Kickback (18 page)

Louise was waiting for them with a pile of documents three inches thick, including full company searches, accounts, director and shareholder records, planning applications and estate agents sales particulars.

‘Well done, Louise.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘Right, go through that lot and see if you can find any reference to Simon Somerville playing any part in the development at Torbrook Meadow.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ replied Louise.

‘Thinking about it, do a company search on the selling agents. See if Somerville’s a director there too.’

Dixon went into his office and shut the door. Then he powered up his computer and checked his email. Nothing of interest except one from Roger Poland attaching the photograph of the faint square outline around the shoe imprint on Noel’s body. Dixon didn’t open it. Instead he opened Internet Explorer and went to Google.

He entered ‘gold mobile phone’ into the Search field and hit the Enter button. Then he clicked on Images and began scrolling through pages and pages of photographs of gold phones. Nothing. He scrolled back to the Search field and changed the keyword to ‘gold mobile phone nokia’. He hit the Enter button again and began scrolling through more photographs of gold phones, this time all Nokia models. Several looked similar but none matched Brian Mayhew’s phone. He was about to give up when the phone rang on his desk.

‘Dixon, you got a minute?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Dixon locked his computer and then opened his office door. Jane looked up.

‘Another summons,’ said Dixon.

Jane nodded.

Dixon walked along the corridor and knocked on the door to DCI Lewis’ office.

‘Come in.’

DCI Lewis was sitting behind his desk. DCI Bateman was pacing up and down in front of the window. He was not in uniform.

‘What the bloody hell’s going on, Dixon?’ said Bateman.

Silence.

‘Well?’

‘Don’t tell me. I rattle Mayhew’s cage, so he rattles your cage. Then you rattle mine. And round we go again.’

Lewis struggled to stifle a laugh.

‘No, we don’t go round again. Have you any idea who he is?’

‘How can I put this politely, Sir? I don’t give a flying fuck who he is...’

‘How dare...’

‘And thank you, Sir.’

‘What for?’

‘Confirming my suspicions.’

Dixon turned round and walked out of Lewis’ office, slamming the door behind him.

‘What was that all about?’ asked Jane.

‘Mayhew pulling strings.’

Dixon stormed into his office and slammed the door behind him.

‘Steady on.’

‘Sorry, Janice. Didn’t see you there.’

‘Bateman?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wondered what he was doing up here.’

Dixon turned back to his computer and unlocked the screen. Then he began scrolling through the images of gold Nokia mobile phones again. His finger hovered over the ‘Close’ button in the top right corner of his screen.

He froze.

There it was. A picture of the exact phone that Brian Mayhew had. Dixon clicked on the link. The screen changed to a close up of the phone. Next to it was the model name and number. Dixon reached for a pen and scribbled it on the palm of his hand. Nokia Asha 310. He stared at the enlarged image on the monitor in front of him. In the top left corner of the screen were two graphs, rather than one. Next to the first was the number one on a white square and next to the second was the number two, again on a white square. Both graphs were complete indicating two full signals.

Dixon closed the Image search and went back to the Google Web search. He entered ‘Nokia Asha 310’ and hit the Enter button. The first result came from nokia.com. Dixon read aloud.

‘Nokia Asha 310 Dual Sim, browse faster, be social...’

Dixon turned and sat staring out of the window of his office. He heard the tell tale ping of an email arriving. He opened it. The body of the email was blank but the title said it all, ‘Good for you!’ It came from DCI Lewis.

Dixon smiled. Then he jumped up from his desk and ran to the door.

‘Louise, have those mobile positioning records arrived yet?’

‘I’ve forwarded them to you. They’ll be in your inbox.’

Dixon heard another ping from his computer behind him. He sat down and opened the attachment to the email. It was a spreadsheet giving dates, times, mobile base station code numbers and grid references for both Noel’s phone and the unregistered pay as you go number. Dixon picked a grid reference for the unregistered number at random and entered it into gridreferencefinder.com. It was two miles south of Wincanton racecourse. Next he checked the date on racingpost.com. Westbrook Warrior managed third in the Thomas Lucy Novice Hurdle. He checked another. And another.

