by J. R. Ellis
‘Suspicious?’
‘Are they saying that to try to confuse us? They could be involved in it. You said the body had been underground for several days.’
‘I could be wrong. We’ll have to wait for forensics.’
‘But if you’re right, what they said is impossible.’
‘It seems like it, but if they were involved in the murder why spin us such a clumsy story? And they all backed each other up, which means that all four of them would be involved.’
‘But if this bloke had lots of enemies, that’s possible.’
‘True.’ Oldroyd did not sound convinced. ‘I think it’s likely we are dealing with more than one person, but four is a bit excessive.’
‘Four people could have got the body down there. Maybe they did it in a kind of relay.’
‘Yes, it would have been easier, but you’re still left with your other question: why?’
‘Obviously whoever did it wanted to conceal the body, but they seem to have gone about it in the daftest way I’ve ever come across.’
‘I agree, and it suggests to me something went wrong with the plan.’
‘How do you mean, sir?’
‘I don’t think we were meant to discover the body at all, and certainly not in the way we did.’
‘You mean somebody went down and moved it? That sounds even weirder to me.’
‘Well, we really are speculating now, but it’s possible, maybe to incriminate the killer.’
‘But if you knew somebody had committed a murder why not just report them? And nothing about the body tells us who did it.’
‘That’s true, but there’s one thing you’ve forgotten.’
Oldroyd produced the bag containing the strange hook.
‘I don’t know what to make of that, sir,’ admitted Carter.
Oldroyd looked again at the rusty piece of metal. ‘What was it used for and why was it down there? I think this little object holds some of the keys to this mystery.’
They’d finished their sandwiches.
‘Drink up, Andy. I’m leaving you here in Burnthwaite. I’ll pick you up later on. Find out about Atkins and the people who knew him. Find out when he was last seen. You also need to interview the man who found the body; Geoff Whitaker, I think Craven said his name was. Craven will help you.’
‘What about you, sir?’
‘I’m going to study speleology.’
‘Caves.’
‘Indeed. We need to find out a lot more about these cave systems. I’m going to start with a visit to this Simon Hardiman at Garthwaite Hall.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘A little way up the dale from here; it’s a nineteenth-century hall and it’s now an outdoor-pursuit centre. You know, the kind of place where parties of schoolkids go to stay and they take them out walking and caving.’
‘I went with the school once to Wales. It rained all the time we were there. I just remember coming back soaked every day after trudging over muddy paths. We had a good time in the dorm though, drinking cans of lager that we smuggled in.’
‘You sound like a bit of a tearaway.’
Carter laughed. ‘Not really, sir. Just one of the lads, you know.’ He didn’t dare tell Oldroyd yet how badly he’d gone off the rails for a while after his father died. Some people had laughed when he had decided to join the police force and he’d had to endure plenty of comments of the ‘takes one to know one’ and ‘poacher turned gamekeeper’ type.
‘Let’s get on then.’ Oldroyd got to his feet. ‘And don’t be too laddish when Steph gets back.’
‘Who, sir?’
‘Stephanie Johnson, Detective Sergeant Stephanie Johnson to be precise. Your colleague, and the other sergeant normally in my team. She’s been away on leave but she’s back tomorrow. Quite a character, so be careful what you say, but I think you’ll get on well. You’ll have to spend more time getting to know people back at HQ if you get much chance while we’re on this case. It’ll be a nice job for you tomorrow to brief Steph on what we know so far.’ Oldroyd’s eyes glinted mischievously for a moment.
They began to walk down a narrow passageway to the outer door.
‘And don’t forget to check the statements from those cavers who claim to have gone through the system and not seen a body. Craven’s team will have got to work on it. Find out who they all are and see if their statements are consistent. If we’re not happy we’ll have to interview them all separately and—’
He broke off suddenly as the door opened in front of them and they were confronted by a burly figure.
‘Nah then, are you t’police? I ’ear Atkins ’as been done in. They said you’d come in ’ere.’
‘And who are you?’
Oldroyd stood firm, not giving way to the hostile presence and looking the man in the eyes. Those eyes were narrowed and his teeth were bared almost like a dog snarling. His face was dirty and his big rough hands were black with what looked like oil or grease. He wore ragged jeans and a jumper riddled with holes.
‘That bugger owed me money, a lot o’ money, and if you lot were doing yer job right you’d be getting it back for me.’
His arm rose and he began to punch his index finger at Oldroyd as he moved closer to him. Carter sprung instantly into action. This was his territory; he had encountered hundreds of thugs in his time in the Met. He moved between Oldroyd and the newcomer.
‘Calm down now, sir, and watch it; we’re police officers.’
‘What? Yer young bugger. It’s Atkins yer should have arrested years ago, not me!’
‘Right.’ Carter was going for his handcuffs and was ready to struggle with the man.
‘All right, Carter, go steady.’ To Carter’s surprise, Oldroyd put a hand on the shoulder of each of them. He faced the man again.
‘Look, I know you’re angry, but don’t do anything silly. Calm down and come into the bar with us now. Tell us all about it and I’ll buy you a pint.’
