Shooting Season: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

by David J Gatward

  ‘You are that, lad,’ Arthur replied, peering at Harry’s scarred face. ‘Soldier?’

  Harry gave a nod, raised an eyebrow.

  ‘So was my old Dad,’ Arthur said. ‘I’ve seen scars like that before. Shrapnel?’

  ‘IED,’ Harry said. ‘Afghanistan.’

  Arthur nodded thoughtfully. ‘What about on the inside? That’s where the damage really was with him, you know? What he’d seen, the things he’d done. Takes courage to live through that and to keep on living and to make something of it.’

  Harry went to speak when he saw the SOC team pull into the lane.

  ‘I’ve taken a statement,’ Jen said. ‘And Arthur’s said he’s happy to come over to Hawes tomorrow if necessary.’

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ Arthur added.

  The SOC team were now climbing out of their vehicles. Harry spotted the pathologist, and behind her, the photographer.

  ‘Well, if you think you’ve enough detail for now, Jen, then I’m good.’ He looked at Arthur and saw a keenness in the man’s eyes, sharp like a hawk. ‘And thanks for calling this in. Not an easy thing to find and deal with.’

  ‘It’s sad, is what it is,’ Arthur said. ‘Taking your own life. Such a waste.’

  Harry nodded and walked over towards Rebecca Sowerby.

  ‘What have we got?’ she asked as soon as Harry was close. She was already fully dressed in PCP kit. The photographer was being guided up to the crime scene by Liz.

  ‘Suspected suicide,’ Harry said.

  ‘How was it done?’

  ‘Very well, if you ask me,’ Harry said. ‘Shotgun to the head.’

  ‘Yeah, that’ll just about do it,’ Rebecca said. ‘Makes such a bloody mess though.’

  ‘It certainly has,’ said Harry. ‘So, I won’t be warning you what it’s like because it’s exactly what you’d expect.’

  Rebecca stared at Harry. ‘If there’s one thing you learn on this job,’ she said, ‘it’s that nothing is ever exactly what you expect. Even you, Harry.’

  ‘I’ll take that.’ Harry shrugged, then headed off back up the trail towards the crime scene.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Due to the state of the body, and the wide spray of matter from the victim’s ruined head, plus the fact they had to wait for a truck to come and tow the car out to take it back for further forensic investigation, Harry didn’t get to leave the crime scene until early afternoon, by which time he was cold and hungry and still trying to work out how to tell the team about their old DCI.

  ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I have anything to tell you,’ the pathologist said, now out of her PCP kit.

  ‘Can’t say I’m expecting there to be much to tell,’ Harry said. ‘It’s pretty self-evident that a blast from a shotgun killed him.’

  Rebecca, Harry noticed, looked thoughtful. He was also still quite shocked that as yet neither of them had tried to tear a piece of flesh out of the other with a barbed comment or two. Was he mellowing, he thought? That couldn’t be it. He had no reason to. Except the dales, of course, but that was ridiculous. How and why would a simple landscape have that effect on anyone? Still, though, it made him think.

  ‘Something up?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Not sure yet,’ Rebecca said. ‘It’s just that the shotgun, well, both barrels had been fired. Empty shells in each one.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing like making sure,’ Harry said. ‘And two barrels would certainly do that.’

  ‘And that’s exactly it,’ Rebecca said, turning to Harry. ‘Both barrels.’

  ‘What is?’ Harry asked. ‘I’ve seen it before. And I’m sure you have, too.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m getting at,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘It’s the shotgun,’ Rebecca explained. ‘Two barrels, yes, but just one trigger, you see?’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘You can fire both barrels at once if you have a trigger for each barrel. Pull them both at the same time, both will fire. But with a single trigger, it’s selective. It fires one, then the other on the next pull.’

  Harry was confused. ‘Couldn’t the recoil do it?’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ Rebecca said. ‘Can you imagine how unsafe that would be?’

  Harry frowned. ‘So, what you’re saying is, our victim shot himself in the face twice? But that’s not possible!’

  ‘Exactly,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘What about if, after the first shot, the gun fell to the ground, and the impact caused it to fire again?’

