Best Served Cold: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

by David J Gatward

  ‘Who the bloody hell are you?’

  Harry went to introduce himself, but the man got in first.

  ‘You the police? You don’t look like the police, but I bet that’s what you are, right? The police? Up here in t’ field with that lot, aren’t you? And what’s up with your face? Right bloody mess, that. What happened? Fall into a bailer or something?’

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Grimm,’ Harry said, but declined to say anything to answer the man’s last question.

  He didn’t move towards the man and his beast of a dog, but instead waited for them to approach him. It gave him time to assess the situation and be a little more in control of it. It was also a little more passive, because here in front of him was a man clearly looking for confrontation, and Harry figured striding up to him with purpose would only make matters worse.

  ‘Never heard of him,’ the man said. ‘You must be here about Capstick, am I right?’

  Harry was a little taken aback. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Capstick. Dead I reckon. Up in t’ field, like. Couldn’t happen to a nicer man, I’ll tell you that for nowt.’

  Harry gave a nod, hearing the thick slice of disdain in the man’s voice. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s about Mr Capstick.’

  The dog growled again. God, the thing was massive. Harry could see that it clearly had Rotweiller in there somewhere, which would be reason enough for the size of thing’s head: it was more bear than hound. But it wasn’t a pure bred, and Harry guessed that whatever else was mixed up in the genes was also probably huge, hungry and originally designed to scare off humans. Or eat them. Perhaps both.

  ‘About bloody time, if you ask me,’ the man said. ‘Not that I wish ill on anyone, like, but Capstick was a nasty old bugger.’

  Harry asked, ‘Can we go inside, please? I have some questions.’

  ‘I bet you bloody well do,’ the man said. ‘And I’ll probably have a few of my own.’

  And with that, the man made for Harry with such speed and intent that Harry only just managed to step out of the way in time as he made his way up to the front door.

  ‘Best you come in for a brew,’ the man said, then he pointed ahead, down the hall, towards an open door. ‘Through there. I’ll join you in a minute. And don’t mind the dog. He’ll only bite if I tell him to.’

  The dog stared up at Harry, the look in its eyes not exactly convincing him that it gave a stuff about what the man did or didn’t tell it to do, and wouldn’t just eat him anyway, just for the fun of it.

  ‘What’s it called?’ Harry asked, following the man and his dog into his house. ‘The dog?’

  ‘Steve,’ the man said, and with that, he walked off, disappearing with the hound into the darkness beyond.

  Chapter Ten

  Harry walked down the hall and on through the door to find himself in a large kitchen which had clearly not been decorated since the 1970s, even down to the lurid wallpaper.

  A door slammed shut somewhere else in the house and Harry was just staring out of the window, which sat above the sink, when the man entered the room.

  ‘Unusual,’ Harry said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Steve,’ Harry said. ‘As a dog’s name, I mean.’

  ‘Is it?’ the man replied. ‘It’s a name, isn’t it? And it’s not some stupid bollocks like Fleck or Fly or whatever else folk seem to want to call their dogs. Wife wanted to call him Tiny, but I was having none of that, like. Steve? It’s a proper name, isn’t it? Tiny! I ask you! I mean, you’ve seen him. He’s huge! So why would I call him Tiny? I wouldn’t, would I?’

  Harry shook his head pretty sure there was no arguing with the man. ‘Is your wife home?’

  ‘Out,’ the man said. ‘Put the kettle on, then! Tea won’t brew itself, you know.’

  Before Harry knew what he was doing, he had filled the kettle and switched it on.

  ‘Biscuits are up there,’ the man said, pointing at a cupboard, ‘teabags are on the side by the teapot. Milk’s in the fridge.’

  The man sat down at the large dining table, which took up the centre of the room. Harry, with little option now but to just go with the flow and make the tea, grabbed the biscuits and, by sheer luck, opened the cupboard with mugs in it, removing two and placing them by the kettle.

  Once the tea was made, Harry sat down at the table, opposite the man. ‘Here you go,’ he said, handing a mug over. ‘Hope it’s drinkable.’

