Hail and Farewell (The Lakeland Murders)

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘So you’ll be there again tonight?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I have to go back down south again on Thursday morning. I think I’ll need Wednesday to recover, because I’m expecting a late finish. Everyone will play really hard, because of what happened.’

  ‘And there’s nothing that you noticed that you think might help us?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, anything that’s not on the film, or in your statement. Something that you saw out of the corner of your eye, perhaps?’

  Baker thought for a moment.

  ‘This is probably nothing, and don’t take my word for it, because like I say I’m no expert. But it seemed a bit strange, the way the scrum moved back towards the beck. You know, before that poor young lad was drowned.’

  ‘Strange how?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was just an impression, and I could be wrong. I’m not even sure if I thought about it at the time, or if it was only afterwards. But one thing I can tell you for sure. There was more noise, more shouting, in the few minutes before it happened. The intensity ratcheted up a notch or two, that’s for sure.’

  Jane nodded, and glanced over at Ian Mann. He hadn’t really been paying attention, but a question or two was clearly expected.

  ‘How many people watch your videos, then?’

  ‘Quite a few. The last one I made, about the Burryman up in Scotland, that’s had over two hundred already.’

  ‘Really? In how long?’

  ‘Not long, just a few months. But, like I say, it’s just a hobby. I do it because someone should, that’s all. I don’t really care if no-one else is interested.’

  ‘Well we’re interested’ said Jane. ‘And thanks again for letting us have all your footage.’

  ‘Is it any use?’

  ‘Absolutely. We’re still working on it, but I’m sure it will be really helpful.’

  ‘Great. And I’ll see you later on, I expect.’

  ‘At the game? Yes. We’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.’

  The two officers walked from the hotel to George Hayton’s office, above a taxi booking office in a side street close to the centre of Workington.

  ‘He owns this place, I take it?’ said Jane, as they stood outside.

  ‘Aye, and half a dozen other businesses up and down the west coast. All cash based, of course.’

  ‘He launders his dirty money through them?’

  ‘That’d be favourite, aye. And taxis are handy for the delivery round too, aren’t they?’

  ‘So the drugs team are interested in him?’

  ‘Oh aye, he’s been a category one target for years. But he’s clever enough to avoid any direct contact with the bent bits of the business these days. A couple of his main men have been busted lately, don’t get me wrong, but there’s always someone else ready to step up.’

  ‘So who is his right hand man at the moment?’

  ‘A lad called Bell, and his nickname is Stringer.’

  ‘They watch The Wire?’

  ‘Seems like it. One of them does, anyway. I never understood a word of it when I tried, like. Of course Bell’s a common name round here. His actual first name is Lee.’

  ‘I hope they don’t watch Breaking Bad as well, or it’ll give them ideas.’

  ‘I doubt it. I asked one of the lads in drugs about that funny enough, and he said that the only people addicted in Cumbria were the ones who couldn’t stop watching the show. Meth is a bit of a non-issue up here. It’s mainly used in the gay scene down south, apparently.’

  ‘What? And we don’t have one of those in Cumbria?’

  Mann smiled. He knew when he’d been caught out. There was no point in keeping digging.

  ‘I didn’t say that. You need the right ingredients to make crystal meth anyway, as well as the know-how, and no matter how clever these lads think they are they’re not in that league. They’re just pretty small fish in a tiny little pond. A proper piranha would have them for breakfast. Mind you, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to put the lot of them away.’

  ‘I know what you mean. There’s nothing glamorous about what these people do, no matter how it looks on TV.’

  The taxi office turned out to be proof of that assertion. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in the last decade, and the furniture looked as if it had come out of a skip. A woman sat at the spill-stained desk with a headset on, and she was sharing a joke with one of the drivers when Jane and Mann came in. She glanced up at them, and then gestured towards the two men leaning against a door at the back of the room.

  ‘You the law?’ said one of them, as Mann approached, his ID already out. The man seemed to be about to say something else, but he looked back at Mann and changed his mind. The doorway was narrow, and Mann had to to turn slightly sideways to get through. Jane followed him up the stairs.

