Kickback

by Damien Boyd

  ‘C’mon, drink up and let’s get out of here,’ said Dixon.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘We’ll be safe at the cottage now, unless you’d rather go to your flat.’

  ‘The flat.’

  They were walking across the car park to Dixon’s Land Rover when his phone rang again. This time it was DCI Lewis.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘What the bloody hell’s been going on?’

  ‘I was picked up by the Albanians but they just wanted a chat, Sir. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Sidcot.’

  ‘Is Jane there?’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘What’s happening now?’

  ‘We’re going home, Sir.’

  ‘Good. And for heaven’s sake, stay out of trouble.’

  Eight

  ‘Georgina Harcourt rang last night, Sir.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘9.37pm. Mrs Georgina Harcourt. No message, no number.’

  Louise Willmott handed the note to Dixon.

  ‘Why wasn’t this passed on?’

  ‘Don’t know, Sir.’

  ‘Well, find out, will you? And remind them this is a bloody murder investigation.’

  Dixon and Jane had arrived at Bridgwater Police Station just after 8.30am. Louise Willmott was waiting for them but otherwise the CID Room was empty. They made themselves a coffee and checked their emails while they waited for Louise. She reappeared a few minutes later.

  ‘They didn’t think...’

  ‘Didn’t think? If anyone else says that to me I’m gonna...’

  Dixon screwed his empty plastic coffee cup into a ball and threw it at the bin in the corner of his office. He missed.

  ‘Get me her phone number, somebody.’

  Dixon rang the landline at Gidley’s Racing Stables and then Georgina Harcourt’s mobile phone number. No reply.

  ‘In here a minute, will you?’

  Jane sat at Janice Courtenay’s desk and Louise on the chair in front of Dixon’s desk.

  ‘Change of direction. You’ve heard what happened yesterday, Louise?’

  ‘You had a visit from the Albanians.’

  ‘I did,’ said Dixon. ‘But what it tells me is this. If Noel was about to blab about either the horse racing or the drugs then he’d be at the bottom of the Bristol Channel by now. Nobody would be any the wiser. He’d just be another missing person.’

  ‘So, the Albanians have got nothing to do with it?’ asked Louise.

  ‘I don’t think so. This was an amateur job. They’re professionals. No traces.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Jane.

  ‘It does,’ said Louise.

  ‘This was someone who knew a little about horses but not enough. Someone who tried to make it look like Westbrook Warrior kicked him to death and failed dismally.’

  ‘So, what do we do now?’ asked Louise.

  ‘I want full background checks on all of the owners and syndicate members. Everyone associated with every horse at that yard. I also want all of their mobile phone records so we can cross check them with Noel’s. And Philip Stockman. Let’s find him and set up a meeting today.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Jane.

  ‘And Noel’s iPad and phone. Have we heard back from High Tech yet, Louise?’

  ‘No, Sir. I’ll chase it up.’

  ‘I want all calls to and from Noel’s phone checked and cross referenced.’

  ‘So, what do you think the motive is then?’

  ‘He was a rent boy, Louise. Do you want me to spell it out for you?’

  ‘Blackmail, you mean?’

  ‘It would explain the money, the iPad and PlayStation, wouldn’t it. He sure as hell wasn’t making that sort of money out of Hesp or Clapham Racing, was he?’

  ‘Was he still selling himself?’

  ‘Possibly, but who to?’ replied Dixon.

  The phone on Dixon’s desk rang.

  ‘Yes, Sir. I’ll be along in minute.’

  Dixon hung up.

  ‘A summons. I’ll be back in a minute. It’s going to be a lot of work and there’s only the three of us, so let’s get on with it.’

  ‘Tell me about yesterday, then,’ said DCI Lewis.

  ‘Not a lot to tell, really, Sir,’ replied Dixon. ‘Gun in the ribs, in the car, quick chat, out at Sidcot.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Who did you meet and what did he say?’

  ‘He said his name was Zavan.’

  ‘You met the man himself.’

