by J. R. Ellis
‘Sir, sir!’ He tried gently slapping Oldroyd’s face, and there was a moan. Much to Andy’s relief, his boss opened his eyes.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ he groaned. ‘My bloody head!’
‘It could have been a lot worse, sir – someone tried to kill you. They tipped a boulder off the top. You fell on the rocks where I pushed you. It just missed us.’ He pointed to the split boulder lying behind them. It was actually not that big, and could have been moved by two people, but it was big enough to kill someone if it hit them from that height.
‘What?’ Oldroyd was still too dazed to take it in.
‘We’ve got to get to that Visitors’ Centre, but we’ve got to go carefully. Which way is it?’
‘Over there, keep going up to the top of hill. It’s right at the top.’ His voice was weak. He put his hand up to his head and saw the blood. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘Can you make it if I help you?’
‘Yes. Let’s get moving; they might have another go.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’
Andy got to his feet carefully and found that he’d twisted his knee. He helped his boss to stand up, rather uncertainly to begin with, then he put his arm around Oldroyd’s shoulder and the two men limped and staggered out of the gully. Looking back, Andy thought he had a brief glimpse of a figure watching them from high up on one of the tallest rocks, but it quickly disappeared from view.
Andy had no idea where they were but he knew they must stay in the open and not walk between the rocks, to avoid further things being thrown at them from above. He thought it unlikely that anyone would attack on the open ground, but he still had to find his way to the elusive Visitors’ Centre. Luckily the mist had come down further and was thick enough to confuse their pursuer. He picked up a chunky piece of stone to use on anyone who pounced on them.
They stumbled along, trying to head for the high ground. There was nobody about. Where were the public when you needed them? Andy was sure they’d passed the same place at least twice. Were they going round in circles? They were floundering in the eerie quiet of the mist, in which huge rocks kept looming up in front of them.
‘I think this is wrong,’ mumbled Oldroyd as they continued through the mist, desperate to find the main path. ‘Too far to the left. Watch out for . . . Stop!’ He pulled Andy back. They were on a stone platform near the edge of a precipice with a drop of a hundred feet.
‘God! Well, thanks for returning the favour, sir. That would have been the end of us if we’d fallen down there. We haven’t been in so much danger since we went down those pothole things.’
‘At least you don’t get this mist down there. But I think this place is what they call The Huntsman’s Leap, and at last I think I know where we are. Let’s follow this track.’ He pointed to a path that ascended and curved to the right and they continued along, passing outlandish rock formations until suddenly some light broke through and the mist began to melt away.
‘Good. We must be near the top. Yes, I can see it! Over there.’
Andy could see a solid, low building made of the same millstone grit as the rock formations. It too seemed to grow out of the landscape. They made it to the door and stumbled through. Safety and help were rapidly provided and it didn’t take long to establish, as the two detectives now fully expected, that there was no such person as Fiona MacPherson working for the National Trust at Brimham Rocks.
Ben Poole sat in a corner of an old pub in the centre of Harrogate. The dark, wood-panelled bar had retained its original gas lights, including one on the counter by the beer pumps. It was an atmospheric, half-lit place and perfect for a clandestine meeting. There was another reason he wasn’t sleeping well at the moment that he hadn’t shared with Geraldine, in order to protect her from anxiety. In his role as a freelance journalist, he was involved in a secret investigation into Harrogate Council, which was on the brink of revealing the existence of corrupt practices. He’d arranged to meet his contact in the council at this venue, where it was possible to hide from public view. He had a drink of his beer, looked at his watch and checked that there was no one he knew in the pub. He shook his head. Fancy arranging such clandestine meetings in Harrogate, of all places! He almost laughed out loud as he thought of himself as an agent in Berlin during the Cold War. Nevertheless, there was a real sense of danger in confronting powerful people; you never knew to what lengths they might go to defend themselves.