  Mann almost laughed out loud when he pushed the door at the top of the stairs, because it was like he’d walked into the back office of a recently refurbished bank branch. The furniture was new, the computers newer, and half a dozen staff sat looking at computers, or talking on the phone. And Mann didn’t need to run a PNC to know that every one of them was a straight, honest citizen. They just had that look. A woman looked up from the desk nearest them. She smiled.

  ‘Mr. Hayton and Mr. Bell are waiting for you. Can I offer you a coffee? I’m just about to make them one.’

  ‘No, thanks’ said Jane. ‘Could you just point us in the right direction?’

  ‘No need. Come with me, please.’

  Hayton’s private office was at the back of the open plan area, and there were a pair of sofas facing each other in the area nearest the door.

  ‘George Hayton’ said the older man, getting up, ’and this is my colleague, Lee Bell.’

  ‘AKA Stringer?’ said Jane.

  ‘Only to my friends’ said Bell, smiling.

  ‘Do sit down’ said Hayton, indicating the sofa opposite. ‘Polly, love, have you offered teas and coffees?’

  ‘I have, George.’

  ‘All right, lass, leave us to it, would you?’ Hayton was still smiling as she closed the door. Both he and Bell were dressed like businessmen, of the no-tie variety. They could work for a provincial advertising agency, thought Jane.

  ‘Now, before we start, do I need my lawyer?’

  ‘That’s up to you,’ said Jane, ‘but we only wanted a chat, at this stage anyway.’

  ‘If I had a pound for every time I’d heard that I’d be a rich man.’

  ‘Aren’t you that already?’

  ‘Compared with who, love? You’re a DS, right? What are you on, fifty grand?’

  ‘I wish.’

  ‘Well, anyway, I make more than that, it’s true. But you’re the one with all the job satisfaction. Catching criminals. It must be fun.’

  ‘It’s mainly paperwork.’

  Hayton laughed. ‘Isn’t everything these days? So what can we do for you?’

  ‘It’s about last Friday night. The death at Uppies and Downies.’

  ‘We heard about that. Very sad. But accidents do happen.’

  ‘So do you don’t think that the confrontation between your boys and Jack Moffett’s was a contributory factor? Maybe even the cause of Chris Brown’s death?’

  ‘Now that’s a leading question, DS Francis’ said Bell quickly. ‘And it’s based on any number of inaccurate assumptions.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were a lawyer, Mr. Bell.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m a qualified accountant. But we do have a very good lawyer, and I’m very happy to put in a call and we can continue this meeting either here, or at the police station.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. As I said, at least for now. Could I ask your client, I mean your boss, a couple of more general questions? To help us establish some of the more general background.’

  ‘You can ask.’

  ‘Good. So let’s start with the victim, Chris Brown. Was he known to you, Mr. Hayton?’

  ‘No.’
r />   ‘And, as far as you know, did he have any gang affiliations?’

  ‘I really wouldn’t know.’

  ‘This is a waste of time, Jane’ said Mann, and Hayton looked surprised.

  ‘Who rattled his cage?’ said Hayton, in mock surprise.

  ‘Everyone’ said Mann. ‘You’re not going to co-operate, we get that. A young kid is dead, maybe because of you, and you don’t give a shit.’

  ‘I resent your tone’ said Hayton. ‘Ask anyone, and you’ll find that’s not the case. My companies make generous contributions to any number of local charities and good causes. We pride ourselves on it, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘All funded by drugs, loan-sharking and the rest’ said Mann.

  ‘I do hope that you have evidence to support these wild accusations, DS Mann’ said Bell.

  ‘Do you really think that I haven’t come across people like you before?’ said Mann, looking straight at Hayton. ‘Just because you’re one step away from the street now, and you’ve got people who are stupid enough to take all the risks for almost none of the reward, that doesn’t change who you are, or what you do. But one thing does interest me. You don’t seem scared.’

