Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7)

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘Then go. I know what you’re like. If you don’t you’ll only worry about it for months, years even. Just don’t get your hopes up. I doubt that justice and fairness are what Rachel Armstrong is thinking about right now.’

  ‘Maybe they’re all she’s thinking about. How could we possibly know, or even guess?’

  ‘Fair point, but you be careful, Andy. You know what victim’s families are like. Terrible pain does terrible things to people’s minds, and to their memories. Even when they’re trying their very best to be truthful. You’ve said as much yourself.’

  ‘I know. And I’ll be careful, I promise.’

  Hall thought about his conversation with Jane as he drove to the Armstrong’s house, but mainly he thought about their two young children. How would they cope without a father? And not just now, when they married, when they had kids of their own. All those years, and all that pain just echoing down the generations. When he was younger Hall had often worried about how his own children would fare if he wasn’t around, killed on duty or something, and yet in the end it was his wife who’d left. But he hadn’t, and never could. The kids could spit on him in the street, and he’d still feel the same about them. So what could possibly have motivated Will to do what he did? Was he mentally ill at the time of his death, and would it make any difference if he was?

  Hall sat in his car, just along from the Armstrong’s pretty little cottage in a street quite close to the centre of Penrith. He could feel the nerves knotting his stomach, but he forced himself to get out of the car. He’d phoned Rachel earlier, before he’d seen Jane, and she knew that he was coming. He told himself to listen, to ask nothing, and only to follow where Rachel led. He was only there to express his sincere condolences, after all.

  Rachel Armstrong opened the door, and led Hall through to the small sitting room. The children’s toys were piled up in a couple of red plastic boxes, but the house was quiet.

  ‘They’re with my mum’ said Rachel, noticing his glance, ‘we’ve not told them yet. I don’t know what to say. I can’t understand it myself. Why would he leave them? He loved them so much. I thought he loved me too.’

  Hall nodded, and waited.

  ‘He talked about you, you know. He said you were one of the decent ones.’

  Hall nodded again, and smiled slightly.

  ‘Of course that changed at the end. He told me that he begged for your help, when it all got too much.’

  ‘I don’t know about begged.’

  ‘He was a proud man, and you’re probably a bloody insensitive one, aren’t you? Years of doing that horrible job, working with so many slime-balls, it must knock all the humanity out of you.’

  Hall waited. He wouldn’t have interrupted, even if he could have thought of a single thing to say.

  ‘But he thought you were different. He really did. It shows how wrong you can be, I suppose. But anyway, why are you here, Superintendent Hall?’

  ‘As I said on the phone, I wanted to pay my respects.’

  ‘Respects? You should have done that when Will was alive, not now. No, I know why you’re here. You just want to salve your own precious conscience, don’t you? You want to hear me say that it’s not your fault, and that you did all you could. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘But I didn’t do all I could. I do know that, Mrs. Armstrong.’

  Rachel looked at Hall, as if seeing him for the first time.

  ‘Aye, well, that’s good of you to admit, I suppose. Your mates are all so busy covering their arses that they won’t own up to anything. They just keep going on about an internal enquiry like it’s some kind of divine justice. Like hell it is. The Federation rep said that he reckons that shit Thompson will go down for this. That he’ll get the boot. Well I hope they do sack the bastard, and strip his pension while they’re at it. I hope he ends up with nothing, like me.’

  Hall couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

  ‘Did Will ever talk about ACC Thompson?’

  ‘Aye, all the time. More towards the end, like, as you’d expect. The bastard was always on his case, criticising his work, threatening him with the sack.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you? Tell me something, since you’re being so bloody honest. Was Will good at his job?’

  ‘No, not really, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Did you ever tell him that?’

  ‘I had to check his work, and ask him to change it. So yes, I suppose I did.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘And how about you? Are you good at your job?’

  ‘Bits of it. Not bad, I suppose. But there are parts I’ve never really got the hang of somehow, even after thirty odd years. But we are who we are, I suppose. Some of us are just square pegs in round holes, and it doesn’t matter how hard someone hits you with a mallet, that just never changes.’

