Best Served Cold: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

by David J Gatward

  ‘This is just the kind of thing I was worried about,’ DS Swift said, breaking the quietness.

  ‘How do you mean?’ Harry asked. ‘It’s not like I came here and murder followed me from Bristol like some stink on my shoes!’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Swift replied, ‘but if there’s something I’ve learnt in my years on the force, it’s that some people just attract the worst of it, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Harry said.

  ‘And that’s the problem,’ Swift snapped.

  Harry breathed deep, searching for some calm, so that when he spoke next, his voice didn’t give the senior officer cause to think he was about to rip his head off. ‘I’m the senior investigating officer on this and I know what I’m doing,’ Harry explained. ‘As do the team. They’re good. You have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Then convince me,’ Swift hissed, then he, too, was gone.

  Matt and Jim shuffled forward.

  ‘So where did you go, then?’ Matt asked.

  Harry gestured over to Bill’s house.

  Jim said, ‘Was Steve there to meet you?’

  ‘You know him, then?’ Harry asked. ‘Bill, I mean.’

  ‘Everyone knows pretty much everyone else around here,’ Jim said. ‘Bill’s alright, though. Bit blunt, but that’s just his way. And Steve is all mouth and no trousers, if you know what I mean. The worst that dog would do is lick you to death. Spoiled rotten.’

  ‘Thought I saw someone looking at us in the field with binos,’ Harry said. ‘Turns out it was Bill through a rifle scope.’

  ‘Just being nosy, then,’ Matt said. ‘He see anything?’

  Harry was about to mention what Bill had said about seeing Little Nick in the tractor cab with John Capstick, when Gordy and Jenny turned up.

  ‘Anything?’ Harry asked.

  Jenny pulled out her notebook and flipped it open. ‘It’s like I said before, no one is exactly queuing up to attend his funeral,’ she said. ‘Other than may be to cheer.’

  ‘Only reason I can see right now for anyone going,’ Gordy added, ‘is to make sure he’s actually dead.’

  ‘And Bill?’ Harry asked. ‘He say any more about seeing Little Nick with John?’

  Liz read her notes out, which confirmed what Harry already knew.

  ‘Not much is it?’ Matt said.

  ‘Well, I look forward to hearing more later on,’ Gordy said. ‘I’d best be off. But I’ll be over tomorrow morning, first thing, if only to check up on the board.’

  ‘No need,’ Jenny said. ‘I’ll be all over it like a rash.’

  ‘Let’s hope we’ve got something to actually put on it, then,’ Harry said, as Gordy walked off. ‘It’s not like we’ve got much so far, beyond the corpse of a man no one liked and a feather in his mouth.’

  ‘At least it wasn’t up his arse,’ Matt added.

  ‘Doubt we’ll get much more, either,’ Jim said. ‘Been too long since whatever it was that happened, happened, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Hasn’t rained yet, though,’ Matt said. ‘And that’s something.’

  Which was when the first drops began to fall, the dark sky above at last giving up and sending a grey sheet of rain to fold itself across the earth below.

  Harry took another look at the field in front of them. The change in the weather had lit a new sense of urgency in the work of the SOC team and Harry could see that they were now hurrying to get as much evidence as they could before the rain washed away any possibility of finding even the faintest hint of DNA or anything else for that matter.

  ‘Back to the office, then?’ Harry suggested.

  ‘First one there puts the kettle on,’ Jim said.

  ‘Last one there buys the cake,’ Matt added with a hungry looking grin.

