A Half Remembered Life (The Lakeland Murders Book 9)

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘So you’re thinking that Greig might have been manipulated, controlled if you like?’

  ‘Something like that, maybe. But it’s just a theory.’

  Hall paused, then laughed, briefly. ‘And I have plenty more, if you don’t like that one.’

  ‘I’m sure you do. But aren’t you forgetting something, mate? Greig was on the other side of the barricades from us, that whole year. How could Battersby have been able to get him to do something like that? He didn’t have any money, that’s for sure. We didn’t have a pot to piss in, any of us.’

  ‘I know, and like I say, it’s just a theory. But the main thing to take away for now is that you and your family are OK. You’re all safe, and that’s the main thing. Doing anything to you, or them, would just point to your story being true, wouldn’t it? And, like I said before, Battersby knows that you’ve told your story to me, and that I’ve told others as well.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried for yourself then, Andy?’

  ‘No, actually I’m not. But then I’ve got a guardian angel.’

  ‘You mean Jane?’

  Hall laughed. ‘No, mate, not Jane. Mine’s more of an avenging angel, you might say.’

  Sunday, 21st September

  St Bees, 11.15am

  Andy Hall had been to St. Bees a few times before, but always as a visitor. He’d strolled round the priory church, and walked the clifftop path to the lighthouse. Well, almost to the lighthouse, because he hadn’t fancied one short, very exposed stretch of path. But he’d never been to the modern estate where Brenda Greig lived, down near the beach and the caravan park. When they’d spoken on the phone he’d explained to her that he’d have his daughter with him, but she still looked surprised when she opened her front door.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, guessing the reason, ‘I should have said that Grace is a only six months.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, that’s fine. There hasn’t been a baby in this house in years, I’m afraid, so I’ve got no toys or anything. But you just come on in, Mr. Hall.’

  ‘Thanks. I come equipped with everything that Grace needs. I drive a removal van, you see,’ he added, waiting for the laugh that never came. ‘This is a lovely spot, Mrs. Greig.’

  ‘You might not say that in December, love, nor January, February or March, neither.’

  ‘Well it’s pretty as a picture now.’

  ‘If you say so, love. I’ve been here so long I don’t really notice, especially when I’m waiting for the bus to go into Whitehaven.’

  Mrs. Greig went to make some tea, leaving Hall sitting in the dark, narrow living room, looking out at the small garden, a little square of green, surrounded by brown fences. Hall thought that there must be a TV on upstairs, then realised that the sound must be coming through the party wall from next door. But Grace was fast asleep in her car seat, and it would take more than a big TV and paper thin walls to wake her now.

  ‘So you wanted to ask about my Stan. Always happy to help the police, love.’

  ‘No, Mrs. Greig, as I explained on the phone I’m not a police officer. I used to be, but I’m not now. I’m retired.’

  ‘And you with a baby, love.’

  Hall smiled. ‘Yes, I know. I sometimes think that I’m living my life in reverse. But you do understand that you don’t have to answer my questions, don’t you? You’re under no obligation to talk to me at all, in fact.’

  ‘But you’ve come all the way from Kendal, wasn’t it? That’s a fair old drive, love.’

  ‘Yes, but that doesn’t matter. I just need to be sure you understand that I’m not here in any official capacity.’

  Mrs. Greig sipped at her tea, and looked shrewdly at Hall.

  ‘Oh, aye, love, I understand that, all right. When my Stan died the real coppers took no interest at all. Some young kid, I forget his name, came round with a bloke from the Coastguard, after they found Stan’s body. And after I’d identified him that was it, like. Never saw a one of them again, until the inquest. They didn’t care about what I knew. I got what was in his pockets back in the post, you know. Still smelt of the sea, his wallet did. Imagine that, love.’

  Hall paused, checking that Mrs. Greig had finished. His interview manner never altered, whether he was talking to a child molester or that same child’s parents. His manner was utterly neutral, bland as a beige cardigan, never leading, or encouraging a subject with so much as a smile or an appreciative throat-clearing. He knew that his manner irritated some coppers, who thought he was too slow, too polite, but he just thought he was being fair, maybe even being just.

  ‘What did you know, Mrs. Greig?’

  ‘I knew it was them protester’s fault, Mr. Hall, always saying he hit that lad, Cam Donald, on purpose. Taunted him with it, they did. But he never did that, not my Stan. He was a gentle man, Mr. Hall, but they never let up, did they?’

  ‘And that affected him, did it?’

  ‘Oh aye, love. It got to him, it really did. Towards the end he was always going on about it. I wish I’d listened more, and told him it wasn’t his fault more often, to tell you the truth. But you know what it’s like, when you just stop listening to someone. Even when it’s someone you love. Especially then, maybe. I maybe could have done something if I had listened; persuaded him to live, like. He’d be coming up to retirement now, you know, if he’d not, you know…’

  The woman looked as if she was going to cry, so Hall took checked on Grace. On the positive side she was still asleep, but her nappy was just starting to smell. Hall reckoned he had five minutes before he’d need to start apologising.

  ‘Do you know who was saying that he’d done it deliberately, Mrs. Greig?’

