Murder in the Mind
Page 27
‘What do you think, Guv – about the idea that –’
‘Aye?’
Skelgill senses she is about to say something of significance. DS Leyton, too, detects the signs and watches her with interest. She clears her throat and continues.
‘About Meredith Bale’s claim that she didn’t kill all those patients.’
Skelgill’s immediate reaction seems to be one of resistance – that this is a step too far, the lifting of the lid of a Pandora’s box from which they may quite justifiably retreat, having already succeeded beyond the call of duty. But his features reveal a little battle is taking place in his mind. It is his internal gatekeeper, his inherent sense of justice as a man of the fells, that for all his maverick ways guides him in times of need. It wins the argument. Slowly he nods.
‘She reckons she’s got a hidden dossier that will clear her name.’
DS Jones’s eyes light up.
‘When you think about it, Guv – it would be an overwhelming motive to eliminate her.’
Now DS Leyton interjects; there is a note of excitement in his voice.
‘So, what are you saying – that Dr Agnetha Walker committed the hospital murders – and Meredith Bale knows about it?’
His colleagues each turn their solemn gaze upon him. After a moment’s uneasy silence, Skelgill steps towards his sergeant and delivers a friendly left jab to his shoulder.
‘One for the Greater Manchester boys, eh? They’ll regret the day they got us country bumpkins to do their legwork at Haresfell.’ He grins broadly. (Of course, he employs a somewhat coarser expression than “country bumpkins”, one that might unfairly pertain to Herdwicks and their owners.) ‘Come on Leyton, get that boot open – you’ve got my jacket in there.’
The tension released, DS Leyton grins and shrugs, and then he checks his watch. He might even get home in time for some leftover dinner and a bath-time soaking. He ambles to his car to do as he is bid. Skelgill, however, lifts the tailgate of his own vehicle, and begins to rummage noisily amongst the extensive jumble of fishing tackle and outdoor gear that covers the flatbed. DS Leyton calls out to him.
‘Staying for a spot of fishing, Guv?’
Skelgill is shaking his head – although he has produced a small rod with a spinning reel attached, rigged with a silver Toby and ready for instant action. He walks over to DS Leyton’s car. He holds up the rod – it is perhaps only five feet in length.
‘I’m just going to pop down the river – there’s a family staying at a cottage – this is for the little lad – to return a favour.’
DS Jones has drifted to join them, and now she looks inquiringly at Skelgill. There is something plainly self-conscious in his manner. DS Leyton glances from one to the other.
‘Emma – I can give you a ride back up to Penrith – to get your motor from HQ.’
She smiles graciously at her colleague, and glances again at Skelgill, and then away across the water. But Skelgill suddenly leans into the trunk of DS Leyton’s car and snatches up the holdall that she has brought back from Manchester. He thrusts the rod into her hands.
‘Come on, Jones – keep me out of mischief, will you?’
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