Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7)

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘No. How could I?’

  ‘Because you’ve been supplying her with information about your clients.’

  ‘No. No. That’s not true. I haven’t.’

  ‘So who have you been telling?’

  ‘No-one. Why should I?’

  ‘Come on, Mike. Get it off your chest. I know you want to. It’s one of your old drug buddies, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘You’re using again, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  Iredale was leaning right across the table now, and Hall had to reach forward to place a hand on his arm.

  ‘The woman who’s committing these robberies is using your name’ he said, quietly. ‘Why?’

  ‘Yes, aye, she is, but I still don’t know who it is. Honest I don’t.’

  ‘Come on, I know you’re holding out on us, Mike. And, let me tell you, that’s a really bad idea. So can you think of anyone who might want to implicate you in this? Forget about this young woman for a minute. Is there anyone that you’ve fallen out with?’

  Lightfoot hesitated, and Iredale fought the urge to lean in again.

  ‘No, I can’t think of anyone.’

  ‘Try harder, Mike. A client from work perhaps. You used to work with young offenders, yes?’

  ‘Aye, I did.’

  ‘And did you piss any of them off?’

  Lightfoot smiled briefly. ‘Any of them? All of them, I expect. I wasn’t their mate.’

  ‘Enough for any of them to want to settle the score with you, then?’

  Lightfoot shook his head. ‘Not that I can think of.’

  ‘All right. How about from the old days? You know, from when you were younger.’

  ‘When I was a user, you mean? No, not that I can think of. Like I keep saying, I don’t see those people any more. None of them.’

  ‘OK, enough about that for now. Let’s talk about work for a minute. All your files are computerised these days, I assume? There’s nothing on paper?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘And each client’s record contains their name, address and is linked to you, as their case officer?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Good. So who has access to those files? Who could see that client’s name, address and your name linked to it?’

  ‘Well, everyone in the department, obviously. And if the client used a service, for example if they were admitted to hospital, then the medical staff would see those details. So they could contact me.’

  ‘I see. And have the robbery victims had contact with medical services recently?’

  ‘I’d have to check but it’s almost certain that they will have. They’re all in their eighties, and vulnerable in one way or another.’

  ‘So plenty of people could be aware of the connection between you and all of the robbery victims, including Mrs. Pearson?’

  Lightfoot looked up, but he didn’t look especially pleased or relieved, and that pleased Hall.

  ‘I suppose that’s right. I hadn’t thought about it, really. People just keep telling me that I must be involved, but I’m bloody not.’ Lightfoot looked straight across at Iredale as he spoke.

  When Lightfoot had gone Hall walked Iredale out to his car.

  ‘If I can just find a link between Tiffany Moore and the bloody carer of the year that we’ve just released then I’ll have him,’ said Keith.

  ‘But there isn’t one, is there?’

  ‘Are you sure, sir? The bloke’s just another junkie, underneath it all.’

  ‘Underneath what exactly? It’s not like you to take such a hard line, Keith. Is there something I’m missing here? Because to answer your question no, I’m not sure that there’s no absolutely connection between them. Not completely. But I do think it’s highly likely that there isn’t. So your time would best be spent on Tiffany. We both know that she did it, don’t we? That’s something we can agree on. So is there any chance that we could break her alibi for today?’

  ‘No, sir. The mother is very ill, and very vulnerable. We’ve got her statement, and that’s all we’re going to get now, worse luck. We couldn’t pressurise her at all, not unless we had definite proof that she’s been lying.’

  ‘All right, then let that go for now. Why not come at it from a different angle?’

  ‘Like what, sir?’

  ‘Why is she doing it? Why is Tiffany, who we know is going to college because she wants to, why is she thieving again? And why do another robbery straight after we’ve just interviewed her? She’s not stupid, we know that.’

  ‘I don’t know. But maybe she did push Mrs. Pearson down the stairs, because she was worried she’d be identified. That’s the thought that’s been at the back of my mind, sir.’

