The Nidderdale Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery)

by J. R. Ellis

  It was impossible for Oldroyd not to reminisce about his own time as a student. He vividly recalled sitting at such a desk writing essays, sometimes until the small hours. He also remembered the times towards the end of his first year when he had smuggled Julia into his room so they could spend passionate, if uncomfortable, nights together in the narrow single bed.

  Feeling wide awake, he got up and looked out of the window, which afforded a view over the rooftops and spires of Oxford. It was not very late, but the city was in its student-vacation quiet period, without the noise of drunken, cavorting students passing through the narrow dark streets.

  Julia was on his mind; and the feelings she evoked were confusing, and even a little disturbing. They’d separated by mutual consent several years ago. He had gone to live in Harrogate while she stayed in Leeds with Louise and Robert. For a while after this, he’d hoped they would get back together again. They’d met regularly, usually in Harrogate, to discuss their children’s progress and any problems they were having, but when they’d left home these meetings had slowly dried up.

  It had taken him a long time to accept that their relationship was over, even when she asked for a divorce. Eventually he’d managed to move on. Now he had met Deborah, and they had a really good relationship.

  But . . .

  His thoughts were interrupted by the deep bell in Tom Tower at Christ Church College striking eleven.

  What was he to make of Julia today? The idea of divorce seemed to have been forgotten, and she wasn’t in a relationship any more. Moreover, she seemed to be hinting strongly that she still cared for him: telling him to be careful, taking his hand, smiling; no recriminations from the past, only happy memories of family life.

  It had continued right through until the evening, when they’d all had a meal together at the Turf Tavern, hidden beneath the walls of New College. She’d sat talking to him in an animated and interested way, and she’d kissed him briefly on the lips when they finally split up and went to their separate guest rooms in the college. He felt that if he’d pushed it, he could have gone to her room with her.

  He shook his head at the memory. It was made all the more unsettling by them being in Oxford. They shared so many memories of their time together as undergraduates. How could he not have tender, nostalgic and, yes, romantic feelings about being here with her again?

  If this had happened before he’d met Deborah, he would have welcomed it. He’d never wanted to separate from Julia in the first place; he’d always thought of her as the love of his life. But now! He lay down again, but without much hope of sleeping, and sighed. He had enough stress with this difficult case; he didn’t want his private life to become complicated again.

  Next morning, he went into the college hall for breakfast very early, hoping to avoid Julia.

  More recollections of his time at Oxford came to him as he sat on the wooden bench drinking tea and munching toast and the sun came through the ancient windows.

  Then he walked on a familiar route across the High, down to Christ Church Meadow, along the banks of the Thames to the confluence with the Cherwell, and back to the Botanic Garden.

  It was a pleasant morning but, unfortunately, everywhere he went brought back memories of his time in Oxford with Julia.

  He returned to Louise’s college, watching out for his wife. He didn’t want to see her by himself again. Luckily, Alison was chatting to the porters at the lodge. She turned and saw him.

  ‘Jim! Where on earth have you been? Julia’s gone. She’s off to London to stay with some friends for the weekend. She was disappointed not to see you again.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s the problem. Look, fancy a coffee? Any sign of Louise?’

  ‘She texted me to say she’d meet us for lunch before we set off.’

  ‘Right, come on then.’

  Over coffee he explained what had happened and how unsettled it had made him feel. Alison listened as sympathetically as ever.

  ‘I’m sure I wasn’t imagining it,’ he concluded. ‘I got a completely different set of messages from her than what I’m used to. She wasn’t cold and aloof as she has been for so long – no sarcastic comments about me and work and stuff like that.’

  ‘Hmm, I can see why you scarpered this morning.’ Alison smiled as she sipped her coffee.

  ‘What do you think’s going on?’

  Alison thought for a moment. ‘Her relationship with her colleague is over, you say?’

  ‘That’s what she told me.’

