Death on Account (The Lakeland Murders)

by Salkeld, J J

  ‘All right, Sergeant?’ he said.

  ‘It’s Ian. I’m off duty, probably permanently.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I heard what happened. The old Ninja skills came in handy then?’

  Mann’s expression told Ryan that he didn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘I wanted a word if you can spare a minute, maybe later?’

  ‘Give me half an hour, then pop back?’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll just drop in on me dad.’

  Ian Mann did go and see his dad, but he tried the back door first. It was locked. He phoned the insurance company while his dad made tea, and his father was adamant that he wouldn’t get a new car. ‘That Rover should have seen me out.’ Mann told him not to be daft, and promised to take his dad to a couple of garages the next day. ‘I want something British mind’ said his dad, as Mann was leaving.

  Ryan passed Mann a beer, and gestured through to the sitting room.

  ‘How’s your mum?’

  ‘Same. She doesn’t get out much now.’

  ‘You heard about my dad’s car?’

  ‘Aye. Shame. It was a nice old motor. Thought about having it myself like, back in the day. Easy to nick, those old motors.’

  ‘Know who did it?’

  Ryan didn’t answer. Mann still looked like a cop, and talked like one too.

  ‘Come on, Ryan, it was the Walker lads. We all know that. I just wanted to ask you if they’ll leave him alone now.’

  Ryan took a drink. ‘Hard to say. It depends, but I expect so. They know their dad’s a twat, so they will only have done it because there was a few quid in it for them. I expect their old man bunged them a few quid.’

  ‘So you don’t think I need have a word with them?’

  ‘Fuck no, that’s the last thing you want to do. They’d never leave your dad alone then.’

  ‘Pretty much what I thought. OK, I’ll leave it for now. So what’s this about you having a job? My dad says he’s seen you going to and from work.’

  ‘Aye, it’s just labouring like, but it’s a start.’

  ‘So you got nowhere with the army?’

  ‘Not sure. They said all my convictions counted against me, but if I keep out of trouble for twelve months I’m to come back. They were very impressed by your letter, mind.’

  ‘You keep at it, Ryan. Shame you haven’t got any exams, but you’ve got time on your side.’

  ‘So how about you? What will you do if you get kicked out of the cops?’

  ‘No idea. I haven’t got any exams either. Are there any jobs going where you are?’

  ‘You’re too old, marrer. You wouldn’t last a week.’

  Mann laughed and finished his drink. He walked past his dad’s house and thought about going on past Eleanor’s. It was only another two minutes, but it was in the wrong direction, and Mann needed a piss. It must be Ryan’s cheap beer he thought, and turned on his heel. If he hurried he’d be home in ten minutes.

  If Mann had walked on, and stopped outside Eleanor’s house, there’d have been nothing to see or hear. Her living room was light was on, and there were lights on in the upstairs bedrooms of the Walkers’ house. But an hour later things would have been very different, because even from the pavement you could have heard the music coming from one of the pair of semis. The windows were closed, and the music wasn’t recognisable because the two brothers were playing the same rap tune on both of their stereos, to see which was louder. Next door the lights were all out, but Eleanor and her daughter was still there, and wide awake. It was just that Eleanor couldn’t stand to see the fear in her daughter’s eyes anymore.

  Monday 6th May

  Andy Hall woke from a dream in which he was running along narrow paths, between buildings, then fences, then on the edge of a field. It was all uphill, and the landscape seemed familiar somehow. Perhaps he’d had that dream before.

  He’d worked all weekend, and he’d be in today, Bank Holiday or not. He’d been at Jane’s until late the previous night, and he’d told her that he would tell Gill that he wouldn’t be able to see her again. It felt odd, like being a teenager, talking about these things. He’d tried not to talk about Carol to Jane, and how he felt about the fact that she’d left, but as he looked back he realised that he’d failed. He made a mental note to stop doing it. Like all coppers Hall knew that actions speak louder than words, and that recidivists are just people who keep making the same mistakes. He couldn’t change who he was, but he certainly could try to change how he was.

