Dying Inside (DI Nick Dixon Crime)

by Damien Boyd

  ‘The hardest part is going to be coughing, but you must keep doing it. Don’t stifle them, whatever you do; you have to clear the gunk off your lungs or it might set up a chest infection and that can lead to pneumonia if you’re not careful. Is that clear?’

  ‘Painfully.’

  ‘No driving for six weeks either, and if you get in a car, for God’s sake put a cushion between you and the seatbelt. All right, that’s it from me,’ said the doctor. ‘I’m back on duty at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon and we’ll see if we can’t let you go home then.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jane.

  ‘And there’s someone outside to see you.’

  ‘At this time in the morning?’

  The doctor hooked the clipboard over the end of the bed. ‘He said he was the assistant chief constable, so I didn’t really feel we could say no.’

  ‘Brace yourself,’ whispered Dixon.

  Charlesworth walked in and dropped his cap on the end of the bed. ‘How are you feeling, Nick?’

  Full dress uniform? You needn’t have bothered on my account.

  ‘Fine, Sir.’

  ‘Somehow I doubt that.’ Charlesworth seemed mesmerised by the heart monitor, watching the flat line blip at regular intervals. ‘I was at a dinner when I got called in to Portishead and I’ve seen the footage from the helicopter. I’ll be putting you forward for a medal first thing in the morning.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t, Sir.’ Dixon was trying to sit up. ‘Give one to Nigel Cole, he was with me every step of the way.’

  ‘I saw that.’ He turned to Jane. ‘And you’ve been undercover, I gather?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘And you authorised it, I suppose?’

  ‘I did, Sir,’ replied Dixon. ‘It’s one of the advantages of my new rank.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Charlesworth cleared his throat. ‘Well done anyway, Jane. You’re wasted in Safeguarding and it’ll be good to have you back in CID in due course.’

  Jane looked at Dixon and offered a guilty smile.

  ‘How long will you be in here?’ asked Charlesworth.

  ‘Tomorrow lunchtime, apparently. They just want to be sure there’s no damage to my heart or lungs.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘I feel fine. Really. It’s just cracked my breastbone.’

  ‘Thank God for Kevlar. It’s just a shame Peter Lewis wasn’t wearing his.’ Charlesworth was gesturing to the chair next to Dixon’s bed. ‘D’you mind if I . . . ?’

  ‘Not at all, Sir.’

  ‘Sims is dead, as you may have guessed. His body is on a ledge about twenty feet off the ground. The cliff rescue team are recovering him now. We’ve got the crossbow as well; that got caught in a tree on the way down.’

  ‘What about Craig Pengelly?’

  ‘We’ve put him up in a hotel and someone will be getting a statement from him in the morning. Deborah Potter will sort it out, you needn’t trouble yourself with that.’

  ‘Is there any other footage, Sir?’

  ‘Uniform was on scene so there should be bodycam footage available as well.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘From what I could see, after you were hit, Sims made a lunge for Pengelly. The lad managed to wrestle himself free and that’s when Sims went over the edge. Saves the taxpayer a few quid. And we’ve still got Allan.’

  ‘We’ve got him for conspiracy to murder, maybe, but the chances are we’ll end up extraditing him to Spain for the Costa murders.’

  Charlesworth’s eyes narrowed as the realisation dawned on him. ‘Shame, it would have been a public relations triumph for us.’

  ‘We’ll live, Sir.’

  ‘Well, listen, you take your time.’ Charlesworth stood up. ‘Put your feet up for a while, go walk your dog, and I’ll ask Deborah Potter to wrap up the major investigation team. I do still need your application for the super’s vacancy, don’t forget.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  Jane waited until Charlesworth had disappeared along the corridor before softly closing the door behind him.

  ‘So, that’s it then?’ she asked, placing the back of her hand on Dixon’s forehead. ‘Case closed.’

  ‘Really?’ He settled his head back into the pillows. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ‘I’ve got you a clean shirt and a cushion off the sofa.’

  ‘You could’ve left the cushion in the car.’ Dixon sighed. ‘People will think I’ve got piles.’

