Murder on the Edge (Detective Inspector Skelgill Investigates Book 3)

by Bruce Beckham

  DS Leyton begins to speak, but simultaneously biting into a parcel of uncertain composition he is taken unawares by its spicy nature and is forced to dive for his cooling beer. The others look on in amusement. He mops his brow with his serviette and makes an attempt to appear composed.

  ‘What I don’t get though, Guv – the Lambs took the risk of warning off their next victim – once the deaths hit the news.’

  Skelgill shakes his head, simultaneously tearing at an unyielding chapatti.

  ‘Aye – but think of the timing, Leyton. Harris you can forget – he was first. But Seddon was killed on the same day we found Harris’s body – Monday. We didn’t release the names until the Thursday night. Barley was murdered the next day, Friday. Aye, he must have missed the news – or decided he was going ahead anyway – we didn’t give out details of how they were killed, other than apparent climbing accidents. He had no reason to make the sinister connection.’

  DS Leyton purses his lips and nods slowly in acceptance of this logic.

  ‘But they still thought they’d reel in Clifford Stewart, Guv?’

  ‘Aye – well, who knows how they were going to play that one. But I reckon they were getting over-confident. Probably thought we hadn’t got a clue – so time was on their side.’

  DS Leyton is nothing if not persistent when it comes to ironing out the wrinkles in the modus operandi of the suspects. Again a thought clouds his features.

  ‘Thing is, Guv – why go to all the trouble of displaying the bodies like they did – surely the reason would be to strike the fear of God into the next victim? From what you’ve pointed out, there wasn’t even time for that – apart from Clifford Stewart.’

  Skelgill waves an acknowledging fork at DS Leyton, indicating he has the solution to this conundrum.

  ‘It’s a good question, Leyton – and a lot of trouble to go to. I carried an equivalent weight up to Scales Tarn – thank God I did, else I’d never have met Liz – Williams.’ (He adds the surname under scrutiny from DS Jones.) ‘It’s do-able, but a killer – excuse the pun. But Jason is obviously a fit young lad.’

  DS Leyton nods in agreement.

  ‘Actually, Guv – one of the reports on him mentioned he was a promising fell-runner as a youth and that they were trying to encourage that.’

  Skelgill indicates with an open palm that this bears out his point.

  ‘A fit young lad – but also a disturbed young lad. We don’t know what happened to these kids – but we do know that places like Sharp Edge were used to scare the living daylights out of them – to control them. Liz Williams actually joked about it when she told me – but it must have been terrifying for those they’d singled out for special treatment.’

  DS Jones is staring hard at Skelgill.

  ‘So, Guv – do you think in some way it was about taking back control?’

  Skelgill is eating again, but he shakes his head decisively.

  ‘I go along with the idea of it being a message – but not to their next target for murder, nor us. I reckon it was a signal to all their fellow victims.’

  DS Leyton regards Skelgill intently.

  ‘How do you mean, Guv?

  Skelgill stares back squarely.

  ‘What’s the biggest frustration in the case of the unmentionable disc jockey?’

  ‘That he died before he could be punished.’

  ‘Exactly. And if Lee Harris had died in a motorbike accident, and Barry Seddon had fallen off his scaffolding, and Walter Barley had been savaged by a sheep... you get my drift?’

  The two sergeants nod in silence. Skelgill continues.

  ‘But when they’re found murdered – executed – with a climbing rope around their necks, and then dumped at a particular landmark – a place that strikes fear into your own heart – if you’d been a victim and you heard that on the news – think about it.’ He pauses for dramatic effect, and then bangs his fist hard on the table. ‘Justice has been done.’

  Again there is a hush as they each consider the possibility that the terrible retribution wreaked by the Lambs has some underlying sense of twisted righteousness – unproven as any such misdemeanours by the murder victims may yet be.

  ‘But what about Clifford Stewart, Guv – we’ve still got him to find? We can’t let him escape justice.’

  Skelgill’s features crease into an expression of distaste.

  ‘I suspect he already has done, Leyton.’

  ‘How’s that, Guv?’

  ‘I believe he died in the fire. I reckon if we find anything of Clifford Stewart it’ll be a bunch of charred bones down the mine beyond Knott Halloo Farm.’ Skelgill folds his arms and glares angrily. ‘Maybe Maurice Stewart will come clean – or maybe he’s half-cracked and not capable of speaking sense. But I think that fire was a deliberate act.’

  ‘Set by whom, Guv?’ DS Jones is the first to speak.

  Skelgill squints into the shadowy middle distance of the intimately lit restaurant. It is steadily filling up, though the patrons are mostly local couples and there is a subdued air about the place.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine, Jones. Maybe there was a falling out. Maybe it was Maurice Stewart who uncovered what was going on – blamed it on his son. Maybe Clifford did it and it went wrong – perhaps he actually committed suicide. Maybe even it was an angry parent.’

  DS Leyton methodically folds his cutlery onto his plate.

  ‘So that would mean it was hushed up, Guv?’

