The Nidderdale Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery)

by J. R. Ellis

  ‘We’re right at the edge here, sir, be careful. I’m afraid Wilson’s gone over. I doubt he’s survived. I tried to stop him but he pushed past me.’

  Oldroyd crouched down to regain his breath. ‘Oh God! Well, that’s that, then. We did our best. You’d better alert the others. At least no one else has been hurt and now it’s all over.’

  Steph contacted Andy and explained what had happened. Leaving Hart with an officer in the police car, Andy, Gibbs and the remaining officers hurried up the path to join Steph and Oldroyd, who were sitting silently on the trunk of a fallen tree in the mist waiting for them. Steph showed them where Wilson had gone over. Two officers went back and followed a path that led to the base of the cliff. Here they found Wilson’s body. His neck was broken, and his head had been smashed in at the back. One of the officers immediately phoned HQ to get an ambulance, and then waited by the body. The other returned to inform the detectives.

  Oldroyd stood up. He was damp, stiff and increasingly cold in the persistent mist and drizzle. ‘Right, we can’t do any more. Let’s get out of here.’

  The troop of police made their way slowly back to the police cars and then to Niddersgill. All the tension had drained away. Outside the Dog and Gun, for the last time in the case, Oldroyd thanked Gibbs and his officers for all their hard work.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I must say it’s been a puzzler and not something we encounter very much up here,’ said Gibbs. ‘I’d like to read your full report on what was behind it all. You say both murders were committed by that artist who had a lot of disguises?’

  ‘That’s the essence of it. We’ll know the full story when we’ve interviewed Hart and I’ll let you know all about it.’

  ‘Bloody hell! So the postman was right: those two suspects didn’t exist.’ He explained to Oldroyd what Eastwood had told him about the mail.

  ‘Well, there we are then: one of our early suspects had the answer all along,’ mused Oldroyd.

  On his way back to Pateley Bridge, Gibbs reflected on the weird events of the past two weeks. The whole case had been well out of his comfort zone. He was a rural copper who preferred the country pace of life, and a community he knew, to the glamour of city-style investigations into robberies and murder. He was returning now to his steady world of occasional shop break-ins, minor drugs offences and a stolen car or two. However, he thought as he smiled to himself, he’d enjoyed the excitement of working with DCI Oldroyd again. There was nothing like it to shake you up a bit and remind you how thrilling police work could be.

  ‘So it wasn’t a coincidence that you were living near Niddersgill?’

  Matthew Hart was in the interview room back at Harrogate HQ with Oldroyd and Steph. He was very calm and seemed relieved that things were over. He was still dressed in his outdoor clothes and looked like a rambler and birdwatcher rather than a bank robber.

  ‘No. I’m sure people at the Met have told you what happened. I was given a new identity after I turned Queen’s evidence because my life would have been in danger if people knew I was a rat. I returned my share of what we stole, but I told the police I didn’t know anything about where the others had hidden theirs. I don’t think they ever believed me and their instincts were right. I did know where Traynor’s money was. I used it carefully and sparingly to help my nephew and sister.’

  ‘So did you think that was the end of it?’

  ‘Yes. I’d had enough of crime. I’d seen what it does to people. That last job was part of my plan to get revenge. You have to remember I was brought up in a tough family in a rough place. My father was part of a gang – my brother is inside for robbery.’

  ‘So what changed you?’

  Hart went quiet for a moment before he replied. ‘It was when I saw my nephew going the same way. I never had any kids and I was close to him. He was such a nice little boy, so innocent and loving. I used to take him to the park to play football. My sister tried hard to bring him up well even though her husband had walked out and she had no money. I understood what she was trying to do: get a different future for him, but it was hard in that neighbourhood. When he was a teenager he started to get into the gangs just like we all had. And you know the rest.’

  ‘So tell me what happened next.’

