by Boyd, Damien
In the distance, Dixon could see several figures standing on the north bank. He guessed that this was where Dan Hunter had been fishing and set off along the bank to get there as quickly as possible. Jane followed, struggling in the mud.
Dixon arrived at the fishing umbrella to see three uniformed police officers and the farmer, Michael Wilkins. Dan Hunter had chosen his spot carefully. His seat was sheltered by the bank rising up on either side, with the umbrella acting as a roof of sorts. There were also small bushes on either side offering more cover.
‘No sign of Hunter, I suppose?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Have you looked?’
‘We’ve checked in the immediate vicinity.’
‘What about footprints?’
One of the police constables gestured towards the cows.
‘They’ve been all over the place, Sir.’
‘They’re a bit inquisitive, I’m afraid,’ said Mr Wilkins.
‘You’ll be the farmer?’ asked Dixon.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know how long this stuff has been here?’
‘Not really. It wasn’t here when I came out on Saturday but I’ve not been out here since then. Not till today.’
‘What about the car in the car park?’
‘I don’t take much notice of them. They come and go and there’s a big hedge between my house and the car park anyways.’
It was a typical fishing scene, although the fisherman himself was missing. There was a reclining chair under a large green umbrella with a box of fishing tackle next to it and a landing net lying in the grass. Dixon noticed an area of what looked like blood spattered on the underside of the umbrella.
He noticed that there were two sets of rod rests but only one fishing rod. He produced a pair of disposable rubber gloves from his pocket and put them on. He reached down, picked up the fishing rod and reeled it in. There was nothing on the line and the bait had gone. He placed the hook in the first eye on the rod nearest the reel, wound the line tight and replaced the rod on the rests. Then he picked up a set of forceps and the landing net and set off along the bank towards the footbridge. Jane followed.
‘What are we looking for, Sir?’
‘The other fishing rod.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’
Fifty yards further along the bank, they could see the fishing rod floating on the edge of a patch of lily pads. Dixon was able to reach it with the landing net and draw it in close to the bank. He reached down, picked it up and wound the line in. Almost immediately the rod arched over. There was a fish on the end. Dixon had the fish in the landing net within a couple of minutes.
‘You’ve done this before, Sir,’ said Jane.
‘Many years ago.’
‘Is there no end to your talents?’
‘No, there isn’t,’ Dixon smiled.
He flipped the pike onto its back in the long grass, placed his fingers under the gill rake at the front of the jaw and then opened the fish’s mouth. He reached in with the forceps, unhooked it and then held it gently in the water until it swam away. It took no more than sixty seconds.
‘Well done, Sir.’
‘She’ll live to fight another day.’
‘She?’ asked Jane.
‘You can tell by the size. Males don’t get that big.’
‘There’s a joke in there somewhere.’
They walked back to the umbrella to find Scenes of Crime Officers arriving with PC Stevens.
‘The divers will be here in about twenty minutes, Sir,’ said Stevens. ‘And there’s no CCTV on the pumping station, unfortunately.’
‘Thank you, constable.’
Dixon turned to the Scenes of Crime Officers.
‘There’s blood spatter on the inside of the umbrella that you’ll need to take a close look at. You may get something from the footprints hereabouts although I’m told that the cows have been wandering about everywhere. I’m guessing our man is in the water.’
The senior Scenes of Crime Officer was a tall balding man with a moustache who Dixon had encountered before. His name was Watson and whilst Dixon did not find him an altogether personable man, he was at least efficient.
‘How long has is it been, do we know?’ asked Watson.
‘Not with any degree of certainty,’ replied Dixon. ‘The farmer says that there was nobody here on Saturday and we know from his neighbour that Dan Hunter came fishing on Sunday. I’d be surprised if he was night fishing on a Sunday, so he should have gone home that evening ready for work the next morning. Any longer than that and I’d expect to see his body floating on the surface anyway.’
‘How do you work that out?’ asked Jane.
‘It’s all about gas. The water is still warm so it’ll slow the decaying process but not stop it. It should take three or four days for putrefaction to produce enough gas to make a body float this time of year.’
Jane look surprised.
‘We had a body in the Thames at Putney when I was in London.’
The Scenes of Crime Officers, under Watson’s guidance, began setting up arc lamps and a large tent around the fishing umbrella. Dixon could see the flashes of cameras all around. There was a need to work relatively quickly because rain was forecast. Jane Winter went back with Mr Wilkins to the farmhouse to take a statement from him while Dixon remained at the scene.
The divers arrived on schedule. There was still some light and a search of the immediate vicinity would be possible. At Dixon’s request, PC Stevens had checked with the Environment Agency who had confirmed that the pumping station had been in operation on Monday and Tuesday morning. It was possible, therefore, that the body could have moved some way along the South Drain in the current. A more thorough search would be possible in the morning.
Within a few seconds of entering the water the divers reappeared giving the thumbs up signal. Dixon turned to PC Stevens.
‘Better get the pathologist out here pronto.’