‘Louise.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘We need mobile positioning records for Brian Mayhew’s personal number. The same dates as we’ve got for the unregistered pay as you go. Ok?’

‘But...’

‘No buts. Drop everything and get it organised now, please.’

Dixon could hear Louise typing.

‘I’ve sent an email to DCI Lewis, Sir.’

‘Thank you.’

Dixon began counting. He had reached nine when the phone rang on his desk.

‘I’m on my way, Sir,’ he said.

‘Well?’

‘Noel was blackmailing Mayhew, Sir.’

‘Go on.’

‘The unregistered pay as you go is Noel’s punter.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘The calls began a year ago just after Freer tells us that Noel had found a new meal ticket.’

‘I’ve read his statement.’

‘This is the same time that Westbrook Warrior went to Hesp’s racing stables and the calls all took place on days Westbrook Warrior was racing.’

Lewis nodded. Dixon continued.

‘Not only that but the mobile positioning of the unregistered number puts the caller within a few miles of the racecourses too...’

‘So, why Mayhew?’

‘I got a look at his phone today. It’s a Nokia Asha 310. The important bit is that it’s dual SIM.’

‘Dual SIM?’

‘It has two SIM cards in it at the same time. And two SIM cards means two numbers.’

‘His own and the unregistered pay as you go?’

‘Yes. These mobile positioning records may not be that accurate in rural areas but if they are identical for both numbers it proves that both SIM cards were in the same phone at the same time.’

‘And then we’ve got him.’

‘We have, Sir.’

‘Leave it with me, Nick.’

‘No mention of Somerville anywhere here, Sir,’ said Louise.

‘We’ve been through the lot,’ said Jane.

‘Ok. Nothing much is going to happen until the morning now so you head off, Louise. Be back here at 8.00am sharp, please.’

‘What’s the mobile positioning about?’ she asked, as she stood up.

‘Mayhew’s phone is a Nokia Asha 310.’ Dixon paused. ‘Dual SIM.’

‘Two SIM cards in it?’

‘That’s right. And if the mobile positioning on his own number matches the unregistered pay as you go, they’re in the same phone...’

‘And we’ve got him,’ said Louise.

‘We have.’

Louise grinned. ‘See you in the morning then,’ she said, picking up her handbag.

‘Give me five minutes, Jane, and we’ll head off.’

‘But it’s only 5.00pm.’

‘No matter. I’m not sitting here for the sake of it.’

Dixon checked his email and then switched off his computer. He stretched his left shoulder and waited for the pain to course through it. Nothing.

‘Shoulder feels a bit better.’

‘Good.’

‘C’mon, let’s go if we’re going,’ said Jane.

‘You drive,’ said Dixon, passing the keys to Jane.

They drove north out of Bridgwater on the A38, through Pawlett where it all began only a week before, and into Burnham. Jane parked in the car park in front of the Royal Clarence Hotel. It was bright moonlit night and the moon added to the lights from the Pavilion. They gave Monty ten minutes on the beach and then sat in the corner of the lounge bar.

‘Did you check your email?’ asked Jane.

‘Yes.’

‘Did you see the one from Roger?’

‘Yes. But I didn’t look at the photo.’

Jane took a folded piece of paper from her handbag and gave it to Dixon. He unfolded it and found himself looking at a colour copy of the mark on Noel’s upper back.

‘It’s faint because of his clothes but can you see the square outline...?’ Jane pointed to it.

‘I see it,’ said Dixon.

‘What do you think it is?’ asked Jane.

Dixon stared at the photograph. He turned it first sideways and then upside down. The outline framed the imprint of the horse shoe almost exactly, except there was no line across the base of the shoe, just the sides and front.

‘No idea,’ he said.

‘Think back to Mayhew’s office...’

‘What?’

‘The trophies on his mantelpiece...’

‘Cricket?’

‘Yes.’

‘You think it’s a cricket bat?’ asked Dixon.

