Buried With Honours: A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller

by Davies, Oliver

  “She’ll want to see it,” he pointed out, turning the computer off and picking up his coffee. “Better to both go.”

  I nodded my agreement, and we left the office, passing Fry as she hurried over to the printers.

  “The witness’s statement is sorted,” she told me over her shoulder. “I’ll have it on your desk soon.”

  “Cheers, Fry,” I called back, but she’d already rounded the corner, vanishing in a blur of black hair and uniform.

  “Speedy,” Mills observed, walking on to Sharp’s office. Her door was closed, but the blinds were open. As we appeared in the window, she jumped, then waved us in, still typing furiously on her laptop.

  “Boys,” she greeted us without looking up as we let ourselves in, shut the door and took our seats. I crossed my ankle over my knee.

  “Ma’am.”

  “Give me a second here. If I don’t finish writing this, I’ll forget it and have to start over again.”

  “Take your time,” I replied. We sat back, sipping our coffee, and I took a look around her office. It hadn’t changed much in all the years since she’d been promoted. A photo of her husband and son on her desk, a few hand-drawn pictures from the little boy and old cards that she never threw away on the shelves. Sharp was surprisingly sentimental. I knew that one of those cards from Liene, in fact, back before I’d ever met her, and yet I must have seen that card hundreds of times over the years.

  “Done,” she sighed, hitting a few more keys before shutting her laptop with a bit of force. She chugged some likely lukewarm tea from her mug, folded her hands together, and looked at us expectantly.

  “Dead man,” she said. “River?”

  “Major Alexander Riggs,” I confirmed. “He was staying at the Fox Inn in the local village. Apparently, he checked in, left yesterday for the day, but nobody saw him come back.”

  “Do we know that he did?” Sharp asked.

  “His car was there,” Mills answered. “But none of the staff saw much of him. Apparently, that made him something of the ideal guest.”

  “As someone who spent their teen years working in a hotel, it certainly is. Where was he yesterday?”

  “His sister,” I told her, “Sybil Riggs lives here in the city. She’s getting married soon, and this weekend was the rehearsal. He spent the whole day with them, had dinner at their house and drove back in the evening. Didn’t drink the whole night.”

  Sharp nodded, making a “carry on” gesture with her hand.

  “Riggs was found by a local dog walker this morning,” Mills went on. “He was wearing a dressing gown, no coat and no shoes, but we haven’t been able to find either in his room or in his car.”

  Sharp straightened up now, her interest growing. “No?”

  “No,” I confirmed. “Nor do we have his phone. We think it must be with his coat. We do have his laptop, Wasco’s got it now. And we found this, crumpled up under the bed.” I handed her the paper. She looked over it, her brows furrowing together.

  “Code?”

  “We believe so, though we’re finding a bit of trouble knowing which one it is and how to break it,” Mills said.

  “Understandable. Well, run it by his superior, see if he recognises it. If not, and there’s still no luck on your end, I know a chap.” She handed the sheet back to Mills.

  “You’ve got in touch with the army then?”

  “I have.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “What a morning. We’re sorted, though. They know it’s not their jurisdiction, but they would like to be kept updated and will help us however they can. I’ve got the number for his direct senior officer,” she said, pulling a sticky note from her desk and handing it to me. “Major General Sandor. He’s said to call whenever, and he’ll make the time.”

  “Kind of him,” I murmured, pocketing the contact information.

  “What about the sister then? Anything there?”

  “We left O’Flynn with them, and they mentioned coming in today to identify his body.”

  Sharp nodded. “Good, that’s good. Parents?”

  “A mother down in Devon,” Mills answered, “father died a while ago.”

  “What about Riggs himself? Do we know much about his personal life?”

  “Not much. We’re hoping that O’Flynn managed to get some more from Sybil Riggs after we left.”

  “She is good,” Sharp commented, the phone on her desk ringing. She glared at it, swinging it up to her face. “Sharp.” She listened for a bit, then thanked whoever it was and hung up, looking at us.

