‘Superintendent Hall’ said the Chief, smiling at him, ‘I should tell you that the remit of this enquiry has changed.’ Of course it has, thought Hall, and waited. ‘ACC Thompson decided to accept an offer made to him in advance of this enquiry, and as a result his conduct will not be the prime subject of our investigation.’ The Chief paused, and Hall remained silent. ‘Our remit is wider now, and we’re confident that the outcomes and policy decisions arising from it will be of considerable value to the Constabulary going forward. So let’s proceed, in a spirit of positivity and co-operation, shall we?’ My arse, thought Hall, and smiled his agreement.
The next half hour passed much as Hall had expected, with questions about his own record, his interactions with both Thompson and Will Armstrong, and then about what he’d witnessed, and what he’d said to Thompson afterwards.
‘And were you satisfied with ACC Thompson’s reply?’
‘I wasn’t surprised by it.’
‘Meaning?’
‘That his position didn’t seem to have shifted as a result of our conversation.’
‘And yet you took no further action?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Should you have?’
Hall had expected the question, but he still paused. Fuck you and your self-serving bullshit, he thought, but his face remained as still as marble.
‘Yes. With the benefit of hindsight, I should have taken steps.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Because I did not believe that any action would have been taken against ACC Thompson. At most what I had witnessed was a senior officer behaving rudely, and in an overbearing fashion. I’ve seen that many, many times during my service, and I have seen officers who consistently behave similarly, albeit more subtly, thrive in the Police service. I can explain why, if you like.’
‘That won’t be necessary. So let me ask you this. Do you feel in any way responsible for the death of Will Armstrong.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Thank you, Superintendent Hall. Does anyone else have any questions? No? Then all that remains for me to do is to thank you for your time, and your directness. Our report will be published in due course, and you will be advised of any implications concerning yourself. Do you have any questions for us?’
Hall said that he didn’t, got up and turned to march out. He didn’t regret what he’d said, and doubted that it would make any difference to the outcome anyway. The die was cast. He remembered what an old university friend had said, in Latin, when he’d told him that he had joined the Police. He’d smiled at the time, not getting the reference, and looked it up afterwards, which wasn’t easy in those pre-internet days, and with only part of the line remembered at that. But he’d found it eventually, and discovered that it was from Juvenal. ‘Who will guard the guards themselves?’ It was, he’d known for years now, strictly a rhetorical question.
What a stupid little bastard. How do people like that actually manage to live? Calls himself a professional, a social worker. Hasn’t got a clue, the pale faced prick. He really thought that a parasite like Jez Taylor would leave him alone, after the first time. Not a fucking chance. Not one in a million. He’d have bled him dry, one way or another, if that young copper hadn’t come along. I didn’t even have to threaten him to get him to tell me exactly what he’d told the law, either. Finding who the girl is wasn’t hard either. Plenty of people know, of course they do, it’s just that none of them would tell the cops, not unless they had to, like. But they told me all right. A few quid and a smile, that’s all it took. So that’s just another job for the list, then, something else to get sorted. I’ve got nothing against a decent, working criminal. Live and let live, I say. But not Taylor. How do people get like that? So fucking selfish. Do they start with something small, taking another kids’ sweets on the way back from the shop, and see that no-one will stop them? Not their parents, not their teachers, not the coppers. Especially not the coppers. Of course the getting away with it is only half of it, isn’t it? Because a normal person would think about what they’d done afterwards, know it was wrong, maybe even give the sweets back. But not Taylor. Even when he was five years old he wouldn’t have thought about that other kid, not once. Maybe it was a little girl. It’d have made no bloody difference to him. From then on, it would have been easy. No need to graft, when you can take. No need to pay attention in school, when you already know how to steal. When you know that most people are frightened. Frightened of strength, and of you. And he was right about that. They bloody are frightened, though it’s usually of the wrong things. That stupid little shit Eric Graham was so worried about what his wife and his bosses would do when they found out about his little junkie girlfriend that he just did what he was told. Because he was scared. And Taylor enjoyed it. Always has, right from that first time, in the playground or on the bus. But that young copper has worked it all out, by the sounds of it. And he’s coming for Taylor alone, I don’t doubt that, not for one single second. He was on his own when they met, and he told Graham to keep his mouth shut, which of course he bloody didn’t. So he’s playing the Lone Ranger, is that bobby, and I should know about that goes. So maybe I’ll give him a hand, like, whether he wants it or not.
Hall finally made it back to Kendal a quarter of an hour before the team meeting. He sat in his borrowed office and realised, to his considerable surprise, that he felt completely calm, and almost relaxed. And that was unusual for Andy Hall. But, realistically, what was the worst that the bastards could do now? Make him take early retirement? Bust him back to DCI? So what if they did? He was wasting his time in that carpeted mausoleum at HQ anyway. And it would be their loss. He wasn’t usually an immodest man, but he’d worked hard for all those years. No harder than many other detectives, of course not, but far harder and more effectively than the Chief and his lackeys. Maybe the job would end up stuffed full with the likes of them, forever just talking to each other. But the cons would sense that in no time. They’d smell it, and then they’d come and take whatever they wanted, from whoever they wanted to take it from. Even up here, in God’s green acres, it could happen. So often in life the easy decision is also the wrong one, and the weak one, he thought. And as to whether or not the great British public were born good or not, ‘the jury’s still out on that one’ he said, out loud. Then he got up, and made his way to the meeting. His mind was clear and sharp, and he was ready to contribute to the best of his ability, if he was asked.
