by J. R. Ellis
‘Let’s go inside,’ he said at last. Gibbs, Steph and Andy followed him across the green to the inn. Oldroyd appeared to be deep in thought. They passed Jeanette being comforted by Sheila Owen, another curious echo of the previous murder, and went into the residents’ lounge which had become their office.
‘The two murders have to be linked in some way, sir, surely,’ said Steph.
‘Well, if they’re not, it’s the greatest coincidence I’ve ever encountered. But how? That’s the question.’
‘All these similarities are a bit spooky, but what do you think it’s all about, sir? Surely not some feud playing out between gangs in Nidderdale?’ asked Andy.
‘I don’t know about gangs,’ continued Oldroyd, ‘but something connects these people: Fraser, Green, Moore and Gorton. We’ve got to look harder than we already have to find out what it is. I take it you’ve still had no luck finding Green?’ he said to Gibbs.
‘No. Vanished into thin air. He obviously had an escape route and I’ll bet this Vic Moore has too.’
‘Well, this second murder is a game changer. Assuming the murders are linked, it’s obvious now that there’s much more to the whole business than we thought. It’s not about one victim and who might have had a motive to kill them. It’s more complicated and darker than that. It means we’ll have to reassess all the motives we thought people might have had, you know, like the anti-blood-sports woman and Dexter the environmentalist, unless Gorton was a keen grouse shooter too. Also the gamekeeper and Fraser’s shooting cronies who may have had motives to kill him. None of these motives apply to Gorton.’
‘Do you mean we’re focusing on the wrong people?’ asked Gibbs.
‘Not necessarily, some of the same people might be involved, but the motives may be different from the ones we’ve been considering. There’s an undercurrent in this case, something which links these people, which we’re not picking up yet. Anyway, we’d better have a word with the witness. Bring her in, Bill.’
‘Right, sir.’
The detectives suffered déjà vu again as Jeanette came into the room. Like Kirsty, she was still trembling with shock. Oldroyd asked her gently to describe what she’d seen.
‘I was just walking over the green to the inn when I saw Peter outside his shop. I think he was packing things up ready to close.’
‘Don’t you live here at the inn?’
‘Yes, but I’d been to see Liz Smith. She lives in a caravan just out of the village.’
‘Yes, we know. Are you a friend of hers?’
‘Yeah. She’s a good laugh and I agree with her . . . her campaigns. She’s just had a nasty do with some of those shooters, who made her go to the police.’ She glared at Gibbs.
‘Never mind that now,’ said Oldroyd. ‘Did Mr Gorton say anything to you?’
‘Yes, he called out “Hi” to me, and waved. Then, as I waved back, I saw someone come out of the lane at the side of the shop. Peter turned and I heard him say something and then . . .’ She stopped as she remembered the horrifying scene, and started to weep.
The detectives waited.
‘He just raised the gun and fired. There was a huge bang. Peter was pushed back against the wall and then fell down. I could see lots of blood. I screamed and the person who fired the gun looked across at me.’
‘Who was it?’
‘It was definitely Vic – Vic Moore. I had a good look at his face. I was so shocked that I just stood there looking at him, and then I thought he might fire another shot at me because I’d seen him. But he didn’t, he just walked quickly back down the lane, still carrying the gun.’
‘Are you sure it was him?’ asked Steph. ‘Wasn’t it getting dark?’
‘The sun was setting but it was a clear evening and the sun was shining on his face. I’m sure it was him.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I was hysterical. I ran over to the inn and there were people outside who’d heard the shot. I don’t remember much after that, but Rob and Sheila have looked after me.’ She began to shake, as if the recollection of the events was too much.
‘OK,’ said Oldroyd kindly, ‘that will be all for now.’ Jeanette got up and left the room.
‘It’s very weird, isn’t it, that two young women who live and work at the inn witnessed these murders and then they were both looked after by the Owens?’ observed Gibbs.
