by Andrew Lowe
He climbed the south side, taking it slow, resting his leg. At the rocky slope near the summit, he forced himself into a scramble, pleased with his general fitness. At the top, he shivered in the stinging air and gazed back down into the folds of the valley, across the scarred moorland, cobbled by gritstone. A low bank of raincloud seethed overhead, and Sawyer pressed on along the edge of the ridge and found Jacob’s Ladder, a set of precipitous stone steps which delivered him back to earth, just as the rain swooped down in anger.
He stopped for tea at a small café in Edale and called Klein again. Still no answer. Was he screening him now?
In the evening, as twilight settled outside, Sawyer sat around playing videogames and browsing through articles on his phone, struggling to settle. He fed Bruce and went out for a late run, following a circular route of farm trails around the back of the cottage, keeping his pace slow. He hopped over a break in a dry-stone wall and followed the edge of a field, tracked by a crowd of curious sheep. As the ground inclined away from the roadside trees, the sky opened out, and a spare firework popped above, its neon shards flaring in the gloom.
As he reached the cottage, he could see the headlights of a car approaching from Hayfield, along the Kinder Road. He let himself in, freshened up, and poured a large glass of milk. He sipped it, listening.
The car slowed on the road outside, and pulled in, across the driveway bridge. It idled for a while, then fell silent.
Sawyer hung back in the kitchen and finished the milk. Surely Dale wouldn’t send his men again, so soon?
The car door opened and closed. One set of footsteps approached the house. Five urgent raps. He braced and opened the door.
It was Keating, in uniform, holding his cap under one arm. ‘DI Sawyer.’ His expression was grim, but he forced a smile.
‘Sir. Sunday night. I’m going for business over pleasure.’
‘Perceptive, as ever. Can I come in?’
Sawyer stood aside and closed the door behind Keating. He took a chair at the kitchen table, obliging Sawyer to do likewise.
Sawyer eyed him. ‘Drink?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Is it Walker?’
He shook his head. ‘They tell me he’s rallied. Recovering well.’
‘So…’
‘It’s you.’
Sawyer nodded. ‘Dale Strickland?’
‘He’s filed an official complaint about harassment. But that’s the least of your worries.’ Keating laid his hat on the table. ‘I asked Maggie to look out for you. A friendly check on your state of mind, based on a few of your professional decisions. But I’ve also been suspicious of your motives for coming back here. I asked Moran to keep an eye on you. We know you were tracking Klein, Jake. Getting close to him. Studying his rhythms.’
Sawyer squinted at him. ‘Does Moran drive a burgundy BMW?’
‘Not as far as I know. Seems a bit above his level.’
‘He’s hardly a partial observer. You know our history. Drummond’s wife.’
Keating nodded. ‘I do. For me, that was a good thing. I figured he wouldn’t give you the benefit of the doubt. I know you visited Klein in prison a few months ago, under an assumed name. Lloyd Robbins. That would be enough to have you on a disciplinary charge by itself. You’ve also met him a number of times since. I assume he didn’t know who you were? Where did you get the name from?’
‘Apollo Robbins. My favourite pickpocket.’ Sawyer ran a palm across his forehead. ‘Look. Sir. Klein didn’t kill my mother. You know how I feel about that. I’ve been trying to find out who did. I had to hide my identity because he was hardly likely to cooperate with the son of the woman he was convicted of murdering.’
‘And did you take him with you on the trip to the Irish traveller camp?’
Sawyer flinched. ‘Someone sent you a picture. I took him once. But not the time I got in the ring. Look. Sir. I had to get their trust. They’re close-knit. They have information. I can take you through it.’
Keating stood up. ‘You should never have come back. We should have been smarter with your application. Seen the angle.’ He walked to the front door and opened it. ‘When did you last see Klein, Jake?’
‘Couple of days ago. I was following a lead. Pub in Matlock.’
Car doors closing.
‘And what did he do after that?’
Sawyer shook his head. ‘No idea. Went back to his flat, I suppose. I’ve never been there. He told me he lives at his brother’s place in Castleton.’
Footsteps outside. Several people.
Keating dropped his head. ‘We found an item of yours at his place.’
Sawyer frowned and got to his feet. ‘It must be something he took from my car, or—’
‘He was found dead early this morning. At his flat. His brother found him.’
The room swayed. Sawyer reached a steadying hand to the table.
Bodies in the doorway. Shepherd and Moran.
Sawyer looked at them. Moran: glaring, with the hint of a smile. Shepherd: eyes on the floor.
Keating took a step towards Sawyer. ‘After your meeting, Klein went back to his flat. He didn’t report in to his scheduled parole interview the following morning.’
Sawyer felt the muscles in his legs go limp. He sank to his haunches, covered his face with his hands.
