Death on High (The Lakeland Murders)

by Salkeld, J J

  ‘I wanted to ask you about your neighbour, Lillian Hill.’

  ‘I knew it.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘I knew it. She’s no better than she ought to be, that one.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow.’

  ‘Calls herself a Christian, but she’s a hypocrite.’

  ‘Maybe, but that’s not a crime. Now what I wanted to ask you was...’

  ‘In and out all the time he was. I expect they were at it like rabbits.’

  ‘You’re saying that Lillian has’ Jane searched for a phrase, ‘a gentleman caller?’

  ‘Had, he hasn’t been round there in weeks now. I expect they’ve got a love-nest somewhere else now, Manchester maybe.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘All sorts happens in Manchester love. Wicked it is. You want to stay away from that place.’

  Jane smiled. In retrospect she hadn’t quite found Manchester wicked enough.

  ‘Can you describe this man?’

  ‘Oh yes, and I can give you his car registration number too. Hang on a minute. I wrote it down, for when you called.’

  Mrs. Openshaw looked triumphant when she returned, waving an envelope.

  ‘Here it is love’

  Jane wrote it down. ‘So what did he look like?’

  ‘Young, about forty five, quite slim, stylish, smart looking. She’d done well for herself. I tell you that.’

  ‘What colour hair?’

  ‘Dark, and grey. Sort of salt and pepper really. I like grey hair on a man, don’t you love?’

  Jane said that she did, and made her excuses. As she left the house she didn’t look to see if Lillian was watching her go. She started the car, and set off for home. But then she changed her mind, and went back to the Police station. She logged on to her computer, ran a PNC check on the registration number and came up with nothing: there was no car of that number. She tried transposing the numbers, got nothing, then substituted numbers, trying a 2 for the 7 she’d been given. And that was it: the car, a Saab, was registered to Anthony Harrison.

  Jane sat and looked at the screen. So she’d established beyond doubt that Mrs. Openshaw had dodgy eyesight, and that Lillian was having an affair with Tony, but so what? They also had an eyewitness who had first seen two figures on the fell, and then just Vicky. He’d made no mention of anyone else, Jane was sure. And a co-incidence was still perfectly possible. Over the last couple of years she’d met an old university friend on Haystacks, and someone from the village in Derbyshire where she’d grown up in Patterdale somewhere.

  She found Adrian Butterworth’s mobile phone number and dialled. He answered on the second ring.

  ‘Where are you tonight Adrian? On the road somewhere exotic?’

  ‘A Travelodge just outside Luton. I’m off to get something to eat in a minute. It’s been a long day in the saddle.’

  ‘What kind of car do you drive?’ Jane didn’t know why she’d asked.

  ‘An Avensis, diesel. Lovely car. Drive her gently and I see nearly 60mpg, would you believe it?’

  ‘I bet you’re the talk of your fleet department.’

  Butterworth didn’t laugh, so Jane assumed that he probably was.

  ‘Anyway Adrian, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to check something with you.’

  ‘Fire away.’ She could hear the pleasure in his voice.

  ‘When you saw the figures on the fell, the first time, could you see anyone else with them?’

  ‘No’ he replied instantly.

  ‘Could you see a big area around the two people?’

  ‘Not really, maybe a few metres on either side, and not much behind them at all. But there was no-one with them, I’m, sure.’

  ‘And not near them either?’

  ‘Not as far as I could see, no.’

  ‘And how about the second time?’

  This time Butterworth did hesitate.

  ‘No, not with her then either. She was on her own as far as I could see.’

  ‘And how much could you see, around and about Vicky Harrison?’

  ‘Even less than the first time. It was really closing in all the time. It was like looking in through a window, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘So how far either side could you see do you reckon?’

  ‘Literally a few feet, ten at most. And it was just for a couple of seconds, like I said.’

  ‘And behind her? Could you see anything?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, nothing. Has that been a help?’

