On Laughton Moor (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Book One)

by Lisa Hartley

  ‘Sir, something’s just turned up we thought you should hear about.’ Varcoe came into the room, a sheet of paper in her hand. ‘We’ve had a phone call into the main switchboard, a bloke wanting details of Craig Pollard’s death. Said he’d known Craig years ago and wanted to send a sympathy card to his parents, but that he wanted more details of how he’d died and the circumstances so he didn’t say anything insensitive. Sally-Anne on the desk tried to keep him talking while someone else got through to one of us, she thought it could just be a journalist fishing but that it could also be important. Anyway, he panicked and backed off, said it didn’t matter and put the phone down.’

  Knight sat back down and gestured for Varcoe to do the same.

  ‘Interesting. As you say, could be a journalist, but then again … was the call recorded?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and I’ve requested a copy of it, shouldn’t take long. It’s also being traced. In the meantime, Sally-Anne wrote down everything he said while she had it in her head.’

  She passed the sheet of paper over the desk to Knight. The neat handwriting said: “Hello, I … I’m wondering if you could give me some information about Craig Pollard. I know he’s dead and I want to send a card to his Mum and Dad, I knew him years ago you see and I thought I should but … well, I don’t want to say anything to upset them, upset them more than they already are I mean. Can you tell me how he died? And why?”

  “I’m sorry, that’s not information I have access to. Could I take your name, please?”

  “Oh no, I don’t want to get involved, I’m not involved at all. As I say, I’ve not seen Craig for years. I just need a few more details. Don’t want to put my foot in it.’

  “Yes, sir, but that’s not information I have. If you give me your name and some more details I can ask one of the investigating team to call you back? Your name please sir, and you say you knew Mr Pollard years ago? Would that be at school or through work maybe?”

  “No, it doesn’t matter, I … I just thought you might tell me why, if you knew, or how …’

  “They would call you back as soon as possible, sir, I can assure you. If you could please give me your name, address and contact number?”

  “No I can’t, I’m sorry. I don’t know anything. Look I’ve got to go, bye”.

  Knight shook his head in amazement.

  ‘How did she remember all that?’

  Varcoe smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears

  ‘Shorthand, she wrote it down as they spoke.’

  ‘Brilliant. I didn’t know people still did shorthand.’

  ‘Sally-Anne does. She’s a legend, worked here forever.’

  ‘Lucky the call came into her then.’ Knight examined the transcript again. ‘Interesting that he wants to know why Pollard was killed, he says that twice. Although he asks how he died twice as well, but it just seems an odd thing to ask with his cover story. As you say, he could still be a journalist, but I doubt it.’

  Varcoe nodded.

  ‘I know what you mean, sir. Journalists are usually more confident, not as hesitant.’

  ‘So what are the other possibilities? He could have killed Pollard and be trying to find out how much we know, but then he might as well just turn up here and confess. He could be someone who knows or has seen something but he’s too frightened to come forward.’

  ‘Or he’s been warned off.’ Varcoe added.

  ‘True. Or there was some truth in what he said, he knew Pollard years ago and wants to know more to go around telling the rest of the town, or he just wants to know in that way people do when they stop to stare at an accident or a fire or something. We need to know where the call was made from, Anna. I know you’re onto that.’

  ‘Yes, sir, although we won’t know until tomorrow at the earliest now.’

  ‘As long as it’s been actioned. Trouble is, Craig Pollard knew a lot of people and it’s going to be next to impossible to narrow down who might have made that call. Who knows how many years ago he knew Pollard, if he ever did.’

  Anna Varcoe nodded her understanding. Knight had been impressed with the little he’d seen of the DC so far. She was bright, quick thinking and made a decent cup of tea, which was more than he could say for DC Rogers.

  ‘The location’s crucial then, sir. As soon as I hear something back on it, I’ll let you know.’