  ‘I moved right out of London and I rented a room in a house right out in the country, in my new identity as Tony Dexter. That’s when I got in touch with something in myself which must have always been there, but never developed because I’d lived all my life in raw and ugly parts of the city. I found I loved the countryside, everything about it but particularly the birds and wildlife. I got myself some binoculars and began to read about environmental issues. My eyes were opened and I saw what a futile life I’d been leading: all that violence and lawbreaking in pursuit of money. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of it all and I started to write poems. Imagine me, a hardened criminal from London’s underworld, writing verse about the landscape.’ He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Then you heard that Wilson was supposedly dead, and the police came back.’

  Hart sighed. ‘Yes. Things were fine and then I read that he’d fallen in the river trying to escape and was presumed dead. I was suspicious about that, and so were the police. Pat was a tough and wily character. He would have had no trouble finding places to hide in London, and he would have retrieved his money from the robbery from wherever he’d hidden it.’

  ‘So the police made you help them?’

  ‘Yes. They checked on me from time to time and they still had a grudge against me because of the money. They were suspicious about some of the expensive things I had like the binoculars, and the fact that I didn’t seem to do much work. So they came and said they needed my help. They implied it wouldn’t do me any good to refuse, but when they explained what I had to do I was happy to do it, though they didn’t know the reason why.

  ‘They told me there was a good chance that Pat was alive and that there was this village in Yorkshire where the judge who’d sentenced him and the prison officer who’d mistreated him were now living. They knew what a vindictive sod he was and they were concerned that he would come after them. I asked why they couldn’t watch over them but they said they didn’t have the resources to have someone permanently in the village and they didn’t want to frighten Pat off. The idea was to trap him there and recapture him.’

  ‘I presume they told you about his abilities as an actor and disguise specialist?’

  ‘They did. I knew he’d used disguises on some of his jobs but I’d no idea how good he was or that he’d trained as an actor. None of us in the gangs ever talked much about our private lives or what we’d done in the past. We were too busy planning robberies and break-ins. Anyway, the police said he would be disguised but I’d known him for a long time so I should recognise him. My appearance was different and he wasn’t expecting me to be there so he wouldn’t recognise me. They were bloody wrong about all that! His disguises and acting were brilliant and he did recognise me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, he took in everybody, including us.’

  ‘The undercover police set me up in the barn near the village. What a fabulous place with the fells and the beautiful reservoir! It was a paradise for me. My job was to keep watch over the village, particularly Gorton and Fraser, and report immediately if I saw anything suspicious. The main problem was that Pat was ahead of us. He’d already arrived in the village as John Gray the artist. When his other personas arrived, it was so carefully and subtly done that I didn’t suspect anything.’

  ‘Neither did anyone else. It’s only afterwards when you’re looking for the pattern that you see it.’

  ‘I suspected that one of these newcomers to the village could be him, but I’d no idea which one – and anyway, it was only a possibility that he would come to the village at all. I’d no idea that he was all three.’

  ‘So what happened when things started to kick off?’

  Hart shook his head. ‘It was a shock when Frase
r was killed. I knew then that Pat was here and that he’d tricked us. There was talk about other people who had a motive to kill Fraser, but I was sure that it was him.’

  ‘What did your minders in the police say?’

  ‘They weren’t pleased. I’d told them about my suspicions but they said they had to be sure which person he was before they could move. If they got the wrong person that would cause trouble and frighten Pat away.’

  ‘And now everyone was pursuing Alan Green, even though they didn’t know it was really Patrick Wilson.’

  ‘Yes, and so he outwitted us again. I didn’t know what to do, and while I was thinking about it Gorton was killed and the suspect was Vic Moore who disappeared: same pattern, but there was a difference. This time the suspect lived in the village, supposedly with John Gray the artist. I wasn’t convinced that that was the end.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Vic Moore was supposedly lodging with John Gray but there was something that I didn’t find convincing. If Moore was one of Pat’s disguises it surely meant that Gray must be an accomplice, unless . . . And I began to wonder if John Gray was also one of Pat’s personas.’

  ‘But you didn’t tell the police?’

