Murder at the Meet

by Bruce Beckham

  Skelgill can imagine Pick Pearson dropping in; waiting for Jean Tyson to bring him tea, casually browsing a map of the district taken from the sideboard – and finding it irresistible to trace with a grimy finger the spot where he had concealed Mary Wilson’s body, the Kissing Cave above Cummacatta Wood.

  ‘Do you reckon she was there all the time, Guv?’

  DS Leyton’s question recalls an earlier discussion – when Skelgill had somewhat facetiously suggested that the body was placed in the cave after the area had been searched. The old abattoir at Slatterdale Rigg could have served as a temporary morgue; moreover, the records have revealed that Pick Pearson coordinated the search party that covered his own land – just as Arthur Hope had done in the adjacent limb of the dale up at Seathwaite. He could easily have made sure that no one else looked in the barn. But Skelgill no longer subscribes to this theory. He shakes his head.

  ‘Aye – it probably were. Bloke his size – he’d have had no difficulty carrying her. Happen he came back later, though, to shift all those rocks. Probably the same night, after he performed in the Twa Tups. If anyone had noticed his car, he’d have had reason to be down in Balderthwaite.’

  After a few moments’ silence it falls to DS Jones to pick up the conversation.

  ‘What do you think actually happened at Devil’s Lowp, Guv?’

  She speaks with no special inflection, but her inclusion of the word actually in the question leaves Skelgill in no doubt as to what she is getting at. His response is terse.

  ‘You’ve read her statement.’

  But DS Jones does not give up so easily.

  ‘Do you think he was going to throw Jean Tyson over the edge?’

  DS Leyton looks rather alarmed; Skelgill glowers uncomfortably. It is a while before he replies.

  ‘The trail had led us to him, Jones. We were within minutes – maybe a minute – of nicking him. The rest of the evidence would have followed. Him killing Jean Tyson wouldn’t have saved him.’

  ‘But he didn’t know that – he might have thought that silencing her would suffice – if she’d ‘fallen’ over that cliff, apparently chasing after her dog?’

  Skelgill plies his sergeant with a look of reproach. It lasts sufficiently for them each to be reminded of the other’s distinctive eyes – hers rich hazel, his enigmatic grey-green; for once the more amenable green seems to be in ascendance. He makes a gesture with both hands raised in the air above his head, his fingers spread as if to represent the dale around them.

  ‘Justice has been done. Don’t you get it? – they’ve shut up shop.’

  Now it is DS Leyton that is determined to know more.

  ‘What are you saying, Guv?’

  Skelgill sighs impatiently – but then he relents.

  ‘Leyton, let me give you an example. It looks to me like Megan Nicolson and Jake Dickson were left alone in the Twa Tups around the time Mary Wilson disappeared, right?’ (His sergeant nods.) ‘Let’s just say there’d been a little thing going on between them – no wonder they can’t put together a story about what each of them was doing. They don’t want to. What if Megan had suggested he popped down to give her a hand with a keg in the cellar? You know what I’m saying?’ (More nods from DS Leyton.) ‘At the time especially, they wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know about them – but on top of that they missed out on being key witnesses to Pick Pearson leaving the pub – and that he didn’t return to the meet, but instead that he followed Mary Wilson in his car.’

  Skelgill’s colleagues make no rejoinder, so he continues.

  ‘Likewise Sean Nicolson. Given his relationship with Mary Wilson – he was never going to be forthcoming – about that, or about what happened on the day. He knew he hadn’t killed her, so he just kept his head down, and has done ever since. When the DNA test results came back, it cleared him – it cleared them all – so they shrugged it off and got on with their lives.’

  Skelgill turns to look at DS Jones.

  ‘Like I’ve said – you were right, Jones. The investigating team should have treated folk as possible suspects, not witnesses. But there were hundreds of people in the area on the day of the meet. Happen they couldn’t see the wood for the trees. Then the DNA plan was hatched, and they just sat on their hands thinking that would sort it. It didn’t – it turned out more hindrance than help. By then it was too late.’

  Skelgill’s colleagues are still silent, ruminating on his analysis. He adds one final rider.

  ‘There’ve been clouds over Borrowdale for enough years; we don’t need to prolong it by unravelling every last twist and knot of what relationships folk have had. It’s time to let sleeping dogs lie.’

  DS Leyton remains a little troubled; shadows cast by the overhead spotlights exaggerate his heavy jowls.

  ‘But we can’t let sleeping dogs lie about the DNA – not about Nick Wilson’s DNA – and Sean Nicolson being his father.’

  Skelgill nods solemnly.

  ‘Aye. We need to tell Nick. Then it’s for him to decide. But you know what, Leyton – I’d wager Sean Nicolson’s champing at the bit to have a heart to heart with the lad. And I don’t reckon it’s going to come as any surprise to Megan Nicolson. She’s loyal to Sean because in his way he’s stayed loyal to her. You noticed she changed her tune, I reckon that was all about protecting him – and their family. I expect she’s had a hunch all along that Nick’s his son. How could you not, when you see the pair of them?’