  As Varcoe got to her feet and left Knight’s office, he caught himself staring after her, the smile still on his face. He shook his head, amused. Maybe he was ready to move on after Caitlin, but gazing soppily at young DCs wasn’t really the way to do it. He stood again. Time to talk to DS Bishop.

  ‘You’ve done what?’ Steve Kent bellowed.

  Dave Bowles cringed, holding his mobile phone away from his ear. He’d expected Steve to go mental when he told him about the phone call to Northolme police station, but standing here listening to it actually happen was another matter entirely. Thank God they weren’t face to face.

  ‘You stupid, stupid bastard! If they weren’t looking for you already, you can be fucking sure they are now! What the fuck were you thinking?’

  ‘I don’t know, I panicked, I just … I thought they might tell me.’

  ‘Of course they weren’t going to tell you, they’re the police not some sort of public information service! Jesus, Dave. Tell me you didn’t use your mobile?’

  ‘No, ‘course not. Phone box.’

  ‘Where?’

  Bowles frowned.

  ‘What do you mean, where?’

  ‘Where was the phone box, Dave? Christ!’

  ‘Oh, middle of nowhere. No one saw me, I’m sure of it.’ Bowles lied. He hadn’t thought and had used the nearest one he could find.

  ‘They better not have done. Jesus, Dave, I knew you were stupid but this takes the fucking biscuit. If they come for you, and they might do now, don’t mention me do you hear? And do me a favour, take the sim card out of your phone then cut it up and throw the bits in the river. Get yourself a new pay as you go phone and sim, I don’t want any links between us.’

  ‘I thought you said we didn’t have anything to worry about. We’ve done nothing wrong, that’s what you said.’

  ‘We haven’t this time, but I don’t fancy explaining what happened before do you? Especially now Pollard’s dead.’

  ‘There’s still Nick to think about. And that lad.’

  ‘Nick isn’t stupid, he’ll keep his head down. And the lad … we don’t know he saw anything. If he did why didn’t he come forward at the time, or since? He’s had twelve years to think about it.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t see anything then. Maybe he doesn’t know. They said it was an accident after all.’

  ‘It was an accident, that’s the point, and I’m not going to be dragged into something that I didn’t do. Get that phone and sim card sorted. Don’t ring me again, not from your new number either. Remember what I said, Dave. I wasn’t there if they come for you.’

  Steve Kent shoved his phone back in his pocket. He should have known Dave would do something stupid, though at least he hadn’t gone to the police station in person and made a tearful confession. Kent paced around the living room of his flat. He couldn’t deny he was worried too, of course he was, but panicking would get them nowhere. He was still sure Pollard’s death was the result of a fight, an argument, something Pollard had got himself into as a result of his big mouth and cocky attitude. Until Kent heard differently, he was going to keep believing it. The worst thing he could do now was panic; he knew he mustn’t let Dave’s attitude infect him too. Nick was an unknown of course, Kent had no idea where he was but presumed the news of Pollard’s death would reach him eventually. He may have moved away or even emigrated. Kent had considered that himself, anything to make a new start, become an anonymous face. In the end he had moved albeit within the same county. Far enough though, away from the town, the moors, the memories and old friends like Craig Pollard.

