Best Served Cold: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

by David J Gatward

  Harry nodded as though he knew exactly where that was, which he didn’t. He was still thinking about the message he’d just read on Nick’s phone. ‘Not much of a message, is it?’ he said. ‘Need a bit of a hand. Can you help? You often get messages like that from John?’

  ‘No,’ Nick replied. ‘That’s why I went out there, like. See what was up.’

  ‘And you just headed off out there, did you?’ Matt asked. ‘Jumped out of bed, and into your car?’

  ‘He’s a mate!’ Nick said. ‘Of course I did! Wouldn’t you?’

  Harry wasn’t convinced Nick was the kind of person to jump out of bed for anyone or anything unless there was something in it for him. He didn’t exactly strike him as the Good Samaritan type. ‘So what did you think when you got there?’ he asked. ‘About the message I mean.’

  Nick shrugged. ‘I just saw that John was in a bad way so I called nine-nine-nine.’

  ‘And didn’t mention the message.’

  Nick shook his head.

  ‘And you’re sure that’s John’s number?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nick said. ‘He’s in my contacts. It was him who sent it alright.’

  ‘Well, it was his phone, at any rate,’ Matt said.

  Harry’s head was starting to hurt. He’d hoped for more from catching up with Nick, but so far they’d got nothing more than what they already knew. ‘So you’re good friends with John, then?’

  Nick gave a nod.

  ‘Does he have many other friends?’

  Nick actually laughed. ‘John? You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’

  ‘This look like a face that laughs much to you?’ Harry asked.

  Nick’s laugh died as quickly as it had started and he said, ‘It’s just that he’s a bit of a rogue, you see.’

  ‘A rogue? You make him sound like Han bloody Solo!’

  And just what was it with Nick using words he’d not heard in decades, thought Harry? Rogue? Who the hell says rogue?

  ‘You know, bit of a rum ‘un. I mean, he’s not bad, not really.’

  ‘What about enemies then,’ Harry asked. ‘If he’s running low on numbers when it comes to people who like him, then I’m guessing there are plenty who don’t.’

  ‘John doesn’t, I mean didn’t, care,’ Nick said, slumping on his chair now, and Harry heard the sadness in the man’s voice. ‘No one liked him, not since he was a kid. Well, a few of us did, but the rest? No chance. They didn’t know what it was like for him at home, did they?’

  ‘So you’ve been friends since school?’

  Nick gave a shallow nod. ‘We had our own little gang in the end,’ he said. ‘Used to play together a lot, like. You know, games like Kick the Can, Tag, Cowboys and Indians, that kind of thing. We were always the Indians, though. Named ourselves after them, didn’t we? They were John’s favourite.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ Nick snapped back, and Harry sensed there was more behind those words than Nick was letting on. ‘It was years ago! Can’t bloody remember much of it anyways.’

  ‘And I think it should be cowboys and Native Americans now,’ Matt said. ‘And you were the Native Americans, Nick. Not Indians.’

  ‘Do I look like I care?’ Nick grumbled. ‘There’s nowt else I’ve got to say. John’s dead. That’s all I know.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, he was a bit of a bully,’ Harry said. ‘Was he like that at school as well?’

  Nick let out a short bark of a laugh and rolled his eyes. ‘It was tough back then,’ he said. ‘School was hard and so was John. Simple as that.’

  ‘So he was a bully, then?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Kids are cruel,’ said Nick with a shrug. ‘Everyone got it bad at some point. Bet you did too, right? Didn’t matter if you were local, new to the school, rich or poor, you had to stand up for yourself. Some got it worse, mind, but what can you do?’

  Matt leaned forward and said, ‘I know as well as you do, Nick, that people won’t be exactly lining up to mourn John, sad as it is for the few who liked him, including you. But did you know of anyone who really had it in for him? Enough to do him harm?’

  ‘Plenty,’ Nick said, ‘and he’d have had them all!’ He was on his feet suddenly, thumping his fist on the table. ‘Take anyone on, would John, no bother at all! And if I find who did this to him, I’ll have ‘em, you hear? I will!’

