‘Bloody freezing it was. River was iced over and folk were skating on it. Villages were cut off. It was pretty harsh. That any help?’
‘Haven’t the faintest idea,’ Harry replied. ‘But I’ll let you know if that information helps me crack the case.’
Dave laughed. ‘Right, I’ll be off, then. See you when I get back. And we’ll go for those pints, okay?’
And with that, the big man was gone.
‘So, just you and me then,’ Jenny called over, and gave a brief wave to Harry. ‘How you doing?’
‘Rubbish, if I’m honest,’ Harry said.
‘And the running?’
‘Don’t ask.’
Jenny walked over to sit with Harry.
‘A little bird tells me you have, in many ways, been eating a right load of old shite this week, am I right?’
Harry groaned. It was all well and good being in a place where everyone knew everyone else, because it felt friendly and welcoming. It also meant that you couldn’t really keep secrets.
‘Who told?’ Harry asked.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Jenny said. ‘But you can’t exercise and expect to get into shape if you’re not eating properly.’
‘I am eating properly,’ Harry said, and took a huge bite from a slice of cake. ‘See?’ he said, when it was finished, ‘I didn’t drop a single crumb. Amazing!’
‘Yeah, pure talent,’ Jenny said. ‘But I’m serious.’
‘I know you are,’ Harry said. ‘And I appreciate your concern. But I’ve other things on my mind right now.’
‘Well, exercise is good for stress,’ Jenny said. ‘You have to make time for it.’
She had a point, Harry knew, but time was one thing he really didn’t have.
A knock at the door butted into the moment and Harry looked up to see a shadow on the other side of the door. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked. ‘We expecting anyone?’
‘No, we’re not,’ Jenny said, and rose to her feet to walk over to the door.
When she opened it the shadow on the other side stood there for a moment before entering the room. At which point, Harry’s phone buzzed.
‘Grimm,’ Harry barked.
‘Sowerby,’ came the sharp reply. ‘And I just need to check if this is going to be a full week of crime scenes or if I am actually able to make other plans?’
Harry hoped there was more to her call than mere insult. Though he couldn’t really blame her. ‘Well, if you’ve any further evidence that you think will help us identify who’s responsible, that would be a great help,’ he said.
‘And do you always make a mess of a crime scene?’ the pathologist asked.
‘There’s nothing wrong with the crime scene!’ Harry said. ‘In fact, I didn’t touch anything. Not a thing!’
‘You walked through it, though, didn’t you?’ Sowerby replied. ‘Oh, and your PCSO has already left. He’s actually rather nice, you know. Polite. You could learn a thing or two there. And I’ve updated him on everything as well. I know that’s not the normal way of doing things, but I was hoping it would avoid my having to talk to you so soon. Clearly, I misjudged.’
‘I checked on the victim,’ Harry said, ‘and then chased after a suspect.’
‘Who mysteriously vanished.’
Harry composed himself. He was going to have to learn how to work with Rebecca Sowerby because so far he wasn’t doing so well at it. ‘So, have you got anything?’ he asked. ‘You know, from the crime scene. Anything at all? How he was killed, anything like that? Or is this just a social call?’
Harry heard the sharp intake of breath from the other end of the phone.
‘There’s a lot of blood and none of it is his,’ the pathologist said.
‘Who’s?’ Harry asked.
‘The victim’s,’ came the reply.
‘I know, it’s the doctor’s,’ Harry agreed.
‘He was smashed over the head with a log by all accounts,’ Sowerby said. ‘And with the size of that thing coming down on him, he won’t just have a cut or two. There would be bruising and a possible fracture as well, I should guess. Though how it happened at all is anyone’s guess.’
‘What?’ Harry asked. ‘How do you mean it’s anyone’s guess?’
‘It’s quite simple,’ Sowerby explained. ‘You smash someone over the head hard enough to create that amount of blood, then you have blood spatter, correct?’
‘Yes, correct,’ Harry agreed. Everyone knew that, so why was she asking him?
‘Well, there wasn’t or isn’t any. Like none.’
‘But the blood,’ Harry said, ‘I saw it.’