Jane nodded.

He looked at the photograph again. Then he took out his phone and rang Roger Poland.

‘Hi Roger, thanks for the photo,’

‘No problem.’

‘Listen, our main suspect plays cricket and Jane has a theory that the shoe was nailed to a bat...’

‘Best explanation I’ve heard. Nailed to the bottom of a cricket bat. Fits perfectly.’

‘So, it’s possible?’

‘Very likely, I’d say. I’ll do some measurements tomorrow and let you know.’

‘Thanks, Roger.’

Dixon rang off.

‘Well done, Jane.’

They were back at Dixon’s cottage by 7.30pm.

‘We forgot there’s no telly,’ said Jane.

‘Let’s get an early night. Either way, it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.’

Eleven

Dixon was up by 4.30am. He couldn’t sleep, his mind going over and over the possible outcomes that lay ahead. He was standing in the kitchen looking out across the fields at the back of his cottage, both hands clamped around a mug of tea.

If the mobile positioning of Brian Mayhew’s phone matched the unregistered pay as you go then it would be a simple matter of arresting him and searching Ferndale House from top to bottom. That computer would need a thorough going over, he thought. And finding a cricket bat with nail holes in the bottom would be too good to be true.

If it didn’t match then he was back to square one. Almost. It was still going to be either Mayhew or Somerville, but which one?

Or Hesp. Fuck. He’d ruled Hesp out on the basis that the Albanians would have dealt with Noel if it had been the betting or the drugs he was threatening to blow the whistle on. But what if it was Hesp in the car park all along?

Why hadn’t he thought of that? He opened the kitchen cupboard, took out a box of Tramadol and threw it in the bin. Bloody painkillers. That was his excuse and he was sticking to it.

He looked down at his feet. Monty was sitting on the floor next to him. Dixon leaned forward over the sink and looked up at the night sky through the kitchen window. It was clear.

‘C’mon, matey, let’s get some fresh air.’

They walked out of Brent Knoll towards Berrow, Monty on his extending lead. Dixon thought about Hesp and his alibi for the night of Georgina Harcourt’s apparent suicide. A married woman in Taunton. He made a mental note to get it checked first thing in the morning.

What about the other racehorse owners? He shook his head. None of the other horses raced on all of the same days as Westbrook Warrior. A few overlapped but none had raced at all of the same meetings Westbrook Warrior competed at.

By the time he reached the Berrow Triangle he had convinced himself he was on the right track. And Brian Mayhew’s reaction confirmed it. Now it was down to the mobile positioning to settle it.

Dixon noticed a For Sale sign nailed to the Berrow Inn pub sign. Shame. He walked down the side of the pub, through the turnstile and across the golf course to the beach. The path veered off to the right but Dixon took the direct route, straight across the fairways. Once on the beach, he let Monty off the lead, and sat on an old tree stump that had been washed up. He’d been sitting there for several minutes before he realised that he was close to the spot where Valerie Manning’s headless body had been found in a burnt out car only a few weeks before. Unwelcome images began to flash across his mind. Time to go.

He was walking back across the golf course when his phone rang. It was Jane.

‘Where are you?’

‘Out with Monty. I’m on my way.’

‘Hurry up. We’ve got to be going soon.’

Dixon looked at his watch. It was 6.30am and still dark.

‘I’ll be twenty minutes or so.’

Louise was waiting for them when they arrived at Bridgwater Police Station.

‘DCI Lewis was looking for you, Sir.’

‘What did he want?’

‘I got the impression he’s getting a bit jumpy about going after Brian Mayhew,’ said Louise. ‘He was asking what else we’ve got on him apart from the phones.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘That he’d need to speak to you.’

‘The right answer. Well done, Louise.’

‘What else have we got?’

‘Nothing...yet,’ replied Dixon. ‘Remind me of the name of Hesp’s alibi for the night Georgina Harcourt died, will you?’

‘Miriam Sims,’ said Jane.

‘Let’s check it out. The two of you can go. Take Louise’s car. And be discreet. Remember, she’s married.’