  ‘What, or who, would I be scared of?’

  ‘How about Jack Moffett?’

  Hayton laughed, and held up a hand to stop Bell from speaking.

  ‘Moffett is fucking finished, and he knows it.’

  ‘So that’s why he’s got that out-of-town security mob looking after him?’

  ‘Aye, we’d heard. It’s the last knockings, is that. He can’t even trust his own people any more. It’s sad, in a way. But he’s finished.’

  ‘So does that mean there’ll be no trouble at the game tonight?’

  ‘I can’t say that. Not for certain, like. No-one made me the bloody king, worse luck.’

  ‘But there’s no reason to expect any?’

  ‘No’ said Bell, before Hayton could answer. ‘None at all. We’re very sorry that the young man died. But we weren’t involved in his death in any way, and if you want to talk to Mr. Hayton again it will need to be at the station, with our lawyer present.’

  ‘Thanks, mate’ said Jane as they walked back to the car, and Mann wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not. Sometimes he found it hard to tell with Jane.

  ‘Aye, no worries’ he said, noncommittally.

  ‘I just don’t know how to deal with bastards like that.’

  ‘Takes one to know one, you mean?’

  ‘Of course not. Christ, Ian, you couldn’t be less like those nasty, cowardly little shits.’

  ‘So does this mean you won’t be asking me to go undercover again?’

  Jane smiled, and looked at Mann.

  ‘I admit that I did run it past Andy as an idea, last night, but he said no. He reckons that as soon as we turned up at the station together that was a non-starter.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. I don’t want to get, what do you call it? Typecast.’

  ‘Understood. But you’re still going to have a drink with Smith and Hodgson, before the game?’

  ‘Oh, aye. It can’t do any harm, and I do like a reasonably priced pint.’

  Jane checked her phone when they got back to the car.

  ‘Email from Keith Iredale. They’ve got something off that video.’

  ‘This is good work, Keith. And you too, of course, Jenny.’ Jane looked at the stills from the video, with each face numbered. ‘So you’re saying that we’ve got statements from all of these except two, is that right?’

  ‘Aye’ said Iredale. This one, number 19, and this one, number 37. We’ve got better stills of both of them, here and here.’

  ‘And one is called Matt Hayton. A relation of George, I take it?’

  ‘His nephew, aye. He’s the Hayton’s main enforcer. No head for business would be the polite way of putting it, but he’s an animal. There are all sorts of stories about the stuff he’s done.’

  ‘So he’s got a record?’

  ‘Oh, aye, he has that.’ Iredale passed over two sheets of A4.

  ‘Quite a CV.’

  ‘If you like prison food’ said Mann, reading over her shoulder. ‘He keeps getting caught, the prat.’

  ‘Apparently they like him being inside. The family, that is,’ said Iredale. ‘Partly because he discourages people from talking to us while he’s inside, and partly because they sometimes want people to know what they’re capable of. So he needs to get caught, like, so everyone knows that it was the Haytons.’

  ‘So he might have killed Chris?’ asked Jane.

  ‘He wouldn’t think twice. Probably wouldn’t even think at all, if I’m honest.’

  ‘And no-one named him because they were frightened?’

  ‘Aye, probably, and I don’t blame them.’

  ‘But he’s not mentioned in DI Smith or DS Hodgson’s statement either, is he?’ Jane saw Iredale’s expression and cursed herself inwardly for thinking aloud. ‘Never mind. Where can we find this Matt Hayton? Will he have gone to ground, do you reckon?’

  ‘I doubt it. You want him brought in?’

  ‘Yes, of course. And what about this other one? This Tony Gambles. Has he got a record?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Not nearly as impressive as Hayton’s. For a start it fits on one page, look.’

  Mann laughed. ‘So what’s his story then, Keith?’

  ‘For a start he’s my brother-in-law.’

  ‘Does that give you a problem?’ asked Jane.

