Beyond the Point

by Damien Boyd

  ‘Chard has been released for the time being,’ said Potter, gesturing to the vacant workstation opposite her. ‘The files on Stella Hayward’s murder are downstairs and you’ll get his team when they’ve been interviewed by Professional Standards. Until then it’s just you, but if you need help I can send someone down from Portishead.’

  ‘I thought you were taking over the investigation?’

  ‘Not now you’re here.’

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am.’

  ‘We’re closing down the Incident Room at Hinkley, but they’ve said we can use the beat team office as and when.’

  ‘When.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You heard what Steiner said before he had his brains blown out,’ said Dixon. ‘Someone got him into Hinkley on a false ID. And threw the shotgun over the fence.’

  Potter sighed. ‘It was empty.’

  Dixon stared at her, his expression blank. He rubbed his cheek, convinced he could feel Steiner’s blood trickling down it. Again.

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’ she asked. ‘His gun was empty.’

  ‘Does Bateman know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the AR officer who pulled the trigger?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Dixon had his elbows on the table, his forehead resting on his hands. ‘He gave me no indication that the gun was otherwise than fully loaded and his finger was on the trigger the whole time.’ He looked up. ‘You were listening to the conversation. If he had then—’

  ‘They’ll be pleased to know you’ll say that.’

  ‘It’s the truth. You heard what he said. There was no way he was going back to prison.’ Dixon shook his head. ‘I had him though. He lost his balance when the crane moved and—’

  ‘He brought the gun up,’ said Potter.

  Dixon nodded. ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘That was the order, “if he brings the gun up”, and that’s what it looked like from the other crane. You can’t blame them.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Some shot though,’ muttered Pearce. ‘From a moving crane, at a moving crane.’

  ‘Good. Then we’ll say no more about it,’ said Potter. ‘The Independent Office for Police Conduct will go over the whole thing anyway. Focus on Amy and her mother.’

  ‘What about Steiner’s fake ID?’

  ‘Scientific recovered it from his body,’ replied Potter. ‘It shows him as an employee of Agard – the same company Amy worked for – but they’ve never heard of him.’

  Dixon curled his lip. ‘What about the Severn Crossing prosecution file?’

  ‘Professional Standards have got it. It was recovered from Chard’s house.’

  ‘I’ll need to see it.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’ Potter stood up. ‘You’ll get a transcript of Chard’s interview when they’ve finished with him as well.’

  ‘I need to speak to him.’

  ‘No chance.’ She picked up her handbag and headed for the top of the stairs. ‘And I hope your dog’s OK.’

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am.’

  ‘How is Monty, Sir?’ asked Louise, when Potter’s grey streaks had disappeared from view down the stairs.

  ‘We won’t know for a couple of days.’

  ‘I hope it works out.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Good news about that git Chard, hey, Sir?’ Pearce grinned. ‘He really had it in for you, didn’t he? And all the time he was knocking . . .’ His voice tailed off when Dixon glared at him. ‘All right, maybe it’s not good news,’ mumbled Pearce.

  ‘It’s just going to be us for the time being,’ said Dixon. ‘So, we need to focus. Let’s start with what we know.’

  ‘Steiner was paid in bitcoin to murder Amy,’ said Louise. ‘By person or persons unknown.’

  ‘We don’t know that, do we?’

  ‘He must’ve been. And it must be related to what Stella was investigating, Sir,’ said Harding. ‘It can’t be a coincidence that she’d just got access to the old file. She must’ve found something, confronted someone with what she’d found out, maybe, and paid the price for it.’

  ‘We’re assuming she’s dead then?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Harding. ‘She must be. Otherwise she’d have come out of the woodwork when Amy was killed.’

  ‘Have High Tech cracked Steiner’s phone?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘His passcode was his date of birth,’ replied Louise. ‘But there’s nothing in there, really. Two unregistered mobile numbers and that’s it.’

  ‘What about his bitcoin wallet?’

  ‘We’ll never get into that. There’s the twelve word passphrase to get to the login screen, then a four digit pin number.’