  ‘A huge help, thanks.’

  Jane put the phone down, and thought briefly about Butterworth sitting on his own at a table in some chain eatery and waiting for something deep fried to arrive. It reminded her that she was hungry.

  Tuesday, 12th March

  Ian Mann was sitting in Andy Hall’s office when he got in to work. They were due to meet with Val Gorham and Robinson at nine, and had agreed to have a chat beforehand.

  ‘Morning Ian, been here long?’

  ‘Long enough to read your personnel files.’

  ‘Very funny. You’re welcome to read yours any time you like. I show you what I write at each appraisal anyway, and the rest is just management bollocks dreamed up at HQ.’

  ‘By the folk with blues and twos on their desks?’

  ‘They’re the ones. Always racing to the next promotion. Anyway, who’s the clever boy then? Robinson’s delighted that you’ve tracked down this Malcolm Fraser character, especially because he’s involved with both Brockbank and Spedding. We’ve been having a discrete look at him too.’

  ‘Good. It was pretty obvious he’s got solid connections over there, maybe even with us.’

  ‘We’re being cautious, don’t worry. I asked HQ if there was a way we could run checks without it showing up on the computer at all, and there is. Authorised by the Chief yesterday morning. So no-one, including our friends on the force in Yorkshire, will know that we’re interested in Fraser.’

  ‘Great, thanks. I’m probably just paranoid.’

  ‘That’s possible, because he comes up clean.’

  ‘Really? He struck me as being a right nasty bastard.’

  ‘Well that’s the other possibility isn’t it? That your new friend Malcolm Fraser might have friends in high place as well as low ones. And there are a few indications. For a start he’s loaded, and that’s just what he declares to HMRC. If he’s bent he’ll have cash to burn, but we haven’t started looking at that yet. But either way he’s doing very well indeed from a run-down slaughterhouse and meat processing business.’

  ‘So influential friends might have kept him out of trouble all these years?’

  ‘It’s possible. And of course Robinson is absolutely made up about it.’

  ‘Really, why?’

  ‘Because if they’ve got some rotten apples over in the Yorkshire force, as he insists on calling them, then that’s another argument against amalgamating forces.’

  ‘Who watches the watchers, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll be interesting to see how Gorham wants to play it from here. Can’t say I’m all that bothered really, so what I wanted to know is how you feel. Are you happy to carry on, or do you want us to nick the lot now? I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you did.’

  ‘No way Andy, not a chance. There’s so much still to find out, especially about Spedding and his crew. And Fraser looks like he may be a good target. He’s certainly a big enough one, he’s the size of a very wobbly house.’

  Hall nodded. ‘Yes, and it’s a shame we don’t know a bit more about what Spedding’s up to.’

  ‘Must be metals again, surely. And we know he’s involved with Fraser, so he’s probably rustling livestock too.’

  Forty minutes later DC Dixon arrived, at 8:58, and he joined Mann and Hall in the conference room. But by nine fifteen no-one else had arrived.

  ‘It’s not like the Super to be late’ said Hall, ‘I wonder what’s keeping him? We’ll give it another five,
then let’s go back to work. He’ll find us if he still wants us.’

  Hall was just gathering his notes together when the door swung open, and Robinson came in. He was flushed, and his voice seemed slightly hoarse. He closed the door, a little too hard, and sat at the head of the table.

  ‘I’m sorry to have kept you. But I just had a meeting with Inspector Gorham. She was insisting that we involve the local force in Yorkshire in the investigation of Fraser, as of now.’ Hall was about to speak when Robinson raised his hand. ‘I told her that we have reason to believe that Fraser has influence with DEFRA locally, and possibly with other arms of the state too, and that I insisted that we proceed with caution. I will not have the safety of one of my officers compromised. This is an undercover operation after all, and the name explains the basic idea really.’

  ‘How did she take it sir?’