  Harry waited for Nick to calm down and to sit down, then asked, ‘Any names? Anyone specific?’

  ‘I’m not a grass.’

  ‘I didn’t say that you were,’ Harry said. ‘But if someone was involved in John’s death, wouldn’t you want to help us find out who? Isn’t that what you’d want to do for John, what a friend would do?’

  Nick fell quiet and Harry let the conversation die, punctuating the silence with a yawn that came out far louder than he’d expected.

  ‘Whatever anyone says about John, he wasn’t all bad,’ Nick said. ‘He got blamed for a lot of stuff, but it wasn’t all him, right, you hear? It was everyone! They all did it!’

  ‘What was?’ Harry asked. ‘What do you mean by it was everyone? They all did what? Did something happen, Nick?’

  Nick’s expression turned from anger to worry. ‘No, look, what I mean is . . . I’m just saying . . .’ he stuttered, clearly trying to find the right words, ‘I’m just saying that John wasn’t the only one who got into trouble. We all did. Everyone did. Kids is kids, like, and, well, you know . . .’

  ‘No, I don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘Are you saying John got blamed for something at school? What was it?’

  Nick shut down, didn’t say a word.

  ‘If you know something that you think can help,’ Harry said, ‘you need to tell us, Nick.’

  ‘Nothing happened!’ Nick yelled, spit flying from his mouth. ‘School was years ago, wasn’t it? Years ago! What happened to John, well that happened now, didn’t it? And my mate’s dead and you’re asking me about what it was like when we were kids, like? It doesn’t make sense! None of it does! It’s got bugger all to do with now! Bugger all!’

  Harry gave Nick a moment or two to calm down. ‘Right, I think that’s all for now, Nick,’ he said, as the yawn from a few minutes ago threatened to come along again for another go. ‘We’ll give you a call if we want another chat, okay, Nick? But it’s probably best for all of us if you don’t go running off again.’

  ‘So, I can go? That’s it for the questions?’

  Harry nodded at the door and Nick stood up. Then, as Nick made to move, he said, ‘Just out of interest, Nick, can you tell me where you were Saturday morning, around six?’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Answer the question.’

  ‘I was in bed! Where the hell else do you think I was?’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘Yes! Of course I’m bloody sure!’

  ‘You weren’t round with John driving up into the field with him?’

  ‘What? On a Saturday? Sod off!’

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  Nick’s eyes grew wide, his mouth thin and Harry knew from that alone that he probably couldn’t.

  ‘Someone saw two people in John’s tractor heading up into the field,’ Harry explained. ‘Was that you and John? Because if it was, we need to know.’

  ‘No it bloody well wasn’t!’ Nick shouted, the words flying from his mouth, hot and angry. ‘I was too pissed still from Friday night at the pub! Didn’t get out of bed till midday!’

  ‘You sure?’

  Nick’s mouth fell open and he snapped it shut immediately, rage burning in his eyes. Harry found himself believing him, which was annoying really, because it would’ve been nice and neat for it to have been Nick that Bill had spotted. The thought that it wasn’t, that it was someone else who had driven John up into the field? Well, that just made this whole case considerably more complicated, didn’t it?

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ Nick said, clearly fighting to keep his voice calm. ‘John was a mate. Loo
k, I know, most folk didn’t like him, but then most folk don’t like me either, do they? So why the hell would I go and kill my only friend, hmm? You tell me that!’

  Nick stared at Harry for a while after speaking then finally his eyes dropped and to Harry it was almost as though the man shrunk a little in front of them.

  ‘If you do think of something that might be important, a name, anything, you’ll let us know, won’t you?’

  Nick gave a nod then headed back to the door, before turning around on last time.

  ‘What happened, to John, you think someone did that to him? On purpose, like? Murdered him?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘And that’s the honest truth, Nick. But if you know anything, even if you don’t think it’s important, you need to tell us, right? Whatever happened to John, we need to find out.’

  Nick said nothing more and left the room, the door swishing shut behind him like it was shooing him out of the room on Harry and Matt’s behalf.

  With Nick gone, Matt stood up next and stretched.