  ‘Guns don’t generally fire when you drop them,’ Rebecca said. ‘And even if they do, it’s in some random direction. There’s no evidence of any damage anywhere else other than in that one specific area.’

  And it was this that was now burning a hole in Harry’s mind.

  With the body gone, along with any relevant evidence collected, including the car and half the woodland it seemed from the number of bags of leaves and goodness knows what else he’d seen being carried off, Harry could still sense sorrow in the air, despite the beauty of the place, because really, that was the only way to describe it. The woodland seemed to pulse with colour and sound, nature just carrying on doing its thing, but behind it, to Harry, it was as though a darkness had crept in beneath it all and made itself at home.

  It was something he’d noticed at other crime scenes but never discussed with anyone else, because he had no desire to come across as some kind of new-age nutjob, talking about auras, and probably going home to light a few scented candles. Which, now he came to think of it, were a pet hate of his. Why anyone would want to fill their living space, their office, with the reek of burning wax scented with everything from candyfloss to banoffee pie, he hadn’t the faintest idea. Okay, so it wasn’t as though anyone would ever really think that of him, but it was still a risk he’d never fancied taking. And to this day he’d managed to never buy a single scented candle in his life. It was a small achievement, sure, but one he was happy about.

  If there was any truth in this observation or not, Harry didn’t really care, but it was something he’d come down on the side of being real. No matter where a crime took place, particularly a violent one, a crime that took away someone’s life, then something always seemed to hang around the place after the event. Didn’t matter if it was the lounge of a new-build house, a woodland, a boat, a busy street, these places became haunted by the thing which had taken place in its midst. It was as though to silently witness something so awful caused a shattering of normality, a seeping of the echoes of what had gone on to be forever etched into the place around it. Harry was pleased, then, on some level, to be driving away from the crime scene, but his destination wasn’t one to make it any easier.

  The crime scene itself, which was located just out beyond a place called Gamersgill, was only a few miles from the old shooting lodge where Charlie Baker had last been seen alive. And it was back there that Harry was now heading. The only saving grace was that he had company in the form of Jim, and his dog, Fly, who was sitting at Jim’s feet.

  ‘It has to be this author bloke, doesn’t it?’ Jim said, stroking the head of his dog, which was resting on one of his knees. ‘Can’t see how it can be anyone else.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ Harry said. ‘But until we get confirmation from the pathologist, we can only say that a body has been found. Doesn’t make this any easier though.’

  ‘Does anything?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Literally nothing,’ Harry replied, coming into the village of Carlton and then taking a left. Soon after, on a bend in the road, he took a right and headed along the rough lane which would eventually lead them to the lodge.

  When they came upon the building, Jim said, ‘You know, I’ve heard about this place, but never been here. It’s quite something, isn’t it? Looks properly creepy, too, if you ask me.’

  ‘Wait till you see inside,’ Harry said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Eyes,’ Harry replied, wideni
ng his own as he looked over at Jim. ‘They’re everywhere, just staring at you.’

  ‘What, because of the, er, you know . . .?’

  Jim did a rough circular motion around his own face.

  ‘You mean everyone staring at my good looks?’

  ‘Yeah, that,’ Jim said.

  ‘Of course, I don’t mean that!’ Harry said. ‘That happens everywhere, Jim, more’s the pity! I mean, I know I’m not exactly a Rembrandt or whatever, but I’m not a freak show!’ Then he lowered his voice and added, ‘It’s hurtful . . .’

  ‘Oh, right, sorry.’

  Harry laughed.

  ‘I’m pulling your leg, you daft sod! Anyway, the place is crammed with stuffed animals,’ he explained. ‘It’s like some weird Victorian museum.’ He pulled the vehicle to a stop. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Not really, no,’ Jim said.

  ‘And you never will be,’ Harry said. ‘No one ever is. Worst part of the job by a country mile. Come on.’

  Harry climbed out of his vehicle and Jim followed suit, leaving Fly behind, staring at them through the passenger window.

  Harry knocked on the door to the lodge. From the other side, he heard muffled voices.

  The door swung open.

