Best Served Cold: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

by David J Gatward

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Harry grabbed his phone and was out of the Land Rover bullet quick. He raced over to the doctor who fell to his knees and into a dirty puddle just as Harry got to him.

  ‘Shitting hell!’ Harry hissed. ‘What’s happened to you? I’m calling an ambulance!’

  The doctor pushed him away. ‘I’m fine, honest, and there’s not much an ambulance can do that I can’t do myself about this, is there? But someone was in the house! They attacked me, hit me over the head with something. Knocked me flat out.’

  ‘What about Jack?’ Harry asked, undecided as to whether to make chase or stay with the doctor. ‘Where is he? Is he okay?’

  The doctor stared up at Harry, his eyes dead. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He’s … he’s dead, but whoever it was, I saw them leave! You have to get after them! There’s a back door. They left through it! You might still get to them! Go!’

  Harry was on his feet. ‘You’re sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes! Go!’ the doctor hissed painfully. ‘Go!’

  Harry turned to the house and sprinted. The shock of the sudden movement sent stabs of pain through his body, but he ignored them, crashed through the front door of Jack’s house and found himself in a quaint little cottage, and he took the whole place in in just a few seconds.

  The room was a lounge and dining room all in one, with a low ceiling and stairs in front of him on which sat a chair lift. Around a fire burning in the hearth, a two-seater sofa and an armchair sat, as though in conversation. On the floor, Harry spotted a blood-splattered log, the weapon used on the doctor, he assumed. Considering the size of the thing, he was surprised the doctor wasn’t still inside with his head little more than a smashed coconut. And sitting in the armchair was a man with the palest skin, frail, and terribly, terribly still. Harry went to the body, checked for a pulse. Nothing. Backing away, he took in the blood that was splattered about the place, probably from where the doctor had managed to walk out of the house after being attacked, he thought. The flowery wallpaper, which had seen better days, was the backdrop to numerous family photos.

  Pulling himself away from the eerily quiet scene before him, Harry raced through the room and out of a door opposite, which lead into a small kitchen. Here, pots and pans had been knocked to the floor, no doubt by the house invader as they’d made their escape, Harry surmised. A door stood open on the other side of the room and Harry was out and through it in a few steps and standing in a small, neat yard. A lean to was to his left, filled with chopped wood, for the fire, Harry guessed. A gate at the far end of the yard stood open and Harry ran through it, coughing with the exertion, ordering himself to work harder at getting into shape.

  Out the back of the house, he ran along a small path with backed onto the yards of other houses. At the other end, the path spilled out onto a road and Harry stopped, partly to get his breath back, but also to listen. All he could hear, however, was the everyday sounds of the dales, living and breathing above, beneath and around him. Sheep in the distance, wind scooting between buildings and around trees, birds calling. And in all of it there was no hint of anything that would suggest someone was racing away from a crime scene. He dropped to the ground, attempting to see if there were any signs on the ground that would give him an indication of where the assailant had gone, but there was nothing, not even the faintest hint of a heel print.

  Standing up, Harry looked left, looked right, decided that left felt more obvious as an escape route, and started running again, trying to put himself in the mind of the kind of person who would commit murder and then scarper. But it didn’t take long for Harry to realise that what he was doing was hopeless. Whoever it was, they were gone. Bastards . . .

  Harry pulled out his phone, saw there was a missed call from Jim, but ignored it, and rang Matt once again.

  ‘Yes, Boss?’

  ‘There’s been another murder,’ Harry said. ‘Jack Iveson. And Doctor Smith has been attacked. We’re up in Marsett. I think the suspect has done a runner. What are the odds on us getting a helicopter out?’

  Harry heard Matt’s laugh, but it wasn’t one brought to life by humour.

  ‘Non-existent,’ Matt said. ‘There is one, but it’s based miles away. Wouldn’t get to you quick enough. I’ll get Gordy, just a mo.’

  Gordy jumped on the line.