  ‘She’s probably feeling lonely after that. Then she hears about you and Deborah, and how does that make her feel? I suspect she has pangs of jealousy; it’s the first time you’ve had a relationship since you split up with her. She realises that she still has feelings for you. And here you are in Oxford, which must bring back many memories for you both. Really, it’s not that difficult to explain, is it?’

  ‘I don’t suppose so, when you state it so clearly like that.’

  ‘The question is, how do you feel about it, Jim? You’ve yearned to be reunited with Julia for a long time, but things are different now, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, very – it’s going well with Deborah and I don’t want to damage that. It’s just . . . unsettling to feel that Julia’s interested in me again.’

  ‘Yes, I understand, but don’t be too swayed by emotions from the past. My advice is to stay with what’s real. What might happen with Julia or how she or you could feel is all vague and, while you’re here in Oxford, affected by old feelings. Your relationship with Deborah is solid and actual. I’d say stick with that, but it’s your decision.’

  ‘Thanks, sis,’ said Oldroyd with a smile. Alison, as the older sibling, had always been his mentor and confidante. Her advice was always very wise and he found it difficult to ignore.

  He felt better as they embarked on another walk around Oxford and then met Louise for lunch. On the drive home with Alison and Louise, his feelings clarified still further as Oxford and its unreal magic slipped away.

  Five

  Attermire Scar

  Fountains Fell

  Lee Gate High Mark

  Wether Fell

  Louise collected together the things she wanted on the Sunday morning, and in the afternoon Oldroyd introduced her to Deborah and they went for a walk around the Stray. As he had hoped, they got on really well.

  ‘She’s great, Dad, I’m really pleased for you,’ Louise said later, as she prepared to leave to spend a few days with two old school friends in Leeds, who were in a relationship and managing to buy a terraced house in Headingley. ‘No more mooning over Mum, OK?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ He hadn’t told her about what had happened in Oxford with Julia, probably because he knew what she would say.

  ‘It was nice to see Oxford again. I might pay you a visit next term.’

  ‘You’re welcome. And bring Deborah. I’ll be able to book some graduate accommodation now.’

  ‘I will, and I hope it goes well. Keep me informed about the study, it sounds fascinating. Deborah will be interested, too.’ For her MSt, Louise was going to write a thesis on how women’s mental-health issues had been regarded and treated in the nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries.

  ‘I will, Dad. And it’ll be fine. I can’t wait to get started on it.’

  Oldroyd found his daughter’s usually brief visits very helpful, if not always comfortable, as she challenged him and encouraged him to change in ways he needed to. He was pleased that she liked Deborah. It was unlike the normal pattern: instead of her bringing a boyfriend home for approval, he was presenting his new partner to her. When you had a daughter like Louise, he reflected, such reversals were to be expected.

  The three detectives all arrived at Harrogate HQ early on Monday. Oldroyd was keen to catch up with any developments, although he knew that if anything really important had happened someone would have contacted him. He felt refreshed after his break and a weekend with Deborah, including another parkrun. He had
decided to follow Alison’s advice and ignore the signals he’d appeared to be getting from Julia. Alison was right: how could he be sure about their meaning anyway? Since their separation he’d often found Julia’s behaviour difficult to interpret. He wasn’t going to spoil what he had at the moment.

  Steph and Andy were eager to tell their boss about their findings. They met in his office and Oldroyd listened intently to their accounts.

  ‘Good work,’ he observed, when they were both finished. ‘So it’s possible that Wilson is alive?’

  ‘It’s a long shot, sir, but no body was found. He would have had to survive falling into that rapidly moving water and, if he got out, what would he do then with no money, nowhere to go or anything?’ replied Andy.

  ‘He may have had people waiting somewhere near as part of a plan,’ said Oldroyd.

  ‘So if he did escape, sir, do you think he played a part in the murder?’ asked Steph.

  ‘Well, he certainly had a motive to kill Sandy Fraser given the sentence he handed out. The question is: in what way could Wilson have been involved?’

