Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7)

by J. J. Salkeld

  Mann laughed. ‘Same as the rest of them. Because she wants money, and she doesn’t want to graft for it. Bloody hell, Keith, the lass was right about one thing. You really are a total and utter twat, mate.’

  Friday, 25th July

  It only took ten minutes to drive from their house to Kendal nick, but if felt like longer to Hall. Jane didn’t say a word until they’d almost reached the car park, and then the words tumbled out.

  ‘Just admit it, Andy. Just admit that you begged the Chief to let you in on this. I understand, love, of course I do.’

  ‘But I didn’t. I told you what happened. He called me in, pretended to be interested in what I had to say, the way they all are now. All that caring, sharing crap. And then he told me what to do, which was reassuring in a way.’ Hall waited for Jane to ask ‘why?’, but she didn’t, so he carried on. ‘It’s easier when they revert to type.’

  ‘So you’re going to be telling me what to do from now on, is that it?’

  ‘Of course I’m not. I’m just here to observe and advise, and that’s it.’

  ‘But I know you, Andy, you won’t be able to help yourself. You know what you’re like. You always know better than everyone else, and you’re not afraid to bloody say so.’

  ‘Blimey, that’s a bit harsh. And let’s not meet trouble half-way. With a bit of luck I’ll have bugger all to do or say, and you and the team will wrap it up in no time.’

  ‘You, nothing to say? I’ll believe that when I hear it, Andy. For a man who prides himself on his open-mindedness you always have a hell of a lot of very firmly held opinions.’

  Fortunately for him they were parking now, because Hall was tempted to say something else. As they were driving he’d wondered, briefly, what the hormonal effects of pregnancy were, and he realised that he couldn’t remember what his wife had been like, all those years ago. He remembered the physical changes, the fluttering, feathery kicks turning into bass drum bangs, but he didn’t remember her becoming tetchy. That came a good few years later. But maybe he just had that effect on women, sooner or later. He decided that silence was the best policy in this instance, and he swung open his door the second that the car stopped.

  The morning briefing was well attended, and the team was attentive. Hall stood right at the back of the room, and although a few people greeted him a few didn’t even notice that he was there. Most of them wouldn’t even have recognised him, he thought. One of Sandy Smith’s team gave an update on the external lab and DNA analysis work, on everything from the suspects’ clothing to the weapon. Most had come up blank, but the DNA samples from the shotgun were still being analysed.

  ‘Thanks, Chris,’ said Jane, pointing to the picture of Jez Taylor on the interactive whiteboard. ‘Most of you know this character, quite a few of you have probably nicked him, and those who haven’t need to read up on him, and fast. We’re sure that he visited our victim at least twice in the weeks before his death, and we’re pulling him in later today to ask him about why that was. But of course he’s probably going to lie about that, even if it’s just on principle. So let’s really crack on with background on him this morning, so we can catch him out every time he tries to bullshit us. I want the lot, his finances, his email and phone trails, his known associates, everything. And one thing you should all know. Our information is that Taylor has recently been turning a dishonest penny as a loan shark; so was Frankie Foster a borrower who got in too deep? Or was he a tally man, working for Taylor? Or is there some other criminal connection? And remember, the clock is ticking, so let’s really get stuck in, yes?’

  Afterwards Hall made Jane a coffee and brought it to her in her office. The one that used to be his. But Jane got up from her desk as soon as he came in, and they sat on opposite sides of the battered old meeting table with the wonky leg.

  ‘Well?’ she said. ‘You’ve read the file. I want to know what you think.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Come on, Andy, don’t go all bashful on me. Look, I’m sorry about what I said in the car. I didn’t mean it, you know that. I’m under pressure here, so help me out. What would you do, if you were in my shoes?’

  ‘Mostly what you’re doing. I’d say it’s a textbook operation that you’re running here, honestly.’

  ‘Mostly? So what would you be doing that I’m not?’

  ‘Well, doing more of something else would mean doing less of what you’re already doing, wouldn’t it? Your resources are fixed, after all.’

