As The Crow Flies (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series)

by Boyd, Damien

  ‘We were looking for other evidence to corroborate Benton’s statement and I didn’t want to let Fayter know we were onto him. Simple as that, really.’

  ‘Well, we can come back to that later.’

  ‘You’d have done it differently, I suppose?’

  ‘Seeing as you have asked, Steve, yes I would. I’d have brought him straight in and let him know I was onto him. Let him sweat. But it was your investigation, your decision and you made it.’

  ‘I did.’

  Dixon ignored him.

  ‘What I’m not clear about is whether Fayter knew he was pushing PMA on the night in question?’

  ‘We never interviewed him so I don’t know. Is it relevant?’ replied Gorman.

  ‘Probably not but I’m pretty sure it was Benton who supplied it to him. Jane, dig out everything we have on Benton, will you? When this is over I’m going to be crawling in and out of every one of that tosser’s orifices until his eyes bulge.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure, Sir,’ said Jane.

  ‘We know Jake was also stealing peregrine falcon eggs and selling them in the Middle East. His partner in this enterprise was Dan Hunter.’ Dixon stuck a photograph of Hunter on the whiteboard and drew an arrow between the two.

  ‘Is there any evidence that Hunter was also involved in the dealing?’ asked Jane.

  ‘No. But the birds’ eggs is where the real money is. We need to bring Hunter in straightaway. I met him at Jake’s funeral on Friday and he’s agreed to help in any way he can. We’ll see what that means. At the very least, he’s looking at two years for offences under the Wildlife and Countryside Act but he doesn’t know that we know about that yet and I’d like to keep it that way until I interview him.’

  ‘Two years?’

  ‘Yes, Mark. It’s a serious business. Thirty months someone got at Warwick Crown Court only a couple of years ago.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘I’m convinced that Hunter holds the key to Jake’s murder. Someone was setting up these deals and it’s that person we need to find. Hunter can lead us to him.’

  ‘What went wrong with the second deal, Sir?’ asked Jane.

  ‘I don’t know yet. That’s another question for Hunter. Jake collected the eggs, possibly with Hunter, and then didn’t go to Dubai to see it through. We need access to Jake’s bank accounts. See if he got his cut of the second deal. Mark?’

  ‘I’ll see to it, Sir.’

  ‘Let’s get Hunter in straightaway. Steve, can you make that your priority? I’ll conduct the interview.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘We’ll need to have a look at his computer and phone too. Mark, can you give him a hand with that?’

  ‘Will do, Sir.’

  ‘Which brings me back to Jake’s computer, Jane. We need the High Tech Unit to have a look at it for any evidence of contact with person or persons unknown. Tell them to check his Facebook account and anything like that.’

  ‘Right, Sir.’

  ‘Email will be too obvious, I think. It’ll be Facebook messaging or something like that. Skype perhaps. Tell them to check the Facetime on his iPhone too.’

  ‘Will do, Sir.’

  ‘Right, that leaves you and me, Jane. We need to get a formal statement from Jake’s girlfriend, Sarah Heath.’

  He turned to the whiteboard and stuck a photograph of Sarah Heath next to Jake’s. He drew an arrow between the two.

  ‘Who is that, Sir?’ asked Pearce.

  ‘Sarah Heath. Jake’s girlfriend.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘What?’ Dixon’s voice was an octave higher.

  ‘Well, she may be Jake’s girlfriend and she may be called Sarah Heath but she’s also Jenna Williams’ sister.’

  Dixon looked at Mark Pearce then at the photograph of Sarah on the whiteboard. He looked back to Pearce. He saw Lewis sit up sharply at the back of the room.

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘She was with Jenna’s mother when she came to identify the body.’

  ‘Steve?’

  ‘I wasn’t there, Sir.’

  ‘There’s no mention of this in the file.’

  ‘We never made the connection,’ said Gorman. ‘We were watching Fayter, of course, but never saw them together.’

  ‘Were you involved in that, Mark?’

  ‘Yes, but I never saw him with his girlfriend.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t know,’ said Jane.

