by Salkeld, J J
Pale Horse, Dark Horse
The Lakeland Murders, number five.
By J J Salkeld
HERRINGBONE Press
© copyright J J Salkeld, 2013
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Proof-read by Ross Baverstock.
Cover art by Michaela Waddell, www.verityproductions.biz
Saturday, 1st June
Rita Bose was looking forward to her day out. It had been a long summer term, her first as a teacher, and the kids were starting to grind her down. It wasn’t just her though, she knew that. There was less laughter in the staff-room at lunchtime now, more statements to raise, more social workers to see. And the summer holidays still seemed a very long way away.
So she’d decided to treat herself to a day out in the Lakes at the weekend, and she’d planned to drive up the M6 in her dad’s old people carrier, and then follow the sat-nav to the Windermere Ferry. And now it was only just after nine and she was already there, with a lunch box full of treats made by her mum and her phone fully charged, in accordance with her dad’s instructions.
Rita thought that the kids would like to see where Beatrix Potter had actually lived, so she had her camera too. She’d even planned to build a lesson round it. But this morning, as she stood next to the car, trying to see the front of the queue for the ferry, she was far from sure that her plan would work. The kids just didn’t seem to love Peter Rabbit as much as she’d done as a child, and she couldn’t quite work out why. The sky was heavy and grey, and the wind was gusty and cold, but Rita didn’t think for one moment about turning back. Ahead of her she saw cars starting to move, so she jumped back in to the old Toyota, and prayed that the engine would start.
It did, and as Rita inched round the bend she saw the ferry ahead of her. She’d expected something bigger, and newer. She wondered if she’d get on this time, tried to work out how many of the cars ahead of her would get on, and was slightly disappointed when she didn’t make it. So she got out of the car again and walked down to the water’s edge, and watched the ferry pull away. It seemed to be attached to a wire, and pulled itself over on that. It didn’t look very far to the other side, and she decided to stay out of the car until it came back. Rita had been coming to the Lakes with her parents for as long as she could remember, but she was still surprised by how beautiful it was. Somehow memory didn’t quite do it justice.
When she finally drove cautiously onto the ferry, feeling it move slightly beneath her wheels, she was beckoned to the front, and when the other cars had been loaded she opened her door and got out. Other people seemed to be doing the same, There was a small area below the wheelhouse for pedestrians, and she chatted to a couple of very thin cyclists about where they were going that day, and where they’d already been. It sounded exhausting.
Rita was still thinking about the cyclists and the hills they faced when she got back into the car, offered another brief prayer, and cranked the engine. It took a moment, teasing her, but then it caught, and she glanced in her mirror at the cloud of smoke that the car produced. She couldn’t see the expression on the face of the driver behind, but she held up her hand in a gesture of apology anyway. She wondered if he could see it.
When she looked back on it, and she often did, Rita was quite certain that she’d had no feeling that something was wrong. Not even the very slightest inkling. So she turned the sat-nav on, persuaded the old car into gear, and drove slowly off the ferry.
Monday, 3rd June
DC Jane Francis could have done without the Super’s lunch invitation. But, given the difference in rank between them, the words ‘invitation’ and ‘order’ were, she knew, pretty much interchangeable. Jane could count on the fingers of no hands how often Superintendent Val Gorham had asked her for lunch previously, so she’d spent all weekend pumping DCI Andy Hall for information. She’d tried over dinner on Friday night, when they half way up Scafell on Saturday and again in bed on Sunday morning. But she’d got nothing out of him.
As a result she couldn’t really concentrate on collating the crime figures for DS Ian Mann. She’d spent all morning on a task that would normally have only taken her an hour or so, although it would have taken Ian Mann at least a day to complete. And even then it would have been sent back from one of the database team at HQ because of the number of errors and inconsistencies. Jane’s work never contained either. It was just a matter of concentration and precision.
But nagging anxiety about what precisely would be on Val Gorham’s lunchtime agenda wasn’t the only thing that was slowing Jane down that morning. She was annoyed that Ian Mann was dumping his work on her - again. He was paid to fill in all these forms, making sure that they tallied with three or four other sources of data, and most importantly that the free-form sections contained the required number of buzz-words. And Jane even knew what they were, because she came in early every day to read the latest outpourings from the Chief, the Super, Force Intelligence, the Home Office and all the rest of the desk-driving supercops, and she knew that Ian Mann never so much as skimmed them.
As far as Jane was concerned Mann was still basking in the warm glow of being a prime-mover in the achievement of an outstanding result on a drugs bust on Morecambe Bay. And, in fairness, he certainly deserved it more than the others who’d made it sound like it was all their own work. She’d heard that one senior officer had been to a conference in New York on the back of it, and to her certain knowledge his only first-hand involvement in the case was shaking hands with a few of the people who had made the arrests.