  Chapter Twelve

  The day had rolled into early evening without Harry even noticing. And he hadn’t yet even had a chance to visit his new flat to properly move in. The rain had chased them all the way back to the community office in Hawes, where the permanent police presence was housed all comfortable and cosy with, among other things, the local library, and a community information hub. It was unlike any police station Harry had ever worked in because it wasn’t really a police station. He wasn’t one for getting all political, but it struck him as a bit dim-witted to think having interviews and cells and all the other police gubbins over an hour away in Harrogate made sense. Couldn’t even lock someone up to allow them to cool off. Nope. Instead, they had to be driven all the way across the dale. Imagine that, he thought, racing down all those twisty lanes and roads, with a van full of abusive piss heads, all vomiting up their liquid refreshment, when instead they could’ve been just given a room to sleep it off in all but a few steps away. Where was the sense in it? But Harry wasn’t in politics and never would be. The world, he thought, was an increasingly angry, shouty place, and more and more the people in power were taking advantage of the popular vote, taking the easy route. The world needed, in Harry’s mind at least, a little bit more gentleness and understanding, which was exactly why he was never going to get involved. Yes, he knew that was what the world needed, but he also knew that he was somewhat lacking in those areas. So he would do his bit where he fitted in best. As far as the resources in Hawes were concerned, they would have to do because that was all they had. And if he was honest, Harry didn’t exactly miss the warren of rooms and corridors he was used to back at the station in Bristol, it was just a bit strange to not have them to get lost in if he wanted to.

  ‘Here you go,’ Matt said, handing Harry a mug of tea. ‘Can’t remember if you take sugar.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Harry said. ‘And before you say it, don’t.’

  ‘Wasn’t about to,’ Matt said. ‘Me though, I’m never going to be sweet enough, so in goes a couple of teaspoons of the good stuff.’ He shovelled in the sugar. ‘And a couple more, just in case.’

  Harry watched as Matt added enough sugar to his tea to keep a class of six-year olds awake for a week.

  ‘Sure you don’t want any more?’

  ‘No, I’m good, thanks,’ said Matt, taking a sip. ‘Yummy.’

  Harry leaned back into his chair as around him the rest of the team busied themselves with getting comfortable. Gordy had managed to get back from whatever case it was which had called her away earlier, and Liz had followed them over from the farmhouse, leaving the SOC team, and anyone else, to clear up after themselves and find their own ways home. Matt was now slumped down in a chair and tapping away at a computer. Next to him was Jim, and Jenny was standing up in front of a whiteboard, which was bare except for a name in the very middle of it: John Capstick.

  ‘So, what have we got?’ Harry asked.

  ‘About as much evidence as I’ve got for Nessie,’ Gordy said. ‘Anything from the CSI bods?’

  The room fell silent.

  ‘HOLMES is coming up with the usual ABA,’ Matt said, pointing at the screen in front of him.

  ‘ABA?’ Harry asked. ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Absolutely bugger all.’

  As acronyms went, the Home Office Large and Major Enquiry System, was a world-beater, Harry thought, and had often wondered how many focus groups and millions of pounds were spent coming up with it. Commissioned by the Home Office to provide a computer solution to vast amount of data being held by the police across the country, it hadn’t exactly gone smoothly. Numerous systems were developed by different companies and all implemented at different times, and the reassurances given by the smooth-talking sales people had turned out to be little more than smoke and mirrors. Things had improved over the years, with different systems actually being able to communicate with each other, but it was still a monster to get to grips with. It was accessed through a private cloud service to ensure that individual forces could use it and security could be maintained.

  Harry was pretty surprised to see Matt deftly searching through what HOLMES was, or wasn’t, giving him. ‘How do you mea
n?’

  ‘Well,’ Matt explained, ‘we’ve got nothing really to lead with, have we? No one saw anything, no one found anything, blah blah blah.’

  ‘What about the pathologist?’ Jim asked.

  ‘She’ll be on with the autopsy,’ Harry said, ‘though I doubt we’ll hear much till tomorrow morning. She’s not got an easy job of it, what with the state of the body.’ He looked over at Jenny and Gordy. ‘Anything from the door-to-door?’

  ‘No one liked him,’ Gordy said. ‘And that’s about it.’

  Harry leaned back, letting his head fall so that he was then staring at the ceiling. Then he pulled his head forward again to stare at the board in front of Jenny. ‘Bill reckons he saw John driving up the field early Saturday morning, with Nick in the tractor cab. So, where the hell is he?’

  ‘Still missing,’ Jim said. ‘No one’s seen him.’

  ‘So what do we know about him?’ Harry asked. ‘Friends? Family? What does he do?’

