A Half Remembered Life (The Lakeland Murders Book 9)

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘OK, I’ll take your word for it. But what about our lads on the ground, policing the demos and what-not that this Spedding boy was involved in? They must have known about him and that other lad, surely?’

  ‘No, they wouldn’t have known. Definitely not, in fact. So I reckon that what he’s saying about him and his mate being undercover cops is actually perfectly possible.’

  ‘How about there being two of them, though? It just sounds like total overkill. It was just a few dozen hippies waving placards outside a locked gate, most of the time, Andy. We’re not talking about a terrorist cell here, mate.’

  ‘Standard practice, at the time.’

  ‘In case one of them went rogue, like?’

  ‘Yes, pretty much.’

  Grace was making her presence felt now, and Hall lifted her out of the push chair and sat her on his knee. She and Mann eyed each other with what looked like, and probably was, mutual suspicion.

  ‘All right, Andy, so that bit of his story might just be true. But murder as well? And of a copper, at that? Come on, mate, that wouldn’t just be nodded through, like, would it?’

  Hall shrugged. ‘It’s a massive stretch, certainly. The death got surprisingly little coverage at the time, especially in the national media, but from what I can gather this Cam Donald, or Mike Spence, was struck by a digger, being used to shore up a stretch of banking one night. The bloke who did it was exonerated, anyway, although there were no witnesses. Donald was alone at the time, and no-one seems quite certain about what he was doing.’

  ‘It was the middle of the night, yeah?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sabotage of some kind, maybe.’

  ‘That’s the theory, and he did have a few tools in his pocket. Screwdriver, pliers, a small knife.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean much, does it? You should see what I carry about in my pockets.’

  Hall nodded. ‘Of course, there is one part of Pete’s story that we could check. Right now, I mean.’

  ‘Whether or not someone really does have eyes on him?’

  ‘Exactly. If he really was a copper then he may be right about that, although even if he is that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s connected to this supposed killing, does it?’

  ‘Agreed. And the bloke had no explanation as to why he’s grown a tail now, like?’

  ‘He did not. He said he thought it might be because this Battersby character has identified him as a former cop, somehow or other.’

  ‘Are we being played here, Andy? Is this bloke trying to get us to do his dirty work? Scare someone off for him, maybe?’

  Hall grinned. ‘So you’re in then?’

  ‘Aye, I’m in. By the sounds of it I’ll probably be suspended for months, so I could do with a distraction. And it’ll give the plants a chance to grow back a bit too, I suppose.’

  ‘That’ll take decades, mate, judging by what you’ve done to these. But to get back to your question, about whether or not we’re being played by Pete Spedding. Because I’ve been thinking about that too. And I do agree it’s a possibility that our friend has some kind of hidden agenda. The sprog’s his all right, and he was going to that playgroup weeks before me and Grace ever came along, so that bit’s kosher. I wasn’t targeted specifically, I mean. But maybe he knew that I’ve been a cop all along, guessed I might be bored enough to get involved, and he sensed an opportunity.’

  ‘Opportunity for what, though?’

  ‘Who knows? Like you say, to scare someone off, possibly. A loan shark, an irate husband, I just don’t know. But of course there’s always the outside possibility that he’s telling the truth, and that he’s guessed right, isn’t there?’

  Mann stood up stiffly, put his goalkeeper’s hands in the small of his back and lent backwards. ‘So he’s a former police officer who needs our help? Aye, maybe he is, at that. Have you talked to Jane about this?’

  ‘No, not yet. I don’t want to start any hares running. Not until we know a bit more, anyway.’

  ‘Makes sense, I suppose. So you want me to find out if someone really is following Spedding?’

  ‘Exactly, if you can spare a few hours.’

  ‘All right. And what do we know about this observation? How covert is it?’

  ‘Not very, by the sounds of it. One bloke. About forty five, car bound, most of the time. Mainly hanging about the Spedding’s house, and that’s just a couple of streets from here, by the way.’

  ‘That’s handy, I suppose. But only one lad on the job, Andy? That’s amateur hour, is that. It’s probably all right for keeping tabs on a husband who’s out on the pull, because they’ve only got eyes for one thing, but when it comes to watching an ex-cop…’

  ‘Agreed, but maybe whoever’s behind it doesn’t know about Spedding’s little secret, Ian. Or maybe our man is bullshitting about having been a cop, but not about being followed.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right. Well, there’s only one way to find out, like.’

  ‘When will you make a start?’

  ‘Today. In an hour or two. And are you going to tell this Spedding bloke what we’re doing?’

  ‘No, Ian, I am not. Not until we know we can trust the bloke. So don’t let him spot you, or he’ll probably have heart attack.’

  ‘Don’t worry, mate, there’s no risk of that happening. No risk at all.’

  When Hall had gone Ian Mann roasted a chicken for him and his dad, then went home and got changed. He’d handed over his police pocketbook along with his Warrant Card, so he dug a couple of old envelopes out of the bin in his little study, found a pen that worked, checked that his mobile was charged, then set off for the address that Hall had given him. It was like being back at work, and he liked that feeling. But he almost laughed out loud when he turned the corner of the street. The bloke in the car couldn’t have been more bloody obvious if he’d been dressed as a clown and his hair was on fire. He was just sitting there, bold as brass, and less then twenty yards from the Spedding’s front door. He could probably hear their bloody bog flush from that range.

