‘Jesus, she’s in a state’ said Mann, when he and Iredale were safely outside the station and making for Mann’s car. ‘I told you that promotion was bloody over-rated, didn’t I?’
‘You might have mentioned it’ said Iredale, smiling. ‘But Jane will still be the blue-eyed girl if she nabs our killer, won’t she? Even if it’s all down to the likes of us.’
‘Aye, I suppose so. But I wouldn’t bet your pension on it, lad, let alone mine. She must be bloody desperate, having us out checking all those alibis again. All three of them, Tyson, Winder and Taylor. I reckon that she hasn’t got a bloody clue. If the search at Tyson’s turns up nowt, and they do no better when they move on to Taylor’s place, then she’s screwed, like. Better to be the bloody dogsbody at a time like this, I reckon.’
‘You’re the only bloke I know who makes ambition sound like an error of judgement. But where to first?’
‘Let’s start with Tyson. He’s got to be favourite. We’ll do what Jane said, and re-interview everyone who was spoken to originally, and see if his alibi holds. But that’s the trouble, isn’t it? They’re all solitary, anti-social bastards, so they’ve no-one to vouch for them. Not convincingly, like.’
‘We both live alone, Ian. Could you account for your off-duty hours?’
‘How do you know that I’m not out on the pull every night?’
‘I’d have seen you, mate. There’s only one night club in Kendal, remember.’
‘And you’re down there on a daily basis? Bollocks, you are. You’re out on your bike, or sitting at home feeling all homesick and sorry for yourself, like a little girl.’
‘Were you never homesick? When you were in the forces?’
‘Towards the end, aye, but not for years. I got to see the world, didn’t I?’
‘You did, but only the bits where everyone already living there wanted to kill you.’
‘Aye, there was that, now you come to mention it.’
Iredale knew that Mann would change the subject pretty quickly now, and he did.
‘So you don’t mind being pulled off your aggravated burglary, or whatever it is?’
‘No, not really. We’re getting nowhere, and the Super seems to think that the two cases are linked anyway, because of Jez Taylor.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I can’t see it, not really. And even if Taylor is mixed up in these burglaries I still don’t see how it makes him more likely to have killed Frankie Foster.’
‘But Andy thinks it does?’
‘He seems to. But the boss was having none of it, as far as I can tell.’
‘Trouble in paradise, eh? And I hear on the grapevine that Andy’s been named in some sort of bullying enquiry up at HQ. How the fuck that happened, I’ll never know. He’s the politest man on the force, is Andy, and his idea of a bollocking is to make you a cup of tea and talk about what’s gone wrong. Eventually he decides that it was all his fault anyway and bollocks himself instead. Don’t laugh, I’ve been there.’
‘He’s not exactly your typical senior officer, that’s for sure.’
‘Thank Christ for that. He’s an interesting bloke. Squeamish, too posh for the police, pretty much ill-suited to the job in every way. Yet I still can’t imagine him doing anything else. And it must be doing his head in, Jane running this case now, especially if he thinks she’s getting it wrong.’
‘And does he?’
‘Probably, aye. He’s a funny bugger, is Andy. Always going on about following procedure, but when he gets an idea in his bloody head he just won’t let it go. I’ve seen him tie investigations in knots trying to play it by the book and follow his own instincts at the same time. What’s amazing is how often he’s right, I’ll give him that. So if he reckons that Taylor did it then aye, he’s probably right. But I’m just a simple old DS, and I’d just nick the bloke whose DNA was on the bloody gun and keep at him until he confessed. So look on the bright side, lad.’
‘I am, Ian. I’m off tomorrow, marrer.’
‘You selfish bastard. That’s not what I meant at all. Because if we can break Tyson’s alibi then we’ll be the toast of the bloody station, won’t we?’
Jez Taylor wasn’t surprised to see the Police search team. It wasn’t the first time, and he doubted that it’d be the last. They’d only ever found any gear once, and that was the very first time. He was absolutely confident that nothing incriminating would be found. No cash, no drugs, no paperwork and none of the tools of the trade. His ‘persuader’ was in a safe place, and the cops would never find that. So after he’d been searched he asked the Inspector in charge if it was all right if he left.
‘Don’t you want to stay?’
‘Why? If you’re planning on fitting me up then you’ll do it whether I’m here or not, won’t you? Just pull the door behind you on the way out.’
‘Aren’t you worried about getting robbed?
Taylor had laughed at that. It was a good one. ‘I don’t get robbed, mate. So just leave it unlocked if you like, it’ll make no odds.’
But he was still careful to check that he wasn’t being followed when he drove away from the house. He wasn’t, as far as he could tell. His phone was off, and back in the house. They’d already checked his records, and that phone was clean. But could they have one of those drones watching him he wondered, and bent down to try to look in his car’s mirrors. He couldn’t see anything. It wasn’t likely either, because the local cops would probably crash it, if they did have one. But then he thought of a tracking device on the car. Did they need a Warrant for one of those? Did they even have any? He had no idea, so he drove on, well past his destination, and parked up on a trading estate on the edge of town. Then he phoned a mate in the used car trade.
