DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Book 1-3

by Oliver Davies

  Rubbing a hand over my hair, I moved over to focusing on my notebook, finding the page listing the names of the men who could verify Henry’s presence down at the pub the other night.

  Henry had volunteered their phone numbers too, from his phone and, perhaps unsurprisingly, they all checked out. After a bit of clarifying on the date and time, all the four men said that Henry had been there with them and that he’d stayed right through till near midnight.

  So unless Henry had a twin, or a doppelganger hidden away somewhere, it couldn’t have been him that shot at me in the hills. That left the question of who the second man had been since my gut was saying that Jake had definitely been the other one.

  I worked into the evening, looking again over the information we had and on the internet for anything new or significant, but came up with little. The Collins seemed, overall, to mostly keep their personal life off the internet which was smart but not especially helpful for me. Whilst they might have hidden accounts under different names, I didn’t have the kind of resources or tech knowledge to look into that.

  Hogan came over after Kay had left and gave me a look that I could read immediately. It was her ‘you’re a workaholic, and you should go home, Mitchell’ look, and I sighed. I started gathering my things, and she gave me a nod of approval before going back to her office.

  It was late by the time I got home, but I still had the Three Tops fell running race at the weekend that I was undecided about attending and I hadn’t gone for a run since I’d gotten shot at. If I didn’t get back on the horse soon, I worried I might psyche myself out of it entirely.

  So I geared up and headed out, staying close to the town where it was still somewhat lit up with the lights from houses and a couple of still-open shops. There were a few people out on the pavements, walking down to the shops for whatever forgotten ingredients they needed for their tea.

  Running on flat concrete amongst the buildings didn’t give me the same kick as trekking up the moors did, where it was just me and the wind, but it would’ve been stupid to attempt that kind of stunt again whilst this case went unsolved. Even in the town, I felt a prickling between my shoulders as I ran as if someone was watching me and turned around several times, only to find that there wasn’t anything there. Similarly, I looked up and down several times before crossing any of the roads, on high alert for a green Land Rover to come roaring at me.

  In the end, I got back home with the same feeling of jittery adrenaline as if I’d walked across a foot-wide ridge way up in the hills.

  Later that night, after double-checking the two locks on my door and putting my phone close beside me on the bedside table, I lay awake in bed for almost an hour. Considering that this case was no longer officially mine, it refused to be pushed out of my head. I was too involved to be able to take a full step back, and I wondered for the first time if having the DCI take over would be a good thing, whether he’d be able to view the bigger picture more impartially than I could.

  But on the other hand, Kay and I had gotten this far through my knowledge of Graham and her trust in me. We were locals, and we cared about this place in a way that outside officers hadn’t cared when they’d failed to give Freddie’s death the proper attention it had deserved.

  DCI Gaskell in command or not, I doubted my conscience would leave me be until the raw truth had been unravelled from this mess, and I’d looked into the eyes of Graham’s killer as I put the handcuffs around their wrists.

  Twenty

  The morning of the Three Tops run was blessedly dry and bright, though it was due to rain later on and there were already clouds beginning to drift in. The weather up on the moors could never be trusted, as it could go from raining to snowing even in the spring, and the mist could come down in minutes, making it impossible to navigate safely without a compass if you weren’t on a clearly defined path.

  And we wouldn’t be for this. Part of the challenge of the run was navigating, and GPS wasn’t allowed. People came from all over to give it a go, but it was the locals who knew the land who tended to know best. I couldn’t claim to walk the moors as often as those who lived out of town did, but I had run a good deal over these moors over the years.

  Getting ready and driving to the start point was strange without Graham. Alice knew where I was off to this morning, and I’d told Kay too, so I had encouraging messages from both of them, but my car still felt too empty as I crawled up the small lanes and into a gravelled car park thrumming with pre-race activity and excitement.

  I’d had a little too much excitement recently and was looking forward to this as a break from work, where I switched off the analytical side of me and just focused on my tired legs and the ground ahead of me.

  Even sunny as it was, the wind was chilly higher up, and I zipped my raincoat up to my chin as I went over to get registered.

  “Darren Mitchell,” I said, only just stopping myself from using my police rank at the last minute. Here I was just a civilian, and it was a relief.

  The woman behind the desk, her curly hair being tossed around by the breeze, flicked through her list of names until she found me.

  She ticked me off and then looked back up at me. “You’re down as partnered with,” She looked back down at her list, but I broke in before she could say Graham’s name.

  “He couldn’t make it,” I said thickly, swallowing around the lump in my throat.

  She hesitated, looking at me for a long second like she could see the emotion in my face even as I tried to mask it before she just nodded. “Okay, no problem. We expect you to have a working mobile phone at all times and to check-in at all the waypoints. Failure to do so may cause you to be disqualified and could mean we send out the search and rescue unnecessarily.” I nodded. “If you get lost, head to lower ground and call this number,” she gave me a laminated card with a large-print mobile number on it, “so that we don’t send a team out looking if you disappear for more than an hour.”

  “Got it.” I’d done this kind of thing before and knew the drill, though they were especially careful with this race after they’d had an accident with a participant a year or so back.

