Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) (5 page)

‘Yes, please’ said Jane, watching Sandy start on the biscuits. ‘Would you like a coffee to wash them down?’

‘Instant, is it?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Go on then. Three teaspoons of coffee and two sugars, mind. Don’t be mean with your old Aunt Sandy.’ She smiled at Mann, who took the hint and got up.

Three minutes later the biscuits were finished, and the coffee was half drunk.

‘Not bad, mate’ she said to Ian. ‘Compared to the hot piss that you lot usually serve up here, anyway.’

‘Glad you liked it.’ said Jane. ‘So about the suspects, Sandy. They’re ready for interview now, so we’d like to crack on.’

‘Not much to say. No shotgun residue on either one of them, and nothing obvious on either set of clothes. Though we’ll no more about that later, when we’ve been through their wardrobes, like. But no blood, nothing like that. We’ve taken in all their vehicles, so that’s an old pick up from Tyson, and a small fleet from the other one.’

‘Winder.’

‘Aye, him. We’ve uplifted a couple of work vehicles, plus a Merc and some sort of sports car. You could eat your dinner off most of them, but you said to check the lot, so we will.’

‘But nothing immediately incriminating?’

‘No, I can’t say there is. Have you got any more biscuits, Jane?’

Jane laughed.

‘No, I bloody have not. And I should nick you right now for obtaining goods by deception.’

‘Don’t shoot the messenger. And not finding any residue doesn’t mean much, not these days. Any bloody idiot who can use the internet can find out how to avoid blow-back contamination in about two minutes. It’s playing merry hell with the CSI job is the internet, I’ll tell you that for nowt.’

‘They just wear gloves, presumably?’ said Mann.

‘It’s a bit more sophisticated than that, Ian. But aye, a change of clothes and thick gloves, taped well to the clothes, that should do the trick. Why, are you planning to shoot someone?’

‘Only whoever ate the last of the bloody biscuits.’

Sandy grinned and got up.

‘Aye, well. My need is greater than yours, as they say.’

John Tyson was ready for interview first, because the Duty Solicitor, a harassed looking woman called Jean Porter, only needed a couple of minutes with her client before the interview. Meanwhile John Winder’s personal solicitor, Peter Coe, had made it clear that he’d need at least half an hour. But based on previous experience, and a guess as to Coe’s hourly rate, Jane reckoned that it would probably be a good bit longer. So she and Mann made for interview room two, where Tyson and the Duty Solicitor were waiting. But Keith Iredale intercepted them at the end of the corridor.

‘I thought you went home?’ said Jane.

‘I did, but just to get changed, like. I’m fine now. What can I do?’

Mann shook his head, and was about to speak when Jane cut him off.

‘Tell you what, get into the observation room and watch this one, then take over from Ian for Winder, OK?’

Iredale, nodded, and walked ahead of them. They waited until the observation room door closed behind him.

‘Are you happy to lead on this?’ Jane asked Mann, as they walked down the over-lit corridor.

‘Aye, if you want. But Andy usually…’

‘For Christ’s sake, Ian.’

‘Sorry, I only meant…’

‘Don’t worry about it. You lead on this, and I’ll take the next one, OK? It’s been a long day already, and it’s not over yet. Let’s all try to pace ourselves a bit.’

‘Got you.’

‘And Tyson’s alibi is that he was on the fells all day, working as a waller. Is that right?’

‘Aye. That’s it. No witnesses bar a couple of hundred sheep, apparently.’

When they reached the door Mann reached for the handle, then stopped and looked back at Jane. She nodded, so he knocked and they walked in. Tyson was wearing the change of clothes that he’d been given when he arrived, and Jane immediately noticed his hands, which looked as dry and weathered as the stone he worked with. Mann introduced himself and Jane, nodded to the Duty Solicitor, and turned on the tape.

‘So you know why you’re here, Mr. Tyson?’ he said.

‘Aye. Frankie Foster’s been shot.’

‘That’s right. Did you do it?’

‘No. Of course I didn’t.’

Mann smiled, and shrugged.

‘Just thought I’d ask, straight off like. You’d be surprised how often people just admit it if you ask them straight out. Saves the taxpayer a bloody fortune, it does.’

