Separated at Death (The Lakeland Murders)

by Salkeld, J J

  Hall and Mann met Robinson in the observation room.

  ‘Fantastic witness’ said Robinson. ‘She will be brilliant in the box.’

  Mann was beaming, but Hall didn’t look anything like as happy.

  ‘Have we got enough to charge him though?’ said Hall. ‘This could be a worst of all worlds outcome. We will certainly have to drop the charge against John, whether we charge Simon or not, but I’m not sure we’ve got enough to get the CPS to charge. He lied about Wednesday night, and we’ve got him cold on that, but is that enough?’

  ‘Any chance of a confession?’ asked Robinson hopefully.

  ‘Not a one I’d say’ said Hall. ‘None of them admit to anything these days, do they? It’s always someone else’s fault.’

  ‘What about motive?’

  ‘Sexual maybe?’ suggested Mann. ‘She lured him there deliberately to see her with young Ryan, and then it all went wrong?’

  ‘Possibly’ said Hall, doubtfully. ‘It’s a bit daytime TV, but I’ve got nothing better. Jane, have you made a start on Simon’s finances?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve had to ask the fraud team at HQ to take a look because it’s pretty complicated, but on the face of it it’s certainly hard to see how he funds his lifestyle. It might take a while to get anywhere meaningful though.’

  ‘We need anything we can get as fast as we can’ said Hall, ‘so why don’t we try to concentrate on any recent, big ticket purchases. Be interested to see how they were funded. Has he bought any vehicles recently for example? Check against his company, and both him and his wife’s name. If there are any purchases try to contact the seller, find out how he paid, and follow the money back from there. If he’s got an undeclared source of income he’ll be using it to fund consumption of course, and using cash, but he might be doing it with bigger-ticket stuff too. If he’s got lazy we might just catch him out.’

  ‘OK boss, I’ll make a start now.’

  ‘So what’s your next move?’ asked Robinson, when Jane had left.

  ‘Keep digging for a day or two’ said Hall. ‘As you rightly say sir motive is crucial here, because if we can find it the evidence will follow, I’m sure of that. He’s only ever come to our notice for a drugs offence years ago, and that might just have been a bit of teenage rebellion. But if we can follow the money somewhere that might help us, although how that connects to his niece is anyone’s guess. As to anything sexual I’m not convinced; and none of the family have even raised it as a possibility. He doesn’t fit the profile either, for what that’s worth.’

  ‘Can you break his alibi for Wednesday night?’

  ‘Get his wife to give back-word on her statement you mean? It might be worth trying. Because if we assume that Jane’s right and his motive for killing Amy is connected to some other kind of serious criminality, then maybe his wife thought she was giving him an alibi to cover that, rather than the killing. It is an explanation that fits the facts.’

  ‘So’ added Mann, ‘just developing that train of thought. You’re suggesting that whatever Simon was doing earlier on Wednesday of last week might be helpful to us, because his wife would have known, or maybe guessed, that he was involved in some form of criminality? If I remember rightly he said that he was having meetings in Manchester, and we phoned two of the people he’d said he was with. You think we should look more closely at that?’

  ‘I do’ said Robinson. ‘There’s a lot of assumptions in what Andy’s just said, but either way Simon Hamilton has to be our focus, so finding out exactly what he did last Wednesday, hour-by-hour, would be high on the list anyway.’

  Half an hour later Hall left the office. Jane Francis was still at her desk, talking on the phone. Mann was just logging off as Hall came out of his office, and they walked out together.

  Every day Hall could feel the fatigue building, and he’d reached the stage where he really didn’t trust his own judgement, especially at the end of another long day.

  ‘We’re close now boss’ said Mann.

  ‘You think Simon’s our man?’

  ‘Without a doubt. He gambled that we wouldn’t have a witness who would place his car there that night, and if it hadn’t been for that bike rack and the very lovely and even more intelligent Julie then he’d be in the clear right now. We just got lucky, and he didn’t.’

  ‘We deserved it though, didn’t we? It’s just a shame we can’t prove for certain that he planted that phone on his brother.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that boss. A jury will draw the same conclusion as us. He had opportunity, that’s for certain.’

  ‘But what about his motive for killing Amy? If we can’t find one I can’t see us securing a conviction, maybe not even getting it to court. So far we’ve seen nothing that feels like any kind of motive.’

  ‘We just haven’t looked hard enough yet, Andy.’

  ‘I sincerely hope you’re right. See you in the morning.’

  Hall drove home with the music tuned off, let himself in quietly, and made himself a sandwich in the kitchen. He watched the news for twenty minutes, then went to bed. He fell asleep in seconds.

  Friday, 18th December

  The alarm woke Hall at half six. The dream he’d been having was very vivid. He couldn’t remember the start, but when he woke he’d been leading a group of armed cops, in America he thought, to raid the top floor of an office building. He shot one man as he led his team up a wide flight of stairs, and as he fell he saw that another behind him was also hit. He fired again, more bad guys fell, and he thought how easy it was. He remembered being surprised, because he’d never had firearms training at work, and never wanted any either.