  In this spirit of change he tried whistling in the shower, but that wasn’t a success. He couldn’t carry a tune. For some reason he thought of the wolf-whistle, a sound he hadn’t heard in years, and remembered that as a kid he’d been envious of the lads who could do it. He never could.

  When he got to work he chatted to Jane. It felt completely fine, not strained, and not different either. There’d been no further developments in Merseyside.

  ‘Looks like Billy Cafferty is home free, and will be able to enjoy his family reunion without a care in the world’ said Hall. ‘Merseyside are bound to scale back this week. Sanchez did Cafferty a favour in a way, because when he was identified the heat went out of the conspiracy investigation.’

  ‘So that’s it?’

  ‘Ray emailed to say he wanted to show me something he’d found, but it can’t be that earth-shattering or he’d have said what it is in the email. And the chance of the information about Williams coming from here was always a hundred to one against anyway. It was just that one call from Kendal to Sanchez on the day of Williams’ death, but it could just have easily have been someone else, keeping an eye on Williams until Sanchez turned up.’

  There was no-one in the office, but Jane still lowered her voice.

  ‘So you’re going to talk to Gill?’

  ‘She’s on early turn, out with Nobby Styles again. I said I’d buy her a coffee in town after.’

  ‘Does she know what you want to talk about?’

  ‘Judging from the tone of her text, and the fact that I’ve been dodging her all weekend, I’d say she does.’

  ‘She’ll know it’s me.’

  ‘Really? On the basis of what information?’

  Jane laughed. ‘This isn’t police work, Andy. Put it down to feminine intuition, even though I know you think there’s no such thing. And anyway, realistically, how many available women do you actually know?’

  Hall smiled. ‘Harsh but fair. It’s a fair cop. And I was just starting to think that I’d become irresistible in my old age.’

  ‘Don’t fish for compliments, Inspector. Haven’t you got work to do?’

  Hall did have work to do, and he was working on his budget submission when he heard Jane shout something. ‘I’m putting a call through, Andy’ she called out, ‘You’re going to want to hear this.’

  ‘Morning, Andy’ said Tony Sheridan, booming out of the speakerphone. ‘Can I have a go with your crystal ball when you’re not using it?’

  ‘Of course. Why, what is it that I foresaw exactly? I see so much you see.’

  ‘We’ve found the car that Sanchez got a ride to the airport in. That’s the good news.’

  ‘But the bad is that it’s burnt out?’

  ‘He’s good, Jane, he’s good.’

  ‘No offence Tony, but I expect you do get the odd burnt out car in Liverpool, so how did you spot it?’

  ‘I didn’t, it was Raj. This morning he did what I ask all my young officers to do, and that’s go through all the crime reports from last night. And he spotted a registration that was on that list of cars that were on both ANPRs.’

  ‘Blimey, the kid must be a memory man.’

  ‘Not really. It took me a few minutes to get it out of him, but the registration contains his initials and his year of birth. 1988 it is, would you believe it?’

  ‘So what’s the story? I assume the owner had reported it stolen.’

  ‘You bet. Called it in last night. Break in, keys nicked from a dish on the hall
table, the usual story. And the car was found on wasteland about three hours later, burnt out.’

  ‘So I did make Billy react.’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying.’

  ‘I didn’t expect it though, Tony. It was just a shot in the dark.’

  ‘Well, anyway, we know who the car is registered to, and it just gets better.’

  ‘A known associate of Cafferty’s?’

  ‘Sort of. It’s the widow of a former associate, who died years ago. He was Cafferty’s most trusted lieutenant apparently, but it’s all before my time. Name of McGrath.’

  Jane looked quickly across the table at Hall and he shook his head, and mouthed ‘common name in Liverpool’ back at her.

  ‘So does this take us anywhere then, Tony? Forensics will get nothing off the car, or the house. So I guess it’s the merry widow that’s your best chance.’

