The Nidderdale Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery)

by J. R. Ellis

‘So, to say it was “really good to see you” is obviously giving you a different and very positive signal about how she feels about you. Then she wants to meet up but doesn’t specify what she wants to discuss with you. Is that a little tease? I wonder if there actually is anything, or does she just want to see you?’ She gave him another meaningful smile. ‘All in all, I think your wife might want you back, Jim. Oh dear!’ She pretended to dab at a tear in her eye. ‘Is this the end for me? Shall I pack my bags?’

  Oldroyd was half amused and half alarmed. ‘No, of course not.’ He put his hand on hers. ‘I’m with you now, and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied, grasping his hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not jealous and insecure. Just don’t have anything to do with the bitch.’ She burst out laughing. ‘No, I shouldn’t have said that!’

  Oldroyd was laughing with relief. He loved her sense of humour. ‘I’ll have to reply and see if it’s anything to do with Louise or Robert or the house or anything else. I’ll let you know and I’ll only meet her in a public place.’

  ‘A cafe, and I’ll sneak in and watch from a distance.’

  ‘OK, you’re welcome.’ He looked at her. ‘I’d never do anything to jeopardise our relationship. You know that.’

  She smiled in a more serious way. ‘I do,’ she said.

  Later that morning there was a knock on the door of the Fraser manor house. Henrietta opened it to discover a short, balding man dressed in a cheap-looking suit.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Good morning. Gideon Rawnsley, Elite Cars, Ripon. I’m sorry to say I’ve come to collect Mr Fraser’s Jaguar XF.’

  ‘What? Why is that?’

  ‘He never paid for it I’m afraid. We only received the deposit and one payment. We won’t be able to refund any of that because he’s used the car. When that happens, it becomes a second-hand car and there’s a large depreciation in its value.’

  Henrietta shook her head at this latest blow. ‘You’d better come in.’

  ‘OK. I’ll just tell my assistant. She’s the one who drove me up here.’ Rawnsley popped over to a nearby car in the lane and then returned to the narrow entrance hall.

  ‘Just wait a moment,’ said Henrietta. ‘I’ll have to ask my mother where the keys are.’ She went back down the hall, opened a door and disappeared into a room.

  Rawnsley looked around at the oak panelling and paintings in the hall. His encounters with the rich had left him cynical about people with money. The richer they appeared, the harder it was to get money out of them. Here was Fraser driving expensive cars, living in a seventeenth-century manor house and throwing out invitations to join shooting parties, while he was clearly in serious debt. There was a phrase Rawnsley had heard somewhere: ‘Fine manners and unpaid bills’. It summed up Fraser exactly.

  Henrietta returned with the keys. ‘I must say, I think it’s a bit heartless coming at this time when my father’s not even buried yet, but here you are.’ She handed the keys over. ‘Luckily my mother won’t miss it. It’s far too big for her.’

  ‘Many thanks,’ said Rawnsley, and he immediately left the house. He wasn’t going to get into an argument about morality after the way he’d been strung along by Fraser.

  He got into the Jaguar, and passed straight out of the village followed by his assistant.

  As he drove along the wet roads, he looked across the grey expanse of Gouthwaite Reservoir, its surface choppy and cold in the autumn wind. His relationship with Fraser had been an education. He realised now that the invitation to the shoot had been a way of controlling him: Fraser had thought that if Rawnsley shot some grouse and had a good dinner, he wouldn’t press him so hard for payment on the car.

  The truth about what Fraser really thought of him had emerged on the night of the murder: he saw him as an irritating little salesman who dealt in that inconvenient thing called money.

  Well, Rawnsley had learned some good lessons in how to handle people of that class: keep your distance and don’t socialise with them. And even more important: see the colour of their money before a big sale, and don’t cut them any slack even though they think they deserve it.

  As he arrived back in Ripon, the rain stopped and the sun broke through. He returned the car to the showroom, albeit now as a used car. He would still get a good price for it, and why not? He had a business to run and he would drive a harder bargain in future. There would be no more deference.

