made his suspicions even stronger. He picked up his phone, started to dial, then stopped. He checked his watch, and he started the car.

His sister’s house was only five minutes away, and he expected she’d be in. With three kids under five she usually was. She didn’t seem to hear when he rang the bell, so he went round the back. She was in the garden, pegging out towelling nappies on the line.

‘Nice one’ he said, ‘none of those disposable nappies for you then, Tina.’

‘I can’t afford to be an eco-warrior, not like you’ she said, putting down her basket and cutting off a toddler who Keith didn’t recognise.

‘It’s my mate’s, is that one. Always making a break for freedom, he is. Can I make you a brew?’

‘No, I’m working. I just wondered where Mike is at?’

‘What’s he done, Keith?’

‘I just need a word.’

‘Oh, aye? I’ve heard that one before.’

‘Like I say, just a word.’

‘He’s busting a gut, Keith, honest. I know what dad thinks, but we both know he’s not always right.’

‘True enough. So what’s Mike on with today, like? Another fitted kitchen?’

‘Aye, I think so. He says that PPI compensation is all that’s been keeping us afloat this last year or two.’

‘What, folk get four or five grand and then go and borrow more so they can have a new kitchen?’

‘Aye, lucky buggers. Our gran would be at home in ours, mind, wouldn’t she? All it needs is a mangle and a cloud of steam and she’d feel right at home here. Talk about cobbler’s children. Mind you, your place is all granite and brushed metal, isn’t it?’

‘It’s just rented, sis. Anyway, where is he?’

‘Just round the corner. Number 46 I think it is. You’ll see his van outside.’

‘All right. I’d best get off.’

‘You know I’ll call him, don’t you, Keith?’

‘Aye, of course. I’d expect no less. Tell him I’m not going to nick him. Like I said, lass, I just need a word.’

Iredale left the car and walked round, trying to calculate how likely it was that the van would be gone when he got there. He was relieved to see that it wasn’t. And he was even happier when Mike Gambles answered the door to him. He looked innocent enough, but then he always did.

‘Come to check on our joinery then, Keith?’

‘Oh aye, we do that now. Not enough proper crime around, you see, what with all that PPI compensation coming in.’

Gambles smiled, walked out of the house and pulled the front door closed behind him. Iredale could hear the sound of hammering start up again inside the house.

‘So what’s the craic then, Keith?’

‘You’ve been up to your old tricks again, haven’t you, Mike?’

‘What tricks is that then, lad?’

‘Fly tipping. Down at the lighthouse.’

‘Cobblers, mate. You’ve got the wrong bloke.’

‘When did you rip the old kitchen out of here?’

‘Couple of days back.’

‘And you had a skip, did you?’

‘No need. Loaded it all into the van, and took it down the tip.’

‘And they’ll remember you?’

‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask them. If you really feel that you need to, like.’

‘Maybe I will, Mike. And if I were to phone the owner of this house and ask them if they had an oak kitchen before whatever it is that you’re fitting now, what would they say, do you think?’

‘If they’ve got half a brain they’d tell you that thousands of kitchens like that went in, back in the day. But aye, it was oak. Now, can I get back to work? I’m bloody flat out here.’

‘Aye, you do that. Wouldn’t want to stop you from earning an honest penny.’

Gambles turned to go back into the house, then came back out. He stopped, but only when he was right in Iredale’s face.

‘Just like your bloody old man, aren’t you? He never liked me, decided that right from the off he did. Just because of my old man having been inside. That’s the only reason.’

‘And your brothers, Mike. They’ve both got records. You have too, remember.’

‘They’re all right, and none of us have been in trouble for years. Just because you followed your old man into the police doesn’t mean we all have to follow in the family footsteps. It’s not bloody compulsory. And you can see I’m grafting here, mate.’

Iredale nodded and smiled. But he didn’t take a step back. He knew better than to ever do that.

‘All right, point taken. And I’ve got no proof that it was you. But just be clear, Mike. If we catch you at it, I’ll nick you myself.’

‘I get it. Christ, I get it. So are you coming to the game tomorrow night? We could do with a few more Uppies.’

‘You’re the second person to ask me that this morning. But no, I’ll be working.’

‘Shame. It’s the one chance we all get to duff up a copper, and they can’t bloody touch you for it.’

‘But I’d be on the same side as you.’

This time it was Gambles who smiled.

‘You think that would make any difference, eh, Keith?’

Good Friday, 18th April

DC Iredale sat at his desk and watched the CCTV of the crowd building up on the Cloffocks, lining the metalled path alongside the beck. It was quarter past six, so the ball would be thrown up in fifteen minutes. But other than the two ‘goals’ themselves, one down on the docks and the other right up in the town, that was the only fixed point in the game. There was no limit to the number of players on each side, and apart from the use of a vehicle to transport the ball being discouraged there were no rules, and no boundaries. You could go where you wanted with the ball, and if you could smuggle it away in the dark then all the better. He wondered if any of the players ever brought a fake ball with them, to substitute for the real one. But that was a copper’s thinking, or at least a cheat’s, he told himself.