by Carole Pitt
‘Good news,’ Daly had his hand out waiting for the next one. ‘Well I never.’
‘Who is it?’ Elizabeth asked.
Daly nodded at the two officers. ‘Sorry lads.’
They got the message and went up to the counter while Daly continued to stare at the photograph.
‘Hurry up and tell me,’ Elizabeth insisted.
‘The person I went up North to see.’
‘What about a name?’ She asked.
Daly leaned closer. He looked and sounded shocked. ‘An ex cop called Graham Brotherton. ‘Now, thanks to this,’ he flipped the photo face down. ‘I’ve got an even bigger bloody problem to sort out.’
‘I think it’s time you told me everything,’ Elizabeth said quietly.
He looked around the canteen. ‘Not here. We’ll go for a drive.’
Elizabeth’s phone chirped. It was Patterson. ‘According to Carstairs Anyas Lacroix isn’t being completely honest. He could be making this up but I’m going to see her in case he isn’t.’
Either Carstairs was playing private detective or he was up to his neck in it. ‘I’ll ask the boss to sanction surveillance on Carstairs; we should have had him followed from day one.’
‘Another thing,’ Patterson said. ‘We need to get back to the boss’s anonymous letter. I think the person who wrote it might be the killer.’
Elizabeth wasn’t sure she agreed. ‘I sense you’ve had a few revelatory moments.’
‘Or I’m fantasising?’
‘Be careful. Ring me later,’ she said.
Daly pulled himself up. ‘Let’s go.’
‘What about Dalman?’
‘I’m not in the mood for her, more important things on my mind.’
Daly wasn’t up to driving due to indigestion. He blamed the cakes. Elizabeth pulled out of Cordover Street’s car park and headed to Gloucester. From there she took the narrow winding road to Ross- on-Wye.
She turned briefly to Daly. ‘I’ll stop at the first pub.’
‘Thank God for that, and I don’t want another coffee.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Half way to Upton Woden, Patterson stopped to buy petrol. The burger bar next door was empty; he went in and ordered an all day breakfast. He’d given Daly’s anonymous letter more thought after he’d sensed Elizabeth didn’t believe the killer had written it. While driving he’d focused on another idea. The letter was definitely a warning, but he’d realised it wasn’t a threat. The tone was more informative, letting Daly know what had already happened, and what might happen. Patterson pulled out the photocopy Daly had given him, determined to deconstruct the contents. The hidden messages led Patterson to believe the writer may have already identified the culvert murderer and by the clever use of words had left clues to their identity. It was up to him to figure it out. As soon as he was inside the car, he read the letter aloud.
Careless whispers, winds of conspiracies. Every information leak blew into shallow waters until nothing incriminating remained. People moved around like wraiths, now you see them, now you don't. Conversations hung in the air but no one listened. Eventually everything settled deep into the sands of time.
Daly,
Forget Moore’s reference to 'The Ides of March', made to your good-looking DI. He claimed to be a pagan, his speciality exploiting the Pagan calendar. If you're not familiar with it, I'll remind you, Samhain, Beltane, both summer and winter Solstices. He used these dates to frighten his client's with outlandish predictions. In truth, he possessed limited psychic powers, however much the others revered him but he had a greater gift, a brain that soaked up information like a sponge. He accumulated knowledge.
He was an actor too. He made everyone believe he was on the autism spectrum and a borderline genius. From his late teens, he’d made money helping those poor souls locked in fear and depression. Almost thirty years later Lillian Fowler went to him in desperation. Even her husband, Mr Big Shot Lawyer, consulted him. Neither of them realised his real motive for befriending them. He wanted the land saved for future generations of travellers and no further eviction threats.
So Daly, until you exhume the truth you're about to add to Gloucestershire Constabulary's long list of unsolved murders. Shame, because I read up on you. You’re impressive, but even a switched on cop like you, can't win them all. That would be greedy wouldn’t it? Perhaps it's time to leave the past alone, but then again, if you don't, who knows what might happen.