  Oldroyd’s second press conference on the Niddersgill murders took place at Harrogate. The press pack, disappointed with their pickings in the village, had descended on HQ hungry for some red meat from the DCI. Oldroyd didn’t need to be told by DCS Walker that he had to face them again.

  There was a room for press conferences and briefings in which Oldroyd, on his home territory, normally felt in control. If the atmosphere was tense he would first of all imagine walking up to the summit of Ingleborough from Clapham, one of his favourite walks. This always had a calming effect. But he felt much more on the defensive in this conference. There had still been no arrests and now there was a second death. The police were beginning to look defeated.

  He’d thought long and hard about whether or not to mention the Drover Road robbery and Patrick Wilson, as they had no proof. On the one hand, he’d be releasing a hare and the dogs would go mad after it – it was such a juicy, dramatic story, ‘Criminal Back from the Dead’ and so on. And if it came to nothing, they would look very foolish. On the other hand, the press were always useful in broadcasting the message that the police were looking for someone, and sometimes this flushed a suspect out. He decided to take the risk and start the session with it. This would give him the initiative.

  The press briefing room was packed. Oldroyd sat looking sombre, flanked by Steph and Andy.

  ‘I want to begin with an important announcement in relation to the murders in the village of Niddersgill. We are working on the assumption that the murders are linked, as there are many similarities between them. We have identified a possible suspect who had a motive to kill both of the victims. This person is Patrick Wilson, who some of you may remember was a member of the gang who committed the Drover Road robbery in London.’ There were expressions of surprise all around the room.

  ‘Surely he’s dead, Chief Inspector?’ called out one reporter.

  ‘So we thought. He fell into a river in Manchester trying to escape from prison. But no body was ever found and we now think that Wilson may have survived and may be involved in these murders.’ There were gasps of astonishment at this.

  ‘Really? That sounds incredible. What evidence do you have?’ This was a tricky question, which had to be handled carefully.

  ‘We do not have conclusive evidence at this stage, but we believe the likelihood of his involvement is high, sufficiently high for us to ask for anybody with any information about the whereabouts of Patrick Wilson to come forward.’

  The rapid murmurings of urgent conversations were heard about the room. As Oldroyd had predicted, they loved this.

  ‘Is there any point in that, Chief Inspector? If he is alive and active as you suggest, surely the only people who know where he is are those who are hiding him. And they’re unlikely to come forward.’

  ‘Well, that may be true, but in the past crooks have been known to betray each other, so it’s worth a try.’

  ‘Where do you think he is?’

  ‘My best guess is that he’s disappeared back among the criminal fraternity of London, from where he’s planned these murders.’

  ‘So the two murderers were hitmen?’

  ‘You could put it that way. It’s significant that they’ve both disappeared without trace. They were relative newcomers to the village and I imagine they’ve returned to the capital too.’

  ‘Is this your main line of enquiry?’ There was scepticism in the voice.

  ‘Yes, but not the only one. We’re still following other leads.’

  ‘Do you think there could be another murder in the
village?’ This was always a difficult question. A positive answer created alarm, but a negative one came back to bite you if there was another victim.

  ‘We have no reason to think that anyone else is at risk, but until the perpetrators are caught, it is necessary for everyone to remain vigilant.’

  At the end of the conference, Oldroyd was happy with the way he’d dealt with it, but when the detectives returned to the office he seemed morose. He sat in his chair and said nothing while Andy made coffee.

  ‘Cheer up, sir,’ said Steph, who had known Oldroyd a long time and recognised his moods. ‘You handled that well.’

  Oldroyd put his head in his hands. ‘Yes, yes, it was OK, but something’s not right. I could see the doubt on their faces when I was telling them about Patrick Wilson. I know he’s the one with the motives, but these hitmen . . . Green and Moore.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. We’ll have to wait until we get the full file on Wilson and see if that reveals anything. Saunders will be here shortly, so that might be interesting. I just don’t have that feeling I normally get when we’re closing in on the killer.’ He sighed, then smiled at his two sergeants, slapped his legs and got up. ‘We’ll just have to press on like we always do.’