Dan Hunter’s body was laid out on a tarpaulin on a level section of bank behind where he had been fishing. The Scenes of Crime Officers immediately set up another tent covering his body.
‘The pathologist will be here in half an hour, Sir,’ said Stevens.
‘Thank you, constable.’
Dixon knelt over Dan Hunter’s body. He guessed that Hunter had been lying face down in the water. His head was a livid black and blue and yet his hands were still the normal skin tone. There was otherwise very little evidence of putrefaction. The water had done its job. Dixon estimated that Hunter had been in the water for no more than two days, which gave a time of death of the previous Sunday afternoon but the pathologist would no doubt be more precise.
There were no obvious signs of a struggle apart from a small bullet hole, or at least what looked like a small bullet hole, in the corner of Hunter’s right eye. Dixon thought that it was possibly a .22 calibre pistol. He suspected that there would be an exit wound in the back of Hunter’s head but he would need to wait for the pathologist to arrive to move the body further. This would certainly explain the blood spatter on the inside of the umbrella. He wondered whether a .22 calibre bullet would have killed Hunter on its own but no doubt the pathologist would be able to confirm that too. At the very least, it would have incapacitated Hunter and he then either fell or was pushed into the South Drain. It was academic, of course, but Dixon guessed that Hunter had still been alive when he entered the water.
Jane Winter reappeared behind Dixon.
‘Hunter?’
‘Yes. Looks like a small bullet hole in his right eye. See it?’
‘It’s tiny.’
‘Probably a .22 at close range.’
‘Is there an exit wound?’
‘I’ll leave it to the pathologist to examine him. Must be though. How else do you explain the blood on his brolly?’
‘One thing’s for sure.’
‘What?’
‘If there was any doubt about Jake’s death,
this one’s definitely murder.’
‘Is there any doubt about Jake’s death?’
‘Well, it’s not as clear cut is it?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘It tells me you’re right about the drugs though. Hunter wasn’t involved in Jake’s drug dealing was he, so why kill him? It must be related to the birds eggs.’
‘Talking of birds, Jane, look at that.’
Dixon stood up and pointed across the fields on the far side of the Drain. A huge cloud of starlings was swirling in the dusk sky, illuminated only by the sun that was by now below the horizon. Tens of thousands of birds swooping and diving in concert, creating waves and shapes silhouetted against the red sky. They watched in silence for several minutes until the cloud dived towards the ground and disappeared.
‘I’d heard about that but never seen it,’ said Jane. ‘The Somerset Levels are well known for it, apparently.’
‘Certainly helps to pass the time while we wait for the pathologist,’ replied Dixon.
‘We’re no nearer finding him though, are we, Sir?’
‘Or her.’
Jane rolled her eyes.
‘No, you’re right, we’re not,’ said Dixon. ‘We need to focus on what we know, I think.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, Jake and Hunter were stealing Peregrine Falcon eggs, selling them in Dubai and making a lot of money doing it. Someone was setting up the deals and it would be reasonable to assume that they were taking a cut for doing so.’
‘How d’you know someone else was involved?’
‘I don’t have any evidence, granted, but it must be right. Neither Jake nor Hunter could have done it themselves.’
‘Not even over the internet?’
‘I doubt it. Let’s hope High Tech find something on Jake’s computer one way or the other. And then there’s the person Jake was arguing with outside the Vic the night before he died. Who was that?’
‘It’s a shame Sarah Heath didn’t get a good look at him.’
‘It is.’
‘We’ll get a look at Hunter’s computer now too, don’t forget, Sir.’
PC Stevens appeared in the arc lights.
‘Pathologist has arrived, Sir. PC Clarke is going to bring him out here.’
Dr Roger Poland was the senior forensic pathologist based at Musgrove Park Hospital, Taunton. He was a large man with greying hair and a direct manner evident from rather perfunctory introductions. Dixon decided that he liked him anyway and watched with Jane while he examined Hunter.
‘Any idea how long?’
‘He was last seen alive on Saturday afternoon as far as we know and there was no one fishing here on Saturday either, according to the farmer,’ replied Dixon.
‘Probably came fishing on Sunday then?’
‘It looks like it. He didn’t turn up for work on Monday.’
‘There’s a small bullet hole in his right eye, probably a .22 calibre.’ Poland rolled Hunter towards him and looked at the back of his head. ‘And a corresponding exit wound just below and behind his left ear.’
‘Is a .22 pistol powerful enough for that?’ asked Dixon.
‘There are a couple that could do it at close range, particularly if the bullet enters the skull through the eye socket. A Sig Sauer, perhaps.’
‘Was it at close range?’
‘Almost certainly. Judging by the angle, I’d say the victim was seated and the killer standing.’
‘What about the bullet?’
‘If he was sitting on that chair with the killer to his right then, on the angle, the bullet is almost certainly in the water.’
‘One for the divers in the morning then.’
‘Good luck to them’.
‘Would it have killed him instantly?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘I’m not sure that it does when you put it like that.’