  ‘Grimm?’

  Harry quickly explained everything to the DI.

  ‘Right, I’ll call it in,’ Gordy said. ‘I’ll see if we can get a dog handler out as well, might get a scent on something. Worth a try. You alright?’

  ‘I’m fine, yes,’ Harry said. ‘The doctor’s in a bit of a poor way, though. I’d best go check on him. Oh, and we need to know where Nick Ellis, Simon Swales, and Ian Smith are right now!’

  ‘Oh, well that’s easy,’ Gordy said. ‘They’re here. With us. And they’ve all been very helpful so far. Even nice Mr Ellis. Liz is here, too.’

  ‘What?’ Harry said. ‘They’re there? All of them?’

  ‘Well, I’d know if they weren’t,’ Gordy said.

  Harry rubbed his head, more than a little confused. If it wasn’t any of the remaining three from Capstick’s gang, then who was it? What the hell was going on?

  ‘They need a police presence with them at all times,’ Harry said. ‘I don’t care what you have to do, but you get uniform over and have them watching over the three of them. I don’t want anyone or anything getting near them without our knowing, you hear?’

  ‘Already on it,’ Gordy said, and Harry hung up.

  Making his way back down the road, along the alleyway and through the house, Harry paused briefly to look at the dead man in the armchair. There was no point going in for a closer look. It was obvious that he was gone. The how of it, well that was best left to the cheerful world of Rebecca Sowerby and her team, Harry thought, and strode on back outside and over to doctor. He found him leaning up against the right wing of his vehicle. His face was cleaned up and he was holding a white pad against his head, which was growing slowly more crimson from the wound it covered.

  ‘You find anything?’ the doctor asked.

  Harry shook his head. ‘No, not really. Someone obviously left in a hurry. I could see that from the stuff knocked onto the floor in the kitchen. Not a trace of them outside though. How are you doing?’

  The doctor winced. ‘I’m okay, honestly. It’s just a knock.’

  ‘A knock?’ Harry exclaimed. ‘You were twatted on the bonce with a log! You’re lucky that your skull isn’t cracked!’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ the doctor agreed. ‘Sorry I didn’t get out here quicker. I can’t believe someone would do . . . what they did. Poor Jack.’

  Harry moved to stand beside the doctor. ‘Can you remember what happened?’ he asked, taking out his little notebook.

  ‘My head’s a little fuzzy,’ the doctor said.

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ Harry replied, ‘but if we can get the details down now, that stops you forgetting anything.’

  ‘Right, yes,’ the doctor said. ‘So, what happened . . .’

  Harry watched as the doctor stood up and moved away from the vehicle. When he turned to face Harry, there was more than a hint of determination in his eyes. ‘In your own time.’

  ‘I was talking with Jack,’ the doctor explained. ‘Just going through his drugs, asking how he’d been keeping, if he’d been doing as I’d requested and moved more, that kind of thing. Then he sort of just fell silent, I looked up to see him staring over my head, and then I think that was when I must have been struck, but the next thing I remember is coming to, blood everywhere, seeing Jack, checking him, realising he was gone, then running out here to get you.’

  ‘Where were you in the room?’ Harry asked.

  ‘On the sofa,’ the doctor answered.

  Harry closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the lounge. He could see the sofa, that it was pushed up close to the wall.

  ‘But you just said that Jack stared over your head. The s
ofa is up against the wall.’

  The doctor rubbed his eyes and let out a moan.

  ‘Ah, yes, sorry, memory is fuzzy. I was on the sofa to begin with, then I was down on the floor, to check Jack’s legs.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Harry said. ‘And you saw nothing of the person who hit you?’

  ‘Not a thing,’ the doctor replied. ‘And whatever they hit me with, it certainly put me down quick.’

  Harry thought about what he’d seen, what he’d just been told. If he was looking for the case to get any easier, then what had just happened was only going to do the opposite.