‘He’d been tied up,’ said Moran. ‘And beaten.’
The words left Sawyer’s mouth before he could stop them. ‘With a hammer.’
Keating nodded. ‘With a hammer.’
Sawyer rose up. ‘Do it.’
Keating had the arrogance to put on his cap. ‘Jake Sawyer, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Marcus Klein.’ Sawyer looked to Shepherd and Moran. Both were fixated on Keating now. ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Shepherd produced a pair of handcuffs and stepped forward. ‘Is there any point putting these on, sir?’
Sawyer smiled and held out his hands. Shepherd clicked the cuffs into place.
Moran stepped around them and stood next to Keating.
Shepherd turned and led the way.
Sawyer followed. Out of the door. Into the dark.
JAKE SAWYER will return, in
THE DYING LIGHT
June 2019
Glossary
AFO – Authorised Firearms Officer. A UK police officer who has received training, and is authorised to carry and use firearms.
ANPR – Automatic Number Plate Recognition. A camera technology for automatically reading vehicle number plates.
COD – cause of death. Police acronym.
CROP – Covert Rural Observation Post. A camouflaged surveillance operation, mostly used to detect or monitor criminal activity in rural areas.
EMDR – Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing. An interactive psychotherapy technique used to relieve psychological stress, particularly trauma and post-traumatic stress disorder.
FLO – Family Liaison Officer. A specially trained officer or police employee who provides emotional support to the families of crime victims and gathers evidence and information to assist the police enquiry.
FOA – First Officer Attending. Police acronym for the first officer to arrive at a crime scene.
FSI – Forensic Science Investigator. Police acronym for an employee of the Scientific Services Unit, usually deployed at a crime scene to gather forensic evidence.
HOLMES – Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. An IT database system used by UK police forces for the investigation of major incidents.
IDENT1 – The UK’s central national database for holding, searching and comparing biometric information on those who come into contact with the police as detainees after arrest.
MIT – Murder/Major Investigation Team. A specialised squad of detectives who investigate cases of murder, manslaughter, and attempted murder.
Misper – missing person. Police slang.
NDNAD – National DNA Database. Administered by the Home Office in the UK.
NHSBT – NHS Blood and Transplant. A division of the UK National Health Service, dedicated to blood, organ and tissue donation.
OP – Observation Point. Police acronym. The officer/observer locations in a surveillance operation.
Osman Warning – A warning of a death threat or high risk of murder issued by UK police, usually when there is intelligence of the threat but an arrest can’t yet be carried out or justified.
PAVA – Pelargonic Acid Vanillylamide. Key component in an incapacitant spray dispensed from a handheld canister. Causes eye closure and severe pain.
RIPA – Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act. UK Act of Parliament which regulates the powers of public bodies to carry out surveillance and investigation. Introduced to take account of technological change such as the grown of the internet and data encryption.
SIO – Senior Investigating Officer. Police acronym. The detective who heads an enquiry and is ultimately responsible for personnel management and tactical decisions.
TOD – time of death. Police acronym.
TRiM – Trauma Risk Management. Trauma-focused peer support system designed to assess and support employees who have experienced a traumatic, or potentially traumatic, event.
Acknowledgments
Dr Adrian Harrop, for the red pen treatment on the medicals.
Stephen Bailey from NHSBT, for patiently educating me on the extraordinary work of blood, organ and tissue donation professionals.
Detective Constable Ralph King, for his prompt and precise answers to my incessant emails.
Bryony Sutherland, for scrupulous editing and creative de-stressing.
Stuart Bache at Books Covered for beautiful design.
Special thanks to Julia, for listening to me go on about it all.
Andrew Lowe. London, 2018
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BOOK ONE IN THE DI JAKE SAWYER SERIES
DI JAKE SAWYER is the brightest star of the Met Police murder squad. Sharp, tough and pathologically fearless.
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When the body of a teenage boy is found in a shallow grave, close to woodland where Sawyer used to play as a child, he’s called in to help decode the killer’s nightmarish methods.
But as the victims stack up and the case takes an unexpected turn, Sawyer must risk his own life to hunt the hunter and save an innocent.
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Joel Pearce is an average suburban family man looking to shake up his routine. With four close friends, he travels to a remote tropical paradise for a ‘desert island survival experience’: three weeks of indulgence and self-discovery.
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Now, many years later, someone is sending him threatening messages. Someone who knows what really happened on that sweltering day in the UK summer of 1976.
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A trio of unsettling short stories.
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About the Author
Andrew Lowe was born in the North of England. He has written for The Guardian and Sunday Times, and has contributed to numerous books and magazines on films, music, TV, videogames, sex and shin splints.
He lives in London, where he writes, edits other people’s writing, and shepherds his two young sons down the path of righteousness.
His online home is andrewlowewriter.com.
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Email him at [email protected].