‘Don’t kid yourself. You’re just a bloody do-gooder in uniform, a middle class-meddler. Too clever by halves and all that. Everyone here knows it, and they don’t like you for it. All right, so you’ve had a few results over the years, and your teams have usually rated you, but that’s nothing to shout about. If you’d played your cards right you could have been a Chief Constable, years since. You’ve chucked your talent away, and don’t come whining to me now that you’ve realised that no-one is listening to anything you say. That’s why I don’t want your bloody comments on that paper. It’s all much to late for you now, Hall.’
DC Iredale had been surprised when Ian Mann had said that he’d come out with him to interview Mike Lightfoot, the social worker who’s name had been dropped by the thief who had robbed old Ronnie Roberts, so he asked to what he owed the pleasure of Mann’s company.
‘My shift’s over, and you know how much I love social workers.’
‘Aye, I do. So I do the talking, OK? He’s not a suspect, remember.’
‘Who the bloody boss here?’
‘You are, or rather you were. But you’re off duty now, aren’t you?’
‘Point taken. So this bloke we’re going to see, he’s the bastard who’s been selling out all these poor old folks who’ve been getting conned?’
‘His is the name that’s been mentioned, but that’s all, Ian. So in fact I’d say that more or less guarantees that he’s got no part in all this, wouldn’t you? But you know how this works. Maybe some former client is trying to be cute, using this lad’s name, or maybe it’s a previous girlfriend who’s doing the thieving.’
‘But all of the old people who’ve been done, they all know this lad?’
‘Aye. Mike Lightfoot he’s called. He’s the case officer for every one of the victims.’
‘Got to be worth a chat then. Shall I be bad cop?’
‘Aren’t you always? No, like I said, I’ll do the talking. So you can be silent cop, or rather silent off-duty silent cop, OK?’
Mike Lightfoot was younger than Iredale expected, and his hair was longer, and his criminal record was a surprise too. Three drug convictions, all in the juvenile court. The office he worked out was drab and run down, even by Iredale’s standards. Lightfoot showed them into an interview room that made the ones at the station look welcoming.
‘Sorry’ he said, as he turned on the strip-lights. ‘We used to call this one the black hole of Calcutta, but we had to stop.’
‘Political correctness?’ asked Mann.
‘Aye, if you want to call it that.’
‘So what do you call it now?’
‘Interview room three.’
Mann laughed, and Lightfoot smiled back. They sat down, and Iredale slid a piece of paper across the small, wonky table.
‘Are all of these folks clients of yours?’
‘Yes, all four of them. They’re the ones who’ve been robbed, aren’t they?’
‘That’s right. You’ve talked to all of them since it happened?’
‘Yes, absolutely. And I’ve contacted all of my other clients too, either by phone or in person, and talked to them about it. They’ve all been warned, though some won’t remember that by now, I’m afraid.’
‘You’ve done the right thing. What did you tell them about the thief?’
‘That it was a young woman, but that it might be a man or a woman who called on them. I told them to be on guard, and not to let anyone in who said they were from the Council, or any other organisation associated with it, or anyone who mentioned my name. Except if it was me, of course. One of my clients got a bit confused actually, and when I went round the other day she wouldn’t let me in at all.’
‘Unlucky, but the basic idea is spot-on. Exactly what I was going to suggest, in fact.’
‘Great. So I suppose you want to know where this information might have come from? About who my clients are?’
‘Exactly. Our thief is very well informed.’
‘Well, I honestly have no idea.’
Iredale paused, and he and Mann both looked steadily at Lightfoot. Neither man spoke.
‘I haven’t told anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t talk about my clients outside work. No-one would be interested, to tell the truth.’
‘Someone is interested.’
‘Maybe, but they’re not hearing any of it from me. Not one word.’
‘You’re sure? No-one has asked you about your work, got you chatting about it?’
Lightfoot laughed.
‘My mates? You have to be kidding.’