  ‘Very badly. She said she was acting on the authority of the Chief. I said that I’d need to discuss the matter with him, and she said that he was unavailable today. I told her that not only would I not authorise any dissemination of information concerning any aspect of this case, but that I would make an immediate complaint through the Superintendents Association if Ian was compromised in any way whatsoever.’

  ‘So she’s leaving us to get on with it then?’ asked Mann hopefully.

  ‘No. There’s no talking to these bastards.’ It was the first time that Hall had ever heard Robinson swear, even mildly. ‘She only had the bloody nerve to tell me that she thought that Ian was exaggerating the level of threat, in order to suggest that he was facing a greater level of personal risk than he is, given that Fraser has no significant criminal record.’

  Both Hall and Dixon laughed out loud. Mann looked slightly surprised at their reaction.

  ‘I told her that she was talking out of her arse, to get out of my station, and that if one word about this operation is heard beyond the small group of officers currently involved then I will do two things. First, I will cancel the operation, withdraw Ian and arrest and charge as we can. And second, I would lodge an immediate complaint with the Superintendent’s Association.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘Nothing much. I just had a note of the meeting typed up quickly, we both signed it, and she’s gone now.’

  ‘How will it play out? What if the Chief backs her?’

  ‘Then Ian is out of it, with no further discussion. I’m sorry, all of you, but that’s how it is. This isn’t a few jokers operating opportunistically, this is potentially very serious organised crime. That means there’s money here, and lots of it. And that always means violence, and sad to say, the risk of corruption as well. In my judgement Ian’s assessment of the risk is 100% accurate, and we will all proceed on that basis. Is that quite clear?’

  Wednesday, 13th March

  Ian Mann spent the morning waiting to get called back in, and for the operation to be over. He even packed up his clothes. But the call never came. And at three Brockbank phoned and told Mann that they were on that night, and that they’d meet at Devil’s Bridge at midnight. Then Mann sat on the old brown sofa in his living room until it was dark outside. He liked Ben Brockbank, and because of that he had found himself trusting him. But given that Brockbank was involved with someone like Fraser Mann knew that he should be more careful. He needed to keep his guard up, even with Brockbank. Maybe even especially with Brockbank.

  He sat and thought about what Val Gorham had said to Robinson too. Had he perhaps mis-read Fraser, was he just a good actor, playing the part of the vicious crime boss? Ian Mann prided himself on not being an especially instinctive copper, but he felt certain that Fraser was a genuinely evil man, the kind who would place the same value on a human life as he did on all those doe-eyed beasts that came into his slaughterhouse each and every day. Mann had come across real evil before, and he knew what it smelt like.

  Then he thought about the little device he’d taken from the evidence locker at work. It was an illegal American-made electronic stun device, fully charged, and not needed as evidence in the case to which it related for another month. So he reckoned he’d be able to get it back without anyone noticing. It had the power to fell the likes of Fraser faster than Mann could do with his fists, although it did carry some health risks. But not, thought Mann, for the person who’s using it. Mann put it in his jacket pocket. Even if he was searched at some point that night surely no-one could be surprised that he was carrying.

  With that in mind he went upstairs, and found the knife that he’d brought with him from home. He didn’t slip it out of its sheaf, because he knew it was sharp, and exactly what it could do in his hands. He sat on the bed just looking at it, then slipped it into his inside pocket, dropped the jacket on the bed and went downstairs to make something to eat.

  At half-ten he got changed, threw his gear in the car, and drove to Kirkby Lonsdale. He parked in the town square and walked to the bridge. There was no one around, so he walked back, got back into the car, and parked at Devil’s Bridge at 11.50pm. Five minutes later a lorry drew up. Brockbank was driving. Mann walked to the other side and climbed in.

  ‘I thought I was driving.’

  ‘You are. This is a two truck job. We only get to hit this place the once, so we want to clear them out of beef cattle tonight. It’s a big job, and there’s a grand in this job for you. That should keep you in burgers for a while.’