  Hall shook his head.

  ‘So the kid’s a killer? Really? She’s not a user, is she?’

  ‘Not as far as we know, no.’

  ‘Well, anyway, let’s wait for the full PM results. But whatever they tell us I still think that the key here is to understand why she’s been doing these robberies. Find that out and I’ll lay you odds that we’ll find out why she’s been dropping Lightfoot’s name with such enthusiasm.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were a betting man, sir.’

  Hall smiled. ‘I’m not. Just a figure of speech. I think I only say it to make people think that I’m one of the lads, or something.’

  Iredale laughed out loud. ‘I’m not sure that your strategy is working then, sir.’

  Now this is strange. I’d expected the usual endless rounds of questions, the same ones over and over, and maybe a car tucked away in the lane end or something. But there’s been nothing. Just a TV appeal for information by that DI Francis. What was that all about, anyway? And why are they so interested in that Nissan Murano all of a sudden? It’s got sod all to do with anything. Strange to see Andy Hall sitting there in the background, though. Not saying a bloody word. He looks just the same. Or at least his expression hasn’t changed. Almost blank, but not quite. Like he wants to believe you, wants to trust you, but somehow he just can’t. I remember that expression, and I know the other lads did too. More disappointed than anything else, really. I remember talking to poor old Matt about it when we were all on remand. When it still seemed like something it made sense to talk about. He said he almost told Hall everything, two or three times. And I told him I did too. But we didn’t. Neither of us did. Because we did what was right by each other. And I promised him then, didn’t I? I promised that we’d get even with that little shit Frankie Foster. And I bloody did it, too. It took me a bit of time, I admit it, but I did it. I bloody did it.

  So what happens next? They must have some other line of enquiry, something that’s caught their attention. I wonder how long it will take them to work out that they’ve got it wrong? Of course I know exactly what happened, and they don’t. She seemed sharp enough, that DI. Nice looking too, if you like the school teacher type. But she’ll be a proper do-it-by-the-book merchant I expect, always going on about the glass ceiling or whatever it’s called. I wonder why she even became a copper? Doesn’t seem the sort at all. A bit out of place, somehow. Now that DS, Mann, he’s more the way I remember them. Old school, ex-military of course, you can spot it a bloody mile off. I bet he understands why sometimes the only right way is to use a gun. Or at least to kill, anyway. She couldn’t ever do that, couldn’t begin to understand it. Doesn’t even try, I expect. And as for that Andy Hall. He doesn’t look like he could pull the skin off a rice pudding.

  It’s simple enough for me, though. From here on in, like. Just keep going. Usual routine, normal life, for a long as it lasts, anyway. It’s comforting, is that. And what else is there to do? I wouldn’t change anything now, not even if I could. Frankie’s gone and I’ve not lost a second’s sleep since. No flashbacks, nothing. It’s as if it all never happened, somehow. But what if someone else gets nicked for it? What then? It depends who it is, I suppose. Knowing Frankie it’ll be some other
thieving twat who they’ve got in mind for this one. Maybe he’ll even deserve to go down for it.

  But it is funny. Well, strange, anyway. I never thought that the coppers would have such short memories. Never thought Andy Hall would. I always expected they’d only have two suspects, just the two of us, and that it would do their heads in trying to work out which one of us it was. And maybe it’ll come to that yet. In a way I hope it does. I’m ready, whatever happens. Ready for anything, me.

  Saturday, 26th July

  Andy Hall considered, very briefly, whether it would be all right for him to go in to work without Jane. She had her own car, of course, and it was only a ten minute drive, but even so it wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t need to ask her how her morning sickness was, because he’d heard her in their en suite as he was getting dressed, and he wasn’t really formally involved in either case anyway. At least he wasn’t at the moment. So he really shouldn’t be in any hurry. He shouldn’t even be going in at all. He was still thinking about how to broach the subject of why he was when Jane walked in to the kitchen. He thought she looked about equal parts pale and tired, but he knew better than to mention it. He poured her tea, put the toast on, and kept his mouth very firmly shut.