  ‘He knew the betting scam was over. We didn’t discuss the drugs. I think he just wanted to make sure I knew they had nothing to do with Noel’s death.’

  ‘You believed him?’

  ‘Yes. I’d already ruled it out, actually, having spoken to DCS Collyer.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If it was the Albanians then Noel would have just disappeared, wouldn’t he?’

  Lewis nodded.

  ‘Clean and simple. No traces,’ said Dixon.

  ‘And what did you tell him?’

  ‘Nothing he didn’t already know.’

  ‘So, it was all a bit of a waste of time?’

  ‘It cured my constipation but that’s about it, Sir.’

  Lewis roared with laughter.

  ‘Collyer’s been on. Wanted to know why you haven’t told him about it yet.’

  ‘Tell him I didn’t think, Sir,’ said Dixon, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Right, you know what you’ve got to do, then, Louise?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘C’mon then, Jane, let’s get going?’

  Jane looked up from her computer.

  ‘Where are we…?’

  ‘See Georgina Harcourt. She must have rung for a reason.’

  They sped west out of Bridgwater on the now familiar Durleigh Road. It was raining hard and Jane had the Land Rover’s windscreen wipers working at full speed. Dark grey clouds were racing low across the sky and not a single sailing dinghy was braving the waves out on the reservoir.

  They arrived at Gidley’s Racing Stables to find the car park empty apart from Michael Hesp’s Toyota Land Cruiser. Both horse lorries were parked on the hard standing off to the left of the entrance, all locked up this time. Dixon and Jane walked into the courtyard and stood under the stable block canopy just inside the entrance. They could see the horses in their stables, including Westbrook Warrior behind his metal grille.

  Dixon looked up at the farmhouse to his left. No lights were on inside, which surprised him, given that it was such a dark morning. He nudged Jane and then both of them walked across the courtyard and up the stone steps to the front door. Dixon stood under the porch, listening.

  ‘Is that her car over there?’ he said, pointing to a dark green Nissan Micra parked at the side of the house.

  ‘Yes.’

  Dixon rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing. It was a loud bell that would have been heard by anyone in the house.

  ‘Not in.’

  ‘Or not in to visitors,’ said Jane.

  Dixon rang the doorbell again and knocked on the door loudly. It was a solid brass door knocker and he gave it a good clatter. Still no response. Dixon tried the door. It was locked.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said.

  Dixon walked down the steps and across the courtyard. He then turned into the alleyway at the far end of Westbrook Warrior’s stable block. He paused at the end, sheltering from the rain and listening. The muck heap off to his right was deserted but he could hear voices in the American barn to his left.

  Hesp was in a stable with Kevin Tanner and both appeared to be examining the back leg of a large grey horse.

  ‘This’ll be Uphill Tobermory, I suppose,’ said Dixon.

  The look of surprise on Hesp’s face did not go unnoticed.

  ‘Er, yes,’ replied Hesp. ‘Picked up a bit of a strain on the gallops yesterday, I think. Nothing serious.
’

  Hesp turned back to the horse and began running his right hand up and down its hind leg.

  ‘I’m looking for Mrs Harcourt,’ said Dixon.

  ‘In the house, I expect. I’ve not seen her today.’

  ‘She’s not answering the door.’

  ‘She may have taken one of her sleeping pills, then.’

  ‘I need to speak to her.’

  ‘The back door should be open,’ said Hesp, without looking up.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Dixon ran back through the alleyway, along the front of the stable block and then up the stone steps.

  ‘Round the back,’ he said to Jane.

  He walked along the front of the house and followed the path around to the back. Jane was behind him. They came to a timber framed porch that looked as if it was about to collapse. The door was ajar. Inside were several pairs of Wellington and riding boots on the dirty tiled floor and assorted leather tack on a shelf. Too many coats were hanging on too few hooks.

  The inner door was closed. Dixon tried the handle. It turned and the door opened.

  ‘I don’t like the sniff of this,’ he said.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Jane.

  Dixon stepped into the kitchen. It was much the same as before. Filthy.