  ‘Aye – and that fits the facts. There was no insurance claim. The Stewart family – whatever was left of them – abandoned the area like rats from a sinking ship. Walter Barley got a cottage for life out of it – for keeping mum, perhaps.’

  ‘But what about Clifford Stewart, Guv – I mean his death going unnoticed?’

  Skelgill shrugs.

  ‘If his body was removed from the scene and he was never reported missing – who was to know he’d not gone away? The fire brigade got there too late – they were up to their necks in forest fires and were content to sign it off as spontaneous combustion caused by petrol fumes.’

  DS Jones leans forward.

  ‘And, Guv – the Lambs – they wouldn’t know Clifford was dead.’

  Skelgill nods slowly.

  ‘I told them I’d been away for a long time. They didn’t question that.’

  ‘You must have been the icing on the cake, Guv.’

  Skelgill raises his eyebrows in a self-conscious gesture. But before his embarrassment can be compounded white-jacketed waiters arrive in synchrony to clear the table of debris. The detectives now sway from one side to the other, like diners on a rolling cruise ship, to enable the staff to reach past them. As this task is completed, DS Leyton glances at his wristwatch and places his hands on the table as if he is about to rise.

  ‘If you don’t mind, Guv – my pass-out is about to expire – I’ve got to meet the mother-in-law off the nine o’clock from Euston.’

  Though he winks at Skelgill, his superior looks alarmed.

  ‘What about your dinner – we’ve only had the starters?’

  ‘Guv – I’m stuffed already – and, anyway – I’ve got a cunning plan.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well – you know what I told you about DI Smart threatening to bring us here – talking this place down – and gloating about the case?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I thought maybe if we left a nice doggy-bag on his desk for him to find first thing on Monday morning – he’d blame you, of course, Guv.’

  Skelgill seems amused – though such a sentiment must be tinged with the regretful prospect of good food going to waste.

  ‘Fair enough, Leyton – we’ll see what we can do, eh, Jones?’

  This statement appears to leave a window ajar should he opt to raid the now-superfluous order.

  DS Leyton climbs to his feet and slips his jacket from the back of his chair. He reaches inside and pulls out his wallet. He extracts a generous wad of notes and is a
bout to lay them on the table when Skelgill stands up and intervenes.

  ‘Put that back, Leyton – this is my treat.’

  ‘You sure, Guv?’

  Skelgill waves away DS Leyton’s protests.

  ‘I told you it was – besides, I’m flush.’ He resumes his seat looking pleased with himself. ‘There was one other thing I got from Maurice Stewart, though he doesn’t know it – the winner of the two-thirty at Lingfield this afternoon.’

  DS Leyton grins widely and shakes his head.

  ‘Blimey, Guv – I hope you didn’t back it at the Scotchwoman’s shop.’

  Skelgill shakes his head.

  ‘No – but I told her.’ He chuckles. ‘Between us I reckon we cleaned out Bettoney’s.’

  ‘Nice one, Guv.’

  DS Leyton does not appear to bear any resentment for not being let in on the hot tip. With a parting wave, and a word of thanks to the effusive manager at the door, he takes his leave. There is a proud glint in Skelgill’s eye as he watches his sergeant lumbering bravely off into the night, to an uncertain fate.

  ‘Impressive arrest you two made.’ The tone of Skelgill’s voice suggests he could almost be talking to himself. ‘He’s as soft as putty – but you’d want him alongside you in a tight corner.’

  DS Jones is leaning forward across the table, her own dark eyes glistening in the flicker of the candlelight. She appears fascinated by her boss’s rare display of fraternal affection – although her next statement perhaps belies her underlying emotions.

  ‘I still can’t believe you did it, Guv.’

  Skelgill frowns dismissively.

  ‘Well – if you recall, Miss Jones – it was a little bird not so far from where I’m sitting that told me all about Streetwise in the first place.’

  DS Jones gives him an imploring look, as if she means to suggest it is one huge leap from such knowledge to the radical approach he clandestinely adopted. Skelgill casually swallows the last of his lager and waves for refills.

  ‘You know, the more I thought about Barry Seddon’s last recorded movements – the more I felt they had the hallmarks of someone paying a visit to – how shall I put it? – a lady of ill-repute.’

  DS Jones feigns concern – perhaps that he would easily recognise such signs.

  ‘I didn’t imagine you’d take it so seriously, Guv. How did you convince them you were Clifford Stewart?’

  ‘I suppose I had their momentum on my side – I was giving them what they wanted – so they didn’t look too closely.’ He runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Liz – you don’t need to worry about her, by the way – she told me that Clifford couldn’t pronounce the letter ‘r’ – he said wope instead of rope. Then there was his old nickname I got from Maurice Stewart – Cliff Edge – I used that to create a profile on Streetwise – got myself a couple of ratings –’

  DS Jones suddenly chokes on her water, and Skelgill has to leave his seat to thump her on the back.

  ‘It’s not what you think, Jones.’

  Temporarily incapacitated, she is unable to reply, and dabs tears from her eyes with her napkin.

