The Body in the Dales

by J. R. Ellis

  ‘Was that the police, Trevor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did they want?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard? It’s Dave Atkins. He’s dead; they found his body in Jingling Pot.’

  ‘What? Down the pothole?’

  ‘Yes. Are you OK?’

  She looked alarmed and her face had turned pale.

  ‘Fine; it’s just . . . a shock, isn’t it?’ And she went back into the other bar before he could reply.

  Two

  If tha wants to keep all thi bones ’ole,

  Don’t go fallin’ into Boggart’s ’Ole.

  Oldroyd got out of the car and looked at the impressive house and grounds of Garthwaite Hall, which had been built in the early nineteenth century by the Ingleby family, who had owned it for generations until they declined into the minor aristocracy and could no longer afford to maintain it. The house wasn’t that big but had been skilfully designed to produce that sense of artistry and grandeur the upper classes considered so important in those times. There were, however, distinct signs of neglect. Paint was peeling from the woodwork and, although the framework of what must have once been extensive gardens was still there, everything was overgrown, with only the roughly cut lawn showing any signs of attention.

  His knock was answered by an athletically built woman in a white shirt and blue tracksuit bottoms, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.

  ‘Can I help you?’ She didn’t sound very enthusiastic or welcoming, thought Oldroyd, and she seemed very tired for someone so obviously strong and fit. He produced his ID.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Oldroyd, West Riding Police. I’m afraid I’m investigating a murder and I’d like to come in and ask a few questions. I presume you are Caroline Hardiman? Is your husband at home?’

  Not surprisingly, the woman looked startled. ‘A murder? But who?’

  ‘A Mr David Atkins.’

  ‘Dave Atkins from Burnthwaite?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, but that’s terrible!’

  She looked genuinely shocked.

  ‘Did you know him?’ asked Oldroyd.

  ‘Well, yes, he used to work for us. You’d better come in, sorry.’

  She led the way into a large room which had somewhat faded-looking sofas and chairs around the walls and a very outdated television set in the corner. It was obviously some kind of lounge for the use of the guests.

  ‘Please, sit down. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘No, thank you, I’ve just come from the Red Horse at Burnthwaite.’

  Oldroyd settled into a dusty armchair. He studied her for a moment and then asked, ‘You said he used to work for you. I take it he hasn’t recently?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  She shuffled uncomfortably in the chair before answering.

  ‘He and my husband didn’t really get on.’

  ‘Why was that? Was his work unsatisfactory?’

  ‘No. Dave was an experienced caver and fully qualified. The groups he took out enjoyed themselves.’ She seemed unhappy at the line of questioning. ‘Let’s say some other issues cropped up and Simon was not happy. Dave was only given temporary contracts for the work he did and Simon stopped employing him.’

  ‘What issues were those?’ Oldroyd was insistent.

  ‘I’d rather not say.’ She was calm and assertive, but Oldroyd was having none of it.

  ‘Mrs Hardiman, this is a murder enquiry. I must ask you to answer my questions fully and honestly.’

  Caroline folded her arms and frowned.

  Oldroyd continued, ‘I am aware that Mr Atkins was something of a womaniser. Did you have an affair with him?’ Oldroyd was in his interrogative mode. His keen eyes had become even more penetrating, his voice commanding and his posture alert. It all generated a force that few interviewees could withstand. Caroline Hardiman was no exception.

  ‘No, I didn’t, but he did make sort of . . . advances, and Simon didn’t like it.’

  ‘Is your husband a violent man, Mrs Hardiman?’

  ‘No! Look, Inspector, this is all a bit too much. You’ve only just told me that Dave is dead; nothing happened between us.’

  ‘But your husband didn’t like his attentions?’

  ‘No.’

  Oldroyd was satisfied with her answer and softened. He sat back in the chair for a moment and looked around.

  ‘I suppose it’s very hard work, running this place. You look tired.’

  Caroline relaxed and crossed her legs.