  ‘Mrs Harcourt?’ he shouted.

  No response.

  He walked across the kitchen and stood in the doorway leading to the hall.

  ‘Mrs Harcourt?’

  Still nothing.

  He checked the ground floor rooms, first the living room, then the dining room and office. Nothing. Dixon looked up the stairs.

  ‘Let’s hope she’s asleep.’

  They crept up the stairs and stood on the large galleried landing. There were three doors to their left, at the front of the house, and two to their right.

  ‘Hesp said her bedroom was at the back,’ said Jane.

  Dixon took his left arm out of the sling and then walked towards one of the back bedroom doors. He opened it and looked in.

  ‘Empty.’

  Jane opened the next door.

  ‘This is it. She’s still in bed.’

  Dixon peered over Jane’s shoulder.

  ‘She looks asleep. Wake her up.’

  Jane stepped forward and stood over Mrs Harcourt. The bed covers were pulled up over her shoulders and only her head was visible on the pillow. Her eyes were closed and she was lying on her back with her head tipped to the left.

  ‘She’s not breathing.’

  Dixon switched the light on.

  ‘No, she’s dead,’ said Jane. ‘She’s white as a sheet.’

  Dixon stood at the end of the bed. He could see immediately that Georgina Harcourt was dead and had been for some time. On her bedside table was a box of pills, presumably her sleeping pills, and a half bottle of whisky. It was empty.

  ‘Call it in,’ said Dixon. ‘Get her doctor here. We’ll need SOCO and Roger as well.’

  Jane went out onto the landing and dialled 999. Dixon could hear her talking in the background but he wasn’t listening to her conversation. He stood at the end of Georgina Harcourt’s bed. She looked at peace. She may not have enjoyed restful sleep in life, but she was getting plenty of it now, he thought.

  Jane came back into the room.

  ‘An ambulance and back up are on the way. James Davidson too.’

  ‘Thanks but no thanks. It needs to be Roger. Ring him direct.’

  Jane shrugged her shoulders and went out onto the landing to ring Roger Poland.

  Dixon looked around the room. Something was missing. He checked the bedside table and the dresser.

  ‘Roger’s on his way,’ said Jane. ‘He’s ringing Davidson and putting him off.’

  ‘Good. See if you can find a suicide note, will you? Try downstairs. Kitchen table, office perhaps, maybe the coffee table in the living room.’

  ‘Ok.’

  Dixon looked at the sleeping tablets. Restoril. He leaned over and looked into the open box. It was empty. Next to it on the bedside table were four empty sleeves of pills. Twenty in each, making a total of eighty sleeping pills, possibly, and a half bottle of whisky.

  Dixon shouted down the stairs.

  ‘Jane?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is her doctor on the way?’

  ‘They were going to try and get hold of him.’

  ‘Ring them again and tell them to get him here. Now.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Dixon went downstairs and looked around the living room. He looked at the drinks cabinet, against the wall behind the sofa. The bottles were lined up on top of it, next to three empty decanters that were covered in dust. The cupboards underneath contained only glasses and an unopened bottle of Stones ginger wine. Dixon made a note of the bottles on the top of the cabinet. Gin, vodka, port, several bottles of slimline tonic with lime zest, a bottle of Bacardi and an empty bottle of diet coke. No whisky.

  He looked in the kitchen. In amongst the dirty pans and plates he could see several empty bottles of red wine and two unopened ones. There were two bottles of pinot grigio in the fridge, one half empty.

  ‘Let’s go and have a word with Mr Hesp.’

  It was still raining hard so they walked along the front of the stables, sheltering under the canopy. Dixon spotted Kevin Tanner in the feed store and he pointed them in the direction of the American barn where they found Hesp bandaging the hind leg of Uphill Tobermory.

  ‘May we have a word, please, Mr Hesp?’

  ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  ‘Now.’

  Hesp looked up. Dixon was standing by the stable door.

  ‘What can possibly be that urgent?’

  ‘Mrs Harcourt is dead, Mr Hesp.’

