Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) (25 page)

Ian Mann was glad to be out of the office, and not going through the files looking for other officers’ mistakes. He always found that depressing, not because he didn’t find any errors and omissions, but because he usually spotted so many. He drove to Troutbeck and parked in the little car park down by the church. But he’d barely turned the engine off when Winder drove straight past in a big 4x4, making for the main road. It was as if he’d planned it. Mann could see that he had his right hand indicator on as he passed, so he drove out onto the lane, and turned right onto the main road in cool and careful pursuit.

Winder was easy to follow, and he either wasn’t aware that Mann was two or three cars back, or he didn’t care. He drove past Windermere, through Ambleside, and then turned onto the Ambleside Sports showfield. Preparations for the Sports were almost complete, so plenty of people were coming and going, and because of that Mann didn’t feel especially conspicuous when he turned into the car park right behind Winder. But he didn’t risk parking next to him, and drove on, parking a little higher up the hill. He sat in his car and watched Winder get out, and stroll out on to the showfield. He stood, laughing and joking, with a group of men. Mann could imagine himself doing much the same, when he was retired.

Afterwards he couldn’t say why he did it, because there was absolutely no good reason at all, but Mann got out of his car and walked past the parked vans and trailers towards the showfield. There were plenty of people milling about, especially near the beer tent, and Mann ambled over.

‘Give us a hand, will you?’ someone called out to Mann. ‘There’s a pint in it, like.’

‘You’re all right’ said Mann, walking over. ‘What can I do?’

He helped out by moving barrels for ten minutes, and got a sweat on too, but he kept half an eye on Winder the whole time. He was talking to another, younger man now, and Mann could see that they were both laughing about something.

‘Try this’ said the man who he’d helped, passing him a pint glass.

‘No, you’re all right. I’m driving.’

‘Just a half. I’ll not tell anyone, like.’

‘Go on then, thanks.’

Mann half-listened as the man told him about the county’s brewing tradition and its wealth of contemporary craft beers.

‘Very nice’ he said, when he’d taken a sip. But the man was obviously looking for more. ‘Very hoppy.’

‘Aye, it is. Floral, I’d say.’

‘Aye, floral. That’s it.’

Mann nodded to the man, and walked towards where Winder was standing, lifting his plastic glass in a parting salute as he did so. Winder was still deep in conversation, now with an older man with a pair of Border collies. After that, Mann wasn’t sure what happened. He‘d stopped walking, and was looking absently into a small tent where an elderly woman was arranging trophies, some silver, some plastic, on a table. And the next thing he knew Winder was standing next to him. Twenty years ago that sort of inattention would have got me killed, he thought, turning and acknowledging Winder’s greeting.

‘You competing, lad? You look like an all-weights.’

‘Not me. Too old, I’m afraid. Always fancied having a go, mind.’

‘What stopped you?’

‘I went away.’

‘Inside?’

‘The military.’

‘Aye, you’ve got the look.’

Mann nodded. ‘And how about you? Is your name on one of those somewhere?’

‘One or two, aye. Going back decades now. But not on the one that matters.’

‘The one in the middle? The big one? It’s a grand pot, is that.’

‘Aye, that’s it. I came close, four or five times, but I never quite made it.’

‘Unlucky.’

‘That’s not what the record book says though, is it? Not good enough. That’s what it says.’

‘I don’t believe everything I read. Not these days, especially.’

Winder nodded. They stood and looked at the trophies in silence.

‘How’s that beer?’

‘Grand, aye. You fancy one? The bloke on the beer tent is a bit of a mate.’

‘I shouldn’t, but go on then, thanks.’

Mann nodded, walked back to the tent, and came back with a pint.

‘Very floral, apparently.’

‘Lovely, ta.’ Winder took a long drink. ‘Perfect, thanks.’

‘You looked like you needed it.’

‘I did. Haven’t touched a drop in months. Doctor’s orders, like.’

‘And the doctor changed his orders?’

‘I stopped listening. No point see, not now.’

It took Mann a moment, and then he did see. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

‘I’m hoping it’ll be my son’s name going on there tomorrow’ said Winder, after he’d taken another sip. ‘He deserves it. He’s a good lad. But then we don’t always get what we deserve, do we? There’s no-one up above somewhere keeping a proper tally of the falls and calling the fouls, is there?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘It’s all just chance, then, the toss of a coin.’