  “Good.” She smiled at me, losing her serious look. “Good luck and enjoy the run! At least it’s not raining yet, aye?”

  “Aye, not yet.”

  I jogged off to get warmed up for the start of the run. Though this was meant to be a break from work, I still found myself scanning the crowd, looking for faces that shouldn’t be here.

  There was some level of guilt, too, both for going ahead with a run I’d intended to attend with Graham, and that I was doing something that wasn’t helping solve his murder. But there’d been no progress yet with tracking down Maisy and whilst Gaskell had liaised with police in the Lakes to visit the house of the university friend, Rebecca, Maisy hadn’t been there.

  Plus, even I couldn’t work every hour of the day without running myself into the ground, or running out of coffee. Alice had encouraged me to go by saying that Graham would have wanted me to do this for us both, and I hoped she was right. Graham had been so against wallowing or sulking that I couldn’t imagine he would’ve wanted me to avoid doing something we’d both loved out of guilt that he couldn’t be here.

  I double-checked my phone in my pocket, carefully wrapped in waterproof paper, along with the route map. We’d be climbing a fair way up, right near the peaks, and covering enough distance that I didn’t think I’d get to the end until mid-afternoon if the weather stayed reasonable and I kept up a good pace.

  It took the first mile or so of the race before I began to relax into it, more able to focus on the scenery than on my footing and for my legs to stop feeling like leaden weights. If I paced myself correctly, I ought to be at my best in the middle of the run where my legs would feel like they were running effortlessly, and the exhilaration hadn’t yet given way to tiredness.

  This was what the longer runs gave me, the chance to really stretch out, challenge myself and see parts of the moors I
’d not explored before because they were too far from Lockdale for me to fit into my day, especially at this time of year. I’d missed the thrill of the wind battering at me and the birds wheeling overhead as if they were encouraging me onwards.

  I clocked in at the first couple of checkpoints, and then the terrain got more difficult. I had to slow down to navigate a couple of times as the route took a winding detour I’d not run before.

  I was out in the depths of the moors here. The runners had spread out enough over the last hour or so that I was, to my knowledge, the only person for miles.

  Taking on water at the next checkpoint, I made good time towards the fourth which was beginning to wind back towards Lockdale. I thought about Graham and how he would’ve pushed me to go faster, grinning when I pretended to grouch about it and encouraging both of us along the route. I needed to focus enough during the run, especially once a light rain started coming down and was growing heavier that I couldn’t dwell on missing him.

  I was soaked by the time I got to the next checkpoint and snagged an energy bar to chew on as I began to descend. The route joined back up with a path here, and I paused to check the map before starting to make my way down. I deliberately refused to think about the last time I’d run down a skiddy, wet path like this, though it hadn’t been this exact one.

  We were well into the afternoon now. I checked the time on my waterproof watch as I ran along the path that cut through the lower-level moors closer to Lockdale, where I usually preferred to run.

  The view of Lockdale from up here was beautiful, and I paused briefly to admire it. Down in the streets, it was easy to focus on the litter and the hecticness, but from up here, Lockdale’s honey-coloured stone, winding streets, and pretty church tower stood out. I felt a fondness for the place I’d spent a good part of my career. If I did move into York, I would miss this.

  It was only because I was looking out at the view down the valley rather than running that I noticed movement off to the right and a faint engine noise. I turned to squint through the rain, which was coming down hard enough to form a veil that made anything in the distance appear unfocused and blurry.

  I could make out two figures on what looked like quad bikes, and as I watched, an unfortunately familiar uneasiness settled into my stomach. They seemed to be heading my way.

  Forcing myself not to jump to assumptions, I kept watching even as I reached for my phone in my wet pocket. Surely, I thought, whoever had tried to hunt me down the other night wouldn’t try again now, in broad daylight and with police cars stationed outside the Collins’ farm.

  And yet, there was no-one around up here, no witnesses and no cameras. Another runner could come down the path, but the route was long enough, and the runners so spread out that it wasn’t hugely likely. I was on my own up here; something I loved so much and yet was currently making my stomach clench with fear.

  The quad bikes had dropped down behind a hillock, hidden for the moment by the uneven land. I pulled out my phone and dialled the station as I started to walk away down the path, looking over my shoulder every few seconds.

  The bikes reappeared again, much closer, and for a moment, my breath came easier because they seemed to turn away from me. But as my phone rang by my ear and the rain came down, the bikes took a twisting path that ended up with them coming directly for me.

  I swore quietly and started jogging, trying not to sprain my ankle as I struggled down the uneven path with the phone to my ear and turning to look for my pursuers.

  “DS McGre--” Kay picked up, sounding slightly bored.

  “Kay, it’s Darren. I’ve got-”

  “Aren’t you on that race?”

  “Yes!” I said, my breath coming harsh and heavy. “Listen, I’ve got two people on quad bikes heading right for me. I’m up above Lockdale on the,” I checked the route, “Scenic Path. I need back up.”

  Kay cursed. “Alright. Can you see them? Are they armed?”

  I twisted around again and saw that they’d gotten much closer. Trying to put on a burst of speed, I almost slid and went careering down the bank, only just regaining my balance.

