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

by Boyd, Damien

  Dixon parked in the car park in front of the Clarence and went into the Public Bar. No sign of Sarah. He found her behind the Lounge Bar. It was empty apart from an elderly couple in the far corner. Sarah was changing the gin optic and had her back to him when he walked in.

  ‘I’ll have a pint of lager, please, Sarah,’ said Dixon. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  Sarah’s smile disappeared immediately she recognised Dixon.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I need your help…’

  ‘My help? You need my help?’

  ‘Yes. Let me buy you a drink and I can explain.’

  ‘You’ve got a bloody cheek after the grilling you gave me. You practically accused me of killing Jake.’

  ‘I’ve never thought you had anything to do with his death. You know that.’

  ‘What was all that about then?’

  ‘It’s a murder investigation. You were withholding information. What was I supposed to do?’

  Sarah banged Dixon’s pint down on the bar.

  ‘Ten minutes, that’s all I need.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘For Jake.’

  ‘He killed my sister.’

  ‘Did he? Are you sure about that? Because I’m not. All we’ve got is one statement from a known drug dealer with a list of previous convictions as long as your arm. Hardly compelling evidence, is it?’

  Sarah ignored him.

  Dixon continued. ‘No jury would convict on that evidence. And let’s be honest, Sarah, if Jenna hadn’t bought the drugs off Jake, she’d have got them off someone else, wouldn’t she?’

  Sarah began pouring herself a glass of white wine.

  ‘£6.10 including the wine.’

  Dixon took his wallet out of his back pocket and produced a ten pound note. Sarah gave him his change, picked up her glass of wine and walked around into the seating area. She sat down at the table adjacent to the bar. Dixon sat on the bar stool opposite her.

  ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

  Dixon placed Jake’s iPhone on the table in front of Sarah.

  ‘Whose is that?’

  ‘It’s Jake’s. I asked you about the dealer, the man setting up the egg deals in Dubai. Remember?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You said you didn’t know him or how Jake was contacting him?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Jake was using a second Twitter account hidden behind his main account in the Twitter app installed on this phone. They were using Twitter direct messaging. Look.’

  Dixon showed her the Twitter account and the string of direct messages.

  ‘Those messages don’t make any sense.’

  ‘It’s a basic code of sorts. There are all-numeric grid references and flight numbers in there.’

  ‘So, what can I do?’

  ‘I need you out of the way for a few days.’

  ‘Out of the way?’

  ‘Yes. That’s it. That’s all you have to do. Disappear.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think this dealer, this DuckHawkMan, is the one who untied Jake’s ropes and shot Dan.’

  ‘Dan’s dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid he is. He was shot in the head at point blank range and pushed into the South Drain on Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘Shit…’

  ‘I need to convince this man that I’ve got the money, Sarah. That’s what this is all about, the money. To do that, I need to pretend to be you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Who else would have access to the money? I need to pretend to be you so I can bring this fucker out into the open.’

  ‘But why do I have to disappear?’

  ‘What if he knows where you live? We know he’s got a gun and he’s prepared to use it.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘No, I’m not. Look, I pretend to be you, arrange a meeting with him, he turns up and we’ve got him. But, I need to know you’re safely out of the way.’

  Sarah shook her head.

  ‘I cannot take any risks with your safety. He may come after you anyway if he thinks you’ve got the money.’

  ‘But there’s nowhere I can go.’

  ‘You can stay at my cottage in Brent Knoll.’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘You do. You could say no but then, at best, a double murderer walks away.’

  ‘And at worst?’

  ‘He comes looking for you.’

  ‘You’re fucking kidding me.’

  Sarah started to cry.

  ‘I don’t have a lot of choice, do I?’

  ‘Good. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘What about work?’

  ‘Leave them to me. Has this place got wi-fi?’

  ‘Yes. It’s free.’

  Dixon connected Jake’s iPhone to the internet, navigated to Twitter direct messaging and retyped the direct message.

  Sarah.

  His finger hovered over the send button.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It took Dixon no more than five minutes to explain to the owner of the Clarence that he was taking Sarah Heath into protective custody. They left quickly and drove north along the sea front, turned left along Berrow Road and then right into Rectory Road.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘We’ll take the back roads. Safer.’

  ‘But I need some stuff from my flat. Clothes and…’

  ‘Too risky. He could be watching it by now. I’ve got some clothes you can borrow and I’m sure police expenses will stretch to a new toothbrush.’

  Sarah shrugged.

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. I’ve already been in the Chinese once today.’

  They drove the rest of the way in silence.

  Dixon rented a small end terraced cottage opposite and one hundred yards along Brent Street from The Red Cow in Brent Knoll. The front door at the side of the cottage and the parking at the back were accessed via an alleyway between the cottages. Dixon drove round behind the cottage, parked and switched off the engine.

  ‘I hope you’re a dog person.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. He’s soft as a mop.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Monty.’

  Monty took an instant shine to Sarah and, once the introductions were over, Dixon showed Sarah to the bedroom upstairs and gave her some clean sheets for the bed.