  ‘You’re telling me. Come on, love, that’s a given. So you wouldn’t change anything?’

  ‘Probably not. But I might at least think about focussing a bit more attention on Winder and Tyson, really do some deep background on them, at least until I’d interviewed Jez Taylor. I just don’t see him as a killer, at least not like that. He’s the sort of criminal who likes everyone to know what he’s done, and half the time that’s why we manage to nick him. Slipping in under the radar like that, it’s not his style.’

  Hall sipped his coffee and wondered if he’d said to much. Jane didn’t keep him waiting for long.

  ‘You’re like a bloody broken record, Andy. Christ, why does it always have to be so complicated with you? Jez Taylor is a working con, and a nasty bastard with it, whereas your suspects are both getting on, and neither has come to our attention since they got out of jail.’

  ‘Tyson is only a year or two older than I am’ said Hall, mildly. ‘But listen, I’m not writing anything down, and nothing gets back to the Chief, OK? All he asked me to do was base myself down here for a few days, and be on hand in case help was needed. It’s obviously not, and that’s fine. As I keep telling you I never asked to be here, and I’ll leave you to it now.’

  Hall got up, and walked to the door carrying his half-full mug. He didn’t expect Jane to say anything, and she didn’t. He didn’t mind. It was awkward, but they both knew that this almost certainly wouldn’t happen again, so it was nothing to worry about really. In another year or two he’d be retired, and his days would be filled with toddler groups and being mistaken for a grandfather. He could think of worst lives. At least, he could at the moment.

  Hall shut the door behind him, and Jane picked up the phone. Ian Mann answered on the first ring.

  ‘Ian, do me a favour and get the background on Winder and Tyson underway again, would you?’

  ‘You know it’ll slow down the work on Taylor?’

  ‘Yes. Just do it, would you?’

  ‘Andy’s idea, was it?’

  Jane put the phone down hard, and Mann could hear it from outside her office. He decided to take that as a yes.

  It was a bit early for her neighbour to be knocking, thought Joan, but welcome enough. She hadn’t see Maureen in a couple of days, so they had things to talk about. Of course there was always something to talk about, what with the goings on at number seven. And she’d been up for hours, anyway, so her chores were all done. So Joan swung the door wide without first using the peep-hole, and was surprised to see the young woman with the clip board standing on the doorstep. Joan could see the Council’s logo on the back of the clipboard quite clearly.

  ‘Mrs. Pearson? I’m Melanie. I expect Mike mentioned that I’d be coming to see you today?’

  ‘Mike, dear?’

  ‘My colleague, Mike Lightfoot. Don’t tell me that he forgot to mention that I’d be calling in?’

  ‘Oh, no, dear. If anyone has forgotten it will be me, not Mike. He’s a lovely boy. He did say something about callers, but I forget what. Come on in, and tell me all about it.’

  Tiffany left the tea, but ate the biscuits, and half-listened to tales of the goings on at number seven. They sounded about as scandalous as a dropped stitch. But Tiffany knew never to rush them. They didn’t like that, any of them. It made them nervous, and occasionally suspicious. Ironic, really, she thought, given how little time most of them had left. And funny how the world could shrink so much, until the edge of the known universe was the bottom of your gar
den. She’d seen it with her own mum, and she wasn’t even sixty.

  ‘Why are you wearing gloves, dear? Eczema, is it?’

  ‘Yes, how did you know?’

  ‘My Peter had it, when he was a boy. Very nervous lad, he was. Do you suffer from your nerves dear?’

  ‘I do, yes. A bit, anyway.’

  ‘Never mind. You’ll grow out of it. Have another biscuit.’

  The biscuit tasted dry and dusty in Tiffany’s mouth, but she finished it anyway. The old woman was watching.

  ‘So Mike explained about the survey then, did he Joan? We are checking on clients’ windows at the moment.’

  ‘For security is it, love?’

  ‘Partly, but mainly for energy efficiency. Did you know that at least ten percent of your heat escapes through your windows.’

  ‘But I keep them all closed in the winter, dear.’

