Gallows Drop

by Mari Hannah

  ‘I’m a miner’s daughter, Hank. Chimneys don’t smoke unless A, you just lit the fire, or B, you recently added coal. Unless Willis has a coal-fired range, he’d hardly stoke the fire and leave the house, so either he’s hiding in there or someone else is. By his own admission he drinks with Adam Foster, a lad who can’t go near his grandmother’s home with the military police after him. Willis could be harbouring a fugitive. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t very forthcoming when we interviewed him. If it becomes necessary, I’ll get permission to enter.’

  ‘I could give the door a shove.’

  ‘With that shoulder? Don’t even think about it. No, Hank, we do this by the book. This is not my case. Atkins will have your warrant card if you bend the rules, no matter what plausible explanation you provide. I know for a fact he won’t cover your ass. He’ll drop you in it first chance he gets – and enjoy doing it. He’s so keen to play the big man, let him deal with it.’ She raised her hand to her forehead. ‘I’m up to here with him.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ Hank’s disappointment was short-lived. ‘I do have some good news.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘When I couldn’t find Willis, I knocked on a few doors. Met an old soldier who actually witnessed the punch-up. His name is Fred Downes. He claims he saw Elliott sitting with his back to the churchyard wall, minding his own business, as we thought. A car drew up. Some lads jumped out. Wrong ’uns, he called them. There were others there too. At least one lass who seemed to wander into the middle of the argument.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Just gone six . . . he thinks.’

  Kate felt an adrenalin surge. It was the first confirmed sighting and only an hour or so before Elliott died. ‘He can’t have called it in or Lisa would’ve said so yesterday.’

  ‘Atkins didn’t share it with you last night after the briefing?’

  ‘You’re kidding. He wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire. Should he have?’

  ‘Downes gave a statement to the house-to-house team. Maybe Atkins is angling to take all the glory.’

  ‘That won’t be hard. It’s his case. Anyway,’ she winked, ‘he already tried that and it backfired with spectacular results.’ Kate had a wry smile to herself, prompting Hank to ask what was so funny. ‘I’ll tell you about it later,’ she said. ‘C’mon, show me where I can find Mr Downes.’

  As they started walking in the direction of Downes’ house, Hank gave a mighty sneeze that immediately had him wincing in pain. She didn’t pull him about it. Just kept on walking. Kept on worrying, like an anxious mother waiting for a teenager to come home. She’d lost a lot of sleep over allowing him to sign himself fit for duty.

  ‘Did Downes tell you anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘Only that he’d seen enough. Heard enough. Apparently, there was more foul language than he’d witnessed on the parade ground in twenty years’ military service. I gather he doesn’t approve of bad language, in any circumstances, so watch your mouth.’

  She punched his arm playfully. ‘Like Willis, he left them to it?’

  Hank was nodding. ‘And went back inside to mind his own business. Says he turned on the TV to block out the noise. Didn’t want to get involved. He’s a bit upset. He knows Jane Gibson well. I gather they were an item once. He’s eighty-four, so it could have been light years ago. They’re still great friends. Poor bugger started to cry when he talked about her, feels guilty for not having done something to prevent Elliott getting hurt. I left it there. Told him you’d want to talk to him.’

  ‘Did you ask him to wait in?’

  ‘He’s not going anywhere. He’s not too good on his pins. These days, the front door is about as far as he gets. He’s vulnerable, Kate. Hardly surprising he’s nervous of getting involved.’ Hank observed her closely. ‘He’s also recently bereaved and very frail.’ He pointed to a shabby front door. ‘This is it.’ He knocked loudly.

  22

  Fred Downes was as infirm as Hank had indicated. Stick thin, but clean-shaven, with shaky hands that were wrinkly and lined with raised blue veins. His hair was streaked with silver where it once had been dark. On the walls of his tiny sitting room he appeared in photographs as a fit young man, strong and proud in his Northumberland Fusiliers regimental uniform. Next to his military snaps were several of his late wife smiling for the camera – a lifetime of happy memories. Condolence cards were everywhere, hung on string like Christmas decorations. Sitting proudly on top of an archaic music system was a portrait of Her Majesty the Queen.

  For reasons she couldn’t altogether fathom, Kate found that touching.