‘It’s your lucky day, Brian. I want a car off you, for cash, like. Right now, aye.The only thing is that you’ll have to pick me up, mate.’
An hour later Taylor was parking the old VW down the street from Tiffany’s house. He wasn’t concerned that there was a risk that they’d be watching her place, because half the force was round at his, while the rest was probably off sick or on a course. They were so short-staffed it wasn’t funny any more, though it was good for business. So he strolled straight up to the front door and knocked, nice and loud. He always did that, when he was collecting.
Tiffany came to the door quickly. She knew who it was, but then she had been watching from her mum’s bedroom window. She let him in without saying anything. He would have come in, whatever she’d said. She followed him in to the sitting room, and found that he was already sitting on the sofa, his arms spread wide on the cushions behind him.
‘Have you got it?’
‘Aye.’
‘All of it?’
Tiffany walked over to the dresser, and moved the china figure of a slim young woman in a pastel dress to one side. She had a flashback to an image of herself as a child, just holding it and looking at it when her mother had passed out drunk on that same sofa. It made her feel sadder than ever, and she was briefly surprised that was it actually possible to feel nostalgic about such a terrible time. She picked up the plastic bag from the back of the shelf, and passed it to Taylor.
‘Frankie would have given me a grand for that. It’s double what mum still owes.’
‘Aye, but I’m not Frankie, am I? This is the gear that you got from that old woman who croaked, is it?’
‘I had nothing to do with that.’
‘Tell it to the judge, love, because I don’t give a shit. But the trouble is that these are damaged goods, like, because of what happened. Devalued, like.’
‘Take it all and we’ll call it quits.’
‘That’s not for you to say, Tiffany. And this will only pay the interest, lass. Not a bloody penny more.’
‘That’s not fair. The gold will get melted down, and you’ll get top-dollar for it. I know you will.’
‘Who said anything about fairness? You need to keep earning. Another job, and soon. You’
ve got that list. There must be three of four more names still left. Choose one of them.’
‘I’m not doing any more. That woman died, for Christ’s sake, Jez. The cops know it was me. Of course they fucking do. They’ve told me so.’
‘That’s your problem then, love, not mine. And if they were that sure you’d be inside already, like. But if my name was ever dropped, if and when you do get nicked, you know who’d suffer for it, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Aye, well then. Now you be a good little girl, and do one more for your uncle Jez. And don’t hang about.’
‘No.’
‘What the fuck did you just say?’
But Tiffany didn’t get the chance to repeat herself, because Taylor hit her hard on the side of the jaw with the back of his hand. She fell, hit the dresser, and the figure of the young girl fell to the floor and smashed. She quickly followed it down. Tiffany didn’t move for a few moments. She was seeing stars and flashes of light, but there was no pain. At least not yet. Taylor stood over her, and she wondered if he was going to kick her now. She’d heard that was one of his specialities.
‘Now you fucking listen to me. Your mum owes me, and that means that you owe me. So you do another job, and soon, you hear me? And if you don’t then you’d better be ready for what will happen to your precious bloody mother. I don’t know why you bother, but that’s your problem. So you just remember this. I did Frankie Foster. That’s right, I did it. And if you don’t do what I tell you then I’ll do your mum the same way. You hear me, Tiffany?’
She did, and she nodded, slowly. She could taste the blood, bitter in her mouth, and heard the ringing in her ears, like a fire bell. She lay there for a long time after he’d gone, and then, when she felt steady enough, she started to clear up the mess. Her mum wouldn’t notice the figurine, she thought, as she used the dustpan and brush to collect the shards of its gown.
Monday, 28th July
Keith Iredale had been sitting in his car, watching the Moore’s house, for two hours already. He knew he’d been too early, and probably still was. He’d phoned the college already, asked what time Tiffany’s first class of the day was, and discovered that it was at noon. Which meant that he probably had another forty five minutes to wait before she’d appear.
It was uncomfortable just sitting there, squirming in the driver’s seat occasionally, but not boring. Because Iredale had promised himself that he’d decide, once and for all, what he was going to do about that job offer out west. He wouldn’t let himself be swayed by Ian Mann. He needed to decide this for himself. So first he tried to identify what it was that was making him hesitate, and maybe more than hesitate. Was it just the fear of change? Or was there something about being a proper copper that he just didn’t want to walk away from, even if he wouldn’t be walking all that far?
And of course he thought about his dad. He didn’t want to, but it was inevitable. Iredale remembered waiting for him to come home from work, standing unsteadily on his bed so that he could see out of the window, and watching his dad cycle up the street on a summer’s evening, still in uniform. He could feel, even at thirty year’s distance, the afterglow from the heat of the love and admiration that he’d felt. But was that particular evening before or after the fall? He couldn’t be sure, not at this distance, but it must have been about the time that his dad had become involved with a local gang boss in west Cumbria. So was he thinking about leaving because of that? He’d loved the job, pretty much every day, from the time that he’d started, after all. It was nothing to do with his dad. And what did the past matter, when all was said and done? In the end it was just breaths that had been taken, and would never be taken again.
