Best Served Cold: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

by David J Gatward

Jim, Harry knew, was talking from experience. He was born a farmer’s son, still lived at home, still worked out on the land with his dad, went to the auction mart in Hawes every week if he could. Farming was in his blood. It was also what made him such a good PCSO and, Harry had mused more than once, what would make him a superb police officer, assuming of course that he could get a posting in the area, or at least somewhere similar, once his training was up.

  ‘He was that popular, then?’ Harry asked.

  Jim’s laugh was short and filled with as much warmth as a walk-in freezer. ‘There are folk around here who would give their right arm for a place like his, and all he’s done is ruin it. So, no, he wasn’t popular.’

  Harry noticed that the patches of dried blood had turned into more of a smear. Then the smell hit him, as did the sound of the flies. The cloud was close now and he could see a mound beneath it.

  ‘So, what’s got you to thinking it’s something else, then?’ Harry asked, reaching into his pocket for a little something he always carried with him just in case. It was a pot of vapour rub, the smell of the camphor and eucalyptus oil going some way to disguise the rich, fetid smell of rotting flesh. He popped the lid and rubbed a little under his nostrils.

  ‘Just doesn’t smell right,’ Jim said, then put his hand over his nose and mouth and muttered, ‘in more ways than the obvious.’

  ‘Here,’ Harry said, handing the pot to Jim and Matt. ‘It’ll help.’

  They both took some and then as Harry stuffed the pot back into his pocket, Jim led them on for the last few metres to the body.

  When they arrived, and Harry finally laid eyes on what was before them, he had the horrible feeling that the vapour rub really wasn’t going to be any help at all.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Matt said, a hand rising to his mouth. ‘That is rank.’

  ‘I doubt even he could do much about this,’ Harry offered. Then, looking at the rather grey colour Matt’s face had swiftly taken on, added, ‘And if you’re going to puke, best you do it away from the body, pal.’

  Matt gulped air down, squeezed his eyes tight and rubbed them. ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t look fine,’ Jim said.

  ‘He’s right,’ Harry said. ‘You don’t look fine. The opposite of fine, if I’m honest. Sort of not fine, bordering on really bloody awful.’

  ‘I’m fine, really fine,’ Matt said. ‘I promise.’

  Harry wasn’t convinced in the slightest. ‘It’s the smell,’ he said. ‘Always is. Dead bodies you can get used to, close your mind to it, but the smell, that’s something else. Has the ability to really crawl up your nose and set up shop.’

  ‘You’re not helping,’ Matt said.

  Harry, with Matt and Jim beside him, hung back from the body for two reasons. One was because if this was a crime scene then he wanted to do as little as possible that could potentially damage any evidence. The other was simply because what lay before them was one of the worst things that Harry had ever seen in his life. And he’d so far lived one that had seen more than its fair share of violence.

  ‘How long’s he been here?’ Harry asked, staring at the body, which was a hideously bloated thing, the stomach having swollen up enough to pop a few buttons on the deceased’s shirt. The flies were seemingly oblivious to their presence and continued to feast.

  Harry had the fleeting image of a badly dressed, sweating walrus, basking in the sun, but quickly pushed it to the back of his mind.

  The body was covered in flies; huge fat bluebottles, swarming around it in a cloud, thousands of them, and if they weren’t flying, they were enjoying the feast, drinking up the fluids of the dead, lapping it up and getting fat, and using it as the perfect place to lay their young. And it wasn’t just bluebottles either, Harry noticed. Wasps had come along to join in the party, their black and yellow bodies adding an unnecessarily lurid sheen to the awful vista. They also made it a little more difficult to get close: this was their feast and Harry was pretty sure they wouldn’t be too happy at being disturbed. And it was also pretty clear that the body had been munched on by more than a few passing carnivores and hungry carrion, foxes sniffing it out as a midnight snack, crows diving out of the sky to peck at the weeping flesh. The whole scene was, if he was honest, a complete and total disaster when it came to the collection of evidence, assuming of course that this was a crime scene.