‘Hi,’ whispered the figure who had entered from a door at the rear of the pub and had shuffled quietly into a seat opposite Ben. He was wearing dark glasses and a coat with the collar up. This was more than ever like a spy story.
Ben spoke in a low voice. ‘How’s it going? Do you want a drink?’
‘Thanks, I’ll have a whisky. It’s nerve-racking. I’m having to be really careful. I don’t think anyone suspects anything yet.’
Ben went to the bar and returned with the drink. He had another look around the pub, which was almost empty. ‘Have you managed to get anything solid? Any evidence of what’s going on that we can use?’ he asked.
‘It’s difficult. He covers his tracks. I blew the whistle when he forgot to declare his interest in that Royal Baths contract. That was very careless of him.’
‘You mean his wife’s business?’
‘Exactly. The problem is, I’ve heard the police have dropped the case: lack of evidence. I find that very dubious.’
‘What do you mean?’
He downed the whisky in one gulp, looked around then leaned forward to Ben. ‘I think he’s being protected by the police.’
Ben whistled. ‘Wow! You mean someone in the police is in on it?’
‘Yes. That’s how these things work, isn’t it?’
‘Bloody hell! Bent coppers. This thing’s getting bigger.’
‘Yes, which is why I’m getting nervous. We could bring a lot of people down here, if they don’t get to us first.’
‘Steady on, we’re not talking about the Mafia. I don’t think you’ll be found in the stream in the Valley Gardens with your throat cut.’
‘Maybe not, but there’s a murderer on the loose in Harrogate, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, but that business has nothing to do with Sandford, has it?’
‘Don’t be too sure. You know that Clare Bayliss was Penrose’s second wife?’
Ben was surprised for the second time. ‘God. No, I didn’t know that.’
‘I think it was a bit before your time. He met her here at the Crime Writing Festival, several years ago. She went off to London with him but the marriage didn’t last and apparently it all ended bitterly.’
‘Do you mean she could have bumped him off?’
The man shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It’s doubtful, but we may well be dealing with some ruthless people capable of violence and they may be getting more desperate. Sandford is effectively involved in two police investigations. This is serious stuff. It might not be just my job and your reputation at stake if we get this wrong.’
‘So what’s the next move?’ Ben could scarcely disguise his excitement. This was what brave investigative reporting was all about. Geraldine would have to be kept entirely in the dark.
‘We need to find out more about who’s protecting him. We’ve got a lead. The detective inspector who came to interview him was called Fenton. He had a female sergeant with him. If he decided not to continue with the case, he could be the one.’
‘I see. I’ll talk to my contacts in the police, see if I can find out anything.’
‘It might also be worth doing some tracking – you know, see if we can catch him meeting a police officer.’
‘OK, well, he doesn’t know me, so I’ll see if I can follow him. It’ll take some time.’
‘And it won’t be easy. Jack Sandford’s a devious bugger, I can tell you, so take care. If he knows someone’s on to him, he’ll be even more wary and it’ll be even more difficult to pin anything on him.’
A silence fo
llowed as they both contemplated the difficult and dangerous venture in which they were getting ever more deeply involved. They finished their drinks, arranged another time and venue to meet up again and left the pub by different doors.
‘Blast it! What a damned idiot I’ve been! Walked straight into the trap! I must be losing my grip.’
Oldroyd was lying on a bed in the first aid room at the Visitors’ Centre at Brimham Rocks. First aid had been administered by the friendly staff, and an ambulance called, despite Oldroyd’s protestations. He was politely but firmly informed that no risk could be taken with head wounds. Andy sat in a chair next to him, resting his leg, which was bruised but not broken. Despite his painful head, Oldroyd was managing to drink a cup of tea and eat a generous slice of National Trust cake.
‘Never mind, sir. I was on hand to save you.’ Andy grinned.
‘You were. And I can’t thank you enough.’ Oldroyd looked thoughtful. ‘It’s getting bloody serious now. There are some determined people behind this. But it’s also a good sign. They feel threatened by us, so we must be on to something. The problem is, I don’t really know what it is yet.’ He chuckled and then grimaced as the pain shot through his head.
