A Half Remembered Life (The Lakeland Murders Book 9)

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘The GLC award?’

  ‘Greatest Living Cumbrian, Andy. He’s a right pillar of the community, these days, is our Vinny. Local boy made very good indeed, and all that. Makes you sick, really, doesn’t it?’

  ‘So your mates have no interest in him any more?’

  ‘They say not.’

  ‘And you believed them?’

  ‘No, of course not. They’re professional bloody liars, aren’t they? But unless they’re holding owt back, and of course they might be, there’s nothing to suggest that the bloke was ever any more dangerous than any other bloody tree-hugger.’

  ‘So says the man who turns perfectly good trees to stumps.’

  ‘I told you, I just got a bit carried away with dad’s damson. And that old apple tree too, I suppose. Anyway, did you do any better with your online trawl for intel?’

  ‘No, I did not. Battersby is still pretty active in environmental circles, but strictly the mainstream ones, and his businesses all seem totally legit. He’s a bit of a PR machine, in fact. It took me hours to get through all the stuff about him online, and it was nearly all positive.’

  ‘What? There were no, what do you call them, elves?’

  ‘Trolls, you mean. The odd one, maybe, but generally he comes across as a genuine bloke, really working hard for his community as well as himself. I actually ended up quite liking him, to tell the truth. The stuff he said recently, about encouraging young people from places like Cumbria to achieve their potential, and that being the best way of stopping all the posh kids from dominating the arts and all that made sense to me, I must say.’

  ‘Aye, well, don’t believe everything you read in the papers. Chances are it was written by an Old Etonian, like.’

  Mann got up, and stretched out his hamstrings. Hall watched and wondered, briefly, if you actually heard anything, when they snapped.

  ‘So what’s next, Andy?’

  ‘Nothing, really. Even if I was still in the job, and what Spedding told us came in via a solid tip-off, I’d take it no further than this. So I’ll have a word with Pete Spedding, tell him where we’re at, and that’s about all we can do, isn’t it?’

  Mann stopped torturing his hamstrings, and instead started to do some kind of pelvic rotations.

  ‘So you don’t really believe him, then? Is that it?’

  ‘Believe him about what, Ian? Was he working undercover? Yes, he was. There’s no question in my mind on that one. But, just to be sure, I phoned him again the other day, really caught him off guard, and asked him a few questions about people who’d been at Maidstone nick when he said he was there.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, you threw in a fake name.’

  ‘I did, and he spotted it straight away. I tried him on a couple of other things too, real detail stuff that I got from a mate who was there at the time, and he was right on the money. So the bloke’s either an extremely committed fantasist, or he’s the real deal.’

  ‘All right, so he was in the job. What about his dead mate? Was he a cop?’

  ‘Yes, him too.’

  ‘So did Battersby kill Donald when he found out that he was a cop?’

  Hall smiled, and wagged a finger at Mann. It was absolutely all the stretching that he intended to do that evening.

  ‘That’s two questions, Ian. You know better than that. What have I always told you about conflating your questions?’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘Did Battersby kill Donald is one, and did he know that he was a cop at the time? That’s another question altogether. And does he even know now, in fact? That’s probably a third question, actually.’

  ‘Don’t split hairs, Andy. Why would Vinny kill a fellow protestor if he didn’t know the bloke was a bobby?’

  ‘Now that, my fit friend, is a very good question. He probably didn’t is the most likely answer, I have to admit that, and Jane has made it pretty clear that I’m buggering up her career prospects, getting involved in something as flaky as this. She reckons it could cost her promotion, and she may well be right. So we need to let this one go, mate, even if it’s just for Jane.’

  ‘That’s a bit previous, isn’t it? By your own admission this is a brother officer we’re talking about here, Andy. And we both know what the bosses are like, mate. They’d cover this kind of shit up without a second thought, if they reckoned that they could actually get away with it. And guess what? They have so far, haven’t they? So we owe it to this lad to crack on, and find out what really happened to DC Spence. But we both know that, don’t we?’

  By coincidence, as Ian Mann was giving Andy Hall his pep-talk out on the scar, Jane Francis was preparing herself for something altogether more formal. She didn’t see much of Superintendent Sperry, partly because he had the whole Division to cover, but mainly because she seemed to make him uncomfortable. So apart from his regular emails, invariably relating to various force-wide targets and her team’s failure to achieve same, she rarely saw the bloke. She didn’t mind one bit, and it was all too obvious that he didn’t either.

  ‘Now then, DI Francis’ he said, when she’d marched into the usually empty station commander’s office at Kendal police station. ‘Sit yourself down, please.’

  ‘Thanks, sir.’

  When she had sat, notebook at the ready, Sperry recited, apparently from memory, the rubric about the purpose and objectives of the senior officer’s annual review process. If his faculties had been half as sharp when he was a thief-taker he’d have secured a lot more convictions, Jane thought, as she half-listened to his rigmarole. The office had a closed-up smell, and the tea that the Super’s PA had made them was lukewarm, stewed and bitter.