‘Yes,’ replied Oldroyd. ‘Of course, that part really could be a coincidence. The interesting bit to me is that both murderers didn’t seem to mind being seen and made no attempt to conceal their identity, which is highly unusual if you want to avoid being caught. Also, they could have worn some kind of mask or a balaclava.’
‘Maybe they thought it didn’t matter as they had such a good getaway route ready. I’m assuming that Vic Moore has disappeared too,’ said Gibbs.
‘I’m sure that’s what we’ll find, but at least we know where he stayed in the village. We need to get over to John Gray’s cottage ASAP to check. I assume you’ve investigated that lane by the murder scene?’
‘Yes,’ replied Gibbs. ‘It’s just a track which leads to a footpath through the woods. The killer could easily have disappeared that way.’
‘Right, let’s get over to the cottage. After that, there’s not much more we can do tonight. I assume you’ve got your DC taking statements at the inn?’
‘Yep, but I can’t see how that will reveal anything.’
‘OK, Andy, stay and help to supervise that. The rest of us, let’s go.’
The stars were out and there was a full moon as the three detectives crossed the village green and headed to John Gray’s cottage. The moonlight was ghostly on the short path to the door. Behind the building, large trees formed a black mass. The cottage was dark and silent. Oldroyd banged on the door.
‘Mr Gray, it’s the police. Open up, please.’ There was silence. An owl hooted in one of the trees.
‘I’m not sure I like this, sir,’ said Gibbs. ‘Do you think he may have done his landlord in, too? He may have known too much about Moore’s movements.’
Looking grim, Oldroyd banged on the door again. A light went on upstairs, followed a few seconds later by another in the small hallway. There was the sound of locks being turned and a voice saying, ‘OK, just a minute.’
The door opened to reveal the figure of John Gray, wearing a dressing gown.
He peered out into the darkness. ‘Chief Inspector? Is that you? What on earth’s going on?’
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Gray, but we need to talk to your lodger, Vic Moore. We need to question him about a murder.’
‘A murder? Vic? My God, who on earth’s been killed this time? I’ve been down in Harrogate all evening – I’ve only been back about an hour, and then I went straight to bed. I wondered why all those people were standing around at the inn.’
‘It was Peter Gorton, the owner of the shop.’
‘Peter? That’s terrible. You think Vic did it?’
‘He was identified by a witness. Is he in the house?’
‘Well, I don’t know. When I got back I assumed he was in bed.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s late.’ He turned back into the house and called out: ‘Vic! Are you there? The police are here. Vic!’ There was no response. ‘That’s very odd. You’d better go up, Chief Inspector. His room is the first on the right. But surely Vic wouldn’t . . .’ Gray looked frightened.
Oldroyd led the way upstairs. The light above the stairs was on. He rapped on the door. ‘Mr Moore? Are you in there?’ There was no response, so he turned the handle and went in. The room was dark and he switched on the light. There was no one inside and the bed had not been slept in. It was starting to seem as if Gibbs was right: Moore, like Green, had disappeared.
‘When did you last see him?’ asked Oldroyd.
‘This afternoon. He was working on his laptop downstairs and I went into the studio. I left at about six. He was still there. I went to see a film at the Harrogate Odeon. It was a late sh
owing.’
‘Has he been behaving strangely recently?’
‘Vic? Well, no. He’s a quiet sort of chap. He’s been here a couple of years now. He’s the ideal lodger – pays his rent regularly, no trouble. He does his work, goes walking and he’s a regular at the inn. He likes a pint or two. I think he got to know a few people there.’
‘What do you know about his past?’ asked Steph as they went back down the stairs.
They headed into the lounge. Gray pointed towards a chair. ‘He usually leaves his laptop on that chair, but it’s not there. He must have taken it with him. To answer your question: nothing. He wouldn’t talk about it. I don’t know whether he’d got divorced or lost his job or what. I’d advertised that I had a room to rent and he contacted me saying he just had to get away from the city and wanted a long stay in the countryside. He didn’t even say which city that was, but he wanted to do his own thing. I didn’t ask any more questions because I didn’t think he would welcome anybody probing into his past. Ah!’ Gray put up his hand and raised a finger. ‘Now I remember something.’