The trouble is, every now and then I get this irresistible urge to help you out. You see, I suffer mixed emotions watching you lot stumbling about getting nowhere and I don't want to feel sorry for you, I'm not normally that generous. Everyone needs a leg up occasionally and that's why I’ve decided to enlighten you a bit.
Had the Soothsayer lived, you wouldn't have received this. Because you're an old style copper with plenty of experience, I thought you'd appreciate me getting in touch. Police work has changed and not for the better. I bet you wish you were back in the old days, before DNA, before complex forensics. There was something to be said for that era when you could beat confessions out of your suspects. It must be hell now, with targets and political correctness slowly strangling you. I could go on, but too many clues often cause confusion and you’re already confused.
Okay I relent. Here's a clue.
Jeremiah Moore wanted to speak to your good looking DI again, but didn't get the chance, somebody made sure of that. I bet you're wondering what he wanted to tell her. Simple really, like all good witnesses, he'd remembered something.
Okay, Patterson thought. Whoever wrote the letter knew Moore well. A shame Moore’s old computer had yielded nothing other than he’d used the internet. He was interested in a wide variety of subjects and Patterson assumed the travellers had paid Lillian Fowler to access her wireless connection. What Patterson found strange was no email account on Moore’s computer and only half a dozen numbers on his mobile. By the time Lacroix handed them over both were damp and the techs had a job to recover what little they could. Carstairs was adamant Lacroix had kept quiet about some of Moore’s activities.
If Carstairs was wrong, it meant he was wasting his time, but while Jewell and Daly continued with their secrecy, he would pursue his own theories. The breakfast revitalised him and he continued on to Roxbury Farm. He left the car on the road and walked up the lane, on the lookout for Samson, Fowler’s dog. As he approached the main gate, he spotted Cronin, the chief bailiff. He was head to head with Lillian Fowler poring over a clipboard. Patterson dodged behind a tree and watched. No doubt, they were discussing the revised eviction date. They moved away giving Patterson a chance to edge his way unseen to Lacroix’s caravan. He heard music playing despite the tightly closed windows and knocked hard. When no one answered, he pulled at the handle to see if she’d left the door open. It was. He shouted through and Lacroix appeared. At first, he wasn’t sure if she recognised him, when she did her face changed.
‘It’s you.’ She pushed at the door and tried to lock it. ‘Leave me alone. None of us want to talk to you lot ever again.’
He grabbed the edge of the door and hung on. ‘Don’t you want justice for Jez?’
Lacroix let go and leaned against the doorway. Patterson noticed tears form at the mention of her lover’s name. ‘Of course I do, but it’s not going to happen. We’re scum, our lives are worthless so who cares whether Jez gets justice.’
‘I do,’ Patterson answered. ‘I won’t take much of your time. A few simple questions and I’ll leave you in peace.’
Lacroix stood aside as he went inside. The same sumptuous decoration as before except several faded patches on the walls proved she had begun the packing up process.
‘I guess you’ve got a definite date,’ he said.
‘It’s soon, but they still won’t say exactly when. The Fowler’s have sold the land and they want us gone quickly. We can’t fight it this time.’
Patterson was surprised. ‘They were lucky to find a buyer. Not much an
yone can do with a flood risk paddock.’
Lacroix unhooked a brightly coloured plate and wiped it with a cloth. ‘Well someone must have plans otherwise why buy it?’
‘True. People with money seem to override planning problems. You seem like you’ll be glad to leave.’
Lacroix nodded and wrapped the plate in orange tissue paper.
Patterson sat down on the velvet sofa. ‘I want you to trust me. I’ve thought about Jez’s murder a lot and arrived at the only sensible conclusion. It wasn’t a random crime. Whoever was responsible got away undetected and to me that indicates premeditation. Think about this then tell me if I’m right. Jez wasn’t the person he appeared to be. There was more to him and in my opinion a lot more.’