  Having shown the detectives into the house, Fred hobbled to his fireside chair, put down his shepherd’s stick, and sat so close to the fire Kate half-expected to smell his clothes burning. He wore a thick grey V-neck jumper, bobbled and frayed at the sleeves, a grubby white shirt with a torn collar and regimental tie beneath. His trousers were several sizes too big, angular bones visible through thinning, shiny material, as if he’d recently lost half his bodyweight.

  ‘Thank you for talking to Detective Sergeant Gormley earlier and for agreeing to see me.’ Kate bent over and shook his hand. In spite of the heat in the room, it was cold to the touch. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Kate Daniels, Murder Investigation Team. I understand you’ve given a statement to the house-to-house team already. I’d like to ask you one or two more questions if I may, then I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Did I say something wrong?’ The old man looked bewildered. ‘I told the uniformed officers all I know. Did they send you?’

  ‘No, sir, they didn’t. I’m here in case you missed anything out.’ Kate reassured him with a smile. ‘I promise I’ll be quick. And if you should receive a third visit from another detective, please don’t concern yourself. I’m on leave as of this evening, so that would be perfectly normal. Nothing for you to worry about.’

  He relaxed. ‘You better sit down.’

  Hank remained standing as Kate perched herself on the edge of the sofa, eyes scanning the room. It was clear that Fred Downes was someone for whom coping had become a struggle years ago. The cottage was in need of attention, the furniture scruffy and worn. There was clutter everywhere, the whole lot covered in a thick film of dust. Wherever her eyes landed was the same disordered mess.

  The swirly carpet pattern alone was enough to bring on a migraine.

  They spent a while talking about the fight across the green, his knowledge of her victim, his conviction that it was definitely Elliott Foster and not someone else he’d seen. As the discussion expanded to others in the group, Fred dropped his head, avoiding eye contact. When eventually he raised his eyes to meet hers, she could see how distressed he was.

  ‘Mr Downes?’ She waited. ‘Do you have something more to add?’

  ‘Elliott saw me in the doorway and waved.’ Wiping a tear from his eye with a scruffy linen handkerchief, the old man recovered his composure. ‘That was before the others arrived.’ He paused. ‘I can’t get over it. I’ve known the lad all his life and his father before him. He was a good lad. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Used to run errands for me from time to time. Why on earth would anyone want to hurt him?’

  Kate leaned forward in her seat, elbows on knees. She chose her words carefully. ‘Mr Downes, if you could see Elliott, then it stands to reason you got a good look at the others. If you can’t identify them by name, descriptions would help a lot. I’m inclined to think they might be local. Can you tell me who it was you saw?’

  The old man didn’t answer immediately. ‘I’m a bit short of the lamp oil these days, pet.’ His watery eyes met Kate’s. ‘I don’t know who the others were, I’m sorry.’

  ‘If you need more time—’

  ‘No. I can’t help you.’

  Kate tried a gentle nudge: ‘You saw well enough to know it was Elliott sitting by the churchyard wall.’ It was a statement rather than a question. ‘I need to identify the others. You want to help your friend Jane Gibson, don’t
you? I saw her yesterday. As you can imagine, she’s completely devastated by the news. To be honest, I’m not sure she’ll ever recover, especially if those responsible go unpunished.’

  ‘I know.’ Downes was struggling to get the words out. ‘I spoke to her on the telephone this morning. I still can’t help you. The only reason I knew for sure it was Elliott is because I often saw him sitting there. He meets his pals there sometimes. As I said, he’s a good lad, a quiet lad. Not like some his age. He minds his own business, know what I mean?’

  Kate’s eyes found the window. What was the old fella not saying? Had he perhaps seen Elliott’s best friend, Richard Hedley? He’d still not surfaced and she wondered if he had been among the group. Maybe Fred was being cagey out of loyalty to another young man in the village. She didn’t think he was deliberately lying. More likely, he was withholding the truth. She decided not to push him and to end the interview there.

  ‘Thanks for your time,’ she told him. ‘We’ll let ourselves out.’

  As soon as they were in the hallway, out of earshot, she whispered, ‘So, we’re bullying our war veterans now?’

  Hank turned, midway through opening the front door, as unhappy as she was at seeing a vulnerable old man suffer.

