Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) (17 page)

Hall nodded. ‘I know, I know. But ironically it seems to be the fact that I tried to help that has put me in the firing line. But you know what people like Longley are like. Self-serving bastards, to a one.’

When Hall left Jane’s office he walked straight out to his car. If he didn’t get a move on he’d be late, and he hated that. It was just rude, even if he was due to be interviewing a suspect. He felt slightly guilty that he hadn’t mentioned to Jane that he’d already contacted John Winder and fixed a time to see him, because of course he could simply have called back and cancelled if he’d needed to. Or at least that’s what he told himself he’d have done.

Winder had sounded relaxed on the phone, although he had asked why Hall wanted to see him. Over the last couple of days Hall had been through everything in the file on the attempted bank robbery from all those years ago, and he now had a much clearer picture of Winder than he did before. The more he read, the clearer his memory became. He remembered the man’s demeanour now, somehow resigned yet resilient, and how careful he was with his answers. And even when he knew that he’d certainly be convicted, without Hall having to mention the fact, let alone labour it, Winder’s manner hadn’t changed. He’d seemed almost amused towards the end.

And in a way he’d had the last laugh too, hadn’t he? Because in just a few years Winder had gone from being a skint ex-con to a multi-millionaire, all thanks to the internet and, no doubt, a great deal of hard work. He’d never sought to hide the fact that he’d been inside either; in fact he’d said in interviews that it was in prison that he both had his business idea and developed the skills to make it become a reality. And Hall had been simply astonished at the amount of money that his business had generated, and continued to make. It would take Hall twenty years, even on a Superintendent’s salary, to match Winder’s annual dividend from the business.

But as he drove Hall became increasingly convinced that Jane had been right. Winder didn’t have the makings of a decent suspect. Why would a man who’d made such a success of his life, and who had so much to look forward to, risk it all to settle an old score? Because Winder had won. There was really no doubt about that. He had colossally more money now than he would have had if they’d actually managed to rob that bank, and every penny he had now had been earned legitimately. There was simply no question about it.

Hall pulled into a lay-by, and let the stream of holiday makers get ahead of him. He’d catch up with them soon enough, if he kept going. He found his phone and was about to call Winder and cancel their meeting. But he didn’t, and after a few seconds he drove away again. Because his re-reading of the statements and interview notes had reminded him that he’d been certain that of the four men who’d been nicked for that cocked-up robbery the only one who he was sure hadn’t opened up with that bloody gun was Winder. There was just something about him. Something controlled. And so, in a strange way, Hall now had the feeling that he’d be much more likely than Tyson to be the one who could actually kill in cold blood. And there was only one way to find out if he was right.

So Hall crawled on through Windermere, with the window rolled down because the A/C in his old car puffed out nothing but warm dust these days, and eventually turned north, on the road to Troutbeck. He always enjoyed this drive, through the Lakes’ glorious green gateway, and today was no exception. Just a mile or two off the tourist track and suddenly the world seemed to be keeping time to a different clock, one that measures minutes in seasons and hours in generations. And as to days? Well, they took millennia or more. And Hall approved of Winder’s house as soon as he turned into the drive. It looked just like any other old Lakeland farmhouse, nestled modestly below the lane in the centre of the village, with just its ornate chimney-pots visible from the road. There were no electric gates, no exotic cars parked in the yard, no sign at all that this was anything other than a well-kept working farm, looking much as it had done for the past century and more.

There was no reply when Hall knocked at the door, and when he checked his phone there was no signal. So he walked round the side of the house, and was surprised to find that there was a large and very beautiful formal garden, with a long herbaceous border blue with campanulas and geraniums running alongside a more formal, structured area. Hall guessed that the low hedges were box, although his own experience was more privet-based. Beyond the formal garden was a large sunken lawn, and from this distance, and without his driving glasses on, Hall wasn’t quite sure what the figures that he could see were actually doing. Were they wrestling, or dancing perhaps? Another figure stood off to one side, and seemed to be offering encouragement. Hall walked along a paved path though the formal garden, and waved back when the man standing alone raised his hand and started walking towards him. They met on the edge of the grass and the man, who Hall still didn’t recognise, held out his hand.