‘I thought it was a funny set-up, sir, to be honest – couldn’t imagine Penrose coming to a place like this.’
‘No, you’re right. And I should have been on the alert when the caller insisted I come out personally. The trouble with me is I leap at any chance to drive out here into the Dales and I was off my guard.’
‘Good place to try to kill someone, isn’t it, sir? Lots of hiding places, dark corners. I wonder if they knew there was a good chance of this mist coming down?’
‘Probably. You plan it out and then take your chance, don’t you? If some member of the public had somehow got in the way, they’d have just abandoned it and no doubt had another try later. Did you see more than one person?’
‘No, sir, but I reckon there must have been at least two to manoeuvre a boulder like that into position.’
‘Yes, but you’ll probably find that that big rock they were standing on above us is embedded in the hillside. There will be an easy access to the top from some point, otherwise they couldn’t have got that boulder up there. They would have rolled it to the edge of the gap through which we were passing, and pushed it over. They must have been watching us arrive and then quickly rigged up that diversion sign so that the big stupid copper would walk straight into the ambush. Maybe it’s time I retired myself before someone does it for me. Or worse.’
There was the sound of a vehicle drawing up.
‘That’s probably the ambulance. Here, take the car keys and I’ll see you back at work tomorrow.’ He threw a bunch of keys over to Andy, who caught them one-handed.
‘OK, sir. Take it easy.’
Andy helped a still-groggy Oldroyd off the bed and out into the ambulance. The vehicle drove off down a winding back lane that serviced the Visitors’ Centre. The sun had come out and the mist had entirely disappeared. Andy looked back down the hill and over the weird rocks, which were massed together like a gathering of ancient giants turned to stone in a Tolkien story. He tried to pick out the one from which they’d been attacked and the gully they were walking through when it happened. Which route had they taken to the top of the hill? Where was The Huntsman’s Leap? He couldn’t make out anything. Down there amongst the complex of paths and gullies, it must be quite easy to get lost even when the weather was clear, but covered in mist it became a sinister maze of entrapment, where it was near impossible to get your bearings. The perfect place for a murder.
‘Brimham Rocks! What on earth were you doing there? You look wrecked!’ Steph was in the office when Andy limped in covered in mud, with his trousers torn.
‘We were lured out there.’ He told her what had happened. ‘I thought it was strange, but the boss was keen to get out there. He was off his guard and someone outwitted him. The boss outwitted: that’s a collector’s item!’
‘I know, but bloody hell, you were lucky to escape,’ said Steph as she made Andy a mug of tea. ‘Are you OK?’ She gave him a hug, even though physical contact was frowned upon while they were at work.
‘Yeah, I’ve just strained the ligaments a bit,’ he replied as he massaged his knee. ‘The boss fell heavily and cracked his head on a rock. He’s gone for a check-up but I don’t think there’s any damage done. He—’
There was a knock on the door and Fenton walked straight in. ‘Oh, sorry, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’ He looked from one to the other and smiled lecherously.
‘No,’ replied Steph. ‘Sergeant Carter’s been attacked and hurt.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Fenton, showing no interest in what had happened. ‘He’ll need some care and attention, then. Lucky man. Anyway, just come up to my office; I need to brief you about something.’
Steph followed him out, glancing at Andy and casting her eyes upwards.
Upstairs she sat down in Fenton’s office, relieved that Hancock and Turnbull were not around. Fenton sat behind his desk looking at some papers but he didn’t appear to be reading them.
‘I’ve decided that we don’t need to take any further action in this council case. There’s insufficient evidence to continue.’
Steph had been half expecting this since his comments on the way back from interviewing Sandford, so she didn’t argue with him.
‘Does that mean you don’t need me anymore?’
‘Well, of course, I need you really badly, but not in the way you suggest. No, you can toddle off back to the DCI, but remember: I’m getting impatient.’