  ‘Maybe Alan Green was one of Wilson’s criminal friends, and Green acted the part of the hitman? We know he was a relative newcomer to the village and we haven’t been able to find out anything about him. The name could obviously have been false, and now he’s disappeared back to his criminal haunts in London or wherever,’ suggested Steph.

  ‘It’s plausible,’ said Oldroyd. ‘It would have meant that Fraser might not have recognised the man who was planning to kill him, which would have been a risk if Wilson had come up here himself.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel quite right. Why did it take Green so long to do it? According to everyone, Green was around for some time before the murder. He got to know people in the pub and in the village.’

  ‘I suppose it was a kind of cover. No one was expecting him to do it. Most of the villagers still don’t believe that Green did it, do they?’

  ‘True. The problem is, despite your good work, we’re no further on. We still need to catch Green to find out the answers. If Wilson is alive we’ve absolutely no idea where he is.’ He turned to Steph. ‘So your theory is that Traynor was thrown into despair because he thought Matthew Hart was going to take his share of the loot?’

  ‘Yes sir. I’m not sure what bearing it has on the case, but it’s a bit of extra information.’

  ‘You’re quite right. It might turn out to be important in the long run. Anyway, I’ve got to go and see Superintendent Walker. Could one of you contact Bill Gibbs and see if he’s come up with anything about missing shotguns, or any leads in the search for Green?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Steph. She shook her head and frowned at Andy as Oldroyd left the room. Their investigation was still in the doldrums despite the new information.

  DCS Walker was sitting behind his desk as usual, wearing a worn and shiny suit: the only one Oldroyd had ever seen him wearing. He was good at his job, but hated the managerialism and business culture of the higher echelons of the police force. Oldroyd suspected he missed being involved in the nitty-gritty of police work.

  ‘So, how’s it going up in Nidderdale, Jim? I take it you haven’t had a breakthrough yet?’

  The two officers were on first-name terms in private. ‘No, Tom. I’m afraid it’s a tricky one. The main suspect, identified by a witness, has disappeared, and we don’t really know what his motive was. We’ve identified a number of people in the village who might have had a reason to kill the victim, but we can’t link any of them to the crime.’

  ‘Well, it’s the kind of conundrum you specialise in working out, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so, but progress is frustratingly slow.’

  Walker grunted. ‘I sympathise. I’ve had Watkins asking me how the investigation is going. It’s only just over a bloody week since it happened. He’d know how difficult it is if he’d ever done much police work himself. As it is, he expects bloody miracles, and he’s jumpy as hell because the victim was a local bigwig. I know he’ll be coming back soon asking if the investigation needs fresh thinking and someone who can “transcend the structural assumptions in the current investigative model” or some such drivel. Don’t worry, I won’t move you off the case. I know you always get there in the end.’

  ‘We do our best, Tom. I have an excellent team and we’re working hard. If we can find this Alan Green, the suspect, I think he would be able to answer many of our questions and then we’ll crack it. It could turn out to be quite simple in the end.’

  Unfortunately, events were shortly to prove Oldroyd wrong.

  It was seven o’clock on the Monday evening and the soft September light was fading. The nights were drawing in, thought Peter Gorton as he made preparations to close his shop. He went outside to bring in his display stands: a rack of garden plants and a few hardware items.

  He’d been open for twelve hours. It was the only way to make any kind of profit. His wife helped a little but she was disabled with arthritis, and so couldn’t do too much. Gorton didn’t mind; he enjoyed the social contact with all his regular customers, which was so different from his previous job. He found village life wonderfully relaxing after spending most of his working life in a stressful environment in the city.

  The village was quiet. He saw Jeanette Brown crossing the green, presumably to start a shift at the Dog and Gun. He called out and waved. She waved back. At that very moment, a figure emerged from the shadows in the narrow lane at the side of the shop. Gorton turned and recognised the person.

  ‘Oh, hi. You’re just in time. I was about to close up for the night. I—’

  He got no further because the newcomer produced a shotgun, raised it and shot Gorton in the chest. The explosion resounded around the village, and a shocked Jeanette, who’d seen it all, screamed. The killer looked across at her and then walked off quickly back down the lane carrying the gun.