  Mann shook his head sadly, and turned away. Ten minutes later he was back, but on the far side of the house, about fifty yards beyond it and out of the lazy bloke’s line of sight. A packet of fish and chips that he’d just bought sat, unopened and cooling, next to him on the bench, although he did take sips from the bottle of water that he’d bought at the same time. It was another half an hour before the Spedding’s car backed into the drive, with a bloke answering his description at the wheel. That manoeuvre struck Mann as slightly odd, as if Spedding was expecting to have to make a quick getaway, until he remembered that the bloke was a retained fireman, so it was probably second nature to reverse park. Either way, Mann approved.

  It was almost eight when Pete Spedding came out of the front door, fast, and his car accelerated past Mann’s position even faster. He was on a shout, no doubt about it. Mann couldn’t see the bloke down the street from where he was sitting, but he certainly didn’t follow. In fact it was another ten minutes before he too drove past Mann’s position, not even bothering to check the street as he drove away.

  ‘Bloody amateurs’ said Mann, getting stiffly to his feet and turning away. Then he remembered the bag of fish and chips, so he returned for them, and threw them in the first bin he passed. After that he called Andy Hall.

  ‘So the bloke didn’t set off straight after Spedding?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So might he have been watching someone else? A neighbour, maybe?’

  ‘It’s certainly possible, but he wasn’t behind any other car from the street when he left.’

  ‘Mmm’ said Hall, and Mann translated in his head. They’d worked together for so long that it wasn’t hard to do.

  ‘You want me to go and have a word with this bloke, then, Andy?’

  ‘You can identify him, then?’

  ‘I’ve got his registration number, aye. And one of my old mates…’

  ‘Don’t tell me, Ian
, because I’m sure I don’t want to know. Tell you what, you find out who the bloke is, by all means, but don’t approach him, not until you hear from me, OK?’

  ‘Got you. Do you want me to stay here, and keep an eye on the Speddings tonight? I can bivvy out in a back garden, if you want.’

  ‘No, don’t do that. I don’t think whoever this bloke is poses any risk to Pete Spedding, even if it is him who’s being watched. You just get off home now, and thanks for doing this. I’ll be in touch in a day to two.’

  ‘No worries. So you’re going to talk to Jane about all this now, I take it?’

  ‘Right now, yes. And I’ll call you as soon as I know more. Oh, and by the way. There’s just one last thing, Ian’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Do nature a favour, and put that bloody lopping saw away, mate.’

  Mann laughed. ‘You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll try my hand at something that might suit me a bit better.’

  ‘Like what? Demolition?’

  ‘Who was that, love?’ said Jane, when Hall walked backed into the living room, still smiling and shaking his head.

  ‘Ian. Ian Mann.’

  ‘And he called you, did he?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Hall, catching the note of caution in her voice, ‘it was nothing to do with his suspension.’

  ‘Good. It’s out of my hands, and he knows what I think, anyway. Personally, I wouldn’t give a shit if Ian had done what that little prat Macrae said he did. I’d never bloody tire of walloping that little weasel.’

  ‘You don’t mean that love.’

  ‘Don’t I? No, maybe I don’t. Anyway, what did Ian want?’

  ‘I asked him to do something for me. He was reporting back.’

  ‘Oh, shit. That sounds ominous. You do remember that you’ve actually retired now, don’t you, love?’

  Hall smiled, and sat down next to Jane. ‘I want to tell you a story.’

  ‘Bedtime story, is it? I hope I’m not going to be frightened, love.’ She was smiling as well, but Hall had a feeling that, like so many other beautiful things, it probably wouldn’t last.

  ‘Not exactly a bedtime story, no. It’s about Pete Spedding.’

  ‘Your new drinking buddy? Don’t tell me. He murdered his first wife, no, his first two wives, and buried them under the mushroom on Scout Scar. That’s what those cairns are really for, I expect.’

  ‘Not quite, love, no.’

  When Hall had finished, Jane got up, and paced round the room. Hall stayed where he was.

  ‘Bloody hell, Andy. Why should anyone believe all this? There’s not a single shred of evidence, is there?’

  ‘The bloke in the car. He’s real enough.’

  ‘Aye, maybe, but we don’t even know that he was watching your new best mate, do we?’

  ‘No, but..’

  ‘And as to the rest of it? I mean, come on, love. The bloke’s probably just a fantasist, a wannabe. All that stuff about being undercover, and his mate being murdered. It’s all so bloody far-fetched.’

  ‘I know what you mean, of course I do. But there’s something about the bloke, Jane. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but he’s pretty credible, I think. And I can’t prove that any of what he told me isn’t true.’

  ‘You’re not telling me that you believe him?’