  They drove in silence for a couple of minutes, then Brockbank pulled in behind a lorry parked in a lay-by. ‘The keys are in it. Just follow me there, it doesn’t matter if we’re stopped, but after we’ve loaded up you go the route I showed you. I’ll be going a different way. Afterwards, come back here. And Gary, be careful, OK?’

  ‘You mean around the beasts?’

  ‘Aye, but at Malcolm’s place too. Like I said, I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him. So you watch yourself, yeh?’

  Mann nodded and swung out of the cab. From then until they reached the farm he had to concentrate absolutely on keeping the truck on the road, and reasonably close to Brockbank. It had been years since he’d driven a truck, but he was glad of the distraction.

  At the farm it all went perfectly. Brockbank worked fast, loading his lorry, then Mann’s. The cows made a hell of a racket the whole time, perhaps they sensed that something wasn’t right, but there wasn’t another house for half a mile, so Mann wasn’t too bothered. He knew that such things didn’t exist, but Mann was starting to feel like this was almost a victimless crime. The beasts would be going for slaughter soon anyway, and the human victims of this crime were probably tucked up in their linened beds down south somewhere. So they hardly counted at all, not out here among the cowshit and the dark.

  The drive to Bradford was uneventful too, although Mann felt pretty drained by the time he reached the gates. They swung open as he approached, and he could see that Brockbank had beaten him to it. His truck was already almost unloaded, and Mann could see him helping a couple of men move the stock inside.

  Mann backed his truck in next to Brockbank’s and got out of the cab and walked quickly to the back, ready to help.

  ‘Get back in the cab’ someone said. So he climbed back into the cab and kept checking both of his mirrors. It was possible that someone could get to the front of the vehicle without him seeing, so he kept his right hand on the electronic stun device. He decided he could use it once, then he’d have to go for the knife. There’d be no fighting room, so he’d have no choice.

  But it didn’t come to that. He felt the truck rocking from side to side as the cattle were unloaded, then heard and felt the tailgate swinging back up. A figure walked down his side of the truck, easily in his line of sight all the way, and gave Mann the thumbs up. Mann started to relax. They probably told him to stay in the cab because they knew he was a townie, and would have been no real help moving the animals. So he started his truck, and drove slowly out of the yard.

  After he’d driven for a minute or two, relaxing and thinking
that he’d really had nothing to worry about while they’d been unloading, a thought suddenly occurred to him. For a minute or two Mann tried to ignore it, because it was just too unlikely, but he couldn’t quite get it out of his mind. He was still in well-lit and built-up streets, so it was now or never. In no time he’d be back on the A65 for the drive home.

  So Mann reached into his bag as he drove, and pulled out his torch. Then he stopped, left the engine running, and jumped down out of the cab. He didn’t close the door. He ran to the back, slid the bolts and pulled the tailgate down fast. He flicked the torch round the darker corners of the truck, saw it was empty and closed up again. It seemed he’d been worried about nothing, but someone could have got into the back of the lorry without him knowing, he was certain of it.

  Inevitably Brockbank beat him back to Kirkby Lonsdale, and so Mann pulled in behind him and flicked off his lights. He was absolutely shattered, even though all he’d really done was drive. He got out of the cab wearily, and climbed in beside Brockbank. He was grinning.

  ‘What kept you Gary? Call yourself a Scooby driver?’

  ‘It’s not quite the same Ben, even your old heap is faster than that truck. Plus I stopped for a minute.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I wanted to check that in didn’t have an unwanted passenger on board. You know, in the back.’

  ‘You suspicious bastard.’

  ‘Mebbe, but I’ve got you thinking, I’ll bet.’

  ‘Nah’ Brockbank laughed. ‘I did just exactly the same thing. Like I said, I don’t trust Malcolm Fraser any further than I could throw him. And Christ knows that’d not be far.’

  Thursday, 14th March