The effect was immediate. The man backed down and the snarl left his face, although he continued to glare at Carter.
‘Reet then, I’ll have a pint o’ bitter.’
They walked back into the bar, Carter bringing up the rear, still with a hand on the cuffs in his pocket.
They sat in the corner of the bar and Oldroyd ordered a pint. The landlord had clearly heard the scuffle in the passage and glanced over.
‘No trouble, I hope?’ he asked.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll handle him.’
Oldroyd walked over and placed the beer in front of the man, who remained in a grim silence.
‘Ta,’ was all he said. Then he picked up the glass and downed half of the contents in one gulp.
‘Now,’ said Oldroyd. ‘I asked you your name.’
‘Cartwright, Sam Cartwright.’ He wiped foam from his mouth with the dirty sleeve of his jumper. ‘I’ve a garage just outside t’village.’
‘And how do you know Dave Atkins?’
‘He had an old Morris Countryman and I did it up for ’im.’
‘You mean the model with a wooden frame at the back?’
‘Aye, that’s it. I had to replace all t’rotten wood and I overhauled th’engine an’ everything; put a new drive shaft in.’
‘And he didn’t pay?’
Cartwright’s hand formed a fist.
‘No, the bugger didn’t. It took weeks to do t’job and I had to send off for some new parts. I wasn’t overcharging ’im but he argued about it, said I’d taken too long, the bastard.’
Cartwright banged his fist down on the table.
‘Steady on,’ said Oldroyd. ‘You said earlier you knew he’d been done in. How did you know it was murder?’
‘I’ve been talking to Alan Williams. He was one of them that brought t’body up this morning.’
‘Did you do him in?’
Oldroyd asked the blunt question again. Cartwright was as unabashed as if Oldroyd had asked him if he wanted another pint.
‘No, but I’ll
tell you this. You’ll have a bloody job on trying to find out who killed that bugger. I wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t celebrations in t’village tonight.’
‘He was that unpopular, was he?’
‘He was, and I can see I’m not going to get me brass. That’s what you should be doing. It’s no good bothering about him: he’s dead now. You want to bother with them that’s living.’
‘We can’t do anything about that. You’ll have to go to a solicitor.’
‘Huh,’ Cartwright scoffed contemptuously. ‘And if I go to one of them money-grabbing buggers I’ll be worse off at th’end than when I started.’
‘It’s the only thing you can do. I’m afraid our job is to catch who killed the victim.’ Oldroyd was firm but friendly. He seemed to have tamed the beast.
The beast grunted, drained the rest of its beer and fondled the glass in a self-conscious way as if hoping Oldroyd might buy it another. The latter, however, was intent on winding up this conversation.
‘I’m sorry about what happened to you,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid we must be getting off. As you knew Mr Atkins, someone will be coming round to give you a formal interview. And please take my advice: don’t get nasty with policemen. We’re only doing our job.’
Cartwright grunted again and got heavily to his feet.
‘Thanks for t’beer. I can’t say I wish you luck in finding out who did it. They did a bloody good job, getting rid of that sod.’
With that, he walked straight down the passageway and out of the pub.
Carter shook his head.
‘I thought we were going to have real trouble there.’
‘You can do a lot with a man round here if you offer him a drink. It’s better to avoid conflict if you can; keep them on your side. You never know when they could be useful. I bet we’ll find he’s never far from this pub. I’ve seen that garage of his: full of battered old classic cars, forecourt blackened with oil and grease. It’s not on the tourist circuit, but he’ll know plenty about the locals.’
‘I couldn’t tell what he was saying half the time.’
Oldroyd laughed. ‘I’m not surprised. We might have to send an interpreter round with you if you interview some of these broad Yorkshire types. It’s not as difficult for people like you as it used to be. I doubt if you’d have understood a word my grandfather said; I had to struggle sometimes. Anyway, it’s time we were off.’
The two detectives were about to leave when they were stopped again, this time by the landlord, a florid-faced man with a large paunch, who looked rather concerned.
‘Can I have a quick word?’ he said.
‘Sure,’ said Oldroyd, and they followed him into a tiny snug, which at that moment was empty.
‘I’m Trevor Booth, the landlord. I think we’ve met before, Chief Inspector.’
‘Yes, I’ve been in most pubs round here. Most publicans know me.’
Despite Oldroyd’s affability, the man still seemed uncomfortable.
‘Well, we’ve all heard about what’s happened. Dave Atkins was found in Jingling Pot, wasn’t he?’
‘That’s right. I assume you knew him. Did you have any connection with him?’
‘Oh no, except that he was a regular in here; not a well-liked individual though. But I really wanted to ask about Geoff.’
‘Who?’
‘Geoff Whitaker. I understand he found the body?’
‘He did.’
‘He works for me here in the kitchen; he’s a chef.’
‘I see; well, I don’t think he’ll be in to work today after the shock he’s had.’
‘No. He’s not due in until tonight, but I’m not expecting him now. It’s just that . . .’ He paused. ‘I hate saying this, but something’s been wrong with Geoff recently and I think it had something to do with Atkins.’
‘Would you like to explain?’