Lacroix wiped her eyes. ‘Why should I tell you anymore about him?’
‘Because deep down you know it’s the right thing to do.’
Lacroix put the plate in a plastic container and sat cross-legged on the floor. She closed her eyes and began humming a tune he didn’t know. When she stopped, she seemed more composed. ‘At first I believed he had severe problems, but I accepted that and still fell in love with him. After a few months I realised he had too many demons and was trying to come to terms with whatever awful things had happened to him. It was then I began to understand how clever he was. He’d talk about subjects I knew nothing about, he taught me a lot.’
‘He used his computer a lot?’ Patterson asked.
‘I used to get cross sometimes when he’d ignore me for hours.’
‘Were you ever tempted to check out his computer when he wasn’t around? See what he was up too.’
‘Why would I do that? It never crossed my mind. In any case he always locked it away.’
Patterson knew he needed to be careful and not scare her. ‘Didn’t that make you suspicious?’
‘I never touched his phone either, if that’s your next question. I bet you lot had a good look at both of them.’
‘That’s why I’m asking you, we didn’t find anything that could lead us to his killer because Jez wasn’t stupid. He removed the hard drive and burned it. Most people think pressing the delete key will get rid of everything, it doesn’t. It’s never completely gone from the hard drive. The original information is still there and computer forensics experts can retrieve it. Jez must have sent emails. This is crucial Anyas, if Jez knew someone might come after him I think he would have told someone. I believe he came across something important and that’s why he was murdered.’
Patterson watched Lacroix carefully. Her demeanour altered, he saw guilt in her eyes. ‘What have you not told the police?’
‘I don’t want to go to prison,’ she said. ‘He made me promise not to tell anyone. He said it was for my own safety.’
Patterson waited. Jez Moore concerned about his girlfriend’s safety meant he had to be right.
‘Before he died he asked me to post a letter. It wasn’t to anyone we knew. I didn’t recognise the person. He told me I must never say the name in case anyone overheard.’
Patterson produced his notebook and pen and passed them to her. ‘You’re not going against his wishes if you write it down.’
Lacroix’s hand trembled as she did as he asked. Then she handed them back.
Patterson glanced down and saw his hand shaking. He closed the notebook and slipped it into his pocket. He hoped his voice sounded steady. ‘Is there anything else he asked you to take care of?’
‘He had a box of mementos. I rescued them from his van but haven’t felt like going through them.’
‘Is there any chance he could have hidden something amongst them?’
‘I’ve no idea. All I know is the stuff in the box was important to him.’
‘I know this is a lot to ask, but would you mind having another look while I’m here.’
She nodded and disappeared behind the curtains leading to the bedroom. To Patterson she seemed gone a long time. The name in the book hadn’t shocked him, now he needed the other pieces of the puzzle. He heard Lacroix moving things about just before she emerged. She was holding a small square black object. ‘I’d never seen Jez with this so it might not be his?’
Patterson recognised it immediately and reached out.
Lacroix stepped back and held it to her chest. ‘It was at the bottom of the box. What is it?’
‘It’s an external hard drive.’
‘Like a memory stick?’ Lacroix said.
‘Yes, but more robust and reliable,’ Patterson said. ‘If Jez had wanted to keep it hidden, there’s no way he’d have left it in that box. He wanted someone to find it.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Elizabeth pulled over and stopped outside The Crown Inn, a low rambling whitewashed building located in a small village off the A40. Daly hurried ahead into the main bar and true to the welcome board claims there were lots of beams and flagstones. A traditional menu offered fresh local produce and a wide choice of real ales. Daly ordered a pint and a pot of tea for one.
They sat next to a window overlooking the rear of the building. Directly in front of them was a sign advertising pitches for caravans as well as plenty of space for tents. It all looked idyllic and peaceful with stunning views.
Daly pointed at a Winnebago. ‘You chose this place deliberately, can’t get away from the bastard things.’