  Jeanette, still screaming, ran the short distance to the inn. People who had heard the shot appeared at the door.

  ‘Quick! Peter Gorton’s been shot!’ Jeanette was almost hysterical. She pointed. ‘Just outside his shop. I think he’s dead, there was a lot of blood.’

  ‘Did you see what happened?’ It was Rob Owen who took hold of her, as she appeared to be about to pass out.

  ‘Yes. It was Vic Moore.’

  ‘Vic?!’

  ‘Yes. He shot Peter, then he looked over at me and ran off down that lane at the side of the shop. I’m absolutely sure it was him.’ Suddenly she collapsed in Rob’s arms and had to be carried into the pub.

  It was dark in the village now. Temporary lamps had been set up by the police, and the beams shone on the incident tape hung around the shop and Gorton’s body, which still lay on the ground slumped against a blood-spattered wall. A sombre Bill Gibbs was talking to a couple of his detective constables. Tim Groves was completing his initial investigation and removing his rubber gloves as the detectives arrived. Steph and Andy had only just got home when they received the call. They’d got back into their car and driven up to Niddersgill over the dark moors around Fewston and Blubberhouses, reflecting that the investigation had suddenly become more complex and urgent.

  They walked over to Tim Groves.

  ‘Ah Jim!’ called Groves, as affable as ever. ‘Beat you to it again, I see. You’re a bit slow off the mark these days. Are you losing your grip?’ The light-hearted banter between the pathologist and Oldroyd was a function of their deep respect for each other.

  ‘I don’t have a car like yours, Tim.’ Oldroyd glanced at Groves’s BMW. ‘The old Saab trundles a bit.’

  ‘Like its owner,’ laughed Groves. He turned to the body. ‘Anyway, not much to say again. Shotgun wound, close range, to the chest. He would have died almost instantly.’

  Oldroyd pulled back the sheet to have a quick look. ‘I see.’

  ‘How are you getting on with tracking down the killer of our friend outside the pub?’

  �
�Not well, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Maybe he’s reappeared. It’s a very similar murder. How are you classifying them?’ said Groves. Oldroyd had a habit of using acronyms to describe the circumstances of a murder, and these amused the pathologist.

  ‘Probably VOR, for victims of revenge. I have an idea that that could well be the motive. They’re not random killings.’

  Groves smiled. ‘OK. Well, I’ll leave you to it. There was a witness, apparently. I’m sure Inspector Gibbs has already spoken to her.’ He pointed over to the Dog and Gun before signalling to the ambulance staff to remove the body.

  Oldroyd and Steph went across to Gibbs. ‘We’ll have to stop meeting like this, Bill,’ said Oldroyd, and Gibbs shook his head, looking worried and harassed.

  ‘I don’t know what the hell’s going on, sir. Two murders in almost the same manner in a dales village, apparently committed by different people.’

  ‘Different? How do you know? Isn’t it more likely that Alan Green has returned?’

  ‘Not according to the witness.’ He looked at his notes. ‘Jeanette Brown – she works at the inn. She saw the murder and positively identified the killer as Vic Moore. Apparently he’s some kind of freelance copy-editor and he lodges with an artist in the village. He’s not cropped up in the investigation of Fraser.’

  ‘That artist will be John Gray. I’ve been into his studio to look at his paintings.’

  ‘Right. Well, that’s all we know, but it’s bloody weird. I’m getting déjà vu all the time: shotgun killing, no obvious motive, and a young woman witnesses the murder. Then she identifies the killer which is a surprise to everyone. And of course this person is nowhere to be found. What’s the betting that we can’t trace him? I don’t get it.’

  It was a clear night. Oldroyd looked up at the stars as if hoping for divine inspiration. Then he turned around and looked at the night-time village: the inn, the shop with blue-and-white incident tape, the village green. Some people were standing outside their cottages and talking in little groups.