  ‘It is – harder than we thought. We took a risk coming here; we were teachers in Leeds, but we’d always fancied running one of these centres and this place seemed ideal. We managed to get the money together somehow to buy the hall, but there’s always so much to do and so much that needs to be spent. You know: leaking roofs, big utility bills, all that stuff. And then there’s all the Health and Safety paperwork. It’s a struggle.’ She looked around the room at the faded wallpaper, which was starting to peel off in places.

  ‘Look at this place. It’s not exactly a five-star hotel, is it? When we show people around, I can see that many of them are not impressed.’

  ‘It seems quiet. Do you have any parties in at the moment?’

  ‘Only one small group of five come up from Cambridge to do some potholing. We’ve got bookings for the bank holiday weekend next week but it’s the school holidays and our main clients are the schools. We’re cheap and cheerful and can accommodate large parties in basic dormitories. The teachers like it because we take responsibility for all the activities and they just look after the kids in the evenings.’

  ‘They don’t like it when things go wrong, do they?’

  ‘No, they don’t.’ A haunted look passed across her face.

  Oldroyd’s eyes flickered imperceptibly. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘when did you last see Dave Atkins?’

  ‘I can’t remember. I must have seen him around the village or in the Red Horse but Simon and I don’t, didn’t, have any contact with him any more; he wasn’t a pleasant man.’

  ‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ replied Oldroyd. ‘I think the whole village must have conspired to kill him.’

  Caroline gave him a wan smile.

  ‘Well, thank you for answering my questions. Actually, I really came to talk to your husband, if he’s available. I wanted to ask him about the caves around here.’

  ‘The caves?’

  ‘Yes, not that I want to go caving myself, but you see David Atkins’s body was found in Jingling Pot.’

  ‘Jingling Pot? I didn’t realise, but that’s the last place I’d have expected. Are you sure it wasn’t an accident? Those systems are very dangerous. Even those of us who go down regularly know that it’s always risky in the dark with rock falls, water rising and things like that.’

  ‘We’re pretty sure it wasn’t. You see, when he was found, he was not wearing any headgear or carrying any equipment.’

  ‘That’s impossible. He was a very experienced caver. He would never have gone down like that.’

  ‘The murderer, or more likely murderers, obviously took the body there.’

  ‘But why would they take a body down into a cave system?’ She shuddered. ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘It’s certainly a mystery, but don’t worry, we’ll solve it. Now, your husband.’

  Caroline looked hesitant.

  ‘Look, Inspector, after what happened, Simon doesn’t like talking about Dave Atkins. It’s a sore point, male pride and all that. He gets angry if you mention it, so . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry, I don’t need to go into any of the details of how Atkins behaved here.’

  She looked relieved. ‘Good. I’ll take you across. He’s sorting some of the equipment. We store it in what used to be the stables.’

  They left the room and Caroline led the way out of a side door and across a stone courtyard to a rectangular building. She opened a door and they entered a long, narrow room. On both walls O
ldroyd could see clothing and equipment hanging on pegs and stacked in rows on shelves: helmets, anoraks, boots and waterproof leggings. He could imagine groups of excited schoolchildren laughing and giggling as they donned these unusual outfits and made ready to step into a frightening but thrilling world of darkness.

  A tall, powerful man with short blond hair was hanging newly washed waterproofs and anoraks on pegs.

  ‘Simon,’ Caroline called to him as the man looked up, ‘this is Detective Chief Inspector Oldroyd. Something terrible has happened. Dave Atkins has been murdered. His body was found in Jingling Pot.’

  Simon Hardiman dropped the anorak he was holding and looked from his wife to Oldroyd. He seemed speechless for a moment.

  ‘Good God!’ he finally said. ‘But that’s incredible. How? How do you know he was murdered? Couldn’t it have been an accident?’

  He sat down on a bench as if the shock had taken all his energy.

  ‘I’ve just been explaining to your wife, Mr Hardiman. He was found in ordinary clothes deep in the system with a nasty knock on the back of the head; blunt instrument, as we say.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Dave Atkins.’ He shook his head as if he couldn’t take it in. ‘But what about a rock fall?’

  ‘I don’t think so, and anyway he wouldn’t have gone down there dressed like that without any equipment, would he?’

  ‘No, you’re right, he certainly wouldn’t.’ His puzzled expression showed that he found the facts of the case as baffling as everybody else did.