  ‘Georgina? How?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. Now, if we could have a word, please, up at the house?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  They walked back along the alleyway and up to the farmhouse. As they walked past the feed store, Hesp shouted across to Kevin Tanner.

  ‘Kevin, finish bandaging up Toby’s leg, will you?’

  ‘Ok.’

  Once in the kitchen, Hesp sat down at the table.

  ‘We’ll use the living room, I think,’ said Dixon.

  Hesp sat on the sofa. Dixon stood opposite him with his back to the fireplace. Jane sat on an armchair, notebook at the ready.

  ‘Where were you last night, Mr Hesp?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘Wait a minute, you can’t possible think that I...?’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I stayed at a friend’s house in Taunton.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘She’s married.’

  Dixon looked through the front window and saw a police car and an ambulance pull into the courtyard.

  ‘How did she die?’ asked Hesp.

  ‘It’s too early to say, I’m afraid, Mr Hesp,’ replied Dixon. ‘What time did you leave last night?’

  ‘About 7.30pm. Once we’d finished for the night.’

  ‘And when did you get back?’

  ‘This morning. Sevenish. In time to help Kevin with the feeding.’

  ‘When did you last see Mrs Harcourt?’

  ‘Yesterday, late afternoon, say fiveish. I came in for a cup of tea. Then she went out in her car and got back after I left, I suppose. I didn’t see her after that.’

  ‘How was she when you saw her?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Her mood. How did she seem?’

  ‘Fine. Her usual self. Why?’

  There was a knock at the front door.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Hesp. We’ll continue this in a moment.’

  Dixon and Jane left Michael Hesp in the living room.

  ‘Jane, get a statement from Tanner. See if he can shed any light on Mrs Harcourt’s movements yesterday afternoon and whether he confirms Hesp’s story.’

  ‘Ok.’

  Dixon turned to the two paramedics and the uniformed
officer who had arrived.

  ‘At the moment, I want this treated as an unexplained death. Disturb as little as you can and watch out for anything that might be evidence.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Dixon followed the paramedics upstairs. They pulled the duvet cover back far enough to check Mrs Harcourt’s vital signs before confirming that she was dead. Dixon then left the uniformed officer guarding the room.

  He watched the ambulance back out of the courtyard from the living room window.

  ‘I’m going to need your friend’s name, Mr Hesp.’

  ‘I can’t...’

  ‘We’ll be discreet.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Let’s just say that Mrs Harcourt’s death is currently unexplained and it may help to eliminate you from our enquiries.’

  ‘Miriam Sims. She lives at 37, Bennet Avenue.’

  ‘How often do you stay with Mrs Sims?’

  ‘Whenever her husband’s away. He’s a diver on the oil rigs. He works a month on, month off.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What’ve we got then?’ asked Poland. ‘This is supposed to be my day off.’

  ‘Mrs Georgina Harcourt. Dead in bed upstairs. She owns the place and rents it to the trainer, Michael Hesp. We interviewed her a couple of days ago and she denied any knowledge of the betting scam and any involvement in Noel’s death. I’ve since learnt that she at least knew about the drugs.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘In the horse lorries.’

  Poland shook his head.

  ‘Was she involved?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She knew about it but that’s all. She rang the station last night, asking for me, but the message wasn’t passed on. Next thing we know, she’s dead. You’ll see what it looks like...’

  ‘I get the picture. Lead on.’

  They stood in the doorway of the bedroom watching the Scientific Services team at work. One was taking photographs and the other dusting the bedside table for fingerprints.

  ‘You finished?’

  ‘Almost, Sir.’

  Dixon stood behind Poland as he surveyed the scene. The whisky bottle and sleeping pills were in separate evidence bags.

  ‘Restoril. Temazepam is the active ingredient. It’s a benzodiazepine usually used as a sleeping pill. Fatal in sufficient quantity, especially when mixed with half a bottle of scotch.’

  Poland pulled back the duvet. Georgina Harcourt was lying on her back. Her right arm was at her side and her left across her chest. Her eyes and mouth were closed.