Blood Sport: A Yorkshire Murder Mystery (DCI Harry Grimm Crime Thrillers 7)

by David J Gatward

  When he pulled up at the vet’s house, rolling past a garage, Harry parked up next to a rather full skip, filled with rubble and dust. Looking at it, Harry thought back to what Sowerby had found in the tyre tracks out at the barn earlier in the week, the tiling adhesive, the granite dust.

  To the side of the skip, two large motorbikes were parked. Walking over, he noticed the marks from the tyres in a pile of sand that had spilled from the skip. He pulled out his phone, clicked on the message from Liz, and in one of the attachments saw the same tyre marks staring back at him.

  Harry was just about to have a closer look when the front door of the house opened and there stood Andrew Bell.

  ‘Good to see you,’ Andrew said, waving Harry into his house. ‘Bit of a mess inside, I’m afraid. Still, it’ll be worth it when it’s done. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Cost enough.’

  Inside, the house was very much in the middle of being renovated, with pots of paint, tools, brushes, lengths of wood, all piled up in the hall, and what furniture Harry could see through open doors all covered in dustsheets.

  ‘Not a fan of DIY myself,’ Harry said.

  ‘Neither am I,’ Andrew said. ‘Which is why I’m paying someone else to do it for me instead.’

  Harry followed Andrew down the hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. Alarm bells were ringing, but the sound, to Harry, just didn’t sound right, like the notes were off somehow. He just wasn’t sure why. Things were starting to click into place, but to each other, rather than in a nice neat line.

  ‘Coffee?’ Andrew asked. ‘Toby rode over here earlier just as I got back, so I made a pot. And if I drink it all myself I’ll be up all night, wired to the moon!’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ Harry said, on guard now, but making sure he looked and sounded relaxed. ‘This is only a short visit.’

  Andrew sat down at a small dining table and gestured for Harry to join him in another chair.

  Sitting down, Harry noticed that the kitchen cabinets had no work surface installed yet.

  ‘Must be difficult though, living in this mess,’ he said, looking around then to see if he could find what was missing.

  ‘Won’t be long now, though,’ Andrew said.

  ‘Kitchen looks like it’ll be nice,’ Harry observed. ‘Once you get the worktops on.’

  ‘Well, for what it’s costing, I bloody well hope so,’ Andrew laughed. ‘Granite isn’t cheap, you know! Don’t really know what I was thinking. I could’ve gone for something a hell of a lot cheaper, but I just got carried away. When you’ve spent thousands already, a few more just don’t seem to matter that much.’

  ‘No, I’m sure,’ Harry agreed.

  ‘Now, what was it you wanted to ask?’

  Harry edged his chair just a little way out from the table, to give himself space to move, and quickly, should the need arise.

  ‘Can I ask if the name Eric Haygarth means anything to you?’

  ‘Only that he’s the worst kind of gamekeeper you could imagine,’ Andrew replied. ‘Awful man. How or why anyone employs him, I’ve not the faintest idea. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I understand that you have raffles throughout the year to raise money,’ Harry said.

  ‘At the surgery? Yes, we do. For an animal shelter we support down the dale. It’s good business sense, obviously, but it’s also, and more importantly, the right thing to do.’

  ‘And some of the prizes have been taxidermy, I believe?’

  At this, Andrew laughed.

  ‘We had a few anonymous donations,’ Andrew said. ‘I was all for throwing them out, mainly because they were bloody awful. Really amateur, you know? But then Toby pointed out that it was pretty disrespectful to the animals themselves and that half the charm of them was that they just weren’t that good.’

  ‘Can I ask where you were three nights ago?’ said Harry.

  ‘Here,’ Andrew said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Have you ever been up to Snaizeholme?’

  ‘The red squirrel reserve, you mean? Yes, of course. It’s beautiful. But then where isn’t around here? Look, Detective, why are you asking these questions?’

  ‘I have my reasons,’ Harry said.

  ‘What are you trying to imply? That I’m dealing in illegal goods? Those pieces, terrible though they were, were anonymous and taken in good faith. If you’re now telling me they’re not legit, then we will do everything we can to get them back and have them destroyed.’

