by Damien Boyd
‘It’s no one’s fault,’ said Poland.
‘Oh yes it bloody well is. And I’m going to find out whose,’ replied Dixon.
‘No, I meant . . . never mind.’
Chapter Four
The stench of rotting seaweed and mud lingered in Dixon’s nostrils as he sped south on the M5. Ten minutes in the shower was all he’d had time for, and besides, he could always have another later. A quick shower and a change of clothes; he felt human again, which was more than could be said for Harry.
It was just after 3 p.m. and the team would be waiting for him in meeting room 2. Still, he had been up all night and was rarely late. They could wait.
He parked on the top floor of the staff car park at Express Park and walked along the landing to the Safeguarding Coordination Unit, their office the only one enclosed with soundproof partitioning.
‘I’ve left Monty at home,’ he said, leaning around the door. ‘It’ll be another late one, I’m afraid.’
‘I might nip over and see my folks,’ replied Jane. ‘Did you feed him?’
‘No, it was too early.’
‘All right. See you later.’
Meeting room 2 sounded grand but it was just a glass cubicle on the landing opposite the open plan CID area. Detective Constable Dave Harding looked asleep, his head back, eyes closed and brown suede shoes resting against the partition. DC Mark Pearce was talking to Louise, who seemed to be shrugging her shoulders at regular intervals, but stopped when he saw Dixon walking along the landing.
‘Dave, he’s coming!’ A kick under the table had Harding sitting bolt upright by the time Dixon walked in.
‘Tell me about the poachers then,’ said Dixon, pulling a chair out from under the table.
‘Martin and Owen White,’ replied Harding, reading from his notebook. ‘They’re brothers. Martin lives in Highbridge and Owen lives with their mother in Bridgwater. She’s cooling off downstairs.’
‘What happened?
‘Let’s just say she objected strongly to the search.’
‘Did you find anything?’ asked Dixon.
‘Martin had some cash and a small amount of cannabis. Personal use. But that’s it.’
‘How much?’
‘About an eighth.’
‘The cash.’ Dixon sighed.
‘Oh, just over a grand.’
‘Any previous?’
‘Martin’s got form for affray, but it was ten years ago: a punch up in the Somerset and Dorset. Owen has several dishonesty convictions, burglary non-res, theft from employer, that sort of stuff; nothing recent and nothing violent.’
‘What about the Range Rover and trailer?’
‘That’s Martin’s. And the boat. He’s the brain cell behind the operation, if you can call it that. There was a rounders bat—’
‘Baseball,’ interrupted Pearce.
‘Whatever,’ continued Harding. ‘There was a bat in the back, which has gone off to forensics with the crowbar.’
Dixon nodded. ‘When will we get a result?’
‘Later on today, but if not, first thing tomorrow.’
‘Let’s get the tyres on the Range Rover checked against the tracks from Dunball the night of the assault too.’
‘That’s being done now, Sir.’
‘Have they said anything?’
‘Nothing,’ said Pearce.
‘I reckon they just got greedy,’ said Harding. ‘They’ve got elver fishing licences, and there were legal dip nets in the shed at Martin’s place.’
‘What’s a dip net?’ asked Louise.
‘It’s just a big square net on the end of a stick. There are strict size limits on them to preserve stocks. You just stand in the water and catch what you can, but the real money is made with the flow nets.’
‘Anything to connect them with Pest Erase or Harry Lucas?’ asked Dixon.
‘Nothing,’ said Pearce.
‘They’re just a couple of local lads out doing a bit of poaching,’ said Harding. ‘If you ask me, they panicked, hit the Environment Agency bloke and scarpered.’
‘Hit him a bit too hard, as it turned out,’ said Dixon.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Have they got solicitors?’
‘With them now,’ said Pearce.
‘What about the rat catcher?’ asked Harding.
‘Harry Lucas,’ replied Dixon. ‘He was found handcuffed to the steering wheel and clutch pedal. The Coastguard couldn’t get him out before the tide came in and he drowned in his van. Roger Poland will be doing the PM tomorrow morning. The van’s been recovered and has gone for forensics.’
‘Didn’t he have—?’ Pearce was pointing at the middle of his forehead.
‘There were other injuries,’ interrupted Dixon. ‘Stab wounds, if anybody asks. That’s all anyone needs to know for now.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘He’s got family over at East Huntspill. Karen Marsden is there now, and I’ll be going over after this. I’ll be back to interview the brothers later. In the meantime, Dave, can you see what comes up on the traffic cameras in Highbridge and on the A38 at Dunball?’
Harding sighed. ‘Why is it always me?’ he muttered.
‘He may have gone cross country,’ said Pearce.
‘He may, but then again he may not,’ replied Dixon, ‘so we check.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘What am I looking for?’ asked Harding.
‘Mark, get on to Pest Erase and find out what you can about Harry,’ said Dixon, ignoring Harding’s huffing and puffing. ‘I had a look at their website and they look like a franchise to me.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘My phone’s buzzing,’ said Dixon, reaching into his jacket pocket.
Looks clean cut, cylindrical saw, definitely a trephine, see you at the PM Roger
‘Give me a second.’ Dixon tapped out a reply.
