by Boyd, Damien
‘He had a couple of weekends in Wales, I think, and went to the Lake District a couple of times as well. The weather wasn’t great then, of course.’
‘What about when he got back from Jordan?’
‘Not a lot after that until the season opened at Cheddar Gorge. Then he started working on As The Crow Flies again.’
‘Ok, so we’ve got a couple of trips to Wales, a couple of trips to the Lake District and then he goes to Jordan. Then, when he comes back, he buys the Subaru.’
‘What do you think he was up to then?’
‘I know full well what he was up to, Sarah. I’m just waiting for you to tell me.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did he make any alterations to the car when he got it?’
‘What?’
‘Alterations to the car. Modifications. Did he make any?’
‘Yes, he was mucking about with wires and things in the back seat.’
‘Didn’t you ask him what he was doing?’
‘No, it was none of my business.’
‘Ok, I’ll tell you what I think Jake was up to and you tell me if you think any of this sounds familiar. The climbing trips to Wales and the Lake District weren’t climbing trips at all. He was collecting birds’ eggs. Let me re-phrase that. He was stealing birds’ eggs.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘I found a telescopic golf ball retriever in his bedroom at his parents’ house. It had a hole drilled in the handle so that it could be hung on his harness. I’m thinking that the eggs were stolen from Peregrine Falcon nests and if you can keep them alive, each egg is worth about seven thousand pounds in the Middle East. Now, how am I doing?’
Sarah stared at her drink. She didn’t respond.
‘That explains the trip to Jordan doesn’t it?’
Sarah nodded.
‘Did he really go to Jordan or was it somewhere else? Dubai perhaps?’
Sarah sighed.
‘I can find out, Sarah, so it will save us all a great deal of time.’
‘They went to Dubai.’
‘How many eggs were there?’
‘Ten.’
‘Seventy grand?’
‘He split it with Dan.’
‘Cash?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who organised it?’
‘What you mean?’
‘Jake could collect the eggs and keep them alive but he’s not going to know anybody in Dubai to sell them to, is he? Who was his contact? Who set it up?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He never mentioned anyone?’
‘No.’
‘And you heard no phone calls or anything like that?’
‘No.’
‘How about the internet?’
‘Could be, I suppose.’
‘How did he keep the eggs alive?’
‘He had a small plastic box. It had a tiny light bulb in it that was wired up to a small battery pack.’
‘It’s called an incubator, Sarah.’
‘I know.’
‘There was one set into the rear seat armrest of the Subaru.’
‘He wired it up to the car battery. Even fitted an on off switch. He was pleased with himself for that.’
‘So, he was planning to do it again?’
‘Yes, when he got back. He said the birds should have lain again by then. He was going to try for twenty eggs but something went wrong. He didn’t go.’
‘To Dubai?’
‘Dan went on his own.’
‘They collected the eggs and then Dan took them to Dubai without Jake?’
‘Yes.’
‘£140,000. More than enough motive for murder wouldn’t you say?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘So, you have no idea who his contact was or how he got in touch with them?’
‘No.’
‘Did he ever tell you any of his passwords? Facebook perhaps?’
‘No, he kept that sort of information to himself. I never knew any of his passwords and he never knew any of mine.’
‘I’m sure our High Tech Unit will be able to sort it out. I’ve got his computer and iPhone.’
Tears had started to stream down Sarah’s face. Dixon noticed that she had not touched her drink.
‘Am I in trouble?’ she said.
‘No, Sarah. You’re not.’
Dixon walked along the sea front towards the amusement arcade. He bought some chips, gave them a liberal covering of salt and vinegar, and then walked down the ramp towards the beach. He sat on the concrete steps below the sea wall and watched the lights flickering on Hinkley Point across the estuary. He could see the marker flashing on the sandbank of Stert Island. The South Wales coast was visible in the distance and he could even pick out the street lighting on the M4. He looked up at the lights flashing in the arcade and his mind wandered back to many an hour spent playing the fruit machines.
‘Fruit machines? You might as well go and push your money through their bloody letterbox,’ his grandmother had said.
He remembered Jake’s ascent of the sea wall too. Using only the tiny crack between the huge sections of concrete wall for finger and footholds, Jake had got up and over the overhang. It was made all the more impressive by the quantity of beer Jake had drunk that evening too. Happy days.
A sense of frustration overtook him. Or was it sadness? He wasn’t sure. He was not convinced that he was making any progress at all with his investigation into Jake’s death. He was yet to find any evidence that it was anything other than a simple accident. He was finding plenty of evidence to blacken Jake’s character and despite their protestations to the contrary, he was under no illusion that John and Maureen Fayter would not thank him for that. But he was no nearer to finding out what had happened to Jake. Something was niggling him. It was irritating him like an itchy scab and he was determined to keep picking at it.
Dan Hunter held the key, Dixon was sure of that. No doubt he would meet him at Jake’s funeral tomorrow. Hunter had a great many questions to answer on his own account. Even assuming he was not involved in Jake’s drug dealing, he was certainly up to his neck in the theft and sale of the birds’ eggs. Dixon made a mental note to have a look at the various offences under the Wildlife and Countryside Act and their sentences. He had no intention of arresting Hunter at this stage but it might be useful to put the wind up him if needs be. Much would depend on whether or not he co-operated. Funerals in murder cases were always interesting and Jake’s was likely to be no exception.