‘I have to ask this, Mr. Lightfoot, because of your criminal record. How about any old friends? People you used to know, back when you were using. Have you seen any of them lately?’
‘No. Not in years. I’ve left all that behind. Totally behind. You have to, or you’re dragged back in.’
Iredale nodded, and waited some more. But Lightfoot had nothing to add.
‘OK, then. How about someone you’ve met? Maybe recently, just once or twice? A woman, perhaps.’
‘No. I’d remember, if I’d met a new woman, like.’
‘You and me both. All right, so how about a data leak, from these offices?’
‘Possible, I suppose, but I’ve never heard of one. The IT people might be able to help on that sort of thing.’
‘So you haven’t lost any files? Been hacked? Had any stolen? Anything like that?’
‘No, nothing. Not that I’m aware of, anyway.’
‘OK. Well thanks for your time, Mr. Lightfoot. Let us know if anything occurs to you, after we’ve gone, like. Now, is there anything that you’d like to ask us?’
‘Yes, a couple of things.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Will there be more of these robberies do you think?’
‘Sorry, I can’t tell you that. I wish I could. How many clients do you have, altogether?’
‘About 50, why?’
‘Just curious. I’m not suggesting that every one of your clients will be targeted, don’t worry. And you had another question?’
‘Aye. Why are they mentioning me? It’s every time, isn’t it? Like they’re going out of their way.’
‘That’s true, and I can’t give you an answer to that one either. But if they’re trying to cast suspicion on you for some reason then it’s not working. You can trust me on that. And that reminds me of something that I should have asked. Have you fallen out with anyone recently? Could be at work, or maybe outside?’
‘No. Sorry. I’m not really the sort of bloke who makes enemies.’
‘Make love, not war?’
‘Something like that, yes. I suppose so.’
‘Make love, not war’ said Mann, when the two officers were back in the car. ‘What the hell is he smoking? Bloody hippy.’
‘He seemed like a decent bloke to me’ said Iredale, mildly.
‘He had a ponytail, for Christ’s sake.’
‘You’re just envious.’
Mann laughed.
‘You didn’t buy that crock of shit though, did you? That bloke’s at it. He was just playing with us. All that butter-wouldn’t-melt bollocks.’
‘What makes you say that? It’s just because you’re allergic to people like him, isn’t it? I bloody knew you’d be like this.’
‘Is it heck. You heard how quick his answers were, how rehearsed they sounded. An answer for bloody everything, that bloke has.’
‘Come on, Ian. That makes no sense, and you know it. Why would the bloke put himself in the frame for this? If he’s involved in any way he’ll go away for years, because he’d have abused a position of trust, and involving vulnerable, elderly folk too.’
‘Like judges, you mean? Aye, well, I still think he’s bloody toying with us.’
‘You wouldn’t be saying that if he was a woman with a pony tail, and no criminal record.’
Mann smiled. ‘Me? Prejudiced? Never. You’re just stereotyping now, mate. I know my bloody rights.’
The
y drove in silence for a minute or two, Mann checking his mirrors as often as a learner going all out to impress.
‘You know what it is, Ian’ said Iredale, eventually. ‘You just don’t believe that people can change, do you?’
‘Bollocks.’
‘No, it’s true. You’ve spent so much of your time in the job nicking the same people for the same offences, listening to them say that they’ll never do it again, and then welcoming them back to the nick a few months later. You’ve been conditioned. That’s what’s happened.’
‘Be fair, Keith. It does happen, does that. There are some crime reports where all I have to do is see what the offence was and where it was committed, and then I just nip round and nick one of our regulars. Easy as pie. There was this one lad, dead now but you would have liked him, who always used to have his bag packed before I came. Just in case, like.’
Iredale laughed.
‘Honest, he did. Like an expectant father, off to the hospital. Quickest bloody collar in history, was old Bob.’
‘How did he die?’