  ‘Even if we get in, it won’t tell us much, Sir,’ said Harding. ‘Every transaction may be identifiable, but all you get is a random string of letters and numbers. It doesn’t tell you where the money has come from.’

  ‘And there’s no way of finding that out?’

  ‘We’re on to Bitfly, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.’ Louise folded her arms.

  ‘There isn’t,’ said Harding. ‘That’s the whole point of bitcoin, the anonymity. More so if you’re doing it over the dark net.’

  ‘And was he?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ replied Louise. ‘He’d got the TOR app installed on his iPhone.’

  ‘What have you found out about Amy then?’ asked Dixon, looking at his phone.

  Creatinine and urea levels higher but still within normal range. Just fed him again. Jane here. Tabi

  ‘She’d been at HPC six months,’ replied Pearce. ‘Bit of a star, apparently. Her best friend was Michelle. She’s training to be a pharmacist at Frenchay Hospital.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Michelle?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘Only on the phone. She got too upset to talk properly.’

  ‘So, we don’t know whether Amy was actively participating in her mother’s investigation?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Still no sign of her phone?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘What about Stella’s iPad?’

  ‘There’s a report from High Tech on the system,’ replied Harding. ‘Not a lot, is the short answer. Plenty of photos and lots of FaceTime calls to and from Amy’s phone, as you would expect. Emails too, but there’s nothing exciting.’

  ‘Speak to Michelle again,’ said Dixon. ‘We need to know whether it’s just a coincidence that Amy was working at HPC. After all, it’s the biggest construction project in this part of the country since the Second Severn Crossing.’

  ‘Shall we go and see her?’

  ‘Yes.’ Dixon turned to Louise. ‘We’ll come at it from the other end. I want to know everything about the first husband’s company.’

  ‘Crook Engineering.’ Louise flipped open her notebook. ‘It was wound up after his death though.’

  ‘Employees?’

  ‘The witness statements will be on the prosecution file.’

  ‘Have you tried the Inland Revenue?’

  ‘There are a couple on the books.’ Louise closed her notebook. ‘But he did a lot of cash in hand and they weren’t so hot on it back then.’

  A small team; a large investigation. Sometimes as Senior Investigating Officer you just have to stick your neck out and pursue a line of enquiry, thought Dixon, although this time it wasn’t unreasonable to pursue the same one that Stella had died for. ‘All right, let’s assume Stella found out the platform had been sabotaged – or at least got close, close enough to get her killed. Who stood to gain from that?’

  ‘Centrix Platforms,’ said Louise. ‘They took over the contract for the platforms to complete the monorail.’

  Dixon smiled. ‘You know what to do.’

  Bateman had at least had the wit to record Dixon’s confrontation with Steiner, holding his phone next to Potter’s, and a transcript was already on the system when he logged in. Dixon sighed as he scrolled down. How much more would Steiner have given him if he’d take
n him alive? Still, no point crying over spilt milk. Or blood. Or antifreeze for that matter.

  He slid his phone out of his pocket and tapped out a text message.

  Where are u? Nx

  Jane’s reply came before he had finished typing the first paragraph of his witness statement.

  Tesco’s getting a liquidiser fish and veg. He can come home later :-) Can you pick Lucy up at Highbridge train stn 1852 she’s coming down to help Jx

  He snatched his phone off the desk and dialled her number.

  ‘I’m at the checkout.’

  ‘What did Tabi say?’

  ‘There’s no change, I’m afraid, so try not to get your hopes up. She just thinks he’ll be better off at home. We’ve got to take him back in the morning for more blood tests. He’s still got the catheter in his leg but he’ll be off the drip. How do I get pills into him?’

  ‘Sliced turkey.’

  ‘Now you tell me.’ Muffled voices. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to get some sliced turkey. Over there?’ Jane came back on the line. ‘If there’s any change, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘What time are you picking him up?’

  ‘Four.’

  Jane rang off, leaving Dixon staring at the picture of Monty on the beach that he used as the wallpaper on his phone.