  ‘What about two nights ago?’ Harry asked. ‘Can you give me your whereabouts then, too?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Andrew said. ‘You asked about Snaizeholme… that’s where the dog was found, wasn’t it? The one killed in the fight? You’re not seriously trying to link that to me, are you? Are you mad? I’m a vet! I carried out the necropsy!’

  ‘Believe it or not,’ Harry said, ‘we have reason to believe that a stuffed owl was used in the barn to spy on the proceedings, as it were.’

  ‘And now you’re here,’ Andrew said. ‘Why? Because of that thing with the hens when I was a kid? Seriously?’

  Harry felt as though he was staring at all the right events, all the correct bits of information and evidence he needed, but that they just weren’t in the right order.

  ‘I’m trying to make sense of things,’ Harry said. ‘We’ve apprehended the person who I’m fairly confident was behind the stuffing, for want of a better word, of the owl,’ Harry said. ‘This individual has also admitted to being over at the house belonging to the owner of that dog the following evening. He witnessed a violent attack on the owner, which was enough to put them in hospital, and saw another individual watching the house.’

  ‘And you honestly think I was involved?’

  ‘I’m simply trying to get to the bottom of what’s been going on,’ Harry said. Then he pulled out his phone, scrolled through to the photos Liz had sent through, and showed Andrew.

  ‘These are fresh tyre tracks, found out at Snaizeholme earlier by one of my team. She was attacked and knocked unconscious. You’ll notice that the tracks bear a striking resemblance to those made by your own motorbike.’

  ‘Do I need to point out just how many people in the dales have motorbikes with those exact tyres?’ Andrew asked. ‘We’ve got two ourselves at the surgery, remember?’

  ‘There’s more, though,’ Harry said. ‘Some of the tracks we found on the day the dog was discovered, they contained traces of materials used in house renovation. Tile adhesive, for example, and granite dust.’

  Andrew said. ‘I could give you a list of addresses that Toby and I have visited just this month that are having work done!’

  ‘That would be useful,’ Harry said.

  ‘Are we done here?’ Andrew asked, and Harry heard anger in the man’s voice.

  ‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘Thanks for your time.’

  The vet stood up and led Harry out of the house.

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t thank you for popping round,’ Andrew said, standing to one side to allow Harry to step out into the evening air.

  ‘Just doing my job,’ Harry said, looking back over at the skip, the motorbikes parked close by.

  ‘Toby lives local, then, does he?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Andrew said.

  Harry pointed at the two motorbikes.

  ‘Earlier, you said that he rode over. I’m assuming on one of those.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘So, he either lives close by and has walked home, or someone picked him up.’

  Andrew shook his head.

  ‘No, he headed off in his new car. He got it this week and asked if he could keep it in my garage, seeing as it's empty. I generally keep my Land Rover at the surgery, you see, and use the bike as my runabout. The Land Rover wouldn’t fit in there anyway. Well, it would, I just wouldn’t be able to get out of it once I’d squeezed it in there.’

  Harry walked over to the garage, rested his hand on the door.

&nbs
p; ‘A new car?’

  ‘Don’t ask me what it is,’ Andrew said. ‘Cars just aren’t my area at all. So long as it can get me from A to B, I don’t care what it is, whether it’s red or black or—’

  ‘Red?’ Harry said. ‘Why did you say that?’

  ‘Because that’s the colour of Toby’s car,’ Andrew said.

  ‘How long since Toby was here?’ Harry asked.

  Andrew checked his watch.

  ‘Twenty minutes I guess. Why?’

  But Harry wasn’t listening. He was already on his phone and running over to his Rav4.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jim was once again sitting at a table in a kitchen he’d known since childhood, with Mr and Mrs Hogg sitting opposite.

  ‘I know you say he had nowt to do with it,’ Alan said, ‘but I’m sticking to my guns on this. He knew. I’m sure of it. It’s the only thing that makes sense.’

  Jim caught the look Helen sent to Alan as she then turned to him and rolled her eyes.

  ‘We’ve talked about this,’ Jim said. ‘There’s no reason or evidence to connect Mr Adams to the break-in.’

