On Laughton Moor (21 page)

48

Knight ran his hands across his face. David Bowles was still unconscious, Nicholas Brady was missing, journalists were circling and Kendrick and Springer were on the warpath. The only bright spot in the day so far had been Milica Zukic’s confirmation that Jasna Dijlas was indeed the Ivona she’d known. Since Knight had been told to rein himself in on the people trafficking case until the killer of Pollard and Kent had been found, he could do nothing with the information. It frustrated Knight, but he understood. The Hughes family had been under surveillance more times than Knight could count, yet still they were free to do more or less as they pleased. Knight wanted to be sure that when he brought the empire down, it would be destroyed for good, and that would take time, patience and cunning. He’d been accused before of being obsessed with Malc Hughes, of allowing the fierce desire to bring him to justice to cloud his judgment and blind him to the facts. Knight had to grudgingly admit that there was some truth in the claim. He still bore the scars of his previous attempts to teach Hughes a lesson and had no desire to repeat his mistakes.

  Bishop tapped gently on his open office door, came in and sat down.

  ‘That’s what you call an interesting morning.’ she said.

  ‘We’ve still not found Nicholas Brady.’

  ‘We will.’

  ‘Hopefully he’ll be in one piece when we do.’

  ‘You don’t think . . . ’

  ‘Who knows? He’s the last on the list and he’s disappeared.’

  ‘Bowles thought he was next.’

  ‘We need Bowles to wake up and start talking. His note confirms the link between him, Pollard and Kent, and he seems to know who would want to kill them.’

  ‘Bowles could have killed them both, of course.’

  ‘So could Brady.’

49

Nick Brady heard a small noise behind him that broke his reverie and half turned. He was too late. The first blow struck him before he could fully register the figure he glimpsed. The second fell just as he hit the ground, the churned mud where he’d been standing splattering the side of his face. Brady was still aware of the figure standing over him, the black coat with the hood drawn tightly around the face. Narrowed eyes stared down at him. He couldn’t read their expression – fear certainly, apprehension, triumph? He thought so. A black scarf blanked the other features so he could gain no clues from the mouth. A satisfied smile, a grimace, a snarl? Surprisingly, he felt no pain. The figure bent closer, raised its arms again.

  ‘Please . . . ’ Brady mumbled.

Brady didn’t see the weapon but he felt the impact and this time agony, light exploding in his skull, eyes losing focus, blackness. Again, his attacker bent over him, waiting. Seconds passed, the only movement the rustling of the wind through bare branches and the murky water of the stream just in front of them. Then, a flash of white as a dog came racing up out of nowhere, barking excitedly, and a distant shout as the dog’s owner lost sight of it. The black hood turned towards the sound. No time for the check, just a second to shove the laminated paper under Brady’s mud clogged boot and then run. The dog, frenzied now, kept barking, racing around Brady’s body, pawing at his legs. Eventually its owner, a broad shouldered man in his sixties, arrived at the scene out of breath and red faced. His eyes widened at the sight of the man on the floor.

  ‘Oh, Christ.’ he said, pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket.

The call came through to Knight as he was still discussing the case with Catherine Bishop. She watched his face as he listened intently to what was being said, thanked the caller and softly replaced the receiver.

  ‘Good news is, we’ve found Nicholas Brady.’

  ‘And the bad news?’

  ‘He’s unconscious. Come on.’

He was up and out of his chair, Bishop rushing after him.

  ‘How do you mean, unconscious?’

  ‘He was found out on the moors, he’s been smacked over the head but looks like our man’s dropped a clanger. Brady was still breathing when he left him.’

  ‘Disturbed then?’ 

  ‘Possibly, though he had enough time to leave his message.’

  ‘Catherine of Aragon again?’

  ‘Exactly the same.’

Bishop shuddered.

  ‘Who found him?’

  ‘Bloke walking his dog. What would we do without dog walkers? The dog found Brady first and barked its head off. Problem was, no phone signal, so the man who found him had to leave Brady for twenty minutes before he could actually ring for help. They got the air ambulance to him and he’s now in the same hospital as David Bowles.’