‘Superintendent Hall?’

‘Andy Hall, yes, that’s me. And you’re John Winder?’

‘For my sins. Shall we?’ Winder pointed towards a sculpted wooden seat. ‘Can I offer you a drink? The lads will want one in a minute, I expect.’

‘They were wrestling, were they?’

‘Aye, that’s right. Jack, one of my lads, just practising with one of his mates. Ambleside Sports is coming up, see, so they’re getting ready. Do you remember, we talked about it?’

‘When I interviewed you?’

‘Aye, that’s right. You’ve not changed much, I’ll say that. Bit more braid round your hat though, mind.’

‘Two promotions in fifteen years. It’s hardly a meteoric rise, I’m afraid. You’ve done a great deal better than me though, by the looks of it.’

‘Appearances can be deceiving. You of all people should know that.’

‘Are they? In this case, I mean.’ Hall waved his hand at the summer splendour around him.

Winder smiled. ‘No, not really. I suppose not.’

‘I love the garden. It isn’t what I expected to find, I must say. Most farmers don’t garden much, in my experience.’

‘Did it all myself. Every last turn of the spade. I look at it every day, changing, developing. It’s something that will last, you know?’

‘I do. I suppose it’s what made all those landowners employ Capability Brown, even though they’d never see his vision fully realised.’

‘Not really, because those buggers always expected that their heirs would own the view for ever, in perpetuity, like. So it was just self-interest. They’d be turning in their graves if they knew that ordinary folks would be walking on their ground today, I expect. Makes me want to join the bloody National Trust, to tell the truth.’

Hall smiled. ’And you don’t plan for that too? Your own son, won’t he inherit?’

‘Aye, he will that. But the land I own, this farm and another further up the valley, they’re farmed in partnership, they’re not tenanted. My two lads will have to graft for their share of the income, even though they’ll own the land itself, like.’

‘That sounds fair.’

‘Aye, it is. I was nowt much more than a slave, like, when we first met. A slave to the ground, to history almost. Born to it. Like the landed gentry, only without the privileges. And funny enough I planned this garden, every last inch of it, while I was inside.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, aye. Of course it changed a bit, when I finally bought this place and saw the lay of the land. But I’ll tell you this. The best bits of this garden are the ones that are just the way I saw them, in my mind’s eye.’

‘It’s a powerful thing, the imagination.’

‘Aye, it is that. Not as powerful as memory, though.’

‘I’m not sure that our kids would agree on that one. Not yet, anyway.’

‘Maybe not, but what do they bloody know?’

Hall smiled again, nodded agreement, and looked round the garden. ‘It really is lovely here. So peaceful.’

‘But you haven’t come here for hints on the gardening job, have you?’

‘Not entirely, no.’

‘Do you remember when we met before? At Kendal nick. That last time, before I was charged.’

‘Not really. It was a long time ago. But re-reading the statements in the file helped.’

‘I remember it all. Every second, almost like still photos with little bits of audio attached. Tell me, Superintendent, when you send people away do you ever think about them afterwards? When they’re doing their time, like?’

‘I do, yes. Sometimes, anyway. If I think that the person is vulnerable, or that the sentence was too long.’

‘Did you think about me? Or any of the others?’

‘Not really, no. Discharging a firearm like that, it was unbelievably reckless.’ Hall paused. ‘But I knew it wasn’t you. Right from the first time I met you.’

Winder laughed. ‘So which one of us was it, then?’

‘I don’t know. If I had I’d have charged the right bloke. As it was, you all ended up doing the time for an offence that only one of you committed. You’d have been out at least two or three years earlier, if I’d known.’

‘Aye, you said, at the time. And we talked about wrestling, funny enough.’

‘Did we?’

‘Aye, we did. And I said I wanted my son to win the All Weights at the Sports one day. It’s true, like, I remember it clearly. Well this year he might. He’s not the strongest lad, but I reckon he’s the toughest. Mentally, like.’

‘I hope he does well. But I wanted to ask you something, John.’

‘I’ve already been asked about Frankie Foster. And I’ve said all I’m going to say, because it’s all I can say.’