  Tiffany smiled. ‘No, I meant… It doesn’t matter. You’ve got three bedroom here, right?’

  ‘Two, dear.’

  ‘Two. Computers, eh? You can’t trust them, can you?’

  ‘You certainly can’t. I got letters for my Charlie for years after he died. Computers that was, they said. Nothing they could do. It was still upsetting though, I can tell you.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a shame. So listen, Joan. What I need to do is go into each room individually, and take some readings. It’ll take me a few minutes in each room. I’ll need to close the doors. Would you be OK staying down here while I do it?’

  ‘Of course, dear. Would you like another cuppa? I’m making one for myself.’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine, honestly. And don’t worry if you hear a bit of noise. That’ll just be me taking my measurements. Pay no attention.’

  The back bedroom didn’t yield much worth taking, but Joan’s was proving much more worthwhile. Tiffany didn’t know much about jewellery, and she’d never known how or why her mum had chosen her name, but she was confident that the pieces she had stolen were absolutely genuine. A grand and a half easy, even at Jez’s ridiculous rate of exchange. Tiffany was just checking under the bed when the door opened behind her, and she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t heard the old woman coming up the stairs. They usually banged about, although Joan had looked as light and insubstantial as a bird.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, as Tiffany emerged, arse first, from under the bed, the small torch still held between her teeth. But Joan hadn’t really needed to ask, and Tiffany saw the surprise turn to fear in her face. The old woman turned too quickly, lost her balance and started to fall. She didn’t cry out, and the sound of the body banging off the treads and the bannister was as dry as dead sticks falling in the forest.

  Tiffany knew that the old woman was dead. She knew before the sound stopped, and long before she stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at the broken body below her. It looked like someone had spilt a bag of clothes intended for the charity shop. Tiffany ran down the stairs and jumped over the dead woman’s body. She flung the door open and ran out into the street, almost colliding with an old lady on the pavement.

  ‘Call an ambulance’ Tiffany shouted, without looking over her shoulder. She was about to throw the plastic bag that she’d put the gear in away, but she didn’t. She’d give it to Jez Taylor. It would settle her mum’s debt once and and for all, and if it gave him a big problem with the law later on then so much the better. Maybe that young copper with the kind eyes would catch Taylor trying to shift the stuff. And Tiffany had a strong feeling that he wouldn’t be anything like as nice to Jez, if that’s what happened.

  So she went straight round there. But Taylor wasn’t at home, and hadn’t been for an hour. His wife was a beady-eyed woman, and she kept looking at the carrier bag in Tiffany’s hand.

  ‘He was picked up by the local cops. Something and nothing, I expect. He’s done nowt, hasn’t Jez.’

  ‘Right. They didn’t say what it was about?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  Tiffany shrugged, and turned to go. She wanted to check on her mum. Sit with her, talk to her for a while. Tell her not to worry, even though the telling only ever made it worse.

  ‘Is that bag for Jez? I can give it to him, when he gets back, like.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t nick it off you. I’m as honest as the day is long, me. You ask anyone.’

  Tiffany turned back, and held out the bag.

  ‘You give this to Jez, all of it, and tell him that’s my debt paid in full. And if you do somehow forget, and keep it for yourself, then you need to understand that I’ll come straight back here, and I’ll stab you in the eye with a pair of scissors. You get me?’

  The woman opened her mouth, then closed it again. She grabbed the bag, and slammed the door in Tiffany’s face.

  Jane heard the activity in the corridor outside the interview room, and wished that the coppers out there would keep the bloody noise down. It had to be a major incident that they were attending though, and normally she’d be trying to get her interview finished as soon as possible, just so she could find out exactly what all the fuss was about. But not this time. Because this wasn’t the recipient of offensive text messages, a bag snatcher or a serial flasher that she was looking at across the table. This was a murder suspect.

  ‘So, Mr. Taylor, you do remember going to Frankie Foster’s house on the second and third of this month?’

  ‘Aye, if you say so.’