  ‘So we need one of them to wake up soon. Unbelievable. Did the man that found Brady see his attacker?’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like it.’

  ‘Typical.’

50

The journey to the hospital was quiet. Bishop was valiantly trying to keep her mind on the case, on Bowles, Brady, Kent and Pollard, but Claire kept creeping in. Bishop wondered if she’d gone back to bed, if she was lying there now, catching up on her sleep. Perhaps she was watching TV wearing the fleece dressing gown and slippers, sipping tea, eating biscuits. Bishop forced herself to concentrate. The attack on Brady was again causing them to rethink. Bowles could have killed Pollard and Kent, then tried to take his own life in a fit of remorse, but he couldn’t have attacked Brady. Brady could also have been the murderer, but obviously hadn’t hit himself over the head. Who the hell was leaving the pictures and posting the photos? Why? She felt the creeping sensation along her arms and the back of her neck again. Knight’s face was grim, his jaw tight. Bishop checked her phone and found another text from Claire
.
Thinking of you. See you later? x
x
  Bishop quickly typed
 
Definitely xx

They arrived at the hospital’s main gates, Knight swung the car into the nearest place approximating a parking space he could find and they hurried into the building. One look at their warrant cards and expressions was all the receptionist needed to give precise instructions as to where Nicholas Brady could be found. His mother was with him, his father on his way. A uniformed officer nodded as they approached, recognising them. As they rounded the corner onto the ward, Brady’s mother glanced up from her seat at his bedside. She stood, still gripping her son’s hand.

  ‘Let me guess,’ she said, glaring at them. ‘you’re the police? Well, you’re too late. I told the other two earlier it wasn’t like Nick to turn his phone off, and look at him. Why didn’t you find him before? Why wasn’t he warned? I told him to be careful. I was only joking, but it seems I was right.’

Knight and Bishop exchanged a glance. Bishop stepped forward.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Mrs Brady?’

   ‘I don’t want a bloody drink, I want to know why my son’s lying here!’ Tears started to fall. ‘I’m sorry. Tea, please. Tea will be fine. No sugar.’

Bishop nodded and left the room.

  ‘Are you close to your son?’ Knight asked gently.

  ‘Yes. He’s just been made redundant, he was spending more time at our house. I think he wanted to be looked after a little, if you know what I mean, made to feel everything would work out fine.’

She attempted a smile.

  ‘Did your son mention Craig Pollard and Steven Kent to you?’

  ‘I saw about Craig Pollard’s death and mentioned it to Nick because I vaguely remembered the name. Nick had known him years ago, then when Steven Kent’s death was in the paper, Nick said he’d known him too. It upset him, I could tell. That’s when I told Nick to be careful. Turns out I was right.’

  ‘Was Nick at school with Craig Pollard then?’

  ‘Different years, but they knew each other. They were quite matey for a while, but Nick eventually stopped mentioning Craig. We weren’t sorry, to be honest. I know he’s dead but Craig Pollard wasn’t the sort of person you’d want your son to be friends with.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Haven’t you talked to people that knew him? Full of himself, bad mannered, rude. Not above stealing either.’

  ‘Did Nick and Craig argue?’

  ‘He didn’t say so. I’m not sure what happened, his dad and I kept telling him Pollard was no good, but I don’t think that’s what did it.’

  ‘Did you ever hear him mention the name David Bowles?’

Bishop slipped unobtrusively back into the room and offered a mug to Mrs Brady, who took it with a watery smile.

  ‘A proper cup, I could only get plastic. Thank you. Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘Did Nick ever talk about a friend called David Bowles?’ Knight repeated. Mrs Brady frowned.

  ‘Bowles? Not that I remember. It’s a while ago though, you understand. He might not have mentioned a surname anyway, he didn’t always.’

  ‘You know Nick was found on the moor, Laughton Moor? Do you have any idea why he might have been up there?’

  ‘None at all. He used to like fishing when he was younger, he went with his dad a few times, but I don’t think they fish up there do they? It’s the wrong time of year to be sitting fishing all day anyway. He didn’t like bird watching or walking or any of that. I really don’t know.’