What about when the widow does the ID?
Then he put his phone on the table in front of him.
‘Right, Mark, let’s check Harry’s social media profile too. Whatever you can find. Previous convictions. Anything.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Dixon’s phone buzzed again and he leaned forward to read the text message.
I can cover it R
‘Louise, did you get hold of the Coastguard officer talking to Harry before he died?’
‘Not yet, Sir. I’ve rung the Station Manager, but he hasn’t returned my call.’
‘Chase him up and fix up a meeting.’
Louise nodded.
‘Right, that’s it for now. Let’s go and see Mrs Lucas.’
There were only ten houses in Nut Tree Close, which was set back from and parallel to the main road through East Huntspill, a wide grass verge separating the two. The houses were semi-detached and arranged in five pairs, with open gardens and concrete drives at the front of each property leading to a built-in garage, chicken wire fencing marking the boundaries. Number 10 was at the far end.
Dixon parked his Land Rover across the drive and turned to Louise.
‘Try to avoid giving any details.’
‘I know.’
‘If she asks, just duck the question. All right?’
Louise nodded.
The front door was answered by Police Sergeant Karen Marsden, the family liaison officer. She stepped out into the porch and closed the inner door behind her.
‘She’s taking it quite well, Sir, all things considered,’ she whispered. ‘But her sister’s being a right pain in the arse.’
‘What have you told her?’
‘Just that he’d been stabbed and the Coastguard couldn’t get him out of the van before he drowned.’
‘What about the children?’ asked Dixon.
‘I arranged for her mother to collect them from school. She’s taken them back to her place in Pawlett.’
‘Names?’
‘There’s Kyle, aged eight, and Zara, who’s twelve.’
‘And Mrs Lucas?’
<
br /> ‘Sharon. She’s thirty-four. The sister lives locally and is here now. Her name’s Linda.’
‘What’s her problem?’
‘Doesn’t seem to have a lot of time for the police. I didn’t ask why.’
‘See if you can get her out of the room while I speak to Sharon, will you?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Lead on then,’ said Dixon, gesturing to the door.
They followed Karen into the lounge at the front of the house, where two women were sitting on the sofa, the older woman with her arm around the younger.
‘Sharon, this is Detective Inspector Dixon,’ Karen said. ‘He’s leading the investigation into Harry’s death.’
‘When can we see him?’ asked the older woman, standing up sharply.
‘Sit down, Linda,’ said the younger woman, tears running down her cheeks. She was wearing jeans and a white sweatshirt, her dark hair held back in a band. What make up she had on was streaked down her face. ‘Anyone would think it was Luke who’d been murdered.’
‘How about some tea?’ asked Dixon. ‘Linda will give you a hand, Karen.’
‘I blood—’
‘That’d be great, Linda, thank you,’ said Karen, holding open the glass door through to the open plan kitchen diner at the back of the house.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Linda muttered.
Dixon watched Louise close the door behind them, then waited until she sat down at the computer table in the corner and took out her notebook.
‘Sharon, I want you to know that we will find Harry’s killer. All right?’
She nodded.
‘I need to ask you some questions about him,’ continued Dixon, sitting down on the edge of the sofa next to her. ‘Will that be OK?’
‘Did he know what was happening to him, at the end?’
‘No, I don’t believe he did.’ It was a lie, told for the right reasons, and Dixon would live with it.
‘Were you there?’ asked Sharon.
‘I was. And I want you to know the Coastguard did everything they could to get him out. There just wasn’t enough time.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. But if he did, I will find out, and I will tell you what it was.’
‘Thank you.’
‘How long have you been married?’
‘Fifteen years.’
‘What was he like?’
‘A big softie, really. We always used to say he wouldn’t harm a fly, and then he ends up in pest control. He hated it, but needs must and it was all he could get. He had a squirrel job once, in a roof they were, so he trapped them all and released them in the woods miles away.’ She smiled. ‘He must’ve been the worst pest controller in the world.’
‘Why did he buy the franchise then?’ asked Dixon.
‘It seemed like a good opportunity. There wasn’t much competition around here, just a few single operators, you know, a man and a van. The idea was that it would become a management thing. He’d run a fleet of vans from an office. But you have to start out doing it yourself until it grows.’
‘And was it?’
‘Oh, yes. I did the books for him. We’re doing well . . . were doing well.’ Sharon shrugged her shoulders.
‘What area did he buy?’
‘They call them territories. Sometimes it’s by postcode or by county, depending on the number of people and businesses. We got the whole TA postcode, and it’s a huge area. Taunton, Bridgwater, and right over to Minehead and Somerton.’
‘Why Pest Erase then? Why not set up on his own?’
‘It’s an established brand, with support, training, billing, and all the professional accreditations you need for the business clients. There was national advertising, and it came with some existing contracts too, so he’d get the work in Somerset.’
‘Like what?’
‘Wessex Water was one. And a couple of housing associations, garage chains too. Plus, they acted for several local authorities and the hope was that he could get into Somerset County Council. He got Sedgemoor District.’