  Hart looked at Oldroyd. ‘No. The police didn’t know I had my own agenda with Pat. I wanted to bring him down myself. I began to think that maybe he had recognised me and would try to make me his third victim. I also knew that he would want to get his hands on Phil’s money.’

  ‘And you were right?’

  ‘Yes. I planned how I was going to trap him and then hand him over to the police. I hid the money and diamonds in that tunnel entrance to the ice house. I knew Pat had severe arachnophobia; I’d seen him freak out before when he saw a spider, however small. I was confident I could overpower him in there due to that fear, which immobilised him.’

  ‘But you had a backup plan involving me?’

  Hart smiled. ‘Yes, Chief Inspector. I gave you a broad hint about the ice house and hoped that if things weren’t working out, you might come to help me. I knew you would be on to things when Liz Smith told me it had come out that Peter Gorton worked at Strangeways. I knew you’d realise that was the connection between Fraser and Gorton and you’d be back. That was confirmed by that press conference which was on the news. I thought Pat would hear it too so I was ready for him to make a move.’

  Oldroyd felt some satisfaction that his risky strategy of announcing to the press that they thought Patrick Wilson was still alive had succeeded in flushing him out.

  ‘I dropped that picture on the floor of the barn,’ continued Hart. ‘And it seems the message got to you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hart took a deep breath. ‘OK. It was a long shot but it worked. As it happened I was in control by the end, but it was nice to get some assistance.’ He looked at Oldroyd and then at Steph. ‘I wasn’t intending to kill him, you know. I’ve finished with violence, but I think he got what he deserved in the end. Fraser and Gorton didn’t deserve such a terrible revenge.’

  ‘We’ll have to hold on to you for a while until we’ve reported everything that’s happened to the Met. They won’t be pleased with the fact that you went it alone and that you knew where Traynor’s money was,’ said Oldroyd.

  Hart looked very sanguine about the prospect and shrugged. ‘I don’t care, Chief Inspector. They can send me down for a while if they want. I’m a changed man and I’ll survive. Then I’ll be back to the countryside, in this area I think. I love these wild fells. The call of that curlew gets into your soul. You’re a Yorkshireman, aren’t you, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘I am,’ said Oldroyd. ‘And you won’t find any countryside anywhere else that’s better.’

  ‘True. I’m glad I inspired you to write poetry. It’s a better legacy than terrifying people and stealing money.’ Hart smiled as he was taken out of the interview room. Oldroyd and Steph returned to the office to join Andy, who was completing some admin concerning the case. They told him what Hart had revealed.

  ‘What do you think will happen to him, sir? Do you think the Met will press charges?’ asked Andy.

  ‘No. In the end he got them what they wanted, didn’t he? Although they may have preferred to capture Wilson alive. Also, I think they’ll want to keep their involvement quiet. What they were doing was risky, especially not telling us about it, and particularly after the first murder. We might have worked out what was going on more quickly. Not that we could necessarily have stopped Wilson. He was a cunning and malicious character, but I gave that DCI Riley a piece of my mind, I can tell you. He’s in deep trouble now. His plan risked the lives of two men and it failed spectacularly. If he really believed that Wilson was alive and a threat to Fraser and Gorton, he should have warned them, not used them as bait to trap Wilson.’

  ‘I remember Riley, sir. He had a reputation for being flashy and taking risks, going for glory, you know what I mean?’

  ‘I do, and it’s not my style. Policing’s not about our personal egos, it’s about upholding the law and protecting the public.’

  ‘Hear, hear, sir!’ said Andy with a touch of mockery.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, though, sir,’ said Steph mischievously. ‘You remember that press conference when that bloke from one of the tabloids talked about the criminal underworld and hitmen. You made fun of him, but actually he wasn’t far wrong, was he?’

  ‘Hmm, I suppose not,’ said Oldroyd, realising they were both teasing him. ‘Maybe I should ring him up and apologise,’ he laughed. ‘But I don’t think I’ll bother.’

  ‘Absolutely, sir.’