  ‘We’re picking her up now. So, oh wise one, anything you want me to ask?’

  ‘I’ll leave that in your capable hands, Tony. Will you give me a shout if you move it on? And what’s her address by the way?’

  Sheridan read it out. ‘Why’s that of importance to you then, Andy?’

  ‘Just something I want to follow up on. Don’t worry, it’s probably nothing. I expect it is.’

  But twenty minutes later Hall was sitting with Ray Dixon in Hall’s office, looking at the file on Aidan McGrath.

  ‘There’s nothing about all that on her application form, is there?’ said Dixon.

  ‘In fairness, Ray, there doesn’t need to be. For all you know my dad was a con-man.’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘Worse, much worse. He was a bank manager. But the real problem is that it looks like the mum might be mixed up with Cafferty now. It’s definitely her whose car was burnt out, and Tony Sheridan is talking to her right now.’

  ‘What are you going to do then, boss? Tell Tony about Gill?’

  ‘Do me a favour, Ray, and find out where Nobby and Gill McGrath are, and when they’re next back here.’

  ‘Nobby likes a brew back here at snap time. So they’ll be back in half an hour, give or take.’

  ‘OK. I’m going to have to track Robinson down, and see how he wants us to play this. But my instinct is to interview Gill right now.’

  ‘Under caution, boss?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Ray.’

  ‘You’ll want her prints then, boss. What’s the betting they’re the ones on the Williams file?’

  ‘Shit, yes, let’s do that as soon as Gill and Nobby get back in.’

  They sat silently for a moment.

  ‘What do you reckon then, boss?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘Absolutely no way, Ray, not a chance. Those prints won’t be hers. I’d bet my pension on it.’

  ‘Let’s hope you don’t have to, boss.’

  Superintendent Robinson agreed that Gill should be interviewed immediately, and that Hall should lead.

  ‘But I’m conflicted, sir.’

  ‘Conflicted how?’

  ‘I’ve been involved in a relationship with Gill McGrath.’

  Robinson didn’t look pleased. ‘What kind of relationship? Sexual?’

  ‘Well no, sir, but we have been out together. Actually I was about to break it off anyway.’

  ‘Spare me the sordid details, Inspector. Under the circumstances I suggest that you use your DCs, but watch from the observation room. And keep me fully informed. If it turns out that Gill McGrath is mixed up in this, and you’ve been involved in a relationship, well, it could be a disaster. For you, I mean. Actually I’ll go further. It will be a disaster.’

  ‘I didn’t know Gill until after she joined as a Special, sir, I played no part in the recruitment process, and I never discussed the Williams case until after he was dead and his identity was known. My conscience is clear.’

  Robinson looked dubious. ‘Save it, Inspector. For now let’s try to establish whether or not Gill McGrath is involved in all this. You’d really better hope that she’s not.’

  When Jane Francis walked into the interview room, barely half an hour later, it was obvious that Gill already knew that her mother had been arrested. Nobby had called a local solicitor for her, a woman called Jean Patterson, and she was already present. To Ray’s surprise Jane had suggested that he lead the questioning, and so he set off in his usual circular, cheerful style.

  ‘I’m sorry we have to be so formal, Gill’ he said, ‘but you’ll understand that we’re involved in a very serious investigation here.’

  ‘All I know is my mum’s car was stolen, which she reported, and now she’s in custody on suspicion of involvement in the death of Neil Williams. I don’t understand it, how can that possibly be?’

  ‘We’ll come back to that. But first, can I ask you about your dad?’

  ‘My dad?’

  ‘Yes. How much do you know about him?’

  ‘He died when I was a little kid. I don’t remember him at all really, but when he is in my dreams I recognise him. I don’t know why. He was a salesman, I think. My mum said he travelled away, abroad, a lot of the time.’

  ‘Do you know what he sold?’