‘Are you ready to start at the beginning?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Let me finish this first.’
Elizabeth was happy to sit and wait. This time she knew he would comply. He finished his pint and went back to the bar. Elizabeth listened as he made small talk with the manager. She ordered sandwiches and returned to the table.
‘Fire away,’ he said.
‘Why didn’t you mention the Walker case to us right at the beginning?’
Daly leaned back in his chair. ‘At the time it wasn’t relevant. We were at a crime scene and that took priority. It was only later I found it strange, the coincidence. All these years later I find myself overlooking Roxbury Farm, a place permanently linked to Gloucestershire Police. What you have to remember Liz, I had nothing to do with the Walker investigation. It was all over by the time I arrived at Park Road.’
‘See it from my point of view. It’s a massive leap from an odd coincidence, to re-opening the case.’
‘It’s not as simple as that. At first I put it out of my mind, but then it started to haunt me.’
Elizabeth had to laugh. ‘Haunt you? When were you ever affected by the supernatural?’
‘I don’t mean literally. It didn’t take long before I couldn’t get the damn case out of my head. It’s not unheard of. All forces have their unsolved cases. I felt weird seeing Roxbury Farm for the first time. Like some power had thrown me a morsel of bread and told me to find the loaf. I began to wonder if the body in the culvert was connected to what happened.’
‘So you started rifling through the files and accessing data you weren’t supposed to.’
Daly sighed. ‘I did a bit of background research to familiarize myself with the events. If we’d had a positive ID on the victim, I’d have been too busy to bother. So there was no point saying anything.’
‘I believe you,’ Elizabeth said grudgingly.
‘After a few days I felt a compulsion to read the case files. Did a bit more research into the investigating team and wondered what had happened to them all. I knew a couple of them had passed away but the others were relatively easy to find. Obviously, the one who stood out the most was the one that had the raw deal. DI Brotherton was Senior Investigating Officer on the case and ended up sacked, although the official story was that he’d retired. I rang him on impulse. It was like someone was telling me to.’
Elizabeth almost choked on her tea. ‘Are you trying to tell me you heard voices?’
Daly’s face reddened and she wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or from drinking his pint in record time.
‘Call it curiosity then. You seem to forget my rank affords some leewa
y. Looking up a former employee of Park Road is hardly bending the rules, but the truth is I went to Sunderland to pick his brains. Find out if he knew more than was in the files. The man was forced out and we know very well what that can mean, a bloody good way of shutting someone up. The miner’s strike didn’t help, and there was another crisis, a looming enquiry into corruption. Brotherton knew too much and that’s why they got rid of him, stop him from pointing the finger at the culprits. Right from that first phone call he gave me the impression he was ready to talk.’
‘But why after all these years?’
‘Because before he left Park Road he made sure he had an insurance policy in case anything happened to him.’
‘Isn’t that a tad dramatic?’
‘At the time he was scared Liz, for a man like Brotherton to admit that he must have had good reason. Farsighted of him after his so-called colleagues played their dirty tricks. He told me he didn’t want to take the information he had home, so he hid it inside another case history in the evidence room and suggested I look for it. He implied it would help me understand what went on should we reopen the case.’
‘Are you implying there were allegations of corruption during the Walker investigation?’
‘Brotherton was sure of it. Anyway I started at Park Road, wore myself out searching and worrying that someone else had gotten there first. Eventually found it in our new set up.’
‘Where’s this file now?’
Daly shook his head then produced a small brown paper bag. ‘This was in amongst the paperwork.’
Elizabeth had an overwhelming sense of foreboding. Her fingers trembled as reached into the bag. ‘Another damned photo,’ she said, struggling to see without her glasses.
Daly sipped his beer. ‘I got more than I bargained for with that one.’
‘Stop talking in riddles, just tell me.’
Daly heaved himself out of the chair. ‘Let me find out where these sandwiches are.’
