by J. R. Ellis
She was fairly sure it had been early in the summer, about three years ago. She began to search methodically, but without a clear idea of what she was looking for. She slogged her way through accounts of new schools being built, fires in fish-and-chip shops and reports of agricultural shows until she felt dizzy. Then she had an idea. She started searching under a different phrase and, before long, she came to the front page of an edition of two and a half years before. Suddenly there it was. A smile of satisfaction and relief came to her face as she read the headline. She was right.
The final case meeting took place in Oldroyd’s office that evening.
Carter had at last received the final report from the IT people.
‘They’ve cracked the code, sir, so we know who was in with Atkins on the illegal financial stuff. It makes interesting reading.’
Oldroyd had been scanning the report as Carter spoke.
‘It does indeed, Andy, and it ties in with what I was beginning to think about that aspect of the case.’
Steph presented a printout of the newspaper article she’d found.
‘I don’t know how important this is, sir, but it’s the thing I’ve been trying to remember for some time.’
Oldroyd nodded his head as he read it. ‘Brilliant work,’ he said.
Steph was pleased but a little unsure. ‘Thanks, sir. You think it’s really important, then?’
‘I do indeed. In fact, I think we’ll find that this is the final piece of the puzzle.’ He looked with satisfaction at his two detective sergeants.
‘Get a good night’s sleep tonight because we’re going to be busy tomorrow. It’s time we made some arrests.’
That night, Stuart Tinsley had just arrived home from work exhausted after another day at Fell Farm. Fred Clark had been particularly demanding and he was beginning to wonder how long he could go on working for the bloody slave driver. He was slumped on the sofa with a can of lager when there was a knock at the door. To his surprise, it was Susan.
‘Hi,’ she said.
There was an awkward silence.
‘You’d better come in.’
She sat in a chair opposite him. She looked tired and nervous.
‘Do you want anything to drink?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ There was an awkward pause. She seemed to be summoning up her courage to say something. She was nervously playing with her wedding ring and couldn’t look him in the face.
‘I . . . I’ve come to say I’m sorry. I . . . I want to come home.’
Tinsley was unable to speak. She looked at him for the first time, but timorously, as if she feared his reaction.
‘Do you want me to come back?’
‘I never wanted you to go.’
She looked away again.
‘I know, but I want to come back now.’
‘I see.’
‘Knowing you were with Sylvia, it made me feel awful. I realised . . .’ She started to cry a little, then controlled herself.
Tinsley looked at her for a while but was again lost for words. Instead of speaking, he went over and kissed her gently on the top of her head. She reached out and grasped his arm, then started to cry again.
‘There’s just two things,’ she said between sobs. ‘Can we leave this village? I can’t stand it here any more.’
He nodded and led her over to sit with him on the sofa.
‘We’ll go to Skipton and I’ll get another job. I don’t want to stay here either after all this, and I’ve had enough of Clark. What’s the other thing?’
‘I’ve already made an appointment for us at the fertility clinic. I want to have a baby.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I want us to be a family.’
Tinsley held her tight. He was never going to lose her again.
Thursday dawned fine for the last day of the investigation, which started in an unexpected way for Inspector Craven. He was at Skipton police station, and about to leave for Burnthwaite as part of the operation organised by Oldroyd, when he was called to the front desk. He was surprised to see Anne and Bill Watson and Helen and Geoff Whitaker. The two women were looking serious but composed and the two men rather sheepish. Craven saw immediately what was about to happen.
‘These two have come to turn themselves in, Inspector,’ said the desk sergeant.
‘I see, and what are you turning yourselves in for?’
The two men looked at each other and then Bill Watson spoke.
‘We were involved with Dave Atkins and his property schemes. We knew they were illegal. We put a lot in and we lost it. The bastard told us that our money was safe, but it wasn’t.’
He glanced at the angry face of his wife but she looked away.
‘I’m sure you know all this already; you’ll have been looking at Atkins’s computer and his bank account and stuff.’
‘Yes, quite right,’ replied Craven who had had a full briefing on this from Carter. Atkins had probably never made an honest penny in his life, but more fool these two for getting involved with him.
‘It looks as if you’ve saved me a job today. By the way, if my memory serves me right, that’s the second time you’ve called Atkins a bastard in my presence.’
Watson looked puzzled.
‘At the entrance to Jingling Pot – you were there with the others who brought out his body. And you shouted it out. I don’t forget things like that in an investigation like this.’
‘But Inspector,’ said Geoff Whitaker in an urgent and pleading manner, ‘we didn’t kill him, and we didn’t kill John Baxter. When I found the body and he’d obviously been murdered, we knew you’d find out about us and we thought you might think we’d done it; we sort of panicked and didn’t know what to do. Bill ran off and hid.’
‘I thought you might also suspect me because of what happened with Anne and Atkins. I managed not to give much away when they arrested me,’ said Watson. ‘But they,’ he nodded to the two women, ‘persuaded us that it was only a matter of time before you were on to us, so here we are. But we didn’t kill him,’ he repeated.
