Death on Account (The Lakeland Murders) (15 page)

‘Is, Nobby; he is a detective. So who did this?’

‘Local kids, there are half a dozen possibles. I’ll get round them all in a bit.’

Nobby pulled his radio up to his ear, then went outside to talk to his Sergeant. He was just about to go back inside when Ian Mann ran up. ‘Is he OK?’ Nobby said he was. ‘Back door?’

‘Got it in one.’

‘Silly old fool. That’s the last he’ll see of that old car.’

‘Right again. It’s in the Scout Scar car park, Fire Service in attendance.’

‘Little bastards.’

‘Aye, Ian. Have you got any little bastards in particular in mind? I could do without another night of talking to stoned parents, who’ll have no idea where the kids are anyway, and the smell of pizza boxes and dope.’

‘The Walker kids.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I had a bit of a run-in with Terry on Wednesday. He was pissed-up, chucked a bottle at the house. Young Baxter came round.’

‘Did he? I’ve got a couple of emails from him, but I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet. I’d only just started my turn when this call came in. I came straight out because it was your dad. So did you give Walker a tap? I do hope so.’

‘No, I didn’t touch him. I just asked him to clear it up, he swore a bit as usual, then staggered off.’

‘But he recognised you?’

‘He didn’t acknowledge me, but I don’t think he was that far gone.’

‘Did you see the kids?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘So you know what happens next?’

‘Statement from dad, you talk to the kids, they piss you about, and bugger all happens after.’

‘Got it in one. Do you want to tell your dad about his car?’

‘Will do.’ Mann turned to go back into the house, but Nobby caught his sleeve.

‘Ian, buddy, this is my fault, I know that. I asked you to keep an eye on Eleanor and Gemma. The Walkers are totally out of hand, and the kids are right little bastards. I’ll do what I can on this one, I promise.’

‘Don’t talk soft, Nobby. You’re a good mate and a good cop too. I’ll sort my dad’s car out and he’ll be fine. And at least he’ll start locking the bloody doors now.’

Nobby gave Mann the policeman’s stare, direct and long. It wasn’t something they taught you at college, it just got passed down from one generation of cops to the next. But Mann was immune, so Nobby gave it up. ‘All right Ian, if you say so. But one other thing. No vigilante shit, you hear me? If I find out there’s been some sort of bloody Commando raid on the Walkers house I will be knocking at your door, I promise you. You hear me, Ian?’

‘I hear you. I won’t lay a finger on any of them. I promise you. Now, if we’re done, I’d like to go and check on my dad.’

Friday, 3rd May

Ray Dixon liked having the office to himself. With the Williams investigation wound-down the young techies, who he noticed used headphones at their desks, had gone, and Hall and Francis wouldn’t be back until later in the day.

For the last few shifts he’d had an odd feeling, as if he was outside himself, watching DC Dixon at work. Most of the work was routine, just slogging away, but for the first time in his career he realised that he did have a talent for this work. Where did those ideas and insights come from? That feeling, the tingle, when he knew he’d spotted something that no-one else had. He tried, but he couldn’t work out where it came from, but he knew he’d miss all this when he had retired. It seemed so obvious that he would, so why hadn’t he ever thought about it before?

When he was in hospital, and afterwards lying at home on the sofa watching those endless ads for online gambling, he’d started to think differently. About the job, and about himself as well. So if this was going to be one of his last jobs on the force he was determined to do it as best he could, and not merely as well as the bosses expected. If someone in Kendal nick, or associated with it, had grassed Neil Williams up then he would find that person out. It would be a kind of leaving present from him to Kendal station.

He decided to concentrate on completing his list of everyone in Cumbria who he could be certain knew Williams’ true identity. He had eight names in total, all Police or CPS. That didn’t mean that other people didn’t know, but those eight were the only ones he could prove did know. Dixon knew every one personally, the CPS trio only slightly, and none were new in their jobs. Short of asking Hall for permission to examine their financial records there wasn’t much more he could do about following up on them, and since Hall would have to refer that up he decided to leave it for now. Would anyone who had legitimate access to the Williams file really be the source of the leak? It was possible, of course it was, but all Dixon’s instinct and experience told him that it was very unlikely.