‘How much did the franchise cost?’
‘Seventy thousand pounds, but that included all his training and the van. Then it’s fifteen percent of earnings.’
Sharon lit a cigarette.
‘Did he have an office?’ asked Dixon, passing her an ashtray from the mantelpiece.
‘Not yet. All the chemicals and stuff are in the garage.’
‘How long had he been doing it?’
‘Twelve months.’
‘And what did he do before?’
‘He worked at the furniture place in Highbridge, the one that went bust, Bailey and Whyte.’
‘So he lost his job when the company went into administration?’
Sharon nodded. ‘Before, but it was on the way.’ She took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘He ended up going back to do the pest control on the site. That was after it went bust though.’
‘How did he afford it then, the franchise?’
‘We took out a small mortgage on this place and the rest came from a bank loan.’
‘Tea’s coming,’ said Louise, opening the inner glazed door behind Dixon.
Karen Marsden and Linda walked in, each carrying two mugs. Linda handed one to Sharon and then sat down in the armchair next to the fireplace. Karen handed a mug each to Dixon and Louise and then walked back over to the door.
‘Linda, shall we—’
‘I’m staying here. I wanna make sure these two don’t fob her off with some crap.’
‘They’re not, Linda,’ snapped Sharon. ‘Now, will you leave us to it.’
Linda stood up. ‘Don’t let them bullshit you.’
‘I won’t,’ replied Sharon. She waited for Linda to close the door behind her. ‘I’m sorry about her, Inspector. She’s got a bit of a chip on her shoulder.’
‘Why?’
‘Her husband was a key holder at the cricket club and there was a break-in one night. Anyway, when the police rang him he jumped in his car, raced over there and the first thing they did was breathalyse him for his trouble. Failed, didn’t he. Useless tosser.’ Sharon stubbed her cigarette out. ‘I feel a bit sorry for him because he lost his job too. He was a lorry driver.’
‘They should’ve reminded him not to drink and drive when they made the call,’ said Dixon. ‘And offered to send a car for him.’
‘Well, they didn’t. Eighteen month ban he got.’
‘Did he fight it?’
‘Tried to but got nowhere.’
‘Was Harry ever in trouble with the police?’
‘Surely, you can check that yourself?’
‘I’m asking you.’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Does the name Martin White mean anything to you?’
‘No.’
‘How about Owen White?’
‘No,’ replied Sharon, frowning. ‘Who are they?’
‘Did Harry ever go fishing?’
‘Occasionally. Like, once in a blue moon. He did a lot when he was younger, before we had the kids.’
‘What did he fish for?’
‘Carp.’
‘What about sea fishing? By boat?’
‘No, never.’
‘Ever use nets?’
‘No.’
‘Has Karen mentioned the identification?’ asked Dixon.
‘No, but I’ve seen enough telly programmes to know it was coming. When d’you want me to do it?’
‘As soon as you feel up to it, really. Harry is over at Musgrove Park Hospital. Karen can take you over there.’
‘Can Linda come?’
‘If you want her to.’
Sharon nodded. ‘Isn’t this where you ask me if I know of anyone who might want to kill him?’
‘I was getting round to that,’ replied Dixon.
‘Well, I don’t.’ Tears began trickling down Sharon’s cheeks. ‘I really don’t.’
‘What about local pest control
lers, when he started his new business?’
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ replied Sharon, shaking her head. ‘He never said he’d had any trouble.’
‘Would he have told you?’
‘Yes. We never had any secrets.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I even knew he was shagging my sister.’
‘Linda?’
‘She doesn’t know I know.’
Dixon looked at Louise and raised his eyebrows.
‘I lost interest in that side of things after the kids were born. She doesn’t have to know I know, does she?’ asked Sharon.
‘What about her husband, Luke wasn’t it? Could he have found out and—’
‘Killed Harry? No way. He’s not capable of it.’
‘What does he do now?’
‘He’s on incapacity benefit, or whatever it is these days. ESA or something like that. It’s his back. He was working as a shopfitter at the time and lifted something . . .’ Her voice tailed off.
‘I’m gonna have to speak to them both at some point, Sharon, given what you’ve said. But if I have to let on I know about this I won’t tell them it came from you. All right?’
‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got enough to deal with now without opening that can of worms.’
‘Quite.’
‘Can we do the identification now? Then I’d better go and tell the kids.’
Chapter Five
Martin White was well over six feet tall and made a point of glaring at Dave Harding and clenching his fists. Not a good move, thought Dixon, threatening the conducting officer in your police interview. White had short dark hair with patches of grey in it and a beard that would soon get him a job sitting in a grotto at Christmas, although he might struggle with the cheerful disposition.
The interview suite had been busy at Express Park and the only room available had a table in it, the traditional layout with the officers sitting opposite the suspect and his solicitor. Dixon made a mental note to request this room in future, rather than the others where the interviewing officer was expected to sit next to the suspect and opposite the tape machine. He never had understood the new less adversarial concept in police interview technique. Bollocks. It was clearly designed by someone who had never sat opposite a man like Martin White.
Dave Harding made the introductions and then reminded White that he was under caution.
