He swung for me again, and I stepped aside tricky in the river and caught his arm, twisting it up around his back and looped my foot around his ankle, pulling his leg out from under him. He collapsed to his knees, sending the river sloshing around us, a loud grunt escaping him.
I fumbled for the handcuffs at my belt, eyes watering, blood still dribbling into my mouth and down my chin. But I got him secured and hauled him up towards the bank, shoving him onto the ground. He rolled his head to one side, panting, and I pushed through the river, out of the water. I pulled my gloves on. They were soaked, but so was the rest of me, and walked back to the shovel, yanking it from the bank and throwing it down beside Wheeler.
A light danced in the darkness up towards the farm.
“Mills!” I heard Thatcher shout.
“Down here!” I called back, holding my arms up, and with a wince, waved them. The torch moved my way, right in my face, and I grimaced, squinting my eyes. I heard his footsteps pound down towards me.
“Christ, man,” he muttered, offering me a hand. “You alright?”
I gripped his arm, and he took my weight, helping me to clear the riverbank up away from Wheeler, where I collapsed against the cold, hard earth.
I could hear sirens faintly in the distance, and Thatcher was on the phone again a moment later, his deep voice mumbling quietly. He bent down by my head, giving me a nudge.
“On your feet, lad, before you freeze to death.”
He pulled me up, my body aching in protest and helped me shrug off the first few layers of clothes, throwing his coat around my shoulders. I shivered, gripping it around myself as he looked down at Wheeler and the shovel.
“Evening, Mr Wheeler,” he called. The farmer said nothing, just stayed, stomach down on the ground, glaring at the earth. “Got a few good swings in, didn’t he?” Thatcher commented, his eyes scanning my face.
“Just the one,” I replied, touching my nose with a wince.
We both turned as a car rumbled down towards the farm, lights blaring on the roof. The door opened, and Fry slid out, her long legs carrying her down towards us, a bag over her shoulder. She looked me over, her eyes slightly wide and handed it over.
“Clothes.”
“Ta, Fry,” I said, taking the back from her and walking up towards the car, opening a door and using it as a shield as I pulled the dry clothes out. I shivered like mad, fingers numb, but I managed to yank the long-sleeved top and jumper over my head, peeling my drenched trousers off and pulling the joggers on. There was even a pair of socks and some spare shoes that were a bit snug, but I yanked them on, then Thatcher’s coat, just as he walked over, Wheeler in tow, shoving the farmer into the car and slamming the door shut.
“He broke your nose,” he told me.
“Feels like it,” I muttered.
“I can reset it,” Fry said as she walked over. She was carrying the shovel, wrapped in a tarp and stuck it in the boot.
“You can?” I asked tentatively. She nodded, cracking her knuckles.
“Will only hurt a second.”
I looked at Thatcher, but he just shrugged and looked up towards the village.
“Go on then,” I shrugged. Fry stepped closer, the top of her head reaching my chin, and she reached up, her hands warm on my face. She pushed my nose back, and I grit my teeth against the pain. There was a crack, and she dropped her hands, fingers a little bloodied. My eyes started watering again, and I lifted my hand to face, feeling my nose. It was in a straight line again. That was nice.
“Thanks, Fry,” I said.
She shrugged, wiping her hand on a wet wipe that Thatcher dug from the car. He handed me one, and I gently cleaned my face up.
“Drive up,” Thatcher instructed us, shoving me towards the passenger seat. “I’ll follow on foot.”
“Norma Burns?” I asked.
“Under arrest,” Fry said. “Paramedics are just waiting for your go ahead, sir.”
Thatcher nodded and started walking up towards the village. Fry and I exchanged a look, then we both climbed into the car. I glared at Wheeler in the back seat but was grateful for the warmth of the car.
“You alright?” Fry asked, putting the car into gear.
“Bit damp,” I said, “and a bit cold, but yeah, I’m alright.”