  It took almost an hour for the Divisional Commander to go through all of Jane’s team’s KPIs and metrics, a performance that Sperry said was good, and very nearly outstanding. Jane didn’t say much, partly because Sperry always seemed to associate silence with acquiescence, but mainly because all his bar charts and spreadsheets didn’t relate to her actual experience of policing at all. They were as abstract as modernist paintings, and about as relevant to the job.

  Because what DI Francis knew, and her superior officer did not, was that she and her team had their own way of keeping score in the day-to-day business of diminishing the Kendal cons’ nuisance value, and in reducing their earning power. Every day that the team made some low-life’s life of crime a little less profitable was a good day, as far as Jane Francis was concerned. She knew, and her team knew, that hers was an increasingly unusual approach from any ambitious DI, and no doubt a few more politically astute decisions might even have earned her Sperry’s badge of excellence that day. But Jane had a nasty feeling that the pin might have pierced her skin.

  Eventually he finished his review of the last twelve months in the working life of Kendal CID, declaiming the key ratios like wholly writ.

  ‘So, DI Francis, let’s talk about the future, your future, shall we?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, let me be blunt. I’m not going to recommend that your name be put forward at the forthcoming promotion board.’

  ‘I see, sir.’

  ‘My reasons are as follows. First, that your stats, while more than adequate, reflect a, how can I put this, rather wilful approach to the allocation of your resources.’

  ‘In what way, sir?’ Jane knew full well that Sperry was right, but she was slightly surprised that he’d managed to spot the fact.

  She felt a distant, academic interest in hearing how he’d managed it, because he doubted that his pie charts and venn diagrams would have been much help.

  ‘Well, take sexual offences, for example. Your clear up rate is the best in the force area, by a distance, yet your car theft and burglary clear-up rates are only marginally better than average. Now, what does that tell you?’

  ‘I’d need to see the sample sizes, sir, to confirm the statistical validity of those results. We might not be comparing apples with apples, sir.’

  Sperry shook his he
ad firmly. ‘Oh, no, don’t give me that, Inspector. We all know that you’ve got the sort of academic qualifications that the rest of us can’t even spell, but you can’t rely on that any more. I have all the metrics here, don’t I? And it’s the university of life you need to attend, to be a good copper.’

  ‘Yes, sir. So I’ve been told, on numerous occasions, sir.’

  Sperry looked sharply and suspiciously at Jane.

  ‘I hope you’re not taking the piss here. I really do hope that. But, in any case, it’s obvious that you’ve been prioritising some types of offences over the ones that have been clearly identified as force objectives. Do you deny that?’

  ‘I don’t deny the fact that my team made a huge, and ultimately successful, effort to catch two sexual predators who were both prolific and increasingly violent in their behaviour, sir.’

  ‘Even at the expense of the designated priority areas?’

  ‘Our resources are limited, sir.’

  ‘Indeed they are, DI Francis, which is why the ACC Crime sets these objectives for us to follow. It’s absolutely clear to me, and to other senior officers, that you think you know better than our ACC. Is that the case, DI Francis?’

  ‘Absolutely not, sir. I refute that suggestion. So could I request that you include that assertion in the written appraisal outcome, so that I can appeal it formally?’

  Sperry got up. He was a tall, gaunt man, and his uniform hung loosely, as if it had been made for a recently deceased predecessor.

  ‘No, you most certainly may not. Don’t be impertinent.’ His face had reddened, and Jane was briefly glad to have touched a nerve. ‘And then there’s a matter that I haven’t touched on, but which I have to say is clearly becoming increasingly material. And that’s your relationship with former DCS Andy Hall. You live with him, I believe?’

  ‘We have a daughter. And yes, I do.’ Jane tried, and failed, not to sound impatient. ‘But I don’t see how that’s relevant, sir. As you say, Andy is a retired officer.’

  ‘So you deny that you’ve been running errands for him, helping him with his ridiculous private investigations?’

  ‘Of course I do. That would be against Regulations, sir.’

  ‘So how do you explain the fact that you accessed the Donald death file, an accidental death from over fifteen years ago, and then, just a day or two later, the ACC is informed that Andy Hall is involved in some half-baked amateur investigation of that very same matter?’

  ‘As I explained to the ACC, sir….’

  ‘I know, I know. You received a tip. Anonymous, of course. Well that won’t wash, DI Francis, and we both know it. Those days are long gone, and there’s nothing that the likes of Hall, or you, can do about it. So let me be absolutely crystal clear, so that there’s no possibility of any misunderstanding. If you ever, ever pass privileged information to Andy Hall you will be disciplined, and I have no doubt that you will be dismissed from the police service as a result. Do I make myself clear?’

  Saturday, 20th September

  Abbot Hall Park, Kendal, 2.45pm

  Grace looked hot in her pushchair, wisps of blonde hair lying lank against a porcelain brow. Fortunately Kate was also asleep, for once, so Hall and Spedding were able to push the two infants along without interruption, except when Spedding, and occasionally Hall, said ‘hello’ to an acquaintance.

  ‘I’m sorry that your better half has taken so much shit over all this, Andy.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I should have kept Jane out of this, right from the start. But we’ve touched a nerve, that’s obvious.’

