Best Served Cold: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

by David J Gatward

  ‘They were kids,’ Harry said. ‘And if what you said is true, then as tragic as it was, it was never intended, Sally’s death, I mean. They didn’t set out that day to see her die.’

  Mr Rawson visibly bristled at this.

  ‘How can you sit there and say that? They chased her! They scared her! She fell into the river because of them! They killed her! I lost my wife, my son!’

  ‘And you decided, seeing as you were running out of time, to go after them.’

  ‘Exactly that!’ Mr Rawson snapped. ‘So, are you going to arrest me or not?’

  Harry was thoughtful for a moment. ‘You’ve not told me how you killed them,’ he said. ‘And you’ve not explained why you’ve stopped now. I mean, there are six in the gang, aren’t there? Why stop if you blame them all for what they did?’

  ‘I don’t have to explain anything to anyone!’ Mr Rawson said, anger in his eyes. ‘We all of us died that day Sally fell into the river! Those boys, they got away with it! It was called an accident, a tragic event, and life just moved on for everyone else. But not for us! No, not for me! It couldn’t! I bloody well wouldn’t let it!’

  ‘But it’s still a leap,’ Harry said. ‘From all that, all those years ago, to murder, now. And I’m just not buying it. Because they’re not just murders, are they? What you did, I mean, there’s a lot more to it.’

  Harry saw Jenny swing round to stare at him.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Harry said, looking to Jenny, ‘we have to arrest him. We can’t not arrest him, not after what he’s said. But there’s just one thing I just don’t get . . .’ He turned his attention back to Mr Rawson. ‘Your third victim, Jack Iveson. Why did you risk it?’

  ‘Risk what?’

  ‘Ignoring the fact that I doubt you’re strong enough to twist open a barley sugar, never mind put a choke hold on a grown man, the first two victims were alone when murdered. Not only that, their deaths were clearly planned down to the last detail. Jack though? There was someone else there, wasn’t there? The doctor, attending to Jack? And you still went for it! Took him out first before you could have a go at Jack! Why? Why not just wait until he’d gone?’

  ‘Jack had it coming,’ Mr Rawson said. ‘I was there. I had to get it done!’

  ‘But a rolling pin, though,’ Harry said. ‘You could’ve stoved his skull in!’

  Mr Rawson paused, his eyes flickering just enough for Harry to notice.

  ‘It was the first thing that came to hand!’ Mr Rawson said. ‘I wasn’t really thinking.’

  ‘And that’s the problem,’ Harry said. ‘Right there. Because this, whoever’s doing it, they do a lot of thinking. In fact, I reckon they’ve been thinking about it for years and years. Just like you. And then it’s all come to a head, the fantasy spilling out into reality, perhaps.’

  Harry stood up. ‘Jenny, you can do the official arresting business, and that means you’re going to have to take him up to Harrogate. You okay with that?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jenny replied.

  ‘What about the others? Where are they?’

  ‘Jadyn and Matt have eyes on Swales, Ellis and Smith.’

  ‘All at once?’

  ‘They decided it was safer to stick together,’ Jenny said.

  ‘And Jim and Liz are still out in town?’

  Jenny nodded.

  ‘Give them a call,’ Harry said. ‘I want Jim to meet me in the station car park, behind the Ropemakers. And I want Liz here with you.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming to Harrogate? You heard the confession.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Harry said. ‘And I want you to hang fire on that for a while. You mind doing that? Babysit Mr Rawson with Liz until I give you a call?’

  ‘Why?’

  Harry turned and made for the door. ‘I’m going to catch me a killer.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Harry saw the welcome sight of Jim swinging his vehicle into the car park and flashing his headlights. As Jim pulled in beside him, he jumped out of his vehicle and jogged around to speak to the PCSO.

  ‘First,’ Harry said, ‘what did you find at the surgery? Anything?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jim said. ‘But one of the women there, she asked what it was I was looking for, and I said about what you’d found in the school logbooks.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And she said she remembered her mum saying something about a girl who drowned years ago. Said she was pretty sure that her mum had made it up just to scare her into not messing around in the beck. Didn’t happen at the school though.’