‘I don’t remember. I only found out he was dead when I went round to nick him for something and found out that he’d died.’
‘So who’d done the job?’
‘His son. Lived at the same address. The second quickest collar in history, that was.’
Iredale laughed again. ‘Well I still think you’re wrong, Ian. I’d be willing to have a little wager that Mike Lightfoot is totally innocent of any involvement in these offences.’
‘You’re on. If I win you do my crime reports for a month.’
‘And if I win you have to ride up The Struggle with me, or behind me, anyway. Not just once, mind, but every week for a month.’
‘All right, you’re on.’
‘I’d get in training if I were you, mate. It’s a brute of a climb, even for a fit lad, like.’
‘No need, marrer. I’ll stay on the beer. That pony-tailed ponce is as guilty as sin. You’ll see.’
The back shift was settled in now, but DI Francis wasn’t going anywhere. She could feel the tension building in her body. Her face felt hot, and she had to stop herself from interrupting while the Duty Inspector briefed her, ever so slowly, on the house to house enquiries.
‘We extended the area, as you suggested, along the roads leading to and from Troutbeck, and we have made contact with the residents at seventy two addresses. Nine others appear to be empty, and have been visited at least three times. There were no reports of suspicious sightings of people or vehicles, nor did anyone hear gunshots.’
‘So nothing of any interest at all?’
‘I’m afraid not, no. Would you like us to extend the area further, Jane?’
‘No. We’ve already exceeded the normal parameters, so let’s just leave it there or now. Could I just ask that you ensure that we have an officer on the ground in Troutbeck for the next day or two? Just for an hour or two each day. In case someone in the village remembers something.’
‘No problem. But you’re clutching at straws a bit, aren’t you?’
‘I wish we even had straws, Nigel, to tell you the truth.’
‘Really? I’m never going to make CID, love, or so the Super never tires of telling me, but I’d have thought the fact that Frankie grassed on those two lads is motive enough for anyone. Plus, they shot that bloody bank up, years ago. So they’re not worried about using a gun either, are they?’
‘Yes, but where’s the evidence? Sandy has come up with nothing so far, and unless the external labs come up with something useful off the gun or the clothes we’re up shit creek without a paddle. And how often does that happen, eh? Twenty-four hours into a murder investigation and we’ve got two perfect suspects, but not a single shred of sodding evidence.’
‘It’s early days yet, love. And like I say you’ve got two lads who were bloody made for the job.’
‘All right, Nigel, so answer me this. Which one did it then? Winder or Tyson? You tell me.’
‘You’ve got me there, lass. But it’s got to be one of them, right?’
‘I’m not even sure about that, to tell the truth. Not a hundred percent, anyway. Frankie Foster wasn’t what you’d call a model citizen, was he? We found that gear at his house today, for a start.’
‘I heard about that. Receiving again, was he?’
‘Yes, and you know what that means.’
‘That he knew plenty of bad people. And that he might have tried to rip one of them off.’
‘Exactly, which in turn means more suspects than you could shake a shitty stick at. His list of KAs is like a roll call of the local working cons. And more than a few of them have convictions for violence.’
‘But this nicked gear that the search team turned up is a lead, yes?’
‘Possibly, and we’ll certainly follow it up. But the only prints we got off the gear come from a young woman whose only previous is for a bit of shoplifting and an obtaining money by deception. The stuff was nicked from an old dear about three months ago, but she’s since died. Natural causes, mind. But one thing we do know for sure, the thief was a woman, a young woman. And Tiffany Moore is twenty five.’
‘It’s something, anyway.’
‘I suppose so. Not the collar we were after, but right now I’d do you for bad parking, if I could. We’ll interview the lass in the morning and see where that takes us. But I’ll tell you one thing about Frankie Foster for nothing. He was not very good at his job. Absolutely shit at it, in fact.’
‘How do you mean? I thought he was on the sick, like.’
‘Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but the whole idea behind thieving is that you take stuff that belongs to someone else, thus making you richer and them poorer.’