  “Speak of the devil,” she said. “Sybil Riggs and her fiancée are here to identify the body. Just come in downstairs.”

  “I’ll go,” I said, pressing a hand on Mills’s shoulder as I rose from the chair. “You fill in Sharp on everything we learnt today.” He nodded, staying put with a look of mild relief. I left the two of them there, shutting the door behind me and walked towards the stairs, girding myself.

  This was never easy.

  I headed down to where Sybil and Ernest hung by the desk sergeant, O’Flynn giving them a bit of space. She looked up as I came down the stairs and joined me at the bottom.

  “I’ve got their statements and a bit more she shared about her brother,” she told me. “I’ll get copies on your desk by this afternoon.”

  “Thanks, Cora,” I said. “How was it?”

  “Not too bad,” she said, looking over at the couple. “This will make it worse.”

  “Always does,” I muttered, walking over to Sybil. “Miss Riggs, thank you for coming.”

  Sybil rose from the chair, gripping Ernest’s hand tight like a vice. He didn’t complain, just let her hold on as she nodded to me.

  “Just this way,” I told them, leading them to the stairs and down to Crowe’s lab. O’Flynn walked with them, her voice light and reassuring. I walked them into the small room with the large window, the blinds drawn, then ducked next door, knocking.

  Crowe opened the door, decked head to toe in plastic.

  “Family’s here to identify the body,” I told her. She glanced back into the room. “Please tell me you’re not in the middle of something.”

  “You’re lucky,” she said, holding up a scalpel. “I was just about to start.”

  I grimaced and let her slip back in, pulling her hood down, and I heard her clattering about the room for a bit.

  “Good to go!” she called.

  I walked back into the small room, pulling the blind open. Crowe had tidied up the room, her instruments all put away, her white suit rolled down to her waist. Riggs had been covered with a white sheet, and Crowe met my eyes grimly through the window.

  “Who is she?” Sybil asked curiously.

  “That’s Dr Lena Crowe, our forensic pathologist,” I answered.

  “She looks nice.”

  “She’s very nice. Are you ready?” Sybil looked up at Ernest, then nodded. I met Crowe’s eye again and gave her a nod. She reached forward, slowly pulling the sheet back, just to Riggs’s chest. Sybil sobbed, her hand flying to her mouth and nodded.

  “That’s him,” she managed to say. “That’s Alec.” Ernest met my eyes, looking teary, and nodded.

  “That’s him.”

  I gave Crowe another nod, and she pulled the sheet back into place. I stepped forward, lowering the blind.

  “Thank you,” I told them. “And I am sorry that you’re going through all of this.”

  “Not your fault,” Ernest said, tucking Sybil under his arm.

  “O’Flynn, will you take them upstairs, maybe get some tea or coffee?”

  “Of course,” Cora said kindly.

  “That’s okay,” Sybil shook her head. “I think I’d rather just go home now.”

  “No problem,” Cora led them towards the door. “Let me show you out.”

  I debated going along with them, but I had a Major General to call and a code to crack, so I waited until they cleared the stairs then headed back up myself.

  Eight
r />   Thatcher

  Mills was back in the office by the time I thanked Lena and walked back up the stairs, kicking the door shut behind me and collapsing in my chair with a sigh. He looked over at me with a slight wince.

  “How was that?”

  “Not too bad,” I said, rubbing my hands over my face. “They’ve headed home, and I can’t blame them for that.”

  “No,” Mills agreed. “I couldn’t see how knocking about this place could help. At least it’s done now and out of the way.”

  I nodded, sitting back and draining the last few mouthfuls of my coffee before pulling the Major General’s contact information from my pocket. I’d need another brew before this day was over, though, that was for sure.

  “You ready for this?”

  Mills nodded, wheeling his chair over to me, notebook in hand. “I’ve done us a basic timeline,” he said, “but until we get Crowe’s report, it really is basic.”