So he turned to the new starters. There were six, five new Specials and one civilian fitter working in the station’s garage. He seemed unlikely as a mole, but Dixon still looked at him carefully. He was local, had worked as a mechanic at a local garage for years until it went bust, had no form, and no obvious connections with Liverpool. Dixon thought back, had he ever seen one of the fitters in the station, at least since they’d closed the canteen? He couldn’t think of a single occasion.

The Specials didn’t look any more promising, although for now all Dixon had to go on were their application forms. Alison Thornton’s job was down Liverpool way, but she lived at Glasson Dock, which Dixon regarded as reasonable mitigation.  She also came with a personal letter of recommendation from Superintendent Robinson, and that was attached to her application form. He read the rest of the files, saving Gill McGrath’s ‘til last. He smiled when he saw that she was ten years younger than Hall. ‘Lucky bastard’ he said out loud. But his smile faded when he looked at her academic history. It was excellent, even if exams had got easier since Dixon had scraped through the half dozen ‘O’ Levels he’d needed to get into the job, but it was where she’d been to school that he noticed. It was a private Catholic school on the outskirts of Liverpool.

Afterwards he wouldn’t be able to say exactly why he’d done what he did, maybe it was instinct, but he searched around until he found Gill’s parent’s details. Her dad had been dead for fifteen years, which meant that he must have died pretty young, but before he called up the Death Certificate he ran Aidan Francis McGrath’s name through the PNC. ‘Shit’ he said, looking at the list of convictions.

Dixon had been a copper for so long that he could form a picture of a suspect just based on their record. And usually, when he met them in the interview room, he’d see that his guesses were broadly right. Gill McGrath’s dad looked like that rare thing, a proper working criminal, motivated by financial gain and willing to turn his hand to most things. Sure, he did have a conviction for affray as an eighteen year old, but after that there was no violence, but instead a clear picture of a criminal life that was on the upward path. Two convictions for theft, the second much bigger than the first, then a serious drugs bust. The file said he’d been released early on compassionate grounds, because he was seriously ill, and he’d died a few months later. Dixon quickly worked out that Gill must have been five or six when her dad had died.

He wondered what had happened to the family afterwards, so he looked at the mum, Maureen. She had no convictions, hadn’t remarried and now lived at an address in Crosby. Dixon’s knowledge of Liverpool was hazy, but he thought that was a decent area, so he had a look at the street view. The houses were terraced Edwardian villas, with some pretty expensive looking cars in the drives. He knew better than to jump to conclusions, but Dixon couldn’t help but wonder how the widow of an ex-con afforded to live in an address like that. He did one more check. There was no mortgage on the house, and never had been in the twenty-odd years that Maureen McGrath had lived there. The electoral role showed Gill living with her mum, even though the address on her application form had been an address in Levens. ‘Shit’ Dixon said again, and went to make himself a cup of tea.  He decided to keep it to himself until Hall got back. It was the least he could do.

Andy Hall had arranged to meet DI Sheridan at half eight, and at twenty five past he and Jane Francis were waiting in reception. Perhaps they were standing just a little closer together than they had done before, but Sheridan’s smirk was obvious as he came to shake Hall’s hand.

‘Have a good night, did you? How was the restaurant? Atmosphere suitable, was it?’ The smirk was veering towards a leer.

‘Terrible’ said Hall. ‘I’ve been in casualty all night with food poisoning.’

For a second Sheridan was convinced.

‘Bollocks’ he laughed. ‘Morning, Jane. Were you in casualty all night too, holding his fevered hand?’

‘Of course.’