  ‘Well,’ Harry said, ‘she wasn’t making it up.’

  At this, Jim’s eyebrows scrunched together. ‘Seriously? And you’re saying it’s got something to do with all of this?’

  ‘Very much so,’ Harry said. ‘Now, how do you fancy coming along to help me check on our good friend, the doctor? He had a little accident earlier, as you know. Thought we should see how he is. Show the caring side of the police, that kind of thing.’

  Harry watched as Jim’s face moved from serious contemplation to abject confusion.

  ‘Er, yes, I guess so,’ Jim said. ‘And that’s why you called me down here?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ Harry said. ‘Is there a problem?’

  Jim quickly shook his head. ‘No, not at all, it’s just that, you know, that’s the crime scene, and, well, I’m sure the doctor is alright.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Harry said. ‘Come on then, out you get!’

  Harry strode off, not waiting, and heard Jim scramble out of his Land Rover, slam the door, and jog over to catch him up.

  ‘You okay?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Never better,’ Harry said, staring ahead. ‘You?’

  ‘Er, yes, I’m fine,’ Jim said.

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ said Harry. ‘Then we’re both just peachy then, aren’t we?’

  At the top of the road, with the Ropemakers on their left, Harry swung right, crossed Brunt Acres Road, and then made his way over to the surgery. Inside, he saw the receptionist glance up and roll his eyes.

  ‘Hello!’ Harry said. ‘We’re back! And you’ll be pleased to know that I’m much, much better now.’

  ‘I’m afraid that Doctor Smith is with a patient,’ the receptionist said.

  ‘And how is the doctor?’ Harry asked. ‘You know, after what happened?’

  ‘Fine I’m sure,’ the receptionist replied. ‘If you would be good enough to take a seat?’

  ‘So he’s not dizzy or anything?’ Harry asked. ‘He’s been alright to get straight back to work?’

  ‘Of course!’ the receptionist said. ‘It was just a little bump from what I gather. That was all. Nothing serious. Now, if you could . . .?’ He gestured to some empty seats against the wall.

  ‘Over there?’ Harry said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Those chairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’ll tell him we’re here? It’s police business after all. We just have to check up on him, as I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘He will be with you as soon as he can, I’m sure,’ the receptionist said, then picked up the phone and, Harry was pretty sure, proceeded to dial a number that didn’t actually exist. And as he did so, Harry turned to the doors leading through to the consultation rooms beyond, and marched on through, with Jim right behind him.

  ‘Hey! You can’t do that!’ shouted the receptionist. ‘You can’t! I’ll . . . I’ll call the police!’

  ‘We’re already here!’ Harry shouted back, and a few strides later was outside Doctor Smith’s door.

  Harry knocked.

  ‘I have a patient!’ the doctor replied sharply, clearly irritated by the interruption.

  ‘My apologies,’ Harry called through the closed door. ‘We’re just here to check up on you, that’s all. It’s a procedural thing, what with what happened. And I’ve a few questions I need to ask.’

  Harry listened at the door to the sounds of scuffling and a muffled apology to whoever t
he doctor was with.

  ‘Look, I’m really sorry about this,’ Harry said through the door. ‘This won’t take long. You’re a busy man, I know. Very busy indeed.’

  The door opened and out bustled an old lady wearing far too much make up and enough layers to keep her dry and warm at the North Pole. She tutted as she shuffled away.

  ‘Grimm,’ the doctor smiled. ‘Come in, come in. Sit down, please.’

  Harry walked past the doctor and into the room, Jim behind him. He noticed that the doctor now had a small plaster on his forehead, the edge of it coming away just enough to grab a hold of. He’d changed, too, which was fair enough. There had been an awful lot of blood, remembered Harry. But where was that bruising the pathologist had seemed pretty adamant should be there, too?

  ‘Please, sit down,’ the doctor said. ‘Now, how can I help?’

  Harry sat down and really made a point of getting himself comfortable. He shuffled to the left, to the right, really hunkered down into the chair, like he was settling in for what was left of the day. ‘Just thought we’d come and check up on you,’ Harry began. ‘It was quite a time of it, wasn’t it, up in the village?’