  Then there was a pause, as the smoke cleared, and an old man, who seemed to be the leader of the gang, said something. Hall couldn’t hear properly, because his ears were ringing. Then, from a door a few yards behind the old man a figure emerged, firing at Hall. He returned fire, and saw the bullets hit home, one after another. But the figure just kept coming. And as he’d woken Hall had realised that he was running out of bullets.

  Ian Mann enjoyed his early morning drive to Manchester. For any longer journeys the rule was that hire vehicles would be used, and he liked the brand new Golf that he’d been sent.

  His first call was a solicitor’s office in the city centre, so he parked at a nearby multi-storey car park and walked from there. It was just after nine, and the office buildings were filling up. Mann wondered briefly what all these people did. He hadn’t phoned ahead, because he didn’t want either of the people Hamilton had met on the previous Wednesday to have time to think about what they might say.

  He didn’t hold up any real hopes of getting anything much from the solicitor, but he’d worn a suit in his honour, or perhaps that of the big city. The receptionist told him that Mr Newman was busy, and Mann said that he’d wait. Having a large policeman sitting in reception, who seemed not to know that muscles really shouldn’t show through a suit jacket, couldn’t be good for a genteel looking commercial practice like this one, and Mann had noticed the little CCTV camera behind the receptionist’s desk.

  He was right, and within thirty minutes he was back on the street again, with Hamilton’s story confirmed. They’d met at two-thirty, the meeting had lasted less than thirty minutes, and the solicitor hadn’t been willing to discuss any details. ‘Was it a commercial matter, or a criminal one?’ Mann had said, just to see if he’d get a reaction.

  ‘Oh, commercial of course. We’re a commercial practice.’ Newman did look genuinely surprised. ‘But beyond that I’m afraid that I can’t discuss any aspects of my client’s affairs.’

  ‘And is Mr Hamilton a long term client?’

  ‘No, he only brought his business to us recently.’

  ‘Really? Do you know why he came to you?’

  ‘I’d like to think that our reputation is the reason that Mr Hamilton chose ourselves.’

  ‘No, I meant why did he leave his previous solicitors?’

  Mann thought that Newm
an was smirking as he answered.

  ‘You’d have to ask Mr Hamilton that. I couldn’t possibly venture an opinion.’

  ‘I will, but surely you have a view?’

  Newman looked keen to get rid of Mann. ‘There are lots of reasons why clients decide to change advisor. Perhaps Mr Hamilton was unhappy with the level of service, or the quality of advice. Without going into any detail I can say that his affairs are relatively complex, and do require a fairly high level of expertise and experience in a number of areas.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s all I can say Sergeant. Now if there’s nothing else?’

  Mann had a coffee in a glass-fronted place near Newman’s office and watched the girls go by through the window. When this was all over he’d make sure he bumped into Julie. She’d probably know that it was no accident, but he didn’t care. If it wasn’t for that horrible little dog she’d be perfect. And, he thought as he finished his Eccles cake, dogs don’t live forever.

  He reset the sat-nav in the car and set off again, heading away from the city centre. When he reached the postcode that he’d entered he stopped, and checked his notes. It was right, but it didn’t look it.

  He was in a post-war trading estate on the edge of a massive high-rise council estate, and most of the units looked as if they’d been empty for years. There were a couple of lorries parked up, and he could see some units had their doors open, but most were closed up with heavily chained gates and security patrol notices. Mann’s guess was that the more warning signs that were up the fewer patrols you’d actually see.

  He drove up and down, looking for the company name he had written down, Summersdown International. He couldn’t see it, so he stopped and called the number he’d been given. There was no reply. So Mann got out of the car and started to walk along the road. He couldn’t see a soul to ask. So he phoned again, and heard an outside phone bell answering back, from the unit ahead of him.

  The gate was locked, and the building looked abandoned. But that had to be it. Mann walked back to the car, started the engine, and let the heater do its work for a minute or two. Then he phoned the station, and was just put through to Jane Francis.

  ‘You just caught me, Sarge.’

  ‘Why, what have you done?’

  ‘Very good Ian. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m outside Summersdown International, where Hamilton met this Carl Nelson character at four last Wednesday.’

  ‘Lucky you sarge.’

  ‘You know it’s a total shit-hole then?’

  ‘Just a lucky guess.’

  ‘You’re not wrong anyway, Jane. This place certainly does not look like the kind of area that an upmarket business type would come to, unless he’s planning some sort of redevelopment. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.’

  ‘You want me to have a quick look at Summersdown International?’

  ‘Yes. What time are interviewing with the boss?’

  ‘Quite soon I think, but I can get a search ordered up and sent through to you, along with any filed accounts.’

  ‘Thanks. It will give me something to do while I wait.’

  ‘OK, I can probably get you the home addresses of any directors before I head off to see Sarah Hamilton with the boss.’

  ‘That would be a help. I’ve got a nasty feeling that there’ll be no-one here for hours, if this Nelson bloke is dodgy, because in my experience it’s only people like us who are up and about at this time in the morning.’

  ‘Up the workers, eh sarge?’