  ‘Some people just aren’t cut out for their jobs, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose that’s exactly what I mean.’

  ‘And you’ll be giving evidence, to this enquiry?’

  ‘I will, yes.’

  ‘And you’ll tell the truth?’

  ‘Of course. You can count on it.’

  Rachel Armstrong got up, came over to Hall and held out her hand. He stood and shook it, gently and slowly.

  ‘Aye, I think you will, and I thank you for it. I know that Will would appreciate it, the selfish bastard. It’ll do you no good, that’s obvious enough, even to me. But like you say, there are some bits of your job that you really haven’t got the hang of, have you?’

  Keith Iredale had spent all shift, and then quite a bit of his own time, talking to gun shop owners. He’d got nowhere, and he hadn’t expected to. But that hadn’t stopped Ian Mann from calling him three times, with requests for updates relaid directly from the boss. It was getting on his nerves. He’d finally reached the gun shop in Workington at after 6pm, and the owner had waited for him. But then, in Keith’s limited experience, licensed premises were always keen to co-operate with the cops. Iredale’s plan had been to go out with a couple of mates from Workington nick afterwards, and then stay with his folks in Maryport. But when he’d finished work - having drawn a final blank for the day - he found himself texting his mates and calling his folks, saying that he needed to be back in Kendal. He read the humorously abusive texts from his former colleagues in response to his lie, bought a fish supper from his favourite chip shop in the town, then headed back towards the M6. He knew it was stupid, but still, it had to be done.

  He was just passing Penrith when his phone rang. He answered without looking at the number display.

  ‘Now then, Ian. What’s up?’

  ‘All right, lad? How did you get on at that last gun dealer?’

  ‘Same as the others. Common type of cartridge, he stocks it but then so does everyone else, and he hasn’t supplied any to anyone resembling Jez Taylor.’

  ‘You got the list of everyone he’s sold them to recently?’

  ‘Aye. He’s emailing it in.’

  ‘Good, well that’ll give you something to get started on in the morning.’

  ‘It’s a bloody waste of time is this, Ian.’

  ‘Aye, but it’s orders. Ours is not to reason why, and all that. But you know how it is, the more serious the case, the more boring the graft. And don’t complain. At least you’ve been out and about, like. The job’s all paperwork these days, not that I’m trying to put you off, like.’

  Iredale laughed. ‘Don’t bother fishing, mate. I’ll tell you what I’ve decided, when I’ve decided.’

  ‘That’s fine. What are you on with now then? Going out with your old mates in the wild west, I’ll bet.’

  ‘I was, but I’m not now.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’

  ‘Aye.’ Iredale paused, but he knew that Mann wouldn’t reply. ‘I’m going to drop in on Tiffany Moore, just to see if she’s seen sense yet.’

  ‘I bloody knew it. You are a twat, Keith.’

  ‘Why? I just think she might see reason, or
have worked it out for herself. She’s not daft, you know.’

  ‘Aye, and she’s not ugly either, is she? Look, I’ve told you before. When you clock off your responsibility for the safety of the citizens of Cumbria ends, for the day at least. Taking it home is a recipe for disaster, mate.’

  ‘I know. Like you say, you’ve told me before.’

  ‘But you’re still going, aren’t you?’

  ‘Aye, I’m still going.’

  Tiffany Moore didn’t seem surprised to see Iredale, and slightly to his surprise she invited him in.

  ‘Please be quiet. My mum is asleep, and I call this a Japanese house.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the walls and floors are made of bloody paper. It seems that way, anyway.’

  Iredale, smiled, and sat down opposite Tiffany. The room was cool and the TV was off. Iredale could hardly remember the last time he’d been in to a con’s house and the TV wasn’t blaring, even with no-one watching.

  ‘I expect you’re wondering why I’ve come?’

  ‘No, not really. It’s your job to hassle people.’

  ‘Not innocent people, Tiffany.’