  “That’s alright, we’re the one asking questions today,” I reminded him, picking the phone up from my desk and calling the number in question. It was answered by an assistant who put me on hold for a few minutes before I was patched through to the man himself.

  “Major General Sandor,” a deep voice greeted me.

  “Hello,” I replied, putting him on speaker. “This is Detective Chief Inspector Thatcher with the North Yorkshire Police. I’m joined by Detective Sergeant Mills.”

  “Detective Chief Inspector, hello. I appreciate hearing from you so soon. I looked you up,” he admitted, “when I heard you were on the case.”

  “I hope you only found good things,” I answered.

  “Certainly did. You’ve got an impressive career there, Inspector. I feel that Major Riggs is in good hands.”

  “That’s kind of you, sir. Have you worked with Riggs long?” I asked.

  “He’d been stationed under me for over eighteen months, but I worked with him before, a couple of years back when he was a lieutenant. We were stationed together in Afghanistan, so I was happy to have him under my command again. Such terrible news. His family must be heartbroken.”

  “They certainly are.”

  “I’ll be sure to send around my condolences, though I’m not sure how useful they’d be. I’m afraid I’m quite used to losing men, Inspector, though not normally like this.”

  “No, I imagine these circumstances are rather unusual. We just wanted to speak to you to get an understanding of what Major Riggs was like. Any issues he might have been having at work or in his personal life. Did you know him well outside of work?”

  “As well as any, I suppose. We’d have a few pints in the mess together, and he was always welcome in our home for dinner. He was a good chap,” the Major General said. “Always kept his head down, cracked on with the job. He was never afraid to speak up when he needed to, but he always went about it in the right manner. A good leader, smart man. How’d it happen, if I might ask?”

  “Our pathologist is currently performing her autopsy, so right now, we don’t know for certain. But we are investigating his death as a homicide,” I told him. “Do you know of any problems he might have been dealing with?”

  “I can’t say that I do, Inspector and I like to think he would have come to me with any such troubles. As far as I was aware, the last time he and I shared a pint, all was well. He spoke about his sister’s wedding, about visiting his mother, but that was it really. Nobody in his life romantically, so to speak, but to be honest, I think that’s how he preferred it.”

  I thought about the flag sticker on his laptop and had to agree with that theory.

  “Did he ever have any issues with anyone at work?” I asked.

  “There’s not been any complaints, nothing that was brought to my attention. Riggs was always the sort to handle things on his own when he could. Certainly, nothing that I imagined would lead to someone wanting him dead, that’s for sure.”

  “I see. So, from your perspective, he was a good man?”

  “An all-around good man, Inspector. Not the sort of man who deserves this sort of ending, not in any way, shape, or form. It’s a great tragedy. The whole regiment will be saddened by this, I can tell you that.”

  “And I take it that there isn’t much you can tell us about his current work?”

  “I’m afraid not. I imagine you understand that.”

  “We certainly do. There is one thing we wondered if we could get your opinion on, Major General.”

  “Fire away.”

  “We found a piece of paper in the room where Major Riggs was staying, and it’s a code that we do not recognise. We wondered if it might be something he learnt from the army.”

  “I can take a look at it, Inspector, of course.”

  “I’ll email an image through to you now,” I said, waking my computer up and opening my emails. Sharp had scrawled his address onto the note, and I managed to attach a scan on the sheet that Mills must have done whilst I was downstairs and sent it off. We waited for a moment until the Major General confirmed that he had got it.

  “I’m afraid I don’t recognise it, Inspector,” he told us regrettably. “It’s not one we use here, in any case.”

  “Worth a shot,” I answered. “I think that’s all the questions we have for you right now, Major General, but we may be in touch again if need be.”

  “By all means, Inspector, anyway that I can help, please let me know. I’ll have my assistant link you through straight away. And can I ask that you keep me updated, however you can?”