Tyson didn’t reply, and he didn’t try to fill the silence that Mann left. Jane thought about what Hall had said about the killer being a cool one. Maybe Tyson was cool, but perhaps he was merely innocent. He might even be both. Or neither.

‘So let’s talk about where you were, today. Between ten in the morning and three in the afternoon.’

‘Walling, up on Kirkstone there.’

‘Was anyone with you?’

‘Aye, first thing and last thing, like. The gaffer and a couple of the lads helped shift some stones.’ ‘But they weren’t with you between the times I mentioned? You were on your own then?’

‘Aye, I would have been.’

‘No witnesses?’

‘Just the wall.’

‘I’m tempted to say that it wouldn’t stand up in court’ said Mann, smiling.

‘Very good, aye. But that’s where you’re wrong, though. I did three yards today, you can ask anyone. That’s my witness, like. A proper day’s graft. Bloody hot it was too. There’s not much shade from a wall you’ve not built yet, see?’

‘I do. Did you have your vehicle with you?’ Mann looked at his notes. ‘The Subaru pick-up?’

‘Aye, parked down at the wall end, like.’

‘And you didn’t leave the job all day?’

‘No, and like I say there’s ten foot of new wall that’ll bloody back me up on that.’

‘So your pick-up never moved all day? You’re certain? We won’t find it showing up on a camera somewhere?’

‘No. Like I said, I was grafting all day. On the walling job, like. From half eight until half four. It’s pretty simple, is that.’

Mann looked down at his file, then back at Tyson.

‘So let’s talk about the victim, Frankie Foster. You knew him?’

‘You know I did.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘I saw him in the pub in Troutbeck every once in a while.’

‘When did you last speak to him?’

‘Not for years. Nothing to say to him. He knows, I mean he knew, what I thought of him, like.’

‘And what was that?’

‘Not much.’

‘Would you care to expand on that?’

‘No.’

‘You must have hated him, after he grassed on you and your mates like that. I know I would have.’

‘Aye, well…’

‘My client has already answered that question, DS Mann. So if you wouldn’t mind moving on it would be much appreciated.’ Jean Porter didn’t look at Mann, nor at her client.

‘So you’ve never been to Mr. Foster’s house?’

‘No, not in years. We used to be mates, like, but I’ve not been round there since I got out of prison.’

Mann nodded. ’All right, John. Now, let’s talk about shotguns.’

‘I’ve not got a shotgun. I’d never get a licence now, would I?’

‘But your employer, Mr. Irving, he has shotguns, doesn’t he?’

‘Aye, he does. For controlling vermin on the estate, like. But I don’t use them. I’m not allowed to.’

‘But some guns were stolen from your employer’s farm office, just over two years ago?’

‘Aye, you know they were. Look, I was spoken to at the time. You searched my house, my truck, everything. I didn’t even say you’d need a Warrant. I don’t know anything about it. I’ve never touched any of the gaffer’s guns.’

‘So would it surprise you to learn that the weapon was used today to kill your old friend was one of those very shotguns?’

Tyson looked up sharply, and thought for a long moment before he replied.

‘Maybe aye, but maybe no.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘What if someone….No, it don’t matter.’

‘Go on, Mr. Tyson. Say what you’re thinking. It might help us find the person who killed Frankie Foster.’

‘Why should I care about that?’

‘Because if we find the person who did this, and it isn’t you, then we’ll lose interest in you, and all of your doings. But if we don’t find out, then you’re going to be very much in our thoughts from now on. And you know what that means, don’t you?’

Tyson glanced at Jane. ‘Maybe I’m being framed. That’s what I was going to say.’

Mann sat back, and feigned a look of surprise.

‘Really? I hadn’t thought of that, to tell you the truth. So who do you think might have framed you?’

Tyson hesitated. ‘I dunno. You’re the detectives, like.’

‘So you think you might have been framed, but you have no idea who by. Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Aye. I was just saying, like. I haven’t thought it through.’

‘That’s obvious, I’m afraid. So why would this someone, who you can’t identify, want to frame you in the first place?’

Tyson shook his head.

‘Come on, now. You must have some idea. Framing someone for murder is a big deal. A very big deal indeed. So have you got enemies, John?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, have you pinched another man’s wife, say?’

‘No. Someone bloody pinched mine though.’

‘All right, so how about a business deal that went wrong?’