‘What?’ asked Gibbs eagerly. They were desperate for any kind of information in this baffling case.
‘A couple of days ago, Vic seemed anxious – said he’d had some unwelcome news and he had to do something he didn’t want to do. Yes, those were his words: “something I don’t want to do”. He didn’t say anything else and I didn’t like to ask.’
‘I see,’ said an intrigued Oldroyd. ‘Right. Well, we’ll be back tomorrow to search his room, so don’t touch anything. By the way, did you know Peter Gorton?’
‘Not well, Chief Inspector. I only saw him in the shop.’
‘Did he have any enemies? Did you ever hear Vic Moore talk about him?’
‘No to both questions, Chief Inspector. It’s just the same as Mr Fraser, I’ve no idea who would want to harm either of them.’
The detectives left and walked back to the inn.
It was too late to do anything else, so Oldroyd left Gibbs to finish things off. With Andy’s help, the process of taking statements had nearly been completed.
‘This is getting more and more complex and sinister, isn’t it, sir?’ said Steph as the three of them met in the residents’ lounge, just as they had after the first murder.
‘I agree. As I said, we’re going to have to start the investigation again. Things now look different. What did Moore mean when he told Gray he had to do something he didn’t want to do?’
‘It sounds like he was being controlled by someone,’ suggested Andy. ‘Did that person instruct him to kill Gorton? And did the same person order Green to murder Fraser? I hate to say it, sir, but it is actually beginning to sound like gangland stuff – you know, bosses, loyalty and hitmen. And if so, it must increase the chances of Patrick Wilson being involved.’
‘Possibly,’ said Oldroyd. ‘But if so, what did he have against Gorton? And what kind of power did he have over Green and Moore that he could get them to kill people?’
‘Gangland debts? I suppose we’ve only got Gray’s word that Moore said that about doing something he didn’t want to do.’
‘True, but if Gray lied, that makes him a suspect too, and things become yet more complicated. I just don’t know. Anyway, we can’t do any more tonight. We’d best get home and start fresh in the morning.’
Oldroyd was deep in thought as he drove along the dark winding lanes of lower Nidderdale and the lights of Harrogate became visible in the distance. Clearly, the answer lay in finding out more about the characters in this enigmatic drama. They were going to have to work hard to uncover the so-far hidden connections between these people before they could finally make sense of the whole thing.
Next morning, a frightened silence hung over Niddersgill. Some people were reluctant to leave their homes and some were talking melodramatically about the end of the village, a portent being the sad sight of the closed shop, which had been a busy social meeting place as well as a supplier of basic needs. Now there were no newspapers and no milk, bread or groceries of any kind. The shooting of Peter Gorton felt like a death blow, not only to him but also to the community, and the stains of his blood on the wall near the shop were a grisly reminder of the shocking violence which had now been visited twice upon this small settlement.
As if to reflect the dismal mood, the weather broke after two weeks of early-autumnal clear and sunny weather. Dark clouds formed and heavy rain fell on the whole of Nidderdale. Mist descended on the fells, blotting out the glorious panoramic views.
At the Dog and Gun, Jeanette Brown was in bed exhausted after her trauma, having suffered a sleepless night.
Kirsty was sitting by the bed and comforting Jeanette in a curious reversal of what had happened just over a week ago. She looked out of the small window of the loft bedroom. The woods opposite were just visible in the mist. The rain was drumming on the hotel roof.
‘I just can’t believe it,’ Jeanette mumbled for the umpteenth time. ‘We both saw the same thing, the same horrible thing. It’s like a nightmare. What’s going to happen next? I can’t bear to think about it!’ She turned over and buried her face in the pillow.
‘It’s difficult,’ said Kirsty. ‘I’m still nervous about going out by myself, but I’m sure the police will find out what’s going on soon. That chief inspector is very clever.’