  ‘Either you do or you don’t. I’m just trying to establish the facts, not put words in your mouth.’

  The duty solicitor raised an eyebrow in the direction of Ian Mann. Normally he’d have smiled back, but not today. Taylor was guilty all right. Maybe not of murder, but of plenty of other things. He had the look, simultaneously cocky and stupid, that said that he could tell them plenty, if he was ever minded to. Which he wouldn’t be.

  ‘So did you go to Mr. Foster’s house?’

  ‘Aye, I did, but I don’t remember the exact dates.’

  ‘We have an automatic system that records number plates, and your vehicle was recorded driving between Kendal and Ambleside on the 2nd and 3rd of this month, and an eye-witness saw a vehicle like yours outside Mr. Foster’s house on or about those dates.’

  Mann thought that Taylor’s lips pursed at the mention of a witness.

  ‘It’s no secret, I was there. Like I told you, Frankie’s an old friend.’

  ‘So what was the reason for these visits?’

  ‘Just social calls, like. They’re not illegal now, are they?’

  ‘Twice in two days?’

  ‘I don’t know if I was there twice in two days. Can you prove I was?’

  ‘I’ve just explained that.’

  ‘Aye, but I could have been going anywhere, for all you know.’

  ‘And were you? Going somewhere else, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t remember, love.’

  ‘So you make a lot of social calls do you?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Loads. I’m a right popular bloke, me.’

  ‘So let’s be quite clear. Are you telling me that you had no kind of business relationship with Frankie Foster?’

  Taylor took his time before answering.

  ‘That depends what you mean by business. It can mean a lot of things, can the word business. You know, like doing the business.’

  ‘Are you saying that you were having a sexual relationship with Mr. Foster?’

  ‘Fuck off. I mean no. What do you take me for?’

  ‘Let me be more specific, then. Did money ever change hands between you?’

  ‘In which direction?’

  ‘Either.’

  Taylor looked at Mann and thought some more, so Mann stared him out, willing Taylor to make a mistake.

  ‘No. Like I said, he was just a mate.’

  Jane looked down at her notes.

  ‘All right. Let’s talk about where you were on Tuesday of this week, from late morning until mid-afternoon.
’

  ‘I’ve already told you. In bed, at home. We had a late one the night before. You know, love, when the cat’s away and all that.’

  ‘And the cat’s your wife, is that right?’

  ‘Aye. She went away with a couple of her mates on Saturday, so we had a bit of a do on Sunday. But it lasted until Monday night, like.’

  ‘And you were alone in the house on Tuesday?’

  ‘Aye, just me and the mess, like. I do know some right dirty bastards, love, I can tell you.’

  ‘Were you using your phone? Or on the internet, anything like that?’

  ‘Like I told you I was either in bed, or had my head down the bog. One or the other.’

  ‘So you don’t have an alibi for the time when Frankie Foster was murdered.’

  ‘I don’t need one. I didn’t do it, and I was at home until that evening. Unless you’ve got a witness who says different.’

  Jane ignored the comment. ‘So what is it that you do for a living, Mr. Taylor?’

  ‘Self-employed.’

  ‘Yes, but doing what, exactly?’

  ‘This and that. Venture capital, mostly.’

  ‘Really? And what does that involve?’

  ‘Providing capital to people. On fair terms, like.’

  ‘So you’re a money lender?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it that.’

  ‘Loan shark, then?’

  The Duty Solicitor stirred briefly, and Jane held up her hands.

  ‘Did you loan money to Frankie Foster? As venture capital, or whatever you call it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Were you round at his house demanding repayment? That’s why you went there on consecutive days, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. I’ve already told you. Frankie was a mate, that’s all.’

  ‘Are you quite sure, Mr. Taylor? Because let me explain to you what happens next. If you persist in saying that you didn’t lend Frankie any money, that is. We will go through every aspect of your life and dealings in minute detail, and who knows what we’ll uncover then? But, on the other hand, if you did loan him money and tell us that you did then we’ll be a good deal less interested in you, for now at least. So, did you loan Frankie Foster money?’