‘How you doing, son?’
‘Still collating witness statements, sir. I’m going as fast as I can.’
‘Of course you are. But that’s not what I meant. I meant how are you? In yourself, like?’
Iredale couldn’t have been more surprised by the question, and he searched in vain for the sub-text.
‘Fine, sir. Getting with the job, like.’
‘And you’re not too tired? Stressed out, anything like that?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
Iredale was coming to the conclusion that he’d made a cock-up, and that he was about to get both barrels from the boss. He couldn’t think why, but he braced himself anyway. But Smith just smiled, and nodded.
‘You’re a good lad, a right good lad. Between us I’ve had the ACC on the phone again just now, saying I’ve been driving everyone too hard this last couple of days. I don’t know if I’ve been grassed up or she’s found out somehow, the scheming bitch. You know what she’s like.’
Iredale nodded, even though he had absolutely no idea what the ACC was like. He hadn’t even recognised her when she’d walked in on Saturday morning.
‘Anyway, it looks like I’m for the bloody high jump. I didn’t do all her precious paperwork right, and that’s the worst crime of all in the job these days, like. It’s scapegoating, of course it is, but what can you do?’
‘Sorry to hear that, boss.’
Smith looked hard at Iredale. ‘Aye, right. Thanks. But I do need a favour, Keith. You’re one of us, aren’t you?’
‘Aye, of course I am.’
‘You don’t want those bloody know-it-alls from HQ or Kendal telling us what’s what, like we’re the village bloody idiots?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘So will you keep me informed about how the investigation progresses, won’t you? When I get stood down, like. This is our patch, son, and we know it best, yeah?’
‘Aye, of course we do.’
‘So that’s agreed then?’
Iredale nodded. ‘So who’s the SIO going to be?’
‘I’m glad you asked. A bloody DS called Jane Francis. Only been in the job five minutes, but she’s the ACC’s golden girl. Which means that Gorham probably fancies her or something. And I bet her paperwork is always bang up-to-date too. But Andy Hall, that bloody DCI from Kendal, he’s in overall charge. But apparently he’s buggered up his knee falling off a pushbike, the daft sod. Pushbikes are for bloody kids, aren’t they? No offence, son.’
Iredale smiled encouragingly, but he never liked to hear about a fellow cyclist coming off. It had happened to him enough times.
Sandy Smith was already waiting for Jane Francis and Ian Mann when they arrived at Workington station. The journey up had been much more enjoyable - or at least much less tense - than either had expected, and more productive too. Because during the course of the drive they’d explored several possible lines of enquiry, and discussed the strengths and weaknesses of the investigation to date. And they’d arrived at very similar conclusions. So by the time they were dropping down the hill into Workington they both felt that the investigation would be a joint effort until, of course, the moment that they disagreed on something important.
‘Can we talk after the team meeting, Sandy?’ said Jane, when Sandy called out her name.
‘So the rumour’s true, Jane? You’re SIO for this one.’
‘Acting SIO. Andy’s still running the investigation.’
‘But from the fucking sofa. Fell off his bike, I hear, like a fucking nine year old.’
‘I’ll pass on your best wishes.’
Sandy smiled.
‘You do that. How’s he doing? Wanting his bloody pillows plumped every five seconds?’
‘Something like that.’
‘That’s men for you. Good thing you’re out here on the edge of the known universe, then.’
Jane wished that Sandy would keep her voice down, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She was small woman with a large larynx.
‘Right, who do you have to shag to get a proper coffee in this place?’
‘No idea, Sandy. We’re off to see the Super, so it’ll be the china cups and the doilies for us.’
‘I prefer a mug, preferably chipped’ said Sandy. ‘Seriously, all I wanted to ask was how much you wanted me to share with the group, in the meeting, like.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, what with you and your lovely assistant here’, Sandy punched Mann on the upper arm by way of emphasis, ‘I thought you’d maybe been brought in because someone up the line has concerns.’