  “I don’t know! I don’t know, but they’re close and-” I looked back again, and my eyes widened. “Yeah, yeah, one of them’s got a gun.” My words came out much calmer than I was feeling.

  “How far out of Lockdale are you?”

  “Still,” I slipped on a patch of mud and almost dropped my phone before I got my feet back under me. The rain was making my hand slick, and I was worried the water was going to get into my phone and ruin it any moment now.

  “Darren? Darren, can you--?”

  “I don’t know, ten miles out still. I can see town, but I’m still way up in the moors.” I looked back, and the quad bikes were scarily close, but they’d seemingly stopped to figure out how to get to me. The path I was on wasn’t really wide enough for a quad bike, and I hoped to hell that they’d ditch the bikes because I stood a much better chance if they were on foot.

  A bang went off, loud and terrifying and I flinched instinctively, hunching down to make myself less of a target as I ran. So they hadn’t been deciding how to reach me at all, they’d just been lining up their shot.

  I pushed myself to go faster, only for a second shot to ring out, making me lose my footing so that I fell hard onto my right hip and wrist. My phone went skidding away, and I didn’t check whether it was still working before I was scrambling up and running again, leaving it behind.

  It was easier to balance with both arms out and ready to catch me if I slipped and I put enough distance between myself and the attackers that they stopped shooting in order to rev their quad bikes and catch up, running along parallel to the path.

  I couldn’t keep running this path. At the moment, I was about ten feet down from the moor itself. The path cut into the side of a steep slope so that the quad bikes couldn’t get close enough to grab me or run me down. I knew that changed further up, as the path went uphill to meet back up with the moorland and cut across. I’d be out in the open and completely exposed. They could choose whether to shoot me in the back or hit me with one of their quad bikes. Christ.

  My breath was coming in sharp gasps, and my knees were throbbing from racing down the hard surface. I needed a plan.

  Trying to get my bearings as I ran, I pictured the land around me and attempted to figure out how I could get back to Lokdale faster, or get somewhere that either the bikes couldn’t follow, or where back-up could reach me.

  Down the slope from the path, I was on was a treacherous expanse of scree, loose shards of rocks that slid over one another to form a surface as slippery as ice, and with the additional fear of rocks falling on top of you. There were signs all along the path warning how dangerous the drop away was and to keep away from the edge. It was so steep as to be not so far from vertical, and I wanted nothing less than to go down it.

  But my options were limited and getting more so. I couldn’t keep going forwards until the path met up with the moor, and going back would only buy so much time until the outcome turned out the same. Climbing up onto the moor would be suicidal. Staying down on the path wasn’t an option unless I wanted to become a sitting duck to be picked off with their gun.

  As I ran, gasping at the cold, wet air, the path started to climb, and I knew I had to go down the scree before the path went uphill much more. I scanned the drop-off, looking for any way down that looked safer than another spot, slowing my run. But it all looked as treacherous as any other part.

  I finally skid to a stop, glancing up and around for the people on my tail but they’d temporarily disappeared. I didn’t know whether that was more or less reassuring than having them in sight. I took a final drag of water from my pack before shucking it off and tossing it to the side. My attackers would be able to see exactly where I’d deviated from the path if they found it, but I didn’t want any extra weight on me as I went down the scree.

  I heard a noise, the sound of stones clacking together under
heavy boots, and looked up the path, blanching when I saw two men coming at me on foot. Though they wore black scarves wrapped around their faces, I was almost certain that the one on the right was Jake Collins, by his build and the hatred in his eyes and scowl. But I didn’t recognise the one following, and I didn’t have time to stop and stare.

  I’d never gone down as much scree as this, nor at this height or steepness, and my heart was beating harder than when I’d been running. The ongoing rain would make it even more difficult, with the shingles made slicker and the wet, driving wind throwing off my balance. But the men were coming fast up the path, and I had no choice.

  Heart in my throat, I tried to remember videos I’d seen of daredevils running down scree slopes, skidding on it. I couldn’t afford to be cautious if I wanted to stay on my feet, so I forced myself to take the first step down.

  The stones slid under me horrifyingly fast, and I let out a shout as I struggled to balance, sliding increasingly fast. My legs moved to run without me being fully in control of them, just trying to stay upright and not go careening to my death.

  I was moving so fast that my feet almost couldn’t keep up and panic gripped me as my arms wheeled and the end of the scree fast approached with no way of stopping.

  I couldn’t keep running. I was going to hit the ground and break my legs. With only a split second to make the decision, I locked my legs and went tumbling forwards, going head over heels down the final stretch of scree. An awful pain ripped into my side, and I cried out, trying to catch myself with my hands as the earth and sky kept switching places.

  I finally came to a stop, collapsed on my side on the grass with the agonising feeling like I’d been stabbed in the ribs. The rain kept falling, and I was soaked through, beginning to shiver after just a moment of lying on the cold ground. Groaning, I dragged myself to my knees to look up the slope, finding Jake and his partner looking down at me. There was a rifle in Jake’s hands, and as I tried to pull myself to my feet, he raised it, pointing it straight at me.