  ‘I’ll carry it if it makes you feel any better.’ Jane dropped the holdall on the end of the bed. ‘What did the doctor say?’

  Dixon was sitting on the edge of the bed stamping his feet into his shoes. ‘Heart and lung function are all perfectly normal, so I can go. I’ve got to take it easy and keep taking the painkillers. She said I’d “dodged a bullet”, which was a rather unfortunate turn of phrase.’

  ‘Louise took Monty home with her in the end. He’s had a whale of a time playing with Katie and eating them out of house and home.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘At the cottage.’ Jane looked at her watch. ‘Lucy will be there by now. She jumped on a train when I told her what had happened.’

  ‘I thought she was grounded?’

  ‘There was no stopping her, apparently, so Judy gave her the money for the ticket rather than let her hitch-hike again. I said I’d give it her back.’

  Dixon was trying to put on the clean shirt, but struggling to lift his arm high enough.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Jane pulled the sleeve down and hooked it over his hand. ‘There.’ She stepped back and watched him button the shirt. ‘Good thing I didn’t bring a polo shirt, you’d never have got that on.’

  ‘What did you do about Sam?’

  ‘I got her into a refuge in Bridgwater; pulled a few strings, called in a few favours.’

  ‘Did you remember fresh insulin?’

  ‘In the bag, but we’re going straight home anyway so . . .’ Jane’s voice lost momentum when Dixon smiled at her. She sighed. ‘Where?’

  ‘Portishead first, then home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I need to see the footage of what happened on the terrace.’

  ‘Charlesworth told you what happened,’ protested Jane, half-heartedly.

  ‘I need to see it for myself.’

  ‘You were shot in the chest!’

  Dixon stood up and put his hands gingerly around Jane’s waist. ‘When were you going to tell me?’

  It was mid-afternoon by the time they arrived in Area J. Louise was there, with Mark and Nigel Cole.

  ‘What are you lot doing here?’ Dixon asked.

  ‘We’re doing our witness statements, sir,’ replied Louise. ‘It was quite a night. Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’

  ‘He’s broken his breastbone,’ said Jane. ‘Powerful painkillers and no driving for six weeks.’

  ‘We thought you’d be putting your feet up, Sir,’ said Cole, waiting by the kettle.

  Dixon stopped in front of him, his hand outstretched, and managed to hide the wince when Cole clasped it firmly and shook it. He didn’t feel the need to say anything. A handshake was enough.

  ‘Mr Charlesworth rang me this morning.’ Cole turned back to the kettle. ‘He’s putting me forward for a commendation. I suppose I have you to thank for that as well, Sir?’

  ‘Don’t thank me. I nearly got you killed, remember?’

  ‘Bollocks.’ Cole gave a dismissive chuckle. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Deborah Potter’s called a full team briefing for tomorrow morning at ten,’ said Louise. ‘I don’t think she was expecting you in.’

  ‘Where’s the footage from the terrace last night?’ Dixon asked, sitting down in front of a computer at a vacant workstation.

  ‘We’ve got the helicopter camera and bodycam footage from two officers on scene so far. Why?’

  ‘I need to see w
hat happened after I was hit.’

  Jane sat down on the empty chair at the workstation next to him and slid it across as he logged in and opened the footage from the helicopter first.

  Filmed from above, the scene lit by the searchlight, Dixon could see the angle changing, the lens zooming in on the terrace until the helicopter was directly overhead, Cole following him down the cliff and then jumping the last few feet. Craig’s tent, pitched at the back of the terrace against the cliff, reflected the powerful beam and appeared to glow.

  Sims and Craig were standing on the edge of the terrace, the drop directly behind them, the trees at the bottom just visible in the gloom below. Sims was holding the crossbow in both hands, the stock tucked under his right elbow, his right index finger on the trigger. He was looking from Dixon to Craig and back again. Dixon remembered the conversation – ‘Two each, that was the deal.’ The phrase had been going round and round in his head all night; a night of broken, chemically induced sleep.

  ‘Is there a transcript available?’

  ‘They’re working on it now, Sir,’ replied Louise.

  ‘Good thing we were wearing that wire,’ said Jane.

