Kickback

by Damien Boyd

  ‘C’mon, matey, let’s get some fresh air.’

  They walked out of Brent Knoll towards Berrow, Monty on his extending lead. Dixon thought about Hesp and his alibi for the night of Georgina Harcourt’s apparent suicide. A married woman in Taunton. He made a mental note to get it checked first thing in the morning.

  What about the other racehorse owners? He shook his head. None of the other horses raced on all of the same days as Westbrook Warrior. A few overlapped but none had raced at all of the same meetings Westbrook Warrior competed at.

  By the time he reached the Berrow Triangle he had convinced himself he was on the right track. And Brian Mayhew’s reaction confirmed it. Now it was down to the mobile positioning to settle it.

  Dixon noticed a For Sale sign nailed to the Berrow Inn pub sign. Shame. He walked down the side of the pub, through the turnstile and across the golf course to the beach. The path veered off to the right but Dixon took the direct route, straight across the fairways. Once on the beach, he let Monty off the lead, and sat on an old tree stump that had been washed up. He’d been sitting there for several minutes before he realised that he was close to the spot where Valerie Manning’s headless body had been found in a burnt out car only a few weeks before. Unwelcome images began to flash across his mind. Time to go.

  He was walking back across the golf course when his phone rang. It was Jane.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Out with Monty. I’m on my way.’

  ‘Hurry up. We’ve got to be going soon.’

  Dixon looked at his watch. It was 6.30am and still dark.

  ‘I’ll be twenty minutes or so.’

  Louise was waiting for them when they arrived at Bridgwater Police Station.

  ‘DCI Lewis was looking for you, Sir.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘I got the impression he’s getting a bit jumpy about going after Brian Mayhew,’ said Louise. ‘He was asking what else we’ve got on him apart from the phones.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘That he’d need to speak to you.’

  ‘The right answer. Well done, Louise.’

  ‘What else have we got?’

  ‘Nothing...yet,’ replied Dixon. ‘Remind me of the name of Hesp’s alibi for the night Georgina Harcourt died, will you?’

  ‘Miriam Sims,’ said Jane.

  ‘Let’s check it out. The two of you can go. Take Louise’s car. And be discreet. Remember, she’s married.’

  ‘What do we do if her husband answers the door?’

  ‘Use your imagination, Jane.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘And see if the husband was away for any of Westbrook Warrior’s races.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Dixon sat down at his desk and powered up his computer. The system was painfully slow, so he had time to get a coffee from the machine before the computer booted up. He checked his email. Nothing. Then he opened Internet Explorer and searched Google Images for ‘horse saddles’. It was a bewildering array of different types, shapes and colours, some leather and some synthetic. He went back to Google, entered ‘horse saddle design’ into the search field and hit the Enter button. As usual, Wikipedia came to his rescue and he spent the next hour reading about the various designs and their uses. By the end of it, he was far from an authority on the subject but he did, at least understand the different types of saddle.

  DCI Lewis had stood in the doorway of Dixon’s office for nearly a minute before he coughed loudly.

  ‘Sorry, Sir, didn’t see you there.’

  Lewis closed the door behind him and sat down on the chair in front of Dixon’s desk.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Collyer.’

  Dixon nodded. ‘And...?’

  ‘They’ve got nothing that might assist. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

  ‘No, we shan’t leave it at that. That doesn’t tell me anything. They might have nothing but then they might have information but be refusing to reveal it.’

  ‘They’ve got nothing. Take it from me. Look, if this goes any further...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a telephone tap. That’s all they’ve got in there and apart from the call asking for you on the Sunday evening, there’s nothing.’

  ‘Well, at least we know,’ said Dixon. ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘The request for the mobile positioning went in last night. Expedited. The Chief Super took some convincing.’

  ‘About the expense involved or Brian Mayhew?’

  ‘Both,’ replied Lewis. ‘You’d better be right about him or we’re both going to look like idiots.’

  ‘That will be a new experience for me, Sir.’