  ‘That’s absolutely incredible,’ he repeated. ‘I suppose people have been telling you that he wasn’t popular round here.’

  ‘Yes. Your wife has also explained that he wasn’t really welcome here any more although he used to work for you.’

  ‘It’s all right, Simon, I told the Inspector about Dave’s behaviour,’ Caroline intervened.

  ‘Well, you know everything then. You can’t go on employing a man who is trying to seduce your wife.’

  ‘Very difficult,’ agreed Oldroyd.

  ‘Not that there was anything wrong with his work, you understand, and I got on quite well with him; very experienced caver and good with the kids, although he did flirt with one or two of the teenage girls. He was like that; couldn’t keep his eyes or his hands off any female he fancied.’

  ‘Did he ever do anything unprofessional with the girls?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t a paedophile or anything like that. He was checked out like everyone is. He just liked showing off; thought every woman fancied him.’

  Oldroyd noticed a brief blaze of anger – or was it hatred? – in Hardiman’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t need to ask you any more about Atkins at the moment,’ Oldroyd went on, ‘your wife has given me the details, although you will also be required to make a statement about your relationship with him and what happened while he worked here.’

  ‘I suppose as the jealous husband I must be a suspect.’ Hardiman did not sound particularly worried at the prospect.

  ‘It’s far too early yet for us to have any idea who the chief suspects are. We have a lot of people to interview and we’ve hardly started.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘The reason I’m here is to ask you for help.’

  ‘Oh? With what?’

  ‘I need to find out more about Jingling Pot and the other cave systems around it. I was told by one of the Cave Rescue team who helped us recover the body that you were one of the experts.’

  ‘Well, it’s very nice of him to say that. I don’t claim to be any more knowledgeable than many others.’

  ‘But you have spent a lot of time exploring these systems.’

  ‘Yes, it’s been a hobby of mine for many years and now it’s my job.’

  ‘I’m also told that you know quite a bit about the history of caving.’

  ‘A bit, yes.’

  ‘In that case, have you got any idea what this is?’

  Oldroyd produced the plastic bag containing the rusty iron hook and gave it to Hardiman, who furrowed his brow and shook his head as he turned the object over in his hands just as Oldroyd had done outside Jingling Pot.

  ‘I’ve no idea. Why do you ask?’

  ‘It was discovered in Jingling Pot, Sump Passage to be exact, which was where Atkins’s body was found.’

  Hardiman shrugged. ‘It’s just a piece of metal.’

  ‘Could it be a piece of equipment used in caving? I don’t mean nowadays but in the past.’

  Hardiman looked intently at the object again.

  ‘Possibly, but I’ve really no idea, Inspector. I’m sorry. Why do you think it’s anything to do with caving, anyway? It could be something that was just dropped by someone going through the passage.’

  ‘Just a hunch, that’s all.’ Oldroyd took the hook and placed it back in the plastic bag.

  ‘Thanks for your help, anyway. Now, do you have any detailed caving maps of the area?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Let’s go back into the office.’

  The three retraced the route back into the house. Oldroyd noticed that the Hardimans held hands. They were obviously a very close couple and their relationship seemed to have survived anything that had happened with Atkins.

  In the office, Simon went to the bookshelf and selected a volume. He flicked through it and handed it to Oldroyd open at a certain page.

  ‘Here you go.’

  The book was entitled Caves of Upper Wharfedale and the page showed a plan of Jingling Pot and the adjacent caves.

  ‘Very good.’ Oldroyd examined the map intently. ‘So is this the most complete map of these systems that exists?’

  ‘Absolutely, that’s the most recent, based on the 2004 surveys.’

  Oldroyd looked carefully at the page.

  ‘So I can see from this, correct me if I’m wrong, that none of the other cave systems have any connection with Jingling Pot other than Wether Ridge Hole.’

  ‘Correct.’

  Oldroyd traced the Wether Ridge system and saw that what Alan Williams had told him was true; it was just as far to Sump Passage if you went through the Wether Ridge system as if you approached through Jingling Pot. He frowned.

  ‘This confirms what I was told. There is no quick way of getting to Sump Passage, is there?’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Alan Williams. You’ll know him. Short and stocky, black hair and beard.’