‘Yes you did. And there’s a lot of it. But the spray pattern doesn’t match what’s supposed to have happened, you know, with someone battering the doctor over the head.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Harry said. ‘What are you actually saying? That he wasn’t hit over the head? Because I was there! I saw what I saw!’
‘All I’m saying,’ said the pathologist, ‘is that it’s not what you’d expect. Perhaps he was clobbered and then the blood got thrown everywhere as he stumbled out. That might work.’
Harry’s brain had stalled, and his voice.
‘You still there?’
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘But he was attacked! Maybe you’ve missed something?’
The laugh down the line was a mix of anger and disgust that Harry could suggest such a thing.
‘Where is he now? The doctor? Hospital?’
‘He headed off,’ Harry said. ‘I took his statement.’
‘What, he drove? And you just let him? Are you mad? He can’t have been in any fit state to! At all!’
Harry thought back to the doctor, the blood that had covered him when he’d stumbled out of the Jack Iveson’s front door, then how he’d found him after chasing through the house. ‘Well, he seemed fine,’ he said. ‘And he was in a better position to judge than me, don’t you think? Being a doctor and all.’
The line was quiet for a second or two.
‘He was poisoned,’ Sowerby said. ‘And by the looks of things the MO was the same: incapacitated with a choke hold, then whatever it was that killed him was poured down his throat.’
Harry remembered the Apache film and poison fitted in as the third death. ‘Anything else?’
‘No, of course there isn’t anything else!’ the pathologist snapped. ‘Except for another sodding eagle feather, as with the others. I’ve the autopsy to perform, and the place is being combed for evidence. As for the dog? It found nothing. So whoever it was that was here and attacked your doctor friend, well they pretty much upped and flew away.’
‘Well, thanks for that,’ Harry said. ‘I’m now more confused than ever.’
‘I think everyone would prefer it if you weren’t,’ came the reply and then the line fell quiet.
Harry dropped his phone into his pocket, baffled now, more than ever. So what had exactly happened at the house? He’d seen the doctor, the injury, the blood! But the blood spatter – or lack of it – didn’t lie. He needed coffee. And lots of it.
‘Harry?’
Jenny’s voice dragged Harry back into the moment.
‘Yes? What is it?’
Harry glanced over to the detective constable to see that she was standing with a man of around eighty years old, judging by the usual giveaway signs, such as the receding grey hair, stooped walk, all beige clothing, and a walking stick. But whereas the ravages of time were more than apparent on his body, the man’s eyes still burned with a ferocious youth, and they swept around to stare not just at Harry, but through him, seeking him out like the piercing beam of a searchlight.
‘Who’s in charge here?’ the old man asked.
‘I am,’ Harry said, a little stunned by the tone of the old man’s voice. ‘DCI Grimm.’
‘Oh, so that is actually your real name,’ the old man said with the faintest hint of a chuckle creasing up the corners of his mouth. ‘I thought someone was having me on.’
‘No, sadly not,’ H
arry said. ‘Real name, and the face to go with it. Would you like to sit down and then DC Blades here will take your details.’
The man slipped further into the room, his steps careful and measured, and sat down in front of Jenny. ‘My name’s Allan,’ he said, ‘Allan Rawson. I’m eighty-one years old. And I’ve come to hand myself in.’
‘For what?’ Harry asked, the words the old man had just used causing his mind to grind to a halt, like he was trying to crunch a gearstick into the wrong gear. ‘What possible crime could you have committed?’
Harry wanted to laugh, regardless of how unprofessional it would seem.
‘What do you think?’ Allan said. ‘The murders of course!’
For Harry, time stalled, spluttered, then stopped completely. Had he really just heard correctly? This old man, who clearly had trouble walking, had honestly, truly, come in to confess to murder? It didn’t make sense! And there was a good reason for that, mainly the fact that it was total bollocks. It had to be! But they still had to hear him out, regardless. He’d dealt with time wasters before, people who were just a bit mad, or who wanted to make themselves sound notorious, usually a mix of both. Old Mr Allan Rawson wasn’t exactly ticking either of those boxes. Not yet, anyway.
