by Salkeld, J J
‘I like it Ray, good work. Can you give Ian a list of the sites you visited, and while he’s getting settled in to his new place he can read up about Subarus.’
‘Does he like cars though, boss?’
‘He likes them clean. But beyond that, I don’t think so. But that’s a strong idea, so unless you’ve got anything better he’ll have to get himself a baseball cap and learn how to put it on backwards.’
‘Isn’t that the kind of stereotyping that we’re being discouraged from displaying to clients, or customers or whatever it is that we’re supposed to call the low-lifes these days?’
Hall smiled. ‘And you’ve got something else as well?’
‘Might be something or nothing. But I got chatting to this old chap in Morland, said I was thinking of moving out there, the usual cobblers. I got the impression that the poor old sod hadn’t talked to anyone in days, so he had plenty to say. And one thing that might be useful is that Brockbank is very keen on hound trailing.’
Hall searched his memory. ‘Remind me.’
‘Local sport boss. A load of dogs, called trail hounds, follow a scent trail across the fells for miles. Big betting sport it is, popular with the farming types. I’ve never been myself, but it happens all over the county.’
‘I think I’ve seen them when I’ve been out walking across the old racecourse. Lots of old cars in a field with people shouting for their dogs and waving white plastic tubs about.’
‘That’s it. They put tea in those tubs, because the dogs are thirsty after all the running. The dogs love it apparently.’
‘I like tea too, Ray.’
‘Is that a hint, boss?’
‘Certainly is. But that’s all good work. Can you write it up and circulate it to all of us?’
At eleven the team met in the main conference room at the station. Robinson had booked it until 1pm, and he was waiting when Hall, Mann, Dixon and Jane Francis arrived. A uniformed inspector called Val Gorham, who Hall had met at the conference and who was the Chief’s new executive assistant, was there too. Hall wasn’t quite sure what she did, but he thought that Robinson looked slightly intimidated.
Hall asked Mann to lead the briefing, and for the next hour and a half they discussed the practicalities of how and when they’d keep in contact while Ian was undercover, the main mission parameters, the initial targets and the rules of engagement. Val Gorham seemed especially keen on the last one.
‘You’re very clear about what to do if a target is looking for you to engage in criminal activity?’ she asked.
‘Yes ma’am. Instigate nothing, and look to delay until I’ve had a chance to refer back to DI Hall.’
‘But what if there’s no time for that?’
‘Then I’ll have to use my discretion ma’am.’
Val Gorham looked less than convinced. Dressed in scruffy street clothes and with his fair hair clipped to stubble Mann didn’t look much like a man of discretion. He looked like an ex-squaddie down on his luck.
‘So where would you draw the line between participation and possible exposure as a police officer, if you had no time to refer up?’
‘Offences against the person are out ma’am, but theft is something I’d go along with, if I had to.’
Mann tried to look as if he wasn’t looking forward to it. He still wasn’t convincing Val Gorham.
‘And what about inappropriate relationships? You understand that’s something that we’re all very sensitive about, after recent unfortunate publicity concerning other forces.’
‘Not going to happen, ma’am.’
‘Why do you say that? How can you be so sure?’
‘There’ll only be blokes and sheep.’
Even Robinson smiled, and so did Val Gorham, eventually. But she wasn’t finished yet.
‘You were a Marine, weren’t you sergeant?’
Yes, ma’am.’
‘Mentioned in dispatches twice, and an instructor in a variety of specialisms including covert surveillance and unarmed combat.’
Mann didn’t reply. He knew where this was going.
‘I just want you to be very clear on one thing Sergeant. This is a policing operation, not a military one, and you must remember that at all times. Because if you overstep the line in terms of physical force then we will be down on you like a ton of bricks. I hope I make myself clear.’
Nice pep talk, thought Andy Hall.
‘Yes ma’am’ said Ian Mann.
After the meeting Mann handed over his own house and car keys, personal mobile and wallet. Hall bagged them, and asked Dixon to put them in the safe and give the chitty to him for safe-keeping. It all felt slightly ceremonial somehow. Mann shook hands with Hall, Dixon and Jane in turn, and she surprised him by giving him a kiss and a hug.
‘What a minx’ said Dixon, and they all laughed.
When Mann had gone and Dixon had clocked-off for the day, Jane Francis came back in to Hall’s office. For some reason Hall was glad that she hadn’t mentioned the Harrison death when the others were there. It felt like something just between the two of them.
‘It seems you underestimated Sergeant Greenwood from Ambleside, Andy.’
‘Really? I’ll send him some flowers. So he wrote it up properly, did he?’
‘Not too bad, considering he didn’t actually make it to the locus, or even move more than ten yards from his car. But in fairness the casualty had been moved by then. Anyway, I think I’ve got the names of the first few people on the scene before Adrian Butterworth. There are five in total.’
‘Have you identified the woman who Butterworth saw with Vicky Harrison immediately afterwards?’
‘Yes, she’s called Lillian Hill. Local, she lives in Windermere.’
‘Great name for a walker.’
Jane smiled.