There was no doubt that Ian Mann had made a lot of very nasty people’s lives quite a bit worse, and Jane had heard that cash-strapped Cumbrian drugs gangs had been knocking lumps out of each other out west somewhere. As far as she was concerned it would be an excellent result if all the drug pushers in the county were off the streets, and she didn’t much care if it was in prison, hospital, or scattered briskly from an urn to the winds in some dog-turd infested municipal park. Just so long as she didn’t have to do the sodding paperwork.
The office was especially quiet that day too. Andy’s office had been dark, with the door locked, for weeks while he was on secondment at HQ, which apparently was an extra treat to go with his promotion to DCI. He never said much to Jane about what he was doing at HQ, but she got the distinct impression that he didn’t regard it as all that much of a reward at all. Ian Mann was out, of course he was because paperwork was on the go, and needless to say DC Dixon was with him. Jane had long since given up wondering how Ray Dixon had survived in the job twelve months beyond his official retirement date, because there was only one possible explanation. He had to have something on the Chief.
Jane watched the hands on the office clock move agonisingly slowly from half twelve to ten to one. Then she tidied her desk, booted down her computer, and headed for the door. She wasn’t sure if Andy had been winding her up, because even now she couldn’t read his habitual poker-face with any certainty, but he had given her one little tit-bit to chew on.
‘If the Super is in uniform then don’t get your hopes up. It’ll be a quick salad at some cafe and a lecture on whatever today’s new target or initiative is, and how vital it is that we focus completely on it. The usual, in other words. Just remember not to ask why it’s vital, because the only possible reason is that it’s Val’s ticket to Chief Super, and out of all operational accountability, which of course is what she wants more than anything else in the world. Because when they’re not a
ccountable, they can’t be blamed, and if they can’t be blamed they can’t be sacked, disciplined or otherwise inconvenienced from now until the day they retire.’
‘What if she’s out of uniform?’
‘That’s a good sign. Then you’re going somewhere decent, and the news is bound to be good. By which I mean that the news might be good for you, but is almost certainly even better for Superintendent Gorham.’
Gorham’s PA barely looked up when Jane entered the office. But that meant nothing, because Jane had always assumed that Brenda had been recruited, many years ago, specifically because of her guard-dog manners. They had certainly developed nicely over the years, so Jane didn’t bother with a cheery greeting and an inquiry as to Brenda’s health.
‘I’m due to be having lunch with the Super.’
Brenda looked at Jane as if she thought that Gorham must have confused Jane with someone who was actually worth talking to.
‘Wait here. Superintendent Gorham is getting changed.’
Jane sat down, smiled briefly to herself and relaxed. She’d seen Val Gorham that morning, walking briskly along a corridor, and she had most definitely been in uniform then. And no-one wore a uniform more briskly than Superintendent Gorham. Jane expected a short wait, because Brenda wasn’t putting any callers through now, although she did reluctantly take a couple of messages.
‘Jane’ said Gorham, exiting her office fifteen minutes later in a haze of hairspray and a perfume that Jane couldn’t place, but would have liked to, if only to make sure that Andy didn’t buy it for her for Christmas. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’
Jane decided that this was a place for politeness, rather than honesty.
‘Not at all, ma’am.’
Brenda eyed Jane sternly, and watched her closely as she got up. Jane found it rather unnerving.
Gorham drove expertly, and surprisingly fast, along the high-walled lanes to the restaurant at Crossthwaite. But her small talk didn’t even last the fifteen minutes that the drive took, and as they drove Jane realised that she didn’t know a single thing about Gorham’s personal life. At least she didn’t know anything for certain, and she’d been a copper long enough to know that the chances of any of the station rumours being true were vanishingly remote. It always struck her as odd that coppers spent their whole working lives trying to get the truth out of habitual liars, but thought nothing of telling each other the most ludicrous rubbish, mainly to wind each other up. So Jane kept quiet, and tried to keep her hands still in her lap.
They seemed to know Val Gorham at the restaurant, and soon the two of them were settled in a quiet table with a good view across the Lyth valley from one of the seats. Gorham suggested that Jane sit facing the view.
‘So what have you been working on today, Jane?’
Jane wouldn’t have grassed up Ian Mann if he’d been pinching the money from the charity collection box at the front desk, so she decided on a cautious approach.
‘You know, ma’am. Paperwork, always paperwork.’
Most officers, even the ones responsible for the endless targets and policy initiatives would have nodded slowly, and then shrugged as if it was all someone else’s fault. But Val Gorham would never do that.
‘Call me Val’ she said. ‘We are off the clock, you know. And would it surprise you to learn that I know exactly what you were doing this morning?’
It wouldn’t have surprised Jane at all.
‘Yes, ma’am, I mean Val, it certainly would surprise me.’
‘And does Ian Mann often ask you to do his paperwork? You realise that it is part of his job description, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do realise that.’ Jane hoped that Val Gorham wouldn’t return to the first part of the question, and she looked down at her menu.
The waiter came over, and since Gorham ordered a starter and a main course Jane did the same.
‘I don’t have much of a sweet tooth’ said Gorham, ‘so there’ll be no pud for me.’
