Riddled on the Sands (The Lakeland Murders)

by Salkeld, J J

  Gorham smiled again. Hall wasn’t at all used to this. ‘All right, Andy, you win. I’ll want a copy of the report mind. But I reckon that this is just a fantastic example of you playing me, and the system, to get what you want.’

  Hall did his best to look innocent, surprised, and just a little hurt.

  ‘I bet you’ve got a CI tucked away who’s given you a tip’ Gorham went on, ‘and you’re looking for some kind of evidential cover, isn’t that it?’ But it must have been a rhetorical question, because Gorham spoke again before Hall could reply. ‘No, don’t bother, you’ll get your wish. Because the DNA on that slug does confirm that poor Jack Bell is indeed dead, not that we were in any doubt about that. But you keep me fully informed on this drugs angle. Don’t even think about keeping any information back from me, for any reason whatsoever.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.’

  Val Gorham had long since given up trying to read Hall’s poker-face, but she still looked at him shrewdly as he was leaving. When she’d first taken over at Kendal she’d wondered why Hall, who was a few years older than her, hadn’t risen further up the ranks, and why he wasn’t a DCS at the Met, or even on attachment to the intelligence services. He seemed just the type.

  But now she was starting to understand why that was. There was no doubt about his ability, and his reputation as the most able detective in the Constabulary was entirely justified, she’d decided, but there was something annoying about him, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He was always respectful, and his paperwork was invariably up-to-date, if a little on the terse side sometimes, but she just had the feeling that, if push came to shove, DI Andy Hall might be more inclined to follow his own instincts than the rule book. As he closed the door behind him she shook her head a couple of times, but she still found herself smiling as she went back to her work. He had got a lead on the Jack Bell case from somewhere, she was absolutely certain of it.

  Ray Dixon was watching for Hall when he came back to the open CID office, and followed him straight towards his office.

  ‘Is it urgent, Ray? I need to speak to Ian. Give me five minutes, would you?’

  ‘Aye, sure. Just wanted to say that I’ve got nothing new on Capstick. He’s probably got fish guts on his hands, but not human blood as far as I can see.’

  ‘OK, stay with it. The Super has agreed to give us a couple of techies to help you out on all the emails, and bank accounts and stuff.’

  ‘Ta. So long as their acne doesn’t end up all over my paperwork.’

  ‘Be nice, Ray. I’m helping you out here.’

  Hall closed his office door, sat at his desk, and picked up the phone.

  ‘Ian, can you talk? I’ve got a bit of news. Gorham has OK’d me to get a couple of the drugs intelligence team involved. I wanted to run a name past you. How about DS Skinner?’

  ‘Rachel, yes, she’d be fine. Bright kid, works hard too.’

  ‘Straight?’

  ‘As a die. She’d never get mixed up with those bastards. She’s been around long enough to know that there’s no nice way out for any officer who does. And anyway, she won’t know what we know, will she?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Just you and me. All right, leave it with me. I’ll clear it with her bosses. That shouldn’t be an issue. If she’s on duty tomorrow I’ll ask her to meet me here, and we’ll maybe see you down at Flookburgh later in the day. Maybe in the afternoon?’

  Saturday, June 22nd

  DS Rachel Skinner had arranged to spend a couple of hours reviewing the Jack Bell case before Andy Hall arrived at the station.

  ‘So what do you think, Rachel?

  ‘It’s certainly an unusual one, boss.’

  ‘Andy is fine. Just don’t use first names when the Super is around, because she’s got an obsession with it. She says it undermines the chain of command and encourages lax behaviour, whatever that is.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘I think it doesn’t really matter. Within reason I don’t care what people call me. I’ll answer to most things.’ This wasn’t entirely true, and Hall wasn’t quite sure why he’d said it. He frowned slightly at the realisation. ‘Anyway, how about a possible drugs angle to all this? Ring any bells, does it?’