  ‘He’s scared, Hank.’

  ‘You think that’s why he’s holding out on us?’

  ‘Didn’t he strike you as nervous?’

  ‘Of you?’ His expression was deadpan. ‘Can’t think why.’

  About to dig him in the ribs, Kate remembered his injury and pulled back at the last minute. As the lock clicked shut behind them, Hank offered the opinion that their witness was just a tired old man who probably couldn’t hack another police interrogation. Despite this, Kate couldn’t shake off the feeling that Fred Downes was more intimidated than he was letting on.

  23

  Kate’s office door stood ajar, allowing in the sound of the busy incident room beyond: ringing phones, the chatter of many conversations, laughter too. She was so used to it, she found it harder to work in silence than in noise these days. Continuing to observe her team, she leaned back in her chair, pushing away the sad excuse for a snack Hank had insisted on picking up en route from Elsdon.

  The watch on her wrist seemed to be moving faster than it ever had before. It was almost one o’clock. For her, time on the Elliott Foster murder enquiry was running out. There were simply not enough hours in this particular day, yet her detective brain wasn’t able to switch off or stop sifting the list of names in her head. Picking up her fountain pen, she began to scribble them down, categorizing them as she went:

  Family members: Graeme Foster (dad), Gayle Foster (mum), Adam Foster (bro), Jane Gibson (grandmother), ? Gibson (uncle – suicide : why?)

  Known associates: Richard Hedley (friend – missing)

  Others: Tom Orde (finder), John Dodds (landowner)

  Witnesses: Matthew Willis, Paul Dent, Fred Downes

  So many names: all of interest to the investigation – and to her – but little or no evidence to class any of them as definite suspects. A harsh tone of voice drew her attention through the door. Atkins was on his feet, raking a hand through his hair, as frustrated as she was with lack of progress in the case. He was having a go at Hank . . . again.

  Sick of playing referee, Kate got to her feet, compelled to deflect another unnecessary confrontation before it got out of hand. As she reached the threshold of the MIR, the two men were standing sideways on, eyeballing each other, neither paying her any attention.

  ‘According to your boss, the pathologist needs more time.’ Atkins spat the words out as Kate continue to observe him. ‘All I want is a straight answer to a perfectly reasonable question. Bloody woman!’

  ‘Kate or Su?’ Hank was confused.

  ‘Morrissey – she’s a liability.’

  ‘Not according to Stanton.’

  ‘Yeah, what would he know?’

  ‘With respect, he’s been star witness for the prosecution in more enquiries than you’ve had hot dinners. Many a case would have collapsed without his input. Ask anyone—’

  ‘He’s right.’ Kate arrived in the nick of time. Why she bothered to protect Hank from Atkins was something she didn’t fully understand. Pound to a penny the two men would resume winding each other up the minute she turned her back and headed north. She locked eyes with Hank, urging him to back off and let Atkins’ negativity wash over him.

  ‘Any news on Tom Orde?’ It was a question for both of them.

  ‘He’s in the clear,’ Atkins said as Grant arrived by his side.

  Kate threw the DS a smile and then focused her attention on the SIO. ‘Can I ask why?’

  He flicked his head towards Hank. ‘He just heard from Lothian & Borders—’

  ‘He means Police Scotland,’ Hank said.

  ‘Same difference,’ Atkins bit back.

  Hank checked his notes, a smirk of satisfaction on his face as he glanced at Kate. ‘Orde was seen leaving Melrose on Sunday morning at six thirty-five a.m. His car was spotted exactly twenty minutes later on CCTV in Jedburgh. He must’ve been flying because he was clocked again in Otterburn at seven seventeen. Eight minutes after that, at twenty-five past seven, he was on the blower to Control saying he’d found Elliott’s body at the gibbet.’

  ‘Unless he wasn’t driving the car?’ Kate said.

  Hank was about to say something when Atkins spoke over him. ‘You have reason to believe otherwise?’

  ‘I’m merely reflecting on the possibilities,’ Kate said. ‘If someone else was driving, it would provide him with a convenient alibi.’

  ‘That was my impression initially,’ Hank said.

  ‘And now?’ she asked.