  ‘Is that why you believed me about me and Mike being cops? I did wonder.’

  ‘Yes, largely. In my experience ACCs don’t worry too much when a DI reads a closed case file from years ago. But I should have seen it coming. So, like I say, it’s my fault. And in a way it may not be such a bad thing, it all getting opened up again like this.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, at least it means that you and your family are safe now, totally safe. So that’s a good outcome. I tried to make this point to Jane yesterday evening, but I can’t say she was really listening to anything I said.’

  ‘Night on the sofa for you, was it?’

  ‘Something like that. But the fact remains that senior serving police officers are well aware that Battersby has taken an interest in you, for whatever reason, and so you and your family are completely safe. He’d never try anything now, I’m sure of it. You’ll probably get a letter from some fancy lawyer in a week or two, warning you off, and that’ll be the size of it. And your shadow won’t be back either, you can bet on that.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve already had the letter. It arrived this morning.’

  ‘There we are then. It’s all over, mate. Take my tip and just get on with your life. There’s nothing that you can do for Cam Donald now, nothing at all.’

  They pushed on in silence for a minute or so.

  ‘But what about you, Andy? A police officer was murdered, and you’re not going to do a thing about it?’

  ‘Blimey, you sound just like… It doesn’t matter. But no, I’m not giving up, not just yet, anyway. I’m going to just do a tiny bit more digging. But don’t get your hopes up, OK?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I mean it, Pete. I can’t expect any help from the police, just the opposite, probably, and there are no living witnesses, no forensic data, nothing to go on. It’s not a cold case, it’s a deep-frozen one. But I’ll tell you one thing that might surprise you, because I’d be interested in your view.’

  ‘Oh, aye, what’s that?’

  ‘I don’t believe that Battersby was aware that the man he knew as Cam Donald was actually a cop, at the time of his death, I mean. I’m not convinced of that at all. That doesn’t mean that Battersby didn’t have him killed, because he’s certainly extremely keen to hide something now, but if he did kill your mate I think it’s entirely possible that he did it for another reason entirely.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You tell me. All and any ideas gratefully accepted.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got no clue, Andy, not the faintest.’

  They’d reached the Parish Church, and Hall suggested they stroll back towards the centre of town. He had some shopping to do, and thought he’d better picks up some treats for Jane from Booths. It was the least he could do, and probably still wouldn’t be enough to restore equable relations.

  ‘So what is it that you’re going to do next, Andy?’

  ‘I thought I’d take a run over there, to St. Bees.’

  ‘There’s nothing much to see, mate. Hasn’t been for years. And the mine never happened, remember.’

  ‘I know. It was Brenda Greig I was hoping to see.’

  ‘The digger driver’s wife? You think he told her something before he topped himself? Confessed, maybe? I talked to her once or twice myself, a few months after, and got nothing out of her.’

  ‘No, I certainly don’t expect that. I’ve got no expectations at all, really. But it’ll get me and Grace out of the house for the day, and when I called Brenda was willing to have a chat, so…’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Exactly, why not? It’s funny, but when I was a cop I would have had to come up with some sort of reason to follow up on something as almost nonexistently nebulous as this, because I wouldn’t even call it a hunch, but now I don’t. Not having any official clout cuts both ways, doesn’t it? They can’t stop me talking to anyone who wants to engage with me.’

  ‘And Brenda Greig does?’

  ‘Yes, she’s happy to talk.’

  ‘But was she put up to it? Did Battersby see you coming here, mate? Like I said, he’s a clever bastard.’

  Hall stopped pushing, and Spedding had to wheel his pushchair back to draw level again. Hall was smiling.

  ‘You would have made a good detective, if you’d stayed in the job, Pete. Because I must admit I did consider that possibility, before I ca
lled Brenda, but there’s nothing to suggest that Battersby has been in touch with the lady.’

  ‘What did you tell her, then?’

  ‘The truth. Just that I was looking into the circumstances surrounding the death of Cam Donald, and she said that someone should look into the circumstances surrounding the death of her Stan as well.’

  ‘Did she now?’

  ‘But don’t read anything into that. I can’t review the case file, for obvious reasons, but the Coroner’s conclusion was unequivocal, and the facts back it up, as far as I’m aware. Suicide, pure and simple.’

  They were almost back in town now, and Hall stopped again.

  ‘Of course, if Greig did kill himself, and I very much doubt we’ll ever be able to prove otherwise, then we might be dealing with a very cunning killer indeed here, Pete.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, wouldn’t it be a great way to commit a murder by proxy? Use someone who you’re pretty sure will keep his or her mouth shut after the event, but who will go to pieces pretty quickly thereafter. Suicide would have to be odds on as an outcome, if you spotted the right personality type. And when it comes to premeditated killing, especially for money, I doubt that one in a thousand people could go through with it without falling apart afterwards. Taking another human life, in cold blood, that’s just a huge, huge thing to do. In my whole career I doubt I’ve come across more than two or three people who were remotely capable of keeping it together, after something like that. It would take huge self-control, and amazing willpower too.’