  ‘Of course, a very committed caver and a stalwart of the Cave Rescue team. By the way, Chief Inspector, if the Cave Rescue were involved, why wasn’t I called out?’

  ‘That was organised by Inspector Craven of the Skipton station. I suspect he used the first few people he could contact.’

  ‘I see. Caroline and I were out in Skipton on a shopping trip this morning and I forgot my phone. Buying in provisions, you know.’

  ‘Quite a big job, I should think, when you’ve got a lot of people staying.’

  ‘Yes, and by the way, Alan was absolutely right. There is no other way of getting to Sump Passage.’

  Oldroyd looked at the map again.

  ‘What about this system here?’ He pointed to a small network of caves adjacent to the Jingling Pot system. Hardiman looked.

  ‘Winter’s Gill Hole? No, Chief Inspector. There’s no link into Jingling Pot from there. It’s all been well explored, although no one goes down there much any more.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Too dangerous; it’s one of the systems that’s very wet and the rocks are loose. There’ve been accidents in there and, quite frankly, it’s boring: nothing to see; no spectacular caverns or lakes; just a wet, low, dripping passage which comes to a fairly standard cavern and then a dead end. There’s no through route.’

  ‘And you might come to a dead end too?’ observed Oldroyd sardonically.

  ‘Yes, if you’re not careful, and why risk it down there where there’s nothing of interest anyway? Also,’ he paused, ‘you might think this odd, but what also puts people off is that
there’s a long tradition that Winter’s Gill Hole is haunted.’

  ‘Is there indeed? I didn’t think cavers were the type to believe in ghosts.’

  ‘I don’t think they do as such, but they do believe in bad luck – I think that’s the case with all dangerous activities. Cavers tend to be a bit of a superstitious bunch of people; you know, “This is my lucky helmet” and stuff like that. It’s a way humans have of trying to control what we really can’t control, isn’t it?’

  ‘True.’ Oldroyd still seemed absorbed in the map until, as was his habit, he suddenly sprang out of his reverie.

  ‘Well, thank you both very much. You’ve been extremely helpful. One of my detectives may call round to interview you again. I must be getting off now. There’s just one thing. Can you do me a photocopy of this page?’

  ‘Borrow the book if you need it for your investigation.’

  ‘That’s very useful. Thank you. It will be returned to you in due course. There’s just one thing I need to ask. Can you tell me where you both were last Monday? That was the night Atkins disappeared.’

  The Hardimans exchanged glances.

  ‘Here, Chief Inspector. We don’t get out much. I can’t remember the last time we’ve managed to have a night out together.’

  The interview over, they both showed him out, and as he drove away, Oldroyd’s last view of them was in his rear-view mirror as they stood together by the big door and watched him disappear down the drive.

  Back in Burnthwaite, news was spreading about the grisly find in Jingling Pot. The villagers were used to pothole rescues and the occasional accidental death. Murder was a different matter, especially of a man known as the local rogue. This was no outsider’s crime where the body had been brought in and dumped. This, in all likelihood, had been committed by one of them. Whispered conversations were taking place in shops and on street corners as speculation mounted as to who the perpetrator might be. A farmer driving his tractor along the main street acknowledged a friend standing on the pavement with a frown and a shake of his head. He didn’t stop and no words were spoken.

  Carter’s first task in the village was to interview Geoff Whitaker. He walked through the village on the narrow pavement admiring the old grey stone buildings. He passed some gift boutiques and a shop selling walking gear and outdoor clothing. The Wharfedale Café was reasonably full and people easily identifiable as walkers, wearing boots, carrying rucksacks and looking at maps, were strolling up and down. For a Monday it was pretty busy and Carter concluded rightly that Burnthwaite was what the tourist authorities called a ‘honey pot’ and that on bank holidays it would be unpleasantly crowded. ‘Busy’, though, was relative. It was nothing like the constant bustle of London and he was still adjusting to the quiet everywhere. He’d worried that he might find it boring, but so far quite the contrary. He felt as relaxed as if he was on holiday in the countryside and didn’t feel he was missing London at all.