  ‘Orde stopped to buy petrol and fags in Jedburgh. We have a nice clear image of him doing so. There’s no doubt. He was wearing exactly the same clothes he had on when first responders spoke to him later that morning. Take a bow, CCTV.’

  Atkins appeared to accept that.

  Kate was harder to convince. ‘That still doesn’t prove he’s not our man. We don’t know what Elliott was doing from the time he left his grandmother’s home until the time of his death. Maybe Orde was the one who stopped to pick him up on the Alwinton Road where he left his bike.’

  ‘Have you forgotten the altercation in Elsdon?’ It was a sideswipe from Atkins.

  ‘Not for a second,’ Kate said. ‘Su Morrissey found a subdural haematoma, the symptoms of which can include mental confusion. Badly injured, the victim would have been in a vulnerable state. What’s stopping Orde picking him up on the pretext of offering to help him? Driving him somewhere, killing him, travelling north and then back down in the morning, covering his ass. Geographically, Melrose isn’t that far. If he knew that garage was always open – chances are he did – he might have made it his business to smile for the camera.’

  ‘Children!’ Hank threw his hands in the air, interrupting the barney that was rapidly developing. ‘Much as it pains me to put an end to this – especially when my DCI is winning hands down – I have more to say, if I can get a word in.’

  He paused until he had their full attention.

  Grant was gripped with the discussion, and so it seemed were the rest of the Murder Investigation Team. Their heads were down but they were earwigging the conversation all the same.

  ‘Go on,’ Kate said.

  Hank continued. ‘Orde’s daughter got married at three o’clock on Saturday. The reception was held at a Melrose hotel where he stayed the night. We have photos of him doing the Military Two-Step and witnesses queuing up to testify he was there all evening, if you’d like them interviewed. The father of the bride booked a wake-up call at six a.m. and was seen leaving by the desk clerk. I’d say that’s pretty conclusive, wouldn’t you? A cast-iron alibi – unless he has an identical twin.’

  ‘Good work!’ Kate said. ‘Reference him off.’

  Hank looked at Atkins.

  For once, he nodded his approval.

&nb
sp; Kate glanced at him. ‘No need to look so self-righteous, I never take things at face value, you should know that. Now we’re sure, we can refocus. Is there any news of the Telford’s coach Paul Dent talked about?’

  ‘It does exist,’ Grant said. ‘It’s a family firm operating out of Newcastleton. The bad news: they ran more than one coach to Alwinton Show. The good news: only one stopped off at the pub in Elsdon on the return journey. A list of passengers is on my desk, if you’d like—’

  ‘I’ll action them later.’ Atkins stuffed an A4 sheet of paper in Hank’s hand. ‘This list takes priority. Chase it up and let me know what gives.’

  With Kate peering over his shoulder, Hank studied the list. On it were the known associates of the dead boy, including some the SIO appeared to have conjured up from nowhere. The name Christopher Collins was underlined in red. Kate could see the list was a matter of concern to the receiver, Harry Graham, who’d also been handed a copy. He looked up from his desk, a mixture of anger and resentment on his face.

  ‘Who the hell is Christopher Collins?’ he demanded.

  ‘First I’ve heard of him,’ Kate said.

  ‘Me too,’ Hank echoed.

  All eyes were on Atkins.

  ‘Never mind who he is,’ Atkins said. ‘I want the scrote found.’ Ignoring their collective concern, he turned his attention to Grant. ‘Did you call his home?’

  ‘Yes, sir. His mother doesn’t know where he is. She claims not to have seen him since he went to bed last night. He was gone when she got up. Actually, she sounded worried. Says it’s not like him to take off without popping his head in to let her know, even if he’s working an early shift. They’re very close, apparently.’

  ‘And was he?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘Was Collins working an early shift?’

  ‘Not according to his employer.’

  ‘Is that so.’ Atkins had a self-satisfied expression on his face as he barked another order. ‘Maybe he has something to hide then. Gormley, get on to Area Command. Ask Wilkinson to deploy a team of uniforms to give us a hand picking him up. I’m sick of pissing about, asking nicely. Let’s shake things up a bit. Maybe then we’ll get some answers. The gentle touch doesn’t appear to be working.’ It was a swipe at Kate. The man clearly couldn’t help himself.