  Catherine Bishop’s desk in the main CID room was in the corner
and she sat with her back to the wall. She could see the whole room, all the comings and goings and bustle. It was quieter now but there were still people around. Looking at the notes and the day’s reports from the DCs and the rest of the team, it seemed to her they were no closer to finding Craig Pollard’s killer than they had been the previous day. Trying to find any of the girls Pollard may have met in the pubs around the town had proved as fruitless as their attempts to talk to his friends. Perhaps Pollard wasn’t as popular as his brother claimed. The post mortem had given them nothing new to go on and so far all the forensics had confirmed was that Craig Pollard’s blood had been found with his body and no one else’s. Bishop ran a hand through her hair. She’d had a headache since mid afternoon. She’d been trying not to think about the picture left with the body or the message posted to her, and especially not the photo taken of her, through her own living room window for Christ’s sake. Why? If the idea was to frighten or intimidate her, the killer was in for a surprise. True, initially it had been a shock, the photograph in particular, but in the end Pollard had been attacked and killed, not Bishop. She considered Knight’s suggestion again, that the killer may have been posing a challenge to her or to the force, but she couldn’t understand that either. The evening meeting with Kendrick and Knight was in twenty minutes time and it was looking like she wouldn’t have much to report. It was frustrating and somewhat worrying to have so little information coming in so early. She bent over the reports again, elbows on the desktop, forehead propped on her fingertips. Nothing. There was nothing there, nothing stood out. Leaning back in the chair now she puffed out her cheeks in frustration, shaking her head. DI Knight was making his way across the room, eyes mainly on the worn grey carpet though occasionally he would smile at someone, respond to a greeting. Bishop almost shook her head again. He was a strange one. He reached her desk and stopped, gesturing to the pile of papers in front of her, the emails open on her ancient beige monitor.

  ‘Anything?’ he asked, taking a chair from a nearby desk and dragging it over to sit by Bishop.

  ‘No, afraid not.’

  There didn’t seem much else to say. Bishop waited, he’d come to her after all. Knight chewed on the top of his thumb, staring across the room at nothing in particular.

  ‘I know I’ve asked you this before, and no doubt you’ve been through it over and over in your head, but are you absolutely sure there’s nothing you can think of that will help us? It might not even be related to the job, it could be someone you’ve met outside of work, a friend, an ex, a partner? Something in your past? I know,’ he said, as she sighed, ‘I know, but we’re missing something. We’ve nothing to go on, nothing to move things forward, nothing to tell Pollard’s family and nothing for DCI Kendrick or the Superintendent. Won’t be long until she wants some answers.’

  Bishop leaned back in her chair.

  ‘I know sir, and believe me I’ve been thinking about it all day, it’s been in the back of my mind all the time but I can’t think of anything and to be honest it’s driving me mad. Some detective I must be, I’m the clue and I’ve no idea what’s meant by it. I just can’t think of anything or anyone. I’ve never arrested Pollard, never questioned him, never had anything to do with him except hearing other people moaning about him for being a mouthy bastard who seems to get away with everything. There are no end of coppers in this town who would have loved to have seen him sent down for a while, teach him a lesson, but we’ve never been able to catch him doing anything serious enough to make it happen.’

  Knight glanced at her.

  ‘What are you thinking he might have been up to?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Drug dealing? All those flash clothes must have come from somewhere and he seemed to know everyone and be in town every night, he had plenty of opportunity.’

  ‘But no one has suggested he was dealing have they? We’ve never found any on him and his brother said Craig had never touched drugs, seen too many mates ruined by them. Nothing in the post-mortem either.’

  ‘It’s just a suggestion. Then there’s the fancy Pollard seemed to have for teenage girls. I thought we might get something from that, pissed off dad or older brother but nothing’s turned up so far.’

  Knight nodded.

  ‘I thought we might find something there too. We still might, we’re going back to the colleges tomorrow, the heads of the secondary schools are talking to their students, but would you come forward, especially if you were underage?’

  ‘Maybe not, but we might get a friend of a friend that points us in the right direction. Pollard’s dead after all, someone might want to do the right thing and help us out. Even if the bloke was what most of us would call a complete arsehole, did he really deserve to have his head smashed in and to be left lying in his own blood in a stinking alley?’

  Knight stood.

  ‘Someone obviously thought so. By the way, you’re welcome to use my spare room again tonight. I’m not sure how you’re feeling about things …’

  Bishop followed him across the room.

  ‘Thanks sir. If you’re sure, that’d be great. It’s just that photo, it’s hard to get the thought out of my mind that he was there looking at me. It’s one thing dealing with someone when they’re standing in front of you, however big and ugly they are, but someone who sneaks around, that’s different.’

  They were in the corridor now, heading for the meeting room and DCI Kendrick.