  The man stared suspiciously into the mug, then took a lengthy slurp, the sound of it as loud as water draining down a plug hole.

  ‘Well, looks like you make a decent brew, so that’s something,’ he said. ‘I’d heard southerners liked it all weak and flavoured with almond milk or whatever other kind of nonsense you can get now instead of actual real proper milk.’

  Harry took a sip from his own, nibbled a biscuit. ‘The accent gave me away, then?’

  ‘Just a bit,’ the man said.

  ‘I didn’t catch your name,’ Harry replied.

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t have, because I didn’t give it, did I?’ The man blew at his tea, then took a gulp. ‘I don’t go around handing out money to strangers, so why would I give my name out as well?’

  Harry was sure there was logic in there somewhere, but he didn’t have time to look for it. ‘Well, we’re not strangers now, are we?’

  The man harrumphed. ‘I suppose not. Name’s Dinsdale. Bill Dinsdale.’

  ‘So, Bill,’ Harry began, ‘can I ask why you were having a look at us from here with your binoculars?’

  ‘I haven’t got any binoculars,’ Bill said.

  ‘The sun caught the lens,’ Harry explained. ‘I spotted it from the field. You were looking out from one of the windows upstairs.’

  ‘That bit’s true, but I wasn’t using binoculars. Don’t have any. Do I look like someone who goes sight-seeing and bird watching? Do I bollocks, like!’

  Harry took another sip, if only to try and gather his thoughts. Bill here was certainly an interesting character to deal with. Harry had the impression the man wasn’t about to offer any information up without it being prised from him first. ‘So, can I ask why you were looking out over the field?’

  ‘I used my scope,’ Bill said, ignoring Harry’s question. Then he stood up, grabbed some keys from a hook on the wall, and disappeared through the kitchen door, only to return a minute or so later with a rifle, on top of which was sat the kind of scope that Harry figured any sniper would be proud to own.

  ‘You looked at us through that?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, it wasn’t loaded,’ Bill said, his words curling around a laugh. ‘And it’s all kept under lock and key. And my firearms licence is up to date. I’m not a total bloody fool, you know!’

  ‘There’s a need for that around here, is there?’ Harry asked. ‘A firearm, I mean.’

  ‘Why else would I have it?’ Bill asked. ‘It’s only a two-two calibre, nowt too powerful. Much better for rabbits and pigeons and crows than an air rifle.’

  Bill rested the rifle on the dining room table.

  ‘You’ve not answered my question,’ Harry said.

  ‘I knew something was up,’ Bill said. ‘Saw John had smashed up his tractor. Not the first time, neither. Couldn’t be arsed with coming over to be told it was none of my business, either. So thought I’d just have a look. There a law against that?’

  Harry knew full well that there were plenty of laws about where exactly you should and shouldn’t point a firearm, but now wasn’t the time.

  ‘The accident isn’t visible from the road,’ Harry said. ‘How did you notice it?’

  ‘Upstairs bathroom,’ Bill said. ‘Had to open the window, if you know what I mean. Breakfast came back at me with a vengeance, but that just serves me right for having bacon and eggs. I’m not supposed to, but I was hungry, wasn’t I? The stink was thick enough to carve with knife.’

  Harry got the picture and very much wished that he hadn’t.

 
‘Right, so you saw it from upstairs, then?’

  ‘Which was where you saw me earlier, with the rifle scope. Heard all the noise, thought I’d have a gander at all you lot.’

  ‘So, was there a reason why you didn’t go to see John after you’d noticed the accident?’

  ‘Like I said, it’s not the first time something like this has happened,’ Bill said. ‘And if I’d spent my life going to see if he was alright after every prang that he’d had, then I’d have never got my own work done now, would I? I’ve my own farm to be worrying about, you see, and helping someone like old Capstick generally comes back and bites you on the arse.’

  Harry asked, ‘Did you notice anything else, last week, or over the weekend, at all? At his house, out in the fields?’

  ‘So, he is dead then, is he? Thought so. Knew you lot were over there for a reason, like.’