  ‘Maybe she killed him,’ said Gorman.

  ‘Well, we’ll soon find out. Let’s get cracking. Meet back here at 5.00pm. Jane, we’ll leave in twenty minutes.’

  Dixon went back to his office. He sat down and started to count to ten. He had reached six when the door opened and DCI Lewis came in.

  ‘The girlfriend it is then?’

  ‘I doubt it, Sir. I don’t think she knew.’

  ‘The mother then?’

  ‘How would she have known Jake was dealing drugs?’

  ‘Sarah could have told her?’

  ‘Unlikely. It’s not the sort of thing you’d admit to your mother is it?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘Sarah certainly knew Jake was selling ecstacy round the clubs but that’s it, I think. She may have put two and two together, of course, but she’d want firm evidence before killing him over it, surely?’

  ‘He may have admitted it to her?’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Just don’t rule it out, Nick. We may be looking at a simple revenge killing and unrelated wildlife offences.’

  ‘That’d be too easy, Sir.’

  Dixon tried to sound confident but there was a nagging doubt in his mind. Something was telling him that Sarah had known. Possibly. He hoped it would come to him before they brought her in for interview.

  Steve Gorman could just about make out the figure of Mark Pearce huddled on the doorstep of number 12 Wells Close, Burnham-on-Sea. His windscreen wipers were working at full speed but that still only afforded him brief glimpses of Pearce through the torrential rain. He had been listening to the phone in on Radio 5 Live. It was coming to end and he reached down to switch it off when there was a loud tapping at the car window. He pressed the button just long enough to wind the window down an inch.

  ‘There’s no one in.’

  ‘Try the neighbours.’

  Gorman wound the window back up as quickly as he could and watched Pearce run across the lawn to the property immediately adjacent to 12 Wells Close. It was one of the advantages of his rank. He had done plenty of running about in the rain as a junior constable and now it was someone else’s turn.

  He looked along the line of six modern red brick semi-detached properties, built in three pairs in the middle of Wells Close. Number 12 was Dan Hunter’s house. Each property had a built-in garage and Gorman thought probably three bedrooms. The lawn was neat and tidy and there were rows of flowerpots outside the front door and along the path at the side. Dan Hunter definitely needed to get out more.

  Mark Pearce turned to the car and gave an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders. Gorman pointed to the next property along and watched as Pearce turned and walked across the lawn. He was making no effort to shield himself from the rain now and looked soaked through.

  Gorman was surprised to see Pearce get a response at number 16. He had expected most people to be out. He could see Pearce produce his warrant card. The conversation appeared to be quite animated, at least as far as Mark Pearce was concerned, and Gorman guessed that the elderly woman to whom he was talking was deaf. After a few minutes Mark Pearce ran back across to the car and jumped into the passenger seat.

  ‘Pissing down it is.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘I’m bloody soaked now.’

  Mark Pearce reached inside his jacket pocket and produced his notebook. He began making notes as he spoke.

  ‘Mrs Morton at number 16 Wells Close. Totally deaf. I thought for a minute she was going to invite me in but no luck. It was difficult enough having
a conversation with her without the rain hammering on the porch roof. She told me that the people from number 14 are on holiday. She last saw Dan Hunter on Saturday afternoon. He was packing his fishing tackle into his car.’

  ‘And she’s not seen him since then?’

  ‘No. But then she wouldn’t have expected to. If he’d gone fishing on the Sunday he’d have got back after dark. Not only that, but he’s a postman and would’ve been up and away to work long before she got up on Monday morning.’

  ‘What about his car?’

  ‘Mrs Morton says that it would usually be parked in the drive. He’d have driven to work on a day like this though, surely?’

  ‘The sorting offices are just around the corner in Dunstan Road,’ said Gorman.

  ‘That’s right. Mrs Morton said that he usually cycles to work.’

  ‘Did she say what type of car he’s got?’

  ‘Green and an estate car. That’s all she knows.’

  ‘Ok, let’s try the sorting office.’

