On Laughton Moor

by On Laughton Moor (epub)

  Kelly crept downstairs and into the living room where she found her mum’s mobile on the coffee table. Sure enough, the last call the phone had received was from a mobile number that afternoon. It must be his. Quickly, she typed:

  Thank u. Kelly W

  She pressed send immediately, not giving herself time to change her mind.

  * * *

  Knight was used to lying awake and had resigned himself to another sleepless night. Having DS Bishop in the house was strange too, and though she had seemed the perfect house guest so far, she wasn’t a relative or a friend, she was a colleague, a junior colleague at that, and therefore not someone Knight would normally have offered his spare bedroom to. However, he’d seen how much the first message from the crime scene and then the pictures she’d received at home had shaken her, so what could he have done? Her sexuality at least made gossip around the station less likely if anyone should find out she had spent the night at the new DI’s house. Not, thought Knight, thumping his pillow, that it was any business of anyone else’s anyway, but like any workplace, police stations were abuzz with gossip. Knight’s mobile, on the bedside cabinet next to him, lit up with a double beep indicating the arrival of a text message. Knight groaned and rolled over, fumbling for the phone. Reading the short message from Kelly Whitcham, he sighed. He should have thought that allowing her to use his mobile would mean she would have access to his number. She had thanked him several times that afternoon, not that he wanted thanks, and he certainly didn’t want to be exchanging texts with someone who still had to be considered as a suspect in a murder enquiry. He remembered how she’d looked when she opened the door, defensive but challenging, as if almost daring him to expect her to be devastated by Pollard’s death, or to comment on the place she and her children were living in. Knight knew a full statement had been taken from her; he’d read it, but he’d wanted to see her himself to gain his own impressions. Though she’d said she wasn’t sorry Pollard was dead, Knight knew the first days after a violent death were a turmoil of emotion. Eventually the enormity of what had happened, or possibly what she had done, would break through the initial shock. He thought about the way she had led him through to the almost bare kitchen, pride making her matter of fact, her embarrassment hidden under resentment. Knight hoped she would make a new start; she was young and obviously intelligent. Could be attractive too, Knight admitted. He replaced his phone on the cabinet and turned over to again try to sleep. He wouldn’t reply to her message.

  * * *

  The sound of a text message being received came faintly through the wall. Catherine Bishop wondered who would be sending DI Knight a text this late. He must surely have friends and she knew now he had a sister. Perhaps he did have a partner after all; she might be working away or visiting friends. She hadn’t seen any evidence that a woman lived in the house so far though, or a man, or anyone other than Jonathan Knight himself. Maybe he was single after all, living alone as she and many of the other officers she knew were. She took her own mobile phone from under the pillow and hesitantly typed a text of her own, choosing Louise as the recipient:

  I miss u

  She’d probably regret sending it, but it had been a strange day and trying to get some sleep in the house of her boss wasn’t making the day any more typical. Anyway, she did miss Louise, and what harm could it do to tell her so? They’d kept in touch since Louise had moved out and Catherine was fairly sure Louise was still single. She hoped so anyway. She wouldn’t have admitted it to Louise herself, but she still hoped they might get back together at some point. Just when that might be wasn’t clear as the main reason they had split up hadn’t changed. Her phone lit up almost immediately, and she read Louise’s reply:

  Maybe, but not as much as you would miss your job.

  Catherine pulled a face. Louise the English teacher was the only person she knew who bothered to put grammar in her texts, although Inspector Knight probably would too, Catherine thought. She lay back on the pillow. Not a very promising reply from Louise, but then what had she expected? The situation was just the same as when they’d had all those rows about it, and Louise had moved out. Catherine’s work meant long, unsociable hours, stress and regular exposure to sights that most people couldn’t imagine. None of that sat well with Louise. When they’d first met, Louise had been intrigued by Catherine’s job, but living with the reality of it had eventually been too much. Louise went on with her teaching, marking, planning, regular hours and holidays, and Catherine was around as much as possible, which in truth wasn’t that often. She supposed it was only a matter of time before the relationship ended, given neither of them appeared to care enough about it to try to make it work. It seemed, then, that they weren’t right for each other. If Catherine was absolutely honest, she knew it wasn’t so much Louise herself she missed but knowing that when she eventually got home at night that someone would be waiting, that when she did have time off there would be another person around to go out with, to stay in with, to share a moan about work if necessary. She did have colleagues like Chris Rogers, who were happily married or had long-term partners, but it seemed almost as many were single.

  Catherine turned over, knowing she should try to get a few hours’ sleep, that tomorrow and each day while the Pollard case was ongoing would be long. She wasn’t hopeful of getting any rest though, not with the images of Pollard’s body and those cryptic messages swimming before her eyes.