  ‘Sir?’

  He looked up, careful not to blink in case it released the tears that had welled up.

  ‘Centrix Platforms was wound up in 2005. Voluntary liquidation,’ continued Louise. ‘Raymond Harper was the owner, but he died in 2004. There’s a widow though. Anne. She lives over at Bleadon.’

  ‘Give her a ring and see if she’ll speak to us this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Who have we got from Crook?’

  ‘There’s the operations manager,’ replied Pearce. ‘He must have retired by now, but he’s on the electoral roll at an address in Frome.’

  ‘We’ll go and see him as well then.’

  The next two hours were spent writing his witness statement, reliving the events of the night before on the crane. Not that they hadn’t been going round and round in his head on a loop ever since, albeit a short one: the spray hitting his face, blood, brains, the crane swaying and the wind whistling. Within ten minutes of emailing his statement to Potter, Dixon was on his way to Frome. Out and about, doing what he did best. He glanced into the back of the Land Rover at Monty’s empty bed.

  ‘He’s going to be fine, Sir,’ said Louise. She was sitting in the passenger seat, looking over her shoulder at the same empty dog bed. ‘Before you know it, he’ll be—’

  ‘I shouldn’t have googled it.’

  ‘Tell me about Colin Rowland,’ said Louise, changing the subject.

  ‘He was the operations manager at Crook Engineering, Liam Crook’s right hand man working on the bridge platforms. I’m assuming he wasn’t prosecuted because he wasn’t a director of the company. That’s about it, really. Until we get the prosecution file.’

  An hour later Dixon turned into Trinity Street, Frome, a row of small terraced sandstone cottages on his left, each with white cornicing around the windows and doors; some with dormer windows, most without.

  ‘It’s that one,’ said Louise. ‘With the olive green door.’

  There were no double yellow lines to park on – Dixon was in that sort of mood; his dog was dying and someone was going to pay for that, even if it was just a traffic warden.

  He checked his watch when Rowland answered the door, a glass of red wine in his hand.

  ‘It’s past the yardarm, Inspector,’ said Rowland, peering at their warrant cards. ‘You’d better come in.’

  The carpet in the living room was cream with several red stains, wine rather than blood. Probably. A rug in front of the red brick fireplace was also stained, the edge singed where logs had rolled out of the grate. Dixon opted for a wooden chair rather than the sofa.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Glaswegian, definitely; Rowland was small, stocky, with short grey hair. Good at darts too, judging by the trophies on the otherwise bare shelves.

  ‘You used to work for Crook Engineering, Mr Rowland?’

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ Rowland was rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Fuck me.’

  Dixon waited. He glanced across at Louise, perched on the edge of the sofa with her notebook on her knee.

  ‘I never thought . . .’ Rowland’s voice tailed off.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Has Stella found something?’

  ‘Stella Hayward is missing, Sir,’ replied Dixon. ‘I’m investigating her disappearance and the murder of her daughter, Amy.’

  ‘Och, fuck, no.’ Rowland drained the wine glass. Stood up and walked towards the half empty bottle on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Would you mind leaving that until we’ve finished, Sir?’

  ‘Of course, sorry.’

  ‘Tell me about the manslaughter prosecution.’ Dixon hesitated, watching Rowland’s eyes fixed on the wine bottle. ‘You weren’t prosecuted?’

  ‘They were going to. Manslaughter, for fuck’s sake. They said they wouldn’t if I cooperated and Liam told me it was all right. “Do what you have to do, Colin,” he said. So, I told them what they wanted to hear and left out the bits they didnae want me to say.’ Rowland sneered. ‘Bastards.’

  ‘I haven’t seen your witness statement yet, Sir,’ said Dixon.

  ‘It’s a crock o’ shite. I’d have said it in the witness box though, but it never came to that. Hostile witness? I’d have given them fucking hostile witness.’