  Harry neither confirmed nor denied it, but knew his silence was enough. ‘All I can say right now is that there’s been a very serious incident,’ he said. ‘And myself and my fellow officers are now attempting to collect as much information as we can to find out what actually happened.’

  ‘Fancy way of saying that old git is dead,’ Bill mumbled to himself as much to Harry. ‘So, how did he die, then?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t provide any further information,’ Harry said.

  ‘Well, however it happened, Capstick had it coming, that’s for sure.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Harry asked.

  ‘The man was born with a mean streak in him as wide as the Ure!’ Bill said.

  ‘Ure?’

  ‘The river that runs through Wensleydale. You should see it when it’s in full spate after a storm. Terrifying! You should’ve met his dad, though. Even worse! You’ve seen the farm? Awful, isn’t it? Total bloody disgrace!’

  ‘So, did you notice anything?’ Harry asked again. ‘Anything suspicious? Any visitors? Anything in the way John behaved?’

  Bill leaned back in his chair and knocked his head back to drain his mug of tea. Then he leaned forward on his elbows, his huge, weathered hands clasped together. ‘Suspicious? Everything Capstick did was suspicious!’ he said, anger creasing the corners of his mouth as he spoke. ‘There’s not a farm around here that hasn’t lost something to Capstick. Never any proof, mind, but stuff went missing. Bits of equipment, deliveries, even stock. We all knew it was him, but nowt was ever found so he just got away with it. Usually flogged the stuff we reckon. Not daft enough to rub our noses in it. Better to have some cash.’

  ‘He was a thief?’

  ‘He was a bastard!’ Bill said. ‘And a right proper one at that. If you ask me, the dale’s better off with him gone out of it! Just a pity it hadn’t been sooner rather than later, like.’

  Harry finished his own tea, then stood up. ‘Look, I’ll be sending a couple of my officers around to ask a few more questions, take a statement. I hope that’s okay. It’s just routine. But best you have that rifle of yours locked away before they come around.’

  ‘I’m not a total bloody idiot!’ Bill snapped, rising from his own chair and grabbing the rifle. ‘You leaving, then?’

  Harry gave a sharp nod and made his way back out into the hall and towards the front door.

  ‘You want to find out what happened, then best you speak to L’all Nick,’ Bill said. ‘He’ll know. If you want suspicious, that’s right where it is, I’ll tell you that. Gossip and rumour spin around him like a whirlpool of shite.’

  Harry stopped, turned. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Saturday morning, around six I think,’ Bill said, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I mean, I was pretty surprised to see John up that early as it was, and heading out into the field, and all, but with Nick as well?’ He gave a conspiratorial nod, then tapped the side of his nose with a finger and pointed at Harry. ‘He’ll know what happened.’

  ‘You mean he was there?’ Harry asked, wondering why Bill had said nothing earlier when he’d specifically asked if the man had seen anything strange.

  Bill shrugged. ‘There were two of them in the cab,’ he said. ‘Saw them drive up into the field, didn’t I? I was off on a walk around with the gun, you see. Me and Steve do that most Saturday mornings, like.’

  ‘You mean you saw the accident?’

  ‘I didn’t see anything!’ Bill growled. ‘All I’m saying is that I saw two people in that cab driving up into the field. And Nick’s the only bugger on earth who’d be with John, so it wouldn’t be anyone else, would it?’

  Harry really wanted to find Nick now, more than ever, and reached out for the front door. ‘Thanks for your time,’ he said, stepping out into the day once again.

  ‘No need to thank me,’ Bill said. ‘I went to school with Capstick. Never liked him then. Never liked him since. I’m not usually one to wish ill of the dead, but with him, I’ll make an exception. And I’m not the only one, you’ll find that out, soon enough.’

  Harry stepped away from the house as Bill closed the door behind him. He then stared back up the road to where he could see the field where John Capstick had been found. A white tent had been erected over where the body lay, and little white-suited bodies moved around it like maggots crawling over a carcass.

  Harry’s phone buzzed. ‘Grimm,’ he answered.

  It was Matt.

  ‘We’ve found something, boss.’

