by Jo Allen
‘Yes.’
‘Not by car, though,’ Ashleigh noted, ‘because we didn’t pass anyone coming out of the dale and we’ve accounted for every one of the cars that was in it. It’s a dead end. The road forks before the bridge and you can go up Boredale or Martindale or into Sandwick, but everyone who has a vehicle there can account for where it was. The first thing we did was make sure anyone seen leaving the dale was intercepted and there was nobody suspicious.’
‘Could they have made it to the steamer on foot?’
‘Not without passing us. They’d have had to go right round the base of Hallin Fell. It’s about two and a half miles, and by then we’d alerted the constables who were already in Howtown. So, no. Whoever did it was still in the dale.’
‘And of course,’ Jude said, reviewing all the evidence, ‘it’s obvious where they were. Where Ryan was all the time.’
‘Up in the tent?’ Chris gave him a quizzical look. That’s not possible. You’d have seen them.’
Chris wasn’t up on the latest development. Ashleigh had been in Martindale when Becca had come running down the hill, close to tears, to tell them what she’d found. Perhaps it was as well Jude hadn’t been there. ‘They must have been in George Barrett’s cottage. Becca said it wasn’t locked.’
‘Yes.’ Jude nodded. ‘And to go back to the earlier question of the first weapon. That’s answered there, too. What we found in the cottage — what Becca found — was that someone had been in there. There had been some kind of a struggle. A gun had been fired. The ballistics report isn’t in yet, but it’ll almost certainly be the gun that was found in the grave.’
‘I don’t suppose we have the forensics, either.’ Chris sighed. ‘Obviously we know Goodall was in there visiting the old guy, but that was a while ago. And Becca Reid, obviously. It’ll be interesting to see who else had been in there.’
‘Goodall was there all right,’ said Ashleigh, ‘and recently. The rest of his kit was upstairs. He’d made himself comfortable in there for a few days, by the look of it.’ After George’s death she’d taken a look upstairs in the cottage, just to reassure herself that her instinctive concerns about he case were false. She’d seen nothing untoward but one thing had struck her — the sweeping completeness of the view from the bedroom window.
‘George didn’t do stairs, as far as I’m aware,’ said Jude, with a sigh. ‘He hadn’t done them for years. But it would make sense if fake Ryan, as I suppose we have to call him, had been in to the house. He could have crept in there when he needed something, helped himself to food, that sort of thing. There would be no problem if he didn’t mind not having the lights on at night.’ He paused. ‘I’m kicking myself we never searched it, but why would we? It was locked. We can’t go breaking down the doors of every empty house on the off chance there’s murderer hiding in there.’
Ryan had had a key in his pocket, Tammy had said. A quick check would show whether it was the key to George’s cottage. ‘Do we have any idea yet who he is?’
‘I’ve emailed the fingerprints through to Kelly in Adelaide, They’ll run them through their database. If he’s been ID’d Down Under that’ll come up pretty quickly. DNA and dental records will take a bit longer, and I’ve sent them a photo.’
‘How long do you think he’d been there. Do we have any idea?’ Ashleigh asked.
Jude shook his head. ‘Tammy can’t tell. I know what you’re thinking, though. About George.’
‘Yes. I walked around the house, though I didn’t see anything, but I wasn’t looking for anything. Ryan certainly wasn’t camped out there at the time. But he may have come in for shelter in that really heavy rain there was the night before George died, and George heard him. And perhaps then Ryan had the idea of coming back when the place was empty.’ Even as she thought about it, she regretted how quickly she’d checked the place; but once George had gone she’d been keen to catch up with Jude. He wasn’t the only one kicking himself over a small action not taken.
Jude considered. ‘George always had a short fuse. I can see him getting so worked up his body couldn’t take it.’
If that was the case, it was probably as well for him, given what they thought Ryan was capable of. At least it had been a relatively peaceful and natural death, and at least he’d had Becca with him. But still Ashleigh was frustrated at what she must have missed.