Seven
Dixon never understood why crematoriums all looked the same. He had been to any number of funerals over the years and Weston-super-Mare crematorium was just like any other.
He had arrived early and met Dan Hunter amongst the usual throng waiting patiently in the car park. He explained that he was investigating Jake’s death and would need to speak to him in due course. Hunter had asked the ‘do you think he was murdered’ question that everybody seemed to have asked and to which Dixon gave his stock reply. Much to Dixon’s surprise, Hunter had then readily agreed to help in any way he could.
‘You know he was dealing drugs?’ asked Hunter.
‘Yes, small time, I’m told.’
‘I wonder whether that could be related though, if he was murdered, that is?’
‘It’s certainly one line of enquiry but we have several at the moment and, as I say, I have no real evidence that he was murdered. All I have is the knowledge that his knot wouldn’t just untie itself.’
Hunter agreed to call into Bridgwater Police Station after work on Monday to give a statement and Dixon felt that questions about the birds’ eggs could wait until then. They exchanged mobile phone numbers and Dixon left it at that.
Hunter seemed an odd choice for a climbing partner. Dixon guessed that he was in his early forties and a generous assessment was that he was not particularly athletic. He had admitted, much as Dixon had to, that he had spent most of his time holding Jake’s ropes. He added that
they had not climbed much together in recent months but he had known Jake was getting close to a first ascent of As The Crow Flies.
Dixon was standing with Hunter at the back of the Crematorium when Jake’s Coffin was brought in. Jake’s parents were walking slowly behind it with Sarah. John Fayter’s military bearing appeared to have deserted him and all three were crying.
Dixon couldn’t help a wry smile when the congregation started singing Rock of Ages and he wondered whether Jake had told his parents that he wanted Never Mind the Bollocks by the Sex Pistols played at his funeral. It had been their standing joke.
Sarah Heath was dressed in a dark suit and had been doing a good deal of crying. Dixon spoke briefly to John and Maureen Fayter, simply to pass on his condolences. He excused himself from the wake with the explanation that he had to be back at work and assured them that he would ring them later.
Dixon was in the gorge by 8.00am the following morning. It was pouring with rain. So much for Carl Harper’s weather forecast. He had lost count over the years of the number of climbing trips cancelled due to poor weather forecasts. It was similar to the number of trips that turned out to be a total washout after perfect forecasts.
He parked his Land Rover on the verge opposite the car park at the foot of High Rock. Two climbers were about to embark on Coronation Street despite the weather and he didn’t want to take the chance of falling rocks hitting the car. Not that anyone would notice from the bodywork but he had decided to leave Monty in the back. He knew from experience that dogs and cliffs do not mix.
Dixon was wearing an old pair of jeans, trainers, a pullover and a waterproof top. He had with him a small blue rucksack that contained waterproof trousers, a bottle of water, his camera and a pair of binoculars that he had got for five pounds when filling up with petrol many years before. They had proved invaluable ever since. He walked down the gorge to a sharp left-hand bend where a small path left the road and crossed the bank on the right. It ran up to the left of the terraces on the north side of the gorge. He knew from experience, of course, that this was the path to the terrace at the foot of Heart Leaf Bluff. He wanted to get a clear idea of what Carl Harper and his girlfriend could have seen before questioning them.
The path rose up sharply and zigzagged over the first broken terrace. It was narrow, more of a sheep run, and covered in loose stones. Dixon followed a fork in the path to the right, which took him out along the terrace at the foot of Prospect Tier, the middle level. He walked to the end of the terrace and looked across to the south side of the gorge. He could see nothing of the top of High Rock and estimated that he had gained only one hundred and fifty feet or so in elevation. Clearly, no one on this terrace or even on Prospect Tier could have had any view of the top of the gorge.
He walked back along the foot of Prospect Tier and rejoined the path to the right, climbing further up the left hand side of the north terraces. There was a stand of trees on his left with a resident population of sheep watching his every move.
He arrived at the start of the terrace at the foot of Heart Leaf Bluff and could see that a fence had been installed along the edge of the terrace. Metal posts had been driven into the ground and wire fencing was strung between each on large steel cables. The fence was also secured in place by retaining cables. Dixon wondered whether it was there to protect tourists below from falling rocks or sheep or perhaps even climbers and decided that it was probably all three.
He walked out to the foot of Dinner Date at the end of the terrace and was surprised to have a clear view of the top of High Rock along the full length of Heart Leaf Bluff. He had not remembered that. Dixon could pick out the line of As The Crow Flies quite clearly although he found it impossible to estimate the distance between where he stood and the top of the route.
There were a number of small trees all along the top of High Rock. They were just starting to lose their leaves and they appeared to Dixon to be silver birches. They were more than adequate to provide a belay anchor and no doubt they would also have provided cover for anyone tampering with Jake’s ropes. It would be a very interesting interview with Carl Harper and his girlfriend.
