Best Served Cold: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

by David J Gatward

  Harry started to pack away the folders. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about this, do you?’ he asked, pointing at the crossed out text.

  The head teacher stared over Harry’s shoulder.

  ‘No, can’t say that I do. Winters were a lot worse back then by all accounts. Though they can still be pretty harsh up here if the wind blows in the right direction. And that snowball fight sounds like it was fun, doesn’t it?’

  Harry laughed. ‘Yes, it does, rather.’ He tapped a finger on the file. ‘Is there a chance I could take these with me? Down to the police office, I mean? If I had a few sets of eyes on them, they could be helpful.’

  The head teacher looked thoughtful for a moment.

  ‘I don’t have a problem with that,’ she said eventually, ‘if you’re sure they can be of help?’

  ‘Anything can be of help right now,’ Harry said.

  Outside the school, and now carrying a very heavy bag of files, Harry made his way down the hill and back into Hawes. The weather had turned nasty again, the world around him a crashing, thunderous mess of stair rod rain and howling wind. It was gone six in the evening and the town was still busy, regardless of the weather. And on the wet wind, the delicious scent of fish and chips wafted by and Harry’s stomach grumbled. He resisted though, walking past the chippy and on towards the community office.

  It seemed as though the weather was doing its level best to act as a portent to the investigation, Harry thought. The week was moving forward, and with every step they took, the journey seemed to get darker, murkier, more awful, and the weather was doing just the same, matching it all step for step.

  Pushing through the door, Harry found himself in the presence of a somewhat depleted team, comprising Liz, Gordy, and a completely new face in uniform. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket but ignored it.

  ‘Well, the mighty wander returns!’ Gordy said, standing up and stretching. ‘And how goes it at the hallowed place of learning?’

  Harry heaved the bag of files onto a nearby table.

  ‘Well, I’ve got homework, so make of that what you will. Where’s Swift?’

  ‘Oh, he buggered off once he’d made it absolutely clear that all he was going to give to the press was an official statement and five minutes of his time for questions. And they quickly followed suit. The weather may have helped a little as well.’ She turned to the new face. ‘This is Police Constable Jadyn Okri,’ she said, and Harry watched as the owner of the new face stood up and reached out a hand. ‘A wee bit too keen if you ask me, demonstrated by the fact that he’s volunteered to come over from Catterick and join in the fun. And that was even after I’d told him about you.’

  Harry looked the lad up and down. He was tall, looked fit, and his eyes burned bright, despite being the darkest of blues.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Harry said, taking Jadyn’s hand, then handed him the bag from the table. ‘Best you get started on these, then.’

  Jadyn took the bag and, much to Harry’s barely disguised irritation, carried it as though it weighed little more than a bag of sugar.

  ‘What is it I’m looking for?’ Jadyn asked.

  ‘Anything unusual,’ Harry said. ‘I know that’s not much to go on, but sometimes that’s just how it is; you don’t know what you’re looking for until you find it. Oh, and here . . .’ Harry handed Jadyn his notebook. ‘There’s some names I’ve jotted down in there. See if anything crops up involving them, any incidents, anything odd I guess. That unclear enough?’

  Jadyn gave a nod and took the files over to a corner of the room. Liz wandered over to join him.

  ‘An extra pair of hands makes a lot of sense,’ Harry said, seeing that Gordy was on her way to leaving.

  ‘Like I said, he’s keen,’ said Gordy. ‘Grew up in Bradford, great with kids, fit as pins. I think he was competing nationally as a sprinter at one point. Don’t break him, will you?’

  Harry said, ‘Just so long as he doesn’t try running away, then, eh?’

  ‘Aye, well, I’ll be off, then,’ Gordy said. ‘I’m not around tomorrow, but keep me posted, okay?’

  With Gordy gone, Harry went to wander over to join the newcomer and Liz. He pulled his phone out on the way and saw the missed call. It was Rebecca Sowerby, the pathologist.

  ‘Balls . . .’

  Liz and Jaydn looked around.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Liz asked.

  Harry had the phone to his ear and was dialling. ‘Pathologist,’ he said, then a beat later, ‘Hello, yes, just got your message. What’s up?’