  ‘Not really, to be honest. I agree that it looks like a reasonable bet, and I can see why it’s attractive as a line of enquiry. Top end traffickers, heavily armed, are bringing the gear ashore, probably in bulk, and then transferring to a vehicle of some kind way out on the Bay at low tide. All very clever. No-one to see them, and anyone there is would be visible from miles away. There’s literally nowhere to hide out there, is there?’

  ‘Exactly. But what? I sense a ‘but’ coming.’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Not so much a ‘but’ as a bit of a shrug, I suppose. We don’t have any intel on all this at all, not even a whisper, and as for gunning down witnesses, if that’s what Bell was, especially with military weaponry...well, that’s a bit of a different league for us, to be honest.’

  ‘I see, thanks for being so frank. So anything you want to ask me before we head for Flookburgh?’

  ‘I just wanted you to fill me in on a couple of things that aren’t in the files.’

  Hall smiled. He agreed. It was what wasn’t there, the space between information and ideas, the place where human greed and irrationality meets logical and predictable decision-making, that made detective work fascinating. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Well, at present the investigation is neutral on Bell’s role in what happened, but I suspect that you’re not.’

  ‘That’s right. Bell was a witness, with no connection whatsoever to whomever it was who opened up on him out there. He saw something that he was intrigued by, maybe a drugs drop like you said, and he went to try to see what it was. I think it happened when he was at his own nets, quite close to shore. Because I’ve looked out from there, towards some of our vehicles out at the locus, and in decent daylight you can see them pretty well, easily in fact. But I don’t think he could have made much out. I certainly couldn’t. So I reckon he climbed onto his tractor and set off towards whatever it was. His curiosity is what got him killed, and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘That means he wasn’t overly suspicious though, doesn’t it? When he set off, I mean.’

  Hall smiled. ‘Exactly. So whatever he saw probably wasn’t completely outside his normal experience, yes, that’s right. But it was just odd enough to make him drive right out there, even though there was no catch to be had in that area.’

  ‘So what are you thinking?’

  ‘Nothing specific yet. But you’re right about how we’re approaching Jack. I have to deploy my very limited resources as effectively as I can, so as of day two or three Jack Bell ceased to be anything other than a victim, and, to be honest, a piece of forensic evidence that I’m eager to recover.’

  ‘But I heard your Super is a bit of a stickler for doing it all by the book. Isn’t that right? She certainly was when she was at HQ. They used to call her the Grammar Police because she’d send reports back if they had any typos in them.’

  ‘She’s much the same here, but we have come to a kind of understanding. I’ve had a couple of half-decent results lately, and rightly or wrongly she seems to trust my judgement. So as long as I can demonstrate that I am following procedures she turns a blind eye if an officer who’s still booked as looking at Bell’s background is actually on something else.’

  ‘What if you’re wrong, and Bell was in on this all along? It could have been some kind of falling-out that got him killed, couldn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t remind me. I’d be doing people for littering and dog-fouling for the rest of my career. And yes, you’re right of course, it is possible, but I don’t see it as likely. We know that Jack was an intelligent man, and a deeply principled one. Loved his community, loved the job he did. Big family man too, by all accounts. Generally all very stable; a man at peace with his world. No money wor
ries, and never had any. I could go on, but you get my drift. He doesn’t fit the profile, not in any way. Throw in the fact that he went fishing every day, when the tides and the weather allowed, and what you’ve got is the pattern of a proper working bloke, not someone using fishing as a cover of some kind.’

  ‘So you think it might be one of the part-timers? Maybe even Pete Capstick?’

  ‘If a fisherman was involved, and that’s far from certain, then that does seem more likely. But it would have to be someone with really good knowledge of the Bay, and I’ll tell you why. I’ve checked, and if someone tried to simply drive in a straight line from where we found Jack’s tractor back across the Bay to any of the three nearest roads off then they’d never have made it. They’d have bogged down in any wheeled vehicle, even one of the fisherman’s tractors.’

  ‘Yes, I saw that in the file. So you must fancy this Capstick for it, then?’