‘What do we do if her husband answers the door?’

‘Use your imagination, Jane.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And see if the husband was away for any of Westbrook Warrior’s races.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Dixon sat down at his desk and powered up his computer. The system was painfully slow, so he had time to get a coffee from the machine before the computer booted up. He checked his email. Nothing. Then he opened Internet Explorer and searched Google Images for ‘horse saddles’. It was a bewildering array of different types, shapes and colours, some leather and some synthetic. He went back to Google, entered ‘horse saddle design’ into the search field and hit the Enter button. As usual, Wikipedia came to his rescue and he spent the next hour reading about the various designs and their uses. By the end of it, he was far from an authority on the subject but he did, at least understand the different types of saddle.

DCI Lewis had stood in the doorway of Dixon’s office for nearly a minute before he coughed loudly.

‘Sorry, Sir, didn’t see you there.’

Lewis closed the door behind him and sat down on the chair in front of Dixon’s desk.

‘I’ve spoken to Collyer.’

Dixon nodded. ‘And...?’

‘They’ve got nothing that might assist. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

‘No, we shan’t leave it at that. That doesn’t tell me anything. They might have nothing but then they might have information but be refusing to reveal it.’

‘They’ve got nothing. Take it from me. Look, if this goes any further...’

‘What?’

‘It’s a telephone tap. That’s all they’ve got in there and apart from the call asking for you on the Sunday evening, there’s nothing.’

‘Well, at least we know,’ said Dixon. ‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘The request for the mobile positioning went in last night. Expedited. The Chief Super took some convincing.’

‘About the expense involved or Brian Mayhew?’

‘Both,’ replied Lewis. ‘You’d better be right about him or we’re both going to look like idiots.’

‘That will be a new experience for me, Sir.’

‘And me, you cheeky sod.’

‘What time will the records get here, do we know?’

‘Lunchtimeish,’ replied Lewis. ‘Where are Jane and Louise?’

‘Gone to speak to Hesp’s alibi for Sunday night.’

‘Does he need an alibi for a suicide?’

‘I want to know if the relationship is genuine.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s less likely to be hanging around in car parks if it is.’

‘Mayhew is married, isn’t he?’

‘In name only by the looks of things.’

‘Well, keep me posted. I can let you have Dave and Mark now if you need them.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

Dixon took Monty for a walk in Victoria Park and was just putting him back in the Land Rover when Jane and Louise pulled into the car park.

‘Well?’

‘Do I look like an Avon lady?’ asked Jane.

‘Do I have to answer that?’ replied Dixon.

‘The husband answered the door. It was the best I could come up with on the spot...’ said Louise.

‘Anyway, he left us to it in the lounge and went back to bed. He’d got home late last night, apparently.’

‘And?’

‘Hesp was there and is regularly when her husband is away.’

‘Did you check the dates?’

‘He was away for several of Westbrook Warrior’s races, yes.’

‘Good.’

‘What happens now?’ asked Louise.

‘We wait.’

Dixon was just finishing a cheese sandwich from the canteen when he heard the familiar ping of an email arriving. He took his feet off the windowsill, sat up and swung his chair round to face his computer. The email came from cellsiteanalysis.net. It was the one he had been waiting for.

He opened it and clicked on the attachment. A large Excel spreadsheet opened on the screen in front of him. Then he opened the file on his desk and took out a paper copy of the mobile positioning spreadsheet for the unregistered pay as you go phone that had been used to speak to Noel in the days and weeks before his murder.

Dixon could feel himself shaking. His hands felt stone cold to the touch yet he was sweating. Profusely.

He checked the dates, times, mobile base station codes and coordinates for the unregistered pay as you go on the paper spreadsheet against the same data for Brian Mayhew’s phone number on the screen in front of him.

An exact match.

‘Gotcha.’

The unregistered pay as you go SIM card had been in Brian Mayhew’s gold Nokia Asha 310 when the calls were made to and received from Noel Woodman.

And Mayhew had lied.