Jane was mildly disappointed. She’d heard that the sticky toffee pudding here was fantastic, and she’d seen more fat on a bicycle than Val Gorham was carrying. The waiter poured both of them a glass of mineral water and moved away.
‘Anyway, Jane, I didn’t want to put you on the spot. And I have come up with a way of making sure that you don’t have to do Ian Mann’s paperwork in future. Interested?’
Jane tried to look keen, but in truth she didn’t fancy a transfer. Cumbria was a big county, and commuting from Kendal to Workington or somewhere every day did not appeal at all. But Gorham seemed to be a mind-reader, as well as perhaps an email reader.
‘I’m not talking about a transfer here, Jane. I’m talking about a promotion. You passed your papers with flying colours, remember.’
It took a moment to sink in.
‘But I thought the budgets meant that we are all stuck where we are.’
‘Up to a point. But we’ve lost so many experienced officers now, what with retirements and voluntary redundancies, that the powers that be are terrified that we’ll lose the best of our younger officers to other forces. And that means you, Jane.’
‘But don’t they know about me and Andy? I certainly wouldn’t want to transfer out of the county.’
‘That’s good to hear. And apparently they don’t know, and I have been in no hurry to tell them about your state of domestic bliss with DCI Hall.’ Gorham smiled thinly as she said it, but only for a moment. ‘As far as I’m concerned there’s no better candidate for promotion than you. And if DS Mann has to do his own paperwork from now on then that’s a win-win, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Thanks, Val, I’m delighted and surprised. When is it effective?’
‘Immediate. An email will go round later this afternoon.’
‘Would it be OK if I told Andy first?’
Gorham smiled again, and this time there was real warmth there, Jane was sure of it. ‘Of course. I’ll make sure that it doesn’t go out before 4pm.’
‘Thanks.’ Then a thought occurred to Jane. ‘But perhaps Andy already knows?’
‘He does, I told him last week. But say what you like about DCI Hall, he certainly knows how to keep things to himself.’
‘You’re telling me. I’m never sure whether it’s the job, the way he’s always been, or what happened to his marriage, but he certainly doesn’t give much away. Not much at all.’
‘Do you need him to?’
Jane was taken aback by the question. ‘Well, er, I suppose...you know Andy’ she said evasively.
‘No, I don’t, not really. I know what the file says, obviously, and I know his record, but that’s about it. To be honest I often find myself wondering why he’s not sitting in my chair. He’s an impressive officer, and if there’s a cleverer man on the Force I’ve yet to meet him. But of course’ she added, ‘there are lots of clever women. But that goes without saying, doesn’t it?’
Jane smiled but didn’t reply. Gorham looked up from her starter, fork poised in mid-air, and waited.
‘Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t want it’ said Jane eventually.
‘Yes, that’s pretty much my conclusion too. But which parts doesn’t he want, exactly?’
Jane went through the list in her head. She selected the one that she thought would give least offence.
‘I don’t think he’d like to be taken away from front-line detection really, Val. It’s what he lives for. That and his family, obviously.’
Gorham nodded. ‘So he’s not enjoying his secondment up at HQ then?’
Jane looked down at her plate and hesitated.
‘Don’t answer that, Jane. It was an unfair question. If you had a brief here they’d really kick off about that one, wouldn’t they? And quite right too. Well, all I can say is that even if Andy isn’t enjoying helping to develop our new intelligence policy, the Chief has certainly enjoyed having him around. Did you know we’ve reopened two files, both serious, high tariff offences, based on ideas Andy had while he
was reviewing them. Pretty impressive, I’d say.’
‘No, he didn’t mention that. But Andy believes in keeping our home and professional lives very separate. Completely apart, in fact.’
Val Gorham had finished her starter, and Jane noticed that she centred her knife and fork carefully on the plate.
‘Very wise. And I’ll bet he’s looking forward to getting back to normal CID work anyway, Jane.’
‘I really couldn’t say, Val.’
This time Gorham laughed. ‘I often think that Police officers have one thing in common with the Mafia, and that’s an unbreakable code of silence. Did they take you somewhere and make you swear some kind of oath?’
‘You’re a copper too, Val. Wouldn’t you have had to swear it too?’
‘I never would have. From the day I joined the job I’ve wanted to change it. And attitudes like that are for dinosaurs. The boys’ club days are over, I promise you that.’
‘Maybe front-line officers, of either sex, just need to know that their mates are behind them. When things get tough, I mean.’
Gorham looked up sharply, then smiled. ‘Was that a dig, Jane? Don’t worry, I know that’s the way most senior officers are seen, keyboard warriors who are first out of the car park at five o’clock. And some of them are of course, but they’re the dinosaurs, Jane.’
Jane was saved by the arrival of the main courses, and Gorham moved to somewhat safer topics. But by the time the coffees were half drunk Jane still felt like she’d been on the wrong end of an interrogation, the precise purpose of which was still unclear.
