by Tim Ellis
‘I can see you centre stage at the Manchester Apollo.’
‘Really?’
‘Waist deep in rotten tomatoes.’
‘You know how to hurt a girl, Sir.’
‘There’s a forensic artist here. I’ll send you a copy of the sketch when he’s finished.’
‘And I’ll call you if I find anything.’
‘We have a deal.’
He ended the call.
The Underwater Search and Marine Unit arrived in a large white Mercedes Allegro truck with an Inspector Orville Williams in charge of a team of four officers – two of which were women.
He and Williams both peered into the darkness of the lock.
‘And you want us to go in there?’
‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’
‘I guess so. A bit cold though. What exactly are we looking for?’
‘Possibly a jacket, a trainer, anything else that might help us identify the victim or the killer.’
‘Okay. I suppose we’d better get organised then.’
‘That would be appreciated.’ He left Williams to it, and went to check on how the forensic artist was progressing with the sketch.
Lake said from behind him. ‘Do you want me to do anything, other than follow you around like a lapdog?’
‘Don’t you have any ideas of your own, Lake?’
‘You’re the Senior Investigating Officer.’
‘That doesn’t absolve you of all responsibility for independent thought.’
‘I tried that before, and you tore a strip off me. You’re meant to direct your partner, not castigate them.’
‘I would if I had a partner, but instead I have someone who follows me around like a lapdog. Go and find Burrows, and ask her for an update.’
Lake turned on her heel and stomped off into the darkness.
He thought things were going well. They seemed to have picked up where they’d left off before she returned to Hertfordshire. But if she was determined to latch onto him like a sucker fish, then he probably ought to make a bit of an effort. The last thing he needed was for her to lodge a complaint against him. Henn would just love an excuse to force him into retirement. He didn’t have to like it – in fact, he didn’t like it – but he could go through the motions, make it appear as if he’d come around.
***
‘How’s it going?’ he asked Monroe as he lifted the tent flap.
‘I’d say another thirty minutes and you’ll have a face.’
‘Great. I’ll leave you to finish it then.’
‘Good idea.’
Lake crashed into him as he ducked out of the tent.
‘Assaulting the SIO is not going to do you any favours when I make my decision on whether to keep you or not, Lake.’
‘If I was planning to assault you, I’d have used a baseball bat and come up on you from behind.’
‘Excellent choice of weapon. Well, what did Burrows have to say for herself?’
‘They’ve found nothing.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
‘Yes. Okay.’
‘Is there something wrong with you?’
‘I’m thinking that maybe I’ve been a bit harsh.’
‘Maybe?’
‘Look, Lake. It’s a well-known fact that I work alone.’
‘Except that the Chief Superintendent told you that you had to work with me.’
‘It’s also a well-known fact that I don’t usually follow orders. So, it’s not about Henn telling me what I have to do, it’s about you and me. I’ve had partners in the past, and most of them have been rubbish. As far as I’m concerned, you have to earn the right to be my partner.’
‘Like an initiation test, you mean?’
‘I was thinking more of an apprenticeship.’
‘I’ve already done my apprenticeship.’
‘Not with me, you haven’t.’
‘I’m a detective in my own right.’
‘You’re a detective in name only. Why do you think Henn put you with me?
‘To annoy you?’
‘Oh, he did that all right, but there’s more to it than that.’
‘He said you were the best detective on the force by a country mile.’
‘And he’d rather have cut out his tongue than say something nice about me. The statistics prove my value to the force. I don’t go around blowing my own trumpet. I’m not interested in accolades, awards, badges of merit, promotion, or the Queen’s Police Medal. There’s a reason I don’t have any unsolved cases, and why I solve other detectives’ unsolved cases. Anybody can learn the rules of chess, move the pieces around the board as if they know what they’re doing, even win a few games if the wind is blowing in the right direction, but very few people are chess grandmasters. Take footballers, for instance . . .’
‘I’d rather not. I hate football.’
‘The truly great footballers are credited with having a footballing brain. Not only do they have speed, combativeness, agility and passing ability, but they also have intelligence, vision and spatial awareness. They’re accessing areas of the brain other footballers don’t use. It’s the same with detectives. Anybody can pass an exam and hide under the collective responsibility of a serious crime squad, but not many of them can solve murders on their own.’
‘If you’re so fantastic, why do you have an office in the basement of a run-down police station half-way across town from the Serious Crime Division?’
‘Because that’s the way I like it.’
‘And that’s the way everyone else likes it, as well?’
‘I don’t tolerate fools, arse-lickers or useless idiots in any shape or form. And because I’m not willing to compromise, or play their stupid power games they don’t like having me around. I make them feel inadequate and nervous. So, it’s a mutually agreeable arrangement. I contribute to the clear-up rates, and they leave me the hell alone.’
‘Until I came along?’
‘Yes. So, are you willing to be my apprentice?’
‘I’d like to see the job description before I accept.’