  ‘Something bothering you?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘Yes, I mean, I don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘It’s just that I can’t see why the suspect would sneak up and hit you on the head? Why risk being seen at all? Why not wait until you’d left?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ the doctor said. ‘Maybe I disturbed them or something. All I know is that my head hurts like hell and this shirt will need to be dry cleaned.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ Harry said, slipping his notebook back into his pocket. ‘Now, are you sure you’re alright?’

  The doctor nodded. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’

  ‘You don’t look fine.’

  ‘The head always bleeds a lot,’ the doctor said. ‘You must remember splitting your head open as a kid, then just carrying on with the day as though nothing had happened, the only evidence of it being a plaster on your forehead?’

  Harry laughed. He had many such memories, and not just from being a kid.

  ‘So what now?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘The circus comes to town,’ Harry said. ‘Only it’s not as much fun and the ring keeper is a very serious pathologist who would probably take the easy way out and eat the lions rather than tame them.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the doctor.

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Harry.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Harry was back at the Community Office, his hands clasped around the pint mug of tea Matt had bought for him. The day had rolled on with no consideration for lunch time, and having seen the Scene of Crime team turn up, and heard the grumbles about being called out for the third time in three days to the arse end of nowhere, Harry had watched the comings and goings just long enough to be polite, before heading back to Hawes. Doctor Smith had made the sensible choice of leaving before any of them arrived, having given his statement to Harry. And in front of him now was a plate of sliced cake from Cockett’s and another plate with some crumbly Wensleydale cheese, and standing in front of him was a dapperly dressed man with the build of an ex-rugby player and a smile on him as warm and welcome as a fire on a winter’s day.

  ‘You didn’t have to, Dave,’ Harry said, reaching for a piece of the cake. ‘But it’s very much appreciated.’

  And Harry meant it, about the cake at any rate. The cheese he still wasn’t so sure about, particularly the eating of it with cake.

  Harry had met Dave Calvert on his first day in Hawes. He’d been good enough to give him a lift through town and up to meet Jim at the auction mart. And over the past few weeks, he’d often popped in to see how things were going and how Harry was getting on. He usually brought food with him as well.

  ‘Oh, it’s no bother,’ Dave said. ‘From what I’ve been hearing, it’s pretty tough for you lot here right now. And I’m heading off tomorrow, so thought I’d just pop in and wish you well.’

  ‘Very kind,’ Harry said. ‘So you’re on the rigs, then?’

  ‘Aye, back in a few weeks, mind.’

  Harry sipped his tea. The only other person in the room with them was Jenny, who was taking a statement from someone who had been at the school at the same time as John Capstick and the others. They’d managed to take dozens of statements over the course of the day, not just from those who were in the same class as the deceased, but from other years in the school as well. The rest of the team were out and about. Matt was still up in Marsett, having headed up to be Scene Guard with Jim. Gordy was at the scene as well. She had managed to get a dog team in and, with Jaydn and a number of other uniformed officers that she had called in, was doing a search of the surrounding area to try and find something, anything, that would help. Harry didn’t exactly rate their chances, but it was worth a go. Jim and Liz were doing their level best to show a bit of police presence in town, doing a walk around and a nice bit of face-to-face chit chat with the locals, trying to ensure that everyone felt safe and that they could go about their everyday lives without worrying about being the next victim of whoever was out there gradually killing their way through the members of a late seventies gang of children.

  ‘Folk are getting jumpy,’ Dave said, grabbing a seat. ‘Can’t blame them, either. All sounds pretty terrible, like. What makes you want to a job like this, then?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Harry said, as a hard knock hammered at the door and in walked two men with gun bags hung from their shoulders.

  ‘Right, who’s in charge, then?’

  The question was from the one on the left, the older of the two at around sixty, Harry guessed. He was wearing green boots and a blue boiler suit covered in oil stains. And on his head was a flat cap defying all physical laws by managing to somehow cling on at an impossible angle.