‘So, you’re saying you’re here to confess,’ Harry said. ‘To murder. Are you sure about that? And about what you’re actually saying?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ Mr Rawson said. ‘Do you think I just came in here to waste your time and mine? It’s not like I’ve got much of the stuff left to waste, now, is it? Trust me, the older you get, the more valuable time is! So, shall we just get on with it?’
Harry looked over to Jenny, his left eyebrow well and truly raised.
‘We can’t really take a confession here,’ Harry explained. ‘This needs to be done properly, in Harrogate. It needs to be recorded, that kind of thing, I’m sure you understand.’
Mr Rawson bristled at this, pulling himself up nice and straight in his chair. ‘There’s been enough killing,’ he said. ‘I’ve decided it has to stop. And I’m going to confess here and now whether you like it or not!’
Harry held up a hand in an attempt to calm the old man down. ‘I’ll record it on my phone,’ he said, pulling it from a pocket to show Mr Rawson. Then, after a minute or two of fumbling with the thing to try and navigate the numerous screens and menus, so that he could actually do what he’d said, he gave up and looked over to Jenny.
‘Here,’ Jenny said, pulling out her own phone and quickly flipping through to the right screen to record what Mr Rawson wanted to say. ‘Just speak when you’re ready.’
Mr Rawson edged forward on his seat, shuffled a bit to get comfortable, then started to tell them all about what had happened in the winter of nineteen seventy-nine.
Chapter Thirty
‘We moved here, you see, in seventy-eight. It wasn’t for the work, a promotion, anything like that. Back then, the dales, well it wasn’t exactly a rich seam of employment begging to be mined, if you know what I mean. There was a bit of tourism, but really, it didn’t offer that much to anyone moving in. You either had to have a job you could do at home, or have a job that you were happy to travel miles to do. And I had the former, you see. I was a salesman, and a bloody good one, too. Paper of all things, if you can believe that. Made me more than enough to move us here and justify my time away on the road. But like I said, it’s not because of any of that. No, it was because of Sally.’
‘Sally?’ Harry asked. ‘And she was your wife?’
Mr Rawson shook his head and Harry saw the sadness in the movement, as though a weight was slowing it down. ‘My daughter,’ he sighed. She was a wonderful little girl, you know? The brightest eyes, and a laugh that could bring you back from a coma. God, she was . . .’
Harry heard the break in the man’s voice, the words crumbling as he tried to force them out.
‘Anyway,’ Mr Rawson said, shuffling himself in his chair and pulling himself upright, ‘it was because of Sally that we moved here. We had lived in the city, you see? Down south, Cambridge. Properly busy it was. Obviously nothing like it is now, but even then, it was a bustling place. Beautiful, yes, but busy.’
‘And that’s why you moved?’ Jenny asked, and it was at this point he noticed that she was taking notes.
Mr Rawson nodded. ‘It was too much for Sally, you see? The sound, the crowds, all of it. It was just too much for her and her needs. Of course, back then, we didn’t really know what they were, no one did. And that bloody school!’
Rage tore into the old man’s words and Harry saw a glimpse of what he must have been like as a younger man. He was more than a little pleased that he hadn’t been around to deal with him back then.
‘What about the school?’ Harry asked.
‘They thought she was a problem child,’ Mr Rawson sneered. ‘Kept telling us that she was causing trouble, doing things wrong on purpose, even fighting! Our Sally? Fighting? If you’d have met her you’d have seen she could never fight. She was built like a sparrow! But no, she was a problem, an issue, and would you believe it, other parents were starting to complain!’
‘So that’s why you moved then, yes?’ Jenny said, repeating herself. ‘To take Sally out of the school?’
‘And it was a private bloody school, too!’ Mr Rawson’s voice was quiet, but anger burned in it. ‘Happy to take my money so long as my children weren’t a problem, but oh no, as soon as Sally was found to be not like all the others, that was it, wasn’t it? And the other parents! How dare they! Them and their precious little offspring! All of them, bastards! And they said they were our friends, too, you know? What kind of friend asks for your child to be taken out of school? I’ll tell you: no friend of mine!’