  ‘Forensics found something,’ Sowerby said on the other end of the call. ‘At Hutchison’s house, and on his clothes. Not much, but enough to be significant.’

  ‘Enough of what to be significant?’

  Harry wasn’t a massive fan of people not getting to the point and was working hard to not lose his rag in front of the fresh new face of PC Jadyn.

  ‘It’s probably nothing, but . . .’

  ‘But what? Just tell me, otherwise we’re going to have to talk to each other for even longer, and neither of us wants that now, do we?’

  ‘We found paint,’ Sowerby said.

  Harry’s heart sank.

  ‘Paint? You rang me about paint?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I’m assuming that this amazing paint can be linked to the other crime scenes somehow?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why the hell are you calling me?’

  Harry knew he was shouting. He knew that Liz and Jadyn were doing their very best to not stare at him. He also knew that he just couldn’t get excited about paint.

  ‘We’ve done a quick analysis,’ Sowerby explained. ‘It’s not normal paint, by which I mean, it’s not paint you’d buy from a shop. That’s why I’m calling you. And I didn’t have to, you know? I could have left it till the morning. But, for some reason, and one I’m clearly regretting already, I thought that you might appreciate being told. More fool me, eh?’

  Harry breathed deep.

  ‘So, this paint then,’ he said, ‘in what way is it not normal?’

  ‘I’ve sent you the details,’ Sowerby said. ‘Why don’t you have a look for yourself?’

  Harry felt the beep of the line going dead as much as he heard it. Then he pulled open his emails and clicked on what Rebecca had sent through.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘Clay, berries, plants, various minerals, tree bark,’ Harry said. ‘Now who the hell makes paint out of any of that? Actually, how does anyone make paint out of any of that? And why?’

  Late evening had rolled into the room and Harry was still sitting with Liz and Jadyn doing his best to ignore the hunger chewing at his stomach.

  ‘And that’s all we’ve got?’ Liz asked.

  Harry flipped his phone around and showed her the message.

  ‘I remember making paint at school,’ Jadyn said. ‘We had this mad teacher in art, Mr Neville, and he was always trying to get us to try new stuff, instead of just sketching a picture of a shoe or a crushed can of coke or whatever. It was pretty cool, you know?’

  ‘I’m sure it was,’ Harry said, not really sure why Jaydn was telling them this.

  ‘Why were you making paint?’ Liz asked. ‘We never did that. Mind, that’s probably because our teacher spent most of his time asleep or reading the paper.’

  Jadyn shrugged. ‘I think it was a school project or something? Yeah, that was it. We did this thing on the stone age or the bronze age, one of the ages anyway, you know, they weren’t living in caves and stuff, but were a bit more advanced, with tools and stuff.’

  ‘This is fascinating stuff,’ Harry said, with a fly wink at Liz, who did her best to not laugh.

  Jaydn continued, ‘They made their own paint, right? To decorate stuff, draw pictures on walls and bits of wood, even on each other.’

  ‘You mean like woad?’ Liz asked.

  ‘Do I?’ Jadyn said.

  ‘War paint,’ Liz explained. ‘You�
�ve seen Braveheart, right? Mel Gibson in a skirt and running around a lot? We had a trip to the Jorvik museum place in York once. Vikings and whatnot. Right smelly place, too, an proud of it, like actually being able to smell what it was like to walk through a shit-covered street in the ninth century is a good thing!’

  ‘And you learned about woad there, did you?’ Harry asked.

  ‘No idea,’ Liz shrugged.

  ‘Well, as interesting as though that all is,’ Harry said, ‘and ignoring your skirt reference, which I’m sure Gordy would be more than a little aggrieved about, what exactly am I learning from any of this?’

  ‘Woad was a blue body paint that they wore for battle,’ Liz said. ‘That’s all I know. Probably thought it gave them protection or something.’

  ‘Well, I’m probably going out on a limb here,’ Harry said, ‘but I’m going to state here and now for the record that I very much doubt we’re dealing with either Mel Gibson or a Pictish warrior.’

  ‘And definitely not a Viking,’ Liz added.