‘Something like that, aye.’

Mann thought he should move off, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Eventually Winder continued, his voice barely audible above the generators. ‘And all this will carry on, whether we’re here or not. It’s been going for centuries, has the Sports. So there’ll always be this, every summer, and there’ll be new names going on those trophies. Different people, but seeing the same things. Maybe feeling the same things too.’

‘Aye, that’s right. It will all just carry on until it stops. I expect that’s how it’ll be.’

‘Did you ever kill anyone, in the line of duty, like?’

‘It’s funny, but someone asked me that same question, just the other day.’

‘What did you say?’

‘That I did my duty.’

‘But did you do what was right? There’s a difference, I take it.’

Mann smiled.

‘Yes, there’s a difference.’

‘Do you ever think about them? The ones you killed. In the line of duty, like.’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘No reason. But I bet you don’t.’

Mann was surprised, and for the first time he turned and looked Winder full in the face.

‘You’re right, as a matter of fact I don’t. Always thought I would, sometime, you know. Maybe years after. But it’s just never happened.’

‘Just doing your job, I suppose.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t think it’s that. I just reckon that, deep down, I just don’t think that it matters all that much. If it hadn’t been me then it would have been someone else, at the sharp end, like. And people up the line, way up the line, they’re the ones who made it happen, aren’t they? It wasn’t like I was defending my own home town, like. Mostly it was just a million acres of sand.’

‘And does that go for your own life, too? Does it not matter either?’

Mann laughed. ‘Probably not. Only to me, I suppose. But I’ll tell you one thing. I’ve never been scared for my life, even when I should have been, like. I don’t know if that means owt or not.’ Mann laughed. ‘But Christ, how did we get on to all this morbid stuff, on a lovely day like this, and with the Sports to look forward to? Let’s have a toast to your lad.’

‘Aye, thanks. Cheers.’

‘Let’s hope he makes you proud.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I’m already proud. Let’s hope he wins it for himself. This may sound daft to you, but I’ve waited for this moment since he was just a little lad. I wrestled, my dad did, and his dad too, before him. Who know how far it goes back. And at least I’ve been a link in the chain. At least I’ve been that, like.’

The two men stood, in silence, for another minute or two, then Winder raised his almost empty glass and set off towards the far end of the show-field, where the exhibitors’ larger vehicles and caravans were parked. Mann finished his drink, and walked back to his car. He had a clear view of Winder’s 4x4 the whole time, and it was half an hour before he started to wonder where he’d got to. He should never have talked to the bloke, because if he hadn’t he could have kept proper eyes-on the whole time. ‘Shit’ he said, and got back out of the car. Twenty minutes later he knew for a fact what he’d known instinctively from the moment that the thought had first occurred to him. Winder had known who he was all along, that had to be it. He’d just been played like a farmed trout, hungry for the hook.

Mann asked a bloke who was unhitching a trailer if he’d seen John Winder.

‘Aye. He was here a while back. I saw him chatting with Brian Thompson, and they’ve pushed off to the pub.’

‘The Mortal Man?’

‘Aye, I expect so. They asked if I wanted to go, but I told them that I need to stay and graft for an hour.’

Mann drove to the pub, and found that Thompson and Winder had been and gone. Then he called Jane Francis and gave her the news.

‘For fuck’s sake, Ian. I thought that you could keep out of sight and track him for days, if needs be. Why did you bloody show out like that?’

‘I don’t know, honestly.’

‘And you’re certain that he spotted you?’

‘I was, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe he’s just going to pick up his car tomorrow. It’s not like it’s his only one, is it?’

‘All right. I’ll put someone on Winder’s house, and see if we can spot Thompson’s car. Meanwhile you’ll keep looking for them?’

‘Aye. The barmaid said that she had the impression that they were going on somewhere to eat. So that doesn’t narrow it down much, does it?’

‘It’s unlikely to be a chipper, given the amount of cash that Winder’s got.’

‘Maybe not, but my guess is that it will be somewhere that he has fond memories of, so I’ll start in Windermere, and take it from there.’