  Jane took a cautious sip of her brew, and looked at him over the rim.

  ‘Are you able to help out on the Pearson death, Andy?’

  ‘Yes, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘You’d stay out of the Foster case?’

  Hall took his time before he replied.

  ‘Of course, unless they turned out to be connected.’

  ‘That’s not likely though, is it? Or is there something you’re not telling me?’

  ‘There’s absolutely nothing I’m not telling you. Of course not, Jane. All I’m saying is that two suspicious deaths within a few miles and a few days is an odd co-incidence, that’s all.’

  ‘But that’s all it is, surely? We’ve established that Foster wasn’t robbed, for a start. The bloke didn’t have anything worth nicking.’

  ‘Agreed, and it’s just a hypothetical point. Forget I mentioned it.’

  ‘What is it then? The old copper’s nose twitching again?’

  ‘That’ll be hay fever’ said Hall, smiling. ‘Come on, eat up. And make sure you get a decent meal at lunchtime today, OK? I don’t want to hear that it’s just been biscuits and crisps from that crappy vending machine.’

  Even as he spoke Hall wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. But Jane smiled, reached over and put her hand on his arm.

  ‘Of course I will, love. I’ve got someone else to think about now, haven’t I?’ She noticed his expression. ‘Other than you and the girls, of course’ she added quickly.

  Hall drove and Jane read her emails. ‘Sandy is on her way in. She’s sent through the PM and her report on the Pearson case. You want me to forward it to you and tell her that you’ll take the meeting?’

  ‘Fine’ said Hall cautiously. ‘If that’s how you want to play it.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Andy’ she said, laughing. ‘You don’t have to walk on bloody egg shells with me the whole time. I am a biologist, remember, so I do know what’s going on in my body. I’m not going to bite your bloody head off, you know. And we’ve already agreed on this, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, sure. I’ll drop a quick email to the Chief when we get in, just to let him know what’s going on. And I’ll copy you, obviously.’

  ‘You’d bloody better’ said Jane, trying to keep a straight face.

  ‘All right’ said Hall, ‘I get it. I’m worried about you, that’s all. I know what it’s like, being SIO on your first murder enquiry.’

  ‘I don’t get as stressed as you though, Andy. You can’t even look at a glass without thinking how empty it looks.’

  He laughed. ‘So I don’t have the sunniest of outlooks, I admit it. And this job does have a way of confirming your prejudices, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Actually, Andy, my little ray of sunshine, I’m often surprised that you’re not more cynical about people and their motives.’

  ‘You mean you’re surprised at how bloody gullible I am?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s what I really meant.’

  Sandy Smith only seemed about 20% angrier than usual. But that was, Hall reflected as he listened to her, starting from a fairly high base of generalised annoyance. But then she was always like this when she and her team were especially over-worked.

  ‘Don’t waste my fucking time, Andy’ she said, by way of an introduction. ‘As soon as I’m finished with you I need to talk to Jane. A proper murder, she’s got. With buckets of blood and everything. But you won’t have seen the pictures, will you, Andy? And Keith doesn’t need to, do you, son?’

  ‘So Mrs. Pearson’s death was an accident, then?’ asked Hall.

  ‘You’ve read the PM, mate. No signs that she put up a fight, and no evidence that any of her injuries was inconsistent with falling down those stairs. And as to any physical evidence in the house or on Mrs. Pearson’s clothing I can’t see anything that gives any kind of contra-indication. If it wasn’t for that lass running from the house, and the fact that stuff was nicked, we’d be looking at an accident, pure and simple.’

  ‘Nothing at all to make you think otherwise?’

  ‘No. I just told you. And I also told you not to waste my time.’