“Rough night,” she pointed out.
“Comes with the territory,” I said, turning to look at her. “You know that, though,” I reminded her. She grimaced, nodding.
“Had a lump on my head for about two weeks,” she said, giving me a smile. I grinned back, and she turned to the road, swinging us up towards the inn, where an ambulance and a few other police cars sat, filling the village with lights. A few locals had gathered, standing behind the police tape in coats, watching and muttering together. Thatcher emerged from the path behind us, chatting to some paramedics. They loaded everything into the ambulances and took off, vanishing into the darkness. Fry pulled over but didn’t turn off the engine.
“Order’s sir?” She asked Thatcher. He walked over, bending down to look at her through the window.
“Take him to the station. I’ll follow with Burns and Quinn.”
“Daisy?” I asked, leaning around Fry. “How’s Daisy involved?”
“Not that sure,” he muttered. “But she is.”
Fry nodded. “Is Miss Graham alright?”
Wheeler snorted in the seat behind her, and she spun around, giving him a glare that I was glad not to be on the receiving end of.
“She’s alright. They’re taking her to hospital now.”
“The others?” I asked.
“I’ll bring them here,” Thatcher reached up, scratching his head. “Wrap everything up and head back.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” I said, reaching for the seatbelt. Thatcher shook his head.
“Take him back to the city,” he instructed Fry. “Let Dr Crowe give him a sweep over, get him warm and make sure he doesn’t have pneumonia or anything.”
“I’m right here,” I protested.
“Any trouble, you call his mother,” he added, pointing a gloved finger at me. I grimaced, but Fry just smiled and put her hands back on the wheel.
“Right, you are, sir.” She smiled, ignoring my protests. I didn’t protest for long. Even with Wheeler in the back, the warmth of the car slowly seeped into my bones, and I tipped my head back, closing my eyes as we drove back.
Twenty-Seven
Thatcher
I wasn’t really looking forward to having to finish this up without Mills, but the man was in a state. Nose broken, covered in blood and drenched to the bone. I knew that Fry would take good care of him, and I trusted her to process Wheeler and get that shovel down to forensics while she was at it. The paramedics had gone, Sara Graham in their care, and when I returned to the inn, I found that the other PCs had gotten to work securing the area. Norma Burns, now awake and glowering, and Daisy were sitting in the dining area. She looked everywhere but towards the cook.
“Sir.” I turned to find PC Dunnes strolling towards me.
“SOCO’s finishing up upstairs, sir, and we’ve dispersed the locals.”
“Good man,” I said, clapping him on the shoulders.
“There are a few outside, though,” he added, “staff from the inn.”
“Send them home,” I said. “Let’s get these two back to the city and see what we’ve got.”
Dunnes nodded, and we walked over to Burns and Daisy. He took the cooks, her hands cuffed behind her and started leading her out to a car. I approached Daisy, who lifted her face to mine, looking pale and watery-eyed.
“Hang on, Dunnes!” I shouted. He paused in the doorway, looking back at me.
“Sir?”
“There a woman called Helen out there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Send her in,” I ordered.
Dunnes nodded, passing Norma Burns over to another PC who dragged the woman outside, striding off himself. I stood patiently by Daisy until Dunnes
returned, Helen in tow. She was wearing a coat over her pyjamas, her hair pinned back from her face, hands clutched together.
“Daisy!” She started towards her, but I stepped into her path, holding her back. “What’s happened?”
“I need you to interpret for me, Helen, if that’s alright.”
She looked around, her eyes wide, and nodded. “Alright.”
“Can you tell Daisy that we’ll be taking her into the station now? On suspicion of accessory to murder.” I turned to look at Daisy. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
She looked from my face to Helen, who interpreted, however confused she looked. Daisy nodded then and pushed herself to her feet.
“There has to be a misunderstanding here, Inspector,” Helen protested. “Daisy could never do something like this.”