  ‘Not sure,’ Jim said, his voice thoughtful. ‘Only person we’ve spoken to is Nick. He says the last time he saw John was Friday afternoon. So at most since Friday evening, though there’s no way he would be up here during the evening.’

  Harry turned to face Jim. ‘A little something I’ve learned on the force is the ABC principle.’

  ‘The look of love?’ Matt asked.

  Harry ignored him, though wondered how anyone could so quickly remember an 80s pop song by that particular band.

  ‘Assume nothing, believe nobody, check everything. We’ve no reason to believe Nick was telling you the truth so we can’t assume John wouldn’t be up here in the evening. Everything needs to be checked.’

  ‘No, I get that,’ Jim said, ‘it’s just that John really wouldn’t be up here in the evening. And I know that as well as anyone does.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Too bloody pissed,’ Matt said.

  ‘And where did Nick see him?’ Harry asked.

  ‘In town,’ Jim said.

  Inside, Harry smiled. That anyone would refer to Hawes as a town was stretching reality more than a little, but he understood why. It was a bustling place, not just for shops, but with its regular market and the auction mart, and then there were the tourists. It was as much a town as this end of Wensleydale had and Harry had quickly realised that it punched above its weight. He wasn’t quite ready to admit it yet, but he was starting to think the place was growing on him.

  Harry stared for a moment at the scene before them, down towards the crashed vehicles, then back to the corpse at their feet, and something already bothered him.

  ‘This isn’t visible from the road, is it?’

  ‘What, the body? No,’ Jim said.

  ‘No, I mean any of it,’ Harry said. ‘The crash, the smashed wall, I only noticed it once we’d come speeding through the open gate like the very hosts of Hell were on our heels.’

  ‘I guess not, no,’ Jim said. ‘Why? You think someone saw it happen?’

  ‘I’m just surprised no one called it in earlier,’ Harry said. ‘Visible or not, surely a crash like that makes a hell of a noise. And wouldn’t people have wondered where he was?’

  Matt and Jim said nothing and just continued to stare at the body.

  ‘Any idea what he was doing out here in the first place?’ Harry asked.

  Jim pointed into the field around them and, for the first time since they’d arrived, Harry noticed that it was littered with sorry looking bales of hay. They were scattered about in no real order, most of them sagging and grey, seemingly dissolving into the ground beneath them.

  ‘Out to collect that lot I would think,’ Jim said, ‘though it’s sod all use now, what with the rain we had last week. What a waste.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Hay needs to be dry,’ Jim explained. ‘You cut the grass, turn it over the course of a week or two so that it’s properly dry, then bale it and get it inside quick before the weather changes. And it looks like John didn’t. A mix of couldn’t be arsed and cheap booze probably. The idiot.’

  Harry looked from the body and down the hill to the smashed-up tractor and trailer. ‘You didn’t like him much, did you?’

  Jim just shook his head. ‘No one did. Wasn’t much to like.’

  ‘So how did he end up here with that lot down there?’ Harry asked, nodding to the smashed tractor and trailer. ‘You reckon he was thrown clear?’

  ‘I don’t see how,’ Jim said then gestured with his right hand at the field around them. ‘Not a steep slope really
, is it? Assuming he was driving, he’d have been in the cab, so he wouldn’t have been thrown clear, he would have had to have jumped out through the door.’

  Harry walked around the body to the other side then crouched down to get a better look. It was no better and no worse from any angle. The legs looked undamaged, at least as far as he could tell, seeing as the body was clothed and the trousers were scuffed and worn, but not ripped as would be expected in an accident involving a vehicle. The torso, however, was an entirely different story. The stomach was a swollen thing, almost balloon like in its repose, but the chest had been not so much crushed as flattened by what Harry assumed was a wheel from the tractor or trailer, perhaps even both. The deceased’s body had seemingly exploded violently under the trauma of what had happened, with blood and entrails scattered about like meat left to dry in the sun. Above this, the neck had somehow escaped, but the head must have been caught by another wheel, Harry thought, because there was quite literally nothing left which gave any impression as to what John Capstick had once looked like. The skull was shattered, a fragile vase crushed under a great weight, its contents a purple-black mess thrust out in all directions around it, a halo from Hell. Harry couldn’t make out any feature which bore resemblance to what had once been a face.