‘I know you didn’t,’ replied Craven. He turned to the sergeant. ‘Take them in and get them in a car to Harrogate. DCI Oldroyd will want to speak to them later.’
With that, and excusing himself politely to the two women, he left the station, giving the impression that he had much more urgent matters to consider.
Anne and Helen sat in Anne’s car in the police station car park, rather stunned by what had happened, but also quite relieved now that it was over.
‘It could have been worse, Helen; at least they didn’t kill anyone.’
‘Yes, they’ve just ruined us, that’s all.’
Bill Watson had borrowed heavily to put money into Atkins’s schemes and had lost everything. Geoff Whitaker had lost just about all the family savings and would also now lose his job if he received a prison sentence. Both men had resisted confessing to the police, but their wives, particularly Anne, had pointed out that as the police now had Atkins’s computer, not doing so was pointless. The only way they could claim any mitigation or hope for leniency was to turn themselves in and plead guilty. Reluctantly, they’d got into the car and Anne had driven to Skipton.
‘What will you do now?’ asked Helen.
‘I’ll have to sell the shop, of course, to raise the money to pay off Bill’s debts. I’m sorry about your job. Then I’m going to get out of Burnthwaite and back to the city. Can you imagine what it would be like here now? The gossip! The nudges and pointing: “There’s that Anne Watson whose husband’s inside; bet she knew more about it than she lets on, and she had it off with that bloke who was murdered.” It would be impossible. Anyway, country life’s not for me. How about you?’
‘We’ll manage somehow. My mum and dad’ll help me. I’ll have to leave Burnthwaite too; get a job in a hospital somewhere. I still can’t believe he would do this to me and the kids; gamble our money away like that.’
‘Dave Atkins could be very p
ersuasive.’
‘But Geoff’s a compulsive gambler and I thought he was cured; apparently not. He was an easy target for Atkins.’
‘Yes.’
‘I still can’t believe they would get involved with that man. Geoff knew about what happened with Richard and you’d had an affair with Atkins and still both of them were persuaded by a man they’d no reason to like.’
‘It’s greed. Some people will always be suckers for someone who comes along and promises a fast buck, even if it’s someone they don’t like or trust; their judgement seems to go. Anyway, come on, we’ll go over to Grassington and into the King’s Arms for a drink. At least we know the worst now and we’ll recover. I know we will.’
She put her hand on Helen’s arm reassuringly. Their partnership in this adversity had made them closer as friends.
‘OK,’ said Helen, and smiled for the first time that day.
Inspector Craven was driving at the head of a fleet of police cars towards Burnthwaite. He felt quietly confident that the operation would go smoothly; he always had the greatest confidence in Oldroyd who, with his two detective sergeants, was driving over from Harrogate. They were all to converge on the unsuspecting Dales village.
As he drove along, Craven thought about similar surprise operations like this he had worked with the chief inspector, such as the time he and Oldroyd had hidden in a Dales barn covered in straw in order to surprise a gang using the barn to conceal their stolen loot. There was never a dull moment when you worked with DCI Oldroyd, he mused, as the police cars entered Burnthwaite. They pulled up sharply near Atkins’s house and a number of officers piled quickly out of the cars and ran down the lane. Craven jogged down after them. When he got to the bottom, a burly officer was banging on the door next to Atkins’s deserted residence.
‘Open the door; police officers.’
There was no response so the officer rapped again. He shouted, ‘There are police officers at the back too. Do not try to escape. Open the door.’
Muffled shouts came from inside and then the door opened. Carol Anderson stood looking defiant with Gary peering sheepishly at the officers from behind her.
‘What the hell’s this about?’ she demanded. ‘It’s not about Dave Atkins again, is it? We didn’t kill the poor bugger; we’ve told you all we know.’
‘Carol Anderson?’ replied a police sergeant with a stern, unyielding face. ‘We have a warrant to search these premises. Just let us in, it will be much less trouble for us all.’
‘Search for what?’ was the defiant reply. ‘What do you think we’ve got here?’
‘We can’t discuss it on the doorstep; we need to come in.’
With this the sergeant, followed by two constables, barged into the house.
‘Bloody hell!’
Craven remained in the hall while the couple exchanged angry glances.
‘It was your bloody idea, was this.’
‘Shut up, you bloody little coward! You were keen enough, but you didn’t have the guts without me.’
‘No point falling out about it,’ said Craven.
More officers had entered from the back door and soon there was the sound of searching in every room in the house. Craven ushered the couple back down the hall and into the gaudy living room. They had only just arrived when there was a call from upstairs.
‘Sir, I think we’ve found it.’
‘Good, that was quick work. Let’s have a look, bring it down here.’
An officer came quickly down the stairs. He was wearing gloves and carrying a plastic bag. Craven looked inside and smiled.
‘I thought as much, cocaine.’ He took the bag and whistled as he felt the weight. ‘Well, quite a little pile you’ve got stashed away here. Were you going to use it all yourself or sell it, or maybe a bit of both?’
There was no reply from the sullen couple.