  ‘Could be a re-enactor?’ Jadyn suggested.

  ‘A re-en what?’ Harry asked.

  ‘You know, people who dress up like they’re from a different bit of history?’

  ‘No, I don’t know,’ Harry said, wondering why he was encouraging Jadyn to keep speaking. ‘Do people like that actually exist?’

  ‘We had this school trip once,’ Jaydn began, but Harry held up a hand.

  ‘Just out of interest, and before you go any further, are all of your anecdotes going to be referencing your school life?’

  ‘Er, no, I mean, at least I don’t think so, no,’ Jaydn said.

  ‘Just checking,’ said Harry. ‘Please continue.’

  Jaydn didn’t look too sure.

  ‘I mean it,’ Harry said, doing his best to sound convincing. ‘Maybe you’re onto something. I doubt it, but what have we got to lose? So, this school trip, then?’

  ‘We went to this castle,’ Jaydn said, a little more hesitantly this time. ‘It was a ruin, and there were all these people dressed up like they were from the time when it had been an actual castle. They would answer questions and stuff, you know?’

  ‘So it was a good day out, then?’ Harry asked.

  Jadyn gave a nod.

  ‘What about the files, then?’ Harry asked. ‘Anything interesting?’

  ‘Not really, no,’ Liz said, ‘but then we’ve only started looking, haven’t we? Though there’s this bit here, which is a bit odd.’

  Harry looked at the section Liz was pointing at and recognised it.

  ‘It’s all been scribbled over,’ Liz said. ‘Don’t really know why and we can’t make out the words behind the scribble. From the notes above and below it, whatever it is or was, it happened in the winter.’

  ‘Yeah, the date’s still clear,’ Harry said, point at it with a finger on the page. ‘And the names.’

  ‘Most of the names from the class are still local,’ Liz said. ‘I thought I might give them a call, see if someone remembers anything? It’s a long shot, but you never know.’

  Harry yawned and said, ‘Well, you may as well. And I’m assuming you’re on duty tonight, right?’

  ‘Night shift is always fun,’ Liz said. ‘The files will give me something to do between making sure people don’t dick around too much when they head home at closing time and answering the numerous emergency calls that I won’t be getting.’

  ‘And you’ve some company, hey, Jadyn?’ Harry said. ‘Just out of interest, if you’re from down dale, where are you staying?’

  ‘I’ve a bed at one of the pubs,’ Jadyn said. ‘But I don’t need much sleep, so I’ll be fine.’

  Harry walked over to the office door.

  ‘I’ll see you both tomorrow, then,’ he said. ‘Who knows, perhaps by then, we might have some idea of what we’re all actually doing . . .’

  Outside, the cool evening swept in to grab at Harry’s clothes, snapping them around him as he made his way through Hawes to his new digs. The rain had eased just enough to keep the numerous puddles topped up. It was another late one, and this time Harry was pretty sure that a pizza and beer was a bad idea. So instead, he just grabbed enough bits and bobs to put together some decent sandwiches, then continued on his way.

  The night sky was clearing, the wind casting the thick clouds above into long black wisps, like the tails of giant horses, and beyond the buildings of the marketplace he could just make out the distant silhouettes of the hills beyond, their presence ominous over the town below. It was quiet, too, and the haunting bleats from sheep far off, drifted faintly through the air. And behind that he noticed something else. It was a cold scent, if something could ever be described as such, Harry thought, a smell of damp, or perhaps waves on a stony shore. Rain was coming, again, he thought, and he hoped to God that the change in the weather wasn’t an omen of things to come. Because if a storm was coming, he wasn’t exactly sure that the dales were ready for it, in more ways than one. But then again, perhaps the storm was already here . . .

  Morning crashed into Harry’s life with a thunderous crack, which sounded like the roof had just been ripped off by some ancient and clearly very angry demigod. On taking a peek through the bedroom window, Harry stared out into a day barely beyond dawn and as dark as a derelict dockside warehouse. Rain was hammering down, wind grabbing it and throwing it in all directions, twisting it into great spinning sheets to whip against the world. The hills he had spied the evening before were now hidden, the sky nothing but an angry grey mass attacking the world below with torrents of rain and thick, bright shards of lightning. Another blast of thunder broke free, shaking the window in its frame.