  ‘What? Marsett? Oh, yes, it was indeed,’ the doctor said, then a pained look scratched across his face and he rubbed his head. ‘Can’t say I was expecting to be hit on the head!’

  ‘No, I dare say you weren’t,’ Harry said, and leaned forward a little. ‘And that’s where you were hit was it? On your forehead there?’

  The doctor glanced up, as though by doing so he could see the injury himself. ‘It’s nothing, honestly,’ he said.

  ‘And you’ve felt alright ever since?’

  ‘I’ve been fine,’ the doctor replied. ‘But it’s exceedingly kind of you to ask.’

  Harry turned to Jim and said, ‘You were up at the crime scene, am I right, PCSO Metcalf?’

  ‘I was,’ Jim said.

  ‘And I understand that the pathologist gave you a good overview of what she found?’

  ‘Yes, she did, actually,’ Jim said, sitting up straight now.

  ‘Did she say anything about the intruder? The person who clobbered the doctor, here, before getting to work on poor old Jack Iveson?’

  Jim turned thoughtful for just long enough, which made Harry smile inside, because the lad had obviously caught on to what it was they were doing. ‘She did,’ he said at last. ‘Told me that you were hit with a log. Is that right?’

  The doctor nodded and Jim looked back at Harry.

  ‘To be honest, I was expecting worse,’ Jim said. ‘The pathologist said she would expect whoever had been hit by the log to be in a pretty bad way. Bruises, perhaps even a fractured skull.’

  ‘I must’ve been lucky, then,’ the doctor said. ‘I’m fine, I really am. Now, is there anything else?’

  ‘Can you remember how you were hit?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You know, when whoever it was smashed you over the head with a chunk of tree? Was it hard? Did it crash into and feel like your neck was going to snap? Did it knock you across the floor? What?’

  The doctor’s face shifted from bemusement to irritation to forced thoughtfulness. ‘It, well, it was hard enough to knock me out,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly!’ Harry said, raising a finger. ‘So it must have come in very hard indeed, the kind of attack that would take you off your feet for sure, and send you sprawling. Right?’

  ‘Yes, right,’ the doctor agreed. ‘That’s what happened. I mean, I don’t really remember, because I was knocked out by it, but that seems to make sense, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You tell me, doctor,’ Harry said. ‘Does it make sense that being thwacked over the head with a massive log left you with nothing but a wound small enough for a plaster no bigger than a stick of gum?’

  The doctor shrugged. ‘That’s medicine for you,’ he said. ‘It’s not an exact science. Is there anything else?’

  Harry leaned back and folded his hands together on his lap. ‘Yes, there is, actually,’ he said. ‘And I thought, seeing as you had been on the receiving end of that nasty bit of the old violence there, that it was only right that you were told.’

  ‘Told what?’

  Harry pulled out his phone, flicked through his contacts, and punched in a call. ‘Jenny? Yeah, it’s Grimm. Could you do me a favour, please? Would you and Liz mind just bringing our guest down to the surgery? Yes, that’s what I said. Just park up outside if you will. That would be great.’

  ‘We caught him,’ Harry said, slipping his phone away and looking back at the doctor. ‘The person responsible, I mean. Well, I say caught, what I actually mean is that he just turned up out of the blue and handed himself in! Gave a full confession. Quite surprised me, if I’m honest. Doesn’t usually happen.’

  ‘A confession?’ the doctor asked. ‘Someone’s admitted to the murders? Who? Why?’

  ‘You see,’ Harry said, ignoring the doctor’s questions, and leaning forward, ‘a confession is a very serious thing. An admission of guilt isn’t something most people are up to providing. Well, not the kind who have gone to the length of planning that we’ve seen this week, anyway. Wouldn’t you agree, PCSO Metcalf?’

  Jim gave a firm nod and said, ‘Actually, most suspects are usually found close to the scene and pretty quickly, too. But then most murders are spur of the moment things, acts of passion, the heat of the moment. That’s right, isn’t it, Boss?’

  Harry nodded in agreement. ‘And this isn’t that, is it?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ Jim replied. ‘It isn’t. Not by a long shot.’