Jane saw what Sandy was getting at. She was grateful, and more than a little surprised. It wasn’t like her to call a spade anything less than a fucking shovel, let alone actually be discreet.
‘No, Sandy, nothing like that’ said Jane, dropping her voice. ‘There’s no suggestion of any improper actions by the CID officers here. It’s just that the DI and the DS were actually playing the game when the death occurred. That’s why they’re conflicted. Nothing more sinister than that, OK?’
Sandy shrugged.
‘If you say so.’ A young PC walked past, and Sandy grabbed him by the arm. ‘Take me to the fucking kitchen, would you son? Unless you’re late for assembly.’
The lad looked down at Sandy, because he was a good foot taller, and was about to say something. Then he saw her expression, and changed his mind.
It took Superintendent Skinner twenty minutes to lay out the ground rules for the investigation, and to Jane’s annoyance he addressed most of his remarks to Ian Mann. But all he really said, in four or five different ways, was that it was still his station, and that he expected to know everything that was going on there. And that meant everything. Every-thing.
By the time they left for the incident room Jane was feeling annoyed, but Mann wasn’t. He expected senior officers to act like pillocks, and once again his fundamental world view had been entirely confirmed.
‘I expect he’s off to count his traffic cones’ he said to Jane, as she pushed open the door to the CID office. But she didn’t smile, because she was already thinking about what she was going to say.
‘Good morning, everyone. I’m DS Jane Francis and this is DS Ian Mann. As you will all know we’ve been asked by the ACC Crime to take charge of this investigation, because your division’s DI and DS were both involved in the game in which Mr. Brown died. I need to emphasise to you all that there’s no other reason whatsoever for us being here, and the sooner that we can bring this investigation to a successful conclusion the sooner everything can go back to normal. In other words, the sooner we will both bugger off and leave you all to your work.’
Jane paused for a laugh, but none came. ‘I recognise some of you of course, but if you could introduce yourselves when you first speak that would be helpful. So let’s crack on. PM and SOCO first. Sandy, over to you.’
‘Final PM and toxicology reports will be in your inboxes. Anything you don’t understand? I’ll be here for half an hour after this meeting, so don’t be afraid to ask. You’re not expected to understand all this jargon. And I’d like to be able to say I don’t bite, but that’s not really true. So here’s the summary. Cause of Chris Brown’s death was drowning, although the lad had plenty of other injuries, consistent with him having a good kicking first. He would have been semi-conscious, at best, when he went into the water. So we’re looking at a sustained, violent attack.’
‘You’re saying that these other injuries aren’t what you’d expect to have been sustained by anyone playing Uppies and Downies on Friday night?’ asked Jane.
‘Unless they were playing Murderball rules then that’s right’ said Sandy, ‘I wouldn’t. And turning to the tox report you’ll see a moderate amount of alcohol, just a few pints worth, so nothing to worry about. No recent drug use at all. Then, turning to the DNA, the clothing and the scene of crime. No sign of defence wounds, nothing of interest under the nails, and he hadn’t pun
ched anyone. Or if he did he must have hit like a little girl, because the knuckles weren’t bruised. Clothing gives us nothing, beyond what you’d expect of someone who’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, kicked to buggery and then drowned in a muddy, two-foot deep beck. And as for the scene of crime, we’ve had to send Tonto home for a lie down. He spent the whole weekend there, and ended up just mumbling to himself. It’s a total mess, because it looks like the scrum spent quite a long time on the bank above the beck where Chris Brown died. Tonto recovered various items, including three training shoes and someone’s false teeth, but they don’t seem relevant.’
Jane gave it a moment, but no hands went up. ‘Thanks, Sandy. Before we move on to the victim let’s hear where we are with witness statements. Who’s collating?’
‘I am, ma’m. Sorry, DC Keith Iredale, Workington nick. So far we’ve taken thirty five statements from players, and another ten from onlookers who were close to the scrum at the time of the incident. We’re still trying to track down the other players.’