  DS Leyton is shaking his head ruefully.

  ‘Whew – village life, eh?’ He looks at DS Jones, more cheerfully. ‘No wonder they never run out of plots for that there Ennerdale! And your young pal Minto – he’s going to have a field day.’

  DS Jones suddenly looks discomfited; she senses that Skelgill is watching her closely. But it is her nature to take the bull by the horns. She turns to face her superior.

  ‘Guv – I, er – kind of promised him that if he happened to come up with something that helped us – well, then I would –’ (she swallows and does a kind of mea culpa shrug) ‘well – I said I’d get him a private interview with the Chief – I was hoping you could have a word? You must be in her good books at the moment?’

  Skelgill’s emotions seem to ride a rollercoaster that oscillates between consternation and relief.

  ‘The Chief’s good books have a shelf life of about five minutes – before she breathes on them and they turn to cinders.’ This raises good-natured chuckles from his companions. ‘But I don’t see why she wouldn’t meet him – she must already have a line of communication open. At least her office – if not her in person.’

  DS Leyton is first to respond to Skelgill’s rather puzzling suggestion.

  ‘What do you mean, Guv – a line of communication?’

  Skelgill gives his sergeant something of an old-fashioned look.

  ‘Leyton – who do you think’s behind the leaks?’ DS Leyton splutters but before he can answer Skelgill continues. ‘Was it you?’ DS Leyton quickly shakes his head. Skelgill turns to DS Jones. ‘You?’ She responds likewise. ‘Well – it weren’t me – and it only queered Smart’s pitch – beside he’s not bright enough to do something that subtle.’

  DS Leyton is looking entirely perplexed.

  ‘But, Guv – why would the Chief’s office have leaked the story about the Manchester connection?’

  Skelgill stares at him for a moment and then transfers his gaze to DS Jones – but she is beginning to nod comprehendingly. Skelgill makes a circling gesture with one hand.

  ‘Apart from keeping us lot on our toes,’ (they understand he means the competing teams of detectives) ‘maybe it didn’t do us any harm with the public – folk in the dale thinking the police had got it sewn up – they weren’t quite as much on their guard as they could have been – and inch by inch we were working our way through their defences. When the break came, we knew which direction to move in.’

  Skelgill is looking at DS Jones – but now he produces a wry grin and cocks his head po
intedly in the direction of DS Leyton.

  ‘Credit due on that score to our very own Fats Waller, here.’

  DS Leyton recoils with mock surprise, though there is pleasure upon his face, perhaps only slightly tarnished by the small underlying prospect that his superior is cruelly taking the mickey – given that he could do with shedding a few pounds. But DS Jones is quick to confirm the compliment – she reaches across the table to press his forearm in congratulation. He responds rather sheepishly.

  ‘You’ve been doing your research, Guv.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Fats Waller – he wrote Ain’t Misbehavin’ – remember, Mary de Boinville said it was Harry Nelson’s signature tune?’

  When there is an opportunity to accept the kudos for what is in fact pure fluke, Skelgill reacts in an altogether more self-effacing manner. He leans back in his chair and folds his arms, his gaze lowered, and he intones almost wistfully.

  ‘I was thinking of ducking in to see her tonight. Friday’s one of her days, isn’t it? They’ve got some decent guest ales on at The Bell – and there’s a new little curry place in Grasmere I wouldn’t mind trying.’ Skelgill glances up to see his colleagues both looking amused. He offers a further explanation, though it sounds no more convincing. ‘Happen I ought to learn a bit about jazz.’

  DS Leyton flashes a sideways glance at DS Jones – there is a curious light in her eyes and with a barely perceptible nod she appears to encourage her colleague to respond.

  ‘Guv – I’d offer to come with you – so you’re not on your Tod – but I’ve only gone and promised the missus a carryout from her favourite Chinese – after all these late nights when I ain’t been much use around the place.’

  Skelgill regards DS Leyton somewhat vacantly. Then he transfers his gaze to DS Jones, to see she is smiling quizzically. She gives him no time to speak.

  ‘I like jazz. In fact far better than the hip hop DI Smart wanted me to listen to.’

  She holds his gaze and there is perhaps a sudden colouring of his prominent cheekbones. He averts his eyes.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  DS Jones looks at DS Leyton who gives her a wink unseen by their boss. Then she checks the time on her mobile phone, and begins to rise.

  ‘Er – if that’s not until tonight – and we’re going to be busy with reports this afternoon – hadn’t I better order us another round of scones to keep us going?’

  ***

  Next in the series...

  ‘Murder on the Moor’ is scheduled for publication in July 2020. In the meantime, books 1-14 in the Inspector Skelgill series can be found on Amazon. Each comprises a stand-alone mystery, and may be read out of sequence. All DI Skelgill books can be borrowed free with Kindle Unlimited, and also by Amazon Prime members on a Kindle device.