‘What about his phone records?’ Doddsy looked to Chris, who flipped up another note.
‘Not a huge amount, but something. These came through quickly. Was it your charm, Jude? Made friends with the intelligence guys at last?’
Jude shook his head. ‘I asked Faye. She must have leaned on them.’
All four of them shared a wry smile. The intelligence unit were never in a hurry at the best of times, let alone at weekends. There was a lot to said for labelling everything you did as secret so that no-one ever knew what was there that was more important.
‘Go on then,’ prompted Ashleigh. ‘What do they say?’
‘There are two phones. One’s his personal phone, bought in the UK a couple of months ago and registered in the name of Ryan Goodall, probably using forged documents. It’s the phone he used to contact his supposed family. The second is much more interesting. It’s a burner phone.’ He paused for a moment. ‘When I was on the beat, we busted a guy who made a business out of these things. For drug dealers, mainly. A nice number that could be tracked to a place but never to a person. This one has been quiet for a while, so it looks as though someone has been waiting for a while to use it. One number, no name in the contacts. I expect that number goes to a similar phone, meant for one person and one only. There’s an exchange of texts between them.’
‘Is there a drug connection, do you think?’ Jude leaned forward, alert. ‘What did the messages say?’
‘It might be drugs. They might just have picked up the trick from the county lines guys. That’s for smarter people than me to work out. But whatever’s at the root of it, the calls make it clear what Ryan was up to.’
‘Go on.’
‘There aren’t many messages, and we’ve yet to trace exactly where Ryan was when he sent them, but it’s pretty clear why he was there. There are references to a target. There are references to Robert’s movements, when he’ll be in the dale and when he’ll be away. When Miranda will be there, when his PA will be there. When the twins will be there. They were tracking the movements of the people down at Waterside Lodge.’
Jude sat back. ‘Is there anything there that indicates when Robert was on his own?’
‘No. Miranda or the twins were always there with him. You reckon it’s Robert they were after?’
‘Could be.’ Jude shook his head.
Ashleigh knew exactly what he was thinking. If Robert suspected anything, Ryan could have been waiting a long time to catch him alone. And had Robert turned the tables, lain in wait for Ryan and surprised him? Been cornered, perhaps? And had Miranda lied to protect him, and the two of them were sitting in Waterside Lodge knowing the threat to them was gone?
She checked her watch. ‘We should go and talk to him.’
Again she sensed his hesitation, the reluctance to challenge Robert Neilson. It wasn’t surprising. Robert was clever, not a man you’d want to approach unless you had your strategy clear. ‘I might pop down and see him tomorrow. But I think I’d like to know who Ryan is before I do.’
Twenty-Seven
‘I should probably go home.’ Ashleigh yawned.
‘Probably,’ Jude agreed, with a straight face that he managed to keep for about five seconds before he laughed. ‘No. Why should you, if you don’t want to? I’m not going to turn you out, as long as all you want to do is talk about work.’
They’d stayed in the office until past ten and now it was touching midnight, but she knew, by the hand he laid on her knee he was joking and work wasn’t first on his mind. ‘I’ll get my union rep onto you. I work far too hard and you work me all the hours God sends.’
Her
mind was moving the same way as his. It often did, after days like today — endless, relentless hours dealing with the damage left by sudden death. The man they’d known as Ryan Goodall would have people waiting to mourn him, as Luke Helmsley had done, and Summer, and even George, whose time on Earth had been well-lived. Sometimes nothing but the closeness of another human being could ease the pain.
‘Glad we’re in agreement,’ he said, and shifted closer.
Getting into bed with Jude, which was where the evening would inevitably end, was the ideal antidote, if only for a moment. She was happy enough about it, though she’d been thinking too much about Scott recently, unnerved by his joking threat to take up Summer’s job. Her move to Cumbria had been, in part, to escape the complications of loving the wrong man too much, and now her past was tracking her as relentlessly as she and her colleagues were closing in on the Martindale killer. First Faye had appeared, and now Scott, teasing her with the occasional message. Haven’t heard yet. Must be taking up my references, his last text had said.