  ‘I won’t. Just one thing, and then I’ll let you get off to Jane. We don’t have any very precise description of the items stolen. The daughter can’t really remember, and the neighbour isn’t sure either. So if we recovered items of jewellery, am I right in assuming that you’d be able to tie them back to Mrs. Pearson?’

  ‘That’s the first remotely sensible thing you’ve said today, Andy Hall. Yes, we could. Prints or DNA would do it of course, but even if there aren’t any there’s a high chance that we’d be able to tie the chemical signature of the velvet lining of the box to the items. They’ll have been in contact for years, see. So aye, it’s a racing certainty, is that. But have you recovered anything for us to look at?’

  ‘We’re working on it.’

  ‘Well Tonto says that your thief didn’t dump the gear, not anywhere near the locus anyway, so you might need to get lucky. But I’ve always said it, you’re just a lucky bloke, Andy Hall.’

  Ian Mann had nipped out for cakes, and he was glad he had. Because Sandy didn’t call him many names during the meeting that followed her session with Hall and Iredale, and he had the feeling that her heart wasn’t really in it. So he decided to risk asking a stupid question of his own.

  ‘So you’re sure that John Tyson’s DNA was on the gun?’

  ‘Yes, in two places.’

  ‘But he said he never handled it.’

  ‘Well, his DNA was there, whatever he says. Small samples, but complete. It’s his all right.’

  ‘Anything else?’ added Jane. ‘I didn’t understand this paragraph in the consultant’s report about the lubricant.’

  ‘Nor did I, so I phoned the bloke up. Snooty, patronising bastard. Talked to me like I was a lab rat, until I set him straight on one or two points. Anyway, what he was saying was this. The gun oil used was a standard type, widely available, but it seemed a bit odd to him. You’d think he was talking about vintage wine, the way he was going on. But to cut a long story short he thinks that either the gun or the lubricant had been kept at very low temperature, and for a fairly extended period.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Months, or even years. Below freezing, the whole time.’

  ‘And what did he make of it?’

  ‘Nothing. He said maybe the oil was stored somewhere very cold. He may have been a posh twat but his method seems sound. If you find it, report it. It’s not my job to work out what any of it bloody means, any more than it was his, now is it?’

  ‘Of course not’ said Jane. ‘Well thanks, Sandy. You’ve certainly put Tyson very firmly back in the frame for the Foster killing.’

  ‘You coul
d look a bit more pleased about it.’

  ‘No, I’m grateful, honestly.’

  ‘You look like you could do with another cake. Ian, how many are left?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Right, one for me, and one for Jane. Unlucky, Ian. I expect you’ve got a mung bean salad or something else that’s equally healthy to chew on, haven’t you?’

  ‘Something like that, aye.’

  ‘You do know that it gets you in the end though, don’t you?’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Life, lad. Life. I’d say cheer up and have another cake, but there are none left now, are there?’

  When Sandy had gone Jane checked her emails. She just had time before the team briefing. When she read the one from Terry Chambers, the forensic accountant that the force used for more complex jobs, which meant any that involved actual sums, she swore out loud. Chambers strongly suspected that Foster had indeed owed Jez Taylor money, and although he didn’t have absolute proof a quick scan of the email attachments suggested that he was right. She tried to calm herself down, and to remember what it was that Andy always said when an enquiry started to fragment, with leads appearing from everywhere. ‘One line good, two lines better’ wasn’t it? But it didn’t feel good right now. None of it did. It felt like her already limited resources would end up being spread far too thinly. Andy had a knack of concentrating on the right lines of enquiry, of subtly switching his own emphasis and the team’s resources, and she was never sure if it was all the product of unalloyed skill, or whether an element of blind luck was involved as well. Perhaps she was about to find out.

  The urge to knock on Hall’s office door was, she realised, only fleeting. She already knew what she was going to do, no matter what Hall might say. So why ask at all? And as she felt her heart rate fall back she realised that she was actually feeling confident: in her ability to lead the team, and in her judgement too. So she printed out Chambers’ email, and walked out into the open office with it.