  The first step forward, figures on the terrace smaller now that the helicopter had increased altitude.

  ‘You can zoom in.’ Jane reached across and took over the mouse. A few clicks, a scroll and the terrace filled the screen, although slightly blurred now.

  More back and forth, then another step forward.

  Sims was clearly getting more and more agitated as Dixon and Cole approached. Craig standing still and appearing calm, despite the crossbow pointed straight at him; occasionally he glanced down at the red dot, but otherwise he was keeping his eyes fixed on Sims.

  Two steps forward.

  Jane took Dixon’s hand and squeezed it. ‘You don’t have to watch the next bit.’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’

  Sims swung the crossbow towards him, another step, then Dixon was falling back.

  ‘It knocked me a good few feet.’ He was rubbing the back of his head with his hand. ‘It looks like I hit my head, but I didn’t.’

  ‘Shame, it might have knocked some sense into you.’

  Cole lurched forward to grab Sims, but he was already on the move, the bow in his left hand now, reaching out, trying to grab Craig’s coat. Arms flailing at Sims, Craig side-stepped the lunge and appeared to lash out as he threw himself away from the edge.

  Then Sims was gone, falling away into the gloom, the helicopter camera swinging away, trying to follow his body down the cliff face.

  ‘Rewind it.’

  ‘Must I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ten minutes and twenty rewinds later Dixon looked away from the screen. ‘Let’s try the bodycam footage; see if that’s any better.’

  ‘Better for what?’

  Jane opened the first piece of body camera footage. It showed the terrace from the top of the cliff – thirty feet at most – and started as Dixon and Cole were climbing down, Sims and Craig in view on the edge.

  ‘I think the camera’s on the bloke standing next to me,’ Jane said. Then her voice on the footage: Armed Response are on scene. ‘Yeah, he was right next to me; one of the Bristol lot.’ She turned to Dixon. ‘What exactly is it you’re looking for?’

  ‘I’ll know it when I see it.’

  Heads popped up from behind computer screens when Jane screamed on the film. ‘God, that was me, wasn’t it?’ she said, her face reddening. ‘Turn the volume down before you rewind it.’

  The same scene unfolded in front of them time and again, albeit from a different angle: Dixon fell back; Cole lurched forward; Sims made a grab for Craig; Craig lashed out; Sims went over the cliff.

  By the time Dixon had watched it ten times Louise was standing behind them with her arms folded. ‘Sims tried to grab Craig and take him over the cliff with him, if that’s what you’re looking at, Sir. Craig may have pushed him away, but even if he did, it was self defence.’

  ‘Looked that way to me,’ said Mark.

  ‘Who’s taking a statement from him?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘Dave’s gone over to the hotel, with Kevin,’ replied Louise. ‘Kevin’ll be going back to Zephyr tomorrow, I expect. Deborah Potter was talking about wrapping the whole thing up once the statements had been done. All that’s left after that is Allan’s prosecution for conspiracy and whatever the Spanish want to do; the CPS will be liaising with them over that, so . . .’ Her voice tailed off, her frown etching deeper into her forehead. She had worked with Dixon long enough to know the signs. ‘What are you thinking?’

  Mark’s head popped up again from behind his computer.

  ‘There are far, far too many unanswered questions left,’ Dixon said, shaking his head.

  ‘Like what?’ asked Mark.

  ‘Like why did Sims kill Godfrey Collins?’ Dixon folded his arms. ‘We still haven’t found a connection between them. Both admitted pretty much everything; Allan in interview and Sims on the terrace. It was about their pensions, but Collins had nothing whatsoever to do with the pension scam. He was up to his neck in the loan charge thing, but not the pensions. So, you tell me, why did Sims kill him?’

  ‘No idea, Sir,’ said Cole, daring to speak out loud what everyone else was thinking; that much was clear from their blank expressions.

  ‘Watch the footage again and read the transcript when it’s available.’ Dixon stood up. ‘The key to this is what Sims says and does, not Craig.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ asked Louise.

  ‘Sims and Allan teamed up to get revenge for the loss of their pension funds. They’ve both admitted that. “Two each, that was the deal,” he said. So why was Sims trying to kill Craig when they’d already killed their two each?’