  ‘And you think they did it, do you?’ the doctor asked. ‘This person who’s confessed. You think that they’re really guilty?’

  ‘We’ve no reason to suspect otherwise,’ Harry said. ‘Though obviously we need to cross reference a lot of things, look at the evidence in detail, check the confession. There’s a lot to do. A great deal to do in fact, isn’t there, PCSO Metcalf?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Jim. ‘A lot.’

  ‘For a start,’ Harry said, ‘we need to be absolutely sure that the suspect is actually capable of the murders. Physically, I mean. Motive is one thing, for sure, but I think you’ll agree, if you remember what happened to poor old John Capstick, well, there was a lot of effort involved, wasn’t there? Moving him can’t have been easy. You’d need to be strong to do that, wouldn’t you?’

  Harry stared at the doctor, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to keep you from it,’ the doctor said. ‘I really do appreciate you stopping by.’

  ‘And that’s where the problem is, you see,’ Harry continued, talking over the doctor now. ‘The suspect, he’s eighty-one years old! And I’m not convinced. What do you think, PCSO Metcalf?’

  ‘I can’t see it, myself,’ Jim said, shaking his head. ‘But, you know, a confession is a confession. Got to be taken seriously.’

  ‘Indeed it has,’ Harry nodded. ‘Interrogation. Hours and hours in those horrible little cells. And they can be royally cold, too. I once heard that someone went to use the toilet and it was so cold that their arse froze to the pan. Imagine that!’

  ‘Not a place I’d want to be,’ Jim said. ‘Not at all.’

  Harry rose to his feet, Jim beside him doing the same. ‘Anyway, Doctor, thanks for your help,’ he said, and held out his left hand towards the doctor. ‘It was very much appreciated.’

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ Doctor Smith smiled, reaching out with his left hand as well to shake Harry’s. ‘Not a problem at all, I’m sure.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to hear,’ Harry said and gripped the doctor’s hand good and hard, giving it a nice little extra squeeze for good measure. ‘Now, how’s about you tell us how you injured that other wrist of yours, eh?’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Time slowed.

  Harry was suddenly very, very aware of the sound of his own blood pumping through his head, his own breath, the squeak of his shoes. H
e had the doctor’s hand in his, and they were staring at each other, watching, waiting.

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’ the doctor said.

  ‘Your wrist,’ Harry asked. ‘Your right wrist. You said it was an old injury. How did you get it?’

  ‘I don’t really remember,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s a long time ago.’

  ‘A very long time indeed, I should say,’ Harry said, pulling the doctor a little closer, feeling the resistance there. He looked down at the doctor’s hand, sensing the strength in it, and noticed something.

  ‘Look, I’m busy . . .’

  ‘Are you naturally bald?’ Harry asked.

  The doctor’s eyes grew wide. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your massive, shiny pate,’ Harry said, nodding towards the other man’s head. ‘Is it natural, or do you shave? What do you think, PCSO Metcalf?’

  ‘Hard to tell,’ Jim replied. ‘I’m sure there’s a test we could run.’

  ‘You’re being awfully personal now,’ the doctor complained, and Harry felt the man try to pull his hand back.

  ‘I only ask,’ Harry continued, ‘because your hands, your wrists, well, they look strangely hairless as well, wouldn’t you agree, PCSO Metcalf?’

  Jim leaned in for a closer look. ‘They do that, like,’ he said. ‘Smooth, I’d say.’

  ‘Bet you don’t leave hairs anywhere, do you?’ Harry said. ‘Except in your own shower, obviously. But elsewhere, out and about? Probably not.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ the doctor snapped. ‘If there’s anything further you need to discuss, then you will have to come back tomorrow.’

  Harry didn’t let go of the man’s hand. ‘There’s something you need to know about me,’ he said. ‘And it’s this: I don’t take kindly to being taken for a fool.’

  ‘I’ll second that,’ Jim added.

  ‘I never said you were,’ the doctor replied.

  ‘No, but you implied it,’ Harry said, then he quickly reached out and snatched the little plaster from the doctor’s forehead.

  ‘What the hell . . .?’ the doctor yelped.