He took a number of photographs of the top of High Rock and several short sections of video for future reference purposes. He wandered along the foot of Heart Leaf Bluff and found himself trying the handholds at the start of various routes. The rock was overhanging for thirty feet or so and most of the routes were still dry, at least the lower sections. A couple of moves and he was level with the first bolt on a route thirty feet left of Dinner Date. He would have to look up its grade later. Trainers were not ideal footwear and he could feel his leg starting to shake. He turned and jumped, landing heavily in a pile of sheep droppings. He looked up at the cliffs. The memories came flooding back. Routes he could no longer remember the names of, photographs in a box somewhere.
He dropped back down to the Land Rover. There would be just enough time to take Monty for a short walk before Carl Harper arrived. Dixon took Monty into the boulder field beneath the quarried section opposite High Rock and below and to the right of Heart Leaf Bluff. The rock was sharply overhanging and was covered in bolts and chalk marks. He turned to see a red Ford Fiesta pull up behind his Land Rover. He put Monty on his lead and walked back to his car. The occupants of the Ford Fiesta were waiting for him when he arrived.
‘Carl Harper?’
‘Yes.’
‘Detective Inspector Nick Dixon. Thank you very much for coming.’
‘Happy to help. It looks as though we’ll have plenty of time to talk,’ said Harper, holding out his hands to catch the rain.
‘It should clear up later. I’ve just been up onto the terraces and you can see the cloud lifting from the south. You should be ok by lunchtime.’
Dixon bundled Monty into the back of the Land Rover and locked it.
‘Would you mind if we walked up to the foot of Dinner Date? I need to get a clear understanding of exactly what you saw at the time.’
‘Not at all.’
The three of them walked up to the terrace and out along the fence to the start of Dinner Date. They could see that the cloud was lifting to the southwest.
‘Looks like you were right about the weather,’ said Harper.
‘Yes, you’ll be ok for this afternoon, if you choose your route carefully.’
They stood at the foot of Dinner Date where the fence curled round at the end of the terrace. Dixon looked up.
‘It’s a good route. Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, very much so. Have you done it?’
‘Many years ago. It was an HVS back in the old days.’
Harper laughed. ‘When men were men, eh?’
‘Something like that.’
Dixon leant on the fence looking across to High Rock.
‘What time did you arrive in the gorge on that day?’
‘We got here about five o’clock. I had the day off work and Helen bunked off at lunchtime so we thought we’d get an evening’s climbing in.’
‘Had you done any routes that day before Dinner Date?’
‘No, that was the first one. We came straight up to Heart Leaf Bluff and made a start.’
‘Was Jake Fayter already on High Rock when you arrived?’
‘Jake Fayter?’
‘That was his name.’
‘Shit. I didn’t know it was him.’
‘You knew him?’
‘No, but I’d heard of him. He was in the climbing magazines every now and again with new routes and second ascents. Some pretty hairy stuff.’
‘Was he on High Rock?’
‘Yes. He was just abseiling in when we arrived and we could see him practising a route when we got up to the terrace. What was he working on?’
‘A direct finish to Crow. It was going to go at about E7 6c.’
‘Shit.’
‘What happened then?’
‘We got on with Dinner Date. I was leading and Helen was holding the ropes.’
‘I
was leaning back against the fence post here,’ said Helen. She gestured to the last post on the end of the terrace. ‘I was watching Carl and had my back to High Rock.’
‘A dedicated second,’ said Dixon, ‘I know it well.’
‘I’d never hear the last of it if I wasn’t,’ replied Helen.
‘What happened next?’
‘I must have been two thirds of the way up the route. Above the crux, or at least it felt like it. Then there was an almighty shout. I turned to see him falling.’
‘What about you, Helen?’
‘I heard a shout too and turned to see the fall. It was horrible.’
‘Tell me about the shout. Where did it come from?’
‘Tourists in the car park, I think.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Helen. ‘Some shouts. Some of them were screaming. I could see tourists running down in the car park.’
‘Jake Fayter made no sound then?’
‘Come to think of it, no, none at all,’ replied Carl.
‘I’d have been wailing like I don’t know what,’ said Helen.
‘Had you been watching Jake climbing at all?’
‘No, not really. We were concentrating on doing our own route. We’d only got a couple of hours before the light went.’
‘Of course,’ said Dixon.
Dixon felt the time had come to ask the all important question.
‘Did you see anything unusual at the top of High Rock?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Helen. ‘The shouts came from below so when I turned I looked down to see what was going on. I saw the tourists running and then looked up to see Jake Fayter falling. Thank God I was able to look away just in time.’
‘What about you, Carl? You were higher up weren’t you?’
‘I heard a shout and looked over my shoulder.’
‘Which way?’ asked Dixon.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Which way did you turn?’
‘As far as I can remember, I turned to the left and looked over my left shoulder. My weight was on my right leg.’
‘Were you in balance at the time?’
‘Yes. I’d been placing some gear.’
‘So, you heard the shouting, you looked over your left shoulder and what did you see?’