Andy Hall was doing everything he could to give Jane a relaxing evening. He even put on some music that she liked and he didn’t. And that didn’t happen often. But nothing worked. She hardly touched her food - one of her favourites - and she just said ‘sorry’ when he took the plates away. Five minutes later she was crying, and it was at least another ten before she stopped.

‘It’s my hormones, Andy’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Don’t be daft. It’s only natural. There’s so much to look forward to, isn’t there?’

‘You think so? I’ve fucked this case up completely. And we’ll all be depending on me, soon enough. What if I’m sacked?’

‘What are you talking about? They won’t sack you. Why would they?’

‘The Chief’s a vindictive bastard, Andy. We both know that. He’ll use me to get back at you. I’m sure of it.’

‘He won’t, but what if he did? We’d manage. Of course we would. One thing I’ve learned is that most of us worry too much about the future, and about money especially. I know that I have. It’s the curse of the middle-classes, always looking over your bloody shoulder. Well I’m sick of it. And things never turn out the way you plan, do they? People adapt, it’s a fact. We could adapt.’

‘Could you, Andy? In a while you’ll be a retired Superintendent with a bad back and a pension.’

‘Half a pension. But we’ll have a new baby, won’t we? We’ll be absolutely fine, I promise. But is that what you’re really worried about? Or is it actually the case?’

‘It’s everything. And I’m going to have to tell the bosses soon as well, aren’t I? About the baby, I mean. I hate it being a secret, because I want to shout about it, or at least send an email round, or something. And I should have done it already, because another week or two and it’ll be bloody obvious. There’s a rumour going round already. You do know that?’

Hall didn’t know. But Superintendents didn’t get told the gossip. It would be seen as a kind of grassing.

‘There’s always gossip, isn’t there? I wouldn’t take any notice.’

‘One of the civilians heard me throwing up in the loos at work apparently. Two days on the trot. The bloody woman must have bowels you could set your watch by.’

Hall smiled.

‘Now there’s an image to conjure with. But we’ve been through all this. You’re legally entitled to take the full maternity allowance, and they can’t penalise you for it.’

‘But they will, won’t they? And what if I need longer? I might, Andy. Your wife didn’t go back to work after the girls, did she? Not full-time, anyway.’

‘No, she didn’t. But let’s cross that bridge if and when we come to it, OK? After a few months at home with a new baby you might be climbing the walls. You might be dying to get back.’

‘I won’t be. I know I won’t be. How could I be? And even if I was I don’t think I’d be as good at the job. Not as committed, not as focussed. Because our child would always be my priority. I’m not like you, Andy. I can’t block home life out the moment I step through that door. It’s probably a bloke thing.’

‘Come on, Jane, don’t generalise. You’re always telling me off for that. Lazy sexism, isn’t it?’

‘It’s bloody true though. In your case, anyway. I remember what you were like, when your marriage was collapsing.’

‘Oh, yes? And how was I then?’

Jane could hear the slightest edge in his voice, but she ignored it.

‘Exactly the bloody same. No-one at work knew a fucking thing, did they? Not for weeks. You were going through hell, and you did it completely alone.’

‘Come on, Jane. That doesn’t mean anything. Those were different circumstances, a different time. I’d say I was a different person then, if I thought that there was the remotest chance that you’d actually believe me. And you’ll have me here, remember. I’ll be able to look after young Hamish, or Hannah.’

‘Or whatever he or she is called. I don’t think anything is set in stone yet.’

‘You know what I mean. So don’t worry about it, OK? I’ll be there. Or rather, I’ll be here. Right here.’

‘Will you? Are you sure about that? Christ, Andy, you’ve gone to work most days for over thirty years, and when you’re not there you’re usually thinking about it. I’m not sure that you can be anywhere else.’

‘We’ve been over this before, Jane. I know what I’m getting into, don’t I? Better than you do, as a matter of fact. Stay together, stay strong, and we’ll be fine. There’s nothing in this world stronger than a family, and that’s what we are now, isn’t it?’

John Winder was about to turn away from the door when Mrs. Moore finally opened it. It was just getting dark, the shadows filling up with the night.