“No,” I said, taking Daisy’s wrists. “But she can lie about it. Thank you, Helen. We’ll let you know what goes on.”
“What about Daisy?”
“We’ll have someone at the station who can interpret for her,” I told her reassuringly. Helen nodded, looking fondly at Daisy as I steered the girl to the door. Burns was in the back of a car outside, and I put Daisy in a separate one, thinking that keeping them apart would be in our best interests. I tapped the hood of the car, and it took off, lights filling the village.
We’d need to get the baroness in and check up on Sara and Teddy. I groaned, rubbing my face. Check on Mills first, I decided, get a coffee, confront these three, and go from there.
“Dunnes?” I called.
He appeared at my shoulder, ready to go.
“Do me a favour, get someone posted down at the big house. I want to make sure the baroness stays put until we call her in.”
“I’ll go myself, sir,” he volunteered.
“Take someone with you then, or organise a shift rotation,” I said, giving him a nod and looking back up at the inn. I trusted him and the others to finish up here and set off back down into the village where I’d left the car.
It was still in one piece, thankfully, and I avoided the stares of the curious local onlookers as I climbed in and left the village behind, hitting the road to the city. I was confused about the particulars of the case, things muddled in my head that would only be straightened out when we wheeled some answers from the three people we’d brought in.
I tried to dwell too much, just focused on the drive back to the city, pulling into the station a few minutes behind the other cars. Norma Burns and Daisy were taken in, and the instructions to find someone to interpret for Daisy were already sent ahead. There’d be someone. There always was. I felt a bit annoyed that it wasn’t me. Perhaps I ought to learn sign language, gain a handy new skill.
I went straight upstairs, finding Mills, Fry, and Sharp gathered around a desk in the relatively empty station. Mills had changed again, dressed into the spare clothes he kept here for the rare occasions when he chose to run to work in the morning. His hair was damp still, but his skin was pink again, and I realised he’d showered, washing away the river. There was bruising coming up on his face, and whilst his nose was back in place, it was slightly crooked, with a cut running across it. Otherwise, he looked alright. Tired and half-drowned in the river, but alright. He and Fry each had a steaming mug in hand, and as I walked over, he looked at me and, with a grin, held out another. I took the coffee gratefully.
“All good?” I asked, looking him over.
“All good. Crowe gave me a look over, said I’m fine.”
“Also said that I reset his nose well,” Fry added.
Sharp smirked and looked at me. “We’ve got three suspects in, a possible murder weapon down in forensics and what looks like an end to this case. Thought you’d be cheerier.”
“Need to iron out some of those finer details, ma’am,” I said, sipping my drink. “Do we have someone in who can interpret for Daisy Quinn?”
Sharp nodded to the stairs. On the chairs just to the side of them, a young woman sat.
“Sergeant Tamara Harris, drug squad. Her brother’s deaf, so she’s good.”
I nodded, turning to look at Mills. He was staring into space, a frown on his face.
“Did you swallow a newt or something?” I asked.
“I was just thinking,” he said. “About the conversation that Riggs copied, the times he wrote “Quiet”, but the conversation still seemed to carry on.”
“What about it?” Sharp asked.
“Maybe that was Daisy,” he said. “They’d have carried on talking as normal, but if he couldn’t actually see them, then he wouldn’t have seen her, or them, using BSL.”
“You should get punched more often, Isaac. It makes you very smart,” I said. Of course, it made sense, I realised. Any gaps in the conversation weren’t gaps. They just weren’t verbal.
“Let’s go then,” I said. “I think we’ll start with Daisy.”
Sharp nodded. “I’ll watch in. Fry, care to join?”
Fry looked surprised and blushed a little. “Gladly, ma’am.” Sharp gave me a smile and strode off, Fry scurrying after her.
“Look at that,” Mills said as they vanished down the corridor. “She’s making new favourites.”
