On Laughton Moor (6 page)

  ‘They better not have done. Jesus, Dave, I knew you were stupid but this takes the fucking biscuit. If they come for you, and they might do now, don’t mention me do you hear? And do me a favour, take the sim card out of your phone then cut it up and throw the bits in the river. Get yourself a new pay as you go phone and sim, I don’t want any links between us.’

  ‘I thought you said we didn’t have anything to worry about. We’ve done nothing wrong, that’s what you said.’

  ‘We haven’t this time, but I don’t fancy explaining what happened before do you? Especially now Pollard’s dead.’

  ‘There’s still Nick to think about. And that lad.’

  ‘Nick isn’t stupid, he’ll keep his head down. And the lad . . . we don’t know he saw anything. If he did why didn’t he come forward at the time, or since? He’s had twelve years to think about it.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t see anything then. Maybe he doesn’t know. They said it was an accident after all.’

  ‘It was an accident, that’s the point, and I’m not going to be dragged into something that I didn’t do. Get that phone and sim card sorted. Don’t ring me again, not from your new number either. Remember what I said, Dave. I wasn’t there if they come for you.’

Steve Kent shoved his phone back in his pocket. He should have known Dave would do something stupid, though at least he hadn’t gone to the police station in person and made a tearful confession. Kent paced around the living room of his flat. He couldn’t deny he was worried too, of course he was, but panicking would get them nowhere. He was still sure Pollard’s death was the result of a fight, an argument, something Pollard had got himself into as a result of his big mouth and cocky attitude. Until Kent heard differently, he was going to keep believing it. The worst thing he could do now was panic; he knew he mustn’t let Dave’s attitude infect him too. Nick was an unknown of course, Kent had no idea where he was but presumed the news of Pollard’s death would reach him eventually. He may have moved away or even emigrated. Kent had considered that himself, anything to make a new start, become an anonymous face. In the end he had moved albeit within the same county. Far enough though, away from the town, the moors, the memories and old friends like Craig Pollard.

Catherine Bishop’s desk in the main CID room was in the corner and she sat with her back to the wall. She could see the whole room, all the comings and goings and bustle. It was quieter now but there were still people around. Looking at the notes and the day’s reports from the DCs and the rest of the team, it seemed to her they were no closer to finding Craig Pollard’s killer than they had been the previous day. Trying to find any of the girls Pollard may have met in the pubs around the town had proved as fruitless as their attempts to talk to his friends. Perhaps Pollard wasn’t as popular as his brother claimed. The post mortem had given them nothing new to go on and so far all the forensics had confirmed was that Craig Pollard’s blood had been found with his body and no one else’s. Bishop ran a hand through her hair. She’d had a headache since mid afternoon. She’d been trying not to think about the picture left with the body or the message posted to her, and especially not  the photo taken of her, through her own living room window for Christ’s sake. Why? If the idea was to frighten or intimidate her, the killer was in for a surprise. True, initially it had been a shock, the photograph in particular, but in the end Pollard had been attacked and killed, not Bishop. She considered Knight’s suggestion again, that the killer may have been posing a challenge to her or to the force, but she couldn’t understand that either. The evening meeting with Kendrick and Knight was in twenty minutes time and it was looking like she wouldn’t have much to report. It was frustrating and somewhat worrying to have so little information coming in so early. She bent over the reports again, elbows on the desktop, forehead propped on her fingertips. Nothing. There was nothing there, nothing stood out. Leaning back in the chair now she puffed out her cheeks in frustration, shaking her head. DI Knight was making his way across the room, eyes mainly on the worn grey carpet though occasionally he would smile at someone, respond to a greeting. Bishop almost shook her head again. He was a strange one. He reached her desk and stopped, gesturing to the pile of papers in front of her, the emails open on her ancient beige monitor.

  ‘Anything?’ he asked, taking a chair from a nearby desk and dragging it over to sit by Bishop.

  ‘No, afraid not.’

There didn’t seem much else to say. Bishop waited, he’d come to her after all. Knight chewed on the top of his thumb, staring across the room at nothing in particular.

  ‘I know I’ve asked you this before, and no doubt you’ve been through it over and over in your head, but are you absolutely sure there’s nothing you can think of that will help us? It might not even be related to the job, it could be someone you’ve met outside of work, a friend, an ex, a partner? Something in your past? I know,’ he said, as she sighed, ‘I know, but we’re missing something. We’ve nothing to go on, nothing to move things forward, nothing to tell Pollard’s family and nothing for DCI Kendrick or the Superintendent. Won’t be long until she wants some answers.’

Bishop leaned back in her chair.

  ‘I know sir, and believe me I’ve been thinking about it all day, it’s been in the back of my mind all the time but I can’t think of anything and to be honest it’s driving me mad. Some detective I must be, I’m the clue and I’ve no idea what’s meant by it. I just can’t think of anything or anyone. I’ve never arrested Pollard, never questioned him, never had anything to do with him except hearing other people moaning about him for being a mouthy bastard who seems to get away with everything. There are no end of coppers in this town who would have loved to have seen him sent down for a while, teach him a lesson, but we’ve never been able to catch him doing anything serious enough to make it happen.’

