Blood Sport: A Yorkshire Murder Mystery (DCI Harry Grimm Crime Thrillers 7)

by David J Gatward

  ‘You could’ve just reported it,’ Harry suggested.

  ‘I could have, yes, but I didn’t.’

  ‘How did they react?’

  Andy shrugged. ‘Can’t really remember, if I’m honest. I know Dean got it bad from his dad because of it all, his reputation and all that, you know?’

  ‘Mr Slater?’

  ‘Yes, that’s him,’ Andy said. ‘And Danny, well, he’s dead now, isn’t he? So it doesn’t really matter. Car accident when he was twenty-one. Absolutely horrendous.’

  ‘You were all kicked out of Young Farmers.’

  ‘Not really a surprise, is it?’ Andy said. ‘But as I’ve explained, my involvement all along was to make sure that no animals were hurt. We have a responsibility, don’t we—humanity I mean?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘To animals,’ Andy said. ‘They’re in our care, aren’t they? That’s why I became a vet. We’re powerful, dangerously so, if you think about it, and it’s down to us as individuals to exercise that power with care.’

  Harry, not knowing quite what to say to this somewhat preachy moment from the vet, checked his watch.

  ‘Long day?’ Andy asked.

  ‘Long week,’ Harry said, keeping a yawn down, but only just. ‘Thanks for your time. Much appreciated.’

  ‘Anytime,’ Andy said. ‘So, you think there’s a local dogfighting ring running then, do you?’

  ‘Looks that way, yes,’ Harry said. ‘And the sooner I put a stop to it the better.’

  ‘It’s amazing what people will do for profit,’ Andy said.

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ Harry agreed.

  ‘Just think of the money made in boxing, cage fighting. It’s madness, really, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s my worry,’ Harry said. ‘That this madness is just the start of something much worse. People get a taste for it and before you know it things are out of control. It starts with dogs, but then some bright spark thinks, why stop there?’

  ‘Terrifying,’ Andy said, pulling on his helmet. ‘Well, if you need any help, just give me a call.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Harry said.

  Andy handed Harry a small business card.

  ‘That’s the surgery address on the front, but my home address is written on the back. You can’t miss the place thanks to the scaffolding I’ve got up everywhere!’

  Harry thanked the vet then watched as he climbed onto his motorbike and started the engine. The deep thrum of it filled the air and then he was off, the thick-treaded knobbly tyres biting into the track outside the house and sending out a spray of small stones as he raced off.

  Back in his vehicle, Harry checked his phone. There was one message from Jadyn to tell him that, so far, they’d not been able to find either Reedy or Eric.

  Harry knew that a long evening lay ahead. He was exhausted, but with so much on his mind, getting to sleep would be almost impossible. And even when he did, when his body finally gave in to it, he knew it would be the kind of sleep that only made you feel all the worse for having it.

  Harry rang Ben to let him know he was on his way home only to be told that Molly had seemingly spent the entire day asleep not on the makeshift bed he’d prepared for her on the floor, but on his actual bed instead. Then he headed out of the farm and back up the dale, and with every mile closer to home, dark fingers of evening drew closer over the fells, pulling with them the blanket of night.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The night was a restless one for Harry, disturbed not only by all the thoughts running around in his head, but the endless snoring and farting of the dog at the foot of his bed. He’d also been woken up in the early hours by the dog, of all things, sleepwalking. He’d found her in the corner of his room, trying to bury an invisible bone.

  With some gentle coaxing, he’d managed to get her back into her bed, only to watch her jump up onto his and settle down. He’d not had the heart to put her back down on the floor, so had just left her where she was.

  Grace had called during the evening to say she’d be over the next day to pick Molly up. Harry didn’t want to admit that he actually rather liked having the smelly old hound around.

  Having made his way down to the office, Molly shuffling along at his side, Harry had walked in to find that PC Okri had, being the officer on duty, had a somewhat eventful evening, to say the least. It was very clear that the whole thing had been very exciting, judging by the enthusiasm with which he was telling everyone about it.