  ‘They all were, all them protestors. No-one in the village believed them, I kept telling Stan that, but it didn’t seem to matter to him. It was what all those bloody layabouts, vandals and troublemakers said, that’s what he worried about. He really cared about what they said, though I don’t know why, I really don’t.’

  ‘So he knew some of them, did he?’

  ‘Aye, funny enough he did. They used to camp out on that top field, and they’d all shout at our Stan, whenever he drove by.’

  ‘I understand. That must have been very distressing for him.’

  ‘It was, aye. But it was that main one, Vinny Battersby they call him, he was the worst. He really got under our Stan’s skin, for some reason.’

  ‘Always shouting at Stan, was he?’

  ‘Probably, love, aye. But it were face-to-face too. I saw them talking, more than once.’

  ‘On their own, were they?’

  ‘Aye, love, on their own. I don’t know what they were talking about, like, but I do know that Stan hated that Battersby bloke, absolutely hated him.’

  ‘Always? He always felt the same way? All the way through the protest, I mean.’

  ‘Aye, always. But it maybe got worse, as time went on. And after it was all over, in the months before he died, he never stopped going on about the bloke. It was funny really, in a way.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, like I always used to say to Stan, we had quite a bit to thank that Vinny Battersby for, when you think about it, like. After all, the contracting job was terrible before the protest started, and then all that security work came along. I thought we’d lose the house before, like, I really did. But by the end of it all we had money in the bank. And it weren’t just us, Mr. Hall, the whole village did well on the back of that protest camp, I can tell you. The shops, and especially the pubs. It were a good year, were that.’

  Hall nodded and smiled. ‘I know this will be difficult for you, Mrs. Greig, but I wanted to ask you a couple of things about your husband’s death. It must have come as a huge shock, I expect.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘No, love, it didn’t. Not after he’d gone, anyway, because the signs were all there. I just wasn’t looking hard enough, not caring enough, that’s all.’ She looked as if she was about to cry again. ‘Do you want me to tell you,
what the signs were, like?’

  ‘No, that’s all right, thanks. I’m so sorry to have upset you. There’s absolutely no need to go through it all again, honestly. And I’d better get going. This one needs a feed and a clean nappy.’

  Mrs. Greig smiled, and wiped a gathering tear from the corner of her eye. ‘Life goes on, eh?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does.’

  ‘Can I ask you something, Mr. Hall, before you go?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you know why my husband killed himself?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Is it possible that he killed himself because he felt guilty? You know, because he’d done something…’

  Her voice tailed off, and Hall thought for a long moment before he answered. He wanted to lie, but he wasn’t going to. This woman, who’d he never met before and never would again, deserved better than that.

  ‘I think it is possible, yes. Stan might have been persuaded to do something, well, something that he couldn’t live with later. I’m sorry not to be able to be more specific, but I don’t have enough information, or any evidence. So it’s all just guesswork, I’m afraid.’

  He stood, trying to avoid eye contact, but Mrs. Greig stayed where she was.

  ‘I shouldn’t say this, love, and I’ve never said it to another living soul. But in a way I hope he did kill that lad, and then couldn’t live with himself after. Because at least that would explain why he did it, you know? At least it wouldn’t have been because of me.’

  Hall nodded. ‘But your husband never gave any indication that he might have done anything that he deeply regretted later, never said anything? No hints, even?’

  ‘No, love, he didn’t. I’d have told you if he did. What would be the harm now, like? But he didn’t. He always said that it were an accident. Just an accident, he said.’

  Afterwards Hall drove down to the car park at the beach, changed Grace and fed her, and pushed her along the short, concrete prom. Then he sat and had a cold drink outside the cafe, looking at the sea, flat calm and as blue as he’d ever seen it. By the time he got back to the car Grace was drowsy, and she didn’t protest too much when he locked her seat into position.

  And then he saw the car, a small blue hatchback, parked about fifty yards away, with one person sitting in it. It looked as if the person, a man he was sure, was reading the paper. But that same car had been parked just along from Mrs. Greig’s house earlier, Hall was certain of it. Not because he recognised the make, he didn’t, but because the registration finished ‘AMH’, for Andrew Michael Hall.

  Instinctively Hall reached for his phone, intending to phone the number in for a PNC check, then stopped himself. Those privileges were long gone. So he started his car, and drove slowly back, out of the village, and up towards the main road. If the little blue car was following him then it was certainly keeping its distance, and although Hall kept an eye on his rear view mirror as he drove along the lanes he didn’t spot anything that looked like a tail. So perhaps it was nothing, he thought.

  Or maybe the driver already knew precisely where he was going. And that thought made him feel very uncomfortable indeed, and he had to resist the urge to drive too fast, just to get home sooner. He told himself not to over-react, and eventually he even started to listen to that inner voice. He wouldn’t mention that little car to Jane, he decided, but he would ask Ian if he could come with him if and when he made other visits to west Cumbria. Because, although he wasn’t yet sure what his next move would be, he was pretty certain that there would be one. Vinny Battersby was a killer all right, and he was going to prove it.

  Tuesday, 23rd September

  The Hall residence, 6.29am.