  Harry checked the time and wished that he hadn’t done seeing as it was only four thirty in the morning. But he knew that there was little to no point trying to get back to sleep again, not with the violent maelstrom outside doing its very best to level the world beneath it. So, making far too many old-man noises, he heaved himself out of the bedroom and headed off into the day.

  Showered and breakfasted, Harry sat back in the small sofa in the lounge and closed his eyes. Thunder was still rolling around outside and he had no real urge to venture out into the rain, because with the amount of it coming down, he figured he’d be swimming to the Community Office, not walking.

  In the darkness of his own mind, Harry tried to get his still tired mind to sift through the past few days of crazy. The sound of the rain on the windows, the rumble of the thunder, was almost meditative, and Harry drifted for a while, not exactly asleep, but not entirely awake either.

  Two local men had been killed. They’d been to school together and in the same gang. Whether they’d kept in touch in later life, Harry didn’t yet know. The phone belonging to one had been found in the pocket of the other, the text sent to Nick that Monday morning coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Hawes. Eagle feathers had been stuffed into each of their mouths. And now some weird primitive style paint had been found. Just how the hell was he supposed to make any sense of it? How could anyone? None of this was random, of that he was damned sure. It was planned, meticulously so, and by someone who was very, very careful. But as yet they had no suspects, no real leads at all, just two grisly deaths and a random selection of unconnected bits of evidence, which all pointed to bugger all.

  Or did they . . .

  Harry snapped his eyes open, something jabbing at his thoughts, though what it was exactly he wasn’t quite sure.

  The school reports, the logbooks he’d been reading, there was something in them, wasn’t there? But just what was it? What had he seen? He couldn’t remember now exactly, and perhaps it had taken his mind all night to just sift through it all for something important to float to the top, but something was there, in those pages, he was sure of it.

  Harry sat forward, squeezed his eyes tight shut, focused on everything rolling around in his head, everything he’d seen, everything he’d read. What was it? Just what the hell was it?

 
; Damn it . . .

  Harry stood up, grabbed his coat, shoved his feet into his shoes, then strode out of his door and into the rain. It hit him like grit, stinging his skin, and the wind came at him like an invisible boxer, dancing around him and punching him and shoving him from all directions. Forcing himself onwards, Harry kept moving, his feet drenched in seconds, his trousers following soon after, so by the time he had reached the Community Office, he figured he was probably wetter than if he’d just thrown himself into a puddle and got it all over and done with.

  Inside the Community Office, Harry almost broke through the door into the room he and the rest of the team were using, his clothes steaming in the warmth.

  ‘Been for a swim?’ Liz asked, looking up at Harry, eyebrow raised in amusement.

  ‘That’d be funny if it wasn’t so very nearly the truth,’ Harry grumbled. ‘The files, where are they?’

  Liz pointed across the room.

  ‘We didn’t get far. Had to deal with a group of tourists who’d had just a few too many, which wasn’t fun. Then I got called out for a car accident involving a cow.’

  ‘Over the limit?’

  ‘No,’ Liz said. ‘The cow hadn’t had a drop. The fact that it could drive, thought? Now that was a surprise.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Where’s Jaydn?’

  ‘I sent him off,’ Liz said. ‘He looked knackered. And I figured he’d be more use to us later on if he was actually awake.’

  ‘When is Jim swapping with you?’ Harry asked, then added, ‘And did you get anywhere with finding out anything about that scribbled out bit in the logbook? Anyone remember anything?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Liz said.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Yes, I got somewhere, and no I haven’t found anything out yet, well I have, but I haven’t.’

  ‘Well that makes no sense,’ Harry sighed. ‘How come?’

  Liz shrugged. ‘I asked around, people remember being at school pretty well, and John’s little gang, who no one spoke highly of, then when I asked about that date, if there was anything that happened, they talk a lot about the winter, how it was the best ever, but that’s about it. Someone mentioned something about an accident, but that could be anything, couldn’t it? The logbooks mention a few broken wrists thanks to that ice slide, for a start. And Jim’s here in half an hour.’