  ‘Innocent? Who’s innocent? I’m not. But I bet you’re not, either.’

  ‘I’m not a criminal, that’s for sure.’

  ‘So you’ve come to show me the error of my ways, is that it?’

  ‘I just wanted to give you a chance to do the right thing. It’ll be so much better for you if you do.’

  ‘Don’t start that again. It’s a waste of time, is that.’

  ‘You know what you’ve done, and you know we’ll catch you, Tiffany. We know about Jez Taylor.’

  ‘Who?’ She answered too fast, and a little too loudly.

  ‘Come on, just give it up. We’ll connect you to him. It might take a bit of time, but we will. We know why he got you to drop Mike Lightfoot’s name like that now, you see.’ Iredale paused, but Tiffany sat still. ‘Has Taylor been threatening you? We can protect you both, Tiffany. You and your mum.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh. No-one gives a shit about us, not really. You do-gooders are all the same. Loads of bloody fine words and concerned expressions, and then six months later you’re off to some new job, where you can pretend to care about a new set of people, but for more money.’

  ‘I’m not a do-gooder, Tiffany. I’m going to nick you for what you’ve done, don’t you worry. And I won’t be sorry. You’re a criminal, and a nasty one at that. But if someone else is involved, someone who’s really behind all this, then I want to nick them too. And it’s in your interests that I do, believe me.’

  ‘No, I told you. I’m on my own. Always have been, always will be.’

  It was just a bit of fun, really. That Andy Hall won’t go for it, not in a month of Sundays. But if he did, then so what? Jez Taylor deserves to go down. Cockroaches like him should be stamped on at every opportunity. And it’s nice to be the boot, rather than the shell, for a change. Of course Hall’s not in charge, is he? But she’ll be no different, that DI.

  And it has been fun, no doubt about that. It’s almost reassuring to know that they don’t see everything, even with all their electronics and satellites or whatever they are. Big Brother hasn’t won yet, not out here he hasn’t, anyway. I expect they’ll be watching Troutbeck one day, with CCTV all over the place, but it’s not happened yet. But off course they’ll be watching me. That’s inevitable. And not just me, neither. I’ve not noticed anyone, not from the house or out in the village, but then I wouldn’t, would I? But they’ll be watching, all right. It stands to reason, does that. I need to be watching.

  Still, not long to go now. Whatever happens it’s almost over. And then what? Troutbeck will still be here, the walls, the hedgerows, the cottages, the churchyard. It’ll still be as quiet, and as beautiful, in sun or rain. Eventually the fells will wear or wash away they say, and maybe the lakes will go dry or overflow, but what do we know? And what do we matter, come to that? There are trees round here that have outlived generations of my family, and will outlive a couple more, I wouldn’t wonder. So I don’t matter, what I did doesn’t matter, and what’s coming doesn’t matter. Not to anyone, and not to me. Not really. Not any more.

  Tuesday, 29th July

  Jane was in the office before six, and hadn’t spoken to Hall before she left home. She was glad about that, because if anything things were actually getting worse. The evening, or what there was of it left when she’d finally got home, consisted entirely of verbal tip-toe round the elephant in the room: their disagreement over Jez Taylor. He’d killed Foster, she was absolutely sure of that now. And she didn’t care what Andy thought. When she went to bed, an hour after Hall, she remembered that he hadn’t once asked her how she was feeling that evening. And that made a nice change, in a way. Because usually he never bloody stopped.

  By the time Hall reached the station, at just after seven, she’d already sanctioned full surveillance on Taylor and had it signed off by the acting ACC, although she’d told him that she hoped that it wouldn’t have to last too long. Because if the CPS decided to prosecute he’d be on remand by dinner time anyway. Then she called her CPS contact, her boss, and his boss, and all without success. Voice mail from the lot. She wasn’t surprised. Sometimes, and especially at night and weekends, it really felt as if she and her fellow cops were standing alone against the barbarians - or at least the burglars, flashers, drunks and druggies - at the gates. But she was surprised, then angry, and finally furious, when she read Hall’s email.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Andy’ she said, when he picked up his phone.