Knight glanced at her.

  ‘What are you thinking he might have been up to?’

She shrugged.

  ‘Drug dealing? All those flash clothes must have come from somewhere and he seemed to know everyone and be in town every night, he had plenty of opportunity.’

  ‘But no one has suggested he was dealing have they? We’ve never found any on him and his brother said Craig had never touched drugs, seen too many mates ruined by them. Nothing in the post-mortem either.’

  ‘It’s just a suggestion. Then there’s the fancy Pollard seemed to have for teenage girls. I thought we might get something from that, pissed off dad or older brother but nothing’s turned up so far.’

Knight nodded.

  ‘I thought we might find something there too. We still might, we’re going back to the colleges tomorrow, the heads of the secondary schools are talking to their students, but would you come forward, especially if you were underage?’

  ‘Maybe not, but we might get a friend of a friend that points us in the right direction. Pollard’s dead after all, someone might want to do the right thing and help us out. Even if the bloke was what most of us would call a complete arsehole, did he really deserve to have his head smashed in and to be left lying in his own blood in a stinking alley?’

Knight stood.

  ‘Someone obviously thought so. By the way, you’re welcome to use my spare room again tonight. I’m not sure how you’re feeling about things . . .’

Bishop followed him across the room.

  ‘Thanks sir. If you’re sure, that'd be great. It’s just that photo, it’s hard to get the thought out of my mind that he was there looking at me. It’s one thing dealing with someone when they’re standing in front of you, however big and ugly they are, but someone who sneaks around, that’s different.’

They were in the corridor now, heading for the meeting room and DCI Kendrick.

  ‘From what forensics are saying we’re looking for the invisible man anyway,’ Knight said.

  ‘No trace at the scene, no evidence, nothing, at least not yet.’

Bishop grimaced.

  ‘I know, sir. Things are really going our way.’

9

I need to move on to the second and at the moment I’m finding it difficult. It’s not that he deserves anything less, it’s just . . . I can’t explain it, even to myself. It’s reluctance. Craig was different, I was ready, even eager to get that done but this time I’m more wary. One death could be explained away, even with the calling card I left for them, a prank or a joke. Another death seems to make it much more serious; a lunatic on the loose maybe? There’s also more of a chance of alerting the others or of one of them coming forward with the whole story. I could stop now, Pollard was the one I wanted most after all, the ringleader, the proper rotten apple in the barrel. The others are just weak, not evil as he was. They were still there though, they stood by and let it happen, thinking more of themselves than of Tommy, too afraid of Pollard to stand up to him. So was I though, I need to remember that while I’m passing judgement.

10

Bishop shovelled the last of her chicken bhuna into her mouth and let out a long, satisfied breath Knight, tearing off a final piece of naan bread, glanced up at her and smiled.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Bishop. ‘Just what you need on a freezing cold, rainy night.’ She took a sip of beer. ‘Especially when your case is going to shit.’

Knight picked up his plate, leant across the table and took Bishop’s. He rinsed them, dumped them in the sink and sat back down.

  ‘I know I keep banging on about it, but we’re missing something. Whoever killed Pollard will be sitting somewhere laughing at us.’

  ‘It feels like we’ve got nowhere to go. DCI Kendrick didn’t exactly mince his words, did he?’ Bishop sighed

  ‘And he’s right. A murder around here, whoever did it’s usually still next to the body when it’s found, knife in his hand, blood on his fists, whatever, but this? Have you ever heard of a case like it, sir, when you were in the Met? You must have seen all sorts of goings on.’

  ‘Please call me Jonathan. We had someone phone the station and accuse a DC of murder once, a bloke had been knifed in a fight over a woman. Wasn’t the DC at all, it was his cousin but it caused a few headaches for a while. But I don’t think you’re being accused of anything here . . . ’

  ‘Mainly because I didn’t do it!’ Bishop interrupted. Knight held up a placatory hand.

  ‘I
know
. It could be a plea for help, for understanding,  just two fingers up at you and coppers in general . . . it’d help if they’d been a bit more specific though, instead of pissing around with reproduced oil paintings.’

Bishop raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t remember having heard Knight swear before.

  ‘What about the photo, what do you think he meant by that? If it were of someone else and more recent, someone close to Pollard like his brother or Kelly Whitcham, it would make more sense, like they were gloating about killing him, rubbing their noses in the fact that they’re watching them suffer, even accusing them, but why me? It doesn’t feel like a threat, but then again it’s shaken me up, I don’t mind admitting it.’

Knight got to his feet again, crossed to the sink and began running hot water into the washing up bowl.

  ‘I’m not surprised. If it had been a “knight” chess piece in the pictures, I’d feel the same . . . and you really don’t need to keep calling me sir.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’d not thought of that - Bishop and Knight.’

She smiled at him hesitantly. Knight’s mobile began to ring and he took it out of his pocket, frowning at the display.