  Chapter 6

  The body was found quickly, but then I knew it would be. I half expected the police to be hammering on the front door within minutes, but I was as careful as it was possible to be. The rain will have helped, I think. There should be no traces of me on his body or clothes. I suppose their tests will take time to produce results. I’m not sure how long. They hardly mentioned it on the local news. Perhaps a murder isn’t much of a news story these days; people, after all, are killed every day in domestic rows or drunken fights. It may be that the police still think Craig’s death was the result of a pint too many. Idiot. Big-mouthed, arrogant bastard. He deserved it. When he was lying there, the light leaking from his eyes, I wanted to tell him why I’d done it, why now, but there was no time. Pity. I would have liked to have seen his face. Not so pathetic after all.

  Chapter 7

  Catherine had politely turned down DI Knight’s offer of the breakfast, preferring to arrive early at the station, picking up a bacon sandwich and tea that tasted of the cardboard cup it had been served in on her way. She sat at her desk, took a sip of tea, groaned and sat rubbing her eyes. She doubted she’d had more than a couple of hours sleep. Chris Rogers wheeled his desk chair over to her.

  ‘Late night then, Sarge?’ he said.

  ‘What do you think? Bet you were late home yourself.’

  ‘About ten. Faye had pie and chips waiting for me.’

  ‘Lucky you. Wish I’d had the same.’

  ‘Faye, or the pie and chips?’

  Catherine smiled. ‘Either, preferably both. Don’t think I’m Faye’s type though.’

  Rogers grinned. ‘Maybe not, but she might know someone who’s just your cup of tea.’

  Catherine screwed up her nose at the cardboard cup on her desk. ‘Don’t mention tea, that stuff’s bloody awful. What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s a woman just started working with them at the council offices – she’s gay.’

  Catherine forced down the last of the tea and dropped the empty cup into the bin under her desk. ‘So are six per cent of the population. Why are you telling me?’

  ‘Come on, Sarge. Louise has been gone over six months. Don’t you think it’s time you started enjoying yourself, or did really she break your heart?’ He pulled an exaggeratedly miserable face then smirked. ‘You’ve not acted like it.’

  She pointed a finger at him. ‘You’re going too far, DC Rogers.’

  Rogers sat back in his chair and waited, knowing Catherine wouldn’t be able to leave it at that. Eventually, she took the bait. Eyes still fixed on
her computer screen, she said, ‘Even if she is gay, which is probably just a rumour that’s been started because one of the lads asked her out and got turned down, it’s no one’s business but her own, and it’s certainly of no interest to me. In case you’ve forgotten about it overnight, we’ve got a briefing with the DCI in ten minutes.’

  Rogers wheeled himself back over to his own desk with a smile. He’d known Catherine Bishop a long time and was quietly satisfied he’d given her something to think about. She’d been moping long enough. It was time she had some fun, although knowing Catherine, she would find it outside of work. He knew about her self-imposed rule about not mixing business with pleasure and couldn’t blame her.

  * * *

  Knight sat in front of the officers that were assigned to the Pollard case, his eyes travelling over their faces as DCI Kendrick spoke. There didn’t seem to be too much sympathy around for Craig Pollard or his family, which was unusual in a case like this, especially as Pollard was the father of two small children. The general consensus seemed to be that they would be better off without him. Kelly Whitcham certainly appeared to think so, though maybe her attitude would have changed as the shock wore off. Knight knew they would have to speak to her again today. As always in a murder enquiry, the victim’s partner and immediate family were under suspicion, but Knight had a feeling this wouldn’t be as simple as a family dispute gone too far. The Bishop messages didn’t tie in with that. Whitcham obviously had no alibi, but then neither did the rest of Pollard’s family. His mother and father had both said they had been at home watching the TV when asked, but Knight knew the questioning would have been fairly low-key given they’d just been told the news of their son’s death. The family liaison officer, PC Stathos, would be with them now, and one of the uniforms plus a DC would soon be on their way for more questioning. The information they had collected from witnesses and family since the discovery of the body so far seemed to tell them nothing about Pollard’s life. As Knight had found out during his career, people often died as they had lived and perhaps Craig Pollard would be another example of that. They needed more information and Knight thought he knew who would best provide it.

  * * *

  A wet, muddy building site wasn’t Catherine Bishop’s idea of the ideal place to talk to anyone, especially on a cold, windy day in mid-November. She followed Knight over a rough patch of clay and gravel with a few vehicles parked on it and waited while he had a quick word with the nearest builder, who nodded towards a taller man standing alone smoking, staring at his filthy work boots. Knight beckoned to Catherine and she picked her way through the mud to him. Knight strode up to the smoker.

  ‘You’re a difficult man to find, Mike,’ he said.

  Mike Pollard’s head jerked up, and he glared at Knight. ‘Who the f—’

  Knight held up a hand. ‘I don’t need to hear it.’

  Pollard stared. Even Catherine Bishop raised her eyebrows. Knight waved his warrant card under Pollard’s nose.