  Liz jumped in. ‘Nick’s just a bit dodgy, I guess,’ she said. ‘One of those people who’s always been around and always been into things that he shouldn’t.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Nothing big,’ Liz said. ‘He’s been done a few times for possession, got beaten up once by a parent or two for supplying their kids with booze and a few joints, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Rough justice, there, then,’ Harry said.

  ‘Yep, and no one was charged because he wasn’t about to go grassing someone up, because then everyone would know and, well, I guess he figured it was just easier to let it go.’

  ‘Well,’ Jim laughed, ‘Wensleydale is a bit like the Wild West of Yorkshire! Oh, and the doctor dropped off John’s medical stuff. Doesn’t tell us much other than the fact that he was physically a bit of a mess, drank too much, didn’t eat properly, was over-weight, and had a few broken bones.’

  ‘Can’t say I give a stuff about what the doctor dropped off,’ Harry said, his voice growing louder, like the rumble of an approaching rock fall. ‘We’ve got Bill’s possible sighting of Nick, who just sounds dodgy anyway, with the deceased on Saturday morning. We know Nick found the body earlier today. And we’ve also got the message that he said he received from the deceased. Whatever his involvement, it isn’t good, is it?’

  Harry knew he was shouting, but it wasn’t at anyone in the room, more at the situation they were facing.

  ‘Remember that little fact?’ he continued. ‘The weird and impossible call from beyond the grave? It’s not something someone would lie about, is it? And it’s basically the single sodding reason we’re here in the first place and why we had everyone out in the field today! We need Nick and his phone so that we can check that he actually received a call at all, and if he did, to see who the hell sent it. Because it’s pretty bloody clear that Mr John Capstick didn’t!’

  Harry rose to his feet, weariness suddenly swooping in from all around and making him feel a little bit unsteady on his feet.

  Jenny quickly wrote on the board about Bill seeing Nick on Saturday morning, the call Nick had supposedly received Monday from John, despite him being dead, and that Nick was still missing.

  ‘Right now, I reckon we all need to sleep on it,’ Harry yawned, moving away from his chair and resting his now empty mug on a table. ‘Go home, all of you. Watch television. Have a beer. Come back tomorrow with fresh heads. By then we should have at least something from the pathologist. And I’ll want a renewed effort on finding this mysterious Nick bloke.’

  Harry was now at the door and before he left, he eyeballed everyone in the team.

  ‘Let’s not give old Swift any reason to think we can’t handle this,’ he said. ‘We all know when something doesn’t smell right, and John Capstick dead in a field doesn’t, and not just for the obvious reason either. Nick knows something. That phone call doesn’t sound right at all. And hopefully we’ll have something from the pathologist.’

  Jim then asked, ‘What about that feather?’

  Jenny added that little nugget to the board.

  ‘And there’s that as well,’ Harry said. ‘Maybe when we know what species it is or whatever, we’ll have something to go on, perhaps even some DNA. Anyway, get yourselves home and I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Harry made to leave, then something that had been said earlier about Nick resurfaced. He looked over at Liz. ‘You said he deals a bit?’

  Liz gave a nod.

  ‘So I’m assuming there’s somewhere around here folk go for a fly smoke, am I right?’

  ‘Down by the beck,’ Liz said. ‘You know, the path between Gayle and Hawes? Why?’

  ‘Might go for a little stroll later,’ Harry said. ‘You never know.’

  It was a longshot, but he was happy to take it.

  Harry left the office then, striding out into the evening with the purpose of a man who’s energy has gone, but he still wasn’t home, and the only thing moving him at all was the promise of a comfy sofa, a pizza, and a beer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Harry’s evening was a restless one, his mind caught between concerns for his brother, and pent up rage at their dad resurfacing, and the start of a case which already looked like it was going to be a pain in the arse. Right now, the whole thing was much like starting a jigsaw puzzle without any idea what the final picture was supposed to be, Harry thought. What they had so far didn’t make much if any sense, but somewhere someone knew something, and Harry had to have faith in his team that they would get moving on it the following day.