  Hall paused before he answered. ‘It’s possible, love. Likely, certainly not, but yes, it is possible. And look at it this way. What if he is telling the truth? What if his mate was undercover, and really was murdered? That’s a cop killing, pure and simple. And what if Spedding is actually in danger, right now? Don’t we owe it to a brother officer to try to help, if we possibly can?’

  Jane sat down again, and pointed her index at Andy. That was rarely, if ever, a good sign.

  ‘Bollocks, Andy. Is that really the best justification you can come up with? You’ve always hated cops being treated differently from everyone else, you’ve said so often enough. And I expect you’re building up to ask me to check this out for you at work next, to see if any part of this bloody fairytale is actually true.’

  ‘Well, I was hoping….’

  ‘Of course you were. Well, I’m sorry, love, but I just don’t have time to get involved in another one of your little retirement projects. I nearly got the sack the last time, remember.’

  ‘But this is different, isn’t it? Just have a quick squint at the file on this Cam Donald’s death for me. It’s a closed file, love, long since, so no-one will take any interest. Just another accidental death from fifteen years ago. Ancient history, long forgotten.’

  ‘Can you promise me that?’

  Hall smiled. ‘Well, I don’t know about promise.’

  Jane’s pointing finger poked at him again, from across the table.

  ‘Of course you can’t promise me. I’ll probably be sticking my hand straight in a bloody hornet’s nest here, but only if you’re right, and there really is something iffy about this one. So all right, I’ll see what I can do. But it’s only because I want to see what happens next, mind, if anything. And I’ve got to go to HQ in the morning anyway, so I’ll call up the case file from the archive and take a quick gander. But there are no promises from me either, Andy Hall, Detective Chief Superintendent, retired. That’s retired, love. You do still remember what that word actually means, don’t you?’

  Friday, 12th September

  Police HQ, Penrith, 9.27am

  DI Jane Francis arrived half an hour before her meeting, and took her coffee straight down to the archive. The woman who was on duty said that she’d have to finish it or leave it in the outer office, so Jane took a bit gulp, then tossed the cardboard cup into the bin. It wasn’t quite empty, but she didn’t quite care.

  When Jane found the file it didn’t take long to read. There were only three witness statements, from the driver of the digger, the victim’s wife and his best mate: one Pete Spedding. The digger had been examined and found to be serviceable, and an examination of the scene, on the edge of an area where diggers and graders had been active in the construction of an eventually abandoned access road, had revealed nothing of interest. The transcript from the Coroner’s Court was in the thin file too, and that didn’t take much reading either. A straightforward, unambiguous accidental death, and the driver, a man called Stan Greig, was explicitly exonerated by the Coroner. Condolences to all, and on to the next one, please.

  Jane glanced at her watch. She still had five minutes before her meeting, so she flicked through the file again. The job had been signed off by a DS whose name she didn’t recognise, and he’d conducted the three witness interviews himself, and appeared in the Coroner’s Court. Nothing smelt wrong, not really, and although the file was thin she couldn’t honestly say that a similar case, if it had happened on her watch, would have been handled significantly differently. In fact, Jane doubted that she’d have even bothered sending a SOCO team out to the location, unless there was some suggestion of foul play. But there had been none. Not a hint of a suggestion from anyone. So Spedding must have voiced his doubts to his handler alone, and in private, if his story was true.

  She texted Andy from her personal mobile, and then set off for her meeting. And since this one was actually potentially useful, a briefing about some new rules regarding the logging of evidence, she didn’t even resent the trip up the A6. But, as it turned out, she didn’t get to hear very much of what the Home Office official had to say, because after less than quarter of an hour the ACC’s PA knocked and poked her head round the conference room door, and said, with a note of pleasure in her voice, that the ACC needed to see DI Francis.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now.’

  ACC Winter’s desk was as uncluttered as it was vast. Jane sat very upright on the uncomfortably low chair, and wondered if Winter thought that these sort of small-man-in-a-big-job tactics would ever intimidate real, working cops. Maybe they did in his world, of pointed memos and accusatory spreadsheets, but not in hers. When you’d been
chased down a dark stairwell by a twenty stone junkie waving a bloodied syringe about, as she had, stuff like this didn’t really get the adrenaline pumping. But this little man still had the power to send her back to uniform, and to base her at the station furthest away from home, so she needed to be careful.

  Winter took a sip of his coffee, then put the cup down.

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have offered.’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, sir.’

  ‘You’ve already had coffee, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In your meeting?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And before that?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I’ve had two coffees. Has there been a memo about coffee consumption that I’ve missed?’

  ‘Don’t take that tone with me, DI Francis. I will ask you any question I damn well like, and you will answer me, promptly and honestly. Is that clear?’

  ‘Quite clear, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  Then Winter smiled. It was almost exactly as unconvincing as Andy’s attempts to feign sleep had been when Grace had woken at four that morning.

  ‘So how is that delightful daughter of yours?’

  ‘Doing well, thanks.’

  ‘And her dad?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘Give Andy my regards, won’t you? And what’s he doing with himself, these days?’

  ‘Taking care of Grace, mainly.’

  ‘Mainly, I see, mainly. Yes, of course. A man like Andy, well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it?’