He reacted slowly, far too slowly, when the door opened and the man got in, and the hand that wrapped round his wrist gripped and tightened.
‘Relax, Keith’ said Mann, letting go of his arm. ‘No bloody marks for observation for you, son.’
‘I wasn’t looking out for you, mate. How did you know I’d be here, anyway?’
‘I am a detective.’
‘Aye, but a pretty shit one. So how did you really know?’ They both laughed.
‘I did tell you, Keith. Let it go. Trust me, you don’t want to go down this road.’
‘What, because I’m off duty?’
‘No, not just that, although questions would be asked if you actually made an arrest now. It’s bad for you, that’s all, letting work take over your whole bloody life like this. And anyway, I thought you were planning to jack it all in?’
‘Thinking about it, Ian. And you’re right, I know it’s daft. But there’s just something about this case…’
‘That’s what they all say, son. You won’t be the first, and you won’t be the last. But I’ll tell you one thing, you don’t see the bloody brass going above and beyond like this, do you? Not unless it’s in the brown-nosing marathon, like.’
‘I know, but this one is different. Honestly, it just is.’
‘Because the old lady died? That was an accident, or at least we’ll never prove otherwise.’
‘No, it’s not that.’
Mann thought for a moment, then grinned, and punched Iredale on the arm.
‘For fuck’s sake, Keith. We need to find you a girlfriend, even if it is only that scary WPC from the dog unit at HQ. She looks at you like her Alsatian looks at raw meat. She’s a looker mind, is young Tiffany.’
‘Don’t be daft, Keith. I’m not a bloody stalker. I’m worried about her, that’s all.’
‘So you think she’s been acting under duress. Is that it? It wouldn’t be the first time, I suppose.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘So you want to save her from Jez Taylor? Be a knight in shining armour? But what if she doesn’t want to be saved? Have you thought about that?’
‘Aye, obviously.’
‘Bollocks you have. You’re just like Andy Hall, only not as clever, like. Deep down you don’t want to nick cons, you want to bloody help them.’
‘Some of them, maybe. What’s wrong with that?’
‘It makes no bloody sense, Keith, that’s what wrong with it. Think it through a bit, lad. There’s a whole bloody system out there, mainly staffed by people who don’t give a shit, and they’re all talking to people who aren’t listening anyway. It’s all a waste of fucking time, trying to help them. We’re the last line of defence, son, the thin blue line. I know Tiffany’s pretty and everything, but if people like her break through then it’s all over. We’re the last fucking line of defence, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘Thanks for that motivational speech, mate.’
Mann laughed. ‘So are you going to knock this on the head, or what?’
‘I’ll stay for a while.’
‘All right, suit yourself. I’d better push off. I’m still chasing around trying to break those bloody alibis.’
‘Any luck?’
‘No. I hope for Jane’s sake that one of those three is lying, because otherwise we’re absolutely fucked. Come back Andy Hall, eh?’
‘Has he ever really gone away?’
‘Of course not. He couldn’t, could he? Just make sure you don’t end up like him, married to the bloody job.’
‘What about Jane?’
‘She’s just as bad though, isn’t she? Clever lass like that, too. But that’s the trouble with this job, like. Get’s right under your skin, doesn’t it, lad?’
Iredale was going to reply, but Mann had opened the door and got out before he could. Iredale watched him walk away in the car’s side mirrors, and tried to stretch his legs a bit, down into the footwell. It was a lovely morning, and he could be out on his bike now. He imagined the feeling of topping out on a climb, and feeling the pedals spin and the wind rushing past his face again. But he only allowed himself a moment, because he was just torturing himself. He could be here for hours yet, and if that is what it took then that’s what he’d do.
Andy Hall wasn’t
surprised that ACC Thompson had turned up at Kendal station, nor that he had told the civilian on reception to just let him in without calling Hall first. She’d complied with the first instruction, but not the second, so Hall was ready when Thompson walked in to his office. He’d already set his mobile phone to record too, just in case. He didn’t bother to feign surprise, and Thompson didn’t pretend to apologise for turning up unannounced. He just slumped down in the chair on the other side of Hall’s desk, his uniform jacket bunching up as he did so.
‘Can I offer you some tea, or coffee?’
‘No, I don’t have time. Listen, Andy, they’re going to suspend me. Today, this morning. It might even have happened already.’
‘I see.’
‘That I’m being hung out to dry? Too right I am. Well, I won’t fucking stand for it. It’s victimisation, isn’t it?’
‘How can I help?’
‘Would you, if you could?’
‘Would I lie to the enquiry? No, of course not. I’ll answer any questions that are put to me truthfully. But you wouldn’t expect any less, sir.’
Thompson gave him a look that suggested that he’d expected much more.
‘You’re a disloyal bastard. Always looking out for number one, aren’t you?’
Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) Page 17