  ‘Ms James, can we come in?’ Harry said, as the literary agent stood between them and the dark warmth huddled behind her.

  ‘Oh God, no!’ She hid her mouth in her hands and started to sob. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Please tell me he isn’t! He can’t be!’

  ‘It’s best if we come in,’ Jim said. ‘Please?’

  Anna stepped backwards and Harry and Jim made their way into the lodge.

  ‘Is everyone here?’ Harry asked, following her through to the lounge. Inside, the fire was once again raging, the heat making the room warm and stuffy.

  ‘No,’ Anna said. ‘It’s just me and Eric.’

  ‘Where’s everyone else?’

  Eric entered the room.

  ‘They’ve gone out sightseeing I believe,’ he said.

  ‘I told them to go, actually,’ explained Anna. ‘It was doing none of us any good just sitting around worrying, you see, so I thought it was for the best. Did I do something wrong?’

  Harry shook his head.

  ‘We stayed,’ Eric said, ‘just in case you needed to speak to us, if there was any news. And I can now see that you do, and that there is, yes?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s best if we all sit down,’ Harry suggested, but waited for Anna and Eric to be seated before he lowered himself into one of the comfy chairs.

  ‘So, what is it?’ Anna asked. ‘What’s happened? What have you found? God, if Charlie’s dead, I won’t know what to do! I won’t!’

  Harry watched as Eric stood up to move closer to Anna, reaching out to hold her hand.

  ‘Let’s just give the police a chance to tell us what they know, yes?’

  Anna nodded and turned her eyes to Harry. ‘Sorry, yes, please, tell us what you know.’

  ‘This morning,’ Harry explained, ‘a car was found just a few miles up the road, in some woodland.’

  ‘Charlie’s?’ asked Eric.

  ‘The details match those we were given yesterday, yes,’ Harry said.

  ‘But what about Charlie?’ Anna asked, panic in her voice. ‘Where is he? What’s happened? Where’s Charlie?’

  ‘A body was also found at the scene,’ Harry said.

  For a moment, all sound seemed to have been sucked from the room, as though Harry’s words had caused a vacuum. Then the silence was shattered by a scream from Anna, which raked itself down the walls, clawed at the skin.

  ‘No! It can’t be him! It can’t be! Charlie can’t be dead! Why would he be? It doesn’t make sense! It just doesn’t! He can’t be dead! It’s not him! I just know it’s not!’

  Harry allowed Anna a moment as her words tumbled into each other, rushing from her on a torrent of tears and sobs.

  ‘At this moment in time, we are unable to confirm the identity of the body,’ Harry explained further. ‘But as soon as we can, this information will, of course, be shared with you.’

  ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ Anna said. ‘It has to be! But it can’t be! Oh, God! I know you can’t say, but it’s not going to be anyone else, is it?’

  ‘Can you tell us what happened?’ Eric asked. ‘Was it a car accident?’

  ‘As I’ve said,’ Harry explained, his voice calm, measured, ‘a car was found matching the details of Mr Baker’s own, and a body was found close by. These are the only details I’m able to share with you right now as further work is carried out.’

  ‘But how did he die?’ Anna asked. ‘How? What the hell happened?’

  Jim stood up. ‘Perhaps I should make us all a pot of tea?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Eric said. ‘Anna? Why don’t you help him?’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody condescending!’ Anna snapped back, wiping tears from her eyes, then fumbling around for her cigarettes and quickly lighting one.

  ‘I really wasn’t being,’ Eric said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Anna said, ‘Anyway, I don’t know about tea, but I think I will be having a gin. A large one.’ She stood up and looked at Jim. ‘Kitchen is this way,’ she said, and Jim followed on.

  Once Harry was alone with Eric, the old man turned to him and said, ‘I know you can’t say it, but we all know it’s Charlie. I’m sorry you had to come over here and tell us.’

  ‘Part of the job, I’m afraid.’ Harry sighed, again not confirming what Eric was really fishing for, the identity of the body. He didn’t want to think what the reaction would be if it turned out to be Charlie and they then had to inform them of what actually happened.