I rolled my eyes and nudged him. “Grab everything from the office,” I ordered, walking over to sergeant Harris. She jumped to her feet as I approached, and I recognised her, I realised, likely from a previous case, though our paths rarely overlapped.
“Sergeant Harris.”
“Inspector Thatcher.”
“Thank you for doing this,” I said.
“Not at all,” she smiled warmly. “When the boss asks, you can’t really say no, anyway.”
I chuckled, “no, you can’t.”
Mills was back in a flash, clutching a bundle of files in one hand, his mug in the other. He and Harris introduced themselves. Then I led them down the corridor and into the first interview room where Daisy sat, a cup of water between her fingers. The three of us sat down, and I reached over, turning on the recording device, setting everything up, then turned to Daisy.
“Daisy, this is sergeant Harris. She’s going to be interpreting for you during our conversation.”
Harris’s hands moved to my left, and Daisy nodded.
“Let the record show that Miss Quinn nodded her agreement,” I muttered. “Now,” I sighed, spreading the files out over the table. “Where do we start?”
Daisy looked over the files and reached her hand out, tapping a photograph.
“Miss Quinn has indicated a photograph of Major Alexander Riggs. What can you tell us about him, Daisy?”
She took a sip of water and kept her eyes on me, and she started.
“She says,” Sergeant Harris said. “That Major Riggs was a guest at the inn. He overheard a conversation that was had regarding Sara Graham and that, out of fear of being caught out, they killed him.”
“Who is they, Daisy?” I asked.
“Norma Burns and Mr Wheeler.”
“Did you know about their plans to kill Mr Riggs?”
“Not until it had happened.”
“Did you know about their plans to kill Sara Graham?”
“She didn’t think they meant it.”
I sat back, folding my arms and looked at Daisy. “You were too scared to call us?”
“Yes.”
“But you contacted Inspector Thatcher this evening,” Mills said. “You wanted him to come to the inn and help.”
“Yes.”
“What changed your mind?” I asked.
Daisy hesitated, her fingers curling and uncurling.
“She says that she felt guilty about Major Riggs and didn’t want to see Miss Graham hurt.”
“Do you know how they killed Major Riggs?” I asked.
She shook her head vehemently, hands moving.
“She says she didn’t kn
ow until after it had happened and that they didn’t tell her any details. That the less she knew, the better.”
“Why?” I asked.
Daisy shrugged.
“Because they needed you to be innocent,” I told her. “Because of your father.”
Her face twisted, a sound of resignation deep in her throat.
“Your mother had you before she married your father, Mr Quinn,” I said. “Your birth father was Timothy Flitting. Which means you are a Flitting, and you have a claim to the house and estate.”
Daisy’s face fell, and she shook her head, tears lining her eyes, hands moving shakily.
“She says she didn’t know,” Harris said softly. “That it was just a rumour. Gossip.”
“I think the others knew,” I told her. I kept my voice gentle, out of habit, I supposed. “I think they wanted to use that to their advantage.”
“She says she doesn’t know,” Harris said, her eyes fixed on Daisy. “She’s told you what she knows.”
I nodded, pulling out our copy of the conversation that Riggs had copied and slid it over. “Do you recognise this?”
Daisy looked it over and nodded.
“This is what they were discussing that night,” Harris interpreted. “Mrs Burns and Mr Wheeler.”
“And the pauses are you?”
“Yes.”
“What were you saying?” I asked.
“She tried to talk them out of it. She doesn’t remember exactly what she said, only that she tried to persuade them not to. Told them to think about the baroness and the others.”
“You should have come to us, Daisy,” I told her.
She nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“She said she knows,” Harris went on.
I sighed deeply and turned to the sergeant. “You mind staying put, taking her statement and anything else she shares?”
Harris nodded, looking sympathetically towards the young girl. Mills and I rose, gathering the images, and pushed our way from the room and into the one next door where Sharp and Fry stood and watched.
Buried With Honours: A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller Page 22