‘Or we could just go back to you being an arse licker’s daughter?’
‘An apprenticeship sounds a bit better than what we have now, I suppose. How long is it for?’
‘For as long as I say, but it’s a slight improvement on being . . .’
‘The daughter of a Chief Constable?’
‘Exactly.’
‘I could take the job on a trial basis.’
‘There we are then.’ He held out his hand.
She shook it.
Ted Monroe stuck his head out of the tent. ‘Would you like to take a look at the finished drawing?’
‘That’s what we’re waiting around for,’ Dark said.
Lake followed him into the tent.
They peered at the drawing of a man with spikey hair on the top, which had been cut short at the sides. He was reasonably good-looking with a high forehead, a thin nose and angular, almost feminine features.
Dark nodded. ‘Good job.’
‘Thanks. Also, I don’t know if anyone has mentioned it, but he’s had a haircut recently – probably in the past week?’
‘I guess it would have been noted at the post-mortem, but thanks for pointing it out anyway.’
‘No problem.’
Dark took a couple of photographs of the face with his mobile phone, and told Lake to do the same.
‘Go and tell Burrows that the forensic artist has finished and she needs to arrange for the body to be transported to the mortuary.’
Lake nodded and ducked out through the tent flap.
He sent a copy of the drawing to Sergeant Becky Porter in Missing Persons.
‘Bit of a mess,’ Monroe offered, cocking his head at the corpse.
‘Yes.’
‘Not the worst I’ve seen though.’
‘Nor me.’
Monroe began packing up his equipment and folding up his chair. ‘I’ll take
the original back with me, shall I?’
‘Give it to the Duty Sergeant. We want it distributing to the local police.’
‘Will do.’
Avril Burrows came into the tent. ‘Leave it with me, Sir.’
‘Okay, Burrows. Now that we have a face to work with, Lake and I are going to show it around Marple Bridge before everything closes down for the night. You have my number if you need to contact me?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Good night, Ted.’
‘I hope the drawing helps?’
‘It’s certainly better than what we had before.’
Outside, he checked that everything was proceeding as planned with Inspector Williams and his team.
‘We’re getting there. We’ve got diving suits on because it’s colder than a polar bear’s bollocks, but there’s no point in diving when we can simply remove most of the water using the lock gates, but I can imagine this is going to take most of the night and then some.’
‘Whatever works. We’ll be back soon.’
‘We’re not going anywhere.’
***
They walked down the road past the Indian restaurant, crossed over and used the steps and footpath down to Marple train station. There wasn’t much to the place. At that time of night, the car park was only sparsely populated with vehicles and there were no CCTV cameras that they could see. The ticket office was closed, so they shuffled through onto the nearest of the two platforms. There were two lift towers – one on each platform – and an iron access bridge over the tracks between them. The facilities included a waiting room on the opposite platform, but other than that there was nothing.
‘A bit spooky at this time of night,’ Lake said.
‘Spooky!’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re not scared of the dark, are you?’
‘Hardly.’
A bald-headed man in a dark-blue railway uniform appeared and began walking down the steps of the access bridge towards them. ‘Sorry folks, we’re just closing.’
Dark held up his Warrant Card. ‘DI Dark and DC Lake from the Serious Crime Division.’
‘About the body in the canal?’
‘Yes. And you are?’
‘Bill Passmore – duty Station Manager. I wondered when you’d get around to me. It’ll be a rambler, you mark my words. We get a lot of ramblers in Marple Bridge. Come from all over in droves they do. The village is a designated Conservation Area, because it sits on the banks of the River Goyt and was built with stone. And then, of course, there’s lots of hills. In my experience – ramblers love hills. Walk up and down ‘em all day long in their shorts, woolly socks and carrying those long knobbly sticks.’
‘Yes, I saw the signs stating it was a Conservation Area.’ He pulled out his phone and showed Passmore the drawing of the victim.
Passmore took the phone. ‘That him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Doesn’t look like a rambler, but then it takes all types.’
‘Have you seen him before?’
The man studied the picture for a handful of seconds. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’
‘Not local?’
‘Local?’
‘Yes.’
‘Local doesn’t mean anything anymore. In the old days, when there were three people, a dog and a horse living in the village, you could ask that question, but nowadays I wouldn’t know who was a local and who wasn’t.’
‘Do you live locally?’
‘Local to what? I live in Marple . . .’ He pointed to his right. ‘Up Brabyns Brow to the traffic lights, turn right past the petrol station, hang a left at the bakery and over that way. I suppose you could call that local. Some people in Marple work in Manchester. Now, that’s not what you’d call local. I’d find another word if I were you, Inspector.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right. It’s possible that the man could have arrived by train the night before last. Were you on duty?’
‘Yep. Monday to Friday – late shift.’
Dark pointed at the CCTV cameras on each of the platforms. ‘Do they work?’
‘Wouldn’t be much good if they didn’t.’