Ian Mann’s summary of the surveillance activity distilled dozens of man hours into a couple of sentences. Jez Taylor was still unaware of his surveillance, and had been continuing with his collections, so a prosecution for his illegal money-lending activity was looking likely. There were a couple of murmurs of approval but Jane held up her hand.
‘That’s not what we’re interested in, and we all know that nicking him for that will make no difference, worse luck. Some other cockroach will just move in on Taylor’s patch. So how about Winder and Tyson, Ian?’
‘Winder tumbled us amazingly fast, almost like he was expecting us to be watching him, and Tyson is bloody hard to keep tabs on, because he spends his time half way up a bloody mountain. After this meeting I’m going to get on Winder myself, just until the end of the shift. He’s probably just having a bit of sport with us, so I mean to make it a bit harder for him.’
‘All right, good’ said Jane. ‘Since we last met Superintendent Hall has been having a look at another person of interest. Anything that we should be aware of, sir?’
‘Only that we’ve got another man with no alibi, although once again there’s nothing intrinsically suspicious in that. Yet again we’ve got someone who works alone, and out on the fells at that. No CCTV available, no nothing.’ Hall paused and let the groans subside. ‘But beyond that, and a motive of sorts, there’s nothing to connect Matt Somes junior to this killing. And given that he’s at one remove from the murder, since it was his dad who was grassed up by Foster, I’d say that he’s a
significantly less credible suspect than either Winder or Tyson.’
‘Can I ask, sir’, said a female DS who Hall had only met once, on a course. ‘Why would Winder or Tyson, or Winder and Tyson, kill Foster now? Why not years ago? It just doesn’t make any sense to me.’
‘I agree entirely’ said Jane, before Hall could begin to reply, ‘which is why Taylor remains our prime suspect. He’s a working criminal, with a clear connection to Foster, and he’s fond of violence.’
‘Mainly the threat of violence’ said Hall, mildly. ‘And those shotgun cartridges could easily have been planted, Sandy more or less says as much.’
‘I said no such fucking thing, Andy.’
‘Sorry, Sandy, I didn’t notice you there, which must be a first. What did you say, then?’
‘I said that there was no evidence to connect the cartridges with either your suspect or his premises.’
‘Isn’t that what I just said?’
‘I never said that they were planted, did I? There are lots of other possible explanations. If you decide that they were planted, because of other evidence, then that’s up to you, but don’t put words into my mouth. You should know better.’
‘I stand corrected. But the point I’m making is that the cartridges aren’t quite as compelling as they look, especially if the connection we established between John Tyson and the murder weapon was also a piece of misdirection. It’s possible that our killer has just tried two variations on the same theme here.’
‘All right,’ said Jane quickly, knowing that if she left Hall to talk he’d leave her team confused and dispirited. Not intentionally, she knew that, but not every copper was as comfortable with doubt as he was. It was, she was sure, his natural state of being, whereas for most bobbies certainty was what mattered. ‘Three suspects, all of some interest’ she said firmly. ‘So we focus everything on them. We continue with surveillance, and we re-examine each of them yet again. Everything. I’m sorry, but in the absence of any other viable lines of enquiry that’s what we do. What is it that we’re not seeing? What are we missing? I want to know, and soon. There’s something about one of those men that we just haven’t spotted, and we need to, urgently. And there are lots of gaps in each of their profiles anyway, because there always are. So when you’re assigned to a target focus on those missing elements. Go wider in their family and friendship groups, deeper into their financial histories. Just do whatever it takes. And anything new that you turn up, however insignificant, I want to know straight away. Clear?’ The mumbles were indistinct, but Jane knew that was the best she could hope for at this stage. ‘Come on then. Let’s get him.’
Ian Mann was glad to be out of the office, and not going through the files looking for other officers’ mistakes. He always found that depressing, not because he didn’t find any errors and omissions, but because he usually spotted so many. He drove to Troutbeck and parked in the little car park down by the church. But he’d barely turned the engine off when Winder drove straight past in a big 4x4, making for the main road. It was as if he’d planned it. Mann could see that he had his right hand indicator on as he passed, so he drove out onto the lane, and turned right onto the main road in cool and careful pursuit.
Winder was easy to follow, and he either wasn’t aware that Mann was two or three cars back, or he didn’t care. He drove past Windermere, through Ambleside, and then turned onto the Ambleside Sports showfield. Preparations for the Sports were almost complete, so plenty of people were coming and going, and because of that Mann didn’t feel especially conspicuous when he turned into the car park right behind Winder. But he didn’t risk parking next to him, and drove on, parking a little higher up the hill. He sat in his car and watched Winder get out, and stroll out on to the showfield. He stood, laughing and joking, with a group of men. Mann could imagine himself doing much the same, when he was retired.