  It took less than two minutes to drive the short distance to Dunstan Road. Another cul-de-sac, the Royal Mail sorting office was at the far end, given away by the high fencing and line of red vans parked outside.

  ‘A few too many cul-de-sacs in this man’s life for my liking,’ said Pearce.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He lives in a cul-de-sac and works in a cul-de-sac. Bit of a dead-end life wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Is that supposed to be funny?’

  ‘No, Sarge. It just struck me as odd that’s all.’

  They parked in the car park outside the main reception and walked into the front office. The reception consisted of a counter with a bell on it and a small waiting area. Gorman rang the bell and they waited. A few moments later a postman appeared behind the counter.

  ‘How can I help?’

  Gorman and Pearce both produced their warrant cards. ‘We were looking for the manager.’

  ‘She is not in today. I’ll get the assistant manager,’ said the postman, turning to leave the room.

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Pearce.

  ‘Linda Dickinson.’

  Gorman glared at Pearce, who shrugged his shoulders in reply.

  Linda Dickinson checked their warrant cards and then showed them through to her office. She was in her late forties with bleached shoulder length hair and wore a Royal Mail uniform.

  ‘Please sit down. I’m the assistant manager. What can I do for you?’

  ‘We are looking for Dan Hunter,’ said Gorman.

  ‘Is he in trouble?’

  ‘No, but we’re hoping that he may be able to assist with an ongoing enquiry,’ explained Gorman.

  ‘Well, the short answer to your question is that we haven’t seen him since he finished work on Saturday. He should have been here today but didn’t turn up. We’ve tried ringing him at home and on his mobile. No answer. I finish work in a couple of hours and was going to knock on his door on my way home.’

  ‘We’ve just been there and there’s no one in,’ said Gorman.

  ‘I wonder what’s happened to him then?’ asked Linda. ‘He’s usually very good at ringing in if he’s sick or something.’

  ‘Did he mention anything to anybody on Saturday?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. It was just a perfectly normal Saturday shift.’

  ‘What delivery route does he cover?’ asked Pearce.

  ‘He’s been doing the rural deliveries recently. Small hamlets, outlying cottages, farms, that sort of thing. He likes being out and about in the van.’

  ‘Did he mention the death of his climbing partner, Jake Fayter?’ asked Gorman.

  ‘He mentioned it once or twice. I knew he was upset by it and he took time off to go to the funeral, of course. Is this anything to do with that?’

  ‘We really can’t say, I’m afraid,’ replied Gorman.

  ‘His neighbour said he might have gone fishing on Sunday?’ asked Pearce.

  ‘Yes, that’s possible,’ replied Linda. ‘Climbing in the summer and fishing in the winter, I think it was.’

  ‘Did you know him well?’ asked Gorman.

  ‘As well as you know anyone you’ve worked with seventeen years.’

  ‘Did he have any friends he worked with?’

  ‘Yes, a couple. Tim was probably his best friend, Tim Keenan.’

  ‘Can we speak to him?’ asked Gorman.

  ‘He’s out on deliveries at the moment but he’ll be back in a couple of hours.’

  Gorman produced his calling card and handed it to Linda Dickinson.

  ‘Could you ask Mr Keenan to call me on my mobile as soon as he gets back? We won’t be far away and can pop straight over to have a word with him.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ replied Linda.

  ‘Thank you very much, you’ve been very helpful. Can we leave our car here?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Gorman and Pearce walked along Dunstan Road towards the town centre.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Pearce.

  ‘Breakfast.’

  ‘We’ll take your car if we may, Jane. I don’t think Miss Heath is going to want Monty breathing down her neck on the way back.’

  ‘You never know, she may be a dog person.’

  Dixon smiled.

  They drove in silence out through Bridgwater and north on the M5 towards Burnham-on-Sea. Torrential rain made the driving conditions difficult. Conversation was all but impossible with the noise of the rain and Jane’s windscreen wipers at full speed. Once off the motorway, Dixon felt able to speak.

  ‘You can do the talking, I think. I’ll step in and ruffle her feathers when I think the time is right.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘Tell me something, Jane.’