  Dixon waited.

  ‘Two each is four and Craig would make five. Whatever Craig did on the terrace was self defence, we’ll never prove otherwise,’ he continued. ‘But why was he having to act in self defence?’

  ‘Craig was involved in the pension transfer scam, Sir,’ said Louise. ‘He was convicted of it and sent to prison.’

  ‘Maybe Collins was killed by mistake?’ offered Cole. ‘Have we thought of that?’

  ‘Collateral damage,’ said Mark. ‘Like that poor lad, Gavin.’

  ‘Did Craig have a phone on him yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ replied Louise. ‘He got himself a new pay-as-you-go when he got out of Leyhill.’

  ‘Run a check on the calls, will you? And expedite it.’

  ‘What do we say if Deborah Potter wants to wrap up the major investigation team tomorrow morning?’ she asked. ‘You’re officially off sick, and she’s taken over as SIO; that’s what her email said.’

  ‘Then you say, “Yes, Ma’am, three bags full, Ma’am.”’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  Dixon picked up his mug and took a sip. ‘Stone cold,’ he said. ‘But it’ll do.’ He snapped a couple of Tramadol out of the foil sleeve and took them with a swig of cold coffee, swallowing hard. ‘Lou, d’you remember that micro SIM card we found at Collins’s bedsit? It was buried in a lump of Blu Tack on the back of a postcard.’

  ‘We had it checked and there was nothing on it,’ said Mark.

  ‘I’m interested in the postcard, not the SIM.’

  ‘There’s a scan of it on the system,’ said Louise. ‘I’ll print it off for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You really should be at home with your feet up, Sir,’ said Cole.

  ‘Too many questions going round and round in my head for that.’

  ‘Here it is, Sir.’ Louise handed Dixon a piece of paper off the printer. ‘I’ve printed it double-sided, but there’s nothing on the back to tell you where it is. It just says “Postcard of unknown beach” on the evidence log. Looks a bit like Scotland to me, though.’

  He looked down at the picture: dark blue water, waves lapping at golden sand. ‘A nice place for a dog walk.’

  ‘Or
a holiday.’

  ‘Fat chance.’

  ‘Thank you for looking after Monty, by the way,’ said Dixon, with a sideways glance at Jane.

  ‘We may have to get a dog,’ replied Louise. ‘Katie loved having him around.’

  ‘Where will you be if anything comes up?’ asked Cole.

  ‘He’ll be on the beach with Monty,’ replied Louise, smiling. ‘It’s where he always goes to clear his head.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Dixon was deep in thought as they drove south on the M5, heading home. Questions, questions everywhere and not a . . .

  Jane opening the driver’s door and a dog barking dragged him back to the present; the Land Rover parked behind his cottage. Then the thud of paws up at the passenger door. She wound down the window and shouted across to Lucy who was standing in the back door of the cottage. ‘Put him on his lead, will you? I don’t want him jumping up at Nick.’

  ‘I’ve got him.’ Lucy hooked her fingers in Monty’s collar and dragged him away from the passenger side of the Land Rover.

  Dixon opened the door and slid out gingerly, Lucy laughing at the cushion in his hand. ‘You got piles?’ she asked.

  ‘Nice to see you too.’

  ‘I’m just kidding.’ She waited while Jane took hold of Monty’s collar, then threw her arms around Dixon, recoiling when he grimaced. ‘Sorry!’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘There are some videos on YouTube of people firing crossbows at body armour.’ She grinned. ‘Hits it with a hell of a thwack.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘You can watch them later, Nick,’ said Jane, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.’

  ‘And what’s this I hear about you paedophile hunting?’ He frowned at Lucy. ‘Idiot.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘If you want to do something about it, pass your exams and join the police.’

  ‘I’m joining the Police Cadets. And I’m free on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘You told her?’

  ‘I had to,’ said Jane. ‘She’s my bridesmaid.’

  ‘There’s no getting out of it now, then,’ he muttered, with a rueful smile.

  ‘I put the kettle on,’ said Lucy. ‘And I got a chocolate cake.’