  ‘I made up a couple of girls’ profiles – then I used their accounts to give me ratings. Took a good few hours burning the midnight oil – but in the end I was quite impressed with my computer ingenuity. Got a bit confused with all the passwords, though.’

  DS Jones is shaking her head.

  ‘And are these ratings available to read online, Guv?’ Now her lips form into a suggestive pucker.

  Even in the semi-darkness of the restaurant, Skelgill’s cheeks visibly colour.

  ‘I’ve, er – closed down the accounts – I got them on a free trial period.’

  DS Jones allows him to stew for a moment. Then she relents.

  ‘That was a crazy risk you took, Guv.’

  Skelgill leans closer across the table, his voice lowered.

  ‘I had to get the evidence. Until they told me what they were up to – their motives – I still hadn’t really put it all together – let’s face it, I could have got it completely wrong – it might have been the service exactly as advertised on Streetwise. As it was I made three other appointments – in the process of trying to find an escort based in the right area. And this pair had a clever system – you had to call them from a nearby phone box. That’s one reason there was no helpful number left on Barry Seddon’s mobile.’

  DS Jones reaches for her glass and wraps her fingers around its base. Her hand is just an inch or so from Skelgill’s.

  ‘You could have said something, Guv – for your own safety – I would have kept quiet if some daft theory of yours never came to anything.’

  Skelgill compresses his lips and inhales slowly through his nose. In a grateful gesture, he brushes his knuckle against her fingers, but then sits back in his seat. He shakes his head at his own stupidity.

  ‘My mind was jumping about all over the place – I even got completely side-tracked at the eleventh hour and tested out the farmer at Knott Halloo – in case he was Clifford – he thought I was crackers when I started calling him Cliff Edge.’ Skelgill tuts to the heavens at his folly. ‘But then I returned to my original theory – that Clifford really had disappeared from the face of the earth – I had a look in the old mine behind the farm. Cleopatra nearly fell down a shaft – I just about cut off my hand breaking her fall – then I was thinking if I used a wide tape for a handle, the baler twine wouldn’t dig in to your skin.’

  DS Jones raises her eyebrows.

  ‘The restraining straps that leave no marks.’

  ‘Another little piece in the jigsaw. I guessed I had that coming to me – but I’d banked on being able to tell them who I was – that their game was up – I thought at worst they’d abandon me and do a runner. I hadn’t bargained for the gag.’

  ‘Or the oil?’

  Now he simpers rather sheepishly.

  ‘All in the line of duty, Jones.’

  DS Jones’s expression breaks into an impish smile.

  ‘I’m tempted to remind you of a statement you made in your office after seeing the Chief, Guv.’

  Skelgill remains poker faced.

  All in good working order.’

  ‘Nice boxers, by the way – and at least they were on the right way round.’

  Now Skelgill meets her gaze with an intensity of his own – but then abruptly he jerks bolt upright in his seat

  ‘What is it, Guv?’

  ‘Boxers – you’ve just reminded me – Cleopatra’s in the car – I’d better check her before they bring the main course – in case we’re a while – she’s probably starving.’

  DS Jones casts about the restaurant as if she desires to attract the attention of a waiter – but at this moment the staff appear to be otherwise occupied behind the scenes.

  ‘I was thinking, Guv – since DS Leyton wants his meal packed up.’ She hesitates for a second before continuing. ‘We could get the rest of it as a takeaway?’

  Skelgill, who has risen to his feet, wavers for a moment. Then he nods once.

  ‘Okay – I’ll go and sort the bill – you stick your head round the kitchen door – your powers of persuasion are greater than mine.’

  A couple of minutes later they leave together and stroll across the car park towards Skelgill’s estate. Dusk is falling and Cleopatra is not obviously visible. Then DS Jones spots a movement to the rear.

  ‘She’s in the back section, Guv.’

  Skelgill lifts the tailgate. DS Jones involuntarily recoils – there is a sudden sharp stink of fish. Cleopatra sits innocently on the flatbed, her head cocked to one side.

  Skelgill appears alarmed. He reaches past the dog and retrieves the empty lower half of a partially gnawed plastic sandwich box.

  ‘Oh, no – disaster.’

  ‘What is it, Guv?’

  ‘She’s eaten all my dead-baits!’

  DS Jones laughs heartily, and after a moment Skelgill is forced to join in.

  ‘I think I’
d better keep the takeaway food in the front, Guv.’

  Skelgill concurs.

  ‘Aye – the little devil, eh? I was thinking of giving her some of Leyton’s chicken tikka masala – but she can forget that now.’

  He closes the tailgate and they round to their respective doors. DS Jones holds up the brown paper carrier bag containing their meals.

  ‘Shame DS Leyton had to go, Guv – that’s considerate of him, looking after his mother-in-law.’

  Skelgill stares uncomprehendingly across the roof of the car. Then he breaks into a grin.

  ‘Jones – he’s not picking up his mother-in-law – that was what’s called making a diplomatic exit.’

  ***