Knight seemed lost in thought and so Bishop took over.

  ‘You can confirm that Nick knew Steven Kent too?’

  ‘Oh yes, he told me so himself.’

  A nurse bustled over, telling Knight and Bishop they’d have to leave as the doctor was on her way. Knight protested that they wanted to speak to the doctor too, but the nurse wouldn’t hear of it, telling him they would have to wait outside.

They made their way instead to David Bowles’ bedside and stood looking down at him, pale and appearing very young in the hospital bed.

  ‘The nurse told me he should be awake before too long.’ said Bishop.

  ‘Good. We need one of them to be and Bowles is looking the most promising at the moment.’

The uniformed PC in the corner shuffled his feet, eager for his shift babysitting Bowles to be over.

  ‘We should get back to Brady and see if we can talk to the doctor since it doesn’t seem Mr Bowles here is up to being interviewed just yet.’

A tall, white coated woman was still bending over Brady when they approached, but the nurse wasn’t in sight. The doctor turned at their footsteps and Knight introduced himself, the woman taking a cursory glance at his proffered ID.

  ‘You’ll want to know when he’ll wake up so you can question him?’

  ‘In an ideal world, but I doubt you’ll be able to tell us.’ said Knight.

  ‘You’re right, I’m afraid. No idea. Hours, a few days?’

  ‘Not long term then?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say so, but I wouldn’t say it was impossible either. I just don’t know. I’ll tell you the same as I’ll tell his mother, he’ll wake in his own time.’

  ‘Thanks.’ said Knight miserably.

Back in the corridor, Bishop suggested a quick drink in the hospital’s cafe and Knight trailed after her like a scolded schoolboy, seemingly unsure of what to do next. They sat in a quiet corner. Knight sipped at his coffee.

  ‘We know there’s a link between them. Brady’s mother confirms Brady knew Pollard, Kent and Bowles, which means we need Pollard’s family and Kent’s sister to tell us if they ever spoke about Brady and Bowles, or if any of them can remember anything that will help us. I think we can discount Bowles and Brady as our murderer, which means there’s another person who also knew or knows them all. That person could be what links the four of them, or they may know what the link is. This is what we’ve been missing all along.’

  ‘I’ll phone Anna Varcoe, get her and the others onto Pollard’s parents and Jodie Kent. They were still trying to trace Bowles’ family.’ She paused, frowning. ‘It’s bothering me why Brady was up on the moor.’

  ‘Me too. It’s not the sort of place you’d go for a wander, not in November. Perhaps he was trying to clear his head, get away from people.’

  ‘He obviously didn’t believe he was under threat though. Bowles seems to have been terrified according to the note he left, but Brady goes off by himself into the loneliest place around here.’

  ‘And meets our man.’

  ‘Do you think it was deliberate? That he was lured there somehow?’

  ‘It would explain why he would go there out of the blue. His mother seems to know his habits, and walking on the moors isn’t to be one of them.’

  ‘Varcoe said the neighbour told them Brady had gone out very early.’

  ‘It’s possible. His mobile was left with him, unlike Pollard and Kent. That could be handy, let’s check the calls he’s made and received lately. We need to get into his house too.’

  ‘I’ll find out where his possessions are. It’ll be interesting to know what he was wearing when he was found too, see if he was kitted out in walking gear or jeans and a jacket. His mum can’t know everything.’

Knight drained his cup. ‘I’m going to see what Mr Ellis can tell us.’

  ‘Ellis?’

  ‘He found Brady. I’ve got his address, it’s not far. You stick around here, talk to Brady’s dad, see if he can remember more than his wife. Keep going back to Bowles and giving him a pinch too.’

Ray Ellis lived in a tidy bungalow on a quiet side street. He opened the door to Knight himself, perfectly composed. As he followed Ellis down a long hallway and into an airy kitchen, Knight reflected that he didn’t seem the type of man to allow himself to become flustered. Ellis told Knight he’d been a lorry driver and that he and his wife spent as much time as possible travelling now he was retired.