  ‘And me, you cheeky sod.’

  ‘What time will the records get here, do we know?’

  ‘Lunchtimeish,’ replied Lewis. ‘Where are Jane and Louise?’

  ‘Gone to speak to Hesp’s alibi for Sunday night.’

  ‘Does he need an alibi for a suicide?’

  ‘I want to know if the relationship is genuine.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s less likely to be hanging around in car parks if it is.’

  ‘Mayhew is married, isn’t he?’

  ‘In name only by the looks of things.’

  ‘Well, keep me posted. I can let you have Dave and Mark now if you need them.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  Dixon took Monty for a walk in Victoria Park and was just putting him back in the Land Rover when Jane and Louise pulled into the car park.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Do I look like an Avon lady?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Do I have to answer that?’ replied Dixon.

  ‘The husband answered the door. It was the best I could come up with on the spot...’ said Louise.

  ‘Anyway, he left us to it in the lounge and went back to bed. He’d got home late last night, apparently.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Hesp was there and is regularly when her husband is away.’

  ‘Did you check the dates?’

  ‘He was away for several of Westbrook Warrior’s races, yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What happens now?’ asked Louise.

  ‘We wait.’

  Dixon was just finishing a cheese sandwich from the canteen when he heard the familiar ping of an email arriving. He took his feet off the windowsill, sat up and swung his chair round to face his computer. The email came from cellsiteanalysis.net. It was the one he had been waiting for.

  He opened it and clicked on the attachment. A large Excel spreadsheet opened on the screen in front of him. Then he opened the file on his desk and took out a paper copy of the mobile positioning spreadsheet for the unregistered pay as you go phone that had been used to speak to Noel in the days and weeks before his murder.

  Dixon could feel himself shaking. His hands felt stone cold to the touch yet he was sweating. Profusely.

  He checked the dates, times, mobile base station codes and coordinates for the unregistered pay as you go on the paper spreadsheet against the same data for Brian Mayhew’s phone number on the screen in front of him.

  An exact match.

  ‘Gotcha.’

  The unregistered pay as you go SIM card had been in Brian Mayhew’s gold Nokia Asha 310 when the calls were made to and received from Noel Woodman.

  And Mayhew had lied.

  Dixon jumped up from his desk and ran to the door of his office.

  ‘Jane.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘We’ve got him. Get Lewis.’

  Jane abandoned her coffee in the machine and ran along the corridor to DCI Lewis’ office. Dixon looked at his watch. It was just after 12.30pm. He sat back at his desk, minimised the spreadsheet and then opened Internet Explorer. He went to racingpost.com and looked at the race card for Taunton that day. Westbrook Warrior was going in the 2.05pm, the Batstone Financial Management Handicap Chase.

  DCI Lewis appeared in the doorway of D
ixon’s office. Jane and Louise were standing behind him.

  ‘The mobile positioning for Mayhew’s phone is an exact match, and I mean an exact match, each and every entry, with the pay as you go number,’ said Dixon.

  ‘You’ve got him,’ said Lewis.

  ‘We have, Sir.’

  ‘Well, go and pick him up.’

  ‘There’s a slight complication there...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’ll be at Taunton for the 2.05pm. Westbrook Warrior’s racing today.’

  ‘He’s gonna miss the race then, isn’t he?’ said Lewis.

  ‘I’ll need Dave and Mark...’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘And we’d better have a car either side of the racecourse to block the road when we pick him up. Just in case.’

  ‘The Taunton lot can do that. Leave it with me.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘Jane, get me Noel’s phone from the evidence store, will you?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘And check it’s charged up.’

  Dixon spent five minutes on the Taunton Racecourse website while he waited for Jane. He looked at the Enclosure Guide and familiarised himself with the layout. It was a clear, crisp autumn day with a blue sky and plenty of sunshine. Unless he was sitting down to lunch, Mayhew would be in the Owners Viewing Enclosure at the far end of the Portman Stand. Wearing tweed, binoculars in hand, no doubt.