  Back in Nidderdale the weather was overcast but dry, and the wind had dropped. Tony Dexter, in corduroys and waxed jacket, was out with his binoculars moving carefully around the wet areas at the top end of Gouthwaite Reservoir. Bird migration would be starting soon and winter visitors to the UK would arrive. He watched a group of oystercatchers, and then found a place in the reeds from which he could see a small pool of water. After waiting for a while, his patience was rewarded when a shy water rail, crouching with its head forward, stepped cautiously out from the reeds. He focused the lenses and zoomed in on the red bill and red eye, the rich brown back and grey chest.

  ‘They’re beautiful birds, aren’t they?’ a voice whispered behind him.

  He turned to see Liz Smith. ‘Oh, it’s you. Be quiet,’ he whispered back.

  Luckily the water rail was undisturbed. It stood for a while in the pool of water, then turned and walked slowly back into the reeds. Dexter turned to Liz. She was wearing brown dungarees and a woolly hat. Her ankle was still strapped up but she was walking more easily.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just out walking. I caught sight of you in the reeds and thought you might have found something interesting. I don’t spend all my time sabotaging the activities of people who want to kill wildlife – I also enjoy being in the natural world.’

  ‘Good. Does it calm you?’ he said.

  Liz laughed. ‘You mean does it make me less angry? It does when I see a wonderful bird like that, but then I start to think about people who want to kill lovely creatures and I’m back to my sense of outrage. There are men with guns who’d shoot that water rail if they got the chance. It’s all about bagging stuff for them.’

  ‘Yes, it’s terrible.’

  ‘Why not join us, then?’

  Dexter laughed a little nervously. Perhaps he was intimidated by forceful people.

  ‘We’ve had this discussion before. I’d be pretty useless in a protest: too soft. I prefer to concentrate on my campaigns about the effects of the management of grouse moors on the environment.’

  ‘So you don’t have to get your hands dirty?’

  ‘I’ve come up against a lot of opposition. I confronted Fraser once in his house about the environmental effect of his activities.’

  They walked on through the boggy areas surrounding the reed beds. Dexter kept an eye out for birdlife.

  ‘Did you get anywhere with him?’

  ‘No. He didn’t really listen to my arguments and I think that’s the problem. I don’t think you can ever change or defeat them. They’re too determined and powerful. The only thing which is going to improve matters is legislation. Look at what happened with fox hunting.’

  ‘A messy law, not properly enforced, which people get round or ignore. That’s the problem with going through the politicians; you think they’re committed but then if they see the wind is blowing in another direction, they’ll water down what they’ve promised or desert you.’

  ‘Your way is dangerous though, isn’t it? You break the law and people get hurt.’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t care about the law of trespass; it’s utterly ridiculous that people can’t walk over open countryside, never mind who owns it. Most of those who get hurt are on our side, sabs who get beaten up by thugs. It happened the other day. A young man with me got punched in the face. And you remember what happened with Sam Cooper?’

  They reached the water and saw flocks of Canada and greylag geese on the calm surface.

  Dexter paused to focus his binoculars again. ‘I know you hold Fraser responsible for Cooper’s death. So did you retaliate? Was Fraser another casualty of this war?’

  ‘You sound like the police. If you’re implying that we murdered someone, even if they were one of our fiercest opponents and caused the death of one of our supporters, you’re wrong. I keep saying to people: we preserve life, we don’t destroy it.’

  Dexter smiled. ‘It’s OK. I was only joking.’

  ‘The police were all over us of course, once they knew we’d been in conflict with Fraser. I had that detective sergeant who works with the chief inspector round asking questions, and others in my group got visited by police from Pateley. Bloody typical! They weren’t around when we were getting beaten up and kidnapped by the beaters the other day.’

  ‘Kidnapped?’