  ‘A break-in?’ Harry said, as the young constable stood in front of him, beaming. ‘Where?’

  ‘Up in Gayle,’ Jadyn said. ‘Mr and Mrs Hogg.’

  ‘Not Neil’s parents, surely,’ Harry said.

  Jim came over and stood with Jadyn.

  ‘Yeah, I’m afraid so,’ he said. ‘I popped in to see them this morning on my way over, just to check in on them, see how they are.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Oh, they’re fine,’ Jim said. ‘Well, I say fine. Helen is being very practical about it all, thankful that nothing was taken and that the mess was really only in Neil’s room. Alan, though? He’s not exactly taken it well.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He’s still at the righteous indignation stage,’ Jim said. ‘And I can’t see him breaking out of it any time soon, mainly because I think he just enjoys having something to rage at.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ Harry said. ‘Most of us would be the same under the circumstances.’

  ‘Well, yes and no,’ said Jim.

  Harry frowned.

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘He thinks he knows who did it,’ Jadyn explained. ‘Well, not did it as such, but is responsible, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Which I don’t.’

  Harry was already beginning to wish he’d stayed in bed, dog farts and all.

  ‘They were out last night, Alan and Helen,’ Jim said. ‘With Richard Adams.’

  ‘Really?’ Harry said, somewhat surprised that particular name mentioned. ‘Why?’

  ‘He invited them over,’ Jim said. ‘I was there when it happened when I popped round the other day. Apparently, he’s been around a few times since they lost Neil. Alan reckons he’s only doing it to make himself look good in the community.’

  Harry remembered Richard Adams very well indeed. He’d met many of his kind before, all teeth and gums, expensive watches and flashy vehicles. Usually spoke only about themselves, their business, or both, like one had no meaning without the other, and that by telling you about it all, your own life was given meaning, too.

  ‘But what’s any of that got to do with anything else?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Alan can’t stand the man,’ Jim said. ‘Doesn’t trust him. Only went out because Helen wanted to, I’m assuming. And as far as Alan is concerned, the only person who knew they were out that night was Mr Adams.’

  ‘And he’s jumped to the conclusion that he invited them out so that someone could break into their house?’ Harry said. ‘You know, saying that out loud doesn’t make it sound any less crazy. Why would he? What possible motive is there?’

  ‘He’s already been around there accusing him,’ said Jadyn. ‘I don’t think he’s too bothered about a motive, just wants someone to blame.’

  ‘But there’s no reason for any link between the two at all, is there?’ Harry said.

  ‘None at all.’ Jim shook his head. ‘It’s a break-in, just an opportunistic crime, by the looks of things. Alan will calm down eventually, I’m sure.’

  ‘He won’t do anything stupid, will he?’ Harry asked. ‘I mean, I know he already has done, but do we need to bring him in for a chat before a certain Mr Adams reports him for harassment?’

  Jim shook his head. ‘Helen has him under control. All she had to do was threaten to stop baking and he went off in a huff.’

  Harry thought back over what Jim and Jadyn had told him.

  ‘You said it was Neil’s room that was turned ov
er.’

  ‘Nowt much was taken though,’ Jim said. ‘It’s the only modern room in the house. Neil lived over in Darlington, but he was always popping back home so his mum kept his room nice, and he had some of his stuff there.’

  ‘What was taken?’

  ‘Tech basically. A record deck, amp, and speakers, an old laptop. Oh, and some tins of Helen’s biscuits from the kitchen, which is what’s upset Alan more than anything, I think. There was a bit of damage, but insurance will cover it. The back door, some broken pictures, that kind of thing.’

  ‘And that owl,’ Jadyn added. ‘Mr Hogg seemed more upset about that than anything else, didn’t he?’

  ‘Owl?’ Harry asked, remembering the ones he’d encountered out at the barn.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Jim said. ‘Just this stuffed thing Alan won at a Christmas raffle at the vets. It was all smashed up in the break-in. Think whoever broke in must’ve knocked it off the wall and stamped on it just for the hell of it. Helen’s thrilled. She hated the thing.’