Afterwards he couldn’t say why he did it, because there was absolutely no good reason at all, but Mann got out of his car and walked past the parked vans and trailers towards the showfield. There were plenty of people milling about, especially near the beer tent, and Mann ambled over.
‘Give us a hand, will you?’ someone called out to Mann. ‘There’s a pint in it, like.’
‘You’re all right’ said Mann, walking over. ‘What can I do?’
He helped out by moving barrels for ten minutes, and got a sweat on too, but he kept half an eye on Winder the whole time. He was talking to another, younger man now, and Mann could see that they were both laughing about something.
‘Try this’ said the man who he’d helped, passing him a pint glass.
‘No, you’re all right. I’m driving.’
‘Just a half. I’ll not tell anyone, like.’
‘Go on then, thanks.’
Mann half-listened as the man told him about the county’s brewing tradition and its wealth of contemporary craft beers.
‘Very nice’ he said, when he’d taken a sip. But the man was obviously looking for more. ‘Very hoppy.’
‘Aye, it is. Floral, I’d say.’
‘Aye, floral. That’s it.’
Mann nodded to the man, and walked towards where Winder was standing, lifting his plastic glass in a parting salute as he did so. Winder was still deep in conversation, now with an older man with a pair of Border collies. After that, Mann wasn’t sure what happened. He‘d stopped walking, and was looking absently into a small tent where an elderly woman was arranging trophies, some silver, some plastic, on a table. And the next thing he knew Winder was standing next to him. Twenty years ago that sort of inattention would have got me killed, he thought, turning and acknowledging Winder’s greeting.
‘You competing, lad? You look like an all-weights.’
‘Not me. Too old, I’m afraid. Always fancied having a go, mind.’
‘What stopped you?’
‘I went away.’
‘Inside?’
‘The military.’
‘Aye, you’ve got the look.’
Mann nodded. ‘And how about you? Is your name on one of those somewhere?’
‘One or two, aye. Going back decades now. But not on the one that matters.’
‘The one in the middle? The big one? It’s a grand pot, is that.’
‘Aye, that’s it. I came close, four or five times, but I never quite made it.’
‘Unlucky.’
‘That’s not what the record book says though, is it? Not good enough. That’s what it says.’
‘I don’t believe everything I read. Not these days, especially.’
Winder nodded. They stood and looked at the trophies in silence.
‘How’s that beer?’
‘Grand, aye. You fancy one? The bloke on the beer tent is a bit of a mate.’
‘I shouldn’t, but go on then, thanks.’
Mann nodded, walked back to the tent, and came back with a pint.
‘Very floral, apparently.’
‘Lovely, ta.’ Winder took a long drink. ‘Perfect, thanks.’
‘You looked like you needed it.’
‘I did. Haven’t touched a drop in months. Doctor’s orders, like.’
‘And the doctor changed his orders?’
‘I stopped listening. No point see, not now.’
It took Mann a moment, and then he did see. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
‘I’m hoping it’ll be my son’s name going on there tomorrow’ said Winder, after he’d taken another sip. ‘He deserves it. He’s a good lad. But then we don’t always get what we deserve, do we? There’s no-one up above somewhere keeping a proper tally of the falls and calling the fouls, is there?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘It’s all just chance, then, the toss of a coin.’
‘Something like that, aye.’
Mann thought he should move off, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Eventually Winder continued, his voice barely audible above the generators. ‘And all this will carry on, whether we’
re here or not. It’s been going for centuries, has the Sports. So there’ll always be this, every summer, and there’ll be new names going on those trophies. Different people, but seeing the same things. Maybe feeling the same things too.’
‘Aye, that’s right. It will all just carry on until it stops. I expect that’s how it’ll be.’
‘Did you ever kill anyone, in the line of duty, like?’
‘It’s funny, but someone asked me that same question, just the other day.’
‘What did you say?’
‘That I did my duty.’
‘But did you do what was right? There’s a difference, I take it.’
Mann smiled.
‘Yes, there’s a difference.’
‘Do you ever think about them? The ones you killed. In the line of duty, like.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. But I bet you don’t.’
Mann was surprised, and for the first time he turned and looked Winder full in the face.
‘You’re right, as a matter of fact I don’t. Always thought I would, sometime, you know. Maybe years after. But it’s just never happened.’
‘Just doing your job, I suppose.’
‘Maybe, but I don’t think it’s that. I just reckon that, deep down, I just don’t think that it matters all that much. If it hadn’t been me then it would have been someone else, at the sharp end, like. And people up the line, way up the line, they’re the ones who made it happen, aren’t they? It wasn’t like I was defending my own home town, like. Mostly it was just a million acres of sand.’
‘And does that go for your own life, too? Does it not matter either?’
Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) Page 23