  ‘They frogmarched us into the jeep and drove us down to Pateley Bridge police station. Luckily Inspector Gibbs was there. I think he’s quite sympathetic to us, really. He just warned me about our behaviour but he knows we’ll take no notice.’

  ‘You should listen to him and be more careful, especially when there are dangerous people about,’ said Dexter.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What do you make of this second murder? Apparently Vic Moore is the main suspect . . . and he’s disappeared, just like Alan Green.’

  ‘I didn’t really know him. Anyway, it should put the police off our trail, because poor Peter Gorton had nothing to do with grouse shooting,’ said Liz.

  ‘Off my trail too. I had the police asking me about Fraser. I think they thought I could have killed him because he was a danger to the environment. But nevertheless, two people have been killed. Doesn’t it make you wonder who might be next?’

  Liz shook her head as an oystercatcher flew past, emitting its characteristic kleep. ‘I’m sure lots of people are terrified, but it doesn’t worry me. I wouldn’t like to be running the Dog and Gun at the moment. I’ll bet there’ve been some cancellations. Jeanette, who works there, comes round to see me. She’s interested in our cause. She says the atmosphere’s a bit grim though the Owens are putting on a brave face. I’d go there to support them if they didn’t serve so much meat and the food wasn’t so expensive. Oh, by the way, she said that apparently Peter Gorton was a prison officer before he came here. He kept quiet about that.’

  Dexter turned to her abruptly. ‘Rob Owen mentioned that in the bar. Did Jeanette say where?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Where was he a prison officer?’

  ‘Oh, Manchester, I think she said. Strangeways.’

  ‘How does she know?’ He seemed serious and intense.

  ‘No idea. Things leak out, don’t they? It was probably one of those reporters who were all over the village, who’d been doing a bit of research and blabbed about it in the bar.’

  ‘Right. Well, that is odd. He didn’t seem like a prison officer, did he?’ said Dexter, returning to a more light-hearted tone.

  ‘No, but you can see why he wanted to come out here for a change. It must be grim working in a prison.’

  They’d been walking across the marshy area and now reached a track.

  ‘OK,’ said Dexter. ‘I’m going up this path back over t
o the barn, so I’ll see you around. Be good.’ He waved to her and walked off.

  ‘There’s no chance of that,’ called back Liz with a laugh, but as she walked back along the track to the village she was puzzled.

  Why had Dexter reacted so strangely to her information about Peter Gorton? It had seemed not only to surprise but also to worry him.

  She shook her head. This was turning into one crazy village. And people had her down as the fanatical madwoman.

  Henry Saunders sat in the interview room trying to retain his dignified manner, despite feeling distinctly rattled by his summons to Harrogate Police HQ. He was facing a stern Oldroyd, with Andy in attendance.

  ‘So,’ began Oldroyd, ‘you made the mistake of not being frank with us in our first conversation. It rarely pays off, and all you’ve succeeded in doing is bringing suspicion on yourself. Tell us about the payments you made to Sandy Fraser.’

  Saunders looked extremely uncomfortable and sighed. ‘Well, if I must. I don’t suppose it’ll do me any good to conceal it for any longer.’ He looked at Oldroyd, whose expression was stony. ‘Sandy was blackmailing me.’

  ‘But he was a very old friend of yours.’

  ‘He was, but he did it in such a discreet way that it hardly affected our relationship.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ said Oldroyd.

  Saunders laughed sardonically. ‘Well, it’s how our class behave, isn’t it? Don’t talk about unpleasant things directly, especially concerning money; preserve the surface chumminess.’

  ‘What was he blackmailing you about?’

  ‘He saw me in a restaurant in London with a woman with whom I was having an affair at the time. We both knew this had handed him some power and leverage in our relationship, if he chose to use it. Actually, I don’t think he ever would have done if he hadn’t become desperate.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Sandy was a good judge, but he was no businessman. He completely overreached himself buying that grouse moor. He must have paid an enormous price for it. It wasn’t long before he was struggling. I’m sure he never told Miriam anything about their financial difficulties.’