‘You’re taking the piss, mate. I’m a bloody farm labourer. I work six days a week, just so I can stand my bloody round in the pub.’

‘All right then. Have you ever grassed anyone up? In court, like.’

Tyson’s ruddy face reddened further.

‘I never grassed. It was Frankie who grassed. I did my time. Every last day of it.’

‘Of course you did. Stupid of me, sorry. So you’ve nothing to worry about from your old mate John Winder, then? He wouldn’t have any reason to kill Foster and put you in the frame for murder at the same time? Two birds with one stone, like.’

‘You’ll have to ask him that.’

‘We will, Mr. Tyson. So you can’t help us identify who you think might have framed you?’

‘No.’

‘And we won’t find your fingerprints, anything like that, on the murder weapon?’

‘No. I told you.’

‘And you, and your truck, never moved from where you were walling?’

‘That’s right.’

Mann looked down at his folder.

‘All right. I’m done, for now. But don’t leave the area, there’s a good lad.’

‘Where would I bloody go?’

‘I hear that Antibes is nice, this time of year.’

When Tyson had left Mann went to check if Winder was ready to be interviewed. He wasn’t.

‘No prizes for guessing how Winder’s brief is getting paid.’ he said, when he returned to the interview room, with Iredale in close attendance.

‘By the hour?’ said Jane, smiling.

‘By the minute, I wouldn’t wonder.’

‘So what did you make of Tyson then, Ian?’

‘Is he our killer? Not impossible, certainly. There’s no ANPR out there, of course. Not for miles. So he could have driven from where he was working out on the fells back down to Foster’s house in Troutbeck, done the job, and driven straight back. I don’t doubt that he’s built the length of wall that he claimed he has today, but what if he just worked a bit harder to make up time? He would only have been away from the job for fifteen, twenty minutes.’

‘What about the stolen shotguns? Down to Tyson, do we think?’

Mann shrugged. ‘We’ve both read the file, Jane.’

‘Yes, and it’s a bloody shocker. The estate office door was unlocked even when unattended, which it pretty much always was, and the gun cabinet was a hundred years old and riddled with woodworm. A gentle bloody breeze would have been enough to get it open. That Irving bloke only kept his firearms certificate because he’s a big mate of the magistrate who heard our application to have it rescinded. I remember it actually, because Andy was bloody furious about the whole thing. Went into one of his us and them rants about the landed gentry still owning the whole bloody county.’

‘I know the ones. He’s a right firebrand, when he wants to be.’

Jane smiled. ‘Anyway, the long and the short of it is that pretty much anyone could have gone in there and helped themselves, and like Tyson says he did co-operate in the investigation. So unless forensics links him to that gun I don’t think it helps us make a case against him at all, really.’

‘Agreed. And if Tyson nicked those guns with the intention of shooting Foster, then why not do the deed straight after? It’s not like we’d forget the link between him and the shotguns, is it? No matter how long he held off, we’d still be all over him like a cheap suit when Foster got shot with one of them. And of course if he’d just taken the weapon away and hidden it again we’d never have tied the shooting back to that particular weapon. So it’s perfectly possible that it was left with the intention of implicating Tyson.’

‘Agreed. But I still fancy him for it, though. I’m not sure why.’

‘Oh, aye? Why’s that then, Jane? The old DI’s instinct, is it?’

‘Not so much of the old.’

Mann laughed. ‘It’s the instinct that’s old, not the DI.’

‘Christ, Ian, you’re even starting to split hairs like Andy does. He only ended up in the job by mistake, you know.’’

‘How come?’

‘He thought he was joining the grammar police. Didn’t you know?’

All three officers laughed, and turned as one when a spotty-faced probationer stuck his head round the door.

‘Custody Sergeant asked me to tell you, ma’am. John Winder is ready for interview. He’s in room 1.’

Jane didn’t compare the two men’s hands, because there was no need. Everything from his haircut downwards told Jane what she already knew: that Winder’s luck had been a great deal better than Tyson’s in the years since they’d both been released from prison. He looked prosperous and confident, even in the clothes that the forensic team had given him. And that was a difficult look to pull off.

‘You know why you’re here?’ she asked, when the tape was running.

‘Frankie Foster’s dead. Aye, I’d heard.’

‘And did you kill him?’

‘No.’