  ‘Detective Inspector Knight. We’re here to ask you some questions about the death of your brother. I’m surprised to find you at work. I’d have thought Craig being killed would be a good enough reason for any employer to give you a few days off?’

  Pollard threw his cigarette butt on the floor, took off his hard hat and passed his hand over his face. ‘Need the job, don’t I? Anyway, better to be here than at home with Mum and Dad crying their eyes out or screaming at each other about whose fault it was.’

  Catherine glanced at Knight, but rather than ask Pollard what he meant, Knight said, ‘What was Craig like?’

  ‘What was he like?’ Pollard was frowning. ‘What do you mean?’

  Knight lifted his shoulders. ‘As a person, a friend, a brother.’

  Pollard shuffled his feet. ‘He was all right.’

  ‘All right?’ Knight echoed.

  Pollard stared at him. ‘He’s my brother and he’s dead. What do you expect me to say? Have you got a brother?’

  Catherine shifted uncomfortably. Knight said, ‘I have, but since I’m not a suspect in his murder I don’t see what he has to do with anything.’

  ‘A suspect? What do you mean?’

  ‘Why else do you think we’re here, Mike? Unless you start answering my questions, we’ll be finishing this conversation back at the station, and I don’t think being dragged off-site in handcuffs will do much for your chances of keeping your job, do you?’

  Pollard’s fists clenched. ‘You’re a f—’

  ‘Come on, Mike, you’ll have to do better than that. What was Craig like?’

  All at once, the fight seemed to go out of Mike Pollard. His shoulders drooped, and the hard hat in his hand seemed about to fall to the floor.

  ‘I hated him.’ It was almost a whisper.

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ Knight said softly.

  Pollard led them to a draughty Portakabin and Catherine and Knight sat in mismatched garden chairs as he made three mugs of tea. He handed over the drinks and then sat, taking a bunch of keys out of his pocket and throwing them on the rickety plastic table. He dropped his hard hat onto the dusty floor, any pretence of bravado gone. Knight and Catherine waited as Pollard seemed to gather his thoughts.

  ‘I used to want to be like Craig, you know?’ he said. ‘When we were younger, I think everyone around here wanted to be like Craig. Maybe that was part of the problem. He started believing he was as good as people said he was. Even when he started getting into trouble with the police, it just made people respect him more. Some people, I mean. I suppose a lot of people just thought he was even more of a tosser than they already did.’ Pollard took a sip of tea and shook his head. ‘I never thought I’d end up glad of a job labouring on a building site, or making tea for coppers, if I’m honest. The way Craig used to talk, we’d be running our own business by now, sitting in luxury offices, getting paid a fortune while other people did the work. I used to believe every word he said. And then he left school, started earning his own money…’

  Another mouthful of tea and a pause so long that Knight asked: ‘What work did Craig do?’

  ‘A mate of our dad took him on as a favour. He was a plumber. Mum and Dad were hoping Craig would learn from him, train properly, work for himself eventually. I hoped so too, thought he might have a job for me. But of course, it didn’t work out like that. It seemed to go well to start with. Craig enjoyed strutting around buying everyone drinks, and Dad’s mate was pleased with him. It didn’t last long. Craig started getting up too late for work, and things started to go missing from the houses they were working in. He got sacked, and he didn’t work again. He’d got so big-headed. He criticised me all the time: my hair, my clothes, the music I liked, my friends, everything. I wanted to stay at school and do A levels, but he went on so much about how he’d gone out and got a job to bring money into the house that I left, started labouring and I’m still here. I went out with Kelly first, you know; she was in my year at school. I think she was the one thing in my life that Craig didn’t criticise. She took one look at him and dumped me. He made sure he got her pregnant too. Not only pregnant, but twins. She told me they were in love, were planning on living together, getting married, all that. I couldn’t believe the way he really treated her. Have you seen that house? I only saw it through the window but that was enough. It was practically empty. I had a proper go at him about it, but what could I do?’

  There was a silence. Pollard drained the last of his tea, and Catherine waited until he’d finished before speaking.

  ‘Do you know what Craig did with the money he kept from Kelly and the children?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, you can talk then?’ Pollard shook his head. ‘Sorry. Not really, but he always had new clothes, not cheap stuff either, and he was out every night. I know he never touched drugs, couldn’t stand them – he’d seen too many of his old mates ruined by them – but he did drink a lot. And he was always meeting girls and buying them drinks. All the schoolgirls sneaking into the pu
bs, they’re usually up for a good night and so was Craig, if you know what I mean. Kelly deserves better than him. They all do.’

  ‘You don’t sound as if you approve of how Craig behaved,’ Catherine said.

  Pollard sighed. ‘I like a drink and a laugh myself but those girls, they get on your nerves. They’re just kids. Not that they’re underage for what Craig wanted them for – they were easy pickings for him – but I just think it’s pathetic, and when you’ve got a girlfriend and two children at home living the way like they do, well, it’s just wrong, isn’t it?’