  Andy Hall was showered and dressed, and was giving Grace her breakfast, when he heard the knock at the door. There were two uniformed officers on the doorstep, one a Chief Inspector, and three cars in the street behind them. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see them, and had put the chances of this happening at about 30%.

  ‘Andy Hall?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’d like you to come with us to the station.’

  ‘Am I being arrested?’

  ‘Not at this stage, no.’

  ‘I see. OK, then I just need a quick word with my wife. Won’t you come in for a moment?’

  The two officers had looked uncomfortable enough on the doorstep, but they were looking at their boots when Hall returned. He didn’t know them, and was glad of that, because it was already much more awkward for them than it was for him. And Hall saw no point in causing even the mildest discomfort to anyone else, unless it was unavoidable, or it was his duty.

  ‘I’ll call Jenkins for you now, love’, said Jane, coming down the stairs and glaring at the two officers, ‘and I’ll come in as soon as I can sort out a sitter for Grace.’

  ‘No, Jane, you stay here. Don’t get involved. It’ll just be a lot of fuss about nothing, I expect. Ask Jenkins to hang on at reception, and I’ll call him if he’s needed.’

  Hall didn’t attempt to engage either the driver or the Chief Inspector in conversation on the drive to the station, and he waved cheerfully at a neighbour out walking her dog. During his thirty years of service he’d often wondered how it would feel to be in the back of a police car, being driven to the nick, before being force-fed into the gears and cogs of the justice system. Perhaps he was about to find out.

  However, to his surprise, he wasn’t feeling at all anxious. In fact, he was quite looking forward to locking horns with whoever was waiting for him at the station. If they’d had anything at all on Jane then it would have been her who was arrested and suspended, and as a private citizen Hall had little or nothing to be concerned about, he knew that. Even if someone he’d spoken to was trying to set him up, saying that he’d impersonated a police officer for example, he still had nothing to worry about. Because he’d just ask Jenkins to arrange for Jane to bring in that little digital recorder that was sitting with his notebook in the glove-box of his car, and Jenkins would take it from there.

  The drive wasn’t a long one, but he had time to run through a couple of likely lines of questioning, and also to consider who would be sitting in his old chair in the interview room. As to the former, that was easy. They’d go for Jane, implying that her career was at stake, and that approach would be easy enough to resist. But as to the who would be doing the asking, that was trickier. It wouldn’t be the ACC himself, so Hall decided it would probably be a keen young officer from Professional Standards, a DS or a DI, probably.

  DCI Cooper didn’t know Hall, having joined from Greater Manchester only the month before, but he knew the type, that was for sure. Too clever for his own good, or anyone else’s, come to that. But the ACC had been clear. Get the bastard rattled, and get him to back off. And the ACC had been explicit about something else as well. Cooper had been brought in to toughen things up in Professional Standards, and in his interview panel before he was recruited he’d certainly talked the talk. Now it was time to get walking.

  When Hall came in, alone, Cooper was sure that he had him. The bloke couldn’t have looked less tough if he tried. It was almost impossible to imagine this man as a senior detective, with thirty years of service behind him. He looked more like an unusually inoffensive RE teacher. But he didn’t look nervous, even so. In fact, Cooper thought as tea was being offered and accepted, the bloke didn’t look anything. Watchful perhaps, or maybe even slightly amused, as if he was half watching a TV programme that he’d seen before, and had quite enjoyed the first time around.

  ‘You’re wondering what this is about I expect, Andy? I can call you Andy, can’t I?’

  ‘Absolutely, so long as you don’t mind me calling you…’

  ‘Dave. It’s Dave Cooper. And aye, I don’t see why not. We’re amongst friends, like.’

  Shit, thought Cooper, looking quickly at his list of questions, this bloke has got me on the back foot already, and we’ve not even started ye
t. Well, that would soon change. This was his room now, and Hall needed to get used to it.

  ‘So you want to know what this is about, or what?’ His tone was harder now.

  ‘Certainly. I don’t think any of my library book are overdue, anyway.’

  ‘All right, smartarse. Well, you’ve dropped your better half, DI Francis, right in it. She’s looking at doing jail time for you. That’s right, Andy, no job, no pension, and a year or two away with a load of nasty, violent cons who do not like coppers. Could she look after herself in there, do you reckon, one way or another, like?’

  ‘Is that what you want to ask me? Really?’

  ‘Aye, it is. And in case you’ve forgotten, this is how it works. I ask the bloody questions, and the suspect answers, OK?’

  He told himself to stay calm. Always be the calmest person in the room. That’s what they said on the courses, didn’t they?

  ‘You want me to pretend to be a suspect, Dave? This is some kind of role play, is it?’

  ‘Listen, you….’

  Cooper paused, took a breath, and thought about the car list that Superintendents got to choose from. The image of a brand new Jag, all forecourt-fresh, calmed him a little.

  ‘All right. Try this one, Andy. Why did DI Francis review a closed case file, number 27593/L, relating to the accidental death of Cameron James Donald?’

  ‘You’d have to ask her that.’

  ‘So you’re saying you don’t know?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You didn’t ask her why she did it?’

  ‘I did not, no.’