  ‘And just to be certain,’ Harry asked, ‘you’re absolutely sure it’s this John bloke? It’s not like you can recognise him, is it?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s John alright,’ Jim said, then pointed as he spoke: ‘His field, his tractor, his trailer.’ Finally, he nodded at the dead man’s trousers and some muddy orange twine threaded through the belt loops. ‘And there aren’t many folk left in the world who are happy to keep their trousers up with bailer bind. Not any more.’

  Harry rose back up onto his feet then walked over to Matt and Jim. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s an absolute bloody mess,’ Matt said. ‘Poor bastard. And he was a bastard, for sure. But what a way to go.’

  ‘Not exactly helpful, but a fair observation,’ Harry said, then he turned to Jim, but it was clear that Jim had nothing else to offer just yet. He looked thoughtful, so Harry let him alone for a moment.

  From what Harry could see it looked like a tragic and pretty gruesome accident. Shit happens, and that was a sad fact of life.

  ‘I’m still not getting why you think there’s any foul play here,’ Harry said. ‘I mean, this is farming, right? You work with animals, with huge pieces of machinery, with chemicals, I’m surprised there aren’t more accidents like this.’

  ‘You’re forgetting the high stress, shit pay and crippling debt,’ Matt said. ‘Not a surprise the suicide rate is so high.’

  ‘Could it be that, then?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Like this? No,’ Matt said. ‘Farmers usually go out with a double-barrel under the chin. This? This is way too creative.’

  Matt then mimed placing a gun under his own chin and pulling the trigger.

  ‘Unnecessary,’ Harry said. ‘But thanks for the re-enactment.’

  Harry turned to Jim. ‘Well?’

  Jim didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stepped back from the body and moved a little way up and above it. Harry and Matt followed. From where they were then stood, they could see clearly now the course taken by the tractor and trailer, how it had started to swerve as it gained speed, before slamming hard enough into the wall to break it.

  ‘For a start,’ Jim said, ‘and like I said when you got here, none of this looks right.’

  ‘Explain,’ Harry said.

  ‘Well, there’s nowt to suggest that John was thrown from the tractor is there? From what I can see, it was parked up here, right where he’s lying, and then it just rolled off down the hill.’

  ‘You mean he got in the way of it?’

  Jim shook his head. ‘No, I mean it was parked right where John’s body is, rolled over him, then headed off down the hill.’

  ‘So, he wasn’t in the tractor cab?’ Harry said.

  ‘Can’t see how,’ said Jim. ‘But that’s not the problem. He could have parked up to check on the trailer before going around to collect the bales.’

  ‘And he’d do that by hand?’ Harry asked.

  Jim shook his head. ‘Front loader,’ he said. ‘You probably didn’t notice it, because it snapped off the front of the tractor when it hit the wall. It’s there though. He’d park up, uncouple the trailer, then drive around picking up bales. Well, that’s what I’d do, anyway, if I was out doing a field on my own.’

  ‘I’m still not seeing what you’re getting at,’ Harry said. ‘If we’re calling this in as a Category One . . .’

  Harry watched as Jim took a moment to compose himself. It was as though he could see him sorting things out in his head before saying them.

  ‘Look at the body,’ Jim said, nodding at the thing on the ground which had been, just a few days ago, a living, breathing human being. ‘Why’s he lying on the ground? What the hell was he doing down there in the first place? It doesn’t make any bloody sense!’

  ‘Like you said, checking the trailer,’ Harry suggested.

  ‘He wouldn’t need to do it on his back!’ Jim exclaimed. ‘It would be a walk around, that’s all. Probably kick a tyre or two, nowt else. And this is John we’re talking about. He wasn’t the kind of bloke who checked his equipment.’

  Matt let out the faintest of sniggers.

  Harry turned to him.

  ‘Really?’

  Matt stifled his laughter. ‘Sorry, Boss,’ he said. ‘It’s just, you know, checking his equipment . . .’