  ‘But he knew we weren’t here, didn’t he?’

  ‘Of course he did!’ Helen exclaimed. ‘He was the one who invited us over in the first place!’

  ‘Exactly!’ Alan said.

  ‘Exactly nothing!’ Helen said. ‘You need to stop. Right now. No more of this nonsense. We were burgled. It happens. And we’re lucky that so little was taken or damaged.’

  ‘Except that,’ Alan said, and pointed to what was sitting in the middle of the table.

  ‘You really think you can fix it?’ Jim asked. ‘I mean, it doesn’t really even look like an owl now, does it? Its wings are broken, its head is all scrunched in.’

  ‘I’m going to have a bloody good go,’ Alan said. ‘How hard can it be?’

  ‘It’s not an Airfix kit, is it?’ Helen said.

  ‘And there’s those wires hanging out of it,’ said Jim, reaching out to poke the bird. ‘What were they even for?’

  ‘That’s how you stuff a bird,’ Alan said. ‘You skin it, then you make a sort of wireframe for it, and then you put the skin on it, you fill with sand or sawdust or something, and there you go, one stuffed bird!’

  ‘But these wires wouldn’t be any use for that at all,’ said Jim, showing Alan. ‘Look, these are all floppy, aren’t they? They’re electric wires. Was it fitted up with a battery so that its eyes lit up or something?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Alan said. ‘Though that’s given me a great idea! I could have a motion sensor, couldn’t I? And then, when someone walked past, I could have the eyes flash! I could even put in a sound thingy, make it do an owl sound!’

  ‘A sound thingy?’ Helen said. ‘And that’s your technical know-how, is it?’

  ‘Well, I think it’s a great idea,’ Alan said. ‘And it’s my bird so I’ll do what I want with it.’

  Jim, though, was still looking at the bird.

  ‘So, it wasn’t wired for anything, then?’

  ‘No,’ Alan said. ‘Why would it be? It was just a stuffed bird we won at the raffle, like I said. I remember, because I didn’t know what I’d actually won until I went to collect it, and that new vet, Toby whatever his name is, he gave it to me. We had a good laugh about it, too, mainly because it’s not the best, is it? But I liked it. It’s a bit of fun, right?’

  ‘A stuffed bird, fun.’ Helen sighed, shaking her head.

  As Alan and Helen continued to talk, Jim was still looking at the owl, or what was left of it. The wires were strange, weren’t they? If there was no reason for them to be there, then why were they there at all? And was what it, Harry had said in that message earlier? Something about an owl being used to spy on the dog fight?

  Jim stood up.

  ‘Is it okay if I go take another look around Neil’s room?’

  ‘Of course,’ Helen said. ‘Something up?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jim said, then left the kitchen and headed upstairs.

  In Neil’s room, he sat down on the bed and tried to gather his thoughts, though he was pretty sure he was mad for thinking them. But those wires in the owl, what Harry had said… What if someone had used the owl, now in pieces on the dining table downstairs, to spy on Neil? No, that was insane, Jim thought, it had to be, didn’t it? After all, the only people who would’ve done that, would be the gang Neil had got himself involved with over in Darlington. And if it was them, how would they have even got into the house to essentially bug the place? Is that what all this was about? Had someone broken in to get back whatever it was in the owl? But why leave it till now?

  Jim stood up, walked around Neil’s room, not really sure what he was looking for, or why. The place had been tidied up since the break-in, but it still had an odd feel to it, almost as though he could sense the intruders from the night before. Through the window he saw the tree, remembering again how he and Neil used to climb it all those years ago, the secret stash of sweets they used to keep up there in an old biscuit tin.

  Jim was out of the room and running downstairs to head outside in a flash.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ Alan called out. ‘What’s the rush?’

  But Jim wasn’t listening. Instead, he was heading over to the tree, because he’d remembered something Alan had said earlier in the week, about how on the day they’d lost Neil, he’d been out here, in his treehouse.

  Round the back of the trunk, an old wooden ladder reached up into the branches. It didn’t exactly look all that stable. Jim took hold and started to climb. The ladder complained, and some of the rungs felt more than a little spongy, as though they would give way at any moment, but they held out, and soon he was up in the branches.