  ‘You can win one too, if you want,’ Jadyn said. ‘Well, not an owl, a pigeon I think it was. They’ve another raffle going at the vets, you see.’

  ‘A stuffed pigeon?’ Harry said. ‘Hold me back…’

  ‘You know what they say, boss,’ Jadyn said. ‘You have to be in it to win it!’

  ‘Thanks for those excellent words of wisdom, Constable,’ Harry said. ‘Now, is there anything else I need to know about this break-in, or are we done at winning stuffed pigeons?’

  ‘I don’t think so, no,’ Jadyn said. ‘It was all dealt with last night and I’ll be going up there again this morning.’

  Harry looked over at Jim.

  ‘You think there’s a connection at all, then?’

  ‘With Neil’s murder? No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I was out there with Jadyn last night. Whoever it was, they were in and out pretty quickly by the looks of it. They didn’t turn the place over or take much in the grand scheme of things.’

  ‘Probably someone just looking for something to sell,’ Jadyn said. ‘Most burglaries are like that. In and out in minutes, just grab something that you can get a few quid for, then leg it.’

  ‘And if you can smash up a stuffed bird on the way, all the better,’ Jim said.

  Which was enough of a signal for Harry to leave the conversation and go have a word with the rest of the team. Gordy met him halfway. And rather than a mug of tea, she was sipping from a glass half-filled with orange-coloured liquid, the rest of the glass seemingly filled with an odd foam, some of which was now coating her top lip like the worst kind of fake moustache.

  ‘And just what the hell is that?’ Harry asked, gesturing at the glass. ‘Some kind of health drink or pick-me-up full of vitamins and wishful thinking?’

  ‘This?’ Gordy said. ‘It’s heaven in a glass is what it is!’

  ‘You’ll see from my expression that I’m not exactly convinced.’

  Gordy stared at Harry.

  ‘But you always look like that.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘It’s Creamola Foam,’ Gordy explained, taking another foam-laden sip. ‘Had it as a kid up in the Highlands. Went out of production years ago, but now it’s back!’ She took another sip then said, ‘You want some?’

  ‘Again, look at my face,’ Harry said.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

  ‘I’ll take that risk.’

  Gordy finished her drink, then said, ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look great.’

  ‘You, on the other hand,’ Harry replied, ‘and Crapola Foam or whatever it was called aside, are positively beaming. Things going well with Alice, then?’

  It was a few months now since Gordy had somehow ended up on a blind date with Alice, the local vicar who lived over in Askrigg. And so far, things certainly seemed to be going well for them both.

  ‘They are for sure,’ Gordy said. ‘Though I can’t say I ever thought I’d find myself falling for a woman of the cloth. And it’s Creamola, not Crapola.’

  ‘Potato po-tah-to,’ Harry said. ‘And falling for, is it? So, it’s love then, is it, Detective Inspector?’

  Gordy blushed.

  ‘Well, it’s early days yet for all of that, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Harry. ‘If you find something good, I say run with it.’

  ‘You know, Grimm, I’m beginning to get the impression that under that gruff exterior, you’re just a big softy.’

  ‘That’s a secret between you and me,’ Harry said. ‘So, what are you on with today, then?’

  ‘Well, I’m going to coordinate things here for you so you can meet with the pathologist.’

  Harry did a double-take.

  ‘Don’t look so concerned,’ Gordy said. ‘She called in before you arrived, asked me to tell you she’d like to meet up and go through things with you. I accepted on your behalf.’

  ‘So, I’ve a meeting, then?’

  ‘You have indeed,’ Gordy said. ‘Ten-thirty, round at her mum’s. Here’s the address.’

  Harry took the piece of notepaper Gordy handed to him, checking his watch at the same time.

  ‘So, everything’s under control here, then, is it?’

  ‘Everything,’ Gordy said. ‘We’ve got plenty to be going on with, what with needing to find two missing people, namely this Reedy fellow and Mr Eric Haygarth. There’s the break-in to deal with as well, and plenty of everything else.’

  ‘So, I don’t need to worry, then.’