  ‘He’s lovely,’ she said.

  ‘He is. I wouldn’t want to be a burglar though.’

  ‘I feel better already.’

  ‘I’ll be on the sofa. Keep the bedroom door shut or you’ll be sharing the bed with him.’

  ‘I will.’

  Dixon sat on the sofa and connected Jake’s iPhone to the internet. He checked the Twitter direct messages. There was a reply waiting for him.

  What do you want?

  Sarah appeared at the top of the stairs. She could see Dixon looking at Jake’s iPhone.

  ‘Got a reply?’

  ‘Yes. He wants to know what you want?’

  ‘What do I want then?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘I reckon you’d want Jake’s share of the money?’

  ‘And to be left alone.’

  ‘Good thinking.’

  Dixon looked back to the iPhone and began typing a reply.

  Jake’s share.

  Dixon tapped ‘send’. He waited a few seconds and then began typing another message.

  and to be left alone

  He sent the second message, put the iPhone on the arm of the sofa and looked across to Sarah, who was now at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘Nothing stronger?’

  ‘Lager?’

  ‘That’ll have to do.’

  Dixon went into the kitchen to fetch a lager from the fridge. Sarah looked at a pile of dvds on a cardboard box next to the TV.

  ‘I hope to God there’s something dec
ent on the telly. Your dvd collection stinks.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’

  Dixon handed a can of lager and a glass to Sarah. Then he picked up Jake’s iPhone and checked for a reply.

  Agreed. I’ll come to

  the Clarence tomorrow.

  ‘Oh bugger.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘He wants to meet you at the Clarence tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s just fucking great, that is. He’s got a gun for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘He’s not going to meet you, is he? You’ll be safely tucked up here. Just leave it to me.’

  ‘Dennis is going to love this.’

  ‘Dennis is the owner, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time does the bar open?’

  ’11.00am. The lounge bar is always open for residents though.’

  ‘Are there any at the moment?’

  ‘Two couples, I think.’

  ‘CCTV?’

  ‘In the public bar. There isn’t any in the lounge bar.’

  Dixon tapped out a reply.

  Come at 10.30am. Use the back

  door. I’ll be in the public bar.

  ‘We can keep the residents upstairs and the bar will be empty. Perfect.’

  ‘What about the gun?’

  ‘We’ll let the armed response boys worry about that.’

  That was a white lie. Dixon had already decided there would be no back up. He’d have to keep him talking until the armed response team arrived. It was a risk worth taking, he thought. And he reminded himself that it was only a .22 calibre pistol. That would not be much consolation to Dan Hunter but it was the best Dixon was going to get.

  Eleven

  Dixon woke early after an uncomfortable night on the sofa. He was grateful that he had kept his old sleeping bag, otherwise it would have been cold as well. It was still dark. He reached for his phone and rang Jane Winter.

  ‘Jane, it’s Nick. Where are you?’

  ‘In bed.’

  ‘Get out sharpish, will you? I need you to get over to my place as quickly as you can. Swing by the station on the way and pick up two sets of body armour.’

  ‘Body armour?’

  ‘I’ll explain when you get here. And tell no one.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Ring me when you get to the Red Cow. Do you know it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jane was about to ask another question when Dixon rang off.

  Jane arrived at Dixon’s cottage just before 8.00am. She parked in the road fifty yards down from the cottage and walked back. Monty alerted Dixon and Sarah Heath to her arrival before Jane knocked on the door.

  ‘Where’s the body armour?’

  ‘In my car.’

  ‘Well done.’

  Jane spotted Sarah in the kitchen and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Protective custody,’ said Dixon. ‘Monty and I spent a very uncomfortable night on the sofa. Coffee?’

  ‘Coffee and an explanation, please.’

  ‘This is Jake’s.’

  Dixon handed Jake’s iPhone to Jane and left her reading the exchange of Twitter direct messages with @DuckHawkMan while he made the coffee.

  Jane shouted through to the kitchen. ‘You are in deep shit.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Dixon appeared with two mugs of coffee.

  ‘This is evidence,’ said Jane, jabbing her finger at Jake’s iPhone.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And you’ve set up a meeting with a murderer. An armed murderer.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘He’s coming to a public house at ten thirty today expecting to meet Sarah,’ said Jane, nodding in the direction of Sarah Heath, who was maintaining a discreet silence in the kitchen. ‘And he’s expecting to collect seventy grand.’

  ‘He is. And instead he’s going to meet you and me.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Unless you’d rather not get involved. I’d understand.’

  ‘We should call this in.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘It’s not an option. Look, there’s no need for you to take the risk. You stay here. I’ll see to it you’re in the clear if the shit hits the fan.’

  ‘In the clear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m not letting you go in there on your own. End of,’ said Jane.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But if this goes wrong, we are in deep trouble.’

  ‘It won’t.’

  Jane forced a nervous smile.

  ‘And if it does, they’ll throw the book at me. You were following orders,’ said Dixon.