Jeanette looked up. ‘Do you think so? It’s more like a horror story than a crime. We knew those men who became murderers, and the men they killed. I can’t make any sense of it.’ Her head sunk into the pillow again.
‘I know. It’s awful, but at least the police will believe us now we’ve both seen a similar thing happen. I don’t think they believed me, but now it’s obvious that something weird is going on. Anyway, look, your parents don’t live far from here, do they, Jeanette?’
‘In Northallerton.’
‘I think you should go to them for a while. Get away and have a rest. I’m sure Mr Owen will be fine about it and I can’t see the police objecting. I’d have gone home too after last Friday if I didn’t have Harry.’
‘You’re right. I can’t do any work here at the moment. The thing is, if I go, I don’t think I’ll come back. This place gives me the creeps now,’ said Jeanette.
‘I know. Me and Harry are staying for a bit because he’s getting good experience in the kitchen here, but in a while we’re hoping to move to Leeds. I’m from Sheffield and I miss the city.’
Jeanette managed a weak smile. ‘It’s going well then, you and Harry?’
‘Yes,’ said Kirsty, smiling back. Their relationship was a ray of sunshine in a dark time.
Oldroyd and his team were back in the village by mid-morning and they met up with Gibbs at the Dog and Gun. Gibbs looked very weary. The frustrations of the case were starting to affect even his dogged personality.
‘I don’t know what to think, sir,’ he said with a sigh. ‘The two crimes must surely be connected. The murder last night is a copy of the first: victim shot, murderer disappears. Except that this time I can’t imagine we’ll have many suspects. Gorton had been in the village about four years and no one we’ve spoken to had a bad word for him. Similar story with the suspect: a relative newcomer but everyone seemed to like him too. No history of conflict between the two of them. We’ve made preliminary enquiries but no one seems to know anything about Moore before he came here. I’ll confess I’m completely baffled. We’ve also done a thorough search of his room at Gray’s house and the rest of the building but we didn’t find anything.’
‘It’s a tough one all right, Bill. But we’ve uncovered some information which I think is going to be important.’ He briefed Gibbs about what they knew of the Drover Road robbery, Traynor and Wilson.
‘So you think this Wilson may still be alive? And that he had a motive to kill Fraser?’
‘Yes. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s a lead to follow when we haven’t much else to go on.’
‘What about Gorton?’ said Bill.
<
br /> ‘We don’t know of any link yet.’
‘And this Traynor who killed himself in prison? How does all that relate to the case?’
‘We’re not sure yet, sir,’ said Steph, ‘but somehow I think it will prove significant.’
Gibbs shrugged. ‘Well, OK. I have to admit it all seems a bit thin, but if you think it’s worth pursuing, sir, I’m with you. But how do we progress on that line of enquiry, given that we’ve no idea where Wilson is, or even if he’s still alive?’
Oldroyd admired his sceptical pragmatism. ‘I’m not sure yet, Bill. First things first, I want to talk to Gorton’s widow and see if she can tell us anything. Could you and Andy read the statements from all the witnesses and people who knew Gorton and Moore? See if anything comes up.’
‘Of course, sir. As long as you don’t put me on checking shotgun licences again,’ said Gibbs, managing a weak grin.
‘No. I promise,’ said Oldroyd, laughing, before grimness established itself again. ‘Steph and I have to visit the two widows,’ he continued gravely. ‘Not pleasant jobs, but we’d better get on with them. We’ve had the results of the examination of Fraser’s computer. There was a file which was password-protected. It turned out to contain a list of dates and amounts of money from “H.S.” He only recorded the initials. That could well have been Henry Saunders. We’ll have to see if Fraser’s wife knows anything. Then we’ll have to speak to Mrs Gorton to see if she can tell us anything useful about her husband.’ He sighed and shook his head at the prospect before he and Steph left the inn.
‘You’re not serious.’
‘I am, old boy.’
‘Another murder in the village?’
Henry Saunders was astonished. It was an unexpected call from James Symons, who sounded rather more intrigued than shocked by such a dreadful event. Saunders was sitting in a cafe not far from his office.