‘Aye, that’s about the size of it.’
‘Well, it hasn’t worked too well for Frankie Foster. The house is a bloody pigsty, for a start.’
‘I bet Sandy Smith loved that.’
‘She swore so hard I thought she’d pass out. And the bloke had no money, absolutely nowt. So far all we’ve found in assets, in total, is five hundred quid. He was a fifty year old bloke, mind.’
‘It won’t pay for his funeral, will that. And it’s not family who killed him, I suppose? A house-proud relation, perhaps?’
Jane laughed. ‘They’d hardly blow bits of the bloke all over the floor and walls if they were, would they? No, that’s a non-runner. The son has a rock-solid alibi, and the ex-wife lives down south. We’re looking at the extended family, but there’s nothing of interest that we can see so far. Still, nil desperandum, as they say.’
‘If you say so. There’s only one bit of Latin that I know. Illegitimi non carborundum. It means don’t let the bastards grind you down. One of the lads here told me that, years ago, and it’s always stuck. I can’t bloody imagine why. Not working in a paradise like this.’
Jane laughed again, and looked at her watch. Nigel Turner got the message.
‘I better let you get off. Don’t want to be late getting Andy’s tea on the table, do you?’
Jane couldn’t be certain that she was being wound-up, but assumed that she was. She’d pretty much heard them all, over the years.
‘Andy’s the chef in our house. He’s getting pretty handy with a spatula, in his old age.’
‘If you say so, love’ said Turner, grinning as he turned to go. ‘What folk do in the privacy of their own homes is their business. I’ve been a copper long enough to know that. Otherwise we’d be arresting half this bloody town, and that’s the God’s honest truth.’
Superintendent Hall had cut the grass when he’d got home from work, and sprayed the paths with weed-killer for the final flush of the summer, but he’d still had plenty of time to prepare the meal. He’d put the pasta on when Jane arrived, or when he was too hungry to wait, whichever came first. It was pretty much what his wife used to do too, he thought. He hadn’t texted Jane asking how things were going, or when she’d be home, because he knew there was no point. She’d
be immersed in the work, utterly consumed by it, and he envied that. Of course he did. But he didn’t envy the tightening fist of worry that went along with it.
He put the pasta on as soon as he heard Jane’s car pull into the drive. He shouted a ‘hello’ and told her that the food would be ready in ten minutes. He was serving by the time she came to the table, and she put her work phone down on her side plate. She’d be checking it almost between mouthfuls, but he couldn’t really complain or comment. In any case, he knew it would be futile. At moments like this nothing was more important than the case. Not him, not even the baby.
‘How are you feeling? Have you been eating properly today?’
‘Yes, mum. Don’t worry. I’m surprised no-one at work has guessed. And they call themselves bloody detectives.’
‘Be fair, Jane. You’re not really showing yet, are you?’
‘It depends how close they’re looking.’
Hall smiled, and passed Jane the salad bowl.
‘All right, no need to hint. I’ve been reading the online guides to diet in pregnancy, you know.’
‘It was books, in my day.’
‘This is your day, Andy. Now. You’re going to be a new dad again.’
‘People will think I’m the grand-dad’, he said, gloomily.
‘Well you should have thought about that before you got involved with a woman half your age.’
Hall laughed. ‘Hardly. So how’s work been? Any movement?’
‘You haven’t been looking at the file? I thought you were authorised for any active enquiry.’
‘I am, but I do have other work to do, Jane.’
‘So you haven’t looked? Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘Would you have looked if it was another DI who was SIO?’
‘Not at this stage. Not unless I’d been asked, anyway. And you’re not asking, are you?’
‘That’s right, I’m not. We’ve got plenty of active lines of enquiry. Too many, almost. Frankie Foster was a right little rascal, and he was active, too. No doubt about it.’
‘He was hardly a heavyweight though, was he?’
Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) Page 8