‘Did you see anyone with a sword wound while you were there?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Some of our nutters regard knives as a bit too girly, so they’ve taken to using swords. It’s been happening for years up in Glasgow apparently. A DI from up there told me that some foreign professor, with an interest in old bones and stuff, came to one of their A&E units so he could see sword wounds on real people, not just skeletons. Anyway, we’ve had two or three incidents like that lately.’

‘Did you manage to fix a meeting with Cafferty’ asked Hall, when they were in Sheridan’s office. Jane hadn’t been in it before, and glanced at the boxing memorabilia on the walls. She couldn’t imagine Hall having stuff like that. All he had were a Rothko print, and an Andy Goldsworthy.

‘Yeah, I did. And it seems that your charm knows no bounds, because he’s agreed to see us in an hour. No lawyer, just an informal chat. Strictly off the record.’

‘Excellent’ said Hall, but Sheridan didn’t look convinced.

‘Don’t expect too much, Andy. I can’t see what Cafferty’s angle is here, but he’s bound to have one. He wouldn’t talk to us unless he thought he could cause trouble of some kind, so watch him.’

‘I’m with you. But maybe he’s not quite as clever as he thinks he is. I know I’m not. So any progress since yesterday? Jane says that your CCTV team came up with a couple of good ideas.’

‘They’re bright kids, both of them. I spoke to Raj a few minutes ago, and nothing on ANPR is registered to any of Cafferty’s companies, including the dormant ones. Nice idea, but no cigar I’m afraid.’

‘What about looking for plates on the ANPR at the airport, cross-referenced with the ones near where the X5 was found?’ asked Jane.

‘They’re still looking at that, but it doesn’t look like a goer. Just too many cars show up on both. I think Raj said that based on only a half hour window they’ve got over 200 hits. So it would be a hell of a job to follow them all up on the off chance. The Super would never wear it.’

‘Shame’ said Hall, ‘it was very nice idea. So is there anything pro-active we can do to connect Sanchez to one of Cafferty’s crew?’

‘It’s not looking good, and if we wait for a whisper from inside Cafferty’s organisation we’ll be waiting a long time, a very long time. You’re more likely to hear a nun’s fart in church than anyone grassing up Cafferty.’

Hall smiled. ‘Thanks for that image, Tony. Maybe we can lean on Cafferty a bit, get him to do something daft.’

Sheridan laughed out loud. ‘I’m quite certain you’re the cleverest bloke in this station, Andy, but you’ll never get a rise out of Billy Cafferty. We don’t scare him, not one little bit. We’re just a bit of a nuisance to him, no more than that. He’ll have layer after layer of distance between himself and the sharp end of this, and he knows that we just don’t have the resources to get through them all, even if we had some evidence. And his kid brother will be home in a few days, so he wins again.’

‘For now, Tony. We can play a long game if we have to.’

Sheridan snorted. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? That’s certainly how it’s supposed to be. But we’ve been after any of the Caffertys for nearly fifty years now. DI’s have grown old trying, but we’ve still never caught one for anything meaningful. You know they always say at organised crime conferences that we’ve got more resources than our targets, and that’s why we win in the end? Well now I reckon it’s the other way round. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Cafferty knows more about us than we do about him.’

‘Really? Any reason?’ asked Hall, and Jane could hear the edge in his voice.

‘Just a figure of speech, mate’ said Sheridan. ‘And that incoming call to Sanchez came from a mast in Kendal, not one down here. So maybe you’re the one who should be looking at his own mates.’

‘Do you mind if Jane sits in with us?’ said Hall, as they drove to Cafferty’s place in Sheridan’s Audi.

‘It’s a good idea’ said Sheridan. ‘He might even be tempted to show off a bit. Not that Billy’s the type.’ Sheridan was grinning as he said it.

‘Are those eagles?’ asked Jane, pointing at the huge fibreglass birds on top of the gateposts.

‘They are, and there are cameras in their eyes. Honest’ said Sheridan, laughing. ‘Welcome to Billy’s palace. That’s what we call it down at the nick.’