  ‘You don’t think he did it, do you?’ He asked, relaxing from the stretch. ‘You know, clobbered John a couple of days ago, took his phone, used it to send a text to himself, then drove out there, and hey-presto, he’s got an alibi?’

  A wave of tiredness hit Harry. He screwed his eyes up tight, then opened them again, and they took longer than they should to focus on Matt. ‘We need the pathologist report,’ he said. ‘Hopefully that’ll tell us something. And a location request will have been put through to whichever phone network Capstick was with. So hopefully we’ll at least know where that message to Nick was sent from, but it sure as hell wasn’t sent from the field by him, was it?’

  ‘Reckon sleep is in order before then,’ Matt said. ‘I’ll lock up. What do you think about what he said about school?’

  Harry really wasn’t sure. ‘I think John had a little gang and that, like Nick said, school was probably pretty hard. Kids pick on each other, that’s what happens. Linking what happened to John to primary school just seems like a massive stretch.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see that,’ Matt said. ‘But some of what he said, it sounded like something happened back then.’

  ‘Yeah, it did,’ Harry pondered.

  Outside, with the office locked and Matt on his way home, the night had fallen to full dark, and Harry wandered back to his new flat, feeling no further on with what they were dealing with than he had been when the call had come in that morning. They had a dead body, a weird death, a missing phone, a mysterious text, no suspects at all – unless he counted Nick, which Harry’s gut told him was complete and total nonsense – and the overall general impression that John was a man no one was going to mourn, a boy bullied by his dad, who became a bully at school with his own little gang, and since then, a life lived not that well or that happily. So just what the hell had happened? The man was dead and someone seemed to have gone a long way to ensuring that the death had happened in a very specific way. But it was the why that was really bothering Harry, gnawing at the back of his mind like a starved dog. Why would someone go to all that trouble? Just what the hell was it all about?

  Tomorrow was a new day though, Harry thought. Perhaps then, some answers would come. Until then, he would sleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Harry woke to the sound of his mobile phone crashing through his skull with all the loving, affectionate tact of a pneumatic drill in the hands of a murderous dentist.

  ‘Yes, what?’ Harry answered, catching sight of the time, his voice broken by a cough brought on by the chill of the morning air. ‘And this had better be good seeing as it’s only just gone six!’

  ‘Harry, it’s Jim . . .’

  Harry was suddenly very, very awake. ‘Jim? What’s up? What’s happened?’

  Light was streaming in through a crack in his bedroom curtains to blind him and Harry had to shield his eyes with a hand.

  ‘We’ve, well, it’s just that . . .’

  Jim’s voice was stumbling over whatever it was he was trying to say and that unnerved Harry.

  ‘Just that what, Jim? What’s up? What’s happened?’

  There was a pause down the line and Harry felt himself being sucked into it, the ominous threat of the unknown something he was pretty damned sure was about to give him a mule kick in the shins.

  ‘We’ve had another call,’ Jim said. ‘A . . .Another one’s been found. Another body, I mean.’

  Harry was now on his feet, using his one free hand to try and get dressed, the sun in his face again, sending his view of his bedroom hazy. ‘What? Where? What do you mean, a body’s been found? How? I mean, what the – ah, bollocks!’

  Harry, with only one leg in his trousers, his eyes blinded by the sun, managed to get his other foot caught up in his belt, and mid-sentence to Jim tripped and fell, landing first on his bed, before rolling onto the floor, his phone skipping out of his hand.

  ‘Harry? You okay?’

  ‘I’m absolutely fine and bloody dandy!’ Harry shouted back as he scrabbled across the floor for his phone and pulled it to his ear. ‘A body? You’re sure? Where? How?’

  ‘Up Widdale,’ Jim said. ‘Gordy just rang to say she’s on her way. She’ll pick you up in fifteen and tell you what she knows.’

  Harry didn’t know Gordy as well as the others quite yet. As the Detective Inspector for the area, she was based down dale, and usually busy with things that way. And if she was only fifteen minutes away then that meant she’d set off a while ago now. The towns of Leyburn, Richmond and Bedale had their own troubles, and with Catterick not too far away, which was a garrison town, her life was a busy one to say the least. There were other officers down that way, but they didn’t generally end up at the Hawes end of things.