  ‘Maybe, but show me the money, as they say. You know what working criminals are like. They start off with the best of intentions, that they won’t touch the money, won’t give anything away to us. But then they buy a little car for their old mum, maybe the odd decent holiday, and then we’re all over them like a cheap suit. But Capstick seems to be clean. We’re still looking, as you’ll have seen, but I bet you we’re not going to find a penny piece. And he’s pretty skint usually, remember. Irregular income, drinking too much, so if he’s got big money stashed away I can’t believe he wouldn’t have just topped himself up a bit. But Ian Mann said that the empty bottles in his bin were all of the rocket-fuel variety.’

  ‘Maybe he likes it, Andy, some of them do. Look at the shit the addicts are willing to pay for. But I take your point. So where does that leave you, if Capstick’s clean?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. Not at all. He’s far from in the clear as far as I’m concerned. Because there are reasons why he might not have touched the money.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like what if there isn’t any? Not a penny.’

  Rachel laughed again. ‘You’re not serious? Why else would anyone get involved in heavy-duty drugs smuggling? He’d have to be an idiot to get mixed up in that, unless he had a very good reason.’

  Hall sat back. ‘I don’t know, but here are a few possibilities. What if this was the first job he’d done, and he was due to be paid after? What if it’s not, but his masters are holding the cash for him? On account, as it were. He couldn’t exactly phone up and ask for a tenner every time he wanted a new bottle of fire-water. And maybe he’s got other motives than money anyway, at least in part.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Excitement, revenge, I don’t know. But even if we don’t find a cent we’ll be keeping a close eye on Pete Capstick.’

  ‘And this is where Geoff Atkinson comes in?’

  ‘Yes, partly, although he’s useful in other ways too.’

  ‘Wasn’t he a bit of a risk? You know, bringing in an ex-copper. You know what they can be like when they’re off the leash.’

  ‘Geoff’s only just ex, he’s barely been out of the job five minutes. And what makes you say that, anything specific about him?’

  ‘No, just a feeling, that’s all. It’s probably nothing. Ignore me.’

  But Hall had no intention of ignoring DS Skinner, because he recognised that some other officers also had instincts that sometimes led an investigation in a new and telling direction. So he thought about what she’d said for much of the journey to Flookburgh.

  But by the time they stopped in Grange for a vanilla slice and a coffee Hall had stopped thinking about both the case and his calorie intake, at least for a little while.

  Ian Mann, Ray Dixon and Geoff Atkinson were waiting in the pub when Andy Hall and DS Rachel Skinner arrived. They’d all just finished their lunches, and Hall noticed that only Mann had eaten his side-salad. He introduced Rachel, and only Geoff got up to shake hands.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here, Ray’ said Hall. ‘You’re not due to be working today, are you?’

  ‘No, boss, but I wanted to lend a hand, like. This will probably be my last job, remember.’

  ‘How could I forget? Let me buy you a drink. Let me buy you all a drink, in fact.’

  Only Atkinson asked for a pint. The rest all went for soft drinks.

  ‘Are you sure, Ray? You’re not on duty, remember.’

  ‘No, boss, ta. I want to remember this. You know, just how it feels. When you’re on a case, and it’s all a bloody mess and a muddle, and nothing is clear. You start thinking it’ll never come right, and then something happens, something turns up, and you’re off and running again.’

  There was silence for a moment. They all knew what he meant. But this was the difficult time, the nervous time, when it still might end up going nowhere at all.

  ‘Well I’m already off and running, but only as far as the bar’ said Hall, trying to lift the mood.

  They chatted about the case for half an hour. Rachel noticed that Hall was watching Atkinson carefully, usually when she was talking. She hoped that she hadn’t spoken out of turn about him, because she didn’t know the bloke from Adam.

  ‘You know there’s a memorial service for Jack tomorrow?’ asked Atkinson. ‘When Ian told Betty that you’d found DNA on that bullet she broke down like, as you’d expect, but afterwards she went and talked to the vicar. They agreed that this was the right time. There’s no hope, and she knows it. Everyone knows it now.’