‘Look Jane, the shift is over, so this is absolutely optional, but how would you fancy taking a trip round to have a chat with her, if she’s at home? There’s a Mars bar in it for you.’
‘I don’t like Mars bars’ said Jane Francis. ‘But I’m on for it anyway. Shall I find out what time she’ll be at home?’
Hall and Jane listened to the news on Radio 4 as they drove to Windermere. Hall had already texted Alice, his older daughter, and suggested a couple of freezer-based menu options.
‘Will Ian be alright Andy? I wouldn’t fancy it.’
‘I’m not sure that you’d making a convincing rural villain Jane. You haven’t got the hands for it.’
‘Neither have you.’
Hall laughed. He knew what she meant. Even after twenty-odd years as a Policeman he still felt like a bit of an outsider. He changed the subject. ‘You know that what we’re doing is strictly a background enquiry, nothing official.’
‘You don’t want me to write it up?’
‘Just keep notes in your notebook and I’ll sign them.’
‘You don’t think this will get us anywhere?’
‘Not a chance really. If this Lillian Hill saw anything she’d have said something before now, wouldn’t she?’
‘So why are we bothering?’
‘Because I don’t want to cook the kids’ tea.’
Jane had heard about Hall’s wife leaving, the whole station had, but since he’d said nothing to her directly she didn’t respond. The drove the rest of the way in silence, listening to a report about Libor-rigging bankers.
‘And we can’t touch them for it’ said Jane, as they were parking up.
Lillian Hill lived in a small modern house on the south side of Windermere. Hall guessed that she was around forty. When they were settled in the living room she offered them drinks, and unusually Hall answered for them both.
‘We won’t keep you Mrs. Hill.’
‘It’s Ms actually, but call me Lillian.’
‘Will do. We’re just getting a bit of additional background on the incident that you witnessed up on the fells a couple of weeks back, on Sunday the third.’
‘But I’ve already given a stat
ement.’
Hall was as polite and as persistent as always.
‘I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about what happened that day. First of all, I take it that you were walking the Fairfield Round too?’
‘Yes.’
‘And were you alone, or in a party?’
‘Alone.’ Jane thought that Lillian smiled slightly as she said it, as if the word had some special significance. If Hall had noticed as well he certainly didn’t show it.
‘Had you seen Mr. and Mrs. Harrison previously that day?’
Lillian thought for a moment.
‘Funny enough I had, now you come to mention it. They came past me when I stopped to eat, only about ten minutes before it happened. I do that walk quite often, and there’s a wall end where I usually stop. They were the only people who passed me.’
‘Did you notice anything about them?’
‘Not really. He was in front, she was behind.’
‘Were they close together, talking, not talking?’
‘They were quite close, and they were talking, but when they saw me they must have stopped. I certainly don’t remember anything they said. I think he said ‘hello’ as they passed, but she didn’t say anything. She might not even have seen me.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘I’d almost finished my food, and I set off just a few minutes after they came past. Visibility was really poor, so I didn’t see them again, or anyone else, until I heard her shouting. She was calling for help, and calling her husband’s name. I got there as fast as I could, and only a few seconds later another group arrived.’
‘Had they been behind you?’
‘No, I don’t think they were. So I think they came from the other side of Fairfield. I remember seeing them coming out of the mist. They started to try to see where Tony Harrison had gone, and they got on to the Police and Mountain Rescue by phone. I stayed with Vicky, Mrs. Harrison.’
‘Did she say anything to you?’
‘Just that her husband had slipped and fallen, and that he had insisted that they walk right on the edge, which wasn’t like him. She kept asking the others if they could see him. By the time Mountain Rescue turned up she was shivering, even with my spare coat on. The shock I expect. When they found her husband and told us that he was alive but unconscious they insisted that we get off the fell as soon as we could. The helicopter couldn’t fly, so one of the Mountain Rescue team took all of us back down on foot, and then they drove us back to the car park in their Land Rover. Of course Mrs. Harrison waited with the ambulance, so she could go to hospital with her husband when he came down. And that was the last I saw of her.’
‘Did she say anything as you walked back down?’
‘Not really. She just kept asking the Mountain Rescue guy if he knew anything about her husband’s condition, and he kept saying he didn’t. I remember thinking that was a bad sign.’
‘And there’s nothing else you remember?’
‘Not really, no.’
The two Police officers said their goodbyes and got back into Hall’s car.
‘Nice woman’ said Jane. Hall didn’t bite. ‘Very attractive for a social worker.’
Hall laughed. ‘She didn’t have much to say though, did she?’ He paused. ‘I just have this feeling that there’s something I forgot to ask her.’
They were approaching Ings, and Hall looked thoughtful as he drove.
‘Fancy a quick drink Andy?’ said Jane.
Hall stopped thinking about Lillian Hill.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
That evening Ian Mann had driven to Carlisle on the old road, rather than the motorway, and he’d enjoyed most of the drive. He’d stopped at the supermarket on the way out of Kendal, bought some groceries, filled the car with fuel and jet-washed it. He wasn’t delighted with the result, but it was better than nothing.