  “Of course. And please give me a call if there is anything that comes to mind regarding Major Riggs that you think we should know.”

  “Certainly will. Good luck, Inspector, not that I think you need it.”

  “Thank you, Major General. Goodbye.” I hung up and let out a long breath. Mills turned slowly in his chair from side to side, tapping his pen against his knee.

  “So, he was an all-round good egg who didn’t deserve to die this way?”

  “Apparently not. But someone clearly thought otherwise since he very much has died this way,” I muttered, pushing myself up and walking over to our whiteboard, using my sleeve to wipe it clean.

  “And no luck on the code,” Mills added.

  “Keep looking,” I told him. “If we can’t find anything by the end of the day, we can get in touch with Sharp’s expert. I’ll get cracking on this,” I said with a nod to the board, “see if something jumps out when it’s all not in my head anymore.”

  Mills nodded and wheeled back around to his desk, the code in hand, ready to continue his search. I got to work on the board, drawing links between Major Alexander Riggs and his sister, the dog walker, the Inn staff and the Baroness and her family. I wasn’t sure if there was a connection, but I had absolutely nothing else to go on yet.

  Riggs hadn’t been robbed, not really. His wallet was on him when we found him, the cash and cards all still there. So, it hadn’t been a robbery gone wrong, not unless all they wanted was his shoes and coat. Everyone we had spoken to about him had nothing bad to say, not a harsh word in sight. But if he was so good and well rounded, why the hell had he been killed and found washed up in a river, miles from home? Someone knew something, and either we’d yet to track them down or someone else had lied to our faces. Either way, finding out which one wouldn’t be the easiest task in the world.

  I printed off a map of the area, drawing a line from the Fox Inn to the city, approximately to where his sister’s house was, and back again. It did nothing, but it got the image out of my head which could only help. I stuck the map on the board and stepped back, looking at my handiwork.

  “Why would someone want him dead?” I asked aloud.

  “For the same reason he felt the need to write something in a code no man on earth can understand?” Mills replied in a defeated voice, slumped over his desk as he churned through code after code, trying to find one that resembled Riggs’s. “If it is code,” he muttered. “Maybe he was testing a new pen.”
>
  I walked over, looking down at the sheet. “That’s code,” I told him reassuringly. “And I think you’re right, that whatever that says will help us find why he was killed and who bloody well did it.”

  “But did they follow him here?” Mills asked. “Or were they already in Yorkshire?”

  “Given that the only person he knows here is his sister, I’d say someone followed him. Or at least knew that he was going to be here and made the most of the opportunity. Maybe Riggs saw them, and that’s why he made the coded note so that we’d know too.”

  “But why this? Why not do morse code or something most people recognise. His own boss didn’t recognise it, so what hope have we got?”

  “Cheer up, Mills, you’re starting to sound like me. We’ll get in touch with Sharp’s expert,” I decided with a sigh. “See if he has any idea what it is, at least to the point where we can start to unscramble it.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Mills asked.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” I replied, cracking my knuckles. “In the meantime, let’s figure out if there might have been anyone else he saw yesterday. Anywhere he might have stopped.”

  Mills nodded, happily abandoning the code and retrieved what little evidence we had secured from the inn. Namely, aside from the laptop in Wasco’s careful care, we had his wallet and his suitcase. Mills took the wallet, where the sturdy leather had thankfully kept most of the contents safe from the river. It was a small miracle that I wasn’t going to waste time wondering about, not when Mills cracked it open and took out a few slightly smudged receipts from inside.

  He flattened them out and walked over to the board, sticking them along the timeline.

  “He stopped at a service station,” he told me. “Just outside Bristol, a few hours before he would have checked in. Then yesterday,” he stuck another one up. “A café in the city, eight forty-two, for breakfast.”

  “Makes sense,” I muttered, “he didn’t eat in the inn.”

  “There’s another for yesterday, later in the day, when he bought some coffee, and then that’s in. The rest are all older.”