‘How many are we talking about?’
‘I’ve got another 12 names, ma’am.’
‘Right, top priority please, Keith. Anything coming from the ones we’ve got?’
‘Not really, ma’am. They all report that things got a lot rougher when three of George Hayton’s boys arrived, at about half ten. But no-one admits to seeing Chris Brown go down in Cloffocks beck, let alone hitting or kicking him, or seeing him after it happened. The game moved back up onto the car park, see, and that’s when his body was seen by one of the spectators. One of the lad’s second cousins too, it was.’
‘And have we got statements from these three lads? The associates of Hayton, I mean.’
‘Two of them, aye. The other is AWOL at present. Name of Pete Crone. He’ll not have gone far.’
‘Find him, and bring him in. Today, please.’
‘Will do, ma’am.’
‘Right, CCTV then. Yes, Jenny.’
‘Jenny Walker, from analysis branch at HQ. The council office’s car park is well covered by CCTV, but the game was right on the edge of the car park, and on the bank of the beck, for all of the fifteen minutes before the death. And that area isn’t well lit either. There’s no other CCTV coverage of that part of the Cloffocks, I’m afraid. But one bit of good news. On the CCTV you can see a bloke taking pictures or something, and I believe that we’ve got his details. He’s staying at a hotel in town, and will be here for the next game tomorrow. night So after this meeting I’m going to see him, and I’ll take copies of all of his footage, or whatever it is he’s got.’
‘OK, good, let me know how you get on. Now, what have we got on the victim? Let’s take the timeline first.’
‘DS David Manson, ma’am, on attachment from Cockermouth nick until the cavalry arrived, like. The victim was at work on Friday, over at the training shoe factory up the coast. He did the eight-’til-two shift, then went home, out to the pub at half four, and was in the game from the off at half six. As far as we know he was in or about the whole time, until he died of course.’
‘Which pub?’ asked Mann.
‘Workingman’s club in town. Cheapest pint in Workington, if you’re interested.’
Jane Francis didn’t look interested. ‘What about the background checks on the deceased?’
Manson looked at his notes. ‘No record, not even a caution. It’s not natural, isn’t that. No known gang affiliations. Lived at home, and they’re still looking at his finances and internet history. But I had a quick look at his bank statements. Not what you’d call a high-roller.’
‘So nothing to support the hypothesis that the victim was involved in the alleged feud between the two main criminal gangs operating in this area? said Jane.
There was a long pause, no-one replied, and a couple of glances were cast in the direction of the closed door on the far side of the office. Jane took the hint.
‘All right, everyone, let’s get back to it. We need to know exactly who was in that game, every last one of them, and which of the players had any reason to kill Chris Brown. At the moment we’ve got fifty suspects, so let’s narrow that down, shall we?’
‘Forty eight,’ said Manson. ‘Two of them were our own, you know.’
Ten minutes later Jane and Ian Mann were sitting on the opposite side of the meeting table in DI Smith’s office. Jane was facing Smith, and Mann was facing Hodgson. They hadn’t been offered a coffee.
‘Thanks for making time to brief us’ said Jane.
‘We’ve already given our statements’ said Smith.
‘I know that, and they’re really helpful, sir, thanks. But it was a bit of background, context, that I was after.’
‘Oh, aye? You think it’s important, do you? To understand the background, like?’
Jane knew exactly what he meant by that. She was going to let it go, then changed her mind.
‘Look, sir, let’s just get one thing straight. We didn’t choose this job, but we’re here now. And the sooner we get this investigation completed the sooner we can get on our way, OK?’
Smith shrugged. He was a heavy-set, middle aged man, but there was still something of the teenager about the gesture. ‘So what background are you after?’
‘We wanted to understand a bit more about how you came to make the decision to get involved in the game yourself. Is that something you usually do?’