There was no-one more different to Scott’s brand of selfish but irresistible charm than Jude. It would make her life so much easier if she could have fallen in love with him. To move the conversation on, she shifted it to something that kept it personal but made it a little less uncomfortable. ‘Doddsy said Becca was going to withdraw her complaint.’
‘She has.’ He got to his feet, standing with the TV remote in his hand and shuffling through the rolling news channels for anything of local interest. She stifled a smile. He’d never change. ‘Although in fairness, she told me she hadn’t complained and I believe her. I had an email from Lorraine from Professional Standards and she seemed positively disappointed to tell me the matter’s been dropped.’
‘So it was Adam Fleetwood, then.’
‘Must be.’ Jude tossed the remote control down on the arm of the sofa and dropped back into the seat next to her.
‘Will he ever let go?’
‘I doubt it. He’s a terrier when he has a grievance, and you know what people like that are like. But he won’t get anywhere.’ Jude spread a casual arm along the back of the chair as a local news bulletin kicked off with the latest on the discovery of Ryan’s body. ‘I’m wise to him, and every time he reports me for something I haven’t done, Professional Standards get a little bit wiser to it, too.’
‘The camera loves you,’ Ashleigh said, nudging him as the film switched from long shots of the church and the white tent over George’s grave to Jude himself, looking uncomfortable in a press conference, too obviously reading out a statement.
‘That’s one thing it doesn’t do.’ He always watched himself back with a rueful expression.
Seeing him on television was the only time Ashleigh felt sorry for him, the only time he ever showed any weakness. ‘At least it shows you’re human.’
‘Oh, I’m all of that.’ He’d been about to lean in towards her, ready to kiss her as the news moved to an item about sheep rustling, but his phone interrupted them. He sighed, but he answered it. ‘If it wasn’t for this whole shenanigans up in Martindale I’d switch this thing off in the evenings. Don’t people know it’s nearly midnight? Hello, Jude Satterthwaite.’
Perhaps one day he’d learn to do that. Ashleigh sat back and watched as he listened intently, but she was too much of the same mindset even to try and change him. There would come a point where he needed to switch off before the pressures of the job overtook him but this wasn’t it. As long as there was justice to be served, his phone would be on and he’d always answer. She shifted a little closer, to hear the conversation.
‘Okay. Karl Faulkner.’ He nodded to Ashleigh, repeating the key points of the conversation for her benefit. ‘From Melbourne. Okay. Ex-army. Yes. Bluntly, I don't know how much his background in Australia is going to help us, because I have a hunch his death is very much rooted in the here and now, but send me whatever you’ve got and I’ll see what I can make of it. Right. You have it on file already, then? Right. Questioned over a car accident in Melbourne but no charges laid. Thanks. I appreciate everything you’ve done.’
Melbourne. Something flicked in Ashleigh’s brain. She reached for a pen and an envelope which lay on the side table, the envelope covered with Jude’s thoughtful doodles, an indication of the way his mind never left his work. Ask him about Elizabeth Bell, she wrote.
He looked down at the note, flicked a querying eyebrow. ‘One last thing, which may or may not be connected. There’s a woman called Elizabeth Bell.’
He rattled through the story of Elizabeth Bell, the back story to her emigration. ‘No, I don’t mind waiting while you see what you can find.’ He put the phone down and turned back to Ashleigh. ‘What’s this about?’
‘I’m surprised at you.’ She shook her head. ‘At me too. We should have made the connection when we knew Ryan came from Australia.’
‘Australia’s a huge place.’
‘And Martindale is very small. So it’s a bit of a coincidence if Ryan turns out to have been in the place where Elizabeth Bell died, and then shows up in Martindale where Miranda is, don’t you think?’
Jude turned back to the phone. ‘No, that’s great. Ah, right.’