  ‘Can’t you pick me up?’ Harry asked. ‘Actually, what am I on about? I can drive my own car, can’t I? Where’s the body?’

  ‘I’m already at the scene,’ Jim said. ‘I’ll see you when you get here.’

  Jim hung up.

  Harry finished getting dressed, nipped to the bathroom, then just as he was sorting out some toast, scraping off the burned bits because he’d left it in too long, there was a sharp knock at the door.

  ‘Just a minute,’ Harry called, stuffing the toast into his mouth, then racing to the door, grabbing his jacket on the way.

  Gordy looked him up and down, shaking her head. ‘Aye, well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? By which I mean, eyes so sore they never want to see anything ever again! And still no boots, then, I see? Were you born stubborn and stupid or have you developed those traits all by yourself?’

  Harry shuffled his feet into his shoes. ‘I’ve just not got around to it yet,’ he said, pushing himself out of the door. ‘But I will. Now, what’s going on?’

  ‘Well, after today, you make sure you do, you hear?’

  Harry liked Gordy because she had no filter. What was in her head came out of her mouth. That she had just made him feel a little like she’d given him a bollocking for not having appropriate footwear only added to her charm. At least he thought it did. Right then, he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Why? Where are we going?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll see soon enough,’ Gordy said. ‘Come on.’

  A few minutes later, they were speeding along in Gordy’s car, which was a plain looking blue Ford Focus, one of numerous others used by the police up and down the country.

  ‘So, what’s happened?’ Harry asked. ‘And where exactly are we going?’

  ‘Out past Widdale,’ Gordy explained. ‘You heard of the Ribblehead Viaduct? Big stone thing, lots of arches, looks good on postcards with a steam train going across it?’

  Harry wasn’t so sure but nodded anyway.

  ‘Well, if you continue along here, that’s where you’ll end up. But we won’t be going that far. We’re stopping at a farm on the way. Like I said, boots would be a sensible choice. But you’re no’ so sensible, are you?’

  They zipp
ed past a derelict building on the left-hand side of the road, which stared out at them through two tall, arched windows. Whatever it was, whatever it had been, it looked lonely, Harry thought, and its state of decay almost made him feel sorry for it.

  ‘Another farm accident?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Apparently so, aye,’ Gordy said, dropping a gear and accelerating. ‘Not suspicious at all considering what turned up yesterday.’

  Harry finished off what was left of his toast and wiped his mouth. ‘So, are you going to tell me what’s happened, or is it a surprise?’

  ‘Oh, this one can be left as a surprise I think,’ Gordy said. ‘Right then, here we are!’

  The DI pulled the car over onto the right-hand side of the road and into the yard of a small farm. Compared with the one they’d been at yesterday, it was the polar opposite, Harry thought. The house looked cared for and even had some pretty little window boxes alive with colour. Not that Harry was into things like that, but he had to admit that it all looked rather picturesque. The farmyard and its buildings, which Harry noticed bridged both sides of the road, were all in good order. He could see other farm buildings set back behind the house as well. This was a place loved and cared for, he thought. So just what the hell had happened to bring them out here in the early morning?

  ‘Come on, then,’ Gordy said, opening the driver’s door. ‘Let’s get out and see what’s what, shall we?’

  Outside the car, Harry was hit by the cool wind gusting down the road to bite at him gleefully. Around them stretched moorland and little else and Harry wondered what it took to not only live out here but work here, too. It was beautiful, yes, but lonely as well, with nothing for miles. Harry heard the low moan of cows coming from the buildings round the back of the farmhouse.

  ‘You finished sightseeing?’ Gordy called.

  Harry hunched up inside his coat then made his way around the front of the car to stand with Gordy.

  ‘I thought it was just sheep around here,’ Harry said.

  ‘They’ve a small herd of animals that they feed up and sell for beef,’ Gordy explained. ‘They’re in the barn at the back and will be put out on pasture later.’