  Hall nodded. ‘Will we be welcome, do you think?’

  ‘Of course. Betty knows that this one will take some time to sort out. She’s not expecting miracles, or easy answers.’

  They were still talking about the service when the door opened, and Mann glanced up. Something in his expression made Hall, whose back was to the door, turn round. It was Pete Capstick, and it was obvious that he was already well on the way to being properly drunk. But he still walked steadily enough to the bar, and ordered a drink. When it had been poured, and his eyes had adjusted to the light, he looked round, and raised his glass to Geoff Atkinson.

  ‘Is this a regular thing?’ asked Hall.

  ‘Aye’ said Atkinson, ‘but I think it’s probably got worse lately.’

  ‘Since Jack was shot?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘He’s been in here each afternoon I’ve been in the village’ said Mann.

  ‘Talking to anyone?’

  ‘Not really. He reads the paper, watches a bit of sport on the telly, that’s about it. Has a bar snack sometimes, too.’

  ‘Hard to see him playing with the big boys’ said Rachel. ‘He looks pretty far gone. They don’t usually work with people like that. Too unreliable, and unpredictable too.’

  Hall nodded. ‘Agreed, but if he is mixed up with whatever it is that got Jack Bell shot, whether it’s drugs or not, he might only have played a very minor role. No-one is saying he’s some kind of master criminal. Like we were saying earlier, Rachel, maybe all he was used as was as a guide, or courier. Whether it was his first time or not, he just might not have really understood what he’d got himself involved in, until the guns appeared and the shooting started. So let’s not jump to conclusions. Anyway, let’s enjoy our drinks, then maybe Geoff will show you round the village, Rachel, while I catch up with Ian and Ray.’ Rachel nodded, and downed the rest of her drink. She looked eager to get going, and Hall liked that look. ‘Meet you back here in half an hour, say, Rachel, and I’ll run you back in to town then. I’ve got an appointment with some barbecue tongs later, and I’m under strict instructions not to be late.’

  Monday, June 24th

  Andy Hall barely stirred when Jane got up. That wouldn’t have happened a couple of months ago she thought, but without the slightest irritation. She wanted to get in to work at daft-o’clock because she’d arranged to have a chat with Nobby Styles. He was like most of the older PCs, very cautious about committing anything much to paper, but always more than happy to talk.

  They’d arranged t
o meet at the cafe in the 24 hour supermarket on the edge of town, where lots of the cops took their breaks. Jane didn’t like it any more than most of them did, but with the canteen in the station having been closed years before there wasn’t much choice, if you wanted something to eat at six in the morning.

  It was turning into another lovely day, and so for once the cafe didn’t seem as over-lit as usual. In mid-winter the glare hurt your eyes. And it was quiet now, too. Jane nodded to a couple of paramedics eating burgers, and wondered briefly how they managed it at that hour. But of course for them it was dinner time now. Nobby saw her, and got up from the table that he was sharing with three other cops. He looked tired, but Jane knew that he was on holiday for a fortnight after this shift.

  They had their choice of tables, and Jane went and bought them tea. She couldn’t face anything to eat, not so early in the morning, and Nobby had patted his ample gut when she offered him a cake. She’d taken that as a no.

  ‘So it’s Gary you’re interested in, then?’ said Nobby, when she sat down. ‘I’m surprised you’re interested in that fire, love. I’ve seen barbecues that were more out of control than that.’

  Jane smiled. ‘It might connect to something else.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Nobby knew better than to ask what. He’d been a copper for well over twenty years, and he’d been a happy PC for every second of that time. And Nobby Styles knew, as well as anyone, that the best way to stay happy in the job was to be good at your own, and not develop the slightest interest in anyone else’s.

  ‘I’ve known Gary since he was a nipper, Sheila too. To be fair he’s not the worst. Well, I say that, but I suppose I’m comparing him with the most unpleasant twats that I have to deal with, and he’s an angel in comparison with some of them. You know the story, Jane. Rough beginning, no exams, no proper job, then the petty crime.’