Steph ignored his salacious comments and promptly left the office. Something was definitely wrong. Why was he abandoning the case so abruptly? She didn’t believe that he’d really investigated it thoroughly. Unless – the thought suddenly struck her – was he involved himself? He was just the kind of sleazy police officer who could be involved in dodgy stuff. It would be worth keeping a discreet watch on his movements. There might yet be material of a different kind that could be used against him.
Oldroyd sat resting in his flat after his ordeal at Brimham Rocks. It was a pleasant early evening, and he had the window open. The mowers had been out on the Stray that afternoon and the smell of the newly mown grass wafted into the room.
He drank a mug of tea and tried to rest. His head was still sore, and there was a large plaster over the cut he had received earlier. He knew he ought to stay in and have an early night but he was due to appear at the Crime Writing Festival later on and then he and Deborah were meeting in the bar at The White Swan. He didn’t want to cancel these engagements, so he decided to lie down for a while when he’d finished his tea and try to regain his strength.
In the meantime, he knew he ought to contact Chief Superintendent Tom Walker and report on what had happened. Although it was late, the old boy would still be at work. Oldroyd suspected that Walker’s home life was not particularly good. He seemed to spend his time divided between his office and the golf course.
Sure enough, the gruff Yorkshire voice answered the phone. ‘Jim. Well, I’m glad you’ve rung. How are you? I’ve had a brief report from Sergeant Carter. He said you were at Brimham Rocks and things turned nasty. What the bloody hell were you doing up there? It’s a funny place that; I’ve never liked it – gives me the creeps.’
In private, Oldroyd and Walker were on first-name terms. They’d known each for many years and respected each other’s abilities. ‘I’ll live, Tom, as they say – got a bump on the head when I fell. Not as bad a bump as I would have had if Carter hadn’t had his wits about him.’ He explained how Andy had realised the danger and pushed him out of the way.
‘Good lad,’ said Walker, ‘but it doesn’t sound like you to be caught out like that. What was going on?’
‘Oh, I fell into the trap all right – made a big fool of myself. You know me, I can lose concentration when I’m away in those landscapes.’ He told Walker how they’d been lure
d to Brimham Rocks. ‘But don’t worry, I’m on the alert now. These people are clearly very dangerous and determined if they’re prepared to go for the police like that.’
‘Yes, but they must also be scared of you, so you must be on to something.’
‘That’s what I told Sergeant Carter. The problem is, to be honest, Tom, I haven’t got a clear idea of what it is I’m on to but they must think I’m a threat nevertheless.’
‘Yes, so you’d better be careful. Don’t go around by yourself, and make sure all your venues for interviewing people are safe. Bring them into the station if you can, rather than going out to them. I’m sure the whole thing’d be a lot easier if there wasn’t this bloody Crime Writing Festival going on. So many people swanning around, gabbing about the crimes and muddying the waters.’
‘It’ll soon be over,’ replied Oldroyd, who thought it judicious not to tell Walker that he was actually taking part in the festival.
‘Good. Well, I don’t need to tell you that Watkins is still bleating on to me, especially after that poor woman was murdered. You’re sure the two are connected?’
‘Pretty sure, Tom. She was bumped off because she knew something.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right. We don’t get many violent muggings in Harrogate. It would be too much of a coincidence. Anyway, just get on with it, but take the day off tomorrow if you’re feeling groggy.’
‘Righto, but I think I’ll be OK.’
Walker rang off, and Oldroyd went to lie down. He was looking forward to the evening but was also quite nervous, not about the Crime Writing Festival event, but about meeting Deborah later. Having been married and faithful to his wife for so long and having had no relationships since they separated, the whole business of getting to know a woman and establishing a relationship was now very strange to him. He’d not done anything like this since his student days, when he met Julia at Oxford. He felt awkward and clumsy. It was like being in your early teens again and trying to link up with the opposite sex for the first time.