  ‘I’ll take over, sir . . . Jonathan.’ Bishop said. ‘Where do you keep your washing up liquid?’

In the living room, Knight took a deep breath, then touched the phone’s screen to answer the call.

  ‘Hello? Caitlin?’

  ‘Jonathan? I thought you were never going to answer, I was going to leave you a voicemail.’

  ‘I’ve only just got home, I was eating.’

  ‘Working late? There’s a surprise.’

  ‘It’s a murder investigation, Caitlin, as you know we can’t always persuade people to kill each other during office hours.’

  ‘As charming as ever, Jonathan. And as defensive. It’s nice to hear people are just a brutal in the sticks as they are down here in civilisation.’

  ‘Did you ring me just to have a go, or . . . ?’

  ‘Oh, no, there’s a point. I’m pregnant.’

Knight’s eyes widened and his sudden dry mouth was nothing to do with the curry he’d just eaten.

  ‘So why are you telling me?’ he managed to say. ‘Hadn’t you better phone Ben or Dom or whatever his name was?’

  ‘His name was, and still is Jed, as you well know. And I don’t need to phone him, he’s here now.  We’re living together.’

Knight sat down heavily on the settee.

  ‘How wonderful for you. So, again, why are you telling me instead of floating ecstatically around Mothercare together?’

  ‘You’re so funny, Jonathan, you really are. I’m four months pregnant, so if you can manage to work that out on your fingers, that means, God help us all, that the baby could be yours.’

Knight shook his head.

  ‘You’re unbelievable. It won’t be my baby, we were barely speaking at that point, never mind anything else. It’s Jed’s baby and you know it, this is just you winding me up for your own amusement. You’re probably sitting there with a gang of your friends with me on speaker phone for a laugh.’

There was a pause. Caitlin spoke again, quieter now.

  ‘I’m pleased you think so highly of me, Jonathan. The truth is this baby could be yours or, as you so kindly point out, it could be Jed’s. I don’t know and I won’t until after the birth. I just wanted you to know it was a possibility but obviously just calling you out of the blue was the wrong way to go about it. I’m sorry, I’ll go. Take care Jonathan.’

Knight stared at his phone. Caitlin had never apologised to him before, never acknowledged that perhaps she’d made a mistake or was in the wrong. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there when Catherine Bishop quietly came into the room with the tea.

  ‘All right?’ she said, holding a mug out to him, then when there was no response: ‘Jonathan?’

He started.

  ‘Sorry. Thank you.’

Bishop crossed the room and sat down holding her own mug close, wondering how quickly she could finish her tea and politely get out of Knight’s way. Then to her amazement he began to talk.

  ‘That was my ex on the phone. Ex girlfriend. She’s pregnant.’

  ‘Oh.’ She had no idea what else to say.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How long since you split up?’

  ‘Just before I moved back up here. That was one of the reasons I transferred. She’d been seeing someone else for a while and eventually I found out.’

  ‘You hadn’t suspected?’

  ‘No. Some detective I am. You know how it is, working long hours, knackered when you eventually get in. Some weeks we barely saw each other and she didn’t like that. She needs lots of attention, she’s hard work to be honest. Not sure now what I ever saw in her except at first - she’s gorgeous but there’s nothing underneath that if you know what I mean. She’s like some amazing painting that you admire in a gallery but you know you couldn’t live with at home. Too much for me, too loud, too confident and I think I bored her to death. I’m sure she’s much happier with Jed. Is that even a real name?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ said Bishop softly. ‘So she’s having your baby?’

Knight smiled ruefully.

  ‘Helpfully, she isn’t sure. All she can say for sure is she’s having someone’s baby.’

  ‘So until the birth . . . ’

  ‘Depends if the baby comes out wearing a striped shirt and braces or a police uniform. Jed’s one of those massive rugby types, works in the City doing something mere mortals can’t hope to understand.’

  ‘You’ve met him then?’

  ‘Once, at some posh do Caitlin dragged me to. Her friends seemed to think I was something the cat had dragged in, they used to call me “Caitlin’s policeman friend”.’

  ‘Charming.’

  ‘It’s just how they were, I don’t think they meant anything personal. I didn’t fit in with their view of the world. They want the police to be sorting things out on the streets, out of their sight, not at their fancy parties.’ He paused. ‘Even the champagne was horrible.’

  ‘Caitlin goes to a lot of these types of things then?’

  ‘It was part of her job though to be honest I couldn’t even tell you what she actually did. Lots of dinners and drinks parties and mincing around London as far as I could tell.’

  ‘How long were you together?’

  ‘Only six months. Long enough for both of us.’

  ‘And you moved here when you split up?’

  ‘Moved back here. This is where I grew up, not far away. I’d had enough of London and I just wanted a complete change.’

  ‘It’ll be quieter, if nothing else. I did wonder why someone would leave the Met to come up here.’

  ‘Like I say, I was ready for a change. I’d been down there long enough.’

  ‘Not as challenging though?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve not had a case like this before.’