  Dixon and Jane left Sarah Heath at the cottage with Monty and arrived in Burnham-on-Sea just after 9.00am. They parked in Herbert Road to keep Dixon’s Land Rover out of sight and walked along the beach to The Royal Clarence Hotel.

  Explaining the situation to Dennis, the owner, made for an uncomfortable meeting but he agreed to cooperate, albeit reluctantly. Two couples were staying at the hotel. Both had already finished breakfast and would be out for the day by 10.00am. By 10.15am everyone else would be upstairs, leaving only Dixon and Jane on the ground floor. The front door would be locked, as usual, leaving only the back door open. The door at the bottom of the stairs would also be locked.

  Jane would be positioned behind the public bar and Dixon would be waiting in the office between the back door and the bar. With the door shut, he would be hidden but CCTV would give him a clear view of the back door and rear courtyard as well as the bar area and front door. Both wore body armour, Jane under a baggy top and Dixon under his jacket.

  ‘I still don’t understand why we can’t call it in?’

  ‘Trust me, Jane. He’s not going to kill a police officer.’

  Jane was about to ask another question when Dixon looked at his watch and spoke.

  ‘Ten minutes. Better get in position. Chop lemons or something, and remember to get down behind the bar if he produces the gun. Ok?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  Dixon waited in the office watching the CCTV of the rear courtyard and back door. He could see Jane at the bar. She had finished chopping lemons and was now arranging the mixers. Dixon checked his watch. 10.30am had come and gone and it was nearly 10.40am. He rang Sarah Heath.

  ‘Sarah, it’s Nick. Everything alright?’

  ‘Fine. No sign?’

  ‘Not yet. Better go.’

  Dixon rang off. He checked his watch. 10.45am. His mind was racing.

  Where the fuck is he?

  Was he coming at all?

  Was he late?

  Was he waiting for the bar to open?

  Had he smelled a rat?

  Dixon could live with the consequences of a reprimand or worse but he needed a result to justify it, not least to himself. Consequences. Sarah Heath would need to remain in protective custody. He was not going to be popular. And then there was @DuckHawkMan.

  Suddenly, a figure appeared at the front door. He tried the door. It was locked. Dixon checked his watch. 10.47am. It could be a pisshead after an early drink. The bar was due to open at 11.00am.

  The same figure appeared in the courtyard at the back of the hotel a few seconds later. Tentative at first. He had a good look around and then made for the back door. Dixon reached for the phone and dialled 999.

  ‘This is Detective Inspector Nick Dixon, Bridgwater CID. I need immediate assistance at the Royal Clarence Hotel, Burnham-on-Sea.’ He spoke quietly and quickly. ‘I have an armed man in the public bar. He has a gun. Send an armed response unit and an ambulance.’ Dixon waited long enough for an acknowledgment from the operator before he rang off.

  Dixon saw the figure appear on camera in the public bar. He opened the door of the office quietly and made for the door to the bar.

  Jane had her back to the bar.

  ‘I’m looking for Sarah Heath.’

  Jane turned round.

  ‘Ste
ve, what are you doing here?’

  Dixon appeared in the doorway.

  ‘He’s here for his money. Aren’t you, Steve?’

  Steve Gorman was wearing dark trousers, a polo shirt and a black leather jacket. He turned to face Dixon.

  ‘I’m here to help. I heard about it on the radio.’

  ‘It’s not been on the radio.’

  Gorman looked at Jane and then back to Dixon. He shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. Dixon broke the silence.

  ‘”They’re Peregrine Falcons, Sir. There’s a pair nesting on Priest Rock.” Remember, Steve?’

  ‘Anyone can spot a Peregrine Falcon, for fuck’s sake. That doesn’t mean a thing.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ said Dixon. ‘Maybe not on it’s own but what with everything else…’

  ‘What else?’ demanded Gorman.

  ‘Who was it who said “too many tweets make a twat”?’

  Gorman was red in the face. He looked nervously from Dixon to Jane and back to Dixon. He stepped back into a table and chairs but kept his footing.

  ‘You still haven’t explained what you’re doing here,’ said Dixon.

  Gorman did not respond.

  Dixon moved to his right, pulled a chair out from under a table and sat down facing Gorman.

  ‘You’re investigating the death of Jenna Williams. But your main suspect is your partner in crime. You can’t arrest him without risking everything. Let’s assume he threatened to blab about the egg dealing. You argued outside the Vic perhaps. That was you wasn’t it?’

  No reply. Dixon continued.

  ‘So you killed him.’

  ‘I didn’t kill Fayter.’

  ‘You waited until his weight was off the ropes, untied them and watched him fall to his death.’

  ‘I did not kill Jake Fayter.’

  ‘You even told Tina Williams that Jake killed her daughter in the hope she’d kill him…’

  ‘No, that was a mistake.’

  ‘Convenient then wasn’t it?’

  ‘He spat in my face. “Arrest me and you’re fucked”, he said. But I didn’t kill him. And, yes, it was convenient. Fucking convenient. I couldn’t believe my luck.’

  ‘So, what about Dan Hunter? Just about the money was it?’