Ashleigh leaned right in so she could pick up the Australian voice at the other end of the line. ‘Mate, you might be on to something. The accident he was questioned over. Elizabeth Bell died in it.’
‘Right,’ Jude said, his voice neutral as always, though surely he must feel the same rising excitement as Ashleigh did, over a hunch that now looked like inspiration. ‘Questioned but not charged, you say?’
‘Yep. The woman was doped up to the eyes with antidepressants and God knows what else. She should never have been on the road. He said the car was all over the place and he couldn’t avoid her. No witnesses. It was an open verdict. I can send the coroner’s report over to you if you want.’
‘That would be brilliant. Thanks. I do believe we’ve got something.’
‘I’ll get back to you if we can dig up anything else. Have a good evening.’
‘I intend to.’ Jude said, with a grin, and hung up.
Work waited, but only until the distraction of having Ashleigh O’Halloran in his bed when they were both in the mood for love had passed. Just before he reached out to switch off the light, Jude remembered the call, remembered the note. He grinned. He must be mellowing in his old age, if he was leaving his mind roaming loose while a woman got in the way. He rolled back onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. Luke. Ryan. Maybe Summer. There was an answer. ‘Okay. Before you led me astray we were talking about Elizabeth Bell.’
‘I led you astray?’ she pretended to grumble, rolling in against him and resting her head on his shoulder. ‘That’s not how I remember it. But since you ask, shall I tell you what I think?’
‘I think I know. I wondered briefly if Miranda might actually be Elizabeth, but I can’t stretch my credibility to two fake identities in one case. It might be worth going back to check, I suppose, but in this day and age it’s only worth trying to be someone else when you’re alive. When you’re dead, the science will get you.’ As they’d discovered with Karl Faulkner.
‘Yes. And then Ryan, or Karl, turns up in Martindale when Miranda’s there. I knew there was something.’
‘The messages on the phone specifically referred to Robert.’ Jude inspected the shadows on the ceiling. ‘They describe him as the target. They say when he’s at the property.’
‘But they say who else is at the property, too. And I can’t remember them in detail, but I’m pretty certain you can work out who else is there. And that means that you’d have been able to tell not just when Robert was on his own but when Miranda was there by herself. And on the basis of those messages, I’m going to bet she never was. Because if she had been, she’d be dead.’
A fly beat its sluggish way across the room, through the dim circlet of the light the bedside lamp left on the ceiling. ‘Miranda was on her own. She went out walki
ng on her own. She was alone when she found Luke.’
‘But Ryan didn’t know that. My guess is that Miranda had a very lucky escape that day, and if Ryan hadn’t bumped into Luke, realised the game was up and killed him, she’d have met him on the road and it would have been her who was found in the stream, not Luke.’ Jude watched the fly again. There was something curiously therapeutic about it as it battled its way across the room. In the corner, a cobweb loitered, one he never had any time to remove. ‘A trap. That’s what it was.’
‘Yes, but what—’
‘Ollie’s phone. When I went down there, after we found Luke dead, Miranda was shouting at Ollie for having lost his phone. She’s a cool woman, and she doesn’t lose her temper, but here she is shouting at some kid for being casual. Why did Miranda get so stressed? Maybe — just maybe — it was because someone had messaged her on that phone. And maybe someone had tried to lure her into a trap.’ He sat up.
‘Jude.’ Ashleigh sat up, too, pulling the duvet up in a pointless gesture to hide her modesty. ‘This is speculation. You’re not telling me Miranda went up to the house, was surprised by Ryan, stunned him, carried him down to the churchyard, buried him and went back home. All on her own.’
‘No. She must have had help, and the help must have been Robert. I need to—’
‘No.’ Ashleigh lay back down, pulling him down, too, with a hand on his arm. ‘Jude. You don’t have to do anything right now. You need to go to sleep and in the morning we can start thinking about what happened. Because we still don’t know who might have paid someone to kill Miranda, if they did.’