  Having grabbed a Pizza from the Spar in Hawes marketplace, along with some essential items, like bread and milk, and some none essential items, like a few beers and a couple of chocolate eclairs that had pretty much screamed at him to buy them, Harry had headed to his new flat, very much aware that his fare for the evening was in no way going to help his weight loss. But he didn’t care. He was tired. He was hungry. And that was all there was to it.

  Later, with the food demolished, along with a couple of beers, Harry found himself channel-surfing and getting increasingly annoyed with either dropping in on programmes already part way through, or into yet more adverts. There was only so much he could take of people buying things at antiques fares to sell at other antiques fares, of gameshows and cookery, and of sodding celebrities famous for being on programmes about being famous for being on programmes about being famous. Which was when he remembered what Liz had said about the beck being a place used for sneaking a toke on a fat reefer. So, with all the energy he could muster, which wasn’t much at all, Harry headed out to get some fresh air and hopefully a fresh perspective on what had happened that day.

  The path he took was an ancient one. It slunk out of the middle of Hawes, just up a little hill from the cobbles which rode past Cockett’s Butchers. It was a thing of old flagstones stitched into the earth, the path pinned into place by stone styles, which allowed walkers through, but kept the sheep where they were meant to be. The path was, Harry thought, perhaps some ancient lifeline, no doubt having seen centuries of lives flowing along it between the two places of Hawes and Gayle. That evening, though, it was quiet, and Harry meandered along, working as best as he could to clear his mind and just relax a little.

  Harry stopped.

  For a moment, he wasn’t sure why, but something had brought him up sharp. He stood statue still, focusing, even though it was the last thing he actually wanted to do.

  Then he caught it, just on the edge of wind slipping around him, a scent drifting up from his left, the slope which led down to Gayle beck, a babbling brook with rocks carved in to scalloped waves by thousands of years of moorland-born water dancing across them.

  The smell was one Harry was used to catching back home on the streets of Bristol: pot, cannabis, weed, whatever you wanted to call it. Back there, it wasn’t exactly smoked openly in public, more that there was just so much of it about, being enjoyed on balconies, in parks, in gardens, that you just couldn’t get away from it.
But here, it seemed a little out of place, and although Harry was pretty sure he that he wasn’t in the best frame of mind to go and have a word with someone sparking up a fat reefer, he knew there might be a slim chance of a lead on the so far highly elusive Little Nick. And anyway, deep down, he knew he couldn’t let it lie, the sweet, perfumed scent of the stuff taking him years back, to his brother, and to what had sent him even more off the rails than he had already been, to finally land him behind bars.

  Down by the beck, Harry spotted a group of teenagers. They were sitting in a semi-circle on its edge, four girls, three boys. Two of the girls had their feet in the no doubt cold water. Standing in the middle of the group was a gangly looking teenager. Whatever he was talking about, it certainly required lots of arm movements, Harry noticed, as the boy laughed then pulled his left hand to his mouth, a few seconds later sending out a fat, grey plume of smoke.

  Harry walked towards the group and when the boy in the middle of them spotted him, he raised a hand as a non-committal attempt at a greeting.

  The rest of the group, seeing their friend pause his jigging around, turned to stare.

  ‘Evening,’ Harry said, bringing himself to a halt barely a metre away from the group.

  No one spoke, just stared.

  ‘Been out long?’

  Still nothing.

  The boy in the middle took another draw of the joint then exhaled theatrically, blowing the smoke up into the air.

  ‘Something up, mate?’ the boy said.

  ‘I’m not your mate,’ Harry said, a little more gruffly than he’d planned, but if he was honest, the effect was worth it, as the group looked suddenly a little more spooked, staring at him, at his face. So he curled his lip just a little, adding to the overall image of menace. It wasn’t that he wanted to frighten them as such, but on the other hand, he didn’t want them thinking that what they were doing was fine and dandy. Because it wasn’t. And Harry had seen where all this could lead, eventually. A brother in prison was a fairly hefty reminder of the fact that drugs didn’t actually pay.