  Harry stared hard enough at Matt to burn a hole through his skull. He went to speak but the sound of a car racing along the road back down at the bottom of the field drew his attention. He stared down at it, unable to see it clearly beyond the walls, just a flash of some non-descript colour, the sound of the revving engine fading into the distance as quickly as it had arrived.

  ‘He’s in a hurry,’ Matt said.

  ‘What about the tractor?’ Harry asked, keen to keep things moving. ‘Could he have been checking that?’

  Again, Jim shook his head. ‘Ignoring the fact that it’s a miracle that it’s survived as long as it has, there’s still no need for him to be on the ground like that. Doesn’t make sense.’

  Matt said, ‘Perhaps he was knocked down and that’s just where he fell.’

  ‘And then he just lay there and let the trailer roll over him?’ Jim said. ‘Look at him! It’s like he didn’t fight or couldn’t even! I don’t know, it just doesn’t look right! It isn’t right! And what’s there around here to knock him over?’

  ‘Anything else?’ Harry asked.

  Jim shook his head.

  ‘Matt?’

  Matt looked thoughtful, rubbed his chin to emphasise the fact that he was thinking, and then said, ‘I’ll be honest, I’m with Jim. This doesn’t look right.’

  Harry took a step back to get a moment alone with his thoughts and looked at the countryside lying around them. It was, like the rest of the dales, utterly beautiful. Moorlands and rolling hills, crags and ancient walls, all lay before him. History was here, the land farmed in much the same way now as it had been for centuries, families stretching back generations. The cool air, rich with the scents of fern and heather from the moors, brought with it the faintest tang from the sheep that lived on this land, and their haunting bleats and calls gave the place life. Far off, he heard the rumble of low flying aircraft, vehicles navigating the lanes. And in the very centre of this, just a step or two away from his own feet, death had come and in as violent a form as he had ever seen. It was a scene so utterly incongruous to its surroundings that Harry just shook his head and sighed.

  ‘Here,’ Harry said, pulling something out of his pocket and handing it to Matt. ‘Best make this official then.’

  Matt looked at the roll of crime scene tape now in his hands. ‘Not sure there’s enough, Boss,’ he said. ‘I’m half tempted to just cordon off the whole field.’


  Jim’s phone rang. ‘Liz?’ he said.

  When the brief call ended, Jim looked over to Harry and Matt.

  ‘It’s Nick,’ Jim said.

  ‘What is?’ Harry asked.

  ‘He’s done a runner.’

  Chapter Six

  Having left Matt up in the field to not only secure the area, but set himself up as the Scene Guard to log everyone moving on and off the site, and with the crime scene team on their way, Harry and Jim headed back to the farm to see what had happened and to check on Liz. Harry had also demanded that anyone and everyone heading to the crime scene was to meet at the farmhouse first and be directed from there. It would save people getting lost and ending up traipsing through fields at random in some kind of gruesome treasure hunt. It was a formality for sure, but it still had to be done. There was certainly no need for an ambulance, and with the state of the body, Harry half wondered if shovels and a couple of strong plastic bin bags would be more useful than a stretcher for moving it. The coroner had been called, and the pathologist, Rebecca Sowerby, and Harry was very much looking forward to seeing her again, in much the same way as he looked forward to having root canal surgery. They hadn’t exactly hit it off last time they’d met, so he was quite pleased that she would have a less than pleasant time with the body, though Harry wondered how a pathologist would ever be able to class a day as pleasant, up to their armpits in the decaying remains of someone else. Horses for courses though.

  At the farmhouse, Harry saw first-hand what Jim had been getting at with regards to the deceased not being the best of farmers. As they’d approached it from the road in Jim’s vehicle, he’d been put in mind of the kind of set used for horror films involving stupid backpacking teenagers and cannibalistic hicks. Horror wasn’t exactly Harry’s thing, having seen more than enough in his real life to spend his free time watching the fantasy equivalent, but he had a feeling that were Tobe Hooper with them right then, the man would have been chomping at the bit to get back into showbusiness and do a Texas Chainsaw Massacre reboot.