  Mann swore mildly and rang off. He hadn’t been at all sure about Jane, and he still wasn’t quite certain, but she learned fast and worked hard, he had to admit that. He started the car, did a three point turn and parked a hundred yards away, on the other side of the road. Then he angled the overtaking mirror so he could see the gates clearly.

  He read his emails as they came through. He was looking out for something from Jane, but it was mostly routine stuff, including a couple of messages.

  He noticed that his dad had been in, probably dropping something off for him, but otherwise nothing caught his eye.

  Then Jane’s email arrived. The company details told him nothing, because no accounts had been filed and the directors were names he didn’t recognise. But she did have Carl Nelson’s address, or at least the one that he’d given the GMP copper who’d taken his statement. She’d even had a quick look to see if he had a record, but nothing had shown up. Mann was getting bored, so he punched the address into the sat-nav and set off for Nelson’s place. It was only a couple of miles, according to the computer.

  Mann was surprised that such a wealthy area could be so close to such a poor one, and he stopped at a parade of upmarket shops near Nelson’s house. One was a faux-Victorian deli and greengrocer, so he bought some fruit and a handmade pork pie that looked like a five year old had made it, but which tasted like God had. So Mann was in a better mood by the time he parked up just across from the address he’d been given.

  The house was big, modern, and looked empty. Mann walked over and rang the door-bell but no-one came. He walked round to the side of the house, but the gate was locked and too high for him to climb over easily. And while the wrought iron spikes on top looked decorative they also looked sharp.

  He walked back to the car, checked his email again, and decided to drive back to Kendal. He could mess about here all day. But, on impulse, he decided to just have one more look at that industrial estate. It would only take a couple of minutes.

  He drove past, and the place was still deserted. He was just about to turn the car round again and head for home when he noticed a Porsche Cayenne approaching, with at least two-up inside. The Trotter’s Reliant would have looked more at home on that empty road, so Mann pulled to the side of the road and watched in his mirror.

  Sure enough the Cayenne stopped outside Summersdown’s gates, and a big man got out of the passenger seat. He unlocked them, the car drove through and stopped while he locked them again. The car drove out of sight. Mann turned the car round and drove past. The Porsche wasn’t visible, and he guessed that the office was round at the back somewhere.

  He parked, checked his email, then called Summersdown’s number again. Still no reply. So he called the station, told the operator where he was, and asked her to let the GMP know too.

  ‘Do you require assistance?’

  ‘Not at present. But if they’d like to send a patrol car to the address in fifteen minutes that would be appreciated. I’ll meet them outside.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Mann regretted wearing his suit when he looked at the gate, but he climbed over without any trouble. He didn’t know if it was his soldier’s instinct or his copper’s training that made him cautious, but he walked quietly round the big building in front, looking at the doors and windows. As far as he could tell Summersdown consisted of a large workshop building, with locked double doors to the side, and a small linked office building at the rear. The Cayenne was parked outside.

  Mann walked back to the workshop doors and looked at the padlock. It didn’t look as if it had been opened in years. He pulled his multi-tool from his pocket, pushed the spike into the lock, felt for the spot, and pushed hard. The lock opened. He opened the door slowly, and looked inside. The space was massive, empty and surprisingly bright: the window lights in the roof saw to that. At the far end Mann could just make out a door into what he assumed was the office area. He closed the door behind him and walked, with the outside wall on his left, to the door. He tried it, and it was open. So he retraced his steps, and left the padlock unlocked when he left the workshop.

  Then he walked round the outside to the office building, and knocked hard on the door beyond the Cayenne. No-one came, so he banged again. Then he heard footsteps, the door was unlocked and opened slightly. It was the big man.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Police’

  ‘So fuck off unless you’ve got a warrant to show me. No?�
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  Mann had his foot in the door before the door was closed. He was glad that the only shoes he owned had steel toe caps. But rather than try to close the door, as Mann expected, the big man pushed it wide open and charged into Mann, head down and swinging.

  Mann went down hard, the big man on top of him for second, reaching for his face. He was heavy, but lardy, and Mann pushed him off, rolled away and was up first. ‘You’re not very friendly, are you?’ said Mann, as the big man got up. He looked winded.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A word with Mr Nelson, that’s all.’

  ‘He’s not here. Now fuck off.’

  ‘I saw you arrive with him’ said Mann, guessing that the driver had been Nelson.

  The big man seemed to have caught his breath, because he swung hard at Mann. That was a mistake, because Mann had moved a step forward long before he’d finished winding up and hit the big man twice, hard, a short right to the gut and a left on the point of the chin. The big man’s feet left the ground for a second, and then he was down.

  ‘Very impressive’ said a voice from inside, ‘where did you learn that?’

  ‘Lympstone mainly’ said Mann, flexing the fingers in his left hand. The big man tried to get up, then fell back. ‘Now if you can get Giant Haystacks here to behave I won’t have to nick him.’

  ‘And if you behave I won’t have to report all this to the local coppers. I assume you’re not local?’

  ‘No, from Cumbria.’ Mann produced his warrant card.