The stereo was tuned to Radio 1, and the buttons were so small that Mann couldn’t see how to retune it. After half an hour he turned it off, because he was getting a headache. By the time he reached the little street of Victorian terraced houses in Carlisle his headache was worse, partly thanks to the drainpipe-sized exhaust on the car.
He unloaded his shopping, took a couple of tablets and made himself some toast. Then he sat on the sofa and looked round his new living room. The leather three piece suite was battered and the walls were a dirty magnolia, with a couple of prints fixed too high on the walls. The kitchen was basic and the bathroom was worse. But there was a working fire, and Mann decided to get some logs tomorrow. He might even be able to find a local coal merchant, if any were still going.
He hid his work Blackberry and his warrant card under a floorboard in the back bedroom, and then went back downstairs, pulled the curtains, and sat back down on the sofa. He felt calm, relaxed and actually quite excited about what lay ahead. In a way it was like being back in the Marines, the day before a deployment, and for the first time in years he realised how much he had missed that feeling. But there was something else that he was looking forward to as well, and it took him a minute to identify exactly what it was. It was the realisation that he was his own boss for the next few weeks, and for the next few weeks or months he’d both be within the ordered, structured world of Cumbria Constabulary, but also outside it. That felt a bit like the best of both worlds.
Mann found the tablet computer he’d been issued with and logged on. He had an email address in his new name, so he deleted the welcome email and then searched around for car clubs in Cumbria. He found a cruising club immediately, and saw that they were having their monthly meeting in a car park on the edge of Carlisle the next night. Mann was pleased. At the very least it would give him an idea of what people saw in customising their cars at all. After the drive up he’d decided they were all mad. His Subaru had probably started off as a very decent car, but now its ride was as hard as a prison mattress and as loud as a riot in a phone box.
He considered phoning Julie, but didn’t, and then he thought about going for a drink in one of the pubs that Spedding used, and which was only a five minute walk away. For the next half an hour he sat there intending to get his coat and go out, but he didn’t. His headache was fading, but it was still there. Tomorrow would be soon enough to make a start.
Saturday, 16th February.
Hall woke feeling on edge, and he couldn’t quite remember the reason. It wasn’t his wife, it wasn’t the kids, and it wasn’t a case. It wasn’t even Superintendent Robinson. It took a Hall a few more seconds to work out that it was to do with Jane Francis, and their drink after work the night before. He’d liked the idea when she’d raised it, but the atmosphere in the pub had been awkward to say the very least. And it hadn’t improved as they sat there. He’d asked about her family, and her work before she was in the Police, and she’d asked next to nothing about him in return. He couldn’t work out why. They’d both seemed equally pleased to drink up and get away.
When Hall went down for breakfast Alice was already up, sitting in the dining room with notes all around her on the table. She was revising her Economics and wanted Hall to explain perfect market theory. He did his best. ‘Of course the crash of 2008 undermined much of it.’
‘But economists still use it, right?’
‘Probably. I’m a bit out of touch.’
‘Never, dad. Cords are right back in fashion now you know. Even your ones.’
Hall was off duty that day and just about to start work on a fry-up, but before he did he called the station switchboard and got the home number of the leader of the Ambleside Mountain Rescue team, Dougie Quayle. The man who answered sounded local, youngish, and quite possibly a little hung over. Hall introduced himself, and apologised for the interruption.
‘Don’t worry. We were on a job till all hours. Some tosser got lost up Kentmere, called us out on his mobile at midnight, and by the time we were half way up we found him, strolling back down with his girlfriend. They were both wearing trainers.’
‘Sometimes I dream of the old days, before mobile phones.’
‘You and me both. Listen, were you on that job on Fairfield, on the 3rd?’
‘Yes, the fatal. I was leading that. What a shame. Bloke was only about fifty, no age at all.’
Hall found himself warming to Quayle.
‘Would you mind if I dropped in for a quick chat?’
Quayle didn’t, and they arranged to meet at the Mountain Rescue team’s base at eleven. ‘I need to check some gear anyway’ said Quayle.
It was a lovely morning, and for the first time that year Hall felt a tiny bit of warmth from the sun when he walked out to the car. The Clematis that he’d trained up the front of the house when they’d first moved in and which now reached right up the gutters was already covered in long green shoots, and he always liked seeing those. It was a sign that winter was almost done. He opened the garage, grabbed his walking boots and jacket and threw them in the boot of the car, just on the off chance that he’d get a stroll in.
He enjoyed the drive to Ambleside too, listening to the Drive-By Truckers nice and loud. He sang along, well out of tune, and decided he’d definitely go for a walk after he’d seen Dougie Quayle. He found a parking space in the Rescue team’s yard, and Quayle was the only person in the big shed, where the vehicles were neatly parked up in line. He was older than Hall had expected, almost his own age but thin and grey bearded, and he seemed to be checking through coil after coil of rope.
‘Some of our members put gear back in the wrong place, even though I always tell them to check. It drives me mad. You must be Inspector Hall.’
‘Andy Hall, yes.’
‘What can I do for you Andy? It’s about that fatal on Fairfield isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I wanted you to tell me what happened.’