  ‘You’d think I’d be sick of being on the road, but we sold our house, bought this place and a camper van and we can do as we please.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ said Knight, accepting another cup of coffee. He couldn’t really complain about insomnia when he drank this much of the stuff. Ellis sat, placing his own mug on the dining table in front of him.

  ‘I didn’t expect a detective inspector to turn up, more a young lad still wet behind the ears.’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you myself. You’re the first real witness we have.’

Ellis sighed.

  ‘I wouldn’t call myself a witness, I just saw him on the ground. It’s Alfie who’s the witness but you won’t get much out of him.’

  ‘Alfie’s the dog?’

  ‘That’s right. My wife’s taken him for a walk, she thought he’d be best out of the way. He gets a bit excited around visitors.’

  ‘So what can you tell me, Mr Ellis?’

Ellis spread his hands helplessly.

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid. I took the route I always do, ending up alongside the stream. It’s more than a stream really, not a river but quite wide. I walk back along it to the road. Anyway, Alfie had run ahead a little but I could still see him so I didn’t worry. He usually comes back when you call. I was wandering along when he started barking and ran off. I shouted, but this time he didn’t come back and he kept barking. I couldn’t see him, I just followed the sound of him yapping. I could see the man on the ground from quite a way off and ran to him.  When saw he was still breathing, I got out my phone but there wasn’t a signal. I didn’t want to leave him, but I didn’t have much choice, so I put him into the recovery position, covered him with my coat and then went as fast as I could back towards the road. I thought even if I don’t get a signal before I reach the car, at least I’ll be able to drive for help. That’s about it I’m afraid.’

  ‘You didn’t see anyone?’

  ‘No. He could have been lying there for hours for all I know. How is he, by the way?’

  ‘Still unconscious. I don’t think he’s in any danger, the doctor seems confident he’ll recover.’

  ‘Would you mind keeping me informed please? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I just feel responsible somehow. I know I didn’t do it, but finding him like that . . . Well, I’d just like to know he’s okay.’

  ‘I can understand that. I’ll make sure you’re kept up to date.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Were there any other cars parked near yours?’

  ‘No, none. I didn’t see another soul except the lad on the ground.’

Knight thanked Ellis and left. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought Ellis might be able to give him a clue as to who they were searching for. Wishful thinking, probably. He phoned Bishop from his car, asked her to find out if Brady drove. He sat for a moment, eyes fixed on his rear view mirror. The same car had appeared there a few times now, and Knight was sure it wasn’t coincidence. He hadn’t seen the driver yet and couldn’t think who would follow him. The old panic was threatening to bubble to the surface and Knight fought it as best he could. The car was no longer in sight. Knight smiled wryly. Had he imagined it? He opened the door and got out, went around to the rear of the car, rummaged around in the boot for a few seconds then slammed it shut and discreetly glanced around. The only person in sight was an elderly lady hauling a couple of bags of shopping. Knight climbed back into his car feeling silly.

In the next street, Paul Hughes watched the junction at the top of the road intently. He’d been following Knight all morning and it hadn’t been very productive so far, but he didn’t want to miss his quarry. He knew Knight was in the middle of a murder investigation, but he’d only been to the hospital and some bungalow so far today, neither of which helped Hughes with his quest. The bungalow certainly didn’t look like a safe house, not that Hughes had ever seen one. He imagined it would be a top floor flat with hundreds of bolts on the doors and windows, at least one armed guard and cameras everywhere. Hughes wasn’t sure what he was going to do if Knight didn’t lead him to the safe house soon. Then again, he had no idea what he was going to do if Knight
did
lead him to the safe house. His dad had been on the phone again nagging at him and there were only so many excuses Malc Hughes would listen to before he exploded. Paul knew his dad had always had a grudging respect for Knight, why he couldn’t say. He’d never seemed to have achieved anything particularly amazing to Paul, either before or after the night in the garage. Still, the way Knight had picked himself up and moved North to seemingly start again was impressive, even Paul Hughes had to admit. He’d seen people go completely to pieces after an evening in one of his dad’s lock ups. There was Knight’s car. Hughes eased out of his parking space and followed.