  ‘And I’m assuming the silly sod topped himself,’ Eric said, leaning back. ‘Again, I know you can’t confirm or deny, but I’m just saying what I think.’

  ‘And why would you think that?’ Harry asked, hoping that his question wouldn’t come across as confirmation of what Eric had ascertained.

  ‘Because the man was a royal pain in the arse to everyone who knew him,’ Eric replied. ‘He was self-centred, self-obsessed, and I wouldn’t put it past him to do this just to piss everyone off!’

  ‘That’s quite the statement,’ Harry said, taken aback by the sudden spray of venom in the old man’s voice.

  ‘You never met him,’ said Eric. ‘He was the kind of person who had that self-destructive vibe down to a tee, if you know what I mean. He relished the whole image of being a troubled writer, having to fight and struggle for his art, which is in itself a laugh, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s never struggled for it, let’s just put it that way, shall we?’

  Harry wasn’t quite sure what Eric was getting at and said so, just as Anna strode in, causing Eric to fall silent.

  ‘What?’ she said, interrupting, and taking a hefty sip from the tall glass she now held. ‘Of course, he struggled! He was a creative!’

  ‘If you say so.’ Eric sighed, shaking his head just a little.

  ‘Am I missing something here?’ Harry asked, as Jim joined them, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and three mugs on it.

  ‘I don’t think so, no,’ Anna said, and Harry saw the sharp glare that she shot Eric.

  ‘I’m just saying that he played up to it, that’s all,’ Eric said, raising his hands in faint submission. ‘Success came easy, but he wanted the world to think differently.’

  Harry, however, wasn’t sure that was exactly what Eric had been going to tell him. There was something else behind the man’s eyes, he thought, but wasn’t sure now was the right time to press for it.

  For a minute or two, everyone sipped their drinks and the only sound that Harry noticed, beyond that of his own breathing, was that of a ticking clock.

  A clatter from the front of the lodge had them all turn to the door leading to the hall.

  ‘Anna, darling? Anna! We’re home!’

  Then, in swept the rest of the party, Abigail first, quickly follo
wed by Adam and Chris, and then Mark.

  Harry took to his feet and saw the shock in their eyes at his presence.

  ‘Where’s Charlie?’ Chris said, pushing past the other two and into the room. ‘Where is he? Have you found him? What happened?’

  Eric stood and walked over to Chris. ‘Best you take a seat,’ he said, guiding the young woman to sit beside him.

  Adam came over next, leaving Abigail on her own at the door with Mark, both making rather too much of having to take off their jackets and then unwind enormous scarves from around their necks like they’d just come in from the worst kind of wintery weather.

  ‘I bet he’s got himself arrested, hasn’t he?’ Adam said. ‘Done something stupid and got himself into trouble! He’s a total bloody nightmare!’

  Harry said nothing, just waited for Abigail to join them, Adam slumping down into a chair.

  ‘Anna, darling, you look terrible,’ Abigail said. ‘What has this awful man said to upset you?’

  ‘Just sit down, will you, for goodness sake! All of you! At once!’ said Eric, his soft quiet voice suddenly charged with a violent electricity that caught everyone’s attention. ‘Please,’ he finished. ‘Just sit.’

  Once again, Harry shared all that he could, which really wasn’t much. But that was procedure and it existed for a reason. The last thing they wanted to do was to tell them that yes, it absolutely was Charlie Baker who’d been found, and to then get a call from the pathologist to tell them the opposite.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Abigail said. ‘I just can’t believe any of it.’

  Chris, Harry noticed, was silent, her face white, her hands clenched. Mark was again looking through a magazine, Abigail on her phone, and Adam just sitting there, looking at him.

  ‘And that’s all you can tell us?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Harry nodded. ‘We will, of course, update you as soon as we can.’

  ‘How very reassuring,’ Adam said, though Harry ignored him. People reacted in different ways to this kind of news. Some went into shock, others chose to distance themselves from it, others became combative and demanding. And he’d witnessed all of this from everyone in the room. It was just the way it was. He wasn’t about to blame anyone for how they behaved under such circumstances. It was just human nature.