  ‘From what forensics are saying we’re looking for the invisible man anyway,’ Knight said.

  ‘No trace at the scene, no evidence, nothing, at least not yet.’

  Bishop grimaced.

  ‘I know, sir. Things are really going our way.’

  9

  I need to move on to the second and at the moment I’m finding it difficult. It’s not that he deserves anything less, it’s just … I can’t explain it, even to myself. It’s reluctance. Craig was different, I was ready, even eager to get that done but this time I’m more wary. One death could be explained away, even with the calling card I left for them, a prank or a joke. Another death seems to make it much more serious; a lunatic on the loose maybe? There’s also more of a chance of alerting the others or of one of them coming forward with the whole story. I could stop now, Pollard was the one I wanted most after all, the ringleader, the proper rotten apple in the barrel. The others are just weak, not evil as he was. They were still there though, they stood by and let it happen, thinking more of themselves than of Tommy, too afraid of Pollard to stand up to him. So was I though, I need to remember that while I’m passing judgement.

  10

  Bishop shovelled the last of her chicken bhuna into her mouth and let out a long, satisfied breath Knight, tearing off a final piece of naan bread, glanced up at her and smiled.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Bishop. ‘Just what you need on a freezing cold, rainy night.’ She took a sip of beer. ‘Especially when your case is going to shit.’

  Knight picked up his plate, leant across the table and took Bishop’s. He rinsed them, dumped them in the sink and sat back down.

  ‘I know I keep banging on about it, but we’re missing something. Whoever killed Pollard will be sitting somewhere laughing at us.’

  ‘It feels like we’ve got nowhere to go. DCI Kendrick didn’t exactly mince his words, did he?’ Bishop sighed

  ‘And he’s right. A murder around here, whoever did it’s usually still next to the body when it’s found, knife in his hand, blood on his fists, whatever, but this? Have you ever heard of a case like it, sir, when you were in the Met? You must have seen all sorts of goings on.’

  ‘Please call me Jonathan. We had someone phone the station and accuse a DC of murder once, a bloke had been knifed in a fight over a woman. Wasn’t the DC at all, it was his cousin but it caused a few headaches for a while. But I don’t think you’re being accused of anything here … ’

  ‘Mainly because I didn’t do it!’ Bishop interrupted. Knight held up a placatory hand.<
br />
  ‘I know. It could be a plea for help, for understanding, just two fingers up at you and coppers in general … it’d help if they’d been a bit more specific though, instead of pissing around with reproduced oil paintings.’

  Bishop raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t remember having heard Knight swear before.

  ‘What about the photo, what do you think he meant by that? If it were of someone else and more recent, someone close to Pollard like his brother or Kelly Whitcham, it would make more sense, like they were gloating about killing him, rubbing their noses in the fact that they’re watching them suffer, even accusing them, but why me? It doesn’t feel like a threat, but then again it’s shaken me up, I don’t mind admitting it.’

  Knight got to his feet again, crossed to the sink and began running hot water into the washing up bowl.

  ‘I’m not surprised. If it had been a “knight” chess piece in the pictures, I’d feel the same … and you really don’t need to keep calling me sir.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’d not thought of that - Bishop and Knight.’

  She smiled at him hesitantly. Knight’s mobile began to ring and he took it out of his pocket, frowning at the display.

  ‘I’ll take over, sir … Jonathan.’ Bishop said. ‘Where do you keep your washing up liquid?’

  In the living room, Knight took a deep breath, then touched the phone’s screen to answer the call.

  ‘Hello? Caitlin?’

  ‘Jonathan? I thought you were never going to answer, I was going to leave you a voicemail.’

  ‘I’ve only just got home, I was eating.’

  ‘Working late? There’s a surprise.’

  ‘It’s a murder investigation, Caitlin, as you know we can’t always persuade people to kill each other during office hours.’

  ‘As charming as ever, Jonathan. And as defensive. It’s nice to hear people are just a brutal in the sticks as they are down here in civilisation.’