  ‘No, I don’t. My mum doesn’t like to talk about him, still finds it upsetting, even after all these years. It was quite sudden, his death, and he was very young. I used to be curious of course. When I was a kid I used to look at their wedding pictures, and tried to imagine him talking to me. What he might say, you know.’

  ‘And you’ve never asked around among your mum’s friends? Never Googled him?’

  ‘I don’t think many of her friends knew dad. It’s funny though, because I did Google his name, about two years ago. All I found was a court report, some bloke with the same name who got sent down for robbery. In Liverpool it was too. My mum said she remembered it, and that my dad got teased at work over it. You know what Scousers are like.’

  ‘Would you be surprised if I told you that it was your dad in that news report?’

  Jane Francis held her breath. She desperately wanted Gill to be surprised, and as far as she could tell she was astonished. It was a few seconds before she spoke again.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. Would you like to see your dad’s record?’

  Gill nodded, and Dixon took a couple of A4 sheets from his file. He gave Gill a minute to read them. ‘This must be a shock.’

  ‘It is. I had no idea. My poor mum, she must be so ashamed. She’s never said a word to me, not one, I swear. I knew nothing about any of this.’

  ‘Would you like a drink? A tea, a coffee? A bit of sugar will help with the shock.’

  ‘No, I’m all right. So you think my mum is mixed up with the Cafferty’s somehow?’ Jane saw the realisation cross her face. ‘And you think I’m some kind of mole? No, no, no, I don’t know anything about all this.’

  ‘It’s OK’ said Dixon gently, ‘All we need to do is establish some facts. No-one is accusing you of anything, OK?’

  ‘All right, but I don’t know anything about my dad’s past, I promise.’

  ‘That’s fine, I understand. So does your mum work?’

  ‘She’s retired now, but she used to.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘She was school secretary. At the primary school I went to, actually.’

  ‘And did you have a car when you were growing up?’

  ‘Oh yes. Mum said the life insurance paid for the house, and our cars, and the odd holiday. My dad died quite suddenly, like I said.’

  ‘Where did you go on holiday?’

  ‘Usual places. Spain, Italy, Greece once, but it was too hot for my mum. She burns if she goes outside on a sunny day, even in Crosby. And we used to go and see family down in Cork.’

  ‘How about your mum’s friends, family, that sort of thing. Did you see a lot of them?’

  For the first time Gill laughed. ‘Of course. My family is Irish, Ray, so

  there are hundreds of us. I don’t know how many cousins I’ve
got, but when I was a kid they were our social life. My memories of childhood are of a load of us running round in the garden while the adults talked, smoked and drank inside. They’d usually finish with a few rebel songs round the piano. One time a neighbour called the Police because of the noise, and I remember our local PC joined in when he arrived.’

  ‘How about friends of your dad? Did you see any of those around?’

  ‘Not that I remember, no.’

  ‘And how about recently? Any new faces?’

  ‘No, but I’ve been up here for the past six months, and I’ve only been home for the odd weekend. But I haven’t noticed anything different. That’s what I love about my mum’s, nothing ever changes. Or at least it didn’t, until now.’

  ‘Just a few more questions, Gill. Are you OK? You’re doing really well.’

  For the first time Gill McGrath looked as if she was about to start crying, and as he watched through the observation window Hall thought he knew why. Because a whole lifetime’s worth of memories would now all seem different, less true somehow.

  ‘I’m all right. What else do you want to know?’

  ‘Your mum’s car. How long ago did she get it?’

  ‘It was nearly new. She always changes them every three years.’

  ‘Do you know how she pays for them?’

  ‘No, I’ve never asked.’

  ‘And does anyone else have access to her car?’

  ‘No, not as far as I know. My uncle Pat borrowed the last one for a week a year or two back, and maybe a couple of other times, while his was off the road. He likes the gee-gees, does Pat, so I think that’s when his car is unavailable, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘So you didn’t notice the car being away in the evenings, that sort of thing?’

  ‘No. Like I say, Pat borrowed it the odd time, but that’s it.’