  Andy and Steph liked to pull Oldroyd’s beard occasionally, as the saying went, but at the end of another perplexing case in which their boss had triumphed, their admiration of him, and their loyalty, went deep.

  In Niddersgill, the relief was almost palpable. The drama was over, the tension subsided and there was a gradual return to the area’s age-long identity as a sleepy village, famous only for its inn and the quality food and drink served there.

  Reporters were no longer interested and no one feared for his or her safety. A group of local people had temporarily taken over the running of the shop, so milk, bread, newspapers and locally produced honey were once again on sale.

  In the Dog and Gun, Wilf Bramley and Ian Davis were propping up the bar and holding their usual pints of bitter. Jenny was there, too, after the potential babysitter proved to be very keen to start.

  Kirsty was behind the bar, smiling and looking relaxed. She was very relieved that the crime had been solved and that she had done the right thing in telling the police she’d seen Alan Green.

  ‘Ah still can’t bloody believe it,’ said Bramley, shaking his head. ‘A village like this wi’ a mad bloke shootin’ other folk for revenge. Who the bloody ’ell would believe that?’

  Davis laughed.

  ‘And Alan Green and Vic Moore didn’t exist.’ Kirsty shuddered. ‘That’s the really spooky bit. Those blokes who came in here and we got pally with were just that bank robber in disguise. It makes you think about what’s real and what isn’t.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Davis mischievously. ‘I’m really an American serial killer in disguise and one night I’m going to creep up and get you all.’

  ‘How would you disguise your accent?’ said his wife, laughing at the prospect.

  ‘And you’ll have to be quick. Harry and I will be moving soon.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Everyone looked sad. Kirsty was a popular character in the village.

  ‘Yes. He’s going for an interview next week for a job in a restaurant in Leeds. If he gets it we’ll move there. I’ll get a job there too – there’ll be plenty of bar work. To be honest, we’ve had enough of being here, miles away from anywhere, and this carry-on hasn’t helped. I’m not relaxed at night now after what happened; I keep imagining I’m going to wake up to the sound of a gun going off.’

  ‘Aye, I can imagine,’ said Bramley. ‘How’s that other lass ge
ttin’ on?’

  ‘Jeanette? She’s still at her parents’ in Northallerton. I don’t think she’ll come back.’

  ‘I don’t blame her,’ said Davis.

  ‘Looks like changes in the village,’ said Bramley. ‘Lot of people leavin’.’

  ‘Yeah, but more will come in. That’s the way these days, Wilf. Most people don’t live in a place like this all their lives like you have,’ said Davis.

  ‘Aye, you’re right,’ said Bramley, then he laughed. ‘Let’s hope that t’next folk that come are real and none of them are bloody robbers and murderers!’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Davis. ‘Kirsty, two pints o’ bitter please.’ He looked at Jenny, who frowned. ‘Or maybe not. I think I’ve had enough.’

  Andy and Steph were relaxing in their riverside apartment in Leeds. Andy was scrolling through his texts and grinned when he got to a particular one.

  ‘Jason wants to come up and stay for a weekend. He’s between jobs apparently.’

  Jason was an old friend of Andy’s. He lived in London and worked in the City ‘moving figures around on screens’, as Andy cynically described it, but he made a lot of money.

  Steph was reading a novel and looked up. ‘Is he between girlfriends, or does he want to bring one with him?’

  ‘He doesn’t say, but I think it’s over with that Alice.’

  ‘Good. God she was awful!’

  Andy laughed. ‘Yeah, the classic empty-headed rah.’

  ‘Do you remember, they came up in August and she brought that thick coat because she thought it would be cold up north?’

  ‘Yes, well, she was right – it is.’

  ‘Get lost.’

  ‘She was good-looking though.’

  ‘Oh yeah, well that’s all that matters in a woman, isn’t it? Never mind the brain, look at the breasts.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m all right because you’ve got both.’

  ‘Andy!’ She threw a cushion at him.

  ‘You know, he says he’s between jobs but he doesn’t say why, but I bet he’s been given the push again. One of these times he’ll go too far.’