Dixon jumped up from his desk and ran to the door of his office.

‘Jane.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘We’ve got him. Get Lewis.’

Jane abandoned her coffee in the machine and ran along the corridor to DCI Lewis’ office. Dixon looked at his watch. It was just after 12.30pm. He sat back at his desk, minimised the spreadsheet and then opened Internet Explorer. He went to racingpost.com and looked at the race card for Taunton that day. Westbrook Warrior was going in the 2.05pm, the Batstone Financial Management Handicap Chase.

DCI Lewis appeared in the doorway of Dixon’s office. Jane and Louise were standing behind him.

‘The mobile positioning for Mayhew’s phone is an exact match, and I mean an exact match, each and every entry, with the pay as you go number,’ said Dixon.

‘You’ve got him,’ said Lewis.

‘We have, Sir.’

‘Well, go and pick him up.’

‘There’s a slight complication there...’

‘What?’

‘He’ll be at Taunton for the 2.05pm. Westbrook Warrior’s racing today.’

‘He’s gonna miss the race then, isn’t he?’ said Lewis.

‘I’ll need Dave and Mark...’

‘No problem.’

‘And we’d better have a car either side of the racecourse to block the road when we pick him up. Just in case.’

‘The Taunton lot can do that. Leave it with me.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘Jane, get me Noel’s phone from the evidence store, will you?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And check it’s charged up.’

Dixon spent five minutes on the Taunton Racecourse website while he waited for Jane. He looked at the Enclosure Guide and familiarised himself with the layout. It was a clear, crisp autumn day with a blue sky and plenty of sunshine. Unless he was sitting down to lunch, Mayhew would be in the Owners Viewing Enclosure at the far end of the Portman Stand. Wearing tweed, binoculars in hand, no doubt.

Dixon could hear Dave Harding and Mark Pearce talking to Louise outside his office. Then Jane arrived back from the evidence store with Noel’s phone.

‘Right then,’ said Dixon, ‘this is Brian Mayhew.’ He handed photographs to each of them.

‘The Brian Mayhew?’

‘Yes, Dave. D’you know him?’

‘Know of him. I’ve never met him.’

‘Good,’ replied Dixon. ‘We’re arresting him on suspicion of the murder of Noel Woodman. He’ll be at Taunton Racecourse watching his horse run in the 2.05pm.’

‘Why don’t we just pick him up when he gets home?’ asked Pearce.

‘We pick him up at the first opportunity, Mark. This is a murder investigation, remember. And what if he doesn’t go home?’

Mark Pearce nodded.

‘It’s a fine day so he’ll probably be in the Owners Viewing Enclosure for the race. Either that or having lunch in the restaurant.’

‘I’d be watching the race,’ said Louise.

‘So would I,’ replied Jane.

‘Uniform will be blocking the road either side of the course in case he makes a run for it. But there’ll be no uniform on the course itself. Just us.’

‘What about an ambulance, Sir?’ asked Harding. ‘Just in case...’

‘There’ll be one on the course anyway so we’ll be alright on that score,’ replied Dixon.

DCI Lewis walked across the CID Room and stood behind Jane.

‘I’ve been onto the Taunton lot and there’ll be a patrol car either side of the course on the B3170 and another blocking the car park. Let them know via radio when you’re moving in and they’ll block the road.’

‘Thank you, Sir,’ replied Dixon.

‘Good luck.’

‘Anyone familiar with the course?’

‘I am,’ said Harding.

‘Good. For those of you who aren’t, there are three grandstands. First on the left as you go in is Paddock. That’s where the restaurant is. Louise, you can go in and see if you can find him.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Second on the left is the Portman stand. At the far end of that is the Owners Viewing Enclosure. The last stand is Orchard but I can’t see why he’d be in there, although he could be in the Betting Ring, which is in front of it.’

‘Or the private boxes. And there are hospitality suites too.’ said Harding.

‘They’re between the last two stands. If we can’t find him anywhere else, we can look in there, Dave. Good thinking. Just keep your eyes peeled and we’ll soon spot him.’