‘I’d like a copy of the footage from the night before last, please.’
‘What – tonight?’
‘If it’s not too much trouble.’
‘It is. I was just about to go home.’
‘Sorry, but we need that footage.’
The railway worker pulled his face. ‘I suppose you do. Okay, follow me.’ He led them back into the entrance building and opened a door into the ticket office. ‘It’ll take a couple of minutes. I’m not very technically-minded.’
‘We’ll wait.’
A train arrived. A dozen people disembarked and walked through the building. Some climbed into cars and drove out of the car park, others left on foot.
Eventually, the Station Manager came out and handed Lake a DVD. ‘I think that’s got it.’
‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘We’re done then,’ Dark said. ‘You can go home now.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, that’s exactly where I’ll be going.’
As they headed towards the exit, Passmore said, ‘He’s not the first, you know?’
Dark’s eyes narrowed to slits. He turned and said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘There was another body found in the canal at Lock 12 around the same time last year.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yep. He wasn’t as young as your guy – in his seventies, I believe.’
‘Thanks . . .’
‘Then there was that one found at unlucky Lock 13 close to the Navigation pub in March, 2014 – he was in his sixties. Yeah, there’s a been a few bodies found in the canal. Dangerous place, if you ask me. I prefer to keep my feet on dry land.’
‘We’ll check them out. Thanks for your help, Mister Passmore.’
‘Community-spirited – always have been. Can’t help myself.’
They walked out of the station and headed back to the road.
‘What do you think, Sir?’
He grunted. ‘It’s not about what I think, Lake. You’re the apprentice, you tell me what you think, and then I’ll tell you if it gels with what I’m thinking. I want to know if you’ve got a detective’s brain, or a constable’s brain.’
‘You just want me to make a fool of myself, don’t you?’
‘I know this will come as a shock to you, but I want you to succeed. I’m not in the business of sabotaging my own apprentices. Before you went back to Hertfordshire, we were working the Santa Clause case for a couple of days. Other than that, I don’t know much about you. So, you need to show me what you’ve got and whether there’s something between those rather large flappy ears you have.’
She put her hands up to her ears. ‘I don’t . . . Was that a joke?’
‘Well?’
‘I don’t think the lock is the primary crime scene.’
‘Why?’
‘Forensics haven’t found any blood in the area around the lock, and a stake through the heart would have produced blood if he was still alive. Also, the lock is right next to the road. I know it was around three o’clock in the morning, but the killer risked being seen . . .’
‘Do you think there was more than one person involved in the murder?’ he said, as they walked past St Martin’s Church.
‘I wouldn’t rule it out yet. If the victim was still alive when the stake was hammered into his heart, as the Professor has said, then there’s no way one person could have restrained him and used two hands to hammer the stake in at the same time, so yes it’s possible there could have been one or more people involved in the murder.’
‘Not bad for a first effort. Anything else?’
‘The Underwater Search Team should search either side of the lock as well as at the bottom of the lock. Even though the victim might have been caught on something in the lock, which prevented him passing through when the gates were opened, his jacket and trainer cou
ld have still got through into the canal proper. Also, there’s no guarantee that the victim was dumped in the lock, he could have entered the water further up the canal and been brought here by the current . . .’
‘Or snagged on the bottom of a narrowboat.’
‘Yes.’
‘An interesting theory, Lake. The USMU aren’t going to like you for thinking of that.’
‘I’m merely an apprentice, Sir. Also, we know the victim isn’t a vampire, and I’m sure there are very few people now who believe vampires actually exist, so it’s possible the wooden stake has been used either to point us away from the real reason for the murder, or it has another meaning.’
‘Such as?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Driving a stake through the heart of a problem is said to be solving that problem, once and for all.’
‘Because that’s what it’s meant to do to a vampire?’
‘Exactly, but it’s used in a vampiric sense, so doesn’t really help us move away from that notion. I can’t say I’m familiar with any other reason a stake would be hammered into a heart.’
They reached the Halfway House pub.
‘Now we can go into the pub, Lake.’
‘Are you buying?’
‘To ask whether anybody knows anything about our victim.’
‘Oh.’
‘After we’ve done that, you can buy me a tomato juice with Worcester sauce.’
‘What type of drink is that?’
‘A man’s drink.’
His phone vibrated.
‘Just a minute, Hendrik.’ He put his thumb over the microphone and said to Lake, ‘You go in and start asking questions. I’ll follow you once I’ve taken this call.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Well?’
‘None of my business?’
‘Correct.’
Lake wrinkled her nose, walked down the steps and entered the pub.
‘Yes, Hendrik?’
‘Dixie and I have found something that we think you ought to take a look at.’
‘I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. I can’t imagine I’ll get to you until after midnight at the earliest. Anything you can tell me over the phone?’
‘Dixie’s shaking her head.’
‘Okay. Well, I’ll get there when I can.’
‘See you then, Mister Dark.’