  ‘No. He was a wrong-‘un long before I was a copper. I’m used to it. But I’ll understand if you want me off the case, boss.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘No way. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than helping to put Tony away. Not that I’m gunning for him or anything like that.’

  ‘I understand. Tell you what, Keith. You and Ian get Matt Hayton brought in, and I’ll have Gambles picked up.’

  ‘Now, boss?’

  ‘Yes, unless there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.’

  ‘It’s not that, boss. If you want to be at the game you’ll need to get a move on. They’ll be gathering on the Cloffocks in half an hour or so.’

  ‘Good point. All right, we’ll bring them in tomorrow. And let’s not share this information with anyone meantime, OK? It’s just between us for now.’

  Ian Mann felt at home in the Workingman’s Club from the moment he pushed open the old oak door. It smelt like the one in Kendal, and it looked like it too. The place was busy, no doubt with people fuelling up for the game, and the only difference that Mann could detect was in the chatter. He could hear the difference between this accent and his own, just from the general sound of speech. He liked the fact that both still survived, even though the two towns were only forty miles or so apart.

  He saw DI Smith over by the bar, laughing and joking with a group of men and women, all in their twenties or thirties. It looked as if Jimmy Smith was doing most of the talking. He waved an arm to call Mann over.

  ‘Sir,’ Mann greeted him cautiously.

  ‘Call me Jimmy, everyone does. And you’re Ian, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘What’s your poison?’

  Mann glanced at the pumps.

  ‘Timothy Taylor’s, please.’

  Smith ordered and turned back towards the people who were with him.

  ‘This is the man who took down two bad guys when one of ours was in danger. Chucked one off a roof, didn’t you, Ian?’

  Mann looked uncomfortable, but Smith didn’t seem to notice. ‘So you all watch yourselves, if you find yourself up against Ian here in the game tonight.’

  ‘I’m not playing’ said Mann quickly. ‘Not this time, like.’

  ‘Shame. Still, you lot are playing, aren’t you?’

  Heads nodded, and Smith saw the surprise on Mann’s face.

  ‘Oh aye, Ian, women play as well these days. One hailed the ball, a few years back. Are you sure you won’t change your mind about
it now, like?’

  Mann heard Smith’s name being called out, and turned to see DS Hodgson working his way through the throng. Smith bought him a drink, and turned back to the rest of the group.

  ‘You lot better get out there now, hadn’t you? The grown-ups need a drink in peace.’

  Smith watched them all leave, then led Mann and Hodgson to a table that had just been vacated.

  ‘So how’s it going then, Ian? You decided it was an accident yet? I know it’s bloody obvious to any decent detective, but not to the ACC it seems.’

  ‘Aye, the kid wasn’t mixed up in anything he shouldn’t have been. That’s for definite,’ said Mann.

  ‘But does your oppo agree?’ asked Smith.

  ‘Jane? I think so, aye.’

  ‘Funny business, that’ said Hodgson. ‘We can’t understand how come she’s SIO when you’re the ranking officer. Mind you, you’re not shagging the boss, like.’

  ‘How could you tell?’ said Mann, laughing. ‘Jane’s all right. She’s on the fast track, you know how it is.’

  ‘And you’re on the slow train to nowhere?’ said Smith.

  ‘Mebbe. I don’t mind.’

  ‘Just keep your head down, keep your nose clean and do your time?’

  ‘Aye. A bit like being in prison, when you put it like that.’

  ‘We’re the same, aren’t we, Kenny?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Of course we are.’

  ‘So we won’t have the pleasure of your company for the last game of the year then?’ said Smith, after a sip of his beer. ‘On Saturday, that is.’

  ‘Probably not, but you know how these things are.’

  ‘I do, marrer. I was working on this file today; fraud case, open and shut. The bloke more or less coughed to it, but not on tape, the bastard. Anyway, guess how long ago we nicked him?’

  ‘Dunno. Six months, a year?’

  ‘Three years, almost to the bloody day. Didn’t someone say that justice delayed is justice denied?’