  ‘What?’ Harry asked, moving off quickly now, back towards the field. ‘The phone?’

  ‘No,’ Matt said. ‘A feather. Stuffed in Capstick’s mouth.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Back at the field, Harry was met at the gate by a group of stern faces, two of which looked about as happy to see him as he would be a toenail in his breakfast cereal. The sky was darkening, and a wind was certainly getting up. So much for the nice weather then, Harry thought, smelling rain in the air.

  ‘Ah, Grimm,’ Detective Superintendent Graham Swift said, stepping in front of Harry as he made his way into the field. ‘So there you are. I was beginning to wonder if we had lost you for good.’

  The way the man said it, Harry was pretty sure that he heard a little hint of hope in the words.

  ‘Sir,’ Harry said, offering no explanation as to where he had been, his attention drawn to the woman beside Swift.

  ‘DC Metcalfe tells me you’ve found something.’

  ‘Does he, indeed?’ said Rebecca Sowerby, the pathologist. ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘I was kind of hoping you would be able to tell me that,’ Harry said.

  ‘Well, it sounds like you already know, so . . .’

  ‘A feather,’ Harry said, cutting in before the pathologist could finish off what she was saying. ‘But what about a phone? Has one been found?’

  Sowerby glowered for a moment at Matt, who was standing with Jim to one side, then was back on Harry.

  ‘No phone,’ the pathologist said. ‘And to be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t find the feather yourself!’ The woman’s eyes were narrow as a hawk’s. ‘Do you have any idea how much potential damage you did to the crime scene? Why didn’t you call it in immediately? From what I can see, you’ve walked up and down and around like you were all on a dance competition!’

  Harry sucked in the deepest of breaths then let it out real slow through his nostrils. ‘It was called in as soon as we regarded it as being potentially Category One.’

  ‘And you couldn’t tell that just by looking at the body?’

  ‘The report we received was that there had been an accident. That’s how the scene was initially approached. It was only after investigating that–’

  The pathologist pulled out a transparent plastic bag. Inside it, Harry could just about make out a scrunched up lump of something, which looked moist and black and revolting.

  ‘This was in his mouth,’ she said, holding it up in front of Harry’s face. ‘No idea what species right now because, as you can see, it’s a total mess. Like this crime scene.’

  ‘We
think whatever happened here occurred around two days ago,’ Harry said. ‘So everything has been out in the open ever since. If you want to blame anyone or anything for the mess, how’s about you have a chat with some of the local wildlife? There’s a few foxes and buzzards I’m sure who could give you a little run through of just how tasty the victim is! Crows and pigeons, too, I’m sure, and they’ll eat just about anything.’

  ‘Enough, Grimm,’ DS Swift said. ‘Ms Sowerby is only trying to do her job.’

  ‘And I’m only trying to do mine,’ Grimm replied, his voice a guttural growl.

  ‘She has every right to question how things are done, especially when working with someone new.’

  ‘New?’ Harry laughed. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means,’ Swift said, ‘that an experienced detective wouldn’t have allowed someone who has nothing to do with a potential investigation to go wandering around a crime scene!’

  ‘You mean Doctor Smith? He was here when we arrived!’

  Rebecca Sowerby stowed the bag containing the feather away, frustration clear in her every move. ‘The Scene of Crime officers will finish off and then I’ll have the body over to do the autopsy,’ she said, pushing past Harry to head towards the road.

  ‘Think you’ll find anything?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I always find something,’ she replied. ‘Always.’ And was gone.

  For a while, no one said anything. Harry could sense that DS Swift was continuing his grumbles in his head, but he didn’t care. Jim and Matt were simply staring at him expectantly. Up in the field, things were starting to quieten down. Soon the body would be removed and would chase the pathologist back to Harrogate and into a sterile, stainless steel chilled freezer drawer in the mortuary. Then there would be a final sweep of the scene to see if anything else could be found, and that would be that. The place would be off limits to the public though for a good while, at least while the investigation was in its early stages. And that, Harry knew for certain, would be more than enough to bring the press sniffing around.