  ‘What were you going to say?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘The platform was sabotaged. There’s no two ways about it. One whole end of it collapsed. That’s four bolts, including the safety rail. The tossers from the HSE reckoned they’d sheared off. They found one in the mud and said it was all rusted up. It’d been in the water for three months before they found it. What the hell did they expect?’

  ‘What about the safety ropes?’

  ‘The lads were harnessed up, just as they should’ve been, but whoever sabotaged it took out the safety rail they were tied to as well. The ropes slipped off the end and doon they went.’

  ‘What about risk assessments?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘You’re sounding a bit too much like that Health and Safety bastard,’ snarled Rowland. ‘They were done. And I don’t care what they say. I did ’em myself.’

  ‘It’s my belief the platform was sabotaged, Mr Rowland,’ said Dixon. ‘Stella got too close to proving it and—’

  Rowland wiped away tears with his sleeve, his face contorted and flushed. ‘After all this fucking time.’

  ‘I believe it to be the motive behind her disappearance, and the murder of her daughter.’

  ‘Work was stopped for six weeks.’ Rowland was picking at loose threads on the arm of the sofa, where a cat had been sharpening its claws. ‘It took that long to recover the bodies. Then the funerals.’ Rowland took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. ‘Another company went in and finished the job after the bridge opened. There’s a monorail under the road, suspended like, with the track above the carriages. You can see it from the beach. I still go down there sometimes.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘They were good lads.’ Rowland’s eyes glazed over.

  ‘What can you tell me about the company that took on the contract?’

  ‘Nothing, really.’ Rowland hesitated. ‘Centrax Platforms or Centrix, something like that. I’d not come across them before.’

  ‘Did you think they had anything to do with the sabotaged platform?’

  ‘Liam thought so. They’d tried to buy him out and he’d told them to go to hell. I never knew any of this at the time. Stella told me years later.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Three year ago, maybe. Longer.’

  ‘Who d’you think sabotaged the platform?’

  ‘Fuck knows. We had a team of regulars, but for a job like that we had a load o
f cash in hand lads. Climbers, some of them. We used them for window cleaning jobs too. High rise blocks, offices, stuff like that. They’d abseil in, that sort of thing. Cheaper than platforms every time.’ Rowland smiled. ‘Cannae do it nowadays, mind.’

  ‘Did Stella ever tell you who she thought was behind it?’

  ‘She always thought there must have been a middle man, but she didnae know who it was. Theories, she had, but that was it. She thought the investigator from Health and Safety was bent too. She had no real idea, to be honest. Last time I saw her anyway.’

  Chapter Twenty

  A blue rinse and a Siamese cat, the patio door ajar, a rope scratching post on the dining table saving the arms of the sofa and chairs. Just like his late grandmother, thought Dixon, standing in the large windows at the back of the bungalow.

  Hinkley Point was hidden by the haze miles away across the Parrett Estuary, the tide in, but Dixon could make out the lighthouse and the churches at Burnham and Berrow. It was an unusual view of Brean Down, for him, but not for the residents of Bleadon, perhaps. Almost an island – it wouldn’t take much of a rise in sea levels.

  Mrs Harper liked pink. And she had kept her late husband’s collection of military figurines, a whole display cabinet given over to them by the fireplace. The odd Beswick figurine had crept in and seemed out of place in amongst the Paras and Royal Marines; Jemima Puddle-Duck, Benjamin Bunny and a few shire horses.

  Louise was peering at the photographs on the mantelpiece when Dixon turned back to the view from the window, across a manicured lawn and flowerbeds full of roses and hydrangeas, the garden sloping away down to a drystone wall, with cows in the field beyond. He was thinking back to the last time he walked out to the fort at the end of Brean Down with Monty.

  The last time? Think positive; the previous time.

  ‘Do you take sugar?’

  The shrill voice shouting from the kitchen was not enough to bring him back to the present.

  ‘No, thank you,’ replied Louise.

  Cups and saucers rattling on a tray heralded Mrs Harper’s arrival in the living room, a nudge from Louise dragging Dixon away from the window.

  ‘It’s a grandstand view you have,’ he said, spinning round.