‘Possibly. I’ll soon be able to tell if he was still alive when he went in when I open him up. I’ll do the PM in the morning and let you have my report by lunchtime. Ok?’
‘Yes, thank you, Dr Poland.’
‘You’re the new chap?’
‘Yes,’ replied Dixon.
‘We must have a beer sometime. And it’s Roger, by the way.’
Ten
Dixon was late arriving at Bridgwater Police Station the following morning, having stopped off to break the news of Dan Hunter’s murder to John and Maureen Fayter. DCI Lewis was waiting for him.
‘Where have you been?’
‘To see Jake’s parents, Sir.’
‘Fair enough,’ replied Lewis. ‘You let the girlfriend and her mother go?’
‘I did. They’ve got nothing to do with it.’
‘That’s not what Steve Gorman thinks.’
‘I was under the impression that I was in charge of this investigation, Sir.’
‘You are.’
DCI Lewis waited for a response. Dixon had nothing further to add.
‘So, what happens now?’ asked Lewis.
‘We follow up the leads that we have. We need to revisit the statements from the tourists in the gorge, chase up Hunter’s bank statements. And I’m still waiting for High Tech’s report on Jake’s laptop and phone.’
‘Anything interesting at Hunter’s place?’
‘Just an iPad, which is already with High Tech.’
‘What about the man Fayter was arguing with the night before he died?’
‘We’re no nearer finding him at the moment. We’ll be checking the CCTV and taking statements from the regulars at the Vic. There are two banks near there with cashpoints so it may be that they have some CCTV footage too.’
‘Good. Get onto it straightaway and let me know if you need any help. This is a double murder investigation now.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
By mid-morning Dixon was sitting at his desk reading the report on Jake’s laptop and iPhone that had finally arrived from the High Tech Investigation Unit. Steve Gorman and Mark Pearce were on their way to Birmingham to interview the tourists again and Jane Winter was chasing the banks for Dan Hunter’s statements. She was also pursuing the CCTV footage from Burnham-on-Sea covering the evening before Jake’s death.
The report gave a detailed forensic analysis of both the laptop and the iPhone and made a surprisingly interesting read. The laptop was a Sony Vaio, an old model that was still running Windows XP and IE8. The internet history showed little of interest, except for several visits to a website offering advice on building a homemade incubator. Login details had been extracted for Facebook and Twitter accounts, giving both username and password. Dixon was aware of them from Jake’s blog and was a Facebook Friend and Twitter Follower of both. Dixon thought it odd that there were no login details for Jake’s blog and made a mental note to follow that up.
Jake’s email was web based using a Googlemail account. All of the contacts had been extracted and accounted for. The Google Chat facility had not been used. There was no Skype account or similar. There were several folders of photographs, all of them showing various climbing trips and routes, but no documents other than the odd letter, which had been reproduced in the appendices to the report.
The laptop had clearly been used for little more than photograph storage and occasional web surfing. It had revealed nothing of real interest.
Dixon moved onto the section dealing with the iPhone. All of the phone numbers for calls made and received had been extracted and accounted for. There were numerous calls to and from Sarah and Dan and also Jake’s parents. There were also several calls to a number known to belong to Conrad Benton. Dixon noted something else to be followed up later.
The iPhone email was set up with the same Googlemail account. There was no evidence that iMessages had ever been used and the Facetime contacts were only Sarah and Dan. The Facebook and Twitter login details extracted from the Safari web browser on the iPhone were the same as on the laptop.
High Tech had noted a word game similar to
Scrabble called Words With Friends, which included a chat facility but there was no evidence that this had been used. In any event, the contacts list included only Sarah and Dan. Apart from that, there were three folders of photographs.
Jake’s Facebook and Twitter accounts had been accessed and, again, nothing of interest was found. In each case, no Facebook or Twitter direct messages had been sent and Facebook chat had not been used. The posts to Jake’s Facebook Timeline revealed nothing of interest and Dixon had already seen his tweets.
Both the laptop and the iPhone had been the subject of detailed forensic analysis and had revealed nothing. Dixon vented his frustration on his biro and threw the broken pieces in the rubbish bin. Jake must have been communicating with the egg dealer but they had not yet found the means by which he did so. Dixon was convinced this was the key. He opened his office door and shouted to Jane on the other side of the open plan office.
‘Jane.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Ring High Tech and tell ‘em we must have their report on Dan Hunter’s iPad by the end of today. Remind them this is a double murder investigation.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Dixon sat back down at his desk and picked up the report from High Tech again. He read it from start to finish for the second time. He was working on the basis that he may have missed something. The best part of an hour later he realised he had not. He reached over, picked up Jake’s iPhone and ripped open the evidence bag. He placed it on the desk in front of him and then placed his own iPhone next to it. His own phone was switched on. He pressed the home button, entered the passcode and unlocked the home screen. He sat staring at it for several minutes before picking up Jake’s iPhone and switching it on. Unlike his own, Jake’s was not password protected.