‘It has been known.’
‘And what about you, Sergeant Hodgson?’
‘Aye. It has been known.’
‘So why, this year, did you decide to play?’
‘Like it says in our statements’ said Smith, ‘we had information to the effect that the Moffett and the Hayton crews were going to go at it, in or around the game. And, sure enough, a group of Hayton’s lads did join the game shortly before the death.’
‘And your plan was to do what, exactly?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘What would you have done if the two gangs had started fighting?’
‘Called in back-up.’
‘But you could have done that if you’d just stood among the spectators, couldn’t you?’
‘Not really, love. Have you ever seen the game? Live, I mean.’
‘No. I’ve just watched what footage I could find online. But actually Ian, DS Mann here, he has played.’
‘Aye, I’ll bet he has’ said Smith. ‘Made for the job, your mate was. Anyway, the point is that it’s impossible to see what’s going on from the outside. Your mate will tell you that. So that’s why we were playing on Friday.’
‘I see. And how about the source of this information? How did you know about this confrontation?’
‘They call them CIs for a reason, DS Francis. It’s taken me twenty years to build up my network of informants, and I’d not give you any names if you were Lord God almighty.’
Jane nodded. It was going much as she’d expected.
‘And is there anything that you’d like to add to the intelligence reports on these two criminal gangs?’
‘No. I think it’s all there.’
‘And how about you, DS Hodgson. Anything you’d like to add?’
‘No. I think it’s all there.’ He smirked at Jane, until he noticed the expression on Mann’s face. The smile faded fast.
‘One other thing’ said Jane, ‘and we’ll let you get on with your work.’
‘Aye, what’s that?’
‘I wanted to ask about your DCs. You’ve assigned Keith Iredale to us. Is that right?’
‘Aye. One of our other DCs is off on maternity leave, and the other one is involved in two ongoing investigations.’
‘So what can you tell us about DC Iredale?’
‘Paula? Nice enough lad, really. His dad was in the job for a lot of years. He’s a bit of a mountain man is Keith. A fitness freak, all that. He’s young, obviously, but he’s keen enough.’
Jane looked pleased with something about Smith’s reply, but he couldn’t quite se
e what it was.
Jane made Ian Mann a brew, and they settled into their small, shared office. Mann’s shoulders half filled it on their own.
‘So what did you make of those two, Ian?’
‘The DI’s pissed off, but why wouldn’t he be? Put yourself in his position. He’s gone from being cock of the bloody walk to being under a cloud, and all in about five minutes flat.’
‘Do you think he’ll be obstructive?’
‘No, he’s not daft. But as to whether he’ll go out of his way to be helpful, well that’s another matter.’
‘Is he worth a bit of a charm offensive?’
Mann laughed. ‘And that would be my charm, I take it? I can’t see you chumming up to either of those two.’
‘Yes, Ian. They’re bound to be impressed by all your war stories. And you could play the all-blokes-together card, see how that goes.’
‘Women are taking over the world, and what is it all coming to?’
‘Yes. Something like that.’
‘But it would sound so wrong, Jane, coming from a confirmed feminist like me.’
This time Jane laughed. ‘And how about young Iredale? You think we can safely use him as our runner?’
‘Aye, I do. I’m sure Smith has leant on the lad, but unless he’s a bloody good actor, which I doubt, I think we can assume that Iredale is still his own man. He’s only been in CID for five minutes, for a start. He won’t have picked up too many bad habits.’
‘Pretty much what I was thinking too. All right, Ian. So how does this sound as a plan? I help young DC Iredale with all these wits, and you take over on the timeline and background on our victim?’
‘Sounds about right to me.’
‘Fine, let’s do that then. But stand ready to join in on interviews, OK?’ Mann nodded. ‘And let’s get together tonight and chat it through with Andy.’
‘If he’s not having a little nap.’
Hail and Farewell (The Lakeland Murders) Page 4