  Dixon could hear Dave Harding and Mark Pearce talking to Louise outside his office. Then Jane arrived back from the evidence store with Noel’s phone.

  ‘Right then,’ said Dixon, ‘this is Brian Mayhew.’ He handed photographs to each of them.

  ‘The Brian Mayhew?’

  ‘Yes, Dave. D’you know him?’

  ‘Know of him. I’ve never met him.’

  ‘Good,’ replied Dixon. ‘We’re arresting him on suspicion of the murder of Noel Woodman. He’ll be at Taunton Racecourse watching his horse run in the 2.05pm.’

  ‘Why don’t we just pick him up when he gets home?’ asked Pearce.

  ‘We pick him up at the first opportunity, Mark. This is a murder investigation, remember. And what if he doesn’t go home?’

  Mark Pearce nodded.

  ‘It’s a fine day so he’ll probably be in the Owners Viewing Enclosure for the race. Either that or having lunch in the restaurant.’

  ‘I’d be watching the race,’ said Louise.

  ‘So would I,’ replied Jane.

  ‘Uniform will be blocking the road either side of the course in case he makes a run for it. But there’ll be no uniform on the course itself. Just us.’

  ‘What about an ambulance, Sir?’ asked Harding. ‘Just in case...’

  ‘There’ll be one on the course anyway so we’ll be alright on that score,’ replied Dixon.

  DCI Lewis walked across the CID Room and stood behind Jane.

  ‘I’ve been onto the Taunton lot and there’ll be a patrol car either side of the course on the B3170 and another blocking the car park. Let them know via radio when you’re moving in and they’ll block the road.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir,’ replied Dixon.

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Anyone familiar with the course?’

  ‘I am,’ said Harding.

  ‘Good. For those of you who aren’t, there are three grandstands. First on the left as you go in is Paddock. That’s where the restaurant is. Louise, you can go in and see if you can find him.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Second on the left is the Portman stand. At the far end of that is the Owners Viewing Enclosure. The last stand is Orchard but I can’t see why he’d be in there, although he could be in the Betting Ring, which is in front of it.’

  ‘Or the private boxes. And there are hospitality suites too.’ said Harding.

  ‘They’re between the last two stands. If we can’t find him anywhere else, we can look in there, Dave. Good thinking. Just keep your eyes peeled and we’ll soon spot him.’

  ‘Who’ll be with him?’

  ‘His wife, probably. Mary Mayhew. And possibly also Simon and Jean Somerville.’

  ‘Who are they?’ asked Pearce.

  ‘Friends and co-owners,’ replied Dixon. ‘Right, everyone clear what’s going to happen?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’ In unison.

  ‘Keep in touch by radio and sing out if you see him. Keep a low profile, though. I don’t want to draw attention to ourselves unnecessarily. The idea is to get him out of there nice and calm. Ok?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  They sped south on the M5 to Taunton, getting off at Junction 25 and then cut around the back of the Blackbrook Business Park, before turning south east out of Taunton on the B3170 towards the racecourse. They passed a patrol car parked in a farm gateway, ready and waiting to block the road. Just inside the entrance to the car park, directly opposite the racecourse, was another patrol car.

  Dixon and Jane, with Louise, Dave Harding and Mark Pearce following, turned into the car park. They were greeted by a marshal wearing a fluorescent jacket. He directed them to the furthest field, at least two hundred yards away. Dixon produced his warrant card.

  ‘We need to be near the entrance.’

  ‘There isn’t room, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Make room.’

  ‘Park behind those two cars over there. They’re ours. I’ll move the cones.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Dixon.

  He parked in a small section just inside the entrance and off to the right. Dave Harding parked next to him.

  Dixon looked around. Every other car seemed to be a four wheel drive, and several of them were black. He spotted a large BMW.

  ‘Wait here.’

  He jogged over to a gap in the hedge, jumped the large puddle in the middle, and then ran along the hedge towards two cars parked side by side in the next field. A silver Land Rover Discovery and a black BMW X5. He walked back.