‘Clearly, I’m going to arrest you for possessing this. It will help if you answer my questions truthfully. Did you acquire this from David Atkins’s house?’
‘Yes.’ Gary decided to cooperate. ‘It was one of his many sidelines. He did a bit of drug dealing.’
‘Did you help him?’
‘No,’ replied Carol firmly. ‘But we knew he had the stuff because . . .’ she stopped.
‘Because occasionally you got some from him.’ Craven finished the sentence for her.
‘How did you know about this, anyway?’ snapped Carol.
‘We’ve known for a while that someone was pedalling drugs in this area. Then we found out about Atkins and his various nefarious activities.’
‘Ne-what?’ said Gary.
‘Bad,’ Craven clarified. ‘We suspected he might have some of this hidden and that someone might lead us to it.’
He looked from one to the other. ‘So I really need to thank you both for breaking into the house and bringing this out for us.’
‘How did you know?’
‘We’ve been watching the house ever since the body was found, partly to see if anyone we suspected of the murder turned up. But we just got two neighbours with a penchant for illegal substances.’
‘Pon-what?’
‘Shut up!’ shouted Carol.
‘So we watched you go in and come out with a bag. We were pretty sure what was in it. My officer also saw Sam Cartwright make an appearance that night. Was he in this with you?’
‘Naw, he was just trying to find some money.’
‘We thought as much. I take it he didn’t find any?’
‘He only came to the door and gave up when he saw us there.’ Gary had no desire to get Cartwright into trouble just for trying to take some money that really belonged to him anyway.
‘There’s quite a lot of burgling goes on around here, isn’t there?’ continued Craven. ‘We’ve just arrested a gentleman from Skipton who made quite a living out of driving out to Dales villages and breaking into houses and shops. Terrorised people with a stocking over his head, but ran off at the first sign of trouble.’
Carol had had enough of Craven’s breeziness.
‘OK, really clever; I’m dead impressed. Pity you’re not clever enough to find who murdered Dave and John Baxter.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ replied Craven as he led them out of the house and into one of the waiting police cars. ‘I think we’ll see some interesting developments shortly.’
Oldroyd, Carter and Johnson were driving through Burnthwaite just as Craven was talking to Gary and Carol. They were followed closely by another police car containing three detective constables.
The cars passed through the village and up the hill towards Garthwaite Hall. Carter was driving the lead car.
‘How long have you suspected the Hardimans, sir?’ he said to Oldroyd.
‘From the beginning,’ replied Oldroyd. There was no attempt to be superior or boastful; it was purely a factual statement.
‘There was something too calm and organised about their manner and their responses, as if they’d worked it all out and were playing their parts. I put them in a terrible situation, of course, bringing the news that Atkins’s body had been found; they weren’t expecting that. I have to hand it to them, they put on a great show, but an old hand like me could sense the strain.’ He paused as the cars entered the drive and the old house came into view.
‘I remember when I left seeing them together in the rear-view mirror, holding hands. They gave the impression of having faced some great difficulty together.’
‘It’s amazing how your body language conveys so much,’ said Steph from the back seat.
‘And you get used to picking it up. I knew that Anne Watson was hiding something, no matter how cool and sophisticated she tried to appear.’
‘So it was that book about the caves that really made you suspicious, sir?’ asked Carter.
‘Yes. It seemed to me, from the first day when we had all the peculiar details about the body and where it was found, that there had to be another entrance into that syst
em, one that the modern cavers didn’t know about.’
‘So you went to Garthwaite Hall pretending to do some research.’
‘No, I actually was doing some research. I was told Simon Hardiman might be able to tell me what that piece of iron was that was found by the body. It was clear he was known to be a bit of an expert on the history of the caves and that aroused my interest, if not my suspicion. Then he took me into his office to get me a map of the system and I saw a number of old volumes on his shelves, old caving books.’
‘And you saw the same book as the one you got from that bloke in Skipton?’
‘Yes, although I didn’t realise it until Ramsden took that book from the shelf and immediately I knew I’d seen it before. They’re probably the only two volumes in existence outside libraries. The author, William Ingleby, lived at Garthwaite Hall. I would imagine the Hardimans inherited that copy along with a lot of other dusty old volumes when they bought the place. That was what you’d call pretty convincing circumstantial evidence. I knew there was a strong possibility that the Hardimans knew about the Devil’s Passage. OK, we’re here.’
The police cars had drawn up at the faded entrance to Garthwaite Hall. As the engines stopped, there was silence. Oldroyd got out, gazed sombrely at the edifice and then walked quickly up the wide stone steps, followed by the others.
Before he could ring the bell there was the sound of shouting inside and then a scream. A door slammed at the rear of the house.
‘Round the back, quick.’ Oldroyd gestured to a couple of the DCs, who ran off down the side of the building. They had just reached the drive to the rear of the house when a van came tearing round the corner, scattered the DCs, and shot off down towards the entrance gate. Oldroyd reacted quickly.
‘That’s Hardiman; Andy, take one of the cars and get after him.’
Calling to one of the DCs to join him, Carter leaped into the rear car, started it up and swerved to start the pursuit.