Harry wasn’t really sure where the story was going, but he couldn’t help but be drawn in. Whatever he was telling them, he had no doubt that so far it was all true, that much was clear from the passion with which it was being told, the little details that if someone was making it up would probably forget to include.
‘We took her to a specialist,’ Mr Rawson said, his voice calm again. ‘Ran lots of tests on little Sally, told us she was autistic. Said that the best thing for her was to get to some place quiet.’
‘I didn’t know that was a thing,’ Harry said. ‘With autism, I mean. I thought it was just a learning disability.’
‘Learning need,’ Mr Rawson corrected. ‘And it is very much a thing it turns out. Everyday noises that you and I take for granted? Well, for Sally, they were very painful. They’d intrude into her life and she’d be overwhelmed. That was why she played up at school, because it all sort of just built up, and then she’d lose it, I suppose.’
‘Sensory overload, then,’ Jenny said.
‘Exactly that, yes,’ Mr Rawson said. ‘Hugely stressful for her, and for all of us. So we moved. Sold up, told that school where to stick its fees, and came here, to Wensleydale.’
‘Why did you pick here, then?’ Harry asked. ‘It’s a hell of a long way from Cambridge.’
‘Well, that’s one reason,’ Mr Rawson answered. ‘Another was because we’d had a holiday up this way. It was the happiest we’d ever seen Sally. So it seemed to make sense. And it did, for a while.’
Harry saw the opening in what Mr Rawson was saying, the hint at what was to come, the reason for him having come to speak to them in the first place. ‘So what happened?’ he asked.
‘We bought a lovely little place up in Gayle,’ Mr Rawson said. ‘Far enough away from the main roads, but close enough to be a part of the community, because we thought that was important too, you see? We didn’t what Sally to be overprotected. No, she needed, we all did, to be a part of the place we’d moved to, so we could call it home.’
‘And was it?’ Jenny asked. ‘Home, that is?’
Mr Rawson smiled then and Harry saw that it was born of memories still very much at the surface of his mind.
‘Very much so, yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a wonderful pl
ace, isn’t it? You can’t not come here and forever have a piece of it with you. And Sally was so much happier! It was quieter, so much more space, none of the hustle and bustle. It was all fresh air, fields, countryside. We were so happy.’
‘Were,’ Harry said. ‘Something changed that, then?’
Harry watched as the old man sunk back into his chair, as though pushed down by something, and a shadow fell across him, and for a moment he stared off into the distance, a storm gathering behind his eyes. It was a look Harry had seen before, the thousand-yard stare they’d called it back in the Paras, the look a soldier has when they’ve been in the thick of a fire fight, rounds zipping past, people shouting, people screaming, people dying. It was a stare he’d used himself too many times, far too many times.
‘Sally was very happy at her new school, here in Hawes,’ Mr Rawson said. ‘The teachers were lovely, really supportive, and so were the children. They sort of just took her in and looked after her, you know? It was wonderful. We’d never seen her like that before. And when we would go to pick her up she would be smiling! Can you imagine it? Smiling after a day of school! I can still see her now, every day, that smile. God, I miss it.’
Mr Rawson paused again, leant forward, his hands clasped together and resting on the table. A shudder ran through him and the faintest sound of a muffled cry slipped from his mouth.
Jenny reached out, placing a hand onto his. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘In your own time.’
Harry stared at this little action. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d ever seen happen in a police interview before and wasn’t really sure it should be encouraged. But there was something in it which demonstrated to him the kind of police officer Jenny was, and it wasn’t just down to being professional. No. She was more than that. She actually damn well cared, Harry saw. And what more could you ask for?
‘I’m sorry,’ Mr Rawson said. ‘It’s years ago now, I know, but it may as well be yesterday.’
The room fell silent for a moment until Mr Rawson spoke again.
‘They showed this film,’ he explained. ‘At school. To the whole school, would you believe? Some new initiative by the then government to warn children of the dangers of being on a farm.’
Best Served Cold: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel Page 20