  ‘Well, you’re meeting the pathologist,’ Gordy said. ‘That’s enough for anyone to be worried about, isn’t it?’

  ‘What about Molly there?’ Harry asked, looking over at the old dog who was now rolled on her back in the corner of the room, up close to a radiator, and judging by the soft snoring, sound asleep. ‘Grace said she’d be over at some point to pick her up, but I’m not sure when exactly.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll be fine,’ Gordy said. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her. Not that she’s much bother.’

  Harry hesitated.

  ‘You’ve an hour,’ Gordy said. ‘So be off with you, man! That’s more than enough time to get yourself back home, have the shower you obviously forgot to bother with, eat something, and then get over there.’

  Harry hesitated.

  ‘Something up?’

  ‘No, not really,’ Harry said. ‘It’s just that, well, it takes a bit of getting used to, all of this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘People you work with actually helping you out,’ Harry said.

  ‘We’re a team, remember?’ Gordy said. ‘Now be off with you. Go on!’

  Harry walked over to the door, then turned around for a glance at the team. They were unlike any other group of people he’d ever worked with before. And for all their oddities, their strangeness, he wondered just what it was that he’d done right in his life to end up in the dales with them in the first place.

  Then he was out the door and tabbing back along to his flat to make himself some way closer to being a presentable human being. Not so much for Sowerby, but the idea of turning up dishevelled and potentially bumping into her force-of-nature mother looking like he did? The thought of it was too terrifying to contemplate, even for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Harry pulled through the gate and onto the gravel drive of a house on the outskirts of Askrigg. The road, if he’d have kept going, would have taken him over the tops and onto open moorland, then down into Swaledale. It was a beautiful drive, and one Harry would take sometimes just for the fun of it. But today there wasn’t the time, so he parked up and headed over to the front door. He reached up to knock as the door opened in front of him.

  ‘There you are!’

  The woman in front of him was wearing a waxed jacket, which she filled out to the corners, and Wellington boots, and was armed with a large garden scythe.

  ‘Morning, Margaret,’ Harry said, as the pathologist’s mother,
Divisional Surgeon Margaret Shaw, greeted him like some ruddy-cheeked and well-fed dales version of Death.

  ‘Here to help me with the garden?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Pity.’ Margaret shrugged. ‘I’ve been putting off getting out there and it’s a jungle now. Can’t get the mower out into it so I’m on with this thing!’

  She thrust the scythe forwards as though brandishing it ready for battle.

  ‘Looks lethal,’ Harry said, not wanting to get too close.

  ‘Oh, it is,’ Margaret agreed. ‘Razor-sharp, too. You’ll be wanting our Rebecca then, yes?’

  ‘She in?’

  Margaret turned around and leaned back in the house before bellowing out her daughter’s name.

  ‘Why don’t you head on in,’ she then said. ‘Make yourself at home. If you go on down the hall, you’ll get to the kitchen. Make a coffee or something, there’s a good lad.’

  Harry stepped into the house and Margaret, without another word, headed off into the day, clearly on a mission.

  Heading down the hall, Harry found himself in the kind of kitchen he only ever usually saw in the lifestyle magazines found in doctor’s waiting rooms. The ceiling was beamed, the cupboards, dining table, and chairs all a light oak, and instead of a normal, everyday cooker, the house was fed from a huge, green, cast iron Aga.

  On seeing that the kettle was a stove-top one rather than electric, Harry decided against making a coffee, somewhat afraid of a kitchen as posh as this one, and instead just sat down at the dining table.

  Rebecca Sowerby entered the room and for once wasn’t wearing PPE.

  ‘You’ve not put the kettle on!’

  ‘I was going to,’ Harry lied. ‘And then I didn’t.’

  Rebecca grabbed the kettle from an iron skillet on the side, filled it, then heaved up one of the heavy covers on the oven and plonked it down on the hot plate underneath.

  ‘French press okay?’

  ‘French what?’

  ‘You know,’ Sowerby said. ‘This.’

  From a cupboard, she removed a large cafetière and a couple of mugs.