  ‘Jim? Jim! What the hell are you doing up there!’

  Neil’s dad had followed him out and was now standing underneath the tree.

  ‘Just give me a minute,’ Jim said. ‘I’ll be down in a sec.’

  ‘It’s not safe,’ Alan called up. ‘I gave Neil a proper bollocking for going up there as well, you know, when he went up there that day. Now, get yourself down!’

  Ignoring Alan, Jim climbed through the branches and into the treehouse. It was smaller than he remembered, but then how much bigger was he now than the last time he’d been up here? Inside, it was still surprisingly dry. Jim could see plenty of evidence that the place provided shelter for various furry and feathered creatures, with twigs and feathers and moss all over the floor. And there, in the corner, wrapped in an old plastic bag, was the tin.

  Jim reached over and pulled it close. He opened the bag and pulled out the tin.

  ‘Jim, I mean it now,’ Alan called up. ‘Get yourself down before you fall!’

  Jim opened the tin. And inside, in another plastic bag, he found a phone. Keeping it inside the bag, he pressed the power button and watched, amazed, as the screen burst into life. The password it asked for was obvious because Jim knew that Neil hadn’t changed it in years: his birthday.

  With the phone open, Jim sat there staring at it, wondering why on earth Neil would hide it up here of all places. He opened the emails, flicked through, but nothing stood out. Same with texts, though reading the ones he’d sent to Neil himself brought a lump to his throat. Then he opened the photos and someone he knew was staring right back at him, surrounded by faces he didn’t recognise.

  A shrill sound burst into the moment and Jim nearly dropped the phone as he went to answer his own.

  ‘Jim, it’s Matt.’

  ‘I think I know who broke into Neil’s parents’ place,’ Jim said, but Matt cut him off.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Neil’s parents’ house,’ Jim said. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll be there soon as I can,’ Matt said.

  ‘Why? What’s up? What’s happened?’

  ‘Harry’s happened,’ Matt said. ‘And he’s given us an address to check out urgently.’

  ‘Do you know where he is? I need t
o speak to him.’

  ‘Right now,’ Matt said, ‘he’s probably terrifying everyone on the roads between here and Darlington.’

  ‘What? What’s he doing?’

  ‘Catching his prey,’ Matt said and killed the call.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Having swapped his Rav4 for one of the incident response vehicles the team had parked up in the marketplace, Harry had wasted no time in flicking on the blues and twos and booting the accelerator to the floor hard enough to snap it. He’d already put in the relevant calls to have as many police officers as were available looking for a red Subaru Imprezza on every road from Hawes to Darlington. The net would close in quickly, and he wanted to be a part of it.

  Given that Toby had left twenty minutes ago, Harry put him at anywhere between Redmire and Richmond. There was no chance that he would catch him up, but he was going to give it a damned good try. And if Toby doubled back for any reason, he’d at least be there to meet him.

  The dales rushed past, a blur of greens gradually growing darker as the evening headed into night.

  Harry’s phone sang to him and he answered, grateful for hands-free, considering the speed he was doing.

  ‘Grimm,’ he said.

  ‘It’s Jim.’

  ‘Look, I’m a bit busy,’ Harry said.

  ‘I know, but I think I’ve found something. Over at Neil’s parents’ house.’

  ‘What? What have you found? We had words about this, Jim, remember? Or have you forgotten everything I said?’

  ‘It was that owl you mentioned,’ Jim explained. ‘What you said about it, remember? The one in Snaizeholme?’

  ‘Of course, I remember!’ Harry snapped back. ‘It wasn’t exactly that long ago, now, was it?’

  ‘The break-in, at Helen and Alan’s, there was this stuffed owl. It was all broken and smashed, you see, and Alan wants to mend it.’

  ‘That’s very interesting,’ Harry said, swinging round a sharp right bend and powering out of it. ‘But can this wait?’

  ‘There were wires in it,’ Jim said, clearly not listening. ‘I think something was in it, a bug or a camera or something, I don’t know, but I went out to the treehouse you see, because that’s where Neil and me used to play and we’d hide stuff up there.’