  ‘They’re here. That’s the Somervilles’ Discovery too.’

  Dixon looked at his watch. It was 1.30pm. He could hear the on course commentator announcing the runners and riders for the 1.35pm.

  ‘We’ll wait here until the next race starts and then go in quietly. Dave, you and Mark head for the far end. Hang around the Betting Ring.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘We’ll try the restaurant first in the Paddock Stand, Louise, and then work our way along.’

  Dixon reached into the glove box of his Land Rover and put his binoculars in his pocket. Jane rolled her eyes.

  ‘Not for the horses, Constable. I’ll need them to spot Mayhew.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ replied Jane, smiling.

  Dixon tapped on the window of the patrol car and showed his warrant card to the officer in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Wait until you get the signal and then just park across the gateway so no one can get out.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Dixon listened to the on course commentary coming over the tannoy system. The 1.35pm was under starters order. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and checked Noel’s phone one last time. It had thirty one per cent battery left. That would do.

  ‘C’mon everyone, let’s get it over with.’

  They followed Dixon across the road, past the ticket window, and waited while he spoke briefly to the elderly gentlemen on the turnstile. They could see Dixon showing the men his warrant card before being waved through. Once inside, Harding and Pearce walked straight across the concourse in front of the grandstands to the far end.

  Dixon looked to his right. He could see the white rails stretching away into the distance and spotted a group of horses on the far side of the course. Brightly coloured silks moving in a clockwise direction. According to the on course commentator, All But Grey was ten lengths clear coming to the final bend before the home straight.

  The terraces of the Paddock Stand to his left were raised up and enclosed by glass at the front offering protection from the weather for the owners, trainers a
nd members. Dixon, Jane and Louise walked along the front of the stand, hidden from view. They stopped near the entrance.

  ‘In you go, Louise. See if you can see him.’

  Dixon watched the 1.35pm finish directly in front of them, the finishing line marked by a small white painted wooden tower opposite the Portman Stand. As predicted, All But Grey crossed the line well clear of the rest of the field.

  Louise reappeared in the doorway. She was out of breath.

  ‘He’s not in there. I checked the restaurant and the stand.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘Yes.’

  They continued along the front of the Paddock Stand to the corner. Dixon noticed the First Aid Room off to his left, in between the end of the Paddock Stand and the Portman Stand, which was now directly in front of them. It was now almost deserted, the spectators having made for the Betting Ring in readiness for the next race. Dixon took out his binoculars and scanned the on course bookmakers for any sign of Mayhew. He could see Dave Harding and Mark Pearce wandering around. He could also see J Clapham Racing at the far end. No sign of Mayhew.

  The Winner’s Enclosure to their right was now a hive of activity. Grooms were holding the winning horse and the owners were being presented with a trophy by the chairman of Barton Building Services, according to the tannoy system. Dixon looked back in the direction of the Parade Ring. He could see Westbrook Warrior, Hesp and Tanner but no sign of Mayhew, or the Somervilles for that matter.

  ‘Where the hell are they?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Get up there and have a look in the bar behind the viewing area there, Louise,’ said Dixon, gesturing towards the Portman Stand.

  Louise ran up the concrete terraces of the Portman Stand, along the front and in the door to the bar. Dixon listened to the commentator giving the starting prices for the 2.05pm.

  ‘Westbrook Warrior’s the favourite,’ said Jane.

  Dixon looked at the odds on the big screen opposite the grandstands, in the centre of the course. Westbrook Warrior at the top of the list. Three to two. Noel would have been proud.

  He looked at his watch. Ten minutes to go to the start of the race. A small crowd had gathered on the rails just behind the finishing line. There was a crossing point there at the end of the Betting Ring where it was possible to walk across the course to the central area. The rail had been slid back allowing access and a few people had done so. Dixon looked at them through his binoculars. No sign of Mayhew or the Somervilles.