  ‘What, Sir?’

  ‘Is there some six-foot gorilla who would leap on me from a great height if I asked you out to dinner?’

  ‘Dinner?’

  ‘Yes, dinner.’

  ‘On a date, you mean?’

  ‘Well, that depends.’

  ‘What on?’

  ‘Your answer. If it’s a yes, then it’s a date. If it’s no then of course it wasn’t a date. You just got your wires crossed.’

  ‘Hedging your bets then?’

  ‘Like any good bookmaker…’

  ‘The answer to your question is no, there is no six-foot gorilla but I didn’t think that relationships with senior officers were the done thing?’

  ‘I’m hardly the Chief Constable. When you pass your sergeants’ exams, I’ll only be one rank above you.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I tell you what. Here’s the deal. As soon as I’m appointed Chief Constable, I’ll dump you straightaway. How’s that?’

  ‘Dinner it is then,’ said Jane, smiling, ‘on one condition.’

  ‘Sounds ominous.’

  ‘You tell me about this medal.’

  ‘Over dinner.’

  ‘Done.’

  Jane turned right off Berrow Road into The Grove.

  ‘Back to the business in hand. Usual drill when we pick her up, arrest her if needs be and then take her through the whole story from the top in interview. Press her on the argument outside the Vic the night before Jake died too. I think that’s our man. I’ll step in as and when.’

  ‘She’s going to love you.’

  Sarah Heath answered the door. She did not look pleased to see them.

  ‘What the fuck is it now?’

  ‘I am Detective Constable Jane Winter. I believe you know Detective Inspector Nick Dixon, Sarah?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve told him everything I know.’

  ‘I have to inform you that the death of Jake Fayter is now the subject of a murder investigation and we need a for…’

  ‘Murder investigation?’

  ‘Yes. We have reason to believe that his climbing ropes were tampered with.’

  ‘Oh fuck.’

  Sarah started crying.

  ‘We need you to acc
ompany us to Bridgwater Police Station, please, and…’

  ‘I told you everything I know.’

  ‘We believe that there may be further matters with which you can assist us,’ said Jane, ‘and I must insist that you accompany us to Bridgwater Police Station.’

  ‘And what if I tell you to fuck off?’

  ‘Then I’d have to arrest you, which will make for an uncomfortable ride to the police station in handcuffs and a lot of extra paperwork.’

  Sarah glared at Dixon. ‘Is this for real?’

  ‘It is,’ said Dixon.

  ‘But I’ve told you the truth.’

  ‘The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth…’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You’ve told me the truth,’ said Dixon, ‘I have no doubt about that. Nothing but the truth? Probably. But have you told me the whole truth? I don’t think so.’

  ‘What do I tell work?’

  ‘You could try telling them the truth too,’ replied Dixon. He nodded to Jane to take over.

  ‘Come on Sarah, get your coat.’

  ‘How long is this going to take?’

  ‘That depends on you.’

  The drive to Bridgwater Police Station was uneventful and silent. Sarah Heath was booked in, cautioned and offered the opportunity of legal representation. She declined a solicitor on the grounds that she had nothing to hide. After the usual introductions and a reminder that she was under caution, the interview began just before 11.00am.

  Dixon sat in silence while Jane took a formal statement from Sarah Heath. The interview was tape recorded and, as planned, covered all of the information already given by Sarah. Jane went through it all again in minute detail, covering where Sarah lived and worked, her relationship with Jake, how and when they met, Jake’s drug dealing and known associates, as well as his rock climbing activities and birds egg collecting. As instructed, Jane questioned Sarah closely on the argument outside the Vic but got nothing new.

  During the course of the interview, Sarah’s emotions ranged from anger, irritation and frustration through to tears and sadness depending upon the line of questioning at the time. Dixon felt sure that her emotional response in each instance was genuine and, whilst no new information emerged, he was impressed with Jane’s meticulous approach.

  After a little over two hours of questioning the interview appeared to be drawing to a natural conclusion. Jane looked at Dixon, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.