  ‘I am,’ Harry said, his eyes on the gun bags. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘It’s the other way round,’ the old man said. ‘We’ve come to ask you the same thing.’

  The younger of the two stepped forward then. He was dressed in exactly the same clothes as the older man, except that his boots were black and instead of a flat cap he was wearing a bright red wooly hat.

  ‘Me and my dad,’ he said, ‘we’ve been talking with folk down at the pub, like. Reckon we can help. There’s a few others who are keen as well, you know, to do the right thing.’

  ‘Help?’ Harry said. ‘With what?’

  ‘The murderer!’ the old man said. ‘We reckon you need a hand and people need to feel safe, like, in their own homes, don’t they? So we thought we might just drive around a bit, see if we spot anything, that kind of thing.’

  Harry’s eyes were still on the gun cases. ‘That’s a very kind offer,’ he said, ‘but this is a police matter. The best thing you can do is to leave us to do what we’re paid to do.’

  ‘But there’s not many of you, now, is there?’ the younger man stated. ‘A few of us can be out patrolling, like. It’s no bother.’

  Harry remembered then what Matt had told him about people panicking. For some it had clearly upped a gear into getting a posse together.

  ‘I understand that,’ Harry said, doing his best to sound calm, ‘but we can’t have people taking the law into their own hands. I hope you can understand that.’

  ‘All I can understand is that we’ve got a psycho out there,’ the old man said, raising his voice, ‘and you buggers haven’t caught him yet!’

  Harry went to speak, but another voice joined in.

  ‘Come on now, Eric,’ Dave said, rising to his feet to stand beside Harry. ‘You need to be sensible. I don’t think we need you or anyone else driving around looking to take a pot shot at someone with that, do you?’

  Dave pointed at the gun bag on the older man’s shoulder.

  ‘This is just for show,’ the older man replied.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Dave said. ‘Police work is best left to the police.’ He then looked at the younger man. ‘Reckon you should take your dad home, Danny, before he does himself or anyone else a mischief.’

  The younger man bristled a little at Dave’s words.

  ‘Who are you to be telling us what to do, eh?’

  Dave, Harry noticed then, seemed to grow in size, as he stepped forward just enough to force the other two men to take a step back.

  ‘A friend,’ Dave said. ‘As you well know, isn’t that right, Eric?’

  Harry watched Eric give the faintest of nods.

  ‘Good, now be on your way, then,’ Dave
said. ‘And leave the nice policeman here to do his job.’

  The two men paused for a moment then turned back to the door. As they reached it, Dave called out, ‘Best you let everyone else know that the police don’t need any help, okay?’

  The two men nodded, then were gone.

  Harry sucked in a deep breath and let out a long, thankful sigh.

  ‘Can’t say I was expecting that,’ he said.

  ‘Their hearts are in the right place,’ Dave said.

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Harry agreed.

  ‘Now then,’ Dave said, ‘about this long story you mentioned. Just how long is it, then?’

  Harry laughed. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘I measure time in pints,’ Dave said. ‘Are we talking just one or two, or six plus?’

  ‘Oh, definitely six plus,’ Harry said. ‘Possibly even ten.’

  ‘Right, well then, when I’m back, we’ll go out and have a good old chinwag, how’s that sound?’

  ‘It sounds great,’ Harry said, as Jenny finished off her interview. ‘Just out of interest, how local are you, Dave?’

  ‘Local enough, but not too much,’ Dave replied. ‘I was born over in Middleham. You been over that way yet? You should pop down if you’ve not. It’s a smashing place. Even has its own castle if you like that sort of thing. And horses. Lots and lots of horses. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Something happened at the school in Hawes,’ Harry explained. ‘Years ago now, late seventies. I’m trying to find out what it is or was.’

  Dave looked thoughtful. ‘Late seventies? It was a hell of a winter in seventy-nine, that I do remember.’

  ‘So I keep hearing.’