  ‘It’s just a suggestion, that’s all. I didn’t copy the email to anyone.’

  ‘You didn’t need to. It’s a fucking order, that’s what it is. Because if I don’t do what you say, and this investigation goes tits up, then the bosses will just point to that note and say ‘I told you so, she’s not bloody up to it.’ Or rather that you told me to, and I ignored you.’

  ‘That wasn’t my intention.’

  ‘Do you know what it’ll cost to do what you ask? Christ, three surveillance teams. I’ll have to stop pretty much all the other enquiries. I just don’t have the people. So I hope you’re volunteering to pitch in yourself.’

  ‘Of course I am, yes. And I know it’s tough. But I’m not convinced about Taylor. I’m sorry, but I’m not.’

  ‘So you’re SIO now, is that it?’

  ‘Of course not. As I said, it’s just a suggestion. But I can authorise it, if that’s what you want to do.’

  ‘And all because you’ve suddenly decided to believe what a lying, thieving shit like Taylor tells us? Christ, Andy. Or is it your famous instinct, the one you always say that you don’t actually have, that’s telling you that I’ve got it all wrong? Or is it just because it’s me? Is that it?’

  ‘Hang on a second, Jane. You’re running away with yourself a bit here, aren’t you? It’s not like you at all. Shall I come down, so we can talk about it properly?’

  ‘No way. You stay where you are. You’ve done enough damage already. But I’ll tell you one thing, Andy. If I get the OK to charge Jez Taylor this morning then this is hasn’t happening. So I hope that’s clear, sir.’

  ‘Actually they’ve just been on to me, literally a minute ago. They’re not willing for you to charge Taylor, not with what you’ve got at the moment. I’m sorry, Jane….’

  But the line went dead, and Hall knew better than to call back. He’d wait for a while, and then go up to the incident room. He was quite looking forward to a day back at the sharp end, so long as his back stood up to spending all those hours in a car. And if he was right then Jane would thank him, in a day or two. And if he was wrong? He acknowledged the possibility, but chose not to think about it.

  Hall needn’t have worried about his back holding out, because he stood at the back of the team meeting and felt a bit like the fat kid who didn’t get picked for the playground football match. But no-one else noticed, becau
se as far as they were all concerned he was one of the teachers - or at the very least a senior dinner lady - and as such was above selection. So he retreated to his office, and kept an eye on the Foster case file as he worked, listlessly, on the day’s barrage of bullshit from HQ. The officers that Jane had assigned to Tyson and Winder’s surveillance weren’t known to Hall, but he noticed that Mann and Iredale were taking the first four hour turn on Taylor. That struck Hall as odd, since he’d have assigned out-of-area detectives who Taylor wouldn’t have known, but it was clear that Jane regarded Mann as her key asset when it came to covert surveillance. And Hall wasn’t going to argue with that. For such a big man he had an uncanny knack of disappearing, even in plain sight.

  But as soon as Jane walked in to his office he knew that something was very wrong. The fact that she was even there proved that beyond any reasonable doubt.

  ‘Shit, Andy, but you might be right. We’ve only gone and fucking lost them already.’

  ‘Who? Winder and Tyson? Taylor? The lot?’

  ‘No, not Taylor. Unless he’s been a Russian sleeper all these years he’ll never have the skills to shake off Ian Mann. But the other two have both given our people the slip.’

  ‘Accident, or design?’

  ‘You mean are our people useless dick-heads? Yes, they bloody well are. Christ, both teams lost their targets within half an hour. No disrespect, Andy, but you could do better than that.’

  Hall laughed, and Jane smiled back.

  ‘None taken. Look, Jane, our lads are bound to say that Winder and Tyson deliberately lost their tails, just to save face. But it’s not easy, a rush job like this. They were both only two-up, and had one vehicle each? So it could easily be just bad luck, honestly.’

  ‘Yes, maybe. But even so, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re right. Maybe Winder and Tyson are in it together.’