‘That’s fine. I’m on my own, so this is an informal visit.’

‘You don’t strike me as an informal kind of bloke.’

‘I don’t wear a tie at weekends.’

Winder laughed. ‘So what can I do for you, then?’

‘Jez Taylor. Do you know him?’

‘Heard the name, aye. Don’t know the bloke, and I wouldn’t want to.’

‘What have you heard?’

‘Enough to know that I wouldn’t like the bloke.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought that you’d move in the same circles. How have you come across him?’

‘It’s a small world.’

‘Not that small.’

‘You’re not a local bloke, are you? I remember I asked you that before.’

‘I feel local. My kids are, if that means anything.’

‘Aye, maybe, but my family has been here for generations. So have the Taylors. So I know the family, like. His grand-dad was a farm worker out Crosthwaite way, after the war. My dad knew him then. Anyway, what’s your interest?’

‘Just wondered, that’s all. But lightning never strikes twice, does it?’

Winder looked confused. ‘It does if you stand on the top of Kirkstone, holding an umbrella.’

Hall laughed. ‘I suppose it does. Anyway, forget I asked. One other thing, and I don’t mind if you don’t want to answer. It’s about Frankie Foster. You always knew that he’d grassed the rest of you up, didn’t you?’

Winder didn’t answer, but got up, and called out to his son to take a break. Then he turned back to Hall.

‘Aye, I knew. To tell you the truth I knew from the moment I was picked up how it would go. Nothing I could do about it, though.’

‘How did you feel? About what he did, I mean.’

Tyson shook his head.

‘Let me ask you a question. If we hadn’t been grassed, would we have been convicted?’

‘No, probably not. So long as there was nothing to tie any of you to the gun, and there wasn’t without Frankie’s evidence, then I think there’s a fair chance that it would never have even made it to court.’

‘That’s what I thought. Aye, exactly what I thought. Well it was good to see you again, Superintendent. Perhaps I’ll see you at the Sports?’

‘Ambleside Sports? When is it?’

‘On Thursday. Last Thursday in the month, see, like it always is. The forecast is good too. And who knows, you might even see a bit of history being made.’

‘A Winder winning the All Weights wrestling?’

‘Exactly. It may not seem like much to you, but it would mean a lot to me. A hell of a lot, like.’

By the time Hall got back to the station the interview with Tyson had begun. He opened the door to the observation room quietly, and nodded to Keith Iredale. And as soon as Hall glanced at Jane on the left hand TV screen, the one showing her and most of Ian Mann, he knew that it wasn’t going well. It was her posture, he realised, after a moment. She looked on edge, and when she spoke he could hear the strain in her voice.

‘Look, John’ she was saying, ‘we’ve been though all this before. We get it. But the fact remains that you say you’ve never touched any of those shotguns, and yet your DNA is on the murder weapon. Now, how can that possibly be?’

‘I don’t know. You’re the bloody detective.’

‘I am, that’s right. But a lifetime ago I was scientist, working in a lab. And there’s this thing called Occam’s razor, and it works just as well in this job as it did there. Maybe better, actually. You see what it says is, essentially, that the simplest explanation for an observation is likely to be true. You understand what I’m saying?’

‘No. I haven’t got a bloody clue what you’re going on about.’

‘What I’m saying is this, John. The simplest explanation for the fact that we found your DNA on that shotgun is because you used it to shoot Frankie Foster. It’s the solution that requires the smallest number of assumptions. Only one, in fact.’

‘Oh, aye? What’s that, then.’

‘That your alibi is a lie. You left that walling job, drove down to Frankie Foster’s cottage, and there you shot him. That’s how it happened, isn’t it?’

‘No. I keep bloody telling you.’

‘So how do you explain your DNA being found on the gun?’

Tyson looked up.

‘I don’t know. Maybe it was planted. Maybe you planted it. But I’ve never touched that bloody gun.’

‘Are you quite certain? Did your boss ask you to clean it, perhaps? I’m trying to help you here, John.’

‘I doubt that, lass. But I never touched it, even so. Not once. I don’t know how much bloody clearer I could be.’