‘Well, for the last few weeks, Geoff has seemed to be always short of money, which is unusual for him. I mean, I’ve never known him have money worries before. He and his wife seem to manage all right, you know.’
‘OK. So when did things change?’
‘As I say, two or three weeks ago, he started to come in looking worried and asking me if there was any overtime available. Then one night I overhead him having a row with someone out at the back. I looked through a window in the bar and it was Atkins. After a bit, Atkins stormed off and Geoff came back in, red faced and looking furious. I don’t think it meant anything, really. I mean, I’m sure Geoff wouldn’t have done anything. Anyway, he found the body, didn’t he? Which probably means—’
Oldroyd interrupted him. ‘Thank you, Mr Booth; you leave us to find out what happened and who was responsible. You’ve done the right thing in telling us.’
The landlord looked relieved.
‘Oh, right, well, that’s it then.’ He made to return into the main bar.
‘Just before you go, Mr Booth.’
‘Yes?’
‘I realise from what everyone is telling me that Mr Atkins was not popular. As the landlord here in the village, you probably have a better view than anyone of who gets on with who. Who would you say were the people who disliked him the most? Or, to put it bluntly, had a reason to kill him?’
Booth now looked very uncomfortable.
‘Well . . . I . . . well, Inspector, I don’t really like to say. I might be incriminating people.’
He looked pleadingly at Oldroyd, but found no relief in the implacable look on the detective’s face.
‘Well, there’s obviously Sam Cartwright, as you already know. Other than that, I suppose it would be those whose wives he had affairs with. There were lots of those, I think, but the one that was fairly well known recently was Anne Watson, Bill Watson’s wife. They run the Wharfedale Gift Shop.’
Carter noted the details.
‘There were also rumours that he was involved with some dodgy dealings with money, but I don’t know anything about it; it’s probably all gossip.’
‘Well, thank you, Mr Booth,’ said Oldroyd. ‘Can I ask you when you last saw David Atkins alive?’
Booth thought for a moment.
‘I haven’t seen him for about a week. He was in here with a few of his mates, loud-mouthed and bragging as usual. It beats me what women see in men like that – such a bloody big-head.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I always thought women were supposed to be more discerning.’
Oldroyd looked at Carter.
‘What do you think about that then, Andy?’ he said, looking at his new detective. ‘Give us the benefit of your experience. I’ll bet it’s not inconsiderable.’
‘Sir, you’re making me blush. Well, I think some women, you know, they like men who make them laugh, give them a good time, know what I mean? They don’t want boring, steady blokes; they want a bit of excitement.’
‘I see.’ Oldroyd reflected. ‘Well, Atkins must have had something going for him, but it could have been his downfall in the end.’ He turned to the landlord again. ‘That night was close to when we think he died. It could have been the last time he was seen in public. Do you remember when he left, and if he left alone?’
‘Actually I do. He’d been talking about having a new woman. And he made a big thing about leaving by himself as if he was going to meet her. All his mates were calling out to him as he left. They got a bit crude, you know: “Give her one from me”, and all that stuff.’
‘Can you remember what time that was?’
‘It was fairly late I think, nearly eleven o’clock.’
‘Who else was in here that night?’
‘Lots of people, Inspector. It was busy, holiday season you know, plenty of tourists in the village, but I remember Sam was in, and Alan Williams – the man in charge of Cave Rescue.’
‘Yes, we met him earlier today. Was Geoff Whitaker working in the kitchen all evening?’
‘To be honest, I can’t remember for sure, but I think he probably was because it was a Monday, so he would have been doing
the evening shift. He’s usually here until about midnight. I don’t think he left early, but, as I said, I’m sure Geoff had nothing to do with it.’
Oldroyd ignored the last comment.
‘Anyway, thanks again, and if you remember anything else significant, let us know.’
Oldroyd and Carter finally made their delayed exit from the pub.
‘Well, that was all very interesting,’ remarked Oldroyd as they walked out past the parked cars. ‘The landlord of the local pub can always be relied upon for useful information.’
‘Yes, sir, but it all seems to make it more complicated. The number of people with a motive seems to grow all the time.’
‘At least we have some leads. I would say that night in the pub here was probably his last alive. That meeting with a woman was his last with the fair sex. We have to find out who she was. I wonder if he told anybody?’
‘Probably not; she might have sworn him to secrecy to keep it from her husband, if she had one. What did you think of the landlord, sir? Why do you think he was so keen to deny that this Geoff Whitaker had anything to do with it? Do you think he’s protecting him?’
‘Could be, but I suspect it’s nothing more mundane than he’s worried he’ll lose his chef if the man gets into any trouble. A good chef is hard to replace. The whole reputation of your pub these days can depend on the quality of the food. I’ll be interested to know what you make of him in your interview.’
They had reached the car parked by the village green. Inspector Craven was waiting with some of his officers, so Oldroyd briefed them on what had happened in the Red Horse before driving off in the direction of Garthwaite Hall.
Back in the Red Horse, Trevor Booth was polishing glasses and thinking about the impact this was going to have on the village. The barmaid who worked in the adjacent bar appeared in the connecting archway.
